Great Protector (6 page)

 
If once the great Twin Brethren....'
"

He
suddenly let go, falling through the air like a stricken bird, his toga
flapping wildly and revealing his taut, hairy buttocks. He landed with a grunt
on the tapestry, his dead weight causing Daniel to lose his grip.

Bartholomew
crashed to the floor and Daniel toppled onto him, both of them becoming
entangled in the heavy folds of the mussed tapestry.

Across
the room, the chandelier crashed into the large table, spraying food and
trenchers and hot wax from the tallow candles in every direction. Arissa,
standing against the wall, received a barrage of hot wax droplets to her
delicate forearm. Burned, she did not utter a sound as she watched Richmond and
Carlton struggle against the huge tapestry.

The
two knights were yanking at the material, attempting to locate the two men
within the creases. They could see a hand and a leg, listening to Daniel's
growls of frustration as he struggled like a cat in a snare.

Suddenly,
Bartholomew's head appeared and a split second later, Daniel's emerged. Daniel
glared daggers while Bartholomew smiled brightly. With a wink, he ruffled the
furious knight's blond hair.

"`....
Sit shining on the sails.'
"

Daniel
grunted loudly and pushed himself off Bartholomew, regaining his footing.
"You are a bloody fool, de Lohr. You could have broken your goddamn
neck!"

"Not
so, Danny m'lad," Bartholomew said happily. "I am sitting on shining
sails."

"You
are sitting on a tapestry," Carlton shook his head slowly, passing
Richmond an intolerant glance.

But
Richmond did not react. He gazed down at Bartholomew, his face
characteristically unreadable. Bartholomew, however, was smiling expectantly at
him.

"Well?
Did you like it?"

Richmond
did not say anything for a moment. He could only stare at the heir to the
Berkshire earldom and feel a certain amount of trepidation.
So this is to be
the future of England,
he thought bleakly. He hoped he was dead by then.

"I
thought it was wonderful," Arissa was suddenly behind him, her sweet voice
soft and caressing.

Richmond
turned sharply to her, startled by her appearance. He opened his mouth to speak
but, instead, his eyes were drawn to the angry red spots on her delicate skin.
Without thinking, he reached out and snatched the arm.

"What
happened?"

He
was touching her. Sweet St. Jude, he was
touching
her! Arissa gasped as
the searing heat of his flesh burned her far more than the wax had. His bright
blue eyes were dark with concern, anger.

"Answer
me, Arissa."

She
opened her mouth, cleared her throat, and tried anew. "I.... the wax from
the chandelier burned me. I suppose I was not standing far enough away when it
came down."

He
glanced over at the destroyed table. "The wax could not have splashed into
the foyer, which is where you should have gone," his steady gaze returned
to her. "Why did you not leave with the others?"

His
tone, hard and cold, hurt her tender emotions. She tried to pull her arm free,
but his grip was like iron. "Because I was frightened for my
brother."
And you.

She
was looking at the floor and Richmond's gaze lingered on the top of her dark
head a moment longer before glancing to the rising Bartholomew. It was obvious
that the young man was uninjured by his adventure, severing any further concern
on Richmond's part. Without another word, he led Arissa from the room.

Lady
Maude met them in the foyer. One look at Arissa's arm and she fell into a
shrieking fit. When Bartholomew wandered into view, she berated the young man
for his foolish actions and nearly worked herself into a spell. As Lady Maxine
and Penelope returned Lady Maude to her bower, Lady Livia and Emma offered to
tend Arissa's arm.

But
Richmond declined their offer, instead, choosing to tend her himself. He wanted
the excuse to be alone with her. Sending a serving wench for Mossy, he took
Arissa to her chamber.

"Sit
down, kitten," he said softly, moving her toward a chair. "Mossy should
have something to ease the sting."

The
pain increased when he released her from his grasp. She swallowed hard, trying
not to watch every move he made. Trying desperately to ignore the mad twisting
of her stomach and the quivering in her hands.

"Most
likely something smelly," she said quietly, attempting to ease her own
nerves. "Always something smelly."

Richmond
smiled. His smiles were rare; in fact, her father had once accused him of having
a face of stone. Yet whenever he and Arissa were together, the gesture came
freely and warmly.

"As
long as it eases your pain, you should not mind the smell," he leaned
against the warming hearth, crossing his arms over his broad chest. After a
moment, his smile faded. "What is this I hear that you have suffered from
the cough?"

She
looked down at her hands. "Only twice. 'Tis not unusual when the weather
gets colder."

"Nay,
it is not unusual, but you have a talent for inviting illness where there
should be none. I do not want to hear of you roaming about the forest after a
fresh rain in search of blossoms. The next I discover you have allowed your
willful streak to control your common sense, I shall take my hand to your
backside."

Her
eyes came up to him and she cocked a dramatically arched brow. "If you can
catch me, my lord."

"I
can catch you."

A
smile danced on her lips. "I seem to remember a knight chasing after three
young girls because one of them had stolen from the buttery. I seem to also
recall said knight being out-run by much faster, much younger ladies."

"I
was not expending much of an effort."

"You
were running so hard that your face was purple."

"Untrue.
And how dare you criticize my age."

"I
did not criticize your age. I simply stated a fact. Anyone is young compared to
you."

"Is
that so? My, you have grown mouthy and bold as your birthday approaches. I
suppose you believe that the special day prohibits me from punishing you for
your insolence."

"Absolutely.
You would not dare strike the object of celebration."

He
grinned. So did she. Silly, warm, fluid emotions filled the room; he was
terrified that she would be able to read his mind. And she was afraid that he
would be able to read hers.

Swallowing
hard, Arissa lowered her gaze; her cheeks were beginning to flush brightly.
"How was London, my lord?"

"Busy
enough," he said vaguely. "But I am more concerned with this
celebration on the morrow. Far too many obnoxious people for my taste. The list
of guests reads like a damnable wedding."

Her
head came up sharply, the inevitable flooding her mind;
I wish it was our
wedding, my love.
But there would never be a wedding for them. She was
leaving for Whitby, and he would continue on with his life. Which meant,
inescapably, marriage. Certainly a man of Richmond's status needed a wife and
heirs.

She
would not be that wife. To think of him touching another woman, plying her with
soft kisses, speaking fondly to her with words only Arissa should be hearing....

A
dagger of pain pierced her heart and she visibly winced, lowering her gaze so
that he could not read her agony. Anguish of the worst sort built within her
chest as it had earlier in the day in Mossy's sanctuary. She had been able to
escape him then. She could not escape him now.

"What
is wrong, kitten?" he asked softly.

Kitten.
He had always called her kitten,
from the recollection of her earliest memories. He had told her once that she
had sounded much like a kitten when she had been a babe, and somehow the term
stuck with her, even into adulthood. Only from Richmond would she hear the
tender, childish expression. She was not a child anymore.

"N-nothing,"
she swallowed, fighting off the tears.

To
her dismay, he knelt in front of her. His proximity, his presence, was nearly
too much to bear. She attempted to turn away from him, to protect herself from
her foolish emotions, but he braced his arms on either side of the chair and
refused to allow her to move.

"You
are lying," he said gently. "Does your arm hurt so?"

An
escape!
"Aye, it stings," she said, grateful that he had given her an excuse
for her tears. "And.... and it will probably scar."

His
fingers touched her skin and she gasped, bolts of lightning surging through her
limbs and rendering her entire body weak and aching. He drew his hand away in
alarm, his gaze inquisitive.

"I
did not touch the burns, Arissa."

She
was shaking terribly. Lacking any control whatsoever, her eyes met with his
wise gaze, silently beseeching him to leave her before her composure
evaporated. But he was not listening to her silent pleas; his beautiful eyes
were open and honest. Immediately, the tears came.

He
began wiping tears away before he could stop himself. "Oh, Riss, what's
wrong? Has something terrible occurred while I have been away? Something you
are greatly troubled over, or...?"

She
shook her head violently, wanting desperately to be free of him, yet with the
same breath wanting him to continue touching her. But she could not tell him
so.

"N-nay,"
she sobbed.

Richmond
knew he should not touch her any more than he already was. In fact, dragging
his fingers across her silken cheeks was a dangerous enough sport, but he
lacked the will or desire to prevent himself from following his instincts. And
when she began openly weeping, his arms suddenly took on a life of their own
and drew her into a crushing, protective embrace.

She
couldn't pull away from him. His scent, leather and horses and pine, filled her
nostrils and she felt her arms going about his neck, burying her face deeper
and deeper into the crook of his shoulder. The tighter she clung, the more
fiercely he held her.

This
is dangerous
!
Richmond's common sense screamed to him. But, God's Teeth, he'd never held
anything so sweet and womanly in his entire life. He could smell the gardenias
from the pomade she was so fond of making, pomade that had nearly cost her her
life.

His
face was in her hair, black silk that assaulted him more brutally than any
warrior he had ever faced.  His fingers began stroking her luscious mane of
their own accord, winding themselves tightly within the strands. Before he
realized it, he had her entire head gripped in his two massive hands.

Her
weeping had ceased. Her face, free from the shielding comfort of his shoulder,
was suddenly in front of him. He'd never beheld anything more beautiful in his
entire life.

"My
lord?"

It
took Richmond a moment to realize that Arissa had not uttered the words. Her
quivering rosy lips were inches from his own. He could feel her warm breath,
the heat from her body.

"My
lord?"

His
eyes widened and he immediately dropped his hands from her head. Rising to his
feet with shocking speed, Mossy was already in the door and Richmond heard it
slam. He had no idea how long the old man had been watching them.

"Did
you knock?" he demanded, more harshly than he should have.

Mossy
did not pay him any attention. "Ye did not hear me," he dug about in
his bag. "Arissa, how did ye burn yerself?"

Arissa
was in a daze. She was shaking so violently that she could barely function much
less answer a simple question. Mossy turned to her, his ancient eyes grazing
her stunned expression.

"Riss?"

She
drew in a deep breath that sounded more like a sob. Senses returning somewhat,
she raised her eyes to him. "Wax," she whispered.

Richmond
was standing across the room, attempting to recover his composure. He couldn't
believe how close he had come to kissing her. He couldn't believe he had
actually allowed himself to be placed in that position. What in the hell was he
thinking?

Mossy
was bent over Arissa's arm, examining the red blotches. After a brief look, he
took a vial of salve from his bag and smeared it on the wounds. Arissa winced
and tried to jerk her arm away, but he held up a curt finger.

"None
of that!" he said sharply. Mossy had never known a day of irritation or
anger in his life, and Arissa was shocked to hear his tone. Before she could
apologize, the old man turned to Richmond. "Come and hold her still, my
lord. She cannot move about while I am trying to apply this salve. It must be
applied precisely."

Richmond
did not hesitate, although he felt as if he were about to drown. He still was
not recovered from the last time he'd touched her.

As
Richmond reached the chair, Mossy pulled Arissa to her feet. "Sit, my
lord, sit," as Richmond moved to do so, Mossy gently eased a very stiff
Arissa onto the knight's lap. "There now, lass. Sit still. Richmond, put
your arms about her so she doesn't move. I cannot have her moving about, disrupting
my work."