Defy Not the Heart (18 page)

“
H
e was only six years and ten when he won his spurs, but ’twas to be expected, the way he wielded a sword even then.”

Somehow, Reina was not surprised to hear that. Ranulf’s knightly abilities with a sword had never been in doubt. ’Twas his knightly manners, or lack thereof, that she had to wonder about.

As she listened to Walter tell of the battle that had Ranulf knighted at such a young age, she watched her husband across the hall, where he had stopped to have words with his two squires. She was not the only one watching him. It seemed all of her ladies found reason to look that way, too. She sighed inwardly. She could foresee naught but problems in having a husband who was appealing to so many women. Not for herself, of course, but for those poor women.

She had never expected to love her husband. She had hoped to live with him compatibly, to respect him, to be able to depend on him. One out of three was not good.

But she was being unfair and prejudging. She still did not know Ranulf well enough. She hoped there were reasons for why he was the way he was, which was why she had put Walter on the spot to tell her about her husband. And she was right. There were reasons.

She had already learned that his childhood had been
worse than she had thought when Ranulf had mentioned it to her. He had grown up without the care of a woman, subject to a brutish man’s temper and heavy fists, shunned by noble and villein alike because of his bastardy. ’Twas not a pretty picture Walter painted for her. And then she learned about Lord Montfort, and that instead of Ranulf’s lot improving, he had merely exchanged one churlish master for another.

“You are not listening, my lady.”

She pinkened slightly, offering Walter an embarrassed smile. “I am afraid tales of blood and gore have never held much fascination for me. Do you tell me instead why Ranulf has a very real dislike for ladies of rank.”

“Why would you think—”

“Do not try to prevaricate with me, sirrah, or has your memory gone to market? You yourself told me of his distrust of all ladies when you convinced me to wed him. I see you now remember. So tell me of the experiences you mentioned then that supposedly soured him against noblewomen.”

Walter squirmed uncomfortably. “’Tis not something he would appreciate your knowing.”

“But you will tell me anyway.” Her voice was smooth as silk, but her expression was implacable. “Because of your glib tongue, I am wed to a man I am not sure I even like. You owe me, Sir Walter.”

To his squirming was added a guilty flush. “He will kill me if he knows I have told you.”

“I will remember that.”

Her tone was not in the least reassuring, was more like a promise to hold his prediction in reserve should she ever want to be rid of him. But Walter shrugged that aside. The last thing he wanted was for her to
hate Ranulf, which might come to pass did she not understand him better. And if telling her of Ranulf’s past would touch her woman’s heart, then he would not be doing his friend a disservice.

“Very well,” Walter said. “But first you should know that Ranulf has always had difficulty with women.”

“With that face?” she snorted.

He frowned at her interruption. “Because of that face. Mayhap some men might sell their souls to look as he does, but Ranulf has never been thankful for his handsomeness. Aside from the fact that he is the image of his father, whom you dare not even mention to him, he was teased horribly when he first came to Montfort.”

“But that is normal among young boys.”

“Aye, and he took it in good grace, thinking he was only getting more than his fair share of ribbing—until the day he first saw his own reflection. There were no mirrors in his village, you see, no clear pools of water to throw back an image. He did not
know
what he looked like until the day one of the older squires at Montfort spitefully shoved a mirror in his face to prove to Ranulf that he was the ‘pretty maid’ they were fond of calling him.”

“And he was horrified,” Reina surmised.

“Aye, and soundly trounced the lad for bringing the truth home to him. He was not teased much after that, but he then understood why girls were always following him about, and it disgusted him. He had thought they were interested in him as a friend. He then knew ’twas his looks alone that fascinated the wenches.”

“You expect me to believe that did not delight him?”

“Not at that young age, lady. They came in packs—milkmaids, kitchen maids, chambermaids, giggling and disturbing our workouts in the exercise yard. And the knights training us knew who to blame, working Ranulf harder and longer than all the rest of us.”

“But when he was older—”

“Oh, he took what the wenches threw at him, never doubt it. But he did not deceive himself that any of the sluts wanted more than a chance to brag to their friends of the conquest—until Lady Anne noticed him. But first there was Lady Montfort.”

“His
lord’s
wife?”

“Aye, a lady well past her prime, trying to seduce a lad of ten years and five. ’Twas laughable. But the lady did not think so when he refused her bait. She was right furious. And she salved her pride with a little vengeance by informing her husband that Ranulf tried to get into her skirts, earning him a whipping before his peers.”

Reina frowned. “Did he not speak up for himself?”

“Oh, no one believed her accusation, not even Montfort. But you do not call the lord’s wife a liar, and so Ranulf was whipped, with every noble at Montfort turned out to watch it. And that is what brought him to the attention of Lady Anne, ward to Montfort. She was only a year or so older than Ranulf, and a comely wench, with a smile to light up a room, and eyes like—”

“Do not wax poetic, sirrah,” Reina said with mild disgust. “So she was beautiful. Just say it.”

Walter smiled sheepishly. “Aye, she was indeed
beautiful, and every page, squire, and knight was a little in love with her.”

“Including yourself?”

He only shrugged in answer. “But once Lady Anne saw Ranulf, she was blind to all else, or so it seemed. She sneaked down to his quarters to visit him whilst he was bedfast from the whipping, and that is where their affair began. As you might guess, he was thoroughly smitten. The trouble was, he thought she was as well.”

“If you are about to tell me a broken heart caused his mistrust—”

“Would that was all, lady, but if you are not tolerant enough to listen.”

Was that how she sounded? What was wrong with her? So she was listening to tales of her husband with other women. She had asked to hear them.

“Do you continue, Sir Walter, and I will endeavor to curb my hasty conclusions.”

As that was as close as she was likely to come to an apology for her interruption, he nodded, his expression now as serious as she had ever seen it. “Their passion for each other lasted for months, but the day inevitably came when it bore fruit. The Lady Anne confessed to Ranulf she was with child.”

Reina was not particularly surprised. She would have been more surprised to hear that Ranulf had never sired any bastards. That he had one by a lady was not that common, but then again, certainly not unknown to happen. His noble half brother was proof of that.

Without censure, she asked, “Was it his?”

“Aye; at least he had no doubt.”

“Did they marry?”

“Nay. He was willing, desperately willing, you might say. He wanted her. He wanted his child. But she would not have him. Oh, she played him along for a while more, giving him one excuse after another why they should not tell Lord Montfort they wished to marry. But Ranulf would not let up, and she finally succumbed to the pressure, telling him the truth.

“She would not marry a squire, a landless squire, not for any reason. She had property, you see, just a manor, but Montfort had promised her that because of her beauty, he would find her a rich husband, and that was what she wanted, all she wanted. She laughed when Ranulf mentioned their love for each other, telling him that wealth was the only thing worth loving as far as she was concerned.”

“Not very diplomatic of her,” Reina said dryly, annoyed with herself for feeling a twinge of sympathy for the young Ranulf. “And the child?”

“Lady Anne returned to her manor to bear it. But when Ranulf got over his reaction to her rejection, he realized he still wanted the child, no matter how difficult it might be for him to raise. Only he could not discover where she had gone, and by the time he did and went there, it was to find the lady had already borne the child, recovered from it, and was living in the north with her new husband.”

“She took the child with her?” Reina asked doubtfully.

“Nay, she foisted it on a family in her small village to raise, wanting naught more to do with it.”

Reina jumped ahead with her own conclusion again, thinking of Kenric and Lanzo, Ranulf’s squires. Kenric was too old to be his bastard, but mayhap Lanzo

Walter was not finished, unfortunately. “I had gone with Ranulf to her manor. He had feared she would keep the child with her, so he was delighted that she had given it away. He had brought a few coins with him and thought it would be easy to buy the child from the villeins. And the family was easy to find. There were no secrets in that place.”

“Why do I have the feeling I am not going to like hearing the rest of this?” Reina said uneasily as she watched his expression darken.

“Mayhap I should not go on.”

“Nay, you have gone this far. I must hear it all now, good or bad.”

“The family the lady brought the child to just a few days after its birthing was poor, verily, the poorest in her village. They were also the largest family there, with seven children already. She knew that. They had protested they did not want the child. She forced them to take it anyway. Within a fortnight it was dead of starvation.”

“Oh, God!” Reina moaned.

Walter did not look at her, continuing softly. “’Twas the only time Ranulf and I ever fought. He wanted to kill the whole family, and burn the village besides. I could not let him. ’Twas not their fault. They were the sorriest lot of villeins we had ever seen, slowly starving themselves. They had too many mouths of their own to feed to spare aught for their lady’s cast-off bastard. One of the manor servants later admitted Anne had not wanted the child to be there should she return. She had known what could happen, hoped it would happen. She got what she wanted.”

Reina closed her eyes, unable to speak for a moment. She wished she had stopped him. She had not
wanted to hear this, not this.
Jesú
, children were the only true innocents. So many died of natural causes, but this was unnatural, deliberate. What kind of woman would do that, when it would have cost her little to find the infant a decent home?

“What—what was it, do you know?”

“A girl child, strong and healthy at birth, which was why it took so long—”

Reina waved him to silence before she started to cry. She could feel the tears forming and fought them back, pushing the horror from her mind. This had naught to do with her. Whom was she deceiving? It had happened to
her
husband, and he was still suffering from it, which most certainly did affect her. But for him to blame all women for what one heartless bitch had done, that was not fair.

“Let us look at this realistically,” she said, managing to sound in control, if slightly pained. “These incidents happened eleven or twelve years ago.”

“Eight,” he corrected her.

She was startled from her thoughts. “I thought he was older.”

“He has always looked older because of his size, but he is only twenty years and three, lady.”

“Well, still, eight years is long enough for him to have discovered all women are not the same.”

“How would you feel had it happened to you?” Walter countered. “Lady Anne was all that was sweet and gentle. She never raised her voice. She never had a bad word to say of anyone. Her ruthless greed and callousness were concealed from one and all. Think you Ranulf could ever trust another lady’s winsome smiles after that?”

“But we are not all like that!”

“I know it, but ’twill take much to convince him of it.” And then he groaned. “Smile, he is returning.”

“You must be mad. I could not smile now if my life depended on it. And do I do so, he will wonder about it, not the other way around. He has not exactly been in my good graces today, had you not noticed.”

“But you will forgive him?”

“What you have told me only explains his distrust of noblewomen,” she hissed aside to him. “It does not excuse his deplorably churlish manner.”

“
That
is correctable, my lady, do you care to make the effort.”

She had no time for another reply, for Ranulf sat down on the bench on her other side just then. Fortunately, Walter gave her time to collect herself by having a brief conversation with Ranulf, but then he made his excuses and departed, leaving them alone by the hearth.

Reina could not look at him just yet. She was confused by what she was feeling now and did not trust herself to speak. Who would have thought such a man could stir her sympathies? He seemed so indestructible, so immune to tender emotions—but had he been that way as a lad? And then she noticed Eadwina across the hall staring at him dreamily and forgot all that.

“Did I hurt you today?”

“What?”

“Today in the woods?” Ranulf clarified. “Did I hurt you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him aye. But the fact was she had felt anger, disappointment, frus
tration, but no pain. And lying to him was no way to start out this relationship of theirs.

“Nay, you did not.”

“You are certain?”

“Aye.”

“You would tell me if I did?”

She looked at him incredulously. What was wrong with him? Or was this more of his bizarre humor? Whatever, she had just passed over the edge to irritation.

“Do you hurt me, you can be sure I would scream loud enough for you and everyone else to know it. Oh, you can be sure of that, my lord.”

He frowned at her. Mayhap he should have asked earlier, but she had been in no good mood all day. And now she was turning one thing into another, and coming close to deserving the other.