Defy Not the Heart (22 page)

Nor did the pleasure abate. Even when he placed her on the bed and stepped back to strip off his clothes, the tingling continued as she watched him, his golden flesh revealed, the strength that had held her aloft for so long magnified in each ripple of muscle. She wanted to touch his skin, to taste him as he had her. She had never known such trembling anticipation. And when she met his eyes, still another thrill of sensation shot through her, for his eyes smoldered with passion, telling her, as she had already suspected, that this time would be different. But she could not have imagined how different.

When he joined her on the bed, his lips came to her again, tantalizing her with soft kisses, alarming
her with rougher nips, inflaming her wherever they touched, until she was in a welter of heat and wanting. She was also thoroughly frustrated that he would not let her touch him as well, but held her hands firmly in his and would not release them.

At last he prepared to fulfill her need to have him inside her. He knelt between her legs, bestowed one more kiss on her quivering belly, and then…

“Ranulf, what…nay, do not…
nay!
”

He did, and it felt as if she shot right through the ceiling. Half her body did come off the bed, her back arching of its own accord, trying to escape the fire of his tongue where it had gone. But she could not, nor could she twist her hands free. She tried sitting up, only to have one of his arms press her back down and stay there, resting across her belly to keep her down and at his mercy.

He had none. He continued to taste the essence of her, burning away the shock and fear, to let a wild, primal satisfaction burst forth that was shocking in itself. This response seemed not her own, and yet she felt it, exulted in it, and, with helpless abandon, let it take her where it would, which it did right quickly. A new, glorious heartbeat exploded between her legs, wringing from her a cry to rival Ranulf’s customary roar.

And while she floated on the breathless aftermath, he entered her, keeping her crested on a wave of pure sweetness as he surged to his own release. Only the wave unexpectedly built to tidal proportions, and at the last moment, her cry joined his in another burst of throbbing ecstasy.

I
t was rather a shock to wake up from a most pleasant sleep with a cat’s rear end staring her in the face. Reina could not immediately comprehend what she was looking at, but the ghastly smell that assaulted her nostrils a moment later she had no difficulty identifying. She shrieked, leaping out of bed. But when she swung about to glare at the offensive creature reposing on her pillow, she was arrested by the sight of her husband.

Her outraged scream had awakened Ranulf, and with a warrior’s reflexes, he was already standing on the opposite side of the bed with his sword in hand. That he was unable to figure out what had alarmed her was obvious by the questioning look he gave her, one golden brow crooked just so.

Reina’s chagrin did not abate, was considerably added to instead by the fact that they were both standing there naked. Memories of yestereve also crowded into her mind to further vex her. So when he finally asked what had disturbed her, she did not care how foolish her answer might sound. The cat was to blame for this new embarrassment, and the cat would get the blame.

“That feline rodent farted in my face.”

He did not laugh. She almost wished he had, for it might have relieved the tension the absurd situation was building. Instead, he very calmly returned his
sword to its scabbard and got back into bed. His lack of any comment at all was enough irritant to prod her temper. That he picked up Lady Ella and began to pet her was the push over the edge.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Well, what? ’Tis a normal occurrence. Animals fart just as we do.”

“
She
”—Reina stabbed a finger at the culprit—“did it apurpose!”

“Ridiculous. Why do you hate cats?”

“I do not hate cats. I love cats. I hate
that
cat, and I refuse to sleep in the same chamber with her any longer. Either she goes, or I do.”

When he said naught, but simply stared at her as if she had gone mad, Reina stormed out of the room, pausing only long enough to swipe up her bedrobe from where it had been left on the floor. Not until she was out in the passageway did it occur to her that she had nowhere to go. She had already given her old chamber over to Elaine and Alicia to share, and did not care to disturb the other women in their quarters at this early hour either. Nor could she go below dressed as she was. ’Twas only just dawn, but some of the servants would have risen by now.

The torches in the passageway had burned out, and the light coming through the deep window embrasures in the wall was barely discernible. ’Twas even darker in the stairwell, but Reina moved in that direction anyway. The floor was cold, and at least sitting on the stairs she could wrap her feet in her bedrobe. Hopefully no one would be coming up just yet to find her there, nor going down, for she could not think of a single excuse to explain a desire to sit
in the dark on cold steps wearing naught but a bedrobe.

After a moment her breathing calmed. It took a bit longer for the turmoil of her thoughts to quiet down, but when they did, she dropped her head to her knees with a groan.

I did not do that. Jesú, tell me I did not say or do any of that
.

No divine voice answered, and Reina groaned again. Ranulf would think he had married a crazy woman, and not be far wrong. She had to be crazy to let her temper run amok like that, and for no good reason. Yesterday she had reason, or thought she did. This piece of idiocy had no excuse. So a cat was smart enough to wage a subtle war. No one would believe it. She would doubt it herself had she not seen Lady Ella’s particular style of maneuvering ere this. And…
Jesú
, she was doing it again, making crazy excuses. No one in his right mind would attribute human motives to a cat.

Reina had to face it. She was jealous of Lady Ella—but with reason. That absurd ultimatum she had given Ranulf proved he cared more for his precious cat than he did for her, for she was the one sitting here on cold steps, while that feline was being cosseted in a warm bed—her bed.

Suddenly Reina started as something brushed against her thigh. Just barely, she saw a small dark shadow move on down the stairs. Lady Ella? But she had closed the door to the antechamber. How, then…?

Reina tensed, her senses finally aware that her husband stood on the step just behind her. Now was the time to apologize, to beg him to forget this morn’s
silliness, but no words could get past her mortification. It seemed to be becoming a habit, humiliating herself in his presence, though she could not reason why. But this time was the worst, and she was loath to imagine what he must be thinking right now.

“Do you come back willingly, or do I carry you?”

She stood up and turned to face him. All she saw was his silhouette, no expression to discern his thoughts by. His low-pitched voice gave no clue either.

“What does that mean?” she asked hesitantly.

“It means I concede, little general. I would prefer it did you try and tolerate Lady Ella, but if you cannot, you cannot. Henceforth she can sleep with Lanzo.”

Reina should have been magnanimous and said she had not been serious, that he could keep his cat wherever he liked. But she had won, and without guilt to aid her. The feeling was worth savoring without concessions.

“Thank you.”

“For what? You left me no choice.”

She smiled to herself, for that was not exactly true. He could just as easily have dragged her back and forced her to accept his will regardless of her feelings on the matter.

“You are not angry?”

He did not answer that, but stepped aside for her to pass. Better she count her blessings and leave the subject be. He had not sounded angry, though by rights he ought to be. Men did not usually like ultimatums of any kind.

She tightened her robe against the chill of the stair
well and moved up to his level—and found herself scooped up into his arms. “I thought—”

“Be quiet,” he interrupted. “I had not realized you were barefoot.”

What could she say to that? Her feet
were
terribly cold. He had had sense enough to put shoes and chausses on to come after her. She had just barely thought to grab her bedrobe. This chivalry on his part was unexpected, but nice. She would savor it, too, while it lasted. Besides, she rather liked being held in his arms.

Lanzo slept on, undisturbed by their comings and goings through the antechamber where he nightly spread his pallet. He was attuned to Ranulf’s voice raised in summons, but Ranulf had not once raised his voice this morn.

The bedchamber had lightened up considerably since Reina had left it, dawn giving way to sunrise. Ranulf did not put her down until he reached the bed, where he could set her. Only then did she glance at his face to determine his mood. His grin was self-explanatory.

“So that is why you are not angry. You found my behavior amusing?”

He sat down next to her but avoided looking at her, staring instead at his feet stretched out before him. “I have had women fight over me before and throw jealous tantrums, but never over my cat.”

“Is that so?” she replied indignantly.

The laughter he had been holding in burst forth. He fell back on the bed with it. He rolled from side to side with it. He roared with it. Reina glanced about for something to hit him with.

“I swear,” he gasped out, clutching his stomach
now, but still laughing, “I have never seen…or heard anything so funny…as you accusing a cat…of farting just for your benefit!”

Had she really done that? ’Twas not even logical. Animals could not control such things any more than people could.

“I will allow I may have been hasty in that accusation. I should have said she would have done it apurpose if she could have.”

That brought on another paroxysm of laughter. Tears were now streaming from his eyes. Reina had to bite her lip to keep it from curling. His humor had become infectious.

“Enough, Ranulf,” she said in exasperation. “So I behaved like an idiot. You do not have to rub it in.”

“Nay, not an idiot.” He pulled her down next to him and leaned over her, smiling. “You were utterly delightful.”

“And silly,” she said, feeling warmed by the way he was now looking at her.

“Silly, aye. Know you that I have never before laughed like that? I am glad you are so silly, little general.”

Her hand came up to wipe the moisture from his cheeks. “I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“That you have had so little to laugh about in your life.”

He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Careful, lady, or you will find out firsthand what I do to women who wish to cosset me with sympathy.”

“I know exactly what you do,” she snorted. “You take complete advantage of their sympathy to lure them to your bed. A shameful male tactic.”

“No more shameful than those female tactics you worked on me yesternoon, when you assumed I was suffering a guilty conscience.”

“Never did I—” she started to deny, but his knowing grin brought an answering one to her lips. “It always worked on my father.”

“I am not your father.”

Her brow arched. “You do not care whether you have peace in your household or not?”

Reina tensed as he bent his head to grasp the edge of her bedrobe with his teeth and pull it open, then melted when his tongue slid out to swirl about the exposed nipple. When he glanced back at her, his eyes gleamed with male satisfaction.

“I believe,” he said in answer to her question, “I have discovered a more delightful way to make peace.”

“Mayhap you have,” she agreed in a husky whisper, but then sat up and was able to add matter-of-factly, “But as we are already at peace…”

“Not so fast,” he chuckled.

A finger in the neck of her bedrobe brought her back down. It also brought the opened robe off her shoulders. Both breasts were now visible, and the look on his face as he gazed at them told Reina this conversation would not continue much longer.

“Are you still angry that I sought out Red Alma?”

Reina squirmed uncomfortably. “You could have brought your question to me.”

“Would you have told me how to pleasure you as I did?”

“How could I when I did not know such was even possible?”

“Neither did I.”

His lips grazed her cheek on a path toward her mouth, but he did not kiss her. He ran his tongue tantalizingly over her lower lip until she was teased enough to press her lips to his. Then he leaned back, grinning.

“Now tell me you enjoyed it.”

“You have doubt?” she asked incredulously.

“Nay, but I want to hear you say it. Say it, Reina.” He punctuated the demand with another kiss, leaving his lips hovering just over hers. “Say it.”

“I did—enjoy it.”

“Do I do it again, you will not protest?”

“I did not say
that
. Ranulf, wait! ’Tis morn…daylight…sweet
Jesú
,” she ended with a blissful sigh.

R
eina snipped off the last thread and stood up, shaking out the finished garment for inspection. She had to smile. Trimming the blue velvet with strips of brocaded ivory silk had produced a bedrobe worthy of a king. Whether her husband would consent to wear it was the question, however, and not just because he was not used to wearing a bedrobe. All of his clothing was nondescript, plain woolens and linens without embellishments, most in need of repair. You could not accuse the man of being showy or ostentatious, even though he had long been able to afford grander clothing. That he preferred simple attire said a lot for his character.

She had indulged her own fancy with the bedrobe, since only she and the few servants allowed in the bedchamber would see him wearing it. The rest of the new wardrobe she intended making for him would be of fine quality, but much more modest—at least until she could accustom him to the idea that wealthy lords of the realm were expected to be grandiose, at least more splendidly arrayed than their own vassals.

The comments she had gotten from her older ladies as she was working on the bedrobe were typical ribbing for a new bride, and she had taken them in that vein.

“Are you sure you want to cover those magnificent shoulders in that?”

“I would be taking it off him, not putting it on.”

“You will be sorry if he takes after my William and decides to sleep in his.” That from Lady Margaret.

“If he is not used to wearing one, why tamper with a good thing?”

What they did not seem to realize, and Reina was not about to tell, was that having a man with a body like Ranulf’s parading around the bedchamber in the altogether played hell on a woman’s equilibrium, at least on hers. She did silly things when he was naked, like stare with brazen discourtesy, or accuse a poor cat of being spiteful. Before long she would succumb to the sensual urges all that golden skin manifested in her, to touch him, caress him, taste him, whether he bade her to or not. What would he think of her then? After all, his frequent bedding of her now was no more than a fulfillment of their bargain. Once she was with child, it would end.

Putting him into a bedrobe now was a safeguard to temptation. It assured that he would not think her pining away for loss of his body later on. If he had gone on as he had to begin with, there would have been no doubt of that. But his new techniques had gotten to her.
Jesú
, how they had gotten to her. And he knew it. He was also sweetly endearing in his delight over this great feat, a typical male reaction, she supposed, like a little boy winning his first victory against insurmountable odds. So it was up to her to make him believe she was still basically indifferent. She was going to come out of this with her pride, if naught else.

Reina draped the finished garment over her arm to take to her chamber. She would leave it on the bed
for Ranulf to find. Hopefully he would feel obliged to wear it simply because ’twas made for him. If not, she would have to see about making the chamber drafty by removing some of the wall coverings. A little cold would curb his lack of modesty if naught else would.

“I would reconsider were I you,” Dame Hilary called out in a singsong voice, setting the younger ladies to giggling.

Reina smiled despite herself. Were the circumstances of her marriage different, she would indeed reconsider But she was not likely to forget that Ranulf had practically had to have his arm twisted ere he would agree to wed her. He might have new loverlike skills that he was inordinately proud of, but he would no doubt prefer to practice them on someone else.

“If you must give it him, lose your own,” Florette suggested, straight-faced. “That will assure he will not wear his too often.”

They finally managed to get the blush they were after. But before Reina could give a suitable reply, Wenda appeared in the doorway to interrupt the merry laughter. She was out of breath, with a hand to her chest indicating she had come at a run. Nor did she mince words once she had caught her breath.

“My lady, best you come quickly. Lord Ranulf’s knights have returned, and two are grievously wounded.”

There was not a single sound heard in the sewing room after that. Reina’s heart had dropped with those first words, thinking something had happened to Ranulf. Why she should react like that she was not sure, but as her color returned, her mind turned efficient.

“Hilary, Florette, do you both come with me.”
She tossed the bedrobe to Wenda. “Put that in my chamber when you fetch my medicaments. Margaret, do you gather what is needful and meet me below. Elaine, send someone after my lord. This will not await his return.”

“Where is he?”

“In the village, I believe.”
Making Red Alma rich
, she added to herself, for she was not sure Ranulf had been teasing when he had said the woman’s advice was worth her weight in gold. “Florette?”

The young widow had not moved to join her, was in fact still staring ashen-faced at Wenda. “Was—was Sir Walter one of the wounded?”

“I know not, madam,” Wenda replied. “They were still being carried into the keep when Master Gilbert sent me to fetch Lady Reina.”

Florette’s color did not improve with that answer, and Reina had to wonder if the lovely brunette had developed a tender for Walter de Breaute. Obviously, her own problems had made her lose touch with what was going on around her in her own home. She had not even been aware that Ranulf’s men had left Clydon today.

“Florette, mayhap you had best remain here,” Reina suggested, deciding the woman would be more hindrance than help if she did indeed hold Sir Walter in her affections and he was one of the two wounded. “Margaret can—”

“Nay, I need to know.”

“Certainly, but—”

“Please, my lady, I was only surprised,” Florette insisted. “I am fine now.”

Reina hesitated, but finally nodded and left the sewing room.

Even before she reached the hall she could hear Searle of Totnes blasting the men carrying him with invectives. He had taken a pike in his thigh, and although the metal spearhead had been removed, he had links from his mail chausses embedded in the wound that were agitating it with each movement. From the volume of his voice, however, she determined his condition was not as grievous as Wenda had implied. Walter, on the other hand, and he was the other man hurt, was unconscious. His color was not good, and he was bleeding from more than one wound.

Eric Fitzstephen followed behind them, and it was to him Reina directed the questions she needed answering, while the bearers deposited the knights in their separate chambers off the hall. “How long has Sir Walter been bleeding?”

“Too long,” Eric replied, his voice raspy with worry. “He took that gash on his side early in the fray, yet continued to fight. And we were a goodly distance from Clydon when we were set upon.”

“Did he fall from his horse when he received that head wound?” she asked with concern. “I must know if he has aught to tend from within.”

“Nay, no cracked ribs or the like. That wound did not fell him, nor the other. ’Twas the sight of his own blood when ’twas over that—ah—”

“I understand,” Reina cut in, realizing how difficult it was for one knight to claim another had fainted. “Know you who did this?”

“We were on the woods road, my lady.”

Explanation in itself, she supposed. “Very well. I have sent for Ranulf. Best you have one of my ladies
attend your scratches ere he gets here, for he will want a full accounting of what happened.”

She found Florette already bent over Walter in his chamber. Her face was colorless again, but she was not rendered useless. Carefully, she was removing the makeshift bandage that had been wrapped about his head.

“Leave that,” Reina said briskly. “The bleeding has stopped there, but his side still seeps.”

“Will he—die, my lady?”

“Why should he do a fool thing like that?” Reina said, though until she saw the wounds, she could not really say for sure.

The most difficult task was removing Walter’s heavy hauberk so they could get to the wound. It took two men to manage this with the least amount of movement. The rest of his clothes were quickly cut away, to reveal more clearly the extent of his blood loss.

Too long, Eric had said, and had not exaggerated. Walter’s whole left side was soaked red clear down to his boots, the wound ragged and still dripping. The weapon, whatever it was, had pierced the hauberk just above the lowest rib. But instead of entering the body for a death wound, it had been deflected off the rib to slice a long tear straight across beneath his hauberk. ’Twas deep, but did not seem dangerously so; at least it would not be had it been closed up sooner. The danger now was in whether he had lost too much blood, and so would be too weak to fight off infection.

Reina worked swiftly, cleaning the wound and then applying a salve to immediately stop the blood flow. She let Florette do the stitching while she then saw to the head wound. This was just a small break in the
skin, though there was a thick lump under it. A helmet could have prevented it, had he been wearing one at the time. As he was certain to have a splitting headache for a goodly number of days, he was not about to leave Clydon without a helmet again.

Walter did not awaken once, which was fortunate as there were so many stitches to apply, but ’twas not so easy getting the tonic she had prepared into him. She left Florette to see to that while she checked on the younger knight.

Searle’s loud complaints, grown louder still while Hilary worked on him, were heard clearly in the next chamber. He had only quieted down now that she was almost done with him.

When he saw Reina, however, his voice rose again. “You are cruel, lady, to set this witch on me.”

“That witch has gentler hands than I, sirrah, so be grateful I was too busy with Sir Walter to attend you myself.”

That shut him up nicely and brought a chuckle from the stout dame. “Did you ever hear a boy make so much fuss over a little prick?”

“Little?” Searle choked.

“Only three stitches, my lady,” Hilary informed her.

“So few? Sir Walter had nigh a full score. Did you hear him screaming for mercy?” Reina grinned then, taking pity on the young man now blushing. “Nay, Searle, we only tease you. Yelling ofttimes eases the pain. You should have heard my father when he would get a mere splinter from the exercise yard. We had to stuff our ears with cloth ere we could remove it.”

“Is Walter—will he—”

“You have no need to worry over him. He is still
unconscious, but that is a good thing just now. His wounds were not as bad as they seemed, but they will be very painful once he rouses. Now drink this.” She handed him a decoction of white poppy mixed in warm wine. “’Twill ease your own pain and put you to sleep, which is what you also need just now.”

“But Ranulf—”

“Eric can answer all his questions.”

At that moment, the door in the next chamber crashed open and Searle swiftly gulped down his tonic. “How quickly will this work?”

Reina frowned at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“He is going to be furious. I would just as soon sleep through it.”

“But why should he be angry, unless you three did wrong? Did you?”

“We have one dead and two wounded. There were only fifteen of them. We should have given a better accounting of ourselves, lady.”

“How many rode with you?”

“Six.”

Reina gave him a look of disgust. “Go to sleep, lackwit. Hilary, see to it my lord husband does not come crashing in here to disturb him.”

“You do not ask for much, my lady.”

Hilary got a disgusted look, too, for her unneeded sarcasm. “Very well, I will see to it myself,” and Reina left, mumbling, “
Jesú
, three to one is even odds? Does he think his men are all giants like himself?”

Eric slumped weakly against the wall outside Walter’s chamber, apparently already having told Ranulf what had happened. The door was still open, and Reina became hesitant now on seeing Ranulf within.
He stood next to Walter’s narrow bed looking down at him, his body so still it could have been made of stone, muscles bunched, fists clenched at his sides. She could not see his expression yet, but he must indeed be angry to have frightened Florette into leaving her patient, for she, too, was waiting without the chamber.

He still did not move or glance her way when she reached his side. “You cannot truly be angry with him for getting wounded, Ranulf. Think you he did it apurpose?”

“The fool knew he would be traveling through the woods, lady. He knew the place swarmed with brigands, and yet he only took three men-at-arms with him.”

“But they were besides three knights fully armed. The outlaws rarely set upon travelers with any strength in their group.”

“They did this time.”

What could she say to that? So he did have reason to be angry. But when he finally looked at her, ’twas not anger she saw in his eyes, but a deep, terrible dread.

“My lady, please, do not let him die,” he said with heartfelt gruffness. “Do you aid him to recovery, you will have my deepest gratitude.”

Reina felt her throat tighten. She had the overwhelming urge to put her arms about him and assure him he had naught to fear. But sympathy and trite assurances were not the way to deal with this man.

“Whatever can you be thinking, my lord?” She made her voice deliberately stern. “Much as I would like to have you beholden to me for a time when I might find it useful to have you so, I must tell you
de Breaute is not dying. His wounds are trifling compared to some I have seen.”

“Then why does he not awaken?”

“Because I gave him something to make him sleep, as I gave to Sir Searle. ’Tis the best way for a man to get his strength back after losing a little blood. But neither of them is so sorely wounded that he will not be full of complaints at the long bed rest I will insist on.”

She was not sure her husband would swallow that, but after a moment he nodded curtly and left the chamber. Reina sighed in relief that was short-lived as she glanced down at Walter. He was still terribly pale. No wonder Ranulf had thought him dying.