Forbidden Love (4 page)

Roanna had spent her fife surrounded by supremely fit men who were often seen in various stages of undress. But nothing had prepared her for Colin. From the top of his burnished head down broad shoulders, sculpted arms and torso, slim hips, and long, corded legs, he was magnificently male

Only a livid scar running the width of his massive chest marred the perfection of his virile beauty. As he turned to pull on his tunic, her gaze lingered appreciatively on the taut line of his buttocks. A wanton desire to reach out and touch him proved almost impossible to overcome.

"You took a fever," he explained calmly when he was dressed "I found you in the cell after the weather turned cold. An ice bath got your temperature down, but afterward you were racked by chills no amount of blankets could ease. You didn't quiet down and sleep peacefully until I held you."

A rueful gleam appeared deep within his silvery eyes. "At least you had no difficulty sleeping. I, on the other hand, spent a rather restless night"

Roanna was perversely glad to hear it Any suggestion that she had lain naked in his arms without the least effect would have offended her deeply. She was about to suggest that he had deserved his discomfort when Colin forestalled her.

His expression had changed as he surveyed the still-pale, fragile-looking girl. He was remembering how she had come to be so ill, and berated himself yet again for being so careless with her well-being.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he said quietly, "I am very sorry about what happened. I never meant for you to be more than slightly discomfited by being in the cell. Had I known you were so delicate . . ."

"I am not delicate!" Roanna flared, outraged by the mere suggestion. Relenting a bit she realized his apology stemmed from genuine remorse. Much as she would have liked to see him suffer for his rough treatment of her, she could not allow him to take the blame for something that was in no way his fault

"It's just that I had been ill for a while and should not have gone out yesterday. I thought I was completely recovered, but now it seems that wasn't the case." Reluctantly, she admitted, "I probably would have gotten sick again no matter where I was."

Colin looked at her for what seemed like a long time before he murmured, "You are very generous. I could have gone on thinking it was my fault"

"Well, it wasn't so stop worrying about it"

"I intend to," he agreed, recovering what she had already come to think of as his usual self-assurance. "However, I shall not forget your foolishness in going out too soon. Perhaps your kin have no control over you, but here things will be different" Ominously, he added, "You will do exactly as you are told, including staying in this bed until I say you may leave it"

A dozen angry responses sprang to mind, but for once in her life she had the sense to keep silent Common sense warned that Colin Algerson was not a man to push very far. Her brother and sister-in-law, who loved her, were susceptible to her whims. But this man .. .

Biting her lip, Roanna realized that she had come around once again to wondering what it would be like to be loved by him. Damn him! He had no right to slip into her very thoughts and make a mockery of her self-control.

Glaring at him, she became aware of a certain quiet watchfulness in his manner. He was waiting for her to make some outburst, which would provide him with an excuse to enforce his authority over her. Refusing to give him the opportunity, Roanna kept stubbornly silent

Colin frowned, then shrugged. She was even more willful than he had thought, but he couldn't find it in him to condemn such spirit With his opinion of Norman women undergoing a rapid reevaluation, he contented himself with a grim reminder.

"Don't forget what I said. Try to move out of that bed and I guarantee your exquisite bottom will be sore for a week!"

He was gone before Roanna could do more than snarl at the blatant reminder of how familiar he now was with her body.

The next few days passed very slowly. By the simple expedient of not providing her with any clothes, Colin made sure his orders were obeyed. Confined to the guest chamber, allowed to rise only long enough for carefully supervised baths during which half a dozen braziers were kept lighted despite the return of summer temperatures, Roanna quickly learned the true meaning of boredom.

She slept as much as possible and ate the delicious meals provided to her, but there were still long hours of the day during which she tossed restlessly under the eye of one or the other serving women set to guard her.

Finally taking pity on her, they suggested all manner of diversions. But Roanna had no fondness for the usual pastimes of a noble lady. She despised needlework, had a poor hand at sketching, and thought her inept assaults on the lute or harp should not be inflicted even on an enemy.

The old woman who nursed her finally allowed her to help mix medicinal herbs. Since proportions had to be meticulously measured, she found some distraction in this task. But it was completed too soon, leaving her once more at loose ends.

On the third day, Colin at last deigned to visit, his arrival brought a rush of male virality into what had been a purely feminine domain. Roanna had to force the smile from her lips by reminding herself that he was the cause of all her problems.

As she barely acknowledged his presence, the serving women scurried away, after making sure their lord was comfortably seated and did not require ale or other refreshment

Crouched in the center of the bed with the covers pulled up to her chin, Roanna looked him over warily. Sunlight filtering through the windows burnished his shoulder-length hair. The bronzed skin stretched tautly over his lean, hard body shone with health. Sharp lines were cut into his face, reminding her that though he was still a young man he carried heavy responsibilities. But his eyes betrayed not a shadow of self-doubt as he returned her gaze in full measure.

Clad in a sweat-stained tunic that left his powerful arms and legs bare, he had obviously been working hard. The wide leather belt strapped around his slim waist held a longsword. On the other side, a dagger lay close at hand. She wondered if he had come from the training field, but resisted the urge to ask.

Instead, she demanded coolly, "Have you dared to get in touch with my brother yet?"

Colin took his time answering. He was content to savor the sight of beauty that had haunted his every waking thought and made his dreams endurance contests. She was even lovelier than the image indelibly burned into his brain. The brief smile he had glimpsed in those remarkable eyes made him long to soothe and please her. Wryly he reflected that a man would put up with a great deal to win this one's favor.

His bland response gave no hint of the turmoil of his thoughts. "It took a while to arrange safe conduct for my messenger, but your brother now knows your whereabouts and my demands."

Some of Roanna's bravado faded. Her shame at the worry she was causing her family had not eased. "W-what did you tell him?"

"That you will be released when my cousin is safely returned, and that in the meantime you will not be harmed." More gently, he added, "I told your brother the truth, Roanna. You need not fear you will be mistreated"

Actually, the thought had not occurred to her. Even brief exposure to Colin was enough to assure her of his honor. However much he might hate the Normans for what they had done to his country, he showed no tendency to take those feelings out on her.

Unwilling to reveal how much faith she had in him, she muttered, "There are all sorts of ways of mistreating people. You've left me shut up in here for days with nothing to do!"

The accusation, so sincerely uttered, surprised Colin. The serving women had orders to tell him if Roanna refused to eat or if she showed any signs of becoming ill again. When they said nothing, he presumed that all was going well. But now it seemed she had not enjoyed her leisure.

"But you had only to ask if you wanted something, and it would have been provided."

"Would it?" Roanna scorned. "So far I have been offered pretty pieces of needlework, drawing paper, and musical instruments, the refuges of women who have nothing of worth to offer. Meanwhile, I will wager that everyone else on this demesne is working hard to prepare for winter. Do you have any idea how useless I feel?"

"I don't understand. . . Are you saying you think I should put you to work?"

"Of course! Anything would be better than sitting around here all day feeling about as lively as an effigy carved on a sarcophagus."

Colin shook his head, more in bewilderment than rejection. "But you are a lady. I cannot work you like some ordinary prisoner."

"I am hardly asking to be put out in the fields! I just want something useful to do."

In her anxiousness to convince him, Roanna sat up straighter in the bed. The sheet slipped slightly, baring her smooth shoulders against which golden curls lay temptingly. Colin stifled a groan. He could think of something extremely useful for her to do, but doubted she would view the suggestion kindly.

Though she had come a long way since his first impression of her as a weak, fearful woman, he could not yet credit the sincerity of her plea. Suspiciously, he suggested, "This desire to work wouldn't have anything to do with some idea of escape, would it?"

Shock widened Roanna's eyes. Was he seriously suggesting she didn't understand the etiquette of being a hostage?

"I am perfectly aware of my position here," she informed him coldly. "You refrain from harming me and in return I don't make trouble. Will your cousin, I wonder, behave as well?"

"I doubt it," Colin admitted, relenting slightly. "He's never behaved well in his life." "Then why are you trying to free him?" "Because he is my kinsman, sworn to my service. I have no choice but to protect him. But when he gets home . . ."

Roanna nodded understandingly. "He may wish he was still a captive."

"It doesn't matter what he wishes," Coin said grimly. "He will pay for his foolishness. There are enough problems with the Normans without provoking more."

Roanna did not want to talk about the conflicts between their two peoples. Deftly, she turned the subject back to the matter at hand. "Now, about what I can do . . ."

Colin sighed. "I'm sure your skills are extensive."

Ignoring the sarcasm, she informed him, "I'm very good at preserving foods, spinning, dying, and weaving. I can read and do accounts and ...."

His rugged face abruptly brightened. "You do accounts?"

Apprehensively, Roanna nodded.

"That's marvelous! I can manage fine with letters, but numbers are always a struggle. More than one good priest gave up on teaching me"

"I suppose you don't have to do them very often . . ." Roanna ventured, only to have her last hope dashed.

"They've really piled up. I was dreading having to spend the whole winter on them. But since you're here and want to help . . ."

"Oh ... yes ... I'd be glad to .... "

Jumping up, Colin grinned at her, an action which stripped years from him and gave her a startling glimpse of the boy this hard warrior chieftain had once been. "We can get started right away. Come on."

"Uh ... I can't... my clothes . . ."

A dull flush suffused his lean cheeks. "I forgot I'll have the serving women bring you something." He hesitated before explaining, "They won't be like your clothes. Our styles are different."

"I know."

It took a moment for him to understand. In the pleasure of seeing her again and realizing that he had an excuse to spend time with her, he had forgotten her family. Of course her Anglo-Saxon sister-in-law would have told her about local fashions, though none of the ladies in a Norman household would wear them. Frowning at the reminder of all that lay between them, he left the chamber quickly.

"
W
hat manner of man is Colin Algerson?" Guyon demanded, the very softness of his voice betraying his immense rage.

The priest hesitated. He was quite young, pale and quiet of nature, and not eager for confrontation with anyone, let alone a Norman warlord.

Staring at the hem of his brown serge robe, he murmured, "I have always found him honorable, sir. He keeps his word and fulfills all his duties nobly."

Guyon badly wanted to believe the priest If what he said was true, Roanna was safe, at least for the moment But how could he be sure? . . .

"If he meant to harm her," the woman standing a little to one side ventured, "surely he would not have sent a message offering to parlay."

The priest nodded, pleasantly surprised to discover that the Norman's wife was apparently as intelligent as she was beautiful.

Brenna's gray-green eyes were dark with worry. She had dressed hurriedly, not bothering to veil the silken mass of her midnight black hair. Her delicate features showed the strain of the last few days, but her slender body emanated feminine strength. Gently she touched a hand to her husband's sun-bronzed arm in reassurance.

The Norman towered over her. When he turned, his broad shoulders and massive torso blocked her briefly from the priest's sight. Instinctively, he shifted enough to see the tender look that lit the warlord's amber eyes and softened the hard planes of his face.

It was rumored that Guyon D'Arcy dearly, loved his wife and that their devotion to each other had survived many trials in the turmoil of the Conquest Seeing them together, the priest could well believe it

Sensing his parents' worry, the little boy in Brenna's arms whimpered. He was only eight months old, but already strong and vigorous. Chubby legs kicked fretfully as he demanded attention.

With accustomed ease, Guyon took his son and soothed him ably. The Norman retainers gathered in the hall were used to the sight of their lord caring for his son in ways usually left to women. But the priest was not. His eyes widened as he beheld a side of the fierce warrior he would never have suspected.

When the child quieted, his father said softly, "If I followed my instincts, I would march on the Algerson stronghold at once."

Several of the knights, always ready for battle, nodded eagerly. But Brenna reminded them all of where such behavior would lead.

"The moment you were sighted, Roanna's life would be forfeit. To get her back safety, we must go slowly and cautiously."

The priest allowed himself a small sigh of relief when he realized the Norman was predisposed to accept his wife's counsel. So softly that only Guyon could hear her, Brenna murmured, "She will not be harmed, my love. I know it."

The words were far more confident man she truly felt, but her husband accepted them gratefully. Still holding Alain, he placed an arm around his wife's shoulders and drew her close. Silently, they offered comfort to each other.

Had the little family been able to see their missing member, they would have been far less concerned.

After a good night's sleep and an ample breakfast to which her restored appetite did full justice, Roanna sat in the corner of the great hall surrounded by sheafs of vellum, a pot of ink, and several new pens.

The clothes Colin had provided fit her far more loosely than Norman fashions, but she found the pleated tunic in deep blue and the richly embroidered white surcoat that went over it to be quite comfortable. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask how he came to possess such garments when there was no lady in his house. An obligingly garrulous serving woman saved her the trouble.

"When his lordship's sister wed that Irishman last year, he lavished so many clothes on her she saw no reason to take these. They've been packed away in the storage rooms ever since."

"Twasn't fit for anyone here to wear them," the servant explained matter-of-factly. "But for a lady such as yourself, they're perfect"

The woman's ready acceptance of Roanna was not matched by all Colin's people. From the men she had no trouble, since they would not venture more than a surreptitious glance when they thought she wasn't looking. But the women were a different matter.

Some treated her with dignified courtesy, a few were even friendly. Most, however, were clearly reserving judgment From one of two of the younger, more comely girls there had even been angry glares whose origins Roanna understood quite well.

Colin was rarely out of her sight He had shared breakfast with her, showed her around his home, answered her questions patiently, and only left her alone when she at test settled down with the ledgers. Even then his absence was brief. After a few hours, he was drawn irresistibly back to her side.

A slight frown furled her forehead as she looked up from the lists she was studying.

"I think you are paying too much for salt."

"Why is that?" Colin inquired mildly, more absorbed by her beauty than any household concerns.

"Look here." She pointed with the tip of her pen. "A year ago the price was half what it is now."

"A year ago there was no war in England. Since the invasion, merchants have felt justified in increasing all their prices on the grounds that there is added risk to them when they travel about seeing customers."

"That's what the spice merchant who came to our keep claimed," Roanna acknowledged. "But my sister-in-law would have none of it She chafered him down to the standard prices, knowing full well few could afford to buy at all. While she was at it, she got enough to share with others who did not have her bargaining power."

She laughed softly, remembering the scene. "The merchant went away muttering that she had beggared him. But he came back a few months later with more goods to sell, so he couldn't have been too badly hurt"

Colin grinned at the story. But his silvery eyes were serious as he asked, "Can you haggle as well?"

Puzzled, Roanna nodded. "Most ladies are well trained to get the best for our coin. It is one of the duties expected of us."

A moment passed before he appeared to reach a decision. "There is a merchant due here today. If I show you the surplus goods we have to trade, would you deal with him?"

A slow flush suffused Roanna's high-boned cheeks. What he was asking was a task for his wife.

"Is there no one else? . . ."

Colin shrugged. "I did it myself last time, with the results you see." A teasing smile softened his hard mouth. "As in Normandy, men here are not trained in such things. I have no difficulty identifying the best iron for weapons or knowing which leather is suited to saddles. But when it comes to—"

"To more practical matters," Roanna interrupted caustically. She was sick to death of men's incessant preoccupation with fighting. "When it comes to keeping yourself and others fed and clothed, you end up being robbed."

If she had expected Colin to take offense, she was disappointed. He merely shrugged philosophically and pressed home his point "So you will see the merchant for me?"

Unable to think of a graceful way out, Roanna accepted reluctantly. No matter how well she did, she knew some in the stronghold would find fault. But she was determined that Colin at least would not be disappointed. Sparing a moment's pity for the unsuspecting trader who had no idea what he was about to confront, she began to list the supplies needed for winter.

By afternoon, when the train of carts and mules passed through the main gate, she was ready. The merchant's arrival was greeted with great excitement Children swarmed around the wagons, eagerly speculating on what might be inside each barrel and bundle. The women kept a close eye on them to make sure they didn't touch anything even as they listened avidly to the merchant's assurances that he had brought the finest quality of all the most desired goods.

When the trading for the great house was done, they would have their own chance to acquire what small luxuries they could afford to ease their lives. Only the men stood a little apart, betraying no great interest in what was going on, though they missed not a word.

When Colin greeted the merchant, the man launched immediately into a paean of flattery well honed from much practice. But his host might have been deaf for all the notice he gave it. Cutting short the discourse, he brought the trader over to Roanna and introduced them.

"I have the honor to present the Lady Roanna, who will be dealing with you for me. My lady, this is Malcolm of Durham, Winchester, and various other places. He has a glib tongue and a sharp eye, but I trust you will have no difficulty with him."

Roanna was already sure of that. She recognized the man well from traders she had dealt with in Normandy. He was small and wiry, with a weather-beaten face and sharp black eyes she had no doubt had seen everything at least once.

Unlike some of his less wily compatriots, he had the sense to dress plainly. His fustian tunic and unbleached shirt could be seen on almost any freeman. Somewhere securely hidden away he undoubtedly possessed a household that would arouse the envy of any wealthy burgher. But on the road he maintained a modest air which did not fool Roanna for a moment

"Ah, my lady," the man intoned unctuously, "what a delightful surprise. I had no idea his lordship had married."

The object of his hastily preferred congratulations did not even have the grace to look embarrassed. As Roanna silently fumed, Colin said blandly, "Oh, her ladyship is not my wife. She is a hostage being held because of a dispute with her brother, Guyon D'Arcy."

Under other circumstances, the merchant's reaction would have been humorous. He turned ashen and his hands shook as he darted a disbelieving glance from one to the other. The hard glitter of Roanna's amber eyes convinced him.

"D-D'Arcy?. .."

"You've heard of him?" Colin inquired impassively.

"Uh . . . yes... in fact, I was going to his keep next .. ."

"Splendid. Then you can carry a letter from the Lady Roanna assuring her family of her well-being."

Such unexpected thoughtfulness melted Roanna's anger. She smiled gratefully, unaware of how her already remarkable beauty was thereby magnified.

Colin swallowed hard, fighting against the desire to cover those ripe, moist lips with his own and taste the hidden sweetness of her mouth. Taking his leave hastily, he did not see Roanna's gaze follow him with a poignant mixture of bewilderment and frustration.

To give the merchant credit, he recovered himself quickly. By the lime she had ushered him over to a side of the bailey where the surplus goods were laid out, he had developed a strategy for dealing with her. Or so he thought

"I am sure you are eager to dictate your letter, my lady. So if you will just leave me to decide what these goods are worth .. ."

"Hardly," Roanna snorted. "We might as well understand each other from the beginning. I have seen the prices you charged his lordship the last time you were here. They were far too high. If you have any thought of a repeat performance, you may turn your train around and depart right now."

The merchant's mouth dropped open. Hasty words of outrage formed on his tongue, only to be painfully swallowed. The look in Roanna's eyes was one her brother's men would easily have recognized, it was exceedingly bad judgment to challenge any D'Arcy in such a mood.

"Please... my lady... I assure you, I am an honest man. I ask nothing but fair trade for my goods."

"Then we shall get on famously," Roanna assured him drily. "I will begin by listing Lord Colin's needs for the winter, then you can show me what you have to meet them. That done, I am certain we will have no trouble arriving at a mutually agreeable exchange."

The merchant had no choice but to acquiesce. Glumly, he listened to her explain what would be bought, managing to hide his surprise when she read the list herself. Literacy was an invaluable asset in his business, but not one he cared to share with his customers.

"I would like to see the salt first," Roanna instructed, "since that is the largest requirement"

At the merchant's signal, an assistant opened a large sack. Roanna inspected it carefully. After tasting a pinch, she placed it in the palm of her hand with a swirl of water to make sure the grains were not of different weight. When they floated to the bottom at the same speed, she nodded.

The merchant, believing she was convinced of the quality, smiled, only to have his satisfaction smashed when she said, "The sample from the top appears pure. I will take another from the bottom. While I am doing that, you may open ten more sacks to be likewise tested."

Blustering, the merchant complained, "There is no need!"

"Perhaps you are too honest to know that unscrupulous traders mix sand with salt to drive up their profits?" Roanna suggested, her tone making it clear she thought nothing of the kind.

Since this was exactly what the merchant had done, he could only curse his back luck at encountering so astute a customer. Gesturing to the assistant, he ordered the sack retted and had others brought from beneath a tarpaulin.

"This is the salt you want, my lady," he said resignedly.

Roanna did not agree until she had dug a hand through each sack and made certain that the contents were pure. Then she smiled sweetly. "Now, as to the other spices . . ."

There was no further attempt to show poor quality goods. The merchant brought out the finest seasonings and preservatives he possessed. Cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg from the East passed before Roanna, along with mace, turmeric, and saffron. She made her selections judiciously before going on to consider the other foodstuffs the merchant carried.