Always (29 page)

“Husband?”

Aric drew his mind away from his thoughts to peer at his wife. She awaited his instructions, her face soft and questioning. Delia had always stripped away her clothes slowly, teasing him with the slow revelation of her body, then posed herself in bed seductively—but that had been the end of her effort.

And after, she would lie still, her eyes closed, her expression as flat and unchanging as a portrait, her body as limp and cold as an empty gown. She would never have shared with him the true passion Rosamunde often did. She never would have asked how she should proceed to pleasure him. Rosamunde, with her untaught passions and genuine enthusiasm, was much more than he ever could have dreamed of.

Dear God, he had made a narrow escape, he realized suddenly. He had nearly been tied to Delia for a lifetime. Night after night of her cynical little smiles and selfish
little moues, her warm, willing body in his bed but her uncaring eyes staring through him. Suddenly the day he had walked in on her and Glanville in the stables—what before had seemed the worst day of his life at the time—seemed like the luckiest.

“Aric?” Rosamunde asked uncertainly, her eyes widening in surprise as he let loose a full, robust laugh of pure pleasure.

“Rosamunde.”

“Aye,” she prompted, meeting his shining eyes uncertainly.

“Just being yourself pleasures me immeasurably,” he told her softly, then bent to press a gentle kiss to her surprised lips, her nose, her eyes. His passion still alive, but no longer desperate, he began to kiss and caress her, his teeth grazing her breasts, his tongue tasting them, his lips suckling them.

Rosamunde clasped his head in her hands, watching him cherish her body with a confusion that slowly turned to sultry desire. Her body began to move beneath his, pulling him into her. She felt herself squeezing around his manhood, and her breathing grew shallow as her heartbeat sped up.

He suddenly rolled onto his back, she automatically went with him, pressing her hands into his shoulders to lever herself upward until she was astride him. Then she shifted her gaping gown out of the way and covered his hands with her own. He reached up to run his hands across her chest, and she suddenly felt deliciously wanton with her hair wild around her face, her eyes sleepy with desire, her lips swollen from his kisses.

“Show me how to please you,” she whispered, shifting against him impatiently.

Smiling, he lifted his hands to her hips to direct her movements, his eyes darkening when her hands replaced his and she cupped her own breasts. Her eyes closing and
her tongue darting out to wet her lips, she followed his guidance and moved against him, taking him in, then sliding apart from him. Keeping one hand on her hips to encourage her, he slid the other between them, found her womanhood and caressed it.

She groaned then, her head tipping back, her hands covering her breasts completely and squeezing them as she urgently moved against him. Excited by her enjoyment, Aric released her hip and cupped the back of her head, drawing her face down until he could kiss her. His tongue pressed through her lips and thrust into her mouth even as he bent his pelvis, thrusting into her. Then he tumbled her onto her back again.

Catching her knees and pulling them up slightly, he used them to brace himself, and began to thrust into her in earnest. He watched her face as she began to twist her head back and forth in the straw in that way he liked, a high, crooning wail slipping from her lips as she arched and shuddered and bucked beneath him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Open your eyes. Look at me,” Aric gasped and her eyes blinked open with confusion, focusing on him fuzzily. He could see her question, but simply held her gaze as he drove into her; he could not explain that he wanted to see that she was here with him, and that she knew who it was who pleasured her.

 

“You were right, my lord.”

Aric blinked his eyes open slowly and peered down at Rosamunde. He was on his back in the straw trying to recover from their lovemaking. She lay cuddled next to him, her head resting on his shoulder as she ran her fingers lightly over his tunic, caressing him through the cloth. She didn't appear to need to recuperate, he noted.

“Of course I was right,” he agreed, then after a hesitation asked, “What about?”

Chuckling, Rosamunde tipped her head to grin at him. “Why, everything, of course,” she teased. “But I was referring to wearing a gown in the stables.”

“Hmmm.” Aric frowned slightly as she returned to absently caressing him. “You do not find it inconvenient?”

“Well.” She drew the word out, her fingers gliding teasingly down his shirt toward his brais. “Mayhap for some things like climbing the ladder and such. But for things like pleasuring my husband, a gown is definitely more convenient.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Do you not think?”

Aric started to smile in response, then frowned instead as the truth behind her words sank in. Her gown had made this brief tryst incredibly easy. And fast. Whereas her brais…He was distracted from his thoughts by Rosamunde standing and brushing out her gown. His gaze slid unhappily from her to the ladder, and he frowned.

“What were you doing climbing up that ladder?” He had asked earlier, of course, but he had also distracted her from answering him. Now he was curious to know what had been so all-fired important that she had gone traipsing up the ladder in a gown, rather than waiting for Smithy to finish with the wagon and come inside to do it for her.

“Oh.” She frowned up at the loft overhead. “Well, that bale.” She gestured to the mound of hay he was now lying in. “It fell out of the loft and I was climbing up to be sure that the others were secure.”

Sitting up, Aric peered blankly down at the straw around him. “This is all from a bale that fell out of the loft?”

“Aye.”

She was suddenly very intent upon her lacings, and Aric found his eyes narrowing on her suspiciously. “Where were you when it fell?”

Rosamunde grimaced. “Under it at first, but I managed to get out of the way in time.”

“Damn!” Surging to his feet, he pulled his brais up. “Why did you not tell me this right away?”

“Well, I did try,” she muttered, a bit exasperated as he moved to the ladder.

“Well, you should have tried harder.”

Rosamunde rolled her eyes, but remained silent as he drew his sword, climbed quickly into the loft, and disappeared. She heard him curse a moment later, and moved closer. “Are you all right, husband?”

There was silence for a moment, long enough for Rosamunde to start up the ladder; then Aric's head poked over the side to glare down at her. “What are you doing? Get down.”

“Well, pray forgive me for being concerned about you,” she snapped shortly, returning to the ground.

“Someone was up here,” Aric told her irritably, starting down the ladder.

“Oh?” Rosamunde's irritation slid away, replaced with surprise.

“Aye. There is a nest where they were lying—and it is still warm,” he told her grimly, turning to glance around the stables. He frowned as he saw that the stable doors were open a crack. Smithy had closed the doors all the way. He was positive of that.

“Surely you are mistaken, husband? Why, there is nowhere for anyone to go from up there but down here. And we would have seen him.”

“We were a bit distracted at one point, as I recall,” he said, almost sorry he had said the words when she flushed with embarrassment then paled with shame.

“You think that someone was up there, but climbed down the ladder and slid out while we were…But then they saw—”

“My lord!” Smithy's voice came from outside.

“What now?” Aric muttered impatiently and strode
down the aisle to the door, tugging it open with irritation to scowl at the stablemaster. “What is it?”

“A messenger has arrived,” the man murmured, intimidated by Aric's expression. “Bishop Shrewsbury here”—he gestured toward the man beside him, obviously eager to direct Aric's attention and anger elsewhere—“says—”

“One of Richard's messengers has arrived,” the cleric announced. Rosamunde moved to join her husband in the doorway.

Sighing, Aric glanced toward his wife, then took her arm and started forward, obviously not willing to leave her behind in the stables now that he suspected someone had been there. But he had barely taken a step when he paused to whirl back upon Smithy. “Did you see anyone leave the stables after I entered?”

Smithy's eyebrows rose slightly. “Nay, my lord. But then, I wasn't really watching for anyone to leave. I was…” His voice died as Aric waved his explanations away and turned back toward the keep.

Rosamunde allowed him to tug her behind him distractedly, her mind fretting over the fact that someone had been up in the loft. It was all terribly upsetting. First, that meant someone might actually have thrown that bale down at her on purpose—though why anyone should do that was beyond her. It would have knocked her down most assuredly, but probably wouldn't have given her but a bruise or two. Unless she had hit her head. But even that would be unlikely to hurt her seriously. And then she most assuredly would have checked the loft, or had Smithy do so. Then whoever it was would have been caught.

Nay, it must have been an accident. The someone up in the loft must have accidentally knocked the bale out.

Of course, that left the question of who would have been up there and why, but there were any number of logical answers. Someone shirking their chores and seek
ing out somewhere quiet to do so. Or a child playing hide-and-seek.

Rosamunde sighed to herself. None of that really mattered to her as much as the fact that there had been someone there, and that meant that they had seen her and Aric. How dreadfully embarrassing.

Aric paused suddenly in his headlong rush to the keep, and Rosamunde glanced about to see that they were at the foot of the steps. Aric had paused to address his friend Robert.

“Aric. I was just about to come looking for you. A messenger has arrived—”

“From Richard,” Aric finished, leaving Robert blinking at him in surprise. “Aye, I know. Is my father inside with him?”

“Aye. We were both here when he arrived.”

Nodding, Aric started up the stairs, dragging Rosamunde behind him and leaving Robert to follow.

“Ah, here he is now,” Lord Burkhart announced as Aric entered the keep, headed for the trestle tables with Rosamunde still in tow. “Son, this is Lord Whittier. He comes from Richard.”

“Lord Whittier,” Aric greeted the man. “Nay, stay seated,” he said as the man set his ale down and made as if to rise. “You must have had a long journey. I understand you have a message for me?”

“I have many messages for many lords.” The man sighed, taking his drink in hand again and swallowing some. “I am one of many men Richard has dispatched in the last few days. We have been sent to inform his barons all over the land that the coronation shall be September third at Westminster Abbey. Each lord is required to present himself and pledge his fealty to his new king.”

Rosamunde stepped out of the tent and peered around at the slumbering soldiers with relief. Like his men, Aric was still asleep, too, but she had certain personal needs that needed attending right away. She had considered waking him, but he was really such a grouchy-bones in the morning, the idea had not appealed to her.

Of course, had one of his men been awake and seen her, she would have had to wake her husband. Every single one of the men had been warned that she was not to go anywhere unattended, and if someone had to accompany her on her quick trip to find a handy bush, it would be Aric. There were just some things that only a husband, or another woman, need know about.

Fortunately, since no one was awake and the guard was nowhere in sight, she didn't really have to worry about it. She just had to hurry before someone else awoke and spotted her. Avoiding traipsing through the men, lest she accidentally wake one, Rosamunde decided that the for
est behind the tent would do well enough. She slipped around into the bushes.

 

Aric rolled onto his side, feeling around automatically for his wife, and waking slowly when she wasn't there. Blinking his eyes open, he stared at the blank spot beside him in the pile of furs and frowned. She had beaten him awake again, he realized with a sigh, and had to wonder if the day would ever come when he would awaken before her.

Most likely not, he admitted with a grimace, dragging himself from the comfort and warmth of the soft furs to find his clothes. It was a shame, really, for he had yet to teach her the pleasures of marital relations first thing in the morning. Thinking upon it now, he was really rather eager to do so. Which was part of the reason he found himself stomping around grouching at everyone like a bear with a burr in its paw these past few mornings. He usually awoke from erotic dreams with a hankering for making them come true, but it never failed that he awoke to a cold and empty bed, his wife already up and puttering about.

Sighing, he tugged his brais and tunic on. Reaching for his sword belt, he began to strap it on as he moved to the tent flap. Stepping out into the early morning chill, he peered around at the rest of his party, scowling at the fact that every last one of them save the sentry was still enjoying their slumber. He scanned the silent clearing they had chosen to camp in—this had been the first night of their travels to London—and the realization that his wife was nowhere in sight was slow to dawn on him. When it finally sank in, Aric felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.

“Rosamunde!” he shouted, starting forward. He paused to glance around the people stirring around the dead fire before rushing to Shambley. His friend was just starting to sit up.

“What is it?” the other man asked sleepily, rubbing at his eyes.

“Rosamunde is gone.”

“Gone?” Robert was awake at once.

“She has probably just wandered off to tend to personal needs,” Aric said, trying to reassure himself and ease the fear growing in the pit of his stomach. “Wake the men and start…” He waved vaguely toward the horses. “I am going to go look for her.”

Nodding, Robert got to his feet as Aric hurried off into the woods in search of his wife.

 

“Oh, grand,” Rosamunde muttered under her breath as her husband's shout reached her. Sighing, she quickly finished her business, muttering under her breath. She put her clothes back in order and began to make her way back toward the campsite, but didn't rush.
Why bother?
She was already in trouble. Aric would not be pleased with her. Why hurry back to be lectured and yelled at like a recalcitrant child?

“Rosamunde!” Robert rushed to her side the moment she came around the tent. “Where were you? Aric woke up and saw you gone and—”

“Where is he?” Rosamunde interrupted with a sigh. Shambley grimaced.

“He went in search of you. Toward the river, I think.”

Nodding, Rosamunde started across the clearing, weaving her way around the men who were stumbling sleepily about as they now set to their morning chores.

“Wait, I shall accompany you.” Shambley hurried after her.

“Aye, aye, I know. I am not to leave the clearing without accompaniment,” she snapped. “A body cannot even enjoy a moment's peace with you men fretting over her. You really need not follow me this time, however. I am sure Aric will protect me well enough once I find him.”

“Actually, I thought to protect you from his temper,”
Robert responded, drawing a smile from her as she stepped onto the path leading to the river. It wasn't very far from the clearing, just a five-minute walk. Which was why Aric had chosen the clearing for their campsite.

The two were silent as they walked, which turned out to be for the best. Had they been talking, they most likely would have missed the broken shout from ahead.

“Aric?” Rosamunde called, pausing on the path. Silence was her answer. Even the morning sounds that she hadn't really been paying attention to were suddenly absent. There were no birds chirping or bugs buzzing, and the ever-present rustle of undergrowth being disturbed by small animals had come to a halt as well. It was too quiet, as if the forest itself were suddenly holding its breath. The hair prickling the back of her neck, Rosamunde broke into a run. “Aric!”

Aware that Shambley was right behind her, she crashed through the woods, stumbling to a halt when she reached a much smaller clearing at the water's edge. Her gaze shot frantically around in search of her husband. When she didn't see him right away, she started to turn back, thinking he must be in the woods somewhere. Perhaps they had charged right past him. But then she glimpsed something in the water and froze, her head turned, her eyes narrowing on the object, then widening in horror as she realized that it was a body floating facedown in the water.
Aric
.

Crying out, she rushed forward, charging into the water up to her waist before she was able to reach his foot. Grabbing it, she gave it a tug, drawing him backward until she could grasp his shoulder. She had just managed to turn him in the water, crying out at the pale gray tinge to his skin, when Robert caught up. Her alarmed gaze flying to her husband's friend, Rosamunde saw him pale slightly; then his expression firmed. Robert slid his arms under Aric.

“Come on. We have to get him out of the water,” he
said shortly. Hefting his friend in his arms, Robert turned back toward shore. Rosamunde followed him as quickly as she could, her wet skirts hampering her, her heart tight and painful with fear and worry. When she reached shore, Shambley had already set the other man down and was slapping his face.

“Water.” Rosamunde gasped, struggling to his side. Robert peered up at her with confusion. “He will be full of water,” she explained, recalling a tale Eustice had told her once about a friend of hers who had nearly drowned. “We must get it out.”

“How?”

Rosamunde peered at him helplessly. Eustice had said that the girl's father had picked the child up by her feet and shaken her. They could hardly do that to Aric…or could they? Her mouth firming, she straightened determinedly. “Grab his feet.”

“His feet?” Robert asked with bewilderment.

“Just do it, damn it!”

His eyes widening at the first curse he had ever heard her use, Shambley shifted to Aric's feet and peered at her questioningly.

“You have to pick him up by his feet and hang him upside down.”

“What?” He was gaping at her as if he thought her mad, and Rosamunde glared at him furiously.

“Do as I say. We have to get the water out.”

Shaking his head, Robert hesitated, then grabbed Aric's feet. He lifted them into the air, then knelt to grab him around the knees.

“Wait,” Rosamunde cried as he started to lift him. “The other way.”

“What other way?”

“From the front,” she said impatiently. “I must pound his back while you hold him up.”

Muttering a curse—a much more foul one—himself, he straightened. Then, and still holding Aric's legs,
Robert moved around until he straddled his waist. Dropping to his haunches again, he grasped Aric around the thighs and straightened, lifting him until the man hung with his head just brushing the ground.

“Good.” Rosamunde sighed, moving forward to start patting his back.

“It does not appear to be working,” Robert muttered after a moment.

Rosamunde peered down at Aric's head worriedly, biting her lip before suggesting, “Mayhap if you jostled him a bit…?”

“Jostle him?” he asked doubtfully.

“Aye. Shake him up and down.”

“I do not think—”

“Do you know a better way?” Rosamunde snapped. She continued to pat Aric's back.

“Fine. I shall jostle him,” Robert agreed between his teeth, but seemed for a moment to be at a loss as to how to do that. Just when Rosamunde was about to snap at the man again, he suddenly began to bounce Aric up and down and from side to side.

 

The first thing Aric became aware of was pain.

It was coming from two separate sources. Or it seemed to him to be, at least. One source was his back, where a burning pain was spreading from where someone repeatedly punched him. The second source was his head. Someone seemed to be bashing him repeatedly there. And there were tight bands around his thighs. He felt a roiling sensation in his stomach, moving its way inexorably up his throat, and out his open mouth. When water immediately splattered all over his face and up his nose, Aric sputtered and tried to open his eyes, only to find that the world had turned upside down.

Nay.
He
was upside down, he realized, peering blankly at the feet on either side of his head. And he was being shaken and dipped about, his head smashing into the
ground repeatedly. Grabbing weakly at the feet in front of him, he tried to speak, and found another wave of watery goo splashing out of his mouth and across his face, forcing his eyes closed.

“It is working! He spit up the water! Oh, I think he is awake! Set him down.”

Aric sighed at the sound of that voice. Who else could it be but his wife behind this madness and agony? This thought flitted through his mind just before his head hit the ground a final time. His neck nearly snapped as his body followed.

“Aric? Husband!” She was slapping his face now, anxiety clear in her voice.

“Are you trying to kill me?” He had meant to bellow those words, but instead they came out in a faint whisper. He blinked his eyes open. Still, it had the desired effect, he supposed. His wife sat back slightly, giving him room to breathe. She peered at him with wounded puppy-dog eyes.

“Kill you?” she said in horrified amazement. “Why, we saved you, husband! You nearly drowned and we saved you.” She looked toward the man standing beside her as if for confirmation, and Aric followed her gaze to see Shambley. His friend made an odd face and hunkered down to peer at him.

“Which part was supposed to save me, pray tell?” Aric asked, lifting his head slightly to glare at the two of them. “Beating my back, or the slamming my head into the dirt?”

“Both,” Rosamunde snapped, lifting the edge of her gown to begin wiping at his face. “You were full of water and we had to get it out.”

“And the pounding of my head was for….”

“Oh, do stop fussing.” Rosamunde sighed irritably, cleaning his face as if he were a child. “It worked, did it not? You spit up the water and are breathing again. It is not our fault you are so big. We did the best we could
under the circumstances. Mayhap we should have left you drowned. You were a bit quieter, and much more pleasant that way.”

“She is right, Aric. You were drowned. I did not think we would revive you even with the shaking and pounding, but it worked.”

Mouth twisting, Aric sighed and stopped grumbling. It was hard to argue with any efficacy when the proof of her words was up his nose and all over his face. Sighing, he let his head drop back to the ground, his eyes closing wearily.

“What happened? How did you end up in the water?”

Aric's eyes popped open again at that question, a frown tugging at his mouth. “Someone hit me from behind,” he remembered slowly, then glared at his wife. “I was looking for you and came down here to see if this was not where you had run off to and…someone hit me from behind. It is the last thing I remember. They must have thrown me in the water.”

“Did you see who it was?” Shambley asked with concern. Aric scowled at him.

“Did I not just say that he hit me from behind? How am I supposed to have seen who it was? I do not have eyes back there, you know.”

“Oh, aye, of course.” Shambley exchanged a glance with Rosamunde that made Aric even more irritable. It was as if they were sharing a thought. He didn't want them sharing a thought. He did not want them sharing anything.

“Did
you
see anyone?” he snapped.

“Nay,” they answered in unison, and he grimaced, then shifted in an effort to raise himself to a sitting position. He failed miserably as Rosamunde put a hand lightly to his shoulder, keeping him down.

“Just rest there for a moment, husband. You should not try to get up too quickly.”

Making a face meant to express that he was lying back
only to appease her and not because he felt weak as a baby, Aric reclined in the grass again with a sigh. “Where are the men?”

“Back at the campsite, preparing to leave, no doubt,” Shambley answered, concern obvious in his eyes as he looked his friend over. “Mayhap I should tell them we will not be leaving for a while.”

“Why? I am fine. Just give me a moment to regain my breath and we can go,” he announced, hoping that it was so, and was irritated all over again when the two shared another glance.

“Surely you are fine, husband,” Rosamunde murmured. “But doubtless you will wish to clean up after your trauma and refresh yourself. Then, too, we must discuss this latest occurrence and what it means.”