"Not now." As Fane yanked off his tunic and shirt, he prayed his gruff voice was enough to dissuade her. He reached for the points of his hose.
She swallowed. Yet, she did not avert her gaze. In fact, she stared at his loins with undisguised hunger.
Ah, God, 'twas his own fault. Had he not promised, as he left her standing in the bailey, that he would see her later in their bed? Had he not implied that he would couple with her?
He groaned. To his shame, he sounded like a camel with a rotten bellyache. "Rexana."
"I have not uttered one more word. You will not let me."
He sighed. " 'Tis late. I am weary."
"Please. Rudd is all I have."
"You have me."
She nibbled her bottom lip. To his surprise, she did not challenge his statement, but nodded. "I have you."
He rose, the points of his hose gaping. His pulse thumped. Had he finally won her? Had she accepted him?
Had she realized that they were destined to be together?
His loins warmed. As he reached out to touch her cheek, his hand trembled.
Pressing her lips together, she turned away. He listened to her walk around the bed. The bed shifted and squeaked. She lay still.
Running his tongue around his suddenly dry mouth, he stripped off his hose and tossed them on the carpet. He climbed between the sheets to lie staring up at the beams overhead.
The dryness spread to his throat. He felt parched, like desert sands after months of no rain. Rexana was like cooling, soothing water. He would perish without her.
He must find a way to win her heart. He must make her believe, with all the fire in his own soul, that no matter what happened to her brother, she would forever be Lady Rexana Linford.
Rexana awoke with a start. Her cheek pressed to the pillow, she blinked in the watery light filtering in through the open window. The smoky tang of the blacksmith's fire carried on the breeze, borne up from the bailey. Zounds! She had not intended to sleep so late. Last eve, as she had yielded to a restless slumber, she had vowed to rise with Fane, to demand to know what he had discovered.
A knock sounded on the door. The same noise, she realized muzzily, that had interrupted her sleep. She pushed up to sitting. The sheets on Fane's side of the bed were cold. She inhaled his scent clinging to the rumpled linens and scowled. He had managed to rise, wash and dress without her hearing. He had clearly made an effort not to rouse her.
Anger surged inside her. He had slunk away like a slick fingered thief, before they could discuss what he had learned from his men. Mayhap he never had any intentions of revealing what he had learned about Rudd.
Yet, she had every right to know.
The knock came again. Rexana glared at the door. Fane, being chivalrous? Nay. He would not bother to rap, but would stalk in. She shoved aside the bedding and set her feet on the floor. Well, whoever stood on the other side of the door would not prevent her from doing what she must to free Rudd.
She would begin this morn, by visiting him in the dungeon.
She opened the door to see Tansy, Nelda and Celeste. They carried cloths, along with water for washing, and a trencher of bread and cheese accompanied by an eating dagger.
With a polite smile, Rexana ushered them in. The sooner she ate and dressed, the sooner she could see Rudd.
Celeste and Nelda hurried to the bed and began to straighten the sheets. Humming a familiar love song, Tansy set the trencher, water, and cloths on the nearby table. Then, she eased a rolled parchment from her bodice. "For you, milady."
All trace of sleep vanished from Rexana's mind. A message? From whom? Dear Henry? Rudd? Had her brother managed to acquire parchment and ink? She smiled. Her brother had always been resourceful.
She snatched the parchment from Tansy's fingers. "Who gave this to you?"
"Winton." Tansy turned back to the cloths. Humming again, she dropped one into the water.
Rexana ignored Celeste and Nelda's inquisitive whispers. A frown tugged at her brow. Rudd would not have given a message to the steward, who was loyal to Fane. Yet, the efficient little man did get to all parts of the keep in his daily duties. Mayhap one of the other servants had handed it to Winton, and asked that it be delivered.
The missive was sealed with wax, but did not bear the imprint of a crested ring or other identifying marks. Of course not. Rudd would not be so foolish as to announce he had penned the note. How remarkable, though, that he had obtained wax.
She broke the seal and unfurled the parchment.
I am the randy bee. I cannot wait to suck your nectar.
Rexana gasped. She quickly rolled the document closed.
Tansy looked up. "Milady?"
Heat flooded Rexana's face. Her most secret of places tingled with a shocking, thrilling tension. Fane had written those bawdy words. She recognized his bold, elegant script from his signature on the marriage contract.
Nelda and Celeste hurried to her side. "Milady? Are you hale?"
Tansy elbowed the girls out of the way. She caught Rexana's arm, then steered her toward the made bed. "Here. Sit. Ye look flushed. Do ye feel queasy?"
Rexana sat. She clutched the parchment between her damp fingers. Her every nerve buzzed. Her pulse thumped at a dizzying pace. How did he affect her so, with only a few words?
"The note," Celeste whispered behind her hand to Nelda. " 'Tis foul news."
Tansy's mouth crumpled in sympathy. With a motherly cluck, she plopped down on the bed beside Rexana. The bed ropes groaned and sagged in violent protest. "There now. I pray the news is not too awful."
" 'Tis not bad news. 'Tis —" She bit down on her lip as the fire in her cheeks intensified. What did she say now?
Tansy and the girls leaned closer. "Aye?"
Rexana looked into their bright, curious faces, and laughed. " 'Tis a love poem."
"Ooohhhh. From 'is lordship? How romantic." Tansy's fingers twitched. "What does it say?"
"Do tell, milady!" Celeste squealed. Nelda elbowed her in the ribs and she added in a hushed voice, "Only if you wish, of course."
As Rexana unfurled the missive again, her face burned. "I am the randy bee," she read. "I cannot wait to suck your nectar."
Celeste frowned. "Suck what?"
Tansy rolled her eyes. "Nectar, you silly girl. From flowers."
Bewilderment clouded Celeste's gaze. "Aye, but. . . Milady is not a flower."
"Sheriff Linford is trying to write a chanson," Rexana said. "He uses the extravagant language of the courtiers to express his . . . feelings."
With a loud snort, Tansy got to her feet. "We are all aware of those feelings, milady. Even a blind woman would see his lordship's affection for ye." She scowled down at Celeste and Nelda. "If the rest of the poem is as bawdy, ye'd best read it in private. Would not wish ta give these girls any notions."
Celeste and Nelda wailed in dismay. "But —"
"'Er ladyship is not even washed or dressed," Tansy said. "We must not forget our duties, must we?"
And I must not forget mine, Rexana reminded herself. The excitement in her blood dimmed. As enticing as Fane's missive was, she must not dally. She must focus on seeing Rudd.
As soon as she had broken her fast, Rexana quit the solar. As she walked, her braided hair swept against her lower spine. A yellow bliaut, cut from the softest wool, brushed her ankles and a gold cloth girdle pressed upon her hips.
As Rexana's shoes tapped on the stairs down to the hall, unease rippled through her. What if Fane learned of her visit to the dungeon? He would be angry. Yet, she could not sit idle, and let her brother be punished for a crime he did not commit.
She hurried down the forebuilding's steps, then out into the sunny bailey. Murmuring hello to the children drawing pictures in the dirt with sticks, she approached the slate-roofed building that housed the kitchens. She dried her hands on her gown and opened the door.
Steam wreathed the huge pots hung over the cooking fires. Servants stood nearby, stirring in handfuls of
vegetables and spices. The scents of stew and baking bread wafted to her.
The cook chopped onions at a nearby table. Setting down his knife, he smiled at her. "Milady, ye look lovely this morn." He wiped his fingers on his stained apron and crossed to her.
"Thank you." Keeping her voice light and steady, she said, "I thought the prisoners in the dungeon might like some bread and cheese. Will you get it ready?"
He frowned. "They ate well earlier this morn."
Hellfire! "Ale, then," she said.
With a puzzled smile, the cook shook his head. "They had ale too. His lordship asked me to make sure they have enough food and drink."
She sighed, scarce able to control her rising impatience. "When is their next meal?"
"Midday." With a corner of the apron, he dabbed his sweaty nose. "Surely you do not wish to deliver food to the dungeon yourself? From what I have heard, 'tis not a place for a lady." Raising his hand like a claw, he hissed, "Spiders." He shuddered as though he saw one crawling across the floor.
"I am not afraid of spiders."
The cook's mouth tilted into a reluctant smile. "I do not mean to offend, milady, but I cannot help you. His lordship chose the servants who will deliver the meals each day. No one else is permitted."
Rexana resisted the urge to stamp her foot. Fane had outwitted her. Yet, if he thought she would be deterred, he was very wrong. She would find another way to access the dungeon.
As she stepped out of the kitchens, she spied Winton. He stood near the forebuilding's door, speaking to one of the laundresses. Rexana skirted a flock of geese waddling across the bailey and marched to Winton, a new plan already buzzing around in her mind.
With a brisk nod, the steward dismissed the laundress. He smiled as Rexana approached, and bowed. His head shone like a newly minted coin. "Good morn, milady."
"Good morn to you."
"Did you get the missive I sent with Tansy?"
She flushed at the reminder of Fane's note, tucked into her girdle for when she had time alone to read the rest of the poem. "Aye, thank you." She cleared the blush from her voice. "I realized this morn I have not yet completed a tour of Tangston Keep. There are several places I have not seen. I feel that in order to properly fulfill my role as lady of this fortress, I must know it with utmost thoroughness. Do you not agree?"
He blinked. His expression turned grave, as though he blamed himself for erring in his duties. "I will see that you finish the tour at once. Where —"
"The dungeon."
Winston shook his head. "I am very sorry, but —" Summoning her sternest tone, the one that made even Rudd pause, she said, "You refuse my request?"
The little man's face lost color. His hands fluttered as though he did not know quite what to do with them. "I would be glad to accommodate you, milady. However, first, Sheriff Linford must give his permission. I have strict orders. So do the guards in the dungeon."
She growled. "I should have known." Winton's shoulders raised in an awkward shrug. "Mayhap if you asked the sheriff for a visit —" "Thank you, Winton. That is all." Rexana spun on her heel and marched across the bailey. Dust swirled at her feet. The breeze blew her hair into her eyes, and with an angry hand, she swept it away. Frustration threatened to choke her.
She passed the well, the stables, the kitchens, and the blacksmith's, only slowing her pace when she reached the keep's gardens. A riot of herbs and greenery tumbled from earthen beds and popped up in the stone path under her feet. In the far corner, distinct from the rest of the garden, rose bushes grew in profusion. Climbing roses wove through a long, arched trellis and draped down in a curtain of leaves and pink petals. Inhaling a breath of the sweet perfume, she skirted the trellis to sink onto a weathered wooden bench.
Her eyes smarted. Rubbing her hands over her face, she vowed not to despair. She must think of another way to visit Rudd. A ruse. God forgive her, another deception.
The wind whispered through the scented curtain. Honeybees droned as they ambled from bloom to bloom. The sound reminded her of Fane's poem.
Rexana sighed. She might as well read the rest of his words.
She withdrew the parchment from her girdle and unrolled it.
I am the randy bee. I cannot wait to suck your nectar.
I know you will taste sweet
Your dewy essence fills my mouth, quickens my wings,
Heats my body like a summer breeze
I am lost in your delicious taste, your fragrance
I am lost to all but my quivering need
Bzzzzz!
Love me, fair flower, with all the passion in your heart,
As I will love you.
She wiped her mouth with a shaking hand and dropped the poem onto her lap. How she yearned for Fane. Quivered, like an eager flower.
How could she keep fighting what she desired?
"Bzzzzz."
She jumped. The sound, too low and masculine to be a bumblebee, came from behind the trellis. A flush seared her face, even as she crumpled the parchment. "Who goes there?"
Fane strode toward her, turning a delicate pink rose in his fingers. " 'Tis I, love. Did I startle you?"
She wadded the poem tighter, hiding all traces of it in her curled hand, as she shook her head. "You did not sound at all like a bee."
He laughed and dropped down onto the bench beside her. He tossed the bloom into her lap. Then, as though he had seen the movement of her fingers, he caught her fist. She tried to pull away, but he gently pried open her hand.
Disappointment shadowed his gaze. "You did not enjoy my poem?"
His fingers upon hers, and the nearness of him, threatened to pluck the last petals of her restraint. Fie!
She should be furious with him, not longing to curl into his embrace and kiss him with all the fervor pounding in her blood. " 'Tis a most seductive poem. You woo my heart and body with words."
His heavy-lidded gaze locked with hers. "Did I succeed?"
Rexana was suddenly aware of how alone they were. "Aye." She expected him to draw her into his arms, to begin seducing her right there on the bench, but he made no move toward her.
His callused finger trailed over the back of her hand, as though he wrote his name upon her sensitized skin. "I meant every word, Rexana. I want you, in all ways, and intend to have you." His tone softened. "Yet, I realize the choice is not as simple for you, because part of your heart belongs to your brother."
She looked at him.
"I know you tried to visit the dungeon. Cook and Winton told me."
She fought a renewed blush. "You are wrong to keep me from seeing him, and to imprison him. He is not guilty of treason."
Fane sighed. His eyes narrowed before he looked out across the rose garden, as though reading an answer to an impossible question amongst the blooms and greenery. "I have come to a decision. One that will, I hope, be productive for both of us, and break this impasse in our marriage."
"Decision?" she echoed.
He nodded. His face shadowed with an unreadable expression. "Your brother refuses to tell me all he knows about the traitors. I promised you that I would do all I can to help him. Yet, 'tis impossible, without complete information. All the evidence I have collected so far proves not that he is innocent, but that he is guilty."
Cold sweat broke between her breasts. She swallowed the awful taste in her mouth. "Why will he not tell you?"
Fane shrugged. "He does not trust me. Or, he is afraid." Tilting his head, he looked at her. "But he trusts you."
Fragile hope grew inside her. "Do you mean —"
"Aye, love. I permit you to visit him."
"Today?"
"Now, if you wish."
A delighted gasp burst from her. Without a moment's thought, she threw herself into Fane's arms. As her cheek crushed against his tunic, his strong embrace enveloped her. "Oh, thank you," she whispered. She fought a rush of tears.
His breath ruffled the crown of her hair. He chuckled, and the sound rumbled though his ches
t and against her ear. "I am glad my words please you."
She squirmed free of his hold. Her bliaut felt scratchy against her skin. Saints above, she could scarce sit still, her blood pounded so fast. She wanted to whoop with joy. Jump and throw her arms toward the sun. Dance and dance and dance, until she could not take another step.
She scrambled onto the bench. Pushed up on her knees. She stared into his handsome face, then leaned closer, until their noses touched.
Rexana kissed him full on the lips. "Aye, husband. Your words do please me."
Chapter Sixteen
His fingers linked through hers, Fane hurried along behind Rexana. He could scarce keep up. She plowed down the garden path like a cog in full sail, spurred by storm winds.
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