by Lynn Kurland
Richard sniffed. “I smell roses.”
“You certainly do.”
He jumped when he felt her hands on his back. “What are you doing—”
“Just relax.”
“Woman, if you leave me smelling like roses . . . I’ll see you regret it,” he warned.
“Pretend I was the one wearing the stuff and you got it all over you when you spent all night bedding me,” she said with a snort. “It’ll be great for your reputation.”
He turned his head to the side and glared up at her out of a single, pale greenish-blue eye.
“I should do that just the same, just to silence you.”
She grinned and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Big threat, de Galtres.” She brushed the back of her hand over his eye, careful not to get any oil on his face. “Just relax, would you? I’m trying to spoil you.”
He grunted, but said no more. Jessica concentrated on pushing the knots out of his muscles, starting with his shoulders. Richard was a big man and his bones were coated with thick, heavy muscles that would have been a challenge for a well-practiced masseuse. Eventually her hands started to cramp and she patted Richard on the head.
“That’s it,” she said cheerfully. “You can get up now.”
“Can’t,” he groaned. “Can’t move. The saints help us if there is a war.”
“Don’t you want to know what’s next?”
His only response was to drool. Jessica took that as a yes.
“I thought now that maybe we could engage in some mutual seduction.”
It was nothing short of amazing how a man incapacitated by a massage could regain all his strength and look so perky in such a short time. Before Jessica could elaborate on her plan, Richard had sat up and was looking at her expectantly.
“What?” she asked.
“Your side?”
“Nothing to worry about.” She blew a bit of hair out of her face and watched him flinch. “What?”
“Do not do that.”
“What?”
“That business you do with your hair.”
“It bothers you?”
“Likely not as you think it might.”
She smiled. “I see.” She puckered up to do it again, then found herself distracted by other things—such as Richard’s mouth on hers. She would have chided him for interrupting her, then she started to lose track of her thoughts. By the time he’d pulled her to her feet and managed to continue to devour her mouth at the same time, she couldn’t remember why in the world she’d wanted to do anything but shut up and hold on for the duration.
“I am not a gentle man,” Richard said, against her mouth.
“Uh-huh,” she said as he lifted her in his arms.
“Nor am I a practiced lover,” he said as he carried her across the room.
“Nobody’s perfect,” she managed as he lowered her to the bed.
“But I do love you,” he said as he stretched out next to her and leaned over her. “And I will give you the best that I have.”
A girl can’t ask for more than that, she started to say, but then she found his mouth in the way of her reassurance. Her clothes found themselves in the way of his hands and then there was nothing at all in the way of his body.
And Jessica found that underneath all the grumbles and rough edges was a man who, though he might not have been practiced, was indeed very gentle and tender. His voice broke as he whispered her name while making her his and his hands trembled as he touched her face after he had pulled away.
“Tears?” he asked, looking devastated.
“Of joy,” she whispered. “Only of joy.”
And the smile he gave her was something she was just certain she would never forget.
31
’Twas nothing short of astonishing the things that could befall a man whilst he made his way innocently to do his manly duty in the lists, Richard thought sourly as he found himself being herded along with several of his men into a small corner of the outer bailey. The saints be praised ’twas there and not the inner; Richard wasn’t sure he could have borne the humiliation of Jessica seeing this foolishness.
“Now,” Hamlet boomed, “this morn we will learn the proper way to express affection to one’s lady—”
I already learned that, Richard thought, and not from you. He started to move away when he found himself pinned to the spot by the collective gazes of all the other souls in the group. He grumbled, but fell back into line. Perhaps the time had come to submit to a few of Hamlet’s ministrations. After all, he did manage to avoid the like for months at a stretch.
“Don’t need bloody wooin’,” said Sir William. “What good will it do me?”
“Better some courtly verse than your visage,” Godwin said pleasantly.
Richard watched William struggle with the truth of that versus the desire to repay Godwin for the slur.
“Sir William,” Hamlet said importantly, “never misjudge the power of a well-executed bow.”
William considered, then let his sword slip back into its scabbard. Richard watched the rest of the dozen men who stood waiting expectantly for the sure secret to winning their ladies and decided that he had no reason to be where he was. His lady was already won.
Richard stayed where he was for a few more moments, until he thought Hamlet was firmly entrenched in his schooling of his day’s victims, then he began to sidle to the left. He feigned a stone in his boot, taking several steps away to see to it. Then, when he thought he could make his escape, he strode away purposefully.
“My lord!”
Damnation, but the man was tenacious.
“My lord, but a moment of your time!”
Richard suspected it would take far longer than that. He was tempted to flee, but what sort of example would that set? He sighed deeply, stopped, and turned to face his guardsman.
“Aye?” he said.
Sir Hamlet dismissed the rest of his pupils with a negligent wave, then fixed Richard with a purposeful glance. “I have given your situation much thought, my lord.”
“Have you now—”
“And I think you’ll find my suggestions very useful in winning your lady.”
“Well,” Richard began, “as it happens, the lady is already—”
Sir Hamlet put forth his index finger, a sure sign of a great list on the verge of being gushed forth. “There are pleasing lays sung sweetly, of course,” he said, with a wag of his finger.
“I can’t sing.”
“Hrumph,” Hamlet said with a frown. “Then perhaps a bit of verse recited in a rich, sweet tone.”
“I cannot rhyme,” Richard admitted, wondering how many of his flaws he would have to reveal before Hamlet conceded the battle.
Hamlet’s frown deepened. “Then you must resort to a quest.”
“A quest?” Richard echoed. “What madness is this?”
“A quest to prove your love. Your lady will suggest a heroic deed for you to do—and I will aid her with this if she cannot think of one—”
Not if I can reach her first, Richard thought with a feeling of mild panic.
“And then off you go, my lord, with her favor upon your arm.”
“What need I with a quest, when she is well assured of my love as it is—”
“And then,” Hamlet continued, as if he hadn’t heard Richard—which was what Richard suspected—“and then when you return, we will hold a Court of Love and decide if you have fulfilled your quest and won the prize.”
“But I’ve already won the prize!” Richard exclaimed. “And more than once, if memory serves.”
Hamlet looked off into the distance and smiled wistfully. “So much the better if her husband is there at the Court.”
“I am her husband!”
“Then you can remain unnamed as her one great love whilst her husband looks on unwittingly.” Hamlet sighed in satisfaction. “Ah, what romance there is in the world today!”
“Hamlet,” Richard said, taking his guardsman by the shou
lders and giving him a sharp shake. “I wed the girl not a fortnight ago.”
Hamlet blinked.
“And I bedded her as well!”
Hamlet began to look rather crestfallen.
“Besides,” Richard continued, “I have no time for a quest. I’ve a hall to see built before winter.”
“But the wooing—”
“She’s already been wooed.” At least as much as she would be having at present. “If it will ease your mind any, I’ve a journey planned for the spring. I’ll take her to France.”
“Paris?” Hamlet asked, his ears perking up.
“Is there anywhere else?”
Richard had rarely seen Hamlet look more relieved.
“I’ll plan the journey,” Hamlet announced. “And we’ll make as if you haven’t wed her. ’Twill be more acceptable that way.”
Richard rolled his eyes and walked away.
“The beautiful lady and her lover,” Hamlet continued from behind him, “stealing away for a journey of love. ’Tis truly more chivalrous to woo someone else’s wife . . .”
The only positive thing Richard could say for the morn was that now Hamlet would have a large, meaty bone to chew on for some time to come. Richard suspected he also might have released his men from several sessions of torment as well.
Richard walked back to the inner bailey and looked about for his wife. After the morn he’d just passed, he deserved a bit of time spent indulging himself in her company. He didn’t see her immediately, so he walked over to one of her masons.
“The lady Jessica?” he demanded.
The man looked at him and shrugged. “Haven’t seen her, milord.”
A quick dash upstairs revealed that she wasn’t in their bedchamber. Her cloak wasn’t their either, but she could have taken that anywhere.
Richard hurried back down to the bailey. He told himself such was his normal pace, but inside he had a less-than-pleasant feeling. If aught had happened to her . . .
He looked about him, but saw none of his guardsmen save Hamlet, who was staring off into the distance as if he lacked his wits, and John. John only smiled pleasantly when Richard approached.
“Aye?” John asked.
“Where’s Jessica?”
“She said something about going to the shore for a time,” John answered. “Why? Is aught amiss?”
“By herself?” Richard asked incredulously.
John shook his head. “Godwin went with her, as well as a handful of other lads she thought you might not miss.”
“She should have taken the best of them,” Richard growled. “What was she thinking?”
“Womanly thoughts,” John said wisely.
“Ah, and what would you know of that?” Richard snapped.
“I have sisters—”
Who at least understand the dangers of our age, unlike my lady, Richard thought to himself. He turned away and strode toward the outer gates. He would give Jessica a stern lecture on the perils she now would face. By the saints, Gilbert’s supposed ally could be outside the gates lying in wait to snatch her away. Or worse.
By the time he had stomped his way around his outer walls and slipped and slid down the path to the shore, he was hot and very cross. The lecture he planned had somehow grown into something that more resembled a tongue-lashing, and a thorough one at that.
And then he saw her.
And all thoughts of shouting at her ceased.
She was walking along the edge of the water, staring off over the sea. Her hair was unbound and hung halfway down her back. The wind blew it about her face and every now and again Richard saw her tuck it behind her ears. He’d had the deep green gown fashioned for her a pair of days earlier and it draped pleasingly over her slender form, a form Richard was now rather familiar with.
He watched her and struggled with the emotions that swept over him. There was lust, aye, of the best sort and there in abundance. But there was also a longing inside his breast that surprised him. He had supposed that making her his would have eased that part of him that craved knowing for a surety that she loved him. It seemed, though, that such was not the truth of it.
Did she think of him as she walked? Or were her thoughts given to other things?
There was only one way to know. Richard walked up to his guardsmen—who were so busy watching their lady that they didn’t mark his approach—flicked Godwin smartly on the ear, and waved the whole lot of them away.
“But, my lord,” Godwin protested.
“I can easily do what you were doing,” Richard grumbled. “I’ve a mind for peace with my lady. Get you far away and look for enemies.”
He continued on until he, too, stood at the water’s edge. He could well understand Jessica’s pleasure in the spot. There was nothing so soothing as the sound of the waves against the shore.
He watched as Jessica turned and began to make her way toward him, and he suppressed the impulse to meet her halfway. He waited and prayed his patience would not go unrewarded.
She was still a goodly distance away when she lifted her gaze and saw him.
And she smiled.
She stopped, clasped her hands behind her back, and tilted her head to look at him. Richard decided immediately that there was no sense in his pride keeping him where he was when his lady apparently wanted him to come to her. He strode toward her and stopped not even a handsbreadth from her. She smiled up at him.
“Hello,” she said.
“And to you.”
She looked for her guard, then back up at him. “No men?”
“Ravishment of one’s wife does not need an audience,” he informed her.
“Ravishment,” she said, turning the word over on her tongue and seemingly considering its significance.
“Unless I have interrupted your thoughts upon something else,” he said reluctantly.
She put her arms around his neck and stretched herself against him. “As it happens, I was just walking along the beach thinking about you.”
That was enough for him. He wrapped his arms around her purposefully.
“Wouldn’t you like to hear what I was thinking?” she asked.
“Nay, I would not.”
“They were good thoughts, if you’re interested.”
“Later,” he said, bending his head to kiss her.
It was nothing short of amazing how much privacy a clutch of rocks could afford when a man was determined and his lady willing.
Yet another thing to recommend about passing the day at the shore.
It was a great while later that Richard had the presence of mind to think on more prosaic matters. He leaned up on his elbow and looked down at his lady. She was using his tunic as a bed and seemed none too inconvenienced by it, though he was the first to admit he likely should have spread it out before they had satisfied themselves the first time.
“Is it possible you brought aught to eat?” he asked, wondering if she minded all that sand in her hair and if he wore a like amount in his.
She looked a little dazed. “I really hadn’t planned on making a day of this, no.”
He paused. “Do you regret it?”
“What do you think?”
“If I knew for a certainty, I wouldn’t have asked.”
She shook her head with a gentle smile. “Oh, Richard, how can you doubt?”
He had no good answer for that, so he remained silent.
“I’ll bring lunch next time,” she assured him with a laugh and a kiss. “And maybe a blanket.”
“That might be more comfortable.”
“Was this uncomfortable?” she asked.
He suspected she was either teasing or complimenting him. He chose the latter.
“I vow I didn’t notice at the time, though my poor form is telling me of it now.”
She reached up and pulled him down to her, wrapping her arms around him.
“I love you,” she whispered into his ear. “I wish I could tell you how much, but there aren’t enough words.”
She stroked his hair in silence for a moment or two, then spoke again.
“I could try to show you.”
“The saints preserve me,” he groaned.
But he didn’t do anything to discourage her and his only thought was a hope that he’d be able to walk when they were finished.
• • •
The sun was setting when he walked arm in arm with his lady back to the gates of his castle. He could hardly believe the change in the course of his life. Who would ever have thought that he would find a woman who could tolerate him, much less love him? More amazing still, know him and yet love him still? He could scarce believe his good fortune and he credited it all to that little chivalrous nudge that had prodded him into sweeping Jessica up into his arms the first time he’d seen her. The next time he saw Robin of Artane, he would thank him for having instilled the virtue in him. It had brought him the most precious thing in his life.
He wondered, as he entered his gates with his lady’s hand in his, if his life could possibly improve.
“Supper?” Jessica asked after they had made their way to the inner bailey.
“I think we may have missed it.”
“Cook likely saved us some.”
Yet another soul Jessica had charmed. Richard squeezed her hand. “He likely saved you some. Me, he would allow to starve without a second thought.”
She only smiled at him fondly and veered off to the kitchens. Richard waited for her in the courtyard and looked at the foundations of his great hall. It would indeed be a marvelous place, and again, he had Jessica to thank for it. He half suspected he would never truly succeed in showing her how much he valued the changes she had made in his life.
“We’re in luck,” she said, coming toward him with a bottle in her hand and followed by one of Cook’s helpers bearing a wooden trencher of food. “Sweet mead and the best of tonight’s offering.”
Richard took the bottle from her and reached for her hand. “Then off we go—”
“Lord Richard!”
Richard heard the clatter of hooves through the inner gate before he managed to turn around. A horseman dismounted and a pair of guardsmen rushed over with torches. It was Kendrick’s cousin, James of Wyckham.
“James,” he said, holding out his hand in greeting.
