Simon's Lady (24 page)

The second course was a civet of hare, which he liked even better, although Gwyneth made deprecatory noises about the dish lacking spices. To this, Senlis made some rather elaborate remarks about the subtlety of the flavors, approved of some method or other she had devised of grilling the meat and praised the onions. Beresford said that he liked his food plain but would be glad for some pepper. As for the other spices, he stated a preference for dill on fish but was just as happy when it was dressed with sorrel.

When the food was settling in his stomach, and all was being washed down with wine from the earthenware jug on the table, Beresford began to think this not a bad arrangement at all. The room was pleasant, and his eye, when it did not stray to his wife, was drawn to the bright and beautiful windowpanes, half-opened to let in the fresh breezes and the softening light and the city sounds from the street below. He felt a certain contentment to be in the room, surrounded by family and household, seeing his retainers fumble through the routines they did not know well.

He also had time to gauge his competition in Geoffrey of Senlis. For the first time, he discovered a decided advantage to being the husband. He was in command of the essential territory and did not have to fight anyone for it. He needed merely to remain in possession. The novelty of the situation appealed to him.

The meal proceeded pleasantly, the talk drifting this way and that, sometimes light and gossipy, sometimes domestic and informative. The topic of the tournament was raised and kept aloft for some time.

Senlis imparted the most delicious court news that a mysterious knight had entered the lists for the Saint Barnabas Day tourney. No one knew his real name or where he came from, but he was rumored to be the strongest man to have ever entered the lists. Adela was, reportedly, the only one to know who he was.

Beresford asked how, since no one knew the knight’s name or country, it could be known that he was the strongest. Senlis had no answer to that. Beresford dismissed the topic with a smile compounded of complacency and menace and the words, “Then the matter of who is strongest will be decided soon enough in the usual manner—on the field of contest.” He added reflectively, “Or perhaps his squires—they exist, I suppose—can confirm reports of his strength.”

Senlis answered, “The Unknown will have squires assigned to him on the day of the tournament, so Adela has ruled.” He wished to turn the topic to good account, so he added, “But speaking of squires, your wife and I were discussing them just before you arrived.”

Beresford smiled indulgently. He recalled the topic from their wedding day, when he had been charmed and amused by Gwyneth’s game attempt to meet him on masculine terms. It had given his desire for her a compelling, intriguing dimension, something more than the usual, impersonal desire for a woman. “She is knowledgeable about tournament regulations,” he said, glancing at Gwyneth. He was pleased to see faint color scribble her cheeks.

“She knows the names of your squires,” Senlis said, “and observed that one of mine has the same name as yours.”

Beresford felt smug. “That must be Breteuil,” he said, exaggerating the vowel sounds that were so difficult for Gwyneth to pronounce.

Gwyneth met his eye and accepted his implied challenge. “Breteuil,” she repeated, matching the sounds closely enough.

Vaguely aware of the muted spark between his host and hostess, Senlis said, inadvertently playing into Gwyneth’s hands, “Yes, and I was just about to tell her the names of the other knights who had engaged squires from the same family.”

Gwyneth looked straight at Beresford and said, “Sire Senlis had them on the tip of his tongue when you arrived. I believe you told me once, did you not, sire, that there were at least a half-dozen?”

Beresford felt that she was returning his challenge. He liked that. The topic was wholly trivial, and he liked that, too. “I recall something of the sort,” he said, and rattled off the names of the knights concerned.

Gwyneth accepted this list with a nod he interpreted as mockingly deferential, and she lowered her gaze from his. He found her demeanor very provocative.

Senlis might have caught something of what was passing between them, for he shifted on the bench then cleared his throat. The evening long, the talk had veered ever closer toward the heavier, more potent topic of Duke Henry’s purpose on the island kingdom. Finally, Senlis decided to dance no more around the edges of it. He laid a forearm on the table and leaned forward, looking at Beresford. “So tell us, Simon,” he said, “the news from Bristol.”

Beresford accepted the change of topic complacently. He was in an expansive mood, and felt a desire to spar. He wanted to work himself up by degrees to the main entertainment of the evening. He slanted a glance at Gwyneth and replied to Senlis, “Do we dare discuss the topic of our moves against Duke Henry in the presence of one of his sympathizers?”

Beresford was gratified to see Gwyneth’s quick flush, but it was not yet the color he was longing to fetch up. Still, the angry glare she flashed him was momentarily satisfying to him. “What harm could I possibly do, sire,” she replied with a very controlled voice, “when there are five castle guards in my home to prevent me from consorting with any of your enemies?”

“But you have the guards hauling water for you,” Beresford returned, “instead of watching over you.”

Gwyneth’s smile was exceedingly sweet and her voice remarkably submissive. “That is because the house was so very much in need of cleaning, sire. I have Adela to thank for having sent the guards along to help me.” She looked up at him guilelessly. “Unless I have someone else to thank for the consideration?”

When Beresford grunted a cagily indifferent, “No,” Senlis began to entertain some interesting ideas about this particular exchange. His brows had shot up at Beresford’s openly outrageous insult to his wife’s loyalties, then knit curiously at Gwyneth’s cool reply. She did not shrink an inch from countering him move for move, and she did it all with the clever naiveté that had characterized her demeanor during that first, disastrous meeting with him in the great hall. It was almost as if Beresford had deliberately baited her, and she had bit without getting caught on his hook.

Senlis tried to imagine such a scene being played out between Beresford and the late Roesia with such interesting results, but could not. Something told him that Roesia would not now be sitting calmly at the table and reaching for a little plum in a wooden bowl that had been placed before them. Nor would Beresford be relaxed on the bench next to her, with the deceptive readiness that Senlis knew usually characterized his friend’s mood before an engagement.

Beresford had not lingered over the skirmish with his wife. Before Senlis could completely calculate the effects of the exchange between husband and wife, he was answering, “It’s true that Gwyneth is hardly in position to make harmful use of anything I tell you. More to the point, however, is the fact that there is nothing at all sensitive that I can tell you.” Beresford shrugged. “Henry was not in the mood to fight.”

Gwyneth had peeled the plum with Beresford’s knife and now offered it to Senlis. She then began to prepare one for Beresford.

“That is what I heard this morning at the Tower from the messenger who preceded you,” Senlis said, popping the pretty fruit into his mouth. “Henry’s reluctance had something to do with the rains.”

“We were knee-deep in mire,” Beresford confirmed, “but I’ve never known a little mud to stop a good battle. My journey was a waste. We sent the messenger forward to report that Henry did not wish to sully his boots, nor those of his companions.’” Beresford flicked Senlis a glance. “When does a duke call soldiers ‘companions,’ Geoffrey?”

“When he’s on a mission of peace?” Senlis suggested.

Beresford accepted the offer of the plum from Gwyneth. “Do you believe that?” he asked before biting into it.

Senlis shrugged. “It’s as if Henry thinks to talk his way onto the throne.”

Beresford grunted. “Can he do it?”

Senlis considered the question then shrugged again, but not in response to the question. He perceived himself to be an unnecessary third in a conversation that was not verbal, and this unspoken conversation had little to do, he guessed, with kings or dukes or great affairs of state. He rose from the bench, made his excuses to leave and thanked Gwyneth grandly for an excellent evening and meal.

Gwyneth offered him the conventional responses. Beresford rose with him and said, “I shall miss your support, Geoffrey, when my wife and I pursue the topic of Henry’s motives in England.”

“You mean to pursue it?” Senlis asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Beresford answered, reaching over and taking the blade from Gwyneth’s hand, “and it is the very topic that requires me to check my wife for knives.”

Now came exactly the flush to Gwyneth’s cheeks that Beresford had been yearning all evening to see.

Gwyneth nearly gasped at Beresford’s audacity, but was able to maintain her composure during the parting courtesies. While he walked his friend downstairs to the main portal, she remained behind. She decided that she could compose herself best by finding distracting work to do, so she busied herself between the solar and the adjacent kitchens, administering the clearing of the supper. She began the bedtime preparations for Benedict and Gilbert. She discussed with the principal retainers the duties for the morrow. Somehow this domestic activity did not seem to lower the flush that she had felt surge through her body and up her cheeks at Beresford’s reference to knives.

Being honest with herself, she acknowledged that the flush had started earlier in the evening, perhaps when Beresford had toyed with her about the names of his squires and the tournament regulations. Or perhaps when they were ascending the stairs, and he had put a hand on her hip and kissed the back of her neck. Or perhaps, even before that, when she had first laid eyes on him in the courtyard, holding his sons in his arms. His obvious affection for his boys unexpectedly endeared him to her. Then he had looked up at her, and her heart had stopped for an uncounted second at sight of his strength and vitality and the look in his eyes when they came to rest on her. She had nearly melted on the spot.

She was directing one of her retainers to shake the tablecloth outside the window to free it of crumbs when two strong hands on her shoulders turned her around, and she was drawn into Beresford’s arms. In front of a very interested audience of several serving maids, who hastily called in their colleagues to witness an extraordinary sight, Gwyneth was soundly and passionately kissed. Caught off guard by this public display, she responded to him fully, kissing him back. She realized that she had wanted to feel herself in his arms since his return, just as she had wanted his lips to touch hers.

With this kiss, he tasted familiar to her, yet exotic—a touch of her own well-prepared food and heavy wine blended anew by his body’s alchemy and her desire for him. She nearly drew back when his tongue touched her lips. However, his grip was light but firm, and she did not escape. His tongue swirled around the inside edges of her lips, and the delight was so unexpected that her mouth yielded to his desire and her lips parted to receive his tongue more fully. She let herself settle into him, surrendering to him her initial reluctance, but not the part of her that met him challenge for challenge. Her tongue responded to his demand, answered him fully and asked more. She felt a thick, heavenly sweetness within her, the warm evening breezes wafting around them and their hushed and expectant audience heightening the surprise and the desire and the delight.

Just when she thought he would take her then and there on the floor of the solar, he broke the kiss and nuzzled her neck. After a moment, his hold on her, which had become a little rough, relaxed. He said indistinctly against her neck, “We’ll retire,” adding with a kind of low groan, “now.”

She nodded and disentangled herself from his arms only partially, for he kept an arm around her shoulders as he turned to walk with her out of the solar. He must have become aware of their audience, for he looked up and growled something about everyone standing about gawking, and recommended that they go about their business. He emphasized his point with a threatening gesture of his free arm, causing the frozen line of wide-eyed serving women to break up immediately.

Although eager for what was to come, Gwyneth had not completely lost her wits. She said to Beresford saucily, “Does this count as the continuation of our discussion of Duke Henry’s campaign in England?”

With a provocatively punitive spank on her rear, he propelled her out the door of the solar and onto the gallery balcony. Now that she was turned to walk down the wing that led to their bedchambers, he slung his arm around her neck. He drew her backside up against his front and said into her ear, “Be very happy that I am not asking for the reckoning for all the craftsmen you employed in my absence.”

She recalled the argument she had made to Johanna— that the cost of the repairs had far exceeded what would have been the cost of maintenance—but decided that defensive indignation did not suit the mood of the moment. In fact, she far preferred the softer, flirtatious strategy that she had employed with such success on the morning after their wedding night.

She halted momentarily and looked up at him. “Do you mean that you will not ask for the reckoning, or that you are not asking for it yet?”

Beresford’s eyes narrowed to gray slits, glittering attractively. “That depends,” he said, putting his free hand on her hip, “on how well you persuade me of the necessity of having hired all the craftsmen.”

Did she properly interpret that as a challenge to pleasure him well this evening? She dared to ask, “Do you object, sire?” She wanted from him the obedient response that she had offered him when he’d been stretched out beside her, wanting her.

“To the household repairs, do you mean?” he countered. Then, playing along nicely, he mused, “But the question of permitting objections, wife, is one more fitting for me to demand of you, as I recall.”