Part 8 (2/2)
She stood back, withdrawing those b.r.e.a.s.t.s from his reach, and watched as he spit and sputtered, then sneezed. When he finished, she said, ”I don't need a man.”
”How would you know?” He pushed back the half-trimmed curtain of hair from his face to watch her. ”Your maids call you the oldest virgin widow in England.”
Typically, she showed no reaction. ”I meant I don't need a husband to protect me. It was easier to hire you.”
She didn't deny her maidenhood, he noted. ”I meant you would do well to take a man into your bed and find out what you're missing.”
”And I suppose you have a candidate in mind.”
Smiling his guaranteed maiden-melting smile, he twisted the remaining long strand of hair. ”Why not me?”
”Because you're a poor, landowning baron. What could you bring me?”
”Pleasure.”
She took a startled breath at his bluntness, then reality came to her rescue. ”And a babe in nine months. Then we'd have to negotiate a marriage settlement, and you could bring me nothing to match what I have here.”
”More important from my point of view-what could you bring me?” He had the satisfaction of seeing her chin drop. ”In sooth, you're wealthy beyond my wildest dreams, and that's an advantage to me.” He sighed gustily. ”The churchmen say that money doesn't buy happiness, but I want a chance to prove it.”
”So you admit it. You want me only for my wealth, just like a thousand other knights.”
He could have danced with triumph. She hadn't dismissed him with a laugh. His little trout was rising to the bait. ”Not at all. Your lands are magnificent, but you're also quite attractive.” She opened her mouth to retort, and he added, ”When you keep quiet. That just doesn't seem to happen often.”
She snapped her mouth shut.
”I'm a gentle man. I've proved myself the better of every warrior in England.” Painfully, he corrected himself. ”The better of all but one warrior in England. But I have no need to prove myself stronger than a woman. I don't hit them. I never hit my wife, and if ever a woman...well, you can ask any of my people. I don't hit those weaker regardless of the provocation, nor does my dignity suffer when a woman lashes me with her tongue.” Placing his hand flat on the table, he leaned toward her. ”With me, my lady, you can be right all the time, and I won't mind.”
”I am right all the time,” she said, but her voice faltered.
”You see?” He took the scissors from her hand. ”A man could easily murder a woman like you. For your sake, you'd best marry one who answers your sarcasm with wit rather than blows.” He chopped the last of his hair off.
”Nay!” She sprang forward. ”Oh, nay, now look what you've done.”
”What?”
”You've cut it crooked.” She combed, parted, separated, then shook her head. ”Now I'll have to do the front again until it's even. The castle folk will think I've lost my touch.”
”You can't do everything yourself. You can't be chatelaine, chief knight, and barber all in one. That's too much of a burden for any one person to bear. Believe me, I know.” He tapped his chest. ”I've been trying to do it alone, too. Together we would halve the duties.”
”And double the cares.”
The new cut her scissors made probably failed to even up the line, but he consoled himself the hair would grow back. ”The king wants you married, and married you'll be. You asked for advantage. Well, shouldn't your husband be a man over whom you have an advantage?”
Her eyes were round as she observed her handiwork. She combed again, then put her hand over his bangs to hold them down, and leaned close to his face. The scissors touched him again, but her constant handling had warmed them. ”When a woman is married, she is her husband's chattel. She can do nothing without his permission.” She cut again, then stepped back and looked. A catlike smile curved her lips, then disappeared when she saw how steadily he watched her. ”All advantage is lost with the signing of the marriage contract.”
”You do yourself an injustice. I give you fair notice, Lady Alisoun, that I intend to demonstrate the advantage you will have, and keep, over me.” He laughed out loud. ”Come here.”
”What?” She actually took a cautious step back, and that for her was a rampant manifestation of wariness.
”I need help donning my clothes and hauberk, and I have no squire.”
”I'll a.s.sign you one.”
He inclined his head. ”I would be most grateful.”
She hovered for another moment, then came forward to stand beside him. ”In the meantime, I will a.s.sist you.”
By the saints, she was a brave woman!
A stupid woman, but a brave one.
”If your knife is honed, I will shave you before I dress you,” she said.
He remembered the implicit threat of her scissors. And she wanted to put a knife at his throat! His eyes narrowed. ”Nay. I thank you.”
She blessed him briefly with a smile, and he realized how skillfully she put him in his place. But other, greater n.o.bles had tried to keep him in his place. Other, greater circ.u.mstances had oppressed him, and he had emerged tough, resilient, superior. His difficult life had taught him much and given him the advantage over this well-bred lady. He had only to remember that.
While he removed the cloth from around his shoulders and wiped off his neck, she laid his tunic and surcoat on the table. As briskly as if he were a dallying child, she ordered, ”Raise your arms.”
He obeyed, flexing his muscles as he stretched. ”Do you think I'm too thin?”
”Aye.” Jerking the tunic impatiently over him, she tugged it down to his waist to cover him. ”But if you keep eating like you did last night, you'll regain your bulk soon enough.” She surveyed him, and he clearly saw a gleam of satisfaction. ”Then you'll win your t.i.tle back. Then you'll be the greatest mercenary in England again.”
Ripping open his gut would have been more merciful. Since his arrival, he'd pushed his defeat to the back of his mind, ignoring the memories of his defeat. Now she spoke of it casually, as if he would unquestionably regain the t.i.tle he had held so long. He knew differently. He knew his expertise had been declining even before he'd won Mary and her lands for himself, and in the years since then he'd been more of a farmer and shepherd than warrior. Only his guile and experience in battle had kept him from immediate and humiliating defeat in front of the king.
Was that the price of winning her? Did he have to become the legendary mercenary David again? Because that was impossible. He knew it was impossible.
”What?” she said, as if hearing his thoughts.
She didn't seem to realize how much her s.h.i.+ning confidence hurt him. There wasn't a shred of guile on her face. Of course, there wasn't really a shred of emotion either.
He looked deeper. She did have faith in him. He'd better wed her as soon as possible. Before she found out the truth about him-or his d.a.m.nable honor made him tell her.
”Where is your hauberk?” she asked.
His chain-mail s.h.i.+rt, his pride and joy, had gone to her armorer the night before to be oiled and repaired, but she didn't know that. She just wanted to avoid touching him. ”I think I need the surcoat today. No reasonable man would brave this storm to shoot at me.”
She lifted her head and heard what he heard. The gray morning light had dissolved into a firm, steady rain. He credited her sense of duty rather than her vindictiveness when she said, ”That's true. You'll have to move quickly on your rounds today.”
Standing, he pulled on his hose and tied the garters of his left leg. Then he noticed she was watching instead of helping, and he realized his foolishness. While he tied the front strap of his right leg, he said, ”Here. The old wound on my hip restricts my movement, and I can't twist around to tie it.” He didn't have a wound on his hip, but she didn't know that. Not unless she'd gotten a better look last night than he thought.
Apparently she hadn't. She sank to her knees beside him and groped for the other strap. By the time she found it, tucked inside the back of his braies, and tied it, he had to close his eyes and grit his teeth to keep the groan of l.u.s.t within him. He'd asked her to help him as a kind of jest, to see if she would perform the duties of a wife without quibble, and now he paid for his presumption with an agonized pleasure.
”There you are, Sir David,” she said. ”Will there be anything else?”
The tone of her voice made his eyes snap open, and he looked down at her. It wasn't that she sounded insolent, or openly laughed at him, but he'd been observing her for days now, and he recognized her amus.e.m.e.nt.
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