Always (10 page)

Aric laughed. “You are on your own there, friend.”

“I feared it would be so,” he said wryly, then held out a hand that Aric clasped firmly. “Godspeed and safe journey. I will see you when I see you.”

“Aye. And to you as well.”

Nodding, the man stepped back, watching forlornly as Aric turned his mount toward the gates and led the way out.

 

They rode through the rest of the day. The sun was setting when Aric finally called a halt to their travels. Stopping the horse in a clearing, he eased Rosamunde to the ground. Not wishing to embarrass her, he pretended not to notice when she staggered on legs long unused and grasped at his leg to maintain her balance. Dismounting, he staunchly ignored the pain that accompanied the sudden rush of blood through his own legs and led his horse to one of his men.

“Take care of the horses, Smithy,” he ordered calmly, then began to shout orders to the others, sending some to collect wood for a fire, others to hunt up some game for supper, and told the remainder to begin setting up camp. He then turned and made his way into the woods. He was
gone before Rosamunde could ask what it was exactly she was expected to do.

Deciding it was up to her to find something with which to occupy herself, she made her way through the woods, intent on capturing a rabbit to go with whatever the men brought back for supper. She had barely taken one step out of the clearing when Garvey, her husband's first in command, stepped before her, blocking her path.

Eyes widening, Rosamunde came to a halt, then murmured an apology and went to step around him. He was immediately in her path again. “Excuse me,” she snapped, a bit impatiently.

“I realize that it has been a long ride, my lady, but it would be better if you awaited my lord's return to attend to personal needs. I am sure he will not be long, and shall be happy to accompany you then.”

Rosamunde blinked at him rather blankly. It took her a moment to realize that he thought she had to relieve herself and was suggesting she wait to do so until Aric could accompany her. Flushing slightly, she shook her head. “I assure you, sir, 'tis nothing personal I intended on doing.”

One bushy brown eyebrow rose at that, but otherwise his firm expression did not change. “Then if you would tell me what it is you require, I will be happy to send one of the men to attend to it.”

Rosamunde frowned, then sighed and offered a sweet smile. “'Tis quite all right, good sir. I need no assistance; I merely thought that since my husband has shown a preference for my broasted rabbit, I would snare one for his supper.”

A strained smile tugged briefly at the corners of the man's mouth, then was gone. “Never fear, my lady. One of the men will surely bring back a rabbit.”

Rosamunde hesitated. She had not meant to suggest that the men could not manage to hunt on their own, but realized how her words must have sounded to this man.
Smiling wryly, she shook her head. “Of course, you are right. No doubt they shall bring back several.” The man relaxed enough to offer a smile and nod, but stiffened up all over again when she again went to step around him, saying, “I shall just help collect some wood, then.”

He was back in front of her at once, his expression firm as he shook his head. “The men shall collect wood for the fire, my lady. Why do you not return to the clearing and rest? It has been a long day for you, and tomorrow will be longer.”

Rosamunde glared at him, feeling her temper rise then whirled on her heel and flounced back into the clearing. She was all aquiver with impatience and the need to be useful. She had sat silent and still on that damnable horse for days now, and it was driving her mad. She had to do something. Anything.

Spying the stack of wood growing in the center of the clearing, she sighed and hurried forward. Here was something for her to do: she could build a fire.

She had barely begun to build one when she found herself gently but firmly ushered away from the wood by another man. “Why don't you go rest, lass?” the man said as he deposited her back where she'd begun.

They are trying to be kind,
she assured herself grimly.
You should not lose your temper over this: they are only trying to be kind.
Still, she found herself glaring at the back of the man building the fire as he clumsily set about his chore. She could have built a far better fire—and more quickly—if she had been given half a chance.

She was still fuming over that when the first of the hunters returned with his catch. Aric must have chosen a spot near the river again, for the man carried half a dozen fish he had managed to spear. Pinning a determined smile on her face, she hurried forward to meet the man as he neared the fire. “Oh, my, what lovely fish. Well done, sir,” she praised brightly. “Shall I help you to clean them?”

Despite preening at her compliments, still the man refused her help, assuring her he would do well enough, that she should rest. Rosamunde was about to insist when she spied another man returning carrying a couple of rabbits. Deciding that he looked a more likely sort, she turned away from the man with the fish and hurried to the newcomer's side.

 

When Aric returned from his dip in the river some time later, it was to find his wife seated despondently beside the fire, her unhappiness apparent in her posture. Sighing, he strode quickly toward her.

He had not forgotten her when he had stalked off to have his dip. In fact, he had rather been thinking of her. Riding behind her all the day, the soft curves of her body against his own, her sweet hair flying in his face…well, it had made it hard for him to concentrate on anything but the thought of planting himself deep within her again. And do some of that stirring and plowing she had talked about.

He had thought that opportunity would come once they reached Shambley, but they had arrived to find there was no bed available. Aric would not take his bride on a great hall floor for all to see, nor would he take her in camp surrounded by his men. Unfortunately, he had not bothered bringing a tent on this trip when he had hied off to his friend's home. He had been upset at the time, having just caught his betrothed in another man's arms, and had actually not bothered to take the time to collect much of anything. Thus he now found himself without the necessities that made travel bearable. His wife would be far from comfortable until they reached Goodhall. He himself would not fare much better. Having to camp out in the open every night, with his wife mere inches away and his men only a few feet farther.

That being the case, he thought it best to hurry them all home to Goodhall. There he would finally be able to
show his wife that the marriage bed was not a barn, nor was it supposed to be a torture rack. He just had to restrain himself until then. Which was why he had neglected to tend to his wife's personal needs until he had cooled off his desire somewhat with a cold dip in the river. It seemed however, that his wife was now in a state of misery. He supposed she was in dire need of relieving herself. That was the only reason he could think of for her appearing so wretched.

“Come,” he said quietly, taking her arm and urging her to her feet as soon as he reached her side. He quickly hustled her out into the surrounding woods, pausing only when he found a spot for her to use without being seen by any of the men. “Here you are.”

Rosamunde stared rather blankly at his back when he turned it to her, then down and around at her surroundings. His soldier's suggestion about personal needs still fresh on her mind, it did not take her long to realize what Aric expected her to do. Still, while Rosamunde supposed she really could benefit from relieving herself, she was a bit confused by her husband's abrupt manner.

Sighing, she shrugged, then tended to her needs. She found herself embarrassed despite the fact that his back was turned, since she knew he could hear her every move. Deciding once again that camping out really was not for her, Rosamunde finished with her business, and approached him with a sigh.

“You must teach me to ride, my lord.”

Aric whirled around, obviously surprised by her demand. But Rosamunde hardly noticed. Her mind was caught up in her own thoughts. She had determined that the reason Aric's men would not allow her to help was because they thought her helpless. And since they did not know her, the only reason she could think of for their mistaken assumption was because she could not ride and had to be taken up before their lord on his horse like a child. Oh, she had realized by now that it was not truly
Marigold's fault that she bounced about so. Robert had ridden her well enough after he'd had to put his own mount down, and that had proven that the problem had been Rosamunde's own. She had ridden against the horse rather than with it. Now she thought that if only her husband would teach her to ride, she would show these men that she was not helpless; then they would allow her to do her share.

“I must, must I?”

“Oh, aye. 'Tis a valuable skill, my lord, and surely it would be easier on your horse to carry only you?”

Aric nodded solemnly at that, then turned and led the way silently back to the camp. It was not until they reached the fire that he answered. “I shall teach you tomorrow at first light.”

 

“Nay! Not like that! Oh, damn!” Pulling on the reins he had yet to let go of, Aric drew Marigold to a halt, then leaned his head wearily on the horse's side, trying to regain his temper. When he had agreed to this asinine idea of teaching his wife to ride, he had thought it would take only a few minutes. Half an hour at the most. Unfortunately, his wife was turning out to be a turnip. She certainly rode a horse about as well as one, bouncing around in an ungainly fashion on the beast's back, no matter how many times he tried to instruct her differently. They had now been at their lessons for most of the morning and his men were looking on with dubious expressions that stated quite clearly what they thought of their new lady's ability.

“My lord,” Rosamunde got out through gritted teeth. “Mayhap if you did not yell so much—”

Some of the men began to nod their heads slightly at her words, but Aric bellowed, “I am
not
yelling!” That brought a doubtful look to all of their faces. The soldiers watched with interest as their new lady narrowed her eyes. She was looking at their lord as if he were a bug that
had just crawled up her skirt, and they were not at all surprised when she said in a hiss, “Very well. If you would stop ‘not yelling,' then mayhap—”

“Do not even say it!” Aric exploded, interrupting her and sending her horse had skittering a nervous step to the side. Rosamunde looked over at his men, most of whom had dry looks on their faces, as if they had just sucked a lemon. It was obvious to them as well that their lord was just making both his wife and the horse nervous and jittery with his impatience. But then, this had been a folly from the beginning, and every man knew it. It seemed a proven fact as their usually patient lord roared, “If you are about to suggest that your lack of skill is my fault—”

“Nay, of course not. But every time you yell, you make Marigold more nervous, and then I get more nervous, and our performance worsens.” The men were all nodding again, and that bolstered her resolve. “If you would stop yelling, perhaps we could—”

“You
are
saying it is my fault!” he roared, incensed, and the men all sighed and shook their heads. Marigold skittered another step away, growing even more tense. Aric seemed too infuriated to notice. “Well, to hell with that! Teach yourself how to ride, then!” Tossing the reins up into her face impatiently, he turned and started to stomp away.

“Very well, I will!” she snapped back, slapping the reins angrily. Marigold bolted, more than happy to get as far away from the bellowing man as possible, she charged off into the woods, carrying her mistress with her. The sudden furor that erupted behind them—as the men all began yelling and scrambling for their horses to give chase—seemed only to spur the animal on.

His back to his stubborn, incompetent wife, Aric was the last to realize what she was about. At first he was completely flummoxed when his men began yelling and suddenly clambered onto their horses, but when they went charging past him, he glanced over his shoulder to
see the tail end of his wife's mount disappearing into the trees. With a curse, he headed for his own horse.

 

Plastering herself to the mare's neck, Rosamunde prayed and held on for dear life. As Marigold weaved and bobbed through the woods, branches scratched at Rosamunde's face, slapping at her legs and back. She was at first too intent on keeping her seat to recall any of her husband's instructions. But as several minutes passed, she realized that she was no longer bouncing about on the horse's back; she was finally riding
with
the beast. Elation made her relax and grin. She was riding!
Well!
That would show her blowhard husband.

Taking a deep breath as the woods thinned out somewhat and Marigold found a trail to follow, Rosamunde eased back into a sitting position. She let her breath out in a relieved sigh; she was still able to keep pace with the animal and did not suddenly start bouncing about again. She had learned to ride. And not at that sedate little trot Aric had been forced to maintain with the two of them on his horse.
This
was true riding. The wind was whipping through her hair. The trail was flashing by underfoot. They were nearly flying, they were going so fast. This was grand! She had never felt so alive before. Why had the abbess never taught her to ride?

A series of shouts from behind her finally drew her attention, and Rosamunde peered over her shoulder. The men giving chase were a sight to see. Their hair plastered to their heads by the wind, their bodies hunched over the horses, the men were truly giving it their all. But they were losing the race. Marigold was faster than their warhorses, Rosamunde realized with some surprise and no little bit of pride. Since she had raised the horse herself, she felt this ability somehow reflected on her.