his wife would have him believe that Alan had lured her father out and horrified everyone along the length of the English border by killing the noble and bragging of it.
It was as though whoever did that deed had deliberately set out to incur King Edward’s wrath against him and all his kind. Were the Scots trying to instigate war?
That toady king of theirs had not the ballocks for it. All Balliol had ever wanted was the crown on his head, and Edward had been the one to let him wear it. No, Richard concluded, this was not a collective effort by the Scots.
The issue would not be solved right soon, so he decided not to dwell on it today. Instead, he headed back toward the hall where he could dry himself by the fire. If he went, so would Sara. The henwit looked like someone had thrown her fully clothed into the nearest river.
With a growl of impatience, he stopped her and pulled her cloak together where it gapped in front and framed those pert breasts of hers. The woman had no shame. Likely no one had been looking after her properly since she came of age.
“A wonder you don’t catch your death,” he muttered. “Go straight to your chamber and change, you hear?”
She beamed up at him, shining droplets caught upon her lashes and her lips. The breath caught in his throat as he watched her mouth come closer and closer still. Suddenly it met his own, brushed lightly and was gone on the instant.
Damn, he thought. He’d not had time to taste her.
Like a sprite tripping through a rainy forest, she gamboled up the stairs to the hall and disappeared inside.
For a long time, Richard stood there wondering how a woman of her height could move so gracefully, as though she trod upon air. And why the devil he should notice or care.
Chapter Four
More than a fortnight had passed since his wounding. Richard thanked God the Scots had stayed on the other side of the border for the time being. Though he had healed well, he had enough trouble as it was right here at Fernstowe.
As a rule, he rarely dreamed. Now Sara not only invaded his privacy by day, but also by night. In the days following her interruption of his bath, he could not banish the woman from his mind no matter how hard he tried.
The clean, flowery scent of her clung to his pillows as though she had slept there. He would awake with his nose buried in their softness, seeking the phantom source of her essence.
His hands tingled for want of touching that fine, smooth skin of hers. More than anything, he ached to teach that impudent mouth of hers a lesson, to devour it with his own and make her groan with need as he felt like doing. She set his senses afire, waking and sleeping.
On this particular morning, he again woke in a sweat, highly aroused and with every detail of the fantasies fresh in his mind. Before he’d had time to recover, she swept into his chamber chattering. Though nothing she said was in any way provocative, the mere tone of her voice made him burn like a brush fire.
“’Tis dawn! Looks to be a lovely weather. I thought we might hold the court outdoors.”
“Court?” he questioned, squinting at the window and its meager light of early morn. He had sudden visions of a daylong harangue between squabbling peasants.
She handed him the cup of ale she’d brought with her. “Not really court as such, though it is the time for it. There are no quarrels to settle that I know about, but the villagers and many of those farming the outer reaches will come today to swear fealty to you. I thought we would make a celebration of it. Nothing grand. Extra ale and sweet cakes, cheese, broken meats.”
She whirled around and threw open the lid of his clothes chest. “What will you wear? I’ll help you dress.”
He thunked down the cup on the table and swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep his body covered lest she see the state he was in. “Go along. I’ll be down directly.”
She glanced over her shoulder and for an instant vulnerability and uncertainty clouded her features. Then, quick as a blink, the expression was gone, replaced by a blinding smile. “Very well. I am glad you are feeling better.”
Carefully she laid down the tunic she was holding and backed away from the chest.
She hesitated when she reached the door and turned back to him. “Richard, would you grant me a favor? Just for the duration of the swearing and the feasting afterward?”
He did not feel disposed to grant her anything after the restless nights she had caused him, but he was curious. “I owe you for tending me and you know it. I always pay my debts. What is it you wish?”
She banished the blush she wore and met his eyes directly. “Hide your displeasure with me for the day?”
Richard could clearly see what the request had cost her. She bit her lips together and stood as straight as a lance, but her knuckles gleamed white on the one hand that clutched the other. He noted a tremor shake her ever so slightly as she awaited his answer.
“If you wish,” he agreed, watching her closely.
She nodded once. “My thanks.” Then she turned quickly and left, silently closing the door behind her.
Richard began to dress, wondering all the while why he should feel so guilty. Had he treated her any worse than she deserved? What could a woman expect when she tricked a man the way she had done? But his cursed conscience bothered him all the same.
Sara had believed him landless. She thought he also would profit by their marriage, so he could not complain that her motives were entirely self-serving. And save for an occasional flare of temper, the woman did act kind and cheerful, almost desperately so. Patient with him, too, even on the occasions when he had deliberately set out to raise her ire.
He shrugged and put his mind to dressing himself as befitted a lord about to assume the rule of a new estate and win the confidence of its people.
No reason to air his grievances about his new wife publicly, Richard decided. By rights, what lay between the two of them should remain private. In any event, he would never disparage Sara before Fernstowe’s people. But he would make an extra effort to appear congenial toward her now that she had asked it of him.
When he arrived in the hall, he saw Sara in an earnest discourse with two of her men. In truth it appeared to be more an argument than a discussion.
Richard recognized Everil and Jace, two of the most vocal among Sara’s men-at-arms. He had become fairly well acquainted with most who resided at Fernstowe now, and had appraised the force available to him for defense. At present, both guards were disagreeing hotly with something she had just said.
Richard approached, stood close and laid his right palm at the back of Sara’s waist. The men immediately fell silent. They regarded him and his proprietary gesture toward their lady with sharp curiosity.
“I trust nothing is amiss here,” Richard said evenly, favoring each man with a pointed look of warning.
“Nay, milord,” the man called Jace assured him. Then he smiled. “Milady says we should ride to the outer reaches this morn and escort in the folk who bide there. Ev and I, we thinks they’ll be coming without
