He smiled as if he’d expected nothing less.
A half hour later they were seated in the gardens, awaiting their order.
"I’ve never seen a woman get ready so fast," he complimented her.
"I’ve never been one to dawdle and primp." Her simple twist took minutes to prepare. She’d forgone washing her hair until later, since she’d yet to have her daily ride. Blessed with an abundance of energy and a love of exercise, she often wore pants, as she did now. Cut of black cloth, they fit her loosely. The boots on her feet were made for work today, not show, as was the flowing maroon shirt and dark suede vest. The frogs that closed it were made of cord, and the oriental collar was open at the throat, for she never could abide tight bindings around her neck.
"I’m glad to hear it. It should make the journey to Riverdell that much more pleasant."
"In a hurry, are you?" She studied the blooming plants and waving fronds that separated them from the other diners. Fortunately there seemed to be few that day.
She hated the way his patch made him look so roguish. It had given her a start when she’d first seen it, for she hadn’t known he’d lost his eye in the wars. It made him seem dangerous, and he didn’t need the help. "You’re welcome to leave any time you want."
He leveled a look at her. "The queen’s terms start the moment we take up residence together. Wouldn’t you rather get it over with?"
Certain he was regretting his bargain, she grumbled, "We wouldn’t have to bother if you hadn’t stuck your foot in the pile, dearest."
"Perhaps you should explain why you are so eager to run away from a prime estate and a conveniently absent husband?"
"Your absence isn’t as convenient as you imagine. As it happens I’m ready to find a real husband--if such a thing exists. From what I’ve seen the hunt might prove fruitless. So far our elderly steward is the most personable candidate I’ve seen, and I doubt I’ll get many babes off of him."
"What is it with you women and stewards?" he asked, annoyed.
She was wise enough to let that remark alone. Ever since he’d found his mistress in bed with their last steward he’d been a touchy man. No doubt that’s why he’d chosen a grandfather as their next household manager. Twice cuckolded by his steward, even by an unwanted wife on the second go, would prove incredibly humiliating.
"As I said, he’s too old," she said, perhaps more gently than she ought.
He locked gazes with her. "But I am not. I’ve had enough of war. The thought of retiring to my own lands holds appeal." He looked her over with the dispassionate gaze of a professional horse buyer. "I’m ready for a son."
Since it was such a sensitive topic--Marissa had rid herself of his first child, and then taunted him about it when he banished her--Ally was careful how she answered him. Besides, hadn’t she ached for a babe of her own? And for so long.
Eyes on the fronds behind him, she asked in a tone far more husky than she liked, "And what would you do with a girl? Marry her off to the first promising old man who’ll have her?"
Warmth glowed in the depths of his eye as he shook his head. "Her mother will have an equal say in the matter. You have my word on it."
Fury spiked through her. "What good is that? It took you ten years to remember your duty to your lands, to me. What if you have another memory lapse?"
His expression hardened. "You never asked anything of me, other than to be left alone. We made that agreement ten years ago, and I honored it. Are you saying you wanted me to take you to my bed after Marissa left?"
"Of course not!" she scoffed.
"Then why are you so angry?" he asked softly.
* * * *
Allyson saw Roland coming and turned sharply on her heel, hoping he hadn’t spotted her. Dressed as he was all in black, relieved only by his midnight purple over tunic, there was no way she could miss him. The tunic was especially fine, embroidered in silver, but it looked all wrong on a man who could easily have been a buccaneer. The man dared to wear a sword even in the royal halls! Only the queen’s captains were so bold, but she supposed the man was a knight, and renowned at that. Still, did he think he would see battle in her Majesty’s parlors?
After their tense meeting that morning, she’d thought she’d be rid of him, at least for a while. Hoped it, actually. The man shredded her nerves.
Why she should be nervous at seeing him so soon was a mystery, but since they’d had a falling out even when she’d been disguised as a boy traveling in his company, she couldn’t believe they’d get on any better now. After all, if he could resent her when she posed as a perfect stranger, it was certain they wouldn’t mesh well when she played herself. A personality didn’t just change overnight, and that was one aspect she hadn’t disguised for him.
However, as she was dressed for court in a gown of gold and scarlet brocade and a red velvet cape, there was little chance he’d miss her, but she could hope.
She hoped in vain.
In moments Roland’s long stride had overtaken her. He stepped in front of her and stared. The moment drug out.
Ally sighed and looked heavenward. "Yes, I occasionally wear something other than pants. Since you are accustomed to seeing me in little else, I suppose you’re entitled to stare. However, I’d appreciate it if you’d do it another time. I’m late for tea with Lady Gandulf." She stepped around him.
He fell neatly into place beside her. "Forgive my lack of manners, sweetheart. It’s amazing what a dress can do for your figure."
Exasperated, she said dryly, "And you’re an expert on such things, aren’t you? Tell me, did you have something else in mind other than running me down to comment on my fashion sense? I am busy."
If his grin was any indication, she’d amused the brute.
"Actually, I was looking for an opportunity to publicly present you as my wife--"
A glass wall suddenly appearing under her nose couldn’t have stopped her faster. She stared at him. "Absolutely not! I’ve no intention of acknowledging a husband I’ve no plans of keeping. Might drive off some of my potential lovers. Why don’t we just go our separate ways and remain fashionably unfaithful? It makes for better marriages."
"Ah, but I’ve got a theory about that. I’d like to test what happens when two people do try to get along … perhaps even share a bed. You never know what an adventure it might be to actually--," he dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, "act married."
"You’re quite mad, you know," she said conversationally. "Delusional, even. Perhaps some lucky fellow got to club you over the head with a mace? I tell you what--the queen has excellent physicians. Why don’t you go have them bleed you and see if the world doesn’t make a bit more sense?"
As suddenly as his humor had shown, it disappeared. "I’m going to tea with you, Ally."
A wise woman would have heeded his tone.
"You know, I could bleed you." She started walking. "I wouldn’t even charge you for it. Consider it my service to womankind." She gestured expansively.
Instead of answering, he took her arm. A façade of calm deliberation was the only thing he presented. He nodded to the curious they passed in the hall, leaving a trail of whispers in their wake.
She wanted to kill him. "Really, Roland. Had I wanted to draw this kind of attention, I would have shaved my head and walked down the hall on my hands. Are you certain you don’t want to dust off your chivalry and spare me?"
He looked at her with interest. "Can you walk on your hands?"
Flustered, she sputtered, "I don’t … bah! Fine. Be that way."
The man grinned like he’d just won a decisive battle and opened one of the queen’s parlor doors.
The aging Lady Gandulf looked up in surprise. She blinked weak eyes at them, and then squinted. "What is this? Don’t tell me you’ve brought your latest lover with you, Lady Allyson! What wickedness!" She looked delighted.
"My lady," Roland seated Allyson and kissed the old courtier’s hand. "If I did not think my love would skewer me, I’d prop
osition you. Rarely have I seen a woman with such style."
Allyson rolled her eyes. If she didn’t need her ladyship’s trading ships so badly....
Their hostess patted her elaborately curled black wig and tittered. "Really, young man. Have a care. Your mistress is not known for her tolerance."
Mistress! Wonderful. The blind old cat has no idea who he is. Allyson cleared her throat and tried to ignore the man as he sat too close to her on the settee. "Quite. Tell me, how are your children doing, Yanna? Does your son run the business as you wish he would?"
"Ha! If only."
Allyson sat back and listened politely to her hostess spill her spleen. Occasionally she got lucky and found business associates who liked to get right to the meat of things. More often she didn’t. Yanna was a fine example of why Ally had finally been driven to take up knitting. Since the alternative was to go quietly mad as she listened to elderly gripes, she dug in her handbag and retrieved the beginnings of a patterned stocking.
Roland smirked at her and helped himself to a handful of honeyed figs. As he chewed, he eyed the lady Gandulf.
"Why are you here?" he whispered in Allyson’s ear. The action seemed to stir the fine hair with unnecessary verve. Worse, he put his arm on the back of the sofa as he leaned over, and kept it there.
She sent him her most frigid look. As lady Gandulf chatted blithely on, Allyson said out of the side of her mouth, "Doing business with Yanna’s sort is tricky. First you listen to their life’s story, and then you deal. As you recall, you were not invited, so blame yourself for your boredom." Though she desperately wanted to remove his irksome arm, she didn’t bother. First, it would tell him how much it vexed her. Second, she suspected he’d be glad if she caused a scene. He seemed in the mood to annoy her that day.
"Hm. Pity. It’s a lovely day for riding. I’m sure you’d rather be out of that dress, too." The vibrations from his words made her ear tingle. He took the opportunity to peer at the front of her dress.
Giving in to the urge to fight back, she flicked her ear, conveniently flicking his nose in the process. Hard.
She smiled at Yanna and nodded at something the woman said. Ally wasn’t sure what had been said, but Yanna’s tone had demanded an affirmative response.
In retaliation, Roland began to fondle the back of her neck.
"Tell me, child. How long have you been with this lover? I like him," Lady Gandulf said suddenly. Apparently her eyesight was good enough to make out something interesting, for she wore a coy smile.
"Ah…," Ally stalled. The last thing she wanted was to reveal her companion’s true identify. It galled her that Roland had shackled her to him--again. The last thing she wanted was to admit to it.
Roland wasn’t the least shy, however. "I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of joke on you, my lady. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Roland Darchours. Ally’s husband."
Ally closed her eyes and resisted the urge to groan. The rabbit was stewed now, and Lady Gandulf was about to bake a pie of it.
"Really...."
* * * *
"You oaf!" Ally hissed at Roland the moment she escaped the parlor. He couldn’t have chosen a more chatty soul to confide in. Worst of all, she hadn’t been able to steer the conversation back to business, which meant at least one more session of being trapped in Lady Gandulf’s gossipy clutches.
"I think she liked me," Roland said with false innocence.
She shot him a killing look. "I’m so pleased for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go soak my head in ice water. The pressure inside it is killing me."
"I could massage it." He reached for her.
Instantly her hand shot up to block him. "Don’t! I suffered enough of your ‘ministrations’ in the parlor. I prefer to choose my own men to soothe my aches, if you don’t mind. At least they follow orders and back off when bid to."
All pretense of good humor vanished. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as his eyes narrowed menacingly. The softness of his words lent them extra weight. "I do mind. Be advised, lady, if I hear of any soothing going on, your lover will pay for it."
They had entered a little used hall. A glance about showed they were alone, so she stopped and demanded, "What do you mean?"
All playfulness left him. Without moving, he shrank the space between them. "Ally Cat, you should know."
The mention of one of her least favorite aliases made her eyes narrow. "So you expect a show of faithfulness while you run about, savoring your own pleasures?" His hypocrisy burned her. According to rumor, Roland had been nominated, "Realm’s Least Likely to Join a Monastery." His reputation made hers seem saint-like by comparison.
Serious as a eulogy, he slowly shook his head. "We’ll both behave ourselves. Until this year is out and our contest is decided, the only appetite we’ll be sating is what we satisfy together."
Bemused, she could only blink at him. That was one of the oddest thing she’d heard a man say in years. It sounded like he wanted constancy. Fidelity.
Or maybe he’d just sampled one too many of Lady Gandulf’s brandied tarts.
He searched her eyes, perhaps confirming that she’d completely understood him. Then without another word, he nodded and left her standing in the passage.
She shook her head. Strange man. Maybe he truly had suffered a blow to the head, because he’d never been this possessive before his years of warring. He was certainly suffering delusions if he thought she’d do anything other than what she pleased.
Shaking off his gloomy warnings, she straightened her shoulders and went on her way. Men, she’d long ago learned, were beyond understanding. If Roland persisted in trying to force his will on her, he was going to be in for a nasty surprise.
Allyson the Brassy yielded to no man.
* * * *
Roland released his falcon and watched it soar into the leaden skies. A chill wind ruffled the hair that escaped the hood of his cloak, but at least the snow was powder and easy on the horses. A warmer day would have made riding a slushy experience. Wind borne, stinging snow was better than wet boots and cold feet.
Dante had been his congenial and mostly silent hunting companion that day, but once he’d also released his hawk, that changed.
"So, you took tea with Gandulf and your lady. I’m surprised you changed your mind so quickly about her." Dante tugged on the cuff of his leather falconer’s glove. Without looking up, he said casually, "I wonder why."
While Dante might have engineered the encounter, Roland didn’t feel it entitled him to any updates. Some things were none of his business. So he answered flippantly, "You need look no farther than the woman’s chest. I swear I haven’t seen peaks like that since the Alps."
A choked noise accompanied Dante’s wide stare. "You want her for her breasts?"
Roland smirked for Dante’s benefit. "You were expecting something more poetic? You’re becoming quite the woman in your old age, brother."
"Mouthy pup. I suppose your decision had nothing to do with staking your claim? I was surprised that you fought the annulment."
"I live to surprise you." Roland’s bird dove like a bolt of lightning, and then rose again with prey in its talons. Rather like he planned to do with the man who’d betrayed him and Ally both. Their marriage was a convenient way to stay close to her and watch.
Besides, it was rather fun to rile her.
"I realize the passes to Riverdell are blocked at the moment, but I found some information you will find useful. The name of the man who collected the yearly tithes on your behalf. He’s called Thorone, and he lives near Barough. You’ll recall it’s a two day ride from Riverdell, near de Sadis land."
Roland tensed. Barough. He’d heard that name before. The falcon came to him, and he lifted his arm to provide a perch, and then sent it off again, hardly aware of what he was doing. One of the men who’d sold him to slavers had called his leader ‘Barough’.
There was blood on the snow. He bent to pick up the fat partridge his bird ha
d killed.
He could hardly wait until spring.
Chapter 5
A gusty male sigh alerted Ally that she was no longer alone in the spa. She opened her eyes and glared at Roland, who’d stretched out on the table next to her. A white sheet covered his lower half, and a bald masseuse was busy pounding the heavy muscles of his upper body. Had she been wearing more than a thin sheet herself, Ally would have gladly gotten up and done some pounding of her own.
"Why are you bothering me?" she demanded, wincing as her own masseuse kneaded her shoulders with renewed vigor. Perhaps the burly woman thought she was in competition with Roland’s stout attendant.
"Do we have one of these at home? If not, I’ll be glad to build us one." Roland’s flick of the fingers seemed to indicate the white marble hall, steaming pools and ropey-armed attendants.
Ally grunted as her back was manipulated like sturdy rye dough. Maybe the woman had a job in the bakery in her spare time. "No. At home, I work. Hard. Unlike you, I don’t have time to waste on frivolous services. Its how I keep you in gold, in case you had any interest."
"Is this a hint that I should come home and collect it? Or enjoy it? I think it’s time I started spending it closer to home. There’s bound to be some improvements I could make around the place."
The very thought irked her. "Continue to contribute your absence. There’s little use in your going to Riverdell when I have it well in hand." She could imagine how annoying his helpful suggestions might be. Riverdell was her kingdom, and there was no room for another ruler.
He grinned. The expression was frighteningly potent at close range. "Afraid I’ll disrupt your iron rule?"
Had it only been yesterday she’d sworn he’d made her as irritated as she could possibly be? Perhaps if she ignored him.... She turned her face away and concentrated on her massage. The heat lulled her, and she deliberately indulged in a daydream of balmy sea winds and sun warmed sand. Anything was better than her present reality.
The Other Woman Page 3