Defy Not the Heart (26 page)

“Through no fault of your own, I am sure, since you are so good at going for the jugular.”

She smiled inwardly, aware that he had himself just taken exception to her remark. Still, she stepped closer to the door ere she made her final confession.

“He was still a stranger to me, and I had no excuse for being so inhospitable—which is why I thought to make amends by inviting him to join us at table.”

“You did what?” he exploded.

That
was her cue to exit right quickly.

R
eina had to clamp her hand over her mouth to hold in the giggles as she rushed toward the stairs. Ranulf’s expression had been so comical, half surprise, half fury. But she really should not have done that to him. He was certain to get even in kind for her putting him on the spot like that, and it might not even have worked. Just because she had him thinking she meant to make his father welcome did not mean he would put in an appearance to do otherwise. What had she hoped for, anyway? That they would see each other and all would be well? That was not likely to happen, and in truth, she simply did not want to be the one to ask his father to leave. She had been rude enough for one day. Did Ranulf want him gone, he should be the one to tell him.

Reina stopped at the top of the stairwell, for
she
still had to tell the man something when she returned to the hall without Ranulf. An excuse, a lie, the truth? Which would he believe? If he knew Ranulf as well as he implied, then would he not half expect the reaction she had gotten from him?

She was still frowning over this new problem when a hand clamped down on her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin, not having heard anyone approaching from behind. She saw why she had heard nothing when she swung about. Ranulf stood there barefoot, and bare everywhere else as well. Reina’s
mouth dropped open. She would never have dared to goad him as she had if she had not been certain she could escape his wrath by simply slipping out the door; he would not
dare
to follow her, at least not directly.

“Are you mad?” she demanded, feeling her cheeks heating with the embarrassment that
he
should be feeling. She imagined ten servants appearing out of nowhere to witness her husband’s total lack of modesty. “Sweet
Jesú
, you are naked!”

“What I am is far beyond my quota of patience, lady,” he growled in reply. “You have just earned yourself a chastisement long overdue.”

“Will you at least clothe yourself first?”

She regretted that flippancy immediately. If anyone was mad, she was, to tempt his temper further. She expected to be dragged back to their chamber for her “punishment” this instant, or to be pulled across his lap right there on the stairs. She certainly could not blame him after that unwise remark.

But he did neither, fortunately, for he had not forgotten the main reason for his anger. “Just now you will return to the hall, lady, and withdraw your invitation.”

Reina sighed inwardly. Why did he have to be so—so unyielding? Her answer, the only one she could give, was going to make him even more furious, but this time just with her.

“I cannot do that, my lord.”

“Cannot? I did not ask you, woman. That was an order.”

“I know.” She cringed. “And I would like to comply, but how can I? This is no longer just a matter of what is between you and your father. I was wrong to
make him welcome without first learning your wishes, but I did it, and as your wife, I speak not only for myself but, in your absence, for you as well. Do you ask me to take back an offer of hospitality, you shame me as well as Clydon. Is that what you are demanding I do?”

He glared at her for a long moment, but finally said, “Feed him, but then I want him gone.”

Bless him, he was not so unyielding after all. “Aye, my lord. And may I tell him—”

“Lady Reina?” Florette’s voice drifted up to them.

Reina gasped, looked down at her husband, and flushed crimson. “Go!” she hissed at him.

“We are not finished,” he replied stubbornly.

“Ranulf, you…are…
naked!
”

“So?”

“Lady Reina?” Florette appeared around the bend of the stairs. “Dame Hilary wants to know—”

“Not now,” Reina snapped at the lady as she swung about to spread her skirt wide in front of Ranulf, knowing even as she did it that that was not sufficient to hide his towering frame.

“But—”

“Not
now
, Florette!”

The woman retreated right quickly then, but whether she had first gotten a good look at them or, more to the point, at Ranulf, Reina could not say. The situation was still exasperating enough to ignite her own temper.

She swung around again to glare up at her husband. “That was the most lackwitted piece of stubbornness I have ever witnessed. Do you want to parade yourself before my ladies, you might as well come below now.
Why treat only one? I am certain they would all be thrilled to see you bare-assed naked.”

“Do not change the subject, Reina.”

It infuriated her more to see that for some reason he was now amused. Though he did not go so far as to actually grin, she saw it was an effort not to.

“Very well, my lord,” she gritted out. “The subject was your father, I believe? May I tell him you will join us presently?”

That got his frown back, she was glad to see. “That would be a lie, lady. You invited him. You eat with him.”

“As you wish.” She descended several steps ere she tossed back at him, “Your presence is not needful for me to appease my curiosity.”

“Reina, come back here!”

She continued down the stairs. “I will have food sent up to you, my lord.”

“Reina!”

She did not answer again, hurrying now, only half certain this time that he would not follow. She had no urge to giggle, but could not deny a good deal of satisfaction in thwarting him a second time. She would pay for it later, she knew, for he was not likely to forget his promised chastisement now, but she would worry about that later.

B
etween directing the servants to begin the meal and attending Dame Hilary’s minor crisis caused by Sir Searle’s insistence that he was well enough to leave his chamber, Reina had not yet returned to Ranulf’s father ere Ranulf came charging down the stairs, still in the process of fastening his belt. She had not expected this in response to her last defiance, and for a moment had the urge to run, thinking his rage was so great he had come to punish her now. But he came to nearly a skidding halt when he saw her by Searle’s chamber, alone, and must have realized she had not yet spoken again to his father. His gaze then searched for the man and found him by the hearth in conversation with several of Reina’s ladies.

Reina bit her lip, watching him grapple with indecision and other painful emotions she could not even guess at. He did not move, just stood there staring at his sire, making her realize how insensitive she had been to taunt him on this of all subjects. Verily, she deserved a thrashing. She did not know what it was like to hate one’s own father, but it could not be an easy feeling, going against the grain.

And then she saw Ranulf stiffen, and knew that his father must have finally noticed him. Sure enough, she looked and saw the older man stand up and start toward Ranulf. His expression was one of pleasure, immense pleasure. Ranulf’s was suddenly inscruta
ble. Yet his body was still stiff. Not a single muscle moved.

Reina held her breath even as she moved toward them to intercede. She could only hope her presence would prevent an angry confrontation, but she could not be sure. The two men seemed unaware of anyone else in the room, both for different reasons. But every eye in the room was on them, watching in fascination two men of such extraordinary size, and so identical. Mayhap this was why Ranulf did not say what he would have said were they alone.

Ranulf suffered a hearty embrace but did not return it. His father did not notice, or if he did, it did not dampen his mood.

“By the rood, I am glad to see you settled, Ranulf, and settled so well.”

“Indeed? Did you think I would remain a mercenary all my life?”

“Not at all. I knew you had more ambition than that. How could you not have when you are so like me? What delights me is that you have surpassed even my expectations for you, and much sooner than I could have hoped. How did you manage such a feat?”

“The lady was smitten by me and would have no one else.” Reina’s gasp clarified that piece of sarcasm for what it was. Ranulf smiled at her mockingly. “Do you have a problem with that summation, lady?”

“It matters not how it came to pass that you are now Lord of Clydon,” the father quickly amended. “You still have my congratulations.”

“So you are happy for me?” Ranulf replied coldly. “Is that what you want me to believe?”

The older man hesitated, unable to ignore Ranulf’s hostile reception any longer. “You doubt me?”

“Give me one reason why I should not.”

“I can do that,” Reina interjected, annoyed that he was being so churlish. “Because he is your father. ’Tis reason enough for him to want only your good.”

“Lady, you got me down here with your sly machinations, and that is mischief enough from you. Get you gone now. This does not concern you.”

“Whatever concerns you concerns me,” she retorted. “And I will not be ordered from my own hall, Ranulf. You want me gone, you will have to drag me out of here. But I warn you, do you make a scene like that before my people, you will regret it much longer than I regret taunting you.”

An apology and a threat all in one? Ranulf’s scowl darkened for a moment, then smoothed out. After another moment he was chuckling, and there was nothing of derision in it.

“You congratulate me, Lord Hugh? Mayhap you should offer sympathy instead.”

That he was teasing was not in doubt, so Reina did not feel
too
chagrined by that remark. And his father was amused, too, which was a good sign considering Ranulf’s attitude thus far. Lord Hugh? She should have realized, being married to a Fitz Hugh, that this would be his name.

“My lords, might I suggest you continue this reunion at table? Dinner has been delayed long enough due to some people’s laziness.”

Ranulf did not mistake that dig, and replied in kind. “Is that what you call lust these days, lady?”

Reina had turned away, but now whipped about with a gasp, two spots of color staining her cheeks. She started to say something, made a squeak of noise instead, and clamped her mouth shut. But her icy blue
eyes spoke volumes, and Ranulf knew better than to think he had gotten the last word in. When his guts spilled out on the floor later, he would know she had retaliated in kind.

For now, he at least had rendered her speechless, which was no small feat. With a fulminating glare, she huffed off, leaving him standing alone with his father, who seemed actually embarrassed by that last exchange.

“That was…” he began carefully, then changed his mind. “Never mind.”

“You might as well speak your mind here,” Ranulf replied in a neutral tone. “I intend to.”

Hugh winced at the implication, even given unemotionally as it was. “Very well. That was rather unchivalrous of you. She is your wife, after all.”

“Exactly.
My
wife. And you are not qualified to judge what passes between her and me when you know not what has gone on before. Suffice it to say the lady was deserving of much worse than that, and well she knows it, or she would have cut into me then and there with that sharp tongue of hers. I understand you have already had a taste of it yourself, to know of what I speak.”

“Actually, I had forgotten about that,” Hugh admitted. “She does indeed have a way with words.”

“She said you were too thick-skinned to notice.”

“Did she?” Hugh chuckled now. “Not at all. Enchanted is more like it. ’Twas refreshing to meet a woman who was not either impressed by my rank, intimidated by my size, or charmed by a simple smile. That has never happened to me ere now.”

“You are not losing your touch, old man, if that is
what you think. She was not very impressed with me either when we first met.”

“Still, Ranulf, you have missed my point. A lady can be a veritable shrew, but a knight must still refrain from chastising her or insulting her, at least in company.”

“Chivalry again?” Ranulf snorted. “And where do you get the idea that I learned such things at Montfort? I assure you no such niceties were taught there.”

Hugh had the grace to flush. “I told you I knew not the kind of man Montfort was, Ranulf, leastwise not until I met him at your knighting. My father arranged your fostering. Lord Montfort was a friend of his from old. I was assured you would be well received and taught by the best. And I was kept apprised of your progress, which was nothing short of remarkable. It came as little surprise that you earned your spurs at such a young age. I was nine years and ten ere I was myself knighted. Even my father was impressed by your abilities.”

“Think you I care what that old man thought?” Ranulf could no longer keep the bitterness from his tone. “In all the years he came to the village to check on my development, I had not a single kindness from him, not even—”

“What did you say?” Hugh cut in sharply.

“Was that too much for a boy to hope for, one kind word or look from his grandfather?” Ranulf snarled.

“Dear God, what are you saying, Ranulf? He did not know of your existence.
I
did not know of your existence. You were nine years old when he told me, and he swore he had only just learned about you himself.”

Ranulf could do no more than stare at him, feeling as if his guts were being twisted apart. To have the crux of his true bitterness ripped asunder, that his father had so despised him that he would not even acknowledge his existence those first years of his life. He had never once thought he might not know of him. How could he not? His grandfather had known. But he was forgetting the rest of his life, and other bitter disappointments. Nay, not forgetting. The rest was simply not as important.

In a voice devoid of inflection, he said, “He lied.”

“He would not!” Hugh insisted.

“Very well.” Ranulf sighed, too torn apart to care just now. “I lied.”

A brief look of raw anguish crossed Hugh’s face and shook Ranulf to his core. “Nay, I know you do not. Sweet Christ, no wonder you were so distant and unresponsive to me that day we first met. My father told me that was natural, that you had not known of me either. He said to give you time to get used to the idea.”

“Aye, seven more years is time aplenty, especially when I needed no getting used to the idea. I knew who my father was from the day I knew what a father was and that mine was unwilling to acknowledge me.”

Hugh paled at the accusation in those words. “Is that what you thought?”

“What else was I to think? I lived on your land, in your village. Everyone on the demesne knew I was your bastard even before my face and body fleshed out to prove it.”

Reina had heard enough, too much. She had returned to prod them into eating ere the food grew
cold, but had stood there and listened instead, aware that they were both too engrossed in this painful dredging of the past to notice her or anyone else. But she could not bear to hear any more, and she did not think Ranulf could either. His face was ravaged, the misery of a wretched and lonely childhood evident in his voice, his eyes, his every word. He was hurting inside and she felt it, hated it, and hated his father for causing it, much more than he did, if he did, for he would not be in such pain if it was only hate he felt for this man.

She could not take the pain away from him, but she could prevent more. “If you have not noticed, Ranulf, we have a hall full of people like to starve, waiting for you to take your seat at table.”

She got a potent glare for the interruption, but also the desired result. He nodded curtly and strode off toward the dais. When Hugh started to follow, she detained him with a hand to his arm. That the violet eyes he turned to her were nearly as tormented as Ranulf’s had been did not sway her.

“I swore I would make amends for my earlier rudeness to you,” she said in a low, though no less fierce tone. “I find I cannot, not after what I just heard. I want you to leave Clydon now, this minute.”

He did not seem surprised by this demand, but he did not comply with it either. “I cannot leave this thing unsettled, lady.”

“You refuse to go?”

He gave her a weak smile for the incredulity that erased her frown. “I believe your words were, ‘Do you want me gone, you will have to drag me out of here.’ I seriously doubt you can manage that yourself, my dear.”

“Plague take you, then,” she seethed, knowing full well she could not have him thrown out, at least not without Ranulf’s permission, which she was not likely to get now, or he would have done it himself. “But I warn you, Lord Hugh. Do you hurt my husband anymore by word, deed, or otherwise, I swear I will destroy you and your house and all you hold dear.”

“And if what I hold most dear is your husband?”

“You have been unable to convince him of that. What makes you think I would believe it?”

“Because ’tis true. I love him. I have from the day I first saw him looking at me with my own eyes, my own image. Before I leave here he will know it, if I have to beat the truth into him.”

So saying, he left her standing there in a quandary of doubt and confusion. She did not know now whether to interfere or let him try to convince Ranulf of his sincerity—if he really was sincere. But even were he not, should Ranulf believe him, would that not ease some of this bitterness he had carried inside him for so long? But beat the truth into him? She had to smile at that choice of words, for Lord Hugh was perhaps the only man alive who possibly could.