Читать книгу My Lady's Choice - Lyn Stone - Страница 11

More than a fortnight had passed since his wounding. Richard thanked God the Scots had stayed on the other side of the border for the time being. Though he had healed well, he had enough trouble as it was right here at Fernstowe.

As a rule, he rarely dreamed. Now Sara not only invaded his privacy by day, but also by night. In the days following her interruption of his bath, he could not banish the woman from his mind no matter how hard he tried.

The clean, flowery scent of her clung to his pillows as though she had slept there. He would awake with his nose buried in their softness, seeking the phantom source of her essence.

His hands tingled for want of touching that fine, smooth skin of hers. More than anything, he ached to teach that impudent mouth of hers a lesson, to devour it with his own and make her groan with need as he felt like doing. She set his senses afire, waking and sleeping.

On this particular morning, he again woke in a sweat, highly aroused and with every detail of the fantasies fresh in his mind. Before he’d had time to recover, she swept into his chamber chattering. Though nothing she said was in any way provocative, the mere tone of her voice made him burn like a brush fire.

“’Tis dawn! Looks to be a lovely weather. I thought we might hold the court outdoors.”

“Court?” he questioned, squinting at the window and its meager light of early morn. He had sudden visions of a daylong harangue between squabbling peasants.

She handed him the cup of ale she’d brought with her. “Not really court as such, though it is the time for it. There are no quarrels to settle that I know about, but the villagers and many of those farming the outer reaches will come today to swear fealty to you. I thought we would make a celebration of it. Nothing grand. Extra ale and sweet cakes, cheese, broken meats.”

She whirled around and threw open the lid of his clothes chest. “What will you wear? I’ll help you dress.”

He thunked down the cup on the table and swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep his body covered lest she see the state he was in. “Go along. I’ll be down directly.”

She glanced over her shoulder and for an instant vulnerability and uncertainty clouded her features. Then, quick as a blink, the expression was gone, replaced by a blinding smile. “Very well. I am glad you are feeling better.”

Carefully she laid down the tunic she was holding and backed away from the chest.

She hesitated when she reached the door and turned back to him. “Richard, would you grant me a favor? Just for the duration of the swearing and the feasting afterward?”

He did not feel disposed to grant her anything after the restless nights she had caused him, but he was curious. “I owe you for tending me and you know it. I always pay my debts. What is it you wish?”

She banished the blush she wore and met his eyes directly. “Hide your displeasure with me for the day?”

Richard could clearly see what the request had cost her. She bit her lips together and stood as straight as a lance, but her knuckles gleamed white on the one hand that clutched the other. He noted a tremor shake her ever so slightly as she awaited his answer.

“If you wish,” he agreed, watching her closely.

She nodded once. “My thanks.” Then she turned quickly and left, silently closing the door behind her.

Richard began to dress, wondering all the while why he should feel so guilty. Had he treated her any worse than she deserved? What could a woman expect when she tricked a man the way she had done? But his cursed conscience bothered him all the same.

Sara had believed him landless. She thought he also would profit by their marriage, so he could not complain that her motives were entirely self-serving. And save for an occasional flare of temper, the woman did act kind and cheerful, almost desperately so. Patient with him, too, even on the occasions when he had deliberately set out to raise her ire.

He shrugged and put his mind to dressing himself as befitted a lord about to assume the rule of a new estate and win the confidence of its people.

No reason to air his grievances about his new wife publicly, Richard decided. By rights, what lay between the two of them should remain private. In any event, he would never disparage Sara before Fernstowe’s people. But he would make an extra effort to appear congenial toward her now that she had asked it of him.

When he arrived in the hall, he saw Sara in an earnest discourse with two of her men. In truth it appeared to be more an argument than a discussion.

Richard recognized Everil and Jace, two of the most vocal among Sara’s men-at-arms. He had become fairly well acquainted with most who resided at Fernstowe now, and had appraised the force available to him for defense. At present, both guards were disagreeing hotly with something she had just said.

Richard approached, stood close and laid his right palm at the back of Sara’s waist. The men immediately fell silent. They regarded him and his proprietary gesture toward their lady with sharp curiosity.

“I trust nothing is amiss here,” Richard said evenly, favoring each man with a pointed look of warning.

“Nay, milord,” the man called Jace assured him. Then he smiled. “Milady says we should ride to the outer reaches this morn and escort in the folk who bide there. Ev and I, we thinks they’ll be coming without our prodding. They know it’s court day. We’ll stay here.” The other fellow, Everil, nodded in agreement.

Richard raised an eyebrow and pinned both men with a glare that promised retribution if they balked further. “If your lady says ride out, then mount up and do it. Her word is mine, and you will obey her every command hereafter. Or else. Am I understood?”

They left immediately, all but stumbling over each other in their haste to reach the stables.

Richard removed his hand from Sara and propped it on the hilt of his sword. “Have you had problems with those two before this?”

“Not really,” she answered with a short laugh. “’Tis only that they find it loathsome to risk the others appropriating their added portions of ale while they are gone.”

“And they do not like a female issuing directives,” he guessed. “We cannot have that. If they question your orders again, I shall put them on the road.”

“It is good of you to support me so,” Sara said with a shrug of embarrassment. “I did not expect it, but I do thank you.”

“My duty,” Richard replied. When he glanced down at her and saw the frank gratitude in her beguiling eyes, he added, “And my pleasure.”

Now why the devil had he said that? Her artless appreciation of it made him uncomfortable. Next she would be treating him as though they were boon companions or some such. Or worse yet, taunting him in his bath again, as if they were lovers.

Why did she persist with this idea that they could be friends? A ridiculous notion. He could never be friends with anyone he did not trust, and he knew without doubt that Sara had some ulterior motive in befriending him.

She wished him in her bed. He knew very well that it was not for want of him as a man. Nobly born women only suffered that duty for one reason and he supposed that was as it should be. Sara wanted a child, probably to insure that his own son did not inherit Fernstowe.

The fairness of her thinking struck Richard fully for the first time. Fernstowe should belong to her and hers. Neither he nor his son had any use for this place. Christopher already owned one twice the size that had been his mother’s dower portion. And, unless Alan decided to claim Strode-south at their father’s death, Chris would also become heir to that estate in Gloucestershire.

Richard slid a glance sidewise at the lovely woman who daily sought to seduce him with good humor. True, she was ambitious, at least for the unborn child she wanted, and she needed a protector to hold this place safe. Mayhap she had been too presumptuous in choosing him to provide those things, but she was no villain.

Everything he had demanded of her thus far, she had done willingly and without complaint. Her comely appearance did them both honor. She wore no jewels but the fabrics were fine. The clothing she chose was fashionable. He had found no fault with that since the day he had ordered her to dress as a lady should.

Truth be told, he found no fault with Sara at all, except her claiming him when he did not wish to marry. Yet beneath all his anger about that, Richard could not help feeling flattered that she had chosen him. That was a vanity best kept well hidden.

Did she really think he was fooled by this come-hither game she played? He had to wonder just how far she would carry the pretense of wanting him. No further than his capitulation, he would wager. Only far enough to make him beholden to her. Sara was not to blame for that, of course. It was simply their way, these gentlewomen. They were taught it was the only way to be.

Evaline had also offered promising smiles when they first met. Pity the poor man who believed they would deliver on the promise of any shared passion. He’d not make that mistake again.

At the moment, Sara was speaking with one of the kitchen maids who suddenly made a comical face at her and groaned. Sara laughed aloud and hastened the maid away with a pat on the back.

She was always touching. A friendly pat here, a handshake there. Not a standoffish woman, Sara. Not with underlings, and most assuredly not with him.

God knows she made him want to touch back. Even now he could feel that lively body of hers against his palm as he had lent his consequence to her orders earlier.

Could he ignore his pride and anger and give this wife of his the heir she wished for? He should, for it was only fair. But could he bear it when she lay motionless beneath him, merely enduring his attentions in order to get the child she wanted?

No, not under any circumstance would he suffer that again from any woman, no matter how much he desired her.

“Why do you shake your head so?” Sara asked him. “One would think I had just proposed that you milk the goats in Ethel’s stead!” She gave his arm a fond squeeze.

Touching again, Richard thought with a scowl.

“Come and sit with me. We’ll have bread and cheese to break our fast while we make plans for the day.”

He itched to fling her hand off his arm and curse her for her merry nature. He yearned to kiss that sunny smile off her face and force her to feel how she tempted him. He ought to haul her back to the bedchamber, and make her feel as undone and as trammeled as he was.

That would never happen, Richard knew from experience. Oh, she would allow his advances right enough. Then when it was too late for him to stop, she would stiffen with disgust, bear his attentions like a stoic and then calmly ask a huge favor in return for her trouble.

The game of marriage was conducted that way, but Richard refused to participate this time. Right and proper it might be to everyone else’s thinking, but he misliked it intensely.

Instead, he bared his teeth in what he hoped passed for a smile and followed Sara’s lead. For the day, at least, he had given his word to play sweet.

All of those who were coming for the monthly court day had arrived by midmorning and Sara formally introduced Richard as their new liege.

His way with her people amazed her. Though he appeared pleasant, even benevolent, not one of them would ever believe her new husband a weak lord. He offered strength of sword and strength of purpose.

Whatever his feelings toward her, Sara knew she had chosen wisely. He would protect Fernstowe and see that all went well in the areas where she could not.

“What a fine day,” she commented happily as they sat together at one of the tables set up in the bailey. Some of the people milled about and some sat to visit as they ate. All seemed content with the way things were. “The swearing went well.”

“None appeared reluctant,” he agreed. Richard tore off a piece of the special bread she’d had prepared for this day and offered it to her as was fitting.

She took it and inclined her head in thanks. “They will thrive on your leadership, I expect.”

“And have not done poorly under yours, so I see.”

“Why, thank you, sir.” Though she knew he forced the smile, Sara lauded his effort. All day he had kept his word. Not once had he glared in anger or given any sign that he resented his position here, either as her husband or as Lord of Fernstowe. By standing always near her, discreetly stroking her back or taking her arm, he had exhibited his claim upon her and thereby upon Fernstowe.

Now he had just paid her a very high compliment, indeed. Since no one else was near enough to overhear his words, Sara regarded them as genuine and not for show. How heartening.

She watched the movement of his large, capable hands as he cut a bite-size portion of meat and held it out to her on his eating knife.

His gaze fastened on her mouth. Sara reached out and touched his wrist lightly as though to steady his aim and felt his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips. Desire flamed in the green depths of his eyes as it often did when they came close.

If only she could persuade him to act upon that impulse, Sara thought she might make those smiles of his become real. Though she knew her limitations as a temptress, she also understood his needs. She could meet them if he would only let her.

No woman at Fernstowe, including the promiscuous Darcy, would dare usurp her place in Richard’s bed. Not unless Sara herself suggested it to them.

Her offer of Darcy had been made only to see whether the man would ever seek another. His reaction to it reassured her. Richard did not hold with infidelity.

Sara hoped that he would relent in his attitude toward her if they became intimate. Surely two people could not share such closeness and remain strangers for long.

Aside from that aim, anticipation flowed through her veins like warm, sweet wine each time he was near. Sooth, even when he was not, she thought about it.

When she had received the bite of meat, Richard abruptly turned away. But Sara did not worry overmuch. His reluctance would fade one of these days. He still felt trapped. She would grant him time enough to come to terms with all that had happened. No need to hurry.

She quickly sought a topic of conversation that would lighten his mood. “Your messenger will have reached Gloucestershire some while ago. Should the children not arrive soon?”

He nodded and concentrated on his food. “In a few days, if all goes as planned. Both ride well and will not need to come by cart. My father will send them under escort. I’ve requested two of his knights and I expect they will stay on here. You could use more men accustomed to arms until the border problem is resolved.”

“Do tell me about them.” She leaned toward him, eager to hear.

“The knights?”

Sara laughed. “Nay, your children! I do not even know their names.”

He looked suspicious. “Why do you pretend interest?”

“No pretense, Richard,” she assured him. “I am interested.”

“Why?” he asked, idly stabbing at his trencher with the knife.

“Because I look forward to being a mother.”

For a long moment, he was silent. Then he acceded, though his words were gruff. “Christopher is seven and big for his age. Has the look of me, they do say. It is past time he began training as page, but my mother has put it off.”

“Then we shall begin his instruction as soon as he has settled in. Now, what of your daughter?” Sara asked.

Richard’s hand stilled. Then he carefully laid down his knife and turned to face her. “She has suffered enough, my Nan, so do not think I’ll let you make a servant of her.”

Taken aback by his sudden vehemence, Sara shook her head. “Oh, Richard, I had no such notion.”

“See that you do not. Nan shall be taught a lady’s skills so that she might marry well one day. Her birth is not to be discussed in her presence. Not by anyone. Is that understood?”

“I agree,” Sara said. “Does she know that she is your natural child?”

He snorted with disgust and looked away. “People have beaten her about the head with that fact since the day of her birth. Always behind my back, be assured. But if it happens here, I shall know it and there will be consequences.”

Sara smiled with relief and delight. “You love her.”

He sighed heavily and rested his elbows on the table. “She has no one else.”

Sara reached out and encircled his arm with her hands, unable to help showing how much she admired him. “Rest your mind on that score, Richard. Your Nan will have me, as well.”

That earned her a wary look of hope. He did not quite believe her, but she could see that he wanted to. That was progress.

Sara determined then and there that no matter what his children were like, she would make them as welcome as if she had birthed them herself.

She patted his arm fondly and let go of him. “Now, finish your meal and go above for a rest. We must get you completely well before Christopher and Nan arrive. Nothing troubles a child more than seeing the father less than hardy. I speak as one who knows.”

He rose and accompanied her toward the entrance. It felt almost natural now, this walking side by side in step, her arm looped through his. Progress, indeed. Yesterday, he would have stalked away and left her standing there.

“Your father was often ill?” he asked, his voice almost conversational, as though they truly were companions and he cared about her answer.

“Healthy, for the most part, but I have seen him wounded a few times. Father was never the most cautious of men.” She remembered well her feelings whenever she had seen her sire bedridden. “As a girl, I much feared he would die and leave me.”

“And so he did,” Richard reminded her. She heard the sympathy in his voice, even though he tried to sound blunt. The man had a good heart, but worked so devilish hard to hide it from her.

She frowned up at him. “Aye, he died. But I was no longer a girl when it happened. Though one is never prepared to lose a father, I was able to keep things going much as he would have done.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Until you found you must marry.” As they climbed the steps, he asked, “Those two suitors of yours cannot be the only bids for your hand in all these years. Why did you wait so long? Most women are wed, or at least betrothed, at half your age.”

Sara pulled open the door, not waiting for him to do her the courtesy. “I grew old awaiting the right man,” she said brightly. “And, lo, I have found you.”

She grinned up at his dark expression and fiercely in-drawn breath. Good Lord, why did she feel so obliged to bait him? Must be because he always reacted so obligingly, she thought.

Her wicked teasing would one day be the death of her, but somehow she could not resist. “You are entirely too grave, Richard,” she admonished playfully. “I did but jest.”

“I failed to find humor in it.”

“Well, I guessed that right away. What must we do to make you laugh, I wonder?” She sidled away from him and then turned toward the kitchens.

His eyes remained on her back until she was out of sight. She could feel the heat of his glare. It warmed more than her heart, she thought with a secret smile.

Richard watched Sara’s hips sway as she left him standing in the hall. She did that apurpose, he knew.

With those long legs and slender curves, the woman had to work at that enticing, follow-me saunter. She usually moved with a firm and purposeful stride. She continued to taunt him, now without any words.

Despite knowing that, he was still watching when the hall door burst open just behind him.

A breathless lad he’d met earlier gasped, “Milord…banners. Royal. Quarter league distant. A herald rides hard for the gates.”

King Edward. Richard groaned beneath his breath. He was not looking forward to this.