by Hall, Diana
“When that girl gets an idea stuck in her head, there ain’t no way to yank it out that I knows of.” Tom shrugged his shoulders. “And she ain’t too mindful where you’re concerned. Both of ye got a temper so hot it would heat the entire castle for a winter and a stubborn streak that’d task the holiest saint.” He stroked the stubble of his gray-and-black beard. “Sorry, Sir Galliard, you’re on your own ‘ere.”
“On your own for what?” Lenora quirked an eyebrow as she addressed them. She held several threadbare blankets in her arms. Roen could see that, though she tried to hide it, the night had taken its toll. Dark smudges underscored the tiredness of her face. She swayed ever so slightly, fighting to remain upright. ‘Twas only her stubbornness that kept her on her feet. She’d fall asleep as soon as she lay down. Asleep, and defenseless.
“On my own, on my walk back to my room,” Roen answered. A woman who does what she’s told is truly worth a king’s ransom, he thought to himself while he noted Tom’s and Lenora’s shocked looks. “I’ll send down a boy with food to break your morning fast.” Roen exited the barn and headed for the dark shadow of the oak tree.
Tom struggled to catch up. The older man’s leg dragged more than usual. “By all the saints above, are ye crazed? Did ye not hear a word I said? I’m tellin’ ye there’s a worry here,” Tom lectured when they were out of earshot.
“Hush, old man. I heard you. Did you not tell me that there was no changing Nora’s mind once ‘twas set? Wait a few minutes, she’ll be sound asleep. When she is, I’ll return and stand sentry. I’ll be gone before she wakes.”
“Aye, sounds good. But what are ye goin’ to do about the next night?”
Roen rested himself against the rough bark of the ancient oak. Stars shone overhead, brilliant light in a clear, blue-black sky. A beam of moonlight basked the quiet keep in a soft yellow glow. “I’ve tomorrow to think on that. Let’s concentrate on this night, shall we?”
Lenora checked one last time on the horses. The colt lay on its side. Frothy bubbles of milk laced the fine whiskers around its mouth. The foal’s nose quivered as it slept. Lenora turned to Silver. The mare’s crazed look had been replaced with one of infinite tiredness. The horse’s head hung low, her eyes closed, her breathing even. Lenora prayed that rest, extra love and care would restore Silver’s health.
“I wish that my life could be restored so easily,” Lenora whispered out loud. So many responsibilities fell on her shoulders of late. A deep sense of loneliness permeated the stable and infected her.
There was no one to whom she could speak of her confusion and fear. Her brother and father had always been enough for her, her protectors, friends and confidants. Wistfully, Lenora dreamed of a person with whom she could unburden herself. Someone who would help her take the reins of her life in hand and give her guidance. She returned to the straw mattress and pulled the old blankets tightly around her.
Her thoughts turned to Galliard. He was a selfish, stubborn lout driven by greed, yet he had saved something she held very precious. It galled her to owe him a boon. A long yawn escaped her. Lenora snuggled down in the blankets as the night air began to cool steadily. “Tomorrow. I’ll settle all this tomorrow.” She yawned, her eyelids drooped, and she surrendered to her body’s call for sleep.
Roen rested on his heels and fixed his gaze on the sleeping woman. Moonlight filtered through a window and displayed her sinfully long lashes against pale skin. Her auburn hair covered part of her face. With a gesture as soft as a whisper, he wrapped the locks around his hand. Lenora’s wayward curl encircled his finger like a caress. He brushed the tips of his knuckles across the plane of her cheek. The coldness startled him. He reached for her hand, nestled beneath her chin. The tips of her fingers were icy. Lenora snuggled deeper into the worn blankets, curling up into a fetal position to stay warm.
“Little fool, I should let you freeze,” Roen muttered. He paused and contemplated his options: wake Lenora and face an argument, or find some way to warm her. The invitation proved too tempting. He unbuckled his sword, leaned it against the loose pile of hay and slipped under the covers.
The warmth of his body acted as a magnet. Lenora rolled herself toward his inviting heat. She wiggled against the hard length of his body and he groaned under his breath. Regretting his decision, he battled his primal urges. He had known lust and controlled it before. With Lenora, he challenged an emotion much more powerful and, for him, much more dangerous. It took a mustering of all of his notorious iron will to keep his hands from roaming the soft mounds pressed against his chest.
The battle shifted unexpectedly. An attack came from a surprising source—Lenora. She nestled the tip of her cold nose under his chin and slipped her arm around his chest. He could feel the warm, rhythmic caress of her breath on his neck. Hot, impatient urges taunted him to explore the riches of her body. Roen’s eyes closed as his hand cupped one breast and his fingers gently kneaded its softness.
The leather laces, untied from Lenora’s tossing, worked to loosen the binding overtunic. With delight, he discovered his fingers could fit through the laces and touch the soft delicate skin of her velvet-soft mound. His fingers leapt forward, eager to explore. Lenora stiffened in her sleep and he heard a breathy gasp.
With painstaking slowness, Roen moved his anxious fingers toward his prize. He allowed Lenora’s sleep-drugged mind to grow familiar with his touch. Her breath became more regular, but more rapid. Gooseflesh rose on the sensitive breast. Roen moved to claim his goal; the stiff peak of her bosom vanquished all his willpower.
“Nora.” He buried his lips in her hair. The scent of hay and clover filled his nostrils. Lenora moaned in her sleep and he silenced her with his lips. A ravenous hunger drove at him to devour her with his mouth, but his kisses lit on Lenora’s lips like butterfly wings. Fluttery kisses that caused her to taste her lips tentatively with the tip of her tongue and sigh. Carnal lust and desire exploded in his loins.
Creak. Roen halted. The protest of wood against wood sounded again. Suppressed footsteps echoed on the hay-covered wooden floor. Roen cloaked himself and Lenora with the blankets. Through a tear in the cover, he saw a black shadow shuffle past. Lenora, her body still awake from his lips and touches, squirmed against him. In an attempt to pacify her, Roen stroked back the hair near her temples.
The dark apparition moved with caution to the stall with Lenora’s horses. Roen watched as it paused outside the gate. Shadowy beams of moonlight reflected off a sword hilt. A jewel in the hilt gleamed with malice. No apparition but a man, a knight in a dark cloak. The intruder threw back one corner of his mantle. The moonlight revealed the cloak’s torn corner. Lightning hot outrage caused Roen to grit his teeth. Here was the man who had nearly killed Lenora at the scaffold.
Outraged, Roen reached for his sword, but his fingers closed on emptiness. Desperate to find his weapon yet not awaken Lenora, he inched his fingers through the layers of hay. He froze when he heard the dark shadow speak.
“Well, a foal. Silver, your mistress has a talent of undermining my plans.” The intruder’s voice rang out in the empty stable. Silver looked up but did not move. She sniffed the air, then lowered her head again to sleep.
The would-be assassin resumed his sermon. “Aye, but this night her work will be for naught. Drink well, ‘twill be your last.” The stranger sprinkled a powder into the water bucket in the stall and over the grain.
Lenora grew restless beside Roen. “Geoffrey,” she moaned softly. Roen cursed both her timing and the name of her dream lover. The hooded man stilled. Roen placed his fingers gently over her lips and prayed the moon would stay behind the clouds.
The intruder took a few hesitant steps toward their hiding place, then waited and listened. To Roen, every breath he and Lenora took sounded like a loud wind in the silence of the dark stable. The need to attack ate at him, but he dampened the emotion. The safety of Lenora and her horses must be the priority.
Blending into the shadows, the intruder disappeared
. Roen strained to hear the creak of wood, a sign the traitor had left. When the slap of wood against wood vibrated in the air, Roen eased himself from Lenora’s side. A pout formed on her lips when the night air invaded her warm cocoon. He tucked the ragged edges of blanket around the sleeping girl. Her breathing had returned to normal.
Roen strode to the horse’s stall. The mare woke and took up watch over the form of her offspring. From outside the stall, he heaved the bucket over the gate and poured the water out. He touched the muddy puddle of contaminated water, sniffed his fingers, then brought them to his lips. The water tasted oddly sweet and smelled of strong herbs.
He returned to the stall and scraped out the grain from the trough. The same “green” smell emitted from the oats. Roen took the grain outside and emptied it into a refuse heap.
The knight reentered the stable and gave the ever watchful mare fresh water and grain. The animal made no move to approach him, but stomped her feet. Roen would have to forgo a physical examination of the horse. The mare was too upset by the birth and the night’s activity to allow it.
For some unknown reason, the horse’s behavior intrigued him. His senses tingled but his brain couldn’t piece together the information. He moved to the back of the barn to search for the means of the intruder’s escape. Crouching, he methodically tested each plank. Creak. A firm push and one wooden board swung clear. He squeezed his shoulders through the restrictive opening. When he cleared the secret door, he stood in a dark, narrow tunnel. Faint beams of the almost full moon wafted down between the tangled branches of wisteria overhead. The cold stone of the inner curtain wall and the back walls of the inner bailey structures formed the sides of the tunnel. Then the parts snapped into place, as did his decision. With every turn Lenora’s peril grew. He returned to her side.
Oblivious to the night’s danger, Lenora slept. Roen knelt on one knee. He felt the hard bite of steel against it. His fingers dug deep into the hay, clasped the hilt of his sword and pulled it free. “Ah, Nora. There’s no more time for games. ‘Tis time to lay this fellow out. He’s one of your father’s men, all right. If your temperamental horse knows him, then you must, also. What man knows the secrets of Woodshadow’s escape routes save a knight of this keep? Does he act alone, or do others conspire against you?” He reached to stroke the coppery locks.
“Lady Lenora!” a gasping voice hailed from outside. “Lady Lenora, wake up!” Tyrus ran breathless into the stable. Lenora’s eyelashes fluttered. Her cinnamon eyes showed confusion. The boy gave her a vigorous shake. “Wake up, Lady. ‘Tis Sir Edmund.”
Lenora’s eyes cleared. She gazed at Roen, a panicked look on her face. “What’s wrong, Galliard? What’s wrong with my father?”
Tyrus saved Roen from a lengthy explanation of his presence. “Come quick, Lady Lenora. Everyone’s a-lookin’ for ya. Sir Edmund is callin’ for ya.” Tyrus looked at the ground, and his voice caught in his throat. “I think he’s a-dyin’.”
Guilt and fear colored Lenora’s face. She jumped from her pallet and ran to the keep. The boy followed close at her heels. Roen stood alone in the darkness of the stable. The night’s visitor had struck once more. He started back toward the castle, mindful that his next step must be orchestrated with care. The dark shape could be anyone and have access to all parts of the castle.
He hesitated before he entered the castle proper. As a warrior, he knew what his next decision must be. As a man, he questioned whether he could live the rest of his life with it. Lenora’s reaction to his lovemaking showed she was well schooled, and he knew the name of her instructor. Geoffrey. The name left a sour taste in his mouth. She was no different than his mother or any other woman he had come across.
Roen rubbed his chest with his fingertips, aware of a dull ache that had formed near his heart. Lenora doubted that he even had a heart. Roen was painfully aware just now of its presence.
Chapter Ten
“Father!” Lenora rushed to her father’s bedside. The pale golden hair of the older man formed a halo on the pillow.
“Calm yourself, girl.” Sir Edmund placed his hand over his chest and wheezed, “I’m not gone yet.” The ladies of the keep hovered behind her, shaking their heads and dabbing their eyes with sweet-smelling handkerchiefs.
The physician sucked on his teeth and poured an elixir into a chipped mug. “Drink this.” He gave his patient no time to quibble over the smell or the taste of the medicine. His fingers pinched Sir Edmund’s nose and he poured the contents down the sick man’s throat.
The white-haired doctor took Lenora’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “His heart has become very weak of late. Another attack like this and…” He scrunched his bushy eyebrows together and sucked his teeth again.
“Can you do nothing for him?” Lenora implored.
“Rest and no worries. ‘Tis the only thing I know to prolong his life. He must not strain himself.” The medical man shook his wild mane of white hair.
A creak of the door and a shaft of light marked Roen’s entrance into the room. She did not pull her eyes from her father’s face but she knew the knight waited like a vulture for its prey to gasp its last breath.
Sir Edmund lifted his feeble hand to her face. “The knight will care for you, child. Look to him after I’m gone.”
“Nay, Father, do not leave me. Not you, too. I need you with me.” Lenora gripped her father’s hand with her own, as though to keep his soul in the world of the living.
Her father’s eyes focused on Roen near the door. “Come here, son. I give you a rare gift, my daughter. In return, I have a boon to ask.” Roen knelt at the foot of the bed. “Leave us, all of you. I need to speak with my son-in-law alone.”
Dismissed like a servant, Lenora fought back her tears. She thought that the recent months had brought her and her father closer. Yet he turned her away and brought Galliard into his confidence. Her hand lingered on the latch of the door.
“Come, Lenora,” Matilda’s high voice called. “Leave these men to plan our futures, and pray your father is generous to us both.” She pulled Lenora from the room and closed the heavytimbered oak door.
“I have always been a man of action. I did not think to end my days such as this.” Sir Edmund gave Roen a meaningful gaze. “I had thought to die in battle as befits a knight, not in a room of tearful women.” A dry cough caused him some discomfort. After it passed, he fought to push himself upright. His eyes conveyed the trust he bestowed on the younger man.
Roen nodded his accordance. “What would you have me do, sire?”
The older man smiled, tension visibly shaken from him. “When I am sure my daughter is safe, Tom will bring Jupiter around. I wish not to be stopped by any of your men as I ride from here, and do not search for my body when Jupiter returns riderless. I would have it said I died astride, not cosseted in a feather bed.”
“Are you sure of this? ‘Twill be hard on Lenora.” Roen knew the man’s answer even before Sir Edmund responded.
“Aye, ‘twill be best. I would have her remember me as the man I was, not as an invalid. Lenora must be protected. Whoever has done this to me will not stop until he has Woodshadow. The only way to attain that goal is through Lenora.” Sir Edmund’s face became flushed.
Roen could read the man’s anxiety and fear. “Your daughter will be dealt with.” His voice carried affirmation and the undertone of a threat.
“The marriage…”
“I have already decided that the only way to protect Woodshadow is to marry her.” Why did a part of Roen feel like purring with contentment while another part felt like roaring with frustration?
“You must make her agree, and soon. I cannot leave this world for the next until I am sure she will be looked after.”
“She’ll agree.” Roen started to rise but Sir Edmund’s hand on his sword hilt stopped him.
“When may Tom bring Jupiter to me?”
Roen clenched his jaw. He would see the dying man’s last request granted. “Tell your man to come
the first morning after we are wed. Lenora will be kept at bay until you depart.” He turned to leave.
Sir Edmund eyed him shrewdly. “This last escapade of mine will not sit well with Lenora. She will know you had a hand in it. ‘Twill not go well with you.”
Roen snorted a laugh. ’Tis no matter that. Nothing I do goes well with her.”
Laughter gave the older knight a healthy glow. “Aye, Lenora is so like her mother. Now that was a woman who could serve a fatal wound with her tongue.” Sir Edmund sighed, a nostalgic smile on his lips. “Would that I could hear one sweet insult from those dear lips again.”
Roen shook his head. “I do not understand. Why should you wish for a shrew as a wife?”
“A shrew? Nay, Anor was no shrew. My wife was intelligent and beautiful. There was a fire that ran through her veins. Aye, she may have had a hot temper, but that was because she was a passionate woman. I gladly suffered a barb in the day to feel the fire of her passion at night.”
Roen replied coldly, “And what of your pride? To let a woman speak to you in disrespect.”
Sir Edmund chuckled. The conversation rejuvenated him. He lost many of his sickly mannerisms as he spoke. “Pride. Anor did not speak from disrespect. She voiced her opinions when she thought me wrong. Which, though ‘tis hard for another man to believe, I sometimes was. If I was too thickheaded to recognize the fact, my loving wife put it in a way that I was sure to understand.”
The older knight laughed again and gave Roen a sage look. “Mark you, I’m as prideful as the next man, but pride does not keep a man warm at night. Some advice to take to heart, young man, it does no harm to admit a mistake now and again. And a wife is more than happy to compensate for a loss of pride.”
Roen gave an indignant sniff. A small part of him wondered what it would be like to be consumed in Lenora’s blazing passion. He had tasted its intensity in battle. What would it be like in the marriage bed?
