Defy Not the Heart (30 page)

L
ess than a sennight later, Reina slammed into her bedchamber in a fine temper. Theodric, who was there giving the room a good cleaning, glanced up with a start, fearing ’twas Ranulf. He stayed out of that one’s way, and no longer attended Reina at her bath. But he refused to allow anyone else to usurp the rest of his duties. However, he saw to them only when the lord was not likely to be around, as now in early afternoon.

Seeing Reina, he relaxed. In another moment he noted the torn sleeve of her bliaut, the mussed hair minus the silk caul she had been wearing earlier, the bloom to her cheeks that was not entirely temper.

“Another tumble in the bushes, eh?” he inquired with a wicked grin.

Reina swung about to glare at him. “He’s a brute! An animal!”

“The best ones usually are.” Theo sighed.

She ignored that. “He rode out to fight Rothwell.” But not before he had pulled her into an empty stall in the stable and made swift, passionate love to her—for luck, he had said. With a whole troop awaiting him? The grooms sent running with a single growled order? Everyone undoubtedly aware of what had delayed him? But ’twas his lack of sense that truly infuriated her. “He would not listen to a word I said.”

“What did you say?”

“That he should not go, of course.”

She told the mighty warrior not to go out and fight? Theo nearly laughed, but did not think his lady would appreciate it at the moment.

“Rothwell? Is that not—”

“Aye,
him!
Ranulf said he might come, and now he has.”

“Where is he?”

“Reported about an hour’s ride north, and with an army three hundred strong. Ranulf took only fifty men with him!” she cried. “He is mad! What was wrong with letting Rothwell come here? Clydon is well manned now. We can withstand thousands! But nay, he said does Rothwell get a good look at Clydon, he will never give up. He means to stop him ere he gets any closer and turn him back with words! Mere words, Theo! When have you ever known a man set on war to listen to, much less heed, mere words?”

“When they come from a giant set to stop him.”

Reina glared another moment, then frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose that has some merit,” she allowed. “Rothwell knows Ranulf, knows what he is capable of. ’Twas why he was willing to pay so much to hire him. But,
Jesú
, the old man is going to be furious does Ranulf tell him that
he
wed me. What if he then thinks to make me a widow?”

Theo chuckled that she had now found something else to worry about. “Reina, think you Ranulf has not considered all this? He is a man of strategy. Fighting is what he does best. ’Tis why you wed him, is it not?”

“I know, I know, but I hate the odds, Theo. He is only one man, regardless does he think he is more.
Why can he not be reasonable and close the gates when he is so outnumbered?”

If Reina had known that Ranulf rode forth to meet Rothwell with only Eric and Searle at his side, she would never have forgiven him for the fright that would have caused her. This was not one of Ranulf’s concerns, however. He took note of the dozen men who separated from the ranks to intercept him with Rothwell. Three he recognized from his first meeting with the old lord. The others were likely vassals he had coerced into joining him. They did not appear too pleased to be on this campaign, but that was what Ranulf had counted on from what he knew of Rothwell.

As he had also figured, the ranks were filled mainly with mercenaries; several of their captains Ranulf recognized from past association. They stirred uneasily at the sight of him. He had to wonder if they even knew what they came here for. To steal a bride was not something one would want bruited about.

Ranulf had left his own men concealed in the wood behind him, some visible, some not, so their numbers were in doubt. He had waited here for Rothwell in order to gain that advantage, but he did not really think he would need it.

“I did not expect to find you still in the area, Fitz Hugh,” Lord Rothwell said as they drew abreast. “When you did not return, I assumed you had decided not to accept my offer. Or will you tell me you never even gained access to Clydon and are still trying?”

This last was said with a sneer that rubbed Ranulf
on the raw, but his tone was level when he replied, “Your first assumption was the correct one.”

“Then what are you still doing here?” the old man blustered.

“Seeing that you do not make a serious mistake. The lady you wished to avail yourself of is no longer available. She has already wed.”

“So
that
is why you did naught,” Rothwell chortled, then drew closer to add, “You should have come back and said so, but never mind. She can as like be made a widow. My offer still stands are you interested.”

A golden brow rose questioningly. “Five hundred marks to kill the husband?”

“Aye.”

“That would be a bit difficult, my lord, as I am that husband.”

Rothwell’s eyes bulged. For a moment, he choked on his own spittle. When he did find his voice, it came out in a roar.

“Devil’s spawn! You stole my bride! Kill him!” he shouted at those men closest to him.

Eric and Searle put their hands to their sword hilts, but Ranulf did not move. Neither did Rothwell’s men, other than to control their mounts that were spooked by the noise the old man was making. And he got louder, his face blotched with color, enraged that his orders were ignored.

“What are you waiting for? Are you all cowards? He is only a man!”

“He is also Lord of Clydon,” one of his men hissed at him. “Think what you are saying.”

“He stole—”

“Enough, Rothwell,” Ranulf growled menacingly.
“Naught was stolen from you, and well you know it. The lady was never betrothed to you. She had never even heard of you. But she is now wed to me, and I will keep what I have made mine. Do you wish to dispute that, challenge me now and name your champion.”

Rothwell was delighted with the offer, until he looked toward his men to see who would fight for him, and not one would meet his eyes. Again his face suffused with color.

“Cowards all, that is what I have!”

“Nay,” Ranulf said. “What you have is honest men whose misfortune is to have you for an overlord.”

“You have not heard the end of this, Fitz Hugh.”

“Then you court your own death,” Ranulf said in a tone as ominous as the words. “For I will give you only this one warning. Go home and forget Clydon, or I will ignore how old you are and kill you myself.”

He did not await a reply, yanking his horse about and riding off. But he had seen the fear in those old eyes. Rothwell would find himself another bride.

R
eina was nearly four months pregnant. For long and long she tried to deny it, finding one excuse after another to convince herself it could not be so. She had to stop trying when her waist increased, but her appetite did not. That day she was impossible to deal with, a veritable shrew to one and all. Her temperament had not improved much since. Fortunately, Ranulf had been gone a good deal of this time and missed her truly bad days, when she would be so beset by conflicting emotions that she would either rage at the least little provocation or burst into tears.

She had been told again and again that this would pass, that ’twas the changes in her body making her so emotional. Each of her older ladies had assured her of this. They all knew about the child. Everyone knew about the child—everyone except the child’s father. But no one was aware of what was really bothering her. ’Twas not something she cared to discuss, even with Theo.

That lackwit was as excited about the baby as ’twas possible to be. You would think he were to bear it. Not that Reina was not excited herself. She wanted this child, more than anything. Already she loved it, imagining it not half formed as it was, but as it would be, a life to cherish, to protect—to spoil. Her little giant, exactly like Ranulf, but unlike Ranulf, needing her.

Oh, sweet
Jesú
, there were those cursed tears again. Reina angrily swiped them away and left the brewhouse, the unlikely place where Lady Ella had decided to deliver her litter of five. She had been missing for a week, causing a castle-wide search and panic, at least on Reina’s part, to find her ere Ranulf returned. He had been so silly over the cat’s pregnancy, so delighted yet anxious, she had almost told him about her own, but could not do it. Now, she had waited so long, she would not have to tell him. Her body had done its changing during this three-week absence of his. He would know as soon as he saw her, or at least as soon as he took her to bed. God, how she was dreading that.

The past few months had been so idyllic and uneventful. She had had no trouble with Ranulf since his father’s visit. Hugh had sent a new steward to Warhurst, whose duty it was to wade through the mess Richard had left behind, and recompense all those who had suffered unjustly. The prisoners Ranulf had held had been turned over to the new man to be retried, this time fairly, and nearly all had been cleared of any wrongdoing. And Ranulf had kept busy, which was why he had not been witness to any of Reina’s recent uncharacteristic swings in mood.

He had made a tour of all the Clydon fiefs. He would be gone a few days or a week, return for a short time, then leave again. Reina had gone along the first few times, until the riding began to cause her a queasy upset, and she made excuses to remain at Clydon after that.

This last and longest absence of Ranulf’s was a trip to London at his father’s invitation. All was going well with them, or so the letter she had indicated.
This was her first correspondence from Ranulf, but in no way personal. ’Twas in fact written by Walter, who had gone with him. But Reina had learned from Ranulf himself that he could neither read nor write. Thus her reply lacked intimacy as well, since it would have to be read to him. She had already determined something should be done about that, though Ranulf was likely to balk at learning what there were clerks aplenty to do for him.

None of that mattered, naught did, in light of what would happen once Ranulf learned he had done his duty and given her the child she had demanded of him. The only reason she had been the recipient of his lust thus far was because he took seriously the duty fulfilling the terms of the marriage contract. That lust would be gone now, and with it the closeness she had come to feel toward him. She had never guessed, when she had decided to enjoy it while it lasted, that she would in fact be devastated when Ranulf no longer had a need to bed her.

She wondered if he would ask her to move back to her old chamber. She wondered how long it would take him to find a mistress. She wondered if she would be able to forgive him and accept him back when it was time to produce the next child, for she had asked for children, not just one child. She was driving herself mad with the wondering. Sweet
Jesú
, she was not supposed to have cared about any of this. ’Twas not the way she had ever imagined her married life to be. But then she had never imagined she would come to feel lust herself, intense, insatiable lust, and for a husband no less.

She had been selfish to put off the telling. It could not have been easy for Ranulf to remain faithful to
her all this time, and she believed he had been, even when he was gone from Clydon. A man who returned and immediately took his wife straight to bed, no matter the time of day, and did not leave it for hours on end, was not a man who had been getting his pleasure elsewhere. How she was going to miss that, and so much more.

Reina was so weighed down with these dismal thoughts, she almost did not notice the visitors who crossed her path, making their way toward the keep. They in turn paid no attention to her. Why should they? She had put on her oldest bliaut when the ale-wife came to tell her she had heard the mewling of kittens coming from behind the ale barrels. And without her calling out a dozen servants to move the huge barrels, and possibly get a few squashed kittens in the process, the only way to see if ’twas Lady Ella back there was to climb atop the stacked barrels and crawl around until she found in which narrow crevice the mother cat was holed up. Subsequently, she was covered with dust and grime, but at least she was assured that Ranulf’s cat was alive and well. A moment of humor broke through as she imagined him crawling across those barrels to see for himself, and he would, too.

So who were her unexpected guests? There was a lady and a lord, but they had already passed her; thus she had missed seeing their faces to identify them. Their ten-man escort was smartly dressed and equipped, but that gave her no clue. Well, she was in no hurry to find out, for even if she ran now, she was not likely to get into the keep before them. Once again she was caught ill-prepared to receive company. The last time she had met her husband. This time would
be no less embarrassing, looking as she did, no matter who the visitors were.

Their arrival had caught the interest of several of the knights in the exercise yard. Practice had stopped for a moment, but resumed when the visitors passed through the inner gate. The quintain was getting good use, and the clanging of swords echoed across the full width of the outer bailey. Since Ranulf’s coming, ’twas a familiar sound this time of day.

Clydon now had seven new knights in service, with as many new squires. She noticed Sir William instructing one. He had not enjoyed himself so since her father had left for the Holy Land. Searle was there, pitting his skill against one of the new knights. She had watched Ranulf and Walter challenge each other just so, and Searle, who had been taught by them, used the same technique. There was no contest. The new knight was disarmed in moments.

Eric and Aubert were there, too, watching two squires in similar mock combat. One she recognized as Lanzo, with his bright red hair. He should have been helmeted, for he was using a true sword instead of the wooden ones the newer squires used. His smaller opponent was not fully armed either, and was taking a beating, barely able to keep his sword up, much less his shield, and even as she watched he went down. That Lanzo kept after him even though he had fallen annoyed her, however. She knew a knight had to learn to defend himself even from the ground, for many died in just that position were they not so trained, but Lanzo seemed particularly brutal about the lesson.

Her heart then seemed to stop as she thought she recognized the boy on the ground. Aylmer? Nay,
Lanzo could not be that cruel. True, Aylmer loved to watch the knights in practice. But Lanzo would not dare entice him onto the field, to actually give him a sword and then attack him. Would he?

She started forward, calling out the squire’s name. He could not hear her, still pounding his sword against the downed boy’s shield. She was soon close enough to see that it really was Aylmer taking this beating, and a blind, red fury consumed her. She was upon them in moments, with no thought for the danger of that swinging sword, just the need to stop it—which she did with a mighty shove that sent Lanzo sprawling.

She immediately helped Aylmer to his feet, pushing back the sweaty brown curls from his eyes, quickly examining him for any hurts. She felt some relief that he was not bleeding anywhere, but she was still furious, and that he looked at her as if she were crazy did not help.

“Lady, why did you do that?”

“Why?” she fairly shrieked. “You are being pummeled nigh to death and you ask why?”

Those knights who noticed her there and started to come forward to see what had happened quickly resumed their practice at the sound of her fury. Eric, who had tried to intercept her when he saw her charging toward danger, backed away, unwilling to draw her attention to him. One look at Aubert said they were all in trouble, though they could not fathom why.

Aylmer was the only one there who realized that Reina was merely concerned for his welfare. ’Twas embarrassing in this instance, but it never failed to fill him with warmth that such as she could care for him.

Quietly, hoping she would be glad for him, he said, “I am to be a squire, lady.”

Reina’s heart constricted at the pride in those words. Oh, God, this jest was crueler than she had thought.

“Who told you that? Did Lanzo?”

“Nay, he was teaching me by Lord Ranulf’s order. But Lanzo was going too easy on me. I told him I would never learn that way.”

“So he pounds you to the ground?” she said, but the words were automatic, for her mind was actually reeling.

Aylmer had the nerve to grin, not noticing Reina’s loss of color. “In another month I will do better.”

“You want this?” A stupid question. A boy with no hope of aspiring to aught, offered a chance at knighthood? Of course he would want it. “Never mind. I see you do. How did this come about, Aylmer?”

“I thought you knew, lady. Lord Ranulf simply asked me. He said some knights carried so many wounds they might as well be cripples, but they could still wield a sword and fight. He said my foot should not stop me, and he is having a special boot made for me in London that might give me more balance.” And then Aylmer added with the most pride yet, “Do I do well, he has promised to train me himself.”

Tears came to Reina’s eyes. What other knight would think to take on such a task, much less do it? She knew Ranulf was not the insensitive brute she was fond of calling him, but this? For her? She did not think so. He was just that way. No wonder she loved him.…

Aye, ’twas true, she realized with a start. Sweet
Jesú
, when had that happened? When she had discovered his sense of humor? When she had realized his gruffness was all bluster? When he had gone to a whore to find out how to please her? That long ago? Or when he could not punish her without making immediate amends for it by turning it into an incredibly erotic experience she was not likely to ever forget? What a lackwit she was, to have fooled herself into thinking ’twas only lust all this time. And what difference did it make, when he did not feel the same?

“Lady?”

She swung about to find Lanzo still on the ground where he had fallen, watching her warily. She was then hit with the horrible realization of what she had just done. She had interfered in knightly business and attacked a squire.
Ranulf’s
squire. He was not hurt, just leery of getting up with her still there and like to attack him again. But he really became afraid when she dropped to her knees beside him.

“Lanzo, I am so sorry.”

His eyes flared with shock that she would demean herself to apologize to him. “Lady, please get up.”

“Nay, you must tell me you can forgive me.”

“Lady, just get up,” he beseeched her. “Does Ranulf hear of this, he will kill me!”

She made a face at that. “I am at fault here, so does he kill anyone, ’twill be me.” Then, with concern: “You are all right?”

“Of course,” he replied with a snort of indignity.

She smiled, relieved, and offered him her hand so they could both rise. “You will forgive me, then?”

“There is naught to forgive, lady,” he assured her, uncomfortable that she would not give up. “You misunderstood, is all.”

“So I did. But for my peace of mind, could you go a bit easier on Aylmer—until you feel he can take it, that is.”

Lanzo grinned and nodded, and Reina left them. But she knew Aylmer had been told her wishes when she heard him call out, “Lady,” in the most complaining tone. She did not stop. The boy was only seven, after all. He had many years ahead of him to get battered and bruised.