The beginnings of various extracts and potions lay scattered on the bench. Dusting her hands, she watched Meg ease her bulk onto the stool. “What brings you here, Meg?”
Folding her hands in her lap, Meg fixed her bright hazel eyes on Eloise’s face. “Tis a favor I have to ask of ye, lady, and I tell ye now that I mislike how the lord might see it.”
Eloise smiled. “What is this favor?” Despite the evidence of their eyes, which, as had been made abundantly clear over the past seven days, Montisfryn’s people were well able to interpret, they persisted in treating his temper with an awe they couldn’t seem to accept she didn’t share. “If tis reasonable, then I will grant it. As our lord is a fair man, I see no reason to imagine any difficulties.”
Meg shot her a skeptical glance. “Tis the matter of my successor, and her training.”
Resuming stripping the feathery leaves from a branch of lad’s love, Eloise raised her brows inquiringly.
Meg sighed gustily. “Eh, me, but I’m getting older, and tis in my mind that I won’t be here forever. Tis Roseanne I’ve chosen to take over after me, lady. She’s a strapping wench, well-liked, and strong enough to maintain order, yet not without a brain.”
Nodding, Eloise conceded the point. Her observation of the wenches most favored by Montisfryn’s senior men had brought Roseanne to her notice. The girl was far from daft, and uncommonly open and confident, untouched by any shadows despite her life.
“And, o’course, she’s Montisfryn-born and bred—been here all her life.”
Which, presumably, explained Roseanne’s assurance. “But tis not in my sphere to supervise such arrangements.” Eloise glanced at Meg. “And I doubt the lord would countenance me lending direct support.”
Meg shook her head vigorously. “Nay—tis not that that I would ask. I can teach Roseanne all she needs to know, and the saints have not called on me just yet. Before they do, I’ll have her firmly in charge, and teach her all ‘bout drafts, and potions, and such as the girls do need for our business, if you take my meaning.”
Eloise did. She nodded, and Meg went on, gazing earnestly at her, “Tis the things I don’t know, lady, that I wondered if you would teach her. How to care for the little ones and treat the simple ailments. I know not much of that, but there’s much need of it, and the castle’s very large. If any sickness comes on us, tis the babes and girls as are the last to get treatment. If you could teach Roseanne just the simple things, and if she was to help you here preparing the specifics, I thought as how she might then be able to give care more promptly to the young’uns.”
Eloise’s brows had risen. She nodded. “Tis a valid point.”
“And some of the girls was talking, seeing you in the garden yesterday. They say they could help keep it tidy in return. Little Marie—she’s the Frenchie—’parently she started in a convent. She knows a thing or two ‘bout planting, and nurturing, and such.”
The offer was tempting. Eloise had had to supervise the weeding of the herb-garden most closely; the gardeners, men all, considered anything smaller than a bush totally without consequence.
“Your ideas are sound, Meg.” Her fingers had stalled; Eloise set down the stripped branch. “Tis my feeling twould be wise to have someone other than myself trained in the healer’s art.” After a moment, she grimaced and met Meg’s eye. “I would agree, yet I fear I must seek the lord’s permission in this. The healer’s art, even in simples, encompasses knowledge I dare not spread without his consent.”
Meg’s face fell. “I doubt he’ll be agreeable, lady. Tis asking a lot, for Roseanne would have to work closely with you.”
Eloise didn’t try to brush the remark aside; Montisfryn wouldn’t approve. Yet the commonsense of the suggestion was compelling. “Nay, do not give up hope. I will ask, and do everything I may to convince him.”
After scrutinizing her expression, Meg humphed and hauled herself to her feet. “I’ll leave you to your business then, lady.” With a nod, she headed for the door, only to pause, hesitating, in the doorway.
Eloise raised her brows in mute question.
Meg shifted, then vouchsafed, “Tis a bit of advice, lady, if you’ll take it. Twould be best if you saved your request until you and he are alone.”
Eloise blinked.
“In your chamber,” Meg added. “Tas been my experience men are more amenable at such times to persuasion.”
The pointed look that accompanied those words very nearly overset Eloise. Heat seeped into her cheeks.
Meg saw it and snorted. “Pleasure him well, lady, and I’m thinking he’ll agree to almost anything you ask.”
Eloise’s felt her cheeks burn.
Luckily, Meg didn’t wait for a reply. With an unrepentant cackle that echoed eerily in the stairwell, she shuffled out.
With a belated glare at the empty doorway, Eloise relieved her feelings with an unladylike snort, then reached for a branch of verbena.
A week had passed since she’d first ridden into the castle; ever since, both she and Montisfryn had been furiously busy. After eighteen months’ absence, the duties requiring his attention were manifold; he had to be everywhere—in court, in bailey and town, and riding through the countryside inspecting his vassals’ holdings and his own. For her, there had been the storehouses, the gardens, and the dovecotes and beehives outside, the cooking, preserving, ale-making, spinning, weaving, and garment-making inside; all had had to be reviewed and practices updated. Winter loomed large; with a castle full to bursting, they would need all they could produce in the next few months.
Mixing the leaves of lad’s love and verbena, she stuffed them into a linen pouch. Picking up needle and thread, she stitched the pouch’s opening, squinting in the poor light.
Despite consistent effort, she had yet to make significant progress in bringing Montisfryn to his knees. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. That he appreciated her wifely attentions she didn’t doubt; he was always lustily generous in reciprocating. Nevertheless, there remained between them a certain wary reticence, as if he kept his true feelings behind a shield and, natural warrior that he was, he was reluctant to lower it.
Luckily, he seemed in no overt rush to drag her before the priest; she yet had time to convince him to trust her. In all other respects, their relationship, their partnership, albeit not yet blessed, was working.
Very well.
Tying the thread firmly, she tossed the pouch into a basket with a handful of others, each filled with a different combination of herbs. Dusting her hands on her cote, she cast a last glance around, then picked up the basket and walked to the door. Pulling the heavy oak door closed behind her, she headed for Lanella’s chamber.
A late afternoon visit with Lanella had become an established part of her routine. It was a time she looked forward to, keen to glean the snippets Lanella let fall of Montisfryn’s life. For her part, she’d freely confessed to most of her existence—the fact of her marriage, her years in the cloister and, later, at Versallet Castle, reserving only the details of her illfated marriage, details she no longer classed as relevant.
She paused before the arras barring the entrance to Lanella’s chamber. Today, she would ask if Lanella knew of any female connections suitable to invite to stay—the first step in establishing her own group of ladies, something she had thought she would never do.
Smiling, she put a hand to the heavy tapestry and pushed it aside. “Good afternoon, lady. I’ve brought some sachets to sweeten your robes.”
*
“Check, and mate.”
Sitting forward in the chair before their bedchamber fire, Eloise stared at the destruction of her grand strategy. “I don’t believe it.” Her tone, a medley of disgust and incredulity, mirrored her feelings. With her eyes, she retraced their last moves, then she groaned. “Tis unfair!”
Alaun chuckled, his grin widening into a maddening smile. “Nay, lady. Tis what you earn for being both too cautious, then too impulsive.”
“Impulsive!”
Incensed at her twelfth successive loss, she glared. “I am never impulsive.”
One brow arched; his golden eyes opened wide. “Am I to understand that your behavior last night was premeditated, lady?”
She blushed—furiously. “Twas not…I—” She broke off, her memories disrupting her defense. He’d been detained in the hall last night, discussing legal matters with Edmund. When Alaun had failed to appear for their nightly bout of chess, she’d retired, slightly miffed, to their bed. But sleep had eluded her. When he had finally parted the heavy curtains and slid beneath the furs, she had all but thrown herself at him. Needless to say, he’d been perfectly willing to catch her. Bending a look of haughty disdain on him, she retreated with, “Tis unchivalrous of you to tease me so.”
He laughed and rose from the stool, stretched mightily, then extended a hand to her. “Perhaps, lady.” His tone deepened. “Yet I have it in mind to tease you more this night.”
She kept her eyes on his hand as heat blossomed within her. She remembered Old Meg, heard her words…Eloise looked up. “Stay a moment, lord. There’s a matter I would discuss with you.”
His expression clearing, he resumed his seat. “Say on, lady. You know you have my ear.”
She knew that was true. He had pleased her greatly by bring his problems into their chamber and, as if he’d been doing so all his life, laying them before her. As they had debated the matters of law brought before him, she had begun to learn the ins and outs of Marcher lordship. He would listen to her views, sometimes agreeing, sometimes dismissing them, but never lightly. So she hesitated only long enough to marshal her arguments into battle-order—she held no illusions of easy victory.
“Tis the matter of an assistant to help me with the stillroom, lord.” Despite Meg’s advice, she was determined to win the point on the field of logic, rather than in their bed. If they were partners in truth, he would listen to her arguments and weigh them on their merits. “I have been thinking much of the matter, as it’s not wise to have only one person trained in healing when there’s such a large community to be served.”
He nodded. “There used to be an old woman and her daughter, but both are gone now.” He met her gaze. “Tis hard to think of any who would suit. I would suggest Maud, but she has too much to do already with Lanella.”
“Aye. And as there are presently no girls in training, there are none to act even in a temporary capacity.”
Frowning, he nodded again.
Assuming her most earnest expression, she ventured, “Tis my thought, lord, that as the need is urgent what with winter coming on, we should not lightly dismiss any potential candidate.”
His eyes narrowed, his golden gaze lance-sharp. “Who is it you have in mind, lady?”
There was an ominous ring to his tone. She didn’t hesitate. “The girl known as Roseanne, lord.”
“No.”
She stared. “You’ve admitted the need for another to be trained. Roseanne is quick to learn—she could tend those in the outer bailey to relieve me of the load.”
“No.”
She assimilated that declaration of male decision. Allowing her expression to become as stony as his, she raised one brow. “Who, then, do you suggest?” She let a moment elapse before adding, “I would have you know that while there are herbs enough for the purpose, alone, I will not have time to prepare them as needed to last through winter and spring. Many might die before the thaw have I not the specifics with which to treat them.”
Alaun narrowed his eyes even more. “I do not deny your need, lady, but Roseanne will not do.”
“Why not?”
Suppressing the impulse to grind his teeth, he answered, his tone cutting, “I do not deny that she is quick to learn—Roland has frequently commented on the fact.”
Eloise smiled—sweetly. Eyes darkly impassive, she inclined her head. “I am glad, lord, that her wit has been vouched for by one whom I know you trust.”
The sting in her words slipped under his guard. He was rising, scowling, before he knew it; on his feet, he placed his hands on his hips. Discovering himself outmaneuvered, he glowered down at her. “I trust you well, lady. Thrust not that barb at me.”
Eloise regarded him with calm skepticism. “How can you expect me to believe that when you will not take my advice in an area that is so peculiarly my domain?” And not yours was the inference, but she held the words back.
With a sound midway between a growl and a snarl, he spun about and paced. Then he halted, fixing her with a glance sharper than tempered steel. “Roseanne is a whore, lady. I will not have you consort with such.”
“Roseanne is a woman—what she does with her nights does not concern me. Her days are her own and mostly free. She’s quick-witted and has nimble fingers.” She held his gaze. “I suspect Roland can vouch for that, too.”
For an instant, she thought he might roar. The glance he bent on her brimmed with exasperation.
“Roseanne has all the needful traits for one handling herbs and potions.” She noted how cloudy his eyes had become; well-versed in the tactics of such battles, she recognized the moment and delivered her disabling thrust. “If I do not shy from training her, why should you object?”
He eyed her grimly. “I like not the idea of you associating with whores.”
She swallowed a wayward impulse to ask him why—did he imagine she might learn something too shocking even for him? “Tis my understanding the condition is not contagious.”
She saw his lips twitch—and knew she’d won.
Disgruntled, not at all used to such defeat, Alaun heaved a sigh. “Nay, lady. You know tis not that that I fear.”
Smoothly, she rose and came to stand before him, looking up into his face. “Yours fears are groundless. Twill not hurt me to train Roseanne as my assistant.”
He held her dark gaze. “Tis not as I would have it, Eloise.”
“Perhaps, yet there is much to be said for the notion, if you would have me tell you true.”
“Oh?”
She told him of the other girls’ offers to help with the herb-garden. Before he could object, she added, “Their help will be vital to get all in readiness.”
When his scowl didn’t soften, she offered, “I will undertake to train Roseanne solely within the stillroom and herb-garden. There’s no need for us to be together elsewhere.”
He gazed into her upturned face, seeing her determination and the conviction that fueled it. He made one, last, half-hearted protest. “I like this not, lady.”
The soft, disgruntled growl made Eloise smile. She laid a hand along his cheek. “Nay, lord.” She looked deep into his eyes. “Trust me.” Lowering her lids, she stretched up and touched her lips to his.
As she made to draw back, he growled. His arms locked her to him; his lips captured hers.
It was a storming in truth, his frustration finding an outlet in conquest. She yielded readily, clinging to him, wrapping her arms about his neck and holding tight as he ravaged her senses—a thoroughly enjoyable consequence of victory.
When he finally consented to raise his head, easing his hold on her as they turned without words to the bed, she grinned.
Trapping her before him, his fingers busy with the front lacing of her gown, Alaun glanced at her face. “Why such smugness, lady? Think you you will win all our arguments so easily?”
She flicked him a teasing glance. “Nay, tis just that I was thinking I must explain my tactics to Meg.”
“Meg?”
“Aye. She suggested I approach you quite otherwise.”
He snorted. Pressing the bodice of her gown wide, he unraveled the ribbons of her chemise and, slipping one hand beneath the soft materials, cupped her breast. Slowly, he brought his fingers around her nipple, smiling with satisfaction when she shuddered and closed her eyes. He lowered his head and drew the crinkling nub into his mouth, softly laving it with his tongue before suckling lightly.
Eloise gasped. Her fingers, twined in his soft locks, tightened on
his skull.
“What did Meg suggest?”
Her legs gave way. She leaned against his supporting arm. “She said”—she broke off as he bared her other breast—“that if I pleasured you well”—he stroked her tightly furled nipple and her breath hitched—“you would agree to anything.” She rushed the words out before his lips touched her aching flesh, then sighed deeply when they did.
After he’d rendered her witless, he dispensed with her clothes, leaving her to lean against one of the bedposts for the few moments it took him to strip. Naked, he drew her into his arms, moving suggestively against her.
The rasp of his crisp hair against her smooth skin drove her wild.
“I’ve been thinking.”
Distracted, she blinked up at him, thoroughly dazed as one large hand curved about her bottom.
“About agreeing to your idea.”
She frowned. He rarely changed his mind. “Why?”
Ignoring the question, Alaun stared at the wall. “Vacillating,” he mused. “I rather think I’m suddenly unsure.”
Looking down at Eloise, he arched a brow. “Perhaps you should follow Meg’s advice—just to make certain of your victory?”
Her frown vanished, replaced by a wide, siren’s smile. Brazenly, she rubbed her taut breasts against his chest, clearly delighting in the hiss of his indrawn breath.
“Mayhap twould be wise, lord,” she purred. “Just to make sure.”
With a wicked grin, she lowered her head to lay a tracery of nibbling kisses across the width of his chest. He closed his eyes the better to savor the pleasure as she moved from side to side, slowly working her way downward.
By the time he realized just what she intended, it was far too late. His jaw tightened as his fingers clenched in her braids; an unbearable tension gripped him. His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing more labored than in battle.
His last coherent thought was one of intense relief that she hadn’t tried this method first.
Old Meg had had the right of it.
*
Two days later, Eloise solved the problem of how to determine what foodstuffs remained in the castle’s capacious storehouses. The matter had been exercising her mind for days; she could ill-afford the hours necessary to sift through the odds and ends. Finally, the idea of using the castle’s chaplain, along with the pages he instructed in their letters every morning, had dawned.
Desire's Prize Page 33