The Christmas Knight (17 page)

Bronwyn flashed Tyr a radiant smile. “What a sensible suggestion. After the past few days, it would be refreshing to spend some time with a charming gentleman and give me a chance to get away from certain…frustrations,” she said as her gaze leisurely swept over Ranulf. “I can show you the choice spots.”

Tyr let go a low chuckle. No wonder the women at court never interested Ranulf. None of them had the audaciousness needed to penetrate his thick shell. Tyr returned Bronwyn’s smile and picked up a handful of almonds. “That would be great. It will also give you a chance to meet more of the men.”

Ranulf didn’t move, but his knuckles had turned white. “The last thing the men need is a woman around who enjoys toying with their emotions.”

“I do not toy, my lord, but I suspect manners and general kindness may appear that way to someone who has the
emotional capacity of a stone
.” Her voice had risen at least an octave, giving away her confusion and hurt pride.

Oblivious, Ranulf slowly shifted his gaze to hers and grated back, “If I am a stone, madam, then perhaps it is because I look like one. I’m sorry that I don’t have Tyr’s smile or Tory’s sweet nature. Men like me do not appeal to women like yourself. I would be a half-wit to think otherwise.”

Bronwyn’s back straightened. Her blood pounded and tears would be flowing any minute, but she refused to cry in his presence. Of all the men, she had thought Ranulf to be different. Oh, how wrong she had been. Someday she would be glad that fate had intervened and saved her from what would have been a grave mistake.

“There are worse things in life than having a few scars, something you should have discovered long ago, my lord. And until you started using them as an excuse, I
never
thought you to be a half-wit. But I am glad that you have clarified that point, for you’re right. Such a man is unappealing.” Feigning confidence and joyful expectation, she swiveled toward Tyr. “I will join you tomorrow morning in the bailey in front of the stables.”

Both men stared, unable to stop themselves, as she sauntered out of the Hall and through the door that led up to her chambers.

Tyr watched the rhythm of Ranulf’s pulse in the bulging veins along his neck. If Bronwyn were a man, she would right now be fighting for her life. There were probably only three people in the world who could provoke Ranulf and live to see another day. Him, Ranulf’s commander and friend Garik, who had stayed behind in Normandy—and now that woman.

Asking Ranulf what the hell was going on and just what had possessed him to pick a fight with a woman he was obviously attracted to would be a waste of breath. His friend was too busy trying to convince himself that he despised her. It was an absurd goal. Until Ranulf realized that it wasn’t anger he was feeling, the man would remain frustrated and become more and more unbearable.

Open confrontation would only cause Ranulf to leave, remain in denial, and keep hurting himself and the lady to whom he was losing his heart. Tyr had always abided by their implied rule of friendship—not to interfere—but that was before Bronwyn. She was visibly interested in Ranulf and truly hurt by his rejection. There was no one in the world Tyr was closer to, and watching Ranulf torture himself was insane.

Leaning forward, Tyr grabbed a mug of mulled wine and swallowed a large gulp. He gestured toward the door with the cup. “I say, she is sinfully attractive when she’s angry. You may not claim to have a way with the ladies, but when you want to make one mad, you are indeed an expert.”

Ranulf clenched his teeth and said nothing, but sent Tyr a flash of warning.

Tyr dismissed the look and pressed on, opting for a flank attack. “You know that dress she was wearing? She should wear that color more often, complements that odd color of blue in her eyes.”

Ranulf sank onto the bench across the table from Tyr and raked his hands through his hair. “Take my advice and avoid looking too long at them. They can confound a man. Make him believe in lies.”

“You might be right,” Tyr agreed and moved to pour himself some more wine. “But when a man can’t think straight, is it she who is telling the lies or is it he who is telling them to himself?”

“If you are trying to make a point, don’t.”

“No, no point,” Tyr sighed and swirled his mug. “Just that she was looking pretty tonight. Did you not think so?”

“No.”

“Well, I did. I especially liked the hair. Normally I do not like stuff being all free like that, gets in the way. I usually prefer a woman’s hair to be pulled back and tidy, but hers…well, I just might change my mind.”

Nothing from Ranulf. Not even a twitch. Damn. The man was stubborn.

Tyr swallowed the mug’s contents for fortification. If he got out of this with his skin still intact, he would be lucky. He had maybe one more shot before Ranulf got up to leave, so it had to hit—and hard.

Tyr rocked the bench back and hummed, “Looked like silk, wonder if it feels like silk. I once had a woman with hair—”

“Damn you,” Ranulf uttered through his teeth. “Be quiet or get out.”

“What do you care? You may not like her, but I do. And not just in the face. I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow and spending time with the lady. And after her jumping onto the idea of coming hunting, I think she feels the same.”

“She does not like you.”

“I beg to disagree. She thinks I am charming. Said so herself. But then it wasn’t I who said she was trying to seduce every man around her.”

Ranulf pounded his fists on the table, startling the servants who had recommenced prepping the trestles with food. But he didn’t deny the accusation.

“My God! You really like her, don’t you? I knew you were attracted to the woman, but you
really
like her. I should have known. From the moment you returned to camp that night, grumbling about how the women in this area were too damn pretty, I knew a female had finally burrowed underneath that hardened exterior. I just never dreamed you would also get to
her
.”

“I hope I’m around when a woman finally lays claim to your sanity. With your impetuous personality, your actions will be far more out of character than mine.”

Tyr clapped his mug on the table and threw his hands up in the air. “Not me. I swore an oath against women and commitments, and it is an oath I intend to keep. But you, my friend, are not me and do not have my reasons for rejecting happiness. Go to her, a woman like that would forgive a man, she might even find life in a stone. So much so, that she may even consider marrying him. Of course, he might have to grovel a little.”

Ranulf pushed himself up, wishing Tyr was correct. Unfortunately, Bronwyn wasn’t about to marry a man like him, not before and certainly not now. “I’m going to take a walk.”

Bronwyn stepped into her room, leaned against the door, and squeezed her eyes closed. Why was God taunting her? Never had her emotions been so shaken and taken to extremes in such a short period of time.

Ranulf infuriated her, but when she was in his arms, she felt like a woman, beautiful and alluring, something she hadn’t thought possible. Something she had never truly felt within herself. And now that she had, she wanted to experience it again and again. But she had to stop wishing for a miracle.

Her sisters needed to be protected and so did Ranulf. He didn’t know about Luc and his hired mercenaries. She could tell Ranulf about the baron and his ruthlessness, but that would only put him in a futile position. Either Ranulf would feel ethically forced to hand her over, belittling himself in front of his men, or his pride would make her stay and, as a result, lose everything. One just did not flagrantly disobey a king’s decree.

However, if she and her sisters disappeared from Hunswick, so would the danger. With the three of them gone, Syndlear would revert to its vassal’s owner—Ranulf—and there would be nothing Luc Craven could do about it. Leaving was her only choice.

Bronwyn pushed herself off the door and unlaced the snug bliaut. Pulling it off her head, she draped it over the chair and fingered the soft rich blue material. What a waste beautiful clothes were on her.

She walked over to the hearth and stoked the fire. Once the room warmed enough, she removed the rest of her undergarments, casting them alongside the jewel-colored gown. Tomorrow, during the hunt, she would slip away and head to Syndlear. From there, she and her sisters would journey north.

With a sigh, she pulled the coverlet back and slipped into the bed, enjoying the feeling of the soft, worn linen sheets against her naked skin. She had only two more days of this personal, private luxury.

Ranulf sank farther down into the same chair he had been in when he’d nearly lost control with Bronwyn. The hour was late and the Hall was nearly empty. Only a few servants remained, cleaning up and taking down trestles from the evening meal. He had eaten the last bit of fish and bread, which were both good, but without butter, cheese, or meat, it felt more like a snack. And after two days of the sparse fare, more and more of his men were electing to sleep outside the castle walls—and fending for themselves when it came to dinner. The meat they cooked wouldn’t be tasty, but it would be far more filling.

He almost wished he could be one of them. This afternoon had been a disaster. In the span of his and Bronwyn’s relatively short interaction, he had felt hopeful, elated, guilty, incredibly jealous, envious, and deeply angry.

And worse, she knew why.

Her accusation had been uncomfortably accurate.

It had been a long time since he had mulled about his injury or what it had cost him. For years, his scars had impeded necessary relationships and negated the idea of finding voluntary ones, such as companionship. Passion, he quickly discovered, had to be reciprocated for it to be called such; otherwise it was just an animalistic lust to be satiated and forgotten. As he grew older, he learned that pleasure and desire were far from common and few couples truly shared either. That helped.

Then he had met Bronwyn, a wisp of an angel who had demonstrated more honest passion than he had received from anyone, let alone a female. And she had every right to hate him.

First, he had ordered her out of her home, then insulted her, and after she had saved his life, he had practically mauled her—twice—and then to make sure that it never happened again, he essentially accused her of being a harlot, and why? Because just the idea of Tyr and her spending a morning together hunting made him crazy with jealousy.

Even now she was probably berating herself for allowing the kiss and cursing him for initiating it. She certainly wouldn’t ever allow herself to be put in the position to be touched by him again. She had probably thanked God a thousand times for making her come to her senses before things truly went too far. For he certainly hadn’t intended to halt that last embrace. In truth, he had forgotten everything—that they were in a public hall, that servants were around, that she was innocent, even that he was the last man any woman—especially a lady—would want forced upon her. He had been consumed with desire. Desire to kiss and caress every inch of her, desire to make her come alive with passion, and to make her his in every way. And all that emotion had transformed into anger, then raging jealousy, and now remorse and regret.

He didn’t know what to do with such strong feelings, and burying them as he had been doing all his life was impossible. They were too strong and had come to him too fast. As a result, he had prematurely ended any chance he might have had for happiness. And it wasn’t until she left that he realized just how much he wanted to know her better and have her know him…and possibly like what she saw.

So he had left to think…and to take care of some things. He had first headed for the gatehouse to find young Tory, the man who had captured Bronwyn’s attention long enough for her to determine his “sweet” nature. Tory wasn’t there, but Norval was. The older soldier was married with several children, making him the perfect guard for Bronwyn. Ranulf gave him instructions to watch her—slyly—but no matter what, she was not to exit the gates of Hunswick.

He eventually found Tory at the stables. The young man had a sappy smile and facial features Ranulf knew the opposite sex found to be attractive. He was tempted to give the boy battlement duty for the winter, making him stay up nights and sleep days, but he ordered him to Syndlear instead.

Ranulf then escaped the castle and went for a walk until his shoulder began to truly ache. Upon his return, he had gone to his solar only to leave again immediately. Her fragrance was still in the air and laced his covers. Alone in his room was the last place he wanted to be. So, he had gone back to the Great Hall and had not left the hearth chair since.

“Would you like some more wine, my lord?”

Ranulf blinked and cocked his head to see who was speaking. The woman was small but she possessed the full figure a woman received after birthing multiple children. She had frizzy brown hair and freckles along her cheeks and nose that kept her looking younger than she probably was.

He shook his head and watched her take the pitcher and his mug away. He wasn’t used to having servants. His family had been far from poor, but for the past decade he had been at the disposal of Henry and in many ways a servant himself. Now that he was one of those rare men with limited power over others, he had a choice: Be like his father and abuse his station, or set expectations and reward those who met them.

The woman returned to clean the table with a damp rag and then moved to put another log on the fire. “There’s no need,” Ranulf said, halting her just as her fingers wrapped around the heavy piece of wood. She rose and wiped off her hands on the cloth tied around her waist. Just before she moved back out of sight, Ranulf coughed to regain her attention. “What’s your name?”

Both her nut-colored brows sprang upward. “I…um…most around here call me Chrissie, my lord.”

Ranulf shrugged with his chin and nodded. “Thank you, Chrissie. You and the others can retire. I will see to my needs for the rest of the night.”