Always (9 page)

“Kinsley.”

“Where is that?”

“Northern England.”

“Is that where your family lives?”

“Aye.”

Rosamunde frowned at the answer. He wasn't very forthcoming with information. “Do your parents still live?”

“My father does.”

Rosamunde waited for him to expound on that. When he remained silent, she asked, “Have you any brothers or sisters?”

“One brother. Two sisters.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older brother. Younger sisters.”

Rosamunde waited again, then decided to give up. His closemouthed behavior was very trying. Perhaps his brusqueness was because he was tired. Traveling was a bit wearying. It was
annoying
to her, at any rate. All that dusk kicking up at her. And after this second day of travel she felt as if she had rolled on the ground. Dirt and grit seemed melted into her very skin.

Her gaze moved toward the river, this time with a touch of longing. All that water. It would have been nice to have a bath. Of course, that was impossible out in the
open. There was no tub to fill, or even pails with which to fill one.

Aric raised his eyebrows questioningly when Robert nudged him. When the other man gestured, he glanced toward his wife to see her staring at the river with yearning. His gaze took in the slow-moving water. He debated within himself briefly, then decided. “Would you like to bathe?”

Rosamunde sat up straight at that question, her eyes widening. “Could I?”

Aric shrugged. “I do not see why not.”

Her mouth widened into a glorious smile. She fairly beamed at him. “That would be lovely.”

Aric blinked and nearly smiled back, then caught himself and stood abruptly. “Come along then.”

Standing eagerly, Rosamunde followed him to the river's edge, then along it for a distance until they were out of sight of the camp they had made. When he stopped suddenly, she stopped as well. She peered at him questioningly.

“Go ahead,” Aric murmured, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the nearest tree to wait patiently.

“Go ahead and what?” she asked slowly.

“Go ahead and bathe.”

Rosamunde turned, surveying the area. “Where?” she asked with bewilderment.

Aric frowned at her obtuse behavior. “In the river.”

“Outside? In the open?”

His eyebrows lifted at her horrified expression; then he recalled that she had just come from an abbey full of nuns. Women had raised her, and he doubted very much if the good sisters were much into skinny-dipping. Proper baths were probably the only kind they had.

Sighing, he straightened. “I would supply a tub if I could. Unfortunately, while traveling, one has to make do
with what is available. The water will be colder than you are most likely used to, and you will have to use my cape for a towel, but there is no one to see, and you will be able to wash the dust away.”

Rosamunde simply stood where she was, silent. She had never bathed in a river. She had never bathed outside the abbey at all. Once a month all the nuns took their turn in the tub the abbess had placed permanently in an empty cell. The rest of the time they made do with standing washes—unless they fell into the mud or a pile of dung, or somehow managed to make a mess of themselves. Usually, though, only Rosamunde and Eustice did that. They tended to end up having a bath once or twice a week due to one calamity or another. Still, she had never bathed out in the open before. The abbess would not think it was proper. It would be lovely to clean off all of the dust and dirt from their travels, though.

When his wife continued simply to stand silent and still, contemplating the water, Aric shifted impatiently and turned back the way they had come. “Well, if you are not going to bathe, we may as well return to—”

“Oh, no, wait. Please.” Rosamunde grabbed his arm to stop him, then released it and stepped back shyly as he turned to face her. “I should like a bath.”

He was silent for a moment, then nodded and returned to the tree he had leaned against before. “Hurry up, then,” he ordered gruffly, recrossing his arms.

Rosamunde glanced from him to the water, then back. “Did you intend to watch, my lord?” she asked at last.

“Of course. 'Tis my job to watch over you.”

“Aye, but—Well…You…”

He arched one eyebrow, amusement tugging at his lips. “Shy?”

Much to his fascination her whole face was transformed with the fire of sudden temper; then she turned her face away briefly. When she turned back, her expres
sion was flat again. “Proper,” she corrected him grimly. “I was raised properly, my lord. Proper does not include stripping down to bathe before strangers.”

“I am your husband.”

She stilled at that solemn and quiet reminder. He
was
her husband. He had every right to watch her bathe. He had a right to a lot more than that. Bathing suddenly seemed a lot less attractive. Perhaps she was not so dusty after all. “I will wait,” she decided meekly.

Shrugging, Aric turned back toward camp and led the way.

Rosamunde cast one last longing look at the river, then followed him.

Robert's eyebrows rose in surprise as they returned to camp. “What? Did you not take a bath after all?”

Flushing, Rosamunde dropped onto the log she had occupied earlier. “I decided I was too tired to be bothered,” she lied, too embarrassed to explain her own reticence. Realizing that Aric had not reclaimed his spot by the fire, Rosamunde glanced over her shoulder to see him spreading his cape out on the ground. Once it was spread to his satisfaction, he lay on the far edge of it and relaxed.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.

“Going to sleep.”

Rosamunde gaped at him. “Already?” she asked in dismay, too distressed to remember that she had just claimed to be too exhausted to bathe.

Aric noticed and started to smile, but caught it back, keeping his expression solemn and his eyes closed as he answered. “We are setting out at dawn on the morrow.”

Her eyebrows rose at that. “Why so early?”

Aric scowled. Wives were not to question husbands. Did she not know that? It would seem not, he decided when she repeated the question a little louder, as if he might not have heard her the first time. He supposed, should he not answer her, she would shout her words a third time.

Opening his eyes, he lifted his head to give her a look. The expression was to inform her that he really need not explain himself, but was humoring her. He said, “Because.”

“Because why?” she persisted.

Scowling, he closed his eyes and let his head drop back to the ground. “Because I just said so.”

Scowling, Rosamunde glanced toward Robert as he stood, stretched, then moved to lay out his own cape beside Aric's. “Are you going to sleep, too?” she asked with dismay.

“Dawn comes early,” he said with an apologetic smile.

Rosamunde frowned at that, then glanced toward her husband as he spoke again.

“Come to bed.”

She scowled at the order. The abbess was the only person who got away with such peremptory behavior. And her father, of course. “No, thank you. I am not yet tired.”

“Rosamunde.”

“Aye?”

“It was not a request.”

She glared at him briefly, considering refusing to obey what had obviously been an order, but then sighed. He was her husband. And she had promised her father to try to obey him. Unfortunately.

Muttering under her breath, she stood and made her way resentfully to where the two men lay. Robert had overlapped Aric's cloak with his own and settled himself on the opposite edge of the two garments. He left the center space for her, she supposed. It was a very small space. They must think her tiny.

Grimacing, she managed to wedge herself between the two knights. It helped when both of them shifted onto their sides, facing each other across her body, to give her more room. Stretching out as much as she could on her back, she stared up at the stars above.

 

Aric felt the arm next to his own moving gently and frowned, his eyes opening to see that Robert, too, had noticed it. His eyes were open as well, and their gazes met across his wife's gently bobbing body, then they both glanced downward to see her right foot wagging away.

They glanced at each other again, eyebrows arching, then to her scrunched-up face. She was squinting up at the sky with displeasure.

Clearing his throat, Aric waited until Rosamunde glanced at him, then asked, “What
are
you doing?”

“Looking at the stars.”

“No. With your foot. What are you doing with your foot?” he clarified.

Rosamunde blinked, then glanced blankly down at her foot.

“It was wagging,” her husband explained dryly, aware that it had stopped as soon as she had turned to peer at him.

“Oh.” Rosamunde smiled at him meekly. “Sometimes it does that before I go to sleep,” she murmured. It was something she did not even notice anymore. It was a habit she had seemed always to have had. The action tended to soothe her to sleep when she was not really tired. Like now. Despite having risen ere the dawn and ridden all day, she was not tired. Rosamunde tended to need little sleep. It was a trait she had inherited from her father. Four or five hours was all she needed a night.

“Well, do not do it tonight,” Aric ordered, then closed his eyes.

Rosamunde made a face at him and stuck her tongue out. A movement from her other side made her glance toward Robert to see amusement on his face. He had obviously witnessed her childish actions. Feeling herself blush in the darkness, she quickly turned her face upward and peered once again at the sky. She was still staring at it several minutes later when the first snores disturbed the peaceful night.

The first one to snore was her husband, the sound a loud, ominous rumble that made her stiffen where she lay. It seemed louder even than it had been that morning, but that might be because he was now lying on his side, facing her, his mouth only inches away, his breath tickling her ear with each exhalation. He followed the first snore with half a dozen or so more before Robert suddenly erupted into an answering rumble from her other side.

Sighing, Rosamunde closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was deaf.

“Is that Shambley?”

Aric glanced irritably at the top of Rosamunde's head as she sat before him. Everything about her seemed to annoy him today. It had started that morning. Despite having awakened ere the dawn, as he had intended, his wife had already been up and gone.

After rousing Robert, he had gotten to his feet and quickly reclaimed the sword that had lain at his side through the night, then had turned to survey the surrounding trees, trying to determine in which direction to look first. Before he could make up his mind, though, his wife had come sauntering into the clearing. Her face had been clean and glowed with good health. Her hair had still been damp from the bath she had obviously just taken. Her skirt had been raised slightly and held forward to make a temporary basket for some berries she had collected. Again, as on the last day, she had smiled at them
with disgustingly good cheer and wished them good morn.

Aric could not have said which annoyed him more: her good mood that early in the morning, the fact that she had awakened before him once more, or that she had taken a bath without him around to protect her. Recalling the way he had snarled and growled at her the morning before, and not wishing to repeat the activity, Aric kept the irate words that had trembled on the tip of his tongue to himself. He'd simply stomped off into the woods to attend to personal necessities, leaving her alone in the clearing.

His mood had not improved much by the time he returned, nor had it since then. In contrast, she had been as cheerful as sin all morning, chattering happily away about what a lovely day it was as they had partaken of the berries she had picked, humming merry tunes under her breath as they had ridden along. She had greeted his horse and Robert's as if they were old friends when they had reclaimed them from the stable where they had been left, and chatted knowledgeably—and, in his eyes, in a far too friendly manner—with the owner of the stables. Aye, she was in rare form, and it was driving him crazy.

“Aye. That is Shambley,” his friend answered.

“'Tis nice,” she said and Robert and Aric exchanged a glance.

Describing Shambley as
nice
was like calling a bear slightly furry. Shambley was amazing. Built of silver-gray stone, it was flanked by forest, and seemed almost to float on the crystalline water of its moat. No matter what direction you approached from, or from which angle you saw it, the castle was magnificent.

Shaking his head, Aric urged his horse onward, moving at a slower pace to allow Robert to take the lead. Moments later they had ridden through the gates and arrived at the keep steps.

“Aric! Robert!”

Both men brought their horses to a stop, smiling indulgently at the young girl racing down the stairs to greet them.

“Lissa.” Robert dismounted quickly, throwing his reins over his horse as he caught the child up in a hug. “Hello, moppet. Miss me?”

“Nay.” The girl laughed at the way his mouth drooped, then chided, “You have only been gone a week. 'Sides, 'twould have been impossible to miss you; the keep has been full of people since you left.”

Robert arched an eyebrow as he set the child down, and she made a face. “Aunt Esther and Aunt Hortense descended on us the day after you left,” she explained. Her expression showed quite clearly her opinion of the houseguests.

“Hoping to see Father die, no doubt,” Robert muttered as Aric set Rosamunde on the ground and quickly followed her off the horse.

“Aye.” The girl grimaced. “They were most distressed to find him recovering. Though they did try to hide that once they got over their surprise. I think they had hoped that with Father out of the way they could nest here, sponging off Mother for the rest of their days.”

Robert wore an expression of displeasure not dissimilar to the girl's. He muttered something uncomplimentary about vultures under his breath, then smiled wryly at Aric as his friend led Rosamunde forward. “It would seem we should have traveled at our own leisure on the way back. We have returned to a full house.”

Aric started to nod, then glanced down as Lissa suddenly launched herself at his chest, hugging him as fiercely as she had her brother. “Hello, little one,” he said. Rosamunde's eyes widened as Aric smiled affectionately at the child and hugged her back. It was the first sign of any soft emotion she had seen from the man she had married, and startling because of that.

“I missed you, Aric. You left without saying good-bye.”

Rosamunde's gaze dropped to the girl at those words, not terribly surprised to see that she was staring up at Aric with a starstruck look of devotion.

“Oh, ho! You did not miss me, but you missed Aric!” Robert waggled his eyebrows in mock horror, eliciting a disgusted look from the girl.

“You are my brother,” she pointed out with the weary disdain of someone much older than her years. “I have been saddled with your presence all of my life. Aric is my beau.”

Rosamunde's eyebrows rose at that, nearly disappearing into her hairline when she saw the blush that suddenly rode on Aric's cheeks. Giving her a pained smile, Aric cleared his throat. “Lissa is Robert's little sister,” he explained unnecessarily.

“And she very generously offered herself as his paramour—to aid in mending his heart after Delia broke it,” Robert explained. Wicked amusement danced in his eyes at his friend's discomfort.

“Delia?” Rosamunde murmured curiously, but before anyone would explain, Lissa turned to eye her suspiciously.

“Who is she?” the girl asked belligerently, her arms still wrapped around Aric.

Robert's grin deepened. “Lissa, meet Rosamunde, Lady Burkhart.”

“How do you do?” Rosamunde murmured politely, extending a hand in greeting.

Staring at the hand as if it were a dead fish, Lissa asked ominously, “Lady Burkhart?”

“Aric's wife,” Robert explained with amusement. “That is why we left in the middle of the night without warning. Aric was off to be married.”

Lissa did not look pleased by this news. The child paled miserably, her small arms dropping from Aric, tears filling her eyes. Turning swiftly toward the stairs, she started up them. “I shall tell Mother you are here.”

Aric watched her go with a sigh, then gave Robert a remonstrating look.

Managing to look somewhat chagrined, his friend shrugged. “She had to hear the news sometime.”

Aric did not look convinced. Rolling his eyes, he shook his head and took Rosamunde's arm to lead her up the stairs behind Robert.

The great hall they entered was in a state of chaos. They had arrived a bit earlier than they had expected. It was not quite the nooning hour, yet the room was crowded with people, some running this way, some the other. And causing it all were two women yelling orders and roaring commands.

“Ah,” Robert murmured. “Aunt Hortense and Aunt Esther.”

Rosamunde glanced at him curiously, but remained silent as the women bellowed orders.

“Fetch me my embroidery, girl. This mead will not do. 'Tis too sweet; bring me another. Why is it so cold in here? Can no one here build a proper fire?” Each of these demands, from a slender, horse-faced, older woman seated by the fire, sent a servant hurrying off as if bitten. One fetched the required embroidery, another took the cup of mead and flew off for the kitchens, and a third hurried to build up the fire.

Not to be outdone, a rotund woman with a florid face who sat in a second chair by the fire immediately began expelling her own orders. “My, 'tis hot in here. What? Are you trying to boil us all to death with that blaze, girl? Throw some water on it. Here, take my shawl back to my room. And someone fetch me a sweet treat to tide me over until the nooning meal.”

More servants went scurrying, and Robert glanced at Rosamunde with amusement. “My aunts. They never married and live off a yearly allowance in London. When they come here, they like to play lady of the manor.”

“I see,” Rosamunde murmured. Her gaze slid to the
stairs and, to the woman who was descending them. She was of an average size, but that was all that was average about her. Her hair was a stunning blond so pale as to be white, and her features were magnificent, though at the moment they were full of weariness. The woman seemed almost to be dragging herself down each step as if too weary to lift her feet. Her shoulders were slumped, and her expression a picture of exhaustion. This was Robert's mother, Rosamunde decided. She looked very much like a woman who had spent days worrying and fretting over a husband, only to have relatives such as the two aunts descend on her the moment he showed signs of recovering.

Espying Robert now, the woman proved Rosamunde's guess correct.

“Son!” she cried, and her entire attitude changed. Her weariness dropped away like an old shawl as she flew down the rest of the stairs to greet them.

Lady Shambley seemed a wonderful woman. She was much like Rosamunde had always imagined her own mother would have been. Obviously relieved and overjoyed to see her son, she hugged him tightly, then welcomed Aric and Rosamunde just as warmly.

Ushering them to the trestle tables, she sent for ale and mead and updated them on Lord Shambley's health. He was recovering nicely, slowly regaining his strength. He was even sitting up for several hours of the day now, and Lady Shambley soon expected him to be demanding to be allowed below stairs.

Much to Rosamunde's surprise, she did not question them much on how Aric had come to be married so suddenly. But then, Rosamunde supposed that Lady Shambley was aware that Bishop Shrewsbury had arrived the night they had left so precipitously. Everyone knew that Shrewsbury went nowhere without the king and vice versa, so it had probably taken very little guesswork to figure out how the marriage had come about.

Once they had finished the beverages she ordered for them, Lady Shambley suggested her son go above stairs to see his father. After he left, she then offered to take Aric and Rosamunde on a tour of her gardens. Aric declined the offer, excusing himself to go and speak with his men, who had been waiting comfortably at Shambley while he raced about the countryside. That left Rosamunde and Lady Shambley alone for their tour.

They had just reached the gardens when Lissa found them and told Lady Shambley that her husband wished to see her.

Nodding, Lady Shambley asked her daughter to start the tour for her, and promising to return as soon as she could, she hurried off. Rosamunde watched her go, then glanced sympathetically at the rebellious-looking Lissa. She was just wondering how to start a conversation with the girl when the scamp started it for her.

“I do not care if you are the king's bastard or not; if you hurt him like Delia did, I shall…I will”—she frowned, apparently not having considered what threat to use, then finished grimly with—“pull all your nasty red hair out by the roots and choke you with it.”

Rosamunde's eyebrows rose at that. “Bloodthirsty little thing, are you not?” She laughed wryly, then asked, “And how did this Delia hurt him?”

When Lissa merely glared at her, her mouth a stubborn line, she added, “Well, if you will not tell me, how can I be sure not to repeat her mistake?”

“By staying in your husband's bed, and not straying into other men's brais.”

“Ah.” Rosamunde felt herself blush at the deliberately crude words. “I see.”

“I am sure you do,” Lissa said dryly, and whirled away to stomp back into the castle.

“Meow,” Rosamunde murmured as the door slammed behind the girl. Sighing, she gathered her skirts and followed.

 

Lunch was a lively affair, with the aunts Hortense and Esther struggling to be heard above each other and win the most attention. Lissa spent the mealtime glaring at Rosamunde down the length of the table. It was almost a relief when the meal was over and Aric took her arm to urge her to her feet. But it was not until she heard Lady Shambley's words that Rosamunde realized they were leaving. Their hostess had risen, too.

“It was such a pleasure meeting you, my dear. You must make Aric bring you again so that we can have a longer visit. Anytime after Aunt Hortense and Aunt Esther leave would be grand,” she added with a pained smile.

Confusion taking over her expression, Rosamunde glanced from the woman to her husband uncertainly. “What?” No one had bothered to mention that they would be departing immediately.

“We are leaving,” Aric said, steering her toward the door. “The men are mounting up even as we speak.”

“Oh.” She could not help the slight disappointment she felt. Despite the glaring Lissa, the horrid aunts, and the fact that there was no bedchamber available for her, Rosamunde had been rather looking forward to a night indoors again. The great hall floor would have been preferable to dirt, and a real bath instead of the ice-cold dip she had in the river the other morning would have been welcome. Most of all however, she would have been grateful for the respite from riding. Obviously she was not going to get one, however. With a sigh, she glanced over her shoulder to offer a smile of gratitude to Lady Shambley as Aric ushered her out of the keep. “Thank you for the chance to rest and eat. It was lovely.”

“You are more than welcome,” she was assured graciously, as they reached the mounted men waiting at the bottom of the steps. Aric mounted immediately, then reached down to pull her up before him.

“You were not planning to leave without saying good-bye now, were you?”

Rosamunde glanced around to smile at Robert as he quickly descended the steps toward them. He had not attended the nooning meal. Lady Shambley had said he was taking his meal with his father.

“Would I do that?” Aric responded. He smiled, then added, “‘Sides, why would I say good-bye? I thought that surely, from what you said on the way here, that you would be traveling on with us.”

“Do not tempt me,” Robert muttered dryly, then sighed and shook his head. “If I could come up with a plausible excuse, I would accompany you. Can you think of one?”