By Arrangement

by Madeline Hunter

  “And instead of being insulted, you say that I should feel honored.”

  “Absolutely. Would you prefer if the King had just given you to me?”

  “I would prefer if the King had continued to forget that I existed,” she snapped.

  They rode in silence for a minute. “How big is it? This honorable bride price?” she finally asked.

  So Morvan had not told her. She would see the contract soon. David thought of the complicated formula it contained.

  “How good are you at ciphering?” he asked casually.

  “Excellent.”

  She would be. “One thousand pounds.”

  She stopped her horse and gaped at him. “One thousand pounds! An earl's income? Why?”

  “Edward would hear of no less. I assure you that I bargained very hard. I personally thought that three hundred would be generous.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Morvan is right. This marriage never made any sense. Now it makes less.”

  “Aren't you worth one thousand pounds?”

  “You must have been drunk when you made this offer. You will no doubt be relieved when I get you off the hook.”

  “He has come then?”

  She ignored that. “Just as well for your health, too, that I will end this betrothal soon. I have heard about my brother's threat to you.”

  “Ah. That.”

  “Wednesday, they say.”

  “I expect Thursday,” he corrected calmly. “Does your brother know that you have heard of this?”

  “Of course. I went to him at once and told him that I wouldn't have it.”

  “Your concern touches me.”

  “Aye. Well, he wouldn't hear me. But, of course, you won't meet him.”

  “Of course I will.”

  She stopped her horse again. Joan and Andrew were far in the distance now. “You cannot be serious.”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “You will not be in town Monday. Can't you extend your trip?”

  “Eventually I must come back.”

  “Oh dear.” She frowned fretfully.

  He looked at her pretty puckered brow. “He will not kill me.”

  “Oh, it isn't that,” she replied with ruthless honesty. “This just makes a messy situation messier. First a duel, then an abduction, then an annulment … well, it will make a terrific scandal.”

  “Perhaps someone will write a song about it.”

  “This is not humorous, David. You really should withdraw or leave. Morvan's sword is not a laughing matter. He may not kill you, but he may hurt you very badly.”

  “Aye. One thousand pounds is one thing. An arm or a leg is another. I certainly hope that you are worth it.”

  “How can you jest?”

  “I am not jesting. But let me worry about Morvan, my lady. Are there any other rumors and gossip that you need to discuss?”

  They had approached the city and began circling around its wall to the north. “Aye. Not all of the ladies who know you were so complimentary. Lady Catherine spoke with me. And with Morvan.”

  David waited. He would not assume what story Lady Catherine had given them.

  “She told me that you are a moneylender,” Christiana said quietly, as if she didn't want to be overheard by passing riders.

  He almost laughed at her circumspection. The girl lived in a world that didn't exist anymore, full of virtuous knights and honored duty and stories of King Arthur's roundtable. King Edward carefully nurtured these illusions at his court with his pageants and festivals and tournaments. A mile away, within the gates of London, time moved on.

  “It is true. Most merchants loan money.”

  “Usury is a sin.”

  “Perhaps so, but moneylending is a business. It is widely done, Christiana, and none think twice about it anymore. England could not survive without it. One of my sinful loans is to the King at his demand. Two others are to abbeys.”

  “So you just loan to the King and abbeys?”

  “With others I purchase property and resell it back later at an agreed-upon time and price.”

  “At a profit?”

  “Why else would I do it? I have no kinship or friendship with these people. However, often when I sell it back, my management has improved the income, so perhaps the profit is theirs.”

  “When the time is up, what if they cannot repurchase it?”

  He had been trying to put a better face on this for her sake, and he cursed himself now. He had sworn he would not make excuses to this girl for being what he was. “I sell it elsewhere,” he said bluntly.

  She chewed on that awhile. “Why not keep it?”

  It wasn't the argument he had expected. He thought that she would upbraid him for unkindness and chant sentimental pleas for the poor borrowers.

  “I don't keep it because of King Edward's damned decrees saying any man with income from land over forty pounds a year has to be knighted. He has almost caught me twice.”

  “What do you mean, caught you? To be a knight is a wonderful thing. They are more respected than merchants, and of higher degree. You would better yourself if you were knighted.”

  She said it simply and innocently, stating a basic fact of life. She was oblivious to the insult and so he chose to ignore it. This time.

  “Well, I am a merchant, and content as such.”

  One would have thought that he told her that he would rather be a devil than a saint. “You mean this, don't you?” she asked curiously. “You really don't want to be a knight.”

  “No one does, Christiana, except those born to it. Even many born to it avoid it. It is why Edward issues those decrees. The realm doesn't have enough knights for his ambitions. The position holds less and less appeal, so Edward plays up the chivalry and elevates the knights higher to compensate.” He paused. He would be marrying this girl. He would try to explain. “It is not cowardice or fear of arms. Every London citizen swears to protect the city and realm. We must practice at arms and own what armor we can afford. I have a whole suit of the damn plate. We defend our city and send troops on Edward's wars. Many apprentices are excellent bowmen and Andrew has even mastered the longbow. But if you think about the military life honestly, it has little to recommend it.”

  “It is a glorious life! Full of honor and strength.”

  “It is a life of killing, girl. For good causes or personal gain, in honor or in murder, knights live to kill. In the end, for all of the pretty words in the songs, that is what they do. Their wars disrupt trade, ruin agriculture, and burn towns and villages. When they are victorious they rape and they steal all that they can move.”

  He had lost his patience and this tirade simply poured out. She stared at him as if he had slapped her, and he regretted the outburst. She was young and had lived a sheltered life. It shouldn't surprise him that she had never questioned the small protected world in which she had dwelled.

  He had been too hard on her. It was her father and brother whom he described, after all. “I have no doubt that there are still many knights who are true to their honor and their vows,” he said by way of a peace offering. “It is said that your brother is such a man.”

  That seemed to release her from the brutal reality he had thrown at her.

  “Did Lady Catherine say anything else that concerns you?”

  “Not to me. She said that she told Morvan something important. He said that it was nothing of significance, and then lectured me about not being friends with her.”

  “Good instruction, Christiana. I do not want you having anything to do with the woman.”

  “I think that I am old enough to choose my own friends.”

  “Not this one. When we are married, you are to avoid her.”

  Her irritation with him was visible, but she held her tongue. She turned her attention to the road as they approached Smithfield.

  CHAPTER 6

  SMITHFIELD ABUTTED LONDON'S north wall. Around the periphery of the racing area, horse traders had their anim
als tethered and lively bargaining was underway. Buyers often asked to have the horse run before purchasing, and that was how the informal races had developed. The crowds attracted to this spectacle in turn drew hawkers, food vendors, and entertainers, and so, every Friday, Smithfield, the site of London's livestock markets, was transformed into a festival site.

  They found a man with whom to leave the horses and plunged into the crowd. Andrew immediately guided Joan off in a separate direction. Christiana, still thoughtful over their discussion, did not notice. She walked with her hands and arms under her cloak, her pale face flushed from the cold.

  “Let us look at the horses,” David said. “You will need one once you leave the castle.”

  “I don't want you to buy me a horse, David.”

  “You will not be using the royal stables after we are wed. We will find a suitable horse today.”

  “After I am wed, I will not be riding your suitable horse, since I will not be wed to you.”

  “Then I will sell it. For convenience, we will see if there is one while you are here to choose. Just in case.”

  She suppressed the urge to get stubborn and fell into step beside him as they went to survey the animals.

  As they walked around the field examining and discussing the horses, they found several possibilities. Toward the end of their circuit they came upon a most suitable horse, a beautiful small black palfrey. The owner produced a saddle, and Christiana tried him out. While David came to terms with the man and arranged for delivery to Westminster's stables, she scanned the crowd for signs of the long-absent Joan and Andrew. The field was too big and busy for her to find them. Just like Joan to forget the reason for coming in the first place.

  A bear baiter and some dancers arrived to entertain. Christiana had no interest in the bear, but the dancers fascinated her. At court she tried never to miss dancers of any kind. This group was fairly rustic and unschooled compared to others she had seen, but still she followed their movements to the simple music for a long while. A part of her envied these women who were permitted to let the music entrance them, whose bodies swayed and curved and angled like moving pictures.

  “I would have liked to be a dancer.”

  “You dance at banquets and feasts, do you not?” David asked.

  She blushed. She hadn't even realized that she had spoken out loud. “Aye. But that is different. That is like a dinner conversation.” She gestured to the women. “This is like a meditation, I think. Sometimes I will see one who looks to be in ecstasy, who is not even aware of the world anymore.”

  She felt his gaze and tore her eyes away from the performance to look at him. His face held that penetrating expression that he directed at her sometimes. There was something invasive about this focused awareness, and it never failed to make her uncomfortable.

  It is like I am made of glass, she thought. It wasn't fair that he could do this. He knew how to remain forever opaque to her.

  “I think that you would be a beautiful dancer,” he said. “If you think that dancing thus will give you pleasure, then you should do it.”

  Finally the dancers took a break and the crowd that had formed drifted away.

  “We should find Joan,” she said, peering at the crowd.

  “I'm sure that we will cross paths. If not, we will meet at the horses.”

  She joined him and they examined the wares that the vendors sold. She wondered what Joan was up to with that apprentice, and what Lady Idonia would say if she found out that Christiana had lost track of her.

  One of the vendors offered savories of fried bread dipped in honey. The smell coming from the hot oil was delicious, and she glanced over longingly as they walked by. It was messy food and just the sort of thing that Lady Idonia had never let her buy when they went to festivals.

  David noticed and went to purchase some.

  “It is sure to stain my clothing,” she said, echoing the reason Idonia had always given for avoiding such food.

  “We will manage.”

  He took one of the doughy savories, and gestured for her to follow him behind the stall to some trees. The vendors edged the crowd and field, and there was no one back here.

  He broke off a piece of the honey-covered bread and held it out. She reached for it but he pulled it away.

  “There is no reason for us both to get covered with it,” he said, and placed the dough near her lips.

  It smelled warm and yeasty and sweet and wonderful. Baring her teeth to avoid the fingers that held it, she stretched her neck forward and took the morsel in her mouth. It tasted heavenly and she rolled her eyes at the pleasure.

  He laughed and broke off another small piece. She stretched for it. “I must look like a chicken,” she giggled with her mouth full.

  Those long fingers fed her again. She felt some honey dripping down her lip and licked to catch it. He gently flicked it away, the pad of his finger grazing the edge of her mouth. Her lower lip quivered at the sensation, and her face and neck tingled.

  The last piece was too big and she had to bite into it. Her teeth nipped his fingertips and she blushed, awkwardly conscious of the contact. He still held out the rest of it, and her gaze stayed on that beautiful hand as she chewed quickly and then hesitantly took the last of the savory.

  His hand did not move away this time, but followed her head back. His fingertips brushed her lips and rested there. The dough suddenly felt very thick in her mouth.

  She looked up at his face and saw the slight hardness around his mouth. His lids lowered as he watched her lips move beneath his hand. An odd stillness descended, and she swallowed the last of the sweet dough with difficulty.

  With a deliberate movement and watchful eyes, he ran his finger around the edge of her mouth, collecting the errant honey, and then wiped the sweetness onto her lips.

  She had a sudden shocking urge to lick the last of the honey off those fingers. He looked in her eyes as if he understood. One by one, he wiped his fingers across her mouth like a repeated invitation to her impulse, layering the sticky remains on her lips.

  The gesture mesmerized her. The sounds of the field and races receded to a distant roar. In the still silence that engulfed her, she could hear her heart beat harder with the light pressure of each small caress. The exciting intensity that she always sensed in him spread to surround her.

  He looked at her a long moment when he finished. Then he abruptly took her hand and pulled her back amongst the trees. She stumbled after him, not really cooperating but not resisting either. Breathless anticipation claimed her as they left the sanctuary of the field. She told herself that she did not want to do this, that she would not go with him, but she went anyway.

  He dragged her behind a large oak. With his arm, around her shoulders he pulled her into an embrace. The other arm slid under her cloak and around her waist, pressing her body to his body as he kissed her.

  Those new sensations that had snuck up on her so insidiously the last time suddenly exploded all at once. It was if they had been carefully corralled for two weeks but now he had opened the gate and waved them to a frenzy. The intimacy of the embrace felt exhilarating, and a thundering tremor full of sharp sensual spikes shook her from her neck to her thighs.

  He gentled his kiss and began biting and licking the honey off her lips in an unhurried way, pulling her yet closer to him. She became very alert but only to him and each touch of warmth on her mouth. Awareness of everything else washed away beneath the stunning waves of slow, tight heat that coursed over and over through her body.

  His tongue grazed against her lips, inviting her to open to him. With the one thread of reason still left, she kept her mouth resolutely closed. He smiled before moving his mouth down.

  Did she deliberately throw her head back so that he could reach the hollow at the base of her neck? She didn't know for sure, but his mouth was there suddenly and her arms were up and around his shoulders, and both of his hands grasped her beneath her cloak, holding her, bending her up to his ki
sses.

  She grew acutely aware of every touch, every kiss, every wonderful strange reaction that she felt. Her upraised arms brought her body closer to his, and through the stretched fabric of her clothing she could feel his muscles and warmth tingling her breasts. The pressure of his hands around her felt both dangerous and comforting. Her awareness became full of something else, too, something commanding and expectant and connected to the hollow tension that spread through her belly. It was that as much as the exquisite feelings that kept her from stopping him. Vaguely, dully, her mind considered that he was luring her toward something that she did not really understand.

  He kissed her mouth again, and his hands moved. Slowly, gently, he caressed down and up her sides beneath her cloak, his fingers splaying around the outer swells of her breasts. Shockingly, insistently, they moved down her back and over her buttocks and up her hips. The tightness in her belly ached and somewhere low inside her a throbbing demand pounded.

  One hand stayed on her hips but the other moved up. She knew what he was going to do. She remembered Stephen's crushing grip and tensed, almost finding her senses, almost finding the strength to push him away.

  But he did not crush her. His fingers stroked around the edge of her breast in a gentle, delicate way, tantalizing her to an excruciating anticipation of she knew not what. Her breath quickened to a series of short gasps as her whole body waited.

  When he finally caressed her breast, she bit back a moan. The pleasure startled her. She tried to pull away.

  He would not let her go. Kissing her beautifully, caressing her softly, he summoned delicious feelings. His fingers touched her as if no cloth lay between them and her skin, finding her nipple and playing with it until that throbbing sensation low by her thighs became almost unbearable. He took the yearning hard bud between his thumb and finger and rubbed gently. This time she could not catch the small cry before it escaped her.

  His mouth went to her ear and kissed and probed before his quiet voice flowed into her.

  “Come back to my house with me. It is but a few minutes from here through the gate.”