The More I See You (27 page)

“Jessica,” he began.

“Just leave me alone!”

He turned her around. That she only hesitated briefly before she allowed it was a very good sign, to his mind. He pulled her close, then ran his blood-caked hand over her hair as gently as he knew how. She liked that. He would have walked from Hadrian’s wall to London on his hands if she’d liked that, too. Saints, what a fool love made of a normally sane man.

He rested his bruised cheek against her hair. “Jess,” he whispered, “it was talk you shouldn’t have heard.” She tried to pull away, but he tightened his arms around her. “I said things I didn’t mean.”

“You creep, then you don’t care about me at all!”

“I care,” he said, forcing the words from between suddenly parched lips. He was so terrified, he was shaking. If she turned and walked away now, he wasn’t sure he would survive.

Jessica pulled back slowly and looked up at him. She gasped the moment she saw his face. Then her eyes blazed.

“That
jerk
! I’ll get him for this—”

Richard hardly had the wits to catch her before she stormed off to avenge his abused honor. He clasped his hands behind her back and looked down at her seriously. He couldn’t say any more. Saying what he had had cost him more than she’d ever know.

She knew. He could see it in her eyes. They gentled, then filled with tears. He shook his head quickly, but a tear fell just the same. He bent his head and kissed it away.

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please, Jessica.”

She put her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest.

“Let’s go home,” she said quietly. “I’ll take care of you there.”

“I’m well enough.”

“You don’t look so great.”

His cracked lips twitched and that made him wince. “I don’t want to ruin your pleasure in the day.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have just as much fun killing Kendrick at home as I will here.”

Richard chuckled. Jessica pulled back instantly, an expression of astonishment on her face.

“Did you just laugh?”

“It was a cough.”

“You liar. I’m going to tell Kendrick that I heard it first.” She pulled away. “Come on, I’ll race you.”

She was smiling at him again. Richard could hardly believe that appeasing her was done that simply, but he wasn’t going to argue the point. He ran with her, slowing his pace to hers. He lifted one eyebrow as they ran, letting her know he was humoring her.

She tripped him.

She didn’t stop to help him up. Richard struggled to his feet, cursing her heartily. He arrived at the blanket in time to watch her hit Kendrick in the stomach. His friend doubled over with a cough and went down, pleading for mercy. Jessica shook out her hand, hopping up and down and howling.

Had she called this an afternoon of leisure?

By sunset Richard was enamored of the practice. He couldn’t have smiled if he’d wanted to due to his abused lips, but he thought he might have felt his eyes twinkling. For the first time since Kendrick’s arrival Richard was able to relax and enjoy his friend’s fine jesting. And he enjoyed lying with his head in Jessica’s lap and feeling her comb his hair with her fingers. He’d tried to return the favor but she’d shaken her head, telling him that the next time would be his turn. That there would be a next time encouraged him greatly.

The smell of the ocean soothed him, Jessica’s touch pleased him, and an afternoon of companionship with his lady and his dearest friend warmed his heart. Aye, they would do it again. Kendrick would leave his sorceress
bride at home and come again, perhaps in the spring, when the weather was fine.

By the time they left the shore, Richard was holding Jessica’s hand in his as if he’d been doing it all his days. The naturalness of it made him nervous when he thought about it too long, so he stopped thinking about it. He liked the way her fingers felt, laced between his. His ghosts be damned; he’d hold her hand and enjoy it.

Jessica tended Kendrick’s hurts before the fire and Richard only had to unclench his fists two or three times. And then his turn came. He sat down on the floor and Jessica fussed over him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done the like. It had probably been at Artane years ago. Somehow, Lady Anne’s touch hadn’t pleased him as Jessica’s did.

When she pulled away, he opened his eyes to beg her not to cease, then realized there was nothing left to do. He caught her by the hand and pulled her close, not caring that Kendrick sat behind him and was likely on the verge of laughing. He very carefully pressed his lips against hers.

“Thank you.”

“You’re extremely welcome.”

He put her to bed soon after, then returned to the fire and sat across from Kendrick. Now that his own life was so perfectly in order, he couldn’t help but try to do the same for Kendrick.

“I don’t like the rumors,” he said bluntly.

Kendrick pursed his lips, but said nothing.

“They say she is a witch, Kendrick.”

“I don’t believe in witches.”

“She’s cursed others, with dire results.”

“I don’t believe in curses.”

Richard sighed gustily. “You’re making a mistake, my friend. I think you should go home and give it more thought.”

“Artane, in case you’ve forgotten,” Kendrick said, beginning to sound slightly annoyed, “is to the north of
Seakirk. Why would I want to go home just to backtrack?”

“Your mother will want to see you,” Richard insisted.

“She and my father intend to meet me at Seakirk in a month’s time. Besides, I promised Royce I would meet him at the abbey within the fortnight.”

Richard pursed his lips. “And you’d best do that before he robs the entire feminine population of the countryside of its virtue.” Kendrick’s captain was even more successful at womanizing than Kendrick.

“My thoughts as well,” Kendrick agreed with a smile. “Perhaps once I’m settled, he will think about a home and hearth for himself.”

“Another reason for fathers of eligible maids to rejoice,” Richard said dryly. “Perhaps you should take him north and see if your mother cannot find him a bride.”

Kendrick sighed patiently. “I’m going to Seakirk, Richard. I need to introduce myself to my bride and my people. It makes no sense not to then stay until the wedding to make sure all goes well.”

“I don’t like her.” Richard knew he was pushing, but he couldn’t help it.

“So you’ve said,” Kendrick replied, a slight edge to his voice. “I think I might come to be fond of her.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Richard, when has affection ever entered into a marriage contract? I’m wedding her for her keep. If there is affection, fine. If not, I’ll look elsewhere.”

“Have you forgotten how much your sire and dam adore each other? And what of your grandparents? Saints, even your uncles and aunts managed to find mates they were somewhat fond of!”

“I’m not as fortunate. And, since Jessica isn’t a choice, I’ll resign myself to Matilda.”

“I’ll say no more,” Richard said heavily.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Saints, Kendrick, it’s just—”

“Richard,” Kendrick interrupted, holding up his hand, “I know.” He smiled gravely. “I know. You love me
dearly and you want the best for me. You’re very sweet. Now be you silent and let me live my life as I see fit. I daresay I’m old enough to do the like.”

Richard sighed. Kendrick was right. There was nothing more he could do to dissuade his friend, nor perhaps was there truly any good reason to. Perhaps ’twas all merely rumor that followed Matilda like an ill wind. For all Richard knew, Kendrick would wed with the woman and be perfectly happy. Or he would wed with her and find happiness somewhere else. Kendrick had warriors enough in his company. Royce of Canfield was a fierce fighter. Kendrick’s Saracen warrior Nazir struck fear into the heart of any normal man.

But Matilda was a woman and a witch as well. Richard suspected there was little to frighten such a one as she when she had her black arts to protect her.

But as Kendrick said, it was his choice. Richard could not make it for him.

But, by the saints, he wished he could.

Hugh stood in the shadows of the outer barbican and watched the souls entering and leaving the keep. He’d done a fair amount of charm casting that morn, spat until his mouth was dry, and searched his person for the talisman he was sure he’d put in his hose for safekeeping. He hadn’t found it, and he sincerely hoped that would not be what drove his plans awry.

For added luck, he made the signs of a few wards of his own invention, then looked up and blinked in surprise. Who should be coming his way but Richard’s squire, Gilbert de Claire.

Perhaps he would have his success after all.

“Gilbert,” he said, waving the boy over.

The boy looked startled, then his mouth returned to the pout he’d worn on his way out of the gates. “Aye?”

“A word, my lad, if you will.”

Gilbert looked unsure. Hugh summoned up what patience he had left—and that wasn’t much. The wine he’d filched from the ruffians was gone. His head pained him nigh onto death and his poor form had been abused greatly by his fear of Richard’s possible bespelling. He needed to take action soon and he could only hope this
sour-looking child might be persuaded to aid him. He’d used his ears to their best advantage the past fortnight and heard tales of Richard’s unwilling squire. The lad apparently pined for a place in a monastery. Gilbert would need money to see that desire realized.

Hugh brushed the purse at his belt with his hand. Never mind that the few coins were supplemented by several carefully chosen pebbles. A lad with as few wits as Gilbert displayed couldn’t fail to be impressed by the noise, even if he never saw the goods in truth.

“Aye?” Gilbert said, sounding slightly more interested.

“Not here.”

Gilbert eyed the purse again, then nodded.

Hugh drew him into the shadows of the outer wall. “How like you your master?” he asked.

Gilbert looked as if he had a horrible itch he simply could not reach.

“Your words will go no further.”

Gilbert didn’t look any more comfortable, but he managed to blurt out a heartfelt sentiment or two. “Hate him,” he said. “Bastard.”

Well, that was not what Hugh had been hoping for, but perhaps that hatred could be put to better uses. He plunged ahead into his scheme.

“Hate him you might,” Hugh said, lowering his voice so Gilbert had no choice but to lean closer, “but he is the one who can help you in your choice of vocations.”

Gilbert’s brow furrowed with the effort of unraveling that mystery.

“Your vocation,” Hugh said patiently. By the saints, not even he was this thick when fully into his cups. It would take more than luck to have Gilbert’s aid. “I understand that you want to be a friar,” he prompted.

Gilbert blinked in surprise. “Aye.”

“Why?” Now, here was the way to lead the lad down the proper path . . .

“I wanna sing,” Gilbert announced suddenly. And then just as suddenly, he burst into song.

Hugh clapped his hands over his ears but not before he
heard a chorus of protests from atop the walls.

“Silence, ye demon!” one of the guardsmen bellowed.

“Aye, will ye have all the beasties from hell come down upon us?” shouted another.

Hugh slapped his hand over Gilbert’s mouth and led him away. He understood now why the lad had not yet found any monastery desperate enough to take him. Gilbert looked crestfallen at the response he’d received, but followed along readily enough. Hugh paused again when they were well out of song-shot of the walls. And he spat over his left shoulder for good measure. The saints only knew what kind of horrors Gilbert had conjured up with that hideous sound.

“I wanna sing,” Gilbert said humbly. “I love songs.”

Songs apparently didn’t love Gilbert, but Hugh wasn’t about to discourage the lad. He took a deep breath.

“Richard will find you a place to sing,” Hugh promised. “But the only way he will do this is if he is freed from the evil inside his gates.”

Gilbert’s jaw slipped downward and he gaped at Hugh.

“Evil,” Hugh repeated. “There’s a witch in the keep.”

Gilbert didn’t look very disturbed by that, so Hugh tried another tack.

“At least I
thought
she was a witch,” Hugh amended. “But now I believe her to be a faery. An
evil
faery.”

Gilbert’s hand sketched the sign of the cross. His hand was trembling. Hugh felt relief sweep over him. If the boy could be that moved by even the mention of such a creature, he was someone Hugh could understand. Hugh was certain he now had an ally.

“She must die,” he whispered fervently. “She is but a faery, so there is no sin in it. Indeed, the sin would be allowing her to live.”

Gilbert started to frown. “But—”

“She’ll take your voice, Gilbert. Faeries steal voices, or didn’t you know?”

Apparently not, but the tidings were enough to make Gilbert back up a pace.

Hugh followed him. “She has stolen your master’s will
and she will steal your voice. You must free yourself from her spells.”

“But . . . how?”

“She will tempt you to speak to her, then, as you are speaking, she will touch you and steal what you prize the most. You cannot allow this.”

Gilbert nodded, almost as enthusiastically as Hugh could have hoped for.

“So,” Hugh said, “you will slay her with your blade.”

Gilbert swallowed, and not easily, but ’twas done.

“I saw her come up from the grass, Gilbert, and I’ve seen her bewitch your master. She will look to you next. I’m sure of it.”

“As you say,” Gilbert whispered.

“You will also be freeing your master from her vile spells. And if Lord Richard is free, then you will have your desire of entering the priesthood.”

“And sing,” Gilbert said reverently.

“And sing,” Hugh assured him. “Now, are you resolved?”

“Well . . .”

Hugh put his hand to his own throat meaningfully.

Gilbert suddenly seemed to have no more spittle for swallowing.

“Are you resolved?” Hugh pressed on. “You must slay her.”

Gilbert’s own hand fondled his throat nervously, and he nodded. ’Twas a slight nod, but Hugh wasn’t going to ask for a better.