Winter's Heat

by Denise Domning

  He leaned over to kiss his wife and felt within him the still glowing embers of their passion for each other. But she drew away with a contented sigh, slid back down beneath the bedclothes, and into her dreams.

  Perhaps it was her convent upbringing that had taught her to fall so quickly and deeply into sleep in order to squeeze as much rest as possible between night services. Whatever it was, he had not the knack of it.

  He settled back against the bed wall, his thoughts drifting to the past evening. When they'd entered their bedchamber, she'd been angered to discover someone had dismantled the bed John and Maeve had used and returned their own bed to its rightful place. It had taken more than a little talking to convince her that there was time enough on the morrow to speak with her maids over this supposed act of insubordination.

  He, on the other hand, had understood completely the meaning behind her bed's return along with the can of water warming on the hearth for washing, the tray of foods on the table, and the ewer of wine with two cups beside it. This was Ilsa's handiwork. She, better than anyone else, understood what had happened between her lord and lady this day, for she had been his stepmother's loving slave.

  But then, so had he. Ermina had taken him into her heart as her son almost from the moment of her arrival at Graistan. Even after she bore her own children, the love that lay between them had not changed.

  So, Ilsa felt that he and his wife were not so different from his father and his stepmother, did she? He smiled against the memory of his parents' many arguments, some of which were legendary among Graistan's servants. Lord, but they had been a fiery pair. Yet Ermina had always known just how to sweeten her sting and, God's teeth, how his father had loved her. When she'd died, he had gone with her, although he lived on another three years after her death.

  When he remembered his father's pain, the years of loneliness after his wife's passing, he frowned. To love a woman so deeply was perhaps not such a good thing. Women died too easily. He knew that well enough, having lost mother, stepmother, and two wives already. Then, he shrugged away the thought.

  There was no reason to believe he would care for his wife the way his father had loved his stepmother. That was a rare thing indeed. More likely, their marriage would become a sort of partnership; she in command of her own sphere and he in his, both equal in their own right while respecting the other's abilities and sharing their children. Although he did not deny his attraction and desire for her, desire was not love.

  His wife shifted slightly. He looked down at her and could not resist touching her hair. It was sleek and soft against his fingers. Tonight, when she'd stood combing it before the fire, light had gleamed through the thin shift she wore to boldly outline the lush curves and tight lines of her body. As she moved, the material would now and again stretch taut against her breasts until he could clearly see the outline of her nipples. He'd been so deeply engrossed in watching her, he'd forgotten what he'd been doing until she'd reached to take washcloth and water can from him to bathe herself.

  But he had not relinquished them. Instead, he had washed her, taking care to wet every morsel of her skin. When he had finished with the cloth, he had done it again, this time with his mouth until she cried out in full realization of her pleasure. Nor had he ceased his ministrations until she once again cried out while he had found his own enjoyment within her. Desire was most certainly enough.

  He sighed, his thoughts then drifting inevitably back to Gilliam. Rannulf had been fourteen and a squire well on his way to earning his spurs when his youngest brother was born. All had seemed well at first. His father had written full of pride that, even at his age, he had been able to sire yet another son. Then something had gone wrong. The moment of his foster father telling him the news remained forever fixed in his mind. It had been so hard to imagine Ermina dead.

  He supposed he could have hated the baby for her death, but instead he'd done as he was certain his stepmother would have hoped. He'd vowed to care for her son as she had cared for him. Yet, all his intentions had come to naught, and now he had destroyed what remained of his relationship with Gilliam by a jealous accusation that he'd known to be untrue the moment the words left his mouth.

  "Too late," he said in pained regret. "I hope you will forgive me, Ermina, and know that I did try."

  "Lie beside me, my heart," his wife murmured, speaking to Jordan from deep in her sleep. "It is only a dream and will all be gone in the morning."

  Rannulf loosed a short, bittersweet laugh, then did as she bid. Once he'd gathered her into his arms, he drifted slowly into an easy and dreamless state.

  Chapter 19

  "So, Rannulf, have you decided which you prefer? Will you lie abed with only sticks and twigs for a mattress or in this decadent bower you've created for yourself?"

  Temric's rough voice jolted Rowena from her sleep, and she sat straight up. Only her hair covered her nakedness and the bed curtain lay wide open. She could as clearly see the man who casually leaned in the open doorway as he could her.

  With a gasp she clutched the bedclothes to her chest. He only smiled. "Then again, if she were my wife, I suppose I would not reject out of hand any place for trysting."

  Rannulf sat up and stretched, untroubled by his brother's sudden appearance in his private chamber. "You wouldn't know a tryst if it hit you. My brother, the monk. Pardon, Wren," he said to her, "Jordan left the door open last night, and I forgot to close the curtains after he left. So, what brings you here this morn?" This he asked of his brother.

  "I only came to tell you before some other did it. Gilliam's gone."

  "Damn." He rubbed his face with his hands, his palms rasping over his beard's growth. "He gives me no chance to make amends. Do you know where?"

  "To his brother."

  "Well," Lord Graistan muttered, "I'd already planned to go to Upwood, it is not so far from there to—"

  "Rannulf, let him be. It has done you both a world of good to lance this boil of yours. Now you must give him time to sort out his own thoughts." Temric's easy posture belied his commanding words.

  Rowena stared at the two of them. "His brother?"

  Her husband shot her a quick glance. "There are gaps in your knowledge of the FitzHenrys, I see. He has a full brother, Geoffrey, our younger half brother by my father and my stepmother, Ermina."

  "Oh, aye, Ermina," she said quietly, recognizing the name. Why, when she knew so much about the lands and keeps that made up Graistan's holdings, had she never learned more about the family who held the title? Well, at least she now understood why Gilliam had no inheritance. Rannulf had received his father and mother's lands, while by right this Geoffrey had his mother's holdings.

  Her husband was speaking to his brother. "It goes against my nature to let him leave without resolving this trouble I made between us. Dear God, in what regard can he now hold me?" He sighed helplessly. "Temric, I told you yesterday I intended for Gilliam to play host while the bishop resides here. Since I cannot retract my invitation, I need someone here I can trust."

  His brother straightened and tensed. "Do not ask me, Rannulf. It would be an insult to the bishop to put one of my ilk into your chair."

  "Your ilk?" Rannulf snapped back. "You are my brother. Oswald knows that."

  "Enough. I will not do it," Temric said harshly. "What of young Arnult, Jordon's tutor? You were ready to make him your castellan had we gone to Hereford."

  "He's young and inexperienced. How will he know what to say or do?"

  "I have always found him polite and well-spoken. He comes from a good family and is well trained. You said so yourself. You need only tell him what he must do, and he will serve you well. Besides, I will soon be gone."

  "You would leave me now, after Gilliam has run? You cannot. Damn it, what is it Alwyna has offered you that I have not?" Rannulf's words were almost a cry. "I would give you a keep and make you lord of your own lands, yet you spurn me to become what? A wool merchant."

  Rowena's heart lurched. She had v
owed to help Temric, and now was the time for it. But doing so meant she must test the limitations of her husband's new fondness for her. Fear of losing what she had only just gained made her hold back in the hopes her words would not be needed.

  "I am making no choices between you." Temric put a hand to his head as if in pain. "I told you in January that I would be gone by Midsummer."

  There was no choice, she must do it. She lay her hand on her husband's arm and was grateful when he did not pull away. "My lord, Temric is but one man, he cannot be in two places at the same time. If he has promised, he must honor that promise and you would not respect him if he did anything else. Besides, you have had him for years; it is she who needs him now."

  He said nothing, but took her hand in his. She drew courage from his movement and twined her fingers between his. When she continued, it was in a voice no more than a whisper. "It may be a sorry consolation to you, but I will be with you. You will not be left alone."

  She gazed down at their joined hands. His fingers were long and tapered, his palm large. Her small hand was dwarfed when his closed around it. There was both fear and need in his hold, but slowly, slowly, he relaxed, and she knew he'd found in her the strength he needed to face his loss.

  "You are right," he breathed, his words so low she barely heard him. "I have tried to hold them here as mine when they are not mine to keep. But if they must leave us, why must it be all at once?"

  Rowena tensed, overwhelmed by his need, for he would quickly put her in their place. Even as he held her hand, she felt him fold around her to draw her within him and never let her go. She wanted to cry, to run again. He would crush her, bury her, until she lost herself within him and was no more. How could anyone bear such closeness?

  Then fear flowed swiftly away in acceptance and understanding. She loved him; with all her soul she loved him. Whatever he needed, she would give and find her own pleasure in doing it. And, unlike his brothers, she would never leave him. This place, every stone and soul within it, was a part of her.

  He raised her hand to his lips and touched a brief kiss against her fingers. "Temric, if you will not take my place, will you stand beside Arnult for as long as you can to see he makes no misstep?"

  "That I will do for you." His brother's voice was deep and soft. When she looked at him, Temric met her gaze, his eyes warm with gratitude.

  "My thanks," Rannulf replied with a small smile, then continued in a firmer voice. "Now, out of my room and stop eyeing my wife."

  Temric offered him a jaunty salute and a wide grin. "I do admit to being envious." With that he turned and strode out of the solar. Her husband only laughed as he freed his hand from hers to throw back the bedclothes and sit on the bed's edge. "Well, at least I've laid the matter out in the open between the boy and me, as Temric has said."

  She smoothed his pillow and watched the eddies and hollows her fingers made in the feather-filled cushion. "Why do you and Temric always speak of him as if he were yet a child, not a man full grown? He is older than I, and you do not see me as a child, do you?"

  Her husband laughed. "Nay, that I most certainly do not." Then, he sobered and turned on the bed to face her. "But, you are right. He is a man full grown, and I have forgot that more times than I care to admit. I suppose it is because I have been his father since he was three. It is hard to recognize when your child is a child no longer."

  "I think this makes more trouble between the two of you than anything that happened in the past. You know he wants a keep of his own," she said softly.

  "He has never spoken of it to me."

  "How could he with what lies between you? And, if he had, would you have granted it to him?"

  "I cannot say," he hedged, and once again she heard in his voice his desire to keep his family with him.

  "Why must you hold them so tightly?"

  "Aye, what good has it done? They are either gone or going," he retorted harshly.

  She only laughed. "Nay, my lord. You cannot keep them away. Gilliam will return when he can speak his mind to you as an equal, and Temric, well, he will stay away only as long as it best serves his mother." When he shot her a skeptical look, she shook her head and smiled. "Oh, he's no merchant, you know that. He only goes because she needs him now."

  "Sorry consolation, indeed," he said, his gray eyes so warm it took her breath away. When he reached for her, she came easily into his embrace and savored the subdued heat of his kiss. But when he would have made it more than that, she pulled away.

  "I cannot," she breathed, already regretting her movement, for that magnificent excitement was once again building within her. "If we are to leave for Upwood this day, there is yet so much I must do that all will be ready for the bishop's arrival. Oh, Lord, I cannot dream of how we will afford all this on top of the fine you must pay for marrying me. God knows what you'll have to give the bishop as gifts during his stay."

  "You worry too much. Graistan has always had sufficient means, and it always will."

  "Easily said, especially by you," she retorted, sliding off the bed and pulling on her bedrobe, "who's let his treasury be emptied while he wasn't looking."

  "Rowena," he warned, but she only laughed.

  "I know, I know. If you say we eat on golden plates, we do. But, in that case it is I who must be your alchemist. It is fortunate you have me, my lord, or you'd soon be as poor as a villein's widow." With that she jerked the robe belt tight about her waist.

  He laughed. "You give up too easily. We could have fought, then—" he let the word hang suggestively between them.

  She smiled, but whirled away when he reached for her. "Ilsa," she called as she danced out of his grasp and into the solar.

  "There was time," he said, sounding both amused and disappointed. "Wren?" When she looked back, he was leaning in the doorway to the solar, his eyes warm as he watched her. She took a step toward him. He held out his hand and smiled, creating those creases in his cheeks she found so attractive. In another moment she would have been lost, but Ilsa's entry into the solar from the women's quarters drew his attention. "Good morrow, old woman."

  The servant appreciatively eyed the naked length of him with the boldness granted to women of her advanced years, then gave a gapped, long-toothed grin. "Pea brain. Some men haven't the sense the Lord God gave a fish. It's right time you straightened yourself out. My lord." She belatedly added the honorific.

  Her husband seemed neither perturbed nor put out by her harsh words. "Consider me properly chastised," he said with a laugh, then retreated into the bedchamber and shut the door behind him.

  Ilsa turned on her mistress with a fiery gleam in her eye. "And you!" she spat out. "I expected you to know better. Now pay close heed as you are not always wont to do. For the next several months you are not to run or lift anything or strain yourself in any way. It is bad enough that you must travel, but running from the keep in your condition! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"

  "You are daft, Ilsa. What are you talking about?" her lady snapped. "What condition?"

  "Come now, girl, you count far better than I ever have and, at my best reckonings, it has been nigh on two months since you last had your woman's flux."

  "What?" Rowena cried out, rapidly figuring the days for herself. "Nay, it is not possible. I've had no signs, there's been no illness. You are mistaken."

  But, it was true. She'd not had her flux since her husband had returned home in May, and she was never late.

  "Not possible? With you as regular as the moon?" retorted Ilsa, echoing her mistress's thoughts. "You are with child. As for signs, for these last weeks you have been overly tired and hollow-eyed. And, yesterday, did you or did you not faint?"

  "Faint?" Rowena questioned. "It was only a dizzy spell caused by overwork and tiredness." Still, her hand crept to the curve of her abdomen. Was it possible? Could it be she bore a child, hers and Rannulf's? Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for this to be true. It would be something shared and special created between them. "I am with
child," she breathed, then smiled broadly. "I am with child," she repeated in awe.

  "Aye, aye, now do not go softheaded on me. A woman's first often sets on less securely than the ones that follow, and I'll not have you endangering a potential heir. And you having to dash off to Up-wood to please a bishop. Hmmph!"

  "Upwood?" Rowena said stupidly, still trapped in the wonder of her discovery. Then, she caught her breath. She was going to Upwood, but Rannulf was going on to Ashby. Her hand tightened on her abdomen as a terrible sense of foreboding washed over her. Perhaps he wouldn't go if he knew she bore his child.

  "Oh, have you forgotten that already? Good God, but I've got enough to do in packing your gowns without having to fasten your head back to your neck as well. Go sit in yon chair, and I'll be back in a moment with a little something to straighten your thoughts." She hurried from the room.

  But Rowena did not do as she was bid. Instead, she returned to her bedchamber to find Rannulf sitting in a chair while his man shaved him. Although his expression remained impassive, his eyes smiled at her.

  "Rannulf, do you still intend to go on to Ashby?" she asked bluntly.

  He caught Ulric's hand and tilted his head to the side to better see her. "Aye." Although it was only one word, there was no mistaking his determination to make this trip. Nothing she said would alter it.

  Rowena sighed in resignation. "My lord, exactly what is it you intend to do when you arrive at Ashby. You can hardly snatch her back from John. They are now man and wife. And if he is as smitten as he appeared, will he even hear what you say?"

  "Well, if he cannot hear me, I will ask him to swear to me again, saying that I had intended to do that this day. After all, the additional properties the marriage brought him makes the reiteration of his vows necessary. Once he has spoken those words, his vow will certainly protect our relationship until he can hear my explanation. It would serve us well to warn him to have a care with his treasury, though."