Defiant (28 page)

“My lord,” she said, after the toasting and cheering had subsided and the castlefolk had resettled onto their benches. “There is a small matter I would like to discuss with you.” She put on a cheerful smile.

“Aye?” He flicked a crumb off the table with his thumbnail.

“But first I wish to tell you that I, too, am grateful for the fare you have provided for my people.”

“Our people,” he corrected.

“The castlefolk needed strong leadership and you have provided—”

“What do you want, Gwyneth?” he growled.

She bit her lip. Her praise must have been too exuberant. In her experience with flattering men to charm them into doing as she wished, she had learned that no amount of admiration was too much. But Jared wasn’t most men.

She took a breath, deciding to forge ahead anyway. “I would like to see Irma. ”

Jared looked at her with the same intense look he had given when he’d forced information about how she had met Irma. His body was both relaxed and on guard. His fingers flexed on his tankard.

Taking a breath, she willed herself not to squirm or look away.

“You will have naught to do with the brothel. ‘Tis not respectable. I said such when we were in the town.”

Gwyneth huffed a breath and twisted her hands into her skirt. “But—”

“Enough.” He set his goblet down with quiet authority. “There will be no more cavorting with harlots.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

One of his dark, winged brows raised and she knew that forthcoming next would be a threat about wearing the brank.

The feel of the metal holding down her tongue in the blacksmith’s shop bit the forefront of her mind.

A curse on him! “As you wish, my lord.”

Damn the man. She took a breath and cleared her brow.

A man wearing a workman’s belt with a hammer attached hurried up to Jared with several scrolls beneath his arm. “The plans for repairs on the outbuildings, my lord.” He dumped the pile onto the trestle table in front of them.

She caught one scroll and unrolled it.

Jared tucked a lock of his straight, dark hair behind one of his ears as he bent over the parchments. His wide shoulders rounded and his brow furrowed as he pointed at the keep’s drawings. “Nay, not here. The tables for the supplies should go along this wall. ”

Despite her dismay over his refusal to allow her to see Irma, warmth rose in her heart toward him. The way he had taken charge of the repairs was honorable.

She signaled one of the serving wenches to refill his goblet.

Jared looked slightly startled by her action. His long fingers pulled at the edge of his mustache. “Gramercy, wife.”

She contemplated matters. She had kissed him and he had allowed her to talk. Perhaps if she seduced him he would release her from having to walk around with him day and night. Then she could make her way to find out the meaning of Irma’s message.

She tilted her chin down and blinked flirtatiously at him. If he became enamored with her …

His eyes widened, then he turned away, giving her his back as he discussed the repairs with the workmen.

Frowning at his shoulders, she vowed to come up with a better seduction plan. Difficult! That’s what the man was! Why did he not act as other men did? She had thought him to be a simple peasant and he was anything but.

Inwardly, she chided herself that she had anticipated touching him again.

She studied the parchments, wondering if she should offer advice on the outbuilding plans. The men seemed too lost in conversation to pay her much heed even when she inched forward. As if she were invisible.

A serving wench haphazardly piled bread trenchers and carried them back into the kitchen. She nearly ran over another maid who strained under an over-stacked platter. The second woman staggered and then tripped. Bread, meats, and scraps flew into the rushes.

Barking, the dogs surrounding the hearth leapt to their feet and scrambled for it.

“Cease!” the woman tried to shoo the dogs away while the other maid scurried into the pack.

Heavens, the servants needed supervision so they could come and go from the kitchens without running into each other.

Through lowered lashes, she glanced at Jared.

Organizing and cleaning the keep wasn’t the same as checking on Irma or getting Elizabeth out of prison, but it would still be more useful than sitting here doing naught. If he did not allow her to leave his side, she would summon the maids to her and direct them from there. She would take care of one issue at a time.

She motioned to the maid who was attempting to fight off the dogs. “Hither, to me.”

Wringing her hands, the woman approached. She wore a wrinkled apron and it looked like it had been months since her wimple had been washed.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Who is in charge of the kitchens and the cleaning?”

“Elton is the cook, my lady. ”

“And the cleaning?”

The woman looked stumped. Well. That explained the condition of the rushes. “Go and tell Elton, Kaitlyn, and the other serving wenches to attend me,” Gwyneth instructed. “Some changes will be made.”

At once Jared looked up at her, and frowned. She tensed, expecting him to dismiss her order, but one of the maids stepped forward.

“You called, my lady?” the woman asked.

Before Jared could instruct otherwise, Gwyneth smiled at the woman and sized her up. She was young, short, solid, and had strong arms. A good fit for shoveling out the hearth and carrying buckets of ashes to the garden.

“Fetch pails and a shovel. There is much work to do in this great hall.”

“Have you work for me as well, miss?” another servant sidled up next to them.

This one was tall and willowy, with long, thin arms.

“Aye. The curtains need to be taken down and tended to. No longer will we live in filth. As my lord has said, we must get ready for the coming winter.” She shot a charming smile at Jared, hoping that honoring his authority would somehow appease any conflict that had arisen by her taking charge of the organizing of the hall.

Fortunately, Jared had returned to the plans to rebuild the keep.

Gwyneth let out a breath, feeling stronger and more confident in her abilities. With or without Jared, she would be able to accomplish what needed to be done.

Tonight she would check on Irma.

She signaled a maid to refill Jared’s tankard.

Gwyneth contemplated her options as she and Jared climbed the stairs toward their chamber later that evening. If she was going to check on Irma then she needed to sneak past Aeliana and she needed Jared to not be suspicious if he awoke. She couldn’t very well hop on top of him like a desperate harlot, but perhaps she could bargain with him.

“You’ve done well,” Jared said as they turned one of the tight corners in the steep, narrow stairwell. Candles glowed in the sconces. “You have skill in knowing which servant is best for each task.”

Startled by his praise, Gwyneth paused, her hand clutching the oak railing. The wood was smooth against her palm, worn from years of use.

“The great hall looked presentable by the end of the evening.”

No one had ever praised her for any womanly skills except for that feast where her father had embarrassed her by announcing the width of her hips and size of her breasts. “Gramercy, my lord, I feel that it is best to keep the servants occupied in their proper positions.”

“Very good.”

Jared continued walking toward their chamber. She followed, watching the lazy roll of his hips and shoulders. When she had tried to flatter him, he looked at her with disdain, but now he praised her for domestic organization. Odd.

“I could do so much more if I were free to roa—”

“Nay. Absolutely not. ”

Lifting her chin, she vowed to gain her freedom. He had not drunk nearly as much ale as she would have liked although she had made certain the serving maids kept his goblet full.

The door to the bedchamber opened with a creak as he ushered her inside. The wide-toothed wood comb atop her dressing table caught her attention.

Her belly fluttered as she thought of how his hands felt on her skin when he braided her hair. Tonight she would seduce
him.

Aeliana rested on her usual perch. She turned her head as they entered but Jared spoke softly to her and she did not make any noise. Gwyneth memorized the calming words and tone so that she could copy them when she stole from the room.

A tub of steaming water sat in the middle of the room. Several cloths, linen towels, and a cake of soap lay on the floor beside it.

Jared’s body jerked before coming to total stillness. “Did you order this brought here?”

She licked her lips. “Aye.”

Stroking his goatee, he gazed from the bathing tub to Gwyneth.

“'Tis for you,” she said, lowering her voice to a husky whisper.

He propped a hand on his belt. “What do you want, wife?”

“I enjoy the way you braid my hair in the evenings. “ She separated a strand of hair from the rest of the mass and twirled it round and round her fingers. His gaze followed its path. Good. “I thank you for taking care of the repairs on the roof and taking responsibility as lord,” she said, watching his reactions carefully so that she would not be too profuse in her speech. “I thought perhaps I could begin to act as lady of the keep in other ways as well. ”

“So you had water brought to our chamber?”

“Irma said you came to the brothel to bathe every few days and I thought …” She allowed her voice to trail off. “'Tis a wife’s duty.”

“You are offering to bathe me?”

She sauntered over to her dressing table and leisurely finger-combed through her hair. “Only if you wish me to. ”

His agate eyes sparkled. “'Tis a fascinating proposition.”

She bowed her head to avoid any sign of victory that might be written on her face.

He didn’t readily agree as most men likely would, but he removed his mantle and laid it across one of the trunks.

“Perhaps I should undress you,” she pressed.

His brows slammed together. “Gwyneth, what do you really want?”

To go to the prison. To not be watched so closely. To set up a school for women. “I’d like to be free to organize the kitchens and the serving maids. The whole castle—not just the great hall—needs to be cleaned.”

“I see.” His voice took on a stern note.

If only he wasn’t so suspicious of everything she did!

“I thought perhaps you could trust me a little …”

“Trust you? The woman who drugged me in a brothel and forced me at swordpoint to marry her. Perhaps you wish me naked so that you can better see the vein in my throat. ”

“I thought—”

“Nay. You may
not
wander about the keep as you will. Likely I’d end up with poison in my stew.”

Curses! This wasn’t working at all!

She splayed her hand across her cheek as if she were blushing. Perhaps if he thought her request was merely a cover-up for something more primal. “Irma seemed to indicate that you enjoyed your baths.”

Despite his suspicions, interest sparked in his eyes. Ha! He wasn’t so unaffected by her as he pretended!

She tossed her hair slightly forward to hide her smile.

“I will"—she paused, unsure of the exact game they played or how far she should push her advantage—"help you with your boots if you like.”

The lines around his mouth tightened. “How very wifely,” he remarked, but she was uncertain if it was a compliment.

“Perhaps you could sit here.” She glided to one side and patted the three-legged stool. Even though he had said nay to her initial request, if he began to understand that it was good for him to allow her to be in charge of some matters, surely she would be granted more leeway.

A dark look formed on his brow as if he did not trust her for a second, but he strode over, kinglike, and sat. For all his arrogance, she could not help but admire the width of his shoulders, the fluidity of his motion. ‘Twas odd that he had faked a limp when they first met.

As slowly as she could manage so that she could drag out the moment and force him to focus his full attention on her, she sank down before him and began to unlatch his boots.

The interest in his eyes blazed. His hands were relaxed on his knees. The left one made little circles with the thumb and middle finger.

She slid one boot off his foot, then the other. The crisp hair of his muscled calves grazed her palm. A sharp intake of breath sounded from him.

Victory!

The man was
not
immune to her. He was
not
so different than other men. That realization slid through her like a bolt of power.

Wiggling her hips with measured slowness she rose and untied his tunic. The pulse quickened in his throat, and his left hand twitched faster. She tugged the garment over his head.

Heavens, his torso was magnificent. Wide shoulders. Trim waist. She ran one finger down the dips and crevices of his stomach, admiring the maleness of his body.

He sucked in another breath and another wave of power went through her. Heat spiraled up her spine. If she could affect him, she could control him. If she could control him, she could be a mistress. If she could be mistress, she could control the keep, save her women, see about Irma and effect changes in the world.

Irma was right: honor was for men; women had much better ways.

The warmth of his body filtered into her fingers as her hand lingered on his chest. So very different from her. So large. So interesting.

Slowly she trailed her fingers downward to the laces of his breeks. The pulse thumped in his throat and she smiled. Victory again!

Latching onto that thought, she peeled his breeks down his long legs.

He lifted his hips to assist her with the undressing as if offering himself to her. A pleasurable display.

His member sprang free. She stifled a gasp. The color enticed her—tan with a blue vein—and it reminded her of an elegant, elaborate tapestry.

A trickle of perspiration worked its way down her spine sending a heated chill through her body.

Without a word, he rose and walked to the tub. If he was self-conscious in any way, he did not show it.