The Bellerose Bargain (6 page)

"Even your shoes..." he started, halting abruptly to belch loudly. He swallowed and regained his attempt at dignity. "Even your shoes are worthless. Did you slop hogs ‘til coming here?"

"Leave me alone," she said quietly. "Go away."

"But I can’t, maid," he said, spreading his arms in mock helplessness. "Destiny brings us together and we are meant...umm...destined to be together... you and I." He shook his head, and his sandy-colored hair flopped about like a thatched roof in a rainstorm. "We need each other."

"Don’t touch me," she begged, her bundle clutched tightly to her chest as she attempted to melt into the wall.

"Don’t worry." he grimaced. "God’s blood, would I be here if touching you before you’re bathed were part of the bargain? It’s hard enough to look at you."

"Then go," she insisted loudly.

But he paid her no attention. He looked her over again, and again he grimaced. Why, she wondered, had he troubled to break into her room if he found her so unappetizing? Could he possibly be aware of her large sum? She wondered if she had worn her concern with keeping the money safe while eating in the common room, thereby alerting some thief that within the carefully guarded bundle of clothing there was wealth.

And this, she quickly reasoned, was a successful thief, for he was well dressed and articulate. He certainly robbed and assaulted only rich people.

"You’ll never do," he said, slurring his words and shaking his head again. "Can’t see how you’ll manage. No breeding whatever, dressed to slop hogs and empty chamber pots, and without washing for a score of years."

Alicia stood a bit taller. She was not in dire need of bathing, though it had been a couple of days. She did not think she smelled. But then she remembered the odor that greeted her when she entered the room and reasoned that he mistook the stench for her. God above, she thought, do I worry over insults made against me by a thief?

He took a few steps toward her, wobbling dangerously, and she edged along the wall to a safer distance. Catching her was going to be his problem, she could see that. His vision was not clear and his movements were disadvantaged by too much liquor. "Come here, wench," he barked.

Alicia made a quick jump to the other side of the room, not having much difficulty dodging him. Again he advanced, the boyish grin adorning his face, and his eyes barely slits in his effort to clear his vision. Alicia stood still, waiting for him to get closer before quickly jumping away again. But this time the sodden assailant surprised her, making one deft and speedy lunge. He caught her in arms that were strong but clumsy with drink, and caused her to drop her bundle as she struggled to get away.

"Be still, wench," he ordered. "Hold still so I can look at you. I can’t see you clearly."

"Let go of me," she said through clenched teeth.

"Now, how can we get to know each other if you fight me?" He let out a laugh that was not much more than a drunken giggle. "If you hold still I’ll let go," he offered.

She stopped struggling suddenly and stood very still, nodding her head slightly. His arms dropped to his sides and she skittered out of his grasp immediately, dashing around the table, keeping that as the barrier between them.

"Damn wench," he muttered, turning to locate his disappearing catch. "Don’t make me mad," he cautioned, his smile gone.

"Don’t touch me or I’ll scream," she warned.

"Scream," he told her. "And I’m sure the castle guard will come running. Now, behave or I’ll have to beat you."

As he delivered this last threat he stumbled slightly, and she saw that he was so sodden that with luck she could outwit him; and though she feared his strength, she was more angry than afraid.

"Lay one hand to me and I’ll kill you."

"Kill me, eh? I see my work’s cut out. I’ll have to throw up your skirts and give your wretched arse a swat or two. Now come here."

"Never. Get out."

"Bitch," he mumbled, rubbing his neck and looking as though he’d forgotten what he entered her room for. "All right, have it your way...with a fight." He stumbled toward her and grasped the opposite side of the table, his eyes fully open now and fixing her with a glittering stare filled with determination. Alicia’s mouth opened slightly and once again she feared him. As he made to pull the table from between them, she grabbed the pitcher by the handle, and with no aforethought, she reached over the short distance between them and laid her mightiest blow to his head. The crockery gave way immediately, crashing to the floor all about him.

His eyes grew round and shocked just before they gently closed and he melted to the floor in a heap. She stared at him for a moment, the porcelain handle of the pitcher still in her hand. He did not look dead, but her first thought was that she had killed him. Yet he seemed peacefully asleep. A look of contentment seemed to rest over his eyes and mouth like a warm blanket.

Ah, he was handsome.

A handsome fool, her anger answered loudly. He deserved at least a bump on the head for what he might have done.

There was a knock at the door and Alicia’s eyes jumped from the sleeping form on the floor to the sound. Her heart began to pound again, for now she was caught. Though she did not think herself outside the law in defending herself, she did not expect to be let out of blame easily once it was discovered that she had wounded this man. His clothes were rich. It was possible he was someone of importance, robbing and assaulting women for sport rather than for sustenance.

Again the knocking. Her eyes began to sting with tears. There was no one to help her. "Blast that oaf," she muttered under her breath. "He promised to be near."

And at the moment Rodney crossed her mind, she heard his voice outside her door. "Alicia?" he questioned from the other side.

She went to the door quickly and attempted to open it, grateful enough for tears to spill just because of his presence outside. She wiggled the latch once before she remembered that her attacker had the key safely tucked in his pocket. She went back to the unconscious man and frantically searched through his coat until she retrieved the key. It took her, in all her sobriety, nearly as long to unlock the door as it had taken her intruder. She actually frowned over her shoulder at the man, for it had not occurred to her that it was a difficult lock. She assumed his clumsy drunkenness made the task time-consuming.

Rodney carried a tray of food which he nearly dropped when he saw the body on the floor. Alicia watched him as she saw, for the first time, a look of absolute fear on his face.

"What has happened?" he whispered as he studied the broken crockery and the injured man.

"He’s likely as dead of drink as of the blow," Alicia said quite easily. "He meant to do his worst."

Rodney shook his head and kicked the door closed before setting the tray on the table. He knelt by the injured man and opened his eyes and checked his head.

"I thought I’d die of hunger, and now you’ve brought something, I doubt I can eat it. Where have you been?"

"In the common room for the most part, explaining you to Lord Seavers. He had a mite to drink, but when I left him, his condition was not this poor."

"I was afraid this man would take my money," Alicia explained, still uncertain what they should be doing about this situation.

"He wouldn’t have taken your money, lass. This is the man who gave it to you. Geoffrey Seavers."

"God above," she sighed, dropping heavily to the stool by the table. That explained the insults perfectly. He was appraising her to see how she would fit that part they planned for her to play. And judging by his earlier reaction, she didn’t fit the bill. She sighed softly and looked away from the sleeping noble. "I suppose I’ll be on the next coach."

"If luck is with us he won’t remember clearly," Rodney said, rising. "You say he was fairly drunk?"

"Not fairly, sir. He could barely stand without the wall."

Rodney fought to keep from chuckling aloud. "I don’t suppose you could have dropped him so easily were he able to walk."

"Don’t be too certain," she said wryly. She nodded toward him. "Is he drunk often?"

"Seldom. I should have expected this. He was...ah...upset with the circumstance."

"Then he will have none of me?"

"I think he’ll come around to it, lass. He is honest to a fault, and therein lies his problem. Robbing the crown of an inheritance does not sit well with the man. He’s the most loyal man Charles has at the moment."

"You’re wrong, sir," she said very quietly. "He did not find me good enough in any way. He said so."

Rodney stood and looked down at her. Her eyes were lowered and looking at Seavers. She studied his face carefully and it tugged just a bit at her heart. She had not liked his behavior, but he was actually more amusing than frightening. Beneath his thick hair the color of sand and wheat, his closed eyes looked peaceful. They sported thick, dark lashes, but she clearly remembered the green color. They had sparkled with excitement, delight, and fury, all within the short span of time she had dodged his arms. And the arms—though clumsy, as they clutched at her they were not cruel or careless but strong and gentle. Aside from the drunkards who had lunged at her when she served at the Ivy Vine, there had been only one other pair of arms to hold her...and those had been strong and demanding. Culver Perry was at least as handsome, possibly more so, but there was nothing as boyish and comfortable about his face and body.

This man, she thought, is appealing in many ways. He is handsome and strong. And though he had not been kind or compassionate, neither could she be sure that he was vulgar and mean. Perhaps when he was not swelled with drink he could be tractable... even loving.

Her lips curved in a half smile and she felt moisture come to her eyes. What would it be like to have a man like this actually love her?

"Did he hurt you, maid Alicia?" Rodney asked softly.

"No," she whispered. "But ‘tis truth that he said he did not want me for his bargain." She looked up into Rodney’s kindly eyes as her own were quickly welling with emotion. "He said I wouldn’t do at all."

"That was more the ale talking than the man, lass. He’s a bit plagued by the circumstances, but he’s not one to purposely hurt a woman. Even one he does not like." By the way she lowered her eyes, Rodney could see that she could not easily quell her disappointment. She believed the bargain was no longer being offered. "You had your heart set on a fine home and decent clothes."

Alicia looked up at him again, and for a moment she made no response. As she considered his statement, she remembered that her hundred pounds would certainly buy more in the way of lodging and clothing than she might ever have had as a farmer’s wife. That would not be taken from her. But her spirit was drained by yet another rejection. There had been so very many in her short lifetime.

She almost had to laugh at herself. He had stumbled into her room drunk and presumptuous, looking like a criminal, and yet the fact that he found her an unsuitable maid had hurt her. And further recollection made her see that she had not been at all terrified of him but just cautious of his intent. She thought perhaps she had been immediately taken with him. Sometimes she didn’t understand herself at all. He was drunk, outrageous, and insensitive. Had she simply liked his face?

A low moan came from the injured man. "Yes," she said to Rodney. "I had great hopes for the riches you promised me."

The manservant frowned slightly. Her answer lacked a convincing tone. He puzzled at her manner. This did not fit the proud image he had of her. In his mind he suspected that Geoffrey had already pinched at the maid’s heart, even in his clumsy first impression.

He moved to the groaning man and lowered himself to look at him closely. Over his shoulder he addressed Alicia. "Eat something, lass, and have patience with my cloddish master. The game is not played out yet."

With a sigh, she picked up her utensil and stared into the plate of stew.

"Once you have some decent clothes and the benefit of grooming, I wager he’ll thank us both for this opportunity."

She chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful. Then she swallowed and returned her knife to the table top and looked earnestly to Rodney. Her eyes seemed cleansed of misery and held only rueful acceptance. "I’m a foolish wench, sir. I’ve long held to a hope that one day I’d meet someone who would look beyond my poor style of dress and lack of legitimate family name—and still find me suitable." She shrugged and picked up her cup of wine. "I suppose I have proved my ignorance in that."

"The game is not played out," he repeated.

In a section of the city not far from where Alicia waited out her bargain, another young woman paced a small rented room atop a clothier’s shop. Her agitation was more intense than Alicia’s had been, and her furnishings were finer. Although she was a maid alone, she did not flinch at every sound from below. She was preoccupied with her lack of food and drink and her anger was mounting.

The sound of footsteps on the stair colored her face with hopeful anticipation. The unlocked door opened and a sigh of relief escaped her. The tall and handsome man thrust a basket toward her.

A somewhat chubby hand grabbed the basket with eager lust, and without a word, the woman was digging through it, withdrawing bread, meat, cheese, and wine from the inside. She did not labor with the tablecloth and utensils but chewed off a generous bite of cheese and poured herself a full cup of wine from the half-empty bottle. Her gluttonous movements brought a grimace to the man’s face.