Chapter Twenty-two

R eina sighed as she looked about the clearing. They had stopped while the hounds sniffed through the bushes, momentarily having lost the scent of the big buck that had been spotted earlier. Her thin woolen bliaut was ideal for riding, but the weather was unseasonably warm, and trickles of sweat were annoying her temples and soaking her linen chemise. Usually she would not notice, caught up in the excitement of the hunt. Today she had too many other things on her mind.

She ignored her husband, who had stopped his horse beside hers; at least she tried to ignore him. The insufferable lout had shown the ladies that other sheet, and Reina had suffered looks of horror and pity that were likely to continue until someone bothered to recall that she had returned to Clydon in perfect health. But that was what she got for telling him to do as he liked. And he seemed to think it amusing.

She had actually got a smile from him when he joined her in the hall to break their fast. She should have suspected that smile, but at the time she was too flustered by feeling that funny fluttering in her belly again. Caused by that smile? Jesú . Better he stuck to his boarlike disposition.

“Are these not the woods where those brigands I heard mention of abide?”

Reina was forced to give him her full attention now. “You mean those terrible outlaws who attacked your camp and caused you to leave in such a hurry that night?”

Ranulf did not take the bait. He had the nerve to give her another smile at the reminder of the ruse he had used to get her out of Clydon that fateful night. Two smiles in only a few hours. His mood had definitely been improved by that incident with the sheets. Perhaps he found it perversely amusing that the women of Clydon were temporarily frightened of him, thinking he had a monstrous weapon inside his braies instead of a normal prick. Reina was not amused.

“I do believe I do mean those same terrible outlaws,” he told her in what was for him a most pleasant tone. “Think you we will see some sign of them?”

Reina decided to bridle her annoyance for now, since he did seem serious in his interest. “Mayhap you will see signs that they have been about, but you will see no sight of them. They always seem to know whenever a large group leaves Clydon or Warhurst, and they scatter east and west, leaving the woods entirely.”

“Warhurst?”

“The small town on the other side of the woods. Actually, Warhurst is more plagued by them than we are. Occasionally they steal a sack of grain or a crock of butter from my villeins—”

“What of those large thefts of cattle and sheep you mentioned before?”

“They could be responsible for that, but I do not think so. They are only outlawed villeins themselves. Who could they sell the animals to? And the woods provide all the meat they could need. Nay, the thing they do best and most frequently is rob small groups of travelers on the north road, which cuts through these woods, especially merchant caravans on their way to Warhurst. As I said, Warhurst is more plagued by them than Clydon.”

“You have not tried to rout them?”

She could not help smiling in fond remembrance. “My father used to take his men in every month or so and scour the whole area. He actually looked forward to it, enjoying the hunt, and letting off steam when he returned, cursing the brigands, for he never caught a single one. As I said, they seem to know when they are threatened. The castellan at Warhurst sends out patrols more often, but the man is an imbecile and easily outsmarted. The outlaws might be villeins, but they are clever.”

“Think you they watch both Clydon and Warhurst?”

“With the woods so near to both, ’twould not be difficult to do.”

He studied her for a moment before saying, “You do not feel them to be a true menace, do you?”

“You mistake me, my lord. They gave my father sport, and that amused me and him. But they have been more troublesome since he left. ’Tis true they have killed no one I know of, but visitors to Clydon have been set upon, one lord robbed of nigh a hundred marks, which I felt conscience-bound to replace. They are my woods, after all.”

“And so your outlaws?” he snorted.

“Aye, mine—now yours.” That got a glare from him finally, and she almost laughed. “You have to take the bad with the good, my lord.”

“There is more bad?”

“Certainly.” She grinned. “Let me see—there is Tom Smith. Every few months he drinks too much and tries to set the village afire. No one knows why, not even Tom.”

“And you have not hanged him?”

“Why would I hang him? He is a good smith, and pays for the damage he causes in ironwork. I hope hanging will not be your answer to everything.”

“And if it is?”

She stiffened, her chin going up in a challenge. “Then we are like to have many arguments.”

“Mayhap we will, but not about that. Whether I will be quick to hang anyone remains to be seen, but ’twill be my decision as lord. Is that not so, my lady?”

He had met her challenge and thrown it back at her. She stared at him for a long moment, at the implacable set features, the obvious tension in his body. What could she say? She had given him the power to do as he would when she married him. But she had married him to have him protect her people, not to hang them arbitrarily.

Yet she could not have been so totally wrong about him. He had to be only testing her when asking about hanging Tom Smith. How else was he to learn how she dealt with her people unless he asked questions? She should not have got upset about it.

But the upset was not quick to go away, and her tone was stilted when she answered, “Aye, most all decisions are yours as lord.”

“Most all?”

“You want my duties, too? If all I am to do is apply my needle to a strip of embroidery, do you say so.”

Ranulf said nothing. Watching her eyes glitter with rancor, her small body trembling with it, brought a hot thickening to his groin. Christ’s toes, not again! But it was there, tearing at his gut, making him forget their conversation, forget the hunt.

The dogs caught the scent just then and the party took off after them, including his wife. Ranulf was filled with an unreasonable rage for a moment, as if he were the stalking animal and had just lost the scent of his own prey. And then it dawned on him that he had nothing to be angry about. What he had been hesitant to accept, even last night, even this morn, crystallized in his mind finally as truth. Reina de Champeney was now Reina Fitz Hugh, his wife. His . She truly belonged to him.

He set spurs to his own horse, but with a different quarry in mind.

Reina had just begun to relax, thinking she had left Ranulf behind and would not have to be bothered by him and his infuriating manner again, at least for a while. She was wrong. His large destrier sidled up next to her palfrey again, but this time ’twas not to ride next to her. Before she realized his intent, Ranulf’s hand reached out and took the reins from her, and her little mare was suddenly following him into the brush.

No one noticed. That was her first thought. The others in their party just rode on, not even looking back. Her second thought made her pale, remembering her defiant attitude just moments ago. She could only imagine that he had taken exception to it and was going to chastise her here and now.

But why? So she had been angry and let him see it. ’Twas not the first time. Was that worth a beating? He might think so, and he now had the right, whereas before he did not. But he did not now either, she reminded herself. He had sworn he would not when they had made contract—but not that he would not blister her backside. He had in fact warned her he would.

She paled even more and leaned forward to see if she could grab the reins back, but just then her horse halted behind his. She held her breath, watching him dismount, too frightened to do the same, to even think of running now.

She found her voice only when his hands gripped her waist. “I did not mean to—”

She got no further in her bid to appease him, for she was dragged off her horse, slammed against his chest, and smothered by his mouth covering hers. Kissing her? Aye, she supposed he might call it that. She was not sure what it was, especially when his tongue stabbed at hers. She tried to push it out of her mouth with her own tongue. That made him groan and squeeze her tighter, strangely not hurting her, stranger still causing a thrill to leap in her breast.

Her legs were not steady when he set her down. Neither was her breathing. And her thoughts had scattered hither and yon. By the time she had them back and in some semblance of order, Ranulf’s mantle was spread on the ground, his sword belt removed, and he was fumbling with the ties of his underclothing.

“What—”

The fierce look in his eyes cut her off. “Are you or are you not my wife?”

That look and tone should have warned her, as challenging as it was, but it did not. She was simply surprised by the question.

“Of course I am your wife. Did I not twice marry you so there would be no doubt?”

“So you did, and so being, I desire use of my wife.”

Her eyes flared in disbelief. “ Now? ”

He shrugged, though there was nothing nonchalant in his look. “I am young and lusty, which is what you insisted on, is it not?”

“But—”

Again she could not finish the thought, much less any protest. He caught her about the waist with one arm and bore her down to his spread mantle to begin kissing her again. In the back of her mind there was the thought that she still had time to explain reasonably that the Lord and Lady of Clydon did not couple in the woods. He had to stop kissing her to undress her, and she would make him see reason then.

More fool she.

He did not stop kissing her. He did not undress her. He did no more than yank off her braies and pull down his own and then he was inside her, riding her with a swift urgency that reached its peak in less than a minute.

Reina felt nothing, and that more than anything else let loose her temper when he rolled to her side. “Curse and rot you, Ranulf! You may be used to tossing up the skirts of any serf girl you come across and going right at it, but I will not have it! I am your wife, not some wench you found in a field. Do you want me, you will have the decency to remove your clothes and mine first.”

“If you say so.”

He reached for her skirt and she gasped, scrambling away from him and to her feet. “Not now , you beef-witted lout! I have had enough of your brutish skills for one day.”

He did not take offense. In fact, he rendered her speechless by laughing. And he was still grinning like a sated mongrel as he put his underclothes back to rights.

“Mayhap it has taken me longer to have it set in my mind that you belong to me,” he told her with that maddening grin, “but you have yourself confirmed it, and I will no longer fight it. ’Tis best you get used to my ways right quickly, for I will have you, will you nill you, whenever ’tis my wont to do so.”

“Anywhere?”

He glanced about at the low bushes surrounding them that were no real concealment and had the audacity to chuckle. “Aye, anywhere. It makes no difference to me.”

She huffed past him, tight-lipped with fury. “It does to me, and I will be certain not to leave Clydon with you again if this is your idea of a romantic tryst!”

For that she got more laughter that had her close to screaming in frustration. She was not about to ask his help to remount her horse. Yet while she was struggling to pull herself up, his hand came to her backside for the boost she needed. She gave him no thanks, did in fact blush mightily as she whirled about.

She would be lucky if she found the hunting party ere she was missed, but she had no doubt she would find them. Hopefully her husband would not. ’Twould serve him right did he become lost in the woods and not return to Clydon until dusk—in a mood to match hers.