Abruptly, he realized his demanding deed and his head came up. Swallowing hard at his aggressive actions, his gaze found her exposed legs, looking so entirely delicious that he nearly lost every remaining ounce of restraint. The desire to latch his teeth onto a tender thigh was overpowering, but he fought it.
Arissa was watching him through half-closed lids, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement and wonder. She raked her slender white fingers through his hair.
“What is the matter? Why did you stop?”
He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from her beautiful legs. “I…. we must stop, Riss. I cannot go any further.”
She blinked, clearing her focus and her mind. “Why not?”
He swallowed hard. “Because if we continue as we are, the inevitable will occur.”
She propped herself up on her elbows, oblivious to her exposed breasts. “Inevitable? Do you mean coupling?”
He tried hard not to stare at her beautiful breasts. One look and his thin resolve would melt away. “Aye, kitten, that’s exactly what I mean. This is not the place or the time.”
Her brow furrowed and she sat up, pulling up the neckline on her askew bodice in an attempt to cover herself. “But why? Richmond, you said you loved me. Have you changed your mind?”
He exhaled sharply, helping her straighten her surcoat before pulling her into a crushing embrace. “Of course not, and I am furious that you would suggest such a thing. Please understand that I am trying to be considerate of you, kitten. You are very new to the realm of passion and I do not want to frighten you. We must become accustomed to one another before we move beyond.”
She looked at him as if she hadn’t understood a word he said. “Become accustomed to one another? What a silly notion. I have known you since I was a child.”
He shook his head faintly. “Listen to me, Riss, listen to what I am saying. Clearly we know each other well. But we must truly come to understand one another in every sense of the word. We have risen to a new plane of emotion, you and I. ’Twas something I never thought to experience.”
Her gaze warmed as she began to realize his point. “Nor I. I can still hardly believe that your feelings mirror my own.”
He smiled gently, his injured nose aching with the action. “Somewhat of a shock to us both, I would guess. And I do not want to ruin the discovery process by bedding you like a rutting bull,” his tender hands touched her face, her hair. “I want to introduce you into a world where you will learn to crave my touch, to yearn for my kiss. You will learn to need these gestures as badly as I need them from you. When we couple, I want you to understand what it is we are expressing.”
She studied his face, his sincerity. A faint smile crept onto her lips. “How fortunate for me that you are so willing to be patient.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Believe me, patience is not an easy attribute where you are concerned. My instincts tell me to ravage you thoroughly, but my common sense tells me to control my raging passions. ’Twill be my pleasure to teach you the art of loving.”
“But I already love you.”
“And I love you. But you must be taught the most fulfilling ways to demonstrate that love. Were I to take your maidenhood from you this night, it would frighten you because you would truly have no grasp as to what is actually happening. It would be too much, too soon, too quickly. As with all other skills, lovemaking must be taught and practiced. Do you comprehend what I am telling you?”
She shrugged vaguely, her smile widening. “I think I have an idea. Already, I know I like what it is we do together.”
He kissed the end of her pert nose. “And you are a brilliant, eager pupil. I simply do not want you to be angry with me for moving slowly with you. I do not want to overwhelm you.”
She wrapped her arms about his neck. “Your years and years of experience have taught you that patience is a valuable asset with a woman, has it not?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Saucy wench. You remind me of my true age at every turn.”
She laughed softly. “I cannot help it. You are nearly as old as Mossy.”
“You are a devil. I should take you over my knee, as I have done before. You have not been spanked nearly enough.”
“I was just a child then. You would spank a grown woman?”
“Absolutely.”
She raised her eyebrows as if fearful of his threat. He broke into a smile and nuzzled her neck, dropping soft kisses on the tender skin. Arissa closed her eyes against his gentle attention. But thoughts of bliss and a future filled with Richmond were abruptly overshadowed by darker, more frightening visions.
Her eyes opened as sharp recollections of the cloister infiltrated her mind, as they did so often these days. But now, a sharp distaste for the life of the cloth was becoming her worst nightmare. More than mere reluctance, it was a palpable terror.
“When will you speak to my father, Richmond?” she whispered against his thick brown hair.
He paused at her pleading tone, a thousand thoughts whirling through the mists of his mind. He paused a moment in silent contemplation before meeting her gaze.
“When the time is right, kitten. You must realize that this will come as a great shock to him,” he fingered a raven-colored lock. “But, most importantly, you must not become discouraged or panicked. Even if you are forced to meet your appointment with Whitby after the first of the year, which I suspect will be the case, you must not become disheartened. Know that I will come for you as soon as I can.”
Her eyes misted; he could see the tears coming. “I do not want to be away from you.”
He sighed regretfully. “There is nothing we can do, kitten. Your future has been planned for eighteen years and you certainly cannot expect to dissolve a matter of this importance in a few days. It will take time.”
She blinked rapidly, chasing away the tears. “But you will not forget me?”
He kissed her forehead, laughing softly at the irony of the statement. “Foolishness. If I were never to see you again from this day forward, you would remain as strong and vital in my heart as you are at this moment. Never forget that, Riss. I shall always love you just as I do now until I die.”
She leaned against him, feeling his strength, his warmth, relishing in it as she always had. “I am frightened, Richmond. What if my father denies our request?”
Her head tucked underneath his chin, Richmond’s smile faded as he thought on that very real possibility. Even though a denial would be of no consequence in the larger scheme of things, it would nonetheless be an obstacle to overcome. Even though Henry loved him, he simply was not of Arissa’s station and that stumbling block alone would prove to be mighty.
“I can be quite convincing,” he murmured after a moment. “My years and years of experience have given me much practice in the art of persuasion. If that doesn’t work, I shall simply torture him into submission with my superior strength.”
She giggled. “Father weighs more than you do. Surely he will be difficult to coerce should it come to a battle of strength.”
Richmond thought of Henry, strong and proud, with a temper to match. Not only would it come down to a battle of strength and wills, but mortal combat was not out of the realm of possibility. Richmond could not begin to fathom how Henry was going to react to his astonishing demand.
Your primary concern in this life is the child you hold. You will guard her with your life.
He had completed his orders too well. Not only had he protected her with his life, she had literally become his life in ways he would have never dreamed possible. She had been his destiny in every sense of the word.
“Let us keep the word battle out of this conversation,” he said softly.
*
Two shrouded figures tethered their mounts deep in the woods. The horses were frothing and sweaty, indicative of an abusive ride. But the two men who had driven the animals to the brink of collapse paid no mind to the miserable horses as they crept through the undergrowth, through the trees that
opened onto the well-traveled road between Lambourn and Goring.
The thoroughfare was deserted, as they hoped. But not for long. A small party was approaching and they made haste back to the shielding protection of the trees.
“Do you have it?” the very same soldier who had been stalking Arissa at Lambourn threw back his hood, fumbling with something underneath his cloak.
The second soldier, his seasoned companion, nodded and dug about in his mail. “Aye, I got it. It was not difficult to steal with all of de Lohr’s and le Bec’s men watching the Stick and Ball game.”
The first man drew forth a small Welsh crossbow, well-made and compact. As he loaded the dual-arrow catapult, the second soldier handed him a large strip of crimson cloth.
The first soldier smiled with satisfaction as he held up the banner. “Excellent. Henry’s own tunic, Leopards of England.” Quickly, he set to securing the strip of material to one of the arrows.
The second soldier peered over his shoulder. “David, I still do not understand why you had me steal the length of tunic. What are you planning?”
David, a Welsh soldier for nearly twenty years, smiled as he secured the banner. “A brilliant scheme to be rid of le Bec,” he said. “You saw how he was always near the girl. God’s Blood, they were inseparable. If we want to get to Henry’s bastard, then we have to be rid of his knight.”
Lyle crouched down beside his comrade, scratching his head. “You still have not answered my question. What are you going to do to the de Rydal party?”
Cloth secured, David rose to his feet and Lyle with him. “Simple, really. Tad de Rydal was ousted from the celebration for injuring le Bec. In retaliation, le Bec sends some of his men to ambush his enemy,” he held up the crossbow, waving the crimson standard. “Le Bec announces his vengeance for all to hear. Labeled a murderer, he’s forced to flee to London and we, my friend, are rid of him. I would suspect that by tomorrow sundown, Richmond le Bec will no longer be an obstacle and by the end of the week, Henry’s bastard will be in Owen’s hands.”
Lyle sighed; ’twas as good a plan as any. Le Bec and the girl had been together constantly and the Welshmen had been thinking heavily on returning to Owen empty-handed when David had come up with a scheme.
Far down the road, the unmistakable sounds of horses began to permeate the air, echoing off the forest canopy. Lyle boosted David into a tree, high enough that he would have an unobstructed view of his target, yet not so high that a quick escape would be impeded. When David settled himself confidently, Lyle ducked behind a sturdy trunk.
Slowly, the de Rydal party passed through the corridor of pine. Tad was at the head of the group astride his magnificent charger. His visor was up on his helm and his expression was nothing short of hostile. Obviously, he was still smarting from being evacuated from Lambourn and, as his manner suggested, he was not taking the rejection well.
The day was beginning to wan and the tall trees were casting long shadows along the road. Tad was gazing at the path ahead, paying little if any attention to his surroundings. His mind was still back at Lambourn, dwelling on the fact that he had been deprived of a glorious evening of young women and fine food simply because Richmond le Bec had managed to place himself in the path of his moving stick.
He picked his nose as he rode, disgusted with the entire day. First came the Lady Arissa’s rejection, followed by le Bec’s timely arrival and subsequent challenge. Then came the archery match, which he refused to recall in detail because he had lost that contest, too. And then the Stick and Ball game, resulting in le Bec’s injury.
He snorted softly with humor, wiping his finger on his tunic. He had possessed a perfect opportunity to whack le Bec across his dumb face when the man had stooped down to pick up the ball. One clean stroke, as hard as he could manage, and le Bec had gone down like a stone. Sweet, sweet revenge.
To his right, a flock of birds soared noisily into the winter sky as if suddenly startled from their branches. Tad gave them nothing more than a passing glance, still lingering on le Bec and the entire de Lohr family. He hoped he would never again be forced into the company of the Earl of Berkshire and his brood. Any father who pledged his only worthy offspring to a convent was a peculiar man, indeed.
A smile came to his lips as his charger passed under a low-lying cluster of branches. His thoughts were shifting from Lambourn to Goring Hall and a certain young serving wench that he was particularly fond of. He would be home in an hour or two and began to look forward to the evening ahead. A hot meal, a full wench, and he just might forget about the horrors of Lambourn and Richmond le Bec.
But his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a searing force suddenly slammed into his shoulder. He felt himself teetering, sliding from the saddle and unable to steady himself. As a consuming pain devoured the entire right side of his body, he met the road with a hard, agonizing crunch. Somewhere, he heard yelling, the shouting of his men as they moved for cover. Indignantly, he realized that not one of them was moving to assist him.
Cowardly bastards. He’d take a tassel whip to them when he could move again. Fact was, he was not entirely sure why he couldn’t seem to function. Only that there was a great deal of pain and warmth that seemed to touch every part of him. Everywhere, there was agony and a fluid lethargy.
A peculiar bliss settled over him and he did not fight it, staring up at the sky as a mist began to cloud his vision. The mist grew into a fog, and the fog began to blacken. He wondered where the fog had come from. He wondered if it had anything to do with the pain. Even as he watched, it continued to grow until there was only darkness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As the evening hour approached, most guests had retreated to the monstrous hulk of Lambourn to prepare themselves for the night’s festivities. The heavy smells of roasting meat filled the compound, the smoke from three large pits just outside of the kitchens casting a thick gray haze over the grounds. Up on the battlements, soldiers called out their rounds as dusk descended.
Arissa had missed evening Vespers whilst tending Richmond’s wound. Now in her bower preparing for the great feast in her honor, Penelope and Emma kept her company as she toyed with her hair for the fifth time in as many minutes. In the hour since she had left Richmond, she could think of nothing else but their encounter and her distraction was obvious.
“Did Richmond require stitches, Riss?” Penelope asked.
She nodded, securing the front section of her hair at the back of her skull with a bejeweled clip. It was the third attempt. “I told you already.”
“You told us that he was fine,” Emma said, observing Arissa’s collection of girdles. “You never said if he needed stitches. Riss, do you think this silver belt goes with my blue surcoat? I like it better than the gold I am wearing.”
Arissa glanced over her shoulder, stroking her raven hair with a horse bristle brush. “As do I. Wear my silver.”
Delighted, Emma disengaged the gold girdle in favor of the silver. Penelope opened her mouth to continue on the subject of Richmond when two horn blasts pierced the outdoor air. Strolling to the window as the sun set, she gazed out over the bailey in time to note the arrival of a single rider. It was a man she had seen before, more times than she could recall. A man who was Richmond le Bec’s shadow.
“Gavan is here,” she murmured casually, turning away from the lancet window. “I wonder where he’s been?”
Arissa shook her head, finally finished with her hair. Dipping a single finger into a small alabaster vial at her elbow, she proceeded to smooth the ocher-tinted beeswax on her lips. “Mayhap in London. Truthfully, I do not know. I was surprised when Richmond arrived without him.”
Emma sighed dreamily. “Sir Gavan Hage. The man of my dreams.”
Penelope smiled, shaking her head. “Every man is the man of your dreams.”
Emma thrust her chin up, away from her tormenter. “Untrue, you little chicken. It has always been Gavan, more than any other. Although I will admit, I have been distracted on
occasion.”
A faint smile crossed Arissa’s lips as she pinched her cheeks to bring about a spot of color to her face. “On occasion? Sweet St. Jude, Emma, you are a fickle character.”
“What do you mean by that?” Emma asked, her eyebrows raised.
Arissa turned away from the polished glass mirror. “I mean, all you could speak of today was Tad. And now you are ready to sink your teeth into Gavan Hage. Control your lust, woman.”
Emma’s cheeks mottled a faint pink, embarrassed. “I do not lust. I simply…. simply get distracted by other men when Gavan is away. Now that he’s returned, however, I plan to devote my time to him entirely, starting with the evening feast.”
Arissa rose from the stool, straightening her green-on-green surcoat. “Sweet St. Jude, do not throw yourself at his feet and beg for the opportunity to share his trencher like you did the last time he was here.”
Emma looked away. “You shall never allow me to forget, will you? One small, insignificant incident and I am branded a desperate female.”
Penelope snorted, picking up Arissa’s brush and running it through her blond hair. “You are a desperate female. When you practically tied Gavan to his chair in hopes that he would share his meal with you, I nearly died of embarrassment. I have never seen anyone so eager for a man.”
Emma frowned, her flush deepening. “I am not that bad. But he shared his meal with me, did he not?”
Arissa cocked a black eyebrow. “It was difficult to refuse when you burst into tears. Really, Emma. No more attempts to lure Gavan Hage. No offense, darling, but you simply cannot compete with his wife.”
Emma’s cheeks were a dull red. “Enough already. Leave me alone.”
She turned toward the lancet windows as Penelope and Arissa passed amused glances. Emma was a sweet girl, but she lacked the humility and restraint of the average maiden. Her desperation for a male companion drove her to severe measures at times.