The Saxon Bride (The Norman Conquest Series) (7 page)

"You are mine and only mine."

His voice was quiet as he spoke the ominous words. Tipping his head slightly, John raised his eyebrows as if to ask if she needed any clarification. She did not. His meaning was quite clear. With tender fingers he stroked her chin and gently pulled her face closer. He lightly touched his lips to hers. "Good night, then."

Rowena watched him leave. She finally let go of the breath she'd been holding forever and collapsed on the bed. Deep gulps of air did nothing to settle her chaotic emotions. She rolled onto her side and tried to erase the feel of his hands on her, his lips on her. But a stronger desire burned even hotter to try and remember every detail, every sensation, to relive it exactly as it had been. Her restlessness only increased.

The fire burned brightly in the room and the candle beside the window gave off a soft glow. Her room, which had always seemed so peaceful, suddenly felt empty and cold. She stood to leave and realized she wasn't safe to wonder the halls. Norman scum.

It had taken every ounce of strength for John to simply kiss Rowena and walk away when all he wanted to do was make her his in truth.

Peter was leaning against the wall beside the stairs when John
came back to the hall. John rolled his eyes.

"Lying in wait, are you?" Glancing around the hall and not finding Arthur, John headed to the stable
.

Peter tagged along. "How did it go?"

John pretended not to hear.

"The time with your wife?" Peter continued. "You don't appear any more relaxed."

John clenched his fist and turned to his friend. "It may be a good idea to keep out of my concerns."

Peter laughed quietly.

John's blood boiled. "Where is Arthur?"

"He did not stay here. He simply passed through the hall to the outside."

In the
inner bailey, the stars twinkled overhead. John paused to take in the fresh scent of hay from the barn and the smoke from fires burning beyond in the village. It was a peaceful setting and did nothing to lessen the tension gripping his body. Rowena's dark hair sweeping down her gently heaving chest and her soft lips trembling in her upset called out to him that he needed to be with her right now. That was where his peace would be found.

"You seem more like a strained rope about to break."

"Peter," John turned on his friend. "If you are unable to stay out of what doesn't concern you, at least stop…talking so much." He scratched at his head before looking around. All that he saw was his but he knew it not at all. Very much like his wife. He finally located the stables and quickly closed the distance.

"Why did you not just bed her and be done with it?" Peter moved quickly to keep up with him.

John's jaw clenched. "I see you know nothing about women. That would explain your unmarried status."

"No. I choose the life of a soldier over a coddled man." Peter paused in the doorway of the barn. "Although coddling does have its advantages."

"Jeanette would say that it does." John thought of Peter's petite, red-haired mistress and added in irritation, "She would also say you agreed but not to the word coddling." John came out of the last stall and paused in the darkened aisle. "Damn."

"Did you actually think you would find Arthur hiding in one of the stalls?"

John paused long enough to glare at the man. "Perhaps."

"Get
ahold of yourself."

Exhaling sharply, John
felt as if he would explode. Where was Arthur? He would like to throttle the man. No, what he wanted was to throttle his wife. Well, maybe not actually throttle.

"My wife does not seem happy with me."

"I wonder why. Did you actually accuse her of entertaining a lover?"

"Not in so many words. I think she has to be made to understand."

"Certainly." Peter leaned against the low wooden stall. "I actually enjoy making Jeanette ‘understand’. She does, too."

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"Yes… I would have to say, yes."

John settled down on the bale of hay at the end of the aisle. Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes and sighed wearily."You are exasperating."

"Are you sure it's me who is exasperating you?"

Opening one eye, he did his best to shoot daggers at his friend. "Why are you still here?"

"I want to know what happened when you spoke with the lovely Rowena."

Picking up the thick rope that lay discarded across the bale, John flicked the darkened ends aimlessly, contemplating his answer. "Nothing happened."

"Did you try to make anything happen?"

Irritated, John looked up at Peter. "Just to cover what is none of your concern, I felt since I had called her both a liar and an adulteress within a very short amount of time, I probably should not be
forcing myself on her."

Peter's jaw dropped, adding to John's misery. "Tell me you did not."

"Oh, yes, I did."

"So you changed your mind about wanting to bed her? About consummating the marriage?"

The rope end disintegrated between his fingers as he rubbed the twines apart. "No, Peter, I did not change my mind. I am just failing miserably at the task at hand."

He pulled the remainder of the long rope loose from behind the hay and held the end closer to his nose. He sniffed.

"What is that?" Peter asked.

"I'd say this rope has been tampered with and yet…" holding it stretched so his friend could see that the rope had been knotted into a horse's lead…"it was made to look as if it was sound. Tell me what happened earlier with the horses."

"I did not arrive until the beasts had been settled. Apparently, Mark's horse had broken loose and was causing havoc. A young boy had been trampled but he is expected to live."

The silence in the stall was interrupted by cows munching and the occasional braying of the donkey. John rubbed the blackened ash from the rope between his fingers.

"It was deliberate," Peter finally said.

"So it would appear
, but why?" John's body was exhausted but his mind raced.

"To increase the resentment toward us?"

"At the very least to make us appear shallow and uncaring. Where is the boy who was injured?"

"He is one of the stable hands here. His father is the village cooper."

"Did anyone visit the lad?"

Peter nodded, searching his memory. "Mark went to see the boy. He brought him food."

"I will see him myself on the morrow. If our horse has injured him, we will make amends. If, however, someone intentionally caused the incident, we will find the guilty party."

King William had given John until the spring to win over the loyalty of the villagers. Incidents like these only made his task that much more difficult. He needed to show that he had the Saxon's best interest at heart, and that the Normans and Saxons could live in peace together. Convincing Rowena of this would be a step in the right direction. How could he win her? Admittedly, he wanted her to be his wife in truth.

"Have you the names of the local men?" John asked.

"Word has been sent, and they are expecting your arrival."

"Perhaps it would be worth my time to see to my work before my pleasure."

"Would we be leaving tomorrow then?"

"It would probably be best if we did."

Peter stood a little straighter, all duty. "I will see that the men are ready, my
lord."

Alone in the barn, John realized what a mess he had made of everything. Raised by a cruel peasant couple, he never did anything right according to them. A smack upside the head was his reward for even trying. In his sixth year, he was shipped off to the monastery at
Mont Saint-Michel in Normandy where he studied with the monks. Who would have thought a skinny little good for nothing would take to his lessons so well?

The one man did. Duke William.
John liked the big man who smelled of horses and leather with the kind blue eyes.

"You speak Latin very well, son. What is your name?"

"I am called John."

"We
ll, John, I am called William."

John pretend
ed William was his father. He was a bastard, too, but he knew who his father was. What had the king been about? Why did he find any interest in a scrawny little boy? How did he know what John could become?

Now of all the
knights under his command, King William weds the Saxon princess to John. Yet another test and he falls short again. Damn. Rowena was correct to scoff at his interest. He was nothing but a nameless bastard.

John pushed himself off the bale, brushed at his
seat. The close confines of an unknown castle were not what he needed right now. He headed toward the only lit building visible from where he stood. The sign of "Owl and Thistle" swung noiselessly above the door of the two-story tavern. John did not doubt he would be welcomed as Lord of the manor. Perhaps he would find a soft place to lie after all.

When John arrived at the Owl and Thistle, the taverners
could barely contain their enthusiasm at having the new Lord himself stay with them. They ran around seeing about improving his accommodations. His presence caused quite a bit of commotion.

With much on his mind, he sat in the quiet hall on the long wooden bench.

The tinkle of a bell sounded nearby. John turned toward the front entrance, unsure if he'd heard anything. He listened. It stopped. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he began to get comfortable and heard it again.

J
ohn stood abruptly and went back the way he'd come in. A strangely dressed man bent at the waist, peered out the door.

"Do you look for something in particular?" John asked.

The man jumped and turned. His face was inscrutable until he smiled broadly. "Ah, my lord." He opened his arms as if in welcome to a close friend. "How wonderful that you grace my presence again."

John pressed his lips together. It was the man he'd met earlier at the feast. The strange declaration made him think twice about this being a coincidence. "And what say you, Mort of Bedgrove near Aylesbury was it?"

Mort nodded and closed the distance. He wrapped a beefy arm around John's shoulder to steer him back to the bench he'd vacated. "Ah, my lord, I have many duties that take me to strange places."

The man stopped and motioned to the bench. John remained standing.

Mort raised his brows in a questioning way, his hand at his chest. "May I?"

John dipped his
head and Mort settled himself upon the seat. "This inn is the one closest to the goings-on. As I said, I am at your service which requires my being nearby."

John drew his brows together in a thoughtful way. "And what was the service again?"

Mort's eyes locked with his. "Whatever is required of me."

John did not flinch but inside he fumed. What game was William playing at, sending one of his spies? To
do what? Keep an eye on him?

"And you do this why?"

Mort finally looked down at his hands, the bells on his arms sounding with the movement. "Methinks you are not as in the dark as you would have me believe."

"So tell me why the
king sent you here?"

Mort smiled at him. "I knew you were a wise one. The
king always checks on what is his. He does not like to be uninformed."

"So there is nothing I need to know about?"

Mort searched his face. John wanted the man to share what he knew, regardless of his orders from the king. If there was trouble about, John needed to know so he could be prepared.

"I like you, Sir John. I believe you have a good heart. How you have stayed that way with all that is going on around you is a mystery to me." His fat hand patted John's arm as he stood before him. "If you need me, you know where I will be."

Mort glanced up and down the hall as if to get his bearings, then headed back out the door.

John closed his eyes and shook his head. William was so predictable. He gives John orders then sends his lackey to ensure those orders are followed. Trust was a word the king used only with his wife and family. Even though John would pretend William was his father, he never measured up.

The day William brought the sword to him at the monastery was such a day.

"Take it." William shoved the long sword at him, hilt first."See how it feels to hold it."

John shook his head despite how much he wanted to please the man. The monks did not abide violence.

William gave the sword
back to the little blonde squire, Peter, and walked back into the monastery.

"What's wrong with you that you don't want to touch the Duke's sword?
" Peter's face twisted in disapproval. "He brought it just for you."

And now Rowena.

John had much to think about and returned to his chamber. He settled down on the only stool in the room while it was swept, washed, and aired out. Sleep would help him decide what to do.

A raven
-haired woman who wore her clothing tight and revealing came in to change the bed—housekeeping was plainly not her primary occupation. After making a clean bed for him, which involved overlong stretches with tantalizing glimpses of her well-rounded bottom, a little girl came in to remove the dirty sheets and handed him a rose.

John smiled at the little girl. "Thank you. And what is your name?"

"I am called Matilda, my lord. Very nice to make your acquaintance."

"Out." The woman hurried the small child out, closing the door behind the child. "And I am called Felicity," she said then stretched across the freshly made bed, giving him a more intimate view of her wares.

He had not come to the
inn for carnal satisfaction but a place separate from Rowena, a place to get away from the turmoil she created in him. This woman's blatant attempts at seduction were very entertaining. He decided to play along.

"Interested, my
lord?" She'd purred like a cat.

"What, specif
ically, would you be offering?"

Felicity frowned
, clearly confused. He kept a straight face, as best as he could with her squishing her face up, clearly perplexed.

"A romp?"
she finally answered him, posing it as a question.

He sat on the bed beside her
. Immediately, she straddled his lap, her skirts hiked up around her. Her aim was particularly good and John felt an immediate rush of blood in response. She arched back, guiding his mouth toward her partially exposed breast.

He turned his head
away. This needed to end.

"Umm."

She started grinding against him, guiding his hands between her thighs.

"I don't think…"

She knew her trade. She moaned with satisfaction—

His eyes flew open at the sound and he grabbed his hands away from her flesh and out of her reach.

"Cease this, woman. I am not interested."

She rubbed along his tight cr
otch and smiled. "I say you are."

"Enough." He
shoved her off his lap and stood beside the bed. Sitting on her haunches, she watched him curiously. He scratched his scalp in irritation and saw her smile at his obvious interest, protruding as it was. "Well, I am not interested despite what it may look like."

She dropped
to her knees on the floor in front of him and grabbed at the ties at his waist. "I will make you feel better."

"No
," he said, twisting away from her.

The door burst open
, and they both turned toward the sound.

"I
came to see if you needed anything else, my lord." The woman's face burst into a toothless smile. The innkeeper's wife looked to be already counting the money she anticipated for this little "extra" service. "I see you are already being taken care of. Very good. Pardon me."

John looked down to find Felicity smiling up at him, her thick tongue slowly making its way around her lips.

"I am not interested," John stated again. Well, his body may be interested but not with this woman. Felicity's moan had yanked him back to reality. It had been wrong to his ears. It was not Rowena—his wife.

He groaned in frustration knowing all he had to do was go back to Rowena, walk into her room and take her.
That was the release he needed. All this frustration building up inside, all this pent up desire. She was his wife. He had every right to do just that, and yet he didn't want it to be like that. He wanted her to be like she had been earlier, full of desire and passion for him.

Felicity plopped down on the stool beside the fire. "So you're pining after someone in particular?"

John laughed out loud at the absurdity of his answer. "Yes. My wife." Her shocked expression said it all. "It is a private matter."

"The Lady Rowena, is she sick then?
She cannot see to your needs?"

"No.
Not sick. We're just…not able to be together right now."

"Is she big with child?" Felicity paused
, scrunching her face as if trying to figure out whether the lady of the manor could be pregnant.

"No.
Stop prying and cover yourself. I will not be tempted."

Felicity smiled and stood up then.

"You know where to find me," she said.

Her
sashaying hips held his attention as she walked out of the room.