‘Yes,’ he murmured, smiling. ‘And perhaps yet a little more disorder.’ He pushed back her veil and his fingers slid into her hair. Stroking. Loosening her braid. Tempting her to surrender to feeling. The warmth of his body was a long caress against hers. He lowered his head and made her wait, his lips poised an inch from hers.
‘You are a fiend,’ Rowena said. It was that or groan in anticipation. Over the wall, the rooks cawed in the forest. She fancied she could hear the clanging of the smith’s hammer on iron. She must be mistaken, for surely they were too far from the village to hear the smith.
‘I would be more of a fiend, if you’d allow it,’ he muttered. And kissed her.
Rowena kept very still. The instinct was there to take hold of those broad shoulders and cling. She had, as she remembered to her shame, done just that yesterday. She would not do it again. Eric was too sure of himself—far too much the flirt and she mustn’t give in to him so easily. Not after yesterday.
So she held herself stiffly, allowing her lips to soften, just a little. They parted of their own volition and his tongue swept inside her mouth. She gasped and—so much for her resolution—found herself reaching for his shoulders. She could kiss him, surely? Thought faded. There was only Eric’s scent—potent, masculine and oddly reassuring—and the warmth of his kiss.
He gave an appreciative murmur and the kiss drew out. Her veil was gone, it must be, for the wind was playing in her hair along with his fingers. Rowena no longer cared. The shirt she had been sewing for him fell to the grass and she pressed herself against him. A riot of wanton thoughts took her. She wanted to press her breasts to his chest. What would it feel like to lie naked with this man?
And still he kissed her. A heartbeat later she was kissing him back. They were both very thorough. It wasn’t the first time Rowena had been kissed so deeply, although it was the first time she had lost herself so completely. Mathieu had tried to kiss her in just such a way and she had pulled back, shocked. She’d been afraid of being discovered. Eric’s kiss was overwhelming, it left no room for doubts.
This was why Eric was so popular with the castle maids.
Finally, when all Rowena could hear was the thumping of her heart, she managed to break free. Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire.
Eric’s eyes gleamed. ‘There,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘As I suspected, you look so much better disordered. Truly adorable.’
‘Really, Eric, you are worse than the wind.’ Shifting along the bench, she retrieved the shirt, making sure she picked it up in such a way that he couldn’t see what it was. She wanted to surprise him with it when it was finished. Eric’s clothes, though of good quality, were very plain. Almost workmanlike, they could have been made for anyone. She wanted to make him something particular, something made especially for Sir Eric de Monfort. She set about tidying herself. ‘My hairpins are missing. What did you do with my hairpins?’
‘Can’t say I remember.’ He leaned back with a grin, her veil clutched in his fist. ‘And if I did, I wouldn’t say. You needed disordering. I couldn’t reach you before. I was beginning to worry I never would.’
‘What do you mean?’ He handed her the veil. ‘Thank you.’
Rowena looked flustered. Good. With her cheeks as pink as her lips and her hair coming loose, she looked beautiful. And adorable. Exactly as Eric had known she would. She was pretending to be angry with him. At least he hoped she was pretending, Eric didn’t like to think the anger was genuine. She had returned his kiss. His prim would-be nun was warming to him. Except that already she was rushing back into hiding. It was as if she had emerged briefly from a retreat and was racing back as quickly as she could. She is hiding again. Why?
‘Rowena?’
‘Mmm?’
‘What happened to you?’
Blue eyes looked warily up at him as she adjusted the ties on her veil. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re hard to reach and you weren’t like this as a child. What happened?’
She frowned. ‘Nothing happened. I grew up, I suppose.’
Eric looked thoughtfully at her. She’d been so open as a girl. The contrast between the happy girl he had known and this remote woman couldn’t be more marked. ‘Was it one too many clashes with your father? Is that what it was?’
She bit her lip and said nothing. Clearly, she had no wish to reply, but Eric couldn’t simply drop the subject. There were too many questions. Too many inconsistencies. How had the young Rowena turned into the woman sitting next to him on the bench? A woman who shielded herself with a manner so aloof that she tightened her lips at the first hint of light-hearted banter. And yet, mon Dieu, she could kiss. When their tongues had touched, Eric had wanted to do nothing more than drag her from the bench and take her, right there on the grass.
How to reconcile the two Rowenas—the child from the past and the woman sitting next to him?
A shocking possibility flashed through his mind. Rowena had had a lover and was no longer innocent. She had lost her virginity and was terrified of being discovered. Was that it?
He studied her, she was already looking prim again. Almost severe. Her hair was scraped back out of sight; her veil was firmly in place. It would be highly unusual for a gently bred girl—a lady—to give herself to a man outside the bonds of marriage, but it did happen. Was this why she had refused Lord Gawain? She must have been afraid of what he might do when he found out.
‘Rowena?’
Wide blue eyes lifted to his. All he could see in them was shyness and innocence, yet her kiss had been far from innocent, it had scorched him to his soul. ‘Why did you refuse Lord Gawain? He’s a personable fellow. And rich, since he inherited Meaux. Why didn’t you marry him?’
‘We agreed we didn’t suit.’
Eric lifted a brow. ‘It would have been an excellent match.’ At least it would unless Rowena was already in love with someone else. In which case, her innate honesty would have made it impossible for her to marry Lord Gawain. Certain he was on the right track, Eric forged on. ‘It was to have been a marriage of convenience, such as your father had always planned for you. It can’t have surprised you. And Lord Gawain is not an unreasonable man, he would not have mistreated you. Think of the status you would have had as Countess of Meaux and one day of Sainte-Colombe.’
‘I know.’ She twisted the cloth on her lap. ‘Eric, I couldn’t marry him. Lord Gawain had a mistress and he loved her, he loved her so much that he asked to be released from our betrothal.’ She shrugged. ‘I simply agreed.’
‘And retreat to the convent seemed like a good idea?’
She lifted her gaze and the bleakness in her eyes tugged at his heart. ‘It did at the time.’
She went on twisting the linen on her lap. Eric didn’t believe that Lord Gawain had asked to be released from his betrothal. However, the man was chivalrous to his core and if Lord Gawain discovered that Rowena was unwilling to marry him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take it upon himself to appear to have broken their agreement. Lord Gawain must have considered that Rowena was likely to bring her father’s wrath down on her head by refusing his offer. He would have wanted to protect her.
Eric shook his head. Rowena had that effect on a man, she made him want to protect her.
Eric was certain he had solved the riddle that was Rowena. She had lost her virginity and was terrified of being discovered. Who could it have been? Well, it was clearly too soon to ask her that. She wasn’t ready to answer. He sighed. He supposed he must be thankful she had become bored of playing the nun. And she did seem to be considering him as a husband. The thought of her being forced to marry Sir Breon made his skin crawl.
A blackbird was pecking about at the base of an apple tree. Eric watched it thoughtfully, all too conscious of the woman sitting next to him. Unfortunately his conclusion, that Rowena had lost her innocence, onl
y led to more questions.
If Rowena had a lover, where was he? Had he abandoned her? Was she in love with the man? It might explain why she was so skittish. Lord, the man must have been mad to have left her. If Rowena had lost her virginity, it might also explain why Lord Faramus had summoned Eric to Jutigny. Virgin brides were highly prized by noblemen who wanted to keep their bloodlines pure. A great lord would expect his young bride to be a virgin.
Icy fingers trailed down his back. Lord Faramus must have discovered that Rowena had lost her virginity. Eric’s heart sank. I am low-born. Lord Faramus has picked me out, not because he values me as a man of honour, but because he knows I have no bloodlines to speak of. I am not noble. I am no one. Count Faramus would not expect me to complain when I discovered my bride was not as innocent as she pretended. He offered Rowena to me because he considers her to be spoiled goods.
An old memory surfaced.
Eric had been cornered in the Jutigny stables shortly after being taken in by Lady Barbara. Philip, the head groom, had been brushing mud from the flanks of the count’s black stallion and Eric had been watching, fascinated. He was discovering he loved horses and he watched them whenever he could. That day, he must have made a noise for Philip turned.
‘What are you doing?’ Philip’s scowl was dark.
‘Just watching, sir.’ Eric was so new to the castle that he was still hazy on the hierarchy. To be safe, he addressed all the men as though they were knights. The idea that he might unintentionally insult a knight gave him the chills.
Philip turned his back on him and went on grooming the stallion. ‘Like looking at the horses, do you, little rat?’
The tone of Philip’s voice was so cold, Eric hesitated before he replied. He was fast learning that not everyone in the castle was as welcoming as Lady Barbara. None the less, he replied truthfully, ‘Yes, sir.’
Philip set the brush on the top of the stall and swung round. His face was full of malevolence and Eric shrank back, hitting his head on a bucket hanging from the hook.
‘Well, looking is all a gutter rat like you will ever do.’ The groom leaned over him, lip curling. ‘If you’re thinking you can work in my stable, think again.’ He pointed at the door. ‘Out. I’ll have no gutter rats in here. Find work elsewhere. The kitchen is short of scullions.’ His smile was vicious. ‘And if they won’t take you, you can clear out the midden.’
Eric pushed the memory away. Gutter rat hadn’t been the worst insult that had been flung at him, but that first encounter with blind prejudice still had the power to sting. Fortunately, not everyone at Jutigny had behaved like the head groom. He’d made friends, Sir Macaire had been one of his most staunch supporters. And he liked to flatter himself that, foundling or not, he’d earned the respect of Lord Faramus.
However there was no escaping the fact that he was low-born. Lord Faramus must have summoned him to Jutigny for that very reason.
Swallowing down his bitterness—it was galling to discover that he was valued more for his low birth than for his achievements—Eric looked into the forget-me-not-blue of Rowena’s eyes.
She gave him a shy, adorable smile. Eric couldn’t help himself, he smiled back.
If he were honest he didn’t care if Rowena wasn’t as pure as she’d been painted. He had enjoyed her company once; he knew that at heart she was kind and generous. She was pretty. No, that didn’t do her justice, she was stunning. A beauty and an heiress. And she was doing him the honour of considering him as her husband.
So what if her father had picked Eric out because he’d been a foundling? So what if Lord Faramus believed someone like Eric would be less likely to cause trouble after she was bedded and her lack of innocence had been revealed? His gaze washed over her, lingering on her breasts before he realised what he was doing. It was hard not to think about bedding her and the longer he spent with her, the harder it became. He was really looking forward to the bedding.
Something clicked into place in his head. He wanted to win her. He would win her. Even if she wasn’t the virgin he had thought her to be.
Rising, he held out his hand. ‘If you wish it, my lady, we could ride into Provins this afternoon and visit the cloth market.’
She put her hand in his. ‘Thank you, Eric, I should enjoy that.’
* * *
For Rowena the afternoon passed in a blur. Under her somewhat distracted direction, it quickly became plain that whilst Eric knew everything there was to know about horses and soldiering, he didn’t know the first thing about fabrics. They bought yards of cream linen at the market in the Lower Town. Eric had insisted on bringing an escort with them and the men were soon staggering under great bolts of cloth.
‘This one will make marvellous table linen,’ Rowena said, fingering material on one of the stalls.
‘What about that?’ Eric asked, eyeing a bolt of red.
She shook her head and found herself examining the shape of his mouth rather than the quality of the cloth. The unsettled feeling was back in her belly. It was so strange. As they discussed the merits of one fabric over another her mind kept wandering. It seemed far more interested in watching the way Eric’s mouth moved as he spoke, she had to keep forcing herself back to the job in hand. ‘That red won’t wash well,’ she told him. ‘See how open the weave is?’ She pointed at another linen with a tighter weave. ‘That is the better fabric. Or even this one.’
She shot another glance at his mouth—so fascinating—and tried not to think about how it had felt to kiss him. She wouldn’t mind another kiss. Except of course they could hardly kiss in the middle of the market.
The stallholder was watching her, a knowing look in his eyes. Feeling herself flush, Rowena touched Eric’s hand. Green eyes met hers, he was standing so close she could see the golden flecks in them. Warm fingers placed her hand on his arm. ‘My lady?’
She drew him slightly aside and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Does the world know I am staying at Monfort?’
‘Your parents know, certainly. And I believe Sir Macaire knows. The sisters at the convent too. I am not sure whether the world at large knows.’
Biting her lip, Rowena nodded.
‘There’s a problem?’
She shook her head. ‘The merchant gave me such a strange look. I was wondering if he knows who I am.’
Eric’s face seemed to freeze and under her hand she felt him go still. ‘You do not wish to be seen with me.’
‘No! Eric, please don’t think that. It was just the way he looked at me. He thinks I am your belle-amie.’
‘Would that you were,’ he muttered.
‘Eric!’
He smiled. ‘My lady, you are my guest at your father’s suggestion. Last night we observed the proprieties. If we were to be questioned, Helvise would vouch for us. As would everyone at Monfort. You need not fear for your reputation.’
They turned back to the cloth stall. Eric took Rowena’s advice and they came away with several bolts of cloth—linens for undergarments and tablecloths. A lovely green wool for a gown for her. She tried to protest.
‘Eric, I don’t think you should buy fabric for me. Since we are back in Provins, we could quite easily stop off at the convent on the way back to Monfort and pick up my things.’
His mouth firmed. ‘No.’
The vehemence of his response wrong-footed her. ‘Why ever not?’
‘The sisters won’t let me go in with you, will they?’
‘Not into the sleeping quarters, no.’
‘Then you are not going back there.’
She frowned. He looked so concerned that she realised he must be thinking about her father’s land. He was worrying about losing his prize. She found herself rushing to reassure him. ‘Eric, I will come out again, I promise.’
‘You are not going into that convent.’
&nb
sp; Recognising finality in his eyes, Rowena shrugged. She wasn’t about to start brawling in the market. ‘Very well.’
His expression lightened. ‘You will allow me to buy the green worsted?’
‘If you wish.’
They bought threads and new needles.
‘You ought to have that too,’ Eric said, pointing as they walked past another cloth stall. ‘The blue matches your father’s colours.’ He leaned in, mouth curving suggestively. ‘And your eyes.’
‘It cannot have escaped you that the blue is a match for your colours too,’ Rowena said drily. ‘In any case, it looks like samite—silk from the East.’
‘You don’t like samite?’
‘You can’t buy me that, it’s far too costly. I have not yet given my formal agreement to our marriage.’
‘So you will not allow me to dress you in blue?’
‘Not yet. I am only allowing you to buy me the green fabric because I have to wear something and you will not permit me to collect my belongings from the convent.’
He heaved a great sigh. ‘When we are married I will buy you the blue samite.’ He gave her a little bow. ‘Rowena, you will have to give me your agreement soon.’ The golden flecks danced in his eyes. ‘I shall pine away if you withhold it.’
Rowena bit her lip to keep in her smile, it seemed he couldn’t stop flirting for longer than a moment. ‘Eric, you don’t have to court me all the time. We are meant to be buying fabric.’
‘So? That doesn’t mean we have to bore ourselves to death whilst we are doing it, does it? I enjoy wooing you.’
Her heart thumped. Truth be told, she liked it too. Far more than she imagined she would. She particularly liked the kissing part. Shooting a furtive glance at his mouth, she was sure there was another kiss for her there. Whenever she wanted. She only had to ask, Eric seemed determined to win her.
She had much to learn, of course. Thus far, each time they had kissed it had been at his instigation. What must she do to signal that she wanted another kiss?
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