Wonderful

by Jill Barnett

Her startled gaze was staring back at him. And in those eyes he saw desire and passion and more.

  Then she bit him.

  Clio shoved at Merrick’s shoulders and he rolled off of her with a muttered curse. She could hear the men behind them laughing quietly.

  She scrambled to her feet and glared down at him. “You had no right to do that.”

  He seemed to grow before her eyes. A moment later he was standing before her, tall and intimidating and truly angry. They stood barely a foot apart.

  “No right?” he asked with lethal quietness.

  “Aye.” Her response was clipped and firm and meant to spite him.

  “You are mine, Clio.” His voice was measured and even, the kind of voice that brooked no argument. “You seem to have forgotten that.”

  “No. I did not forget, my lord. You are the one who forgot.” She paused, then said exactly what she was thinking, “For six years.”

  For an instant there was no sound. Nothing. Her words just hung in the air to taunt him. The men began to back away, mumbling. She heard someone speak fearfully of the Red Lion and his reputation. Another man called her a fool.

  But she would not back down. She had lost so much already; her home, her pride, and now her dignity.

  All round them the men began to disperse.

  “Tobin!” he called out to his squire, never taking his gaze from her. “I would speak with you.”

  The squire who had been beating on Thud stopped near the corner of the stables. He no longer looked so cocky. Thud and Thwack had scrambled away the moment Merrick awoke.

  Merrick broke his gaze from her and moved toward his squire.

  She exhaled.

  He stopped and glanced back at her. “Wait here.”

  They were a few strides apart when she said quietly, “You seem to have a penchant for leaving me to wait, my lord.”

  He ground to a halt and stood so still he looked rooted to the ground.

  Immediately she wanted to take the words back.

  He turned very slowly and looked at her from narrowed eyes. “I did not think waiting here a moment would so tax your spirit.”

  Since she was already sinking into a deep hole from which she would have no easy time escaping, she decided to go down fighting. “I am well used to waiting for you. I do not like it.”

  His look was long, hard, and seemed to see into places she wanted hidden. He crossed his arms. “Why do I have the feeling that at any moment you will stamp your foot?”

  She could feel her face flush with embarrassment. She remembered her father speaking to her in such a way when she was a small child. It galled her that he was right; she was acting foolishly.

  But pride was such a hard thing to give up, especially when her pride had been so terribly wounded by the way he had neglected her.

  Those two years had seemed like a lifetime to her. The daily looks of those who knew she’d been forgotten or perhaps even abandoned. The pity in their eyes had pricked her pride more than any chiding could have.

  She’d had such wild dreams of what love and marriage should be. But those dreams had slowly died, hour by hour, until every day that she waited for him stretched out before her like a long and endless road to nowhere.

  “’Tis not important.” She waved a hand loftily in the air. “Go about your business as you will, my lord. I shall wait.” She paused, and some devil inside her made her add, “I’m becoming so good at it.”

  He closed the distance between them with a few long strides. “Forget what I said.” His words came through gritted teeth.

  He took her arm in a firm grasp that made her gasp.

  “I have changed my mind. I should like to have your company, my lady. “

  He spun around with her so quickly she became lightheaded; then he headed for the keep.

  She had to quicken her steps to keep up with those long strides of his. As she trotted along beside him, the silken coif and circlet covering her coiled hair slipped to one side.

  Muttering, she slapped her hand down on it and struggled to keep up with her betrothed—the Earl of Quickfeet.

  Chapter 11

  Merrick did not care to be reminded of his faults, particularly in front of the whole castle, and especially by Clio, someone who he wished would see him as a man. Not as if he were ready to kill her at any moment. She seemed to be trying with a strong purpose to force him to react that way. ’Twas as if she were trying to goad him into something.

  He did not know what she wanted from him. He had always found women to be odd creatures whose thoughts were so different from his. He was trained to speak openly, honestly, as frankness was revered in men.

  Yet women seemed say one thing and act as if they wanted something else. He had the hardest time trying to understand them. He never knew whether to listen to what they said or watch the way they acted.

  Frustrated, he half dragged her with him to the great hall, behaving like the brute she had implied he was.

  He sat in the high-backed chair meant for the lord of the castle. He waved a hand toward the smaller chair next to him and looked at Clio. “Sit.”

  She did not move swiftly, but his squire did. The lad sat down on one of the lower benches.

  “Not you, Tobin!” Merrick barked at the young man, who shot to his feet.

  Tall and blond and muscular, Tobin de Clare was a strapping boy of sixteen, and nephew to the Earl of Chester, one of the most powerful noblemen in all of England. The lad would make a good knight, if he ever chanced to learn some humility.

  Clio was still standing near Merrick. He turned back and gave her a pointed look that made the knot on his forehead throb. She finally sat down with a loud sigh that sounded as if she was annoyed.

  For just one instant he felt a flash of understanding for those men who had locked their wives away in a tower. More than likely it was not to protect the women from their enemies, but from their husbands’ anger.

  He studied his squire for a long time, a calculated move to make the lad squirm.

  The silence dragged on, and finally Merrick spoke. “I heard some tale of a fight between you and those puny young lads. ’Twas the reason I happened to be rounding the corner when my lady, here, sought to crack open my head.”

  “’Twould take more than a tin pot to crack open that rock you claim is your head,” Clio muttered.

  He scowled at her. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” she said blithely. “I was only praying.”

  “A good idea, especially if you said what I think you said.” His tone should have warned her to keep quiet. Experience, however, convinced him she would probably not heed such a tone.

  “I had little else to do but pray for all those years at the convent.”

  After he counted to fifty and made it a point to sit on his hands, he managed to ignore her. He turned back to his squire. “Have you nothing to say, Tobin?”

  Clio shot to her feet and planted her small hands on the table. She glared at Tobin. “He can say nothing that would justify what he did. He was beating up on those poor boys for amusement.”

  “That is not true.” Tobin gave Merrick a direct look, then turned to Clio and made a small bow. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but they wished to fight. ’Twas their idea.”

  “I see,” Merrick said, resting an elbow on the table and rubbing his chin. “Two young orphan lads who have no training or experience, who must use kitchen tools for arms, and who barely have enough sense to come in out of the rain, challenge you, a trained swordsman, to a mock battle, and out of the goodness of your heart, you decided to beat the holy hell out of them?”

  Tobin blanched.

  Merrick bellowed for the guard. The man ran over from his post at door and made a quick bow. “Aye, my lord.”

  “Bring those two young lads here.” Merrick paused. “Thump and Thwart.”

  “Thud and Thwack,” Clio said indignantly, which seemed to be the only way she spoke to him.

  “Bring them
here,” Merrick repeated. “Now.”

  The guard hurried from the hall. From outside he could hear the bustle of the castle yards, the constant sounds of building, and the barking of a dog. Then the heavy doors closed and the noises were muted.

  Within the great hall there was little sound, something Merrick wished to use to his advantage. He sat there with his lady, both silent, while Tobin stood before them.

  Merrick had not invited the young man to sit. He wanted him standing and wondering and worrying.

  Beside him, Clio wiggled slightly; then from the corner of his eye he felt her look at him. She wanted to speak. He could feel it, like a live thing between them.

  Lord, but she was a stubborn one.

  “What are you going to do to them?” Clio finally asked.

  He turned to her. “Do not fret over it, my lady. There are other things that should be worrying you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your mouth for one.”

  “It did not seem to bother you, my lord, when you had your tongue in it.”

  Tobin made a choking sound, and Merrick whipped his head back around. His squire had turned away and had his hands locked behind his back and he was engrossed in examining the roof beams.

  The doors to the hall creaked opened, and the guard came back with the boys in tow. He stood before Merrick, holding them by their tunic collars, a lad in each hand.

  Clio stood. “Release them.”

  The guard’s eyes never left Merrick’s face. It was as if she had not spoken. He had trained his men well and they were loyal and true.

  He placed his hand over hers. “Sit down. I will handle this.”

  She started to snatch her hand away, but his fingers held on to hers firmly. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but she did not. She sat.

  “Tell me, lads, why you challenged the squires.”

  Thud straightened and took a brave breath that made his bony chest puff out like a pigeon’s. “We wish to be knights, my lord. We wish to fight, for practice.”

  “I do not want to fight anymore this day, Thud.” Thwack was still nursing a knot on his head. “My head hurts.”

  Merrick felt a jolt of sympathy for the lad. His own forehead was beginning to hurt like hell.

  Thud jabbed the lad with his elbow. “We both want to be knights, my lord. We wish to train with the pages and squires.”

  Tobin burst out laughing as if the idea were the most amusing thing he’d ever heard. “Those two? Knights?” He howled.

  Clio’s fingers tightened within Merrick’s grasp.

  He waited for Tobin to stop laughing. “You find that amusing?”

  “Aye.” Tobin was still grinning, the cocky fool.

  Merrick was quiet for a long time, thinking; then he looked at the boys. Thud was tousled-headed and had a nose like a spaniel—wide and covered with brown freckles.

  Thwack was snub-nosed and had a wide mouth and serious brown eyes. Both boys were had dirt smudges and bruises and scrapes on their faces and necks. They were a sorry pair, but there was something about them, an eagerness to please that made him think long and hard about what he should do.

  “I have a rule about my men fighting amongst themselves. You are all aware of this rule.”

  All three of them suddenly wore expressions of dread.

  “If I do not punish you, others will believe my orders can be disobeyed.” Merrick stood. He turned toward Clio and extended his hand. “Come, my lady.”

  She looked at his hand as if it were a coiled snake.

  “I would not dare ask you to wait again,” he added with a cutting tone, then turned to the lads. “You will follow us.”

  They left the great hall. Clio walked by his side. When they were in the bailey, he could feel her watching him.

  “What will you do to them?”

  “You shall see.”

  “I do not want them harmed. I will not let you beat them.”

  “I do not beat young boys.” He paused. “Only women who do not know when to hold their tongues.”

  “I am not afraid of you, Merrick.”

  She called him by his given name. Finally. He stopped by one of the towers and gave some instructions to a guard.

  Tobin and the younger boys stood there, trying to look brave. Merrick could see and feel their apprehension, something he wanted them to feel as part of the lesson he wanted to teach them.

  The guard returned with a cart and shovels.

  Merrick stood tall before the lads, then pointed at a wooden trapdoor near the base of the tower. “You will clean out this latrine pit.”

  Their faces grew tight with horror.

  “And every latrine pit. At every corner of the keep and at the gates.”

  “Every pit?” Tobin repeated. “But, my lord, there are ten pits.”

  Merrick crossed his arms over his chest. “I know how many there are.”

  The lads all looked green. ’Twas hard to keep from laughing at them. “I suggest you start now. ’Twill take a few days if you work hard and work together.”

  He turned to Clio. “Come now, my lady. Let us leave them to their work.” He led her back across the bailey. As they walked she kept looking back over her shoulder.

  “Thud and Thwack did nothing to deserve this,” she said as they neared the inner gate.

  “They disobeyed the rules. They have to be punished.”

  “But it was your bully of a squire who fought with them. He is older and wiser and more experienced. He could have wounded them. They could have had serious injuries.”

  He stopped and leaned against the stone curtain wall. He looked down at her. “Like getting hit in the head with a pot?”

  She did not know when to cease her argument. “They are only boys. Special boys. Do you know where they were found?”

  “Under a rock during a full moon?”

  “It is not an amusing tale, my lord. They were abandoned in the forest. When they were found, they spoke but only single words. They ate raw meat and crawled on the ground, sniffing at it.”

  “I can do nothing about their past.”

  “You can be gentle with them. They need kindness.”

  “And what will happen when they grow up being treated like babes? You think that will help them?” Merrick gave a sardonic laugh. “You do them no favor by coddling them.”

  “And you do by punishing them?”

  “I will do as I think best.” He held his hand out to her. “Come now.”

  She didn’t move, but stood there glaring at him.

  He looked away for a moment. The thought crossed his mind that he might need to have one of the castle blacksmiths make a strong lock for the west tower.

  He counted to ten. When he looked to her again, she had her back to him. Exasperated, he exhaled and closed the short distance between them. “Turn around, Clio.”

  She did not move. It looked as if she were not even breathing.

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her around.

  She glared up at him, her expression all stubborn pride. His gaze left her eyes and moved to her mouth, set in a firm line that said, “I will not let you break me.”

  He had no patience left this day; it had been taxed to his limit. He pulled her against his chest. “You push me too hard. I will not take this from a woman. I will not take this disrespect from you.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him.

  “Don’t!” She struggled in his embrace, wiggling and squirming while her hands pushing against his chest.

  He swore to himself that he would not force a kiss on her again. He wanted her to come to him of her own free will. He released her and stepped back so swiftly she stumbled. He grabbed her arm to steady her.

  She scowled at him, then gave his hand a pointed look. “Do not touch me.”

  He did not release her this time, but stood there, holding her arm. Their gazes were locked in a battle of wills, and with each second that passed their breath came in short, a
ngry pants.

  She was looking at him as if she expected something, as if she almost wanted him to react.

  “I will not ravish you, Clio.”

  She gave him a long hard look, then raised her chin. “Why not?”

  He stood there, dumbfounded. Surely she hadn’t just asked him that. “What did you say?”

  “I asked you why not?” She planted her fists on her hips in that way she had and added, “Do I not appeal to you, my lord?”

  He drove a hand through his hair and looked away, asking heaven for patience with this woman, which was like asking to find the Holy Grail.

  She stood just inches before him, her chin jutting out and her hands on her hips as if she were not barely half his size.

  There was a challenge in her eyes and she said, “We shall have an interesting marriage if you cannot even bear to consummate it.” She shook her head the way his warhorse did when he reined him in too quickly.

  “Annulments have been granted for such situations,” she foolishly continued, having no idea of the dangerous line she had crossed. “Perhaps ’tis a good thing that you find my looks not to your taste, my lord earl.”

  Her tone was too casual, as if she spoke about something menial, like fleas or firewood or a meal, not about his manhood or something as important to both of them as a blood bond of marriage. Very quietly and slowly— with much control—he spoke, “I have said nothing of your looks nor of my reaction to them.”

  “I am aware of that fact. Certainly you do not wish to wed me for myself, but for Camrose and the king’s favor.”

  “My motives for marrying you are none of your concern.”

  She laughed at him without humor.

  “Do not worry yourself over the consummation, my lady. I promise you our marriage will be consummated so often the servants will have no time to change the bed linen.”

  “Ha!”

  There it was. The one word that could make his blood boil. His anger was so strong it almost clogged his throat.

  He stood barely a foot away from her and fixed his darkest look on her defiantly upturned face. “One more word from you, mademoiselle, and I will consummate our union against this castle wall.”

  Chapter 12