by Lynn Wood
Rhiann rolled over, wrapped herself up in the heavy quilts to replace her husband’s warmth and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was almost mid-day before Rhiann slowly emerged from her deep slumber. She snuggled deeper beneath the warmth of the quilts, noting the fire in the hearth barely provided any warmth at all to the room. Embers were all that was left of the large logs Nathan threw on the fire before he left earlier. Bright sunlight pierced the crease between the heavy drapes drawn across the window. She sat up abruptly in bed. From the strength of the sunlight she guessed it must be close to mid-day. She was shocked at her own laziness, and then quickly brushed aside her feelings of guilt, blaming her ordeal for her exhaustion. That and the fact it was very late before Nathan let her sleep last night.
She blushed at the memory of their shared intimacy and shifted experimentally. She was painfully sore, but she thought she could indeed still rise from the bed. She was a married woman now. The thought filled her with a sense of dazed incredulity and she wondered what she was supposed to do. Nathan said her only duty was to rest. Well, she already spent half the day in bed so she supposed she better rise and see what awaited her in this new Norman world. Maybe the king would release Nathan from his service today and they could go home.
Cheered by the thought, Rhiann rose gingerly from the bed and donned a heavier robe than the one the queen gave her for her wedding night. She found the tattered shreds of her nightgown on the floor and blushing profusely at the memory of Nathan tearing the gown off of her, quickly swept up the remnants.
She folded them along with the robe the queen gave her and shoved them both at the bottom of the large chest at the opposite side of the room, underneath her husband’s heavy breeches and socks. She didn’t want a servant to see them. She shivered in the robe the housekeeper lent her for her first night in London and laid a fresh log on the fire, wondering if she could call for a bath, thinking the warm water might ease her tenderness somewhat. A soft knock came at the door just as she debated the thought. At her answer, the housekeeper peeked in the opening, and seeing she was awake entered the room carrying a tray of food.
“I’ve ordered a bath for you as well.” The older woman informed her, eyeing her closely. Rhiann got the impression the housekeeper was checking to see how she fared in the bed of her Norman husband. Truthfully Rhiann had no complaint to offer and would not have done so even if she did. Satisfied apparently by what she saw in Rhiann’s face, the other woman set the tray of food at a small table in the corner of the room.
Rhiann suddenly realized she was ravenous, probably because she was too nervous to eat anything the previous evening. She thanked the woman for her consideration and sat down to break her long fast. A large tub was carried in moments later and filled with steaming water. Rhiann eyed the bath longingly as she ate, then dismissed the housekeeper, slipped out of her robe, and sank gratefully into the tub.
Her hair was washed the day before so she could enjoy her bath without tending again to the long strands. She lingered in the tub until the water began to turn cold and then reluctantly rose; dressed in one of the new chemises and gowns the little dressmaker delivered to her yesterday, eyed distastefully the too small slippers, and pulled on her stockings.
Sitting in front of the mirror, she brushed the tangles caused by Nathan’s rough treatment from her long hair, surprised she felt not so very different from the day before. She was a woman now and no longer an innocent girl. She shivered at the memories of her husband’s intimate touch against her skin, blushed at the thought of him inside of her, the way she pleaded with him to come to her.
She was his wife now. It was her duty to give herself to him. Rhiann hoped her parents did not judge her too harshly from where they watched from heaven. Their union was blest by the church. Surely God would understand. What choice did she have?
Nathan was finding it difficult to focus on the important task of turning ordinary men into the ruthless, precise core of William’s feared army. Memories of his young wife’s soft skin and womanly scent kept distracting him. He would recall himself to the present only to find his mind drifting back short moments later to the feel of her naked body beneath his, her soft whispers begging him not to stop caressing her, her green eyes filled with tears and a mixture of fear and awed amazement as each fresh sensation washed over her. Nathan shook the memories aside once more only to discover his men watching him expectantly, obviously waiting for him to complete the instructions he began moments ago.
Nathan was appalled at his lack of discipline. He couldn’t recall what order he was intent on imparting to his men before thoughts of his dainty little wife intruded into his mind. His men were struggling to control the grins flirting across their lips as their previously ruthless commander seemed to be having difficulty recalling his thoughts. Nathan hoped his new affliction was not a permanent one. If so, his enemies would have little trouble wresting his new estates from him in his newly acquired imbecilic state. Fortunately, the thought of his new wealth and the responsibilities accompanying it were enough to restore his focus.
His men were no longer fighting grins when an hour later a member of the king’s personal guard approached seeking a moment of Nathan’s attention. The soldiers gratefully accepted the momentary respite as their lord turned his attention to the newcomer. The man’s manner was almost fearfully respectful at the sight of the scowl Nathan greeted him with and he rushed to deliver his message. “There is a man at the gates seeking word of your wife. He claims to have a message from her family.”
Nathan’s scowl deepened at the news of another man requesting his wife’s attention. Rhiann was his. Her family was dead. He was her family now. She belonged to him. She was his wife, his property. No one and no message could change that.
He nodded abruptly in response to the king’s soldier and turned his attention in the direction the messenger indicated. There was not a man seeking his wife, but several and surprisingly there didn’t appear to be a Saxon in the bunch. They appeared to be members of one of the nomadic tribes that crisscrossed the countryside, calling no single place home.
Curious, Nathan’s eyes swept over their proud, weathered faces. These men were not poor refugees but proud warriors, richly dressed and sat astride horses a knight would willingly offer a year’s wages for. Nathan knew of them or thought he did. They were members of the Salusian tribe, and took their name from the pure-bred Salusian stallions they bred and trained, and that were the source of their wealth.
Nathan could admire their mounts even as his mind puzzled over what they could possibly want with his wife. He supposed if any of Rhiann’s family survived they could have paid the Salusians to take a message to her. The nomadic tribes were not interested in the wars between landed barons and took no sides. For this reason they were left largely alone to go about their own lives. The other reason of course was the horses they could sometimes be persuaded to part with for the right, but always ridiculously high prices, they charged.
There was an extra horse among them. A black-as-night stallion who stood proudly in their midst, suffering no rider to mount him. If they were of a mind to sell him Nathan would be among the bidders. He would need to begin breeding his own horses to expand his new stables now he was the master of his own estates.
Nathan gestured for Archibald to continue with the training session and strode towards the men looking for his wife. One dismounted at his approach. The others seemed content to remain astride their horses, seeming as much a part of them as if they were another arm or leg.
“You have a message for my wife?” Nathan made no attempt to conceal his fresh irritation at the thought of any other man seeking Rhiann’s attention, even if it was only to deliver a message from her family. He wondered at his fierce possessiveness over a woman whose very existence he was unaware of a few short days ago, but dismissed the thought as unworthy of his attention. She was his wife, his property. He was always fiercely possessive. When a
man possessed so little to truly call his own, he held fast to what was his and learned the value of each precious item in his small collection.
Rhiann was a rare treasure. One he expected he would face several challenges over and he would accept each one and overcome it whatever the price. Such a treasure was worth whatever expense a man was required to pay to preserve it. Nathan accepted this truth without rancor, but admittedly he had not expected to face such a challenge the morning after his wedding night. Memories of which even now intruded unwelcome into his thoughts. He squelched them ruthlessly, telling himself he would do well to get over this strange weakness quickly before his inattention got him killed.
The messenger stood silently regarding him, obviously aware of Nathan’s inner battle and merely waited for him to return his focus to the matter at hand. When Nathan’s frown deepened at the continued silence, the man finally responded. “Yes, my lord. Though we had not heard Lady Rhiann was wed.”
Nathan took the man’s mild comment as a challenge and responded in kind. “The lady is my wife by the king’s command and with the blessing of the church. Who sends this message to my wife?”
“The lady’s grandmother, my lord. May we see Lady Rhiann to deliver it?” The man’s words were a demand, thinly veiled in the guise of a polite request. It was obvious he was unhappy at the prospect of being in the position of having to ask a Norman lord for permission for anything. For some reason testing his permission for anything concerning Rhiann seemed to irritate him more than it should.
Nathan was immediately suspicious. Rhiann never mentioned a grandmother when the king questioned her about her family; only that her mother was only half Saxon. Was this message from her maternal grandmother or her father’s mother? He was half inclined to send this arrogant stranger on his way, but after the trials she suffered Nathan wouldn’t deny his wife word of her family. He acknowledged to himself he would have to allow this, though in truth he would rather this man take his message and return to wherever it was he came from. He turned and with a gesture summoned his squire.
“Yes my lord?”
“Return to the castle and inform my wife there is a messenger here claiming to have word for her from her grandmother. If she wishes to hear this message, you will escort her here.”
“Yes, my lord.”
They waited in silence for Rhiann’s response, neither man making any effort to break it. Nathan guessed the man in front of him was closer to Duke William’s age than his own. His skin was bronzed from long hours in the sun, and roughened by the elements. His shoulders were broad and lean muscles rippled beneath the linen shirt he wore. The man was seemingly unaffected by the biting wind and cold temperatures. He wore a thin sword at his waist and a dagger strapped to his arm. The confidence with which they were displayed was a warning to those who would test his skills that he was adept at both.
Nathan would see to it his wife did not get close enough for the stranger to harm her with either. He noted the other man was giving him the same frank assessment. The look in his chocolate eyes measured the likely strengths and potential weaknesses of his opponent. Nathan didn’t recall his name or even if one was offered. More likely, he admitted with an inner sigh of frustration, introductions were proffered and his mind was too consumed at the time with memories of his wedding night and his wife’s innocent response to his manly insistence. One thought led to another and…
“My lord.” Rhiann’s soft, familiar voice sounded more real than the misty memories playing through his mind, and she certainly didn’t address him so formally the previous night. He looked towards the soft sound only to find his wife in a deep curtsey at his knees, her fair head bent respectfully before him.
He admitted he found the sight of her at his knees not an unpleasing one, and then bent to assist her to her feet, only to discover the cloak she wore was barely adequate against the wind. She was shivering with cold. He thought to offer her his own, realized he wasn’t wearing one and sent his squire to retrieve it.
“Rhiann, what are you wearing? Surely you have a heavier cloak for winter?”
Rhiann looked puzzled by his question. Her eyes kept darting nervously to the man waiting to speak with her. He could damn well wait. Nathan wasn’t about to let his innocent little wife catch a chill and die – at least not before she gave him a son and heir.
His squire returned with his cloak and Nathan draped it around her, tucking it closely under her chin. His wife was regarding him as if he was feeble minded, even as she tried to lift the extra feet of cloth off the muddy ground while he continued to pull the fabric tighter across her slender form.
He caught the puzzled look she exchanged with the stranger, saw the fleeting smile flash across the other man’s face before the Salusian carefully schooled his features back into an expressionless mien. Irritated at having been caught being considerate of his wife, Nathan returned to the source of his frustration. “Well wife?”
“Well what? And my name is Rhiann, not wife.”
So much for her little reverent gesture of wifely submission upon her arrival. That was fine with him. He liked her spirit – especially in bed, when she…
“Nathan?”
She was gazing up at him with a look of such confusion Nathan was tempted to sweep her into his arms and carry her back to his bed and to hell with any messengers and their messages. He fought the urge as he responded to her question. “What?”
“What?” Rhiann mimicked. “Husband, you’re not making any sense.”
He couldn’t fault her for speaking the truth, but his mood darkened at the thought that after a single night spent in her arms his bride managed to transform him from a ruthless, feared warrior into a babbling idiot. His voice was therefore sharper than he intended when he responded to her question. “I asked you where your winter cloak was, wife. And I shall call you whatever I like.”
“Are you angry with me?”
Her eyes instantly filled with tears at his harsh rebuke and she quickly turned her attention to the ground at his feet so he was forced to strain to hear her whispered question. This being married was a lot more complicated than he ever imagined. He found himself feeling a sympathy he never experienced before for his father and older brother.
How was a man supposed to concentrate on important matters when he was constantly being distracted by thoughts of his wife? Now he was having to soothe her injured feelings at a perfectly rational statement on his part.
“No wife, I am not angry with you. We will discuss this later. Do you wish to hear this message from your grandmother?” He assumed reminding her of the purpose of his summons would erase the tears from her eyes. Instead she merely shrugged, her attention still directed to the ground at his feet.
He was surprised and confused by her reaction. He didn’t remember ever feeling confused before meeting his wife. He pulled her in front of him and turned his back on the messenger, his broad shoulders effectively shielding her from the stranger’s view. “Are you saying you do not wish to hear this message?”
When she merely shrugged at him again, he clamped down on his rising frustration, lifted her chin so she would be forced to look at him and instructed her mildly. “Stop shrugging at me and answer my question.” Tears filled her eyes and streamed silently down her cheeks. “For God’s sake, Rhiann…”
“Lady Rhiann.” The stranger’s gentle voice emerged in marked contrast to the clipped tones he used with Nathan. When Nathan would have rebuked him for intruding, he looked down and saw Rhiann staring at the stranger, listening to him. Nathan swallowed his annoyance at his inference.
“Lady Rhiann.” The stranger’s soft voice was no more than a whisper and his wife took a small step towards him. “Your grandmother charged me most sincerely with delivering her message to her beloved granddaughter. Would you have me return to my queen in shame for having failed of her request of me?”
Nathan watched as his wife silently shook her head and couldn’t help but admire the strang
er’s tactics. His gentle little wife wasn’t about to let this proud man return in shame to face his queen.
“What is this message?”
Nathan was pleased the man made no attempt to deliver his message privately, as Nathan had no intention of allowing such a request no matter how many tears his wife shed. It didn’t take long for him to realize his presence was irrelevant as he couldn’t understand a word of the message the man was now intently delivering to his wife.
Rhiann didn’t seem to have any trouble deciphering the rapid flow of the lyrical Salusian tongue. She nodded occasionally and responded softly in the same tongue when the stranger asked a question requiring a response. When the message was delivered the man bowed and excused himself and returned moments later carrying a jeweled box.
His wife went stiff at the sight and shook her head. Nathan reached out to place his hands on his wife’s shoulder’s, not wanting to intrude but wanting to reassure her he was there. The stranger offered her the box in his outstretched hands but Nathan noticed Rhiann made no move to accept it.
The stranger knelt in the mud and laid the box reverently at her booted feet, his head bowed. Nathan looked up to discover the stranger’s companions were watching the proceeds intently and so silently he’d forgotten they were there. The black stallion was no longer among them and Nathan looked up to see him grazing on the hillside. His own men too he noted were no longer training but had drawn subtly closer and no longer made any pretense of sharpening their battle skills. Apparently his new affliction was contagious. Everyone waited with bated breath for Rhiann’s reaction.
She stood staring down at the jeweled box. From his vantage point over her head Nathan could see the box was of incalculable value, the businessman in him noting the plump jewels would have kept him and his men fed for several long campaigns. Most women, and men for that matter, of his acquaintance would have been too enamored by the wrapping to care what was inside the box.
