Joining (15 page)

Devouring came to mind. The trapped rabbit came to mind. The falcon swooping down on his prey came to mind. Not one image offered escape, but held her immobile in fear—and something else. It was the something else that she hoped to forget, but doubted she would, that small, tiny urge to relax against him and let him have his way.

The taste of him was—pleasant. The heat of his lips was—pleasant. The feel of his body pressed to her was—more than pleasant. However, considering how she felt about him, none of that should have been so and was rightfully confusing. But she only thought of that afterward. During the kiss, she thought of nothing, and that was the most frightening, that she could be rendered witless.

She had to wonder what might have happened if that kiss had continued. Thankfully it was interrupted by a servant’s sharp rap on the door, causing him to release her and step back to his previous position. She vaguely noted that he seemed somewhat embarrassed now.

Still in a daze herself, Milisant didn’t think before asking baldly, “Why did you do that?” “Because I can.”

Had she expected some romantic answer from him? More fool her. The answer she got had her own cheeks flushing with angry heat. So typical of the male of the species. I can, therefore I will. Bah, would that a woman could ever say the same and not have someone tell her why it would never be so.

She gave him back his own answer, as derisively as she could, as she left him to deal with the servant who entered as she opened the door. “I wonder why I am so little surprised by that.”

Nineteen

Because I can?

Wulfric amazed himself sometimes, and this was certainly one of those times. He could not think of a more stupid answer to have given Milisant, and hardly the truth. But the truth had caught him by surprise, that he could desire her so suddenly, and so strongly, when verily, there was so little about her that he liked—nay, that wasn’t entirely true.

She was an exceptionally comely wench when she wasn’t wearing more dirt than clothes. And she had a sharp wit that he found more and more often amusing. Of course, she used it to try and insult him at every opportunity, but her daring in that also amused him.

She was unusual to be sure. She had too much pride. She was too opinionated. Her pursuits were unseemly in the extreme. Yet he had no doubt now that he would have little trouble bedding her; nay, he was sure now he would find much pleasure in that. So although he was still not thrilled with their approaching marriage,
he couldn’t say he still found it utterly abhorrent either.

Which was likely why he refrained from mentioning his reservations to his mother when he joined her at the Great Hearth before the midday meal, though previously he had considered enlisting her aid.

Also, she couldn’t have helped noticing his sour mood when he had left here last week to collect Milisant. But in her typical fashion, she would have ignored it. Unless and until she was actually confronted with a dire situation directly, she found it quite easy to explain away any portentous signs of approaching disaster.

So she would have had warning, if he cared to discuss with her the many reasons, and there were still many, why Milisant would not make him a suitable wife. But he chose to bide his time and keep silent on the matter, well aware that the taste of Milisant, still fresh in his mind, was likely the only thing to decide him.

Cynically, he had to wonder how many decisions of great import were based on a man’s sexual needs, without his even being aware of it. Too many, no doubt. Even kings were not immune to self-interest in the sexual arena. King John was a prime example in that.

Unfortunately, he should have realized that his mother would want to talk of nothing but the wedding—and the bride. He didn’t even get a proper greeting from her before she launched into those very subjects, when he joined her on her favorite bench.

“Ah, I am glad you have come ere the hall begins to fill for dinner, so I can tell you how
pleased I am that you have finally fetched your betrothed. You are truly lucky, Wulf. She is such a lovely girl. Verily, betrothing you to her at her birth as was done, we could not know how she would turn out, could we? Yet did it work out exceptionally well for you.”

He managed to keep from laughing. Did she really have no idea how unusual Milisant was? But then he realized she really might
not
know. The girl could, after all, turn herself out decently and behave when she cared to, and mayhap she had cared to do just that whenever his mother had been present over the years.

Then, too, had he not been fooled himself into thinking only good thoughts about Milisant when he thought she was Jhone? How often were others so fooled as well?

He could have just let it go without comment. But he was too curious to know whether his mother was just deluding herself, as she so often did, or whether she really didn’t know the Milisant he did.

So offhandedly he asked, “What think you of the way she dresses?”

Anne frowned at first, as if not understanding why he would ask, but then smiled with the memory. “You mean her fondness as a child to wear the garb of her playmates? But of course, she outgrew that.”

“Actually, Mother—”

She was quick to cut him off. But then he should have known better than to use a word like “actually,” which would be too negative for her peace of mind.

“And she enjoys hunting,” Anne said. “Which
should please you, much as you like to hunt yourself.” “She doesn’t hawk.”

“She doesn’t? But I know her father mentioned more than once—”

“That she excels with a bow?” he cut in, quite dryly.

Anne chuckled. “How silly, Wulf. Of course she doesn’t use a bow. And I’ve seen her hawk. A splendid bird. Rhiska, I believe she calls it, named after a bird she had in her youth that some brute of a boy killed for spite. But then I am sure she will tell you the story if she hasn’t already. ’Twas a most unpleasant experience for her, so the telling of it should draw her closer to you.”

He stopped in shock. If, as he suspected, he was the boy his mother had just mentioned, who had killed Milisant’s first Rhiska, no wonder she was at his throat.

“Brute” would have been the girl’s word, not his mother’s. Anne never resorted to name calling or passing such character judgments as that. So Milisant had obviously related the story to Anne, just kept silent on who the brute had been, since Anne very likely wouldn’t have believed her if she’d tried to convince her that her son was the culprit.

Jesu,
he wished he’d known before now that that had been the result of getting the attacking hawk off of him that day. He certainly hadn’t meant to kill it, if this was indeed the hawk in question. But how else was he to have gotten the thing off of him, when it had been making every effort to rip off his fingers?

Still, if he’d known the bird hadn’t survived hitting that wall when he’d shaken it off of him, he might have stayed to make some attempt to comfort the enraged girl for her loss. And they might both have ended the day without such horrid memories.

“Speaking of birds,” he said now, “have you seen all of her pets?”

“All?”

She was frowning again, then just as quickly smiling as she obviously figured she knew what he referred to. As usual, she guessed wrong.

“The wolf, you mean? A strange pet, aye, but so friendly. Believe me, I would trust it ere I would one of your father’s dogs. It slept at my feet once, did you know? I wasn’t even aware that it was there until I kicked it by accident, and it didn’t even growl—oh my,” she added with a giggle. “She calls it that, doesn’t she? Growls? But that is so inappropriate, when it’s as tame as a kitten.”

He got the impression that his mother thought he was worried about the wolf. He could have clarified that he was referring to Milisant’s great number of pets, rather than one in particular. His main worry was that she would turn the marital chamber into a stable, but he decided there would be no point in pursuing the issue. His mother would turn any concern he might have into a minor consequence of no import. He loved her greatly, he truly did, but sometimes her attitude left him distinctly frustrated.

It was just as well. He didn’t really want to complain to her about his bride-to-be, at least not at this time. That kiss was still too fresh in
his mind, and if anything, his thoughts were more centered on when might be an opportune time to have another taste of her—just to assure himself that he hadn’t imagined how nice was the first taste.

He did need to warn his mother, however, about the attacks against Milisant. Since she was like to be much in the girl’s company, ’twas not something he could keep her ignorant of to shield her from worry.

So he said without preamble, “I mean not to cause you great alarm, Mother, but you need be aware that someone is trying to kill Milisant.”

She gasped. Not surprisingly, she didn’t believe him. “Wulf! ’Tis not a subject to jest about!”

“Would that it were only a jest. But there have been two, possibly three attempts made against her in a mere matter of days. I tell you only because you will be often around the girl, and should take note of anyone who comes near her whom you do not recognize.”

Her sudden pallor said she took him seriously this time. “Who? Sweet
Jesu, why?”

He shrugged. “I cannot guess who, but as to the why—unless she has an enemy she is not owning up to, I would suppose someone either hopes to hurt me through harming her, or mayhap prevent the wedding.”

“Then you must marry immediately.”

He chuckled. “She is not like to agree to that. ’Twas already suggested.”

“I’ll speak with her—”

“It won’t do any good, Mother.”

“Of course it will,” she said confidently. “She
is a reasonable girl. If it will stop these attacks, then she must agree.”

Reasonable? He was afraid now that his mother really did think Jhone was her sister. But there was no point in beating her over the head with the truth, that Milisant wanted no part of their joining. She would find that out for herself if she attempted to rush the wedding.

So he merely said, “Do as you will.”

Knowing his mother, she would anyway. And as long as she had been warned to be wary of anyone she might find suspicious, he was satisfied.

Twenty

“Idiots, the whole
lot of you! I give you a simple task to do, and it was a
very
simple task, and you botch it repeatedly. What, I ask you, am I paying you for? To be told how incompetent you are?”

Ellery’s first thought was that he should stop sleeping in hostelries where Walter de Roghton could so easily find him. His second thought was that he would as soon kill Walter as the girl Walter had hired him to kill. Course, that wouldn’t be good for his reputation, so it was merely a thought, albeit a nice one.

He didn’t hang his head in shame either, though he knew that was the reaction the lord was seeking. His two accomplices, Alger and Cuthred, accommodated Walter well enough, both looking suitably chastised, but Ellery looked him in the eye and merely shrugged his indifference.

“Circumstances, m’lord,” was all he said by way of excuse. “We will do better next time.”

“Next time?” Walter all but screeched, redfaced
in his rage. “What next time? You had access to Dunburh, you will have no such access to Shefford, which is kept like a stronghold under siege. No one enters who has no legitimate business there. Even merchants must be known to the guards, or they are turned away.” “They will hire—”

“You are not
listening!
Shefford is an earldom. An earl does not hire, he draws from his vassals and villages service owed to him.”

“There is always a way, m’lord, to gain what is needful—if not through hiring or bribery, then by trickery or stealth. There will be villagers who come and go. There always are. There will be wagons that enter—and whores. I know a wench I can use if needs be. She has worked for me before and knows a thing or two about poisons. What is not needful is you telling me how to do my job.”

Ellery couldn’t care less that it was a lord he was slighting, when he could claim no such title himself. He was a free man, and that gave him all the rights he needed, far as he was concerned, to speak his mind to noble and serf alike. He’d been born to a London whore, had no idea who his father was, and had been cast off onto the streets to fend for himself ‘fore he was barely weaned. He had survived starvation, beatings, and sleeping in the gutter in the dead of winter. A blustering lord was naught to him.