Then he had met Bronwyn, a wisp of an angel who had demonstrated more honest passion than he had received from anyone, let alone a female. And she had every right to hate him.
First, he had ordered her out of her home, then insulted her, and after she had saved his life, he had practically mauled her—twice—and then to make sure that it never happened again, he essentially accused her of being a harlot, and why? Because just the idea of Tyr and her spending a morning together hunting made him crazy with jealousy.
Even now she was probably berating herself for allowing the kiss and cursing him for initiating it. She certainly wouldn’t ever allow herself to be put in the position to be touched by him again. She had probably thanked God a thousand times for making her come to her senses before things truly went too far. For he certainly hadn’t intended to halt that last embrace. In truth, he had forgotten everything—that they were in a public hall, that servants were around, that she was innocent, even that he was the last man any woman—especially a lady—would want forced upon her. He had been consumed with desire. Desire to kiss and caress every inch of her, desire to make her come alive with passion, and to make her his in every way. And all that emotion had transformed into anger, then raging jealousy, and now remorse and regret.
He didn’t know what to do with such strong feelings, and burying them as he had been doing all his life was impossible. They were too strong and had come to him too fast. As a result, he had prematurely ended any chance he might have had for happiness. And it wasn’t until she left that he realized just how much he wanted to know her better and have her know him…and possibly like what she saw.
So he had left to think…and to take care of some things. He had first headed for the gatehouse to find young Tory, the man who had captured Bronwyn’s attention long enough for her to determine his “sweet” nature. Tory wasn’t there, but Norval was. The older soldier was married with several children, making him the perfect guard for Bronwyn. Ranulf gave him instructions to watch her—slyly—but no matter what, she was not to exit the gates of Hunswick.
He eventually found Tory at the stables. The young man had a sappy smile and facial features Ranulf knew the opposite sex found to be attractive. He was tempted to give the boy battlement duty for the winter, making him stay up nights and sleep days, but he ordered him to Syndlear instead.
Ranulf then escaped the castle and went for a walk until his shoulder began to truly ache. Upon his return, he had gone to his solar only to leave again immediately. Her fragrance was still in the air and laced his covers. Alone in his room was the last place he wanted to be. So, he had gone back to the Great Hall and had not left the hearth chair since.
“Would you like some more wine, my lord?”
Ranulf blinked and cocked his head to see who was speaking. The woman was small but she possessed the full figure a woman received after birthing multiple children. She had frizzy brown hair and freckles along her cheeks and nose that kept her looking younger than she probably was.
He shook his head and watched her take the pitcher and his mug away. He wasn’t used to having servants. His family had been far from poor, but for the past decade he had been at the disposal of Henry and in many ways a servant himself. Now that he was one of those rare men with limited power over others, he had a choice: Be like his father and abuse his station, or set expectations and reward those who met them.
The woman returned to clean the table with a damp rag and then moved to put another log on the fire. “There’s no need,” Ranulf said, halting her just as her fingers wrapped around the heavy piece of wood. She rose and wiped off her hands on the cloth tied around her waist. Just before she moved back out of sight, Ranulf coughed to regain her attention. “What’s your name?”
Both her nut-colored brows sprang upward. “I…um…most around here call me Chrissie, my lord.”
Ranulf shrugged with his chin and nodded. “Thank you, Chrissie. You and the others can retire. I will see to my needs for the rest of the night.”
Chrissie stood still for a second with large questioning eyes, before scampering back into the passageway. Ranulf thought she had done as he had instructed, when he overheard two voices, one he recognized belonging to the nagging nursemaid, Constance.
“You wouldn’t believe what just happened, Constance. It was just as Lady Bronwyn said, and to think I didn’t believe her!”
“Why? What happened? What did the young lord say to you?” Constance half asked, half demanded.
“Well, earlier this evening, when I brought food up to her ladyship, I mentioned how much we miss his old lordship and how awful we thought it was that she was forced to stay behind and take care of the new lord when it was she who was the one feeling so poorly. Of course she told me that the young lord had not forced her to stay, to which I said, ‘Then why is an old guard ordered to watch this Hall and your room?’ She looked out the window at that very soldier and smiled! I’m telling you she smiled! She told me his name was Norvin or something and that he was a very nice man with five children and that he had been a farmer and wants to be one again when his family comes in the spring and that my James should go meet him and—”
“Chrissie, your mouth goes faster than a fox being chased. What does this have to do with what the—”
“I’m getting to that. So then milady told me that the young lord was just seeing to her safety. Of course, she even tried to convince me that we needed his lordship. She told me we should just be patient, and probably before the night was out the young lord would take the time to learn our names. Can you believe that! Of course I thought she was trying to be nice, because a man like his lordship isn’t one to take time out to pay attention to those around him…but Lordy…he just asked me my name!”
“Did you tell him?”
“Of course I told him, and then he told me to retire. Wait until my James hears this. Me retire before the lord? Only Lady Br…”
Ranulf struggled to hear the rest of their conversation, but they must have stepped out of the pantry and back into the kitchens for the voices became too faint to hear. Listening in on another’s conversation wasn’t one of his typical pastimes. The few times he had accidentally been in a position to eavesdrop, he had found the topic uninteresting and moved out of earshot. Tonight, however, he had been riveted.
Bronwyn should hate him after what he had done. She should despise him, but then how could she have spoken so highly about him? And Norval? And how did she know about Norval and his family? She had obviously spent more time with his men than he had realized. But could she really have reacted so nonchalantly upon discovering his plans to keep her here? And what did Chrissie mean about Bronwyn feeling so poorly? Had she been crying?
Suddenly, Ranulf needed to see her, and tomorrow wasn’t soon enough.
The winding back staircase led to a long narrow corridor. At its end was a portable pallet for a chamber servant to sleep on and be available. Unsurprisingly no one was there, and Ranulf doubted one slept there very often, if at all.
Three doors lined one side, but only the last had a faint glow of a light shining through the cracks. Ranulf knocked and waited. When no answer came, he nudged it and felt momentary elation when he discovered it was not barred. Swinging it open, he stepped inside and right into a bucket of water placed just to the left of the door. Grimacing, he cursed his missing eye and slid the pail over with his now wet foot to shut the door. Then he looked around, his eyes stopping on the bed. The curtains were gathered aside and he could see Bronwyn’s sleeping form. She was on her side and the coverlet was pulled up over her shoulders, leaving only her face visible.
The sight was a salve to his soul.
The pressing need to speak with her and get answers had ebbed, but he was not prepared to leave, not yet. Deciding to get out of his wet stockings, he slipped off his shoes and leggings and then untied his belt. Three padded chairs similar to the ones in the Hall and in his solar were placed in a half circle around the hearth. The
chairs had been meant to line the main dining table, but it seemed his predecessor had found better uses for them. Having spent too many uncomfortable nights on hard stools and benches, Ranulf agreed with the decision. Grabbing one, he twisted it around so that he could watch her sleep as she had him.
He was about to sit down when she spoke, causing him to freeze midair. “Be still and stop making noise, Ranulf, or I will just get even madder than I already am at you. And then you will see.”
Ranulf took a step forward, searching for reasons to defend his decision to be in her room, when her voice trailed off with a sigh as she nestled farther down into the covers. The woman was asleep and had no idea he was there. Reassuring peace came over him. She thought about him in her sleep.
Ranulf had just settled down when Bronwyn stretched and flipped over on her back, causing the covers to slide off her shoulders and pool around her waist. The innocent action revealed a sight that took his breath away.
Honey-colored waves fell against softly rounded uptilted breasts. Smooth pale skin glowed in the moonlight. She seemed unreal, ethereal. A wild beauty and absolutely the most desirable, beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.
He hadn’t been prepared. So the moment air passed through his lungs, it was expelled violently with all the pent-up passion coursing through his loins. “Where the hell are your clothes?!”
Bronwyn arched her shoulders back and frowned at the abrupt shout. Irritation laced her furrowed brows and she squinted to discover who was snapping at her. Seeing Ranulf, her expression softened into a smile and she moved her arms over her head and stretched out of habit. Ranulf’s eyes grew wider and his jaw dropped. Bronwyn became instantly awake as the cause of his reaction dawned on her.
Mortification filled her blue eyes as she reached out and snatched the coverlet, clutching it to her breasts. “What are you doing? Why are you in my room?”
Ranulf took several deep breaths and flexed his fists propped on his hips. It didn’t matter that she was now covered. He couldn’t think. “Why aren’t you wearing your shift?” he finally managed to grit out.
Bronwyn sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. “It’s over there on my chest where it always is at night. I have never slept in clothes. They twist all around me and give me nightmares about someone tying me down. Now will you tell me just why you are in my room?”
The venom associated with her question was undeniable. She wasn’t happy at all and he couldn’t blame her. But he was not about to leave. “You’ve been sleeping in clothes for the past two nights!”
“Not in my room! And I wasn’t alone just like I should be right now.”
“Well, you aren’t alone now and I am not going to leave. We must talk.” He marched over to the chest, seized the undergarment, and threw it at her. “Put it on.”
Bronwyn took the wadded material and tossed it back as forcefully as she could. “No. I will sleep as I am. And you are going to leave. We can talk tomorrow.”
“Tonight, angel.”
Bronwyn issued him her iciest smile. “Tomorrow, your lordship.”
Ranulf took several steps forward until he was less than a foot away from the bed. He leaned toward her and held out his fist with the shift twisted around it. “Listen, angel. You can either talk to me with something on or not, but unless you can physically throw me out of this room, we are going to talk. Tonight.” He then let go and the linen material floated down onto her lap.
Bronwyn wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips in silent defiance. The man wasn’t wearing too many clothes himself. Most were draped over the side of one of the chairs. When had he arrived? Just why was he there at all? To make her apologize or send her home? When she had spied Norval’s presence standing guard, a small flicker of hope had sparked inside her. Ranulf wouldn’t order someone to keep her from leaving if he wanted her gone. But maybe she had been wrong.
She grabbed the chemise and bit her tongue to keep from mouthing a retort as he nodded in approval and stepped away from the bed toward the hearth. Slipping out of the covers, she stood up and turned so that her back was to him and angrily pulled the fragile garment over her head. Now somewhat clothed and feeling less disadvantaged, she spun back around, prepared to do battle. But Ranulf was no longer in the mood for a fight. The blood had drained from his face and he was gripping the back of one of the chairs for support.
For an instant, Bronwyn was mystified at his sudden change, but then she recognized his horror and realized just what she had done. She had forgotten who she was, what she looked like, and now he knew the truth.
Woodenly, she moved toward the window and looked out, pulling her arms tightly around her, trying to fight the tears that were threatening to fall. After an interminable silence, she heard a log being tossed into the fire. The tension in her jaw increased as she braced herself to turn around and look at him. But he was not studying her. He was standing by the mantel staring at the orange and yellow flames with one arm just over his head propped against the stone wall. She wondered if his words about her supposed beauty were echoing in his ears as they still were in hers.
The pain in her forearm was throbbing from being held so tightly. Her legs started to wobble, warning her that the rigidity of her frame for the past several minutes could no longer be sustained. She walked to the chair she always sat in when her sisters were there and sat down, tucking her toes underneath her. She braced her injured arm on her leg and let the tears fall. This time, she did not try to stop them.
Ranulf pushed himself back to a standing position. Purposeless rage filled him for it was aimed at a cruel event that had happened long ago. He now understood Laon’s baffling assessment of his eldest daughter. Her back mirrored that of his chest. Mottled flesh, disfigured from fire. He also understood why she had kept it concealed. Bronwyn had survived a horror only a few knew and could understand. But why didn’t she realize that he was one of those few?
Ignoring the chairs, Ranulf settled down onto the worn rug and faced the fire, resting his forearms on his bent knees. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bronwyn didn’t answer. She didn’t know how, so she stared, mesmerized by the muscles on his back. Even through the tunic, she could see his strength.
“I need to know, angel.”
The guilt in his voice was palpable, forcing her to speak. “Because I saw how uncomfortable your own scars—especially the burns—made you.” Her voice seemed so small and weak. She wasn’t even sure it was hers.
“How.” Again his prompt was less a question and more of a command.
“I truly remember nothing. I only know what I have been told.”
“Tell me…please.”
Bronwyn swallowed, not sure what drove her to answer—his needing to hear how it happened or her needing to tell the story. “When I was young—very young—there was a fire at Syndlear. No one knows why and I’m not sure it matters. My father was gone. We had a few posted guards and they alerted us to the danger. My mother was able to get my sisters safely out and then she came back for me. But by the time she pulled me out of the bed, the flames were at the door and the hall. She held me in one arm and wrapped us both in a wet blanket as best she could, leaving only her arms and hands and my back exposed. We nearly died, but Lord Anscombe brought us down to Hunswick, where we were cared for and, by some miracle, survived.”
Ranulf closed his eyes. It explained so much. Why she didn’t see his scars, why they mattered so little, how she and everyone else could be blind to them. Because she understood. She knew what they were…and what they weren’t.
Bronwyn had called him a fool, but he was so much more.
“I’m sorry.”
Bronwyn bristled. “Don’t be.” She didn’t want his pity. “My mother was the most beautiful person I have ever known.”
Ranulf studied her distress defined by taut lines in her neck and struggled to find a way of asking just how he could make amends. Her left arm was stretched out along her leg and she was hold
ing it as if to keep it there…as if it were hurt. He moved over until he was kneeling in front of her and immediately she dropped her arm to her side and out of his sight. He knew then that something was definitely wrong.
“Let me see your arm.”
Bronwyn shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Angel, I’ll admit that most of the time you will be victorious when we fight, but tonight you aren’t going to win any battles. Now, let me see your arm.”
Bronwyn blinked, her large blue eyes growing even bigger. He spoke as if they had a future, as if he wanted there to be a future. That’s why he had come to her room. Because of what had happened that afternoon. And it was happening again.
He was pale, tired, and in her bedroom, and they were both half dressed, and it felt…right. The situation should seem wrong and immoral, but despite their fiery tempers, she felt safe with him and didn’t want him to leave. She also did not want him to berate her for not taking care of her arm, something he was sure to do when he saw the now very angry wound.
He put out his hand, palm up, and waited for her to comply. Squaring her shoulders, Bronwyn mustered what she hoped to be a cool demeanor and raised the linen sleeve to reveal her careless mistake. “It looks far worse than it feels and you really needn’t worry about it. I’ll have someone tend to it in the morning,” she spurted out, the speed of her speech belying her outward behavior.
Ranulf supported her arm at the elbow and examined the gash, lightly probing the skin around the wound. “When did this happen?”
Bronwyn licked her lips. His voice was hard, lined with anger, but his touch was incredibly tender, gentle, and nurturing. “Earlier today. After I left your room this morning.”
“How? Who did this to you?”
Bronwyn sensed his anger and it was rising. She reached out to stroke his cheek to calm him, but it didn’t help. “It was my fault, Ranulf. I was clumsy and not looking. I knew there was exposed metal on the tub I was using so if you are searching for someone to blame, then you have only me. I would tell you if it were otherwise.”
The Christmas Knight Page 16