LadyOfConquest:SaxonBride (18 page)

Struggling to suppress the stirring within, she said, “I know not what you speak of.”

Maxen searched her face, and despite the warning voices in his head, said, “Then I will show you,” and leaned forward and crossed his mouth over hers. With the first touch of their lips, longing once more sprang through him—as it had not with Theta. He desired one woman. But she refused him, and his point had yet to be made.

When he released her, she sprang back onto her heels, overturning the buckets. Upon gaining her feet, she dragged a hand across her mouth as if to wipe away all traces of him—or, perhaps, Theta.

He settled back in the tub. “As I said, do not believe everything you see or are told. It was not Theta who last knew my touch. It was you.”

“You think it matters to me with whom you lie?” she snapped. “As long as it is not me, I care not.”

Maxen closed his eyes in an attempt to savor the warmth of a bath he had long been denied. “I warned you about that lying of yours, Rhiannyn. Either better it, or be done with it.”

He felt her silence, then heard her footsteps.

Wondering at the mess he had made of things, he pushed a hand through his hair and settled it at the back of his tonsured head that was hardly tonsured anymore. In place of the smooth scalp he had often shaved at the monastery was hair—short, but before long it would wipe away the last vestiges of the monk, leaving him no more a man of God and, instead, the lord he had not wanted to become. The lord Rhiannyn had made him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was worse than expected, especially where Maxen was concerned. There was no hiding from him, nowhere in the hall to retreat from the weight of his stare. And to worsen matters, many looked at her with open speculation as to what had occurred between her and their lord when they had been ordered from the hall this morn.

Let them speculate,
she told herself. While Thomas lived, his claim on her had prevented the knights from bothering her as they did other Saxon women. If they believed Maxen also claimed her, mayhap it would serve the same purpose—unless they thought her the same as Theta. Praying otherwise, Rhiannyn lifted one of two vessels she carried and poured ale into the tankard thrust at her.

“Ale!” another called from farther down the table.

Feeling pulled in too many directions, she hurried forward and discovered it was Sir Ancel who summoned her—needlessly so. She shifted her gaze from his full tankard to his satisfied expression and started to move opposite, but he grabbed her arm.

“Where are you going, wench?”

“There are others awaiting drink, whose needs are real.”

“And mine is not?” He raised his tankard to his mouth, pulled long on it, and set it on the table. “My tankard is not full.”

Biting back a retort, she filled his tankard to the brim.

He did not release her, but drank down half the ale and once more presented the tankard.

She poured and tugged to free herself.

Tightening his grip, he eyed her bandaged hand. “You cut yourself?”

“A mishap.”

“With a dagger, I presume?”

A chill swept her. It had to be he who had placed the instrument of Maxen’s death beneath her napkin.

Grateful for the unanswered calls for more drink, she said, “It is not only you I serve, Sir Ancel.”

“Not yet, but it shall be.”

“More wine!” Maxen shouted from the high seat.

Grin grotesque, the knight released her.

Heart beating so hard she thought it might burst, Rhiannyn whirled around. But in the time it took to cross to the dais, she collected enough of herself to pour Maxen’s drink without spill.

“You are slow,” he said as she drew back.

“Forgive me. I was detained.”

“Sir Ancel?”

She was surprised he had noticed. “It was.”

“For what reason?”

Believing it would be petty to complain against the knight for taunting her, she said, “He was quite thirsty.”

“For?”

“Ale.”

Maxen leaned forward. “You will tell me if he ever grows thirsty for anything other than drink?”

Heat rushing to her face, she nodded.

He sat back. “Resume your duties.”

Moving down the table, she filled tankards and goblets as she went, and when she had emptied her last drop, she hastened to the barrels against the wall to replenish her supply. There she crossed paths with Lucilla, with whom she had not had an opportunity to speak since the day before when the dagger had appeared on her tray.

“I must needs discuss something with you,” she said.

A frown rising on her pretty face, Lucilla shifted her tray of viands to the opposite hand. “Now?”

“When the meal is finished.”

The woman nodded and continued on her way.

Rhiannyn refilled both vessels and turned to find Maxen’s gaze upon her. She looked away.

Unfortunately, the nooning meal stretched into the evening meal without break, and expanded further into a night of drinking that left her feeling haggard.

Although it took her a while to catch on, she realized what motivated Maxen to allow and even encourage such indolence. Drinking little himself, he watched and listened as those around him relaxed under the effects of alcohol, their tongues loosening, their manners careless.

He studied them, measuring them for loyalty and integrity while he searched for the betrayer or one who could tell him the name of the betrayer. And yet it seemed he knew, for his gaze often returned to Sir Ancel.

Finally, he rose and pronounced the night at an end. There was grumbling, but all began preparing to bed down.

Using the opportunity created by the commotion of tables and benches being pushed against walls in readiness for the night’s sleep, Rhiannyn slipped out of the hall, crossed the courtyard, and entered the kitchen. There she found Lucilla. Sitting on a stool, head on the table, the woman slept in the solitude and quiet offered by this place far removed from the hall.

Rhiannyn nearly retreated. As certain as she was it was Sir Ancel who had placed the dagger, the question she had wanted to put to the woman seemed hardly worth awakening her for. But she shook Lucilla’s shoulder.

Groaning, the woman lifted her head and looked bleary-eyed at her. “’Tis finished with?”

“Aye, they gain their beds.”

“Too drunk to bother with me, I hope.”

“I think so.”

Lucilla sat back. “So when I finally have a chance for a night’s uninterrupted sleep, ye awaken me to talk?”

“I am sorry, but there is something I need to know.”

“About the dagger?”

Rhiannyn felt as if punched in the stomach. Was it possible this woman was responsible? “How did you know?”

Lucilla cleared sleep from her eyes. “I’ve been questioned by the lord who wished to know if I was responsible.”

Of course. “You did not put it on my tray?”

Lucilla smiled wryly. “Two years ago, I would have done it while I was yet abrew with foolish pride and hate for the Normans. Now…” She shook her head. “Such a risk I would not take. Though it has not been easy, I have come to accept these new masters, just as I accepted Edwin’s father when he held these lands.”

When all of Etcheverry belonged to the Harwolfsons, Rhiannyn reflected. When the fields had run with the water of irrigation, rather than the blood of men.

Lucilla clasped her hand over Rhiannyn’s. “They are not leaving. Accept it.”

Rhiannyn turned her palm up into the woman’s, squeezed, then pulled free and stepped back from the table. “Thank you. I am owing to you.”

Lucilla shrugged. “’Tis the way of friends.”

Rhiannyn’s sagging heart took notice. Was she no longer suspected of betraying her people? “Truly?” she asked.

“Truly.”

One shining star to light the night of this miserable day, Rhiannyn smiled and turned to leave.

“What is it between ye two?” Lucilla asked.

The question pulled Rhiannyn back around. “Between us?”

“You and Maxen Pendery. What is between ye that was not with Thomas?”

Rhiannyn nearly startled. “I know not what you speak of.”

Lucilla fanned a yawn from her mouth. “I felt the air between you when I came to the lord’s chamber. I saw how ye watched each other this night. And now, at mention of his name, you flush like a girl about to know her first lover.”

Rhiannyn gasped. “You are wrong!”

“Am I?”

“What would I want with him? And he with me? He has Theta.”

“Has he?”

“He took her to his bed this day.”

Lucilla frowned. “Ye are certain?”

“He denied it, but I saw her come from his chamber with her clothes mussed, and he in naught but braies.”

Lucilla stood. “He denied it?” she asked, suspicion crossing her sleepy-eyed countenance.

Rhiannyn felt cornered, as if her next words could determine whether or not she became a meal for Lucilla. “Aye, but I know different. As Thomas took Theta to his bed, so does his brother.”

“Does it bother ye?”

“Not at all! Why do you ask such questions?”

“We are friends, are we not?”

“I begin to wonder.”

Lucilla laid a hand on Rhiannyn’s arm. “We are friends, which is why I ask these things. If only to yourself, ye must admit what you feel for our lord. Then perhaps it can be used to your advantage.”

Rhiannyn scoffed. “I want naught from him.”

“Then in time, you will become his leman when ’tis his wife ye should seek to be.”

“I would more be Thomas’s wife than his brother’s,” Rhiannyn exclaimed, “and that I certainly did not want. I detest Maxen Pendery.”

Lucilla shrugged. “Part of you does, but part of ye aches at the thought of him taking pleasure with another.”

Rhiannyn nearly continued her protest, but in that moment, she acknowledged it for what it was—a lie. She sighed. “I do not understand it. How can I feel this when it mattered not that Thomas did the same?”

“The body is a strange thing. In most matters, it serves the mind, but not so when it is taken with desire. That is when it rules.”

What Lucilla said was true. Rhiannyn was attracted to Maxen, her insides stirring at remembrance of his kisses, but there was something more to it than desire.

“Listen to me.” Lucilla’s voice became urgent. “Do you give yourself to Pendery without benefit of vows, ye will be lost, your destiny that of a leman, and the children you bear him misbegotten. But deny him—give a little and pull back—and methinks he will wed ye to gain your favors.”

She, wed? What of the vow she had made to belong to none—no husband, no children, only the emptiness to which Thomas had banished her? More, what of Maxen? Never would he wed her. And if he gave her a child, it would not bear his name.

She shook her head. “I cannot do what you suggest. I will deny him, but not so I might become his wife.”

Lucilla dropped her hand from Rhiannyn, and the sigh she heaved became a yawn. “Then I pray ye are strong.”

“I am.”

Looking doubtful, Lucilla walked past her. “Good eve,” she called over her shoulder.

If not for Rhiannyn’s rumbling belly, she would have gone to the hall as well.

She carried a stool across the kitchen, stepped onto it, and located the key hidden atop the pantry—the same place it was kept while Thomas lived. When she was first brought to the castle, many were the nights she had ventured to the kitchens to eat. In her anger, she had refused to partake of anything put before her in the company of Normans. Eventually, that had changed, but the hiding place for the key had not.

Trying not to think on her conversation with Lucilla, she cut a chunk of hard cheese, several pieces of dried meat, and a crust of bread. Then she locked the pantry, replaced the key, and turned with her filched viands to the table where Lucilla had slept.

And there stood Maxen.

She nearly dropped the platter. “You frightened me!”

“I apologize. I thought you heard me.”

“I did not.” When had he come? Hopefully, after Lucilla’s departure.

He leaned against the table, jutted his chin at the platter. “Do you intend to eat or merely stand there looking as if you wish to?”

Only then did it occur to her she had been caught sneaking food—a terrible offense for one no longer a lady.

“I…” She glanced at the viands. Assuring herself it would be easy to forget hunger in sleep, she crossed to the table and set the platter down. “For you, my lord,” she said and started for the door.

He stepped into her path. “I have eaten.”

She moistened her lips. “I would like to take myself to bed.”

“While still hungry?”

“If needs be.”

“It need not be.” He motioned to the tall stool. “Eat.”

What mood was he in? she wondered. What did he want with her? Nothing he was yet willing to make known, it seemed.

Warily, she seated herself, pulled the food before her, and asked what was heavy on her mind. “What is to become of the Saxons who refused you?”

Once more, he leaned against the table. “They have chosen death over life.”

“Why did you not have done with them this morn?”

“In my time, Rhiannyn. Always my time.”

His words more deeply unsettled her, but she pressed on. “I ask you to allow me to speak with them.” Hopefully, she would find a way to convince Aethel and the four others to stay upon Etcheverry.

“You may not speak with them,” Maxen said. “Now eat.”

She did so quickly, and when she finished, nearly jumped off the stool.

“So,” he said, “another of your lies uprooted.”

Dear Lord, which one?
she wondered. Was it possible he had heard her tell Lucilla she had found the dagger on her tray, rather than on the floor as she had told him? Perhaps he had heard her admission that it mattered to her if he made love to Theta. Or was it another lie to which he referred?

“I know not what you speak of.”

“Why did you lie about the dagger? What gain in telling me you picked it off the floor when it was upon your tray?”

She caught her breath. If he had overheard that, he had heard the last of her conversation with Lucilla. Everything in her groaning, she said, “I feared for Lucilla.”