Lord of the Manor (20 page)

Then, when she clearly understood that she was never to leave him again, he would take her in his arms and keep her there—forever.

Hellfire, he was starting to act as Gerard did toward Ardith. Overbearingly protective. Eager to please his wife’s merest whim. He’d often teased Gerard, but no longer. Not now that he understood the pain and joy of loving someone so much it hurt.

Gerard. His brother would likely toss a grand fit
when told of his plans to wed Lucinda. Dealing with Gerard might be harder than dealing with George. Richard didn’t give a damn about George, but did care, very much, about his relationship with Gerard. He’d never crossed Gerard before, not in anything of importance, never in any way that might cause a rift. But even if it caused a rift, Richard would still make Lucinda his wife.

That is, if she accepted him, which he wouldn’t know until he rescued her.

“We leave the horses here,” he began his instructions for a surprise attack, assigning a man to watch them. Three others would comb the woods, stalk any guards surrounding the camp, and do whatever necessary to keep them from raising an alarm.

His men were tired from having ridden all day, but not nearly as tired as George’s men, who’d walked. He was counting on that weariness, as well as the element of surprise, to carry the day.

Getting close enough to the camp, undetected, to discover Lucinda and Philip’s exact whereabouts within the camp was the most important duty. He assigned it to Edric and himself. Edric also volunteered to protect the precious pair during the fighting.

“No one touches George but me,” Richard said, reserving the right to put the noble to sword point if necessary.

Lucinda sat at the base of an oak. Philip knelt beside her. She opened her mouth and Philip popped in another piece of bread, the first food they’d had all day.

George refused to unbind her wrists, even to eat. He punished her for not cowering, which she refused
to do. She’d stopped trying to loosen the rope, had only succeeded in rubbing her skin raw and hastening the swelling, thus tightening the rope.

George and most of his men sat around a fire, waiting for snared hares to finish roasting. She doubted that she or Philip would be invited to partake.

“Another piece?” Philip asked.

“The next is yours. You need the food more than I. You are still a growing boy. How are your feet and legs?”

“Sore,” he said with a grimace.

“Mine, too.”

They finished the bread in silence. Her stomach still felt empty, as she was sure Philip’s did, too. She squirmed a bit and leaned against the tree, making the best of an uncomfortable seat.

“Come,” she told Philip, who wiggled under her upraised arms and settled in her lap, his head on her shoulder. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“Mother?” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I do not like George.”

She rested her cheek against his brow. “Neither do I.”

“Was my father truly like him?”

Poor Philip. No matter how many times he heard of how bad Basil had been, he still wanted to believe his father hadn’t been
all
bad. Unfortunately, Lucinda couldn’t think of one good quality that Basil had possessed. “I fear so, Philip.”

“Will I be like them? Connor thinks so.”

She snuggled Philip in closer. “Connor is a…well, he is wrong. What does Edric think? Or Richard?”

Philip’s shoulder shrugged.

“They think you quite special, as I do,” she assured him.

He opened his eyes. His bottom lip trembled. “I want to go h-home.”

Back to Collinwood. Merciful heaven, ‘twas where she wanted to be, too. With Richard. Lying in his arms on a bear pelt. Safe. Warm. Loved.

“Mother?” he whispered, but the tone had changed.

“Hmm?”

“I see Edric.”

Every nerve in her body came alive. She wanted to spin around and look, but knew she could give Edric’s position away if she did so. “Do not move, Philip. Not a muscle. Do you see Richard?”

“They hide in the bushes behind us. Richard looks very angry.”

Let him be angry. Furious. Enraged. So long as he was here, she didn’t care.

Lucinda heard the arrow before she saw it fly across the campsite and spear one of George’s soldiers. She pulled Philip close and lurched sideways, landing facedown with Philip tucked safely beneath her.

She counted the arrows whizzing over her head. Six, she thought. George’s men screamed in pain and shouted in anger. Soon swords struck swords, and shields. Richard’s voice rose above the din, barking orders.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of boots. Edric’s boots. He stood near her head, standing guard. If he wanted her to move, he would tell her so. Until he did, she would hug the ground. She
closed her eyes and prayed for a quick and successful end of the skirmish.

Beneath her, Philip wiggled, pushing her away. She moved sideways—enough to give him air but not enough to let him up.

The longer the battle raged, the more she worried. Had Richard brought along enough men? Had the element of surprise worked in Richard’s favor? Had he worn his chain mail?

She was about to look up to check when she heard Richard shout. “Come back here, you filthy swine! I have seen enough of your backsides. Face me if you dare!”

Someone ran past her, crashing into the underbrush.

Were George’s men fleeing?

Edric chuckled. “Come, my lady, ‘tis all but done,” he said. “Flip over and we will have you loose.”

Lucinda gently rolled, bringing Philip with her.

“Hold still, Philip, while I cut your mother’s bindings,” Edric said. His sword cut through the rope like a hot knife through butter. As her arms separated, he plucked Philip from atop her so she could sit up.

All around her men lay on the ground, dead or wounded, only one of them Richard’s man. Groans of exertion had turned to moans of pain. The fighting went on but most of George’s men either lay on the ground or had fled.

Richard fought like a demon possessed. Chain mail gleaming, sword flashing, he blocked the slash of an enemy sword. Then he ducked under the man’s guard and punched him in the face, sending his victim off his feet and backward.

At the edge of her vision she caught a flash of red silk. She jerked her head up to see George, sword raised, coming straight at Edric.

“Edric, behind you!” she shouted, and tried to get up.

But George never got near Edric. From behind, Richard grabbed George’s tunic, and with a mighty heave, flung him aside. George rolled in the dirt, and by some miracle, got his pudgy body back upright.

Enraged. Richard was definitely enraged.

“Spawn of Satan,” Richard taunted, waving his sword at George, advancing.

“Bastard!” George took a swipe at Richard. Richard put his own sword up to deflect the blow.

“Ah. But at least I know who my father was. Tell me, George, did your mother tarry with the stable hand? ‘Twould explain the stench about you.”

Swords clashed, but no one could doubt who was the better swordsman. Richard played with George, as a spider toys with a fly before the kill. He didn’t play long. Richard took a step back, then lunged. Lucinda closed her eyes, tight.

When the sound she heard didn’t match the vision in her head, she dared a peek. George’s sword lay several feet away, and Richard had George backed up to a tree, a hand around his throat. Richard wasn’t going to kill George. Oddly relieved, Lucinda got to her feet.

“Would you like to know why I am not going to stick my sword in your fat gullet?” Richard asked.

George couldn’t speak, or move his head.

“Because I truly think that Henry would like to see you again.”

Richard let go. George nearly fell.

“I will go back to Normandy,” George said hoarsely. “I swear, I will send all your goods due and never bother you again. You may keep the boy, with my blessing.”

Richard scoffed. “Come, man, do you think I need or want your blessing for taking back what is mine?”

He looked over at Philip, then reached out and touched her son’s bruised cheek. “How did you come by this?”

Philip glanced at George. “He hit me.”

“Did he?”

Lucinda shivered at the menace she heard, but knew without a doubt that she had nothing to fear.

Then Richard looked her over. He took his time, and she felt the burn of his gaze from head to toe. When he focused on her wrists, his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Edric, tie the prisoners up, bind them to each other,” Richard ordered, then with a swift, mighty blow, backhanded George. The man went down with a thud. “But this one—truss him up, ready for the spit, like the pig he is.”

“Aye, my lord.” Edric handed Philip to Richard, whose expression melted slowly from rage to soft concern.

“You all right?” Richard asked.

“May I help Edric? I know how to tie a knot.”

“A tight knot?”

Philip demonstrated by pulling on an imaginary rope with straining arms and a contorted face.

“Then have at it,” Richard said, and put her son down.

He sheathed his sword, dusted his hands and crossed his arms.

The moment she’d longed for and dreaded had come. Did Richard have it in his heart to forgive her?

R
ichard watched Lucinda walk toward him, slowly, nervously twisting on the rope that had rubbed her wrists raw. Her plait had come partly undone, her raven hair mussed and sprinkled with twigs and dead leaves. Dirt smudged her cheek. She wore the old gray gown that she’d been wearing when they met.

Beautiful. Alive. Soon to be his, he hoped. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless…but not yet.

“’Tis a remarkable sight you make when enraged, Richard of Wilmont. I do not recall seeing the like before,” she said.

He’d loosed most of his anger and frustration during the short-lived clash with George and his men…but not all.

“What you saw is the style in which I fight. The rage? That happened last eve, shortly after evening meal, when I gave Connor a tongue-lashing and upended a table.”

Lucinda’s eyes widened slightly. “Truly?”

“Aye. You see, I had just been informed that the mother of my ward had whisked him off to God knew
where. At night. With a besieging army sitting outside the gates. And no way to go after her until daylight. I lost my temper. People scattered, cups and trenchers flew, even the dogs crawled off to escape me. ‘Twas a remarkable sight. You should have been there.”

Lucinda crossed her arms. “Of course I left just before dark. Late enough so you would not come looking, yet not too late for you to send a message to George that I had fled with Philip. Instead of sending that message, you fly into a temper and toss tables around.”

Richard leaned forward. “I was not about to let George know you were out there!”

“Why ever not! He would not have believed you until he had thoroughly searched the manor. By that time we would have been too far away for either of you to find us.”

She had a point, except…

“But he
did
find you!”

Lucinda waved a dismissing hand. “Pure happenstance. A patrol snooping about for the postern gate. Had we left the gate a few moments earlier, we would have reached the river and they would not have spotted us.”

He blew out a long breath. Nothing in her tone or attitude indicated remorse for leaving, just irritation at being captured.

“Where did you intend to go?”

“Up river to Cambridge, for a start. I knew I could get there by walking the river. I thought a port town a good place to hide until I felt that you and George were no longer hunting us. From there, to a small village or mayhap another city. I had not decided.”

To his chagrin, he admitted her plan a good one, still…

“You had no right to take the boy away, Lucinda. Henry’s edict names me his protector—”

Lucinda grimaced, bent over, and put her hands on her knees. “Oh, dear.”

“What is wrong?”

“My legs. I fear they were not made for walking so far, so fast. Could we continue this argument while sitting?”

Hellfire. She’d been on the march for a good part of the night and all day, and he stood here yelling at her while she was in pain. Richard swept Lucinda up and carried her over to a log. He sat, setting her on his lap.

Lucinda’s arms stayed wrapped around his neck. He didn’t let her go. He couldn’t.

“My thanks,” she said, her breath warm against his neck.

“For?”

“Coming to our rescue. Arguing with me.”

The first he understood, the latter he didn’t. “You like arguing?”

He felt her chuckle. “Aye, because I can, with you, without fear of reprisal. ‘Tis a wondrous feeling.” She backed out of his embrace, only as far as needed to look him in the eye. “You have given me so much, Richard. I merely wished to give you something in return.”

“By leaving? I fail to see—”

She hushed him with a fingertip to his lips. “I could not bear to see you lose everything you had worked so hard to build. George was about to burn Collinwood to the ground—”

He grasped her hand and returned it to his shoulder. “There are ways to defend against pavises, Lucinda. ‘Twould have been harrowing, but George would not have succeeded.”

“Your vassals were on the verge of rebellion.”

“Vassals grumble against their lords—and ladies. ‘Tis their nature. You should not have taken their complaints to heart.” He put his hand on her cheek. “I
can
protect you, Lucinda, both you and Philip. You truly had no reason to leave.”

She turned her head, pressed her lips to his palm. “You might have been killed, and that I could not bear most of all.”

Hellfire. Should he shout with joy or smite her backside? She’d risked her life for his sake, and damn near sucked the life right out of him!

“I can fight, and win, my own battles, woman,” he said sternly, then slid his thumb over her parting lips, hushing any words. If he didn’t say his piece now, he might lose his courage later.

“Your leaving nearly brought me to my knees. I could think no further than of bringing you and Philip back to where you belonged. With me. I love you, Lucinda. Should you ever ponder pulling such a reckless stunt again, I will…well, just do not. My poor heart might not survive.”

Lucinda let the words wash over her, gladden her heart and bring peace to her soul. She heard every word he’d said, wondered if he wouldn’t come to regret them, but couldn’t dwell on anything beyond his declaration of love.

He loves me.

Her smile couldn’t hold all of her joy. Fingers trembling where she stroked the strong line of his jaw,
she swallowed hard. All that she wanted to tell him had jumbled up in her throat. Most could wait, but not the most important words, those she’d once thought she could never say to any man.

“I love you, too, Richard.”

He whooped as he picked her up and swung her around. Lucinda held tight to her gentle warrior, giddy with glee, wishing she could whisk Richard off to some private bower to show him how thoroughly she loved him.

When he finally set her down, she yet clung to him, too dizzy to stand on her own.

“Say it again, Lucinda. Tell me you love me and will never leave me again.”

So easy this time. “I love you, Richard, and will never, ever, leave you again. I am yours for as long as you will have me.”

“Forever. We will be married as soon as I can arrange it.”

Marriage. Merciful heaven. If there was one man in the entire kingdom that she was willing to—wanted to—marry and spend the rest of her life with, ‘twas Richard.

“There is no need to rush,” she said. “Patience, my love.”

“I suppose,” he said on a sigh. “’Twill probably be more than a month. I need to get this rabble on their way to London. Then we need to visit Wilmont. ‘Twill take us at least a sennight.”

Wilmont. Gerard. Her joy plummeted.

“Gerard could take it all away from you, could he not? You could lose Collinwood. Your stone keep. All of your wonderful plans for—”

“Ah, Lucinda. He could but he will not.” Richard
shrugged. “And even if he did, I need no stone keep or vast empire to ensure my happiness. All I need is you at my side.”

A lovely sentiment. But would he feel the same if Gerard truly stripped Richard of all he possessed? She tightened her hold on Richard’s neck. She couldn’t make the confrontation with Gerard easier for Richard. The brothers needed to work this out in their own way, on their own terms.
Richard’s battle,
she inwardly repeated over and over.

Surrender came hard, but it came. She trusted Richard, and his love.

Richard sat across from Gerard at a table in Wilmont’s great hall. He’d nearly finished his fourth—fifth?—cup of ale, and came close to the end of his tale.

“So, I sent Edric and three others to deliver George and his remaining men to King Henry. The two men of mine who were wounded I sent back to Collinwood. The rest of us came here.”

The two days of travel to Wilmont had been wonderful. Lucinda had ridden with him, on his lap, snuggled contentedly in his arms. Philip thought the trip a delight.

The boy didn’t yet know that Richard intended to marry his mother. At Lucinda’s suggestion, Richard had agreed to not tell Philip until after dealing with Gerard. Not because she feared her son would object, but because she knew Philip would rejoice and might blurt the news at an awkward moment. Richard bowed to a mother’s wisdom.

“Let us hope that Henry deals with George in better fashion than he dealt with Basil!” Gerard said.

“’Tis hoped. I wrote a note to Henry that gently reminds him to deal with George quickly and thus avoid the vexation of having yet another prisoner escape him.”

“There is nothing quite so vexing as waiting on Henry’s whims, is there?”

Except, perhaps, dealing with Gerard. He obviously didn’t want to talk about Lucinda. He’d barely glanced at her when Richard brought her into the castle. He hadn’t objected when Ardith whisked an obviously travel-weary Lucinda off to the solar for a bath and change of clothing. Nor had he stopped Daymon from taking Philip to meet the falconer and view the mews’ many hunting birds. But he hadn’t liked it, either.

“Henry can do what he wishes with George. I truly do not give a damn if the vermin lives or dies, so long as he goes back to Normandy.”

Gerard chuckled. “And sends all of those wonderful tributes due. The wine you sent with Stephen is long gone. Could I talk you out of a barrel or two?”

“I have my doubts. ‘Tis really too good to share.”

Gerard leaned forward. “Mayhap, then I could win one. What say you, Richard, to a bout in the practice yard? Winner gets the wine.”

Ardith was busy with Lucinda, and might be for some time yet. And getting Gerard into the best possible mood seemed a good idea.

Richard got up. “Last one to sweat gets the wine.”

They went out the massive oak doors, and down the steps into the bailey. So many times he’d walked this path with Gerard to take part in their favorite pastime. Would today be the last? Richard hoped not.
All depended on Gerard, on whether or not he could accept Richard’s marriage to Lucinda.

“Stephen tells me you intend to build a stone keep at Collinwood,” Gerard commented.

“Aye, I have the means now.” And good reason. He would soon have a family to protect. Lucinda, and Philip, and any other children they might be blessed with. “I assume Stephen has gone to see the Lady Carolyn.”

“Hah! More like flew off. I wish him well in his pursuit. I hear tell she is a strong-minded woman. Mayhap she can tame him.”

“Tame Stephen? ‘Twould be like harnessing the wind.”

They stepped into the armory, and as was their custom, stripped down to breeches and boots. Both preferred to shun the weight of hauberks—a great annoyance of Ardith’s. Gerard took his broadsword from its scabbard. Richard drew his, too, from right where he’d left it nearly an hour ago.

As always, whenever they took these familiar steps, word spread of the impending swordplay and a crowd gathered. ‘Twas no different today.

“However, marriage to the right woman can do odd things to a man, make him do things he would not have before, just to please her,” Gerard remarked.

“Like you do for Ardith. That woman has you tied around her little finger,” Richard taunted, because ‘twas what Gerard expected, and to emphasize the point.

Gerard chuckled, setting his stance, feet slightly apart, knees bent. Richard did the same.

“I try not to let her take full advantage. But, hellfire, pleasing her pleases me.” Gerard’s laughter
faded. He turned serious. “I would wish the same for you, one day, that you would find contentment.”

Richard kept the point of his sword lowered. “I already have, Gerard. With Lucinda.”

Gerard’s face turned stormy, but the lightning Richard expected to strike didn’t flash. “So Stephen warned me. I wish you to reconsider.”

“You ask me to do that which I cannot. As you love Ardith, so I love Lucinda. She will be my wife, Gerard, with or without your blessing.”

“Damn it, Richard! Taking her as a lover is bad enough, but to wed her! Have you forgotten who she is?”

“I have forgotten nothing! Do you remember, when Ardith was in Basil’s hands, what she suffered? Lucinda has suffered tenfold, and survived, and came out the stronger. I love Lucinda for the woman she is now, not for who she might have been. I will marry her, and would prefer to have Father Dominic perform the ceremony here at Wilmont. If you say nay, we will go elsewhere. But by God, Gerard, I will marry the woman.”

Gerard grasped the pommel of his sword in both hands. From his mouth came the familiar roar of Gerard’s battle cry. He brought the sword up and around in a mighty swing. Richard ignored the horrified screams and gasps of the crowd, his attention fixed on the sharp point of his brother’s whirring, oncoming sword.

Richard didn’t move a muscle, simply smiled an inward smile. Everything was going to be all right.

Lucinda lounged in the wooden tub, even though the bathwater had cooled. She hated the thought of
getting out and possibly rippling the tranquillity of the solar, thus disturbing the budding friendship she’d formed with Ardith.

As if by mutual agreement, they hadn’t talked about either the past or the future—the former being too painful, the latter as yet unsettled until after Richard spoke with Gerard. But over the past hour or so she and Ardith had discussed housekeeping methods, traded recipes for roasted boar, and compared the joys and miseries of mothering six-year-old boys.

Lucinda had found ease in Ardith’s gracious welcome into her home and solar, and hope in her warm smile.

A loud, bloodcurdling roar invaded the solar through the unshuttered window.

“Merciful heavens,” Lucinda exclaimed, turning in the tub to stare at the window. “What was that!”

“Oh, dear,” Ardith said, waddling over, a towel in her outstretched hand. “We left them alone overlong. They must have finished talking and decided to play. The roar was Gerard. He and Richard must be in the practice yard.”

Lucinda stood up, took the towel, and stepped out of the tub. “They fight?” she asked, her heart nearly stopping at the thought of what they might be fighting about.

“They practice their swordplay,” Ardith said. “’Tis truly a spectacle, if you care to watch.”