Timeless Tales of Honor

by Suzan Tisdale

  Bartholomew cocked a blond eyebrow at his father. "When I am finished, Great Caesar, I shall be happy to join the orgy. Allow me to finish my performance."

  Arissa was smiling faintly at her brother; not because she found him humorous, but because he was trying so desperately to maintain his individuality in a world where the norm was to bear armor and clutch a sword in your hand. Bartholomew was immersed in a world where ancient Romans and Greeks were a part of his everyday existence, and he took great pride in extolling their literary works. In a world where one was considered odd if one was different, Bartholomew de Lohr was something of a freak of nature.

  "No performance," William waved him off firmly. "Go put your clothes on. You are offending the ladies."

  Bartholomew gave his father an irritated look. "This is a toga, Father. All correct Romans wore togas. Greeks, too. There is nothing shameful about it."

  William's face began to mottle a faint red. "'Tis no wonder they destroyed their own civilizations with their decadent dress and eccentric manner. Lad, you were born a thousand years too late."

  Bartholomew cleared his throat, ignoring his father completely. Instead, he focused on Richmond. "Oh Noble Warrior," he put his hand over his chest dramatically. "A verse in honor of your return:

  'So like they were, no mortal

  Might one from other know;

  White as snow their armor was,

  Their steeds were white as snow.

  Never on earthy anvil

  Did such rare armor gleam,

  And never did such gallant steeds

  Drink of an earthly stream.'"

  Arissa and Regine clapped loudly, as did Penelope and Emma far down the table. The older ladies seemed to be indecisive, while the men appeared to be plain embarrassed.

  William, his face resting in his hand, peered at his son from between splayed fingers. "Are you finished?"

  "Nay," Bartholomew suddenly reached for a strip of rope that held one of the massive chandeliers in place. Gripping the rope, he suddenly swung out over the room to a chorus of shrieks.

  "`Back comes the chief in triumph

  Who in the hour of fight....'"

  Richmond was on his feet, leaping over the table with incredible agility for a man of his massive size. Arissa felt him move past her, startled as his thick arm inadvertently grazed her tender shoulder.

  "Slowly, lad, slowly," he cautioned Bartholomew. "Do not attempt to slide. Hand over hand."

  Bartholomew gazed down at Richmond as the rope spun him in circles. "I know how to descend a rope. Return to your seat so that I might finish your tribute."

  "I have heard enough tribute. Come down from there before you lose your grip and plunge to your death."

  "`Hath seen the great Twin Brethren

  In harness on his right.

  Safe comes the ship to haven....'"

  "Bartholomew, come down from there!" William boomed. "I shall have Richmond cut the rope if you are not to the floor by the time I count to five!"

  Bartholomew glanced at his father. "I shall come down when I am finished. Can you not see that I am a sailor descending from the sails of my battleship? Listen to the rest of the prose."

  "Only a moment ago you were praising a knight in armor," William held out his hands, completely frustrated. "Where in the hell did the sailor come from? Richmond has no interest in your inane sailor's prose."

  Bartholomew sighed heavily; his father simply did not understand. "The sailor is a battle weary warrior returning home from the skirmish at Lake Regillus. If you knew anything at all about Roman history, you would know that Roman sailors were knights without horses."

  "I shall not argue the point," William was mightily flushed, becoming more agitated by the minute. "Come down from there before I have you removed."

  Bartholomew was not deterred in the least. The rope, however, was working against him; the knot that held the chandelier so steadily was not designed to carry stress on the free end. As Bartholomew opened his mouth to finish his victory recitation, the knot suddenly slipped.

  He plummeted several feet but maintained his grip. The rope continued to hold but was slipping steadily, bit by bit, lured on by Bartholomew's considerable weight. The entire room was in a panic.

  Richmond was directly below the young man; any attempt to descend the rope would most likely cause it to slip further, thereby dropping him the remaining twelve feet to the stone floor below. His mind working with lightning speed, he whirled to Carlton and Daniel.

  "The tapestry above the earl's chair!" he commanded. "Rip it down!"

  Daniel bound over the table, leaping into the air and grasping the large tapestry that was nicely displayed high on the wall. The tapestry tore, shifted, and finally pulled free as Daniel rode it six or so feet to the ground. With Carlton's help, they managed to yank from its remaining restraints.

  Richmond took a corner of the fabric as Carlton and Daniel positioned themselves strategically. When their grips were sure, they placed themselves directly beneath Bartholomew.

  "Everyone clear away from the table!" Richmond shouted; the chandelier was sure to come crashing down the moment Bartholomew released his hold. "Out of the room. Now!"

  Richmond le Bec's orders were not meant to be delayed, refused, or questioned. Without hesitation, the entire dining table cleared and the occupants scampered from the room.

  Except for Arissa. She was terrified that her brother was going to plummet to his death and, worse, Richmond would most likely be crushed beneath him. Pressed against the wall as far as she could go, she watched in wide-eyed horror.

  Richmond did not see her; he was singularly focused on the young man clinging to the rope above his head.

  "Jump, Bart," he encouraged. "We shall catch you!"

  Bartholomew gazed down at the spread tapestry, knowing he had little choice in the matter. His grand performance had been ruined, unfortunately, but not entirely destroyed. In fact, he thought it had ended on a rather exciting note. Too bad Richmond had cleared the room of his audience.

  He loosened his grip.

  "`Safe comes the ship to haven,

  Through billows and through gales

  If once the great Twin Brethren....'"

  He suddenly let go, falling through the air like a stricken bird, his toga flapping wildly and revealing his taut, hairy buttocks. He landed with a grunt on the tapestry, his dead weight causing Daniel to lose his grip.

  Bartholomew crashed to the floor and Daniel toppled onto him, both of them becoming entangled in the heavy folds of the mussed tapestry.

  Across the room, the chandelier crashed into the large table, spraying food and trenchers and hot wax from the tallow candles in every direction. Arissa, standing against the wall, received a barrage of hot wax droplets to her delicate forearm. Burned, she did not utter a sound as she watched Richmond and Carlton struggle against the huge tapestry.

  The two knights were yanking at the material, attempting to locate the two men within the creases. They could see a hand and a leg, listening to Daniel's growls of frustration as he struggled like a cat in a snare.

  Suddenly, Bartholomew's head appeared and a split second later, Daniel's emerged. Daniel glared daggers while Bartholomew smiled brightly. With a wink, he ruffled the furious knight's blond hair.

  "`.... Sit shining on the sails.'"

  Daniel grunted loudly and pushed himself off Bartholomew, regaining his footing. "You are a bloody fool, de Lohr. You could have broken your goddamn neck!"

  "Not so, Danny m'lad," Bartholomew said happily. "I am sitting on shining sails."

  "You are sitting on a tapestry," Carlton shook his head slowly, passing Richmond an intolerant glance.

  But Richmond did not react. He gazed down at Bartholomew, his face characteristically unreadable. Bartholomew, however, was smiling expectantly at him.

  "Well? Did you like it?"

  Richmond did not say anything for a moment. He could only stare at the heir to the Berkshire
earldom and feel a certain amount of trepidation. So this is to be the future of England, he thought bleakly. He hoped he was dead by then.

  "I thought it was wonderful," Arissa was suddenly behind him, her sweet voice soft and caressing.

  Richmond turned sharply to her, startled by her appearance. He opened his mouth to speak but, instead, his eyes were drawn to the angry red spots on her delicate skin. Without thinking, he reached out and snatched the arm.

  "What happened?"

  He was touching her. Sweet St. Jude, he was touching her! Arissa gasped as the searing heat of his flesh burned her far more than the wax had. His bright blue eyes were dark with concern, anger.

  "Answer me, Arissa."

  She opened her mouth, cleared her throat, and tried anew. "I.... the wax from the chandelier burned me. I suppose I was not standing far enough away when it came down."

  He glanced over at the destroyed table. "The wax could not have splashed into the foyer, which is where you should have gone," his steady gaze returned to her. "Why did you not leave with the others?"

  His tone, hard and cold, hurt her tender emotions. She tried to pull her arm free, but his grip was like iron. "Because I was frightened for my brother." And you.

  She was looking at the floor and Richmond's gaze lingered on the top of her dark head a moment longer before glancing to the rising Bartholomew. It was obvious that the young man was uninjured by his adventure, severing any further concern on Richmond's part. Without another word, he led Arissa from the room.

  Lady Maude met them in the foyer. One look at Arissa's arm and she fell into a shrieking fit. When Bartholomew wandered into view, she berated the young man for his foolish actions and nearly worked herself into a spell. As Lady Maxine and Penelope returned Lady Maude to her bower, Lady Livia and Emma offered to tend Arissa's arm.

  But Richmond declined their offer, instead, choosing to tend her himself. He wanted the excuse to be alone with her. Sending a serving wench for Mossy, he took Arissa to her chamber.

  "Sit down, kitten," he said softly, moving her toward a chair. "Mossy should have something to ease the sting."

  The pain increased when he released her from his grasp. She swallowed hard, trying not to watch every move he made. Trying desperately to ignore the mad twisting of her stomach and the quivering in her hands.

  "Most likely something smelly," she said quietly, attempting to ease her own nerves. "Always something smelly."

  Richmond smiled. His smiles were rare; in fact, her father had once accused him of having a face of stone. Yet whenever he and Arissa were together, the gesture came freely and warmly.

  "As long as it eases your pain, you should not mind the smell," he leaned against the warming hearth, crossing his arms over his broad chest. After a moment, his smile faded. "What is this I hear that you have suffered from the cough?"

  She looked down at her hands. "Only twice. 'Tis not unusual when the weather gets colder."

  "Nay, it is not unusual, but you have a talent for inviting illness where there should be none. I do not want to hear of you roaming about the forest after a fresh rain in search of blossoms. The next I discover you have allowed your willful streak to control your common sense, I shall take my hand to your backside."

  Her eyes came up to him and she cocked a dramatically arched brow. "If you can catch me, my lord."

  "I can catch you."

  A smile danced on her lips. "I seem to remember a knight chasing after three young girls because one of them had stolen from the buttery. I seem to also recall said knight being out-run by much faster, much younger ladies."

  "I was not expending much of an effort."

  "You were running so hard that your face was purple."

  "Untrue. And how dare you criticize my age."

  "I did not criticize your age. I simply stated a fact. Anyone is young compared to you."

  "Is that so? My, you have grown mouthy and bold as your birthday approaches. I suppose you believe that the special day prohibits me from punishing you for your insolence."

  "Absolutely. You would not dare strike the object of celebration."

  He grinned. So did she. Silly, warm, fluid emotions filled the room; he was terrified that she would be able to read his mind. And she was afraid that he would be able to read hers.

  Swallowing hard, Arissa lowered her gaze; her cheeks were beginning to flush brightly. "How was London, my lord?"

  "Busy enough," he said vaguely. "But I am more concerned with this celebration on the morrow. Far too many obnoxious people for my taste. The list of guests reads like a damnable wedding."

  Her head came up sharply, the inevitable flooding her mind; I wish it was our wedding, my love. But there would never be a wedding for them. She was leaving for Whitby, and he would continue on with his life. Which meant, inescapably, marriage. Certainly a man of Richmond's status needed a wife and heirs.

  She would not be that wife. To think of him touching another woman, plying her with soft kisses, speaking fondly to her with words only Arissa should be hearing....

  A dagger of pain pierced her heart and she visibly winced, lowering her gaze so that he could not read her agony. Anguish of the worst sort built within her chest as it had earlier in the day in Mossy's sanctuary. She had been able to escape him then. She could not escape him now.

  "What is wrong, kitten?" he asked softly.

  Kitten. He had always called her kitten, from the recollection of her earliest memories. He had told her once that she had sounded much like a kitten when she had been a babe, and somehow the term stuck with her, even into adulthood. Only from Richmond would she hear the tender, childish expression. She was not a child anymore.

  "N-nothing," she swallowed, fighting off the tears.

  To her dismay, he knelt in front of her. His proximity, his presence, was nearly too much to bear. She attempted to turn away from him, to protect herself from her foolish emotions, but he braced his arms on either side of the chair and refused to allow her to move.

  "You are lying," he said gently. "Does your arm hurt so?"

  An escape! "Aye, it stings," she said, grateful that he had given her an excuse for her tears. "And.... and it will probably scar."

  His fingers touched her skin and she gasped, bolts of lightning surging through her limbs and rendering her entire body weak and aching. He drew his hand away in alarm, his gaze inquisitive.

  "I did not touch the burns, Arissa."

  She was shaking terribly. Lacking any control whatsoever, her eyes met with his wise gaze, silently beseeching him to leave her before her composure evaporated. But he was not listening to her silent pleas; his beautiful eyes were open and honest. Immediately, the tears came.

  He began wiping tears away before he could stop himself. "Oh, Riss, what's wrong? Has something terrible occurred while I have been away? Something you are greatly troubled over, or...?"

  She shook her head violently, wanting desperately to be free of him, yet with the same breath wanting him to continue touching her. But she could not tell him so.

  "N-nay," she sobbed.

  Richmond knew he should not touch her any more than he already was. In fact, dragging his fingers across her silken cheeks was a dangerous enough sport, but he lacked the will or desire to prevent himself from following his instincts. And when she began openly weeping, his arms suddenly took on a life of their own and drew her into a crushing, protective embrace.

  She couldn't pull away from him. His scent, leather and horses and pine, filled her nostrils and she felt her arms going about his neck, burying her face deeper and deeper into the crook of his shoulder. The tighter she clung, the more fiercely he held her.

  This is dangerous! Richmond's common sense screamed to him. But, God's Teeth, he'd never held anything so sweet and womanly in his entire life. He could smell the gardenias from the pomade she was so fond of making, pomade that had nearly cost her her life.

  His face was in her hair, black silk that assaulted him more
brutally than any warrior he had ever faced. His fingers began stroking her luscious mane of their own accord, winding themselves tightly within the strands. Before he realized it, he had her entire head gripped in his two massive hands.

  Her weeping had ceased. Her face, free from the shielding comfort of his shoulder, was suddenly in front of him. He'd never beheld anything more beautiful in his entire life.

  "My lord?"

  It took Richmond a moment to realize that Arissa had not uttered the words. Her quivering rosy lips were inches from his own. He could feel her warm breath, the heat from her body.

  "My lord?"

  His eyes widened and he immediately dropped his hands from her head. Rising to his feet with shocking speed, Mossy was already in the door and Richmond heard it slam. He had no idea how long the old man had been watching them.

  "Did you knock?" he demanded, more harshly than he should have.

  Mossy did not pay him any attention. "Ye did not hear me," he dug about in his bag. "Arissa, how did ye burn yerself?"

  Arissa was in a daze. She was shaking so violently that she could barely function much less answer a simple question. Mossy turned to her, his ancient eyes grazing her stunned expression.

  "Riss?"

  She drew in a deep breath that sounded more like a sob. Senses returning somewhat, she raised her eyes to him. "Wax," she whispered.

  Richmond was standing across the room, attempting to recover his composure. He couldn't believe how close he had come to kissing her. He couldn't believe he had actually allowed himself to be placed in that position. What in the hell was he thinking?

  Mossy was bent over Arissa's arm, examining the red blotches. After a brief look, he took a vial of salve from his bag and smeared it on the wounds. Arissa winced and tried to jerk her arm away, but he held up a curt finger.

  "None of that!" he said sharply. Mossy had never known a day of irritation or anger in his life, and Arissa was shocked to hear his tone. Before she could apologize, the old man turned to Richmond. "Come and hold her still, my lord. She cannot move about while I am trying to apply this salve. It must be applied precisely."