The More I See You (32 page)

Richard reached for her hand and took it between both his own. “So, you think to tease me as well, do you? I have no qualms about thrashing my guardsmen in the lists for their sport. What recourse have I with you?”

“You could kiss me.”

He hesitated, then caught the look in her eye. “More teasing.”

“I think I’m getting pretty good at it.”

“You certainly seem to be enjoying it,” he agreed.

Jessica leaned her head back against the wall and smiled at him. “I feel a lot better today.”

“You look better.” He reached up and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Did you eat what I sent with Warren?”

“Yes. And now I want a bath.”

He shook his head.

“Richard, I’m becoming a little pungent,” she said, starting to frown. “I want a bath in a tub, not one by hand.”

“The burn isn’t healed sufficiently.”

“Tough.”

He held up his hand with the ring. “See this?”

“I’m ignoring it. Go get me a bath or I’ll get it myself.”

“Didn’t you know that the Church warns against the practice of bathing? I’ve known souls who haven’t touched water since they were christened.”

“You bathe every day.”

“I also spent much time in foreign countries where cleanliness was prized. I found I liked it.”

“Well, so do I,” she said stubbornly. “I want a bath.”

“Only if I’m there to give it to you,” he said, then heard his words and wondered where they’d come from. Oh, aye, he was trying to keep her safe. It would be a poor thing indeed if all his fine tending was ruined by a foolish bath.

“Richard!”

Her face was scarlet. Richard suppressed the urge to pull his suddenly stifling tunic away from his neck.

“You’ll require aid,” he said defensively. “Would you rather have Warren help you?”

“I’d rather have that little girl that helps Cook.”

“She’s a child. She isn’t strong enough to hold you up should you faint.”

“I don’t want you to do it,” Jessica insisted.

Richard set his jaw. This wasn’t the time or the place he’d wanted to discuss their betrothal, but Jessica was
being ridiculous and likely only because she didn’t understand their situation.

“I have every right to do it,” he growled.

Her gaze flew to his. She looked startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Those words we spoke,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the bed. “You remember which ones.”

She ducked her head so quickly he didn’t have a chance to see the effect of his words.

“The betrothal?”

Her voice was barely audible.

He cleared his throat roughly. “Aye,” he answered.

“The betrothal.”

“Then it’s binding?”

Those words were like spiked balls being driven into his chest. She didn’t want it. She wouldn’t look at him because he either terrified her or disgusted her.

Did she know of his childhood shame?

He rose swiftly. “It can be broken,” he said harshly.

Jessica’s head snapped up. “Broken?”

“By the bloody saints, don’t look so relieved!” he thundered.

“I’m not—”

Richard spun on his heel and strode across the room.

“Richard, wait—”

He snatched up his sword and banged from the chamber. He ignored the men who stared at him in amazement, thumped down the stairs, and jogged across the courtyard. He heard Jessica’s voice in the distance calling his name, but he didn’t stop. He saddled the mount he’d been using while Horse recovered and trotted out of the stables.

He saw Jessica limping across the bailey, her dark hair streaming behind her, but he didn’t stop.

He thundered down the road, forcing men to leap aside or be trampled. John stood at the outer gates and simply watched as Richard rode by. Richard ignored his captain. He ignored the fact that he might meet up with Gilbert’s sire’s men and not be protected. At present he just didn’t care.

So the thought of wedding him was distasteful to her. So she’d learned of all he’d endured during his childhood. She likely thought him sullied by it. He’d offered his heart and she’d cast it down like a thing diseased. Maybe she had good reason. There was surely no excess of love in him.

Well, she could bloody well have her freedom. He’d give it to her just as soon as the pain inside him dulled enough to allow him to get the words out.

He rode until the beast beneath him was heaving furiously with the effort of taking in air. Richard dismounted and walked alongside the horse. He saw riders coming toward him and didn’t bother to draw his sword. He did, however, drag his sleeve across his face. Let them think his eyes were watering because of the fierceness of his ride. They would never think those were tears of rage. They certainly weren’t tears of hurt. He was bloody furious with Jessica for her cruelty. Mercy? Nay, the woman hadn’t a smidgen of it in her. Nor compassion, nor love. A bitch, that’s what she was.

He said the words over and over again, trying to make himself believe them.

His own guardsmen pulled to a stop before him. Sir Stephen struggled to control his dancing mount.

“Lady Jessica . . .” he panted. “She fainted. She’s bleeding, milord.”

“Let her bleed,” Richard snarled.

“My lord!” Stephen gasped.

Richard swung up into the saddle and turned the stallion homeward. He’d cure her, then never touch her again. Perhaps he’d personally search out a way to send her back to her time. Matilda might be able to help, as it was likely witchcraft that had brought Jessica to him.

He rode into the inner bailey to see a cluster of his men huddled near the spot of the future great hall. Richard parted them, then caught his breath in spite of himself. Jessica lay there, crumpled like a bit of discarded cloth. He carefully picked her up and strode up the steps to his bedchamber, barking orders over his shoulder.

Within moments he had her stripped and was looking at the damage. She had opened up the wound. He couldn’t bring himself to heat another knife in the fire. He put salve on it and bound it tightly. Once that was seen to, he covered her and patted her face to force her to wake. Her eyelids fluttered. When she saw him, she reached for him.

“Richard, you misunderstood me—”

“I misunderstood nothing,” he said bitterly. He pushed her shoulders down into the pillows when she tried to rise and forced himself to ignore her words. Lies, all of them.

He left her in Warren’s care.

He made it down to the bailey and walked across his great-hall floor. No walls, no roof, merely a floor. He walked to one edge, sat down, and dropped his face into his hands, sighing wearily.

It hurt, far worse than he’d ever imagined. Was this love, unrequited though it was, he felt in his breast? What a terrible emotion. This was far worse than the terror he’d felt when he’d seen her clutching her bloody side, or the apprehension he’d suffered while she’d been feverish. This was a pain that smote him in every part of his being.

He sat there, silently, until the activity in the keep stopped, the sun went down, and the stars came out. Then he rose, walked back to one of the tiny chambers off the kitchen, and rolled himself up in a blanket on the floor.

And knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink.

It was two days before Jessica could get back up out of bed. First had been the bleeding that only lying still seemed to control. That had been frightening enough—almost as frightening as what she suspected was going on in Richard’s head.

After she’d healed sufficiently to put an end to the threat of bleeding to death, she’d had another obstacle to deal with: Warren de Galtres and his determination to do the chivalrous thing and keep her in bed.

“If you don’t let me up right now, I’m going to deck you,” Jessica promised on the third morning after Richard’s abrupt departure.

Warren shook his head. “Richard told me to keep you here.”

“I couldn’t care less what he told you! I’ve been trying to get out of this bed for two days now. I have to talk to your brother.”

Warren shook his head again, more slowly this time. “You do not wish to talk to him in his current mood, my lady. Powerfully foul,” he added. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

She could just imagine. Either Richard thought she
didn’t want him, or he didn’t want her. Whichever it was, he had left plenty annoyed. If he hadn’t wanted her, he would have just stood and said as much, then walked away calmly. That led her to believe that he thought she didn’t want him.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Jessica didn’t like resorting to violence, but Warren was really starting to get on her nerves. She gave him one last warning look.

“Let me up, or you’ll regret it.”

Warren obviously came from the Richard de Galtres school of thought because he only smiled indulgently.

“Now, Lady Jessica—”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jessica said. Without giving him any warning, she planted her foot square in his groin.

Warren doubled over with a gasp. His eyes watered immediately.

“Jessica,” he wailed.

“Just relax, kid. I’ll bring you a bottle of wine to ease the pain.” She managed to get to her feet and drag on a pair of Richard’s hose to go with her tunic before she had to sit down. When Warren resuscitated himself sufficiently to rise, Jessica leaned over and plucked his dagger from his belt. She pushed him aside and helped herself to Richard’s cloak before she left the chamber.

Sir Stephen was standing guard. His eyes widened when he saw her. “Lady Jessica . . .”

“Don’t start,” she said, waving the knife. “I’m armed.”

“You should be abed.”

“I’ve got business with Lord Richard. Where is he?”

“Bedding down in the kitchen.”

“With anyone?” she asked sharply.

Sir Stephen swallowed carefully at the sight of the knife under his nose. “Ah, nay, lady. I think not.”

“Good. Don’t get in my way, got it?”

He nodded.

Jessica encountered nothing but faintly amused smiles
the rest of her way and sent each man a look that sobered him instantly. She understood why Richard frowned so much. It was pretty satisfying.

She borrowed a candle from Cook and got a silent nod in the direction of Richard’s hiding place. She walked back to the tiny room and brushed aside the curtain. She set the candle down on the hay-strewn floor, then took a few rejuvenating breaths before she managed to get herself down to the floor. She used Richard’s stomach as a chair and casually put her knife against his throat. It occurred to her after she’d done it that he could have killed her without thinking, but it was too late now for thinking.

Richard looked at her, but said nothing.

“We have to talk,” she stated.

He was silent.

“I have plenty to say to you,” she added, “but I’d really like some privacy. We’ll go back upstairs.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’ll come, or I’ll slit your throat.”

He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Then you want me to say what I have to say with probably half of the kitchen staff listening?”

He didn’t move.

“All right,” she said, “I’ll let you have it here.”

He was seemingly unimpressed by that as well.

“You were mistaken the other day. I would have told you sooner, but Warren wouldn’t let me out of bed.”

“How did you escape today so easily?”

“It’s the first day I didn’t bleed when I tried to get up.”

He frowned. “I see.”

“And I finally had the energy to kick Warren in the groin,” she continued. “He probably won’t be fathering any children anytime soon.”

Richard didn’t react. He simply stared up at her in silence.

“When you asked me about the betrothal, I was actually
happy because I’d been wanting to talk to you about it, too.”

His jaw tightened.

“Because I
wanted
it to be binding,” she said. “I was so surprised that you’d said anything that I couldn’t seem to get my question out. Then you were up and running off and I couldn’t very well screech it down the stairwell.”

“Why not?”

“Would you have liked to hear me yell that I love you across your courtyard?”

“Then everyone would have heard your lies,” he said, shrugging again.

Jessica came within inches of getting up and walking away. The only thing that kept her there was the twitch along his jaw. He wasn’t nearly as cool as he thought he was. She realized, as she looked at the confusion clouding his eyes, that he must have been deeply hurt by what he perceived to be a rejection.

She set the knife aside, then carefully knelt in the hay next to him. Her side pulled at her, but she ignored it.

“Do you have any idea how much I miss my time?” she asked softly. “The things I loved?”

“Men,” he clarified bitterly.

“There was no one. But there were things, things that I’ll tell you about one day when we’re old and gray and have nothing better to talk about. My life was there, Richard, everything I felt comfortable with, everything I was.”

“I see—”

“But I wouldn’t go back, not even for all the things I love so dearly.”

He started to speak again, but she put her finger to his lips.

“You didn’t have anything to say, remember? I’m not through talking.”

He took his hands from behind his head, pulled off his ring, and handed it to her with a sigh. Jessica smiled as she slipped it on her thumb and curled her thumb into her palm to keep the ring on. Richard was listening. In fact,
she suspected that he was very interested in what she had to say.

“Even if I could go, I wouldn’t,” she said.

“You aren’t faced with that choice.”

“You don’t know that.”

Something flared in his eyes suddenly. “Then you found a way?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t. But,” she added, liking very much the relief she saw in his face, “it wouldn’t have mattered if I had. I wouldn’t leave.”

“If you say so,” he said doubtfully.

“Why would I go when everything I love is here?”

“Who?” he said gruffly. “Hamlet with his charming manners? My poor unmanned brother upstairs? My mother-henning captain?”