Domning, Denise (6 page)

"How can a man expect to find any rest when his wife constantly moves about all night? He kept his tone light. "Your dreams were not pleasant."

"I cannot recall, my lord." She lied. He knew it.

"How quickly you have forgotten my name." Why did he press it if he wanted her to remain distant?

She only shrugged. His cruelty had done what he'd wanted. It would be a long while before she would again allow herself to be vulnerable to him. But what he'd done to her gouged him as well. "Damn," he muttered.

She turned away and opened the bed curtains.

Watery gray light pushed past her but made only a small dent in the darkness within the bed. Even after she'd gathered the bedclothes about her, she still shivered.

"Our ride today is going to be less than pleasant." Rannulf's voice was flat with a disappointment he tried not to feel.

She glanced at him from over her shoulder. "You still mean to go? It is freezing outside. The roads will be barely passable."

"I know that well enough without you telling me," he said sourly. No doubt it was the Lord God's punishment for what he'd done to his wife. "I am honor bound to go to Nottingham and join with those men loyal to King Richard who now besiege that filthy keep. But, first, I must get you to Graistan." He eased from the bed and gathered his clothing. With an angry sigh, he shoved first one leg then the other into his chausses and jerked at the waist cord.

His wife rubbed her face with weary hands. "And what will your servants think when you leave me with hardly more than a 'fare thee well'?" She wrapped a blanket about her and, to his surprise, slipped from the bed to tie his cross-garters for him.

Rannulf stared down at her as she deftly wrapped the cords about his calves and knotted them in place. No begging or pleading that he should not leave her. No tears or pretty rages here. He'd been more effective than he'd dreamed. All she would now care for was the power and comfort Graistan keep could lend her. For some reason this angered rather than soothed him. "Graistan has been too long without a proper housewife to see to its corners and bins. If you are capable of managing them, my servants will easily accept you. But, if you meddle where you have no experience, they will rightly snub you. Remember this, if you overstep your bounds, do not come crying to me, for I will not help you."

"My dear lord husband," she snapped in exasperation, still kneeling at his feet as she peered up at him, "let me assure you that I have not yet needed to 'come crying' to anyone for help in managing servants." With her small, wifely deed completed, she retreated to the bed and out of his reach. "Take care of your duties, and I will take care of mine."

His shirt went on with an angry jerk. Rannulf could not restrain a return thrust. "Ah, I see it clearly now. You will run the distance, but you will take not one step farther. You will be a dutiful wife to me." He made duty sound like a curse rather than the rightful aim of every woman.

She smiled a hard, calculating smile. Her eyes, eyes so blue they were nearly purple, should have been warm with longing for him. Instead, they shot daggers at him. "'Tis true. There is little else I can bring into this contract of ours save my devotion to duty."

Rannulf yanked his robe over his head and wrenched his belt tight about his waist. A muscle tensed in his cheek as he fought his anger at her masterful control. Finally, he spoke. "Remember only this, Rowena, duty does not warm the heart."

Her eyes flew wide in disbelief at his warning. "In response, I would say that bitterness cannot be the friendliest of companions."

For a single, astonished instant, he stared at her. She had pierced his heart with her words, destroyed his barricades, and stormed his defenses. Rage came swiftly on the heels of surprise. "I am a tolerant man, some have said overtolerant, but you push me to my limit."

Instead of meek submission, she shot him a hard smile. He'd never met a woman so bold. "What little bird gave you to understand that you might say what you please to me without offering me the same courtesy in return?"

"You dare too much," he muttered, his words harsh and dangerous as anger rapidly seethed beyond his capacity to control it. "Is it your wish to goad me into violence?"

"No, my lord. Perhaps I do dare much, but then, I have nothing to lose. In just one day's time all I've been taught to hold dear has been taken from me. Now I am asked to accept, without comment or complaint, a life that is wholly foreign to me. I know nothing of being a wife, but I have learned much about the running and maintenance of an estate. It may be you will find my manner too straightforward for your tastes, but, my lord, it is just that—my manner. Would that I die before I give up that part of me."

Outside, the wind howled and sleet spattered the shutter. Unexpectedly, Rannulf felt the stirrings of respect amid the bitter dregs of his disappointment. Perhaps if he had never married Isotte, things could have been different for them. His shoulders drooped under the burden of his pain. It was too late for that. "I will not argue with you." There was nothing but dullness left in his heart. He turned his back on her and shoved his feet into his boots. "Graistan keep will be at your disposal, even if its lord is not. Be ready to leave within the hour."

"As you wish, my lord," she said quietly, almost meekly. He spun on his heel and jerked open the door. A maid nearly fell into the room. The hapless woman cried out in surprise as she dodged him, but he did not pause in his haste to be away from his wife.

Rowena listened until she was sure her husband was beyond earshot. Then, she dropped her blanket and reached for her robe. Had she meant to goad him into violence? Was it disappointment she'd felt when he hadn't struck her as she had expected? It was as if she'd wanted to see his passion, any passion be it even hate, rather than the dullness he showed toward her.

"My lady," the maid cried out, "do not rise yet. The sheets! I must call your mother to witness."

"Sweet Mary, there can be no doubt of my purity, whether I remain upon the bed or not. Bring me water for washing and fresh, warm clothing. I am not wont to wear my wedding garb again this day." She paused to add beneath her breath, "or ever." Then, she continued more loudly. "There is much to be done. Inform the Lady Edith my husband desires to leave within the hour."

"What?!" the maid squeaked.

Rowena yanked on her bed robe and cinched the belt tight. "I've got no time to waste, woman. Move!"

The poor woman leapt to do her bidding, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Rowena almost smiled as she shut the door. At least she had clarified the terms of their marriage.

Rowena huddled more deeply into her cloak, cold beyond complaint. Even protected by thick, leather gloves, her hands had lost all feeling. Her hair, though covered by her wimple and a fur-lined hood, was damp with the icy rain.

Her husband pulled the bay he rode into line with her little mare. She glanced up at him. Where his cloak and surcoat did not cover it, his chain mail gleamed with the moisture it collected. "How much farther, my lord?" Her voice was hoarse.

"Too far," he snapped.

The continuing drizzle had turned the road into naught but thick and frigid mud, it being not quite cold enough to completely freeze. Burdened as they were with the ox-drawn carts, their progress had been at a snail's pace. After a moment's angry silence, he called back to his master-at-arms who rode a short distance behind them. "Can we move them no faster?" He stared in disgust at the peasants and their beasts of burden.

In those carts was her new wardrobe along with the massive bed that had once been her mother's. Her father had actually threatened to throw everything from the top of Benfield's wall if they did not take it with them. Although her husband had protested vehemently stating his need for haste, he could not afford to refuse; the bed was too rich an item to risk. He had agreed.

She turned slightly on her saddle to consider Temric, her husband's man. His expression remained stonily impassive beneath the hood of his plain, woolen cloak. The taciturn man wore armor of the plainest sort with no sign of decoration. Bearded and of medium height, his even features spoke of common ancestry. But, although he could certainly be no knight, Lord Graistan treated him as if he were, even giving him command of his true knights, men of noble birth.

Briefly and without the slightest change of expression, Temric's brown eyes met hers. "My lord, if we push any harder the thing will mire in the mud at every turn of the wheels rather than every third turn."

"God's blood!" Rannulf managed to make the low-voiced utterance sound like a scream.

Temric straightened slightly as what might have been impatience flashed across his face. "Have you not yet tired of souring your stomach? And if you have not, I beg you to spare the rest of us."

Rowena caught her breath. Surely, her lord would cut the man down for daring so much. She would have never have tolerated such impertinence from one of lesser rank. To her astonishment, her husband only groaned. "Has there ever been such an ill-fated venture?"

"I agree," she snapped, "that our wedding was not what I desired, but do not curse God and call it ill-fated."

"A poor choice of words," he said by way of apology. "Temric, I can afford no more time lost. Do I remember that nearby here lies a small hamlet? Let us pay some husbandman to keep the carts and be on our way. Have Gilliam send someone to fetch it later."

"Should you push your lady so hard?" Once again, the commoner dared to criticize his lord. Were all the servants at Graistan accustomed to such freedoms? She frowned. If this was so, the advent of her rule would bring them all rudely back to earth.

"I have no choice," her husband responded. "Unless"—here he paused in thought—"unless... it is not the best of options, but it will work.

"If we could locate a dwelling there that is a suitable place for my lady, you and four men could house the carts for the night. Early on the morrow the roads will still be frozen, and it will be easier for you to finish the journey to Graistan. Aye," he continued, a new enthusiasm infecting his voice, "then, I will be free to continue on to Nottingham. Even better, this will give you the chance to escort from Graistan those supplies this impromptu wedding prevented me from obtaining." Rannulf eased back into his saddle, obviously pleased with his plan.

It was equally obvious to Rowena that a suitable dwelling would be found, be it house or shed. "And what of me," she asked. "Am I to introduce myself to your servants without their master at my side to confirm my rights as their lady? How will they even know me?"

His glance was disinterested. "The needs of my king must come before those of my wife. My half brother, Gilliam, who is my steward and holds Graistan during my absence, will stand in my stead." He gave it no further consideration; his difficulties had been solved. With that, he urged his horse forward.

"You have all my gratitude," she bit out beneath her breath. Temric glanced impassively from one to the other, then repeated in the English language his lord's commands. The troop turned off onto the narrow lane.

Fuming silently to herself, she followed him as their party made its way along the track. She cursed this arrogant husband of hers as well as her father. Never had a man done her a favor, nor did she foresee any such an occurrence in the near future.

She heard the place well before they arrived. In the utter stillness of the winter woods, the gentle lowing of cattle and the bleat of sheep echoed eerily through barren branches. It was not much, only a knot of tiny buildings around which stood a helter-skelter wall of tree limbs woven with branches. Smoke drifting from the rooftops was absorbed into the heavy, leaden sky.

At Temric's call a man appeared from the nearest cottage. Although he bowed and scraped before them, his eyes were narrowed and suspicious until he understood what was required and that coins would be offered. After a few minutes of fervent bargaining, during which the man displayed a greedy smile, Temric turned to Lord Graistan.

"He says they will house the carts, and the men can use the shed"—he pointed to a lean-to—"while your lady may have the use of his home."

Rannulf interrupted, "At what price?"

"Do you not think it wise to ask me if I intend to stay in this place before you open your purse and waste precious coins?" she asked sharply. "How far are we now from Graistan?"

Her husband shot her a calculating look. "Perhaps four hours if you travel without the cart."

"Then I intend to be on my way." She resettled her gloves between her fingers and straightened her wimple. "If you will not see to my needs, I shall have to attend to them myself. Besides, I have had the opportunity to visit places such as this. At night the beasts of the fields share these quarters with their masters. The warmth might be welcome in winter, but the stench is enough to make breathing impossible. Temric, do you ride with me?" For the briefest instant, Rowena would have sworn that she had astonished the man, but, if she had, his face immediately fell into his usual closed expression.

Rannulf turned angrily toward her. "Do you think to shame me in front of my own men? If so, then you have sadly misjudged them and their loyalty to me. Spare me your venom and your claws."

"My dear lord husband," she snapped, "I refuse to stay in a filthy hovel when in hours' time I could be where I can bathe, eat, sleep, and breathe in comfort."

For a moment, it appeared that he had more to say, then his mouth shut into a hard and narrow line. "As you wish." He turned to his master-at-arms. "If my lady wishes to ride, let her ride."

"As you say, my lord, but let the lady know that there is no place to stop between here and Graistan more suitable than this for one such as herself. Also, let her know that the ride is not an easy one."

She smiled archly. Convent life, if lived true to the principles of the Roman Church, taught inner strength and stamina. Oh, there were those to whom a nunnery offered softness and shelter, but she had not been one of that ilk. "You may tell your master-at-arms that he will have no burden on his hands."