I brushed my fingertips over the remnant of the wax seal left on the parchment. “What say you, cousin? Are these the words of a true heart?”
She sighed as she drew a fur over her feet and popped another apricot into her mouth.
“He is well educated, that much is evident.” Her brow furrowed with her thoughts. “But a true heart, I cannot say.”
“Does that not sound like a man enamored of the thought of being wed?” I asked, clutching the note to my breast.
She shrugged. “I am not sure, cousin, that any man is enamored of the ceremony as much as what comes after. Still, it is believed you can tell a great many things from a man’s eyes,” Margaret stated with a smirk. “I will reserve my judgment on this matter until then. Though I must confess, it is not only in the eyes that I find my interest.”
“You are wicked, Margaret. I daresay if your father knew the half of what I know about you, you would be on your way to a nunnery by spring.”
Her look of contentment dissipated and she eyed me with quiet determination. “Is that a threat, my dear cousin?”
“Of course not. Would I send away the only woman who can instruct me in the ways of men?”
She shrugged and poured more wine in her cup.
I drew my robes around me and stood, needing a breath of fresh air. As I lifted the window’s iron latch, a violent gust of wind snatched the shutter from my hand and slammed it against the wall. A swirling mass of snow blasted through the opening.
“Let us hope you are not found frozen stiff before Lord Benedict’s arrival,” Margaret shouted from behind as I struggled to close the shutter.
She squeezed past me and grabbed the shutter. As we fought together to close it, Margaret hesitated, her attention focused on the ward below.
“What is it? What do you see?” I asked, squinting against the driving snow. Below in the deep shadows, two figures huddled close together, making their way toward the stables.
“Do you recognize them?”
“Yes,” she replied as we watched them sneak across the once-lush grass, turned brown now with winter. “The man at least. The other is likely one of the kitchen maids.”
“Is that your guard?” I asked with concern.
“Nay,” she replied, staring into the shadows of the courtyard.
“How can you tell?” I peered into the darkness.
“Because my guard would not be so foolish as to be seen sneaking off with a kitchen maid.”
We watched in silence as they disappeared into the stables. Margaret slammed the shutter and gave the latch a firm twist. Despite her words, I sensed that something about what she had seen bothered her.
2
THE STEADY, COLD RAIN TURNED THE ROAD TO muck, making it difficult to navigate the horses.
“Sweet God in heaven, my horse cannot take another step. This godforsaken dampness seeps into my bones. I am in dire need of something to warm them. How much farther is the castle, Ranulf?”
I eyed Benedict as he adjusted his sodden wool cloak around his broad shoulders. The ornate brooch, a reminder of his nobility, was now marred with mud splatters.
“I wager a half day’s ride more. It will be dark soon,” I responded, lifting my gaze to the pewter-gray sky above. The icy mist stung my face numb from the cold.
“It would not do to meet my new bride in such a state. We shall stop for the night and continue in the morrow, after we rest and have a warm bath.”
My cloak, pounds heavier than when dry, hung from my shoulders. I could not deny that the idea was tempting. But rogue warriors, displeased with the English occupation, roamed these mountains and I wondered of the wisdom of staying in a village without benefit of the Baron Durwain’s protection. Still, I suspected that Benedict was thinking less of his bride and more of his own pleasure.
I first met Lord Benedict three years ago. He was barely with facial hair, at the tender age of twenty, but possessed an eagerness the king found useful. Given my experience and maturity, nearly seventeen years older than the young Marches warrior, the king had ordered me to train him in the ways of battle and knighthood. I had gained my own title as knight not by inheritance as Benedict had, but through my reputation in tournament play, earning the king’s trust and a noted spot within his court that few men contested. Of all the men I’d fought in my years, I’d never seen one who was so consumed with his own pleasure and power and gladly flaunted it. Thus far, though he had stretched my patience thin, he had not pushed me beyond the limit of my reason. My duty was not, after all, to play his nursemaid and procure his manners. It was to teach him to fight, and fight well he did. In the past three years, he had made a name for himself in the Marches and his favor with the king had grown even stronger.
“Are you not anxious to see your betrothed, Benedict?” I enjoyed watching him squirm under my scrutiny. Benedict’s loyalty to his new bride was sorely lacking. His passion on the battlefield was unmatched, with the exception of mine, but his passion with women was reckless and unbridled. With his wedding day close at hand, I began to wonder if the baron’s daughter, Sabeline, would be woman enough to quell his insatiable lust.
“We will send her another letter. After we dine, you will help me compose it. One of my men can deliver it yet today.”
I conceded, though felt it unwise. “Very well.” I was anxious to arrive at our destination, my body ached from the long ride through the mountain passages. Despite my misgivings of how Baron Durwain might respond to our delay, I could not dispute the appeal of a bath and a hot meal. I nodded to our young squire. “Boy, go secure suitable dry quarters to keep our horses from the elements.” I handed him a bag of coins and he scampered off.
I dropped from my horse and sank to my ankles in mud. It was a miserable day for travel, but that was common for this time of year.
The afternoon sky had grown darker and a heavy mist had begun to shroud the road and nearby wood. Part of a decaying old fort, Roman, if my judging of it was true, looked as though it now served as a haven for travelers and soldiers.
My boots pulled at my calves as I strode toward the warm flicker of light inside. At the entrance, I stamped my feet as I cautiously scanned the large room. A buxom woman with rose-stained cheeks and silver threaded throughout her dark hair greeted us, offering a coy smile.
“I s’pose yer lookin’ for a room? We have had many lookin’ to get out of the bitter wind today,” she spoke over the din of the crowd. Her hungry gaze lingered on Benedict before she turned her attention to me.
“Just for the night, milady. We have two other men. Our squire will stay with our horses.” I had lost her again to Benedict’s charming smile. I cleared my throat and jangled a bag of coins in front of her face in an attempt to draw her focus back to me.
“I suspect you’ll be needin’ a meal and perchance a bath as well?” She leaned forward and offered me an intriguing view of her ample breasts. “For a little extra, milord, I might be persuaded to wash yer back.” She shoved her hands beneath her breasts and shifted them high in her bodice.
“I am—” I glanced at Benedict, who stifled a grin “—accustomed to bathing alone.”
She looked me over, head to toe. “Pity.” She shrugged. “Come along, then.”
Benedict chuckled as he jabbed my side.
The table wench squealed with delight as Benedict grabbed a substantial portion of her backside and gave it a pinch. His raucous laughter rose above the room now filled to capacity. Fortunately, most of the guests were commoners taking part in lascivious acts in the corners of the room, while others, without concern, engaged in coupling in full view of the cheering crowd.
“The letter, milord?” I reminded Benedict. I was fast becoming bored in watching his attempts to seduce every woman within arm’s reach. A hot bath and a few hours of peaceful sleep was my goal. “We should get your man on his way. These roads are not safe at night.”
“I am considering what to say,” he retorted. “I need a muse,” he yelled
, searching for the red-haired table wench.
I reminded myself that I had agreed to help once again with this bloody letter. Hell, was it not by my hand that they had all been penned? This young man had not a romantic bone in his Norman body. He would no more know how to woo a woman into his bed than move a mountain. Take a woman, yes, and with little more than the time it took to remove her clothes, were he to consider it necessary. It was not, however, his manner with women that I was sent to help him with, though the romantic in me prayed he would change after his marriage.
Sabeline. She was the daughter of Baron Durwain of Wales. A young woman when first I met her at the king’s court the summer after her brother’s and mother’s passing. She was a prize for any man, with grace and beauty, as well as the wealth of her inheritance.
The king had invited the baron and his daughter in good faith to discuss a possible alliance to secure the provinces near the English border. By pairing a Marcher lord with the baron’s daughter, a formidable barrier would be created against the warring tribes of the north who continued to be a thorn in the king’s side. Fortunately for Lord Benedict, his brazen courage and his skills on the field of battle had won him the king’s favor. And so, the arrangement was made. Benedict and Sabeline were to marry three years after we had finished our crusade in securing his military presence along the border region.
Cast to the side, as women generally are in matters concerning the welfare of nations, Sabeline accepted the engagement with a quiet dignity that impressed me.
As my mind drifted away from the din of the pub, I remembered the day that the baron and his daughter arrived….
It was my duty to welcome Baron Durwain and his entourage to the king’s court.
“May I present my daughter, Sabeline.” The pride the baron felt for his daughter was evident in his eyes as she offered a regal curtsy to both Benedict and me. The noble lord, my charge and her intended, however, had his focus on the maid servant traveling with the baron’s party. I cleared my throat and offered a congenial smile to our regal guests.
“I wish to welcome you both to England. If you will follow me, we will take you to freshen up before your audience with the king.”
I waited for Benedict to respond with a special greeting of his own. When it was clear that he was preoccupied, I ushered the baron and his daughter ahead to follow the guards into the keep.
I held Benedict’s arm and whispered in his ear. “This is your intended, milord. It would bode well for you in the king’s eyes to make her feel welcome.”
He glared at me, clearly upset that I had torn him away from his flirtations with the buxom servant woman. I offered him a sterner look in return.
“I know how I could make her feel welcome, milord.” He smiled. “But I doubt you would approve.”
“Do not cross me, Benedict. This alliance is very important to the future of England. You would be wise to remember that,” I offered, nodding to the baron who glanced over his shoulder at us.
“I know fully the political reasons for this union, milord. You have no need to remind me,” Benedict whispered.
“Then I expect you to show your attention to your intended at tonight’s celebration, given in goodwill of this alliance,” I responded with a quiet warning. Benedict held my gaze.
“Do not worry. I have everything well in hand.” He grinned.
The king’s great hall was decorated with long banquet tables laden with every culinary delight. Cheese and roasted meats, exotic fruits and sumptuous desserts had all been presented in grand scale, as only would befit the king of England.
The room was crowded with nobles and dignitaries of the court who had come to see the baron and his daughter. Unfortunately, I could not keep Benedict’s wolflike gaze from flicking maiden to maiden.
“So many fine young ladies here this evening, wouldn’t you agree, Sir Ranulf?” Benedict was fairly salivating as he leaned over to whisper in my ear.
I ignored his remark. “Perhaps the Lady Durwain would enjoy hearing of your travels, Benedict?” I hoped my suggestion would distract him from the allure of the woman smiling at him from across the hall.
If Sabeline had noticed Benedict’s preoccupation, she chose to ignore it and instead focused her attention on me. “Are you two related, then? Cousins, perhaps?” she asked, looking up at me with wide brown eyes. They reminded me at once of the exotic brown spices I had tasted in my pilgrimage to Spain to serve orders of the church at the will of the king.
Her remark served to capture Benedict’s attention, and his laughter prompted heads to turn. “By the grace of God, good woman, this tyrant is not of my blood!”
I smiled congenially and refused to allow Benedict’s lack of propriety rankle me. I took Sabeline’s delicate hand and kissed it, lingering longer than I should, enjoying the softness of her flesh. “I have no siblings, milady, but I am your most humble servant.”
“Are you still using that ancient line, milord? No wonder you have not married,” Benedict said with a quiet chuckle.
Sabeline’s gaze remained on mine. I ignored Benedict’s impetuous remark and held a cordial smile.
“And where are you from, Sir Ranulf?”
I clasped my hands at my back, gripping them tightly so they would not be tempted to smack the back of Benedict’s head. “I lost my parents at a very young age, milady. I began as a squire here in court. With the exception of my travels, this has always been my home.”
“Sir Ranulf, you are being far too modest. What he has not said, milady, is that he received his title from the king himself due to his superiority in tournament play. He is unmatched by anyone, anywhere to date. Is not that true, milord?” Benedict spoke, offering me a side glance. His gaze scanned the crowd, looking, I suspected, for the red-haired woman previously eyeing him like a delectable dessert.
“Is this true, Sir Ranulf?” Sabeline tipped her head as she stared at me, her eyes sparkling with her curious gaze. “I am impressed.”
I glanced at the floor. “Perhaps the fair Sabeline would enjoy a dance?” I gently nudged Benedict’s arm.
The Welsh beauty did not hesitate, nor did she wait for Benedict to cease ogling the other women. Instead, she curled her hand over my arm. “I would indeed.”
“I meant—”
“Be my guest, Ranulf. If you will excuse me, I am parched and in need of something sweet to appease my palate,” Benedict urged, nodding at me to join the dance forming.
“Bened—” I spoke, but it fell on deaf ears as he wound his way through the crowd. “My apologies. Benedict has yet much to learn about women.” I bowed as she curtsied and we began our dance.
“He is young yet, and I am told, quite passionate,” she replied, never taking her eyes from mine as she raised her hand to meet my palm.
“While that may be true, he should know better how to treat a beautiful woman.” I held her gaze, aware of the slow thud in my heart as I looked down upon her angelic face. She was a natural beauty. Earlier, beneath the brilliant summer sun, her hair had glistened with rich mahogany hues and her eyes sparkled with wisdom and adventure.
Tonight, however, she took my breath away. Her face appeared radiant in the candlelight, and I resisted the temptation to touch the curve of her delicate neck, revealed by her upswept hair. I knew it was wrong to entertain such thoughts, yet impossibly, they pervaded my brain even so.
She lowered her eyes, her cheeks pinking to a rosy blush.
“I pray I did not offend you, milady. I meant no disrespect. I am certain that your beauty and charm will be all the passion he will ever need.” It was not the truth entirely, but I was hopeful.
She glanced over her shoulder, and I followed her gaze. Much to my chagrin, her intended had one of the servants by the hand and was leading her from the room.
The imbecile.
“I shall attend to him, milady.” I bowed and started after him. She gently caught my arm.
“Please, let us finish our dance. Were you to lea
ve now, would it not cause tongues to wag all the more?” She offered me a quiet smile.
I studied her face. She spoke the truth.
“If you are quite certain. There is nothing that would give me greater pleasure.” I bowed, considering that I should thank Benedict for his bad behavior.
She placed her hand on the crook of my arm as we moved into the next dance step.
“Three years is a long time to remain celibate. I suspect it may be best if he sows his seeds now, rather than after we are wed.”
“You are wise beyond your years, milady.”
“I am not a child, Sir Ranulf, and I would be pleased if you called me Sabeline.” Her amber-colored eyes lifted to mine.
“As you wish, Sabeline.” Her spirited nature was captivating and spawned a dangerous need deep inside me.
I took her hand and stepped to her side. She offered me a side glance. “You speak as if you know much about women. Are you married?”
Her bold question took me aback. I held her hand as we circled each other.
“No, I am afraid that my duties to the king prevent me from settling down and finding a wife.”
“That is not to say that you would not welcome it?”
She smiled as I turned her beneath my arm and passed her on to the man next to me. I watched her carefully as we rounded our new partners, moving through the steps until at last her hand returned to mine.
I swallowed at the impact of her flesh against mine, as my imagination flared with the image of touching elsewhere her petal-soft flesh. I forced my thoughts back to our conversation.
“It is not a subject I dwell on. Some men are born to marry, while others are born for greater service.” The moment the words fell from my mouth, I saw the challenge in her eyes.
Winter’s Desire Page 2