She glared at him. “I would help you with your bath. I would do so for any guest. Of course, I intend to do this for my own husband dear.”
“No.” He stared at her, a hardness in his eyes. “I would do it myself. I . . . I would not have you see me this way.” His eyes fell to stare upon the ground.
Merryn shoved the bucket at him, water sloshing as she did so. “You were always stubborn, Geoffrey de Montfort. But I have learned to be more so,” she warned. “So shed your clothing and get yourself into that bathing tub at once. I refuse to take no for an answer.”
She narrowed her gaze, her voice at its most stern. This was the tone she took when the twins proved naughty or when she rendered a difficult decision on Judgment Day. She never backed down in those circumstances. She was not about to give into him over something as simple as a bath.
Especially when her hands longed to stroke his body.
Without a word, he marched the bucket to the tub and tossed the water into it. He dropped the pail on the floor. He turned his back and began fiddling with his clothing.
Merryn chalked up the small victory. She took a vial and poured it into the water before bringing the remaining buckets inside the room. She also gathered the tray of food and took it to the table before bolting the door again as a precaution.
By the time she finished her tasks, Geoffrey sat in the tub. She added another steaming bucket into the water, pouring it over his head, wetting his hair and beard in the process. She then gathered soap and cloths to wash him with after she had scrubbed him with the strongest of brushes.
He took the brush and soap from her and attacked his skin with vigor, scouring it until it became raw and red. Merryn stood behind him and watched. In the light, she saw the angry scars surrounding his wrists and also his ankles as he lifted a leg and propped it upon the edge of the tub. Again, instinct told her he’d been caged as an animal. Shackled far away from humanity. Bound by chains from which he’d tried over and over again to escape.
She supposed his mind protected him from whatever agonizing experience he’d suffered through by wiping his memory of the event of several years.
She would deal with that. And she would tend to him when those memories came crashing back—for she knew they would. Whether today or in a sennight or even a year from now, he would be forced to live with—and understand—what had happened to him.
Any anger she’d felt had dissipated. Her heart filled with hope—and determination—to make all right between them.
Merryn allowed him to cut through as much of the filth as he could, occasionally rinsing him with clean water. She also took empty buckets and captured that dirty water, replacing it with clean. She poured scented oil across his skin and then tenderly used the cloths to bathe him.
Lovingly, she glided the cloth along his back in long strokes. Held his limbs and moved the cloth along them. Ran it against his chest, dragging it slowly and sensually. She sensed him holding his breath. Her own heart quickened at their very nearness. But she did not want to rush him into anything.
Least of all love play.
Last, she washed his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp with longing, hoping they told the story of her deep affection toward him. Her pulse sped up as she did so. She found herself longing to kiss every inch of him.
“I should like to shave you while the water has softened your beard,” she said, trying to gain a grasp on her emotions.
He frowned. “I can do that myself.”
Merryn tapped her foot impatiently. “Geoffrey, your beard is quite thick and dense. I can see much better than you can in our small hand mirror. I shall do this task.” She wrinkled her nose. “And trim your hair. No, cut it. ‘Tis grown much too long to please me.”
He silenced his protests. Merryn brought the stool closer to the tub and gathered his razor. She had sharpened it once a week, hope beating in her breast each time she did so that one day her husband would come home and use it.
She lathered the beard up, covering every inch of the thick growth that hid his handsome features. As she held his chin steady with one hand, she dragged the razor across, over and over. Geoffrey kept his eyes closed the entire time. She was glad. Having him watch her would have brought about a bout of nerves. This way, he remained free of cuts from a slip of her nervous hand.
Merryn finished and rinsed his face with the last of the clean water. She gently blotted it with a towel. He almost looked like the man she had married, only an older version of him.
“Now let me loose upon that hair,” she declared. A quarter-hour later, she had cut it to the length he always wore it. She ran a brush through the thick, dark waves.
Geoffrey finally opened his hazel eyes.
Merryn rewarded his patience with a tender smile.
She passed him the hand mirror. He reached for it with hesitation.
“Go ahead,” she prodded. “You may praise my handiwork once you’ve seen yourself.”
He lifted the mirror close, moving it around to glimpse all of him. Then he returned the mirror to her.
And for the first time since his return, Geoffrey smiled.
CHAPTER 19
Geoffrey reached for the hand mirror again and studied his reflection. He tilted his head down and back up, then from side to side.
He’d grown older during his imprisonment, but at least he recognized the image that stared back at him. Merryn had done an excellent job ridding him of the heavy beard and long hair that had turned him into someone unknown. If he squinted, he almost looked like the Geoffrey of old.
Which he would never be.
He placed the mirror on the table and began pacing the chamber. He paused at the bed and stroked the smooth sheets. He leaned down to the pillow and inhaled deeply. The faint scent of vanilla rose to greet him. The scent of Merryn.
That smell had driven him half mad during his bath.
Despite being almost strangers, he knew love still existed between them. He felt it in her touch each time her fingers brushed against his skin. He could hear it in her voice. Her upset and anger from the previous day had disappeared. He realized she hadn’t been angry with him but with the entire situation and her lack of knowledge and control.
He couldn’t blame her. If she’d disappeared without a trace from his life, he couldn’t guess what he would have thought or how he would have behaved for a single day—yet alone years and years without his beloved spouse.
He lifted her brush from a table and turned it in his hands, wishing she were here for him to run it through her long, chestnut hair. He returned it to its place and ran his fingers through his own hair, anxious for what the day would bring.
At least his dress reflected who he once had been. Geoffrey looked down at the black pants and hose she’d given him to wear and smoothed the hunter green gypon and cote-hardie. The clothing proved a little loose on his frame, but to be wearing something different and familiar after so many years seemed a treat. He opened the chest where Merryn had pulled the clothes from and saw it filled with items he’d worn in the past.
Including what he’d worn on their wedding day, folded and lying atop all contained in the chest.
He shook off the dark mood that threatened to overtake him. He had gained his freedom. He must start living life one day at a time.
Yet he had no idea how to behave when he met his children.
Merryn had left him alone to dress and said that she would return in an hour with Ancel and Alys. She seemed to sense he needed time to himself, though God Himself knew he’d spent nearly every minute alone for many years.
Before she left, Merryn stressed to him that the twins must be her primary concern. She did not want any harm brought to them. If he frightened them, she would escort them from the room with haste. She explained that his return would be hard for them to accept since they’d never known him and always thought him dead. She’d even taken his hand briefly and told him that he must be patient with them if they did not warm to him im
mediately.
Geoffrey took a few bites of the bread and cheese Merryn had brought up with his bath water. He thought back to the precious moments soaking in the water’s warmth, the cloth gliding over his chest, his wife’s fingers massaging his head. Such small things mattered. That was one thing he hoped he could teach his children—never to take anything for granted—for it could be snatched from you in the blink of an eye.
He sat in the chair, strumming his fingers along his thigh, tapping his foot. He’d never been this nervous going into battle. But the thought of seeing his own flesh and blood nearly undid him. Geoffrey wiped the tears that came with his sleeve and took a comforting sip of wine.
A rap at the door startled him. He sat up expectantly, smoothing his cote-hardie again, wanting to look presentable. The door opened. In walked Merryn, leading both twins by the hand. Ancel immediately pulled away and ran toward him, curiosity written across his face at finding a strange man in his mother’s bedchamber. Alys waited till Merryn shut the door and took her mother’s hand as Merryn guided her daughter over to him.
“Good morn to you,” Geoffrey addressed them.
The twins greeted him in return, each bowing and curtseying politely. A sense of wonder filled him as he took in seeing them together for the first time. His own flesh and blood, here and now, a miniature Merryn and Geoffrey as they’d looked many years ago. No wonder his wife’s heart broke every day as she’d looked upon the son that favored his father in every way.
Merryn came to stand behind them. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Children, I have something to tell you that will be a surprise.”
“Is Cook making solteties?” Ancel asked, a hopeful look in his eye.
“She only does those for May Day,” Alys said. “She won’t make them again, would she, Mother?”
“No, my dears. No solteties for your sweet tooth.” Merryn paused. “This is a different kind of surprise. ‘Tis one that involves . . . our guest.”
The twins looked back at him, puzzled. Geoffrey tried to smile to put them at ease. It almost hurt his mouth to turn the corners up in an unfamiliar fashion. Smiles had been a thing of the past.
But they could be a part of his future.
“We need to be introduced to this guest, Mother,” Alys chided, looking at him shyly but with interest.
Geoffrey realized that his daughter did not realize he was the man she’d been so frightened of only yesterday. ‘Twas a good thing. They would start off their relationship on a much better foot this way.
“Our guest is not a true guest. He was born and lived here at Kinwick.”
The children looked from their mother back to him. He nodded reassuringly.
“’Tis he a cousin of ours then, like Raynor?” Ancel asked. He looked solemnly at Geoffrey. “I am Ancel, lord of Kinwick, and defender of all here. ‘Tis my sister Alys beside me. And who might you be, sir?”
Pride swelled in Geoffrey at his young son’s confidence. Then it hit him. He said he was lord of Kinwick.
His father was dead.
Geoffrey gripped the arms of the chair, his fingers tightening till he thought it might break.
Merryn stroked Ancel’s head. “’Tis something hard for you to understand, my boy, but you are no longer lord of Kinwick. ‘Tis something for you to look forward to in your future.”
“Why not?” His large, hazel eyes showed confusion.
“This is your father, Ancel. Alys. This is my husband. He is lord of Kinwick.”
Alys’s face scrunched up. She looked as if she would cry. “But Father is dead. He’s always been dead. Since we were born. You said he was in Heaven above, watching over us.”
Merryn put a comforting arm around the girl. “I know, my little love. We all thought so. But your father has come home to us.”
“Where has he been?” Ancel demanded angrily, looking back at Geoffrey. “Why has he not been here at Kinwick, Mother, taking care of us and our land and people?”
“He’s suffered a blow to his head, Ancel,” Merryn said smoothly. “He did not remember who he was for a very long time. But he does now. He has made his way back to us.”
Ancel shook his head in denial. “I don’t believe you!” he cried, his hands fisting at his side.
Geoffrey knew he must speak up before the boy lost control. “Ancel.” He used the tone Ferand had when he wanted his son’s attention.
The boy stopped and looked up anxiously.
He reached out and took Ancel’s hand and then Alys’s, as well, pulling them closer to him. The feel of his own flesh and blood cause a wave of happiness to pour through him.
“I am your father,” he told them. “I grew up within these walls. I went to war for England’s glory then returned home and married your mother.” He glanced up at Merryn, whose mouth trembled. He looked into her eyes as he said, “I loved your mother from the first day I met her when we were children, even younger than you are now.
And despite everything, I never stopped loving her.”
Geoffrey tore his eyes from hers and glanced back at his twins. “I know ‘tis hard to have a father after so long a time without one, but I pray you will let me get to know you—for I already love you both with all my heart.”
Alys threw her arms about his neck. He held the tiny body against his, fighting the tears that came. He lifted her upon one knee and looked to his son. Ancel took a step toward him, and he embraced the boy tightly before placing him on the other knee. With but a few words, his children had accepted him.
He wished everyone at Kinwick could be as trusting.
They sat together, his arms about them, and begin to tell him things about themselves and their lives at Kinwick. Geoffrey did his best to take it all in, but his emotions soon overwhelmed him.
Merryn, so attuned to his mood, said, “’Tis time to let your father rest a bit. He’s been unwell, so we want him to heal quickly.”
Alys kissed his cheek, and the twins scooted from his lap. His heart ached, wanting them to stay forever. He had missed so much of their childhood already. Before he knew it, they would be leaving Kinwick to foster in other noblemen’s households. The thought brought deep regret.
Merryn knelt and took each child’s hand. “We will celebrate his return with a feast tonight. All will know that their lord has returned.”
“Can we wear our best clothes, Mother?” Alys asked. “And I want to draw Father a picture.”
“I do, too,” Ancel chimed in. “I shall draw the castle. And our land.”
Merryn kissed both their cheeks. “And so you shall. Now run along to your room. Set out the clothes you shall wear for our celebration. Draw your pictures. I will come see them shortly, and we shall practice our letters together.” She rose and nudged them toward the door.
They gave him a last look, as if neither could believe he existed, and then left the chamber.
The minute the door closed, Geoffrey’s head fell into his hands. Merryn came and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I am sorry I did not tell you about Ferand. I know that took you unaware. He passed three years ago after being ill for some time.”
He shook his head. “I know much has happened in my absence. I hope he did not die of a broken heart.”
Geoffrey rose. Without warning, fury raged within him. Hatred for Berold for holding him prisoner for so long. At Hardi for not standing up to his father and freeing him. At himself for not finding a means of escape. At how many years he’d missed with his wife. Not seeing her belly round with their children. Missing out on their births and first steps and words. At how unfair life had turned out.
Without thinking, he swept his hand out, knocking cups and plates to the floor. Food and wine spilled everywhere. He tore the bedclothes from the bed and ripped at them. He grabbed the small mirror and flung it across the room.
Then the rage subsided, as quickly as it came. Geoffrey sank to the floor wordlessly, not knowing how he would continue to live with such conflicti
ng emotions.
He raised his eyes and saw his startled wife, a look of horror upon her face as her eyes swept across the chaos he had brought to the room.
“I must apologize.” He rose. “I have not been around people in a long time. I fear I need time alone to try and understand myself and learn how I am to fit back into life at Kinwick.” He paused. “And with you.”
He took a step toward her. Merryn shrank back against the wall. His outburst had terrified her. He had to get away. He had to learn to be the man he once was. For her sake.
And his.
“I need time to think. I shall go to the hunting lodge. I will leave at once.” He hesitated. “Does Mystery still live?”
She nodded. “Aye.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I have him ridden regularly by a groom, but he’s had no other master.”
“Then I shall take him and leave. I will return when I have my feelings under control.”
Geoffrey moved toward her and took hold of her shaking hands. “I must mourn my father’s passing. Come to understand who I now am. Accept that I have missed much of my children’s life. Rid myself of this anger that has possessed me and turned me into a raging lunatic.
“But most of all, understand how to be the husband that you need, my love.” He pressed a fervent kiss against her knuckles.
“Until then, I am no good to any of you.”
CHAPTER 20
Merryn sank to the ground, pressing against the wall for support.
Geoffrey strode from the room without a backward glance.
He abandoned her.
Again, she was alone. Had it been only yesterday that she’d seen him for the first time in ages?
She wanted to celebrate his return, yet she didn’t know who this new man was. It angered her that he ran from her. The twins. His responsibilities. She had kept things going at Kinwick for a long time. Ferand’s illness dragged on for months, thrusting all duties and obligations on her shoulders. She’d met every challenge with determination and soaked up knowledge from many individuals as she learned how to run the estate during his decline.
Word of Honor (Knights of Valor Book 1) Page 11
