Elaine Barbieri (9 page)

“Father…”

“My sight may be limited, but my sense of smell is not.”

Rosamund frowned and took a step. “Father…”

His expression suddenly unyielding, Hadley said, “I will return shortly.”

Watching as Hadley left the hut with an uncertain step, Rosamund turned back toward Dagan. Her resolute expression returned and her eyes narrowed as she repeated, “Only when you are well…”

Dagan stared at Ross standing so obstinately in front of him. Were he not hindered by weakness…were he not so indebted…were he not so…so
fascinated
by the qualities of determination Ross exhibited in the face of obstacles that would daunt another, he supposed he might be angry at being faced down by the thin, undersized lad.

Dagan unconsciously shook his head at that thought and stared at Ross more closely. Those delicate features…those sparkling eyes…the smooth, flawless skin…those appealing lips…

In a moment of sudden clarity, Dagan realized that it made no difference that Ross was half his size. The aura of grace that Ross exhibited, the innate refinement of his demeanor, the gentle touch, the
appeal
that he responded to instinctively despite his greatest effort…

Dagan wondered how he could have been even momentarily confused. Ross could not be considered thin or undersized because…because Ross was a woman!

An undeniably beautiful, desirable woman…

Momentarily angry at Ross’s attempt to deceive him, Dagan considered that he had been deceiving her as well. He had had no choice but to falsify his information to make it more palatable to her at this time and place.

But what was the reason for her masquerade as a young man?

The answer to that question was apparent.

Dagan frowned. He had no right to allow Ross to realize that he had seen through her disguise when he was still insufficiently recovered to protect her.

That admission stung. It was important to him to shield Ross from the baron’s avaricious demands. He
could not allow her to walk arrogantly in the face of destruction—for him or for anyone else.

Ross’s comment rang again in his mind.

Only when you are well
…

He replied aloud, “I will accompany you to the site and I will obey the baron’s commands
when I am well
, as you said.” He added, “But I will accept that compromise only if you will grant me one in return. I ask that you bide your time with the baron until I can stand at your side and offer you the support you will need.”

“I need no one’s support!”

“I know the baron’s reputation, and I think otherwise. I ask only that you allow me more time.”

Dagan saw Ross’s expression tighten. Advancing toward him, Ross pressed him firmly back against the mattress with the flat of her palms as she commanded, “Lie back and rest.”

Gripping Ross’s hands in his, Dagan said, “I ask you to bide your time and your tongue for a few more days. Is that too much to ask?”

“I don’t know.” Ross frowned more darkly. “The baron plagues me.”

Dagan clenched her delicate hands tighter. He struggled against the growing emotion inside him as he said, “I ask you again to bide your time.”

Ross’s gaze slipped to his lips, and Dagan swallowed thickly. His heart pounded as he awaited her reply.

“All right, I will bide my time and hold my tongue…”

Dagan dropped her hands and nodded. He closed his eyes until Ross added, “For a few days.”

Dagan’s eyes snapped back open; yet he was more relieved than he dared admit despite Ross’s addendum.

Ross
…

She somehow touched him to the soul, yet the outrageous truth was that he did not even know her real name.

D
agan awoke abruptly and looked around him. The small hut had grown familiar to him, as had the mattress stuffed with straw beneath him. His wounds ached as he perused the still figures on mattresses that lay nearby in the morning shadows.

Rosamund pretended to be male for reasons he had no doubt were related to the Baron de Silva’s salacious reputation. He allowed her to believe he was unaware of her gender, knowing that deception provided both Hadley and her with a sense of security even if the precautions they had taken to avoid de Silva’s desire had failed. She did not seem to realize that his senses had returned to full capacity before his wounds had fully healed. She was unaware that he had heard the few times when Hadley had slipped and called her Rosamund, confirming what he had already known to be true. Nor did she realize that he had seen her react with a warning finger to her lips and a glance in his direction at her father’s lapse. Lastly, she did not seem to be conscious of the fact that the brush of her silver-blue gaze set his heart pounding, or that her gentle touch had become almost too much for him to bear.

She had cared for him meticulously for almost a
week and had virtually saved his life, but her care had not displayed any sign of reverence. Instead, she had chastised him along with her praise, insisting that despite his claims, he was not yet well enough for heavy labor.

Dagan frowned as he stared at her sleeping form. He had promised himself long ago that he would never return to the days when common labor was the only manner of assuaging his hunger available to him. He had fought hard in William’s service because he believed in him and in the truth of his causes. He had achieved knighthood, respect, and a position in William’s court envied by many. Yet his most cherished achievements were William’s friendship and his understanding of the very complex man William was.

It had not been easy to hold his tongue while others described William as a bloodthirsty warrior with no concern for those he had conquered, or when they stated their belief that he had no right to the throne. He knew better. He knew the moral standards by which William conducted his life despite the pressures of the times, and he was aware of the broken promise that had prompted William’s invasion.

Yea, to hold his tongue had been difficult. Yet he was only too aware that staying silent was difficult for another as well.

In the dark shadows before dawn, Dagan sat up on his mattress and flexed muscles cramped from inactivity. He frowned at the rags he had been forced to wear instead of his own clothing. Tattered and torn, they barely covered his body, but they were adequate. The
same could be said for the worn sandals left behind by his attacker.

Dagan slipped his feet into the sandals and stood up slowly. The week’s inactivity had left his balance unsteady. Yet his chest wound was healing, his bruises fading, and he could feel that the facial swelling had all but disappeared. He would allow Rosamund to hold him back no longer.

But…first things first.

Dagan moved quietly out of the small hut and closed the door behind him. He walked on the uneven ground in the lightening dawn, feeling stronger with each step. He had no need to ask for directions. He had just to follow the path of a familiar odor.

Dagan approached the barn moments later. He pulled open the door and stood in the entrance, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the semidarkness within. He had taken no more than two steps into the interior when Conqueror approached him with excited snorts of welcome. His smile full, Dagan caught the bridle of the great gray as he whispered into the animal’s ear, “I am pleased to see that you are well cared for, Conqueror.”

The war horse nuzzled him with surprising affection, and Dagan smiled more broadly. The animal pranced around him in a display that made the other animals in the barn restless, and Dagan reprimanded him softly before turning to the bin where the food was stored. It did not miss his notice that Conqueror followed him closely every step of the way and did not touch his food until Dagan gave the signal. When the animal dipped
his head to eat, Dagan could not resist a smile at the subtle companionship the horse afforded.

“So, you
can
smile. I was beginning to believe otherwise.”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Dagan turned to see Rosamund standing there. Her expression was tense as she said, “I awakened and found your mattress vacant. I assumed that you had taken the first opportunity to escape a difficult situation—that perhaps that was your intention all along—but I knew you would not leave without the animal for whom you had risked your life.”

Rosamund paused and Dagan’s smile faded. He had not expected her to jump to that conclusion, and he did not like the fact that she had.

Dagan replied, “You are correct, of course. I would not leave this place without my horse, but I gave you my word. I said that I would keep the promise you made to the baron in my stead. I did not expect you to dismiss my promise when it was given in good faith.”

Rosamund responded unexpectedly, “I have survived many disappointments since William’s invasion. I have lost many loved ones and friends, and have suffered the collapse of many plans and expectations. I did not find it difficult to believe your leaving was yet another—”

“Another disappointment?”

“Another promise broken…another solution unresolved…another person who—”

When Rosamund did not finish her statement, Dagan prompted, “Another person who…?”

Rosamund raised her chin. “Another person who failed to live up to my expectations.”

Dagan faced Rosamund squarely. “You have expectations of me?”

“I balance my father’s need for me and the baron’s interest cautiously. If you had left, the baron would doubtless have used your disappearance against me. The present situation is difficult enough.”

“Why is it difficult?” he pressed. “Because of the baron or William? Surely you did not expect that your life would not see some changes under a different monarch.”

“Some changes?” Rosamund’s expression was touched with incredulity. “I did not expect to hear those words from the mouth of one who had lived through the devastation of Horstede—or have you forgotten the blood that was shed there…the fires that raged…the wanton rape and slaughter?”

Dagan raised his chin. “I forget nothing. Those responsible for that debacle have been properly chastised.”

“Have they? And if they have, did that effort bring back the dead and restore the village to what it once was?”

“What’s past is past. I look forward.”

“As would I and those of Hendsmille, did not the baron stand directly in that path by stealing our lands, by charging outrageous rents that the common man cannot hope to pay, by making sure that every one of us realizes that we have been conquered by a foreigner who does not even speak our language.”

“Language is unimportant when the intent is sincere. Yet ‘stealing your lands…’”

Rosamund laughed harshly. “The baron usurps our lands in much the same way William did, only he takes
William’s
lands as well. It is for that reason that the baron’s hunting preserve has expanded almost twofold over the years while William’s preserves have shrunk.” Rosamund laughed again. “Though that makes no difference to those of Hendsmille who cannot hunt their own land under penalty of death.”

Dagan’s lips tightened. He repeated, “You said he charges outrageous rents…”

“And keeps a great part of the sum for himself, if I am to believe one in our village who kept his accounts and lost his eyes at the baron’s command when he commented on the discrepancies.”

Dagan’s frown darkened.

“You are displeased at what you hear.”

Dagan did not need to reply.

“The people of Hendsmille are similarly displeased.”

Aware of Rosamund’s prejudices, Dagan made no comment. He needed to discover the truth for himself, and he could not allow his feelings for this woman to affect that resolution.

Reasoning that those feelings resulted from the closeness they had shared while she had cared for his wounds, he said determinedly, “I begin work on the cathedral today.”

“Nay, not yet. You are not ready.”

“I am as ready as I will ever be.”

Rosamund took a step closer. “Are you ready to haul
the great stones that will be needed for construction? Are you ready to mix the great quantities of mortar as the apprentices do? Are you ready to use hammer and chisel where needed, or to raise great timbers, for that is the work the baron would have you do, what ever skills you possess.”

“I will do what I must.”

“Nay, you will not! The wounds that I so carefully tended will rupture if great pressure is exerted.”

“I am stronger than
you
think.”

“Perhaps…but not as strong as you think.”

Dagan’s lips twitched at Rosamund’s determination. As resolute as she, Dagan said simply, “I go to the construction site to work this morning, either with your approval or without it.”

Rosamund’s eyes suddenly filled. Strangely affected, Dagan took a step toward her, and then halted as she blinked back her tears and muttered hoarsely, “Stubborn…”

Dagan’s response was familiar. “I have not always been accused of being wise, but I have always been accused of being stubborn.”

She turned abruptly when her own words were thrown back at her. She said over her shoulder, “Hadley prepares breakfast. It would be
wise
if someone who intends to work heartily eats heartily as well.”

Rosamund walked away. Dagan found himself staring at the sway of her slender hips underneath the bulky clothing she wore and, aware of the very real danger there, cursed under his breath. He would keep his word and work at the site as promised, and he would
gather the information William had requested. Then he would leave as quickly as possible so he might dismiss the emotions assaulting him.

That determination made, Dagan spoke a few words of command for Conqueror to remain behind and followed Rosamund silently.

“Where is he?”

De Silva sat his mount stiffly as the site came to life around him in the early morning hours. Addressing Champlain as his fellow knight sat his horse to his right, the baron glanced at Martin Venoir, who drew up behind them before saying, “I have waited several days for the report on the status of construction to be delivered. I grew tired of waiting and came here only to see that work begins without the master mason and his apprentice.”

His gaze knowing, Champlain responded. “Surely there is another reason for your early rising and for summoning our support. Your need to impress a certain person who intrigues you, perhaps.”

The baron replied haughtily, “I have made no secret of my fascination with Ross.”

“Yet you did not betray your difficulty in convincing him that it would be to his advantage to entertain your intentions,” Martin interjected.

De Silva scowled at Martin’s unexpected comment. He had thought Martin had the intelligence to know when to hold his tongue. Making sure that he would not have to reprimand him thus again, de Silva replied, “I have difficulty only because I allow it. I admit to being teased by the young fellow’s reluctance, but I anticipate
a greater reward as a result. Still, I grow weary of delay.”

“Then you will be happy to know that both the object of your affections and the master mason approach.” De Silva turned to look behind him as Champlain continued, “At their side is the man who was injured.”

De Silva turned in the direction Champlain indicated and growled his disapproval. At Ross’s side— walking far too close for de Silva’s comfort—was a tall, muscular fellow in ragged dress. His wounds were apparent in the yellowing bruising on his face and limbs, and in the slight limp he could not conceal, yet the element of power about him was strong. De Silva recalled Ross’s claim that the fellow would be an asset at the site when he was well, but he had not expected he would look directly at him as if in unspoken challenge, or the look of intelligence apparent in the fellow’s peculiar light-eyed gaze.

De Silva chose to ignore his presence as he addressed Hadley. “I have waited long enough for the report regarding the situation here. I have come to collect it, or to discover the reason why it is delayed.”

“The reason is simple, my lord.” Hadley shook off Ross’s support as he continued, “I have not finished assessing the work already done. I need a few more days.”

“I have heard that before, but I intend to wait no longer.”

“My lord,” Ross interrupted, “Hadley’s report has been delayed by my desire to be certain that all his calculations were reached by correct observations and measurements. I have checked my figures twice, and I—”

“I did not address an apprentice! I addressed the
master mason responsible for this project, and I expect to hear his reply.” Gratified when Ross’s lips snapped shut, de Silva looked at Hadley and prompted, “Well, what have you to say for yourself?”

“The report is forthcoming. I would not have it lacking in any detail. Hence, the delay.”

“Forthcoming…” De Silva smirked. “And what does
forthcoming
mean?”

“It represents work that we have yet to accomplish— perhaps another day or so,” Hadley replied.

De Silva looked at Ross and asked unexpectedly, “Is that your estimate as well?”

Ross nodded.

Annoyed, the baron ordered, “Speak up! I would not have you play dumb when I ask a question.”

“Are you addressing an apprentice now, or do you wish a master mason to reply?”

“Do not try my patience any further, boy.”

The big fellow standing silently to Ross’s rear took a threatening step, and the knights behind him reacted by drawing their swords. Ross laughed aloud, startling him.

“I do not find the situation amusing, boy.”

“My name is…Ross.”

Signaling his men to sheathe their weapons, the baron repeated, “I would like to know why you find humor in this situation…boy.”

Ross replied without hesitation. “I find it amusing that you brought two armed knights to protect you from a simple master mason, his apprentice, and a wounded wanderer.”