Lady At Arms (19 page)

She shrugged. “It was too good an opportunity to waste.”

“Our new understanding precludes any more escape attempts, Lizanne.”

Her lashes swept down. “You are not likely to let me forget that.”

“Verily.” Briefly, he touched his mouth to hers. “Now show me this secret passageway.”

Lizanne stood and strode past him. She led him along paths so jumbled and wound around one another that he began to think she had lost her way, but then she called over her shoulder, “Through there,” and pointed to a narrow opening in the rosebush wall. A moment lower, she disappeared through it.

It was a tighter squeeze for Ranulf, but he caught up with her just as she was stepping through the hidden doorway.

“Our chamber lies three flights above,” she said as he closed the door behind him, throwing the landing into darkness.

He reached out and caught her arm. “Did you not bring a torch?”

“I did not think to, but the dark does not frighten me so much.”

Then she was no longer haunted by her fall into the ravine. “I am not thinking of your fear, Lizanne,” he said. “You have little enough of that. ’Tis your neck that concerns me.”

“Oh, that…”

He stepped ahead of her, threaded his fingers with hers, and drew her up the winding steps.

They reached the first landing, but as he started up the next flight, she entreated, “Just a peek.”

He knew what she wanted, his hand having recognized the shape of a door, and started to refuse her. However, the thrum of excitement that had supplanted her dismal mood stopped him. “Very well.”

She slipped her hand from his and, a moment later, he heard the click of the catch she had located. Dim light filtered into the passageway as she quietly opened the door a crack and peered at the back of a tapestry. As she pulled the door wider, voices fell upon their ears.

“’Tis enough,” Ranulf whispered and drew her back. However, as he started to ease the door closed, Sir Hamil’s voice rose loudly from within.

“You are betrothed to another, Elspeth!”

“That old codger!”

“He will make you a good husband. He is wealthy—”

“As is Baron Wardieu. He would make me a better husband. I would marry him.”

Ranulf hesitated, though he knew he should not.

“He will offer for me, Father. I know he will.”

“I do not believe it, Elspeth. Methinks he is well satisfied with the lady who shares his bed.”

“That harlot is no lady! He has said as much himself. Have you not seen how brazenly her eyes follow him everywhere?”

Beneath his hand, Ranulf felt a tremor go through Lizanne.

“And that hair of hers! And the state of her clothes! And the way she mucks about with his squires. Nay, if ever that wanton was of noble birth, there is good reason she no longer bears that distinction.”

“Elspeth, you know not what you speak of.”

“Do I not? She is but a bed warmer. Soon he will take another wife and throw her back whence she came.”

Lizanne pulled out of Ranulf’s hold and leaned back against the stone wall alongside the door.

“Enough, Elspeth! The man is recently widowed, and I doubt he is ready to assume the burden of another wife. I know I would not.”

“Aye, but you have your heir. He does not.”

It was true. And now Lizanne likely knew more about him in these last minutes than he had revealed in the past four days, for there had been no occasion or reason to talk of his marriage. Was there now?

“We will speak no more of this, daughter,” Sir Hamil said. A moment later, a door slammed loudly, its vibrations felt through the stone.

Ranulf eased the door closed, captured Lizanne’s arm. “Come.” He pulled her after him up the steps.

He was heartened that she was able to keep pace despite emotions that were nearly as tangible to him as his own. However, as he reached the landing of their chamber, she stumbled. Glad he had kept hold of her, he tightened his grip and pulled her up beside him and into his arms.

Hearing her muffled sob, he drew her nearer and breathed, “Shh.”

She swallowed convulsively.

He tucked her head beneath his chin, said softly, “’Tis rare any good comes from listening in on conversations not meant for one’s ears.”

She did not reply but, after a while, drew a shuddering breath, lifted her head, and said, “I lied.”

“Again?” Ranulf could not keep the amusement from his voice.

“Again. I do fear the dark.”

“Why? There is nothing there that is not also present in daylight.”

“In that you are wrong, Ranulf. Dreams and memories lurk there, ones I cannot escape no matter how far or how long I run.”

Recalling the nightmare he had witnessed and sought to pull her free of, he said, “What haunts you, Lizanne?”

Just when he thought she did not mean to answer, she whispered, “I fear someday Gilbert will be taken from me, and then I shall truly be all alone.”

Ranulf was surprised at the jealousy engendered by her words. Her brother possessed that part of her he did not dare hope he ever would—devotion. Aye, and love. But was that really what he wanted? Her love?

He rejected the idea, but it came back to him.

“Most of all,” she continued, “methinks I fear you, Ranulf Wardieu.”

He knew that. Despite her bluster, he had seen fear in her eyes on more than one occasion, but until that moment he had not realized its true depth. It went beyond reason. And the answer lay in that which she held back.

“What of the past?” he asked, knowing there lay the key to the mystery of her.

“You
are
the past and, by my foolish actions, I have made you my present…my future. You are everywhere, and I cannot seem to escape you.”

He drew his hand up her arm and set it upon her cheek. “You have spoken of a previous meeting between us. I pray you will tell me of these sins you cast upon me, for I do not recollect ever having seen you before that day in Lord Langdon’s hall, and ’tis not likely I would forget you if I had.”

He felt her waver as if she might speak of what she held close, but then he felt her spine stiffen and jaw tighten beneath his fingers.

“I cannot,” she said, “for then I would have more to fear from you.”

Patience,
he reminded himself, but he had too little left. “God help me,” he muttered and released her. He bent, found the catch, and dragged the door open.

“Go,” he said.

She stepped inside and, when he came out from behind the tapestry, he saw she had gone to stand before the window with her back to him.

Ranulf strode across the chamber and threw open the door.

The two guards outside turned, their tolerant grins wiping clean the moment they beheld their lord.

“My lord!” one gasped. “But…how…?”

“Send for Geoff,” Ranulf said and slammed the door.

When he turned back into the chamber, Lizanne faced him, her expression solemn.

“I have much business to complete this evening, and ’tis best if you are not underfoot. Geoff will stay with you to ensure you do not find yourself in any more mischief.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I have given my word I will not attempt to escape again.”

“That you have but, regrettably, I will not feel able to trust you until you feel able to trust me.”

“I see.”

“I am glad you do.”

He stalked to where a basin of water sat upon a table. “God willing, we will depart this place on the morrow,” he said, then splashed his face.

“Where are we going?” Lizanne spoke from directly behind.

He turned and saw she held a hand towel. “That need not concern you.”

She nodded, then reached up to blot the moisture from his skin.

He was too shocked by the gesture to do anything but accept it.

“There.” She stepped back.

He studied her, then said, “I do not require your complete submission, Lizanne. I would simply have less arguing between us.”

“I am not submitting. I but perform the duty of a servant.”

What was she up to now?

“You should take a comb to your hair,” she suggested.

He stepped past her, unlocked the chest with a key from a purse on his belt, removed the comb, and once more locked the chest. Lowering to its lid, he beckoned to her. “Another duty a servant performs.”

He saw her jaw shift and heard the grind of her teeth, but she took the comb.

“Gently,” he instructed.

Lizanne steeled herself, then stepped alongside him and pulled the comb through the ends of his hair, working her way up to his scalp. Unlike her own hair, his easily gave to the persuasive tugs and fell into place. It was an almost pleasurable task.

But it was also dangerous, she learned a short while later when he caught her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. Finding his face near hers, her heart tripped over itself.

“I have been wondering about this.” He took her right hand in his and ran a finger down her crooked thumb. “How came you by it?”

 
She tried to pull her hand free, but he held fast. “An accident,” she said, attempting to close her mind to the flood of memories. She did not wish to dwell on that particular incident any longer, for it was too unsettling in light of the battle she now waged between body, heart, and mind.

“Tell me of your wife, Ranulf,” she said, hoping to change the topic.

His lids lowered so that his eyes were dark, narrow slits. “You already know more than I would have you know.”

“I know only that she is no longer living.”

“Which is sufficient.”

“But—”

A knock sounded.

Ranulf lifted Lizanne off his lap, set her on her feet, and crossed the chamber. “Do not test the boy overly much,” he said over his shoulder before opening the door.

“Godspeed, my lord,” Geoff greeted him.

Ranulf motioned him inside. “You shall remain with Lizanne until I conclude my dealings with Sir Hamil.”

Confusion lining the squire’s brow, he turned his head to view the two men posted in the corridor.

“You see,” Ranulf continued, “she has discovered a secret passageway that leads from this room to the gardens below. I would not have her undertake any further explorations.”

Lizanne scowled.

Geoff nodded. “I will see no harm or mischief befalls her, my lord.”

Ranulf charged her with a look of warning, then quit the chamber.

“Would you like me to show you how to use that dagger?” Lizanne asked when several minutes had passed and neither had spoken.

Geoff fingered the weapon on his belt. “Methinks a game of chess would be safer.”

She grimaced. “Moving a bunch of funny little pieces around a checkered board? If you ask me, ’tis a waste of time.”

The squire’s eyebrows rose. “You do not know the game, do you?”

“I am familiar with it. I just have never been interested enough to engage in a match.”

“Then I shall teach you.” He stepped to the door, opened it, and spoke with one of the guards. When he turned back, he wore a smile. “With any luck, Aaron will locate a board for us.”

Lizanne shrugged. “Very well, but I warn you—I am a fast learner.”

They left Killian before the first light of dawn spread its tentative fingers across the night sky.

For reasons unknown to Lizanne, Ranulf kept his distance over the next three days’ ride. On the second day out, he even allowed her an old packhorse that, in the end, made her rides with him seem like too much comfort.

More than once, as she urged her horse to a quicker pace, she caught herself dwelling on how Ranulf’s arms had felt on either side of her and the comfort of his broad chest against her back. It was, however, more than just her body’s comfort she missed.

Though Ranulf was generally kind, he seemed to have detached himself emotionally, and she guessed he wearied of her. And tried to feel pleased.

In the late afternoon of the third day, they set up camp on the outskirts of London where peddlers, eager to sell their wares, descended upon them offering sweetmeats, new wine, cloth, buckles—anything and everything. It was a sight to behold.

Perched on a boulder, Lizanne watched the good-natured haggling between a knight and purveyor of small pastries. In the end, it was the purveyor who held out and obtained a price just below that which he had originally asked. Still, he grumbled as he exchanged three of the little pies for the coins the knight dropped in his palm.

A large, aproned woman approached Lizanne, holding up a handful of colorful ribbons, her toothless smile entreating. Lizanne felt a small thrill as she beheld the assortment, but she had no coin with which to purchase one.

With regret, she shook her head and turned her attention to Ranulf who stood with Walter near the horses. Although they were too far off for their conversation to be heard, she surmised they spoke of matters of importance. She had noted Walter’s return from the city earlier and thought it likely he carried word from the king.

“Milady,” the large woman persisted, tugging at Lizanne’s sleeve, “this ‘ere one would look nice with yer pretty black ‘air.”

Lizanne opened her empty hands. “I am sorry, but I have no coin.”

The woman pressed her lips tightly and trundled away.

Laughter drew Lizanne’s gaze to Geoff and Roland, and when she grimaced, they winked.

Deciding the day was done, she scooted down the smooth face of the boulder and went to Ranulf’s tent where she stretched out on her pallet. After the long day of riding, it felt wonderful.

It was fully dark outside when Geoff arrived with the evening meal. In comparative silence, he and she ate a sumptuous variety of foods bought from the purveyors. When they finished, he brought out a small chess set, and they played a game on the floor of the tent. Not surprisingly, she lost again—for the fifth time.

“You are improving,” Geoff said as he scooped the pieces into a pouch.

She shrugged. “It seems such an easy game. I do not understand why I continue to struggle with the moves. There are too many pieces, do you not think?”

Grinning, he stood and reached out a hand. “Practice,” he said as he assisted her to her feet. “Much practice.”