Defy Not the Heart (11 page)

She held her breath when he stopped just outside the door. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, too, but did not want him to know she was afraid of him. If he did beat her, it was no more than she deserved for deciding to accept him. It was madness to be “under the rod” of such a man, a complete stranger. To be unable to gainsay him even if he sold her land. To have no rights whatsoever, not even to appeal in court without him. To allow him such
control
over her, a man who gave every indication of actively disliking her. But what was the alternative? An old, greedy man who would not care about Clydon, who only wanted to drain its wealth.

She shuddered each time she thought of Rothwell, after what she had been told of him—and she
had
asked some of his men, not trusting Sir Walter any farther than she could throw him. At least this Ranulf would care for the land. That he had saved so long to own land told her that. And he was more than capable of being Clydon’s lord. That really had been the deciding factor and why she had not tried to enlist the monk’s help, which was no guarantee, really. Neither John nor Richard would be able to do as well as this giant when it came to actual fighting. From the size of him, ’twas doubtful
anyone
could beat him.

“What was the reason, lady, for those ridiculous demands?” Ranulf demanded in a low rumble. “Think you I cannot see to you and yours?”

Reina let out her breath. That had to be the softest she had ever heard him speak, and it boded well that he would not be stomping all over her.

“Not at all. I think you will be quite able to protect Clydon.”

He was not sure he had heard her aright. A compliment! From
her?
Unbelievable!

“That was not your sentiment earlier in camp,” he reminded her.

“Do not be stu—” She bit her lip.
Jesú
, she would have to learn to watch her tongue with this man. “Ah, I ask your pardon for what was said earlier. I was upset and did not really mean any of that.”

“So if you think I am capable, why insist on seeing it in writing?”

“That stipulation and the other were only a cushion, so to speak, to lessen the impact of the last.”

He was frowning now. “Which you press your luck in demanding at all.”

“True,” she allowed, lowering her eyes to his broad chest. “But you have agreed. And as for making mention of children, I know ’twas unnecessary. To get me with child will be to your benefit, to strengthen your position should Rothwell or anyone else still think to have me by killing you.”

“You talk freely enough of the bedding, lady. Are you prepared for it?”

She knew he asked that just to fluster her, and it worked. “Aye,” she whispered.

“Tonight?”

Her eyes flew back to his. “But this is not the cere
mony that counts! We must be wed again at Clydon, with my vassals and Sir Henry attending. I thought we would wait—”

“And have you return to Clydon not truly wed, so once your vassals are there you can put me out? Nay, lady, you will have no grounds for annulment. You stipulated children, so we will get started on them soonest.”

She could feel her cheeks heating rapidly, and with it, her temper. He would do this just to get even with her. She was aware she did not attract him, that he did not
want
to bed her. ’Twas likely he would never have gotten around to it if she had not embarrassed him by making demands about children in front of the others.

Tight-lipped, she asked, “Is that all?”

Surprisingly, his expression grew uneasy. “As it happens, that was not why I asked you out here.”

She could have said he had not asked but had dragged her out, but she did not belabor the point. Whatever it was he wanted to say was obviously difficult for him to speak of.

“You called me a baseborn knight.”

“And you admitted you were,” she agreed, amazed that he might be embarrassed about
that
.

“Then why do you mention my family when you know me to be a bastard?”

“I assume that one of your parents must be of rank, or you would not have been trained to knighthood. As it is usually the male who spreads his seed about with so little thought or care, I also assume it is your father who has the rank, not your mother. Am I wrong?”

He was now tight-lipped and frowning again. “Nay, you have that right, too.”

“Is he dead, then?”

“To me he might as well be. I have spoken to him only twice in my entire life, lady. I was nine ere he first deigned to notice me, though he knew about me well enough, for I was born in the demesne village.”

“But he must have acknowledged you, to have had you fostered.”

“That matters not. He has his heir and has no need of me, nor I of him. Even should my half brother die, I would not accept aught from him now. ’Tis too late.”

“Fie on you, sir, to be so bitter,” she dared to admonish him. “Your father could not overlook a legitimate heir to elevate you, and you should not—”

“Did I say there was a legitimate heir, lady? My half brother is a bastard, too, but one younger than me by several years. His good fortune stems from having a mother who was a
lady
. A whore, but still a lady.”

Reina was not sure what to say after that. She should just leave it be but could not, not after he had trusted her with such a confession. It made him seem no longer a stranger, and,
Jesú
, she actually felt incensed on his behalf.

“I would not call that anywhere near fair, and it seems I must again ask your pardon. You do indeed have reason to be bitter. If a man must choose a natural son to succeed him, it should be no different than if he were choosing among legitimate sons. The oldest inherits by the law. Who is this man?”

Ranulf was taken aback by the heat in her response.
He
knew ’twas unfair, but that she should
think so was unexpected. A lady, not championing another of her kind?

But he waved her question aside. “It matters not who he is, only that I want him to have naught of yours. Should I die, I want your entire inheritance returned to you, and not just half of what is mine but everything I then possess as well. And I want
that
put in your contract.”

She stared at him wide-eyed with disbelief. “If—if you say so.”

“And you understand that an alliance with me does not bring you aid from anyone other than myself?”

“Aye.” She got her voice back under control. “But only your aid was ever needful. We will have all the additional aid we could need from Shefford.”

Ranulf felt strange, hearing her say “we” like that. He had never been a “we” before, not in his entire life. And she was proving she could be reasonable—at least during this discussion. Of course, he was forgetting the stipulations she still wanted included in the contract; and reminded of that, he picked her up under her arms to bring her face up to a level with his.

“We are agreed now and can finish this business, but do you understand one thing more, little general. You may have protected yourself from ever feeling my fist, but do you ever deserve it, your backside will become acquainted with the palm of my hand. You will
not
feel free to provoke me at your will.”

With that he set her down to drag her
back
into the room for the swearing and the kiss of peace. Peace? Reina wondered if she would ever know that state again.

R
eina found it hard to reconcile being afraid of a man when she had never before been afraid of any man. She had been protected all her life, kept from the harsh realities other women suffered, though not unaware of them. She had been loved and indulged, first by both parents, then even more by her father after her mother died six years ago. She had not even been sent away to foster at Shefford, her mother too fearful of letting her only child out of her sight. She had been taught at home to work with needle and shuttle, to read, write, and speak Latin, French, and even the rarely used English. She knew all things to know about managing a demesne, inside the castle as well as without, even to making financial and legal decisions, though those were most tedious, and she would be the first to admit she was not very good with money.

Certainly she had been afraid before, when her mother died, when her father went crusading, leaving her alone and in control of Clydon with only a few vassals to advise her—when she learned of his death. And when Falkes de Rochefort sent his men to take her, she had been afraid they might succeed, but she had not been afraid of de Rochefort himself. He had not even engendered fear in her the night he sneaked into her chamber to pounce on her with his foul in
tentions. She had felt outrage then, enough to have him tossed into the moat on his way out.

Of course, if he had managed to get her and somehow force her to wed him, then she might have been afraid of him—enough to kill him. Her father had never liked him, and she trusted his judgment in men, the reason she had not even considered Sir Falkes when he asked to wed her.

But another had got her instead, and this one she did fear, though she did not entertain the thought of killing
him
. She would be too afraid to even try—not that she actually wanted to. The fear was there, but it was not complete, and not for the same reason.

Right now it was all-consuming, for she was on her way back to camp and the promised bedding. Aside from that, however, the man deserved the benefit of the doubt. She had agreed to have him. He was not her first or even second choice, but he could possibly have been her third if it had been put to her under different circumstances. After all, Fitz Hugh did have a lot in his favor.

She would certainly never grow tired of looking at him, though she was not silly or foolish enough to let him know how attractive she found him. She had seen him use his sword, and his skill was most impressive, more so if his friend Walter could be believed. He was accustomed to leading men, but not only that, they wanted to be led by him. There were not many men who could inspire loyalty like that. He was young. He was strong. He was kind to animals, as she had seen with the brown cat that rode today perched on his shoulder. And he did not have any other obligations. Both Lord John and Lord Richard would have had to divide their time between her hold
ings and their own, and even those of their families. That Ranulf would devote himself solely to Clydon made him the better choice, actually.

Aye, there was much in his favor—but much against him, too. Her main and immediate worry was his size, a weapon in itself. Then there was his anger, which she had seen more of than not. And his manner, which was atrocious. The fact that he distrusted and disliked ladies, as Sir Walter claimed, was not going to be easy to deal with either. And he was unpredictable. Who would have thought he would have balked at being given an estate like Clydon?

There was going to be a problem with Theodric, too, unless Ranulf could be talked into forgetting that unfortunate incident between them. And how he would handle her villeins remained to be seen.

What Reina feared, she supposed, aside from his size, was that he would have no care for her feelings. She knew he disliked her. He had already been rough in his treatment of her. That he now had the power to hurt and shame her at his will was shattering to her peace of mind. But again he deserved the benefit of the doubt. She could only hope that marrying him would not be the biggest mistake of her life.

Her horse plodded behind his on returning to camp, neither of them in much hurry now. She had hoped they would spend the night at the abbey, where, if she was going to be doing any screaming, someone who might care would hear it. No such luck there.

Father Geoffrey had offered, separate rooms, of course. Her new husband, resourceful as he was, could have found a way to come to her there for the bedding. It would have alleviated at least some of her fear. But he had declined.

Reina did not
feel
married, but she would ere the night was through. Her inner trembling would not stop, the more she thought about it. She knew what would happen. She had often imagined it happening with Richard, even with John, but never with a giant. Before, she had looked forward to her wedding night, for she was old not to have experienced lovemaking yet. Now—she could only berate herself for prodding Ranulf into bedding her tonight, when she still could have had days to get used to the idea if she had kept her mouth shut about wanting children.

But she did have a small reprieve. Dismounting before his tent, Ranulf nodded toward it. “Do you do whatever needs be done. I will join you anon.”

His “soon” turned out to be two hours, proving he was as reluctant to get to the bedding as was she, needing the bolstering of the two flagons of wine Father Geoffrey had pressed on them in honor of the occasion. She could have used some of that wine herself. What she got was water from the pitcher set inside his large tent and an opportunity to meet his leman, a big, hefty girl nigh as beautiful as Eadwina, who, if not exactly sprawled across his bed, came damn close to it sitting on the edge, resting back on her elbows, with knees spread in the most provocative, sluttish position Reina had ever seen.

The meeting surprised them both, for the girl was obviously not there to assist Reina, but had been awaiting Ranulf’s return. That no one had told her the reason for his absence from camp was obvious if that she
was
there, expecting only him to enter the tent for her blatant invitation.

Reina was not annoyed, however, especially since the girl was horrified to be found there by her, scram
bling to her feet and stammering something about presuming she might be needed, and begging Reina not to tell the lord she had come without being summoned. Obviously she had
not
been summoned, or Ranulf would not have sent Reina inside to find her. Or would he?
Nay, give him the benefit of the doubt, Reina
.

“Since you are here?”

“Mae, my lady,” the girl told her quickly. “My name is Mae.”

“Well, Mae, you might as well help me with my laces this one time,” Reina said matter-of-factly. “Since I have wed the lord, this is the last time I expect to see you. We will return to Clydon on the morrow. You will understand if I ask that you do not linger there.”

Mae did no more than nod, incredulous that she was being let off so lightly under
these
circumstances. She had been whipped once by the order of a lady who had no more than suspected her husband had visited Mae. She had heard of other light-skirts who had been done away with by jealous ladies. That was one reason she had become a camp follower, where ladies were not likely to be, and the women of soldiers had no real power over her, at least not the power of life and death. If the lord had wed, glory be, Mae wanted naught else to do with him. Love was not worth risking her life for. Let the other Clydon whores see to him henceforth, and he would have use of them if
this
lady was as indifferent as she seemed.

Reina took pity on the nervous Mae and dismissed her ere she was more knotted up than unlaced from the green woolen bliaut. She finished the chore her
self, no more easy task than it had been donning the clothes earlier without help. Minus her braies and hose, which Kenric had overlooked when he swiped up clothes for her in the dark, she had felt nearly naked all day. But at least the boy had found a pair of her shoes. To have been married barefoot would have really been the crowning touch for this horrid day.

There were a number of things in the tent, but come to think of it, a mercenary as her husband had been up until now was likely to carry with him most of his possessions. There was a strongbox under lock, a small chest that could not contain
too
many clothes. On top of it was a basin of water with a drying cloth Reina had every intention of making use of, since she would probably not get a bath here. Several stools around a low table with the water pitcher and goblets on it, as well as several fat candles, were set off to the side of the tent. The sleeping pallet was actually a thick mattress, very long and perhaps five feet wide, made especially for the giant, no doubt. The bedding was rather fine, a soft woolen blanket and linen sheets, better than she could have expected. In the corner was a war chest for the instruments of his trade, with an assortment of longer weapons that would not fit in it, including another sword like the one Ranulf had been wearing—and one brown cat.

Reina was surprised at this second guest for a moment, seeing those glowing yellow eyes staring out of the shadows at her. But then she was delighted, welcoming company that would not talk back. She was fond of cats, made sure the Clydon felines were as well fed as the hunting dogs, for they served their purpose, too, keeping down the rodent population.

The cat’s presence in Ranulf’s tent proved what she had earlier suspected when she first noticed it atop his shoulder. The animal was a pet. What was so unusual was that such a large, gruff man would want such a little pet, and an ugly one at that. Its tail was bent at the end, probably from being stepped on at some time or other. Its coat was short and scraggly, in need of fresh milk and an occasional egg. There were patches of reddened skin from what was no doubt a bad flea infestation.

Aside from that, it certainly seemed friendly enough, coming forward when she made soothing sounds to attract it, rubbing up against her leg. She bent down to scratch it behind the ears to gain a very loud purring of contentment, and smiled. At least someone around here liked her.

Wearing only her shift now, Reina took care of her toilet, keeping up a running chatter with the cat, which continued to move in and out between her legs, and answered her with that overloud purring that was a rather soothing sound. She was in need of soothing. She did all she could do to avoid getting down on that pallet, including rummaging in Ranulf’s chest until she found a comb to make use of.

But combing her hair took only so long, even as snarled as it was. Wondering what was keeping Ranulf was pointless. He would come when he was ready. She thought about sleeping while she waited, but knew she never would.

Finally she picked up the cat and settled in the center of the bed to pass the time picking fleas. The cat, which she discovered then to be a female as it stretched out on its back to let her have at it, seemed to enjoy the grooming. She became so engrossed she
did not hear her husband enter—but the cat did. One second it was purring in utter contentment, and the next, hissing, and Reina got a sharp scratch for her presumption that the cat was friendly.

She stared incredulously as the feline bounded away from her to actually leap up into Ranulf’s arms. Since he was not surprised, this was obviously a normal occurrence. But Reina was a bit piqued as she rubbed the scratch on the tender inside of her thigh. That was the last time
she
would offer to groom the fickle thing, and after she had allowed its fleas into what would be
her
bed.

Since Ranulf had not deigned to even notice her yet, but was busy greeting his pet, Reina took a moment to dust the sheets. And then Kenric was entering, unannounced, and she quickly stuck her legs under the covers.

She supposed she would have to get used to this. The squire had his duties, and disarming and undressing her husband was one of them. But the lord’s chamber at Clydon had an antechamber. Perhaps she could persuade her husband to have his disrobing done there—on the other hand, she thought as she silently watched the process, perhaps she would not.

Sweet
Jesú
, were those bulges under that tunic real? Off it came, and with it a tiny gasp from her. They were real, all right, thick cords of muscle bunching and rippling as he moved. Theo had tried to tell her, but she had refused to listen. All golden-skinned and beautiful, he had said, and it was more than true. She felt a tiny bit jealous that Theo had seen all of him, whilst she was waiting with bated breath for those chausses to come off. But she had to wait. Ranulf dismissed Kenric and moved to the basin, splashing
the cold water all over him. It was only when he used the cloth that was already wet from her use that he finally seemed to be aware of her presence, turning about abruptly to impale her with those violet eyes.

“You are—not asleep?”

Reina felt the little kernel of expectation curl up and die in her chest. She had seen for herself what kind of woman he preferred, and she did not even come close. Of course he had been hoping she would be asleep. He had made a promise in warning that he now regretted. Why else would he have taken so long to join her, and weaving unsteadily on his feet, too?

Well, she would not stay where she was not wanted. The bedding would have to come sometime, but it could wait until they
both
got used to the idea.

She stood up in the center of the bed, perversely feeling something of a disappointment when she should feel naught but relief. “Nay, I do not sleep yet. I waited to hear where you wished me to sleep,” she said calmly, though with raised chin, daring him to call her a liar.

He did not call her anything. He stared at her hard, for an unnerving long time, and then the cloth fell from his hand unnoticed.

“You sleep there—with me,” he said huskily, surprising her and perhaps himself, too.

But he continued to stare, as if he doubted what he saw. Then he was yanking at the laces on his chausses, tearing them in his haste. Reina’s eyes widened. She had the distinct feeling he was going to jump on her, and she was not far wrong. He took her down to the pallet with one arm as he crashed on it. She lost her breath and, in the next moment, her shift.