The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (15 page)

"Play with me and you shall judge," she said, moving her knight. She played aggressively, as they had both known.

Sitting under the weight of the tapestry, Aelis giggled and Elsbeth blushed. Joan, returning from the garderobe, asked, "What is funny? Have I missed something?"

Richard moved his queen, Isabel her bishop.

Elsbeth tucked her head and kept her eyes lowered. Aelis only giggled the louder. But neither girl was compelled to answer; Richard answered Joan's question.

"Isabel admonishes me to play upon her body, bringing us both to desire and its result."

Isabel felt the heat rush into her face. Gilbert and Robert, sitting behind them, coughed and left the room. Gilles ran out, laughing. Elsbeth buried her face within the tapestry. Joan could only stare, her mouth agape.

"Richard!" Isabel protested, her voice a squeak.

"I am glad that you are still capable of healthy shame," he said, moving his queen again.

"You have the ability to make me flush with shame most regularly," she snapped, her eyes bright and hot. She moved her knight absently, her emotions charged and her tongue ready for his next assault.

Richard moved once more and she was in checkmate, the game over.

"For a woman most eager to play, you do not play very well," he said, rising to leave her.

"I but need practice," she shouted to his retreating back.

Richard turned slowly, his eyes smoky and dark, and smiled grimly.

"And you shall have it. After Compline."

Chapter 14

He walked away from her swiftly, desperate to leave behind the blatant temptation of her. She did not suspect, God willing, the effect she had on his resolve. She was so bold, yet he could admit that she would be as tempting were she a shy damsel, hardly able to meet his eyes. Yet, her manner added to her allure. Could anything subdue her? He had not seen it yet if there were. She was bold, fearless, impulsive to the edge of recklessness, and an innocent, for all her pretense at courtly sophistication. He knew her a virgin still. Her very blushes confirmed it. And, he could admit quietly in his own heart, he did not believe that Isabel would have freely given her body to any but him.

He saw again the image of Adam lifting her skirts and her mute and desperate struggle.

He should have killed him.

Would he have been able?

According to Isabel and her shrewish harangue, he would not, his knightly skills having been lost in his Benedictine year. Was she right? As a monk, he had no need to fight, except against the unseen forces and principalities of the spirit world, but now he had reentered the world of men and would need to fight flesh and bone as well as the unseen demoniac foe.

Life had been simpler in the abbey.

Richard traversed the inner bailey, ignoring the light rain, which was warm and gentle and most welcome to his troubled thoughts. Gilbert approached him, carrying two swords. Richard smiled, remembering that Gilbert had been seated nearby during the meal and would have heard Isabel's harangue concerning his knightly prowess. Taking the proffered sword, he went with Gilbert to the practice yard. One thought followed him: Was he doing this for himself or for Isabel?

Did it matter, in any regard?

"How long has it been?" Gilbert asked, his sword arm at rest.

Suddenly he swung, his sword alive and glistening with rain against the silver sky. Without thought, Richard blocked the blow that would have bloodied him.

"Not that long," he answered, his smile wide.

He had forgotten the pure, animal joy of battle.

They parried and blocked, each man testing the other, refraining from the harshest of blows, learning the skill of his opponent. Richard remembered everything; all the skills so long left behind rushed to the fore, his movement swift and effortless, his reactions instinctive, even after so long a slumber. He was covered in sweat when Gilbert tipped up his sword, signaling a truce.

"Eat more meat and you will not tire as easily," Gilbert said as he studied Richard.

It was another reminder that he was no longer a monk. If he was going to sustain himself in his life as Lord of Dornei, a fighting man, he would need heartier fare than a monk's portion.

Richard nodded his acceptance of Gilbert's counsel; it was only the truth he spoke, and wise words would always be welcome to Richard's ear.

"Your casting out of Adam was timely," Gilbert said, checking his mufflers, not making eye contact. "Had she been mine, I would have killed him where he stood."

Had Richard not thought the same, and had he not struggled against the urge to kill the man who laid hands on his wife? Was this yet another Benedictine legacy which he would leave behind him? Mayhap he should have killed him.

"Louis and Nicholas are gone as well, I note," Gilbert said.

"Louis was not of my doing, though his time may come," Richard said, wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve. The rain had stopped, leaving only mist that swirled into the air like vines climbing bark.

"Any man's time may come," Gilbert said carefully.

"Aye, for I will not stand idle should any man attempt Isabel," Richard said in warning.

He did not know Gilbert, and a man would be a fool who did not desire Isabel.

“That she made it out of Dornei without a husband could not have been easily done," Richard said, studying Gilbert's face. He was not so old a man that his blood could not still burn.

"It was a close thing," Gilbert admitted, "but few expected her to act so quickly. She can act, that one, when action is called for. She does not suffer from indecision."

"Nay, not that," Richard smiled in agreement. "You urged her to go?"

Gilbert nodded and studied the sky. The clouds were rushing east in an unbroken mass. It would be clear by morning. "Aye, but I never expected her to run to the abbey."

"And marry a monk?" Richard asked, dark eyebrows raised in wry humor.

"Do monks carry swords?" Gilbert returned.

Richard smiled and hefted his sword in answer, their battle resumed.

* * *

Aelis stood to the side, leaning against the stable wall, and watched them battle. It would be better said that she watched Richard. He was a very handsome man, even for an almost monk. He was tall, muscular, and strangely graceful, his movements supple and fluid, unlike some knights who hacked with little strategy and much vigor. Aelis crossed her arms under her ample breasts and sighed her pleasure in watching such a man at his battle play.

"Why stand you in the rain?" Elsbeth asked, coming quietly to her side.

"It has stopped raining, and why do you ask why I stand here? Can you not see Richard honing his battle skills? Is he not a man to stop and watch?"

"He has been forced to give up his heart's desire, the path of holy service. I would not enjoy watching him wield a sword."

"You are ridiculous, Elsbeth," she scoffed. "Any man can pray all day, but a true and valiant warrior—"

The world is peopled with warriors," Elsbeth argued, "and could do with more prayer."

"By such a man as that?" Aelis pointed. "Should such a man, with those eyes and that form, be hidden beneath the cowl?"

"God sees the heart," Elsbeth maintained, her posture rigid and her tone inflexible. "What matters a man's external parts?"

"I am not God. They matter to me," Aelis laughed.

"He is wed to Isabel," Elsbeth said censoriously.

"Almost wed," pronounced Aelis with a gleam in her blue eyes. "'Tis no true marriage without the bedding. Even the church finds it so, so do not bother to argue with me, Elsbeth."

"What matters this to you, Aelis?"

"It matters little to me," she answered, shrugging. "But 'tis interesting, is it not?"

From the opposite side of the bailey, Edmund watched Richard at his swordplay. And watched Aelis watch Richard at his swordplay. He also noted how well and truly Aelis ignored him.

Shifting his eyes from Aelis, Edmund could not help but be impressed with Richard's skill with a sword. The man knew his moves; all he lacked was the strength to fight on. Time and red meat would cure that ill. It was a relief to see that Dornei was not in the hands of an incapable monk more concerned with chants than battle cries.

But did Aelis have to look so impressed?

Not looking into his motives, Edmund walked more directly into Aelis's line of sight. She did not spare him a glance, Stupid and inconsistent girl. When had Aelis not flown to him like an arrow?

He would not go to her. He had never pursued Aelis and he would not start now. He did not even like her, or so he had oft told himself and all who would stop to listen. Nay, he would not go to her, but he could fetch shields and maces, offering a diversion from the sword for the two battlers.

They thanked him offhandedly, Richard covered in a fine film of sweat, Gilbert breathing hard. Richard was smiling. Edmund had not yet seen the Lord of Dornei smile; it was a warm thing, more so since he did it so seldom, and transformed his face from forbidding to winsome. Was that why Aelis hovered?

"Do you need a rest?" Gilbert asked, huffing lightly.

Richard smiled and tossed Edmund his sword.

"I have worked myself harder in a night's prayer vigil, but if you—"

"I need no respite," Gilbert said quickly, "yet if the boy would care to try his hand—"

"I would!" Edmund offered, all smiles. He was honored. And now Aelis would, of necessity, be forced to watch him.

They worked with the maces, each man finding his rhythm. Richard was even better with the mace than with the sword, and Edmund was quickly outmatched. With Aelis as witness. In his eagerness to salve his pride and appear fierce, he attacked precipitously and lost his footing. He fell hard to his knee and hung his head in public shame.

"Do not let her scorn touch you, boy," Richard whispered, keeping his martial distance. "She but plays with your heart."

Was his rejection, then, obvious to all? It was shame piled upon shame, with all of Dornei to witness.

"She is striving not to see you," Richard said more urgently. "Can you not see it is a game she plays to win your regard?"

"How do you know?" Edmund asked, in awe of Richard's gentle counsel.

"I know the games of women, boy," Richard answered, glancing toward the stair tower, where Isabel stood, watching him.

* * *

Isabel watched Richard battle, as she had done time after time during her years at Malton, and was just as enraptured. He was handsome, graceful, strong—everything a baron should be. And now he was hers. She had been so foolish to fret that his prowess had waned. The Richard she knew excelled at every endeavor, she supposed he had been a successful Benedictine. But that did not signify. He was a monk no longer. Tonight would prove that.

Watching him move, his hair dark and gleaming, the muscles of his back and arms bunching, she scanned the cloudy sky for a hint as to when night would finally fall on this endless day. Aelis seemed to find Richard equally fascinating, which made an odd sort of sense, but was she not enamored of Edmund?

Yet when Edmund and Richard stopped their mock battle and Edmund carried the maces to the armory, Aelis's eyes followed Richard. Isabel found her unexpected behavior mildly alarming. Fascination for a comely squire was one thing—had she not felt the same herself for Richard?—but to contemplate with such blatant interest a married man was most unbecoming. Entirely inappropriate. Extremely disturbing. And so like Aelis.

Isabel looked heavenward again; it was hours yet to Compline. Hours before she would make certain that Richard was most definitely married.

In the interim, Aelis needed guidance on proper deportment. As Lady of Dornei, it was her duty to train the girl. She had been sadly negligent in that duty; Lady Bertrada had trained her better.

Isabel allowed herself one more look at Richard, who was standing and talking in easy rapport with Gilbert, before she turned to walk toward Aelis. Aelis needed a firm hand, and she was just the woman to do it. It was her duty, after all.

Isabel looked once more at Richard, at the mist lying on his hair like jewels, at the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his legs, without giving herself permission. And she never realized she had breached her own vow of restraint.

Aelis ignored Isabel's approach, her eyes and all her attention on Richard. It was most irritating.

"He is a brilliant fighter, is he not?" Aelis said.

Isabel had always thought so, but she did not enjoy hearing the words on another woman's tongue.

"I believe he is quite capable," Isabel answered.

Aelis merely sighed.

"And such beauty on a man; he is most fine, your Richard," Aelis said, not taking her gaze from him.

"Yea, he is mine," Isabel said sharply and then tamped down her anger. Aelis was a girl in need of instruction; she was no threat to Isabel. Richard was hers.

"Oh, I know he is," Aelis said easily, "but do you note how hot Edmund's looks are? Has he ever looked more interested than he does now?"

It was true. Edmund was fairly piercing Aelis with his gaze; he looked miserable. Aelis, on the other hand, looked delighted. Isabel understood then that this was a game that Aelis played upon Edmund's heart, and she felt herself relax. And yet, was it not overbold of Aelis to flirt so with the Lord of Dornei?