RulingPassion (10 page)

Before she could react, he’d let go her hair, wrapped her in
a bear hug and lifted her off her feet. He carried her over to the bed, where
he sat on the side and stood her on her feet between his legs, facing him.

His breath came in gulps and it took a moment before he
could say, “You thought you could escape me, lady? Think it not. Now or ever.
But I will have your apology for your impudence in taking what was not yours.”

She was even more winded. “Nay…my lord. I have naught to apologize
for. Courtesy demands you should offer me the choice of towels.”

“I am lord here! I will have whichever towel I will, and no
impudent young lady, however beautiful, will deny me it.” The words were hard,
but the sparkling lights in his eyes belied any hint of anger or outrage.

“Then perhaps we should be sure there are adequate towels of
sufficient size for the two of us,” she suggested.

“Perhaps so. And perhaps it will be so next time. For now,
though, I still have not heard your apology.”

When she attempted to back away, he closed his knees around
her and grabbed at her wrists. Moments later she was swept off her feet again,
pulled forward and to the side until she ended up draped over his knees, face
down, with her feet touching the floor on one side of him and hands on the
other.

She let out a small shriek. “What are you doing, my lord?”

“I will have that apology,” he reiterated. “If you wish to
spare your pretty bottom a warming, you will tender it immediately.”

“I told you I see no need for an apology.”

“Then perhaps this will help clear your vision.”

His hand came down on her bottom in a sharp slap. It wasn’t
very hard and it stung only a little. She didn’t react.

Several more slaps followed quickly, until it was burning
just enough to make her wiggle a bit.

“You may halt this at any time by offering that apology,” he
told her before he rained another series of spanks on her vulnerable posterior.

It was a strange feeling being at his mercy in such a way.
It wasn’t terribly comfortable. His hard, muscular thighs were no soft pillow,
and his erect rod poked her in the belly. Blood rushed to her head and her
bottom began to sting. Yet, there was something incredibly exciting about it,
too. She could never have imagined the thrill of being at the mercy of a
strong, loving man who would take you to the edge of pain but do no harm. And
the fire he ignited in her bottom was setting alight other needs and urges as
the tingling sensations transmitted themselves throughout her body, settling in
her woman’s parts between her legs.

Between spanks, he caressed the curves of her bottom with
his big, hard hands, sometimes sliding close to the crevice where the source of
her pleasure lay.

“Are you prepared to apologize yet?” he asked.

Her “nay” became a squeal as the hand rose and fell harder.
He continued to spank her until the burn and the need it roused escalated to a
point beyond bearing.

“Halt, please, my lord,” she begged at last. “I shall
apologize.”

He rubbed the stinging flesh that must be bright red from his
attentions. “Tender it then.”

“My lord, I apologize for taking the cloth meant for your
use.”

“And you will not do so again?”

“You have your apology. That was all you asked for.”

He drew a deep breath and his hand stilled. For a moment he
debated, then he muttered a grudging agreement. He reached a hand down to turn
and raise her body so she sat on his lap. His arms wrapped around her, drawing
her against his chest. He sprinkled soft kisses on the top of her head, working
down her brow and temple, across her cheek until he reached her mouth. She
leaned out a bit to give him better access.

When his tongue prized open her mouth and invaded that
sanctuary, the fire that simmered inside her blazed into furious life.

She wiggled far enough away from him that she could work her
hands up his chest to his shoulders where she clutched at him fiercely as the
kiss went on and on and her body seemed poised to burst into flame. Need swept
over her in a tidal wave of longing.

His hands found her breasts. He stroked, kneaded and pinched
delicately until she was writhing in his hold. She let her hands roam back down
his body, along chest and belly until she encountered the tip of his cock. It
throbbed as she brushed fingers along its long, hard length, rocking up and down,
until he, too, was vibrating with need.

He lifted her again and moved her to the bed, then he came
down atop her, weight held on his elbows, parted her legs with his knees, and
entered her in one long, smooth effort. His breath came in hard gulps as he drew
back and plunged into her again and again.

She gasped when the length of him inside her hit a spot that
triggered waves of sensation. He paused for a moment and then he wiggled enough
to caress her inside. The resulting blast of hot, shocking, vibrating pleasure
felt like lightning flashing through her body. It sent her over the edge into a
jerking, spasming ecstasy. Two more hard plunges and he joined her, spilling
his hot seed within. After a minute he collapsed against her, though he kept
his weight on his elbows. His damp chest pressed to hers; his head rested on
her shoulder with his hair brushing sweetly at her cheek.

They lay together for a while, joined, but quiet, listening
to each other’s breathing. She stroked a hand through his hair and let it run
down along the smooth, hard muscle of his back. He felt sleek and solid, a
welcome pressure all along her body. He turned his head just enough to brush
his lips across her cheek. She wished they could stay this way forever.

Rosalind wondered if heaven could hold anything as wonderful
as this. She had to presume it did from everything she’d heard from the priests
and brothers. Yet she could hardly imagine a wonder and joy to outshine this.
She planned to do her best to get there and see.

He drew a deep breath and leaned down to kiss her, brushed
hair back off her brow and let his lips wander over her cheek and temple.

A hint of sadness tinged his voice when he spoke. “Aye, I do
love you, Lady Rosalind. And how I will be able to let you go when the time comes,
I know not.”

She hoped he wouldn’t be able to. She wasn’t proud of
herself for harboring that longing. It wasn’t a worthy or noble hope. But she
could no more eject it from her soul than she could stop her heart from
beating.

“Think naught on it for now. Let tomorrow care for its own
worries,” she advised him.

He relaxed and rolled off her, then pulled her close to him
again. “You are wise beyond your years, as well as beautiful,” he said.

“Nay,” she said on a long sighing breath. “I am not wise.
Not wise at all. Just fortunate to have been rescued from hell by a man beyond
all my dreams.”

She felt rather than saw him nod, since her head was tucked
under his chin. “And though in coming years I may have nothing of you but
memories, I will still count the day I removed you from Sir William’s dungeon
as the most fortunate day of my life.”

They stayed quiet for a few minutes after that, each lost in
quiet longings and dreams. Then he shook her gently.

“Dinner will be waiting on us, and I would not keep the household
from their meal.” He levered himself up on one arm. “I received a petition for
redress to be heard tonight, but the boy in question chose to take himself off
rather than face my justice. It’s as well.”

“What did he do?”

“The master groom asserts he abused one of the horses. A
thing I cannot countenance. It would have been a hard lesson had I found him at
fault.”

“But he decided to leave instead?”

“Aye.”

“Then let us go to dinner and celebrate that he is off,
relieving you of the responsibility to chastise him.” Her stomach chose that
moment to rumble loudly.

He grinned and pushed back a few strands of blond hair
falling across his eyes. “You state your wishes quite effectively, my lady.” He
looked down at her and she saw the light of need quicken in his eyes again.
“However, if we do not dress anon, we might find ourselves keeping the
household overlong from their well-deserved dinner.”

Chapter Eleven

The next day Rosalind plunged, once again, into the business
of preparing for a crowd of visitors. She barely saw Jeoffrey all day as he
spent the morning on the training field, honing his skill with sword and
shield. His afternoon was passed with the grooms working out the arrangements
for the tents and pavilions their guests would bring and for care of their
livestock.

Rosalind dealt first with the dispatch of the goods she’d
acquired the previous day, and then with the batch of responses to their
invitation that had arrived during her absence. Five more had come, listing
family and staff that would be accompanying them and the type of accommodations
they’d require. It necessitated a bit of juggling of rooms already assigned,
since Sir James Shelton would be requiring quarters within the keep rather than
bringing his own pavilion as they’d anticipated. He requested they provide a
room with a south window as the breeze from the north didn’t agree with his
system. Further he would need an additional bed in his room for the attendant
he required be with him at all times and extra supplies of water.

When those matters were seen to, she penned messages to two
merchants the manor dealt with, suggesting their agreements on certain
exchanges of goods would need to be amended. It would help, but… She wasn’t
sure she wanted to let her thoughts drift that far. However effective her
efforts, she doubted she could save enough to equate with the sort of fortune
the daughter of the Duke of Barnston could bring.

She checked with the housekeeping staff to ensure the rooms
she was counting on for guests would be ready, and informed them of Sir James’
particular requirements for his quarter.

With all the necessary business accomplished, she set about
the next task. She dreaded facing the group of women of the manor’s textile
group, but it had to be done. Whatever they may think of her, they would do as
she bid in this.

Nonetheless, her palms grew sticky as she went to their
workroom. Only four of the five she’d met on her previous venture into their
demesne were present. All looked up as she knocked and entered. Not a one of
them did more than nod on noting her entrance. The older woman at the spinning
machine appeared to be the person in charge, so Rosalind went directly to her
though the woman hadn’t acknowledged her arrival at all.

“Madame Maressa?” Rosalind ventured. “Did you receive the
bolt of silk fabric I sent yesterday with the linen rolls?”

The woman stopped the machine after a moment and looked up,
but not directly at Rosalind. “Aye, miss. I did.” Her demeanor gave no clue to
her thoughts on the subject, but there was no warmth friendliness there.

“Good. I have a plan for that silk and I will need your
assistance.”

Maressa made no response, just waited, eyes cast down and
staring at her thread, for Rosalind to go on. All the other women had halted or
slowed their own work and listened to the conversation.

“With the coming convocation of our neighbors, I feel it
needful the household, and Lord Jeoffrey, in particular, should make as fine
and impressive a show as possible. At his request I have been sorting through
his clothing, and I find nothing suitable to this occasion. For that reason I
purchased the silk. I have also obtained some lace for trimmings. I would be
grateful for your assistance in constructing a new tunic and gambeson for my
lord. Have you time, think you?”

Maressa looked up at her suddenly, eyes widening with
surprise. Around her, the other women glanced at each other with raised brows
and open mouths. It took Rosalind a moment of consideration before she realized
they’d all thought the silk was intended to provide a dress for herself and all
had put that down as precisely the sort of behavior they expected from person
they supposed her to be. They weren’t sure how to deal with this turn of
events.

The atmosphere in the room changed subtly, becoming not exactly
friendly, but less hostile, at least.

“Aye, miss, I believe we can manage to find the time. It
would be meet for our lord to have some finer things to show well.” Her
expression changed to more overt enthusiasm. “He would not put himself out in
such a way, but I think we would all be proud to see him the equal of or even
overshadowing the others. He could, did he but try a bit. As fine a figure of a
man as he is and with the character to back his looks… Yes, we will do it.”

Maressa’s expression stilled, the enthusiasm departing
almost as suddenly as it had arrived “And what of you, Madame?”

“What of me?” Rosalind asked.

“Do you not require better garments for this gathering?”

Rosalind had, of course, given the matter some thought. “I
believe not. I am not the lady of the manor, merely my lord’s leman, and as
such I shall endeavor to remain as quietly unobtrusive as possible. Aside from
which…” This was the hard part, the thing she still had difficulty coming to
terms with and a problem for which she had, as yet, found no solution. “Many of
our guests will know who I am. They will know what…I truly believe it better
for everyone if I did not put myself forward overmuch. Better I appear to
consider myself more in the line of a poor guest, making the best of bad
circumstances.”

The women traded glances again, but Rosalind couldn’t
decipher the meaning of them. Finally Maressa nodded. “Perhaps that would be
wise,” she murmured. “Now, what had you in mind for our lord?”

For the next half hour they discussed designs for the new
clothing, the best way to orient the fabric, cut and trim it. Once the
important decisions had been made, Rosalind handed over the lace she’d brought
and departed satisfied that Jeoffrey’s new garment was in good hands.

As she returned to the office, she encountered Sir Philip
coming toward her. A smile lit his handsome face. “Lady Rosalind,” he said.
“Our lord has just given me the comeuppance of my life on the practice field.
Would you take pity on my bruised ego and walk with me in the garden for a bit?
Your presence has a soothing effect and I am much in need of calming right
now.”

She couldn’t help but grin at him. “Sir Philip, I suspect
you of exaggerating your wounds to win my sympathy. But I would enjoy a turn in
the garden in any case.”

“Is it that obvious, lady?” he asked, taking her arm and
leading her toward the door to the garden.

“I have watched you and my lord together on the field,” she
said. “You two are nearly evenly matched. That he should best you, I can
imagine. That he should give you the ‘comeuppance of your life’ I take leave to
doubt.”

“You do indeed provide a soothing balm to my ego.”

The weather had turned cooler again and the breeze blew hard
with a smell of moisture on it that promised rain. Rosalind hoped it would rain
now and clear later, so as not to impede the travel or accommodations of their
visitors.

“I understand from Jeoff you have also been an invaluable
aid in the preparations for the convocation next week,” Sir Philip said.

“I do what I can to assist.”

“He tells me most of those invited are planning to attend.”

“So it appears,” she said.

“Can we accommodate them adequately?”

“‘Tis taking our resources near to their end, but, aye, we
can manage it.”

“That is well. We cannot afford any sign of weakness.”

“I appreciate that, Sir Philip. There will be none.”

He stopped and smiled at her. “I have no doubt, since the
preparations are in your hands.”

“Nay, most things are overseen by Jeoffrey’s staff. They are
very competent and efficient.”

Philip nodded. “He chooses who he places in key positions
carefully.”

“I do not understand, then, why he keeps Ranulf as butler.
The man can neither see well nor hear at all.”

“Aye. Jeoff’s one concession to sentimentality. Ranulf all
but raised Jeoffrey. He took pity on the boy who could do no right in his
father’s eyes, and gave him a father’s care and love, encouragement and praise.
Jeoff would never deprive Ranulf of his position, no matter how poorly his
health fares, nor how much it might interfere with his carrying out his duties.
Others watch to ensure no lapses occur.”

They walked in silence for a moment, weaving through the
kitchen garden to their favorite retreat in the wild garden at the end. The sun
broke through the clouds for a moment, warming her.

“But you, my lady,” Philip asked. “Are you prepared for
this?”

“What mean you, sir?”

“Many of those coming are not strangers to you. Or at least
to your family.”

She sighed, reached up to pluck a fragrant flower from an
early blooming rose, and cradled it in her palm. “Aye, I have given that much
thought. All will know what my position is here, and even those who do not will
reckon it out with little difficulty. For my lord’s sake, I believe it would be
best I be seen and heard as little as possible. Should any seek me out to ask,
I shall say merely that Lord Jeoffrey rescued me from Sir William’s dungeon and
this was the reward I offered him, having no other coin with which to pay. It
is essentially the truth, and should serve to put him in a good light.”

“At the cost of your own reputation.”

“Sir Philip, I have none now. And it matters naught. For
this effort, Jeoffrey must appear in the best light possible.”

“Aye.” He stopped to think about the next words for a
moment. “My lady, you know that should we succeed in this effort, you might
gain much. Perhaps even what you most want.”

She glanced at him. “Aye, I had considered the possibility.
Should he lead the effort and defeat Sir William, he will gain the resources to
protect and provide for his people without need of the duke’s daughter’s dowry.
But the duke may very well make betrothal to his daughter a condition of his
assistance.”

Philip sighed. “‘Tis possible. Has he accepted the
invitation?”

“Aye.”

“And will his family travel with him?”

“Nay. He comes ahead with a portion of his men. His wife and
daughter, who would find the proceedings deadly tedious, will follow after and
join us for a visit at the conclusion of the convocation.”

“That could work to our benefit. We must find our way to
convincing the duke to commit his forces to the effort without the promise of a
familial alliance.”

She laughed. “I fear, Sir Philip, such an effort is beyond
my ability.”

“Perhaps not,” Sir Phillip said. “But I do not know that it
is your task to take on. We shall see how the proceedings go.”

“Just so,” she answered. “And now I must go attend to my
duties. The day is waning.”

“And Jeoffrey will be wanting his bath.”

“Aye.” She hoped the flush that rose at that thought wasn’t
as obvious to him as it felt to her. In truth, she treasured the time with
Jeoffrey, whether they shared a tub or she sat beside him and assisted him. At
those times she could tell herself he was entirely hers. She had the freedom of
his body, and they frequently passed the time with word games or discussion of
the day’s events as prelude to more vigorous play.

“Then I shall see you at dinner,” Sir Philip said, bowing to
her before he departed.

Rosalind took the rose in with her and set it in the basin
in the solar she shared with Jeoffrey after she poured a measure of water into
it.

She had time to check that an extra cot would be available
for Sir James’ room and a sheltered spot on the south side of the manor
available for the Cottenhams’ pavilion before she went to prepare Jeoffrey’s
bath.

The tub and buckets of hot water awaited him when he came
in, walking stiffly and groaning. He tore off his clothes letting them drop
where they would and climbed into the tub, shifting and stretching his legs to
find a comfortable position for them.

“Philip worked me into the ground,” he explained to Rosalind
as she sat beside the tub and washed him. “Told me I was letting myself get
soft. No doubt he is right. Now I feel like a 90-year-old man.”

He had several small bruises on his face and arms, but she
suspected most of his discomfort came from muscles not used to the activity
he’d put himself though that day.

“Ah.” He sighed as he relaxed and let the hot water relieve
some of the ache. He kept his eyes open and on her, however. He stopped her
hand wielding the rag and held it in his own.

“I asked Elspeth about the preparations of the manor for the
visitors. She said that between you two, things were well in hand. I am
grateful for all the work you have done to help make this a success.”

“ I am grateful I am not rotting in Sir William’s dungeon.
This is little enough to repay.”

“Ah, my lady, you have done more than enough to repay that
effort already.” His smile had a wry curve and it ignited wicked lights in his
eyes. “You do so much for me, I feel I should almost thank you for the
privilege of having rescued you. You have made me feel things I have never felt
before; make me think new things. When I am with you, holding you in my arms, I
feel like more of a man than I ever have before. I believe I can do anything at
all.”

“My lord, I see not why you need me to make you feel that
way. ‘Tis nothing but the truth. You are a man among men already.”

“So others have said. But only you can make me truly believe
it.”

“Then know that it is so. I do hereby pronounce it. And will
announce it the world do you so desire. But it is so and you must act on it.”

His grin turned wry. “Ah, so Sir Philip has been at you. I
have seen you walk with him in the garden.” The grin disappeared suddenly, and
his face grew serious, intent. “Rosalind, do you have feelings for him? Is his
the hand you would prefer? It would not be my choice for you, and would not be
a pleasant thing for me to have you so near and so untouchable, but if it is
what you wish I could arrange it. He is certainly a worthy man.”