Chapter Eight

R anulf came down the tower stairwell to find Walter sitting on the bottom step waiting for him. “I was beginning to think you were lost up there. And here I thought I would be the last to return to the hall after that stunning little blond wench saw to me.”

Walter could not have said anything worse, not after Ranulf had lingered apurpose in the tower chamber to give his temper time to cool off. First he was given that catamite, then a female so hefty even he could not get his arms around her if he had wanted to, which fortunately he did not.

“How was she?” Ranulf said curtly.

“Need you ask?”

Ranulf growled low in his throat before demanding, “Has the lady come down yet?”

“Aye, a while ago,” Walter said with a curious look. “And what is wrong with you?”

“Naught that she cannot fix,” Ranulf replied and passed through the archway that opened into the Great Hall.

With anger near choking him, he headed straight for the raised dais and the large hearth in the center of it, where Searle and Eric stood amidst an entire group of ladies. Even the thought of going among so many “ladies” did not daunt him. But he did slow down and feel rather deflated as he rounded the long table now set with white linen for the afternoon meal, realizing belatedly that he would not know which of the women was Reina de Champeney.

There were four older women, the young Lady Elaine, whom he had frightened earlier, and three other girls who looked no more than twelve or thirteen. Which of the older women was the Lady of Clydon was impossible to guess, for even the oldest could be no more than a score and ten years.

It was the youngest of the four women who stepped away from the others to greet him. That her eyes, as well as the others’, were lowered demurely kept him still in the dark, for at least he would have recognized those cerulean-blue eyes he had seen earlier.

“Sir Ranulf, allow me to make known to you Lady Margaret, wife to Sir William Folville, who is still bedfast and unable to join us.”

Lady Margaret was the oldest. One down and three women to go.

“Lady Elaine says she has met you.” Was that censure he heard in her tone? “And this is Lady Alicia, Sir William’s daughter.”

A pretty twelve-year-old. He was obviously being introduced by rank.

“Dames Hilary and Florette are widows now,” the spokeslady continued. “Their husbands were Clydon knights, lost with my father in the Holy Land.”

That demanded a response, even though he now knew for certain after this introduction which was the lady he meant to have words with. Dame Hilary was a stout woman of a score and five years, Dame Florette a winsome brunette with green eyes that peeked up at him shyly. And that took care of the women present except for the one beside him.

“I am sorry to hear of your recent loss,” Ranulf said to these two, getting no more than a halfhearted smile and nod in reply.

“Cecilia’s and Eleanor’s fathers also joined mine on Crusade. We are hoping these knights will return safely with Lord Guy.”

These were the last two younger girls, each too shy or frightened to look up at him. “The honor is mine,” Ranulf allowed, bowing to them all.

And now that that was over, Ranulf was damned well done with politeness. He turned to the Lady Reina with every intention of taking her off some where and blistering her ears with what he was feeling.

She spoke first, however, placing a tiny hand on his arm and leaning closer to him to say in a soft, half-whispered voice, “Sir Ranulf, do you come with me, please. I would have a private word with you ere we sit down to table.”

For all that “please” she included, it was still a command to his ears. That it suited him and was what he would have said, though not so nicely, did not change the fact he did not like being commanded by a woman. But she did not wait for his response, taking it for granted he would not refuse her. She turned away from the others, her hand not just resting on his arm now but gripping it, as if she meant to pull him along with her, as if she could if he chose not to follow. But he did follow her, only because he wanted that private word, too.

She led him to a window embrasure on the side of the hall between what appeared to be wall chambers. There were two steps up into the arched alcove, an area five feet wide and as deep as the thickness of the walls, with two benches facing each other, lit brightly by afternoon sunlight.

She entered first, sitting on the left bench to face away from the dais. Ranulf took the other bench, though this left him in clear view of those still gathered at the hearth. He did not think that would stop him from venting his anger, as justifiable as it was, but again she did not give him a chance to have the first word.

“Thank you, my lord, for allowing me to apologize to you in private. The incident that resulted from my inattention is embarrassing for me to speak of, as I am sure it is for you, so I will be brief. I meant no insult to you in sending to you my personal servant. I was not thinking clearly when he beseeched me to let him attend you. Theodric is not usually so clumsy in giving insult, but in this case he tells me he did, and for that I beg your forgiveness, for myself and Theo. There is no excuse for his thinking you would be…he was simply besotted…oh, Jesú , this is more embarrassing than I thought.”

Reina squirmed uncomfortably, her cheeks flaming with color. The man was not helping her to end this. She had not been able to meet his eyes during this recital, but knew he stared at her, his own color high, waiting to see what more she would say. What more could she say?

With a sigh, she floundered on. “One has only to look at you, Sir Ranulf, to know you are not like…well, you must realize by now that Theo is different, that he is attracted only to…” She could not go on in that vein. “Verily, I am putting my foot in it.”

“Aye, you have that aright.”

Reina stiffened to hear his surly bass rumble at last. So he was still in high dudgeon, was he? She finally met his eyes directly and did not like what she saw in their depths, darkened now to indigo.

Coldly, offended herself that he could not be magnanimous after her apology, she said, “The mistake was mine. Theo cannot help how he is, but he has been with me for five years and is dear to me. I have already chastised him and will assure that you will not be reminded of the incident by his presence. But if you cannot see your way clear to forgetting the matter and wish to leave immediately, I will understand.”

Forget it or leave? Ranulf had to choke back what he would like to say to that ultimatum. The little bitch. She was forcing him to let the matter rest, denying him a chance to vent his fury now that she had put it this way. Of course he could not leave, not until night came and he could take her with him. But, by God, she had seen to it that he no longer had any regrets at all about delivering her posthaste to Rothwell. The two deserved each other.

With difficulty, Ranulf got out, “As you say, the matter is forgotten.”

“Forsooth, I cannot say I feel forgiven, Sir Ranulf. Do you wish to shake me again? Will that help?”

He glared at her for reminding him that he had also made an unforgivable mistake, and he had little doubt the reminding was done apurpose. And she had the audacity to smile at him now, revealing a row of pearly white teeth.

Nor did she await an answer. She reached across the narrow space between them and placed her small hand on his knee, then drew it back as if recalling she was not familiar enough with him to touch him. Yet she still smiled.

“I was not serious with that offer, you know. Does no one ever tease you?”

“Aye, Walter risks his life often to do so.”

She laughed, a soft, pleasing sound. “Fie on you if that is so. I hope ’tis only an empty belly that has you so surly, for that I can amend.”

Ranulf had the grace to blush. The lady was still teasing, but if he did not let go of his bad temper right quickly, she would not be offering him a chance to leave, but demanding that he do so.

“Your pardon, demoiselle. And your viands will indeed be most welcome.”

“Then we must not make you wait any longer. Come, and you shall share a trencher with me.”

Christ’s toes, did he have to? She was honoring him, but he did not see it so. To sit next to her and have to observe all the courtly rules, to feed her the best portions, cut her meat, make sure her cup was never empty, to in effect do all he could to please her? When a man was hungry he ought to be able to eat his meal in peace, but how could he with ladies present demanding you serve and amuse them?

Ranulf closed his eyes with a groan, then snapped them open again to watch her as she returned to the dais, once again assuming he would follow. His eyes fixed on her narrow hips, swaying gently as she walked, or more likely glided away. How old was she? Fifteen? Sixteen? She could not be much more than that, not as tiny as she was. But he had to allow she did have breasts. Two small mounds, but noticeable despite several layers of clothing.

Sitting across from her, he had gotten a good look at her at last whilst she avoided his eyes due to the nature of her apology. There was nothing childlike about her face. It was small but clearly defined, the face of a woman. Slanting brows were nearly hidden beneath a fringe of thick bangs. Almond-shaped eyes, a narrow, straight nose, a wide mouth with full lower lip, and a small chin completed the picture. It was not a beautiful face in the ordinary sense, but certainly interesting with that lush lower lip and unblemished skin, a creamy white softness that almost demanded touching. But what was unusual and striking about her was the combination of those light, light blue eyes with hair as black as pitch, brows just as black, thick lashes blacker still. Not beautiful, but by no means ugly.

She did not attract him, however, not in the least. It was the strong, robust wenches who caught his eye, women capable of withstanding a rough tumble, which was all he was interested in. Small, delicate women scared the hell out of him, and if they were ladies, he liked them even less because they were ladies. And this particular lady he liked least of all for thinking a few paltry words of apology could appease the insult she had dealt him. Now she had added teasing to the list of grievances he had against her. He might have to put up with such annoyance from Walter, but not from her.

Noticing Walter grinning at him brought Ranulf to his feet. He might as well get this over with, the sooner he could then make plans for their leaving.

A horn sounded, calling the castlefolk to the trestle tables set up below the dais. Ranulf could scarce believe the small number of soldiers who trudged in, some wounded. A demesne this size and so obviously rich could support a garrison of several hundred, so where were the men needed to protect it? He itched to know the answer, but it would have to wait.

He had decided not to question the lady here, where he must guard his temper. She annoyed him too easily with her commanding air, and the less he must talk to her, the better. When he had her away from Clydon would be soon enough to demand answers. She would not be so haughty then.

So he let Walter do what came natural and monopolize the table talk with his jocular humor, even if some of it was at Ranulf’s expense. At least Walter kept Lady Reina amused, which kept her attention diverted, and Ranulf did not have to suffer her direct gaze more than once or twice. And after the meal was over, he was able to escape entirely with the excuse of dispatching most of his men, which she did not object to in the least, for his greater force obviously made her nervous, and rightly so. That he could simply take her with that greater force and be done with it was not an option he allowed himself. That would only lead to the unnecessary killing of her people, which stealth would prevent.