by York, Ashley
"Yes, my lord."
"The king is two day's ride from here and he will want to see more men added as well. How will we know who to trust?" Peter's question held validity.
"Trust only the ones we have known. No one else."
Chapter Thirteen
As John approached the castle, a group of children played beside the water surrounding the stone edifice. A circle of five little girls and one little red-haired boy walked around in a circle as they sang.
"Ring around, ring around." The little blonde girl sang her heart out, her head tipped back, her mouth gaping open. "Alive-ee live oh."
An auburn-haired child with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose broke away from her friends to stand beside the road as he passed. She smiled.
"Good day, my lord."
He smiled back and tipped his head. He remembered the girl from the first night he had stayed at the Owl and Thistle. She'd left a rose on his pillow before Felicity had hurried her off.
"Thank you again for the rose, Matilda."
The little blonde girl's jaw dropped. She said in a loud whisper, "His lordship knows your name?'
John laughed. He was someone of importance now.
John dismounted and called together the men still remaining at the castle to keep them abreast of what was happening. They needed to be forewarned of the trouble they were facing.
"The attacks are laid at our feet, even if we had nothing to do with them." He looked into each man's eyes, loyalty and honor etched on their heart. "We need to convince the Saxons we are on their side. And that we don't condone this type of treatment."
"My lord, how can we prove it is not us?"
"There is only one way. By looking out for their interests above our own."
The men's gazes did not waiver. They understood what he was asking.
"I need twelve men dispatched immediately. Philip will apprise you of what is needed when you arrive at the camp."
In short order, the men were divided. The remaining thirteen were to remain diligent and especially attentive to any talk around them in case something could be discovered about the attacks.
Entering the Great Hall, John sought out his wife and found her in front of the fire with her head bent over an embroidery frame. As he approached, her quiet humming drifted to him. Stopping a few feet away, he decided to watch her. Her delicate hands nimbly pierced the needlework of green and red vines, carefully working the piece that would one day grace the walls.
Around the hall, on all sides, were similar tapestries, intricately created. He had noticed them before. The skill of the needlepoint was unquestionable. He swelled with pride that his wife was so talented. Her humming stopped abruptly when she tangled her thread, her face becoming intensely focused as she tried to dislodge the knot.
"Damn." She pierced herself with the needle. Putting her index finger to her mouth, he knew the exact moment she caught sight of him. She seemed to freeze. He willed her to keep her eyes on him as he slowly closed the distance between them. He sat on the bench across from her, choosing to continue his observations of her.
"You look well," he said.
"I have been better." She indicated her bleeding finger.
He took her hand. She tensed, yet her face showed no emotion. Blood gathered at the top of her finger, and he put it into his own mouth. Her chest rose as she gasped, her eyes trained on his mouth. He sucked lightly. Her head rose, and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if she were resisting what she felt. When he took her finger out of his mouth, her glazed eyes seemed to clear and she stared back at him. Recognizing her desire, he fought the smile tugging at his lips. Undeniable. Her breathing ragged, she started to pull her hand back, but he resisted and turned his focus again to her injury.
Holding the finger at eye level between them, he watched her face from the corner of his eye. The blood again pooled and he looked past it to see her face as he again sucked the blood from her finger. Her chest swelled with her deep, slow breath. He licked the digit in his mouth. Her breathing became more shallow and she fought to keep her eyes focused.
Absolutely indisputable.
Like a bolt of lightning, the reality struck him. He had not been wrong about her. She did desire him. She had lied about finding his odor offensive and him needing a bath. The smile came, and he could not help the satisfaction he felt. She had hidden her desire all along. She saw his smile, and her face scrunched up in confusion. He withdrew her finger slightly.
"I'm afraid you may bleed to death," he stated simply.
"So you smile?" She sounded more sarcastic than upset. Her eyes darkened.
"That is not why I smile."
"Then, pray tell, what do you find so enjoyable?"
Debating the best course of action, he glanced around the hall with the many people milling about and realized it was not the best time or place to force his advantage. He could afford to be patient now that he knew her true feelings. He suffered from the same ailment. They could help each other, but not now. Now there was too much between them to be settled. He could afford to wait.
"To be this close to you makes me smile. Is that so bad a thing?" He could see her withdrawal even though she did not move. "There." He turned her finger toward her, showing the blood had stopped. "I never questioned your ability to survive."
He pulled her chin to him and kissed her lightly on the lips. He pulled back slightly and looked deeper into her eyes. Slowly closing the distance between them, he held her gaze until his lips moved more forcibly against her own. He tried to convey the hint of passion they would share, to try and wipe away any memories that were not of him, and to imbue it with the promise of what their married life would soon consist of.
He finally drew away. Her lashes fluttered open, silver eyes turned to smoky gray. He smiled again and left the hall. He could certainly wait now that he knew there would be a satisfactory ending to his abstinence. Mayhap this very night.
In the kitchen, he glanced around at the many people working in preparation for the evening meal. It took a minute to find the gray-haired woman he knew to be the cook.
"Ah, Ada, there you are."
"Yes, my lord? Did you need something?"
"I need information. You know the whereabouts of most of the inhabitants you cook for?"
"I do, my lord. I have to make enough food."
"Arthur? Can you tell me his whereabouts?"
"He is gone, sir."
John frowned. Left the castle? "How long has he been gone?"
"He left shortly after you did. Said he had king's business."
John knew the king was just returning from Normandy and could not have sent word to Arthur except through him. Arthur had given his allegiance to William right after his crowning. He'd been part of a mass dedication ceremony where even the Scottish King Malcolm, came to swear his fealty. That was when Arthur had been given the commission to look after the territory until William decided to give it to John. Arthur had been here with no one to oversee him.
When John took Rowena to wife, he had given no thought to any change in men. He stayed with the men William put in place. John wasn't sure what the king saw in the man, if he had done anything to gain his trust. He imagined regular reports were sent to the king since they had not been sent to him.
He wondered how Rowena felt about Arthur's absence. Turning back toward the door he had just entered, he considered the wisdom of approaching his wife on the subject. Better not to stir up that hornet's nest right now.
"Thank you for your help, Ada."
"My pleasure, my lord. Oh—"
John turned toward the woman.
"Felicity was asking for you."
Perplexed at the name, hearing it out of context, it took him a minute to remember the woman from the inn. "Yes?"
Ada stepped closer and lowered her voice, her eyes intent upon him. "She just sends her greetings."
He watched the gray-haired woman waddle back to the fire at the f
ar end of the kitchen. John had not the slightest clue as to why Felicity would send a message to him. He snorted at the absurdity of women and continued back into the Great Hall. Rowena's seat was now empty. He knew she had probably retired to her chamber. His lip curled slightly when he remembered the look of longing in her eyes after his kiss. His conquest gave him great satisfaction until he felt again that raw craving surge through him. It had been a very long time. He hoped he would be able to win her over before he burst with his own desire.
Chapter Fourteen
Safe in the privacy of her bedchamber and out of sight of curious eyes, Rowena gave in to her desire to moan as she closed her eyes and felt again the touch of her husband's lips on her own. Firm and demanding with a hint of something she longed for but could not name. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. What should she do? She knew what her body wanted and those longings came to life every night as she slept alone.
In her dreams, John came to her as naked and stunning as he had looked beside the tub. She was no longer afraid but desperate to have him press himself against her, touch her. Despite the satisfaction she felt in his arms, she would awaken with her body on fire, aching with desire. How could she have these feelings for a man she barely knew? Did he have the same feelings for her?
The clash of swords drew her to the window. In the practice area below, her husband ran through his daily regimen. A disciplined soldier, every plane on his body was rock hard as he slashed at the straw stuffed body hanging from an iron hook. He removed his sweat covered tunic. Her mouth went dry. She leaned her forehead against the cold stone wall, her breath coming quicker as his movements got more forceful. People were gathering in the area to watch the lord of the castle as he practiced with such intensity but Rowena gave them little attention. Her gaze focused on her husband. He lunged and stretched, his muscles glistening with sheer power, bulging with each thrust to the headless sack.
Even from this distance, Rowena could see that John was breathing heavily when he stepped away from the practice dummy. John smiled as a man covered with hay and leather approached him, his sword drawn. Rowena could not hear the words but the crowd that had gathered laughed at John's comment which caused his opponent to tip down the visor on his heavy helmet. She saw her own Saxon warriors gathering around, admiring John's ability as well.
John was relentless in his attack. His sparring partner thrust and deflected as sword then bare hands were used against him. Her men were silent, intent on watching the fight. Bulging muscles engulfed the man before being able to free himself from John's attack. Splaying her fingers around the window sill, she leaned closer. The sweat poured from John's body causing his skin to glisten in the setting sun. With closed eyes, she would swear she could actually smell him.
She opened her eyes in time to see one last shove, and John had the man beneath him, his arm pressed against the man's neck. The other man raised his hands in surrender. The crowd cheered at their lord’s prowess. Her own men raised their voices in a heartfelt "Hizzah!"
Rowena took a shaky breath and started to pull back but John turned unexpectedly toward her window. His eyes locked onto hers and she could not move. Time seemed to stand still as she watched his lean body shake with the intensity of his work out. His breathing labored. She could almost feel his breath against her skin.
"My lady?" Rowena jumped and pulled away from the window at the sound of Joan coming through her door. The woman looked taken aback to find her mistress almost hanging out the window and breathing heavily.
Trying to appear nonchalant, Rowena walked unsteadily toward Joan. "Yes?"
"What is amiss?"
"Naught—there is naught amiss." Rowena responded with irritation. She pushed the hair away from her face and felt the dampness against her neck.
Shaking her head slightly, Joan continued. "I have news for you, my lady."
"News?" Rowena tried again to focus. "I have a great thirst. Could you see to that first?"
Joan dipped her head in acknowledgement and headed back out the door. Sitting on her bed, Rowena closed her eyes to relive the look on her husband's face. Desire. She would have been a virgin no more if she had been any closer to him. She knew it in his look. He wanted her right then and there. A ripple of anticipation shot up her body.
By the time Joan returned, Rowena had composed herself adequately. Taking a long draw of the cider, Rowena raised her eyebrows expectantly at her friend. "Yes, Joan? What news have you?"
"It is your husband."
Rowena's brows quickly came together at that answer. "What of him?"
"Well, he has a room at the Owl and Thistle."
Feeling like the air had been knocked out of her, Rowena asked, "Why does he have a room at the inn?"
Joan looked around uncomfortably before she finally met her eyes. "Perhaps he does not feel welcome here?"
Rowena considered what welcome meant and what her friend tried not to say. When she understood her meaning, she felt her own cheeks grow hot. "You mean he has been going there for womanly companionship?"
"It would appear so."
"You believe he would break his vows so easily?"
Joan's expression said it all. She not only believed it but expected it. Rowena turned from her friend before the tears filled her eyes. How naïve. To think that the wedding vows they had made would keep him from seeking another's company. She was probably the only one in the castle who didn't know of his liaisons. No doubt he'd had many bed partners over the years. He was a virile man with physical needs. It was not unheard of for a man to seek his release outside of his marriage. It was just embarrassing to have him do it with her own people. She believed him to be more caring than that.
"My lady?" Joan laid her hand gently on Rowena's rounded shoulder. Her compassion made her desolation seem so much worse.
"Leave me." There was a catch in her throat.
Joan did not question it."Yes, my lady." Joan paused at the open door. "I thought you would want to know."
Rowena kept her back to her friend but nodded. The sob caught in her throat and when she heard the door close, she threw herself on her bed. How could she believe he would not take another to bed? He certainly did not come to her. Desire had clearly been on his face. Yet he was not here.
Rowena sat up on her bed, filling with rage at the injustice. She looked around. "No, he is not here. Then where is he?" She shouted her question to the empty room. Covering her face with her hands, Rowena wept bitterly. First he left her physically alone with the distance of an ocean between them and now he leaves her to find anyone else he can.
Lying on her back, she remembered how he had looked at her when he saw to her pricked finger. His eyes had spoken volumes about his desire. Then why did he not take her? He was seeing to his needs with another.
Chapter Fifteen
John rubbed the towel against his sweaty neck and chest as Mark repeated what he had heard. The harsh reality of his world had come tumbling down when he had been interrupted from his determined trek to his wife's chamber by the man before him now. John knew the exact minute that Rowena had started watching him. He had actually felt her eyes on him. He had been determined to beat his desire for her out of him by sheer exhaustion but when his eyes had locked onto her, he had known he'd lost this most important of battles. He needed to have his wife beneath him, receiving his need or he would die.
"The men had been bribed, two and three shillings apiece for each village. The victims were not known to the men. Their leader made sure of that."
"And their leader? Was there a name?"
"Only the description of a tall, red-haired man. I do not believe they knew his name. The men had been selected because of their family size and need. These men did the job so they could provide for their families. It was that simple."
"That is not simple."
"No, my lord." Mark lowered his eyes. "It is cruel to keep men starving and reward them for doing murder for you.
"But where did he
get the money?"
Mark looked John in the face. "I have also heard a Godwinson has returned from Ireland."
John saw again the silver eyes of Rowena's father. "Ireland? How can that be? They were all killed in battle."
"Not all. One of the sons, your wife's cousin, is said to have survived."
The fighting over the English throne had been intense with four men laying claim to the throne. John knew that only William was the rightful heir. He had been given the claim by Edward himself. True, word of Edward's choice had been brought to Normandy by Harold Godwin who then claimed the throne for himself at Edward's death. It was always the same with bastards. Despite William's right to the throne through his father, as a bastard son, many would gainsay that right until totally false claims to the throne were recognized instead. A bastard never had a chance in this world. John knew that firsthand.
"We must catch these men in the act to prove our case."
"I have a plan, my lord."
"Speak freely."
Mark squatted and drew a crude map of John's lands in the dirt. "Here are the villages that have been attacked." The x's marked the spots and John could smell again the stink of burning bodies, the memory of the total devastation they had encountered. "This is the village that will be next. We need only wait them out there."
John saw the sense of what the man said. These attackers were not being very crafty. There was a straight line between all the villages. He was right. That would be the next village laid to waste.
"I need to get to Peter and tell him what we have learned." Standing up, John pulled his tunic on over his head. "See to my horses and gather our men. We ride out tonight."
"My lord," John turned back to the man, "perhaps we should wait until morning. If we come across the men in the night, we will have missed our opportunity to catch them in the act."
Considering this, John's glance went unbidden to the now empty window of his wife's chamber. "You are right. But you must get word to Peter this night."
