Authors: The Knight of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (19 page)
“You needn’t be so easy with him,” Josselyn instructed. “Scrub harder. He will inform you if you’re too rough.”
The pressure of her fingers increased. Her short nails scraped his scalp. Her movements yanked at his hair.
“Sorry,” she muttered after a particularly sharp tug.
“It’s all right,” he answered hoarsely. Pain was good, for it distracted him from how obscenely delicious this felt. “Don’t forget my ears,” he added, immediately cursing himself for a madman. When her soapy fingers rubbed his temples, then slid behind his ears, he groaned. He’d been bathed before and enjoyed it well. But he’d never feared to die from the pure pleasure of it.
“Duck your head,” she said, her voice soft and breathy. He did, then nearly choked on a huge gulp of water when her hands followed him down, threading through his hair to rinse it.
He lurched up, sputtering and shaking water from his eyes. “Jesus God,” he swore.
There was a muffled laugh from Josselyn, and Jasper glared at her, murder in his eyes. But she only grinned and stood. “I think you’ve got the idea, Rhonwen, so I’ll leave you now to finish the task. When you are done here, seek me out in my solar.” Then she swept from the room as if she were not in the least worried that he might have more than bathing on his mind.
What was she up to? Jasper wondered. The curtains swished behind her and a gust of outside air raised goosebumps on his flesh. But it did nothing to cool his desire for the woman left behind.
He glanced over his shoulder at Rhonwen. She knelt as she had before, following Josselyn’s exit with worried eyes. Then she looked back at him, and he admitted to himself that she had every reason to worry. He was hard and frustrated, and his bath had just begun.
And there was only one way this could end.
“Finish your task,” he ordered her, cursing himself for a
perverse fool. “Bathe my body.” Then he faced forward again and waited.
perverse fool. “Bathe my body.” Then he faced forward again and waited.
He did not have to wait long. She leaned nearer him. Though he could not see her movement, he sensed it. She dipped the cloth in the bathwater and soaped it with little slurping sounds. Then she began to lather his shoulders.
Her touch was exquisite. The warm water, the rough cloth, her smooth fingers. She scrubbed his back and neck, massaging the tense muscles there. Then she reached past his shoulders to wash his chest. It was strangely anonymous and erotic, two disembodied hands ministering to him. But it was also exquisitely personal. Only Rhonwen had the ability to rouse him so completely.
He caught her wrists and pulled so that her breast collided with his soapy back. “Wash lower,” he muttered, hardly able to speak. He slid her hands down his chest, forcing her to shift position. He felt her palms open against his stomach, and the slide of her full breasts up toward his shoulders as she bent over him. Curling tendrils worked their way loose from her bound hair and tickled his ear. The slender strength of her body stoked the fire in him further still.
“Lower,” he ordered in a pained voice.
Against his shoulders he felt every breath she took. He held each of her wrists in his grip and forced her hands in slow circles on his stomach. He wanted to let go, to allow her to take over the movement, to feel her instigate an erotic exploration of his body. But he was afraid to release her, afraid she would pull away.
“Why do you do this?” she murmured, her breath caressing his ear.
His hold on her wrists tightened. “Because I must.” Then he twisted sideways, drawing her around the tub so they were face-to-face. Her cheeks were flushed with desire. Her eyes were bright with it. “I want you,” he pressed her. “And you want me.”
“And Josselyn obviously approves,” she threw in bitterly. “How fortunate that we are all in accord. But her goals are not the same as your goals, are they? Are they?”
“What she wants is not important. Josselyn is not a part of this.”
“She thinks she can force us to wed, Jasper. She throws us together like this so we will … so we will …”
“Make love?”
She looked away. “What other reason could there be? She’s training me in the ways of an English lady. If she catches us in a compromising position, she will force you—”
“She cannot force me to do anything. Nor can Rand.”
It was the wrong thing to say, an exceedingly stupid thing to say, and he could have kicked himself for it. But once said, Jasper could not take the words back. Rhonwen recoiled as if from a blow, and when she jerked her hands from his, he let her go.
“Ah, damn. I’m sorry, Rhonwen.”
“No. No, there is no need to apologize for the truth. You do not want me for a bride, and I do not want you for a husband.” She stood, crossing her arms across the wet front of her kirtle.
She did not want him for a husband. That came as no surprise, and yet the words still stung. “Who do you want for a husband?
“Why should I want a husband at all?”
“Rhys?” he persisted. “He wants you.”
“My future is none of your concern. Why do you torment me so?” She let out a frustrated breath and shook her head. “We would the both of us be better served working to thwart Josselyn than allowing her to torture us this way.”
She stood there, hurt and unhappy, stricken and yet beautiful in a way that defied description. There were other women as fair of face, as feminine in form. But Rhonwen was more than that. Everything she’d said was true. He should not allow Josselyn’s machinations to trap him. And yet he could not stop himself.
“Are you tortured, Rhonwen? Are you as tortured by desire as am I?”
She closed her eyes and a shudder wracked her slender body. “Please, Jasper. Enough of this.”
“But I need more. More of you.”
“More of me?” She shook her head. “What you want is a whore. A mistress. A leman, or whatever you English term it. But I cannot be that for you. I will not.”
Jasper grasped the sides of the tub, ready to lunge at her, to take her in his arms and prove the lie on her lips. She could be his again. She wanted to be.
“Don’t!” She gestured with both of her hands as she backed toward the door. “Don’t, Jasper, not unless it can mean more than a few greedy moments of pleasure.” Then she darted for the door, slamming it behind her, and he was left alone.
He surged to his feet, furious. Frustrated.
From her place in the pantler’s closet, Josselyn’s eyes widened at the sight. No wonder both Englishwomen and Welsh alike tripped over one another in their efforts to be with her handsome brother-in-law. Naked and fully aroused, he was a splendid sight indeed, and she was not above taking a good, long look. The light from the two torcheres glinted wetly on his wide chest, flat stomach, and lean hips. His legs were strongly muscled, as were his arms and shoulders. But the muscle that intrigued her most was the one that strained upward between his legs. Were it not that she loved her husband so, she might stare a little while longer at it.
But loyalty made Josselyn look away. She turned from the split in the heavy curtains and reminded herself of her purpose. Jasper and Rhonwen were both stubborn. Then again, ten years ago she and Rhys had been equally stubborn. It had taken physical passion to break through the barriers to the love in their hearts, and she was sure it would work as well for these two.
She heard the splash of water as he sat down in the tub, and grinned when she heard him curse. Time to return to his side and gloat, she decided, peeking into the room once more. Then he groaned. His head fell back against the tub and her eyes widened in realization.
Yes, he was frustrated, all right. But though he sought to relieve his frustration himself, she suspected that relief would
be temporary. She smiled and turned away. He needed his privacy for a while longer. But as she made her way to her solar, she thought of her own virile husband and how much she missed him.
be temporary. She smiled and turned away. He needed his privacy for a while longer. But as she made her way to her solar, she thought of her own virile husband and how much she missed him.
How very much she missed him.
A pair of riders approached the town gate at dusk. They were promptly escorted to the castle and granted an audience with Josselyn. Jasper stood attendance beside her in the hall, as did several of his men. Though Josselyn received them graciously, offering food and drink and every hospitality for the night, Jasper sensed her tension.
These were Simon LaMonthe’s men.
“Lord Simon bids me convey his sincere respects to you, Lady Josselyn,” the burlier of the pair stated, bowing awkwardly.
“How kind of him,” she murmured. “I believe you said you carry a message from him?”
“The message is for Lord Randulf,” the man said. “But in his stead …” He trailed off and his muddy brown eyes veered from her to Jasper, then back again.
Josselyn held out her hand. “I believe Jasper and I are sufficiently in agreement that we can share this information. Unless, of course, it has to do with another woman.”
Jasper managed to stifle his shock at such a remark, but the two messengers nearly choked in surprise. They glanced at once another, and the younger of the pair actually blushed.
“Come, come!” Josselyn exclaimed. “I do but jest. Here.”
She extended her hand imperiously. “Give me the missive you bear and sit you down to sup.”
She extended her hand imperiously. “Give me the missive you bear and sit you down to sup.”
The first man unfolded a grimy roll of parchment from around his girdle and gave it to her. Then he and his cohort took their seats and set to their meal with gusto. But Burly watched Josselyn as she read, and then Jasper when he received the missive in turn.
It was nothing. A frivolous bit of information regarding a Lord Claridge whose household would be suitable for fostering Gavin. Jasper read it twice, searching for some hidden meaning. But he found none. Still, Simon LaMonthe was no fool. Nor was he of a generous or helpful nature. There was another reason behind this message; Jasper was convinced of it. But what?
“I believe my husband has made arrangements elsewhere for our son’s education,” Josselyn said to the pair stuffing their faces with victuals. “But I will send my thanks to Lord Simon for his consideration.”
“Rand is due back on the morrow, or the day afterwards,” Jasper lied. If this pair sought to probe Rosecliffe’s weaknesses, Jasper meant to convince them there were none. But what would be the purpose for such probing? LaMonthe could not be fool enough to consider attacking Rosecliffe.
He tossed the parchment onto the table, but he did not sit. Something was afoot, though he knew not what. But he would find out.
Josselyn gestured to one of the pages, who promptly pulled a flute from his belt. Another page fetched a drum to keep rhythm, and soon a merry tune filled the hall. Meanwhile, Josselyn sent Jasper a speaking look.
They were of the same mind, he realized. She too sensed that all was not as it appeared. But they would not ferret out the truth if they behaved suspiciously.
So the evening ritual resumed. A few men gambled with dice. Servants scrubbed the tables down and stacked them to the side. Water heated on the remnants of the fire, to be used for washing dishes and bodies. The dogs fed on the scraps while a courting lad and the object of his affection mouthed
the words of the sentimental song the piper piped.
the words of the sentimental song the piper piped.
Were it not that Josselyn’s children were sequestered abovestairs, it could have been any other night. But it was not any other night. While the two strangers hoisted mugfuls of Rosecliffe’s ale, Jasper assigned a page to their needs.
“Keep your eyes open and your ears attuned,” he told the eager lad. “Then come to me once they are abed. There will be an extra coin in your pocket come quarterday,” he added.
“Yes, milord. You may count on me.”
As Jasper settled himself in a chair and covertly watched the lad refill the men’s mugs, Josselyn approached him. “I shall go abovestairs to bid the children good night. Is there anything else I ought to do?”
“Have them sleep with you. And bolt your door. I’ll post guards at the bottom of the stairs.”
She gave him a smile. “I know you will keep us safe. But what of Rhonwen? Shall she remain in the tower room?”
Jasper looked away from her frankly curious face. He did not want to think about Rhonwen.
No. That was not true. He had not seen her since his disastrous bath earlier, but she’d been a constant distraction to his thoughts. “The tower room—or the dungeon,” he muttered.
She chuckled. “The tower room or the dungeon. And wherever she is, so do you also wish to be.”
He scowled at her. “Leave it alone, Josselyn.”
“Very well,” she answered. “Do it your own way, if you must.”
“I’ve not required your advice with women in the past. I do not need it now.”
She bent down and kissed his cheek. “And as a result, you are a very happy man. Am I right?” Then, not waiting for his reply, she glided regally from the hall.
LaMonthe’s men watched her go, then shared a look. At once the skin on the back of Jasper’s neck prickled. Something was most assuredly afoot. Not even a week had passed since Rand had left LaMonthe’s stronghold and already LaMonthe plotted mischief.
Jasper sent a page to fetch Gilles, a squire with a fearless manner and a particular talent for riding fast through the night.
Before the squire arrived, however, Rhonwen appeared in the stairwell. She still wore the blue kirtle she’d had on earlier, but the loose apron that had covered it was gone. The snug lacing of the soft fabric complemented her feminine shape well, and though she was covered neck to wrists to toes, his imagination saw more. It didn’t help matters that her hair had been unplaited, as if she’d been preparing for bed.
What would it be like to watch her let her hair down every night? he wondered. His heart began to race and he downed the contents of his mug in one gulp. What would it be like to close the door to his chamber each night and lie down beside her? He straightened in his chair and when her eyes met his, he pushed to his feet. Was she coming to him? Desire rose like a beast in him, desire and an intense longing he’d never before experienced. She was coming to him.
Rhonwen scanned the room, then fixed her gaze on Jasper. Thanks be that he was fully garbed. But the way he was staring at her …
Heated color immediately stained her cheeks, and she had to swallow to moisten her dry throat. Just march up to him and deliver Josselyn’s message. How hard can that be? she admonished herself.
Excruciatingly hard, as it turned out. But she forced herself to it anyway, only marginally aware of the two strange men whose eyes followed her progress across the hall. “Josselyn bids me tell you that I will stay tonight in her chamber.”
He looked down at her from his superior height without responding.
“She wishes me to bring up hot water. And chamomile leaves. ’Tis for Gavin. The boy … the boy suffers from an ache in his belly,” she continued, aware she was beginning to babble. But it was hard to remain coherent when he was devouring her with his eyes. “Isolde is … um … beginning to complain as well.”
“I warned them not to taste those green berries,” he muttered. Then his eyes shifted to focus beyond her and his expression
changed. “Come, I’ll escort you to the kitchen.”
changed. “Come, I’ll escort you to the kitchen.”
“Oh, no,” she protested, shaking her head. “You and I alone? No. ‘Tis precisely what Josselyn wants. But we both know ’twould be unwise. I need no escort.”
His eyes returned to her. In a lower voice he said, “You need an escort for the same reason you are sleeping in Josselyn’s bedchamber.”
“LaMonthe’s men?” She dismissed that notion with a wave of her hand. “They can have no interest in a Welshwoman—a captive held against her will,” she added tartly.
“None beyond the obvious,” Jasper muttered. His gaze moved over her, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.
Was he jealous? Rhonwen found it ludicrous, and yet it seemed to be true. She smiled archly. “I am well able to decide whose interest I desire and whose I do not.” Then she started for the door.
A squire entered as she departed and he held the door open for her with a gallant gesture. A streak of pure devilment seemed to control her, for on impulse she said, “Would you be so kind as to escort me to the kitchen?”
A pleased grin lit his face. But before replying he glanced warily at Jasper, who she knew had come up behind her. It galled her to no end that he must seek Jasper’s permission, but finally he bobbed his head. “Yes, miss. It would be my great pleasure to accompany you.”
It did not take long to fetch the dried chamomile, so Rhonwen was hardly better composed when she returned to the hall. Jasper watched her with hooded eyes as she entered, his face dark and brooding. The squire joined Jasper while she crossed to the hearth to fetch hot water for the children’s soothing tea. Only when she moved toward the stairs again did she notice LaMonthe’s men.
There were Englishmen, and then there were Englishmen, she decided. Like Welshmen, some were basically decent, while others … She shuddered. Others should never have been foisted upon the land. She knew instinctively that the older of LaMonthe’s two men belonged in the latter category.
She held her head at a haughty angle as she passed near them on her way to the stairs.
“Say, miss. Miss,” the older one called to her.
She paused warily on the first step. “Yes?”
He’d stood, and now he approached her. “Your friend, Rhys, sends his regards,” he said in a low, knowing voice.
“What?”
Across the room Jasper had pushed to his feet. Whatever the message this man carried, Rhonwen knew it was not meant for Jasper’s ears. So she forced a smile to her face and relaxed her tense posture. “What are you talking about?”
“’Twill not be long ’ere you are set free. On the dark of the moon, leave the postern gate unlocked.”
Rhonwen could hardly credit what she heard. Could it be true? Then she spied Jasper’s determined approach and she averted her eyes. “You flatter me, sir,” she said in carrying tones. “But I am not free to come and go. Even now duty bids me return to Lady Josselyn. Good evening to you.”
Then she fled, away from the grinning oaf—away from the glowering Jasper. As she hurried up the curving stairs, however, she could not flee the terrible dilemma that had just been thrust upon her.
Rhys meant to rescue her from Rosecliffe. She could hardly credit it.
And Simon LaMonthe meant to aid him.
But for their plan to succeed she must play a crucial role. She must let Rhys and his men—and his traitorous English allies—into the heart of Rosecliffe Castle.
She paused on the landing outside Josselyn’s apartments, breathing hard and trying to think. How had Rhys come to ally himself with Simon LaMonthe, of all people?
Then again, was he truly allied with these men, or were they lying to her, using her loyalty to Rhys to gain access to Rosecliffe for their own devious reasons?
She leaned dejectedly against the rough wall, pressed her head back against the cool stone surface, and stared at the high, shadowy ceiling rafters. Sweet Mary, what was she to do? How was she to determine the truth?
And even if it was a message from Rhys and no trick at all, could she unlock the postern gate and let her countrymen in, knowing the violence that was bound to ensue? Knowing that Rhys meant to confront Jasper? A fight between them would be to the finish. One of them would surely die.
The door creaked open and Isolde stuck her face out. “Come along, Rhonwen. The water will cool and Gavin is whining like a baby.”
He is a baby, Rhonwen thought as tears of frustration stung the backs of her eyes. You are all babies and undeserving of the misery awaiting you. She pushed off the wall and entered the solar, then busied herself preparing the tea. Isolde and Gwen settled into their mother’s high bed. Gavin sipped his tea, then lay down upon a pallet on the floor.
As for Rhonwen, she folded two woven wool blankets into a makeshift pallet in the corner opposite Josselyn’s bed. Then she removed her shoes and unlaced her gown. But she didn’t remove the garment and she didn’t lie down. Instead she stared into the flickering remains of the small fire in the hearth.
“Are you all right?” Josselyn asked from her seat beside Gavin. “Does something trouble you, Rhonwen?”
For a moment Rhonwen almost confided in her. Almost. But what could Josselyn do? Josselyn was bound to fight anyone who threatened her family and home. So Rhonwen turned away from her. “No,” she answered, unable to tell Josselyn the truth. “No. I but say my prayers.”
Only the prayers would not come. What was she to pray for? Rhys’s success or his failure? Should she be grateful for the alliance he’d made, or should she dread it? She lay down fully clothed and sick with worry. And since she did not know what else to do, she prayed for divine guidance.
What she needed, however, was divine interference, for no matter what she did, she feared there would be the devil to pay.
During the long restless night, two things became clear to Rhonwen. She could not in good conscience let Rhys and LaMonthe into Rosecliffe Castle. Too many innocent lives
would be lost in the battle that would surely erupt. Nor could she ignore the risk to their own lives which they were willing to take on her behalf. She knew how badly Rhys wanted Rosecliffe, but she could not be a part of his plot. She simply could not.
would be lost in the battle that would surely erupt. Nor could she ignore the risk to their own lives which they were willing to take on her behalf. She knew how badly Rhys wanted Rosecliffe, but she could not be a part of his plot. She simply could not.
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