The More I See You (20 page)

And once she had smiled at him truly, he knew he would want other things. He would want her lips against his, her soft breath in his ear telling him what would please her.

But later. First, he wanted her joy. And once that empty place in his heart was filled, he would think of other things. He’d spent far too many years bedding women without having them touch anything but his body. When
he finally took Jessica to his bed in truth, he wanted her to touch his soul.

But that would certainly never happen until he appeased her somewhat. And the ring was a start.

He opened the door and closed it behind him, turning to bar it. He took another deep breath and turned around, trying to be prepared for almost anything.

Jessica sat on the floor before the hearth, polishing his chessmen. He crossed the chamber to her and looked down. Half the men were fashioned of gold, half of silver. He’d had them made in Spain by the man who’d fashioned his blade. A master gold- and silversmith, the like of whom he’d never seen before.

Jessica smiled up at him.

“These are beautiful. I hope you don’t mind.”

He shook his head, mute. He’d expected to find her spitting fire. Instead, she sat there calmly, lovingly buffing one of his favorite things. He wondered if he would ever find his balance around her.

Richard sat down on the stool near her. He cleared his throat.

“Jessica?”

She looked up. “Yes?”

Sweet Mary, was this what shyness felt like? He felt himself color and he cursed himself for it. Completely flustered, he thrust his ring at her.

“Here,” he barked.

She took the ring slowly, then held it up to the fire, turning it this way and that. Then she looked up at him.

“Nice. What’s it for?”

“’Tis mine.”

“I gathered that.”

“The ring of my house. Of Burwyck-on-the-Sea. My crest,” he added.

“Yours alone?”

“Actually, it was my grandfather’s. My father changed it.”

“And you changed it back.”

He had the insane urge to run his hands over himself
to make certain he was still in one piece. Did she know aught of his father? He could scarce bear the thought.

He clasped his hands together. “Aye. I did.”

“I think that was a very good choice.”

“Aye.” He nodded. He took a deep breath. “I thought that perhaps . . .” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would care to wear it. While we are in this chamber,” he added hastily.

She lifted her eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because then you would be lord.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Then you would rule over me. As I rule over you when I wear this ring.” He looked at her earnestly. “To give you a feeling of power. At least while we are inside.”

She slowly folded her fingers over the ring and Richard was sure he’d appeased her. Then she shook her head.

“You don’t understand.” She looked up at him. “I don’t want to rule you.”

“But . . .”

“Richard, I just want you to stop thinking of me as someone who isn’t your equal. That’s all.”

“But you’re a woman!”

“And you’re a man.”

“You cannot fight.”

“You can’t bear children.”

He frowned. “You couldn’t defend the keep.”

“You couldn’t build one.”

“And you could?”

“I could.”

This wasn’t proceeding as he had planned it should.

“I cannot accept this,” he said with a frown. “Women are not equal with men. They are far too different.” He struggled for an example. “We have a king. If women could rule, we would have a queen.” That was something that would never happen, he could assure her of that.

“Well,” she said with a smile, “I won’t go into a list of who has sat upon the English throne over the past seven hundred years. It would just depress you.”

He could only manage a grunt.

“Let’s talk about your time instead,” she continued. “I think you’re forgetting Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

Ha. As if he could ever forget tales of that headstrong female. Sir Hamlet didn’t let an hour pass without some bloody reference to the blighted woman.

“You don’t think she was as smart as your King Henry?” Jessica asked archly.

Richard snorted. “How wise was she? The king locked her up.”

“And she still managed to control the Aquitaine. That didn’t require intelligence equal to his?”

Richard found himself almost tempted to consider the like, and that was enough to make him look for another direction to go. “The women I’ve met,” he argued, feeling that to be safe enough. “None was equal to me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye.” He said the word, but he had the feeling it hadn’t come out as strongly as it should have. By the saints, now he was beginning to doubt his own mind!

Jessica turned his hand up and put his ring into his palm. “Richard, I can’t plan a siege. I can’t ride out and defend this keep. But there are many things I can do.”

“Such as?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“I can design your hall.”

“Nay,” he protested.

“How do you know I can’t? Are you afraid I’ll prove you wrong?”

He managed a grunt that he sincerely hoped conveyed the idea that even the thought of such a thing was too ridiculous for words. On the other hand, it was almost tempting to allow her to try. Perhaps that would finally put an end to all this foolishness of her being on an equal footing with him.

Unless, of course, she could actually do what she claimed.

He was beginning to feel a bit light-headed.

“Come on, Richard. What can it hurt? You describe what you want and I’ll sketch some ideas. If you don’t
like them, you’re not out anything. If you do like them, then your hall will be built. It’s better than arguing with a carpenter who can only follow directions, not imagine them, isn’t it?”

He jumped to his feet before he did something foolish, such as give in.

“I’ll think on it,” he said quickly, turning and striding for the door. “Make yourself useful this afternoon. Do womanly things.”

“Whatever you say,” she called after him.

He slammed the door before he had to listen to more. He took himself down to the lists, where men were men and did things he could understand.

Sir Hamlet had half the garrison on their knees with the hands over their hearts practicing their looks of longing.

Richard thought he just might scream. He looked around frantically for something solid, something dependable, something that would never change. And his eyes fell upon the last thing he ever would have thought he would be happy to see.

Gilbert de Claire, staring out over the field.

Sullenly.

Richard smiled in relief and went to do his manly duty of training his squire.

Jessica blew across the last line of wet ink, then leaned back and looked down at the finished creation. Four precious pages of drawings stared back up at her. Now that they were completed, she wondered how she’d pulled it off. She had spent enough summers working for her father to have acquired a bit of knowledge about architecture, but being in charge of the building was another thing entirely. But her pride was on the line-and this was one task at which she definitely had to succeed or die trying. Respect for women everywhere hung in the balance—not to mention that future wife of Richard’s who would thank her every day of her life for having shown him the truth.

That future wife.

Jessica found, disconcertingly, that even thinking about that unknown woman put her in a bad mood.

She wrenched her mind away from that unappealing subject and turned back to her work. She’d done only the great hall, kitchens, and the chapel. The garrison hall would come later, when she was certain the main hall would remain upright. The men could sleep inside the great hall until the other was finished. It would be luxurious
compared with the hovel where they were now packed in like sardines.

Luxury? Jessica smiled. How much she had taken for granted. To think she had considered an apartment without a dishwasher, disposal, and fireplace a dump. Now she was merely grateful for a roof over her head, marginally edible food, and a nice fire. Things changed.

The door opened and Jessica jumped in spite of herself, even though she knew it was Richard. He was the only one who entered without knocking. She got to her feet, shoved the chair under the table, and turned around to face him. She hoped she was hiding her work. She wasn’t ready to have him see it yet.

She suspected that day might never come.

Richard stomped the dirt off his feet and stripped off his cloak. He looked at her with suddenly narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, turning and stacking her drawings. “Have a seat and I’ll go see what’s for dinner.”

“Gilbert is bringing it,” he said from directly behind her. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” she said, spinning around to face him. “Just go sit. I’m not ready for you to see these yet.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding and wearing what could have been construed as a look of sympathy. “Then you found you couldn’t do it after all.”

Jessica had to count to ten before she could even manage a false smile. In those few precious moments she came to a monumental conclusion: Richard wasn’t being purposefully rude, he was just being Richard. She doubted he would think her capable of building his hall even when he was sitting inside it. Maybe it was hard to change thirty years of thinking. He had wanted to try that night he’d offered her his ring, but once she’d started speaking to him again, his enthusiasm had worn off. He wouldn’t even play chess with her, saying she wouldn’t be sport enough for him. She was tempted to demand his ring, then demand he play her. She wasn’t the best chess player, but she wasn’t bad either. A composer didn’t pull off a symphony
without some concept of planning and strategy.

She held out her hand.

“What is it you want?” he rumbled.

“Your ring.”

He frowned. “And if I’m not inclined to give it?”

“Then you’ll have a few silent days to look forward to.” She lifted her eyebrows in challenge. “And you know how good I am at that.”

He muttered under his breath as he pulled off the ring and handed it to her.

“I do this of my own volition,” he reminded her. “Not that I fear your puny threats.”

“Of course not,” she agreed. “After all, I’m only a woman.”

“Precisely.”

Well, at least he was predictable. “Go sit, Richard,” she said. “I hear Gilbert shuffling up the stairs.”

He sat, stretching out his legs and sighing deeply. Jessica started to drag over another small table, but Richard rose and did it for her.

“I could have done it.”

“I think not.”

She sat down and smiled at him. “Well, thank you. Your chivalry is showing.”

“I’ll try to be more careful in the future,” he said, with a yawn. He rubbed his face wearily with both hands, then stretched his arms high above his head. He slumped back down with a sigh. “Saints, what a day.”

Jessica sat back in her chair and watched Gilbert lay out their dinner. The boy shot them both a look of loathing before he shuffled back out the door.

“Did you see that?” she whispered. “That look he gave us?”

“Fondness?”

“Hate.”

Richard shook his head. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not.”

Richard sighed. “He tires of me trying to force him to be a man. ’Tis naught to fret over. Here, take some of
this fine boar. You’re likely just distraught over your failure this afternoon.”

She made a mental note to stay out of Gilbert’s way, then helped herself to the boar. With enough of Cook’s spicy sauce, it wasn’t bad at all. It wasn’t
coq au vin
, but it was tasty in its own way.

She stopped after only a few bites. Before Richard had come up, she’d been perfectly satisfied with her efforts on the designs, but now she wondered if that hadn’t been a mistake. What would Richard think? Had he seen better? She didn’t know much about his travels, for the simple fact that he didn’t like to talk about anything further in his past than yesterday, but surely he’d seen marvelous things. Would he find her drawings crude and childlike?

Why did she care? It wasn’t as if he were primed and ready to fall to his knees and praise her for her efforts. The man wouldn’t recognize a compliment if it broad-sided him, so it was highly unlikely he’d ever given one out. He would take one look at the stupid things, then clean the toe of his boot so he could more easily draw with it in the dirt!

“Jessica?”

“What?” she snapped.

Richard blinked in surprise. “The fare doesn’t suit you?”

She pulled his ring off her thumb, where it was too big to fit anyway, and slapped it down on the table. She rose without another word, crossed the room to gather up her drawings, then stomped back. Might as well get it over with now.

She thrust the rolled sheaves at him.

“Here. Look and laugh. I couldn’t care less what you think.”

Richard dipped his fingers in the bowl of washing water Gilbert had left, dried them on his tunic, then reached for the roll. He met her eyes briefly before he unrolled the parchment and glanced over the first drawing.

He froze.

Slowly, he came to his feet. He pushed the table aside
with one hand and shoved his chair back with his foot. Then he dropped to his knees and spread the parchment out on the floor in front of the fire. Jessica stepped over to his side and looked down.

“You’re blocking my light,” he said impatiently.

Jessica moved aside. She wanted to sit down and see what his expression was, but she didn’t dare. He didn’t seem to be on the verge of throwing up. Maybe that was a good sign.

The first drawing was of the outside of the chapel. She’d done her best with the perspective, but it still wasn’t perfect. All she’d wanted to do was give Richard an idea of what she thought he wanted, based on his descriptions. Unfortunately, his present silence wasn’t telling her anything about whether or not he thought she’d succeeded.

She looked down over his shoulder critically. The chapel
was
rather nicely done, even if she did say so herself. She’d wanted to make a mini Notre Dame, but that had seemed a bit ostentatious for Burwyck-on-the-Sea, so she’d taken the same basic architecture and simplified the lines. The inner bailey was very large but Richard hadn’t given her much of a square-footage allowance. She’d done the best she could with what she’d had to work with.