The Shattered Rose (20 page)

"Don't fear me," he said. "I'm in control again."

She paused in the tying of the girdle to look at him, and it wasn't fear he saw in her eyes, but a frowning concern. "I must fear you, for then I will be cautious. If you were to hurt me, Galeran, you would never forgive yourself."

She knew him too well.

As he knew her.

"I hit you." There was still a faint yellowing on her face from that blow.

"And it bothers you still, doesn't it?"

"Deeply."

"So I must be careful for you. But if it serves a purpose to beat me, I hope you will."

"It is the last thing I want to do, Jehanne." But he told her then, while she rolled on fresh stockings, about Agnes and Edric. She smiled at some parts of the story, but she understood.

'"You know," she said, standing to adjust the folds of her gown, "in a strange way I might even welcome a whipping." She came over to fuss with the hang of his garment. "Do you think that sort of thing heals the soul like a penance after confession?"

"No," he said, seizing her busy hands. "Have you confessed your sin?"

She became very still. "No."

"Why not?"

"How can God forgive . . . ?"

"God can forgive anything. And perhaps if the priest gave you a suitable penance, you'd stop wanting me to."

He'd meant it as a joke, but she sighed. "Am I anything to you but a burden?"

"Dear God!" He pulled her roughly into his arms. "You are
everything
to me, Jehanne. Everything. But it will take time to grow out of this." He held her close, closer, knowing he must almost be suffocating her. "Let us give ourselves the time," he whispered into her hair.

She pulled back enough to look up at him. "As long as the fates will give us."

She meant, as long as the worlds—the community, the bishop, the king—would give them. As if speaking for the world, the horn sounded to announce the meal, and he had to let her go, had to take her hand and lead her out to preside at the castle meal.

Everyone was there except the guards on watch and a few servants needed elsewhere. At the raised head table sat Raoul; Aline; Matthew, the steward; and Brother Cyril, the scribe. Galeran and Jehanne took their places in the central chairs. It was all as it had been for most of their married life.

The rest of the household sat at tables running down the sides of the hall, Galeran's knights closest, with Jehanne's ladies mixed among them. Beyond, the upper servants of the castle were placed—the falconer, the head stable groom, the mistress of the looms, and the smith.

Lower still were the other servants and the men-at arms.

The kitchen varlets entered with jugs, bowls, and platters, presenting the food first to the head table.

Galeran courteously chose good pieces and placed them on Jehanne's trencher. She smiled her thanks and did the same for him. He couldn't help thinking, though, that this would have gone somewhat better if she'd not stirred his jealousy of Lowick. Lowick and Jehanne ate at him like a canker. He wouldn't experience any true peace or happiness until he came to terms with it.

Thus far, he had discovered that Jehanne had seduced Lowick because she hated God. To many people that might seem insanity, but he understood her enough to see that she might have thought that way. Jehanne had a very human picture of God. For her, He was a person to be admired in good times, blamed in bad, and to be cautious of always.

Rather like a king, actually, Galeran thought, glancing sideways at her and drinking from the goblet they shared.

Because he was turned that way, he noticed that Raoul and Aline were being much more successful at presenting the appearance of a happy couple.

Raoul and Aline?

Galeran loved his friend almost like a brother, but he had few illusions about his behavior with women. Surely Raoul would never be so foolish as to attempt to seduce a virgin lady. Especially one like Aline, as good as pledged to the Church.

If he did, it might end with Galeran having to discuss it with him at sword's length. That he certainly did not need.

Aline was pink. Was Raoul embarrassing her?

* * * * *

Aline didn't know if she was in heaven or hell.

Truly, Raoul de Jouray was just the type of man she disliked, and the fact that he was handsome and charming only made it worse! He probably expected all women lowborn or high—to crumple at the mere sight of one of his slight, teasing smiles.

But ever since the bath that morning, it had been as if she'd an itch on her skin, an itch made worse whenever he came near her, or whenever he caught her eye across the room. Her normally clear thoughts were constantly tangled, probably because she couldn't think of anything except when he would appear, and what he would say or do when he did.

For some reason, having seen his naked body once, his clothes, even his mail, had become transparent and she could see it all the time.

The ride from Burstock had been exquisite torture, since he had ridden by her side the whole way. She'd tried to ignore him, but he had asked questions about the countryside, forcing her to answer. When she was reluctant to speak, he had told her of his own homeland in France and his travels to Spain, and to the Holy Land.

Footloose, she'd tried to tell herself. A wandering free lance really, without property or prospects. Though why that should bother her, she didn't know, since she was going to be a nun, and had no interest in Raoul de Jouray.

Or no interest she couldn't rid herself of with a bit of willpower.

Now, at the meal, Raoul wasn't flirting with her. He sent her no special looks, gave her no teasing touches. He was not praising her skin, her eyes, her lips, her hair. . . . They were just talking and eating.

So why did she feel hot and twitchy?

He was speaking of Flanders. "I think you'd like it, Lady Aline. They are a very practical people, the Flemish."

"You think I'm practical?"

His eyes crinkled. "Yes. Don't you?"

"Not at the moment," she blurted out, and felt another layer of heat rise in her cheeks. Oh, why had she said anything so stupid?

He leaned back and smiled at her. "But it's very practical at your age to be interested in a man."

At this direct attack, Aline stiffened her spine and glared at him. "I have no such interest!"

"Then you are notably different from the rest of the human race, Lady Aline. Young women are interested in young men, and young men in young women."

"What about old men?" she asked tartly. "Such as yourself."

Something flashed in his eyes, and then he laughed. "We are interested in women of many ages. But we ancient specimens have a great deal to recommend us, you know. We are patient, and we have more self-control than striplings."

"Really?" she queried, letting her gaze move pointedly to buxom Ella.

He blushed! She'd swear he blushed. It was as sweet as victory in battle.

"When we have need to be, Lady Aline."

"Ah." With great care she chose a gooseberry tart. "You mean you are patient about seduction, sir, but impatient when the game is won."

"Never." He smiled at her, lazy-eyed. "I promise you, Lady Aline, I am
never
impatient with a woman."

Pest! There went her color again, flying in her cheeks like a banner. "Some women will not be seduced, Sir Raoul, no matter how patient the hunter."

"So a good hunter learns to choose his quarry with care. More wine, my lady?"

She watched him pour wine from an earthen jug into her silver goblet, a thrill going through her at his words. Was it a thrill of terror or excitement? "You think
I
could be seduced?"

"Do you think you couldn't?" He poured wine into his own goblet, not looking at her at all.

"Yes!"

"Perhaps you are right." Then he looked at her, and something in his hazel eyes was like the trumpets of battle. "Do you wish to find out?"

"No!"

Calmly, he turned to the plate of gooseberry tarts and chose another to offer her. "Then we will not play the game."

She took the tart, studying him. "What game?"

"Seduction." Before she could protest, he added, "Of course, we couldn't actually take it to its conclusion, fair lady, for that would ruin your chance of becoming a bride of Christ. And it would quite likely land me in more trouble than I want."

And that was true. Her father and brothers would chop him into tiny pieces if he dishonored her. And by that time he would be glad to die.

Aline studied him as she nibbled on the tart, her heart beating fast. She was well aware that Raoul was acting like a hunter and setting lures and traps. But it was such exciting sport and ultimately completely safe.

"So it would be just a game . . ."

"Exactly. Like the mock battles men fight when training for war. In fact, like those battles, it could be useful practice for you. I suspect you need training in defense."

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you not like assisting men at their bath, Aline?"

It was the first time he'd used her name without "Lady" in front of it and she knew the game had started. "I am modest. . . ."

"The sight of a man's body cannot be a shock to you."

"No____"

"Well, then?"

She couldn't manage the tart, so put it down. "I rarely need to perform that duty, so it flusters me."

"I don't think it's the duty that flusters you, Aline."

She glared at him. "Very well. I find men arousing— young, healthy men. I have tried to fight it, but I never seem able to, so I prefer to avoid the occasion of sin."

His smile said he had won in some way. "It is not always wise to avoid our occasions of weakness. As you discovered this morning, it can leave us vulnerable. It's like a man-at-arms who avoids climbing walls because he fears heights. One day he will need to climb a wall in battle, and doubtless die for his folly. Fighting men need to be strong in all ways. They need to train away every weakness, to have their skills constantly well honed."

"I'm sure you are very strong, and your skills well honed."

"Oh, yes. See." Without warning, he took her hand and placed it on his bare forearm, pressing her fingers against iron-hard muscles.

She snatched her hand back. "So,"—she wished her voice were not so breathy—"let me understand you. "You are offering to train me in the skills I will need to avoid carnal temptation?"

Carnal temptation. She wanted, quite desperately, to feel his arm beneath her hand again.

"Not precisely." He adjusted the heavy gold bracelet he wore on his wrist. She was sure it was solely to draw her attention back to his muscles. "I suspect you need a lady to teach you those skills. I am offering to stage some mock assaults to test your defenses so you will know which skills you need to improve."

Mock assaults like that bracelet, that arm . . .

"In fact, Lady Aline, I am beyond offering and am now promising. You had better start reenforcing your walls and stocking up on arrows."

She forced her eyes back up to his teasing face. "Whether I agree or not?"

"Whether you agree or not."

She focused her most severe frown on the wretch. "I should complain to Galeran of your behavior."

"That would put him in a very awkward position, and it is not necessary. Remember, Aline, you have my word that I will not invade your citadel, even if it lies wide open to me."

Aline gaped at that blatant image, but then snapped, "Very well. But I warn you, sir, my defenses are very strong indeed. And sometimes assailants suffer more than the citadel they attack."

She then turned to watch four of Jehanne's ladies perform a dance, an intricate weaving dance whose sole purpose was to show off their grace and charm to the watching men. Why couldn't Raoul play his games with one of them?

She'd be after them with a knife if he did.

Oh, dear. Her defenses were straw and sticks and she feared he knew it.

As a beleaguered citadel, her first line of defense should be to call upon her liege lord to handle this unruly assailant. But Raoul was correct. That would put Galeran in a difficult position.

One of the ladies smiled at Raoul, and he winked back at her. Aline didn't know which of the two she most wanted to throw a pitcher of icy water over.

She also had to accept that having Galeran control Raoul wouldn't be much fun.

Suddenly, she wanted some fun.

Soon, probably before Christmas, she would return to St. Radegund's. Since she'd turned eighteen, she would be expected to take her novice's vows. This could be her last opportunity to explore the strange, frightening world of men and women. As virtually a promised bride of Christ, she shouldn't
want
to explore the strange, frightening world of men and women. . . .

But, on the other hand, the temptations of the flesh would never go away. He was right. She should build her defenses.

The ladies sat down and Galeran's knights started to dance, as unashamedly performing for the women as the women had danced for the men. This was a fiercer dance, allowing them to show off their nimbleness and strength as they acted out a very explicit hunt.

One of the younger knights—dark-haired and with a wicked eye—smiled straight at Aline and did a fancy sequence of steps. Normally she would have ignored it, but this time she smiled back.

A hand gripped hers beneath the table. "Aline," said Raoul. "You are not yet ready to take on one like that."

"Am I not?" She slid a look at her partner. "But I am able to handle you, you think?"

"Not in this millennium, my sweet. It is just that I shall be using blunted weapons, and that bold adventurer is whetting a fine edge to his sword."

* * * * *

Galeran nudged Jehanne. "I fear Raoul is flirting with Aline."

Jehanne slid a look sideways. "A somewhat pointless exercise."

"Perhaps it is just that—exercise. You think she's invulnerable, then?"

"Aline has always been wary about men."

"Aline was fourteen when she decided to become a nun. She spent only a year in the convent before coming here to be with you. Perhaps she has just been slow to develop an interest."