"Yes, I've noticed you're a grown woman. I am dead, not blind. As to the rest, I will regard this abuse as female petulance because I expressed the wantonness of your behavior." He pointed a finger at her. "Rest assured, letting that oaf touch you with such familiarity guarantees he feels he will have his way with you sooner or later."
"How did you come to that conclusion? Please enlighten me. Did you feel you had the right every time you touched a woman's bodice?"
"Since you ask, I never had to bumble about with bodices like some beardless youth. The outcome was never in any doubt." Basil smiled in a most annoyingly superior way.
He was the most maddening man she'd ever met. "How perceptive of you. So you're saying no woman ever told you no? They all just hung around with their knees up waiting for you to ravish them?"
"In their own way, yes."
"Really?" Elinor drawled.
"You think I'm lying?"
"No, I think you are a pompous ass."
Basil shrugged. "Perhaps." He scrutinized her with the hauteur of a noble dealing with a troublesome villein.
"What has your back up, Elinor? It's not because I said you behaved like a wanton. If that had been the reason you'd have told me I was all wet and gone about your business, you often do."
“Fine, you’re all wet.” She got up and poured a glass of wine. She grabbed a book from the mantle and sat in another chair, pretending to read.
Basil pressed on. "There's a strange pattern to your ire, and I think it's related to my past. The more I tell you, the more piqued you become. Why is that, I wonder?"
Her refusal to spare him even a cursory glance while she pretended to read failed. He was so damn full of himself she couldn't let the conversation go.
"You say Jeremy warrants a flogging for fondling me, then it's logical I do too since I didn’t stop him. Tell me, do you think it's all right to beat a woman?"
"I’ve met some who would benefit from a thrashing. But no, I don't feel it's right for a man to strike a woman, even if she deserves it." He looked away briefly, "I didn't beat my betrothed, even after I discovered she'd given herself to another man while I attended to matters at court."
Anger and hurt washed over Elinor. Basil had been engaged. For some inexplicable reason she felt betrayed. He was a ghost, yes, but he was her ghost. It was easy to talk about his life and see him as a noble knight he’d been. Even envisioning him surrounded by beautiful women wasn't difficult to accept. But picturing him with a specific woman, the woman who'd have his children, who'd grow old with him, was another thing entirely.
"You were betrothed? You were going to be married?" Questions tumbled out. Her voice notched higher and she lost the battle to discuss his fiancé with any logic. "You said you didn't believe in love. Did you love her?"
"There was never any love between us,” he said in a flat tone. “She was a well bred lady and I had no quarrel with the negotiations between our families. I required a wife who'd be able to run my large household and provide an heir. She seemed capable. If our coupling proved less than adequate, I could satisfy my needs elsewhere."
"What did she look like?" Elinor already knew the answer. A man like Basil wouldn't be engaged to anyone less than a raving beauty. The thought nagged at her.
"I find it odd to speak of her. It has been such a very long time and I rarely thought of her when I lived." He closed his eyes, a deep furrow formed between his brows. "Fair of face, she had blue eyes or green, light anyway, and blonde curls to her waist. I recall her skin appeared...I believe the word you’d use today is translucent. Perfect really."
"What was her name?"
"Gwendolyn," Basil said, opening his eyes.
"Gwendolyn," Elinor repeated the name in a sugary voice.
The fact that Gwendolyn was peaches and cream fair to Elinor's more Mediterranean appearance fueled her feelings of betrayal. Her hurt was childish and silly, but she didn't care. "Why do men always want blondes? What is it about them that sets men all atwitter? Stick big breasts on them and you're hopeless!"
Basil fixed a look on her so hard Elinor turned away and tried to focus on the book in her lap. When she braved a glance up, he sat smirking.
"Elinor, are you jealous?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Why would I be jealous of some woman who's been dead for over six hundred years?" Elinor wasn't sure what she felt, but it certainly wasn't jealousy. "Why would it matter to me if you married? I’m surprised, that's all. You don't seem the marrying kind."
"Why does Gwendolyn's prettiness offend you?"
Elinor squirmed under Basil's analytical scrutiny.
"Do you not believe yourself comely?"
She stared at her book, her eyes not moving, fingers not turning the pages.
Basil leaned into her line of sight and kept leaning until she grumbled and closed the book. "Your lovely russet hair catches the golden light of the sun. You have a full mouth that invites a man's kiss, even when you stick your lower lip out, as you are now. Although rather French, the beauty dot by your lovely lips is most pleasing. Surely, you must know how extraordinary your eyes are. Like a changelings, they go from deep green to near gold, depending on your mood. Your breasts are lovely, creamy and firm; they sit nice and high."
Elinor sat quiet for a moment thinking about what he'd said. "When did you see my breasts? Have you watched me dress?"
"Only once. By accident." Basil didn’t elaborate.
"That's voyeuristic." Part of her was flattered, but she certainly wasn't going to tell him. No, she should be angry with him and was-or so she told herself. Her inner voice whispered she was really angry because of Gwendolyn. A fact she didn’t feel the need to address in front of Basil.
"What about you?" She twisted to face Guy and with her best school teacher, disciplinarian mien, "Have you also watched?"
Guy jumped at her sudden query. Looking guilty, but acting unashamed, he confessed, "I am no monk."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I might have seen you. I don't walk around with my eyes closed. It’s possible I have passed by when you left the shower."
From the corner of her eye she saw Basil make some frantic hand signals.
Guy went blithely on, "I find your body most appealing, although your bottom is not as round as I would prefer, a bit on the flat side. You do have fine legs, and I like your other little beauty mark, the one on your breast, quite intriguing." He smiled first at her, then at Basil.
Basil attempted to salvage the situation with what he must’ve considered the best of all possible compliments. "You have good hips for child birth. You are hale,” he looked over at Guy who encouraged him with a firm nod, “and hearty. A man knows he could make strong sons with you."
"Hearty? You find me hearty? Unbelievable! Both of you, stay out of my bathroom and my bedroom.” She glared at Basil. "And for the record, I'm not in the least hearty, you big toad." Elinor threw the book down and stomped upstairs, slamming the bedroom door.
Baffled, Basil shook his head. "She seems upset. Why? Did I not compliment her eyes, her hair, her breasts?"
He got up and walked to where Guy sat. "What are you doing?"
"Playing backgammon with myself. I rather like it, I'm winning." At the sound of Elinor's heavy footsteps, Guy tilted his head toward the ceiling.
Basil pulled a high back chair over to the table. "Reset the board, I'll play a round while her temper cools." He sat rubbing his chin as Guy set up the game. "Perhaps we missed something she wanted us to flatter her about, though I cannot think of anything we forgot."
"There are times you flatter a lady, yet she takes offense for no apparent reason. Since there's never any logic involved, a man can make no sensible argument or defense,” Guy said and rolled a four-three. “She becomes like a dog with a bone.” He brought two checkers down to midpoint, positioning for a quick blockade.
Risky and bold, this early in the game, Basil thought as he planned his strategy.
"I
f you try to show her the error in her thinking, you will find yourself like that bone my friend--shredded," Guy said, as Basil rolled his dice.
Chapter Seventeen
Elinor awoke the next morning still peeved. Basil’s reference to her as hearty trumped her unacknowledged jealousy over his engagement. “Hale and hearty,” the words were burned in her brain. How could the thick-headed dope think that was a compliment?
After a fast shower, she dried off at warp speed. Wrapped in the towel, she took a quick spin around her bedroom and the hall. If she felt the tiniest tingle or tickle on her skin, there was going to be big trouble for two ghosts. Satisfied she had privacy, she returned to the bedroom. She dropped the towel and stared at her naked reflection in the full length mirror. She turned to the right. “Not bad, tummy’s flat, titties firm and high,” she said, jiggling them. Then, facing front, “my hips look okay, no big bulges.” She lifted one arm to the side and wiggled it, “no bat wings, nothing wobbly,” she repeated the action with the other arm. She turned her backside to the mirror and groaned. “All right, not my best angle. It’s not a perky bum, flattish, but far from hearty.” With a sigh, she decided it served no purpose to dwell on the matter. The sun was out. The weather was beautiful. The woods seemed like a good place to relax. She dressed and headed that way.
****
Elinor sat cross-legged on a dry patch she found on the forest floor with a handful of walnuts. A grey squirrel watched her from a nearby alder tree. For several minutes, she held the nut out and made what she believed were excellent squirrel chirps. The grey hesitated at the base of the tree before scurrying over to sniff the offering. Deeming it suitable, he delicately removed it from her fingers and dashed off.
Out of the corner of her eye Elinor saw Basil appear. He sat down just as the grey hopped over to take another nut.
"Trusting little fellow."
“Yes, he came down rather fast considering they don't come in contact with many people." Elinor remained still so the squirrel wouldn't be scared off.
As though sensing Basil's ghostly presence, the squirrel laid his half-eaten walnut down and scampered over. He sniffed furiously, sat on his haunches and chittered at Basil. The noisy chirping continued for about a minute before he stopped and appeared to wait. Apparently concluding he wasn't going to get anything worthwhile, he showed his backside, gave his tail several hard shakes and scurried back to the walnut.
Elinor leaned close to Basil. "I believe there was a rude comment about you in that tail action."
"Probably still bears a grudge over the squirrel-trimmed cloak I gave my mother one year." He peered over Elinor's shoulder and noticed her little walnut pile.
Basil shifted so he knelt on one knee and pointed to the nuts in her hand. "Do you want to know an old custom of ours?"
"I'd love to."
He placed his hand over hers so she'd close her fingers. "We used acorns, but walnuts will do. You throw a handful into the air and make as many wishes as you can before the first one lands."
Elinor stood and threw upward as high as she could. The squirrel's ears perked as the nuts landed softly in the leaves. "I got three wishes in. I've never heard of that custom."
"I'd be surprised if you had. I just made it up. I needed to lure you away from your woodland friends so you’d go for a walk with me." Basil extended his hand, and they strolled along the bank of the stream.
The mist hung thicker and heavier in the places where the stream widened. The trees formed a canopy, thinning only where the spring sunlight filtered through. The alder leaves had a silver hue in the light, intermingling for a pretty mix with the greens of the oaks and ash. Surrounded by the forest’s neutral tones Elinor felt part of an artist’s watercolor.
They walked without speaking. Basil kept his hands clasped behind his back and the pace slow.
When he first sat down, she hadn't paid attention to his clothes. Now, as he got a few steps ahead, she noticed his white linen shirt and black breeches resembled the attire he'd tried to wear to the village. Were those breeches as formfitting and thigh hugging as the ones today? She'd been too nervous that day to take in all the details. Her gaze slid down his thighs where soft black boots came up to his knees. Elinor surreptitiously scanned his backside. Oh yeah, you definitely benefited from all that time in the saddle.
His hair was pulled back into a queue again only today he sported a small gold earring. In a million years she'd never have pictured Basil wearing an earring. Guy yes, Basil no. It suited him. He looked like a pirate, a very sexy movie pirate. She reluctantly broke off the lusty perusal before she got caught and embarrassed herself. Good thing too, because Basil turned to her a moment later.
"Last night you asked me whether I loved Gwendolyn. And by the way, I forgive you for your outrageous outburst. You seemed quite curious about her."
Elinor stopped several feet back, hands jammed into her jeans pockets. She gave him her best, stone-faced stare, feigning umbrage. Basil's "forgiveness" didn’t offend her, not really. However, she didn't want the haughty devil to think the audacity of his comment went unnoticed. Her pretended indignation failed.
Basil impatiently motioned for her to catch up. "Don't get your feathers ruffled and come here while I'm talking to you."
“Devil,” Elinor huffed and joined him.
"I wondered if you've ever been in love."
Although they stood side-by-side, Basil's face was shielded from her view when he posed the question. A shrub with small, spiky pink flowers appeared to hold his interest. The delicate petals lifted when he reached to touch them.
"No." Elinor shifted position so she could see his face. Why was he interested? She studied him, trying to guess his purpose. Did he feel as muddled about her as she did about him?
Basil glanced up. "Is something amiss?" She shook her head and he returned his attention to the bush. "Out of curiosity, if you were to fall in love, how do you picture your ideal man?"
Maybe she read his expression wrong, but Elinor thought he seemed relieved when she'd said she hadn't been in love. She wasn't sure what to make of his response and her mind wandered as Basil rolled the pink buds between his fingers in a slow caress. Elinor gave herself a mental shake and asked for clarification. "Are you asking how I picture him physically or what character traits are important to me?"
Basil waved his hand in the air as though it didn't matter "Start with the physical. How do you envision him?"
Two different answers came to mind and she paused to consider the choices. Keep the description generic or tell him the truth? The truth won out.
At first, she thought it better to gaze into the distance, be less obvious, more contemplative. But then, with a rare burst of bravado, she thought, hell, if I’m going to tell the truth, I may as well look straight into my vision's eyes.
"He should be tall. I like tall men. I'd like him well built, broad shouldered and strong. His face should be nice and this is important--” Elinor leaned toward Basil, thinking, hoping he’d be able to read between the lines. “He should look very masculine. Maybe, he'd even bear a less than perfect aquiline nose. Men who have soft features make me uncomfortable. I always suspect they'd be more attractive in a dress than me. I like dark hair, especially when it's long." She tapped her lips with a forefinger. Smiling, she said, "Oh, a nice bum would be a bonus."
Basil's soft laugh sounded almost shy and more than a little self-conscious as he touched a finger to his nose. He started to reply and hesitated, then said, "Ah...should we start to wend our way back?"
They turned away from the stream, leaving the wood to walk on the grassy field. Basil clasped his hands behind his back again but didn't say a word.
"What were you going to say?"
"Nothing."
"Not fair! I answered your question. Did my description upset you?" She hated having to ask.
"No, not at all. I'm a bit confused." Basil didn't elaborate and continued walking. When they were within sight of the
house he stopped and faced her. "Does Sean Connery look like this man you described?"
"What--what?" The strange question came out of nowhere. "Yes. How do you know about Sean Connery?"
"I heard some women speak of him." Arching a brow, he narrowed his eyes at Elinor, "Some of the things they said were quite shameless."
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Well, you said your description fits this Connery fellow."
If only she could shake him until his teeth rattled. Then, when she had his attention, she'd tell him. Idiot, it fits your description too. Since that wasn't an option, she went with a noncommittal response. "It describes a lot of people."
"This Connery is a Scotsman. Do you prefer your ideal man a Scot?" he asked, eyes fixed on her.
Elinor caught on to the purpose of his question. "No. An Englishman would be more than fine with me.”
Neither moved. More than anything she wanted to touch him, touch his hair, his face, his mouth. Her gaze fell upon the scar over his neck. Dull white at the edge, the rest had acquired a slight pinkish sheen as some scars are wont to do.
She traced the length of it with her finger. It started at the base of his ear, curved down and ended at the hollow of his throat. How forceful the killing blow must have been to cut through his mail. Above, another scar perhaps three inches long ran straight across his throat. Did the same French blade make both or was there another? Did it matter?
Basil stepped within inches of her and ran his fingers down her cheek near her ear, tickling the baby fine hairs. His hand continued slow and light as he moved his thumb over her lower lip. Elinor edged closer wanting more. His large hands cupped the air near her face as he bent and whispered, "Elinor."
She closed her eyes in anticipation.
"Nora!" Someone in the distance called. Elinor jerked, and opened her eyes, turning towards the house. Lucy stood at the end of the pasture fence waving.
Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) Page 8
