Always (26 page)

“My dress?” Rosamunde glanced down at her clothes uncertainly. “I am not wearing a dress.”

“Exactly!” Aric said triumphantly, only to pause and glare at Shambley when the other man stepped forward to elbow him very hard in the ribs. When Robert peered back at him innocently, Aric turned back to his wife, then sighed and tried for a softer tone. “Rosamunde, I want…You should…Your clothes…”

When he stumbled to a halt again, Rosamunde glanced down at the clothes she wore. “Is there a problem with my wearing brais, my lord?” she asked at last.

“Aye,” he said thrilled that she grasped the problem without his actually having to say it.

“I am sorry, my lord. I was not sure if brais were quite the thing now that I am a lady. But I do not have many gowns, and I feared ruining them here in these moldy old stables. Besides, I was sure it would not matter much, since Smithy is the only one likely to see me.”

“Oh.” Aric blinked, his anger deflating like an empty gown. She had already considered that it might not be appropriate, but had worn them to save her gowns. Not to attract men. Not to tempt them all, as Delia had done with her low-cut tight gowns. And Rosamunde hadn't expected anyone to see her dressed so here in the sta
bles—except for Smithy, who was old, toothless, and balding. Surely she was not trying to lure him?

“I put out the news that I could not see any animals today unless 'twas an emergency. You said the new stables would be ready today, and I wished to oversee moving the horses.”

“Of course you did,” he said, then managed a smile. “And so you shall. They are ready now.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “Truly? Already?”

“Aye.” His smile became slightly more natural at her obvious surprise and pleasure. “Come. You may inspect them.”

Turning, he led the way out of the old stables and crossed the short distance to the new ones. He himself was a bit anxious now, worried at whether she would approve of them or not. She had seen them, of course, from the outside. Rosamunde had walked by the stables several times over the past four days, and while he had seen her peer at them curiously as she passed, she had not been inside them yet. He supposed she had been too irritated with him to show that much interest. Now he led her right up to the doors he had just finished hanging, threw them open, then waited for her to walk inside.

She entered slowly, her gaze moving over everything with measuring eyes, inspecting it all as she walked slowly along the numerous stalls.

Aric waited by the door, watching her nervously. He had made the stables doubly as long as the old ones. There were twice as many stalls, and each of them was roomier than the old ones. He had had hooks and shelves made for storing things, and he had added a loft to store fresh hay. He watched her take it all in, and still she said nothing.

Disappointment was just starting to fill him when she turned slowly.

“Husband?”

“Aye?” he asked uncertainly.

“'Tis magnificent.”

Blinking, he smiled slightly. “They will do, then?”

“Do?” A peel of laughter slipping from her lips, she launched herself at him, kissing him exuberantly on the nose, cheeks, and lips before whirling away, her arms wide. “They are marvelous! Wonderful! Beautiful! The horses will love them.
I
love them. And Black and Marigold shall love them. Thank you, my lord.” She whirled back to give him another exuberant hug, then whirled away and hurried for the exit. “I shall fetch them right now. And change into a gown while I am at it.” Pausing at the door, she glanced back to flash a grin at him. “I need not bother with brais in here. 'Tis as clean as can be.”

Aric watched her go with a sigh, his expression becoming more stern as he noticed his father and Shambley eyeing him with amusement. Scowling at them, he glanced back at his departing wife. “She wore the brais only to save her gowns. She is changing now,” he explained, as if
they
were the ones who had been outraged by her attire.

The two men managed to maintain somber expressions, and merely nodded solemnly. Aric was just beginning to feel uncomfortable when a man appeared at the door to the stables, blocking his view of his wife.

“I brought the dog, m'lord.”

“Oh, good, Jensen.” Moving forward, he peered down at the animal. Dark brown, huge, hairy, and drooling, the dog seemed to be grinning up at him, and it didn't look very bright. On the other hand, the size of the beast alone would intimidate most people. Hopefully, it would intimidate the fellow Black had attacked in their bedchamber the other day. Jensen had assured him that the beast was trained to guard whatever it was placed with, whether it was sheep, horses, or people. It would make Aric feel better to know Rosamunde was looked after during the day. He would not worry about her quite as much.

“What sort of dog is that?” Shambley asked curiously, moving to Aric's side. He stared at the beast.

“Well, now…” the animal's owner hesitated and scratched his head, uncertainty clear on his face. “He's a good dog. Does his job,” he answered, then brightened slightly. “I know he's got some Irish wolfhound in him.”

“That explains the size,” Lord Burkhart murmured, bending to pet the animal's dirty, matted fur briefly before grimacing, straightening, and turning to arch an eyebrow at Aric. “But how do you intend to get Rosamunde to take him about with her?”

Aric frowned at the question. “I will tell her to,” he announced firmly, then saw his father's expression and began to worry. “You think she would disobey me?”

“Rosamunde?” Lord Burkhart asked with surprise. “Nay, nay. Not her. Afterall women are the most obedient of creatures, are they not?” He didn't bother trying to hide his amusement as he turned to walk away. “Good luck to you, son.”

Aric glanced from his father's departing back to the mutt at his feet. Surely, if he ordered it, Rosamunde would take the dog about with her. Wouldn't she? She would have to see the sense in it. Someone had attacked her in their bedchamber. She should have protection. Of course, she had refused to believe that anyone had reason to harm her. She was positive that her midnight visitor had been some sort of mistake. Besides, he had wanted her to take Black around with her on her daily chores and she had flat-out refused to do that. Actually, she hadn't flat-out refused; she had merely looked at him as though he were quite mad and said that was not possible, that it could endanger the horse and bring about the return of his fever. Nay, he was better off where he was, she had announced, and he had not pushed the point. The animals' care was the one area where she did not always obey him.

“It is a shame he is not injured.”

“Hmmm?” Aric glanced up from his thoughts. “What was that?”

“I said it is a shame he is not injured,” Shambley repeated. “Were the dog injured, she would coddle and baby him. Then she would most like drag that beast all over the keep and bailey with her just to keep an eye on him.” He gave a shrug. “She does seem to have a soft spot for ailing or injured animals.”

“Aye, she does,” Aric murmured thoughtfully, turning to look the animal over again. But he could see just by glancing at the beast that it was as healthy as could be. His gaze swept to the owner. “You do not happen to have a sick or injured dog as big as this one, do you?”

“Sick?” The man stared at him as if he were mad. “Ah…nay, my lord.”

“I did not think so.” Aric sighed with disappointment, then reached for his sword.

“Aric! What are you doing?” Robert grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his weapon.

“I was just going to cut him a little. You know, someplace not too painful so Rosamunde will keep him nearby. She'll wish to watch it for infection.”

Robert stared at him in shock for a moment, then shook his head.

“Nay?” Aric asked uncertainly.

“Nay. Why do we not see if mayhap he already has a small cut somewhere.”

Dropping to kneel beside the dog, Shambley began searching the animal, sifting through the dirty fur on each leg, then on its back and head. “Aha!”

Aric knelt beside him. “You have found something?”

“He has a scratch here on his ear.”

Aric leaned forward to peer at the spot at which Shambley was pointing. When he saw the tiny wound, he scowled. “That is not even enough to make her get out her medicinals.”

“It could infect,” Robert argued. “And that is what you
said you wanted; a cut she would fret over to keep the dog near. This is such a cut.”

Aric frowned at it with displeasure, fondling the handle of his sword as he considered the situation. Finally he shook his head. “That is barely a mark at all, Robert. She will not fret over that. I should just—” He started to unsheathe his sword as he spoke, but the dog's owner yanked on the rope Aric had tied around the dog's neck, dragging the animal away from him and Shambley.

“Now see here. I said you could be borrowing the beast, not killing him,” he snapped, eyeing Aric grimly.

“Leave go, Aric,” Shambley urged. “You know you cannot just cut that dog up. Just claim you worry over his scratch becoming infected and would like her to keep a close eye on him. Tell her that as a child you had a dog that had a very similar wound that festered and killed the animal. That this dog reminds you of him and you would not wish the same thing to happen.”

Sighing, Aric let his sword slide back into its sheath unhappily. “All right,” he muttered, noting that the dog's owner had relaxed slightly, but was still eyeing him warily.

“Why such long faces, my lords? Surely this is a grand day, what with the stables finally being done and all.”

Aric turned at that cheerful voice to find that Rosamunde had returned. She had changed into a green gown that looked quite lovely on her, and Black was trailing behind her as she entered the new stables.

“See, Blackie. I told you they were lovely. You shall be nice and warm and dry here.”

She pressed her face to the horse's head, rubbing under his neck as she spoke, and Black, Aric saw with irritation, was acting like a lovestruck teenager, nickering and pressing his face against hers in a most affectionate manner. It was then that Aric realized, with some disgust and regret, that she had ruined his warhorse. This was not the
wild animal who bit viciously at opponents' steeds and trampled fallen warriors beneath his powerful hooves. This beast would be good for naught but parades from now on. She had tamed him.

“Come along. You may have your choice of stalls,” she told the beautiful animal, patting him on the back. “Which one would you like?”

Aric exchanged wry glances with Shambley at that, thinking the horse would hardly understand what she was saying, and probably cared less where he slept. But they were both proven wrong. The animal walked slowly among the stalls, glancing from side to side as if inspecting them, then stopped before the one farthest from the door. He walked sedately inside the open stall.

“A brilliant choice, Blackie,” Rosamunde told the horse with a grin, moving up the aisle now herself to the stall he stood in. “You shall be far from the door. Less drafty in the winter and cooler in summer. And you shall have only the one neighbor, which shall be less troublesome, I should think. And I believe it shall be Marigold.”

Aric shook his head in despair as she settled his mount in the stall, then waited impatiently until she stepped out and closed the stall door before calling her over.

“Wife.”

“Aye, my lord?” Smiling, she hurried back to them, her gaze dropping curiously to the dog Jensen was urging forward. “Oh, hello, puppy.”

Aric rolled his eyes as she bent to pet the dog. “He is hardly a puppy, wife. He weighs as much as you do.”

“Mayhap, but he is still just a pup,” she assured him, ruffling the matted fur with a frown. “Look at his feet. He has not grown into them yet. He cannot be quite a year old.”

“She's right, my lord. He's just a year old this month. He still has a bit of growing to do,” Jensen announced, drawing a frown from Aric that made him add quickly, “But he is well trained for all his youth.”

“Hmmm,” Aric muttered, then announced, “He is wounded.”

“What?”
Much to his satisfaction, Rosamunde showed concern at once, then frowned as she looked the dog over quickly. “Where?”

“Oh. The ear,” Aric told her. Then, as she began to check, he continued, “'Tis a small wound, but these things can fester and…” Pausing when she appeared not to see the wound in question, Aric bent to point it out. “Right here.”

“Why, 'tis barely a scratch and nearly healed,” Rosamunde said with a laugh. “You had me worried there for a moment, my lord.” Her gaze lifted to Jensen. “He will be fine. No need to worry.”

Aric scowled at this announcement and turned to Shambley. His friend gave him a meaningful glance. Recalling the story Shambley had suggested he use, Aric sighed. “I had a dog as a child with a very similar wound that festered,” he told her, then for good measure decided to add a few details of his own. “His ear rotted and fell right off.”

Rosamunde's eyes widened. “Rotted and—”

“Fell right off.” Aric gave a satisfied nod. “He was deaf, the poor, sad mutt.” He gave a pitiful sigh, pleased to see he was affecting her. “We had to put him down.” When her face colored at this news, he added quickly, “It was swift. We cut his head off.”

“You killed a dog because he was deaf?” Rosamunde cried. Suddenly he realized that he had made an error.

“Well…nay. Not because he was deaf,” he assured her quickly. “It was because the festering spread and he was dying slowly and painfully so we…Well, we cut off his rotting head.” He shifted uncomfortably under her bemused stare, then frowned. “Anyway, I had a real affection for that dog—and this one reminds me of him, so I would not wish the same thing to happen. I would consider it a kindness to me on your behalf should you
keep him close and watch over him so that something of a similar nature does not happen.”