Love Above All

by Speer, Flora

  “Quentin,” Catherine said, breaking up the incipient quarrel, “you will sleep in your usual room. I am sure you will want to bathe and change your clothes. And so will you, Father. I will order hot water brought to both of you. Excuse me, please; I must speak to Cook about the menu for tonight.”

  Royce called to one of his squires to come with him, and together they started up the stairs. Quentin remained where he was, staring at Fionna as if he wanted to devour her. Fionna stared back, her irritation at his coolness rapidly turning to outrage.

  “Perhaps you will bathe me,” Quentin said to her.

  “Perhaps I won’t,” she retorted, sounding just like Janet.

  “Offering to bathe a guest is an honest Norman custom,” Quentin said.

  “It is an excuse for licentiousness,” she snapped. “With customs like that, it’s no wonder my brothers considered it well worth losing their heads to keep you Normans out of Scotland!”

  She expected him to become as angry as she was. Instead, he laughed.

  “Your brothers, and Colum, will all keep their heads,” he said. “While we were at St. Albans, King Henry received a letter from King Alexander. That unpleasant trio will remain in prison for a time; then they will be accepted into Alexander’s household, so he can keep a close eye on them.

  “Now, my lady, I am cold and weary – and ready for my bath.” Quentin caught her wrist and began to tug her in the direction of the stairs.

  “Release me at once!” she demanded. “I won’t go with you.”

  “Fionna, I want to speak with you in private,” he said, lowering his voice. “I promise, I’ll not force you to do anything you don’t want. You will not have to scrub me, but the excuse of a bath will allow us an uninterrupted hour. Please, come with me.”

  She wanted to go with him; she wanted to weep; she wanted to plead with him to make love to her. But she had her pride and she remained angry, so she stiffened her backbone and glared at him.

  “Must I throw you over my shoulder?” he asked, looking as if he might do just that.

  “If you do, I’ll scream for Royce,” she warned him.

  “He won’t help you. Royce knows what I intend to say to you.” He watched her for a moment, then added, “It concerns Janet.”

  “Janet? Is it something to do with Cadwallon?”

  “If you want to know, you’ll just have to come with me,” he said.

  “About Janet? Truly?” She took a deep breath, preparing to give in. She told herself it was purely out of curiosity. “All right, Quentin. Unhand me and I will follow you.”

  His brilliant smile made her senses reel.

  She scarcely knew how she got up the steps and into his room. The chamber was full of people. A maidservant was tending to a brazier full of hot charcoal. Two menservants were dragging in a wooden tub. Three more sturdy men brought buckets of hot water to dump into the tub. Someone else supplied a bowl of soap and an additional bucket of water for rinsing. A young woman appeared with a supply of towels in her arms. Quentin’s squire came in to help him remove his chainmail. The bedchamber certainly was not a place in which to speak privately.

  Amid all the coming and going, Fionna could easily have slipped away without Quentin noticing. Then again, perhaps not. He kept glancing at her as if to be sure she was still there.

  She took up a position in one corner of the room, where she pretended to watch the bustling activity. In fact, she was watching Quentin, stealing quick little glances when she thought he wasn’t watching her.

  At last the servants departed, leaving the tub full of hot water, a pile of clean towels on a stool near the tub, and the charcoal glowing red in the brazier. The squire pulled Quentin’s gambeson over his head, then gathered up the chainmail and carried it off, saying he’d see that it was properly cleaned. Quentin latched the door behind him.

  “To prove to you how harmless I am,” he said, turning with his hands at the waist of his linen underdrawers, “I’ll bathe while I say what I mean to tell you.”

  “You are not harmless.” She stared in fascination as he pulled down his remaining garment to reveal the solidly muscled flanks and the long legs she vividly recalled caressing. Her fingertips began to tingle as she imagined the way his skin would feel, the texture of his body hair and the smoothness in certain places. She put her hands behind her back, clasping them there.

  Quentin noticed. His eyebrows rose and his lips quirked as if he was trying not to smile. He stood before her for a moment, letting her look at him, apparently unashamed of his burgeoning arousal. Then he stepped into the tub and sat down, sighing in pleasure as the hot water covered him to the waist.

  “I forgot the soap,” he said. “Will you hand it to me?”

  She wished she dared throw it at him. She longed to seize his dark hair and push his head under the water until he yelled for mercy.

  She picked up the bowl of soap and handed it to him, taking care to avoid touching his fingers. Quentin looked amused, but made no comment beyond a word of thanks. Then, because her knees were shaking, Fionna sat on the edge of the bed and frowned at him.

  “What about Janet?” she said.

  “First, I must ask you a question. Will you marry me?”

  “Of course not!” The words came out abruptly because she was surprised and she was trying her best not to weep. “How dare you insult me so? We both know you will not marry a woman who has no dowry. No Norman nobleman would. Now, tell me about Janet, or I will leave.”

  She would, too, and he’d never dare pursue her out of the room while he was wet and naked. Or would he?

  “Who says you have no dowry?” Quentin asked.

  He was soaping himself, looking unconcerned by Fionna’s threat. The fragrance of lavender reached her nose as a few soap bubbles drifted into the warm air near the brazier.

  “You know very well that my brothers will never provide a dowry for me,” she said. “Quentin, I am becoming extremely annoyed. You lured me to this room by promising to tell me something about Janet. What is it?”

  “King Henry is a generous man,” Quentin said. “He knows how to repay those who are loyal to him or to his friends. As a reward for the way you saved my life, he has granted you a small honor.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That King Henry has provided a dowry to replace the one your brothers will never give you. I am told there is a manor house on the property, where you and Janet may live if you like, though I don’t expect Janet to stay there very long, and of course, you cannot live there alone once she has gone. You are too young and too beautiful to be safe living alone. Some renegade knight is certain to come along and seize the place and force you to marry him. You’d be much better advised to marry me.”

  “I am not beautiful,” she said, dealing with the one ingredient of his remarkable speech that made sense to her.

  “You are beautiful to me,” he said. “You always have been.”

  “But, about Janet,” she said. “You were going to tell me about Janet.”

  “King Henry has made Janet my ward,” Quentin explained, as nonchalantly as if he was discussing the weather. “It’s my penance for wanting to marry you.”

  “What?”

  “I believe my guardianship will only last for a month or two,” Quentin said. “Once Cadwallon has established himself at that castle in Devon, I expect to see him at Alney. He will want to marry Janet immediately. They have been more circumspect than you and I, my love. Cadwallon hasn’t bedded her yet and from what he said to me, I gather he is eager to do so.” Quentin picked up the bucket of rinse water and dumped it over his head.

  “What did you just say?” Fionna cried, unable to believe her ears. Had he called her his love? More importantly, did he mean it?

  “Sorry. I couldn’t hear you.” Quentin rose from the tub, presenting Fionna with the truly magnificent sight of his powerful, wet body. He grabbed a big linen towel and wrapped it around his waist, leaving only his chest and
arms, and his lower legs and feet, visible. Moisture gleamed on his broad shoulders; drops of water ran off his hair.

  Stalking to the bed, he bent over Fionna, sprinkling her with warm bath water. His sudden closeness was unnerving her. She leaned backward, trying to put some distance between them, so she could think.

  “I said,” he told her, “that Cadwallon wants to marry your sister. As her guardian, I intend to allow it. Cadwallon has recently been made a baron, and will very soon control the castle that goes with his title. And he loves Janet.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said, feeling desperate.

  “What did you mean?”

  He was so close. She longed to touch him. She didn’t dare. She’d loose the very last remnants of her wits if her skin came into contact with his. She knew how warm and strong he’d be. She saw how the muscles in his shoulders moved when he shifted, lowering himself over her, coming closer still. His lips parted. She could almost taste his breath.

  At the final moment before his mouth made contact with hers, she scrambled away from him, trying to reach the other side of the bed. Quentin caught her, pulling her under him in a welter of hot skin and dampness – and a twisted linen towel that was suddenly inadequate to cover his thrusting, eager manhood.

  “Don’t you know that I have never cared whether you have a dowry, or not?” he said. “I don’t care one bit about lands, or livestock, or portable wealth. You saved my life, Fionna. You chose me over your brothers – over your blood kin. What better dowry could any wife offer her husband than his own life?”

  “It wasn’t a difficult choice to make,” she said, before she realized that she should have chosen her words more carefully.

  “Please, marry me,” he whispered, holding her securely against the bed.

  “What about Lady Eleanor?” she cried. “King Henry wants you to marry her.”

  “No.” Quentin shook his head, sprinkling her again with the remains of his bath water. “While I was in Scotland, Henry decided to give Lady Eleanor to another baron. As a result, I am now free to offer an honorable proposal to you.”

  “You are only asking out of obligation, because you – because you—” She couldn’t finish the thought, so Quentin did it for her.

  “Because I took your virginity?” he finished softly.

  “You said you regretted what we did,” she cried.

  “I believe that I said I regretted hurting you. I have never regretted making love to you. I wish I could be as sensible about love as Cadwallon is, but my passion for you overcame my better judgment. I wanted you too desperately to wait.”

  “Oh.” He was by now entirely too near, much too close for her to think clearly. She placed her hands on his shoulders, meaning to push him away. She stroked his hard muscles and sighed.

  “Don’t you understand?” he said. “You are in my blood, Fionna. I much prefer to marry you, but I’ll take you any way I can get you. I cannot live without you. In the name of heaven, tell me you love me, too!”

  “You love me?”

  “Of course I do!” He sounded indignant. “I have been saying it over and over for the last hour.”

  “But you went away for weeks. You left me without telling me how you felt.”

  “I couldn’t say then what was in my heart. I was honor bound to speak to King Henry first, to explain to him that I could not marry Lady Eleanor. When he told me he had changed his plans, I knew my prayers had been answered. And when Henry asked what reward I wanted instead of Lady Eleanor, I told him that the only treasure in all his realms that I needed or wanted, was you.”

  “You told the king that you love me?” she whispered in amazement.

  “It was easy to say. I love you above all else, Fionna, And I need you most urgently.”

  He moved against her in a way that left no doubt of his intentions. Together, they tugged up her woolen skirt until his hands stroked over her inner thigh.

  “If we were wise,” Fionna said, making a feeble attempt to fight her own raging desire, “we’d be sensible, like Cadwallon and Janet. We would wait until our marriage night.”

  “I cannot be sensible, not where you are concerned. If you make me wait one moment more,” he declared, “you will have a dead bridegroom.”

  Fionna laughed and lifted her head to kiss him. Quentin pushed himself against her with a passionate insistence that she felt no desire to resist. She was at the verge of complete surrender when someone began knocking at the bedchamber door.

  “Quentin!” Janet called. “I know Fionna is in there with you. I must speak to both of you at once. Quentin! Answer me!”

  With an oath that probably rattled Janet’s eardrums as soundly as it rang in Fionna’s head, Quentin lifted himself away from his love. He pulled Fionna to her feet, too, before he headed for the door.

  “Quentin,” Fionna cried, “you forgot the towel.”

  She snatched up the piece of linen and tossed it to him. Quentin caught the towel with one hand and draped it over his shoulder, while with the other hand he opened the door.

  Janet stood there, fists on her hips, fire in her eyes, looking ready for battle. She spared only a fast glance for Quentin’s nakedness before she pushed past him to confront her disheveled sister.

  “Did you know about this?” Janet demanded.

  “About what?” Fionna asked. “Quentin was bathing. I was assisting him.”

  “I can see what you were doing. He looks clean enough to me.” Janet’s disapproving gaze ranged from Fionna’s tangled hair to the disordered bedding, to Quentin, who was still standing next to the door with his bath towel barely covering his manly parts. He hadn’t bothered to wrap the towel around his waist again.

  “What do you want, Janet?” Quentin asked.

  “Royce has admitted to me that you have been named as my guardian.”

  “It’s true,” Quentin said. “You didn’t need to badger Royce to learn it. If you hadn’t stormed off, I’d have told you earlier, down in the hall.”

  “I do not accept your guardianship,” Janet told him. “King Henry cannot force me to become your ward. I have never sworn fealty to him, and I never will.”

  “Be careful what you say,” Quentin warned. “There may come a day when you are willing to be Henry’s subject.”

  “Never!” Janet cried. “Fionna, did you know about this? Are you also to be Quentin’s ward?”

  Quentin had heard enough. He caught Janet by her shoulders and shook her hard, just once, to get her full attention.

  “Be quiet, you insubordinate child, and listen to me!” he exclaimed. “I was thinking of your welfare when I suggested the arrangement to King Henry. As your guardian and future brother-in-law, it will be my duty to see you housed, fed, and clothed, to provide a dowry for you, and to arrange the terms of your marriage contract.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Janet cried.

  “Am I wrong in thinking you want to marry Cadwallon?” Quentin asked. “He is certainly eager to wed you. He promised to ride to Alney as soon as possible, to lay his heart and his title at your feet.”

  Janet’s jaw dropped open. Using one finger, Quentin gently pushed it back into place, shutting her mouth.

  “You will be a baroness, Janet,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek.

  “You did that for me?” Janet whispered.

  “Cadwallon did have something to say about it.” Laughter danced in Quentin’s eyes. “But I couldn’t leave you to wander the English countryside without a home until your wedding day, could I?”

  “After all the nasty things I’ve said to you, you worried about my wellbeing,” Janet said softly. “You are not at all like my blood brothers.”

  “I hope I am not,” Quentin said.

  “Thank you.” Janet gazed up at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. Then she turned her attention to Fionna. “If you are going to marry him, you must leave this room at once.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Quentin said, frowning.


  “You may not bed my sister until she is your wife,” Janet told him.

  “Heaven preserve me from interfering relatives,” Quentin declared.

  “She’s right, you know.” Fionna spoke solemnly to cover her urge to break into laughter at the expression on Quentin’s face. “We must be circumspect. We aren’t living in tents any longer. You don’t want to give Wortham Castle a bad reputation, do you?”

  “You and your sister are trying to kill me,” Quentin accused her.

  Fionna saw the twinkle in his eyes and knew he was only teasing. She did not doubt that he desired her, but he’d wait if he must, if he knew waiting was what she wanted. She shuddered in anticipation, just thinking about their wedding night. From the way Quentin was looking at her, she knew he was thinking of it, too. She allowed herself a long, regretful inspection of his muscular body, noting how the towel slung over his shoulder really didn’t cover him very well. There was so much of Quentin to cover. And he belonged to her. She smiled into his eyes and Quentin smiled back, offering a silent promise for all the nights to come.

  “We have plans to make,” Janet said, blithely interrupting the mood. “I never realized how many decisions a wedding requires, until I spoke to Catherine. Come along, Fionna.”

  “Until later, Quentin.” Fionna paused at the bedchamber door to look back at him before Janet could drag her away.

  “In the meantime,” Quentin said, eyeing the tub, “the bath water ought to be cold enough to ease my present discomfort. If cold water doesn’t work, I will simply run outside and throw myself into a snowbank.”

  Janet slammed the door on his wry laughter.

  Chapter 20

  “Since the wedding is to take place at the king’s command,” Royce said when they were all assembled at the high table for the evening meal, “you may dispense with the reading of the banns. No one in England can possibly object to the marriage.”

  “Indeed not,” Quentin promptly agreed. He did not mention the objections that Fionna’s brothers in Scotland would have made, if they had known about her plans.