by Lynsay Sands
"Well, that rips it, my lord. I have had quite enough of your nonsense today. You can just apologize to him right now, and mean it! As for me, I cannot stomach eating in such churlish company. I am to bed. Alone." Rising, she had stormed off upstairs, leaving Aric to squirm in the sudden silence filling the great hall as every single person present turned to stare at him in silent condemnation.
He had apologized profusely to the old man, but that had not seemed to ease their censure much, not that he could blame them. He had been rude and churlish to most of the people seated at the table at some point or other during the last few days. To every soldier who had dared to smile and wish Rosamunde a good day. To every farmer who had smiled in gratitude for her help with his animals. Even to some of the servants who had smiled shyly when she had thanked them for some small service or other.
Aric had sat miserably through the meal, drinking more than he ate and wondering just how angry his wife was. He had found out when he finally retired. She had been silent and unmoving in bed, though not sleeping, and the moment he had approached, she had turned her back to him and given him a definite cold shoulder. She had continued to treat him rather coolly all throughout yesterday. She had not thawed much this morning. Which he supposed he deserved.
"Rosamunde will be pleased."
Drawn back from his thoughts, Aric glanced at his father, then back at the new stables. "Do you think so?"
"Aye." Lord Burkhart smiled slightly. "Mayhap she will even start speaking to you again."
Glaring at his father for enjoying his suffering, Aric moved over to collect his shirt from the stack of wood where he had left it. He had been working since early morning. The summer days had finally turned hot, and Aric had shed the garment several hours ago. Now he pulled it back on, glancing toward Shambley as the other man came from inside the stables and moved to join them.
"The men are nearly finished removing the extra wood. When are you going to tell Rosamunde she may start moving the horses in?"
"Now," Aric decided, starting away. His father and Shambley immediately fell into step on either side of him, and they were still there when he entered the old stables a moment later. Glancing around the dim interior of the old building, Aric grimaced to himself. The place was really a mess.
He would have it torn down as soon as the horses had been moved, he decided, frowning when his wife wasn't immediately visible. Neither was Smithy. There was just a lad kneeling at the back of the stables, digging for something in the rushes.
"Oh, my lord." Smithy stepped out of one of the stalls near the back, and hurried forward. "Is there something you wanted?"
"Aye. My wife. Where is she?" Aric snapped. He had told the stablemaster to keep an eye on her. Actually, he had told him to watch her every minute and not let her out of sight, else he would twist the man's head off his shoulders like a stem from an apple. But that had been the morning after his surly behavior and he had still been a little cranky at the time. More cranky, mayhap, since not only had Rosamunde not talked to him, she had avoided his very touch.
Smithy looked confused for a minute, then turned to gesture toward the lad at the back of the stalls. "Right there, m'lord."
Aric peered blankly at the brais-covered bottom at the back of the stables, only now recognizing it as his wife's curvaceous derriere. Slowly he began to flush with fury. When he opened his mouth to bellow, all that came out was a grunt of surprise, for he was suddenly grabbed by the arms and dragged backward out of the stables by his father and Shambley.
"Not again! Let me go, damn you!" Aric shouted, tugging at his arms and trying to make his way back into the stables once they had stopped a good distance from the building.
"Not until you calm down," Lord Burkhart announced.
"Calm down? Did you see my wife?"
"Of course I saw her. But she was not doing anything wrong. She--"
"Are you blind? Did you not see what she was wearing?"
"Ah. The brais." Lord Burkhart sighed. "You dislike her wearing them in the stables, I take it?"
"They are..."
"Practical," Shambley suggested when Aric paused in search of the word he wanted. He nodded when Aric's head snapped around at him. "They are, Aric. Far more practical for working in the stables than a skirt."
"I don't care if they are more practical; they are indecent. Unsuitable for a lady."
"Indecent?" Shambley gave a disbelieving laugh. "When did you become so stuffy?"
"When I saw my wife's behind encased in tight leather breeches and realized everyone else was getting the exact same view!"
"Jealous?" Robert taunted.
Aric's mouth snapped closed. It was one thing for him to recognize he was being overly jealous. It was another thing entirely for his best friend to be aware of it. How humiliating.
"Aye. That's it, all right," his father murmured, taking in his expression. "If I were you, son, I would walk softly. You cannot go storming in there and bawl her out as if she has committed some horrible sin."
Aric's gaze narrowed. "I cannot?"
"Nay, of course not," his father chided.
Seeing his agitation, Robert took over trying to reason with his friend. "Aric, think. You are reacting as if she deliberately dressed like that in an effort to attract male attention. Yet we both know that she dressed like that at the abbey, probably every day, and no one there thought it indecent."
"They were all nuns there," Aric protested.
"Aye," Lord Burkhart said, suddenly agreeable. "And that is what she is used to. It probably has not occurred to her that your men are a bunch of slavering dogs, all looking for the first likely bitch to mount."
"My men are not..." Aric began indignantly, only to pause as both men began to grin. He had stepped right into their trap. "Ah, I see," Aric said. Rosamunde was not deliberately dressing to entice. She did not even realize that it was enticing. And his men were all loyal--they were not likely to jump her or even approach her. And yet he was acting as if they were.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and forced himself to take several deep breaths. This was just his jealousy making him react again, of course. He was acting as though she were untrustworthy, another Delia. And it wasn't fair. She had done nothing to make him believe she would be unfaithful, yet he had been about to charge in there as if she had.
"I shall talk to her calmly," he said finally. "I shall tell her that I would prefer her to stick to more traditional garb in future to avoid any discomfort or embarrassment for her, me, or the men. After all, she would not wish to be caught so even by another lady. I shall be reasonable."
"Very good!" His father proudly patted him on the back.
"Aye, very good," Shambley agreed, not even bothering to hide his amusement. "You may be able to beat that green beast jealousy yet. With a little help."
"Shut up, Robert," Aric snapped, and stalked off into the stables. His friend burst out laughing behind him.
Aric's new calm lasted until he reentered the stables and got another gander at his wife. She was still on her hands and knees, still trying to retrieve something from under the rushes. And her leather-covered posterior was still poked invitingly into the air.
Every time he saw her in this position it reminded him of their wedding day and her thoughts on the marital bed, and then how he had taught her the truth.
Ah, hell, who was he trying to fool? Every time he looked at her he thought of getting under her skirts--or into her brais, as the case might be--and now was no different. In fact, seeing her in this position in the tight leggings made his desire a bit more urgent. They covered her like a second skin, emphasizing her curves. He could live with that, if it weren't for the fact that he was positive others must have similar thoughts as well. And at the moment, Smithy was standing several feet behind and to the side of Rosamunde, enjoying what Aric was sure was an eyeful.
Before he could recall that he was going to be reasonable, he had started barking like a rabid dog. "Wife! Get off your
damned knees now and..." Pausing at a sudden throat-clearing behind him, Aric turned a scowl on his father that slowly faded as he took in the old man's arched eyebrows and meaningful expression. Swallowing his temper, he peered back at his wife to see that she was still on her knees, but had straightened and sat back on her haunches. She was now peering over her shoulder at him in amazement.
"Good day, wife," he said in a growl; instead of finishing his original thought. Then he frowned at his tone of voice, for in truth he sounded like an angry dog instead of a husband.
Rosamunde's eyes narrowed warily now. "Is there something amiss, my lord husband?"
"Aye!" The word snapped out like the crack of a whip. There were sudden nervous and loud throat-clearings and nudgings that came from his father and Shambley. Grimacing, he managed a pained smile. "I...You...Your--"
"I believe," Lord Burkhart interrupted as his son floundered, "that Aric is concerned by your dress, my dear."
"My dress?" Rosamunde glanced down at her clothes uncertainly. "I am not wearing a dress."
"Exactly!" Aric said triumphantly, only to pause and glare at Shambley when the other man stepped forward to elbow him very hard in the ribs. When Robert peered back at him innocently, Aric turned back to his wife, then sighed and tried for a softer tone. "Rosamunde, I want...You should...Your clothes..."
When he stumbled to a halt again, Rosamunde glanced down at the clothes she wore. "Is there a problem with my wearing brais, my lord?" she asked at last.
"Aye," he said thrilled that she grasped the problem without his actually having to say it.
"I am sorry, my lord. I was not sure if brais were quite the thing now that I am a lady. But I do not have many gowns, and I feared ruining them here in these moldy old stables. Besides, I was sure it would not matter much, since Smithy is the only one likely to see me."
"Oh." Aric blinked, his anger deflating like an empty gown. She had already considered that it might not be appropriate, but had worn them to save her gowns. Not to attract men. Not to tempt them all, as Delia had done with her low-cut tight gowns. And Rosamunde hadn't expected anyone to see her dressed so here in the stables--except for Smithy, who was old, toothless, and balding. Surely she was not trying to lure him?
"I put out the news that I could not see any animals today unless 'twas an emergency. You said the new stables would be ready today, and I wished to oversee moving the horses."
"Of course you did," he said, then managed a smile. "And so you shall. They are ready now."
"What?" Her eyes widened. "Truly? Already?"
"Aye." His smile became slightly more natural at her obvious surprise and pleasure. "Come. You may inspect them."
Turning, he led the way out of the old stables and crossed the short distance to the new ones. He himself was a bit anxious now, worried at whether she would approve of them or not. She had seen them, of course, from the outside. Rosamunde had walked by the stables several times over the past four days, and while he had seen her peer at them curiously as she passed, she had not been inside them yet. He supposed she had been too irritated with him to show that much interest. Now he led her right up to the doors he had just finished hanging, threw them open, then waited for her to walk inside.
She entered slowly, her gaze moving over everything with measuring eyes, inspecting it all as she walked slowly along the numerous stalls.
Aric waited by the door, watching her nervously. He had made the stables doubly as long as the old ones. There were twice as many stalls, and each of them was roomier than the old ones. He had had hooks and shelves made for storing things, and he had added a loft to store fresh hay. He watched her take it all in, and still she said nothing.
Disappointment was just starting to fill him when she turned slowly.
"Husband?"
"Aye?" he asked uncertainly.
"'Tis magnificent."
Blinking, he smiled slightly. "They will do, then?"
"Do?" A peel of laughter slipping from her lips, she launched herself at him, kissing him exuberantly on the nose, cheeks, and lips before whirling away, her arms wide. "They are marvelous! Wonderful! Beautiful! The horses will love them. I love them. And Black and Marigold shall love them. Thank you, my lord." She whirled back to give him another exuberant hug, then whirled away and hurried for the exit. "I shall fetch them right now. And change into a gown while I am at it." Pausing at the door, she glanced back to flash a grin at him. "I need not bother with brais in here. 'Tis as clean as can be."
Aric watched her go with a sigh, his expression becoming more stern as he noticed his father and Shambley eyeing him with amusement. Scowling at them, he glanced back at his departing wife. "She wore the brais only to save her gowns. She is changing now," he explained, as if they were the ones who had been outraged by her attire.
The two men managed to maintain somber expressions, and merely nodded solemnly. Aric was just beginning to feel uncomfortable when a man appeared at the door to the stables, blocking his view of his wife.
"I brought the dog, m'lord."
"Oh, good, Jensen." Moving forward, he peered down at the animal. Dark brown, huge, hairy, and drooling, the dog seemed to be grinning up at him, and it didn't look very bright. On the other hand, the size of the beast alone would intimidate most people. Hopefully, it would intimidate the fellow Black had attacked in their bedchamber the other day. Jensen had assured him that the beast was trained to guard whatever it was placed with, whether it was sheep, horses, or people. It would make Aric feel better to know Rosamunde was looked after during the day. He would not worry about her quite as much.
"What sort of dog is that?" Shambley asked curiously, moving to Aric's side. He stared at the beast.
"Well, now..." the animal's owner hesitated and scratched his head, uncertainty clear on his face. "He's a good dog. Does his job," he answered, then brightened slightly. "I know he's got some Irish wolfhound in him."
"That explains the size," Lord Burkhart murmured, bending to pet the animal's dirty, matted fur briefly before grimacing, straightening, and turning to arch an eyebrow at Aric. "But how do you intend to get Rosamunde to take him about with her?"
Aric frowned at the question. "I will tell her to," he announced firmly, then saw his father's expression and began to worry. "You think she would disobey me?"
"Rosamunde?" Lord Burkhart asked with surprise. "Nay, nay. Not her. Afterall women are the most obedient of creatures, are they not?" He didn't bother trying to hide his amusement as he turned to walk away. "Good luck to you, son."
Aric glanced from his father's departing back to the mutt at his feet. Surely, if he ordered it, Rosamunde would take the dog about with her. Wouldn't she? She would have to see the sense in it. Someone had attacked her in their bedchamber. She should have protection. Of course, she had refused to believe that anyone had reason to harm her. She was positive that her midnight visitor had been some sort of mistake. Besides, he had wanted her to take Black around with her on her daily chores and she had flat-out refused to do that. Actually, she hadn't flat-out refused; she had merely looked at him as though he were quite mad and said that was not possible, that it could endanger the horse and bring about the return of his fever. Nay, he was better off where he was, she had announced, and he had not pushed the point. The animals' care was the one area where she did not always obey him.
"It is a shame he is not injured."
"Hmmm?" Aric glanced up from his thoughts. "What was that?"
"I said it is a shame he is not injured," Shambley repeated. "Were the dog injured, she would coddle and baby him. Then she would most like drag that beast all over the keep and bailey with her just to keep an eye on him." He gave a shrug. "She does seem to have a soft spot for ailing or injured animals."
"Aye, she does," Aric murmured thoughtfully, turning to look the animal over again. But he could see just by glancing at the beast that it was as healthy as could be. His gaze swept to the owner. "You do not happen to have a sick or injured do
g as big as this one, do you?"
"Sick?" The man stared at him as if he were mad. "Ah...nay, my lord."
"I did not think so." Aric sighed with disappointment, then reached for his sword.
"Aric! What are you doing?" Robert grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his weapon.
"I was just going to cut him a little. You know, someplace not too painful so Rosamunde will keep him nearby. She'll wish to watch it for infection."
Robert stared at him in shock for a moment, then shook his head.
"Nay?" Aric asked uncertainly.
"Nay. Why do we not see if mayhap he already has a small cut somewhere."
Dropping to kneel beside the dog, Shambley began searching the animal, sifting through the dirty fur on each leg, then on its back and head. "Aha!"
Aric knelt beside him. "You have found something?"
"He has a scratch here on his ear."
Aric leaned forward to peer at the spot at which Shambley was pointing. When he saw the tiny wound, he scowled. "That is not even enough to make her get out her medicinals."
"It could infect," Robert argued. "And that is what you said you wanted; a cut she would fret over to keep the dog near. This is such a cut."
Aric frowned at it with displeasure, fondling the handle of his sword as he considered the situation. Finally he shook his head. "That is barely a mark at all, Robert. She will not fret over that. I should just--" He started to unsheathe his sword as he spoke, but the dog's owner yanked on the rope Aric had tied around the dog's neck, dragging the animal away from him and Shambley.
"Now see here. I said you could be borrowing the beast, not killing him," he snapped, eyeing Aric grimly.
"Leave go, Aric," Shambley urged. "You know you cannot just cut that dog up. Just claim you worry over his scratch becoming infected and would like her to keep a close eye on him. Tell her that as a child you had a dog that had a very similar wound that festered and killed the animal. That this dog reminds you of him and you would not wish the same thing to happen."
Sighing, Aric let his sword slide back into its sheath unhappily. "All right," he muttered, noting that the dog's owner had relaxed slightly, but was still eyeing him warily.
