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Authors: The Knight of Rosecliffe

BOOK: Rexanne Becnel
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Rhonwen met her friend’s teasing gaze with a solemn mien. “He will not. You would play at matchmaker, Josselyn, but
it is a foolhardy game, with only pain to come of it. I fear they will fight to the death, these two. Whatever the results of their struggle, I will be left to mourn one of them—and despise the other.”
 
Jasper spent three days away from the castle. Daily he visited the Welsh village Carreg Du, sweeping the fields and woods with his men, searching for any sign of Welsh rebels in the area. When he found none, relief was nearly as strong as disappointment.
He wanted the cocky Rhys. He wanted him in Rosecliffe’s gaol as an example to rebels not satisfied with the peace and prosperity Rosecliffe Castle had brought to this portion of Wales. He wanted Rhonwen to see that the boy was not only a liar, but a failure as well. He wanted her to see that failure, and he wanted to drive out any affection she might still harbor for the boy.
When he caught Rhys, though, he would have no choice but to set Rhonwen free. He’d have no reason to hold her, and anyway, Josselyn would never condone it. So he acknowledged the reason for his relief, but at the same time berated himself for it. What purpose did keeping her at Rosecliffe achieve if he avoided being anywhere near her?
As he rode now up the road to Rosecliffe, he studied the castle with a dispassionate eye. It was a fine fortress, well sited, with stout, impregnable walls. It was a credit to England, but more especially, a credit to Rand, who continued to add towers and fortifications to it. And like the handsome castle, the lands surrounding were a credit to Rand’s foresight and perseverance.
But would Rand have succeeded half so well had he not wed a Welsh maiden?
How much of the peace and prosperity of Rosecliffe was due to the contentment Josselyn and Rand shared?
Fool! he chastised himself. It was more than merely contentment those two shared. Their love was real, apparent in every look, in every touch. Even when they fought. They had passion, but they also had love.
Could he have that with any woman?
Could he have it with Rhonwen?
He shoved his cowl back from his sweaty hair and leaned forward. His weary animal responded at once, laboring up the hill, then thundering across the timber bridge.
Damnation, but that woman was driving him mad! He threw himself down from the horse, tossed the reins to a waiting page, and strode angrily toward the keep.
He would not be kept out of his own home. He would not be denied the release necessary to any normal man. She was his prisoner and he wanted her—and Josselyn be damned!
Firm in his purpose, he slammed into the great hall, then stopped short. Young Gwendolyn sat in a tub before the hearth, howling as if she were being tortured. Rhonwen scrubbed the unhappy child’s hair. But Rhonwen hadn’t been able to control the soap. It had seeped into Gwen’s eyes, and the child was inconsolable.
“Just rinse,” Josselyn told Rhonwen. “She’s clean enough. Just rinse her hair and her eyes.”
“I’m not gettin’ into that tub,” Gavin vowed from his position near the door to the pantler’s closet. “I had a bath not a week ago. And I’m not even dirty!”
“You smell like a whole litter of swine,” his mother countered. “You are next.”
“But Mama!” he implored. Then he spied Jasper and immediately bolted his way. “Uncle. Tell her! ’Tis embarrassing to be bathed like a child, in plain view of everyone. I’m nearly a man!”
“You’re only seven years old,” Josselyn said, planting her hands on her hips.
But Jasper was not interested in the war of wills between Josselyn and her son. It was Rhonwen he’d come for, and Rhonwen his eyes sought. She’d finished dousing Gwen and the child’s wails had subsided to childish sniffles.
“Am I finished yet?”
“Yes, sweetling, you are,” Rhonwen said, averting her startled gaze from Jasper’s searching one. “Here, stand up and I’ll wrap this length of toweling around you.”
“I’m cold,” the child complained, standing up in the tub. “Hurry.”
“You see!” Gavin interrupted. “You see? I’m not standing up naked in front of a lot of women.”
But Josselyn would have none of his argument. While Rhonwen lifted Gwen from the tub, then efficiently rubbed her down, Josselyn crossed to Gavin and Jasper. “Remove your clothes and get in that tub this very minute, else I will have Rhonwen perform the task for you.”
“But Mama!” he cried, ducking behind Jasper.
“Would that I could take his place,” Jasper muttered. Just the thought of Rhonwen stripping his clothes from his skin, then bathing him with warm, soapy hands pushed any other thought from his brain. He could feel the rush of blood to his loins, and he had to fight to keep his voice calm. “I’m dirty and tired, and in need of the ministrations of a competent housewife.”
“Indeed?” Josselyn said, her brows arching with interest. “Heretofore you’ve taken your baths elsewhere. But if you’re willing …” She glanced back at Rhonwen. “Perhaps it would be a good lesson for both Rhonwen and Gavin. Yes,” she decided, grinning. “Gavin, fetch another bucket of hot water. You will see now how a man behaves at his bath. And Rhonwen, you will learn the proper way to bathe a male guest, a task you are certain to find useful in the future.”
“Hold on,” Jasper said, realizing the bath his imagination had conjured was not the bath Josselyn intended him to have. “I did not expect an audience.”
“Such modesty,” she teased. “But if you wish it, we will position the screens. Come, now, Jasper. You are not known for your modesty. You need a bath and Rhonwen needs to learn how to bathe a man.”
He scowled, first at Josselyn, then at Rhonwen. He’d spoken unwisely and now he was torn. “Why does she have to learn that?”
“So she may—” Josselyn broke off when Rhonwen gasped. Some silent communication passed between the two women before Josselyn continued. “It is a part of the education
of every young woman in a proper household. I told you I meant to make her into a lady and that your assistance might be required. Well, your assistance is required now, and anyway, ’twas your own suggestion. If you’re concerned she will not do a good job, I assure you, she’s been most adept at every other task I’ve set her. I’m confident she can learn to scrub you down in a manner to your liking.”
Jasper stared at Josselyn. She was a witch, a devious witch who obviously enjoyed torturing people, for she’d done this to him before. The first time it had been Rhonwen bathing and him suffering agonies knowing she was so near. This time their roles were reversed.
He was not certain which situation was worse.
Now, though he wanted to renege on his hasty offer, he could not find his voice. Josselyn’s careful choice of words had made certain of that. To have Rhonwen scrub him down in a manner to his liking was a lure far too powerful to ignore.
His jaw worked back and forth as he glared at Josselyn. But she deflected his ill humor with a smug grin. She clapped her hands at Gavin, sending him about his task. Then she turned to Rhonwen.
“Here. I will dress Gwendolyn and finish drying her hair. You set out fresh towels and soaps as I instructed before.” She took Gwen from Rhonwen, who stared at the older woman, slack-jawed.
“As for you, Jasper,” she continued, “come over here. Do not remove your sword or cowl or any other of your garb. Rhonwen must learn all those tasks. It may take a little longer this first time. But be patient. You will be rewarded with a bath I’m certain you will never forget.”
 
 
Rhonwen gripped the length of thick, bleached toweling so tightly her fingers hurt. Why was Josselyn behaving so?
Why was Jasper allowing it?’
But she could guess the answer to that. She’d taunted him at her bath in the kitchen that time, boldly displaying herself and offering him the use of her body if he would just abandon his battle with Rhys. It had been a foolish gesture, she now knew. But it seemed he meant to make her pay for it.
She watched as Gavin dumped another bucket of hot water into the tub. He was obviously relieved that the water was for Jasper, and not himself. “Come along,” the boy said, looking at her. “We have to move the screens into place.”
Together they positioned the wood and tapestry screens to shield the tub from whomever might enter the spacious hall. Then, with the water hot and the myriad bathing accoutrements in place, Rhonwen had no further reason for delay. Yet still she hesitated.
Gavin perched on a stool next to the massive hearth, poking idly at the coals, oblivious to the byplay between the adults. Josselyn sat near him on an upholstered bench, holding Gwen in her lap as she dried the child’s fine dark curls. After setting everything in motion, the woman had become suspiciously unconcerned.
Rhonwen took a slow, steadying breath. She could manage this. With everyone so close at hand, there was nothing to fear. Nothing untoward could pass between Jasper and her. Not that Jasper appeared at the moment even remotely so inclined. If anything, the harsh set of his mouth indicated quite the opposite.
Unfortunately that only deepened Rhonwen’s despair. What did the man want of her? No matter what she did, she seemed never able to please him. She was either too reticent or too forward. Too difficult or too obliging.
She clenched her teeth and faced Jasper. “Come over here, then. Let us begin.”
“Now, now,” Josselyn interrupted in mild reproval. “A better approach is to invite your honored guest to partake of the bath. Never demand his cooperation. Request it.”
Rhonwen pursed her lips in irritation, then forced a false note of civility into her voice. “Your bath is prepared, milord. Might I assist you with your clothing?”
“Much better,” Josselyn murmured. She began to comb Gwendolyn’s hair.
After an awkward silence, Jasper responded in a grudging voice. “Thank you.” He moved nearer the softly steaming tub and halted, and another silence ensued.
“Start with his weapons first,” Josselyn instructed. “And progress layer by layer. The last garment should be his small cloth.” At Rhonwen’s look of consternation, she added, “You should turn your back and allow him to remove it himself. Once he is in the water, you can then begin his bath.”
It proved not too difficult to remove his sword. The ornately designed buckle that fastened it around his lean hips was well sprung, and it released easily. She laid the heavy weapon and finely tooled belt aside, but then she was confronted with his cowl of chain mail. She stood face-to-face with him, lifting her arms to his shoulders, until he obliging bent forward.
Her heart pounded a fierce rhythm. This was so like an amorous embrace. But his frown made it clear it was not amorous
for him. He would not even meet her eyes. So she tugged the mail cowl over his head and, with shaky hands, laid it aside. His cape was no easier, for it was pinned at his throat and she had to stand unbearably near him to unfasten the intricate brooch that held it closed.
Would this torture never cease?
But it had only just begun, and with every successive garment, her torture increased. His tunic was next, heavy and warm with the heat of his body. He stood rigid, his eyes shuttered, his expression pained. He saved her asking his aid, however, and it was fortunate, for she was certain she had no voice to speak. He held out his arms, then bent at the waist so she could tug his tunic over his head.
If his tunic was warm, his chainse was even more so, and it was damp from his exertions of the day. Worse, as she loosened the ties at his wrists, she smelled the familiar scent of him, of horses and leather and sweat. Of virility.
As she reached for the hem of the loose linen garment, the trembling in her hands transmitted to her entire body. Dear God, she was not sure she could view his naked torso and function, all at the same time.
“No, no. His boots and hose next.” Josselyn’s instructions came none too soon.
Rhonwen gasped in relief, then ducked her head to hide her flaming cheeks. “Sit down,” she croaked out.
“If you please,” Josselyn prompted.
“If you please,” she managed to echo.
He sat on a three-legged stool beside the tub, then looked up, and for a moment their eyes met. For that moment, so fleeting she might have imagined it, she saw past the guard he’d erected to a desire that seethed perilously near eruption. She saw it, and though he blinked and it was hidden once more, she knew she had not imagined it. He hated her, but he also desired her—and he did not want anyone to see that unhappy duality. Least of all her.
She knelt down and focused her attention on his heavy leather knee boots, while her pulse thundered in her ears. He felt much as she did, and like her, he struggled mightily to
bury the inappropriate desire that burned inside him. Were it not for Josselyn’s determined interference, they might both manage this awkwardness far easier. Still, there was no use denying that desire existed for both of them. That could not be blamed solely on Josselyn.
Rhonwen forced herself to a calm she did not truly feel, then took hold of the first boot.
“Perhaps I should do this part,” Jasper said.
“No,” Josselyn replied from her seat by the fire. “Let her do it. Let her learn how to wait upon a nobleman.”
“Why should she learn such a thing?” Jasper demanded to know. “How likely is she to wait upon any noblemen in the future?” He lurched up from the stool and stepped past Rhonwen.
For her part Rhonwen bowed her head and drew in great draughts of air. She’d been given a reprieve.
But not by Josselyn.
“Think, Jasper. What does the future hold for a woman with no wealth or property to commend her? Rhonwen has no father to look after her, and so she must be grateful if any man offers for her. What if none offers for her? Without a husband her choices are limited. She can try to find a place in the Church and hope one of the holy orders will take a penniless woman, or else seek employment in a noble household.”
She ignored Rhonwen’s dismayed gasp at that revelation. “At least she recognizes her need for employment,” Josselyn continued. “Her confinement at Rosecliffe allows her to learn skills she otherwise might never gain. Since none of us has the ability to foresee what future awaits her, it behooves her to learn whatever she can while she is here.”
The older woman’s eyes glinted stubbornly. “You need a bath. She needs to learn how to bathe a man. So sit down and let her do it.”
Rhonwen’s eyes darted back and forth between the iron-willed Josselyn and the furious Jasper. Surely Jasper would win this battle, for Josselyn could hardly force him to bathe if he did not wish it.
They glared at one another in silence until Josselyn muttered a Welsh curse under her breath. “Very well, then. Perhaps someone else will be willing. Gavin, send for Sir Louis.”
The boy had been watching the confrontation between his uncle and his mother with considerable interest. But at Josselyn’s order he jumped up. “Yes, Mother,” he said, heading past the screen for the door.
“Hold!” Jasper muttered. “Hold on, Gavin.”
Josselyn crossed her arms and arched her brows. “’Tis you or Sir Louis. Make your decision before the water chills.” To Rhonwen she added, “Sir Louis is master of the stables.”
“You mean he is a randy old goat,” Jasper growled.
“I’m sure I know nothing about that,” Josselyn replied with a smug smile.
“Bloody hell!” Jasper swore.
“Do not speak so in front of my children,” Josselyn admonished him, clamping her hands over Gwendolyn’s ears. She glanced at her son, who’d already edged nearer the door. “You are dismissed, Gavin. ’Tis plain you’ll learn little from your uncle’s behavior this day. But take your sister with you. Bring her to the nursery.”
Gavin hurried to the door, clearly grateful to put distance between himself and any hint of a bath. Once the children were gone Josselyn fixed Jasper and Rhonwen with her narrowed gaze. “Get on with it now.”
Rhonwen waited, gnawing her lower lip, and finally Jasper sat down and she approached him once more. She took his boot in her hands and tugged it free, then removed the other as well. Efficient movements, she instructed herself. Like washing clothes and churning butter. Perform this task as you would any other.
Easy to say; harder to do. Impossible, when she began to roll his stockings down. His calves were strongly muscled. His ankles hard and bony. His feet, humble appendages though they ought to be, fascinated her. Large, well shaped.
She jerked the finely woven hose off his last foot and flung it at the growing pile of his soiled garments. Oh, but she must be mad! That was the only explanation for such a
perverse reaction to the man’s feet. His feet, for pity’s sake! She had to complete this bath of his before she truly lost her mind.
She snatched up the hem of his chainse and when he obligingly lifted his arms, she tugged the supple garment over his head. She kept her eyes determinedly cast down, but she knew he was naked, save for his hips and legs. “Stand up. If you please,” she added, none too graciously. Would this never end?
He stood and she took a deep breath. She raised her eyes, intending only to locate the ties for his braies. Unfortunately, what she saw was a broad, muscled chest and lean, rippling stomach. A dark, curling patch of hair shadowed his chest, then arrowed down the center of his stomach toward the ties—and toward a suspicious bulge beneath the bunched wool of his braies.
Rhonwen’s eyes jerked up to his—a huge mistake. For after that, there was nothing left of efficiency in her actions. She reached for the ties with hands that shook and fingers that fumbled. When she somehow managed to release the knot, she pulled the tie too hard and it slid completely free of its casing. As she stood there, holding the limp strip of cord, the braies sagged, then slid down over his hips.
She looked away, but not soon enough. She heard Josselyn behind her, rearranging the logs on the hearth. But beside the waiting tub there was no sound save, perhaps, the collapse of Rhonwen’s willpower.
She turned away as Josselyn had said she should. She heard the harsh escape of his breath, then his soft curse as he removed the straining small cloth. The water splashed as he stepped into the tub, and sloshed over the sides when he sat. But still she could not turn around.
She stared instead at the uneven distribution of rushes strewn across the floor, and tried to recall Josselyn’s instruction for the proportions of dried straw to aromatic herbs. She spied the small iron pot of simmering herbs and recited the favored ingredients: cedar bark and dried rose petals and mint. But her desperate efforts at distraction were for
naught. One thought only dominated her mind: Jasper sat naked behind her.
“Go on,” Josselyn urged. “There is no room for modesty, for you must work quickly, especially in cold weather when the water loses its warmth so swiftly.”
Slowly Rhonwen turned. Her fate had been decided, she realized, and struggling against it was fruitless. She was fated to desire her enemy, no matter that she was but a tool in his plans to subjugate her people. That he was similarly fated and fought his desire for her was bitter comfort. The truth remained that she was here, in his power, though thankfully under the watchful eyes of Josselyn. And right now, in order to escape his overpowering nearness, she must first bathe him.
She reached for a cloth and the square of soap, steeling herself. “Shall I begin with your hair, milord, or with your … your person?”
Jasper’s jaw ached from clenching it so hard. But that pain was nothing to the pain of repressed desire. And he must now endure her hands on his bare skin? Her small, soapy hands on his slick, overheated flesh?
He slid under the water, ducking his head, wishing he did not ever have to surface.
When he came up she repeated the question more haltingly. “Your hair or your—”
“My hair,” he snapped. “Do my hair first.”
Across the room Josselyn looked up at his words, a smile curving her lips. Damn her for an interfering witch, he silently swore. If she thought to escape his wrath she was sore mistaken.
Then Rhonwen touched his head and his anger at his brother’s scheming wife vanished. Rhonwen had lathered her hands and now, with a tentative touch, she began to wash his hair.
Her fingers were slender but they were strong, and Jasper had to remind himself to breathe. The water steamed and lapped at the sides of the tub, the soap smelled of chamomile, and her fingers stroked every portion of his scalp. He subsided
against the back of the tub and she knelt down just behind him.

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