Warrior's Deception (21 page)

“How could she do such a thing? How could he? Why didn’t he send you away?”

The laugh that came forth carried no merriment. “And admit his wife had cuckolded him? In front of guests and his vassals, I was his true son. In private, I was his wife’s bastard.”

“What about your brothers?”

“They sided with my father. My childhood was filled with insults, taunts and fistfights until I was fostered out.”

“I’m so sorry, Roen. Your mother must have hated your father very much.”

“And me.” He picked up Lenora’s hand and held it to his chest. “She had many sins on her soul when she died, but the worst was to me. I knelt by her bed, I held her hand when the rest of the family had sequestered her away in a dirty hole of a convent cell. The only thing I begged from her was my father’s name, and she would not give it. When I left her room, there was a message from Galliard waiting. ‘Twas one question, Are you my son? I sent back a blank paper.”

Roen felt the trauma of his youth burst the seams of his emotional armor. The endless attempts for approval from a man who would never accept him. The longing for family that cursed his existence. The child that had wilted from neglect, replaced by a youth dead inside, all tender feelings destroyed.

Her voice tight with emotion, she asked, “That’s why you left the pantalets on our wedding bed?”

He looked at the tears in his wife’s eyes and pulled her roughly into the circle of his arms. “I know what it is to live with the stigma of another’s crime. I would not let you bear the shame for my transgression.” He saw her try to hide a sniffle.
His large hand took her face and tilted it upward. “In battle I learned of duty, loyalty and respect. Those I will give to you freely. When you speak of love between your parents, your brother, of that I know nothing.”

The scent of her perfume wafted in the air. She stared at him with warm, open eyes, no looks of recrimination because of his birth. “I can teach you, Roen. If you give me the chance.” Lenora stroked his cheek.

A bitter sadness lodged in his gut. “Nay, I’m too old and too weary to learn. Wife, you must take me as I am. Will you?”

With her hand, she guided his mouth to her lips. He crushed her to him and pressed his mouth on hers. She gave no resistance, her arms tightening around him. A hunger ravaged in his loins, a hunger for Lenora’s body, for the pleasure she could give, and his kiss grew more demanding.

His hands caressed her face, her throat, and slid down her chest to her breasts. She parted her lips and the tip of her tongue teased his upper mouth. A ragged breath escaped his throat and he tore himself from her. His need tempted him to have her on the ground here and now. He gripped her hand in his and pulled her toward the castle.

“Roen. Wait.” Lenora dug her heels into the hard packed ground.

The tension in his loins flared. Wait? He couldn’t.

She turned to the stable and looked at him through thick, red gold lashes, her face slightly flushed. “There’s a loft in the stable.”

He stopped pulling on her arm and felt a slow grin spread across his face. A victorious cry on his lips, he swooped his wife up into his arms and carried her inside to the ladder. He climbed the steps, his arms on either side of her, afraid that she might change her mind and try to retreat from his embrace.

When they reached the soft hay-covered upper floor, Roen pounced. Lenora was willing prey. His fingers nimbly untied her laces. With his hands on her naked breasts, his lips nibbling at her ear, he asked, “Mating in the middle of the day and in the barn. Nora, is this proper?”

One slim hand wiggled down his hose and pinched his bare bottom. “Nay,” she said, releasing a low, pleased groan when
his lips tugged playfully at her breast, “but it makes it all the more enjoyable.”

Lenora rested in her husband’s arms, still radiant from his touch. The passion of their mating both frightened and thrilled her. Roen’s deep, regular breathing comforted her. His arm tightened around her and he lightly slapped her backside. She turned and kissed his neck.

He opened one eye and wrinkled his nose. “I suppose we must dress and go about our business, Nora.”

“Aye, but we can lie here for another few moments.” Her fingers trailed down his chest in feather-light touches.

Grabbing her wrist, he warned, “Keep that up, and we’ll be here for more than just a few moments.”

“I suppose you’re right. ‘Tis only a few hours till dusk anyway. I’d not want to tire you out.”

Roen tossed her dress over her head and donned his tunic. “We’ve plenty of nights ahead to tire each other, Nora.” He leaned over and kissed her lips as she emerged from the neck of her gown.

“And plenty of nights to teach you how to love,” she vowed under her breath. Her dressing finished, she followed Roen down the ladder, an ingenious assortment of lesson plans formulating in her head. And not one of them could be considered proper!

“L
et go of that.” Lenora tugged on the end of the leather rein. Goliath wagged his tail and clamped his jaws down tighter on the opposite end. She gave a hard yank and the strip came free. “Look at what you’ve done. Tom will have a fit when he sees this.” Goliath barked in agreement and scurried about, looking for more mischief to get into. Humming under her breath, she returned the leathers to the tack room. A white slip of paper, stuck between the boards, caught her eye.

The paper unfolded and she read.

Know you will see this. Have her meet me in the woods before the evening meal this Sabbath. Important. G.

Her fingers trembled with relief. Geoffrey wanted to see Beatrice. He had acted so strangely the last few times they had met. Doubt clouded her mind, but she dusted it away. Like a sticky cobweb, her misgivings remained. She concentrated on the many times Geoffrey had demonstrated his friendship. The man was her friend and Beatrice loved him. Her cousin would welcome the chance to rekindle her relationship with him. She stuffed the message inside the tight sleeves of her undertunic.

“Goliath.” The pup instantly appeared at her side and bumped along in his customary place near her left leg. The lanky animal had become her shadow these last few weeks since Roen had given him to her. He had also grown to thrice his size.

She heard voices from the loft above. “Tom, is that you? Is your cousin about?”

“Aye, he’s here with me.” Tom appeared on the steps. A dark shadow moved behind him. “What need have ye of ‘im?”

“I need him to build something for Lord Roen.”

Tom winced and asked, “What might it be, Lady Lenora?”

“A tub. A large tub.” She felt a flush of color burn her cheeks.

“You’ve a fine tub up to the castle,” Tom noted.

“Aye, but Roen is a very large, er, long man and there’s no room in it.”

“Now, how much room does he need to bathe?”

“More than he has.” The rose tint of her cheeks darkened to scarlet at his question. Vivid memories of last night’s bath caused her to blush even more. Roen had pulled her into the tub and torn the neck of her chemise to touch her bare skin. Unable to move in the small wooden bath, he stood, naked and dripping wet. Her wet gown clung to her and she reveled in the gleam that came to his eyes. They consummated their passion on the bed, but the tub had been delicious fun while it lasted.

“How large does it need to be?” The question came from above.

“Cervin, can you make one large enough for, um, two people?”

Tom’s eyebrow quirked. “I know ‘e’s a big one, but as large as two people? Ye think that much? I thought ‘e wanted to bathe, not swim.”

Lenora wrinkled up her nose at him. “I’m discussing this with Cervin, not you. When will it be ready?”

“By next Sabbath day should be plenty of time.” A low chuckle followed his prediction. Tom joined in the merriment at her expense. “Just the same as I told Sir Roen when he requested a tub this morning. You nobles must have a powerful need to bathe.”

She left the barn with no reply. A pleasant tingle warmed her. Four days would not be long to wait. She decided to search for her husband and remind him she prepared the household orders. She wanted no more repeated requests.

Roen waited until the girl settled in the garden. Her yellow white hair flashed from the morning sun. The pale skin had gained color since Matilda left for Bridget on. He shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to another. By the Holy Land, he did not know what he would say to her but he needed to milk any information she might have.

His footsteps fell silently on the thick grass. The heavy, sweet smell of jasmine coated the air. He could taste the smell when he breathed. Beatrice took a claret-colored rosebud in her hand and placed it in the straw basket in her lap. Roen’s shadow fell across the path. Startled, the young girl tumbled the basket from her lap. Rose petals scattered across his feet.

“Excuse me, Lady Beatrice.” He bent to gather up the fallen blossoms. “I would like a word with you.”

“Aye, my lord, what do you wish?” Beatrice’s fingers gripped the handle of the basket with white knuckles.

“Things have been well for you these last few weeks since your mother left?”

“Aye.”

He fished for more information. “I had thought to send a few more knights to Bridgeton on the morrow. Could you suggest a few names that were special to your mother? Did she favor any?”

Beatrice straightened her back and rose to her feet. “My mother is a lady, Sir Roen. She showed no favors to any man.”

He rubbed his chin. “I meant no disrespect, I assure you. I only thought your mother might welcome the company of some old friends. What of the servants?”

“How dare you speak of my mother in such a manner?” The tone of her voice surprised him as well as her. A trace of his wife’s temper showed in the usually timid girl’s words. Her brilliant azure eyes widened in shock. “I am sorry, Lord Roen. I forget my position here.”

“Nay, forgive me. I am afraid my questions gave the wrong impression. I wanted to ease your mother’s banishment by sending a trusted friend or companion to her.” He chuckled low. “’Tis good to hear you speak to me without fear. There’s a touch of my Nora in your words.”

The tight line of her jaw relaxed, the rigidness in her shoulders eased. “Mother always said Lenora influenced me too much.”

“But for the better.” Roen relaxed, also. The girl knew nothing about her mother’s scheme. Hamlin had been right, despite his emotional attachment to the girl.

“Will Sir Hamlin be going to Bridgeton?” Her voice wavered.

“Nay, I need him here.” Roen watched her. Did she sigh with relief at his words? How many times had he seen Hamlin’s eyes focused on her as she moved across the hall? That his friend had a keen interest in the girl he did not doubt, but what of Beatrice’s fear? Could she return Hamlin’s feelings? He decided to ferret out the girl’s emotions. “But mayhap ‘twould be good to send him at that.”

“Oh, nay. I believe you are right in your first assessment. Sir Hamlin is a great help here as your seneschal. ‘Twould not do to have him absent for long.” The lines between her brows deepened. The pitch of her voice rose slightly.

“Beatrice—” he forced himself to continue “—I’ll ask you simply, do you have feelings for my friend? If you do, I know ‘twould please him. If you don’t, then tell him, so he’ll not follow you with puppy-dog eyes.”

Beatrice quieted like a frightened rabbit. Roen thought he might have ruined Hamlin’s chances with the shy creature. She took in a great gulp of air and exhaled it slowly. The palm of his hand rose and rested on her shoulder. He spoke from the depths of his friendship. “Pray, be honest with him. Do not lead him on if he stands no chance with you, if you cannot be with him as a wife.”

She did not flinch from his touch and placed her hand over his. “I feel for you as a brother, Roen. You don’t frighten me anymore. ‘Tis plain to see there is no woman for you save my cousin. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you two share, but watching you has taught me that marriage is not an evil thing.” Patting his hand, she gave him a level look. “I will take your advice into consideration. There are things I must attend to before I speak to him.”

Lenora rounded the garden arbor, her eyes searching for Roen. She saw him, the sunlight a halo around his blond head. Her steps faltered when she saw him place his hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. Her cousin did not run or faint. Instead, she placed her hand over his. Ugly streams of jealousy coursed through her. The thin, screeching voice of her aunt mocked her. “Look at her and tell me he would want you with Beatrice around.” A knife of pain and uncertainty sliced through her chest. She trusted Roen and Beatrice. Matilda had to be wrong.

When her husband left, a sense of deep loss filled her. A desire to touch him, kiss his lips, make love to him wrapped around her heart. As soon as she delivered Geoffrey’s note, she would find him and do just that.

Goliath at her heels, she rushed to her cousin. “Beatrice, I need to give you this.” She slipped the note from her sleeve and placed it in the younger woman’s hand.

Beatrice read the note, and Lenora’s heart sank. Her cousin’s face paled. Never good at hiding her emotions, Beatrice gave away her answer before she spoke. “I can’t meet him, Lenora. I just can’t.” She stuffed the message under the roses in her basket.

“Why? I know he’s sorry that he broke it off. He wants to see you. Now that your mother is gone, perhaps he can ask for your hand.” A pang of remorse tore at Lenora’s heart. Deep inside, she wanted Beatrice and Geoffrey together so that her cousin would no longer provide a temptation to her husband.

“Nay.” Beatrice’s eyes opened in alarm. She looked at Lenora with eyes that begged her to understand. “I don’t feel the same about him. I’ve grown up these last few months. I don’t think I ever really loved him. He Just sheltered me from all my fears. He made me feel safe. That’s not love.”

The fear returned. How did she know unless someone had taught her? Lenora refused to surrender to her jealousy. Trust, she would trust Roen and Beatrice. “I’ll speak to Geoffrey for you, if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you, I would appreciate it, Cousin. Tell him—” she rubbed her lips with her hand “—I’m sorry.” The words came out choked with tears. Beatrice grabbed her basket and left Lenora alone. Crushed rose petals littered the garden walk. Their bruised aroma reminded her of the concern in her heart.

Life without Roen’s love she could survive, but if she could not trust him, what life could they have together? Roen promised her loyalty; she had to put her faith in his word. She would push these terrible thoughts from her mind and think of the sunset. Then she could wrap herself in her husband’s arms and dispel all her questions.

No matter what move she made, victory eluded her. Another loss stared her in the face. Roen’s cheerful whistling from
the opposite side of the table caused her to fume. “Stop that infernal racket. I can’t concentrate.”

The glow of success lit his face. He reminded her of a boy who had managed to hit the quintain for the first time, full of bluster and arrogance. She ought to be used to that look; she had seen it every time they played. This night would be no different.

A pout came to Lenora’s lips and she threw up her hands. “I lose again.” Roen hooted and slapped his thigh. Goliath lifted his head from Lenora’s feet and peered about with one sleepy eye. He chomped his jowls loudly, then fell over into a deep sleep.

A crooked smile, which caused Roen’s dimples to appear, crossed his full lips. “I win again. Nine Man Morris is a game I don’t ever intend to lose. The prize is too great to lose.” A naughty wink accompanied his last remark.

Lenora felt a tingle of excitement in her body. Despite the wonderful surrender she gave to Roen each night and the bliss she found in their lovemaking, she would like to win this game just once. She came so close, so many times, but never a win. ‘Twould do her husband well to deflate his vanity a bit.

Beatrice, seated near the hearth, looked up from her needlework and tried to console her. “Perhaps next time.”

Hamlin draped his arms along the rim of her cousin’s chair and chimed in, “You’ve got to get the upper hand.”

“Of course she does, but she can’t.” Roen crowed with satisfaction. He laced his fingers together and stretched out his arms and long legs.

Hamlin moved to sit against the arm of Beatrice’s chair. “Don’t be so certain, my friend. There’s always a weakness.”

Roen shrugged his wide shoulders in a roguish manner. Lenora bit her lip. Just once she’d like to ruin that arrogant armor.

Her giant of a husband rose and unexpectedly brushed his lips across her cheek. He didn’t make tender gestures often, especially in front of others. “I need to speak with the night guard. I’ll be up soon.” His eyes darkened to an indigo gray. Lenora understood his message. He expected her to be in their room when he returned; he meant to collect his winnings. His eyes twinkled with conquest yet burned with lust.

Her gaze followed his long, powerful strides across the hall to the door. She could close her eyes and picture every line and
contour of his body. The way his hair tumbled down around his back, the scars that marked his battles and beatings from his father; all were as familiar to her as the paths in the woods near her home.

“I wonder just what he wins each night that makes him so happy?” Hamlin gave Beatrice a wink.

“Don’t tease,” Beatrice warned. She threatened the knight with the tip of her sewing needle. Hamlin threw up his hands in mock surrender. The two young people laughed, their eyes on each other. Lenora listened to the banter and realized Beatrice exhibited none of her old fears.

Roen was correct. In the last few months, Beatrice had managed to pick her way out of the shell of her fear. She no longer withdrew inside of herself if a man approached. Vitality had returned to her and it made her even more beautiful, even more of a temptation. The cold warning of Matilda’s words stabbed through her consciousness. Her conversation earlier in the day with Beatrice replayed in her mind.

“I know how you could win that game.” Hamlin’s voice sounded cocky.

Lenora shook her head and cast off the dread she felt. “How is that? Drug him?”

“In a way, you could call it that.” Hamlin raised his eyebrows and looked around as if he were about to impart a great secret. “’Tis his concentration. You’ve got to break it.”

Lenora shrugged her shoulders and waved her hands in dismissal. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? It doesn’t work. I’ve teased him, ridiculed him, nothing.”

“Those are the ways a man might do it, but you’re a woman. Use the talents of a woman to best him.”

Lenora looked to Beatrice for clarification. Beatrice’s cheeks tinted dark rose. “I think Sir Hamlin means to say…” Beatrice dropped her needlework and took Lenora’s hand. “Look at your husband as you do, when you think he can’t see you. As you were just doing.”

“Exactly.” Hamlin nodded. “Rest your gaze on him like that and I guarantee he’ll lose all thoughts.”