Juliana Garnett (13 page)

Annice took a step back, lip curling. “Will I? Will I quickly be brought to heel, milord? You overrate your skills. I am not a dog to be whistled to the chase, nor a hawk to be brought to the lure. Nay, I am a woman, and I have rights.” She held up the parchment, crumpled now in her fist. “There is mention of alienating my rights to my property for the duration of our marriage or for your lifetime, as customary. Do you seek to do so in perpetuity? I warn you—my signature is needed to make such a deed permanent.
I will not willingly transfer my property to you forever.”

Rolf gazed at her angry face. Though tempted to tell her bluntly that she would do whatever the king willed her to do—just as he would—he forbore to do so. It would only lengthen an argument he considered already decided. If he told her he understood her need to make angry snarls like a chained hound, that would only infuriate her as well. No, ’twas best he make no comment to her tirade.

When he rose silently, intending to bid her good day and allow her to return to her chamber, Annice took three quick steps away from him. Thrusting the parchment over the licking flames of the fire, she caught the loop of her cuff in her other hand to keep it free, then turned to face him boldly.

“Shall I show you what I think of the king’s decree and this document, milord?”

Rolf paused, eyes narrowing as the dangling edges of the parchment began to curl from the heat of the fire. “Do you think more copies cannot be made, milady?” he snapped. “ ’Twill only delay matters and anger the king.”

“Delay would be most welcome. I cannot displease the king any more than he is already displeased with me, so ’twould be to my advantage to do as I please for a change. I have been thrust about without regard for near a year, and I am weary of it. No one asks if I have done such, or if I wish such, or even if I have anything to say about matters. Nay, I am bandied about like a caged bird.”

Her hand and voice were shaking, and the curled edges of the parchment began to blacken. Rolf looked from it to her face. “The pages blaze,” he said calmly, and when she glanced away from him toward the document, he lunged swiftly forward.

Grasping her wrist and jerking, he snatched her away from the fire. She loosed the document, and it fluttered with a crackle toward the greedy flames. Rolf shoved Annice to the floor with a hard hand, then grabbed at the document. Flames seared his hand, but he managed to retrieve the parchment and smother the blazing edges with his sleeve. There was the stink of burning velvet and parchment, but
he’d saved the document from being devoured by fire. Only some of the words were gone, obliterated by charred ash.

Still crouched on the floor, Rolf pivoted on his heels to look at Annice. Sprawled on her side, propped up on one elbow, she faced him defiantly, eyes glittering with reflected flame. The hem of her gown was twisted beneath her, midway up her legs. Silk garters held up white hose, and her silk undertunic wadded between her knees in a tangle, restricting her movements. A bound rope of hair snaked across the stone hearth, dark-red strands glowing in the light like a line of fire. The tip of her hair was within a handsbreadth of the toe of his boot.

Nothing was said as they stared at each other, he furious, she as poised and tense as a she-wolf. Tension vibrated between them like the taut string of a lute. Beneath the shadowed fringe of her lashes, Annice’s eyes were a clear, calculating blue that regarded him with speculation.

Meeting her gaze, Rolf read her intention and reacted swiftly He dropped the parchment to the floor, one hand shooting out to grasp the end of her hair just as she moved to leap to her feet. He began to draw her toward him by the simple expedient of using her hair as he would a rope.

Slowly he wound it around his fist, forcing her to come to him on her hands and knees when the pressure grew too great to resist. There was fire in her eyes and in the epithets she flung at him, but in a moment she was at his feet. Still kneeling on the stones of the hearth, Rolf stared down at her. There was little pleasure to be gained from crushing a foe already vanquished, yet this woman seemed not to know of her defeat.

Battle lights sparked in her eyes, and a hot flush stained her cheeks with anger. Though the long, trailing cuff of one sleeve had somehow become entangled with the free rope of her hair, she still resisted his effort to draw her up to her knees.

“Jésu,” he muttered, “have you so little sense that you would still fight me?”

“ ’Tis not a question of sense,” she shot back as she jerked at the offending hair and snarled cuff, “but of pride. If you must wed me, so be it. But I shall not yield to you
easily, my lord of Dragonwyck, no matter how you try to force me.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “I have always enjoyed the contest more than the victory, milady. ’Tis sweeter, indeed, when the prize is hard-won.”

“But is it so sweet to lose?” she mocked, freeing at last the cuff from the loosened strands of her hair. “I think not. For you, anyway. Those men more confident of their prowess know that even the best man can ofttimes be conquered if the circumstances dictate.”

Rolf still held the other rope of hair in his fist. As if she were in her own chamber before a mirror, Annice began to comb her fingers through the flowing locks of her free hair. The ribbon wound through the loose tresses was a brilliant green silk; calmly twining it back around the thick strands, she rebound her hair as if he were not there.

Flipping it over her shoulder to fall down her back, she looked up at Rolf with a bold gaze. “Do you fear I will escape you, my lord? I am but a woman, by your own words. I can fight such a fierce warrior as yourself with but pitiable weapons. My tongue and my wits are all I have as resources—would you deny me those?”

“At times,” he said tightly, “ ’twould be advisable to silence that waspish tongue before I am tempted to remove it for you. And the wits you boast of would be better used to contemplate ways to keep me in a better humor with you, rather than seek ways to annoy me. Even a caged bird sings sweetly for its supper.”

Her lashes lowered, and he saw a faint shudder pass through her body. He did not allow sympathy for her plight to move him. It would be kinder in the end to accustom her now to accepting him as lord and master.

Tightening his hand in the hair he still held, he slowly pulled her head back until her face was tilted up to his. He could hear the harsh rasp of breath filling her lungs, see her eyes dilate to wide pools as he gave another tug on her hair. Her nostrils flared slightly, and her lips parted. Half-sitting, half-reclining, Annice was propped with one hand against the floor, leaving her unstable and vulnerable.

Rolf slowly rose to his feet, drawing her up with him;
one hand held the hair at her nape so that she could look only at him. Lifting her slowly so that her toes barely brushed against the stone, he held her suspended. He felt a quiver in her muscles as the arm he bent behind her back pressed her more tightly against him. The soft pressure of her breasts against his chest and thighs, trembling against his groin, sparked an immediate reaction in him that was vaguely surprising.

Jésu, she should not be able to affect him so swiftly. Long ago he’d vowed not to allow a woman to cause him any emotion, beyond a certain distant sympathy or generous impulse. That this woman could send the blood coursing through his veins in a raging tide was more than enough evidence that he should avoid her. She squirmed in his grasp, feet banging against his shins. He held her more closely, one arm shifting down to press her hips tightly against him. Then his gaze focused on her face.

There was a sly, catlike smirk curving her mouth, and Rolf’s eyes narrowed. Apparently she had felt his desire and would mock him for it. Yea, but he would show her how little she affected him.

Deliberately, slowly, he bent his head, smothering her startled gasp as his mouth captured hers. She did not try to avoid it—could not have, with his hand holding tight to the hair at her neck. As his lips slanted over hers, softly at first, then with growing pressure, her breath came more quickly. He kissed her until she went limp in his hold and he heard a soft moan beneath his lips. But it was not until her arm lifted to clasp him tentatively to her that he released her.

Setting her back from him abruptly, he gazed down at her. Uneven breaths lifted her chest, and her eyes were wide and moist. She put up a hand to touch her lips, which were slightly swollen from his kisses.

“Ah, milady,” he said lightly, “do not become too captivated with me. Desire is ofttimes fleeting in a man.…”

She looked first flustered, then angry as comprehension flooded her face with color. “Swine!” she hissed. “Do not dare touch me again!”

“This is my keep. I dare anything.” Rolf smiled slightly.
“As you will soon learn when you are my wife, Lady Annice.”

Even with hate and anger darkening her eyes and marking her face, she was beautiful. But he had known many beautiful women. Why should this one make a difference? There was nothing special about her, other than the fact that she was his hostage and soon to be his wife. He could not allow her to affect him. The memory of the sleepless nights he’d spent since visiting her chamber still rankled.

And though he would not admit it to her, his body raged with frustrated need. Years had taught him the value of schooling his reactions, and he had long ago mastered the art of disciplining his breathing so that he did not appear like a panting youth dangling after his first woman. But there was no hope of schooling his body’s response to her, and he was grateful for the long tunic that hid his most obvious reaction.

Releasing her hair, he took a step back and called for his steward. Vachel must have been hovering nearby, for he was there before the loud echoes had done more than disturb a few small birds nesting in the rafters.

“Aye, seigneur?” Vachel said, his eyes darting from Rolf to the lady with practiced impassivity.

“Escort the lady Annice back to her chamber. And see that she has all she requires for our coming nuptials. Within reason, of course. Should there be any requirements that are—questionable—bring them to me to approve.”

“Yea, lord,” Vachel said with a slight bow. He turned to Annice and hesitated, but she had composed herself enough to nod slightly.

They had gone only a few feet before Annice turned back, so abruptly that poor Vachel almost collided with her. She looked at Rolf, chin held at a haughty angle.

“Tell me, my lord, how soon are we to be wed?”

“In a fortnight. The week after Easter Day and the new year, as they fall close.” A mocking smile curved his mouth. “Are you so anxious to seek our conjugal bed, milady?”

“God’s grace, but you are a vain dreamer,” she said sharply. “I have but a sensible reason for asking. I will have need of my own trunks from Seabrook, if you will. Send for
them.” She paused, then asked, “Does the king plan to attend?”

“John sends his regrets, but he is at La Souterraine in Berry and cannot be present at our nuptials.”

“How unfortunate,” she said demurely. “ ’Tis even more unfortunate that you are not with him. If I would be prepared in such short order, I needs have a woman to assist me in readying myself. ’Tis not that Vachel is unreliable, for he is most reliable, but I fear it would be too great a burden on him with all his other duties. And I desire a person of my own sex, who will understand my needs.”

It seemed a reasonable enough request, and Rolf instructed Vachel to find a suitable woman to attend Annice. “And move her to a chamber in the west wing,” he added. “One more suitable for the new Countess of Dragonwyck.” When Vachel hesitated, Rolf continued dryly, “But do not relax your guard for a moment. Set a man by her door at all times.”

“Gods mercy, my lord,” Annice said caustically, “for your generosity and concern.” Wheeling about, she stalked from the hall with Vachel scurrying at her side.

Rolf watched until she had disappeared from view up the winding flight of stairs. A faint whine distracted him from his musings, and he glanced down to see Bordet at his side. He put a light hand on the huge mastiff’s head.

“Would that a woman could be as faithful and easy to understand as a dog,” he muttered, and received for his compliment a wet tongue across his hand. He winced at the stinging reminder of the burns he had suffered snatching the parchment from the flames. It still lay on the floor, charred at the edges but perfectly legible save for a few words on the edge. No matter. It would suffice. And the lady Annice would be his wife whether she willed it or no.

Yet he found it vaguely disquieting that she fought so hard against it. ’Twas not that he thought himself a grand prize, but he knew that many a maid and matron had sought his eye with eagerness and hope. Why did Lady Annice loathe him so? He’d thought—nay, he was certain—he had seen a gleam of sympathy in her eyes that day
at Stoneham Castle. Yea, she would not have shed tears were she not in sympathy with his plight over Justin.

She must be still angry over the manner of her abduction, then his necessary attempts to frighten her into signing a letter. St. Jerome, but did she not know how cruel he could have been? He’d thought his restraint rather admirable under the circumstances. Losing Edmund and his son in one day had been almost more than his temper could bear. Holy Mary and Joseph, even women would react violently when faced with similar situations. Annice was just being stubborn. And childish. If not, she’d realize that he was being as gentle as he could be with her.

Muttering an oath, Rolf retrieved the parchment and rolled it carefully, binding it with the ribbon and seals. In so doing, he scraped the burned flesh of his hand and flinched. He’d better see it tended, and soon. The thought of being a one-armed knight should the injury become inflamed was not very appealing.

Furious, Annice paced the floor of her new chamber with quick, hard steps. This room was larger, and much more comfortable, but she took no pleasure in it. A huge bed dominated one side of the chamber complete with embroidered hangings and a thick mattress stuffed with goose feathers. Pillows and coverlet matched. Rich hangings covered the walls and looped from the ceiling. In the center of the chamber a large brass brazier filled with glowing coals provided warmth for the still chill evenings. Tall branched candlestands held tapers that gave off steady light, and there was a large table as well as a small writing desk. Several chairs and stools were scattered about on carpets as if awaiting guests for a cozy chat. There were even panes of precious glass in latticed windows that looked out over a steep decline falling away from the castle to a village nestled below. Thick Lincolnshire forest stretched beyond the village, treetops easily visible from the window.