Amazingly, he said nothing. The silence and the warm hands on her back felt so good, she even dozed. After all, it wasn’t as if they were alone.
The hands on her ankles had become calloused when she woke. Immediately the quality of the sensuous strokes alerted her to who touched her. A fast glance showed that they were alone. "Roland...."
"You know, I think it’s time we started over," he said thoughtfully, his hand moving to the swell of her calf.
She couldn’t help a low groan of appreciation. A stinker he might be, but the man knew how to use his hands.
Ally could almost feel him grinning. "Don’t get any ideas, Darchours."
His low laugh vibrated through his arms and up her leg. "Not today, anyway. Though you should know I enjoy this kind of thing."
"So I’ve heard."
"I’ll let that go. You’d be surprised to know that I enjoy talking to a woman, too."
"How nice for you."
Undeterred, he suggested, "It would be easier to talk to you if we shared a room."
"It would be easier to talk to you if you washed the dirt from between your ears. You might desire this marriage--more fool you--but you’re alone in that."
Those sensuous hands moved up to her thighs. Even through the sheet, they burned. "There are advantages to being married, kitten."
Only a fool would let him continue. She rolled over, her hand fisted in the sheet over her breasts. "Yes, I’ve experienced the advantages you bring to it. I’ll pass." As regally as she could, she pulled the sheet tighter around herself and slid off the table. The nape of her neck prickled as she turned her back on him, but she was not about to slow.
"You’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you? You’re a good deal shorter without your boots or tall shoes." The lazy drawl was filled with frank appreciation.
Size did matter, at least to a man, and she took great pains to disguise hers. It was a physiological advantage she hated to lose. Ally shot a dark look over her shoulder. "It’s rude to comment on a woman’s figure."
"Pity. I’ve a great deal to say in favor of yours." Roland shifted in an exaggerated attempt to peer around to her front. The sheet slipped around his hips, revealing an intriguing slice of hipbone.
Blaming her sudden faintness on the heated room, she turned her head and walked away. With any luck, the one-eyed rat would fall in the baths and drown.
* * * *
"Not in the baths!" Lady Rune Terach, Ally’s one true friend, stopped arranging flowers long enough to goggle. The disinherited daughter of a minor lord and the widow of a landless, yet successful knight, Rune had both freedom and the personality to enjoy it. Presently she served as one of the queen’s favorite ladies, but she’d planned to visit Riverdell the moment she’d heard of Ally’s troubles.
"Um." Had she not been one of her favorite people, Ally might have envied the willowy redhead her exotic blue eyes and manageable bust. It was a pity that one of the few women she got along with made her look bad in comparison. One look at Rune and Roland would forget all about chasing Ally.
Ally lifted her brows, and then discarded the idea. No, Rune would never condone such a thing. Pity. She was tired of Roland’s interference. "I don’t know what his problem is. The man ignores my existence for ten years, and then chases me as if I own all the gold in Byzantium. What does he want?"
Brow raised, Rune swept a pointed look over her friend.
Ally rolled her eyes and tapped the arm of her chair, allowing her gaze to roam over the greenhouse, yet not taking it in. "That he can get anywhere. He certainly didn’t need to tie himself to me. Or worse, me to him. I could be in the tropics by now."
"Her Majesty did say you had to be under one roof, but not where. Surely you could convince him to tarry on an island for a time."
"What a droll idea! I’m sure he’d not interfere in my plans at all. Why didn’t I think of it?"
Rune toyed pointedly with her shears. "Ah, yes. You’re still set on that golden skinned lover, aren’t you?"
Feeling slightly defensive, Ally insisted, "There are worse goals."
"Mayhap." Rune snipped a few leaves from a long stemmed flower. "Yet this imaginary man may not be the answer to your prayers. Maybe you should inspect the bird in hand before you go beating about the bush."
"The bird is a war hawk. At the first hint of adventure, he’s sure to fly off." And that wasn’t the kind of man she needed or wanted. After ten years of being shunned, Ally felt she deserved someone who would be happy to stay at home. Any traveling they did she’d rather do together. Roland … it would never work.
"He’s an older man now, and perhaps wiser. Have you asked him if he plans to settle down?"
The very thought irked her. "Why bother? What do you think he wants, ten children and a real family? I know you had love in your marriage, and God bless you, but I’ve never known it. Whatever is motivating Roland, it’s not love. The sooner I find out what his game is, the safer I will be. You don’t know men like him. The only thing I’d get for letting him in is pain. No. I will never allow it."
Rune sighed. "Very well. You were always a stubborn one. I just pray your stubbornness isn’t leading you into a broken heart."
Allyson opened her mouth to retort, and then shut it, sparing her friend. It wasn’t her fault she’d known love, and it was sweet that she’d retained her romantic nature. Naïve, but sweet. Love was a gift, and in spite of her words, Allyson respected it. Unfortunately, she’d decided long ago that it was not a blessing she could ever expect. God had granted her lands, a title and prosperity, and though she often despised the gifts, she knew she would feel differently if she were poor and stuck in a hovel. If her life was empty, well, it must be a flaw of her nature, a lingering hurt from hopes she’d failed to excise.
An image of Roland swam through her mind.
She gritted her teeth against the wash of anguish. It was proof she’d not been working hard enough. Work always tamed her soft side, washing away the energy required to be mournful. This time would be no different, she thought fiercely. She would be the mistress of her emotions if it killed her.
It would help if Roland would stay out of her way, and even more if he would go back to the hole he crawled from.
* * * *
She woke the next morning, disturbed from her sleep by a tickle against her lips. She opened her eyes and screamed. "Roland!"
He scooted back a prudent inch and smirked. "Good morning."
"Ugh!" She wiped the back of her hand across her lips, trying to remove the lingering tingle. The sly dog had kissed her in her sleep.
He snorted in amusement and arranged himself more comfortably, bending one knee and resting his wrist on it. He was dressed in blood red and black this morning, and careless of the polished boots on her quilt. "I didn’t drool on them, if it makes you happier, nor did I use my tongue. It was nothing more than a simple touch of my mouth, the faintest of good mornings, if you will. Hardly enough to get a blush up."
Burningly aware of her flushed cheeks, she sat up, dragging her pillows up to the headboard before leaning back. "It’s not your right to kiss me awake."
The scoundrel winked. "The bishop who wed us might disagree."
Never at her best in the morning, she glared. "Please tell me there’s a war brewing and you’re starring in it. Clearly you need something constructive to do."
Dark clouds of irony flickered over the burn in his eye, and then wisped away, leaving the coals still glowing. "There is. Why do you think I woke you? I thought we could have one last breakfast before I left." He slid off the bed and got a tray, which he placed on the covers before stretching out beside her.
Uncertain if he were joking, she eyed him. The words had just tripped off her tongue in self-defense, the verbal equivalent of pushing him out of her space. If he were serious, she might owe him an apology, for her words were more than a teasing quip if he were really going to war.
Inclining his head, he removed the cover fro
m her porridge pot as he enlightened her. "One of the queen’s dukes is rebelling. The army is riding to meet him in the south. I don’t know how long it will take, but I thought you should have some warning."
Sobered by the news, she sipped the milk he brought her. "How great is the threat?"
He shrugged. "The duke is ill-advised. You’ll be safe enough in Queenstown."
Exasperated at his assumptions, she informed him, "I was wondering if I should prepare my steward for the worst, not plotting my escape."
A half-smile curved his lips. "Of course. Allow me to crush your dreams of defending your castle like a warrior queen of old. You’ll not have the chance to charge into battle this time. Knowing what I do of war, I can’t regret that. It’s my duty and privilege to spare my lady that."
A pretty speech, pretty enough to make her slightly breathless, so she sent him a chiding look and applied herself to her breakfast. "I’ll assume you know what you’re talking about, yet I’ll write him the news. I like to keep my staff up to date."
Roland inclined his head thoughtfully. "I could write you from the front, if you like. First hand knowledge of our progress will make your task easier."
It was a generous offer, and she inclined her head in assent, liking him just a tiny bit better.
With Roland, a tiny bit was a dangerous thing.
Mild pleasure showed in his smile as he rose from the bed. "Excellent. I’ll see what I can arrange. In the meantime, enjoy yourself here in Queenstown, and do be good." He shot her a level look, and then strode to the door.
Determined to get the last word, she murmured as his hand closed on the door handle. "I will if you will."
* * * *
She didn’t think he’d heard her words, but his first letter arrived a few days later and corrected that impression.
From Your Well Behaved and Sharp Eared Husband,
She laughed. How could she not? The man knew how to choose his moments.
The war goes as well as war ever goes. We fight from dawn to dusk, enjoy dubious rations, and prepare to do it all again the next day. Uric is grimmer than usual. One doesn’t take a man from his new bride and expect him to make a happy general. Unlucky for the enemy as this is, they might still live in the hope that one of our own will grow tired of his grumbles and clout him over the head.
Ally snorted in amusement. It was unlikely that Uric’s men could contemplate such a thing without messing their drawers. Known as the Berserker, Uric was not only feared in his own right, but Roland’s best friend, and much as she liked to denigrate him herself, Roland was not an enemy to be taken lightly.
Ceylon has sent some excellent healers with us, so at least we won’t have the fun of stitching each other’s wounds. Uric never could sew a straight line, and I’m little better. Likely Ceylon objects to seeing any more jagged scars on her husband.
Frowning at that unpleasant image, Ally shook away her concern. Roland was an adult, trained in battle. He’d be fine. Besides, Ceylon knew her medicine, and if she’d hand picked the healers, all would be well. She was a skilled herbalist herself, and she’d doctored Ally herself after Ally had been attacked on the road to Queenstown.
Clamping her jaw against those unpleasant memories, Ally finished the letter, and then set it aside.
She didn’t have to write. It would be easier to ignore the urge to politely respond, and yet … with a sigh, she went in search of parchment and pen. One letter couldn’t hurt.
* * * *
Uric noticed Roland’s amusement and joined him at the fire. "What did she say this time?" The fire glinted off his short blond hair and the salve on his cuts, highlighting the strong bones of his face.
Since amusements were few and Uric was generous about sharing his own news from home, Roland rolled the scroll and held it lightly as he watched the fire. "She sent a bottle of wine and a box of pink flowered bandages. The woman has a cruel streak," he said appreciatively.
Uric smiled. "The perfect wife."
Roland considered him thoughtfully. "She may have potential."
Surprise made Uric’s brows shoot up. "You jest." He coughed and offered Roland an apologetic look. "Er, she’s not exactly a paragon of womanly virtue."
"True, but you married a witch, and see how that turned out."
Uric scowled. "Ceylon is an herbalist, and baiting me will get your throat cut."
Laughing, Roland offered an exaggerated bow. "Ceylon is the best of women, and you know you’re a lucky man. My point was you never expected to find love when you volunteered to fetch her for the queen. Not that I’m seeking love," he added hastily. "But I think Ally and I could come to some agreement."
"Unlikely, but it’s your noose." Uric shrugged and got up. "I’m going to bed. With any luck, I’ll dream about my wife."
"I wish you all the luck, then," Roland said fervently. "Every man here will offer an enthusiastic pray for pleasant dreams. You’re powerfully foul these days."
Uric narrowed his eyes, but miraculously let that go. He was the devil to tempt in the eve of a battle, and only Roland would dare push him so far. Smirking wickedly, he shot back, "I’ll do you the favor of praying for the same for you. If there’s justice in the world, you’ll dream of being stalked the night long by a Valkrie with a very long pike."
Roland leered. "More like the Valkrie will be staked by my very long pike." They both laughed, but as Uric walked off, Roland sobered. The road he walked now was a long one, and Ally was no laughing matter. He only hoped that whatever had prompted him to offer for her would guide him in dealing with her, because the saints knew he was in for a time of it. In battle he was undefeated, but his wife was going to be the challenge of a lifetime.
Chapter 6
"Ha, ha!" Ally threw back her head in mockery of the character she was portraying. Hands on hips, she struck a pose. "You are nothing but a weak woman, wife! I will lock you in my tower and cavort with all the mistresses I like."
"Oh, yeah? Take that!" she squealed in a high-pitched tone, then pretended to bop the boys in the crowd with an imaginary rolling pin. They roared with laughter as she shook her finger at the floor. "That will teach you. Now I’ll lock you in the tower and run off with our handsome steward. Ha!" She swept a bow to her appreciative audience of children.
"More, more!" the orphans cried, but she caught sight of Roland in the back of the crowd and shook her head. She hoped he’d liked the story, though it hadn’t been intended for his ears. After all, he had inspired it.
"Sorry, doves, another time." She strode to Roland, as there was no point in ignoring him. If he’d gone to the trouble to track her down then it was certain she wouldn’t get away without speaking to him. Together they exited to the city.
"You like children." He didn’t bother with a greeting. It was as if he’d never left.
The war was over a mere few weeks after it had started. The Queen’s army had won, of course. It could do no less with warriors such as Uric and Roland at its head.
Ally had watched the triumphant procession into town, yet had not gone to greet Roland. Indeed, she’d not had private speech with him until now.
There had been other letters, and on reflection, she’d determined them to be mistakes. In her letters, it had been too easy to be herself, too easy to forget her grievances and to speak with him as she would any man. Well, any man she didn’t already despise, which accounted for few. Now that he was home, she was determined to correct her mistake.
"Other people’s children," she said carelessly. "They love my stories, yet never keep me up at night or demand diaper changes." It was a lie, but she’d determined to prove what an awful wife she’d make him. The prospects didn’t look good, because if he wasn’t frightened of the rumors about her then he was made of stern stuff. Still, she was an optimist.
There was an unhealthy, speculative gleam in his eyes. She did her best to squash it. "My idea of perfect motherhood is to hire a wet nurse and keep the brats in the nursery until they’
ve developed manners." Amazing. How had she uttered such a falsehood and kept a straight face?
"Which is why you spend your free time visiting orphans." He tossed a coin to a vender and accepted two pocket pies. One he handed to her.
The fruit inside was piping hot, but perfectly spiced. Flaky pastry melted under her teeth as she bit into it. "Good choice. I adore berry pie."
"What else do you like?" he asked as they walked among the market stalls. Brightly striped awnings protected the sellers and their merchandise from the elements. All manner of foodstuffs and trade goods filled the stalls, for Queenstown was just up the river from the port.
"Silk and velvet. A sharp blade and fast horse." Those things should sate his curiosity without revealing too much about her.
He raised his face to the slight warmth of the spring sun. "And berry pies, dark colors and children." He grinned at her. "Do you like kisses?"
The subject left her cold, because she knew what he thought. "I’m certain you keep up on current events. The tales of my lovers are wide spread."
"Ah, yes. Alley Cat, Lady Danger, the Iron Maiden. It would seem we both have our reputations."
She frowned at him. Why was he so calm? "You don’t believe them?"
"I think they’re exaggerated." He looked her straight in the eye. "One lover, perhaps two, is the word from home. I make it my business to keep up with the affairs of my household."
"Very clever," she said sourly. "But your numbers are wrong." She couldn’t decide if she felt annoyed over it or strangely relieved.
They neared an alley, and he suddenly swung her about and braced his arms on either side of her. His stare was most unnerving. "And what are those numbers?"
He was far too close. Waves of giddy longing washed over her at the intent look in his eye, the nearness of his mouth. A mouth she’d spent too many guilty fantasies on.
The Other Woman Page 4