by Anton, Shari
“Mayhap,” she said stiffly, tamping down her rising anger and embarrassment. “Or mayhap Richard possesses compassion where others do not.”
“Ah, found that out, did you? Very good. He tends to judge people unharshly unless given reason. ’Tis a trait of his that I worry will get him into deep trouble one day. But then, those who would do him ill eventually show their true nature, and Richard can be very ruthless. I imagine you saw his scar.”
That horrible scar along his ribs. The scar she avoided looking at whenever they made love. She nodded.
“Did he tell you how he got it, or what he did to the man who gave it to him?”
Lucinda wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Stephen seemed eager to tell her. “I know that Basil’s mercenary captain, Edward, mistook Richard for Gerard, and Richard was wounded in the fight.”
“Humph. ’Twas Edward who dealt the final blow, but only after Richard fought off ten others.”
Ten? Her shock must have showed.
“Aye, ten,” he said. “They caught him alone, unarmored. He managed to kill three and wound several others before they left him for dead. His rage must have been a glorious sight.”
Lucinda couldn’t imagine Richard in a rage, but didn’t say so. Stephen no longer looked at her, but at some spot behind her, as if he were no longer at Collinwood.
“Richard came precariously close to breathing his last that night, and damn near died again during the trip home to Wilmont. He bled so heavily that we ripped up nearly every linen aboard ship to change his bindings.”
Lucinda shuddered, picturing Richard so near death’s door, reminding herself that this was all in the past, that Richard had lived to regain full vigor.
Stephen gave a sharp laugh. “Then he damn near killed himself all over again to recover, because Gerard needed him at court to bring Basil to his knees. I could have gladly strangled the man for thinking he knew more than the king’s surgeons and Wilmont’s healer. Stubborn man.”
The love in Stephen’s voice brought a lump to her throat. Gerard the baron, Richard the bastard, Stephen the adventurer. All so different, yet bound by a tie so strong that each would do anything for the other. Even die.
Stephen’s eyes cleared as he faced her again. Her hand closed tight on the shears, and she waited for Stephen to make his point.
“I suspect Richard lived partly to please Gerard. He also wanted revenge, which he got. Did you know that Richard slew Edward?”
No, she hadn’t, but she wasn’t surprised.
“At court?” she asked.
“Nay, months later, when we rescued Ardith and Daymon from Northbryre.”
Richard claimed to have let go of the old hate, claimed his scar now served as a reminder to be a better lord. But could one ever really put aside all the pain, both his own and that of those he loved dearly?
Stephen hadn’t forgotten or forgiven. His anger yet smoldered. As did Gerard’s.
“If there were some way I could undo…” she began, then stopped. She wasn’t responsible for what Basil had done to those of Wilmont or anyone else, and he’d died for his sins. “I had no say in Basil’s affairs, as most wives have no say in their husbands’ affairs. Richard knows this and treats Philip and me accordingly.”
“Which leaves him open to betrayal, and therein lies my concern. For you, Lucinda, were wed to a man to whom treachery came as easily as breathing, whose lies flowed from his mouth as swiftly as water down a stream. That vermin’s blood flows within your son’s body, and the male bloodline will tell. One has only to look to Richard to see the proof.
“He is a bastard, of English peasant and Norman noble. As a child, he withstood the vile curses some flung his way. He grew up knowing his life would never be easy, and he never sought the easy way out. As a man, he has built a life that many told him he could never accomplish. Beware, Lucinda, if I find that by word or deed you betray him, put him in jeopardy of losing what he has gained, I will come looking for you.”
With that, he walked away, back to the table and his ale.
Lucinda stared at him, indignant that he should think her capable of such treachery—and so blindly condemn Philip.
“Stephen.”
He looked up.
Shaking, she said, “As a child, Philip often hears the vile curses flung his way. Growing up will not be easy for the son of a traitor. As a man, I hope he accomplishes, honorably, whatever he wishes to accomplish. Should you so much as try—by word or deed—to turn Richard against my son, I will come looking for you!”
Not until she reached her hut and saw the blood pooling in her palm did she realize the shears had cut into her hand.
Through most of the evening meal, Lucinda succeeded in ignoring Stephen—who had usurped Connor’s usual seat across from her—and Connor, who scowled and picked at his food. Richard and Stephen discussed how the royal betrothal and eventual marriage of Princess Matilda and Emperor Henry might later affect England.
Lucinda didn’t voice her opinion that shipping a young girl off so far from home seemed a cruel thing to do to any child, royal duty or not.
“By the by, you never did say if you…saw the Lady Carolyn before you left for Normandy,” Richard said.
Stephen smiled like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “I did, and must say that our rendezvous went very well. She was quite pleased when I left her.”
Richard shook his head. “I wonder at your audacity. But then, I should not be surprised. Did the two of you come to some agreement?”
“Nay, not as yet. I do have several qualities she finds irresistible, but I am sure her father will want to examine my heritage and accounts before we make a bargain. Too, the lady might wish to again sample my attributes before she makes up her mind. I am not worried.”
Lucinda tried not to turn red, having caught the gist of their meaning. Merciful heaven, she’d examined Richard’s qualities and attributes enough times.
“I gather you have decided to ask for Carolyn.”
“Aye. As soon as I have done with this business of yours, and reported to Gerard, I will take the trip up to Northumbria to seal the bargain. Carolyn, too, has a few attributes which I would not mind seeing again. She will make a fine wife.”
“Somehow, I cannot see you settling down to married life, Stephen. You will make a poor husband!”
“Ah, but that is part of the beauty of this bargain. I made it clear to Carolyn that I find staying in one spot too long stifling. She has no objection to my traveling to visit my lands, to court, to Collinwood to see you or Wilmont to see Gerard any time I please. I gain all of the benefits of holy wedlock without the boredom.”
Lucinda snickered inwardly. The man was so full of himself that he couldn’t see that Carolyn gained as much as he. From experience, she knew that the most pleasurable times of a marriage were when the husband was gone.
“And what of you, Richard? How goes your search for a wife? Did you…see any of the heiresses on the list?”
Lucinda’s hand tightened on her goblet.
“Nay, not enough time.”
“You still have the list?”
Richard gave an indifferent shrug. “’Tis probably in my packs somewhere.”
“You should get it out, Richard. If you wait too long, some of the more eligible will be spoken for.”
“I am in no hurry. When one crop is harvested, another crop comes into season.”
“Aye, but the pickings could be slim. And you could use the funds for the many projects you have started in your various holdings. How goes the mill at Durwood?”
“Slow,” Richard said, and launched into complaints of lack of skilled labor and supplies in the area.
She hadn’t given a thought to Richard’s search for a wife since leaving court. Apparently, neither had Richard.
At some time in the future, Richard would marry. ’Twas proper and inevitable that he should take a wife. He would likely bring her here, to the place he considered his home. The woman
would take over as chatelaine, take her proper place at Richard’s table— where Lucinda now sat—share his bed and bear his heirs.
Jealousy reared up and threatened her composure. Visions of Richard tumbling on a pallet with another woman rolled around in her head, bringing forth an unreasonable hatred.
She had no right to feel jealous because she had no claim on Richard. He was free to wed where and when he pleased. He might share her meals and her pallet, but he would never take her to wife.
In his own way, Richard might care for her, but she possessed no lands to bring to him. His people considered her as dirt beneath their feet. Gerard would never sanction such a marriage, and Richard wouldn’t marry where his brother didn’t approve.
If married to Richard, she wouldn’t mind a husband’s constant presence. With Richard she could be herself without fear of reproach.
She could love him as her heart yearned to love him, without the heavy sadness that offset the bouts of joy.
’Twas foolish to wish for things that could never be, but still, the fantasy haunted her.
Chapter Fourteen
“Why does she not just push the baby out?” Philip asked.
A dainty palfrey labored in the stall, and Richard thanked the fates that she’d chosen to deliver during daylight hours instead of in the middle of the night. She was doing well for her first time. Soon now, but not quite fast enough for Philip, she would be a mother.
“’Tis not that simple, Philip,” Richard said, his hand on the mare’s belly, feeling yet another tightening. “Certes, she will push the little one out, but not until she and the foal are full ready. She will know when to push.”
Scrunching down, Philip leaned over to put his hand next to Richard’s. “’Tis hard work!”
“Aye, that it is.”
“And painful! And messy!”
Richard chuckled, remembering Philip’s exclamation of distaste when the mare’s water broke. “That, too.”
“Then why do they do it? I surely would hot want to.”
“Nor I,” Richard agreed. “But that is part of why females are female, to bring children into the world.”
“Like me?”
Richard ruffled the boy’s hair. “Just like you. Think on it, Philip. If your mother had not given birth to you, you would not be here now to watch the mare give birth.”
Philip’s face settled into a thoughtful pose. Richard knew another question would surface. The boy’s curiosity brewed question after question, some of them beyond Richard’s ability to answer.
Yet, he tried, at times just so he wouldn’t look bad in the boy’s eyes. Being a protector could sorely tax one’s pride. Now that he had Philip to look after, Richard could sympathize with his father, Everart. With three curious boys to satisfy, Everart had done so with patience and humor. Richard couldn’t help wonder if Everart had ever felt at a loss, as he sometimes did with Philip. As he probably would again someday, with his own sons.
The horse blew, struggling with her pains, probably wishing she was out in some clover-laden meadow rather than lying on this bed of straw.
Philip got up and walked around Richard to pat the mare’s neck. “’Tis all right. Hush.”
“Not too close to her head, Philip. Stay out of biting range.”
The boy scooted back a little. “She likes me. Why would she bite?”
“If a pain hits her too hard, she may lash out. Best your fingers are beyond her reach.”
“Oh.”
A good boy, was Philip, quick and eager to please. A bright boy with a bright smile. A boy any man would be proud to call his own.
Hellfire, but Basil had been a fool among fools, spending all of his time in the relentless pursuit of land—Wilmont land in particular—instead of enjoying Philip’s company.
And Lucinda’s.
Richard rarely gave a thought to the man who had been Lucinda’s husband, Philip’s father. When he did, ‘twas usually to gloat—to himself—that what had once belonged to Basil now belonged to him. The lands. The boy. The woman.
Imagining those three as a family—well, it just didn’t work. He couldn’t picture Lucinda awaiting Basil’s return to hearth and home with the glee and anticipation that Ardith awaited Gerard. Nor would Basil have strode through the doors to sweep his son into a grand hug as Gerard did with his sons.
The belly under his hand convulsed again, but this time he felt a shift that hadn’t been there before.
Richard got up and flicked straw from his hose. “Come. ’Tis almost time. Let us give her room.”
Philip gave the mare a final pat, then followed out of the stall, giving way to the stable master and a lad who would oversee the birth and help the mare if problems developed.
Richard hoped everything would go smoothly, not only for the mare and foal’s sake, but for Philip’s. A birthing gone bad was a dreadful thing to watch, not the miracle he wanted Philip to witness.
“Oh, look! I see the foal’s hoofs!” Philip shouted, then stood openmouthed as the head and, eventually, the body appeared.
Though Richard had witnessed foals’ births many times before, each time he came away awed that a bundle so big could reside in its mother’s body. The foal slipped out with nary a hitch, all black, slick and gangly.
“A male, my lord,” the stable master said. “A good-sized one, with all parts where they should be.”
Philip looked up, his mouth opening. Richard quickly cut off the expected question about misplaced parts.
“He will need a name, Philip. What do you think?”
The boy turned to look again at the foal. “He is all black. Mayhap Blackie?”
The foal chose that moment to try out his legs, wobbling so badly he went down on his haunches. Philip giggled, and from behind him, Richard heard other laughter—light, melodious and female.
Lucinda. She’d spent the past few days in her hut, working on her gowns, and today wore the one of light green. A refreshing change from the old peasant-weave of gray. Her plait of black hair hung forward, draped over her shoulder. Beautiful. Enticing. Like a lover should be.
She came up beside him, adding her scent to his already deluged senses. “I heard the foal had been born,” she said. “All is well?”
“Aye,” Philip answered. “He has all his parts! The legs do not work right, though. Mayhap we could name him Stumble!”
“Choosing a name, are you?” Lucinda asked.
“I already thought of Blackie.”
“Not a bad name, but I imagine common among black horses. What about Midnight?”
Richard heard the list of names that mother and child continued to banter over, but paid little attention.
Lucinda and Philip were a family. Their affection for one another showed in the easy way they talked together, their smiles, their touches. Such as a family should be.
Like Gerard’s family. A loving wife. Adoring sons.
Lucinda and Philip needed no one but each other for their happiness, not even the man to whom they looked for their daily bread. They both liked him, but they didn’t need him.
Mayhap, someday, some woman would look upon him as Ardith looked upon Gerard. Some boy would run to him as Daymon and Everart ran to their father.
He needed to marry, as Stephen had taken such pains to remind him nearly a sennight ago. An heiress, preferably, who would bring land and coin to the marriage. Of such was made an empire.
Would his sons look up at him with the same trust and respect as Philip did? Would his heiress open her arms and warmth to him as willingly as Lucinda greeted him? Hellfire, could he go to another woman without remembering the feel and taste of Lucinda?
He captured a strand of her hair that had come loose from her plait. Silken black, like the foal. So often he’d compared it to the color of a raven’s wing.
“We will name the horse Raven,” he said.
“Raven?” Philip asked.
“Aye, ‘tis perfect.”
When Stephen return
ed from his errand, he didn’t come alone, but had the sense to bring the wagons loaded with goods inside the circle of the palisade and leave George and his escort camped several leagues outside.
“I tried to tell George you were adamant, but he would not take my word,” Stephen said as they strode into the armory. “He thinks you refuse the bargain because you want a higher fee for Philip’s release.”
Several soldiers milled about the armory. Edric and Philip sat tossing dice. All looked up as Richard entered.
“How many men serve as George’s escort?”
“Twenty.”
Richard turned to Edric, now standing. “Choose another five men to accompany us, in full battle gear, ready to ride as soon as possible. I want guards positioned both outside the palisade and along the wall-walk.”
Edric barked orders. Men scrambled. Philip looked excited and fearful all at once.
“Don your mail, Stephen. You come, too.”
“Ah…Richard, a show of force is hardly necessary. I doubt that George intends to attack Collinwood.”
“Mayhap not, but I want him to know I am full ready to defend what I consider mine.”
Stephen sighed. “Full mail it is,” he said, then left the armory.
Richard strode toward where his chain mail and weapons were stored. “Come, Philip. You have polished my chain mail often enough. Now you can help me into it.”
Richard donned his heavy hauberk of thick leather covered with metal rings. He settled it on his shoulders, then sat down on a stool so Philip could shut the fastenings.
When done, Richard rose and stretched, testing. Satisfied that all was secure, he grabbed his baldric, the leather holder for his broadsword.
“May I come?” Philip asked.
“Nay, you may not,” he said.
“Why?”
Richard sighed inwardly. He should have expected this from Philip. Philip was much too small, too precious to be exposed to danger. The boy wouldn’t like that answer, however.