Authors: The Bride of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (15 page)
Osborn grinned. He’d achieved his aim, so he strode off in the direction of his guards milling about near the empty kitchen. Sir Lovell was less certain of Rand’s intentions toward Josselyn, but after another dark look from Rand, he quit their company.
Finally Rand was alone with her. Except that they were not actually alone. In the open camp they were visible to anyone who wished to observe them—and it seemed on this morning that everyone wanted to do just that. Rand’s only consolation, though meager, was that the others were all beyond hearing.
He kept his voice low and calm. “Do not congratulate yourself too quickly on your success, Josselyn. This skirmish you have won is only that. A skirmish. And in truth, not even that. You had but to ask me and I would have granted you access to the kitchen.”
Her smug expression faded, and he suspected why. She’d never wanted access to the kitchen, nor to the hot labors that cooking for so many men entailed. She’d wanted only to counter him, and so she had. She’d not anticipated the benefits that would accrue to him. He would take great pleasure in reminding her.
“Gruel will be sufficient for breakfast. Keep it hot and make plenty of it. I’ll send an extra man to help you and
Odo with the midday meal. I suspect you will want to cook fish while they are so plentiful.”
Odo with the midday meal. I suspect you will want to cook fish while they are so plentiful.”
“You trust me not to poison you?” She glared at him.
Had her garb been finer and her hair more intricately coiffed, her haughty expression would have marked her a queen, or at least a woman of rare breeding. Certainly as noble as any woman at the royal court. But the plain wool cloak and the loosened curls blowing against her cheek reminded him that she was Welsh. Her value was not slight, but the royal court was not where she belonged either.
Though it pained him to admit it, he’d been right to consider her for Jasper. It was the only solution that made any sense. But that understanding weighed heavily on his mind.
He answered her in a somber voice. “You will not poison us for the same reason your uncle will not attack me. The consequences would be too dear.”
“Should I choose to poison you there will be no consequences save the one you will suffer.”
“You cannot poison us all,” he snapped. “But I warn you, Josselyn. Should even one of my men sicken at your hand, it is your people who will pay. Your village that will suffer.”
Their angry gazes clashed and held. Would she truly try such a foolhardy scheme? Rand was not about to take that chance. “You will taste your preparations in my presence before anyone else eats.”
She shrugged, but she could not entirely hide her annoyance with him. “Whatever you wish. My lord,” she added, sneering at what should have been a term of respect. She turned to go, but again he held her back. She jerked her eyes back up to his, clearly prepared to snap at him. But they were closer now, their faces but inches apart, and as the moment stretched out, the tension between them grew.
“One thing more, Josselyn. When the meal is done, return you to my quarters. I will want a bath. And my hair needs cutting.”
Her arm was slender and warm in his hand. Her eyes wide and blue. He could hear her breathing, and her scent of soap and warm skin filled all his senses. She said, “If you seek by such activities to make yourself more acceptable to women, you do but waste your time and mine.”
“My thanks,” he answered, deliberately misinterpreting her insult. “But I believe there is always room for improvement.”
“Twpsyn,”
she muttered. “That means half-wit,” she added with acid sweetness. “May I go now?”
she muttered. “That means half-wit,” she added with acid sweetness. “May I go now?”
Rand released her, though it was not what he wanted to do. Had they been anywhere else, he would have kissed that tart mouth to silence. He would have responded to the challenge she presented and let the battle between them exhaust itself where he knew it should—where it would if the circumstances were only different: in his bed.
But there were other considerations he could not escape. There was much more at stake than this ungovernable need he had to take her to his bed. He’d come unwillingly to Wales but he meant to make the best of it. He meant to leave a powerful castle and a powerful legacy behind him here, and in the process increase his king’s indebtedness to him. Josselyn was not a part of that plan, save as a lure to his brother. He must remember that.
Still, he couldn’t help thinking that he should have taken her in that little clearing while he had the chance. He’d been a fool to stop just because she was an untried maiden. She’d been willing. That should have been enough. Now … Now he feared he’d always hunger for the woman who would wed his brother.
He watched her march stiff-backed to the kitchen. The men moved apart to let her through. Not a coarse call was made to her; not a crude offer or an insulting suggestion. They might be starved for the warm company of women, but they were even more starved for satisfying victuals.
Only when she finally disappeared into the kitchen did he let out a harsh exhalation and turn away. “
Twpsyn.
” He
repeated the insult she’d cast at him. He was most assuredly a half-wit when it came to Josselyn ap Carreg Du. She robbed him of half his wits and all his sense.
Twpsyn.
” He
repeated the insult she’d cast at him. He was most assuredly a half-wit when it came to Josselyn ap Carreg Du. She robbed him of half his wits and all his sense.
But not anymore, he told himself. This was all for the best, keeping her busy in the kitchen. Were she languishing at this moment in his quarters, on his bed, he’d never get a minute’s work done.
Still, as he strode down the hill to the lowest part of the new wall, deliberately avoiding breakfast, he could not escape the image that lingered in his head. Josselyn bathing him. Josselyn bending over him. Josselyn trimming his hair, her fingers threading through the—
“Twpsyn.
” He broke off, cursing himself again.
“Twpsyn
.”
” He broke off, cursing himself again.
“Twpsyn
.”
Who was the half-wit? Josselyn asked herself several hours later. She’d prepared a simple gruel for the morning meal, then immediately begun a hearty fish stew. Odo had learned enough from Gladys to take charge of the bread baking and now, with the meal complete and the washing up left to one of the workers who’d sprained his ankle and could not work on the wall, she was finished with her tasks.
Yet still she lingered in the kitchen. She was hot and tired, and in sore need of a good washing herself. But she did not want to return to Randulf Fitz Hugh’s quarters. What if he was there?
She filled a dipper with fresh water and took a long cooling drink. Then she poured the rest on a strip of clean cloth and bathed her face and neck as best she could. Her hair was a knotted mess, loosely braided then rebraided in an effort to keep it out of her way as she’d worked. She had no
couvrechef,
nor even an apron. She’d had to make do with a torn length of fustian to protect her skirt, and had rolled up her sleeves.
couvrechef,
nor even an apron. She’d had to make do with a torn length of fustian to protect her skirt, and had rolled up her sleeves.
The work had been hard, hot and—ultimately—for the best. She’d had precious little time to worry about Rand, though she’d noticed when he did not approach the kitchens,
either for breakfast or the midday meal. So much for his threat to have her taste the meal under his watchful eye.
either for breakfast or the midday meal. So much for his threat to have her taste the meal under his watchful eye.
But why had he stayed away?
She gave herself a mental shake. Why should she care? It wasn’t as if she worried he might starve to death. One of his men had probably carried food to him.
She didn’t care at all why he stayed away, she told herself as she wrung out the cloth, then draped it over a line that ran across one corner of the kitchen. She needed to think and one thing she knew was that when he was around her mind turned to mush. She turned into the half-wit she’d accused him of being. So even though she dearly wished to get out of the overheated kitchen, she was unwilling to signal her captor that her labors were complete. She settled herself in the one window and stared out at the sky. She needed to calm herself and collect her scattered wits. She needed to think and plan.
She needed to escape.
She propped her chin on her hand. Escape would be difficult. Even though she was not locked in a prison, the fact that she was the lone female in the camp made her more noticeable than ever. Every one of the Englishmen knew her situation. Every one of them would make note of her comings and goings.
That did not mean she ought not try to escape, should the opportunity present itself. It only meant that she must consider other means of securing her freedom—especially if Rand was determined in his plan to marry her to this brother of his.
The very thought infuriated her. The gall of the man! How could he threaten seduction one moment, then in the next plan to give her to his brother? The wretch! No doubt he and this brother were two of a kind. Big oafs so sure of their appeal that they thought no woman could resist them.
Then her anger gave way to panic. God help her if the brother possessed anywhere near the appeal Rand did.
She sat there quietly, trembling with terrible self-knowledge.
If Rand pressed her too hard she feared she would give in to him. And then what would become of her? Was she truly to live out her life as wife to Rand’s brother?
If Rand pressed her too hard she feared she would give in to him. And then what would become of her? Was she truly to live out her life as wife to Rand’s brother?
Panic strengthened her resolve. She had to escape! But how? And how long until this Jasper arrived at Rosecliffe?
All at once she sat up straighter. Her breath caught in her chest as a sudden thought burst fully formed into her head. If she could not escape, perhaps her arrogant captor could be convinced to let her go.
He’d taken her hostage. Why couldn’t her uncle play that same game? Why couldn’t he lie in wait for Jasper Fitz Hugh?
Surely Rand would release her in trade for his precious younger brother.
J
asper Fitz Hugh frowned down at the parchment in his hand. He’d had more wine than he needed last night, as well as more women than he could rightly handle. His head ached, his body was stiff, and he worried, only half-jokingly, that his manhood might one day fall off from overuse. And now, with the sun only half-risen, he was awakened with a message that made no sense at all.
asper Fitz Hugh frowned down at the parchment in his hand. He’d had more wine than he needed last night, as well as more women than he could rightly handle. His head ached, his body was stiff, and he worried, only half-jokingly, that his manhood might one day fall off from overuse. And now, with the sun only half-risen, he was awakened with a message that made no sense at all.
He lifted his eyes from the swimming ink letters, grimacing at the pain generated by that cautious movement, and stared at the weary messenger. “Why this change of heart? Why does my brother bid me come to Wales without delay when before he ordered me to stay in London?”
The other man shrugged. “I cannot say, milord. But I’ve made the journey by horseback in record time on his orders. We’re to leave this very day.” The man shifted from one foot to the other when Jasper squinted incredulously at him. “Them’s his words, not mine, milord. I’d just as soon rest a day or two,” he added under his breath.
“He expects me to leave today?”
The man nodded, then took a wary step back when Jasper lurched to his feet. As if he had the ability to do anything beyond stand there, swaying, Jasper thought. “Send my squire in,” he muttered. “And wait outside.”
Only when the door was closed and Lawrence stood waiting
did Jasper speak. “We leave tomorrow for Wales. Send up a bath—and a wench to keep me from drowning in it. Then take yon fellow to the kitchen. Feed him. Ply him with wine—the best.” He rubbed his face and fought down a wave of nausea brought on by the thought of actually sitting on a horse while wine still sloshed through his veins. “Do whatever is necessary to find out what’s afoot in my brother’s household. Find out what has changed in the short time he’s been gone. And hand me that pot—”
did Jasper speak. “We leave tomorrow for Wales. Send up a bath—and a wench to keep me from drowning in it. Then take yon fellow to the kitchen. Feed him. Ply him with wine—the best.” He rubbed his face and fought down a wave of nausea brought on by the thought of actually sitting on a horse while wine still sloshed through his veins. “Do whatever is necessary to find out what’s afoot in my brother’s household. Find out what has changed in the short time he’s been gone. And hand me that pot—”
Lawrence was gone before the first retch. As Jasper emptied his stomach into the chamber pot he wondered why the man bothered to remain in his employ.
Still, that mystery was of no moment. More important was the truth behind Rand’s change of heart. Whatever Lawrence learned, however, it would not stop Jasper from going to Wales. And with any luck, by the time he arrived he would have sobered up and his head would have ceased pounding.
There would be far less drinking in his brother’s household, but for once Jasper would not be sorry. There would also be no women, he realized, and that thought drew him up.
He rinsed his mouth with stale wine and spat it out, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. There would be no Englishwomen, but there would be women. And though they might not speak his language, he’d learned a bit of theirs already. Besides, there was one language all tongues spoke.
Welsh women, he mused. He was tired of English wenches, anyway, whether they were lowborn or of the noblest breeding. A lusty Welshwoman sounded better and better.
He looked around and cautiously stretched, tilting his head from one side to the other.
“Lawrence, where’s my bath?” he bellowed, only wincing a little at the pain that shot through his head. After all, what was a little pain to a knight of the realm? He’d be as
good as ever come the afternoon. Rand would not be disappointed that he’d sent for his younger brother, Jasper vowed. He would prove his worth to Rand this time. He grinned to himself and scratched his belly. He’d prove his worth.
good as ever come the afternoon. Rand would not be disappointed that he’d sent for his younger brother, Jasper vowed. He would prove his worth to Rand this time. He grinned to himself and scratched his belly. He’d prove his worth.
It was one thing to plot against Rand. It was another thing entirely for Josselyn to put her plan into action. After an afternoon weighing one idea against another, one possibility versus the next, she was certain of only one thing: she would have to place herself directly in harm’s way if she was to learn anything helpful to her escape. She would have to accost Rand instead of avoiding him. And she would
have
to keep her wits about her.
have
to keep her wits about her.
“He’s an Englishman, and I hate all Englishmen,” she reminded herself over and over, chanting the words like a prayer. “He’s an Englishman and I hate him.” When she spied him with Sir Lovell near a section of wall that still remained only a ditch—a section that was nearer the forest than any other section—she decided to put her plan into action.
“Wait,” Odo called out to her when she slipped out the door and angled away from the kitchen. But Josselyn paid him no mind. She didn’t head straight for Rand, however. It would be interesting to see how swiftly he noticed her.
Swift indeed. She had not progressed beyond the nearby half-constructed alehouse before a burly soldier pulling a cart loaded with scaffold poles called out, “Here, miss. You’re to stay in the kitchen or in Sir Rand’s quarters—”
She ignored him as she had Odo, and strode across the stony ground as if she owned it—which, in truth, she did.
“Wait!” the man cried.
From the corner of her eye she saw Rand look up. She was not near enough to the woods to win a foot race with him, and anyway, a gang of workers laying rubble between the slowly rising wall faces labored squarely in her path.
No, she would not attempt an escape today. But he needn’t know that.
No, she would not attempt an escape today. But he needn’t know that.
She increased her pace, still watching Rand. Only when his determined strides turned into a run did she veer in his direction. She marched purposefully toward him while he slowed to a stop.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He blocked her path and crossed his arms across his chest. The perfect image of male arrogance, she decided. She met his stormy glare with a placid expression. “Why, I was looking for you. What else could possibly lure me from my labors in your kitchen?”
He grinned at the sarcasm that crept into her tone. “You chose to work there.”
“So I did. What other choice was I given? To sit and stew in my solitary prison, darning your stockings?”
“It needn’t be solitary. You have only to beg my presence and I will gladly join you there.”
“Beg your presence?” She bit back any further retort, for she knew it pleased him to see her riled. She crossed her arms, mimicking his stance. “If I am to be forced to play the role of hostage while you build these ugly walls, the least you can do is provide me the minimal comforts.”
“My quarters are not comfortable?”
“Your quarters are furnished to meet a man’s needs, not a woman’s.”
Again he grinned. “If you wish to sleep in my bed, you have only to ask.”
How she wanted to slap that smug expression from his face. “What I want is a change of clothing, my own combs, and the other small possessions that make a woman’s life more comfortable.”
“I see.” His dark gaze moved over her, head to toe and back again, a slow, assessing survey that raised goose-flesh on her arms and shoulders. “You are lovely as you are, Josselyn. If you were any more so …”
He let his husky words trail away and for an endless
moment Josselyn could not breathe. Why must he say such things to her? Why did she react so foolishly?
moment Josselyn could not breathe. Why must he say such things to her? Why did she react so foolishly?
She tilted her face away from him and reminded herself that he was her enemy whom she hated. She could goad him just as he now goaded her. “Your opinion of my appearance is irrelevant, I’m afraid. ’Tis your brother I needs must impress. Not you.”
She glared up at him and after a long silence he exhaled harshly. “Yes. My brother.” He paused before he spoke again. “Tell me what you need. I will send a messenger to your uncle.”
A messenger. That would do her no good. Josselyn stared at the woods that lay between Rosecliffe and Carreg Du. The wind carried the scent of the rousing spring, of the forest and its creatures. She’d long taken that particular mixture of scents for granted. But not anymore. “Shall I write down a list?”
He let out a snort of laughter. “And write some other message I cannot translate? I think not. Just relate to me what you want and I’ll see the message delivered.”
Inwardly she groaned. What good would that do her? Then, as she stared longingly at her beloved wildwood, Josselyn spied a movement. She glanced at Rand but he was watching her. She feigned a sigh and looked toward the woodland again. One of her uncle’s men? Someone come to rescue her?
On impulse she moved nearer the wall, a hip-high barrier at this point. Hip-high, but wider than she was tall. “Let me think,” she murmured, delaying as much as she could. She stopped at the wall, conscious that he was less than an arm’s length to her left. She searched the forest. “I’ll need a clean chemise.” Where was that man she’d seen? “Fresh stockings.” Had she imagined the movement?
Then something swayed in the low branches of a holly tree and to her relief—and then horror—she spied Rhonwen!
“Fresh stockings,” she repeated, glancing away and then
back to the holly. What was Rhonwen doing here? Why hadn’t Gladys kept her closer to the village? But then Rhonwen seemed ever to oppose her mother’s wishes.
back to the holly. What was Rhonwen doing here? Why hadn’t Gladys kept her closer to the village? But then Rhonwen seemed ever to oppose her mother’s wishes.
“Anything else?”
Josselyn gasped at the reminder of her captor’s presence, then peered warily at him. He watched her with a curious expression. What would he do if he discovered the child?
The answer came to her, simple and surprising. He would not hurt Rhonwen. Josselyn could not explain why she was so convinced of that, but she knew it was so. Her fear for the girl vanished, replaced by cunning. “It seems we have a visitor.” She gestured toward the child’s hiding place.
At once his focus shifted to the woods. Like the warrior he was, his every muscle tightened in anticipation, in preparation for a fight if necessary. He did not move or so much as twitch. Yet Josselyn sensed his tension as if it were a tangible thing.
“Get back to my quarters.”
She smirked. “Could it be my countrymen come in force to rescue me?”
At once he yanked her behind him and drew the short sword that hung at his side. The sound of steel slithering against the steel-and-hide sheath killed what little humor she was taking of the situation. She grabbed his sword hand and held on. “It’s only Rhonwen. The little girl. You know the one.”
At that moment a stone came sailing across the clearing. It fell short and rattled on the wall, but it was followed by another.
“Let her go, you pig!”
the shrill voice screamed in Welsh.
“You vilest of vile creatures! Let her go!”
the shrill voice screamed in Welsh.
“You vilest of vile creatures! Let her go!”
His tension vanished. She felt his grip loosen on the hilt of his sword and his fingers flex. Only then did she realize she still held on to his hand. She released it as if he burned her.
Rand slid the sword back in its sheath and, after a searching look at her, turned his attention back to Rhonwen. “Begone,
brat!” he yelled at the invisible child. He brandished his fist. “Get you home where you belong.”
brat!” he yelled at the invisible child. He brandished his fist. “Get you home where you belong.”
“She doesn’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“Then you tell her,” he grunted. “Tell her to keep well away from here else I’ll make her my prisoner too.”
“You wouldn’t.” Josselyn shook her head. “That’s an idle threat and we both know it.”
She hadn’t realized she was smiling until he gave her a half-grin. “You know me that well?”
She averted her eyes from his gleaming ones.
He is my enemy and I hate him,
she reminded herself. She must take advantage of this situation and not become distracted by him no matter how attractive he was when he smiled upon her. She cleared her throat. “She’s worried about me. If she sees I’ve not been harmed, she’ll be appeased. I’ll try to reassure her.” She turned toward the forest. “Rhonwen,
is that you?”
He is my enemy and I hate him,
she reminded herself. She must take advantage of this situation and not become distracted by him no matter how attractive he was when he smiled upon her. She cleared her throat. “She’s worried about me. If she sees I’ve not been harmed, she’ll be appeased. I’ll try to reassure her.” She turned toward the forest. “Rhonwen,
is that you?”
“Run, Josselyn, run! If he pursues you I’ll hit him in the head with a rock.
”
”
“What is that about a rock?” Rand asked from just behind her.
“She says she’s going to hit you in the head with a rock.”
“Humph. Tell her to go home. That you’re not being mistreated.”
“Listen to me, Rhonwen. Listen carefully. I’ve not been harmed but you must carry a very important message to my uncle.
”
”
“Why don’t you run away?”
the child called back. The tree branch shook and one foot appeared, then another. With a graceful leap the child landed on the ground.
“hurry. You can run faster than he can.
”
the child called back. The tree branch shook and one foot appeared, then another. With a graceful leap the child landed on the ground.
“hurry. You can run faster than he can.
”
“What did she say?” Rand asked.
“I’m having a hard time convincing her that I won’t be harmed. After all, you just drew your sword and you won’t let me leave. What else is a child to believe but the worst? This might take a minute or two.”
“Then get on with it. I don’t have time to deal with children.”
Josselyn suppressed a grin of triumph.
“Listen closely, Rhonwen. They want me to wed an Englishman. This one’s brother. Tell my uncle to watch for his arrival. To capture him and then purchase my freedom in exchange for his.”
“Listen closely, Rhonwen. They want me to wed an Englishman. This one’s brother. Tell my uncle to watch for his arrival. To capture him and then purchase my freedom in exchange for his.”
“Marry
an Englishman?
” Even from this distance Josselyn could see the horror on the girl’s face.
an Englishman?
” Even from this distance Josselyn could see the horror on the girl’s face.
“If my uncle can capture the man first, I won’t have to marry him at all. But you must explain that to him. Can
you manage it?”
you manage it?”
There was a short pause and Josselyn prayed Rhonwen would realize how important this was. Then the child thrust her hair out of her face and spat on the ground.
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