“You should offer him a place at Montclair. He would make an excellent commander of the garrison.”
“I think not.”
“Why?”
“He could win a place in a lord’s service and an estate of his own. We certainly cannot offer him that.”
“Oh.” Isabelle thought a moment, then brightened. “Doesn’t the baron have a small manor he could offer after you are wed?”
Allis bit off her thread and knotted it. While she was pleased by this small burst of vigor on Isabelle’s part, she was not pleased by her suggestion. “No, and I will not ask him. Neither will you.”
“Allis! Isabelle!”
Edmond ran to them from the kitchen entrance. His eyes shone with joy, and there were traces of buttermilk on his upper lip.
“Wait until I tell you!” he cried, skidding to a halt in the rushes. “Sir Connor let me sit on Demetrius today. That’s his destrier. And he is going to teach me how to ride without holding onto the reins. With a shield and a spear, too. Not a lance, of course, because that would be too long and heavy for the first, but a real shield, cut down to my size. He’s at the armory talking to Attila about it now.”
She didn’t hide her surprise. “Sir Connor let you sit on his destrier?”
“Yes, and he’s going to teach me how to ride like a knight!”
“I thought you were going to see Brother Jonathan.”
“I did, and he’s going to tend to Bruno’s foot. Then I thought I’d visit with Sir Connor. That’s when he let me sit on Demetrius. He doesn’t think I’m too young to learn about being a knight!”
She could easily imagine Edmond pestering the man. “Edmond, I don’t think—”
Isabelle rose.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you’re going to do, Allis, but I’m going to thank him. I think it’s wonderful of him to offer to teach Edmond, especially since you aren’t letting Edmond be a squire.”
Hiding her dismay at the accusing tone of Isabelle’s voice, she got to her feet, too. “I never said I was against this. I am simply surprised a knight would let anybody mount his horse.”
“Demetrius is steady as a rock. We even walked all the way to the wall and back.”
She was very glad she hadn’t witnessed this. It was a long way from a war horse’s back to the ground. “He doesn’t intend you to ride without reins on his war horse, does he?”
“No!” Edmond declared as if she were simple. “On Firebrand. Demetrius is too wide for me, but one day, after Sir Connor has taught me how to balance and when I am broader in the beam, it will be easy for me to ride a destrier without holding on.”
Her lips twitched. “Broader in the beam?”
“That’s what he said.”
“He is in the armory now?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going?” Edmond demanded as she started for the door.
Allis glanced back over her shoulder. “Why, to the armory to thank him, of course.”
Isabelle gathered up her skirt and hurried after her. “Me, too!”
“Me, too. I want to see my shield,” Edmond cried.
Bearing a tray with goblets and a carafe, Sir Auberan appeared at the door leading to the kitchen and buttery. “Lady Isabelle, Lady Allis, where are you going?”
“To the armory. We shall return shortly,” Allis called as the three siblings hurried out into the courtyard, leaving Auberan gaping.
Chapter 12
At the sound of a commotion at the entrance to the armory, Connor and Attila turned to stare at the door.
Edmond ran inside first, crying, “I won! I won!”
Lady Isabelle, panting, came next, and finally Lady Allis, who came to an abrupt halt just inside the studded oaken door and took a deep breath as if trying to restore her dignity.
Connor suddenly realized that despite his vow to stay away from her for both her sake and his peace of mind, he should have asked if Edmond could spend time with him.
“Edmond makes everything a race,” Isabelle declared with a bashful smile and blushing cheeks. “Doesn’t he, Allis?”
“Yes,” she admitted easily and without rancor.
Relief filled him and made him nearly giddy. If she were annoyed, he was quite sure she would make it plain. “I like ladies who are not afraid to run. Indeed, I have known several that moved so slowly, I feared they would be trampled to death even by the pigs if they ever got loose. And as for a cow…absolutely fatal.”
Isabelle giggled, but he was more pleased to see Lady Allis smile. “Edmond tells me you are going to teach him some riding techniques,” she remarked.
“Yes, if you are amenable.”
Lady Allis’s smile blossomed. “I am.”
He grinned like a fool, but he didn’t care. Her affectionate smile seemed to reach into his heart and warm it from within. If there could be nothing between them than this genial harmony, he would accept that, and gladly.
“Is that my shield?” Edmond asked eagerly, looking at the wooden object on Attila’s work table.
“Ya.”
“Is it ready for me?”
“Ya.” Attila held it up. It was broad at the top, then tapered to a point at the bottom, and was just the right size for a twelve-year-old boy.
Edmond wiggled his slender left arm into the straps. He stuck out his chest and struck a pose. “How do I look?”
“Very manly,” Lady Allis observed, her voice grave but her eyes dancing with merriment. Once again, she was the charming, delightful woman who had been with him in the garden that first night, the heavy burden of her duties and responsibilities blessedly absent, if only for a little while.
He admired the chatelaine, he appreciated the beautiful lady, but the smiling, joyful woman charmed him utterly. This woman he could imagine being both friend and lover, helpmate and haven. She could bring happiness back into his life, and add so much more—if only she were free, and he were worthy.
Isabelle giggled. “You don’t look quite like a knight yet.”
“I do, too!”
“A miniature one.”
“I’m not small!”
“Isabelle,” Allis warned. “Enough.”
“That shield will do for now,” Connor said. He went over to a group of spears leaning against the stone wall and picked one up. “I think this one will be appropriate. It is about the right length. It will be the same size in relation to his weight and height as a lance would be to a grown man.”
“I’m nearly grown!”
Connor walked toward Edmond. “You will not reach your full growth for at least four years. That is nothing to be ashamed of.” He looked at Isabelle. “A lady should not make sport of those younger than herself. You have the advantage of him in age and beauty so it really isn’t fair, is it?” he continued in a gentle way that made Allis’s legs suddenly seem soft-jointed.
“No,” Isabelle murmured, as obviously affected by his soothing tones as she was.
God save her, she should not have come, not even to thank him. Lit by Attila’s hearth, the flames made his skin look like it was fashioned of burnished bronze. To watch him surrounded by the weapons of war reminded her how strong a warrior he was. To hear his kindhearted voice, gentle even in admonition, was to know the wonderful father he would be.
But most of all, to compare the way he looked at Isabelle and then at her was to realize that he did feel something deeper for her. It roiled in the dark depths of his eyes, compelling and fascinating.
“I will bring the shield and spear with me, young lordling,” he said, brisk once more. “Go you now, and have the groom saddle your horse. I will meet you at the stable.”
“May I watch?” Isabelle asked, as enthused as Edmond.
“If Edmond agrees.”
Nearly out the door, Edmond looked back and shrugged. Isabelle smiled her delight and hurried after him.
“May I speak with you outside a moment, Sir Connor?”
/>
“Of course, my lady.”
“Good day, Attila.”
The armorer nodded, and she swept from the armory into the fresh air of the courtyard, acutely aware that Sir Connor was right behind her.
“There, better this air is and no mistake,” he observed as she led him across the courtyard. “Has Attila bathed since birth?”
“I doubt it, but he is the finest maker of swords in this part of England.”
“Where are we going?”
Where were they going, indeed?
Rennick was assured of her. Soon enough he would return and claim her for his bride. She would take this one small risk to speak to Sir Connor alone, for what should be the last time. “The garden.”
Her throat tight, her heart thudding so loudly in her chest she believed he could hear it, she opened the gate and waited until he was inside, then closed it behind him.
“About Edmond,” he began immediately. “He’s a bright lad keen to learn, and since I have nothing better to do because my shoulder is hurt, I saw no harm in teaching him a few things. I should have asked your permission first, and I’m sorry I didn’t, but glad I am you agreed. Otherwise, I fear he will grow bitter and unruly, and channel that vitality into something else—something you may not like.”
Why, this bold, brave knight sounded as tense and anxious as she was. Suddenly, the most outrageous urge to giggle bubbled up inside her and only with a mighty effort did she stifle the undignified impulse. “You sound very sure of your opinion.”
He laughed. “I do, don’t I?”
He was so attractive when he laughed! “I want to thank you. The past few days have been difficult for Edmond—for all of us—and I appreciate the kindness of your offer.”
“I am happy to be of service. Besides, I like him.” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “He reminds me of you.”
She had never had a compliment that pleased her more. As the daughter of the earl of Montclair, she had always been accorded a measure of respect. As she grew in beauty, many men had been fulsome in their praise of her face and body, but no one had ever told her that they liked her.
Then his eyes brightened, and his lips curved up into a delighted smile. A dangerously appealing delighted smile.
A cry of alarm sounded in her mind, as loud and insistent as a call to arms. She was betrothed. She had given her word. Her marriage ensured her family’s security.
Her mind urged her to flee, but her heart asked what harm there could be to any but herself if she allowed herself the chance to savor one last morsel of liberty. “I am curious, Sir Connor. Do you speak from personal experience? Were you a bitter and unruly boy?”
She was sorry to see his smile fade. “No, I was spoiled. I was not denied much of anything in my childhood when it came to the arts of war. Since I showed a talent for them early, my father was proud of my prowess and encouraged me. Too much, some would say.”
She sat on a bench and gestured for him to sit beside her. He did and, clasping his hands, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He kept his gaze on the wall opposite as he spoke. “I think my elder brother Caradoc was denied what he most craved. I always assumed his bitterness stemmed from jealousy of me, but perhaps it is something else.”
Tempted to touch his tense shoulder, she folded her hands in her lap. “You don’t sound certain.”
“Because this has just hit home to me. It would explain many things, though.”
“You spoke of him the day you were injured. You said he would enjoy seeing you in pain.”
He raked back his hair. “Aye, my lady, I’m sorry to say he probably would, because of the quarrels we’ve had.”
His dark hair was as luxuriant as any she had ever seen, and her fingers itched to run through it, gathering it back and exposing the ticklish nape of his neck. If she grazed his nape with her lips, would that tickle him, too? “Is it as bad as that between you?”
He glanced at her, then looked away. “It has been.” He sighed, his regret nearly palpable. “I have always thought Caradoc preferred studying. Training can be difficult, and on the worst days, when I was tired, wet and cold, I would see him in the window of the solar, warm and dry, and begrudge him those comforts.”
“But not the learning?”
“No, not the learning,” he admitted with a rueful chuckle. “I hated my time with the priests sent to teach us and was a very poor student.”
She heard the pain beneath his soft laughter. This could not be easy for him to talk about, and she was pleased and proud to think that he would reveal these things to her. “While Caradoc…?”
“Caradoc excelled.” He rubbed his right hand over his angular jaw. He did it absently, unaware of how fascinating she found his hands, or how much she wanted to follow his action and stroke his chin herself. Or trail her lips over the rough stubble, sliding toward his tempting mouth. “But now that I think back, I cannot recall my father ever saying one word of praise for all his efforts. And Caradoc would often ask my father about accompanying him to Winchester or London. My father always promised, but they never went.”
Sympathy overcame her desire. Not imagining kisses or passionate caresses, but only wanting to take him in her arms for a comforting embrace, she inched closer.
“When I was preparing to go on Crusade, it was terrible between us. Caradoc accused me of bankrupting the family with the cost of my equipage. I thought it was envy of my skill, but perhaps it wasn’t. Yet my father never spoke of the cost, so I assumed it was not excessive.”
“Maybe your brother envied you the freedom to go anywhere,” she suggested quietly.
“Yes. I think now he did not enjoy his duties and responsibilities as the heir to the estate as much as I wanted to believe because it suited my purpose to think he was merely jealous of me.” He turned to look at her and the remorse in his eyes touched her lonely heart. “All these years, and only now do I begin to see that I might have been mistaken. You and your family help me to see my own. And my own mistakes.”
As if she had made none! As if she were some kind of angel or perfect being, free of sin and sinful, selfish desires. As if she did not have to struggle against the attraction she felt for him, in so many different ways. “We are none of us perfect.”
“As I know too well.” He took her hand. His was rough and callused, warm and strong. “Your relationship with your brother might suffer like mine if you don’t give him some vent for his dreams and energy.”
She forced herself to pull her hand from his, before she begged him to take her in his arms. “Yes, I see that now, and you are probably right. I am grateful for your insight, Sir—”
“No title. Just Connor.”
Once again his voice enveloped her in an unfamiliar, wonderful intimacy. How easy it would be to surrender, to give herself up to the passion swirling, burning, coiling within her, and beg him to kiss her.
She fought back the urgent, unspoken wish. “You mentioned a sister, too. What is her name?”
He grinned, roguish and appealing, yet the intimate spell was mercifully broken. “Cordelia. And if I have a temper and act without thinking, I am a model of placidity and careful consideration compared to her. She used to bite, too. Hard.”
“She sounds like a hellion.”
“A brat she was, but she is older and wiser now.”
“How old is she?”
“Sixteen. She was thirteen when my parents died.”
“Death makes children old for their age.”
“As well as wise and responsible before their time. It must be difficult managing this estate with your father…as he is.”
How different was his tender and genuine sympathy from Rennick’s! Rennick always made it sound as if her father’s state were a defect of character. He would never understand how a love’s loss could break a man’s spirit as well as his heart. But she had no doubt that Connor could, and did. “Brother Jonathan says he suffers from a melancholy brought on by grief, which disturbe
d his humors. Time often corrects such disturbances. Unfortunately, in my father’s case, he fears the imbalance might be permanent.”
“I am very sorry, my lady. I have heard many tales of your father in the past, so I have some notion of how he has changed. It must be very difficult, and the responsibility for the estate and your family must be a great burden.”
“Sometimes.”
“And the loneliness hard to bear.”
Oh, God help her! He sounded as if he could indeed see into her heart. “I have my family. And the baron, too, of course. He is eager to help.” She tried, but could not hide, her disgust for Rennick. Her emotions were too raw, too near the surface, as if buoyed by the promise of Connor’s understanding.
“Does he help, or does he rule?”
Only days ago, she thought no man could breach the walls she had built around her heart to separate her feelings from her obligations. How wrong she was! “Not yet.”
“While I would not begrudge you a happy marriage, I would not like to think of you miserably wed, any more than I would Cordelia.”
Oh, God, oh, God, give me strength! She had underestimated the risk of being with him and the power of wanting to be loved by him. “I am no relation to you.”
“I know that.”
“I can be nothing to you.”
“You already are far more important than many things to me,” he murmured as he put his right arm about her and drew her close.
She knew this was wrong. She must not kiss him. She belonged to another.
Another who was not here. Who cared for her family’s property, not her. Who did not—could not—kiss her like this man did.
She took his face between her palms and kissed him with fervent need and growing desire. She wanted him, and the freedom he promised with merely the touch of his lips upon hers.
Leaning closer and wrapping her arms about him, she let her mouth taste his in a slow, sensuous dance. He even smelled better than Rennick, of fresh air and plain wool and leather—simple, comfortable things.
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