RulingPassion (4 page)

She never did remember how she came to be lying in his bed,
but she never forgot how it felt to have him moving over her, filling her,
taking her to the heights of rapture yet again, and then the peace afterward, the
solid warmth of him against her, the welcome bulk of his body in her arms.

After a while he rolled off her, extinguished the lone
remaining candle and drew her into the circle of his arms. She had only an
instant or two of consciousness to consider the changes that had overtaken her
that day before she fell asleep. Not long enough to consider how they might
affect her future.

Chapter Six

She woke sluggishly, opening her eyes after an interval of
considering whether to do so or not. The bed wrapped her in warmth and
security. But bright light filled the room and there was no denying morning had
broken. She rolled over and realized she was alone in the bed.

Not far away, though, a figure stood in front of the room’s
only window. Straight, tall and gloriously clothed only in the radiance of
sunlight spilling in from outside, Lord Jeoffrey stared outward. Lost in some
private contemplation, his body was held tautly, his expression stern. Through
the mist of sleep still clotting her eyes and the haze of dust particles
swarming in the sunbeam, he seemed to her to shimmer with glints of light
sparkling off his golden hair and smooth, tawny skin.

For a transcendent moment he was a creature completely
beyond her experience, something more than human, more than normal man. An
angel, or a saint, transfigured in the presence of God, perhaps, glowing with
power and glory and goodness. Bathed in light, he was radiant. The most
beautiful sight she’d ever seen. Tears burned her eyes, whether from joy at
being granted the privilege of such a vision, or from sorrow that such a
creature should be so far beyond her grasp, she could not have said.

Then he turned and saw her. He stepped toward her, out of
the light, and was a man again. A slow smile chased away the hardness of his
face, softening it into warmth. He leaned down and kissed her slowly, but
backed away when a soft tap sounded at the door. Swathing himself in a robe he
pulled from a peg on the wall, he went to the door and accepted a tray with a
pitcher and cups, and a basket covered with a napkin. The tantalizing aroma of
bread fresh from the oven drifted from it. He set it on a table and returned to
stand beside the bed.

“A fine morning, my love. No doubt you’re sore and stiff
from yesterday. Think you can rise?”

She rolled over and then started to push herself upward. The
bedcovers fell away from her. Despite what they’d shared, she reached for the
cover and pulled it across her breasts as she sat. He smiled with gentle humor,
found the long-ago discarded shift, brought it to her, and turned his back as
she struggled her way into it.

She started to stand and groaned. Oddly though, it wasn’t
her bottom that bothered her most. “I’m sore and stiff, but can move. The
discomfort is primarily…between my legs rather than on my backside.”

He nodded and offered an arm to escort her to the small
table where breakfast awaited. “My punishments are intended to cause pain at
the time but no lasting damage. That aside, you were hard-used yesterday,
especially for one with no experience. I should express sorrow for it, but I
cannot be fully sincere in so saying. Rather do I regret any hurt done to you,
beyond the discipline you deserved.”

He assisted her into a seat and went to occupy the other
one. Before touching the food, he gathered both her hands into his large ones
and looked at her across the small table. “My Lady Rosalind, may I say I admire
how whole-heartedly you fulfilled your part of our bargain? I truly hope no
harm has been done to you, and I vow I’ll do all in my power to ensure you a
content future.”

She moved one of her hands to clasp it on the outside of
his. “I’m grateful, my lord.” She wanted to say more, to tell him how she
admired him in return, but could find no appropriate words for her sentiments.

For a long moment they held one another’s eyes. Rosalind
found herself trying to read possible futures in the smoky depths of his.
Several scenes rolled through her mind, though only one could she feel ready to
welcome with any joy.

At last he nodded. “We’ll speak more of the future later.
For now, there’s cider and bread and cook’s plum jam to spread on it.”

To divert her attention, he asked about her family and the
events of her childhood while they drank cool, sweet cider, and the warm bread.
She told him about her brother and sister, mother and father, trying to focus
on her early days and not recall that, save her sister, wed to a baron who
dwelt far to the north, all were now dead. There were sufficient pleasant times
to blunt the pain of the more recent memories. The love and affection her
parents had given her would stay with her always. She told him about the
practical jokes she and her brother had been wont to play, and had him laughing
loudly and long at the stories about her early attempts at cooking.

“Was that rabbit truly so tough not even the hearth dog
could pull meat off it?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I suppose he did eventually, by dint of much
persistence, gain a few morsels from it. My father threw what remained to the
crows and said it took them more than a week to dispose of what usually took no
more than an hour.”

He slanted a wry eyebrow at her. “And I recall you offered
your services as a cook for me?”

“Credit me with having learned from my experiences,” she
said, and then in the interests of honesty, added, “I seem to have no instinct
or gift for it, however. Maniga, our chief cook, regarded me as a trial she had
to bear.”

“Why was it necessary that you, a lady, should know how to
cook? Surely they did not foresee you having to do for yourself?”

“Nay. It was only to provide a better understanding of what
was needful for running the household.”

“Ah,” he said, as though that were a great discovery for
him. “Are you finished?” he asked then, seeing she’d consumed all but a few
crumbs of the bread on her plate. “We have yet some time for ourselves, and I
would like to show you around the grounds. It appears the weather will be
pleasant.”

She nodded, although she wondered if her abused body would
tolerate it. He rang for a servant to retrieve the clothes she’d worn the
previous morning and help her dress. He provided cloaks for them both, his
swung over plain breeches and shirt. The shirt was a soft blue that warmed the
gray of his eyes almost to the same shade. They traversed a long corridor,
descended a flight of stairs, crossed the echoing expanse of the empty great
hall, and followed a couple more twisting halls before he opened a nearly
unmarked door to the outside. Movement actually relieved some of her aches
rather than adding to them.

This was apparently a side entrance, perhaps an emergency
escape route in case of siege, but it led to a walled garden at the side of the
manor house.

Late winter had just given way to spring when Sir William de
Railles had invaded her family home. Calculating the time she’d spent as
William’s guest, the weeks when he’d thought he could persuade her to do his
bidding, then the time spent in his dungeon, she guessed it would be late
spring, mid-May, now.

The breeze was still cool, but the midmorning sun warmed her
back through the cloak. Lord Jeoffrey took her arm and led her down a brushed
dirt path between two patches of vegetables. The garden was nicely ordered and
thriving. The new plants grew strong and healthy, pushing up strong stalks or
spreading bunches of leaves.

They strolled quietly along the paths until they reached the
far end of the fenced vegetable plot. He guided her to a gate, where he opened
it and they walked through into a wilder area. Spring-flowering trees and
shrubs blooming in wild profusion, showering petals on patches of new green
plants; and perennials sending up fiery shoots. Fragrances of apple and plum
blossoms wakened memories of her childhood playing in her mother’s orchard.
Someone had once done a great deal of work on this area, but then left it on
its own. Rampant vines crept across the paths in places and bushes nearly
blocked a few. Hardier plants overtook more tender shoots, stealing light and
nutrients.

“My father planted it for my mother,” Jeoffrey said,
frowning at the untended tangles. “Before I was born. But she died just two
years later, struggling to give birth to me, and he lost interest thereafter. A
few years back I had a gardener work on clearing and restoring it, but we have
too few people to spare for such frivolous endeavors.” He sighed as though it
pained him to admit the lack.

He guided her to a quiet corner at the far end, where an
arbor was tucked into a border of quince shrubs. A cut stone bench sat within.
The vines twining the rungs of the trellis hadn’t yet fully leafed out, so the
sun crept in and warmed the area. The stone was still cool as they sat side by
side on it.

He took her hand and turned her to face him. His smile was
both sweet and sad as he looked into her eyes. His kiss was sweeter yet, but
shorter than she would have wished.

He kept hold of her hand, but turned to study the neglected
wilderness of the garden. His expression grew stern and bleak. “God or fate is
a cruel trickster. I wonder what I’ve done to deserve to be tormented this
way?”

Rosalind had no idea what he meant, but his obvious pain
touched a chord of sympathy in her heart. She squeezed his hand gently and
asked, “In what are you tormented, my lord? Most would say you have been
abundantly blessed: you are a free man, lord of your own estate, plus you are a
man of stature and vigorous health, strong and handsome, and it seems you have
the loyalty of your people.”

He gave her a wry grin before he returned to his
contemplation of the rampant shrubbery. “Truth, lady. I am a lord and blessed
with some of the virtues you recite. But free? Only if I were such a man as to
turn his back on his responsibilities. And that, thanks to my father’s hard
discipline and stern example, I am not.”

He turned his face to the sun and let it warm him, closing
his eyes as he spoke again. “I struggle to keep this household in order; to
provide for all the people in my care; to protect, clothe and feed them all. To
sustain their lives, their hopes, their spirits. Yet, too often if feels as
though I am trying to hold back the wind with just my bare hands.” He sat up,
opened his eyes, picked up a leaf from the ground and began to roll it between
his fingers.

“The estate is rich but does not provide enough to support
all the people in my care. Nor do we have enough fighting men to secure its
borders should a strong lord like de Railles decide to come against us. For
most of my adult life—since my father died—I have wrestled with ways to protect
and support it. And, now, when I believe the means to be within my grasp, fate
or the Lord God puts you in my path.” He laughed harshly, with no humor.

“My Lady Rosalind, you are the most beautiful and delightful
lady it has been my privilege to meet. You are just such a one as I have
dreamed of finding since I was old enough to harbor such fancies. I hoped to
meet a person like you and knew it to be most unlikely.” He stopped and sighed
heavily. “Yet here you are. And I cannot have you in the way I truly want.”

He turned to her again. “My lady, were my circumstances
otherwise, I should ask you to do me the honor of becoming my wife. You are
everything I want and desire, but for one cruel and critical necessity.”

“I have no dowry to bring to the marriage,” she finished for
him. “Nor any powerful alliances to secure your domain.”

“Just so,” he admitted. “But I have an offer for you, though
part of me hesitates even to voice it.”

Rosalind sighed as she considered what her future might
bring. “I am aware my circumstances are much reduced, my lord,” she said. “And
my expectations must be commensurately curtailed.”

His mouth tightened in a harsh frown for a moment, then he
shrugged and drew a long breath. “I fear to insult you. Yet I have little
choice in this.”

“Then tell me and allow me to consider what choices I have.”
It was hard, harder than she expected to say the words bravely. The expectation
of pain was a knife prodding at her stomach and heart. Fear tensed her throat
so the words had to be forced out.

He nodded. “I have offered for the second daughter of the
Duke of Barnston. The family is considering my suit. From their view I have few
advantages, but I believe the Lady Alys favors me and is pressing the match on
her father. Her dowry and her father’s support would secure the estate.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “I would offer you a choice.
I’ll escort you to a convent where you might peacefully reside, or to any
surviving relatives who might offer you shelter. Or I shall seek to arrange a
suitable marriage for you, and whilst we search, you may remain here as part of
my household.”

“I feel no call from God to take the veil,” Rosalind said.
“And my only relatives are my sister who is married to a border lord in the
north and some distant cousins to the east that I barely know. Either would, I
suppose, offer shelter, though not happily.”

She met his eyes. “Were I to become part of your household,
what role could I fill? You indicated all must earn their keep here. What would
I do?”

He looked away, staring at the ground. “I have need of
someone for…personal service for me.”

“Personal service?”

His handsome mouth twisted into a frown. “Someone to keep my
chambers organized, my clothes repaired, my wounds patched up, my business
matters in order.” He paused a second before adding, “And my bed warm.”

He slanted her a glance that plainly showed his feelings
about making the request. “I know ‘tis a shameful thing to ask. But I have no
other role to offer you in my household. And…for a short time I would have the
privilege of your company and service.”

“Our arrangement would end with your betrothal?”

He crumpled the leaf he still held, squeezing it so sharply
his fingers were stained green. “Or yours, can it be arranged first.”

“And would the rest of your household accept me?”

“There would likely be difficulties with some. There are
those who will see the arrangement as outrageous and immoral. Perhaps they are
correct. For myself, I cannot help but believe the Lord God has offered us this
possibility as a gift, a memory of something that will assist us through darker
times later in our lives.”