Defy Not the Heart

by Johanna Lindsey

"What of those large thefts of cattle and sheep you mentioned before?"

  "They could be responsible for that, but I do not think so. They are only outlawed villeins themselves. Who could they sell the animals to? And the woods provide all the meat they could need. Nay, the thing they do best and most frequently is rob small groups of travelers on the north road, which cuts through these woods, especially merchant caravans on their way to Warhurst. As I said, Warhurst is more plagued by them than Clydon."

  "You have not tried to rout them?"

  She could not help smiling in fond remembrance. "My father used to take his men in every month or so and scour the whole area. He actually looked for­ward to it, enjoying the hunt, and letting off steam when he returned, cursing the brigands, for he never caught a single one. As I said, they seem to know when they are threatened. The castellan at Warhurst sends out patrols more often, but the man is an im­becile and easily outsmarted. The outlaws might be villeins, but they are clever."

  "Think you they watch both Clydon and War­hurst?"

  "With the woods so near to both, 'twould not be difficult to do."

  He studied her for a moment before saying, "You do not feel them to be a true menace, do you?"

  "You mistake me, my lord. They gave my father sport, and that amused me and him. But they have been more troublesome since he left. 'Tis true they have killed no one I know of, but visitors to Clydon have been set upon, one lord robbed of nigh a hun­dred marks, which I felt conscience-bound to replace. They are my woods, after all."

  "And so your outlaws?" he snorted.

  "Aye, mine—now yours." That got a glare from him finally, and she almost laughed. "You have to take the bad with the good, my lord."

  "There is more bad?"

  "Certainly." She grinned. "Let me see—there is Tom Smith. Every few months he drinks too much and tries to set the village afire. No one knows why, not even Tom."

  "And you have not hanged him?"

  "Why would I hang him? He is a good smith, and pays for the damage he causes in ironwork. I hope hanging will not be your answer to everything."

  "And if it is?"

  She stiffened, her chin going up in a challenge. "Then we are like to have many arguments."

  "Mayhap we will, but not about that. Whether I will be quick to hang anyone remains to be seen, but 'twill be my decision as lord. Is that not so, my lady?"

  He had met her challenge and thrown it back at her. She stared at him for a long moment, at the im­placable set features, the obvious tension in his body. What could she say? She had given him the power to do as he would when she married him. But she had married him to have him protect her people, not to hang them arbitrarily.

  Yet she could not have been so totally wrong about him. He had to be only testing her when asking about hanging Tom Smith. How else was he to learn how she dealt with her people unless he asked questions? She should not have got upset about it.

  But the upset was not quick to go away, and her tone was stilted when she answered, "Aye, most all decisions are yours as. lord."

  "Most all?"

  ' 'You want my duties, too? If all I am to do is apply my needle to a strip of embroidery, do you say so."

  Ranulf said nothing. Watching her eyes glitter with rancor, her small body trembling with it, brought a

  DEFT NOT THE HEART

  195

  hot thickening to his groin. Christ's toes, not again! But it was there, tearing at his gut, making him forget their conversation, forget the hunt.

  The dogs caught the scent just then and the party took off after them, including his wife. Ranulf was filled with an unreasonable rage for a moment, as if he were the stalking animal and had just lost the scent of his own prey. And then it dawned on him that he had nothing to be angry about. What he had been hesitant to accept, even last night, even this morn, crystallized in his mind finally as truth. Reina de Champeney was now Reina Fitz Hugh, his wife. His. She truly belonged to him.

  He set spurs to his own horse, but with a different quarry in mind.

  Reina had just begun to relax, thinking she had left Ranulf behind and would not have to be bothered by him and his infuriating manner again, at least for a while. She was wrong. His large destrier sidled up next to her palfrey again, but this time 'twas not to ride next to her. Before she realized his intent, Ran-ulf's hand reached out and took the reins from her, and her little mare was suddenly following him into the brush.

  No one noticed. That was her first thought. The others in their party just rode on, not even looking back. Her second thought made her pale, remember­ing her defiant attitude just moments ago. She could only imagine that he had taken exception to it and was going to chastise her here and now.

  But why? So she had been angry and let him see it. 'Twas not the first time. Was that worth a beating? He might think so, and he now had the right, whereas before he did not. But he did not now either, she reminded herself. He had sworn he would not when they had made contract—but not that he would not blister her backside. He had in fact warned her he would.

  She paled even more and leaned forward to see if she could grab the reins back, but just then her horse halted behind his. She held her breath, watching him dismount, too frightened to do the same, to even think of running now.

  She found her voice only when his hands gripped her waist. "I did not mean to—"

  She got no further in her bid to appease him, for she was dragged off her horse, slammed against his chest, and smothered by his mouth covering hers. Kissing her? Aye, she supposed he might call it that. She was not sure what it was, especially when his tongue stabbed at hers. She tried to push it out of her mouth with her own tongue. That made him groan and squeeze her tighter, strangely not hurting her, stranger still causing a thrill to leap in her breast.

  Her legs were not steady when he set her down. Neither was her breathing. And her thoughts had scat­tered hither and yon. By the time she had them back and in some semblance of order, Ranulf s mantle was spread on the ground, his sword belt removed, and he was fumbling with the ties of his underclothing.

  "What—"

  The fierce look in his eyes cut her off. "Are you or are you not my wife?"

  That look and tone should have warned her, as challenging as it was, but it did not. She was simply surprised by the question.

  "Of course I am your wife. Did I not twice marry you so there would be no doubt?"

  "So you did, and so being, I desire use of my wife."

  Her eyes flared in disbelief. "Now?"

  He shrugged, though there was nothing nonchalant in his look. "I am young and lusty, which is what you insisted on, is it not?"

  "But—"

  Again she could not finish the thought, much less any protest. He caught her about the waist with one arm and bore her down to his spread mantle to begin kissing her again. In the back of her mind there was the thought that she still had time to explain reason­ably that the Lord and Lady of Clydon did not couple in the woods. He had to stop kissing her to undress her, and she would make him see reason then.

  More fool she.

  He did not stop kissing her. He did not undress her. He did no more than yank off her braies and pull down his own and then he was inside her, riding her with a swift urgency that reached its peak in less than a minute.

  Reina felt nothing, and that more than anything else let loose her temper when he rolled to her side. "Curse and rot you, Ranulf! You may be used to tossing up the skirts of any serf girl you come across and going right at it, but I will not have it! I am your wife, not some wench you found in a field. Do you want me, you will have the decency to remove your clothes and mine first."

  "If you say so."

  He reached for her skirt and she gasped, scram­bling away from him and to her feet. "Not now, you beef-witted lout! I have had enough of your brutish skills for one day."

  He did not take offense. In fact, he rendered her speechless by laughing. And he was still grinning like a sated m
ongrel as he put his underclothes back to rights.

  "Mayhap it has taken me longer to have it set in my mind that you belong to me," he told her with that maddening grin, "but you have yourself con­firmed it, and I will no longer fight it. Tis best you get used to my ways right quickly, for I will have you, will you nill you, whenever 'tis my wont to do so."

  "Anywhere?"

  He glanced about at the low bushes surrounding them that were no real concealment and had the au­dacity to chuckle. "Aye, anywhere. It makes no dif­ference to me."

  She huffed past him, tight-lipped with fury. "It does to me, and I will be certain not to leave Clydon with you again if this is your idea of a romantic tryst!''

  For that she got more laughter that had her close to screaming in frustration. She was not about to ask his help to remount her horse. Yet while she was struggling to pull herself up, his hand came to her backside for the boost she needed. She gave him no thanks, did in fact blush mightily as she whirled about.

  She would be lucky if she found the hunting party ere she was missed, but she had no doubt she would find them. Hopefully her husband would not. 'Twould serve him right did he become lost in the woods and not return to Clydon until dusk—in a mood to match hers.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Ranulf watched his wife trot off in the direction in which they had come, unaware he was still smiling. She was like the other ladies he had known, yet dif­ferent, too, in a way that was a welcome relief. Most ladies would cry or plead, cajole or bring forth every available wile when they did not get their way. Not his lady. Her manner was too direct. She either cut softly with stinging sarcasm or let loose her temper, which he found he did not mind at all. Her temper in fact amused him, coming from such a little baggage.

  Why she was wroth with him this time, he was not quite sure. Could she really have objected to a quick tumble in the woods on such a fine spring day?

  Lady Anne had never objected. She had in truth been the one to instigate most of their encounters to­gether, and in the most unlikely places. Lady Mont-fort had also tried to seduce him in the woods, after arranging for him to accompany her hawking. That he had not accommodated her was not owing to where they were or who she was, for he was as randy then as now and took his relief where and when he could. But he liked his wenches a bit younger than two score and ten years. Grandmothers just had not appealed to a lad of fifteen.

  Ranulf shook off thoughts of the past before they threatened his good humor. And his humor was good, ever since challenging his wife this morn and coming out the winner. That had been unexpected. He had wanted her vassals told the truth about their first wed­ding, but if Reina had given him valid reasons why they should continue the deception, he would have conceded. After all, she knew those men well and so was better able to judge their reactions. That she still wanted Sir Henry kept in the dark was all right, too. Perhaps one day, when he came to know his new overlord, he would tell him the truth. Or mayhap not. If Reina wanted her father's memory to remain un­sullied, he could not object to that.

  But she had agreed with him, at least in part, prov­ing she was not as inflexible as some ladies were wont to be just out of sheer perversity. He suffered from that himself at times, as he had this morn, being un­able to resist tossing the true wedding sheet at that group of giggling women who had barged in on him just as Lanzo finished dressing him.

  The women had been surprised to find him alone, and surprised more when he told them the truth. But their reaction to that sheet was truly laughable, almost as bad as his own reaction when he had first seen it. At least he had had his wife standing before him, proving he had not killed her. The ladies did not have that to ease their horror, since Reina had conveniently absented herself.

  Reina? Aye, Reina. 'Twas a lovely name, and not one he was like to forget, as she had accused him of doing. But what difference what he called her? And what difference where he tumbled her? Could that re­ally be what she had objected to? She had tried to protest, and yet she had turned soft and yielding once he kissed her. Or was it more that he had not un­dressed her? Not that he had had much choice. To do so would have taken time that that traitor in his braies was not willing to allow, may it fall off and rot. Never. had he had so little control over the cursed thing. And 'twas becoming a habit.

  Verily, 'twas not such a bad habit to fall into, Ran-ulf thought with a grin as he swiped up his mantle. There were worse things than to lust after one's own wife. And then his grin widened and became a chuck­le when he saw the scrap of white linen on the ground. She had been so wroth with him, she had ridden off without her braies!

  He picked up the forgotten underwear, made of the softest linen he had ever felt. He could not recall feel­ing that softness earlier when he had stripped them off her, aware then only of what lay beneath them. He rubbed the linen against his cheek, thinking how his wife did pamper her body with luxuries—but that was a mistake. Her essence came to him, and his manhood stirred at the scent. Again!

  Disgruntled, Ranulf stuffed the material inside his tunic. But his annoyance did not last. He imagined the little general's expression when he returned her braies to her, and that had him chuckling to himself again.

  And so he was when Walter found him, at least after Walter's close scrutiny and exclamation that he had thought the lady had done him in.

  "And can a man not tarry for other reasons than to get himself done in?"

  "What was I to think," Walter grumbled, "when you disappeared with her in woods unfamiliar to you? And when I just passed her, she like to smote me with her eyes."

  "Aye, she was in high dudgeon when we did part."

  "So you stopped to have words?"

  "Why we stopped is none of your business, my friend," Ranulf replied.

  Walter accepted that for about five seconds, then burst out, "Tarry for other reasons? God's wounds, Ranulf! Say you did not. . . you would not. . . God's wounds! In the woods? No wonder she is again wroth with you. Do you not know ladies like to be wooed gently?"

  Ranulf's snort was loud. "What needs to woo a wife already won?"

  Walter gave a short bark of laughter. "Methinks you have avoided ladies too long. You have forgotten what 'tis like to live among them, subject to their moods and spites. And your lady rules your house­hold. Remember your thoughts on wooing when your clothing lacks repair, your dinner comes ill-done, and there are no warm bricks in your bed come winter."

  Ranulf grinned despite these dire predictions. "All things I have always done without."

  "But now you have a wife who will or will not see to your comfort. There is no reason to do without, Lord Ranulf."

  It was Ranulfs turn to bark with laugher. "Lord Ranulf? You are determined to tease me from my good mood, but it cannot be done today. I am well pleased with my lot, so do you let me worry about my wife and her humors."

  Walter shook his head, but finally shrugged, then added a grin. "Well pleased, eh? And nary a word of thanks did I get for convincing the lady to have you."

  "Convincing her? "Iwas my handsome face that did it. Did she not swoon at first sight of me?"

  "She fell at your feet right enough."

  They continued jesting back and forth until they came upon the hunting party again. The kill had been made, the huntsmen now attending it, the group in high excitement discussing it. Walter joined right in to this, but Ranulf was subdued at the sight of his wife again, especially as she made a point of delib­erately ignoring him now.

  He had to wonder if there could be some truth to what Walter said. Had he been too rough with her? He had somehow forgotten how really small she was, at least small to him. Had he hurt her? Was she too stubborn to tell him if he did, reverting to anger in­stead?

  What he knew of ladies he did not like, but in truth, he knew very little about them. The two who had turned him against their kind had done a good job, for he had avoided gentlewomen ever since. Now he was married to one, a woman he had no under­standing of at all, and who s
et him to doubting his own behavior when he knew no other way to be.

  She was right about what he was used to with women. Getting right to it was necessary when the moments were stolen, for a servant or villein rarely had any free time to herself. And they had always been easy to come by, costing no more than a cheap bauble or a decent meal, or nothing at all because they found a man his size a novelty and wanted to try him.

  He had never had to woo a woman, not even Lady Anne, for she had been the one to start their affair. Yet she had never complained of his roughness, if rough he had been. He could not recall much of their passionate encounters except that they had been hurried, too, the fear of being discovered very strong. But he had been only ten years and five at the time, and well and truly smitten. By the time his head had come out of the clouds, it was too late for him to see through the sweetness to the rotten core beneath.

  Rationally, he knew 'twas unfair to compare all la­dies with that bitch Anne, yet he had done exactly that. As for his wife, she had had fair warning of how he had been raised, as well as a sample of his man­ners before she had decided to settle on him. A man learns by example, and his example had been first his blacksmith stepfather, then Montfort, both men as churlish as they come and ever quick with a blow. Walter had tried to show him differently, and teased him mightily about his lack of courtly ways, but Walter's own were nearly lost during their years at Montfort.

  Ranulf was what he was, a product of his upbring­ing. If his wife wanted different, she would have to find it elsewhere. ...

  That thought cut deeply into his good humor. There would be no finding aught elsewhere, not for her. The lady had stuck herself with him and would just have to lower her expectations accordingly. But he sup­posed he could not call his treatment of her gentle thus far.

  Since he had met her, he had dropped her on the floor, bound her and rolled her up in a blanket, or­dered sacks of grain dumped on her, literally rolled her out of same blanket, and God only knew in what manner he had taken her on their true wedding night, for he had been too sotted to remember his part in it. In all fairness, she deserved none of that, and what would it cost him to be less—brutish? Aye, that was her word.