“Oh, never fear as much.” Rosalynde hastened to reassure the trembling woman. “I was just thinking … Well, you see—” She glanced around but the cook had disappeared in a huff. “I’m thinking of making some changes around here.”
Cedric had the storerooms and the alehouse fairly well in hand when Rosalynde checked. The servants he’d enlisted were busy under his watchful eye, and to Rosalynde’s mind he appeared more animated than she’d ever seen him. But when he spied her he at once became his more subdued self.
“ ’Tis a considerable task, milady. But we’ll not pause till you are well satisfied.”
Rosalynde smiled at his words, for despite his seriousness she detected a true enthusiasm on his part for this undertaking. In him, at least, she was sure she had an ally.
“Although I too long to see our work completed, I hardly expect to accomplish it all in one day, Cedric. However, I must say you’ve made a commendable start of it.”
At that casual compliment his fair face turned a noticeable pink. “I-I’ve also sent a stout fellow to assist in your garden.”
“Oh, yes, the garden.”
Rosalynde had purposefully put off returning to the garden. For one thing, once she turned her energies there she did not want to be drawn away to another task. She wished to spend the entire afternoon in the overgrown garden. But in another way she dreaded going back there, for she was still not entirely comfortable in Cleve’s company. Although on the surface they had returned to the proper relationship of servant and lady, there was a strain there that had not previously existed. She had not, by her actions, given him leave to bring up anything of what had happened between them and Blacksword—Aric. However, she knew that she and Cleve had been too familiar in the past for him to hold his opinions to himself overlong. It was only a matter of time.
She sighed and then gave Cedric an absent smile. “I suppose I must see to the garden now. I shall be there until dusk, should anyone seek me out.”
As Rosalynde approached the herb garden, her mind spun with plans for the spot. It would take time but she would make it far more than merely an herb garden. She would follow in her mother’s path and make it the loveliest spot in Stanwood, a pleasaunce, her aunt had said they were called in the great castles. In addition to the lawns and paths and borders, she imagined a quiet pond in the center, perhaps with one of those wonderful sundials nearby. And all around there would be a thick hedge of roses. It would be fragrant and beautiful. And it would keep those unruly dogs out, she thought with satisfaction.
But then she reached the sunny spot, and all thoughts of lawns and flowers and a restful garden flew quite out of her mind. She saw the start that had been made in clearing the weed-choked area. She saw the huge pile of discarded plants and the beginnings of a path into the center of the garden. A nondescript tree had even been dug up and cut into lengths for the woodpiles. But none of those things were what caused her eyes to stare and her mouth to gape open. That instantaneous reaction was caused by the man who squatted at the beginnings of the path, scratching one overgrown pup behind the ears as two of the mongrel’s kin bounded about, yelping and whining for a chance at his affections.
“You!” Rosalynde exclaimed without even realizing she had spoken aloud.
Aric looked at her. “A slave goes where he is told and does the task given him,” he said in smug response. He slowly stood up, watching her all the while with that familiar mocking expression. “Are you pleased with the progress, Rose?”
“Lady Rosalynde to you,” she snapped. “If you value your stubborn hide, you will not be so impudent with me.”
“If your husband may not be intimate with you, then who? Besides, no one is near enough to overhear us,” he countered.
“What of Cleve?” she replied nervously, trying to peer past him. “And you are not my husband!” she finished with a hiss.
He ignored her last words. “Cleve went off in search of you, I believe. He was rather disgruntled when Cedric sent me here to labor with him.”
“Well, you can just go right back to Cedric. I don’t want you in my garden,” she stated furiously. “I’ll not have you here!”
“I intend to stay.” The words were quietly said, and yet the steely quality of them was unmistakable.
“It is not necessary,” she insisted. “You can be better used elsewhere.”
“I will not be used anywhere, milady,” he said with an icy calm. “Not by you or any others.”
“Then … then why are you here? Why not flee?” Rosalynde shivered under his suddenly cold stare. Even the pup at his feet whined uneasily. “If it’s your reward that holds you here, I promise to pay you soon—”
“I stay because it serves me best. That’s all you need understand. Cedric told me to work in this little garden, and that is what I shall do. And I suggest you abandon any thoughts of having him send me elsewhere.”
Rosalynde was too undone to reply. She was mistress here and he only a slave, less even than a serf. Yet he stood before her in all his villainous glory dictating to her and she had no choice but to surrender to his will. No matter how much she abhorred her predicament, she could not forget that he had only to reveal their handfast vow—and his subsequent seduction of her—to ruin her reputation forever. At the moment the fact that he would very likely pay for such a revelation with his own life seemed almost appealing! Still, she knew that she must be careful and not make a misstep with this man.
Stifling an impatient oath, she glared at him. “You wish to work here only to irritate me. Well, you shall work then, but you’ll be very sorry that you ever crossed me!” So saying she picked up a branch and swished it angrily through the air. “Remove that willow there. And all these saplings. Clear the remainder of the stone paths. And … and …” She glared at his complacent face and her temper rose even higher. “And get rid of those infernal dogs!”
Rosalynde stormed away before he could laugh and thereby goad her into doing something she might later regret, such as striking him with the switch she still clutched in her hand. At once she flung the branch away, horrified that he could propel her into such a towering rage that she could lose all control of her temper. It was not her way to shout at servants, nor to heap them with unreasonable amounts of work. And especially not to strike them!
Only he was not your everyday sort of servant, she fretted as she fled as quickly as was seemly across the bailey. He was a common criminal. No, she amended. He was quite an uncommon criminal.
He’s also your husband, her conscience reminded her. And the man who had claimed her maidenhead.
What an awful, awful coil she had entangled herself in, she agonized as she hurried toward the great hall. What a dreadful mess. Then she spied her father in conversation with young Cleve, and her heart fell to her feet. No doubt Cleve was in enough of a temper to reveal everything he knew to her father. If that were the case …
She refused to speculate on that horrible eventuality and instead took a fortifying breath and changed her direction to head toward the two men.
“Ahh, Rosalynde,” her father exclaimed as he saw her approach. “I’ve good news to share with you.” His smiling face eased her fears quite a bit, but Cleve’s wide grin confused her completely.
“I’ve decided to reward this brave young lad. I’ve no doubt you will agree with my decision, daughter.”
“Reward him?” Rosalynde repeated. Then she smiled, for she could not help but be pleased. Cleve had always been a good and loyal page. He’d proven his mettle when he’d defended her at the river and again when he’d challenged Blacksword, even though he’d been somewhat misguided at the time. He of all people deserved reward. “I hope it is something very good, for he has saved my very life. During the attack at the river,” she hastened to clarify.
“Yes. He is by all accounts an exceedingly brave lad. It is therefore my decision that he shall join the ranks of my squires, with the opportunity to train for knighthood.”
It was h
ard to say who was more stunned. Cleve’s face froze in a look of disbelief. His eyes shifted from Sir Edward to Rosalynde then back again to Sir Edward as his face reflected alternate feelings of wonder, terror, and then disbelief once more. Rosalynde knew that, considering his birthright was only that of bastard to a minor knight, he never had thought to aspire to more than an inside servant’s position. To his mind it was far better than laboring in the fields. But now! Rosalynde was the first of the two to recover her wits, and with a clap of her hands and a laugh of pure delight, she caught Cleve’s hands in her own.
“A squire! And mayhap a knight? I had never thought to call you Sir Cleve,” she exclaimed with a happy smile. “But I look forward now to the day with great anticipation.”
“He is not Sir Cleve yet,” her father interjected sternly. But there was still a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. “There is much hard work ahead of you, lad. All sorts of lessons in comportment and language and history, as well as tilting and swordplay and a hundred other things.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord! Thank you,” Cleve answered in a hushed, awe-struck voice. “Thank you so much. You will always have my undying gratitude, my complete loyalty, my endless faithfulness—”
“Yes, yes. I understand,” Sir Edward chuckled. Then he laid one of his hands on the boy’s narrow shoulder. “I suggest you finish this day’s tasks. But afterward you may remove yourself to the squires’ quarters above the storerooms. And tomorrow you will report to the captain of the guard along with the others to begin your new responsibilities.”
At this reference to the day’s tasks, Cleve came down a little from his euphoria and sent Rosalynde a questioning look. But she gave him a determined smile and waved him away.
“Never mind the garden. Be off with you,” she said.
“Yes, milady. Thank you, milady. Thank you, milord.” He backed away, bowing as he did. “Thank you, milord,” he repeated yet again. Then he turned and, with an exuberant leap, dashed off.
“He seems a good lad,” Sir Edward remarked as they both watched Cleve’s joyous departure.
“He will make you proud of your choice.” Rosalynde turned to face him. “He won’t let you down.”
“I never thought he would. I consider myself a fair judge of a man. And this one possesses the integrity a true knight needs. The honor.”
The honor. Those words haunted Rosalynde as she made her way back to the garden. Yes, Cleve possessed an innate sense of honor. But Aric had spoken of honor too. She’d accused him of having none, for he certainly could be the most horrible and contentious man alive. Yet even at his most dreadful he still maintained that odd air of nobility. Even when he’d faced the hangman, and then again when he’d been flogged before them all, he’d managed by his very bearing to hold onto his dignity. Once more she wondered where he’d come from and how he’d been brought to such a pass as the gallows.
By the time she reached the garden plot, her anger had all but disappeared, suppressed beneath her undeniable curiosity about him. Already the second tree was uprooted and dragged out of the garden space. The pack of hounds lay in various poses of relaxation near the beginning of the path, and beyond them Rosalynde could see Aric’s broad back as he bent and pulled, bent and pulled, yanking weeds and small shrubs from their stubborn hold on the fertile soil, then tossing them over his shoulder, roots and all, to leave an ever-mounting trail behind him. As she watched, he paused and straightened up. Then he pulled his tunic over his head, tossed it aside, and bent back to his work, clad only in his shirt.
Gardening was hardly considered proper work for a man. Serfs farmed of course, and a few women servants would always work in the castle garden. But mostly it was a chore reserved for boys. Yet even in this most menial of tasks Aric did not appear in the least demeaned. He tackled the work as he did everything, with force and determination. Rosalynde had to admit a grudging respect for the progress he’d made in such a short time. Already one of the stone-paved paths was cleaned almost to the center of the garden. At this rate her pleasaunce would take shape more quickly than she’d dared hoped.
Much calmed from her earlier angry mood, she made her way down the roughly cleared path toward Aric. Although she was behind him and he could not see her approach, he nonetheless seemed to sense her proximity. Like a wary beast he turned before she was within striking distance. At the sight of her, however, his wary stance relaxed and his watchful gaze turned assessing.
“Come to check on my diligence, Lady Rosalynde?” he asked in that ever-mocking tone. “Or perhaps to threaten me with still further labors?” He grinned as if neither of those possibilities worried him at all.
Rosalynde found herself hard-pressed to come up with an honest answer for her return. Why had she come back to the garden so soon? She could just as well have seen once more to the great hall, or perhaps to the kitchens. But she’d been drawn back here instead.
It was the garden itself, she told herself. Gardening was her particular hobby, and this garden especially meant very much to her. Certainly her return had nothing whatsoever to do with the man who faced her now. If anything, she was more likely to avoid the garden due to his presence in it. But that wouldn’t do either, she reprimanded herself. If she was to impress upon him that he could be no more and no less than any other servant at Stanwood, then she could neither seek him out nor avoid him any more than she did the others.
But that terribly logical thought held no sway in the least upon her splintered emotions. As she stared up at the hard planes of his face, her heart’s pace trebled and she was suddenly quite short of breath.
“I am here …” she began feebly. “I am here because this garden means very much to me.”
“Then it must mean as much to me.”
Such a courtly reply took her completely by surprise, and for a moment she could only stare at him, confusion clearly evident on her face. Then she frowned and looked away. “I am no fool. Do not patronize me.”
“Yes, milady.” he said, again with that smooth, well-mannered speech.
“Do not mock me!” she snapped, glaring at him furiously.
“And how would you have me treat you, Rose?” he answered, although his eyes glittered now with harder emotions.
“I-I am your mistress, whom you should treat with respect. And I will treat you equally well. Just do your work willingly, and you will be dealt with fairly at Stanwood.”
He considered her words a moment, all the while keeping his eyes fastened on her. “Have I not done my work well today?”
“Yes. Yes, truthfully you have.”
“So it follows then that you should treat me well.”
“But you are being treated well. You have a place to sleep. Food to eat—”
“That meets two of the four needs of a man,” he said, reminding her of their earlier conversation. “There’s still the matter of my freedom. And my woman,” he added more quietly. Then before she could recover from the shock of those bold words he continued. “Come to my bed, sweet wife. Even though I have granted you a little more time, that need not prevent us from lying together again.”
This time Rosalynde jumped as if she’d been burned. Indeed, his smoothly said words seemed to scorch her and she was at once heated through and through.
“You … you …” She sputtered ineffectually. “You are mad!”
“Mad with desire.”
“A-a villainous blackguard!”
“You are my wife.”
“A disgusting … a disgusting—”
“You were not disgusted, Rose. No matter how you try to convince yourself of it now, it was hardly disgust you felt at our joining.”
“Oh!” Rosalynde was unable to face one more dreadful word. She took one step backward, then turned to flee those too-perceptive eyes of his. But he caught her hand before she could escape and held her there before him. If his words had unnerved her, his possessive grasp drove all logical thought from her. Like a moonstruck fool she gaped at him, unable eve
n to disguise her emotions from him.
“Your hair should be free,” he murmured, staring deeply into her eyes. “Free to spill over your shoulders; free to slide between my fingers.” He pulled her nearer and for that moment Rosalynde forgot everything: the castle, her father, all the reasons he was the wrong man for her. “Come to me tonight,” he urged her as one of his hands circled her neck.
Then she felt the linen slip loose from around her head and in a moment her hair tumbled free in glorious abandon. She heard his quickly indrawn breath. His hands moved to slide through the thick dark masses. But she was too disconcerted to remain even a moment longer within his disturbing embrace.
“You … you should not,” she whispered as she backed away from the mesmerizing warmth of his hands. “Someone could see us—” She stopped abruptly, horrified that that was the only pitiful excuse she could come up with. That was not what she’d meant to say at all. But as he continued to stare at her with his compelling gray eyes, every logical thought flew right out of her head. She’d meant to tell him not to touch her so. She’d meant to say that he was impertinent in the extreme even to suggest such a thing. But the words would not come. With her heart racing furiously, Rosalynde could only back away from him, then, on legs that shook from the effort, walk carefully away.
She was soon safely locked in her own room, flung upon her own bed with the shutters locked tight against the light. But the pull was still there, and nothing changed that. Like a strong invisible tether, it tied her to him and she could not free herself from its power.
Heart to heart, she thought for one weak and fanciful moment.
No, she amended harshly. That was only wishful thinking. Loin to loin was a far more honest appraisal.
Tears filled her eyes at such a sinful admission, and with a sob she flung herself down onto the hard floor and huddled on her knees.
“I confess the sin of lust,” she whispered as she clasped her hands in desperate prayer. “I confess the sin of lust for a man I should abhor. Dear God, help me. Sweet Jesus, have mercy. Blessed Mother, I beseech thee …”
The Rose of Blacksword (Loveswept) Page 22