Great Protector (5 page)

Mossy,
however, was correct. She was under a good deal of stress due to her impending birthday
celebration and if his presence seemed to upset her as it apparently did, then
he would do his best to stay away from her to allow her a measure of peace. But
the thought of keeping his distance from her cut at him, razor-sharp edges of
disappointment and sorrow. He hadn't seen her in six months. In four weeks, he
would most likely never see her again. His duty as guardian would be complete.

Massaging
the back of his neck wearily, he quit Mossy's tower room without another word.

***

He
did not see Arissa until the evening meal. Lady Maude had joined the
festivities, gracing the room with her fair, plump presence. Richmond truly
liked the generous woman, loving and nurturing whereas her husband could be
detached and unbending.

Arissa
was already seated by the time he arrived, across the table from him as was her
customary position. He took his seat beside William, trying desperately not to
gaze into Arissa's lovely face. Her manner earlier in the day continued to
distress him greatly, but he refrained from mentioning his concern. He would
not question her, nor did he expect an unsolicited explanation. Women were
puzzling, frustrating creatures and it was oft their pleasure to act as they
pleased.

Lady
Regine de Lohr was seated to her sister's left. A fair young girl on the brink
of womanhood, she stuffed food into her mouth faster than she could chew. She
kept smiling at Richmond, food falling from her lips, and he would shake his
head at her in a negative manner every so often; of any living girl-child in
England, the very one in dire need of being sent away to foster continued to
live within the bosom of her birth-home. She was in desperate need of being
separated from her coddling, soft mother in order to learn the true meaning of
manners and grace.

Lady
Maude still called her 'baby'. If anyone needed to be taught the proper conduct
of a gracious lady in an unbiased household, the round young lady grinning at
him was a prime candidate.

But
certainly not her sister. Richmond dared to glace at Arissa as she picked at
her food. He hadn't been able to get a good look at her since he returned until
this very moment, and he was both grieved and elated to see that she had grown
far more beautiful in the six months they had been separated. He did not think
it was possible that Arissa could become any lovelier; obviously, he had been
wrong.

Her
silky black hair was pulled away from her face, falling in soft curls down her
back. Lashes so thick that they appeared to be painted-on tickled her cheeks
like little fans as she looked to her trencher. He couldn't help himself from
staring at her, thinking her to be the most exquisite creature God had ever
created.

"Damn
that Bartholomew," William growled, breaking Richmond from his thoughts.
"I told him to be here promptly for sup. He simply doesn't listen."

"Which
is why Lord Lymse sent him home," Richmond replied softly, forcing himself
away from Arissa's vision. "Bart had been fostering in Barham for a good
ten years before the baron decided nothing could be done with him."

William's
lip twitched in an irritated snarl before quaffed deeply from his chalice.
"My only son, heir to my seat. Good Christ, the earldom shall be passed on
to an idiot."

Richmond
gazed at the man with amused sympathy. "Bart is not an idiot, William. He’s
simply...."

"An
idiot!" William snorted. "My son, the pagan."

"He’s
merely open-minded."

"He
questions the church's teachings, for Christ's sake! What is open minded about
that?"

"He’s
a curious lad, not unlike the rest. He simply focuses his energies into areas
where most men fear to tread."

William
felt the familiar disappointment his son always managed to cast upon him.
"Greek Tragedies, Roman Mythology, paganistic rites. The man threatens to
disrupt England as we know it."

Richmond's
lips flickered with a smile. "Baron Lymse insists He’s an intelligent,
well-read boy. Which is, unfortunately, his primary problem. He’s
too
intelligent
and well-read."

"He’s
an idiot," William muttered into his cup.

With
a twinkle in his eye, Richmond turned away. Habitually, his gaze roved in
Arissa's direction and he was startled to find her staring at him.

Their
eyes met, locked. Pale, delicious green upon bright blue. Richmond was the
first to attempt an acknowledgment, lifting his cup slightly in her direction.
Forcing a weak smile, Arissa lowered her gaze. 

Richmond,
too, tore his eyes away from her after a few moments, wondering how her
familiar gaze could impact him as if it were the very first time they had met.
Not a day went by that he did not curse God and Henry for delegating him with
Arissa's guardianship. Had they only just met, it would be far easier to
declare his want for her. But as her guardian, he might as well have been her
father. The roles were basically the same. He had a sick obsession, in love
with a woman he had practically raised.

As
he immersed himself deeper and deeper into his depressing thoughts, something
on the gallery's balcony caught his attention. Immediately, he glanced up to
see Bartholomew de Lohr poised on the ledge dressed in a toga.

Outwardly,
he did not change expression. A massive elbow gently jostled William, who was
conversing with Carlton. When William turned inquisitively to Richmond, the
knight simply pointed to the balcony.

"Good
Christ!" William sputtered. "He... he’s
indecent
! What in the
hell is he doing?"

Arissa
and Regine turned around, gaping at the source of their father's outrage. In
fact, the entire room had gone eerily still as all attention riveted to the
half-naked man.

Bartholomew
was pleased to have their focus. He perched himself on the ledge with arrogant
confidence, hooking a thumb in the shoulder-drape of his toga.

"Greetings,
citizens!" he bellowed. "In honor of our returned hero, a prose as
befitting the most glorious Roman Gladiator!"

"Good
Christ," William moaned, casting a glance at his mortified wife. He rose
to his feet. "Come down from there, Bart! Go put some clothes on!"

Bartholomew
cocked a blond eyebrow at his father. "When I am finished, Great Caesar, I
shall be happy to join the orgy. Allow me to finish my performance."

Arissa
was smiling faintly at her brother; not because she found him humorous, but
because he was trying so desperately to maintain his individuality in a world
where the norm was to bear armor and clutch a sword in your hand. Bartholomew
was immersed in a world where ancient Romans and Greeks were a part of his
every day existence, and he took great pride in extolling their literary works.
In a world where one was considered odd if one was different, Bartholomew de Lohr
was something of a freak of nature.

"No
performance," William waved him off firmly. "Go put your clothes on. You
are offending the ladies."

Bartholomew
gave his father an irritated look. "This is a toga, Father. All correct
Romans wore togas. Greeks, too. There is nothing shameful about it."

William's
face began to mottle a faint red. "'Tis no wonder they destroyed their own
civilizations with their decadent dress and eccentric manner. Lad, you were
born a thousand years too late."

Bartholomew
cleared his throat, ignoring his father completely. Instead, he focused on
Richmond. "Oh Noble Warrior," he put his hand over his chest
dramatically. "A verse in honor of your return:

'So
like they were, no mortal

Might
one from other know;

White
as snow their armor was,

Their
steeds were white as snow.

Never
on earthy anvil

Did
such rare armor gleam,

And
never did such gallant steeds

Drink
of an earthly stream.'"

Arissa
and Regine clapped loudly, as did Penelope and Emma far down the table. The
older ladies seemed to be indecisive, while the men appeared to be plain
embarrassed.

William,
his face resting in his hand, peered at his son from between splayed fingers.
"Are you finished?"

"Nay,"
Bartholomew suddenly reached for a strip of rope that held one of the massive
chandeliers in place. Gripping the rope, he suddenly swung out over the room to
a chorus of shrieks.

"`
Back
comes the chief in triumph

Who
in the hour of fight....'"

Richmond
was on his feet, leaping over the table with incredible agility for a man of
his massive size. Arissa felt him move past her, startled as his thick arm
inadvertently grazed her tender shoulder.

"Slowly,
lad, slowly," he cautioned Bartholomew. "Do not attempt to slide.
Hand over hand."

Bartholomew
gazed down at Richmond as the rope spun him in circles. "I know how to
descend a rope. Return to your seat so that I might finish your tribute."

"I
have heard enough tribute. Come down from there before you lose your grip and
plunge to your death."

"`
Hath
seen the great Twin Brethren

In
harness on his right.

 Safe
comes the ship to haven....'"

"Bartholomew,
come down from there!" William boomed. "I shall have Richmond cut the
rope if you are not to the floor by the time I count to five!"

Bartholomew
glanced at his father. "I shall come down when I am finished. Can you not
see that I am a sailor descending from the sails of my battleship? Listen to
the rest of the prose."

"Only
a moment ago you were praising a knight in armor," William held out his
hands, completely frustrated. "Where in the hell did the sailor come from?
Richmond has no interest in your inane sailor's prose."

Bartholomew
sighed heavily; his father simply did not understand. "The sailor is a battle
weary warrior returning home from the skirmish at Lake Regillus. If you knew
anything at all about Roman history, you would know that Roman sailors were
knights without horses."

"I
shall not argue the point," William was mightily flushed, becoming more
agitated by the minute. "Come down from there before I have you
removed."

Bartholomew
was not deterred in the least. The rope, however, was working against him; the
knot that held the chandelier so steadily was not designed to carry stress on
the free end. As Bartholomew opened his mouth to finish his victory recitation,
the knot suddenly slipped.

He
plummeted several feet but maintained his grip. The rope continued to hold but
was slipping steadily, bit by bit, lured on by Bartholomew's considerable weight.
The entire room was in a panic.

Richmond
was directly below the young man; any attempt to descend the rope would most
likely cause it to slip further, thereby dropping him the remaining twelve feet
to the stone floor below. His mind working with lightning speed, he whirled to
Carlton and Daniel.

"The
tapestry above the earl's chair!" he commanded. "Rip it down!"

Daniel
bound over the table, leaping into the air and grasping the large tapestry that
was nicely displayed high on the wall. The tapestry tore, shifted, and finally
pulled free as Daniel rode it six or so feet to the ground. With Carlton's
help, they managed to yank from its remaining restraints.

Richmond
took a corner of the fabric as Carlton and Daniel positioned themselves
strategically. When their grips were sure, they placed themself directly
beneath Bartholomew.

"Everyone
clear away from the table!" Richmond shouted; the chandelier was sure to
come crashing down the moment Bartholomew released his hold. "Out of the
room. Now!"

Richmond
le Bec's orders were not meant to be delayed, refused, or questioned. Without
hesitation, the entire dining table cleared and the occupants scampered from
the room.

Except
for Arissa. She was terrified that her brother was going to plummet to his
death and, worse, Richmond would most likely be crushed beneath him. Pressed
against the wall as far as she could go, she watched in wide-eyed horror.

Richmond
did not see her; he was singularly focused on the young man clinging to the
rope above his head.

"Jump,
Bart," he encouraged. "We shall catch you!"

Bartholomew
gazed down at the spread tapestry, knowing he had little choice in the matter.
His grand performance had been ruined, unfortunately, but not entire destroyed.
In fact, he thought it had ended on a rather exciting note. Too bad Richmond
had cleared the room of his audience.

He
loosened his grip.

"`Safe
comes the ship to haven,

Through
billows and through gales