My Lady's Choice

Because neither class of woman suited him as wife, Richard had intended to remain unwed forever, but that intention lay in ashes now. And this wellborn wife seemed to be of the conniving ilk. She was in no way reserved, that was for certain.

Question was, what did Sara of Fernstowe want so badly that she would offer her body? Her enemy vanquished for one thing. She had admitted it, but she must know he had no choice about that with orders from the king. A son to inherit her lands? So she said, but he could not imagine a woman suffering so when she would never hold the profits in her own hands. What, then?

His body ached to give her what she asked, for whatever reason she asked it. Why not succumb to her wish and bed her?

Because she would loathe it, that was why. As all noble daughters were taught, Sara would believe it degrading, a necessary evil for begetting. And Richard knew he would hate equally a pretense that she liked it, or a cursory avowal that she did not. Better to do without.

Unfortunately, he did lust after Sara of Fernstowe. If she affected him this powerfully when he felt so weak from a wounding, how the devil would he manage to resist her when he grew strong again?

Friendship, indeed! A gust of laughter broke free and Richard was infinitely glad Sara was nowhere near to hear it, for he knew it might please her. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

The next morning, Sara halted just outside her husband’s chamber. She smiled to herself as she leaned back against the wall and waited for him to immerse himself in the tub Eustiss had brought and filled for him.

Through the partially open door, she had caught a brief glimpse of him unclothed before she stepped back. It would take her a moment to still that wicked heart of hers. Richard’s was a finely wrought figure, even viewed from the back.

In a few moments Eustiss came out and passed her with a look of silent amusement. Sara immediately marched in humming and plunked down a fresh change of clothing on his bed, garments of her father’s that no one else at Fernstowe could wear.

“Here. Have these. Except for the hunting clothes, which were ruined, yours are much too fine for—”

“God’s breath!” The abrupt slosh of water and his shout interrupted. “What do you here?”

Sara walked to the tub, hands on her hips, grinned down at him and leaned over. “Attending your bath, of course.”

He had clasped his hands over his manhood, scowling as though she’d come to relieve him of it. “I can bathe myself. Now, leave me!”

Sara tossed her head back and stared at the ceiling as she spoke. “I’ve seen all you have there, husband. No need to play coy.”

“Coy? Have you no thought to a man’s privacy? Or is there such a thing in this place?”

“Not much of it, I do admit,” Sara said, laughing. She scooped up the soap and cloth from the bathing stand by the tub. “Lean forward, I shall wash your back. Mind you keep that wound dry.”

“Devil take the wound. Go away.” But he sounded less adamant and he bent forward just as she’d instructed.

Sara dipped the rag, soaped it and began scrubbing circles on his back. She dug hard into the bunched muscles. He bit off a groan of pleasure, but not before she’d heard it. Sara smiled, enjoying the small success.

“What do you mean you’ve seen everything?” he asked carefully. “I thought Eustiss did the bathing before.”

“Eustiss? Ha!” Sara exclaimed. “That one rarely bathes himself, much less anyone else. Swears it brings on agues and fevers.”

Richard remained silent after that until she had finished cleansing the long, muscled length of his back. Then she tilted back his head and poured water over his hair, working the soap into the thick chestnut waves. How silky it felt trailing through her fingers!

Not until she had rinsed his hair and handed him a length of linen to wash his face did he speak. “Why do you do this?”

“To get you clean, of course,” she said in a bright voice. “Will you not feel better now? I know I do!” Seeing her husband’s body recovering its strength did her heart good. “You are more than pleasing to look at in any case, and ’tis wonderful to see you up and about.”

She walked on her knees around to his side and again soaped the cloth, intending to bathe the uninjured portion.

He quickly reached out and snatched the wet linen from her hand. “I shall finish this.”

“Fine. I’ll just watch.”

“You’ll just leave!” he demanded.

She paid no heed to the order. Instead she boldly peeked over the edge of the tub and grinned. “Ah. You truly are up and about, my friend! We can remedy that soon enough.”

“Sara!” He sounded perfectly appalled at her words. But it was the first time he had used her Christian name and it pleased her to hear it on his tongue. She was definitely making progress.

“Well, if you do not wish me to do it, I could call Darcy. She might be more to your liking. Not a bad sort, though not the canniest lass you’ll ever meet.”

“Good God, woman!” he blurted in a half-choked voice. “You’d thrust me into another’s bed? What of my vows?”

Sara took that as a refusal. Richard not only sounded appalled. He clearly was. “Never mind, then. ’Twas just a thought,” she said pleasantly as she pushed herself to her feet.

Richard’s restraint gladdened her. She could hardly believe any man would turn down a chance to take his pleasure when he was so obviously in need of it.

Her own father had never been terribly discreet about tumbling a wench now and again. Sara knew that doing so had little or nothing to do with the regard a man held for his lady wife, for her father had truly loved her mother. But still, she felt immensely pleased that Richard would not bed the flighty Darcy.

Of course, he would not bed his wife, either, Sara thought. However, if he believed so strongly in those vows made all unknowing, Richard would soon remember duty. His pride would mend. So would his body. And if he would have none of the round-heeled wenches who worked about Fernstowe, then he must eventually come to her own bed.

Unable to resist, she watched him soaping his mighty arms furiously and refusing to look at her.

“Go below and have some food sent up,” he ordered. “When I’ve dressed and eaten, I would tour the keep and grounds.” Then he seared her with a glare and added, “Alone.”

“As you will,” she answered with a beatific smile and took her time in leaving. Her reason for intruding on his bath had been satisfied.

Surely, once Richard realized that she offered her friendship sincerely and without reservation, he would not mind her presence so much. And after he grew comfortable with that, who knew what might happen?

Richard found Fernstowe a better keep than he had hoped for in terms of defense. The curtain wall stood in good repair. The place boasted no moat, but the ground sloped away at such a steep angle war machines could not be levied close enough to do harm. If any brigand took the place, he must use either stealth or prolonged siege to starve them out.

“The problem with the reivers lies in the outer reaches of my—our—property,” Sara informed him as though he could not see that for himself.

She had accompanied him, despite his protests that she remain within. A light drizzle fell, though the weather remained warm as was usual for July. His luck, to get shackled to a woman without sense enough to get out of the rain.

Richard could not understand the woman’s motives for anything she did. First she had all but thrown herself—and failing that, the dim-witted Darcy—at him while he sat randy as a goat in his bath. And in this past hour, she had nearly convinced him she possessed more knowledge of this property than a steward would.

Unseemly, quite forward, and more than a little mad, Richard thought. But Godamercy, she stirred his blood, this woman.

He avoided looking at her after noting what the rain-soaked gown revealed. The soft, wet wool molded her proud breasts like a drape of clinging silk. He cleared his throat since he couldn’t clear his head.

“Have the Scots stolen many of your herds?” he asked.

“The cattle that were in their path they slew and left rotting. They were not after food.”

Richard halted and stared at her in disbelief. “What purpose in that kind of waste?”

“What does that matter? They murdered my father! Who cares how many—”

“I care and so should you!” Richard said, throwing up his hand. The instinctive gesture cost him, but he stifled the groan. “These raids are crimes of hatred, not of need. Or even greed for that matter.”

“Why should that surprise you? The Scots do hate us! They made that perfectly clear to me when they killed Father.”

“We should bring in those folk who live betwixt here and the border and do it right soon,” he suggested.

Sara pursed her lips and sauntered away from him. He knew she bit her tongue to prevent arguing.

“What? The plan’s not to your liking?”

She turned, one hand resting firmly on her hip, the other worrying her chin. “Those we bring inside the gates, we must feed. Our stores would exhaust within a week. Aside from that, I doubt they will come willingly and leave their homes vacant.” Her amber gaze pinned him with the question even before she asked it. “Why not simply kill the rogue who leads these marauders and be done with it?”

Richard took to strolling the perimeter of the inner ward again, so that she must abandon her challenging pose and follow. “I am but one man and none too hardy at present. Once I recover my strength, matters will be remedied.”

How could he admit to Sara that the man she spoke of was his brother? How could he believe it true? If Alan were responsible for the killing of Lord Simon, what was his purpose in doing so? The cattle were there for the taking, the people outside the keep vulnerable to sacking whenever it pleased the Scots.

Yet 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 our prodding. They know it’s court day. We’ll stay here.” The other fellow, Everil, nodded in agreement.

Richard raised an eyebrow and pinned both men with a glare that promised retribution if they balked further. “If your lady says ride out, then mount up and do it. Her word is mine, and you will obey her every command hereafter. Or else. Am I understood?”

They left immediately, all but stumbling over each other in their haste to reach the stables.

Richard removed his hand from Sara and propped it on the hilt of his sword. “Have you had problems with those two before this?”

“Not really,” she answered with a short laugh. “’Tis only that they find it loathsome to risk the others appropriating their added portions of ale while they are gone.”

“And they do not like a female issuing directives,” he guessed. “We cannot have that. If they question your orders again, I shall put them on the road.”

“It is good of you to support me so,” Sara said with a shrug of embarrassment. “I did not expect it, but I do thank you.”

“My duty,” Richard replied. When he glanced down at her and saw the frank gratitude in her beguiling eyes, he added, “And my pleasure.”

Now why the devil had he said that? Her artless appreciation of it made him uncomfortable. Next she would be treating him as though they were boon companions or some such. Or worse yet, taunting him in his bath again, as if they were lovers.

Why did she persist with this idea that they could be friends? A ridiculous notion. He could never be friends with anyone he did not trust, and he knew without doubt that Sara had some ulterior motive in befriending him.

She wished him in her bed. He knew very well that it was not for want of him as a man. Nobly born women only suffered that duty for one reason and he supposed that was as it should be. Sara wanted a child, probably to insure that his own son did not inherit Fernstowe.

The fairness of her thinking struck Richard fully for the first time. Fernstowe should belong to her and hers. Neither he nor his son had any use for this place. Christopher already owned one twice the size that had been his mother’s dower portion. And, unless Alan decided to claim Strode-south at their father’s death, Chris would also become heir to that estate in Gloucestershire.

Richard slid a glance sidewise at the lovely woman who daily sought to seduce him with good humor. True, she was ambitious, at least for the unborn child she wanted, and she needed a protector to hold this place safe. Mayhap she had been too presumptuous in choosing him to provide those things, but she was no villain.

Everything he had demanded of her thus far, she had done willingly and without complaint. Her comely appearance did them both honor. She wore no jewels but the fabrics were fine. The clothing she chose was fashionable. He had found no fault with that since the day he had ordered her to dress as a lady should.

Truth be told, he found no fault with Sara at all, except her claiming him when he did not wish to marry. Yet beneath all his anger about that, Richard could not help feeling flattered that she had chosen him. That was a vanity best kept well hidden.

Did she really think he was fooled by this come-hither game she played? He had to wonder just how far she would carry the pretense of wanting him. No further than his capitulation, he would wager. Only far enough to make him beholden to her. Sara was not to blame for that, of course. It was simply their way, these gentlewomen. They were taught it was the only way to be.

Evaline had also offered promising smiles when they first met. Pity the poor man who believed they would deliver on the promise of any shared passion. He’d not make that mistake again.

At the moment, Sara was speaking with one of the kitchen maids who suddenly made a comical face at her and groaned. Sara laughed aloud and hastened the maid away with a pat on the back.

She was always touching. A friendly pat here, a handshake there. Not a standoffish woman, Sara. Not with underlings, and most assuredly not with him.

God knows she made him want to touch back. Even now he could feel that lively body of hers against his palm as he had lent his consequence to her orders earlier.

Could he ignore his pride and anger and give this wife of his the heir she wished for? He should, for it was only fair. But could he bear it when she lay motionless beneath him, merely enduring his attentions in order to get the child she wanted?

No, not under any circumstance would he suffer that again from any woman, no matter how much he desired her.

“Why do you shake your head so?” Sara asked him. “One would think I had just proposed that you milk the goats in Ethel’s stead!” She gave his arm a fond squeeze.

Touching again, Richard thought with a scowl.

“Come and sit with me. We’ll have bread and cheese to break our fast while we make plans for the day.”

He itched to fling her hand off his arm and curse her for her merry nature. He yearned to kiss that sunny smile off her face and force her to feel how she tempted him. He ought to haul her back to the bedchamber, and make her feel as undone and as trammeled as he was.

That would never happen, Richard knew from experience. Oh, she would allow his advances right enough. Then when it was too late for him to stop, she would stiffen with disgust, bear his attentions like a stoic and then calmly ask a huge favor in return for her trouble.

The game of marriage was conducted that way, but Richard refused to participate this time. Right and proper it might be to everyone else’s thinking, but he misliked it intensely.

Instead, he bared his teeth in what he hoped passed for a smile and followed Sara’s lead. For the day, at least, he had given his word to play sweet.

All of those who were coming for the monthly court day had arrived by midmorning and Sara formally introduced Richard as their new liege.

His way with her people amazed her. Though he appeared pleasant, even benevolent, not one of them would ever believe her new husband a weak lord. He offered strength of sword and strength of purpose.

Whatever his feelings toward her, Sara knew she had chosen wisely. He would protect Fernstowe and see that all went well in the areas where she could not.

“What a fine day,” she commented happily as they sat together at one of the tables set up in the bailey. Some of the people milled about and some sat to visit as they ate. All seemed content with the way things were. “The swearing went well.”

“None appeared reluctant,” he agreed. Richard tore off a piece of the special bread she’d had prepared for this day and offered it to her as was fitting.

She took it and inclined her head in thanks. “They will thrive on your leadership, I expect.”

“And have not done poorly under yours, so I see.”

“Why, thank you, sir.” Though she knew he forced the smile, Sara lauded his effort. All day he had kept his word. Not once had he glared in anger or given any sign that he resented his position here, either as her husband or as Lord of Fernstowe. By standing always near her, discreetly stroking her back or taking her arm, he had exhibited his claim upon her and thereby upon Fernstowe.