Defy Not the Heart by Johanna Lindsey

  Lanzo slept on, undisturbed by their comings and goings through the antechamber where he nightly spread his pallet. He was attuned to Ranulfs voice raised in summons, but Ranulf had not once raised his voice this morn.

  The bedchamber had lightened up considerably since Reina had left it, dawn giving way to sunrise. Ranulf did not put her down until he reached the bed, where he could set her. Only then did she glance at his face to determine his mood. His grin was self-explanatory.

  "So that is why you are not angry. You found my behavior amusing?"

  He sat down next to her but avoided looking at her, staring instead at his feet stretched out before him. "I have had women fight over me before and throw jealous tantrums, but never over my cat."

  "Is that so?" she replied indignantly.

  The laughter he had been holding in burst forth. He fell back on the bed with it. He rolled from side to side with it. He roared with it. Reina glanced about for something to hit him with.

  "I swear," he gasped out, clutching his stomach now, but still laughing, "I have never seen ... or heard anything so funny ... as you accusing a cat ... of farting just for your benefit!"

  Had she really done that? 'Twas not even logical. Animals could not control such things any more than people could.

  "I will allow I may have been hasty in that accu­sation. I should have said she would have done it apurpose if she could have."

  That brought on another paroxysm of laughter. Tears were now streaming from his eyes. Reina had to bite her lip to keep it from curling. His humor had be­come infectious.

  "Enough, Ranulf," she said in exasperation. "So I behaved like an idiot. You do not have to rub it in."

  "Nay, not an idiot." He pulled her down next to him and leaned over her, smiling. "You were utterly delightful."

  "And silly," she said, feeling warmed by the way he was now looking at her.

  "Silly, aye. Know you that I have never before laughed like that? I am glad you are so silly, little general."

  Her hand came up to wipe the moisture from his cheeks. "I am sorry."

  "Why?"

  "That you have had so little to laugh about in your life."

  He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. "Careful, lady, or you will find out firsthand what I do to women who wish to cosset me with sympathy."

  "I know exactly what you do," she snorted. "You take complete advantage of their sympathy to lure them to your bed. A shameful male tactic."

  "No more shameful than those female tactics you worked on me yesternoon, when you assumed I was suffering a guilty conscience."

  "Never did I—" she started to deny, but his know­ing grin brought an answering one to her lips. "It always worked on my father."

  "I am not your father."

  Her brow arched. "You do not care whether you have peace in your household or not?"

  Reina tensed as he bent his head to grasp the edge of her bedrobe with his teeth and pull it open, then melted when his tongue slid out to swirl about the exposed nipple. When he glanced back at her, his eyes gleamed with male satisfaction.

  "I believe," he said in answer to her question, "I have discovered a more delightful way to make peace."

  "Mayhap you have," she agreed in a husky whis­per, but then sat up and was able to add matter-of-factly, "But as we are already at peace ..."

  "Not so fast," he chuckled.

  A finger in the neck of her bedrobe brought her back down. It also brought the opened robe off her shoulders. Both breasts were now visible, and the look on his face as he gazed at them told Reina this con­versation would not continue much longer.

  "Are you still angry that I sought out Red Alma?"

  Reina squirmed uncomfortably. "You could have brought your question to me."

  "Would you have told me how to pleasure you as I did?"

  "How could I when I did not know such was even possible?"

  "Neither did I."

  His lips grazed her cheek on a path toward her mouth, but he did not kiss her. He ran his tongue tantalizingly over her lower lip until she was teased enough to press her lips to his. Then he leaned back, grinning.

  "Now tell me you enjoyed it."

  "You have doubt?" she asked incredulously.

  "Nay, but I want to hear you say it. Say it, Reina." He punctuated the demand with another kiss, leaving his lips hovering just over hers. "Say it."

  "Idid-enjoy it."

  "Do I do it again, you will not protest?"

  "I did not say that. Ranulf, wait! Tis morn . . . daylight . . . sweet Jesii," she ended with a blissful sigh.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  .Reina snipped off the last thread and stood up, shak­ing out the finished garment for inspection. She had to smile. Trimming the blue velvet with strips of bro­caded ivory silk had produced a bedrobe worthy of a king. Whether her husband would consent to wear it was the question, however, and not just because he was not used to wearing a bedrobe. All of his cloth­ing was nondescript, plain woolens and linens with­out embellishments, most in need of repair. You could not accuse the man of being showy or ostentatious, even though he had long been able to afford grander clothing. That he preferred simple attire said a lot for his character.

  She had indulged her own fancy with the bedrobe, since only she and the few servants allowed in the bedchamber would see him wearing it. The rest of the new wardrobe she intended making for him would be of fine quality, but much more modest—at least until she could accustom him to the idea that wealthy lords of the realm were expected to be grandiose, at least more splendidly arrayed than their own vassals.

  The comments she had gotten from her older ladies as she was working on the bedrobe were typical rib­bing for a new bride, and she had taken them in that vein.

  "Are you sure you want to cover those magnificent shoulders in that?"

  "I would be taking it off him, not putting it on."

  "You will be sorry if he takes after my William and decides to sleep in his." That from Lady Mar­garet.

  "If he is not used to wearing one, why tamper with a good thing?"

  What they did not seem to realize, and Reina was not about to tell, was that having a man with a body like Ranulf's parading around the bedchamber in the altogether played hell on a woman's equilibrium, at least on hers. She did silly things when he was naked, like stare with brazen discourtesy, or accuse a poor cat of being spiteful. Before long she would succumb to the sensual urges all that golden skin manifested in her, to touch him, caress him, taste him, whether he bade her to or not. What would he think of her then? After all, his frequent bedding of her now was no more than a fulfillment of their bargain. Once she was with child, it would end.

  Putting him into a bedrobe now was a safeguard to temptation. It assured that he would not think her pining away for loss of his body later on. If he had gone on as he had to begin with, there would have been no doubt of that. But his new techniques had gotten to her. Jesii, how they had gotten to her. And he knew it. He was also sweetly endearing in his delight over this great feat, a typical male reaction, she supposed, like a little boy winning his first vic­tory against insurmountable odds. So it was up to her to make him believe she was still basically indifferent. She was going to come out of this with her pride, if naught else.

  Reina draped the finished garment over her arm to take to her chamber. She would leave it on the bed for Ranulf to find. Hopefully he would feel obliged to wear it simply because 'twas made for him. If not, she would have to see about making the chamber drafty by removing some of the wall coverings. A little cold would curb his lack of modesty if naught else would.

  "I would reconsider were I you," Dame Hilary called out in a singsong voice, setting the younger ladies to giggling.

  Reina smiled despite herself. Were the circum­stances of her marriage different, she would indeed reconsider. But she was not likely to forget that Ran­ulf had practically had to have his arm twisted ere he would agree to wed her. He might have new
loverlike skills that he was inordinately proud of, but he would no doubt prefer to practice them on someone else.

  "If you must give it him, lose your own," Florette suggested, straight-faced. "That will assure he will not wear his too often."

  They finally managed to get the blush they were after. But before Reina could give a suitable reply, Wenda appeared in the doorway to interrupt the merry laughter. She was out of breath, with a hand to her chest indicating she had come at a run. Nor did she mince words once she had caught her breath.

  "My lady, best you come quickly. Lord Ranulfs knights have returned, and two are grievously wounded."

  There was not a single sound heard in the sewing room after that. Reina's heart had dropped with those first words, thinking something had happened to Ran­ulf. Why she should react like that she was not sure, but as her color returned, her mind turned efficient.

  "Hilary, Florette, do you both come with me."

  She tossed the bedrobe to Wenda. "Put that in my chamber when you fetch my medicaments. Margaret, do you gather what is needful and meet me below. Elaine, send someone after my lord. This will not await his return."

  "Where is he?"

  "In the village, I believe." Making Red Alma rich, she added to herself, for she was not sure Ranulf had been teasing when he had said the woman's advice was worth her weight in gold. "Florette?"

  The young widow had not moved to join her, was in fact still staring ashen-faced at Wenda. "Was—was Sir Walter one of the wounded?"

  "I know not, madam," Wenda replied. "They were still being carried into the keep when Master Gilbert sent me to fetch Lady Reina."

  Florette's color did not improve with that answer, and Reina had to wonder if the lovely brunette had developed a tender for Walter de Breaute. Obviously, her own problems had made her lose touch with what was going on around her in her own home. She had not even been aware that Ranulfs men had left Cly-don today.

  "Florette, mayhap you had best remain here," Reina suggested, deciding the woman would be more hindrance than help if she did indeed hold Sir Walter in her affections and he was one of the two wounded. "Margaret can—"

  "Nay, I need to know."

  "Certainly, but—"

  "Please, my lady, I was only surprised," Florette insisted. "I am fine now."

  Reina hesitated, but finally nodded and left the sewing room.

  Even before she reached the hall she could hear Searle of Totnes blasting the men carrying him with invectives. He had taken a pike in his thigh, and al­though the metal spearhead had been removed, he had links from his mail chausses embedded in the wound that were agitating it with each movement. From the volume of his voice, however, she deter­mined his condition was not as grievous as Wenda had implied. Walter, on the other hand, and he was the other man hurt, was unconscious. His color was not good, and he was bleeding from more than one wound.

  Eric Fitzstephen followed behind them, and it was to him Reina directed the questions she needed an­swering, while the bearers deposited the knights in their separate chambers off the hall. "How long has Sir Walter been bleeding?"

  "Too long," Eric replied, his voice raspy with worry. "He took that gash on his side early in the fray, yet continued to fight. And we were a goodly distance from Clydon when we were set upon."

  "Did he fall from his horse when he received that head wound?" she asked with concern. "I must know if he has aught to tend from within."

  "Nay, no cracked ribs or the like. That wound did not fell him, nor the other. 'Twas the sight of his own blood when 'twas over that—ah—"

  "I understand," Reina cut in, realizing how diffi­cult it was for one knight to claim another had fainted. "Know you who did this?"

  "We were on the woods road, my lady."

  Explanation in itself, she supposed. "Very well. I have sent for Ranulf. Best you have one of my ladies attend your scratches ere he gets here, for he will want a full accounting of what happened."

  She found Florette already bent over Walter in his chamber. Her face was colorless again, but she was not rendered useless. Carefully, she was removing the makeshift bandage that had been wrapped about his head.

  "Leave that," Reina said briskly. "The bleeding has stopped there, but his side still seeps."

  "Will he—die, my lady?"

  "Why should he do a fool thing like that?" Reina said, though until she saw the wounds, she could not really say for sure.

  The most difficult task was removing Walter's heavy hauberk so they could get to the wound. It took two men to manage this with the least amount of move­ment. The rest of his clothes were quickly cut away, to reveal more clearly the extent of his blood loss.

  Too long, Eric had said, and had not exaggerated. Walter's whole left side was soaked red clear down to his boots, the wound ragged and still dripping. The weapon, whatever it was, had pierced the hauberk just above the lowest rib. But instead of entering the body for a death wound, it had been deflected off the rib to slice a long tear straight across beneath his hau­berk. 'Twas deep, but did not seem dangerously so; at least it would not be had it been closed up sooner. The danger now was in whether he had lost too much blood, and so would be too weak to fight off infec­tion.

  Reina worked swiftly, cleaning the wound and then applying a salve to immediately stop the blood flow. She let Florette do the stitching while she then saw to the head wound. This was just a small break in the skin, though there was a thick lump under it. A hel­met could have prevented it, had he been wearing one at the time. As he was certain to have a splitting head­ache for a goodly number of days, he was not about to leave Clydon without a helmet again.

  Walter did not awaken once, which was fortunate as there were so many stitches to apply, but 'twas not so easy getting the tonic she had prepared into him. She left Florette to see to that while she checked on the younger knight.

  Searle's loud complaints, grown louder still while Hilary worked on him, were heard clearly in the next chamber. He had only quieted down now that she was almost done with him.

  When he saw Reina, however, his voice rose again. "You are cruel, lady, to set this witch on me."

  "That witch has gentler hands than I, sirrah, so be grateful I was too busy with Sir Walter to attend you myself."

  That shut him up nicely and brought a chuckle from the stout dame. "Did you ever hear a boy make so much fuss over a little prick?"

  "Little?" Searle choked.

  "Only three stitches, my lady," Hilary informed her.

  "So few? Sir Walter had nigh a full score. Did you hear him screaming for mercy?" Reina grinned then, taking pity on the young man now blushing. "Nay, Searle, we only tease you. Yelling ofttimes eases the pain. You should have heard my father when he would get a mere splinter from the exercise yard. We had to stuff our ears with cloth ere we could remove it."

  "Is Walter—will he—"

  "You have no need to worry over him. He is still unconscious, but that is a good thing just now. His wounds were not as bad as they seemed, but they will be very painful once he rouses. Now drink this." She handed him a decoction of white poppy mixed in warm wine. " 'Twill ease your own pain and put you to sleep, which is what you also need just now."

  "But Ranulf—"

  "Eric can answer all his questions."

  At that moment, the door in the next chamber crashed open and Searle swiftly gulped down his tonic. "How quickly will this work?"

  Reina frowned at him. "What is wrong with you?"

  "He is going to be furious. I would just as soon sleep through it."

  "But why should he be angry, unless you three did wrong? Did you?"

  "We have one dead and two wounded. There were only fifteen of them. We should have given a better accounting of ourselves, lady."

  "How many rode with you?"

  "Six."

  Reina gave him a look of disgust. "Go to sleep, lackwit. Hilary, see to it my lord husband does not come crashing in here to disturb him."

  "You do
not ask for much, my lady."

  Hilary got a disgusted look, too, for her unneeded sarcasm. "Very well, I will see to it myself," and Reina left, mumbling, "Jesu, three to one is even odds? Does he think his men are all giants like him­self?"

  Eric slumped weakly against the wall outside Wal­ter's chamber, apparently already having told Ranulf what had happened. The door was still open, and Reina became hesitant now on seeing Ranulf within.

  He stood next to Walter's narrow bed looking down at him, his body so still it could have been made of stone, muscles bunched, fists clenched at his sides. She could not see his expression yet, but he must indeed be angry to have frightened Florette into leav­ing her patient, for she, too, was waging without the chamber.

  He still did not move or glance her way when she reached his side. "You cannot truly be angry with him for getting wounded, Ranulf. Think you he did it apurpose?"

  "The fool knew he would be traveling through the woods, lady. He knew the place swarmed with brig­ands, and yet he only took three men-at-arms with him."

  "But they were besides three knights fully armed. The outlaws rarely set upon travelers with any strength in their group."

  "They did this time."

  What could she say to that? So he did have reason to be angry. But when he finally looked at her, 'twas not anger she saw in his eyes, but a deep, terrible dread.

  "My lady, please, do not let him die," he said with heartfelt gruffness. "Do you aid him to recovery, you will have my deepest gratitude."

  Reina felt her throat tighten. She had the over­whelming urge to put her arms about him and assure him he had naught to fear. But sympathy and trite assurances were not the way to deal with this man.

  "Whatever can you be thinking, my lord?" She made her voice deliberately stern. "Much as I would like to have you beholden to me for a time when I might find it useful to have you so, I must tell you de Breaute is not dying. His wounds are trifling com­pared to some I have seen."

  "Then why does he not awaken?"