Always (21 page)

Lord Burkhart nodded solemnly. “Aye. It would seem so. 'Tis a good thing you have started on the new stables. Mayhap if you added a few more men it will be ready sooner.”

“It matters little. It will not aid in this situation.”

Eyes widening slightly, Burkhart glanced at Bishop
Shrewsbury who was making his way along the stalls toward them. “Why will it not help?”

Shrewsbury shrugged idly. “He has refused her access to the stables.”

“And so she has brought the stables into my keep?” Aric cried, stricken.

“Oh, do stop bellowing like a wounded bear,” Gordon snapped irritably, then turned impatiently back to the bishop. “So he has denied her the stables. I have heard that several times now, but still do not understand why it is so important. What does it matter whether she is allowed in the stables or not? Surely, once the animals have some protection she will not feel the need to interfere?”

“'Tis not interference. This is what she does. The healing of animals is the gift God gave her. It was her task at the abbey. She was valued highly for it there,” Bishop Shrewsbury explained quietly. The prelate turned to peer down at the younger Burkhart sadly. “Truly, my lord, you should return her to where the gifts God gave her are valued. I pray you, send her back to the abbey. There she may take the veil and lead the life she was meant to live. She would be so much happier there. She is miserable here.”

Aric glared at the man for a moment, his face flushing with growing rage. The idea of Rosamunde being returned to the abbey upset him much more than the fact that she was turning his home into a shambles and allowing a hawk to relieve itself on his damn chair! For a moment, his mind was filled with the memory of her sweet smile, the soft smell of her, her singsong voice as she had tried to cheer his stupid horse, and her soft coos of passion and delight as he had pleasured her last night. The very idea that this sanctimonious ass standing over him was trying to talk him into giving her up, and claiming she would be happier if he did so, made him want to choke the breath from him. When the fury built to a point beyond containment, Aric roared, “
Get out!
Get out, get out!
Now, damn you!
”

Eyes wide as he took in his son's fury, Gordon Burkhart glanced over his shoulder at the cleric. “It may be better if you did…er…leave for a bit, Bishop,” he suggested delicately. “Mayhap a nice ride would be a good idea.”

“Come!” Lord Spencer said bracingly, stepping in to assist in the awkward moment of silence that followed. “We shall return to the village for our meal. These fellows will sort things out here, hmmm? Find Smithy, Joseph, and have him prepare the wagon.”

Clearing his throat, Smithy stepped out of the stall he had stood frozen in since Aric had been forcibly dragged into the stables. He quickly set about his task as Joseph ushered Lord Spencer and Shrewsbury out of the building.

Aric, Robert, and Gordon remained still and silent until Smithy was finished. Once he had gone, Gordon turned back to his son with a sigh. “Are you feeling any more reasonable?”

“Reasonable?” Aric laughed bitterly. “There was a hawk relieving itself on my chair.”

Gordon sagged slightly and sighed. “Aric, you are married now. There are certain adjustments you must make—”

“Adjustments!” Aric squawked. “There was a goat eating one of my banners.”

“Rosamunde meant well,” Robert tried, and Aric glared at him.

“There was a cow crapping in the corner.”

When Shambley gave a bark of laughter at that, then quickly turned his head away, clearing his throat loudly, Gordon sighed and asked, “Why do you not simply allow her to work in the stables?”

Aric's mouth clamped shut at once.

Eyes narrowing, Gordon pointed out, “She did look happy amongst all her little charges.”

Aric frowned, his memory drawing up an image of his
wife as he had briefly seen her, tending to binding the broken wing of a duck held in a little girl's arms. She had been smiling widely and chattering away as she worked. Whether she had been chatting to the duck or the child was anyone's guess, but she did seem to have an affinity for animals. Still, to allow her to frequent the stables, where the animals could be brought to her…With all the men hanging around. He scowled at the idea.

Spotting his dark look, Lord Burkhart sighed. “I have only been here since midday, and you have been closemouthed about your wife, but it seems to me that you are behaving like an idiot.”

At Aric's startled look, he shrugged. “You gave Smithy the job as stablemaster. Why?”

Confusion clear on his face, Aric murmured, “Because he is good with animals.”

Gordon nodded. “And how did you choose your first in command?”

Aric blinked. “He is a natural leader. He is organized and has a good head for battle.”

“That's right. He does. And I taught you to utilize a person's skills, that if you do not, they will find somewhere else to use them, or grow bored and bitter and get into trouble. Did I not?”

“Aye.”

“And yet here you are doing that very thing to your wife.”

Aric jerked slightly beneath his father as if he had been hit. But the man wasn't finished. “With your fear of her being unfaithful and your efforts to prevent it, you will push her right into being so.” He gave a short laugh at Aric's stunned expression. “What? Did you think I do not understand you, son? You have no problem with her being consulted on the matter of ailing animals, so long as 'tis done in the keep. You probably would not even have minded the animals being in the keep at the moment, except that they are relieving themselves all
over everything. So if 'tis not the animals you wish to keep her away from, what else could it be?”

When Aric turned shamefacedly away, Gordon reached out to force his son to look at him. “Trust me on this, son. You do not want to make the same mistake with your wife that I did with your mother.”

Aric stilled. “What?”

Releasing his chin, Gordon sighed and got off of his chest, then paced to the nearest stall and leaned against it, staring blindly at the horse inside.

“Your mother was a gifted healer when we married,” he continued after a moment.

Aric gave a start. “I did not know that.”

“Nay, well, that is my fault.” Shaking his head, he clutched the top bar of the stall in both hands. “But she was. She had helped her own mother tend the ill while she was growing up, those in the castle, the men-at-arms, and even the sick or injured in the village. Then we married.” His head lowered briefly before he continued. “She wanted to continue her healing work, but I refused to allow it. We already had a village hag who tended to such things—I saw no reason for my noble wife to do so. She was at me constantly, but I stood fast…. I was stubborn, is what I was,” he muttered bitterly.

“I told her that her place was to have my babies and tend to my keep. After a while, she gave up and seemed to resign herself to that. And at first it kept her…well, I convinced myself she was content. But she wasn't. She thought I valued her only as a brood mare. And while she loved you and your brother and sisters, she began to resent me. Her love died.”

Pausing, he sighed and shook his head wearily. “She was a beautiful woman. I should not have been surprised that others could see what I was blind to. But her unhappiness did not go unnoticed, and eventually another man convinced her that he knew her value where I did not and
persuaded her to run away with him. I would have seen it coming if I had bothered to take time out from being the lord of the manor.” He spoke the words with self-disgust, then paused a moment before turning back to where Aric had sat up. “Do not repeat my mistake, son. Value her skills. Use them. Give her a place here as something more than a brood mare.”

“Damn,” Aric said miserably as he took in what his father was telling him, then he cocked his head uncertainly. “But if that is what happened, why have you always been so bitter about her leaving? You have never even hinted that—”

“Of course I was bitter,” Gordon snapped impatiently, then turned away again. “She was happy without me, while I was alone and lonely. I saw her again before she died. She was happy, tending the ill, being valued for more than the children she produced. Even though she could never marry the man she was with, she knew his love and how he valued her and was content. Even when she fell ill.

“Well, she died content, knowing she had done what she had been meant to do in this life. While I am left to regret my mistakes.”

Getting to his feet, Aric moved to place a hand on his father's shoulder. “Thank you for telling me this, Father. I know how hard it must have been for you.”

“Aye. 'Twas hard. But 'twill be worth it if you learn from my mistake. Save yourself some heartache, boy,” he murmured, staring staunchly ahead.

“I think I have,” Aric assured him solemnly, then turned away. “I had best go talk with Rosamunde. I have been a fool and worse. I will tell her she may tend to her animals here in the stables—as she did at the abbey.”

 

Robert was silent as Aric left the stables, uncomfortable with this new intelligence. He shifted slightly and mur
mured for lack of anything else to say, “So Aric's mother was a healer, too?” He had heard about his friend's mother, but he had never heard the whole story.

“Hmm?” Glancing around blankly, Lord Burkhart stared at his son's friend for a moment, then grimaced. “Aric's mother was a whore. She lay down so often and for so many of my friends and acquaintances, I'm surprised he ever saw her standing upright.”

“But all that stuff about seeing her just before she died, about her being happy, and doing what she was meant to do,” Robert said in disbelief.

Aric's father made a face. “She did not possess the knowledge or the desire to heal anyone. Even her own children. She died in a leper colony. She caught it from one of her lovers. Lord knows which one.”

“But you said—”

“I lied, Robert,” Burkhart said dryly. “Aric was traumatized by his mother's behavior. It scarred all of the children. And Delia's sluttish behavior has hardly helped the situation.”

“And so you lied so that he would not mess things up with Rosamunde?” Shambley reasoned aloud.

Gordon shrugged. “I have not proven a good judge of women. Mayhap Rosamunde will betray him, too. I do not know. But I do not think so, and she deserves to be given the chance to prove herself. Women should be judged by their actions, not by their sex.” His gaze sharpened suddenly. “But you will keep this last bit of information to yourself, will you not?”

“Aye, my lord,” Robert assured him quickly, then hesitated. “Can I never tell him?”

Gordon smiled slightly. “Why?” he asked with amusement. “Wait, I know. You think Rosamunde will be true, and that Aric will someday realize he was being an ass. You're looking forward to rubbing his nose in it!” He shook his head. “Here is the deal. You may tell him when
you are both old and gray and sitting over mulled wine and telling tall tales.”

Robert grinned slightly. “I shall look forward to it.”

“Good!” Lord Burkhart laughed, slapping the younger man on the shoulders and urging him toward the stable doors. “Sup should be ready by now, do you not think? I find coming up with lies gives me an appetite.”

“You tell them well,” Shambley complimented him.

Burkhart nodded proudly. “I was making it up as I went along. There were no holes in the tale, were there?”

“None that I noticed,” Shambley assured him.

The main doors to the keep were both wide open when Aric reached them. Stepping inside, he gaped as he looked around the great hall, hardly able to believe the changes that had been wrought while he had been held down in the stables.

The doors had been left open to allow the room to air, no doubt, and the action had been successful, he realized with a sniff, then shook his head. If he had not seen it himself, he would not have believed it; there was not even a hint of the chaos that had reigned just minutes before. Every last animal that had crowded the room was now gone, but even more amazing was the absence of any sign that they had ever been there. There was not a cow pie, or a feather to be seen, and his chair, he saw with relief as he slowly crossed the room, had been cleaned and shined. Even Blackie—Black, he corrected himself irritably—was no longer flatulating by the fire.

He was standing, marveling over this wonder, when
the sound of footsteps drew his gaze to the stairs. His wife came tripping lightly down them. Pausing when she saw him, she glanced around the room a tad nervously, then gave him a smile of mingled relief and welcome.

“You are back, my lord,” she said, then continued down the steps to greet him. “How was your tour?”

“Very informative,” he murmured. He had learned much in the last few minutes.

“Oh, good.” She beamed at him. “Well, sup should be ready soon, and—” She started to walk past him as she spoke, but her words died on her lips as he suddenly caught her arm and whirled her around to face him.

“Rosamunde.” He breathed her name, and she blinked at his husky tone.

“Aye, husband?”

“Say my name,” he urged, drawing her into his arms. “I liked the way you said my name last night when I was holding you.”

“Aric.” It was barely a gasp on her lips as his hands slid over her hips, urging her against his lower body. He smiled at the breathy excitement in her voice and the way her eyes were suddenly heavy-lidded with desire.

“Would you really prefer to return to the abbey, as Shrewsbury says?” he asked.

Rosamunde blinked at the sudden change in topic, then stiffened and tried to pull back. He held her in place against him.

“Answer. Honestly.”

Biting her lip, Rosamunde glanced away, then sighed. “I was upset when I spoke to Bishop Shrewsbury. I…We had not yet…and I thought…the bedding…” she trailed off in embarrassment. “And then I missed…” She paused again, and looked away uncertainly.

“You missed working in the stables,” Aric finished for her.

She glanced up quickly to see if he was angry. Seeing his gentle expression, she nodded hesitantly.

He nodded back, then bent to press gentle kisses to her lips, her cheek, and her ear. Then he whispered, “You may attend the stables in the future.”

She froze. “My lord?”

Pulling back, he nodded solemnly. “Your skill is valuable, 'Twould be a shame to keep you locked here in the keep and waste it. The new stables will be done in a day or so. Until then, you will have to make do with the old one. I—” His words halted on a grunt of surprise as she suddenly threw her arms around him with a squeal of delight.

“Oh, husband! You are wonderful. The best husband a woman could have. Truly, my father was wise to pick you!”

Aric felt himself go all soft inside at her praise and he closed his arms around her, holding her tightly as she babbled on in happy gratitude. Smiling slightly, he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her. She smelled so good, so sweet and natural. His hand slid up and down her back, then farther down, curving over her bottom through her gown as he began to nuzzle her ear.

“My lord,” Rosamunde said softly, and drew back slightly.

Aric lowered his lips at once to cover hers, giving her a quick kiss. She sighed as he drew his lips away, and upon hearing it, he kissed her once more, slower. Again she gave a broken little sigh when he stopped, and he couldn't resist recovering her lips with his own. This time he kissed her thoroughly, rejoicing in her little mewls and sighs of pleasure before forcing himself to stop.

“We shall continue this after sup,” he murmured, nipping at her ear.

“Oh, Aye. Please,” Rosamunde said softly, her eyes glittering with desire.

Smiling, Aric took her hand and led her to the head of the table as the first of the dinner crowd began to filter into the hall.

 

“Well.” Covering his mouth, Aric feigned a long loud yawn that drew everyone's curious gaze. “It has been a rather long, eventful day. Do you not think?”

“Oh, aye, my lord husband,” his wife murmured, her solemn expression belying the laughter sparkling in her eyes. “Most long. And tiring, too.”

“Aye, exhausting,” Aric agreed, his own expression so solemn it was almost mournful. “Mayhap we should—”

“Rosamunde tired?” Robert interrupted with a laugh before Aric could finish his suggestion that he and his wife retire early. “Impossible!” Leaning forward, Robert peered past Rosamunde and Aric to address Lord Burkhart on his son's other side. “She was always the last to sleep and the first to awaken on our journey from Godstow. She inherited her father's fortitude, I think.”

“Nay. I did not,” Rosamunde denied quickly. “I was j-just excited by the experience of my first journey.”

“Nay.” Robert shook his head. “You rose ere the birds…every morning!” He leaned forward again, telling Lord Burkhart, “Why, one morning she had risen, bathed, caught a rabbit, skinned it, cleaned it, skewered it, and built a fire to cook it over, and was done cooking ere we even awoke.”

“She was just excited by the journey—as she said,” Aric snapped, irritably. “She is tired now.”

“I do not believe this!” Robert crowed. “She cannot be tired. 'Tis early yet and—” He paused, swallowing the rest of his words in surprise. Rosamunde had kicked sideways underneath the table, hitting him in the ankle. “What did you do that for?” He gave her a hurt look.

Rosamunde rolled her eyes at his expression. “I am sorry, my lord. You see, I am so tired I am losing control of my limbs.” Standing abruptly, she turned to Aric, brushing a hand gently across his cheek though he continued to sit glaring at his friend. “I think I shall retire early.”

Giving a start at her touch, Aric glanced up, his expression softening as he read the promise in her eyes. “Aye. That is a good idea,” he said in a growl, the anger in his eyes replaced by a different fire. Standing, he took her arm. Muttering a good night in the general direction of the table, he escorted Rosamunde across the hall and up the stairs.

They had nearly reached the top before Rosamunde gave in to the giggle at the back of her throat, but once she had started, she couldn't seem to stop. And when her husband paused on the final step to peer down at her, she collapsed against him, muffling her amusement in his chest. She finally raised her head to say with a gasp, “I thought sure you were going to hit him. You looked so angry.”

Aric's lips slowly curled upward in amusement as well. He admitted, “I was thinking about it. ‘I do not believe it. 'Tis early yet,'” he mimicked his friend with annoyance, then sobered as he peered down into her laughing eyes. “But he is right. 'Tis early yet.” Moving closer, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

“Aye,” Rosamunde said softly, turning her face to his caress. “And we have all night.”

With a groan, Aric tugged her into his arms for a long, deep kiss right there at the top of the stairs, his lips and tongue bringing her to tingling life even as his hands began to rove over her body. Rosamunde withstood it for several moments, then tugged away, caught his hand, and rushed down the hallway. He allowed her to pull him along until they reached the door to their bedchamber. There he drew her up short. Twirling her around, he tugged her into his arms again, his mouth capturing hers.

Moaning against his lips, Rosamunde slid her arms around his neck. Delving her hands into his hair, she tangled her fingers there, arching into him as his hands skimmed down her back, molding her to him. She felt his hardened desire press against her; then he slid his hands
between them and up over her body until they covered her breasts.

Jerking in his arms, Rosamunde kissed him hungrily, excitement burning through her as he pressed her against the door, one of his knees riding up between her legs and pressing against her. Then he grazed his hands down her outer thighs, caught her skirts, and slowly pulled them up until he was able to slip his hands beneath and around behind. He caught her by the backs of her thighs. Lifting her upward, he urged her legs around his waist, then lifted her into his arms before feeling behind her to unlatch and open the door. He stumbled inside with her riding his hips, pushed the door closed, and staggered to the bed still kissing her.

Laughing breathlessly when he released her lips, Rosamunde tipped her head back and closed her eyes as his mouth nibbled and bit her neck on a path downward. When his knees bumped against the bed, he tumbled forward with her, dropping her to its soft surface. He followed, but caught his own weight with his hands so that he didn't crush her.

Rosamunde immediately began tugging at his clothes. Pulling his tunic upward, she pushed it over his chest, pressing kisses to that wide expanse as he grabbed the material and drew it over his head. Eyes narrowing in appreciation, Rosamunde ran her hands over the heavily muscled flesh, then leaned up to catch one pebblelike nipple between her teeth. She smiled in satisfaction when Aric closed his eyes and lifted his head with a groan of pleasure. In the next moment, he had caught her face between his hands and brought her lips back to his. His tongue thrust aggressively into her mouth as he impatiently tugged at the lacings of her gown.

Phfffphhphphttt.

Aric stiffened, his mouth stilling on Rosamunde's briefly before he slowly lifted his head.

“What is it?” Rosamunde asked in confusion.

“I thought I heard something,” he muttered, frowning.

“I did not hear
anything,”
she said impatiently, tugging his face back down to hers. Covering his lips with her own as he had repeatedly done to her, she slid her tongue boldly out to explore his mouth. Her hands made their way over his chest.

Aric remained still for a moment, then took over the kiss, his hands pulling the bodice of her gown open and tugging it down her shoulders and arms until her breasts popped free. Tugging his mouth away from hers then, he curled a hand around one breast and lowered his mouth to suckle at it eagerly.

Phfffphhphphttt-phft-phft-phffphhphhphpht!

“Now I
know
I heard that,” Aric said, lifting his head to peer at his wife. Suspicion filled him when he saw that her eyes were now squeezed closed, and not with passion. Realization and dread were warring on her features. Then the smell hit—just at about the same moment that Black whinnied. Jerking his head to the side, Aric simply stared at the horse by the fire. It let out another horrible emission.

“Sweet Jesu,” he said with horror. “You…you…He…” He closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them, the horse was still there.

“
Well,”
Rosamunde drew out the word and winced. “You said to move him ere the sup.”

“So you moved him to our chamber?” Aric cried with disbelief, then closed his eyes. He slowly counted to ten as his wife began to babble in explanation.

“I meant to put him in a spare chamber—but your father is in one, Lord Shambley in another, and then there are Bishop Shrewsbury and Lord Spencer and…” She paused and he could feel her shrug beneath him. “There no longer is a spare chamber.”

“Wife,” Aric began carefully, but Rosamunde did not wait to see what he would say. Pulling quickly from
beneath him, she tugged the bodice of her gown back in place and hurried across the room toward the horse.

“I am sorry, my lord. Honestly, I forgot all about him.”

Sighing, Aric flipped over onto his back, staring at the ceiling as he listened to her continued chattering.

“He is most likely just thirsty. Are you not, Blackie? Poor you. Here you are ill and feverish and I forgot to fetch you more water.”

Turning his head, Aric watched morosely as his wife fussed over the horse and bent to retrieve an empty pail. Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed his shirt and quickly tugged it on. “I shall send a servant up with fresh water,” he announced grimly, taking the pail from her as she started for the door.

Pausing, Rosamunde eyed him with alarm as he pulled the door open. “But where are you going?”

“Below.”

“Below? But what about…” Flushing, she glanced away and toward the bed unhappily.

Aric followed her gaze, then glanced back to Black. The horse emitted another loud, noxious emission. “I need a drink,” was all he said. With that, he stepped into the hall and tugged the door closed with a snap.

Shoulders slumping, Rosamunde sighed unhappily. Her breasts still ached for his touch. And they weren't the only place she was aching.

Black whinnied and clip-clopped across the floor to nuzzle her shoulder.

Sighing again, Rosamunde raised a hand to pat his clothing-wrapped nose. “'Tis all right, Blackie. Everything will be all right.”

 

Other than a couple of raised eyebrows, no one had questioned what Aric was doing back at the table so soon after having left it. He'd ignored those few inquisitive looks, though, in favor of concentrating on some serious drink
ing. And by the time Shambley, the last man at the table besides himself, had decided to call it a night, Aric was seriously drunk.

Stumbling to his feet, he staggered up the stairs with his friend. Wishing Robert a good night, he weaved his way to his bedchamber door, which seemed to have a serious problem staying in one place. It now danced around in his vision like a firefly.