Lady At Arms (31 page)

“I did not want her any more than she wanted me. You, I want, Lizanne, more than I have wanted any woman. Do you understand?”

Berating herself for daring to hope he might declare his love for her, she nodded and told herself his desire would be enough. But it would not, and she was grateful for the dark when tears filled her eyes. “If Arabella does not hold you from me, what does?”

He lowered his head and brushed a kiss across her lips. “You, Lizanne. I have been waiting on you.”

“Me?”

“For your consent, madam, and not merely consent by obligation.”

Remembering when she had declared she would never willingly accept his touch, her anguish eased. Telling herself it mattered not that only she loved, she said, “I give you my consent, Husband. And not out of obligation but…”

“What?”

How she longed to say
love,
but the old Lizanne—the one before Ranulf Wardieu had spilled the pieces of her single-minded world and rearranged them around him—would not let her. And so she spoke what was also true, though not nearly as deep, “Out of want, Ranulf. I want you.”

A moment later, his mouth was on hers again, and it was no brush of the lips. No quick end to it. No restraint. And no regrets, not even when Gilbert walked in unannounced the following morning and roared at finding them asleep in one another’s arms. It was some minutes before he calmed sufficiently to resheathe his sword, and only when Lady Zara appeared and suggested a stroll in the rose garden did he remove himself from the solar.

Fortunately, Ranulf was quick to distract his wife from her embarrassment, and the two of them spent the morning abed.

After a full sennight, Lizanne still felt like an outsider. Though she cared for Ranulf’s injury and had spent these last nights in nuptial bliss, there were still so many hours of the day to fill that she thought she might go mad with restlessness. She had tried, repeatedly, to take part in the running of the household, but Lady Zara was still far from accepting of her presence.

In the end, there was nothing left for Lizanne but to spend her free time with Duncan, Gilbert’s squire. At the back of the donjon, away from others’ eyes, they set up targets and practiced archery.

To her chagrin, far too often the squire’s skill exceeded her own. It would not have been so bad, but she had taught the young man to shoot, and she was bothered by her failure to so much as match him.

She complained that she had not practiced in weeks and her chemise and bliaut were too cumbersome. Good naturedly, Duncan loaned her chausses and a tunic, but it was hours of practice that sharpened her aim.

It was not long before Geoff and Roland discovered their secret and persuaded Lizanne and Duncan to give them instruction in the proper use of the bow. Lizanne, knowing Ranulf would disapprove if he discovered she was practicing, secured a promise from both squires that they would say nothing of it.

So it was that Geoff forgave Lizanne for the imprudence of her act in attempting to end the duel between Ranulf and Gilbert and once more offered his friendship. Grateful to have someone else to talk with, Lizanne set about making an invincible archer of him. He did not disappoint her.

Roland, however, was a different matter. He had been sorely shamed by Lizanne’s trickery. Though he accepted her instruction, he stubbornly withheld his camaraderie until the day the four of them traipsed about the wood in search of prey.

 
Each with hares tied from their belts, they emerged from the trees.

“A good catch,” Lizanne called over her shoulder where she strode ahead of the others, so taken by the thrill of the chase that, not for the first time, she had to remind herself it was not becoming of a hunter to cavort. Fortunately, no one could fault her for a long stride. And, hopefully, none would fault her for putting meat on the table—

A great snort sounded, and before she snapped her chin to the right, she knew what it portended.

“Run!” Duncan shouted as the wild boar rushed at her.

Gathering her wits, Lizanne threw a hand over her shoulder to draw an arrow from her quiver. And found it empty as her brother’s squire had surely seen it was. For a long, precious moment, she could not move but then, still grasping her bow, she set her limbs to flight through the long grass.

Louder and louder, the animal’s angry wheezing grew, faster and faster the beat of its hooves as it closed the distance between prey and predator.

Certain she felt its hot breath on the backs of her legs, Lizanne pumped her arms harder.

Then the boar screamed, a tortured, high-pitched sound that cleaved the air before blessed quiet fell.

Lizanne whirled around and stared at the shuddering beast that lay feet from her, an arrow protruding from its side.

The bow fell from her hand and she dropped to her haunches in the wake of a world nearly torn asunder. Seized by a fit of trembling, she lifted her head and focused on the squires who ran toward her. Roland was in the lead, and she guessed it was his arrow that had felled the beast.

“You are well, my lady?” he asked as he hunkered beside her.

She nodded but could find no words to reassure him.

“Can you stand?”

She held up a hand in silent appeal for him to wait, then looked to where Geoff and Duncan had halted alongside the dead animal.

“God’s wounds!” Geoff exclaimed. “You could have been gored—”

“Splendid shot,” Duncan cut across the other squire’s words, then placed a booted foot on the boar and wrenched the arrow from its carcass.

Shakily, Lizanne raised herself and was grateful for Roland’s grip on her elbow.

“You are well, my lady?” he asked again, concern lining his face.

Lizanne turned into him and wrapped her arms around him, so incredibly grateful that she could not speak past a tongue grown thick.

Awkwardly, the young man patted her back until she drew away. “You saved my life,” she said. “I thank you.”

As it turned out, a sentry upon the walls of the castle had seen the spectacle play out and raised the alarm. Thus, Gilbert arrived shortly thereafter.

Jaw clenched as if to hold back angry words, he drew Lizanne away from the kill that would put much meat on the table, lifted her onto his horse, and headed back to the castle.

They were crossing the drawbridge when Lizanne summoned enough courage to turn and offer her brother a tremulous smile. “Methinks Roland will forgive me now,” she said. As soon as the words were out, she regretted them.

Gilbert reined in and turned her around to face him. “Do you play some silly game, Lizanne?”

She blinked. “You think I asked that boar to chase me?” She shuddered in remembrance. “I was truly frightened. At first, I could not even run.”

“Then why so satisfied?”

She was reluctant to explain, but she knew he would not allow his question to go unanswered. “Because I made something good out of something bad. Roland has been angry with me for deceiving him when I tried to prevent the duel between Ranulf and you. Mayhap I took my fright further than necessary, but surely you understand…”

He appeared unmoved by her appeal.

She looked at her hands. “Pray, do not tell him, Gilbert. I would not have him hate me.”

“What I ought to do is paddle your behind. Or better yet, I should let your husband see to your punishment.”

She gasped. “You would not!”

He sighed, shook his head. “Your secret is safe with me. However, if he does not yet know, Wardieu is bound to find out about your hunting. I think that will be sufficient punishment.”

She huffed. “What is wrong with it? You have not objected before.”

“Aye, and I was foolish to allow you so much free rein. You have no business behaving as if you are a man, Lizanne. You are married now and, God willing, will bear children before long. You are a woman. It is time you start behaving as one.”

She could not speak past the lump in her throat. She did not think she had ever seen Gilbert so angry with her. It could not get worse. Or so she thought.

Ranulf appeared upon the drawbridge, face hard as he swept his gaze over the men’s clothes she wore, harder yet when he looked to the empty quiver protruding above her shoulder.

Clothing aside, Lizanne knew well the image she presented. Her hair had all but come undone from the braid to which she had earlier set it, flying out in all directions and falling into her eyes. Too, her face was smudged with mud from when she had raced through a large pool of stagnant water to intercept that last hare. It was not the image a baron—any man—wished to have of his wife.

“You do try my patience,” he finally spoke. “Now come down from there.”

She held out her arms, but he stepped back, refusing to aid in her dismount. His message was clear. If she was going to behave like a man, she would not also enjoy the benefits of being a lady.

Snapping her teeth, she twisted around and slid partway down the horse. She dropped the last feet to the wooden planks, turned, and faced her husband.

Ignoring the warning sparkle in her eyes, Ranulf leaned forward and cut the ropes from which her game was suspended from her belt. He tossed the rabbits up to Gilbert, resheathed his dagger, then closed a hand around her upper arm and marched her past the disapproving castle folk.

He did not slow, not even when they entered the great hall. His mother, Walter at her side, stood when they walked past and raised her eyebrows.

Ranulf raised his own and his mother very nearly smiled.

Pulling his wife behind him, he mounted the stairs and traversed the corridor. Upon entering the solar, he released Lizanne, closed the door, and waited for her to turn to him.

She accommodated him, tossing her hair back and crossing her arms over her chest. “Now I suppose you shall lecture me on hunting.”

“After you have removed those filthy clothes.”

She glanced down at them. “I will not.”

Ranulf had no intention of arguing with her. However, when he stepped toward her, she pivoted and ran to the far side of the bed. He stopped, stared, considered what her next course of action would be. When he took another step forward, she remained unmoving except for her eyes that followed his progress.

“Lizanne,” he said warningly.

“Ranulf.”

He came around the bed and stopped again. Though there remained less than two easy strides between them, still she did not move.

He lunged.

She bounded onto the bed and sprang to the floor on the opposite side.

Still somewhat encumbered with his injury, Ranulf followed.

She was just passing through the door into the corridor when he caught her arm and pulled her back inside. He slammed the door and pinned her to it with his body.

“You truly thought to escape me?” he demanded.

Head tilted back against the door, she shook it. And smiled. “I very much intended for you to catch me.”

He frowned.

“Admit it.” She poked him in the ribs. “You enjoy the hunt as much as I. Would you deny me the same pleasure, my lord?”

“You do not take this seriously,” he growled.

She laughed. “I do not, for I refuse to let you ruin a perfectly good day. I enjoy the bow, and as I would not ask that you give up your weaponry, I think it unfair for you to ask it of me.”

There were so many things he wished to say to her, but the only one that came out sounded weak. “You could have been killed!”

Her face was slow to sober. “Aye, but I was not.”

He saw the light of fear in her eyes as if she harkened back to that too-recent incident. Then it was gone, replaced by another of her captivating smiles as she attempted, without much tact, to entice him out of his anger.

“Do tell. What would you have missed most?” She raised herself onto her toes and lightly blew in his ear. “The excitement I bring to your life? Or my arms around you at night?”

He pulled his head back, but the moment he looked into her eyes, he was lost. With a groan, he claimed her lips.

Shortly, he drew her toward the bed, but he did not press her back upon it. Instead, he released her, retreated a step, and swept his gaze up and down her wretchedly clothed body.

Lizanne looked down herself. “Not very appealing, hmm?”

“Indeed.” He walked around her and considered her backside.

She swung around. “What are you doing?”

He raised a hand to quiet her, ran his gaze down and up her again.

“Are you inspecting me?” she demanded.

He reached forward and pulled her tangled hair over her shoulder. “Something will have to be done with this mess.”

She slapped his hand away. “How dare you!”

It was Ranulf’s turn to laugh. “’Tis not as if I do not owe you. Surely you remember subjecting me to the same in the king’s presence?”

She caught her breath, smiled sheepishly. “I suppose you have been waiting for the right moment to repay me.”

“I would not say I have been waiting, but this opportunity was too good to let pass. Consider yourself fortunate
I
chose to do it in private.”

“You are considerate, my lord.”

“So I am.” He stepped near again, kissed her. “As you find pleasure in hunting,” he said, “I will not speak against it. However, in future, I shall accompany you.”

She reached up and cupped his face between her hands. “Then I shall find all the more pleasure in it.”

Near the end of the stipulated fortnight, Ranulf declared himself fit to ride south with Gilbert. Together, the two men made plans to leave in two days’ time.

With growing apprehension, Lizanne watched the preparations and escalation of training for Ranulf’s and Gilbert’s men.

All this for me,
she thought and wished there was a better way. Although the worry over Ranulf and Gilbert slaying one another had abated, she now had the worry of Philip Charwyck, a threat she took quite seriously.

As all three squires found themselves occupied with their lords, she spent much time brooding over the matter. When she had broached the possibility of accompanying Gilbert and Ranulf, she had been met with such angry opposition on both sides that she had fled the hall.