RulingPassion (8 page)

“Your revenge is cruel, Jeoffrey,” she gasped. “Remind me to
stay in your bad graces.”

“Be assured of it,” he said, once he’d released her feet,
letting them sink down into the water again. His smile held a wild mix of humor
and mischief. He washed the rest of her legs, moving slowly along her calves,
over her knees and up her thighs. Each brush of the cloth sent more shivers of
pleasure tearing through her, making her body become tense with longing for
him. Her thighs were a most sensitive area, and his attentions to them a sweet,
fiery torture.

Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, he
reached into the slit between her legs and found the sensitive bud there. She
squealed aloud as his clever fingers brushed back and forth over it, surrounded
it and squeezed gently. Her skin confined her too tightly, drawing her into an
arc of tension. He rubbed harder, driving her deeper into the chaos of need,
until she suddenly exploded with a scream of delight. Waves of pleasure rolled
over her, one after the other. She throbbed with it, clenching and releasing
spasmodically.

When she finally relaxed and her breathing returned to
something close to normal, she opened her eyes to see him watching her. The joy
and satisfaction on his face made something clench in her chest. Love for him
flooded her being, overwhelming all else. Whether or not they had a future
together—and she would do all in her power to try to ensure it—even more
important to her was that Jeoffrey should have what would make him happy.

He lifted her from the tub and wrapped her in a warm, soft
cloth, patting it gently against her to absorb the remaining water. Her legs
wobbled and she could barely stand, but he steadied her as he led her to the
bed. She sat on its side. Jeoffrey brought another cloth and toweled her hair
until all the excess water was gone from it and the strands began to curl
gently.

Then he pulled the damp cloths from her body and left her
sitting nude on the bed. She reached for her nightshift, but he stopped her
with a hand on her arm.

“Nay, I’m not finished yet.”

She watched him go to his garderobe and reach for something
at the bottom of it. He pulled out a small glass jar with a cloth stopper. When
he removed the cloth, the heady aroma of an exotic perfume drifted from it.

“What is it?” she asked, basking in the lovely fragrance.

“Oil of sandalwood. I bought it from a trader some months
ago but had forgotten it until recently. He said he brought it from Persia.” He
put his finger over the top and upended the jar for a moment. He came to her
side and ran the oil-coated finger along her throat and down between her
breasts. The aroma hit her even more strongly, dazzling her sense of smell. The
smooth glide of it on her flesh roused fresh tingles of anticipation.

He eased her back until she lay sprawled on the bed, then he
began anointing her all over with the oil. His fingers slid over her flesh in
an uncommonly easy, gentle glide. He circled her breasts, spiraling in toward
the center until she tightened to near unbearable tension in anticipation of
his reaching the tips. And when his slick fingers did finally brush across
them, she moaned in delight as pleasure again struck into her.

By the time he’d gone up and down her legs, into her slit
and out again, she could hardly bear it. Just when she was sure another stroke
would make her explode he stopped and kissed her. Without his asking she knew
what he wanted.

She sat up and pushed him back onto the bed beside her. The
oil felt sensuously slick and heavy against her finger when she tipped some
out. It let her fingers glide against his skin in a way they never could
otherwise, bringing a whole new dimension of pleasure in touching him. The
aroma ravished her senses and lifted the experience into something sublimely
removed from everyday life.

She made spirals on his chest muscles, working in toward his
nipples just as he’d done with her.

He groaned when her oil-smeared palm glided up the length of
his cock and then down again. Its heavy length throbbed wildly in her hand.

He couldn’t bear it for long and soon pushed her back down
and positioned himself over her. With the oil easing its way, his cock slid
into her easily and more freely than normal. He took his time with the strokes,
moving in and out on a slow rhythm that let pleasure and tension build farther
than she thought she could bear.

Finally they yelled at the same time. He spilled his seed
into her just as the stars burst once again in her brain and pleasure drowned
her in wracking sensation.

Chapter Nine

The next morning he requested her assistance with some
business matters needing attention. She followed him down to his office after
they washed, dressed, and ate. On learning she had a clear, steady hand,
Jeoffrey dictated several messages to her for sending to some of the
surrounding manors and estates.

Once that was completed, he asked her to meet with the
housekeeper, the butler, and cook to take inventory of their stocks of various
supplies. He wanted to know if they had a supply of certain staples sufficient
to let them spare some for crofters he’d visited the previous day.

Anticipating that Elspeth wouldn’t be happy to see her or
eager to cooperate, Rosalind almost protested. But a second thought suggested
she needed to learn to deal with his household and the difficult situations it
might present. It would be a challenge; one she would face with as much dignity
and humility as she could simultaneously muster.

It took some searching, but she finally found the
housekeeper in a small storage room in a little-used section of the manor,
showing a team of young servants how to clean and wax furniture. One older girl
looked on while the youngsters listened. She moved to show one of the smallest
girls how to wipe with the grain. Elspeth looked up, saw Rosalind at the door,
and nodded at her, but continued the lecture on proper procedures for a few
minutes more, until she satisfied herself the youngsters could do the job
properly. Then she came to the door where Rosalind waited.

“Beg pardon for keeping you waiting, my lady,” she said.
“But they are new to the task and will ruin every bit of furniture without
proper instruction and guidance.” She didn’t actually sound especially
contrite.

“Of course,” Rosalind agreed. “‘Tis right they learn the
correct method from the start.”

The woman’s glance was suspicious. “What want you from me,
my lady?” she asked.

Rosalind explained the mission Lord Jeoffrey had assigned
her, and then added, “And, please. I’m not the lady of this manor. I’m just
Rosalind.”

The housekeeper sniffed. “A lady you were born, a lady you
remain, though you choose to disregard the proper behavior of a lady.”

Again Rosalind nearly let loose the rebuke that rose to her
tongue but stopped it before the words could do their damage. Arguing the point
could serve no purpose, so she simply said, “As you will. Can you get the cook
and let us take stock?”

Elspeth nodded. Together they sought out Brenna, the head
cook, and Ranulf, an ancient, wizened, deaf and nearly blind little man who
bore the title of butler more as a courtesy than for any service he could still
provide. They all followed Elspeth to a large storage vault where barrels of
flours, meals, dried fruits and vegetables stood in rows like fat soldiers
awaiting the call to battle. Vats of ale, beer and wine fermented in an
adjoining room.

One by one they glanced into each barrel, noting the
contents and the level. Rosalind marked off each on a sheet of paper. Once
they’d finished the survey, they sat down and calculated how long until
replacement supplies of each could be expected and how many people had to be
fed from the remainder until that time. By mid-day, Rosalind had a fair notion
of what and how much could be spared.

She thanked Elspeth, Brenna and Ranulf for their assistance.
Elspeth grunted a flat, curiously neutral reply, though Rosalind thought—or at
least hoped—she saw the beginnings of a certain level of respect for her
competence. Brenna nodded sharply and headed back to the kitchens, while Ranulf
gave her a sly wink before toddling on his way. Rosalind returned to Lord
Jeoffrey’s office and handed him a sheet of paper listing what could be spared
for the needy of the estate.

In the afternoon, he had more correspondence waiting for her
assistance, although this batch pertained more to the business of running the
manor rather than to his political and social associations.

Before they started on the work, though, he stole a few
minutes while they were private to kiss her so thoroughly she began to feel
balance and awareness slip away. He steadied her and held her until her breath
and heartbeat returned to normal.

“I fear duty calls us to less enjoyable pursuits,” he said
at last. She nodded, drawing a deep breath, and agreed.

“I have some trade agreements to be transcribed.” He gave
her a list of them, grain to one, eggs to another, and the purchase of several
blocks of salt, a few pigs and three horses with another.

“We have a new vat of ale to be disbursed as well,” he told
her. “The tavern keeper will buy it at a credit of twenty sacks of milled wheat
flour. Our ale is greatly prized for superior quality and taste. Its reputation
extends throughout the region. I have heard there are some who make the trip
here just to taste it.” She heard the pride in his voice.

She pulled out one of the confirmations she’d already
written and studied it. “Why then do you barter so much of it against just
twenty sacks of milled wheat flour?” she asked.

“The miller accepted it as an equal trade,” he said. “What
of it?”

Rosalind remembered her thrifty mother’s strictures about
the relative worth of certain items and being careful to ascertain the
equivalency of goods being bartered. Equal quantities of most items weren’t of
equal worth and that valuation often depended on how much others would be
willing to pay for the same thing.

“Did Ranulf make this agreement?”

Jeoffrey grimaced. “Ranulf has not been…capable of
negotiations of that sort for quite a while. The miller told me this has always
been our agreement.”

“It appears…somewhat disproportionate. I think perhaps you
do not prize your own ale as highly as some of your neighbors do,” she
suggested. “Have you ascertained what the tavern asks for a pint of it?”

He threw a confused look her way. “Nay. I have worries
enough encompassing my own affairs; I have no time to spare for others’.”

“Would you object should I ask a few questions of your staff
about some of these?” she asked.

“Nay. If you find our ale to be of greater worth than we now
ask, I shall accept the increase gladly.”

A knock sounded on the door at that moment. Within seconds
Ferris escorted a flushed and sweating young stranger into the room. The boy
moved to the middle of the open space and bowed. “Lord Jeoffrey. I have a
message for you.” He held out a rolled piece of paper.

“Bring it here,” Jeoffrey said.

He took it from the boy, and said, “My thanks.” He signaled
to Ferris. “Take care of our friend, here,” he said.

The boy grinned in satisfaction as he followed the majordomo
from the room.

Rosalind waited while Jeoffrey read the message, which was
apparently long and rather complicated. After a lengthy silence, Jeoffrey sat
it on his desk and clasped his hands under his chin. His eyes closed for a
minute while he thought. He opened them and rang the bell to summon a servant.

Ferris showed up again within moments. “My lord?” he asked.

“Find Sir Philip and ask him to come here,” Jeoffrey
instructed the man. “Tell him I need him immediately.”

“My lord.” Ferris bowed and left.

“What is it?” Rosalind asked when she heard him sigh as he
opened his eyes to read the message again.

“I’ll spare you most of Edward Renfill’s bombast, but the
matter of it is thus: Sir William de Railles has annexed the lands east of the
Anneth River that belonged to Marwick. It’s doubtful Marwick will try to wrest
control back since his forces are significantly outmanned by de Railles’.
Edward suspects Sir William will next set his sights on Connington since it
adjoins the piece of Marwick Sir William now claims.”

“And does not Connington adjoin your estate on the west?”

Jeoffrey drew a long breath. “A small corner of it does.
Shelton lies between us for most of its length. But Sir William’s breath begins
to fall on us all.”

Sir Philip entered then. He appeared to have been in the
midst of a vigorous training session. His dark hair was askew and his shirt
unlaced. He wiped sweat off his face, leaving a worried expression behind.
“What news?” he asked. “What is wrong?”

Jeoffrey related the gist of the note as he’d done for her.
Rosalind watched the expression on Philip’s handsome face go from worry to
anger and determination.

“His eye turns this way,” Philip said. “If he does not yet
see us in his plan, it will not be long ere he does.”

“Our time is shorter than we had hoped,” Jeoffrey said.

Philip watched him, started to say something, stopped and
waited a moment, considering the words, then started again. “‘Tis time to
gather who we can.”

“My suit has not yet been answered by the duke.”

“Bring him to us anyway,” Philip said. “It may be more
remote, but ultimately his demesne is threatened by Sir William’s ambitions as
well.” Philip paced from one side of the room to the other as he spoke. He
stopped for a moment when he reached one wall, flicked a glance at Rosalind,
then watched Jeoffrey with a keen eye. “We dare not lay all our hopes that way.
Especially not now.”

Jeoffrey’s expression hardened and a flicker of anger
crossed his face. “I am not the one—”

Philip cut across his protest. “That need not be decided
right now. Our first task is simply to bring all together to decide on a course
of action.”

“It may not be wise.”

“Perhaps not, but no one else has yet taken the straw,”
Philip stated. “How long can we afford to wait for them? The others are too old
or weak or self-absorbed. But if someone younger and more vigorous calls them
to consider action that might save them from destruction, they will come.”

“What sort of action are you proposing, Sir Philip?” Rosalind
asked.

“At the moment, merely a convening of all whose lands and
livelihood are threatened by Sir William’s ambition. In my own mind, the course
we must take is clear, but others do not share my clarity on that.” He flicked
a significant glance toward Jeoffrey.

“‘Tis not the need for action I dispute,” Jeoffrey said,
“Nor the need for a joining of all our forces. And I chafe to be party to it.”
He looked down at the note on his desk.

Rosalind frowned at him. “Then why, my lord, do you hesitate
over convening such a force?”

Jeoffrey looked at Philip before turning his glance back to
her. “There are political complications. I am not… If I take the first action,
they will enlist me to lead this combined army.”

“I do not understand why that should be such a concern.”

Again Philip and Jeoffrey exchanged a glance. “My lord has
his reasons,” Philip said to Rosalind. “I do not necessarily agree they are
good
reasons, but he has reasons.”

“And I did not say I would not do what was needed,” Jeoffrey
added. “I am not as sure as you what that might be. Allow that I have more
complicated responsibilities.” He shot Philip a hard look for a moment. “Not
all can afford to turn a blind eye to the political complications of assuming
power.” He stared at the message on his desk. “But I agree we need to bring all
together. The rest is to be decided later.”

She had a sudden vision of him in battle, strong and fierce,
but still a man and thus vulnerable. A mental picture of him lying on the
ground, bleeding from a sword-thrust, set her heartbeat pounding painfully at
her chest. It couldn’t be and she dared not even think it. She replaced the
vision with one of him charging into Sir William’s keep, claiming victory over
the monster. That view she’d keep firmly in her mind.

“We must band together if we are to have any chance of
resisting him,” Jeoffrey said, slowly, as though he felt his way through the
idea cautiously. “If we who are threatened can go against him as one, we will
have the best odds of victory. Rosalind, we have work to do. Invitations must
go out immediately. We shall invite all the surrounding lords to meet with us
here a fortnight hence to discuss an alliance to resist Sir William.”

Sir Philip nodded his satisfaction. “I shall set our men to
more vigorous training and let them understand they may soon be tested in
earnest.”

“Aye,” Jeoffrey said. He watched Philip leave, his
expression troubled.

Rosalind suspected there was more the two men would have
said to each other had she not been there.

Under Jeoffrey’s direction, Rosalind spend the rest of the
afternoon preparing the invitations. There were quite a number of them. She
wrote until her hand and arm hurt, stopping only when the dinner gong sounded.
She looked up in surprise that so much time had passed. Jeoffrey also emerged
from his absorption in writing some lengthy treatise and laid down his quill.

“I apologize for keeping you so long, Rosalind” he said,
coming over to where she sat, rubbing the aching muscles of her shoulder. “And
for working you so hard.”

“You appeared to be just as engaged, my lord. Think naught
of it.”

He smiled and leaned over to kiss the back of her neck. “Are
you as hungry as I am?”

“I feel I could dispose of an entire haunch of beef on my
own.” She drew a sharp breath as his tongue swirled against her skin. “But my
lord, I fear you mean to distract me, and there is no telling what might happen
should you rouse an additional hunger.”

He laughed and straightened. “Some things a man dare not
risk. Let us proceed to dinner.”

She stood. “These are near done. An hour’s work should see
them all ready to be sent.” She did not tell him that she planned to remove a
couple of the trade agreements before the messages were sent. She wanted to
keep those for a day or two to investigate their equity. None involved supplies
at critical levels, so a day or even two would create no crisis.