Ranulf needed Bronwyn to fall in love with him.
The realization frightened him since he hadn’t the slightest idea about how to woo a woman and make her fall in love. Rolande had often touted the expediency of a good love poem, but Ranulf could hardly string together more than a few sentences. Love songs were out of the question. He had never been inclined to making music, whether it was playing an instrument or singing. That left gifts.
The castle was fairly plain and undecorated. He could start there. She had one silk gown, he could procure more. And jewelry. Bronwyn wore very little. Did she not like jewels or was she never given them? Well, he knew she enjoyed horses. He would give her a stable of them to ride. Anything she desired she would get.
Bronwyn finished lacing up the ties of one of her newest, and therefore nicest, bliauts. Never before had she cared about how she looked and she found it secretly amusing that her concern began only after she already had her man.
She glanced out the window to the courtyard below. Ranulf was talking with Tyr and the steward about where to build the night’s bonfires. Her husband appeared relaxed, almost a different man from the one who had defied her while overlooking the North Tower battlements. Bronwyn wondered if she had also outwardly changed. She certainly felt different. As if she had finally found what she had been searching for…and she hadn’t even known she was looking.
A light tap on the door interrupted her musings just before Lily burst in the room and launched herself onto the rumpled bed. Seeing Bronwyn’s raised brows of disapproval, she sniffed and said, “I saw your husband downstairs so I knew I could come in.” Then her gray eyes welled up with tears until they began to spill and run down her cheeks.
“Good Lord, what is wrong?” Bronwyn asked, suddenly concerned.
“I was just trying to talk to that monstrous Highlander when he told me that he wasn’t at all affected by my flirtations and to practice them on someone else.” She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Can you believe he said that? Like I would flirt with him.”
Bronwyn gave Lily a reassuring smile and sat down beside her. “I would be careful when it comes to Tyr. If he hasn’t noticed you yet, he probably never will and you would only look foolish if you kept trying.”
Lily opened her mouth to argue but was prevented by another knock on the door. Once again, it opened without leave. This time by Constance, who entered in a huff, wagging her finger. “If you don’t come down and deal with the kitchen servants, the festivities planned for the night are doomed.” Disregarding Lily and the possibility that she and Bronwyn might have been talking about something important, the old nursemaid dropped down into one of the chairs. “And don’t tell me to see the steward, for he’s a good part of the problem. The man has been with his lordship all morning, and as a result, no one is doing their work.”
Bronwyn licked her lips and attempted to wrap the snood around her wet hair. “What happened, Constance? They kick you out of the kitchens?” The old nursemaid gave her a withering side glance and Bronwyn knew she had guessed correctly.
“No,” Constance lied. “I wouldn’t go near the place with the cooks demanding help to prepare tonight’s feast. The baker is barking at everyone, insisting on having his own help, and those trying to clean from yesterday’s festivities are getting frustrated with the ones who are already trying to decorate the windows and doors for tonight.”
Bronwyn sighed and tugged at the net, pulling it free from her damp mane. She tossed it onto the bed, deciding to leave her hair down. Her short treasured respite was over. “Lily, we’ll have to talk later,” she said wearily and left.
The dark gold of Bronwyn’s hair gleaming in the morning sun caught Ranulf’s attention the moment she exited the Tower Keep. People immediately starting flocking to her, accosting her with questions. Just watching the mayhem made him tired. He had seen Edythe manage a few issues, Lily received none and therefore dealt with nothing, and his steward had been occupied with him all day. Everyone had been waiting for Bronwyn. Unfortunately, his wife’s management style, while obviously beloved by all, was clearly hectic and exhausting for her.
Stopping in midconversation, Ranulf marched over and swung her into his arms. He announced to everyone within hearing that all questions were to come to him and the steward for the rest of the day and then proceeded toward the Tower Keep. The rigidity of Bronwyn’s frame and her sullen expression made it clear she was far from pleased, but Ranulf didn’t care. He was enjoying the fact that he could pick her up and carry her in front of everyone instead of sneaking around their home.
Their home. He had never put much value into the idea of a home and realized the reason why was because he never really had one. Ranulf grinned to himself. Here he was, far from battle, in the cold, taking care of what some would call mundane responsibilities, carrying a furious wife in his arms, and he had never been happier or more at peace. What was more, he had the rest of his life to get used to it.
During the whole trip back, Bronwyn’s frustration mounted. One day of marriage and the man was coddling her, taking over her responsibilities, sending her to her room. What was she going to do with her time sitting in the solar day after day? Couldn’t Ranulf see from the deluge of questions he had rudely pulled her away from that he could use her help and experience in running Hunswick?
He kicked open the door, and spying Constance and Lily sitting by the hearth chatting, he snarled at them, “You, nursemaid, go find the steward and make yourself useful. And you,” he directed to Lily, “may be my wife’s sister, but these are my bedchambers and the days of you coming in idling in her room are over.”
Both women’s eyes popped open wide as they jumped to their feet. Seconds later, Bronwyn heard the scuttle of footsteps racing out the door. “And Lily better not come back with Edythe,” Ranulf growled loud enough for everyone to hear as he finally placed Bronwyn on her feet.
“I don’t think that will be a problem. No one is going to venture anywhere near this keep after that display of temper,” Bronwyn vented through gritted teeth.
Ranulf ignored her hostile stance and bent down to give her a quick soft kiss on the lips. “Good,” he murmured, massaging her palm with his thumb. “I understand how everyone around here loves you and desires to get a piece of your time, but after all that has happened, I wanted to give you one day to just rest and relax. Two things I am fairly certain you haven’t been able to do in a long while.”
Bronwyn held her breath. Was he really just giving her some much-needed reprieve? “But what about all the problems Constance mentioned?”
“All problems may seem urgent, but you and I know they aren’t. I can handle what needs to be done.”
“But how? You’ve never run a tower, let alone a castle.”
“I’m a very smart man,” he answered, nudging her toward the chair to sit down. “You, love, are no longer alone. You have me. You also have a capable steward who, though old, can help with decisions. And though you think I know nothing about Twelfthtide, I am fully aware that this is Saint John’s Day, the day of bonfires, sacraments, and blessings. You are my blessing as well as everyone else’s around Hunswick, and in deference to all that you give, today is your day off.”
Tears formed in her eyes. Ranulf brushed them away with his thumb. “Is it really so hard to lean on me? To let someone help you?” She shook her head. “Good. Now sit and relax and I will have food brought to you shortly.”
Bronwyn watched as Ranulf moved the other chair in front of her and then propped her feet on its cushions. He was so much more than her husband and lover. He was her friend. He had not wanted to usurp her contribution or belittle it. Instead, Ranulf had done what no one had—he had recognized it. The enormity and pressure of what she did, and for one day, he wanted to relieve her of that burden.
“I love you, Ranulf,” she whispered.
Ranulf was just reaching for the leather strap to open the door when he heard the precious words softly voic
ed. He was sure that his heart had stopped, his breathing remained half in half out, his eyes refused to blink, almost waiting for her to take it back, to add a caveat, to give some reason, but none came. He glanced back, nervous, the urge to deny her claim welling within him. He had not realized how vulnerable those words…from her…made him. They could undo his soul if not true. But she only stared back at him with misty sea-colored eyes, large and luminescent and undeniably full of love…for him.
As if God had breathed life back into him, Ranulf was back at her side, pulling her to her feet and into a deep embrace. “I am the happiest man alive and vow to make you even happier,” he stated haltingly between kisses across her brow, cheeks, and lips.
Problems be damned. There was no way he could leave, not now. Desire roared in him, not just for her body, but for all the things she had given him—happiness, peace, and above all, love. Lifting her once again, he brought her to the bed and together their bodies and souls became one.
An hour later, Ranulf left her side and dressed. He went to the door and took one last peek at her supple slumbering form. He had to tell her the truth. She loved him, trusted him, and it was time to trust her. On Epiphany, he decided, after Twelfthtide.
They would have until then to enjoy their newfound happiness.
Bronwyn poked her head into Ranulf’s day room. Tyr and Tory were there talking to him but they stopped when they saw her and waved for her to enter. She had left the keep earlier to ensure Lily and Edythe were not emotionally shattered from Ranulf’s earlier decree. Surprisingly, neither was upset by his mannerism and both were actually meekish about their own behavior.
Tyr and Tory quickly left, leaving her alone with Ranulf. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, wearing an enormous grin. “Just why are you so amused?” she inquired.
“Because I finally understand why you married me. I could never figure it out before. We hadn’t known each other very long, and there were many reasons why you should not have, but now I understand.”
Hearing his teasing tone, Bronwyn cocked a brow and mischievously replied, “You forced me to. That’s why.”
“I did not.”
“Yes…you did. I left and you came and carried me back to the altar.”
A wry glint appeared in his eye. “But you could have still refused. Be honest. If anyone else, besides me, had dragged you back…would you now be married?”
“I…” Bronwyn stammered. “How should I know?”
Her empty response didn’t bother Ranulf for he had complete confidence in the real answer. “Well, I know. You wouldn’t have married him.”
“Maybe I would have,” she said, challenging his supposition. “Remember I could have asked for an annulment.”
Ranulf held her just a little tighter. “But you knew with me that wouldn’t be an option.”
Bronwyn could sense the tension rising in Ranulf and recognized its cause. Though he had yet to make the same claim, he needed her to convince him once again of the depth of her feelings. Soon, she told herself, he will be able to say it back. “I love you,” she whispered and brushed his lips with her own, letting him feel the endless need and love inside her. “And I meant every word I said. I had found the man I had always wanted and married him.”
“And you are mine, Bronwyn. Forever. You have been since the moment I first saw you.”
Bronwyn arched her back and poked his chest. “I wasn’t your first choice, but I am happy that I’m your last,” she teased.
Ranulf crinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”
“Only that Lily was your first choice.”
Ranulf let go. “She wasn’t my choice,” he stressed. “That should have been clear at the altar when I told her—you—that I didn’t want to marry her. I never wanted to. I can’t even imagine kissing Lily.”
Bronwyn stepped back, feeling confusion and the first sparks of anger. “Then why did you agree to marry her?”
“I have a better question, why did you agree to marry someone else?” he asked, raising his voice in response to her iciness.
“Why shouldn’t I have? You were the one who chose the man for me!”
“Well, I never thought you would agree!” Ranulf bellowed, remembering his shock at learning of her quick acquiescence to the idea of becoming another man’s wife. “Do you know the hell I went through knowing you had no problems marrying another man over me? After the afternoon we shared?”
Bronwyn threw up her hands. “I didn’t choose Garik over you. You rejected me and for my sister, of all people. If I chose anything, it was time. Time to make sure Lily would be happy and to ensure Edythe really wished to stay. I had plans to leave.”
“And do what? Go north and find someone else?” Ranulf half snarled, realizing how close she had come to ruining their future.
“Someone else?” Bronwyn parroted back. She grabbed his forearm. “Look at me, Ranulf. Until you, no one ever wanted me. And I find it a little ridiculous that you could protest about my finding someone else when it was you who chose Lily within minutes of meeting her!”
“Damn it, I did not choose her! I would have never married her. Pride got me to the altar, but I was stopping the farce before it went further. Hell, until you, I never thought I would ever want to marry. You have to know after the past few days that you are everything I will ever want and far more than I dared hope to ever find. It terrified me to think that you might not feel the same. So when your sister came up and offered herself to save you…”
“Wait a minute!” Bronwyn shouted as clarity started to shine on the events leading to their marriage. “You were testing me?” Then in a much lower, quieter, and colder voice, she said, “Damn stupid test, Ranulf.”
“No more stupid than using your sister to test me.”
“I did not use my sister,” Bronwyn protested, her dark blue eyes ablaze with smoldering ire. “I never sent her to you.”
“Because you didn’t need to. But instead of asking Lily about anything, you just accepted her decree, never once considering how your quick enthusiastic answer would sound to me.”
“And just what would you have done if you were me, Ranulf?” Bronwyn challenged, moving toward the door. “Groveled and begged when you learned you were played the fool or would you have somehow scraped the remaining morsels of your pride and accepted the offer?”
“Just where do you think you are going?”
Bronwyn yanked the door open and pivoted to look at him in the eye one last time before leaving. “Out to solve a problem. I love you, Ranulf, but that was one cruel idea and it nearly cost us each other. I need to do something productive to calm down. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Ranulf stood in front of one of the Great Hall windows and watched Bronwyn cross the nether bailey and hand some bundles of Saint John’s wort to several of the villagers. Despite his gift of letting her rest, she had been there all afternoon, helping. He was still tense about their fight, but not fearful. Neither of them exchanged threats, just heated words and emotions and, most importantly, a promise to speak later. In an odd way it spoke well of their future together, their ability to fight without tearing the other down. And he had learned an important lesson he hoped he could remember in the future—when Bronwyn was angry, she wanted to be alone.
Consequently, he had spent most of the afternoon working from his day room, keeping his mind occupied. In between answering random questions about the night’s festivities, he had met with the steward about finding a mason and rebuilding the North Tower in the spring. Afterward, he had met with the stable master to discuss what would be needed to shelter the horses that would arrive in the spring with his men. Next, he dared to enter the kitchens and ensure the evening meal would be on time. He had decided very quickly that Bronwyn would be best suited for such discussions in the future. Since then he had been in the Great Hall strategizing with Tyr about the movement in the hills. The numbers of men roaming the woods had rapidly diminished in the past two days, and with
out knowing why, Ranulf was on his guard.
The heavy doors to the Hall swung open and a gush of cold wind caught his tunic, whipping it across his legs. It had been happening all day as the servants went about decorating everything in sight. A deep short cough alerted him that this time it was something different and he turned around. There was no one there. Frowning, Ranulf twisted a little farther until he saw Tory, who—though unintentional—made a habit of standing on his left and just outside his line of vision. The young man’s face was not a happy one.
“We have a visitor,” Tory announced, his voice as grim as his expression.
Tyr, who had been standing across the room by the trestles sampling food as it was brought in, came forward. “Just who is this visitor?” Hearing his normal jovial tone turn serious, the handful of other soldiers in the room rose and joined him.
“Baron Craven. He wishes to pay his respects,” Tory answered, keeping his gaze on Ranulf. By now, Lily’s tale of the baron and his plan was well known among his men. Tory, along with everyone else, had no idea how his lord was going to respond. They had fought for Ranulf many times, but no one, not even Tyr, had ever seen Deadeye Gunnar faced with this type of situation.
“Welcome the baron in, Tory, and escort him here.”
Tory blinked in surprise, but nodded and left. Tyr grimaced and his face took on the hard, angular look of a warrior preparing for battle. “Ranulf, I should be dressed better for such a meeting, don’t you agree?”
Ranulf nodded, glad his friend had elected to hang around Hunswick until after the holidays. Ranulf only wished that he, too, could leave and get his sword. The chances of him needing one were small, but often its physical presence could stop a fight.
The doors swung open again as Tyr left. Before they closed, an unusually tall man with wavy blond shoulder-length hair entered the room. His piercing light blue eyes scanned the spacious area, pointedly looking at the servants, who had recommenced hanging the herb bundles. Finally, they landed on Ranulf. The baron’s face cringed just barely as he saw the loose flesh of Ranulf’s left eyelid and realized that he was not winking at him.
The Christmas Knight Page 26