Authors: The Bride of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (16 page)
“I hate these English. They killed my father. But I won’t let them kill you.
”
”
“You’ll tell my uncle?”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Well?” Rand asked. “She seems calmer.”
“I told her not to worry.”
“Tell her what you need. The clothes and the combs. Maybe she’ll rest easier if she can be useful to you in some way.”
At that odd remark Josselyn looked over at him. He was staring at the little girl across the way. “All right,” she said, still puzzled.
“Rhonwen, something else you can do for me. Tell my aunt to send me a few things. My combs. Some clothing. I may be here for a while. At least I want him to think I will.”
“Rhonwen, something else you can do for me. Tell my aunt to send me a few things. My combs. Some clothing. I may be here for a while. At least I want him to think I will.”
“I’ll tell her,
” the child replied.
“Don’t you worry, Josselyn. We shall set you free. And we’ll stab all these English and send them back to their king, bleeding all over his ship.”
Then with a wave and a flash of skirts she was gone.
” the child replied.
“Don’t you worry, Josselyn. We shall set you free. And we’ll stab all these English and send them back to their king, bleeding all over his ship.”
Then with a wave and a flash of skirts she was gone.
“What was that last? I heard something about English and ships.”
“’Tis said her father was murdered by the English. She’d like to return the favor.”
“Bloodthirsty little wench, isn’t she?”
“She has good reason. But that is neither here nor there,” Josselyn said, conscious now that he’d turned all his attention on her. “She will tell my aunt what I need, and you will not need to send a messenger.”
“How convenient for me. Or perhaps you?” One of his brows arched in that infuriatingly superior manner he had. “Pray tell me, Josselyn, what were you about when I intercepted you?”
“I was looking for you,” she replied with a shrug. “Why do you ask? Do you fear I might attempt to escape?”
“I’m sure you’d attempt it did you harbor any hope of success.”
“Yea, I would indeed.”
They stood a little apart, the wall and forest to one side, the English encampment on the other. The sun broke through the patchy clouds and glinted in his midnight hair. Josselyn swallowed hard. “Well, I’ll be going back to the kitchen.”
He caught her by the arm. “But you haven’t said why you were looking for me.”
She shivered at his touch, so impersonal and yet somehow not impersonal at all. Was she hot or cold? She did not know. She forced herself to answer him. “Though I see now it was a foolish endeavor, I had hoped to convince you to set me free. To abandon this foolish plan to keep me as a hostage to peace.”
“I see. And you had no notion that one of your kinsmen hid within hailing distance.”
She bristled. “How could I have known that? And what good would it do anyway?” She pulled away from him and he let her go. “Will you release me?”
He shook his head “No.” His eyes slid over her as if he measured her value, but whether for himself or his brother, she did not know. “No, I will keep you until there is no longer a reason to do so.”
“Ci ffiaidd!”
Furious—unsettled—she whirled and stalked away. She could hear his steps close behind her.
Furious—unsettled—she whirled and stalked away. She could hear his steps close behind her.
“Fetch me some victuals from the kitchen,” he called out to her back. “And tell Odo to heat water for my bath. Then come you back to my quarters. Your labors are not yet done this day.”
Josselyn kicked a stone out of her path, and only just resisted snatching up another and flinging it at him. Curse his soul for tormenting her so! Well, two could play at this game. She’d discovered certain weapons she could use against him. At least three. And she meant to make the most of them. Or perhaps they were better termed weaknesses.
First among them was that he possessed a core of honor. A core of decency. He might be her enemy, but she’d recognized that much about him in the short time she’d spent in his company. Her second weapon was his plan to wed her to this Jasper. This brother. She did not believe he would harm her and then turn around and make her his sister-in-law. Some men might, but not him.
The third cudgel she wielded over him, however, was one that could as easily hurt her as him. He desired her. If she could just control her own response to him, she could torment him with that desire, while using his honor and his brother as a shield to protect herself. She could torture him unmercifully—
if
she was very careful.
if
she was very careful.
And in so doing, he might grow careless and she might escape.
If
she could resist him.
If
she could resist him.
She reached the kitchen out of breath, but whether from the brisk walk or from her heightened emotions, she could not say. She glanced back. He had halted to speak to Alan, but he looked up and met her gaze.
She looked away, her heart pounding anew.
This would not do, this reaction to his every glance. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. She would feed him. She would bathe him. And she would remain unaffected by him. It was the only chance she had to return to her people.
And to Owain?
No, she decided once and for all. She would not marry Owain. She could not. She and her uncle would have to find another way to marshal aid and drive the English out. She could not do it through a marriage to Owain.
It’s all due to Randulf Fitz Hugh. Because you desire him, you cannot stomach the idea of sharing Owain’s bed.
But that dismal truth could not change the other, greater truth.
He is my enemy and I hate him.
She hung on to that reminder as she girded herself for the bath to come.
But that dismal truth could not change the other, greater truth.
He is my enemy and I hate him.
She hung on to that reminder as she girded herself for the bath to come.
Furious with her contradictory emotions, she shoved open the kitchen door. “Heat water,” she ordered the startled Odo. “And lots of it. Then carry it to your master’s quarters.”
“He wants another bath?”
“He doesn’t know what he wants,” she muttered, though more to herself than to the manservant.
Odo grinned. “I’d say he knows very well what he wants, miss, and you’re it.”
“Do your work and save your wit for someone who appreciates it!” she snapped at the grinning Englishman. But her cheeks burned scarlet.
Everyone knew what Rand wanted and everyone believed he’d get it. It would come as no surprise to her if they laid wagers on it. They wagered on everything else.
But they had much to learn about Welsh pride, and so did Randulf Fitz Hugh.
She just prayed that she would be the one to teach him.
O
do came with the valuable tin tub, then, in short order, with two double-loaded buckets of steaming water. Josselyn made no move to help him with his tasks. She was too consumed with the fears that beset her.
do came with the valuable tin tub, then, in short order, with two double-loaded buckets of steaming water. Josselyn made no move to help him with his tasks. She was too consumed with the fears that beset her.
Would Rand remove all his clothing in front of her? Would he require that she bathe his entire body, or only those portions not submerged in the oval tub? She’d never seen a tub of that sort before. Her only bathing had been done in the ice-cold river. Any other washing was done with a cloth and a bucket and a sliver of the prized soap she helped her aunt make. She’d never taken a tub bath of the sort he intended, so she did not know what would be expected of her.
One thing she knew, however, was that he could manage very well without her help if he wanted to. The whole point, unfortunately, was that he did not want to. He wanted her help. Or something else.
She swallowed her terror as best she could, and when Odo gave her a grin and a wink, she scowled. “Go on about your work. And if someone from Carreg Du arrives with a bundle for me, bring it directly here. Do you understand?” she added when he continued to gawk at her.
“You needn’t fuss at me, miss. ’Tis milord Rand wot has you in such a dither, not me. More’s the pity,” he
continued in a voice he did not even try to mute.
continued in a voice he did not even try to mute.
“Begone from here, wretch!”
Yet once he was gone she wished him back. Anyone’s company, even a foolish English servant’s, was preferable to being alone with her fears. She stared about the room. Dusk was creeping in, turning the room shadowy, and its corners vague.
She needed more light to stave off any hint of seduction. Not that she didn’t mean to torment him with his desire for her, for she full well intended to do so. It was the only real power she held over him. It was her own perverse desire for him that she needed to keep at bay. Though freedom beckoned as a reward for her daring, she knew her plan was fraught with danger. So she lit a twig in the banked fire, then lit the one lamp and four candles she found.
Much better, she decided as the golden light chased the shadows away. She should build up the fire as well, but why make the room more comfortable for him? The colder it was, the briefer would his bath be. With any luck his overheated cock would freeze and fall off.
She laughed at the thought, then paused. How much easier a place the world would be if certain men could be castrated that way. A magical bath, off it fell, and suddenly their power was gone. She had no doubt whatsoever that the loss of virility would render the most ruthless of men helpless. Should Owain have his manhood removed, perhaps then all his meanness would disappear.
Were she forced to wed him, Josselyn pondered, she might be forced to test that theory.
But Owain was not her problem now. Randulf Fitz Hugh was. And as if responding to her thoughts of him, his step sounded from beyond the door. Josselyn had just enough time to sit upon a three-legged stool near the hearth before he strode eagerly into the room.
“What a cozy scene greets me this evening.” He grinned at her. “A steamy bath, a platter of food, and a beautiful wench to serve me.” He pulled off his gloves and hung his
sword belt on a peg. “I’ll bathe first, then eat. Come, help me disrobe, Josselyn. Set the food nearer the fire to keep warm—” He broke off. “Why is there no fire?”
sword belt on a peg. “I’ll bathe first, then eat. Come, help me disrobe, Josselyn. Set the food nearer the fire to keep warm—” He broke off. “Why is there no fire?”
“Did you want a fire? I don’t recall you asking for a fire.”
He pulled his cowl over his head, tossed it aside, and stared boldly at her. “If you did not stoke the fire in the hearth, then perhaps it was because you plan to stoke another sort of fire in me. The embers already burn,” he added, caressing her with his eyes.
He is my enemy and I hate him,
Josselyn reminded herself. She gave him a disdainful look. “Is your brother equally possessed of such limited interests as are you? Does he look at every woman and see only a receptacle for his lust?”
Josselyn reminded herself. She gave him a disdainful look. “Is your brother equally possessed of such limited interests as are you? Does he look at every woman and see only a receptacle for his lust?”
He sobered at her words, but only a little. “If he has earned the reputation given him, then I’m afraid he is precisely as you describe. But you must know, fair Josselyn, that I see you as far more than that.”
“Oh, yes. I am also a political pawn that you can use to get your way.”
“I was thinking more that you were a convenient serving wench, well able to scrub away the sweat and dirt of my labors.”
“A serving wench—”
“Let me finish. I see you also as a talented translator and a capable teacher.”
He said the last with such sincerity that Josselyn felt somewhat appeased. But it did not last, for with a grin he threw himself into his chair and held out one booted foot. “At the moment, however, ’tis neither the translator nor the teacher I need, but the serving wench. So come, wench. Remove your master’s garments so he may soak in yon water before it cools.”
Somehow she buried her fury. Somehow she suppressed her urge to use his own sword to separate the source of his male power from his arrogant male body. She’d gone down
this road with him once before and she knew she could not win. So she undressed him swiftly. Boots and stockings. Tunic and chainse. Braies and lacings.
this road with him once before and she knew she could not win. So she undressed him swiftly. Boots and stockings. Tunic and chainse. Braies and lacings.
“You can manage the rest,” she muttered, turning away on the pretext of searching out a length of toweling. She did not intend to remove his small cloth.
“So I can. However, I’d prefer you do it,” he said in a husky voice.
She swallowed hard.
Ignore how he makes you feel. Remember instead your need to escape him.
She made herself face him, but kept her eyes fixed upon his face. “I am unused to Norman ways. Does a wife do this task for her husband? Will I be forced to perform this ritual for your brother?”
Ignore how he makes you feel. Remember instead your need to escape him.
She made herself face him, but kept her eyes fixed upon his face. “I am unused to Norman ways. Does a wife do this task for her husband? Will I be forced to perform this ritual for your brother?”
His brow lowered at her reminder of the brother he meant her for and she felt a grim satisfaction. She pressed on. “Am I to practice this bathing ritual on you in order that I will be more proficient for your brother?” She smiled and waited, well aware of the muscle that jumped in his jaw.
“I have never had a wife. I don’t know what little tasks they perform for their husbands. I suspect that each couple is somewhat different.” Then still facing her, he began to remove the small cloth himself.
Somehow she kept her eyes on his face. This was his way of challenging her and she refused to let him win. But it was difficult beyond the telling, because she wanted to see. She wanted to see the whole of the man, to study him, and determine just what it was that drew her so unwisely to him.
But she knew better than to give in to that temptation. So she stared fixedly at his face, counting backward, first in Welsh, then in Norman French, then in English, until he let out an indecipherable oath and stepped into the tub.
Only then did she breathe. Only then did she blink and unclench her stiff fingers. Her palms hurt from the crescent marks her nails had left, but that was all right. That was fine. She’d resisted him when she’d feared she could not.
Now it was time to learn if he could resist her.
“Well? How does a Norman wife bathe her husband?” she asked, moving deliberately in front of him. Head high. Breasts thrust forward. Hips languidly swaying.
Another muffled oath. This one in the coarser English tongue. “First, she builds a damned fire in the damned hearth!”
“Very well.” She gave him a sweet, sarcastic smile and turned to that task. Though she concentrated on the kindling and small branches, building a strong, careful fire with three larger logs tented above the small, licking flame, she was acutely aware of his presence.
He did not reach for the cloth or soap. He did not shift in the tub or splash the water. He only sat there. Were it not for the rhythmic sound of his breathing, she might have thought herself alone. But she was well aware that she was not. When the fire was well taken and she had no further reason to crouch there with her back to him, she finally stood and turned. He was watching her, as she’d known he would be.
“Perhaps I should not wed you to my brother.”
Her heart leapt at that dark, unexpected remark and pounded a fierce new tattoo. Why she should care what he planned for her was something she didn’t want to examine too closely. So she picked up the soap and tossed it unceremoniously into the water between his projecting knees. “Plan whatever you want. The fact remains that in the end you and your brother—and your masons and diggers and soldiers too—will all be gone from here while we Welsh remain. And then I will wed whom I will.”
“Owain ap Madoc?”
She snatched up the bathing cloth and flung it behind the soap. “Owain is almost as repulsive as are you.”
“You find me repulsive? I hadn’t noticed.”
“You are English. That’s enough to make you repulsive to any true daughter of
Cymru.”
Cymru.”
He relaxed back in the water, stretching his arms along
the rolled edge. “So you say. Perhaps I should warn you that I’ve heard tales that Jasper tempted not one but two nuns to his bed.”
the rolled edge. “So you say. Perhaps I should warn you that I’ve heard tales that Jasper tempted not one but two nuns to his bed.”
Josselyn stared in astonishment. Two nuns? Surely not! She closed her gaping mouth with a snap. “You’re lying.”
“’Tis what the gossips say of him. When he arrives you can ask him the truth of that tale. He was meant for the Church himself, but he was not well suited to the life.” He paused, watching her. “If nuns cannot resist him, I wonder how a wench of your passionate nature will fare.”
He dunked down in the water, submerging his head. When he rose sputtering and wiping his eyes, Josselyn had not moved. A fallen churchman who tempted nuns? Whether Rand’s tale was the truth or only a portion of it, she knew more than ever that she must renew her efforts to escape. Rand affected her more than any man ever had. This brother … She did not want ever to meet this brother he boasted of. But she must not let him know that.
With a nonchalance completely feigned, she approached the tub. “If he is as appealing to women as you say, mayhap I will not be so unhappy with him as I imagined. When is he to arrive?”
“Soon.”
Soon. She needed more information than that if her uncle was to intercept the man and capture him. Unfortunately, Rand’s face revealed nothing of his feelings, which raised her anger from a simmer to a seething boil. He would not get the best of her. She pushed up her sleeves, then without flinching away from his relentless gaze, she reached down into the water.
Thank goodness her fingers found the washcloth before they found anything else. “Shall we get on with it?” she snapped. “Tell me, how will my Norman husband wish me to proceed?”
“In the same manner a Welsh one would. First, he would advise you to find the soap.”
“If you will hand it to me, I will begin.”
“You’re the one who threw it in the water.”
He was going to make her find it and he didn’t think she would. Josselyn could see the gleam in his eyes. But she refused to let any English lord get the best of her. Especially this one. With a brazenness that surprised even herself, she plunged her arm back into the water. This time, however, she did not worry about avoiding his naked legs. With deliberate calculation she let her knuckles graze the slippery slope of his thigh.
“Where is it?” she wondered out loud as she felt around the floor of the tub. Her arm bumped one of his bent legs, then the other. She heard his sharp intake of breath; it mirrored her own. She was playing a dangerous game, she knew, yet a perversely exhilarating one. Her arm was submerged over the elbow and her shoulders were tilted toward him. Her head was very near his. If she raised her face to look at him …
She found the soap between his feet and started to straighten up. But his legs came together to catch her arm, and when she looked up, her triumph faded to alarm. She’d been caught in a trap of her own making. His far hand clamped down on hers, forcing her fist that still clutched the soap down into the jointure of his thighs.
“You see what you do to me?” His voice was husky with desire as he rubbed her fist against the hard length of his fully aroused manhood. “You see?”
Josselyn could make no answer. She’d meant to taunt him, to torture him using his brother as protection against his inappropriate desire for her. But she’d sorely underestimated her own desire and her meager ability to resist it.
His other hand came around her neck, tangling in her hair, and the soap slipped out from her fingers.
“You see what you have wrought with your teasing?” he murmured as he drew her face inexorably to his own. Then his lips closed over hers and any thoughts of teasing him—of escape or his brother or anything else—fled her mind. When their lips met, all the old possibilities melted
away. Only one possible future lay before her now, one new possibility, urgent and consuming. She must kiss him and be kissed by him, and follow this dizzying spiral of emotions wherever it led.
away. Only one possible future lay before her now, one new possibility, urgent and consuming. She must kiss him and be kissed by him, and follow this dizzying spiral of emotions wherever it led.
Their mouths met and slanted, seeking a closer fit, a more perfect union. He tugged at her lower lip, teasing her until her lips parted and he gained full entrance.
At the same time he released her trapped hand and circled her shoulders to draw her nearer. Her hand found his thigh, hard and coarse with hair. She slid her palm up, trying instinctively to brace herself from falling fully onto him, and found the smooth flesh of his hip, then the ridged muscles of his belly and chest.
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