GREAT PROTECTOR

By Kathryn Le Veque
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Copyright 2012 by Kathryn Le Veque
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
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Printed by Dragonblade Publishing in the United States of America

Text copyright 2012 by Kathryn Le Veque

Cover copyright 2012 by Kathryn Le Veque

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Richmond (Teutonic): Great Protector

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PROLOGUE

1384 A.D.
London, England

The old stable was dark and dank, smelling of horses and urine. The icy
fingers of winter extended from the walls as an armored figure cautiously
entered the structure.
Sir Richmond le Bec's breath hung in the damp air, a dense fog that
vaporized as he passed through it. Hesitantly, he moved deeper into the
stable, his blue eyes observing all within the confines of shadowed stalls.
"Richmond!"
Richmond turned in the direction of his whispered name. Without delay,
he moved deep into the bowels of the structure.
At the far end of the stable in a corner stall, two figures huddled for
warmth against the cold December night. There was no light to illuminate
the musty straw, only the dim moon glow casting weak beams of light.
Richmond could make out the forms of a man and a woman.
"My lord?" he asked softly, puzzled. "I have come as ordered."
A face became clear in the obscure light, features the young knight was
well acquainted with. Young Henry, Duke of Hereford and King Richard's
cousin, gazed at his mighty comrade, already powerful and established at
the tender age of twenty-two. Le Bec was a warrior to be trusted without
hesitation.
 Tears suddenly spilled down the duke's cheeks, quickly dashed away by
his female companion. Richmond could see that the man's arms were
occupied; he held a bundle.
"Richmond, I must ask of you a most vital task," Henry whispered,
gazing tenderly at the parcel he cradled. "You must take this parcel and
guard it with your life."
Richmond gazed at the bundle curiously, wondering what was so
important to have Edward III's grandson reduced to tears. His perplexed
attention shifted from the heap of blankets to the two cloaked figures once
again; it took Richmond a moment longer to realize that Henry's companion
was not his wife.
The mystery deepened. Yet, he did not hesitate in his obedient response.
"Without question, sire."
Henry sniffed loudly and his companion shakily wiped at her own face,
revealing a delicate beauty of porcelain features. Shocked, Richmond
recognized his superior officer's wife, the Lady Ellyn.
"My lady," he said with concern. "Are you...?"
Henry did not allow him to finish. He thrust the bundle at Richmond.
"You must take this precious package and see that it is delivered to the Earl
of Berkshire, William de Lohr. He’s expecting it."
Richmond grasped the bundle with mailed hands, only to discover that it
was a very soft, very limp mass of swaddling. When the woolen blankets let
out a weak cry, he nearly dropped the parcel out of pure astonishment; he
was holding a child.
"God's Teeth," he muttered, clutching the babe against his broad chest.
His bafflement increasing by the moment, his eyes sought the duke.
"Henry.... what is this?"
Henry put his arm around the woman, who began to weep softly against
his shoulder.
"My daughter," Henry whispered, gazing at the bundle in the knight's
massive arms. He tore his eyes away, meeting his friend's stunned
expression. "De Lohr is expecting her. You will take her to Lambourn this
night and remain as her great protector."
Richmond shook his head, his bewilderment expanding. "Remain as her
protector? But...?"
 Henry let out a harsh sigh, putting both arms around the Lady Ellyn as
her sobbing deepened. "God's Blood, le Bec, do you need for me to spell it
out? She’s my bastard, the result of a liaison between me and the Lady
Ellyn. Her husband has threatened to kill the child, for he knows it not to be
his. You must take her."
Richmond was shocked as well as baffled. "But.... Captain de Worth
would never do such a thing. He’s King Richard's household captain, sworn
to uphold the codes of chivalry."
"He’s also an enraged husband whose wife has managed to bear another
man's child," Henry snapped savagely, clutching Lady Ellyn fiercely.
"Charles de Worth doesn't love her, Richmond. Only I love her. We have
created this child with our love and you have been delegated the duty of
protecting my daughter until she becomes of age. Will you do this for me?"
Richmond blinked; reeling with the shock, he was literally speechless.
But his astonishment gave way to a surge of defiance. "I... Henry, I am a
knight, not a nursemaid. Why would you....?"
"Because you are the only man I can trust for this most important task,"
Henry insisted. "Do not question my orders, Richmond. You will do as I
say."
Richmond's jaw went slack, his eyes wide as Henry's command sank
deep. "But you would demand that I remain at her side, always, as her.... her
guardian? I am not trained for this variety of work. I am a warrior, Henry."
"You are a knight of the realm," Henry's tears were drying, his pale eyes
sharp. "And I am a prince of the realm. Damnation, Richmond, you shall do
as I say without reserve. There is nothing more important in this life than
the child you clutch. Nothing."
Richmond swallowed hard, his gaze once again moving to the plump
bundle. His stubbornness was dissolved by the very real fact that he could
not deny a direct order. He was, in fact, a warrior, and sworn to obey
without question.
"I... I am a knight," he repeated weakly, knowing the basis for his
argument was slipping through his fingers. "Fighting is my vocation, not
child-rearing. How can you ask this of me?"
"You are my friend," Henry's voice was equally feeble. After an eternal
pause, he sighed with great emotion. "Richmond, as my friend, will you
grant my request? I need you, more than I have ever needed you. Will you
help me?"
Richmond's head came up from the warm bundle of swaddling, his blue
eyes locking with those of his friend, a man he had come to know well
during his years of training at Kenilworth. Aye, he was a knight, a warrior
to the very core. But he was also a loyal friend, a man whose dedications
ran deep.
Gazing into Henry's desperate face, he nodded faintly. "Completely, sire."
Henry's moist gaze came to rest on the parcel cradled in the knight's
steel-clad arms. Richmond's eyes returned to the child as well, the
Lilliputian face partially obscured by the heavy blankets. With thick, timid
fingers, he carefully drew back the folds.
A newborn squirmed restlessly, trying to capture tiny hands within her
toothless mouth. Richmond stared at the babe, a perfect little cherub with a
thatch of dark hair. The longer he gazed at the child, the more a peculiar
warmth settled over him; as with all things tiny and new and perfect, there
was a certain enchantment to be experienced.
"Her name is Arissa," came a soft voice.
Richmond glanced up from the infant, finding himself looking at Lady
Ellyn's anguish-filled green eyes. Wiping the remainder of her tears from
her face, she gently tore herself free from Henry's embrace and moved
towards the massive knight.
"The Lady Arissa," she repeated softly. "She’s five days old, having been
born on the first of December. She’s a good girl, healthy and beautiful."
Richmond stared at the woman, his gaze shifting between her lovely
features and that of the babe's mewling face. "It.... it will take me several
hours to reach Lambourn, my lady. I.... that is to say, obviously, I cannot
feed her. What shall..?"
Lady Ellyn moved away from him, swiftly retrieving a small satchel
tucked into the straw. "I have packed clothing and two milk bladders. You
may feed her cow's milk. Even goat's milk will do, and she should be ready
to eat in two or three hours. She will tell you when she’s hungry."
His dark eyebrows rose slightly. "She will tell me?"
Lady Ellyn forced a tremulous smile, running a tender finger across a tiny
satin cheek. "When she screams like a banshee. 'Twill make your hair stand
on end."
 Richmond looked to the babe uncertainly. "Is that so? In that case, my
lady, I shall prepare myself. I think."
Henry stumbled to his feet. Richmond glanced at the duke, wondering
how a young nobleman of eighteen years managed to become involved with
a married woman of twenty-five. A most perplexing circumstance, one that
Richmond found himself swept up in.
Richmond’s gaze lingered on the babe a moment longer before looking to
his royal friend. "Henry, certainly I do not mean to be difficult, but you are
aware that I am sworn to King Richard. If I am to disappear, 'twill reflect
poorly on my reputation. The king will...."
Henry shook his head firmly, pulling Lady Ellyn into his embrace once
more. "I petitioned for your services this morning, Richmond. As far as my
cousin is concerned, you are returning with me to Kenilworth."
"What of Lady Mary?" Richmond asked softly. "Surely your wife will
inform Richard that I am not in your personal service when I fail to appear
at Kenilworth."
Henry kept his gaze on the babe. "You needn't worry about her. As you
know, my wife and I have lived apart for several months due to her fragile
health. Your primary concern in this life is the child you hold; whether you
serve by my side or at Lambourn makes little difference," his pale eyes
sought out Richmond's bright blue eyes imploringly. "You must do this for
me, my friend. You are the only man I trust to accomplish this task."
Richmond's gaze lingered on the duke before returning to the dozing
child. Observing the sweet face, the chubby cheeks, the peculiar warm
feeling enveloped him again. He'd never held a baby in his entire life until
this moment and was struck with wonderment and apprehension it
provoked. He also realized that he was holding his destiny.
The tiny little life in his arms somehow managed to ease the sting of
rebellion in him, convincing him with her tiny coos that she was worth his
devotion. Unknowingly, she was melting his staunch facade.
"At your service, my lady," he whispered to the babe, the corners of his
mouth lifting slightly. "'Twould seem that you and I are to be constant
companions."
Henry sighed raggedly, his relief evident as Richmond accepted his
mission. Arissa's parents gazed at her a moment longer before turning away,
seized by the finality of the moment.
 "Take her, Richmond," Henry's voice was raspy, tight. "Now, before I
break."
Richmond did not hesitate. Without another word, he swept the child into
the icy winter night, ignoring the renewed sobs of the heartbroken mother.
He would do as ordered, just as Henry and his companion were doing what
was necessary to preserve the life of their child.
The child in his arms cooed, distracting him from his thoughts. Casting
her a glance, he was somewhat surprised to see that her eyes were open. In
fact, she was gazing up at him and he found himself peering closely at the
cross-eyed babe.
A beautiful infant, he thought, although he was no expert on children. But
staring into the flawless little face, he realized he was at least willing to
learn the finer elements of raising a child. Aye, he would guard her because
above all else, he was a knight and he would complete his sworn duty or die
in the attempt.
The babe cooed again and his gaze sought her once more, thinking she
sounded much like a small animal. A kitten. When his eyes met with the
wee little face, perfect and porcelain and curious, he would swear until the
day he died that she was smiling at him.

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CHAPTER ONE

My lord Glendower:
As former Captain of the Household Troops for our glorious Richard II, I
am obliged by my oath of loyalty to our former king to divulge information
that, utilized correctly, should support your claim for Wale's independence
and perhaps magistrate King Henry's submission at the very least.
I would relay this factual happening: On or about the first of December,
1384, Henry, being separated from his wife Mary de Bohun, fathered an
illegitimate child. The child, a girl, was whisked into obscurity for safe
keeping. It has taken me eighteen years to trace the whereabouts of the
babe, now entering womanhood, and my reliable sources tell me that she is
residing in Berkshire, masquerading as the Earl of Berkshire's eldest
daughter.
Beyond that, I know nothing. It has taken nearly all of my wealth to
ascertain this evidence alone. But should this information be employed in a
useful capacity against Henry's growing opposition, I am positive the king
can be managed. My sources tell me that he is diligently kept abreast of the
girl's well-being all of these years gone by.
I supply this information not for the glory of Wales. My reasons are my
own. Use well the knowledge given, I implore you.
Written this fifteenth day of November
Leachwood Manor, Shrewsbury
Sir Charles de Worth

***

Year of our Lord 1402

Lambourn Castle
Berkshire, England
 In spite of the chill cloaking the air, bugs danced upon the surface of the
water like a thousand happy fairies, frolicking in the damp mist. In the
reeds, frogs burped and waterlillies hovered silently as small fish nipped
hungrily at their edges. All would have been peaceful and serene in this
delightful, icy little world had it not been for The Horde invading the shores
of the blissful sanctuary.
The Horde was not comprised of a host of vicious cutthroats as indicative
of such a title, but rather of three delicate, well-born young ladies. William
de Lohr, part of the powerful de Lohr family and Earl of Berkshire, had
saddled the women with the term because he was positive they were
England's secret military weapon. Not because they were born and bred for
warring; their fragile white hands were barely beyond mastering a needle
and thread much less a dagger. Lord de Lohr knew that he could have
destroyed any foe simply by lodging the three young noblewomen into the
heart of the enemy's cause. Within an hour, their incessant female prattle
would have driven God himself daft.
And this day was no different. As it was rapidly approaching the nooning
meal, not one of the three realized the time. They had been too busy talking.
"I cannot believe you would venture into the lake, Emma. It's far too
cold."
Lady Emma, skirts hiked up to her knees, smiled. "'Tis refreshing, Riss.
Come in, 'else I shall be forced to throw you in myself."
Arissa de Lohr wrinkled her pert nose distastefully. "I had a bath this
morn and I shall not contaminate myself with that muck-polluted water."
The blond companion seated on the cool grass beside her nodded in
agreement. "You are legs are already turning green, Emma."
"Her legs are green," Arissa giggled.
Emma put her hands on her hips irritably. "They match your teeth."
Arissa stuck her tongue out at her friend before bursting into a fit of
snickers, revealing teeth that were anything but green. Straight, white, and
beautifully complimented by a bow-shaped smile. But it was not merely the
smile that was beautiful; the entire package that comprised the Lady Arissa
Ellyn de Lohr was more magnificent than mortal man could comprehend.
Barely eighteen years of age, she was a rare and precious enchantress.
Hair as black as a raven's wing, satin and sheer with a hint of curl,
tumbled to her buttocks. A sweet oval face displayed sensuous lips that men
would gladly die for and eyes of the palest green hovered beneath delicately
arched brows. With her thick lashes and pink cheeks, she was a beauty to
behold.
"Is your surcoat finished for the celebration tomorrow night?" Arissa's
dry companion inquired.
The raven-haired beauty turned her attention the fair young maiden she
had known since childhood. "Mother is finishing the surcoat herself. She
insists that she’s the only seamstress qualified to work on it. Sweet St. Jude,
'twill be a miracle if she allows me to wear it at all given the care she’s
given the garment."
Emma sloshed onto shore with muddy feet. "Penelope made her own
surcoat," she said with a twinkle to her eye, demonstrating as she spoke.
"The neckline is cut to her navel and sure to drive Daniel to his knees."
As Arissa and Emma giggled, Penelope flushed. "Not true, you little
pigeon. It is a tastefully designed surcoat."
"Aye, and he shall be able to taste all of you," Emma snickered, sending
Arissa into gales of laughter.
Flustered, Penelope turned away. Arissa knew how sensitive Penelope
was when it came to her strong young knight. She put her hand soothingly
on the pale blond head.
"Do not be so serious, Pen,” she said. “We have the utmost respect for
Daniel."
"And Daniel's good taste," Emma couldn't resist adding the final insult.
Penelope fixed her younger friend with a vicious gaze. "At least I have a
man, Emma. Pray, darling, can the same be said for you?"
Emma's smile faded. As sensitive as Penelope was about Daniel, Emma
was equally sensitive of the fact that at sixteen years of age, she hadn't yet
been presented with the opportunity of courtship. Very pretty in her own
right, with dark blond hair and a tendency for fat, she was an unfortunate
pale shadow in comparison to Penelope's fragile blond grace and Arissa's
magnificent beauty.
"You can have all of my suitors, Emma," Arissa said, casting Penelope a
reproving glance. "In a few weeks, I shall have no need for any man."
The focus immediately shifted from Emma's shame to Arissa's future.
Gone were the smirking expression and taunting smiles.
 "Do you have to go?" Penelope asked softly. "We have never been apart,
not even for a small amount of time. Knowing that we may never see you
again...."
"Whitby Abbey is so far away," Emma agreed, wriggling her toes in the
mud. "North Yorkshire is nearly to Scotland."
Arissa sighed, brushing a stray lock of black hair away from her face.
"'Tis my destiny, ladies. I was pledged to the abbey at birth and they are
expecting me and my substantial dowry. Surely they will perish without us
both."
"But you shall be a nun," Emma shook her head sadly. "No more suitors,
no more parties, no more... no more anything. How can you give it all up so
easily?"
Arissa shrugged. She, too, wondered how she was going to be able to
relinquish all of the material delights that brought her such pleasure.
Certainly she was being selfish in her thoughts, for it was an honor to
devote one's life to God. But she was feeling particularly selfish on the eve
of her eighteenth birthday.
"I shall simply have to," she said after a moment, forcing bravery that she
did not feel. "Which is why Mother is throwing a grand party for my
birthday. Mayhap I shall simply indulge myself until I cannot stand the
sight of another sweet cake or the feel of another corset about my waist.
Mayhap I shall make myself so sick of material delights that to retreat far
from the sinful pleasures of life will come as a welcome blessing."
Neither lady believed her, but they said nothing. The thought of Arissa
going away, never to return, left them feeling hollow and empty. Arissa
could read their melancholy but she refused to allow it to settle.
"The de Beckets should be here this eve," she said brightly, struggling to
divert the subject. "Emma, certainly you remember Ronald?"
Emma, emerging from her depressing thoughts, blinked thoughtfully.
"Ronald de Becket? Isn't he the knight with the mole on the end his nose
that makes him look like a troll?"
Before Arissa could respond, Penelope shook her head. "Nay, Emma, he’s
the knight with the receding blond hair. Not un-handsome by any means."
Emma thought a moment. "Aye, I remember him. He kept scratching his
arse the last he was here. I heard the men say he has saddle warts."
"Saddle warts?" Penelope looked puzzled.
 Arissa cleared her throat delicately. "A most painful malady, the poor
fellow. I understand they bleed and.... well, it is most painful to evacuate
one's bowels."
Emma's face lit up with malicious humor and she crowed with laughter.
"I have heard that they can grow as big as melons and then burst!"
Penelope made a horrified face as Arissa fought off the urge to join
Emma's mirth. "Surely not, Emma. How awful."
Still snorting, Emma turned away from shore and forged deeper into the
water, digging her toes into the silky mud. "Who else is coming?"
Arissa looked thoughtful. "Nearly every important house within twenty
miles. The de Rydals, the Wendovers, the de Clares. Pen, don’t the
Wendovers have a son?"
Penelope nodded. "He’s fostering in Durham. Daniel told me that Tad de
Rydal has recently returned from Derby Castle."
"I understand he was serving the Earl of Leicester," Arissa mentioned. "I
wonder why he has returned?"
"Who can say?" Penelope shrugged, picking at a blade of grass. "Will
Richmond be here?"
The mere sound of his name was enough to knock the wind from Arissa.
She swallowed hard, trying to control the quivering that had suddenly
overtaken her hands. Unable to find a casual position for the appendages,
she sat on them.
"My father seems to think so," her voice was quivering, too. She
wondered if Penelope and Emma could detect it. "He’s been in London for
several months, you know. I.... I have no way of knowing if he even
received the invitation."
Emma was still sloshing about in the pond; only Penelope saw the
trembling and observed the faint mottling around Arissa's cheeks. She
always reacted in the same fashion when they spoke of Richmond le Bec.
She'd been in love with the man for as long as any of them could remember.
"He shall be here," Penelope said softly. Richmond was a subject off
limits to the usual taunts. It ran far deeper than Arissa would ever admit; in
fact, she'd never admitted to anything at all. As of late, she'd tried her
hardest to remain distant on the subject of the mighty knight, to assume a
neutral manner when his name entered the conversation. But as hard as she
tried, she was not always successful.
 "I care not, truthfully," Arissa said as steadily as she could manage. "The
man is a friend of my father's and sworn to the service of King Henry; he’s
of no concern to me. Now, as I was saying, I believe the House of Harcourt
will...."
"Aren't you the least bit awed by the man?" Penelope was not about to let
her slip away so easily. "After all, he organized Henry's armies against his
cousin Richard II and nearly single-handedly secured the throne for our
king. 'Tis said that he and Sir Henry Percy of Northumberland are blood
brothers. Doesn't his reputation impress you in the least?"
Arissa slanted her friend a wavering glance. "Of course not. Why should
it?"
Before Penelope could reply, Emma turned about and began to wade onto
shore once again. "The man is a god. Too bad he’s so old."
"He’s not old!" Arissa said hotly, defending Richmond before she could
control herself.
"Bartholomew says he’s thirty-nine," Emma wandered onto the grass and
wiped the mud off her feet. "He might as well be one hundred."
Arissa lowered her gaze, toying with the icy clover beneath her hand.
"My brother doesn't know everything. Richmond is ageless. He has
remained the same in manner and appearance for as long as I can
remember."
Penelope leaned back on her arms, eyeing her raven-haired friend. "I
would wager to say I have never seen a more handsome man. Rich brown
hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that makes me swoon simply to think on
it. And, of course, being as tall as the sky certainly doesn't hurt," she
winked at Emma. "Aye, I would say he was the image of a god. Only a god
would be so fortunate."
Arissa did not reply; she did not want to think on Richmond le Bec. She'd
spent the past several months attempting to forget him and a part of her
hoped he would not come to the celebration on the morrow. But a major
portion of her whispered desperate prayers that he would make an
appearance, if only so she could gaze into his amazing face one last time
before she was shut away from the world.
Even as she pledged to distance the man in hopes of complete
abandonment, she knew it was a foolish venture. She had grown up living
on the sight of Richmond, sustaining herself on his rich baritone voice and
anticipating the moments when he would turn his incredible blue eyes on
her fondly. Six years, eight years, twelve years old... she couldn't remember
when Richmond le Bec hadn't been an integral part of her daily existence.
She couldn't remember when she hadn't loved him.
As Arissa lost herself in thoughts of Richmond le Bec, a lanky, aged
knight came marching across the dead winter grass. His lined face was
grim.
"Have you no idea what time it is?" he demanded.
The three women jumped. Penelope was startled into a sitting position,
her eyes wide at the man.
"It's... it's, uh...," she turned helplessly to Arissa and Emma, who were
quickly regaining their feet.
"It's time for the nooning meal," the knight said sternly, resting his large
fists on his hips. "God's Truth, Penelope, if I hadn't fathered you myself, I
would swear you'd been born without a brain."
Penelope rose to her feet, her gaze sheepish. "We lost track of time."
He rolled his eyes, beseeching the gods for patience. "And if I hear that
excuse one more time, I swear I shall do something drastic to the lot of
you," he pointed a gloved finger at the fortress. "Inside. Now."
Penelope brushed off her surcoat and scampered past her father. Emma
followed in close pursuit, while only Arissa seemed unfazed by the knight's
anger. She smiled pleasantly at him.
"Good day to you, Sir Carlton," she said, trying to ease his fury. "How
goes the preparations for my party?"
Sir Carlton de Long gazed at his little mistress, wondering how his
daughter was going to survive when the Lady Arissa left to join the cloister
next month. The two had been inseparable since three years of age, long
enough to form an unbreakable attachment. He, too, would miss her
terribly. She was a bright, wonderful bit of sunshine.
"Running smoothly, my lady," he offered her the customary elbow. Arissa
took his arm and he began to lead her towards the keep. "Your mother has
gone to great lengths to make it the grandest celebration in these parts for
years to come."
Several feet ahead of them, Penelope and Emma walked arm in arm,
casting baleful glances at Arissa. With her sweet nature, men were naturally
eating out her hand and her companions were understandably jealous of her
talent; they always managed to find trouble whereas Arissa seemed to
possess the power to soothe the savage beast.
Arissa was acutely aware of their pouting looks and stuck her tongue out
at them, twice, while Carlton's attention was diverted. The more she
antagonized them, the angrier they became and she bit her lip to keep from
laughing. By the time they reached the massive entrance to the bailey,
Penelope and Emma were prepared to throttle her and Arissa braced herself
for the barrage of temperamental insults.
But the revenge of Emma and Penelope would have to wait; high atop the
battlements, shouts abound from the sentries, distracting the women. All
straining ears and eyes, they turned their attention to the commotion at
hand.
A party was swiftly approaching, it was announced, bearing Henry's
banners of lions and leopards. Carlton, still clutching Arissa, stared up at
the sentries as if he had not understood their words.
"Henry is approaching?" he demanded for clarification.
The sentries, hawk-eyed and seasoned, peered sharply at the southern
horizon. Arissa wait with baited breath for their reply, hardly aware when
Penelope and Emma joined her.
"Nay, my lord," one of the men finally shouted down to them. "Richmond
le Bec!"
Richmond. Arissa's heart leapt into her throat; she must have swayed with
shock, for she could feel Penelope's hand against her back in a steadying
gesture. Carlton, oblivious to her surprise, turned to the three young ladies
with a wide grin.
"How grand! Lord William will be pleased indeed," he brushed past the
women, having apparently forgotten why he had been escorting them to the
castle in the first place.
Arissa heard his footfalls fade; her focus was riveted to the road that led
from Lambourn into the green countryside beyond. In the distance, she
could decipher a tiny group, black figures flying minuscule banners.
Around her, the bailey was swarming with soldiers and servants in
preparation for le Bec's mighty column. But Arissa was completely ignorant
of the activity; all that mattered was Richmond's imminent approach,
drawing closer with each passing moment. She hadn't seen him in nearly six
months; she giddily wondered if he had changed. She couldn't imagine that
he was any different, or that she would love him any less.
Arissa had always loved him; a wasted effort, but one she could not
control. With the impending circumstance of the cloister lingering in her
mind, she wondered how she was ever going to forget the man. She couldn't
remember ever being without him.... how was she supposed to cleave all
memory, all feeling, as if she were severing a limb?
Staring at the advancing party, she knew there was no other choice but to
amputate quickly. She had to sever him, all of him, and do it before she lost
her nerve. 'Twould be less painful if she were to do it rapidly... but how?
Unsteadily, she turned away from the half-open portcullis and began to
wander back toward the castle. How indeed? Unaware of Penelope and
Emma's shadowing presence, she began to plan exactly how to rid herself of
the mighty Richmond le Bec. For the sake of her mental facilities, she had
no other choice. She simply couldn't spend the rest of her life fantasizing
over the object of a young maiden's adoration.
Be firm, she told herself forcefully. No unsolicited smiles, speak to him
only if necessary. Remain polite but aloof. And, by all means, no games!
Richmond had a fondness for games and would spend hours with Arissa
and her sister, Regine, playing cards or indulging in a round of Hot
Cockles. He made her love him all the more with his gentle smile and deep
laughter when he allowed her and Regine to best him.
Still immersed in her thoughts, she was hardly aware when the massive
structure of Lambourn allowed her to pass deep into the safety of its
innards. Penelope's mother, the Lady Maxine, met the three young ladies in
the foyer.
"The nooning meal will not wait," she clapped her hands sharply and
beckoned to her daughter and friends. "In the hall, ladies."
"Richmond le Bec is approaching," Penelope told her mother. "Would it
not be polite to wait for him?"
"Lord William is already partaking of the meal. Richmond will be
welcome when he arrives," Maxine turned her gaze to Arissa. "My lady,
your mother wishes for you to greet Sir Richmond in her stead. She’s
indisposed at the moment and asks that you take him in hand."
Arissa swallowed hard, fighting the urge to deny the request. How could
she forget him if she were forced to greet him? She did not respond
immediately and Lady Maxine peered closely at her.
"Are you feeling well, my lady? You look rather pale."
Arissa swallowed again. "I.... nay, I am not feeling at all well. Maxine,
would you please greet Richmond in my stead? I must.... rest."
Maxine did not hesitate; Arissa's delicate health was well-known and not
to be trifled with. "Of course, my lady. We cannot have the guest of honor
ill at her own party. Go and rest; I shall tend to Sir Richmond."
Arissa did not linger. She moved past Penelope and Emma, making a
break for the flight of stairs that led to the second floor of the castle. By the
time she hit the second step, she was running.
Anything to put distance between her confusion and Richmond.

***
Seated atop a magnificent coal-hued charger, Sir Richmond le Bec drank
in the sight of Lambourn castle. A well-designed Norman bastion, he felt as
if he were coming home again. God only knew, he'd spent a good portion of
his adult life within the old walls.
As the edifice loomed closer, he couldn't help but feel a stab of sorrow.
'Twould most likely be his last visit for a very long time and he was grieved
by the thought. For eighteen years Lambourn had been a part of his
existence, always on his thoughts, always in his prayers. For eighteen years
he had been it had been a physical part of him as much as an arm or a leg or
a lung.
But that time was drawing to a close. His mission, entrusted to him
eighteen years ago, was coming to a conclusion as the New Year rapidly
approached. He honestly did not know how he was going to continue with
his existence once Lambourn had faded into the recesses of his mind; all of
this, the keep, its occupants, its day-to-day continuance, was a portion of his
soul.
The bridge was down, welcoming him warmly and sharpening his sense
of sorrow. Several soldiers called out to him as he entered the massive
bailey, but he did not respond. He was used to the adoration, the respect.
Forcing his gloomy thoughts aside, he dismounted his snappish charger and
was immediately met by the Lady Maxine de Long.
"My lord Richmond," she dipped in a practiced curtsy. "We are blessed
once again with your presence."
 He passed a rapid gaze over Lady Maude de Lohr's woman. "'Tis good to
be back. Where's William?"
"Lord de Lohr is in the gallery involved in the nooning meal," Maxine
replied. "He commands you to join him immediately."
Richmond nodded absently, moving to his steed and unfastening his
saddlebags before the groom led the animal away. "I have been gone for
quite some time. I trust all has been well."
"For the most part, my lord," Maxine nodded. "Lord William and Lady
Maude have enjoyed good health, as have Lady Regine and Master
Bartholomew."
He focused on her for the first time. "What of Lady Arissa?"
"She’s suffered two rather severe bouts with the cough," Maxine replied,
offering a helpless shrug. "She’s quite fond of the outdoors, as you know.
She managed to catch the chill more than once and it settled in her chest."
Richmond felt himself softening, hoping his change in demeanor was not
obvious. "'Tis of no surprise. She insists on sticking to the woods to collect
her silly flowers. I cannot count the times I have nearly frozen solid acting
as her escort on such occasions. One of these days, she’s going to catch her
death."
"That is what the physic seems to think," Maxine replied. "He’s told Lady
Maude that Arissa's lungs are terribly weakened. She may not be fortunate
enough to recover the next time."
Richmond stared at her a moment. Then, mayhap a bit more subdued, he
focused on the familiar castle once again. "William is expecting me," he
said quietly.
Maxine watched him stroll across the compound. Being female, it was
only natural that she respond to Richmond le Bec's physical qualities; the
man was positively striking. To gaze upon his male beauty was to
experience a giddy fluttering of the heart; being married did not mean she
was immune. She, too, appreciated a fine-looking man.

***

William de Lohr, a massive man of rotund girth, was well into his
trencher by the time Richmond arrived. He greeted his friend warmly and
pulled out a chair for him to sit. While the servants rushed about in their
eagerness to serve the great knight, William put a meaty hand on his
shoulder.
"Six months you have been gone," he said in his typical overbearing
manner. "Six damnable months. I thought you had forgotten us."
Richmond cocked a dark eyebrow, bringing a hunk of bread to his lips.
"Hardly. I have been with Henry, as you well know. There has been quite a
bit happening in London."
William snorted, giving Richmond a shake so that the bread missed his
mouth and ended up scraping his cheek. "I know, I know. The damn Welsh
are increasing their rebellious pressure. But Henry has you and young
Henry Percy to defend his holdings. Surely the threat is not terribly severe."
Richmond brushed at the crumbs on his cheek and tried again. "Hotspur
is in Wales as we speak. God's Teeth, the man has more responsibilities than
I do, if such a thing is possible. He, nor I, needs the added burden of the
growing Welsh rebellion. I was rather hoping to retire from this madness at
my age."
William removed his hand from Richmond's shoulder and returned to his
trencher over-filled with mutton. "Retire from your destiny? Pure
foolishness, I say. Owen Glendower's days are limited with Hotspur and
Richmond le Bec leading the fight. England shall undoubtedly triumph."
Richmond did not say anything. A man of few words and limited
expression, he concentrated on his meal. In truth, he was simply happy to
be back at Lambourn and took the opportunity to fill his empty belly with
food and soothe his weary body with fine ale. William, being a glutton of
unbelievable proportions, reputably served the very best food and drink in
all of Southern England.
Richmond and the earl were not alone at the table. Richmond silently
acknowledged Carlton, a man he had known an exceedingly long time, and
his daughter, the Lady Penelope. To Penelope's left sat Sir Daniel Ellsrod, a
powerful young knight with an aggressive attitude. Richmond himself had
knighted the man a year ago.
The rest of the table's inhabitants were the usual group; Lady Maxine had
joined them, as had Lady Livia Trevor and her daughter Emma. Lady
Livia's husband, Sir Edward Trevor, had been killed in the skirmish for the
throne against Richard II. Lord William had pledged his men to Henry's
service and Edward had, unfortunately, lost his life.
 The missing members that usually rounded out the meals were
conspicuously absent. Lady Maude herself was truant, as were Lady
Regine, William and Maude's twelve-year-old daughter, and her older
brother Bartholomew. And, of course, Arissa. Richmond did not miss the
younger sister and the older brother as much as he did the middle sibling.
In fact, it was more than a need to see her. It was the desire to make sure
she was healthy and whole, as had been his sworn duty for eighteen years.
When Lady Maxine mentioned Arissa's illnesses, he found himself longing
for a glimpse of the young woman simply to see for himself that her health
had returned. Henry would not react well to his daughter suffering from
less-than-perfect vigor. Neither would Richmond.
As Arissa's Guardian, he was as concerned for her vitality as if the world
depended on it. 'Twas his duty to see that she was reared physically
unscathed and mentally nourished, a task he was sworn to excel at. It was a
duty he accepted more deeply than any other responsibility he had been
delegated simply because Arissa meant more to him than anything else on
this earth.
He thought his feelings to be a sick obsession, these emotions he
harbored for the Lady Arissa. God's Teeth, he was over twice her age.
Nearing forty years, he was far too old and far too beneath her station for
his feelings to pose any true meaning in the greater scheme of his life.
At his age, he should have been married long ago. He should be enjoying
his sons, offspring that would carry on his name and legacy. He should be
enjoying a lovely wife warming his bed when, in fact, his bed had been cold
for some time now. He hadn't even taken a whore in three years simply
because he couldn't focus on any female other than his rapidly-maturing
charge.
He had watched Arissa grow from a sweet, fat baby into a woman of
unbelievable beauty. He simply couldn't remember when he had first fallen
in love with her; sometime after her sixteenth birthday, he thought, when
she had crossed the delicate barrier into maidenhood and he found himself
realizing that she was no longer a child.
"I understand Lady Arissa has been ill," he finally said between bites. He
couldn't help himself from asking.
William snorted into his goblet. "The silly little wench. Damn near
caught her death of chill the last time, traipsing about in the woods after a
fresh rain in search of fall blossoms. Daniel found her three hours later,
huddled under a tree and swathed in damp clothing. We sincerely thought
we might lose her, with the fever that followed."
"Fever?" Richmond turned his blue eyes to the earl. "'Twas severe?"
"Severe enough. She lay burning for two days before it broke."
Richmond sighed deeply, returning to his food with a waning appetite. "I
must be certain to speak with her," he said softly, for William's ears only.
"Her father will not be pleased that she has jeopardized her health in such a
manner."
William glanced about the table casually to make sure they were not
being overheard. No one, save Maude, knew of Arissa's true parentage. He
wanted to keep it that way.
"I have already scolded her, Richmond," he said quietly. "But speak with
her if it will ease your mind."
Richmond set down his spoon; his appetite had vanished and he felt the
need to down the calming contents of his chalice. The other occupants of
the table were engaged in their own conversations and he felt comfortable
speaking briefly on a secretive subject.
"He’s not pleased that you have decided to throw her a large party for her
birthday," he said in a hushed voice, settling back in his chair. Henry was
never mentioned by name in their conversations; merely as 'He'. "Too many
opportunities for His enemies to approach her."
"No one knows of her heritage," William replied in a quiet, even tone.
"How is it possible His enemies would discover her to be His bastard?"
"You would be surprised what His enemies know. The walls have ears at
Windsor."
"Eyes and an appetite as well, I would wager," William set his chalice to
the table. "I have no fear for her safety now that you are here."
Richmond was silent for a moment. "Where is she?"
"Truthfully, I do not know," his gaze sought out Lady Maxine and Lady
Livia at the far end of the table. "Where is Arissa?"
"She was not feeling well, my lord," Maxine answered. "She’s resting in
her room."
"Not feeling well?" William's brow furrowed. "What is the matter with
her?"
 "Fatigue, my lord," Maxine said. "She’s quite excited for the party
tomorrow."
Richmond had had enough wondering and worrying over Arissa's health.
She'd never been a particularly robust individual and to hear that her vigor
was lacking once again only reinforced his desire to see for himself.
But he controlled it well. He finished the wine in his goblet and complete
drained a third cup before bothering to excuse himself from the table. As
casually as he could manage, he strolled from the gallery and into the foyer,
focusing on the massive flight of stone steps laid wide before him.
His destination was the second floor.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER TWO

"Do not be so miserable, child. So he’s returned? Ye wanted him to

return, did ye not?"
Arissa sat on a splintered old stool, her elbows braced on the table before
her and chin resting in her hands. The expression on her features was one of
utter, complete misery.
"Nay,” she groaned. Then she reconsidered. “Aye, I guess I did. Oh,
Mossy, I am simply not sure of anything anymore. But I do know one
factor; I am pledged to the convent at Whitby and come the New Year, I am
obliged to keep my appointment. I must forget about.... everything in order
to begin a new life devoted to God."
Mossy turned from the skunk he had been feeding. Aged did not quite
encompass the man; ancient was a more apt term. As Lady Maude's great-
uncle on her mother's side, he was as old as God himself and mayhap as
wise. At least, Arissa thought him to be wise. Everyone else thought him to
be bordering on senility.
"Ye would forget about Richmond?" Mossy prodded gently. "Surely,
child, ye cannot forget a man ye've known yer entire life. The man ye love."
Arissa lowered her gaze. "I.... I never said I loved him."
Mossy snorted loudly as spittle flew from his mouth. "Ye did not have to,
Riss. I have known ye since ye were a little scrub. There are no secrets
between us."
Arissa let out an exasperated sigh and rose from the stool, wandering
aimlessly towards one of the three lancet windows that illuminated Mossy's
sanctuary. Situated in Lambourn's only tower, it was a wonderful place of
curiosity and learning. Lord William thought it to be a den for demons.
"I am pledged to the cloister," she said softly as she gazed out over her
beloved Berkshire. "Moreover, Richmond is my father's friend. He’s far too
old and far too prestigious, and.... oh, Mossy, ‘tis a waste of time and effort.
I am so very weary of it all."
 Mossy collected a small bowl and moved to a reed cage that housed a
family of rabbits. From the open beams above, a large crow screamed and
he waved at it irritably. "Ye're next, Samuel, keep yer patience," he opened
the rabbit cage. "It would seem to me that ye must settle the matters in yer
heart before ye pledge yerself to God. He wants ye fully, completely, not
distracted and miserable. As any man would want ye whole, so does our
Lord."
She watched him as he fed the bunnies. "I haven't a choice in the matter.
In one month, whole or not, I enter Whitby."
Mossy did not reply until he finished feeding the rabbits. When he closed
the cage, he returned to the cluttered table in the center of the room. "God
doesn't want ye if yer unhappy. Our Lord wants his children to be happy."
She leaned against the wall, her beautiful face pensive. "I shall never be
happy."
Mossy looked up sharply, gazing at her striking profile. "And why not?"
She did not say anything for a moment. Her pale green eyes gazed into
the dim space of the tower room, one prevalent thought filling her mind.
"You know why."
Slowly, Mossy returned to the disarray before him. "Ye must tell him."
Arissa let out a harsh gasp, a reflexive gesture to a suggestion she herself
had never considered because it was completely outlandish. "Tell him what?
Stop antagonizing me, Mossy. I have no desire to play games."
"What games?"
It wasn’t Mossy’s voice that asked the question. Arissa started so
violently that she hit her head against the stone wall. Hand to her head, she
whirled to the open tower door to find Richmond gazing at her.
A very rare smile creased his lips as he took timid steps into the room.
"What games?” he asked, almost gently. “I thought I was your game
partner, the only person worthy of your masterful skills."
She couldn't speak. Staring into his brilliant blue eyes, she could barely
breathe. Arissa realized six months had done nothing to ease her feelings for
him. If anything, they were stronger than before, devouring her until she
could do nothing but quiver like an idiot in his presence. He was more
beautiful, more magnificent, more powerful than she had remembered. The
man improved with age like a fine wine.
 "Ah, the mighty le Bec has returned," Mossy said fondly, covering for
Arissa's shock. "It has been a long time, my lord. Have ye found a wife
yet?"
Richmond's rare smile grew. "Not yet," he slanted a glance at Arissa.
"The only woman worthy of my auspicious station is preparing to join a
convent. Alas, there is no one else." He winked boldly to let her know he
was jesting.
But to Arissa, his gently uttered statement was the embodiment of her
deepest desires. Jesting or not, his words carved deep into her heart and she
knew that she must leave his presence immediately before she said or did
something regretful. Not that she wanted to leave his company; not at all.
Only that she knew she had to leave before... before....
She bolted from the wall, dashing across the cluttered room. Stunned,
Richmond watched her race from the chamber as if the Devil himself were
nipping at her heels. He was so surprised at her behavior that he did not
think to stop her; only when he heard her delicate footfalls rapidly descend
the stairs was he jolted into action.
"Arissa!" he called after her.
He took a step toward the door, intent on pursuing her, when a sharp
voice halted his momentum.
"My lord!"
Mossy was moving toward him, faster than Richmond had ever seen the
old man move. "Leave her be," Mossy said sternly. Gazing into Richmond's
piercing, puzzled eyes, he sought to clarify his statement. "She... she’s
overcome with excitement for the gala tomorrow. She’s not slept a wink and
is likely to be edgy."
"Edgy?" Richmond repeated sharply. "Mossy, she was damn well
panicked. I must go after her."
Mossy put his hand on Richmond's massive forearm, his manner calming.
"Mayhap later, my lord. She needs to... recover."
Richmond's brow furrowed, thoroughly perplexed. "Recover from what?"
Mossy did not dare elaborate. Turning away from the powerful knight, he
meandered back to his cluttered table.
"I implore ye to allow Arissa to rest, my lord," he said evenly. "Ye're well
aware of her fragile health and she’s in for a busy day on the morrow."
 Richmond gazed at the old man a moment, deeply puzzled and
concerned. He'd never seen Arissa appear so off balance, and her state
distressed him. He couldn't recall saying anything offensive or so terribly
horrifying that she should flee his company like a scared chicken.
Mossy, however, was correct. She was under a good deal of stress due to
her impending birthday celebration and if his presence seemed to upset her
as it apparently did, then he would do his best to stay away from her to
allow her a measure of peace. But the thought of keeping his distance from
her cut at him, razor-sharp edges of disappointment and sorrow. He hadn't
seen her in six months. In four weeks, he would most likely never see her
again. His duty as guardian would be complete.
Massaging the back of his neck wearily, he quit Mossy's tower room
without another word.

***

He did not see Arissa until the evening meal. Lady Maude had joined the
festivities, gracing the room with her fair, plump presence. Richmond truly
liked the generous woman, loving and nurturing whereas her husband could
be detached and unbending.
Arissa was already seated by the time he arrived, across the table from
him as was her customary position. He took his seat beside William, trying
desperately not to gaze into Arissa's lovely face. Her manner earlier in the
day continued to distress him greatly, but he refrained from mentioning his
concern. He would not question her, nor did he expect an unsolicited
explanation. Women were puzzling, frustrating creatures and it was oft their
pleasure to act as they pleased.
Lady Regine de Lohr was seated to her sister's left. A fair young girl on
the brink of womanhood, she stuffed food into her mouth faster than she
could chew. She kept smiling at Richmond, food falling from her lips, and
he would shake his head at her in a negative manner every so often; of any
living girl-child in England, the very one in dire need of being sent away to
foster continued to live within the bosom of her birth-home. She was in
desperate need of being separated from her coddling, soft mother in order to
learn the true meaning of manners and grace.
 Lady Maude still called her 'baby'. If anyone needed to be taught the
proper conduct of a gracious lady in an unbiased household, the round
young lady grinning at him was a prime candidate.
But certainly not her sister. Richmond dared to glace at Arissa as she
picked at her food. He hadn't been able to get a good look at her since he
returned until this very moment, and he was both grieved and elated to see
that she had grown far more beautiful in the six months they had been
separated. He did not think it was possible that Arissa could become any
lovelier; obviously, he had been wrong.
Her silky black hair was pulled away from her face, falling in soft curls
down her back. Lashes so thick that they appeared to be painted-on tickled
her cheeks like little fans as she looked to her trencher. He couldn't help
himself from staring at her, thinking her to be the most exquisite creature
God had ever created.
"Damn that Bartholomew," William growled, breaking Richmond from
his thoughts. "I told him to be here promptly for sup. He simply doesn't
listen."
"Which is why Lord Lymse sent him home," Richmond replied softly,
forcing himself away from Arissa's vision. "Bart had been fostering in
Barham for a good ten years before the baron decided nothing could be
done with him."
William's lip twitched in an irritated snarl before quaffed deeply from his
chalice. "My only son, heir to my seat. Good Christ, the earldom shall be
passed on to an idiot."
Richmond gazed at the man with amused sympathy. "Bart is not an idiot,
William. He’s simply...."
"An idiot!" William snorted. "My son, the pagan."
"He’s merely open-minded."
"He questions the church's teachings, for Christ's sake! What is open
minded about that?"
"He’s a curious lad, not unlike the rest. He simply focuses his energies
into areas where most men fear to tread."
William felt the familiar disappointment his son always managed to cast
upon him. "Greek Tragedies, Roman Mythology, paganistic rites. The man
threatens to disrupt England as we know it."
 Richmond's lips flickered with a smile. "Baron Lymse insists He’s an
intelligent, well-read boy. Which is, unfortunately, his primary problem.
He’s too intelligent and well-read."
"He’s an idiot," William muttered into his cup.
With a twinkle in his eye, Richmond turned away. Habitually, his gaze
roved in Arissa's direction and he was startled to find her staring at him.
Their eyes met, locked. Pale, delicious green upon bright blue. Richmond
was the first to attempt an acknowledgment, lifting his cup slightly in her
direction. Forcing a weak smile, Arissa lowered her gaze.
Richmond, too, tore his eyes away from her after a few moments,
wondering how her familiar gaze could impact him as if it were the very
first time they had met. Not a day went by that he did not curse God and
Henry for delegating him with Arissa's guardianship. Had they only just
met, it would be far easier to declare his want for her. But as her guardian,
he might as well have been her father. The roles were basically the same.
He had a sick obsession, in love with a woman he had practically raised.
As he immersed himself deeper and deeper into his depressing thoughts,
something on the gallery's balcony caught his attention. Immediately, he
glanced up to see Bartholomew de Lohr poised on the ledge dressed in a
toga.
Outwardly, he did not change expression. A massive elbow gently jostled
William, who was conversing with Carlton. When William turned
inquisitively to Richmond, the knight simply pointed to the balcony.
"Good Christ!" William sputtered. "He... he’s indecent! What in the hell
is he doing?"
Arissa and Regine turned around, gaping at the source of their father's
outrage. In fact, the entire room had gone eerily still as all attention riveted
to the half-naked man.
Bartholomew was pleased to have their focus. He perched himself on the
ledge with arrogant confidence, hooking a thumb in the shoulder-drape of
his toga.
"Greetings, citizens!" he bellowed. "In honor of our returned hero, a
prose as befitting the most glorious Roman Gladiator!"
"Good Christ," William moaned, casting a glance at his mortified wife.
He rose to his feet. "Come down from there, Bart! Go put some clothes on!"
 Bartholomew cocked a blond eyebrow at his father. "When I am finished,
Great Caesar, I shall be happy to join the orgy. Allow me to finish my
performance."
Arissa was smiling faintly at her brother; not because she found him
humorous, but because he was trying so desperately to maintain his
individuality in a world where the norm was to bear armor and clutch a
sword in your hand. Bartholomew was immersed in a world where ancient
Romans and Greeks were a part of his every day existence, and he took
great pride in extolling their literary works. In a world where one was
considered odd if one was different, Bartholomew de Lohr was something
of a freak of nature.
"No performance," William waved him off firmly. "Go put your clothes
on. You are offending the ladies."
Bartholomew gave his father an irritated look. "This is a toga, Father. All
correct Romans wore togas. Greeks, too. There is nothing shameful about
it."
William's face began to mottle a faint red. "'Tis no wonder they destroyed
their own civilizations with their decadent dress and eccentric manner. Lad,
you were born a thousand years too late."
Bartholomew cleared his throat, ignoring his father completely. Instead,
he focused on Richmond. "Oh Noble Warrior," he put his hand over his
chest dramatically. "A verse in honor of your return:

'So like they were, no mortal

Might one from other know;
White as snow their armor was,
Their steeds were white as snow.
Never on earthy anvil
Did such rare armor gleam,
And never did such gallant steeds
Drink of an earthly stream.'"

Arissa and Regine clapped loudly, as did Penelope and Emma far down
the table. The older ladies seemed to be indecisive, while the men appeared
to be plain embarrassed.
 William, his face resting in his hand, peered at his son from between
splayed fingers. "Are you finished?"
"Nay," Bartholomew suddenly reached for a strip of rope that held one of
the massive chandeliers in place. Gripping the rope, he suddenly swung out
over the room to a chorus of shrieks.
"`Back comes the chief in triumph
Who in the hour of fight....'"
Richmond was on his feet, leaping over the table with incredible agility
for a man of his massive size. Arissa felt him move past her, startled as his
thick arm inadvertently grazed her tender shoulder.
"Slowly, lad, slowly," he cautioned Bartholomew. "Do not attempt to
slide. Hand over hand."
Bartholomew gazed down at Richmond as the rope spun him in circles. "I
know how to descend a rope. Return to your seat so that I might finish your
tribute."
"I have heard enough tribute. Come down from there before you lose
your grip and plunge to your death."
"`Hath seen the great Twin Brethren
In harness on his right.
Safe comes the ship to haven....'"
"Bartholomew, come down from there!" William boomed. "I shall have
Richmond cut the rope if you are not to the floor by the time I count to
five!"
Bartholomew glanced at his father. "I shall come down when I am
finished. Can you not see that I am a sailor descending from the sails of my
battleship? Listen to the rest of the prose."
"Only a moment ago you were praising a knight in armor," William held
out his hands, completely frustrated. "Where in the hell did the sailor come
from? Richmond has no interest in your inane sailor's prose."
Bartholomew sighed heavily; his father simply did not understand. "The
sailor is a battle weary warrior returning home from the skirmish at Lake
Regillus. If you knew anything at all about Roman history, you would know
that Roman sailors were knights without horses."
"I shall not argue the point," William was mightily flushed, becoming
more agitated by the minute. "Come down from there before I have you
removed."
 Bartholomew was not deterred in the least. The rope, however, was
working against him; the knot that held the chandelier so steadily was not
designed to carry stress on the free end. As Bartholomew opened his mouth
to finish his victory recitation, the knot suddenly slipped.
He plummeted several feet but maintained his grip. The rope continued to
hold but was slipping steadily, bit by bit, lured on by Bartholomew's
considerable weight. The entire room was in a panic.
Richmond was directly below the young man; any attempt to descend the
rope would most likely cause it to slip further, thereby dropping him the
remaining twelve feet to the stone floor below. His mind working with
lightning speed, he whirled to Carlton and Daniel.
"The tapestry above the earl's chair!" he commanded. "Rip it down!"
Daniel bound over the table, leaping into the air and grasping the large
tapestry that was nicely displayed high on the wall. The tapestry tore,
shifted, and finally pulled free as Daniel rode it six or so feet to the ground.
With Carlton's help, they managed to yank from its remaining restraints.
Richmond took a corner of the fabric as Carlton and Daniel positioned
themselves strategically. When their grips were sure, they placed themself
directly beneath Bartholomew.
"Everyone clear away from the table!" Richmond shouted; the chandelier
was sure to come crashing down the moment Bartholomew released his
hold. "Out of the room. Now!"
Richmond le Bec's orders were not meant to be delayed, refused, or
questioned. Without hesitation, the entire dining table cleared and the
occupants scampered from the room.
Except for Arissa. She was terrified that her brother was going to
plummet to his death and, worse, Richmond would most likely be crushed
beneath him. Pressed against the wall as far as she could go, she watched in
wide-eyed horror.
Richmond did not see her; he was singularly focused on the young man
clinging to the rope above his head.
"Jump, Bart," he encouraged. "We shall catch you!"
Bartholomew gazed down at the spread tapestry, knowing he had little
choice in the matter. His grand performance had been ruined, unfortunately,
but not entire destroyed. In fact, he thought it had ended on a rather exciting
note. Too bad Richmond had cleared the room of his audience.
 He loosened his grip.
"`Safe comes the ship to haven,
Through billows and through gales
If once the great Twin Brethren....'"
He suddenly let go, falling through the air like a stricken bird, his toga
flapping wildly and revealing his taut, hairy buttocks. He landed with a
grunt on the tapestry, his dead weight causing Daniel to lose his grip.
Bartholomew crashed to the floor and Daniel toppled onto him, both of
them becoming entangled in the heavy folds of the mussed tapestry.
Across the room, the chandelier crashed into the large table, spraying
food and trenchers and hot wax from the tallow candles in every direction.
Arissa, standing against the wall, received a barrage of hot wax droplets to
her delicate forearm. Burned, she did not utter a sound as she watched
Richmond and Carlton struggle against the huge tapestry.
The two knights were yanking at the material, attempting to locate the
two men within the creases. They could see a hand and a leg, listening to
Daniel's growls of frustration as he struggled like a cat in a snare.
Suddenly, Bartholomew's head appeared and a split second later, Daniel's
emerged. Daniel glared daggers while Bartholomew smiled brightly. With a
wink, he ruffled the furious knight's blond hair.
"`.... Sit shining on the sails.'"
Daniel grunted loudly and pushed himself off Bartholomew, regaining his
footing. "You are a bloody fool, de Lohr. You could have broken your
goddamn neck!"
"Not so, Danny m'lad," Bartholomew said happily. "I am sitting on
shining sails."
"You are sitting on a tapestry," Carlton shook his head slowly, passing
Richmond an intolerant glance.
But Richmond did not react. He gazed down at Bartholomew, his face
characteristically unreadable. Bartholomew, however, was smiling
expectantly at him.
"Well? Did you like it?"
Richmond did not say anything for a moment. He could only stare at the
heir to the Berkshire earldom and feel a certain amount of trepidation. So
this is to be the future of England, he thought bleakly. He hoped he was
dead by then.
 "I thought it was wonderful," Arissa was suddenly behind him, her sweet
voice soft and caressing.
Richmond turned sharply to her, startled by her appearance. He opened
his mouth to speak but, instead, his eyes were drawn to the angry red spots
on her delicate skin. Without thinking, he reached out and snatched the arm.
"What happened?"
He was touching her. Sweet St. Jude, he was touching her! Arissa gasped
as the searing heat of his flesh burned her far more than the wax had. His
bright blue eyes were dark with concern, anger.
"Answer me, Arissa."
She opened her mouth, cleared her throat, and tried anew. "I.... the wax
from the chandelier burned me. I suppose I was not standing far enough
away when it came down."
He glanced over at the destroyed table. "The wax could not have splashed
into the foyer, which is where you should have gone," his steady gaze
returned to her. "Why did you not leave with the others?"
His tone, hard and cold, hurt her tender emotions. She tried to pull her
arm free, but his grip was like iron. "Because I was frightened for my
brother." And you.
She was looking at the floor and Richmond's gaze lingered on the top of
her dark head a moment longer before glancing to the rising Bartholomew.
It was obvious that the young man was uninjured by his adventure, severing
any further concern on Richmond's part. Without another word, he led
Arissa from the room.
Lady Maude met them in the foyer. One look at Arissa's arm and she fell
into a shrieking fit. When Bartholomew wandered into view, she berated the
young man for his foolish actions and nearly worked herself into a spell. As
Lady Maxine and Penelope returned Lady Maude to her bower, Lady Livia
and Emma offered to tend Arissa's arm.
But Richmond declined their offer, instead, choosing to tend her himself.
He wanted the excuse to be alone with her. Sending a serving wench for
Mossy, he took Arissa to her chamber.
"Sit down, kitten," he said softly, moving her toward a chair. "Mossy
should have something to ease the sting."
The pain increased when he released her from his grasp. She swallowed
hard, trying not to watch every move he made. Trying desperately to ignore
the mad twisting of her stomach and the quivering in her hands.
"Most likely something smelly," she said quietly, attempting to ease her
own nerves. "Always something smelly."
Richmond smiled. His smiles were rare; in fact, her father had once
accused him of having a face of stone. Yet whenever he and Arissa were
together, the gesture came freely and warmly.
"As long as it eases your pain, you should not mind the smell," he leaned
against the warming hearth, crossing his arms over his broad chest. After a
moment, his smile faded. "What is this I hear that you have suffered from
the cough?"
She looked down at her hands. "Only twice. 'Tis not unusual when the
weather gets colder."
"Nay, it is not unusual, but you have a talent for inviting illness where
there should be none. I do not want to hear of you roaming about the forest
after a fresh rain in search of blossoms. The next I discover you have
allowed your willful streak to control your common sense, I shall take my
hand to your backside."
Her eyes came up to him and she cocked a dramatically arched brow. "If
you can catch me, my lord."
"I can catch you."
A smile danced on her lips. "I seem to remember a knight chasing after
three young girls because one of them had stolen from the buttery. I seem to
also recall said knight being out-run by much faster, much younger ladies."
"I was not expending much of an effort."
"You were running so hard that your face was purple."
"Untrue. And how dare you criticize my age."
"I did not criticize your age. I simply stated a fact. Anyone is young
compared to you."
"Is that so? My, you have grown mouthy and bold as your birthday
approaches. I suppose you believe that the special day prohibits me from
punishing you for your insolence."
"Absolutely. You would not dare strike the object of celebration."
He grinned. So did she. Silly, warm, fluid emotions filled the room; he
was terrified that she would be able to read his mind. And she was afraid
that he would be able to read hers.
 Swallowing hard, Arissa lowered her gaze; her cheeks were beginning to
flush brightly. "How was London, my lord?"
"Busy enough," he said vaguely. "But I am more concerned with this
celebration on the morrow. Far too many obnoxious people for my taste.
The list of guests reads like a damnable wedding."
Her head came up sharply, the inevitable flooding her mind; I wish it was
our wedding, my love. But there would never be a wedding for them. She
was leaving for Whitby, and he would continue on with his life. Which
meant, inescapably, marriage. Certainly a man of Richmond's status needed
a wife and heirs.
She would not be that wife. To think of him touching another woman,
plying her with soft kisses, speaking fondly to her with words only Arissa
should be hearing....
A dagger of pain pierced her heart and she visibly winced, lowering her
gaze so that he could not read her agony. Anguish of the worst sort built
within her chest as it had earlier in the day in Mossy's sanctuary. She had
been able to escape him then. She could not escape him now.
"What is wrong, kitten?" he asked softly.
Kitten. He had always called her kitten, from the recollection of her
earliest memories. He had told her once that she had sounded much like a
kitten when she had been a babe, and somehow the term stuck with her,
even into adulthood. Only from Richmond would she hear the tender,
childish expression. She was not a child anymore.
"N-nothing," she swallowed, fighting off the tears.
To her dismay, he knelt in front of her. His proximity, his presence, was
nearly too much to bear. She attempted to turn away from him, to protect
herself from her foolish emotions, but he braced his arms on either side of
the chair and refused to allow her to move.
"You are lying," he said gently. "Does your arm hurt so?"
An escape! "Aye, it stings," she said, grateful that he had given her an
excuse for her tears. "And.... and it will probably scar."
His fingers touched her skin and she gasped, bolts of lightning surging
through her limbs and rendering her entire body weak and aching. He drew
his hand away in alarm, his gaze inquisitive.
"I did not touch the burns, Arissa."
 She was shaking terribly. Lacking any control whatsoever, her eyes met
with his wise gaze, silently beseeching him to leave her before her
composure evaporated. But he was not listening to her silent pleas; his
beautiful eyes were open and honest. Immediately, the tears came.
He began wiping tears away before he could stop himself. "Oh, Riss,
what's wrong? Has something terrible occurred while I have been away?
Something you are greatly troubled over, or...?"
She shook her head violently, wanting desperately to be free of him, yet
with the same breath wanting him to continue touching her. But she could
not tell him so.
"N-nay," she sobbed.
Richmond knew he should not touch her any more than he already was.
In fact, dragging his fingers across her silken cheeks was a dangerous
enough sport, but he lacked the will or desire to prevent himself from
following his instincts. And when she began openly weeping, his arms
suddenly took on a life of their own and drew her into a crushing, protective
embrace.
She couldn't pull away from him. His scent, leather and horses and pine,
filled her nostrils and she felt her arms going about his neck, burying her
face deeper and deeper into the crook of his shoulder. The tighter she clung,
the more fiercely he held her.
This is dangerous! Richmond's common sense screamed to him. But,
God's Teeth, he'd never held anything so sweet and womanly in his entire
life. He could smell the gardenias from the pomade she was so fond of
making, pomade that had nearly cost her her life.
His face was in her hair, black silk that assaulted him more brutally than
any warrior he had ever faced. His fingers began stroking her luscious
mane of their own accord, winding themselves tightly within the strands.
Before he realized it, he had her entire head gripped in his two massive
hands.
Her weeping had ceased. Her face, free from the shielding comfort of his
shoulder, was suddenly in front of him. He'd never beheld anything more
beautiful in his entire life.
"My lord?"
It took Richmond a moment to realize that Arissa had not uttered the
words. Her quivering rosy lips were inches from his own. He could feel her
warm breath, the heat from her body.
"My lord?"
His eyes widened and he immediately dropped his hands from her head.
Rising to his feet with shocking speed, Mossy was already in the door and
Richmond heard it slam. He had no idea how long the old man had been
watching them.
"Did you knock?" he demanded, more harshly than he should have.
Mossy did not pay him any attention. "Ye did not hear me," he dug about
in his bag. "Arissa, how did ye burn yerself?"
Arissa was in a daze. She was shaking so violently that she could barely
function much less answer a simple question. Mossy turned to her, his
ancient eyes grazing her stunned expression.
"Riss?"
She drew in a deep breath that sounded more like a sob. Senses returning
somewhat, she raised her eyes to him. "Wax," she whispered.
Richmond was standing across the room, attempting to recover his
composure. He couldn't believe how close he had come to kissing her. He
couldn't believe he had actually allowed himself to be placed in that
position. What in the hell was he thinking?
Mossy was bent over Arissa's arm, examining the red blotches. After a
brief look, he took a vial of salve from his bag and smeared it on the
wounds. Arissa winced and tried to jerk her arm away, but he held up a curt
finger.
"None of that!" he said sharply. Mossy had never known a day of
irritation or anger in his life, and Arissa was shocked to hear his tone.
Before she could apologize, the old man turned to Richmond. "Come and
hold her still, my lord. She cannot move about while I am trying to apply
this salve. It must be applied precisely."
Richmond did not hesitate, although he felt as if he were about to drown.
He still was not recovered from the last time he'd touched her.
As Richmond reached the chair, Mossy pulled Arissa to her feet. "Sit, my
lord, sit," as Richmond moved to do so, Mossy gently eased a very stiff
Arissa onto the knight's lap. "There now, lass. Sit still. Richmond, put your
arms about her so she doesn't move. I cannot have her moving about,
disrupting my work."
 Richmond swallowed hard. With the greatest reluctance, one massive
arm snaked around Arissa's slender waist while the other held her arm still.
He could feel her shaking violently underneath his grasp. Or mayhap it was
his own quivering. He couldn't tell.
"That's the way, my lord," Mossy said softly, all of the fire suddenly gone
from his tone. "Hold her tightly. Very tightly."
The old man began to carefully apply a salve that had a burnt smell to it.
He seemed to be putting a good deal of time and concern into a task that
could have just as easily been accomplished in a few seconds. Richmond
watched, Arissa quivered, as Mossy continued to stroke her arm gently.
"Hold her still now," Mossy said, replacing the cork in the salve bottle
and moving to place it in his bag. He continued to rummage about in his
satchel for some time while Richmond maintained Arissa in a motionless
position.
Seconds stretched into minutes as Mossy busied himself in his bag.
Richmond could smell Arissa's gardenias and they threatened to undo him.
Her waist, slim and long, was barely an armful for him, and her rounded
buttocks seated on his hard thighs was mayhap the greatest torture he had
ever known.
'Twas silly, truthfully. He couldn't count the time that Arissa had sat on
his lap, giggling as he tickled her or sleeping peacefully in his arms. When
she had been very small, she almost always fell asleep in his arms. She was
afraid of the dark and he had made her feel safe. Odd, he thought, that a
situation that had occurred habitually for several years was suddenly the
most erotic event he could ever recall.
If Richmond was feeling vastly peculiar, it was nothing compared to
Arissa's slow death. To feel him touching her, holding her, was bliss beyond
compare. She'd been in this position before, seated on his lap while he told
stories of battle or tales of fairies. She'd always relished the feel of him, the
comfort of his closeness. But at this moment, she wished she were seated
anywhere but upon his lap.
She knew he could feel her emotions, seeping through her skin and
infecting him. He had always been highly intuitive of her emotions and she
was positive he knew her innermost feelings. For the sake of her foolish
emotions, she had never been more ashamed.
 Mossy was spending an excessive amount of time digging through his
bag. Arissa sat like a stone and Richmond's palms were beginning to sweat.
"What are you doing?" Richmond finally asked, his voice strangely tight.
Mossy did not say anything for a moment. Then, he chuckled. "God's
Teeth. I have forgotten." He suddenly closed his bag and flashed them a
toothless smile. "Sleep with the arm exposed to the air tonight, Riss. The
salve should ease the pain and there is less of a chance that the wounds will
blister."
Richmond and Arissa watched, open-mouthed, as Mossy escaped the
bower as silently and as swiftly as he had entered. Richmond swore he
caught a glimmer of mischief in the aged brown eyes.
The bower door was left ajar. Arissa, acutely aware of Richmond's heated
body against her, felt her cheeks flushing mightily. As discreetly as she
could manage, she slipped from his lap and nearly stumbled in her haste to
put distance between them.
Richmond watched her, disappointed and relieved at the same time.
Clearly, there was no mistaking the flush to her cheeks and he knew it was
because she was angry with him. Angry he had clutched he so intimately,
angry that his manners had been sorely lacking. Had Mossy not interrupted
them when he did, there was no telling how badly he would have behaved.
What puzzled him, however, was why Mossy returned them to a position
that was nearly as intimate as the first. With Arissa sitting on his lap,
clutched against his chest, it was almost as if Mossy wanted them to be
close. As if suspected what was occurring within Richmond's heart and
sought to torture him. Crazy old bastard.
He rose from the chair, clearing his throat. "Does it feel better?"
She nodded, unable to look at him. "Soothed, at least."
He gazed at her dark head, wondering if he should apologize for their
close contact. He'd never apologized for all of the innocent occasions in
which she had been enfolded in his arms, or seated upon his thighs. Why
should he apologize for something that was completely natural?
"Riss, are you all right?" Regine was suddenly in the doorway, her blue
eyes wide at her older sister.
Arissa smiled bravely at the younger girl, relieved with the diversion.
Richmond's presence had her shaken. "Fine, Regine. Mossy put a bit of
slime on my arm that should heal it properly."
 Regine's eyes were big on Richmond. "You saved Bart."
He smiled wearily at the girl. "I prevented him from breaking his artful
neck."
"He has a bruise on his bottom the size of a melon," Regine said happily.
"Mother thinks he has ruptured a vein."
Richmond snorted. "More than likely he’s managed to damage his brain,
considering his intelligence is lodged in his arse," when Regine giggled, he
patted her fondly on the head. "Let me guess, you curiously little wench.
You saw the bruise, did you not?"
"Or course I did," Regine tossed her long blond hair flippantly.
Richmond shook his head reprovingly. "I was hoping you would outgrow
this intensely curious phase you have been going through, but I see that I
have been wrong. I told you no more spying on the soldiers, no more
kissing the serving wenches in order to learn their techniques, and you were
not to demand explicit stories from the stable boys any longer."
Regine avoided his gaze, wandering over to her older sister. "I do not kiss
the serving wenches any longer. Just the boys. I am developing my own
techniques."
"No more of that. I shall blister you again if I have to."
Regine hid herself behind Arissa, pressing against her sister's back in
hopes of evading Richmond's piercing stare. "You are not my father."
"Hmm," Richmond cocked a dark eyebrow. "I have kept your disgraceful
secrets long enough; any more tales of your promiscuous streak and your
father shall know the truth of it. You are too wild for you own good, Regine
Margaret. 'Twould do you well to learn to behave as your elder sister does."
Regine's plump arms wound around Arissa's waist. It looked as if the
eldest sibling had grown a new pair of limbs. Richmond met Arissa's gaze,
unguarded now that she was no longer the focus of his attention. Silently,
she implored him to ease his assault against the inquisitive young girl.
As always, he would do as she asked, audibly expressed or not. He'd
always given in to her desires without a struggle. It did not prevent him,
however, from giving Arissa a long look as he moved towards the door.
"My lady, I shall leave you to retire. Next time, you would do well to
heed my orders so that you do not find yourself injured," he peered around
Arissa, meeting Regine's pouting gaze. "Good eve to you, my lady."
 His boot falls faded down the hall. Arissa stood in the center of the room,
her sister wound around her waist as if the raven-haired beauty could
protect her from Richmond's wrath. Regine had always been terrified of the
massive knight with the deep, growling voice. Especially when he
disapproved of her slightly perverted juvenile experimentation.
But Arissa had never been terrified of him. At least, not in the literal
sense. Even though her arm throbbed with burn and her head swam with
confusion, she was not nearly as shaken as she had been moments before. In
fact, she was aware of a rather pleasant mood settling.
Something had occurred, although she was not sure what, exactly. The
only element she was able to decipher was the fact that Richmond's touch
had gone beyond the usual fatherly gesture. And his beautiful eyes, barely
lined with his age, had spoken to her. Words she had never heard before.
Oddly, her confusion and shame gave way to a most unexpected smile.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER THREE

Arissa awoke to the sound of Richmond's voice. Rolling over in bed, she
thought mayhap he was in the corridor speaking to the servants. It took her
a moment to realize that he was out in the bailey, shouting orders to the
troops.
She lay still a moment, listening to his voice and feeling herself wash
with the familiar pride she had come to associate with Richmond. He was
so mighty, so massive and powerful, and he controlled hundreds of men
with absolutely no effort at all. They nearly knocked themselves over in
their eagerness to complete his bidding.
She would have been quite happy to have lounged in bed all morn,
listening to the sound of his voice. But Penelope, Emma and Regine had
other ideas; suddenly, her bower door flew open and a huge copper tub was
being shoved across the scrubbed floor. As Arissa sat up in bed, Penelope
and Emma had several servants filling the vat with steaming water as
Regine emerged into the chamber, carrying the surcoat that would adorn her
sister this day.
"Do not get water on it, Regine!" Emma scolded as she passed too close
to the tub. "The silk will stain!"
Regine stuck her tongue out at the older girl and proceeded to hang the
surcoat, very carefully, on the wardrobe.
Arissa sighed with satisfaction at the sight of her new surcoat; of two-
color silk, the very latest fashion, it was a form-fitting piece of green fabric
with the contrasting shade being a pale, iridescent green. The scoop
neckline clung to her delicate shoulders while the long, wide sleeves nearly
swept the ground when she walked. A silver link belt with four rough
emeralds would adorn her slim waist.
Regine stood back and admired the surcoat with satisfaction. "'Twill be
magnificent with your eyes, Riss."
Arissa refused to waste any time. Leaping from the bed, she plunged into
the scalding water and was the prompt recipient of a completely brutal
scrubbing. Penelope washed her hair while Emma and Regine soaped her
body, all of them chattering endlessly on the silliest of subjects. But the
most prevalent topic, understandably, was the excitement of the day.
"I have heard Tad de Rydal is most dashing," Emma said with a hint of
hope. "I have not heard if he’s betrothed. Have you, Riss?"
Arissa shook her black head, wild and untamed with Penelope's drying. "I
have not heard a lick about him. Pen?"
Penelope's reply was interrupted by Regine's pondering. "I wonder what
it would be like to kiss him. I wonder if his buttocks are as fuzzy as Bart's."
Emma shrieked while Arissa and Penelope erupted into giggles. "No
kissing, Regine," Arissa reminded her sternly. "Remember what Richmond
said."
Regine thrust her chin up and turned away. "He’s not my lord and master.
I do not have to listen to him."
"You'd better," Emma said with a smirk. "Certainly you remember what
happened when he caught you in the livery with the stable servant. Neither
you nor the boy could sit for a week."
The three older girls giggled at Regine's expense. Always defiant, Regine
scowled at the three of them. "It was worth the spanking to learn the feel of
a man's tongue against my...."
The smiles, the giggling, immediately ceased. Three pairs of huge,
rounded eyes stared at the twelve-year-old. Only Arissa was brave enough
to ask.
"Against your what?"
Regine was usually quite proud of her growing list of experiences. But
gazing at the expressions of the older women, she was suddenly regretful
for her outburst. With a faint flush mottling her ears, she finished scrubbing
Arissa's foot.
"Surely you have kissed a man, Riss. Sometimes they kiss with their
tongues."
Arissa shook her head slowly. "I have never kissed a man. Sweet St.
Jude, Regine, you are only twelve. Why must you be so eager to indulge in
adult pleasures?"
Regine's hot gaze came up from her task. "Because I want to know. And I
shall learn, any way I can so that my prospective husband will not be
displeased that I am ignorant."
 "Your prospective husband will not want a trollop that has seen service
like a well-used horse."
"You only say that because you must enter the cloister. You must be pure
'else God will not want you," she turned her attention to Penelope. "Surely
you have kissed Daniel. Has not he kissed you with his tongue?"
Penelope flushed a dull red and abruptly turned away, fumbling with the
linen towels. Arissa passed a glance at her startled friend. "What Daniel and
Penelope do is none of your affair, Regine. Moreover...."
But Regine was ignoring her sister. Instead, she was on her feet, her blue
eyes fully focused on the blushing maiden. "I have watched you and Daniel
at times. In fact, I followed the two of you the other night when you left the
dining hall early. He took you into the stable and...."
Penelope suddenly whirled around, her face bright and flushed. "Regine!
How dare you..!"
Arissa was climbing out of her bath, fully intent on defending Penelope
from her tactless sister. "You should not have been spying on them! I am
going to tell mother!"
"But he put his mouth on her breasts," Regine insisted to her sister, as if
the intimate action was a great mystery. "I want to know what it feels like,
too. Penelope, was it wonderful? From the noise you were making, I
couldn't tell."
Arissa's eyes widened; she did not dare look at Penelope. Swallowing
hard, she gave her sister a shove toward the door. "Leave us, Regine. I shall
not hear such slanderous lies."
"They're not lies!" Regine insisted, nearly slipping on a puddle of water.
"What's wrong, Riss? Why are you angry?"
Arissa gave her sister another push, completely ignorant of her slick,
naked body. "Out, out!"
Frustrated and puzzled, Regine quit the room in a huff. Embarrassed on
behalf of her sister's mouth and her friend's invaded privacy, she turned
hesitantly to Penelope.
"I am sorry, Pen," she said softly. "You know she’s.... well, she simply
doesn't see anything wrong with what she does sometimes."
Penelope was staring at the floor. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to
meet Arissa's gaze. "I suppose I should not be ashamed, truly. After all,
Daniel and I plan on marrying. Someday."
 Emma was still on her knees by the tub of cooling water. Her soft blue
eyes were wide. "Did he really touch you.... there?"
Penelope looked to the younger girl as Arissa gathered a coarse towel and
began to dry herself. "Aye, he did," she swallowed again. "I know that I
should not have let him, but...."
"You do not have to explain yourself to us, Pen," Arissa cut her short,
forcing her embarrassed friend focus on the duty of drying her raven locks.
"We know that you and Daniel love each other."
Penelope vigorously toweled Arissa's hair. "Certainly, I love him. I know
he loves me, too, although he’s never truly told me."
"Have you done anything else?" Emma asked, her voice small.
Penelope's movements slowed. "I have not lost my maidenhood, if that's
what you mean."
Arissa cast Emma a quelling look. Fortunately, Emma understood the
implication and let the subject go. But she was still terribly curious and, in a
sense, awed. Penelope was entering into the mysterious world of adult lust
and she, too, wanted to know what it was like.
Richmond's voice suddenly drifted in from the bailey, wafting through
the lancet windows of the bower and penetrating the oiled cloth curtains.
Arissa heard his voice and found herself staring at the covered windows
even as Penelope directed her to sit by the weak flame of the hearth.
Hearing his voice reminded her of the previous day, the first day in
months that they had seen one another. Memories of his arms around her as
she cried, of his hands in her hair, filled her full of warm and giddy
thoughts. And the way he had gazed into her eyes before Mossy interrupted
them had been nothing short of astounding. If she did not know better, she
would have sworn he wanted to kiss her. Or mayhap she had merely hoped
their wants were the same.
Arissa was barely aware of Penelope's ministrations as the young woman
combed the drying black locks, moving woodenly when Emma secured her
new surcoat. Her thoughts were focused on Richmond as she gazed at her
reflection in the polished glass mirror, unnoticing of the delightful cleavage
the dress managed to display. With her narrow waist and link belt, her
breasts appeared even larger than their natural state and she took a second
glance, forgetting Richmond for the moment as she tried to lessen the
impact of her deliciously full assets.
 Arissa did not like the attention they drew from men and women alike.
She had developed at an early age, beginning her menses before most girls
even knew what the cycle meant. One morning she had awoken to the
largest breasts she had ever seen; or, at least, she thought it was somewhat
of an overnight occurrence. She remembered crying into her mother's arms
with embarrassment when she had overheard one of the serving wenches
commenting on her ripe figure.
She never saw the serving wench again after that day. Rumor had it that
the woman had been discharged and sent on her way. She had no way of
knowing that Richmond had ordered the offending woman thrashed within
an inch of her life and cast to the elements. A cruel punishment indeed, but
there was nothing the Guardian would not do for his charge.
Penelope fussed at her friend as she tugged at the magnificent surcoat,
finally giving up and moving to style the raven-hued hair. As Arissa
attempted to minimize her delicious assets, Penelope gathered the front of
her hair and secured it within a silver clip at the back of her skull. Ebony
tendrils of silken hair curled delicately about her face, framing her porcelain
features.
But Arissa did not notice that, either. She was still fidgeting with the
dress. "I look like I am harboring two overgrown melons underneath my
surcoat," she complained.
Penelope and Emma passed a critical eye over their friend. "Riss, if I
were fortunate enough to possess a figure like you, I would display it often
enough to offend God himself,” Penelope’s voice was laced with envy.
“Why must you act as if is a curse?"
Arissa ceased struggling against breasts that simply were not going to
shrink. She stared at herself. "I am too short. I look like a troll."
Emma shook her head and turned away. "You look like a goddess," she
moved for the door and summoned the serving wenches to take the copper
tub away. When the women busied themselves with emptying the water and
mopping up the floor, Emma turned to find Arissa and Penelope still gazing
at Arissa's reflection.
Emma put her hands on her hips. "Riss, you are perfect. You are breasts
are round and ripe, your waist tiny, and you are legs are shapely and
beautiful. How can you see any differently?"
 Arissa turned away from the mirror. "I just do, I guess. I am certainly not
fishing for compliments from the two of you. What do I care what you
magpies think?"
Outside, more shouts abound, announcing the approach of the first
caravan of guests. One of the serving women had brought forth a bowl of
porridge and a chunk of bread, but Arissa was too nervous to think of food.
Her guests were arriving, people she was expected to greet, and her
stomach was jumping madly.
"I must go," she smoothed at her surcoat again. "Father demands that I
greet my company. Are you sure I look presentable?"
Penelope and Emma smiled at her. "Beautiful, Riss. Men will be falling
all over themselves in their attempt to capture your attention," Emma said
truthfully.
Arissa dared a small smile, quitting the room with her friends in tow. She
was growing more excited with the prospect of her special day, thrilled to
be mingling with people she hadn't seen in months. The list of events that
would comprise the day before the grand celebration that eve was enough
activities to fill an entire week.
As Penelope and Emma left her to go and change into their own
appropriate garments, Arissa descended the stairs alone. So she presented a
beautiful picture, did she? Strange, she never considered herself beautiful.
But if her friends' words were truthful, if the men in attendance really
would be trampling themselves in order to gain her attention, they were in
for a rude awakening.
There was only one man whose attentions she yearned for. She wondered
if Richmond would think she looked beautiful, too.

***

The first of December had dawned amazingly bright and, in spite of the
cool temperatures, promised to be a delightful day. A chill wind whipped
the Lambourn banners in to a frenzy, blue and gold flapping madly on the
battlements. Lambourn soldiers, their mail cleaned and their blue tunics
fresh, paced their posts in vigilant preparation for the day.
Richmond was pleased with the organized uniformity. His own men, one
hundred elite guard he had arrived with yesterday, were patrolling the
woods and surrounding areas for thieves and bandits as the great houses of
Berkshire, Oxfordshire, Dorset, Hampshire and Wiltshire arrived for a very
special gala. Even though it was a one-day event, Richmond knew, most
likely, that Lambourn could expect a keep-full of houseguests for three or
four days.
Clad in polished armor and Henry's leopards of England tunic, he made
his rounds with Carlton to make sure posts were set and the sentries were
vigilant.
"God has blessed my lady with a beautiful day for her birthday
celebration," Carlton said, inhaling an unusually warm breath of December
air. "I cannot remember when we have had such pleasant winter weather."
"Hold your tongue, Carlton. You shall jinx the day."
The knight laughed softly as they passed a clutter of old weapons and
crates that Richmond immediately ordered removed. Obedient soldiers
rushed to carry out the order as the two warriors made their way across the
bailey en route to the stables, intent to make sure the stable master was well
prepared for the onslaught of fine chargers and wagons.
William and Bartholomew exited the castle as the knights were crossing
the courtyard, finely dressed in embroidered tunics with the Lambourn's
lion crest. William greeted Richmond amiably, nary a mention of the
previous night when Bartholomew had nearly ended his foolish life. His
son, however, refused to meet Richmond's eye, a strong indication that he
was still feeling a major degree of embarrassment.
Richmond knew it was more than likely that Lambourn's heir was angry
with the older knight for ending his performance prematurely. Bartholomew
was as sensitive as a woman at times, adding dimension and mystery to his
already bizarre character. If he was not venting Greek tragedies, he was
weeping like a jilted lover. More than once his father had threatened to end
his peculiar torment permanently.
But Richmond had little time to dwell on the eccentricities of human
nature. He responded to both men with his usual emotionless salutation,
politely listening to William's prattle when there were a thousand other
duties he was required to attend. The longer William spoke, the more
impatient Richmond became and just as he moved to excuse himself, the
sentries on the battlements sounded the onset of a series of shouts.
 Richmond was mercifully released from William's boorish presence as he
jogged across the dusty courtyard, taking the ladder to the battlements
effortlessly. High atop the wall, he gazed out over the still December
landscape and immediately his hawk-sharp eyes envisioned the party
advancing from a distance.
"De Rydal," he muttered, turning to the nearest soldier. "Tell the earl that
the House of de Rydal approaches."
The soldier shuffled off, leaving Richmond and a few other guards
leaning over the parapet, gazing onto the horizon.
"How in the hell can he see who it is?" one of the guards muttered,
expressing his disbelief to another. "They've got to be a mile away."
Richmond heard the comment and it nearly made him smile. But not
quite. He cast an arrogant, all-knowing glance at the group of men.
"I do not need to see the party to know who approaches." He pushed past
the men, moving for the ladder.
"You do not?" the soldier repeated, mystified. "But how do you know,
m'lord?"
Richmond paused on the top rung, gazing into a host of curious faces. "I
know everything."
They believed him.
William and Bartholomew were in the same spot where Richmond had
left them. Carlton and Daniel were at the portcullis, ordering the ancient
grill raised for the incoming party. Richmond could hear the metal groaning
as he moved toward the earl and his son, hoping the earl would not force
him to play co-host to a throng of silly nobles.
He would organize William's men. He would see to the security of the
celebration. He would even attend the gala when he would much rather be
alone, tending his own interests. But he would not perform as the perfect,
congenial host. He simply was not comfortable in a group of people much
less willing to take charge of the festivities.
Making his way to William, he prayed the man would not expect him to
take control of the reveling throng. Even though William knew well of
Richmond's reserved nature, somehow he would conveniently forget and
demand le Bec into the diplomatic corp. And Richmond was not sure how,
exactly, he could gracefully decline.
 Most likely, the only logical solution was to decline the offer before it
was issued. After all, there was so much going on this day that required
constant supervision; there would be wrestling matches for betting pleasure
near the stables that had to be supervised, and there was to be an archery
competition later in the afternoon that required the same attention.
Richmond's own men were pledged in a Stick and Ball match against
William's men-at-arms, a bout that promised to be lively. That, too, needed
to be finalized.
He opened his mouth as he approached the earl, determined to get in the
first word. But it was not fast enough.
"Richmond, I have a request of you," William said in his usual aggressive
manner, watching the portcullis come to a grinding halt. "Lady Maude and
I...."
Richmond stepped all over his words. "I cannot tend your guests,
William. I have quite a number of duties of my own. You are well aware
that I am not the diplomatic sort."
William raised his eyebrows. "I was not going to ask you to entertain my
guests. God's Teeth, man, a corpse would have better manners hosting a
crowd. I was simply going to ask that you escort Arissa this day. I realize
you have a good many duties, assisting Carlton and Daniel with the day's
events, but I do not want Arissa without a knightly escort. Will you do
this?"
Would he escort Arissa though her day, tracking her every move,
listening to her laughter and drawing strength from the sound of her voice?
His sharp manner abruptly subsided. "I have always been my lady's
shadow," he said after a moment, his voice soft. "'Tis unnecessary to make
such a request."
William cocked an eyebrow, somewhat amused. "Yet I make it all the
same. I know how consumed you can be when it comes to sports and
games, and with most of the family preoccupied with our visitors, I did not
wish for Arissa's safety to suffer. Leave the games to one of your officers. I
have made a far more important request of you."
Richmond did not reply. He'd been Arissa's escort for more functions
than he could remember, shadowing the giddy young woman and her silly
friends. He'd grown accustomed to their childish chatter and foolish pranks
and, somehow, they always seemed to make him smile where grown men
failed.
He wondered why he suddenly felt differently escorting Arissa to her
own party. In the past, he had acted in a near fatherly manner, treating her
as one would a daughter or niece. He'd given little thought to chasing off
the eager beaus, casting a threatening glance and conveying more danger
than mere words could express. It had always been the same, a duty he had
taken great pleasure in.
But no longer. If a young man approached her this day, he was not at all
sure he would not take the potential suitor's head off. Certainly, a fatherly
attitude no longer prevailed. As if.... as if a new dimension had been added
since their baffling encounter last night. When he had held her as one would
a lover.
He forced himself away from his gripping thoughts, focusing on the earl.
"So I shall play nursemaid to The Horde this day? I must be receiving
punishment for a great offense I have unknowingly committed against you."
William laughed, watching his men scatter as the first of the de Rydal's
escort rode into the bailey. "Better you than me."
Arissa chose that moment to exit the castle, positively ravishing in green
silk. Although it was far too cool to move about without a wrap, she would
have refused a cloak from God himself if it meant concealing her new
surcoat. She had already received two compliments from the servants as she
exited the castle and thought, mayhap, that her own conservative
observations had been wrong. Mayhap the garment did not make her took
too short or too busty.
A cool gust of wind caught her and she involuntarily shivered, her pale
green eyes riveted to the party just passing under the portcullis. Several feet
to her right stood her father, Bartholomew, and several knights including
Richmond.
Swallowing her nerves, she descended the stairs towards the men. With
every step, she began to hope that she would see Richmond's approval in
his eyes, a silent appreciation for the trouble she had gone through to make
herself lovely. His word and his alone would decide how she truly felt about
her appearance.
She'd lied when she had told Penelope and Emma that she had little
concern whether or not Richmond attended her birthday. It was the best
possible gift she had could have hoped for. The only gift she truly wanted.
Richmond caught a flash of green from the corner of his eye. Turning
with mild disinterest, his blue eyes came to rest upon a sight so incredibly
beautiful that he swore he was gazing upon a window open to Heaven.
Certainly, only angels were in possession of such beauty.
Arissa smiled at him and he felt his aging joints turn to warm, silly,
wicked mush. His heart thumped madly against his ribs as she greeted her
father and brother, accepting birthday kisses from the both of them. William
was particularly proud of his eldest daughter, praising her beauty, her poise,
her charm. Arissa smiled through all of it, absorbing it as any young maiden
would.
Richmond continued to watch her through fascinated eyes. He thought,
however, that her gaze was continually drawn to him, even as her father
prattled on about the events scheduled for the day. The pale green eyes
managed to find him regardless of who she was talking to. Or mayhap it
was his imagination; mayhap he was seeing what he wished to see, his
obsession causing him to hallucinate. Why would a creature as lovely and
perfect as Arissa de Lohr allow her gaze to linger on an aging knight who
was well past his prime?
Even if he was merely imagining her attention, his gaze was
unmistakably lingering on her. When William took her hand and led her
over to Richmond, placing her soft palm in his forearm where it had rested
a thousand times before, he smiled at her as if he were a giddy young
squire. He simply couldn't stop himself.
William snorted. "God's Teeth, le Bec. I do not ever think I have seen you
smile for such an extended period of time. Did you hurt yourself, man?"
Richmond cursed himself for being so indiscreet. He hadn't meant to
react so openly to her but, God's Teeth, she was impossible to ignore. Ever
since he had returned yesterday, it was as if the separation had somehow
fortified his feelings for her a thousand fold. His smile broadened and he
patted Arissa's hand as neutrally as he could.
"I am sorry, William,” he said without taking his eyes off her. “I forgot
myself. How could I gaze into this face and not smile?"
Arissa flushed a lovely shade of pink, lowering her eyes as her guests
drew closer. She would have sold her soul to the Devil for the look in
Richmond’s eyes to have been a reflection of her own adoration. Her small,
tapered fingers found their way around his gloved hand, fingers that were as
thick as three of hers combined. There was no mistaking his response;
leather-clad fingers that had wielded a sword for Henry in battle clutched at
her, tightly.
Arissa nearly gasped with his instant response. Instinctively, her fingers
curled tighter. So did his. The de Rydals were drawing closer, but she was
not paying them any mind. All that mattered was Richmond's powerful
grasp, igniting a raging wild fire that was surging through her veins and
causing her chest to ache.
A fatherly response, she told herself giddily. He’s simply responding to
the young girl He’s always known, the young girl who has always sought
comfort from her father's powerful friend... a fatherly response!
Her eyes came to rest on their two hands, intertwined, touching.
Remembering how the same hand had clutched her hair so tenderly the day
before. Her eyes trailed up his arm, so thick and powerful. Arms that had
made her feel safe and protected since she had been a child. Shoulders so
broad that he could barely fit through a door without turning sideways. A
mail-clad neck she had wrapped her arms about innumerable times.
Then there were his eyes. She did not realize how long she had been
gazing into his beautiful eyes. Furthermore, she had no concept of how long
he had been staring at her either. She'd been studying him for an endless
amount of time when, suddenly, it occurred to her that he was doing the
same. They were looking at each other.
"You look magnificent this day, my lady," his voice came as a growl,
words only she could hear.
Her cheeks flushed as she received his approval. "Thank you,
Richmond," she whispered.
He smiled, a devastating gesture that was far too rarely seen. She
returned his smile, timidly, and she felt him squeeze her hand gently.
Arissa's hot cheeks threatened to explode. Averting her gaze was the only
possible solution, and she did so. But the small hand that was clutched
within his great one was joined by its mate. Both hands, fragile and small
and soft, lost themselves within the great tight cave of his armor-bound
hand.
Ovid de Rydal, a large man with bushy red hair, practically fell from the
wagon as a servant tried to help him down. He was far too obese to ride,
straightening a tunic that was large enough to cover an entire bed. His wife,
the Lady Margaret, was nearly as rotund and a head taller. Having borne
eleven children, she wore her plump stature like a badge of honor.
The majority of the de Rydal brood had accompanied their parents, with
the exception of the five daughters that were married. Ovid de Rydal was so
eager to be rid of his female children that he had begun marrying them off
at twelve years of age and the most recent bride, married to a poor knight
more than twice her age, was three weeks past her eleventh birthday. When
Regine had learned of Tessa de Rydal's marriage, she had raged for nearly a
week.
Bartholomew was standing next to his sister. He leaned toward Arissa. "I
would wager that Ovid the Blob proposes to marry off his ten year old
daughter Mary before the day is out."
Richmond heard the comment and tilted his head in Bartholomew’s
direction, his eyes still riveted to the de Rydal party. "I shall cover you on
that wager, Bart. A solid gold piece says your father has you married off by
tomorrow."
Bartholomew appeared incensed. "An outrageous statement, sir. I shall
not marry a ten-year-old wench, and I do not care how wealthy her father
is!"
Richmond cocked an eyebrow as Arissa grinned. "I see that you do not
meet my wager. Am I to understand that you agree with me?"
Bartholomew scowled, returning his attention to the group before him. In
his most menacing, evil voice, he began to recite.
"'Perseus washed his hands, bloody from his victory over the monster, in
the sea. So that the hard sand should not damage the snake-bearing head he
made the ground soft with leaves and branches that grow beneath the sea's
surface, and on these he placed the head of Medusa.'"
Arissa giggled uncontrollably as the corners of Richmond's mouth
twitched. "She’s not Medusa, Bart." Richmond said.
Bart snorted, cocking a most determined eyebrow. "I shall fight the entire
Titan realm before I shall be forced into matrimony," he cast a disdainful
glance at the de Rydal clan. "And, from the appearance of things, the
monsters have arrived in droves."
Arissa was shaking with mirth, trying desperately to control her giggles
as Lord de Rydal and his wife approached. William thrust himself forward
to meet his guests, with Bartholomew in close pursuit.
Arissa and Richmond moved to follow. Arissa was having a good deal of
success in calming her snickers until Bartholomew cast her a wild-eyed
glance when Lady Margaret fixed him with a hungry gaze. Immediately,
she was off on another gale.
"Calm yourself, kitten," Richmond's breath was hot against her ear.
"Lady de Rydal would probably not hesitate to take a switch to your lovely
bottom if she catches wind of your fit."
She swallowed her giggles, fixing Richmond in the eye. "But you are my
protector. Surely you would defend me."
He feigned a wary look. "Not for certain. She would probably blister me,
too."
Arissa's giggles returned, only they were far calmer as she and Richmond
gazed warmly at each other. The giggling moment eased as Arissa finally
spoke. "I am.... I am glad your back, Richmond. I have missed you."
William addressed her and she was forced to turn away from Richmond,
releasing her grip as she moved forward to greet the de Rydals. Richmond
could do naught but stare at her; the silken hair cascading to her buttocks,
the magnificent sway of her backside when she walked. Dear God... she'd
missed him.
She’s told you that before, his inner self reminded him sternly. She’s told
you that countless times. Why should this time be any different? He
continued to gaze at Arissa as she politely greeted Ovid de Rydal,
wondering why her declaration of longing was unlike all the rest. Then, it
hit him... there had been something in her eyes. He knew he had not
imagined it.
A loud voice jolted Richmond from his thoughts. William was extending
his hand in his direction, motioning him forward. Obediently, Richmond
joined the de Lohr ranks. There were so many people crowded around
Arissa that he was only able to take position behind her.
Inadvertently, he brushed against her and she whirled to him, startled. He
discreetly moved to step away until, much to his surprise, she pressed
against him as if she were inexplicably afraid. Her body, soft and supple
and young, scorched his flesh though layers of material and mail. He just
stood there and absorbed it.
 The day advanced and guests arrived en masse. Richmond kept to Arissa
like a shadow as she welcomed her guests, the massive silent protector as
the horde of well-wishers descended. When Lady Maude and Regine joined
the delegation, he was forced away from Arissa and into the role of distant
guard.
As much as he wanted to stand beside her, smelling the faint scent of
gardenias, he knew it was better that he assume a distant stance. Mentally
shaking himself and struggling to focus on something other than Arissa, he
began to rove about the crowd gathered in front of the earl and his family,
his trained eyes scanning the assembly for any signs of threat. He was not
expecting any such danger, but it was his instinct to promote a wary
attitude. That way, surprises were less likely to occur.
He was watching the crowd so intently that he failed to notice Tad de
Rydal swagger through the admiring throng, having just come from
Lambourn stables where he had personally settled his charger. A devilishly
handsome man, he thrust himself in front of Lord de Becket and put
Arissa's hand to his lips as if he was sampling the finest nectar.
"My lady, it has been a very long time," he said in a sickeningly
seductive tone. "You have grown more beautiful than I could have possibly
imagined."
Arissa gazed up at the large knight, vaguely remembering the arrogant
young heir to the de Rydal fortune. "I.... thank you, my lord."
He simply grinned, her palm still against his lips. Fairly indiscreetly, she
yanked her hand away from his obnoxious mouth and attempted to refocus
on her next guest, Baron Wendover. But Tad would not be forgotten so
easily.
"Have you an escort this day, my lady?" he said boldly. "I would consider
it an honor if you would allow me the privilege of guiding you through this
day."
"She does indeed have an escort, Sir Tad," William was standing next to
his daughter, ever-vigilant. "We thank you for your generous offer,
however."
Tad cocked an eyebrow. The man purely reeked of conceit. "I see. How
foolish of me to assume otherwise," his blue gaze flicked to Arissa once
again. "Your betrothed, no doubt?"
 Arissa met his conceited gaze steadily. She'd known the man less than a
minute; already, she did not like him. "My betrothed is God himself, my
lord. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other guests to attend to."
"God himself?" Tad repeated loudly. Much to Arissa's horror, their
conversation was drawing quite an audience. "I am sure I do not
understand, my lady."
"Lady Arissa is not meant for mortal men, Sir Tad," William said with
lagging patience. He did not like the arrogant pup, either. "She was pledged
to Whitby Abbey shortly after birth. Now, if you will...."
"Whitby Abbey?" Tad echoed, astonished. His gaze moved between
Arissa and William. "You would allow this beautiful young woman to be
wasted within the walls of a convent? Surely you jest!"
"'Tis no jest," Richmond suddenly appeared at Arissa's side, pulling her
against his body protectively. "You have taken a good amount of Lady
Arissa and Lord de Lohr's time. Kindly move along to enjoy the festivities
this day has to offer."
Tad gazed at Richmond, the hostility evident. He was a large young
knight, but not nearly as large as Richmond. Obviously, he had no qualms
about their difference in size.
"Your name, knight?" he demanded of Richmond.
Richmond's face was emotionless. "Sir Richmond le Bec."
A flicker of recognition crossed Tad's features. "Le Bec.... Henry's le
Bec?"
Richmond nodded, once. Tad took a step back, although his arrogance
was not entirely shaken. "I thought.... that is to say, I grew up on stories of
your valor. I thought you would have been dead by now."
"Not hardly," Richmond's voice was a growl. Lord de Rydal began
tugging on Tad's arm and the young knight was wise enough to heed the
call. But not before he cast a long glance at Arissa.
"My lady, I hope you will save me a dance this eve. I shall look forward
to it."
Arissa gave him a lop-sided smile, her only response. She would have
liked nothing better than to have outright refused the request, but it would
not do for the hostess to insult one of her guests. As the crowd around them
began to disband, Richmond clasped her tender white hand in a huge mailed
fist.
 "Come along, my lady," he said firmly.
"Where?" Arissa gathered her skirt, glancing at her father's questioning
gaze.
Richmond continued to lead her away. "I have a few duties to attend to.
You may accompany me."
"Duties? Where?"
He slanted her a gaze. "Away from the Tad de Rydals of this world. If
you greet any more guests, your hand will surely fall off from sheer
overuse."
She passed another glance at her father, who did not protest Richmond's
removal in the least. Instead, he had turned back to his visitors. Strange,
Arissa thought, how her father never questioned Richmond's actions, even
when in direct conflict with his own desires.
Her father had wished for her to greet her guests. Richmond had decided
she'd had enough welcoming for the day and was determined to take her
with him as he went about his duties. Of course, she would rather be with
Richmond, but she found it odd that her father had not uttered a word of
protest when the knight swept her away.
She skipped after Richmond, aware of his hand tightly about her own. It
began to occur to her than even while she was growing up, Richmond's
word was law when it came to her well-being and upbringing. Where
Regine or Bartholomew was concerned, her father had always had the final
say in their lives. But never with her; it had always been Richmond.
'Twas curious that the puzzlement over Richmond's authority should
happen to cross her mind at that moment. Gazing up at his glorious profile,
she couldn't imagine why her father would allow his friend to take charge of
her life in such a fashion.
Certainly, the truth of the matter would never have occurred to her in a
million years.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER FOUR

The day of the gala festivities had become a glorious example of pleasant
winter weather. The sun was shining on the cold, dead earth in a vain
attempt to deceive life from the frozen turf. As the guests finished arriving
and the peasants began to wander into the fortress from the neighboring
village bearing the same name, the gay mood saturated man and beast alike.
Penelope, Daniel, Emma and Regine had joined Richmond and Arissa as
they perused the happening of events. As one experiences at a faire, there
were a myriad of games and entertainment going on to enthrall and
captivate the guests arrived in Arissa's honor. And none more enthralled
than Arissa herself.
Jugglers from the village were entertaining children by tossing apples
about in a crazy manner. One man held a huge arch over his head laced with
bells, shaking out a beat as he walked amongst the crowd. A few of the
peasant women, with permission from Lady Maude, had set up make-shift
tables upon which they sold beautifully sewn handkerchiefs and other
sundry items.
A group of young peasant boys brought cages full of cocks and had set
up a passable arena in which to pit one rooster against the other. Richmond
passed a glance at the group of enterprising young lads as they took bets for
their cockfights. Regine wanted to watch but he grabbed her by the
shoulders, steering the errant young girl back to her sister. He fought off a
grin when she cast him a baleful, sneering glance.
The wrestling matches for the men had commenced a half-hour before.
The finer nobles and knights did not actually participate in the sport, but left
the brutal competition to the men-at-arms and peasants who spent long
hours training for the event. It was an exacting sport, pitting the largest and
strongest of men against each other in a battle to the finish.
It was also the loudest game by far as Richmond and his group passed
within range. Richmond recognized some of his own men yelling
encouragement to their favorite contender, vaguely wishing he could be a
part of it. He greatly enjoyed a good sport, as William had been eager to
point out. But he enjoyed Arissa more far more than a male-dominated
game; he glanced down at her, smiling at her saucer-round eyes as she
observed the excitement.
Ever-protective of his charge, especially in light of the rowdy spectacle,
he proceeded to direct Arissa and an enthusiastic Regine clear of the
wrestling. Even as he diverted the senses of his fair young wards, Daniel
had no qualms about taking Penelope to view the event. Emma, tantalized
with the thrill of seeing naked, sweaty men, casually trailed after Penelope
and Daniel.
"Emma's going!" Regine raged. "Why can't I watch?"
Richmond lifted an eyebrow. "Emma is a lady of fifteen. You, my dear
lass, are still too young to view such displays of flesh."
Regine kicked at the dirt, pouting and angry. "I am not too young,
Richmond le Bec. I have seen more.... well, I have seen more than Arissa.
And she’s eighteen!"
Richmond put his hands on his hips. "I know what you have seen, you
naughty little wench, and I shall hear no more about it. Behave yourself."
Regine crossed her arms defiantly, turning up her nose at him and
glancing to her sister. She knew how to ease Richmond's unbending stance.
It had never been a secret.
"Riss," she said softly, moving toward her sister. A slip of a feigned sob
escaped her lips. "He’s being ever so cruel. Tell him that I only wish to
observe, that I won't stand too close. Please?"
Arissa's gaze went from her baby sister to Richmond. He closed his eyes
against her beseeching gaze and turned away.
"Richmond...," she ventured quietly.
God's Teeth, he'd do anything for her when she used that tone. "Nay, my
lady, your sister is far too young to view such brutality."
"Penelope and Emma are watching," she said softly.
He gritted his teeth against the caressing tone of her voice, unwilling to
look at her because he knew the moment he beheld the pale green eyes, all
would be lost. Regine knew it, too.
"Still, I must refuse."
Arissa did not say anything for a moment. "I would like to watch."
Damnation! She knew exactly how to manipulate him. If Arissa went to
observe the match, he would be forced to accompany her. And he couldn't
very well leave Regine alone, standing by herself.
He turned to look at her. "Do you think that to be entirely wise? After all,
you are pledged to God, my lady, and I doubt He would approve of an
impressionable young virgin viewing men’s games of strength.”
She smiled at him, a display of beauty so dazzling he was nearly blinded
by the sight. He watched, awed, as she approached him, curling her delicate
fingers about his massive forearm. Gazing down at her, he could scarcely
breathe.
"'Tis only a game, Richmond. It's not as if I shall be jumping in to the
arena to challenge the victor."
Unconsciously, his free mailed hand covered her soft warm appendages.
He did not even realize he was gently caressing her. Certainly, he couldn't
deny her; he'd never been able to. He felt himself caving in to her demand
like a spineless dog when, over Arissa's shoulder, he caught sight of
Regine's smirking face. Like a slap, reality whacked him brutally in the
face. Come to your senses, you fool!
"I must still refuse, my lady," he said, but his voice was strangely hoarse.
"Your father would not approve."
Arissa was not overly upset. Sighing with resignation, she simply turned
to her sister and shrugged. Richmond almost laughed at the look of disbelief
on Regine's face.
Feeling as if he had somehow managed to win a small victory, he moved
away from the wrestling. "Come, ladies," he said firmly. "More delights
await us."
Like a spoiled child, Regine danced about in disappointment before
thinking better of her embarrassing display. Kicking at the ground one last
time, she moved off in pursuit of her sister and the massive knight.
Richmond continued to grasp Arissa's hand as they made their way
towards the servant's exit to the rear of the keep. Both iron gates were wide
open, allowing peasants and guests alike to pass to the open area beyond. A
margin of clearing separated the fortifying wall from the forest beyond, a
vast manicured field that was used for anything from sword practice to
grazing horses. Today, however, it was being prepared for the glorious main
event: the archery competition.
"Look, Regine, the archery targets have already been raised," Arissa
shielded her eyes from the bright sun. She turned to Richmond. "Are you
competing?"
He shrugged, folding his arms over his broad chest. "I hadn't thought on
it, truthfully."
"But you are the best archer in England," Arissa insisted. "Sweet St. Jude,
you taught Bart and I to wield a bow and arrow when we were children.
Why aren't you going to compete?"
"As I said, I have not thought on it. I have not used a long-bow in some
time, and crossbows are forbidden in competition."
She cocked her head thoughtfully. "I am awarding the ribbon. I would
certainly like to award it to you, where it belongs."
"And you can carry my favor for luck," Regine said eagerly, her fury
from a moment before inexplicably vanished.
Arissa's face fell when Regine offered her favor to the powerful knight
and Richmond could read her disappointment. Touched, not to mention
encouraged in an odd way, he took hold of Arissa's hand and clutched it
against his mighty chest.
"Lady Regine, as honored as I would be to carry your favor, I must refuse
in favor of the birthday girl," when Arissa's head came up in open
astonishment, his eyes twinkled at her. "That is, if my lady would allow me
to champion her on this most auspicious day."
Arissa couldn't help but smile as he gazed warmly upon her. How could
have possibly have known exactly what she was leading up to before
Regine stole her thunder? To have Richmond champion her in front of her
neighbors, allies and friends alike was better than she could hope for. Her
father's friend, for as many years as she had known him, had declined all
invitations to champion young, unmarried ladies.
In fact, she remembered clearly at a tournament in Glastonbury when
Richmond refused to champion a local earl's daughter. The earl had been so
outraged that he had nearly demanded Richmond's head until a very calm
Duke of Hereford pacified the man. She had been eleven years old at the
time; it was the one and only time she had ever seen the duke, the man now
known as Henry IV. Even then, the duke had treated Richmond as if he was
a god. She barely remembered the would-be king; her attention, as always,
had been focused on Richmond.
It was still focused on him, as he was on her. Not wanting to seem quite
so flattered or eager, she cocked a saucy eyebrow.
 "I shall think on it, Sir Richmond. I was rather thinking on having Tad de
Rydal champion me but, alas, I suppose I could make do with you."
His eyebrows rose. "You cheeky little devil. How dare you consider that
arrogant whelp over me. Why, I withdraw my offer immediately."
She extracted her hand from his heated grasp, although the mood was
light. "Very well. And I resend my request that you compete in this
tournament. Why, with your hands shaking with age as they do, there is no
telling what you shall hit. Pray, can you even see the target from this
distance?"
He drew in a long contemplative breath, resting his massive fists on his
hips. Puckering his lips, he turned toward the castle with narrowed eyes.
"Quite easily. How clever of the marshals to disguise the mark to look like a
battle turret. "
Regine giggled. "That's not the target, Richmond. It's over there!" she
pointed behind him, in the direction of the field.
He whirled around, still squinting. "Ah, yes. I see most clearly now. How
clever of them to create moving targets. Much more satisfying to a man of
my skills."
Arissa joined Regine in her giggles. "Those are not moving targets,
Richmond, they are men-at-arms bearing Lambourn tunics. Are your eyes
really so bad?"
He slanted her a gaze, his eyes glimmering with mirth. "'Tis your own
fault, really. You have blinded me with your radiant beauty."
She lowered her lashes coyly, an utterly charming gesture. "In that case, I
must take pity on you and allow you to champion me."
Regine, tired of the games between Arissa and Richmond, bound off
toward the activity on the field. But Richmond barely noticed her departure
for the look in Arissa's eyes; suddenly, a great mailed glove came up to
stroke her cheek tenderly. The emotions, the warmth in his gaze, threatened
to swallow her whole. Her entire world at the moment revolved around
Richmond and his feather-light touch.
"Well spoken, kitten," he whispered. Then he sighed, his gaze raking over
her. "I can scarcely believe you are eighteen years of age today. It simply
does not seem possible."
They were not words spoken from a reluctant father-figure. They were
words spoken from the heart. Arissa knew that as doubtlessly as she knew
of her love for him. Before she could stop herself, she pressed her face
against his massive hand.
"I am a woman grown, my lord."
He stared at her, the twinkle in his eyes fading. The finger that caressed
her cheek lingered on her chin, trailing down her neck. He knew full well
he should not be touching her in such a manner. God's Teeth, he knew better
than anyone that he had no right at all to touch her. He would have killed
any man who had handled her in such a fashion, seemingly innocent though
it might be. A gentle touch, a chivalrous gesture....
But it was not innocent at all. There was fire raging through his veins,
encroaching onto Arissa's tender flesh. The more he stroked, the more she
leaned against him as if her strength was failing. He had been staring into
her eyes not a moment before; suddenly, he was watching his badly
misbehaving hand as it threatened her.
The pale green eyes suddenly closed and her head lolled back as if she
had lost all control, revealing the most glorious neck he had ever had the
fortune to gaze upon. Richmond lost the struggle against his labored
breathing; harsh gasps came to his dry lips and his gloved hand opened,
closing upon her neck as an animal devours its prey. He heard her gasp, a
faint sound so erotic he nearly whimpered in response. His grip tightened.
Then she was moving toward him. His gloved hand appeared to have a
mind of its own, pulling her against his hard chest. Richmond realized that
he was about to permit a depraved madman to ravage Arissa, but he was
powerless to prevent it. The pale green eyes opened, focused on him, and he
saw a faint curve appear on the luscious red lips. A flicker of a smile. Dear
God... she was encouraging him!
Her smile broadened. He couldn't manage the gesture. All of his
attention, his energy, was focused on the woman before him as if she were
all that existed in his tumultuous world. His entire body was quivering like
the string of a bow; taut, coiled, wracked with anticipation of what was
about to occur. God’s teeth, what was he thinking?
"Do ye think to strangle her in front of witnesses, my lord?" Mossy was
suddenly beside them, his aged eyes twinkling. "Do not tell me that she
asked ye to champion her and ye took offense."
His hand dropped like a stone. Well-defined finger marks lined Arissa's
white neck. He swallowed hard, his eyes boring into her wide green ones as
an unmistakable flush mottled her cheeks.
"I.... I have already agreed to champion my lady as a gift for her
birthday," he managed to choke.
Mossy's gaze moved between the two of them. Richmond maintained a
steady gaze, but Arissa was staring at the ground. When she wandered
away, wringing her hands and watching the grass beneath her slippered feet,
Mossy cocked an eyebrow at Richmond.
"Then if ye are going to kiss her, my lord, do it in the trees where no one
can see ye. 'Twere William to see ye, word might get back to her father."
Richmond's eyes suddenly blazed. Mossy's gaze held even and he nodded
faintly. "Aye, I know who she’s. I have always known," he tapped his head
in a thoughtful gesture. "Ye forget, Richmond, that I delivered Maude's
dead child, the dead babe young Henry knew of. And I was the one who
took Arissa from ye when ye delivered her to Lambourn that snowy
December night. Although ye never made mention of her heritage, I was
not so deaf that I did not hear the truth spoken between William and Maude
on more than one occasion. But the populace of Lambourn never knew the
difference; 'twas easy to convince them that Arissa was the child Maude
birthed, switching the babes as we did."
Richmond had always suspected Mossy had been privy to the most
secretive of information, but the old man had never mentioned a word. In
faith, he didn’t particularly care but he sought to make the situation clear.
"She doesn't know."
"Nay, she doesn't,” Mossy agreed. “And she will never hear it from my
lips. 'Tis none of my affair to involve myself in the matter."
His rigid stance relaxed somewhat and his gaze returned to Arissa,
standing patiently several feet away as she watched the activity on the field.
He suddenly felt an ancient hand come to rest on his gauntlet.
"She does not want to join the cloister, ye know," Mossy said quietly. "If
ye were to convince her father.... he'd let ye have her, I suspect."
Outwardly, Richmond's only reaction was to return his gaze to the old
man. But inwardly, he was wracked with the possibilities of the statement.
"Out of the question, Mossy. Arissa's destiny is in the hands of God.
Come the New Year, she will retire to Whitby and I shall return to London."
"Never to see her again? Do ye know what that will do to her, man?"
 His brow furrowed faintly. "She’s no choice in the matter. Her future was
decided long ago."
Mossy's gaze rested on him a moment. "But that was before she loved
you." He turned and walked away.
Richmond's mouth went dry. His facade was still straight and proud as he
watched the aged crony hobble toward the keep, but his heart was being
twisted and enlightened more violently than he ever thought possible.
"Richmond?"
He whirled toward Arissa, his control slipping at the sound of her angelic
voice. His gaze came to rest on her beautiful face and she smiled timidly,
gesturing in the direction of the keep.
"I am hungry. Do you think we could find something to eat before the
competition begins?"
His mouth worked for a moment as if he was struggling to find the
correct reply. Loudly, he cleared his throat, moving towards her purely out
of habit. But as he drew closer, Mossy's words slammed into him again with
such force that he grunted.
But that was before she loved you.
He coughed politely, covering his blunder. Yet the look in Arissa's eyes
when he offered her his arm suddenly took on new light in the face of the
old man's muttered statement. The seductive smile she had displayed as he
gripped her, the open encouragement in her gaze suddenly made sense until
he was nearly wild with the overwhelming likelihood. Could it be....?
Richmond led her back to the keep in stunned silence, where Penelope,
Emma and Daniel found them. Daniel boasted of his winnings in the
wrestling matches as Penelope and Emma surrounded Arissa, commencing
the usual mindless chatter. Arissa listened, but she did not comprehend their
words. Her mind was else occupied.
She had no idea what to think. Confusion reigned supreme as she
pretended to respond to the conversation going on about her. Richmond,
several paces ahead, was all but ignoring her as he and Daniel conversed.
Truthfully, her mind hadn't been working correctly since the moment he had
touched her cheek; it was as if the world had faded until all that mattered
was his tender touch against her skin. The sensation had been so
overwhelming that she had completely given in to the heat flooding her
limbs, causing her eyes to close and her knees to weaken.
 She hadn't even been aware of her lolling head until he had grabbed her
by the neck. A powerful bolt of excitement had slammed into her body, a
sob escaping her lips from the sheer force of the blow. Next she realized, he
had pulled her against him.
And then her eyes had opened. His eyes, blazing hotter than the sun, had
made her smile. Gazing into the blue flame, she knew. He wanted to kiss
her as badly as she wanted him to.
Damn Mossy for interrupting them. Had they been allowed to progress,
she might have been able to taste his lips as she had always wanted to. But
now, he was all but ignoring her and her heart was breaking. Mayhap....
mayhap he had come to realize the foolishness of her brazen actions. 'Twas
she who had melted against his innocent touch, and it was she who had
unskillfully seduced him with her naive grin and eager manner. She had all
but thrown herself at the man.
Richmond procured the entire group a spit of roasting gamecocks. Arissa
accepted the food from him, picked at it, and tossed it to the ground. Her
stomach was churning with humiliation and she was no longer hungry. She
could feel Richmond watching her, a familiar heat she was well acquainted
with, but she simply could not bring herself to look at him.
She wished she could get away from him, anything to ease the tension in
the air. She knew, however, he would shadow her wherever she went. The
only way he would not follow her was if she was escorted by another
capable knight, a man he trusted. Or....
"My lady, a pleasure to come across you again," Tad de Rydal was
suddenly in front of her, his arrogant face flushed with joy. Arissa gazed up
at him, suddenly seeing an escape to Richmond's presence. Although she
had no liking for the pompous knight, he would be a safe enough diversion
from the situation at hand. With enthusiasm she did not feel, she smiled
brightly.
"And you, Sir Tad," she said. "Have you been enjoying yourself?"
"Indeed," he replied. "But I would enjoy it a far sight more with a
beautiful maiden on my arm."
Emma, realizing the fabled Tad de Rydal was in their midst, wedged
herself next to Arissa, hoping her friend would introduce them and thereby
open the door for Emma to escort Tad about the grounds. Arissa knew how
badly Emma wanted to meet the de Rydal heir. But instead, Arissa did the
unexpected.
She extended her slender hand. "I would be honored to accompany you,
Sir Tad. Would you be so gracious as to allow me?"
Tad's blue eyes gleamed, Emma's face fell, and Richmond was, frankly,
shocked. Before anyone could utter a word of protest, Arissa tucked her
hand into the crook of Tad's armored elbow and they strolled off across the
compound companionably. In tears, Emma turned away.
"I shall never forgive her,” she hissed. “She knows I was desperate to
meet him!"
Penelope patted her friend on the shoulder. "He’s her guest, Emma. We
cannot monopolize all of her time. I am sure she will introduce you to him
later."
Instead of being placated, Emma stamped her foot and sniffled loudly.
"She’s preparing to join the damn church. What can she possibly want with
a man? I wanted Tad de Rydal!"
As Penelope attempted to comfort her, Richmond watched the distant
couple like a hawk. Daniel, beside him, scratched his head.
"De Rydal's a rake," he murmured. "You had better follow, 'else Lady
Arissa's charms are not the only delicacy he will attempt to sample."
Richmond did not reply. After a moment, he meandered in their direction.

***

After an hour with Tad, Arissa was ready to scream. Not only was he a
conceited arse, but he was boorish and dull. All he seemed capable of was
commenting on was himself, his training, and the fortune he would inherit.
Arissa sat and listened, yawning. She wished she had stayed with
Richmond.
The nooning hour came to bear and guests and peasants alike were
treated to a sumptuous fare. Roast rabbit, gamecock, venison, and pork
were displayed on open flame. Half of the men forewent the trenchers and
ate the meat directly off the spit. Since the main dining tables were being
used to display the mounds of carefully prepared food, guests collected all
they could carry and wandered about in search of a quiet eating place.
 Arissa saw the meal as her opportunity to be rid of Tad, but he saw it as a
chance to share a trencher with a beautiful lady. Several times she attempted
to excuse herself, but he would merely grab hold of her arm and laugh.
She stood by impatiently as he ordered one of his manservants to bring
them a plate of food, turning away deliberately when his gaze raked over
her in a suggestive manner. She was growing to hate him more and more by
the second.
The servant brought a trencher overfilled with meat and bread. Tad
ordered Arissa to sit underneath a bulky-stoned lancet window as he cut the
meat with his dagger.
"Truly, Sir Tad, I am not hungry," she said for the tenth time. "You may
enjoy your food alone."
"I do not wish to enjoy it alone, I wish to enjoy it with you," he said, his
mouth full. He sawed on another piece of pork and held it out for her.
"Here, beautiful lady. 'Tis most delightful."
She turned away from him without a word. He shoved the meat into his
own mouth instead. "What's the matter? Are you not enjoying yourself?"
She'd had her fill of manners and protocol. She simply wanted to be away
from him, no matter what it took. Polite requests had gone ignored. It was
time to delve into serious insults.
"Nay, I am not," she said frankly, fixing him with a hard gaze. "I was
polite to you this morn when I offered to escort you. You, however, have
managed to keep me to yourself far longer than I would have hoped for. In
short, sirrah, I have other guests to attend to. You certainly are not the only
one."
He looked genuinely surprised. "I had no idea you felt so, my lady. I
thought we were getting along quite well."
She stood up, brushing at her surcoat primly. "Mayhap in your own mind,
my lord. As for me, I must be on my way. Good day to you."
"Arissa!" he suddenly leapt up, blocking her exit. "Have I offended you
somehow? Your manner is most perplexing."
She rolled her eyes. "My manner is the result of your boorish
conversation. One more word from your mouth regarding the overall
coinage invested in your wardrobe and I shall surely scream. Now, if you
will please excuse me."
 He reached out and grabbed her arm, a most unfriendly gesture. His tone
had changed as well. "Foolish wench. Do you not know courting talk when
you hear it?"
Her mouth opened in surprise. "Courting talk? 'Tis you who are the fool,
Sir Tad. Did you not hear my father tell you that I am pledged to the
church?"
"I heard him. The man is an idiot."
Arissa was outraged. "How dare you speak of my father that way!"
His grip tightened and, suddenly, Arissa was pulled up against his cold,
armored chest. "He’s a fool to allow a woman of your beauty to be wasted
in servitude to a God we cannot see. You, darling, were made for a man's
pleasure."
Somewhere, Arissa heard a faint chime, like the wind toying with bells
hung on a string. Next she realized, a very large broadsword was pressed
against Tad's face. She could see her own reflection in the brilliant steel.
"I will give you less than a second to release Lady Arissa or you forfeit
your life."
Arissa's heart soared at the sound of Richmond's voice, deadly and
sincere. Instantly, Tad released his grasp and she stumbled away from him,
moving to seek protection behind Richmond's massive body.
Even though Arissa was safe, Richmond did not drop the sword; instead,
he seemed to take peculiar delight in caressing the cold steel against the end
of Tad's nose. The knight stood like stone, watching the blade with crossed-
eyes.
"Are you well, kitten?"
"Fine, Richmond."
The sword was sheathed faster than the human eye could comprehend.
Arissa, relieved that Richmond had detoured her over-zealous suitor,
wrapped her arms about his armored waist and peered at Tad from behind
Richmond's massive frame.
"Be gone with you," Richmond growled. "If I see you so much as glance
in my lady's direction, you will know the true meaning of pain."
Tad backed up a step, his outrage overcoming his initial shock. "What
goes on between Lady Arissa and myself is none of your affair, Sir
Richmond."
"I beg to differ. Her welfare has always been my concern."
 Tad came to a halt in his quest to leave the area. The massive keep was
casting long shadows in the bailey from the afternoon sun, shielding the
three of them from the bright glare. Even though there was moderate
activity in the bailey, their exchange went completely unnoticed.
"You are too old to fight a young man's duel, le Bec," Tad said in a low,
nearly mocking tone. "The next man you tread upon may not be as generous
as I."
Richmond almost looked amused. "You are most generous to obey my
command, my lord. However, it is difficult to hold a sword when your
hands are shaking like a woman's."
"Woman indeed! I shall show you a woman," he whirled, searching
desperately for any man with a weapon. "You! Yes, you! Bring me your
staff!"
"No, Tad!" Arissa emerged from behind Richmond. "That staff is no
protection against his sword!"
Tad glared at her. "You started this, and I shall end it," his hostile gaze
came to rest on Richmond as he tightened his leather gloves. "You are an
idiot, old man. How dare you provoke my wrath. I shall crumble your
ancient bones and grind them into the earth. How easy this shall be!"
Richmond did something then that Arissa had never seen him do. He
burst out laughing like a giddy fool, howling until his eyes ran with tears.
Arissa stood by, her mouth open in astonishment, as he nearly wept into his
hand.
"A priceless statement, my young friend," he snorted, wiping at his eyes.
Taking a deep breath to regain his control, he moved to unsheathe his
sword. "It has been a pleasure provoking your wrath."
A puzzled de Rydal soldier handed Tad a large, leather bound staff. The
knight yanked it away savagely, immediately spinning the pole in an expert,
controlled fashion. Richmond's smile faded as he gently pushed Arissa
away from him.
"Stand over there, kitten," he said softly. "This should not take long."
Eyes wide, Arissa obeyed. Richmond kept his eyes on Tad even as he
was aware of her bright green surcoat fading from his line of sight. When
the grass-hued garment vanished, he cocked an eyebrow at the young
knight.
"Well? Make your move if you must."
 "A rather confident attitude."
"'Tis I who bear the blade, not a rotting stick."
Tad stopped twirling the staff, bringing it to bear in a defensive horizontal
position. His blue eyes gleamed with menacing delight as he prepared to
humiliate one of Henry's greatest knights.
"Mayhap after this beating you shall leave the fighting to the youngers, le
Bec. You are too old for this kind of work."
The corners of Richmond's mouth twitched, the threat of a smile pending.
He was not about to reply to the insult dealt; he was fully prepared to allow
his actions to answer in lieu of pretty words.
Arissa watched the entire event unfold; even so, she would have been
unable to describe Richmond's skill in words. Every phrase that came to
mind was far too tame for a man of his considerable talent. Before her
disbelieving eyes, an amazing thing happened.
Richmond gave no outward indication that he was preparing to strike;
some men were known to crouch, others to twitch, still others to yell. One
moment, Richmond was standing stock still; in the next, his blade was
sailing towards Tad in a blinding arc and the length of staff extending
beyond Tad's right hand suddenly clattered to the hard dirt. In the next
second, Richmond's blade was sailing through the air once again and the
measure of leather-bound wood extending beyond Tad's left hand was
chopped cleanly free. It, too, fell to the ground.
Arissa barely saw Richmond bring the broadsword up in front of Tad, a
swift up-stroke that cleaved the wooden staff in two equal pieces of
kindling. Before she could draw another breath, Tad was left holding two
measly sticks where had once been lodged a mighty pole.
Richmond displayed a faint smile at Tad's astonished expression as he
sheathed his weapon. "As you were saying?" he asked drolly.
Tad, jaw slack, gazed at the two pieced of wood in his fisted grasp. His
mouth closed and he swallowed hard, focusing Richmond with a look
bordering on anger.
"You.... you never gave me a chance," he stammered. "That was not a fair
fight!"
Richmond's smile vanished. "Fair enough. Since you leave with your life,
you may consider it a victory on your part. But know that my mercy only
applies once. The next time, I will do far more than make firewood out of
your staff."
Tad dropped the remnants of his weapon. "You would not be so brave if I
was bearing a sword, le Bec."
"But you are not, and I am growing weary of your spoiled antics," he
turned toward Arissa. "Come, my lady. The archery competition is about to
begin."
Shaking with fury, Tad watched Richmond lead Arissa toward the game
field. Being humiliated in front of the lady was bad enough, but being
shamed in the presence of his men was a nightmare. He could feel their
stares on his back, silently laughing at the arrogant young knight. He knew
they thought him to be a fool for challenging Sir Richmond.
Damn le Bec! Certainly, his actions would not go unchallenged. Tad
knew that the archery competition was a perfect opportunity to redeem
himself in the eyes of Arissa and his men alike. He had signed on as a
competitor earlier in the day and was quite confident that he would emerge
the victor. Sir Richmond would suffer a taste of his own medicine. Worse,
even.
With an angry grunt, Tad kicked aside the pieces of staff and stomped in
the direction of the archery field, a distorted sense of vengeance flooding
his soul.
He would pay.

***

By the time Arissa and Richmond reached the archery field, the entire
area was swarming with excited guests and soldiers. There were no lodges
to house the crowd as was usual in competition, so the majority of the
audience settled to the north side of the field, forming a semi-circle around
the targets constructed for the competitors.
Penelope, Emma and Regine were waiting for her. Richmond silently led
her to The Horde, depositing her in the midst of the chatty young ladies.
Arissa turned to him, tongue-tied since the moment he had so easily
dispatched Tad de Rydal. Truthfully, she was so awed by his display that
she hadn't known what to say.
 Richmond met her gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. "And now, my
lady, I shall proceed to win this competition in your honor."
She grasped him before could turn away. "Richmond," she stammered,
swallowing when he refocused his blue eyes on her. "I.... thank you for
defending me against Tad. If you hadn't come along when you did...."
"I was always there," he said softly. "You should know by now that I am
my lady's shadow."
Her cheeks washed a lovely shade of pink and she smiled shyly. "I know
that. But, still, I am glad you were there to save me."
His gaze lingered on her. "I will always be there to save you. Always."
He strolled away, leaving Arissa flushed. It was amazing how their
relationship had changed since his arrival yesterday. Warm looks and gentle
gestures that had meant nothing but companionable fondness in the past had
suddenly taken on a heat she could not describe. She had convinced herself
earlier that all of it was a figment of her over-active imagination, a young
maiden's unattainable wish. Now, she was not so sure.
"What did you mean when you said he saved you from Tad?" Emma was
suddenly tugging on her sleeve.
Jolted from her thoughts, Arissa turned to her friend. She remembered
Emma's expressed desire to meet Tad and silently cursed herself for having
been so forgetful. She should have thought of Emma when Tad had
approached earlier, but she had been so desperate to escape Richmond that
she had completely overlooked the fact.
In truth, she was glad she hadn't remembered. She did not think the
sweet, youthfully-pretty girl to be the conceited knight's ideal of beauty. She
would rather have Emma angry with her forgetfulness than for the young
woman to have experienced Tad's cruel rebuff.
"I.... Tad was a bit too eager to impress me, I believe, and Richmond
cooled his manner. 'Twas nothing, really." She’stened to change the subject
before Emma could press. "Do you know that he asked who the pretty
young girl was in the blue surcoat? Since Penelope is wearing yellow, I
assumed he meant you."
As she hoped, Emma's face positively glowed. "He did? Oh, Riss, you
must introduce us!"
"What about Gavan?" Arissa cocked an eyebrow.
 Emma waved her hand impatiently. "Gavan isn't here. I haven't seen the
man in months. When Richmond arrived without his second-in-command, I
would assume I must find my male companionship elsewhere."
Arissa repressed a smile. For Emma to speak of her cherished knight so
callously was comical, indeed. And completely untrue. But she played the
game for her friend's benefit.
"So you have decided to forget about Gavan. 'Tis understandable, truly,
considering he’s been away so long that he’s probably forgotten about you,"
when Emma's face flushed a dull red, Arissa struggled to suppress her
wicked grin. "As for Tad, my darling, he’s terribly shy. In fact, the only
reason he addressed me was because we had met earlier and he felt
comfortable in my company. Do not be disappointed if he does not show an
immediate interest. Why, I think...."
Regine suddenly thrust herself forward, her blue eyes bright. "Riss, I am
wearing a blue surcoat, too. Mayhap he meant me!"
Arissa gazed at her younger sister, noting that she too was wearing a blue
dress. The original lie to ease her friend's feelings was suddenly growing in
unattractive directions. Before she could respond, Emma was whirling on
Regine.
"Of course he did not mean you!" she snarled. "You are a child, Regine, a
mere child. A man of Tad de Rydal's station would not be interested in
you."
Regine put her hands on her plump hips, meeting Emma's scowl. "Is that
so? You are no prize either, Emma Trevor. Why do you think Daniel chose
Penelope over you?"
Arissa cleared her throat loudly, separating the combatants before the
situation grew ugly. "I am sure he meant Emma, Regine, simply for the fact
that she happens to be older and more...." she glanced at Emma's rounded
breasts as opposed to the two peas underneath Regine's bodice, "....
womanly."
Flushing madly, Regine turned away as Emma grasped Arissa's arm
eagerly. "When will you introduce us, Riss? Did he say anything else about
me?"
Arissa was beginning to think her attempt to lighten Emma's mood had
been a very bad idea. She had meant well, truly, but she could see that
Emma was not to be satisfied with a tantalizing bit of un-truth. She
struggled to contain her friend's excitement.
"Nay, Emma, he did not," she said firmly. "And I do not want you
making a spectacle out of yourself. If you are too eager, you shall chase him
away. You must be aloof and calm."
Emma looked extremely disappointed. "Aloof and calm?"
Arissa nodded confidently. "It is the only way."
"Aloof and calm," Emma turned her blue gaze out toward the field of
competitors. From the look on her face, she appeared to be suffering from a
sour stomach. With great reluctance, she sighed heavily. "Aloof and calm."
Arissa nodded again, relieved that Emma was not going to rush Tad and
make a fool of herself, and returned her attention to the event at hand.
Two marshals, indicated by the armbands they wore, were making sure
that all of the competitors listed were on hand. Daniel and Carlton were
competing, as was virtually every other able-bodied knight from the various
visiting houses. Since the competition was open to everyone, even a few
peasants had decided to try their hand, looking sadly out of place amongst
the glorious knights.
But hardly a soul cared. Peasant or noble, they were on equal turf when it
came to the archery contest and Arissa's excitement was growing. As she
and her group vied for a better view of the field, her mother and father came
strolling upon them, dressed to the teeth in their finest. Lady Maxine and
Lady Livia followed on their heels.
"Arissa, my dear," her mother said sweetly. She was a warm and loving
woman, if not a bit dense. "Maxine has the ribbon you will be awarding."
Maxine held out the exquisite piece of work, a blue ribbon embroidered
with gold in honor of the Lambourn colors. Arissa took the prize with great
care.
"Come along," her father took her arm. "We have a choice viewing area
reserved for us."
Choice indeed. The roped-off area with two chairs was almost directly in
line with the straw targets, affording the entire group a birds-eye view of the
event. Lambourn soldiers kept the rabble away as the earl and his wife
gained their seats, watching with anticipation as the marshals positioned the
first collection of contestants.
 Daniel, Carlton and Tad were in the first group. Lady Maxine waved
demurely to her strong husband, who responded with a bold wink. Penelope
merely gazed dreamily at Daniel, who carried her favor tucked obviously in
the crease of his breastplate. Emma and Regine spent their time eyeing Tad
and each other. Only Arissa was not focused on anyone in particular. She
leaned toward her mother.
"Did you know that Richmond is championing me in this event?" she
asked.
Lady Maude fanned herself daintily with a silken fan, painted with birds.
"As he should, dear. 'Tis only right that Henry's greatest knight champion
the honoree."
"He shall win, too," Arissa glanced over her shoulder at Penelope and
stuck out her tongue. Penelope returned the gesture.
A small horn blared, readying the competitors for the first round. All
attention was riveted to the field and the noise level dropped. Men finished
their wagers in the remaining few seconds before the match began.
Arissa's pale green eyes were fixed on the field before her, mildly
interested in spite of the fact that Richmond was not in the group. As the
field marshals began laying down the rules, her gaze wandered the crowd of
waiting contenders until she came to rest on a tall, familiar figure.
Richmond was not looking at her; his blue eyes were fixed on the field
before him as they should have been. Arissa began to toy with the ribbon,
stroking its carefully stitched edges as her glittering eyes beheld the object
of her adoration.
The incident earlier that day returned to the forefront of her thoughts
again. Fluid, wicked emotions stirred and her limbs began to ache with the
newness of the desire that he had managed to spark. The fact that she had
practically seduced the man was of little concern; she was focused on the
mere idea that he had responded to her. She wondered if he would respond
to her again. Given another chance, she would most likely do the same
thing again.
Where Richmond was concerned, it was becoming increasingly difficult
to control her emotions. She remembered thinking yesterday to distance the
man, to forget him. Goals that were now impossible. She had been a fool to
ever think such a thing.
 She was leaving for Whitby after the New Year and she vowed to know
the feel of Richmond's lips upon her own before that time, if only for a
brief, glorious, stolen moment. She would live on that moment the rest of
her life.

***

There were hundreds of people observing the archery matches, milling

about, wagering and laughing. Two men in particular wandered through the
crowd casually, their seasoned eyes roving the people, the wenches, and the
finely dressed men. They were older men clad in peasant clothing,
concealing their mail and weaponry underneath. Their gaze seemed
particularly riveted to Arissa.
"Is that her?" one man murmured to the other.
The second man passed a casual glance in the direction of the earl's party.
"She looks nothing like Henry. God's Balls, she could be Welsh."
The first man shook his head slowly. "She does not bear the features of a
Plantagenet. Is Owen sure with his information?"
The second shrugged. "As sure as he can be. She’s where Owen's source
said she would be, in the heart of Berkshire's family, and she’s the correct
age. Fortunate that the earl saw fit to throw her a lavish party and we were
able to slip in with the other celebrants."
The first man looked doubtful. "It doesn't matter. Any great house
shelters sickly travelers, which is what we are," he shook his head at the
sight of Arissa's black hair. "She must favor her mother. Where did Owen's
source come by his information?"
The second man watched his feet as he walked. "It all began with a letter.
A former captain for King Richard, seeking vengeance against Henry for
usurping his cousin's throne," he adjusted his hood as the wind blew it away
from his face. "If the information regarding the girl's existence is correct
and we manage to abduct her, Owen is most eager to use her to his
advantage."
The first man nodded slowly, his eyes still roving the crowd. Suddenly,
he came to a halt.
"Do you know who that man is?" he nodded his head in the direction of a
very tall, very broad knight. When the second man indicated negatively, he
continued. "You have heard of Richmond le Bec, no doubt."
The second man took another look at the massive man. "That is le Bec?
God's Balls, I thought he was dead by now."
The first man took off walking again, followed closely by the second.
They guided themselves deep into the crowd, away from the competitors
and away from Richmond le Bec.
"He’s Henry's most powerful knight next to Northumberland," the first
man hissed. "There must be a reason for his presence."
"There is. Henry probably sent him to convey his best wishes to the girl."
The first man shrugged. "Could be. But if Richmond le Bec is here as
Henry's liaison, 'twill make an abduction more difficult. Undoubtedly, he
will be protecting her."
The second man scratched his head, mulling over the possibilities. "We
will simply have to wait for an opportunity, I suppose. If one does not
present itself, then we shall return to Owen with the confirmation of his
information. There is nothing more we can do if Richmond le Bec is here as
Henry's watch dog."
The first man drew in a long, thoughtful breath. "Keep her in your sights,
then. We will not want to miss our chance."
Re-adjusting their costumes, they faded into the crowd.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER FIVE

Daniel, Carlton and Tad survived their first round. Richmond competed
with the second group of contenders, easily making the cut. The afternoon
progressed as two more groups of first-round competitors came up for their
turns, and the marshals singled out the most accurate shots and set them
aside with the others who had endured the cut.
Arissa bit her lip as Richmond came up in the second and third rounds,
sailing arrows as straight and true as God himself. Once, as he reloaded his
bow in the second elimination round, he had glanced over his shoulder and
cast her an obvious wink. Lady Maude caught the gesture and fanned
herself furiously, thinking it was meant for her. Arissa had almost laughed.
The field of contenders had narrowed dramatically by the fourth round.
Daniel was still a viable player, but Carlton had been ousted in the third set.
Tad stood alongside Richmond and three other finalists as they prepared
their weapons.
Arissa's heart was lodged in her throat as she watched the contestants
assume a striking stance. Richmond was by far the tallest man in the crowd,
a good head above the rest. Her gaze never left him, lulled into the fantasy
world she so frequently entered when gazing upon his masculine beauty,
and she had drifted a thousand miles away by the time the marshal abruptly
lowered his arm. Startled back to the world at hand, she watched as the
arrows went roaring toward the distant targets.
The crowd cheered their approval as five projectiles embedded
themselves into the straw. After the marks were closely scrutinized by the
officials, Daniel and two other men were eliminated. Richmond and Tad
were to face off against one another.
"I am surprised you have lasted this long, le Bec," Tad muttered as he
adjusted the tension on his bow. "With your eyes ravaged with age, I was
not at all sure you could see the target."
Richmond did not reply as he tightened his glove. Then he resumed a
firing stance. "Unlike you, I do not have to see my mark in order to hit it."
"What kind of nonsense is that?"
 "'Tis no nonsense, I assure you. With age comes a skill you have yet to
acquire, the sixth sense of a warrior. Visualizing the target in your mind;
literally seeing without the use of your eyes."
Tad looked at him as if he were mad. "Foolishness, le Bec. Not only are
you blind, you are senile as well."
The corner of Richmond's lips tugged. "Mayhap. But while you are
hindered by your eyesight, I can see the mark perfectly within my mind's
eye. I sense it; therefore, I will not miss." He raised his bow, leveling out his
arm. "You rely too heavily on your senses. Learning to rely on your
intuition is the mark of a truly great warrior."
Tad passed him a peculiar glance as one of the marshals approached. As
was tradition, when the field had narrowed to the final two entrants, one
man would shoot before the other in a show of good sportsmanship.
The marshal muttered a few words to Richmond and then motioned to his
comrade positioned by the target to relay Richmond's readiness. When the
second marshal returned the ready signal, the first marshal returned his
attention to Richmond and took a step back.
"You may commence, my lord."
Tad watched with astonishment as Richmond's blue eyes, which had been
narrowed intently on the distant mark, suddenly closed. It never occurred to
him that Richmond's quietly uttered boast had been God's truth. Blind as a
bat, he was aiming for a mark over one hundred yards away as if it were
directly in front of him.
It has to be a trick, Tad thought. Men do not fire without seeing the
target. Foolish old man is going to spear someone with his impossible
method!
Puzzled and outraged, he opened his mouth to protest the knight's firing
technique when Richmond suddenly released the string and let the arrow
fly. Tad's head snapped sharply as he watched the arrow carve a path
through the blue sky, drawn to the mark as if some unseen force was reeling
it forth like a hooked fish. The wooden missile plowed into the target lashed
to a sturdy bale of hay and the entire crowd of onlookers cheered happily at
the display of talent.
But the enthusiasm rapidly faded into an uneasy silence as the second
marshal took his time examining the bulls-eye. Arissa watched, forgetting
to breathe, until the official turned his attention to the expectant crowd.
 "Through the eye!"
The crowd roared their approval. Richmond, for the second time that
afternoon, cast a lingering glance at Arissa. With a confident smile, he
blessed her with yet another saucy wink. Arissa simply stood, rooted to the
spot, and grinned like a fool.
"He’s going to beat him!" Penelope shrieked. "Riss, he’s going to win!"
Arissa couldn't divert her attention long enough to respond. She clutched
the ribbon to her breast, praying fiercely that Richmond would emerge the
victor. She did so want to award him the ribbon. If she possessed any
courage at all, she would have dispensed a congratulatory kiss, too.
Back on the field, Tad let out a disgusted sigh. Casting a baleful glance
at Richmond, he assumed a striking stance.
"I am going to cut your arrow in half, le Bec."
"Be my guest."
The crowd began to hoot and roar as the ready signals were passed
between the field marshals. Richmond stood back, leaning on his bow, as
Tad took aim. Tensions built as the noise level increased, an almost
unbearable excitement filling the air.
Arissa bit her lip, Penelope chewed her nails, and Emma and Regine
were reduced to clutching one another's hands. 'Twould seem that their
competition for the same man was forgotten in the heat of their enthusiasm.
The earl and Carlton, a private wager between them, wait restlessly to
collect their money from one another.
Just when Arissa thought she couldn't stand another moment of
anticipation, Tad released his bow string. His arrow screamed through the
air, piercing the designated mark with a dull thud. Chaff and dust billowed
into the air as the audience proclaimed their favor for yet another fine
display of skill.
Impatiently, the multitude began to surge forward as if to read the results
for themselves. Several Lambourn soldiers were forced to push them back,
away from the field, as both marshals scrutinized the target. Shouts and
cries abound from the eager observers, demanding to know the outcome as
the marshals pointed to the bulls-eye and chatted between themselves.
Even the earl was demanding to know. Richmond and Tad remained
where they stood, waiting with thin patience as the officials came to a
decision. Finally, and after much discussion, first field marshal faced the
crowd.
"Center mark, high and to the right!" he announced loudly. "Sir
Richmond le Bec is the victor!"
The crowd went mad with approval. Arissa was smiling so broadly that
she swore her face would split in two. Her focus, was riveted to the massive
knight politely extending his best wishes to the loser of the match. She was
not surprised when Tad appeared to ignore him.
Beside her, Lady Maude and Lord William rose from their chairs,
preparing to congratulate the winner.
"You must commend Sir Tad for a fine match, Arissa," her mother said
quietly.
She nodded graciously, eyeing Tad as he approached on Richmond's
heels. But her attention to him was brief; the moment Richmond stepped
before her, all else seemed to fade. His blue eyes were tender on her, and
expression she had seen before, but there was an added element this time.
Something reserved only for her.
The earl held up his hands for silence as he moved toward Richmond.
"Good ladies and gentlemen, 'twould seem our winner is none other than
Henry's Great One. Certainly not a surprise." When the crowd laughed in
agreement, William slapped Richmond on his broad shoulder.
"Congratulations, Sir Richmond. There was never any doubt in my mind
who the victor would be."
Richmond acknowledged him with a faint smile, his attention returning
to Arissa. When the crowd began to grown noisy again, he held up a hand
in an unusual show of public control. Richmond could handle a thousand
men with ease but, as William had pointed out, a cadaver was better suited
to host a crowd of guests.
Nonetheless, the group hushed. Richmond reached out and took Arissa's
hand and, with a widening grin, took a knee before her in a display of
chivalry rarely seen. Every woman viewing the scene went soft with the
romance of the gesture, the inherent gentleness. The great Richmond le Bec
was on bended knee in front of the birthday girl, the beautiful Lady Arissa;
what a lovely, delicate picture of genteel grace it presented.
Arissa gazed into Richmond's beautiful eyes, almost eye-level with him.
His smile, terribly tender, was nearly the only thing she was aware of. All
else about her was distant and faded.
"I have honored my lady this day by winning the archery competition,"
he said loudly, but Arissa could have sworn he was speaking only to her. "In
tribute to her most momentous day of age, I humbly bow at my lady's feet
in homage as her champion."
Arissa cheeks were flushed a lovely pink, tendrils of black hair caressing
her face in the faint breeze. Suddenly remembering the ribbon she had all
but mashed in her hand, she extended it to Richmond.
"For a contest well executed, my lord," she said softly.
He took the award from her, noting that it was crumpled and stained
because she had gripped it so tightly. Clutching it against his heart, he
kissed Arissa's hand sweetly.
The crowd roared. Still grinning, Richmond rose to his full height,
Arissa's hand enveloped tightly in his fist. Arissa would have been content
to allow him to hold her hand for the rest of the day, but she could feel her
mother nudging her from behind.
Knowing the gesture's meaning, she reluctantly removed her hand from
Richmond's grasp and moved toward Tad. His expression was hard, like a
pouting child. All tolerance and good feelings vanished, Arissa's gaze was
equally as hard as she curtsied stiffly before him.
"A match well fought, sir knight," she said as evenly as she could
manage.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I would have won, too, had I cheated like
Sir Richmond."
Arissa lost her thinly-held patience. "Sir Richmond did not cheat. He beat
you with sheer skill alone, and if you had better manners, you would
acknowledge the fact that he’s a greater knight that you could ever hope to
be."
Audible gasps could be heard. William pushed forward, taking Arissa
into a protective embrace. "Forgive her, Sir Tad. It has been an exceedingly
taxing day and her composure has suffered."
Arissa irritably yanked herself away from her father, an unusual action.
"The only thing that has suffered is my patience with Sir Tad. I was forced
to endure his company earlier and I am not at all ashamed to declare him to
be an obnoxious, dull-witted boor. I shall not pretend to think otherwise."
Gathering her skirts, she dipped a rapid curtsy to her parents. "If you will
please excuse me."
William, aghast, watched his daughter's straight back as she marched
away. Sputtering, he glanced at his ashen-faced wife, whose features
mirrored his own. As Tad worked up a head of steam, Richmond quietly
excused himself. He had to; he was far too close to succumbing to snickers.
"I shall see to her, my lord."
William was not given the chance to reply as Richmond went in pursuit
of Arissa. Instead, the earl found himself faced with a humiliated and
outraged Tad de Rydal.
The earl had no idea how deep the vein of shame ran. First Richmond had
bested Tad in a highly one-sided duel, and where Tad had envisioned an
opportunity for revenge in the archery contest, he found himself cleanly
defeated. Two crushing blows in the same day, from the same man no less,
was far more than his ego could accept.
Where vengeance had once been a sweet taste upon his tongue, it was
now a consuming hunger. Dark hatred began to blacken his heart. Short of
calling le Bec out in challenge, he began to sort his options.
There would be a time and a place; he simply had to be wise enough to
take advantage of it, and lovely Lady Arissa would meet his wrath as well.
It was a promise.

***

Richmond found Arissa in the place where she usually went when she
was upset. Seated in her father's solar near the lancet windows inlaid with
precious Venetian glass, she was picking harshly at her fingernails. It was a
bad habit she had, especially when bored or moody.
"Stop nibbling your nails," he commanded quietly as he entered the
room.
Her hands dropped to her lap. "Did Father send you to spank me?"
"He did not. But I should take my hand to your backside at the very least
for that insolent spectacle. I do believe Tad de Rydal was in the process of
bursting a vein when I left."
She turned away from him, toward the window. "You should have
punched him in the nose when he accused you of cheating. He’s an
insufferable, pompous whoreskin."
"Mind your tongue, lady. I shall not hear those words from your mouth."
She did not reply to his reprimand and he moved to the chair opposite
her. Lowering himself to sit, his gaze never left her beautiful profile. She
seemed pensive and distant.
"What is the matter, Riss?" he asked softly. "Do not tell me that Tad de
Rydal has upset you so terribly that you would allow him to ruin your
birthday?"
She shook her head faintly, her chin resting in her hands as the multi-
hued glass cast warm, erratic color across her face. "He’s not upset me," she
sighed heavily. "But I would be lying if I said I was glad he had come."
Richmond smiled faintly. "As would I. Mayhap he’s suffered enough
humiliation from me and will opt to leave before the feast tonight. One can
always hope."
She turned her gaze to him, a smile on her lips. Bright blue eyes blazed
upon her and she was suddenly aware that they were alone, far removed
from the rest of the household and festivities.
How many times had they sat alone, talking about items both trivial and
important? How many times had they been together, just the two of them,
laughing or playing or simply sitting in silence? Certainly, more times that
she could count. But this time, it was different.
Richmond’s smile faded as she lowered her gaze, staring at her hands.
She seemed ill at ease, uncertain somehow. Since his arrival yesterday, their
relationship hadn't been the same and he was deeply perplexed by the
situation. He knew that his own confusion and guilt had cast a fog between
them, causing her discomfort. Of course she'd been skittish in his presence;
he'd given her good reason to be. It was all his fault.
But one thing was clear; he'd always been able to speak to Arissa.
Communication between them was an important factor to their relationship
and he had always gone to great lengths to preserve their openness. Now, in
the heat of his bewilderment, was not the time to sever the lines of contact.
"Is Tad the only item bothering you?" he asked softly. "You have seemed
very disturbed since I returned yesterday. Is there something I can do?"
She continued to stare at her hands. Is there something I can do? She had
no idea why tears began to sting her eyes. Mayhap it was her own sense of
helplessness, the power of a love that refused to die, of a love that would
never be nurtured. It was a love that would be forced into obscurity when
she was committed to Whitby. If only he could do something; if only he
could return that love.
A single hot tear dripped onto her hand. Richmond saw it; immediately,
he was out of the chair and kneeling before her.
"Riss, what's the matter? Won't you tell me?"
His gentle voice struck deep. The single tear turned into a flood and she
dissolved, falling forward against him.
"I.... you cannot help," she whispered, her voice constricted with sobs.
"No one can help."
He clutched her fiercely; somehow, she managed to fall out of the chair
and ended up cradled in his lap as he sat on the floor. Richmond held her as
if to never let her go.
"I can help, I promise," he murmured into her hair. "Tell me and I shall
do everything in my power to ease your ache."
Ease your ache. Sweet St. Jude, if it were only possible! But it was not.
And she would rather die than tell him the true reasons behind her tears.
"Tell me," he urged tenderly, squeezing her. "What is so terrible?"
Arissa knew from experience that he would not let the subject rest until
he had received a satisfactory response. Aware that it would be futile to
resist or refuse to answer him, she thought carefully on her reply. Certainly,
it was not a lie. But it was only a small measure of the truth.
"I...." she coughed, wiping at her eyes. "I do not want to go to the
convent."
He did not say anything for a moment. Arissa swore his embrace
tightened. "You have been pledged to the abbey since you were an infant."
"I know," she sniffled. "I was never given any say in the matter. I do not
want to be shut off from the world for the rest of my life, Richmond. I do
not want to go."
He shifted her in his lap, sliding over a few inches to the hard stone wall.
Reclining against it, he cradled her to his chest.
"Why not?"
She blinked thoughtfully at his question, her tears fading somewhat. She
couldn't very well tell him the truth.
"Because I do not think I am suited for life at the cloister. I like parties,
and pretty things, and good food and entertainment. I have only been
devout to the religion because mother and father have forced me to be rigid
in my practice," she sat up, wiping her cheeks and looking him in the eye. "I
do not want to wear gray wool and wimples for the rest of my life. I want to
be married, to know the security of a home and family. Richmond, I want to
live."
He gazed at her a moment, the woman he loved. Absently, a gloved hand
came up to touch her hair. "Your entire life is before you and you want to
sample all it has to offer."
"Exactly," she said firmly, tears forgotten. "I am eighteen years today, old
enough to go to court, or be married, or anything else that young women do.
Why should I be deprived of my life simply because my parents saw fit to
make me a sacrificial lamb by devoting my life to God? I never had a
choice and it was unfair of them not to consider my feelings."
He smiled vaguely, toying with a tendril of raven-hued hair. "'Tis not
usual that one is given a choice in one's destiny. Furthermore, 'tis not usual
to consider the feelings of a newborn child when deciding his, or her,
future."
She pursed her lips wryly. "You are not helping me. I do not want to obey
my father's wishes and you make jokes."
His grip on her hair tightened as she tried to move away from him. "I am
not jesting, simply stating a fact."
She met his gaze, trying to ignore the rising heat between them by
focusing on her concerns. "Will you talk to my father, Richmond? Tell him
that I do not wish to join the church."
He sighed, knowing that her betrothal to the church was nearly as binding
as a marriage. Furthermore, Henry himself had made it. The only person
who would have a remote chance of dissolving it would be, clearly, Henry.
And the chances of that happening were close to impossible.
"Riss, it's not that simple," he said after a moment. "You have known
since you were old enough to understand that your destiny was to become a
nun. This is the first time I have heard you speak negatively on the subject."
She shrugged, looking away from him. `Tis only because I have realized
that I want a voice in my destiny. Why must my father decide it for me? I
have never truly been excited about joining the cloister, merely resigned to
the fact. Resignation has kept me silent for eighteen years."
He cocked an eyebrow. "But no longer, I see."
 She shook her head. "No longer. I do not want to go. If father won't
consider dissolving the contract, then I shall.... I shall run away."
"Do not talk like that. You couldn't run far enough away from me that I
could not find you."
She slanted him a long glance. "You would follow me anywhere?"
He gave her a half-smile. "I am my lady's shadow."
She stared at him a moment, observing his well-shaped, masculine
features. The grin on her lips matched his own. "What are you going to do
when I am forced to enter the convent? Are you planning on lurking about
the halls, shadowing me as I prepare for vespers?"
He pretended to think on the matter. "I look rather good in a nun's habit.
Do you think they would suspect?"
She shook her head immediately. "Never. Who would suspect anything
peculiar about a six foot nun?"
"I am well over six feet."
Her smiled broadened. "I know. You have told me. Six feet and five
inches. You are well over a foot taller than I am."
"Sixteen inches, to be exact. But everyone is taller than you."
"And everyone is younger than you."
He cocked an eyebrow. "You are an impudent, disagreeable wench.
Beware, or next time I will refuse to save you from Tad de Rydal."
She sighed, her light mood fading as she returned to picking her nails. "I
would marry him if it meant dissolving my contract with the church. I
would rather suffer a lifetime of arrogance than a lifetime of unhappiness."
He grasped her fumbling hands, so tightly that she nearly winced. "You
shall not marry Tad de Rydal. Is that clear?"
Her puzzled gaze met his darkened blue eyes. "I.... I meant it figuratively,
Richmond. As you said, I have no choice in the matter. I must join the
cloister whether I want to or not."
His grip relaxed. The heat she had been trying to ignore had increased in
strength, growing, enveloping her. No longer able to ignore it, she tried her
best to control the power. Mayhap if she disregarding the quivering, it
would go away.
But the searing heat refused to fade. If anything, it was growing stronger.
When Richmond's gloved hands began to gently caress her fingers, the
painful ache his touch provoked bolted the length of her arms.
 Richmond felt the heat, too. It was difficult not to. Heat generated by his
intense emotions for the woman who was his charge, a princess unaware. A
woman he was too weak to fight his feelings for. In faith, he was not
entirely sure he wanted to do battle with his emotions any longer. It would
be far simpler and far more destructive simply to give in to all of it.
But to give in to his emotions would mean destroying Arissa in the
process. How could he force himself upon her, a man she had grown up
knowing as a faithful friend? How could he damage the trust between them,
the companionship simply because he had been weak enough to fall in love
with her? It was his own flaw, a flaw he would not thrust upon her because
he was unwilling to do her even the slightest amount of harm.
Forcing himself to ignore the blazing heat was the hardest thing he had
ever had to do. It would be so easy to....
"Are you feeling well enough that you might rejoin your party?" he
asked, his voice tight.
Arissa was gazing at him openly. Before Mossy had interrupted them
earlier, she had been positive that Richmond had been preparing to kiss her,
and she had furthermore vowed to feel his lips upon hers, just once, even if
it meant distancing him forever. She had always been able to manipulate
him in order to fulfill her desires ever since she had been a small child; the
greatest knight in Henry's army had always bent to her will.
Aye, she was shameless when it came to Richmond. She suddenly did not
care anymore. There was nothing more important at this moment that
feeling his mouth upon her lips as it was always meant to be.
"Nay," she said slowly. "I do not wish to rejoin them."
His brow furrowed slightly until a small finger came up and delicately
touched his chin. Richmond froze; the small white finger moved across his
chin and up to his mouth, tracing an erotic line across his lower lip that sent
bolts of lightning leaping through his big body. He simply couldn't believe
what he was seeing, feeling.
Richmond began to quiver beneath her touch. The more she explored, the
more intense the quiver. His body was tight, straining against itself to
respond to her touch. Curiosity! His mind screamed. A maiden's simple
curiosity! God's Teeth, do not respond to her! ... oh, God....
Her silky hand moved to his stubbled cheek, caressing it. Shifting on his
lap, she managed to lodge herself more tightly against him as her other
hand came up, cradling his entire great face within her two small palms.
Gazing into his astonished blue eyes, she smiled.
"Do you know that I have always thought you to be the most handsome
man I have ever seen?" she whispered.
His throat was so tight he could barely speak. "Nay, I.... I did not know."
Her thumbs moved along his lower lips as he spoke, watching his mouth.
"You do not smile enough," she murmured. "Father swears he’s only seen
you smile ten times in all of the years he’s known you. You smile at me ten
times in an hour. Why is that?"
He was losing a battle greater than any he had ever fought. His palms
were sweating, aching with more desire than he had ever experienced to
return her curious touches, to explore her beloved face as she was exploring
his.
"Because.... because I want to smile at you, I suppose."
She was studying his lips intently. As his sentence concluded, she
suddenly plunged a finger into his mouth and stroked his teeth. His control
snapped.
His hands came up, clutching her beautiful face, touching her as he had
never touched anyone in his life. His gaze was both ecstatic and remorseful
at the same time.
"Riss, we should not.... we cannot...."
All of her restraint was gone. He was responding to her; his tender touch
to her face confirmed the most outlandish of dreams and a whimper escaped
her lips, a display of the pure joy she was beginning to feel. A gateway to
eighteen years of childish infatuation and maturing love was opening wide
before her.
"Oh, Richmond," she suddenly sobbed, tears coursing down her cheeks.
"I want to, my love, I want to. Don’t you know how long I have loved
you?"
He stared at her, his eyes as wide as the heavens. He tried to speak and
nearly choked in the process. "How.... God's Teeth, Riss, how can you say
that? I am old enough to be your father!"
She shook her head, tears pelting his wrists. "But you are not my father,"
she sighed raggedly, her hands gripping the mailed gloves on her face.
"Richmond, I do not want to join the cloister because I love you. I realize
that a man of your importance could not possible return my feelings, but I
will tell you all the same. I am sorry if my confession makes you
uncomfortable, but I cannot stop myself. You must know."
His mouth hung agape; he couldn't help it. All he could do was stare at
her, touch her, the knowledge that she loved him filling him beyond his
wildest dreams. He still had difficulty grasping what he was hearing.
"How.... oh, God, Riss...."
He couldn't think of anything other than his desperate need to kiss her.
His shaking hands clasped her face with savage tenderness, pulling her
luscious mouth to his desperate lips.
As he knew, her lips were sweeter than he could possibly imagine. A
tremulous kiss that was meant to introduce her into the world of desire
suddenly turned overwhelmingly passionate, blinding by force and nature
until Arissa was practically crushed in his arms. She cried softly against his
mouth, sounds and tears he absorbed.
He simply was not getting enough of her. He needed more from her. His
tongue licked her lips indecently, parting her lips for his erotic invasion.
Sobbing with joy, Arissa opened her mouth wide to him as if she had been
doing it all her life. He growled as his tongue came into her, tasting the
essence of her sweetness. She was in his arms, finally where she belonged.
Richmond lost all concept of time. He had no idea how long he had been
kissing her, only that he was no longer content to merely taste her honeyed
lips. With Arissa still seated on his lap, he rolled onto his side and took her
down to the floor. His armor was jabbing them both, but neither seemed to
realize it. Nothing in the world mattered any more.
His lips began to explore new territory, moving along her cheek to her
chin. His hungry mouth devoured her delicate jawline, blazing a scorching
trail to her ear and down the side of her neck. Arissa sobbed through it all as
if her heart was breaking, so deliriously happy that she knew of no other
way to express her joy. Richmond stopped only once in his quest, grinning
as he lapped her tears. She had simply cried harder.
He was mindless in his pursuit, only aware of his desire to taste every
possible inch of her flesh. Her deliciously large breasts beckoned his touch,
his mouth, and gently he answered. The yearn to touch her was an
overwhelming, seducing hunger.
Arissa sobs had faded somewhat, her hands intertwined in his rich brown
hair as his lips nibbled at the ripe swell of her bosom. When a great mailed
glove tenderly traced the underswell of her breast before enclosing it within
its grasp, she gasped with the shock and pleasure of it.
His passion-creased face came up, his eyes conveying far more emotion
and depth than she ever thought possible. With the deepest of feeling, he
kissed her chin, her eyes, her nose as his hand gently massaged her right
breast. She closed her eyes against his touch, clutching his head against her.
"I do not want to join the cloister, Richmond," she whispered against his
hair. "I want to be with you. I want to love you."
His mouth was on her neck, both hands on her magnificent breasts. "And
I want you, Riss. God only knows, I have wanted you for nearly as long I
can recall."
She moaned as his fingers traced the outline of her puckered nipples.
"Will you talk to my father?"
His mouth moved down her neck to the valley between her breasts. He
was mindless with the intoxication of her. "I shall do whatever it takes. You
shall marry me, Riss. Not the damn church."
She smiled, a gesture of genuine joy. "Do you love me, Richmond?"
His head came up, the beautiful blue eyes focusing on her. "More than
words can express, kitten. I have always loved you."
She traced his lower lip, new tears springing to her eyes. "Truly?"
He kissed her finger, her hand as it touched him. "Truly."
She gazed into his eyes a moment, scarcely daring to believe that a dream
that had been a daily part of her existence had actually become a real part of
her life. Tears found their way onto her temples again, bathing her hair.
"Thank you."
He dipped down, kissing her more sweetly than life itself. "Nay, kitten,”
he murmured. “Thank you."
She wound her arms around his neck as their lips fused once more,
becoming familiar with the taste of one another. After several moments, she
realized his kisses had slackened in intensity and she opened her eyes
questioningly.
He was staring at her. "How is it that you have fallen in love with a man
twenty-two years older than yourself?” he whispered. “Why have I become
the fortunate one, Arissa?"
She shook her head, touching his face with delicate hands. "I do not
know,” she murmured. “I cannot remember when I haven't loved you. As a
child, I used to dream that we would be married someday and that I would
bear you a host of strong sons."
He smiled faintly. "Why do you think I have never married? There was
only one woman for me, in spite of the fact that she was pledged to a
convent."
"I have heard you say that before. I thought you were jesting."
He shook his head slowly. "Nay, lady. I have never been more serious in
my life," he studied her porcelain features for a moment, the enormity of
the situation beginning to saturate his mind. "But I cannot promise that we
will meet with immediate success, Arissa. You have been pledged to
Whitby for eighteen years."
A look of desperation crossed her features. "I cannot take my vows
before God, not when I love you. I do not want to...."
He shushed her quietly, leaning on his elbow as he touched her beautiful
face. "You will not have to stay there any longer than necessary. If my
petition meets with rejection, I shall simply abduct you and we shall flee to
France. I have relatives in Normandy, and we can be married."
She swallowed. "You would give up everything you worked for?
Richmond, your reputation is flawless. To end a brilliant career by
abducting a novice nun and fleeing the country is certainly no way to cap
off your success."
He stroked her hair. "I have waited my entire life for you, Lady Arissa.
My success, my reputation, means nothing without you."
She seemed to be particularly emotional this day, with good reason. She
cradled his face, touching him as she had longed to touch him for years. "I
am so unworthy of you," she whispered. "You are a great man, and I am a
foolish girl with grand dreams. I simply cannot believe that you would
make such a monumental declaration so easily."
He leaned down, kissing her tenderly, as tenderly as he had always
wanted to kiss her. "This is not a hasty decision. All I know is that I love
you, and I will do what is necessary. But not a word to anyone, Riss. This
must be between us for now. If your father found out...."
She nodded rapidly. "His rage would know no limits. My father's temper
and I are well acquainted."
Somewhere, voices began floating into the small solar and Richmond
leapt to his knees, his ears piqued. When the voices drew closer, he pulled
Arissa to her feet and sat her in a chair. With a quick kiss to the top of her
head, he barely had time to move a respectable distance away before
William and Maude were entering the well-appointed room.
William's eyes were wide on his daughter. He passed an inquisitive
glance at Richmond as he moved towards her. "I trust Richmond has
straightened you out, young lady?"
Arissa nearly choked; Sweet St. Jude, what monumental implications his
simple statement encompassed! Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat
very lady-like. "He’s, my lord. I apologize for my display of bad manners."
William drew in a long breath, offering his daughter a single nod. "Well
and good. I would hope that you would apologize to Sir Tad, as well. You
are words offended him deeply."
Arissa nodded submissively, looking to her hands. "I shall apologize if
that is your wish, father," she said softly. "But I do not wish to be alone with
him. I.... I do not trust him."
William cocked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to question her when
Richmond stepped in. "Tad de Rydal was less than courteous with her
earlier, William, which explains her attitude towards him. And I hardly
blame her."
William frowned. "Define his actions, Richmond."
Richmond shrugged, crossing his arms. "He was rather bold with his
language and his actions. When I intervened, he challenged me."
William's eyes widened. "Why did you not tell me of this earlier? How
dare he call you out in the midst of a social occasion!"
"It was of little consequence. A humiliating lessoned learned and he was
sent on his way."
William turned to his daughter. "What did he say that was so terribly
bold, Arissa? And, more importantly, did he try to harm you?"
Arissa swallowed hard, glancing at Richmond before she spoke.
"He.... he called you an idiot for pledging me to the church. When I
attempted to defend you, he grabbed my arm and told me a woman of my
beauty was made for a man's pleasure."
William was outraged and Richmond's expression bordered on pure
hostility. Although Richmond had been lingering in the shadows monitoring
the situation, the muffled conversation between Tad and Arissa had been
unclear to him; he had intervened not as a result of the words spoken but as
a direct reaction to Tad's movements. Had he known the extent of the young
knight's statements, he would have interceded far sooner.
A fierce sense of jealousy filled his veins. How dare the bastard direct
such harsh words at a woman as fragile and sweet as Arissa. His Arissa.
Damnation, he had been aware of her feelings all of ten minutes and already
he was acting the protective husband.
As Maude moved to comfort her daughter, William turned to Richmond.
"I want him out," he growled. "I do not care what it takes - I shall leave
the details to you. But avoid insulting Ovid if you can. He’s a powerful
baron and I shall not have the man going to war against me."
Richmond cocked an eyebrow. "As you and I have agreed, I am not the
diplomatic sort. When I throw de Rydal from this keep, I will not stop to
ask him if I have been offensive in manner. Mayhap you should speak with
the father while I deal with the son. If Ovid understands Tad's offense as
you explain it, he will most likely allow me to complete my duty as I see
fit."
William nodded shortly. "Agreed," he turned to his daughter once more.
"I am sorry, Riss. I had no idea that he had been so terribly brutal with you."
Her gaze moved to Richmond, feeling more love and pride than she ever
thought possible. "Richmond saved me, father. Tad never truly had a
chance."
Richmond heard the words, saw the expression. Never in his life had he
felt so fulfilled, as if discovering Arissa's feelings had suddenly made him a
whole, undivided man. It was all he could do not to match her dreamy gaze.
William grunted as he moved from the solar, intent on dealing with his
unruly guests. Maude remained with Arissa as Richmond moved to follow
William. A lingering gaze passed between them, expressions filled with a
thousand words of thanks for what had occurred between them this day.
Richmond allowed his gaze to rest on her beautiful face longer than he
should have, his promises to her rolling over and over in his mind. He had
promised to marry her, no matter what the cost. And he would. The fact that
she was a princess far beyond his reach no longer seemed to matter
anymore; she loved him, and he loved her. Lowly knight or no, he would
have her.
At the moment, however, he was forced away from his thoughts to the
task at hand. Richmond tore his gaze away from Arissa, bowing silently to
her mother as he excused himself.
Wrapped in her mother's arms, Arissa stared at the open doorway long
after Richmond had vacated the room. Still, she could scarcely believe what
had transpired between them. It was still difficult to grasp, even as she
continued to taste him upon her lips.
She wondered when she would awaken from her most vivid, wondrous
dream yet.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER SIX

"I thought you said Tad was leaving," Emma shielded her blue eyes
against the afternoon sun. "He’s on the field with the others."
Arissa's gaze lingered on the sun-lit field. The Stick and Ball game was
about to begin and the two teams were catching a bit of practice before the
match commenced.
The men clutched angled sticks in their hands, broad and thin and
designed to precisely smack the object of the game, a small leather ball. The
entire purpose of the event was to move the ball through the opponent's
team to their protected end of the field. When the opposition was
conquered, a score was made.
It was a brutal game with few rules of conduct, making for an exciting
and bloody match. It was extremely popular with the men-at-arms and the
peasants, but on few occasions the knights and nobles would compete
simply to appease their own lust for sport. As Arissa and The Horde gazed
upon the field, Bartholomew and Daniel took the field for the earl's team.
"Richmond was supposed to escort him from Lambourn," Arissa replied
to Emma's question, belatedly. "Truthfully, I have no idea why he’s still
here."
Emma sighed. "How awful that he insulted your father to his face. I
wonder what possessed him?"
Arissa kept her gaze averted, lest Emma see her guilt. Another small lie
to appease her friend's fragile feelings, the omission of certain facts that had
constituted her explanation regarding Tad's departure. Certainly she couldn't
know of the coarse statements Tad had made, the guttural remarks that had
sent her father and Richmond into a rage. It would have broken Emma's
heart.
"I do not know, truly," Arissa said, hoping to change the subject.
"Goodness, I did not think Bart enjoyed Stick and Ball anymore. I have not
seen him play since we were children."
"Look, Riss," Penelope tugged her arm, diverting Emma's attention as
well. "Isn't that Richmond taking the field?"
 Arissa stiffened, catching sight of a very tall, armorless man as broad as a
tree. Her mouth opened in surprise. "He cannot play this game!" she
suddenly leapt to her feet. "What in the world is he doing?"
Emma and Penelope rose beside her. "Why can't he play? He’s played
many a time before," Penelope said.
Arissa thought a moment before replying. In her opinion , he couldn't
play because he might become injured and she would surely die if anything
happened to him. Especially now that their relationship has passed to
heights she had never believed possible. But she refrained from mentioning
the truth, a secret far too precious to divulge.
"Because.... well, he simply cannot." She gathered her skirts. "I must talk
to him."
Penelope and Emma watched her trudge toward the field. Emma leaned
toward her friend. "She’s afraid he will injure himself."
Penelope nodded. "Poor Riss. In love with a man she can never have."
Emma nodded slowly. "I wonder if she will forget about him after she
joins the convent."
Penelope cast her a long glance. "Would you?"
Emma met her gaze before returning her attention to the field. "Poor
Riss." She repeated.
Arissa marched to the edge of the turf, sending a soldier running for
Richmond. He was in the center of the field, whacking the life out of the
small leather ball. When the soldier approached him and uttered a few
words, his head snapped to Arissa with dizzying speed. Immediately, he
relinquished the ball to another player.
He jogged towards her, clad in a simple tunic, hose and knee-high leather
boots. It was extremely rare to see him out of armor at any given moment,
but to be without protection in a public forum was nearly unheard of.
Arissa watched him approach, thinking him to be far more glorious
without his armor; his shoulders were exceedingly broad and his waist
narrow. When she remembered the feel of his lips against hers, the
tenderness in his magnificent touch, her cheeks flushed anew. She could
still scarcely believe.
And neither could he. Although Richmond was trying to maintain a
neutral expression as he approached her, it was extremely difficult. He
hadn't seen her for over an hour and was desperate to taste her again. Her
soft expression told him of her very similar thoughts, weakening his control
further.
"Is something amiss, my lady?"
She gestured at the stick in his hand. "What do you think you are doing?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "That should be fairly obvious."
She frowned. "I do not want you to play. 'Tis a rough sport and you
might.... well, you should leave the playing to the soldiers."
A shadow of a smile played on his lips. "What you mean to say is that I
am too old and might injure myself."
"I did not say that. But I certainly do not want you to hurt yourself."
The smile escaped and his mouth curved. "Riss, I have been playing this
game for years. Moreover, you have watched me play this game for years,"
he took a step closer, leaning casually on his stick. ”Kitten, if you start
showing an over amount of concern for my welfare, people might become
suspicious."
She gazed up at him, suddenly uncertain. She refrained from glancing
about to see who might be watching them. "I did not mean to....oh,
Richmond, I do not want you to play this silly game. It is too rough!"
He scratched his chin nonchalantly. "You are concern is touching, Riss,
truly. But you worry overmuch. Now, return to Penelope and Emma and if I
discover you have told them of our.... uh, conversation this afternoon, I
shall blister your lovely bottom. Is that clear?"
She pursed her lips wryly. "If you can catch me, my lord."
He cocked a serious eyebrow. "What happened between us is not fodder
for gossips, Riss. You shall never know how serious it is."
She relented somewhat, her features softening. "I do indeed realize how
serious it is. They shall not hear a word from my lips."
His eyes glittered. "And delicious lips they are. I should know."
Tad suddenly ran past, cracking the leather ball so hard that the sound
made Arissa wince. Her gaze as well as Richmond's followed the young
knight.
"Why is he still here?" she asked quietly.
Richmond sighed, toying with his stick. "Your father spoke with Lord de
Rydal and it was decided that Tad would take his leave discreetly after the
Stick and Ball game rather than to be abruptly hustled from Lambourn.
Lord de Rydal was concerned that Tad not appear as an unwelcome element
whom your father is eager to be rid of, instead, allowing the knight to leave
with the majority of his pride intact."
She watched Tad handle himself aggressively on the field; he was a large
man and quite strong. Bartholomew tried to intercept the ball and was sent
to the ground.
"Watch yourself, my love," she murmured, turning her attention to
Richmond once more. "I am afraid of what he might attempt."
Richmond clutched his stick, slinging it over his shoulder. "Have no fear.
I have had experience with the Tads of this world."
Slanting him a frustrated glance at his careless attitude, Arissa turned
away and prepared to rejoin her friends. He called to her softly.
"Are you to reward the winner of this match?"
She shook her head. "We haven't enough ribbons for the entire team."
His expression did not change, but his eyes roared with intensity. "I was
not speaking of ribbons. And I most certainly was not speaking of the entire
team."
She blushed madly, as giddy excitement filled her. "In that case, I shall
reward the winner. Whatever he desires."
The corners of his mouth tugged. With a bold wink, he turned and
strolled across the field to where his team was in the final throes of practice.
Arissa returned to Penelope and Emma. Regine, her hands full of food,
had joined the group. Her mouth loaded with custard, she kept up a running
conversation regarding Tad and his talents. Emma, her face red, listened
silently as Arissa took position next to Penelope.
"Daniel's already fallen twice," Penelope lamented. "I wish he would not
play."
Arissa sighed, watching as the marshals separated the teams and sent
them to opposite sides of the field. Her father's team was represented by
Richmond, her brother, Daniel, and nine other soldiers from Lambourn and
Richmond's personal corp. The opposing team was comprised of soldiers
and knights from visiting households.
Lady Maxine and Carlton joined The Horde as the match was readied.
William stood near the edges of the turf with several other nobles, including
Ovid de Rydal, no doubt issuing gentlemanly wagers before the game
began. Just as the marshals were leaving the field, Lady Maude and Lady
Livia strolled up on Arissa's group.
 "Arissa, dear, do you think it wise to observe this sport?" her mother said
gently.
Arissa turned to her mother, a plump woman who had once been
exceedingly lovely. Once, when she had been Regine's age, she had
overheard her father telling Richmond that the only reason he had married
Maude was because she had been so lovely to behold. The woman had the
intellect equal to that of a door.
"Why not, Mother? I have watched before, numerous times."
Lady Maude glanced to the field. "'Tis simply that you are to join the
cloister next month, and watching a sport based upon such brutality
might.... well, it might...."
Lady Livia finished her sentence, as was usual. Oft times, Maude had
difficulty finishing a line of thought. "It might adversely affect you, my
lady. Now that you have come of age, your emotions have matured and it
might upset your delicate balance."
Regine leaned against her sister's ear. "It might make you lusty."
Arissa choked on her next breath, coughing indelicately into her hand in a
desperate attempt to keep from laughing. Unfortunately, she knew Regine
was right; her mother thought that viewing a host of thinly-clad men might
stir her innocent juices, feelings a virgin bound for the cloister should not
experience. But Arissa had spectated numerous Stick and Ball games and
was surprised that her mother would wait until now to voice her concerns.
Arissa took a deep breath, swallowing the last of her cough. "I understand
your concern, Mother, but I would have you understand mine. This will
most likely be the last Stick and Ball game I ever witness, and I should like
to enjoy it if I may. Does this displease you?"
Maude and Livia looked to one another. When Livia shrugged faintly,
Maude returned her attention to her daughter.
"Nay, dear, it does not. But control yourself as a well-bred young lady
should."
Arissa smiled, kissing her mother on the cheek. Even if the woman was
dull, she was loving and sweet. "Does this mean you will not allow me to
play?"
Maude looked shocked for a brief moment; when the younger girls began
to giggle, she realized Arissa was jesting and her stunned expression
relaxed into a smile. "You naughty child, take your seat and I shall not hear
another word from you."
Snickering, Arissa perched herself on a collapsible stool. Her mother,
convinced that Stick and Ball was a ruthless sport offensive to a refined
woman's taste, offered her farewell to the group and retreated to the castle
with Lady Livia on her heels.
But the fact that Maude publicly condemned the unruly game did not
prevent her from finding a convenient window by which to watch the
bloody spectacle. She would rather die than admit her fondness for a game
where loosely-clad men engaged in bone-jarring combat. Half-naked,
sweaty males warmed her aging blood.
The game got off to a rapid start. A no-holds-barred melee, the sounds of
sticks against leather and sticks against flesh filled the air. The two teams
were blended together so tightly that it was difficult to make out any
particular individual until the crowd broke in chase of the loose ball.
As usual, Richmond was at the head of it, using his skill and strength to
work the ball down the field towards the enemy's goal-line. He and Daniel
made an effective team, passing the ball between them and keeping their
opponents confused. Arissa and Penelope watched, pride shining on their
young faces, as their respective men displayed their power.
"Daniel loves this game," Penelope sighed dreamily. "He’s entirely
skilled, don’t you think?"
"Just a moment ago you did not want him to play," Arissa reminded her,
her gaze riveted to the field.
Penelope shrugged. "I do not. But he’s rather good at it."
Regine, finished with her food and wiping her hands on her satin surcoat,
moved to sit on her sister's lap. Arissa grunted when her baby sister,
outweighing her by twenty pounds, deposited herself on a tender thigh.
Beneath them, the leather and wood chair creaked dangerously.
In spite of the groan, Arissa did not utter a word of protest; Regine had
sought comfort on her lap for as long as either could remember, a display of
the true fondness between them. Soon enough, she and Regine would be
without each other and Arissa swallowed the emotion she felt as she
wrapped her arms about Regine's thick waist. Soon enough, these
affectionate moments would be no more.
 Unfortunately, Regine's body blocked a good portion of her view and she
strained to peer around her sister as the game progressed.
Richmond was the first man to gain a score, much to the delight of the
crowd. Even the Lambourn soldiers on the battlements roared their approval
and Arissa smiled, watching Richmond's modest grin as his team mates
congratulated him. She was so focused on him that she failed to see Tad's
malevolent expression, waiting impatiently in the middle of the field for the
game to resume.
One score to add fuel to his already-raging fire. Tad's mood served to
deepen his sense of retaliation against a man who seemed intent to make an
example out of him. Whereas Richmond was playing a game, the heir to
Goring Hall viewed Richmond's score as a personal insult.
When the match commenced once more, it did so with vengeance.
Richmond and Bartholomew took charge of the ball again, stealing it from a
de Becket soldier and rushing it nearly the entire length of the field before
an opposing player managed to snatch it from Richmond and carry it in the
opposite direction.
Like a group of naughty boys, the grown men gave chase until the soldier
was unceremoniously tripped, by Daniel no less, and sent to the ground. In
a mad swarm, a host of men descended upon the hapless player and nearly
crushed him in their haste to regain the ball.
The first team to gain five points was the winner; therefore, there were no
time limits. As the afternoon progressed and the lively game continued,
Lambourn's team managed to gain three points and was close to gaining
their fourth thanks to Richmond's deft skills. At times the game bordered on
a melee, but it was a good-natured violence if such a thing was possible.
The crowd yelled themselves hoarse all in the name of merriment.
And The Horde was no exception. As Emma and Penelope cheered
themselves ill, Arissa realized her legs were growing numb with her sister's
weight and she was seriously considering asking her sister to remove her
person. She took her eyes off the field long enough to shift her deadening
bottom on the stool when she suddenly heard her friends gasp.
"Richmond's been hurt!" Penelope cried.
Arissa stood up so fast that Regine fell to her knees. In a panic, she saw
that the game had come to a halt and the two teams were huddled in a tight
crowd in one corner of the field. The officials and the earl himself were
making their way onto the turf.
"Dear God," Arissa breathed. "How.... how do you know it was
Richmond?"
"He was running with the ball when a group of men pounced on him,"
Emma said urgently. "He’s the only man who has not risen to stand."
Arissa did not wait. She pushed through the crowd of spectators hovering
at the edge of the field and made way onto the trampled grass. The entire
game had come to a halt and an uneasy silence settled as she picked her
way across the partially-destroyed heath. She could see her father's
concerned expression as he gazed down at the injured player and it fed her
panic all the more.
"Father!" she called out. "What's happened?"
William saw her approaching and abruptly moved toward her.
"Richmond's been injured, Riss. Nothing to worry over."
She could feel the color draining from her cheeks. "Nothing to worry
over? I must see him!"
"There is nothing to see. His men will take care of him," he grasped her
by the shoulders and turned her about. "Return to your friends, dearest. The
game will be resumed in a moment."
"No!" she dug her heels into the soft earth, twisting away from him. "I
want to see Richmond!"
William sighed heavily, his meaty hands on his hips. "Arissa, he does not
need your bothersome presence. You shall only interfere. Now be a good
lass and do as I say. Return to Penelope and Emma."
Bothersome. Arissa's eyes filled with tears and she obediently turned
away from her father, a man with little patience and even less
understanding. Although he never meant to be deliberately cruel, he
conveyed a callous attitude nonetheless. Sniffles turned into soft sobs as she
walked away and, somewhere above the noise of the crowd, she thought she
heard Richmond's voice.
She couldn't make out his words, but it was a distinct relief simply to
hear him speak. At least he was not unconscious, or worse. William's
insensitive command echoed in her ears and she fought the urge to go to
Richmond in spite of her father's orders, knowing that he was most likely
correct in his assessment of her presence. Still weeping, she continued on
her way until a loud shout stopped her.
It was Richmond.
He was on his feet, parting the group of men that were surrounding him.
His nose was bloodied and there was a nasty cut over his left eye, and he
appeared to be leaning heavily on Daniel for support. He looked weary and
beaten.
Her father's words forgotten, Arissa turned on her heel and closed the gap
between them.
"Are you badly injured?" she demanded softly, her misty eyes wide with
concern.
He smiled weakly, touching her cheek. "Nay, kitten. I just need a bit of a
rest, ‘tis all."
In spite of the fact that she couldn't hope to support a man of his size, she
slung his other arm across her small shoulders and put her arm around his
waist, determined to help him walk.
"I shall tend you myself," she said firmly. "It looks as if you may require
a stitch over your eye."
William moved beside them, scrutinizing Richmond closely. "I saw what
happened, Richmond. I have already lodged a stern protest with the
officials."
Richmond waved him off, his ears ringing and his head spinning. "'Tis
merely a game, William. No need for protests."
"What happened?" Arissa demanded, looking to her father.
William's face was hard. "Tad de Rydal. He hit Richmond across the face
with his stick."
Arissa's mouth opened in outrage as Richmond nodded his head gingerly.
"Right on the mark, too. I shall wager he’s broken my nose."
Arissa's eyes were wide at Richmond as she studied his beautiful face,
now swollen with injury. She turned to her father. "You must dismiss him
from Lambourn this instant, Father. Surely you cannot allow him to remain
after what he’s done."
William nodded sharply. "Certainly not. He’s all but ruined your birthday
and I shall not have it. I shall not have it, I say!"
He turned abruptly on his heel and marched back across the turf, shouting
at the officials and players alike. Satisfied that Tad was already on his way
home, Arissa patted Richmond tenderly.
"I shall take good care of you," she whispered.
He gazed down at her dark head, his eyes watering with the pain in his
nose. "I know."

***

The Stick and Ball game was all but forgotten as Arissa and Daniel took
Richmond into the castle. Although his head was clearing somewhat, he had
trouble navigating the stairs and teetered dangerously more than once.
Daniel had to practically carry him to the bower he usually occupied on his
visits to Lambourn.
Penelope and Emma had followed them from the field and stood
hovering nervously as Arissa and Daniel settled Richmond in the massive
bed. They were eager to help Arissa tend Richmond's wounds when Mossy
suddenly entered the chamber, a dilapidated bag clutched in his ancient
hands.
"Out!" he waved at the cluster of people. "All of ye, out! I cannot tend the
man with the gaggle of ye hanging about."
Emma and Penelope leapt out of the old man's path, moving obediently
towards the door. Daniel was shoved aside as Mossy dumped his bag on the
edge of the bedrug. He peered closely at Richmond's face.
"Heard what happened," he muttered. "De Rydal vengeance for beating
him in the archery competition, eh?"
Richmond did not flinch as the old man touched his swelling nose.
"Among other insults dealt. And just how did you find out about my injury
so quickly? Did your bubbling cauldron whisper my name?"
Mossy cocked a sparse eyebrow at the implication. "A panicked soldier
with eyes as wide a saucers came bursting into my sanctuary. I thought he
had come bearing a message of import until I discovered he only carried
news of you."
"Your concern is overwhelming."
Mossy grunted and opened his bag. Immediately, a small rabbit burst
forth and skittered across the floor, disappearing under the wardrobe.
Penelope and Emma barely had time to shriek, but Mossy hardly registered
a reaction.
 "Damn rabbits. They like to nest in my bag," he rummaged through the
faded brown satchel. Drawing forth an envelope, he sprinkled a bit of white
powder into a pewter cup. "Put some wine in it," he instructed Arissa, who
moved quickly to do his bidding. Returning with the full cup, Mossy thrust
it at Richmond. "Drink this."
Richmond eyed the contents. "What did you put in it?"
"Poppy. It will ease the ache."
Richmond shook his head slowly. "I cannot. It will put me to sleep for
days."
Mossy raised his eyebrows. "So ye'd rather suffer?"
"Do you question my fortitude?"
Mossy snorted and set the cup aside. "'Tis not yer fortitude I would
question, but yer sanity." From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of
Penelope, Emma and Daniel, still grouped by the open door. He frowned
severely. "I told ye to get out. Are ye daft?"
Emma quickly slipped from the room as Penelope grasped Daniel's arm
in an attempt to encourage him to obey Mossy's command. But the young
knight was reluctant to comply.
"Do you require me any longer, Richmond?"
Richmond shook his head, watching Mossy rummage through his bag
once more. "Nay, Daniel, I believe I am in good hands."
Daniel passed a glance at the ancient man, as old as the sky and then
some. A faint gleam came to his eye as he observed the crusty old crone.
"Mossy, I have always been curious. How did you acquire your name?"
Mossy drew forth a few items. "Ye ask me that now? Daniel Ellsrod,
ye've been at Lambourn for two years come January."
Daniel grinned, ignoring Penelope's silent urging. "I have never had an
interest until now."
"Ye selected a peculiar moment to ask."
"Answer me and I shall go. Why are you called Mossy?"
Richmond looked to the young knight. "Because he’s so old that moss
grows on his limbs. And he cannot stand in one spot for too long else his
feet with take root."
Daniel's eyes widened and he sputtered a loud guffaw. "Is that so?"
Mossy examined a length of silk thread. "It is. Do ye need to see the
proof?"
 Daniel shook his head and, still snorting, followed Penelope into the
corridor. He had no sooner moved into the hall when a soldier suddenly
appeared in his place, his face flushed with excitement.
"Mossy, Lord William demands you come. Bartholomew has been
injured."
Mossy looked up from his thread sharply. "Injured? What happened?"
The soldier swallowed, his flush deepening as he glanced at Arissa. "He...
he’s been hit... that is to say, he’s in a good deal of pain."
"Ye did not answer my question. How badly is he injured?"
The soldiers swallowed hard, a ripple of fright creasing his features when
Richmond focused his hard gaze on him. Weighing the options, he found he
was willing to risk great embarrassment in lieu of Richmond le Bec's anger.
"He took a stick to the groin," he mumbled. "Lord William demands you
tend him, as he’s heir to the earldom. He fears for the continuation of the
family line."
Mossy stared at the soldier for a moment as if to disbelieve what he had
been told. Sighing, he set the thread to a nearby table and extracted several
other items from his bag, including a delicate embroidery needle and a wad
of linen.
"Riss, ye'll have to sew Richmond's cut," he collected his bag, forgetting
about the errant rabbit. "I have got to tend yer foolish brother to guarantee
him a son."
Arissa watched him scuffle from the room, moving to close the door
behind him. The awareness of suddenly being alone with Richmond was
almost more than she could bear and a faint mottle crept into her cheeks as
she returned to the table by his bedside.
With a quivering hand, she poured water from a pewter pitcher into a
small bowl Mossy had left. "I.... I do hope Bart is all right."
A massive hand suddenly shot out, snatching her by the wrist. Arissa
barely had time to set the pitcher to the table when she was suddenly pulled
onto the bed beside him. With her next breath, she found herself gazing into
eyes of bright blue.
"Forget about Bart. You should only be concerned with me."
A timid smile creased her lips. "I am only concerned with you, as I have
always been. Am I not preparing to tend your wound?"
 A dark eyebrow raised. His face was looming closer. "I was not speaking
of wounds, Riss."
His mouth was on her before she could draw another breath. Arissa
forgot everything at that moment; his injury, her brother, the world in
general. When his warm, tender lips touched hers, all of the love and
emotion she had ever felt for him melded into one glorious burst and she
was vaguely aware of her hands in his hair, holding him tightly.
Richmond clutched her tightly to his chest, feeling her warmth and
softness against him. When they had embraced earlier he had been wearing
armor, and the sensations of her supple body provoked against his thinly-
clad flesh were consuming. The little girl he had known and protected had
blossomed into a woman of unbelievable magnificence and he was still
having difficulty coming to grips with turn their relationship was taking.
He had ceased to think of Arissa as his charge long ago. Aye, there was
still a fierce protective instinct towards her, greater than any instinct he
possessed, but the emotions he had developed for her overshadowed all
else. She was a woman, and he was a man. And he loved her.
He drew her down on the bed next to him, looming over her with his
great body and half-burying her into the mattress. Arissa gripped him
tightly, whimpering softly as his lips devoured her. His hands moved from
her hair, down her neck, trailing the length of her arms. Then, as one hand
wrapped itself about her narrow waist, the other moved to her wonderful
breasts.
She startled when his warm fingers moved over the crest of her nipples,
gasping when he toyed with a tender bud. He laughed low in his throat at
her reaction, but he did not halt his onslaught. Instead, he snaked his hand
behind her back and deftly undid several stays.
Arissa was barely cognizant when he slid her new surcoat off her
shoulders, kissing every exposed inch of white flesh. She was a quivering
shell of awakening desire, experiencing every brush of his lips as if it was a
gift from God. His body had shifted and she was nearly smothered by his
great form, feeling his heat as if nothing else on earth existed.
His tender touch trailed to the rounded swell of her breasts as the surcoat
slowly moved downward, barely covering the delightfully puckered buds.
Richmond's breathing came in heavy gasps as he gently peeled the material
away from rosy crests, letting out a sigh of awe as his gaze beheld succulent
nipples. He couldn't wait to taste them.
Arissa felt Richmond's tongue drag over the tender morsels and she cried
out softly, a bolt of awesome power firing through her petite body. She'd
barely recovered from the shock when his hot, wet mouth suddenly
descended on her hungrily, like a starving child. From surprise to ecstasy in
a split second, her moans of pleasure filled the room.
It had been far too long since Richmond had tasted female flesh, and the
fact that he was in possession of Arissa's sweet body nearly devoured his
control. His heavy manhood was painfully engorged, but he ignored it. As
much as he might desire the action, he would not take her virginity just as
they were coming to discover one another. His own discomfort was
insignificant in parallel to the importance of Arissa's emotions.
He would not destroy a lifetime of tender feelings by attacking her like a
madman. Arissa was as pure as rain, untouched by any man until this day,
and he considered it a right and a privilege to be able to introduce her to the
world of passion. But with every touch, every kiss, she was responding to
him with unimagined abandonment and his hands were literally quaking
with self-employed restraint. Slowly, he told himself firmly. Slowly.
Her breasts gave him more joy than he ever thought possible. To lose
himself within the silken flesh, scented of gardenias, was beyond heaven. It
was far more than he had ever dreamed possible and the more he tasted, the
more he craved. More and more, he was dangerously close to spiraling into
erotic oblivion.
He took a puckered nipple between his teeth and drew it out slowly,
listening to Arissa pant. As if they were living, thinking entities, his hands
moved down her slim waist to her legs, drawing up her surcoat with the
intention of seeking the hidden flesh. Richmond was concentrating so
deliberately on her breasts that he hadn't realized his hands were stroking
her shapely thighs, moving to grasp her behind the knees in order to part the
way for his throbbing manhood.
Abruptly, he realized his demanding deed and his head came up.
Swallowing hard at his aggressive actions, his gaze found her exposed legs,
looking so entirely delicious that he nearly lost every remaining ounce of
restraint. The desire to latch his teeth onto a tender thigh was overpowering,
but he fought it.
 Arissa was watching him through half-closed lids, her cheeks flushed
pink with excitement and wonder. She raked her slender white fingers
through his hair.
"What is the matter? Why did you stop?"
He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from her beautiful legs. "I....
we must stop, Riss. I cannot go any further."
She blinked, clearing her focus and her mind. "Why not?"
He swallowed hard. "Because if we continue as we are, the inevitable
will occur."
She propped herself up on her elbows, oblivious to her exposed breasts.
"Inevitable? Do you mean coupling?"
He tried hard not to stare at her beautiful breasts. One look and his thin
resolve would melt away. "Aye, kitten, that's exactly what I mean. This is
not the place or the time."
Her brow furrowed and she sat up, pulling up the neckline on her askew
bodice in an attempt to cover herself. "But why? Richmond, you said you
loved me. Have you changed your mind?"
He exhaled sharply, helping her straighten her surcoat before pulling her
into a crushing embrace. "Of course not, and I am furious that you would
suggest such a thing. Please understand that I am trying to be considerate of
you, kitten. You are very new to the realm of passion and I do not want to
frighten you. We must become accustom to one another before we move
beyond."
She looked at him as if she hadn't understood a word he said. "Become
accustom to one another? What a silly notion. I have known you since I was
a child."
He shook his head faintly. "Listen to me, Riss, listen to what I am saying.
Clearly we know each other well. But we must truly come to understand
one another in every sense of the word. We have risen to a new plane of
emotion, you and I. 'Twas something I never thought to experience."
Her gaze warmed as she began to realize his point. "Nor I. I can still
hardly believe that your feelings mirror my own."
He smiled gently, his injured nose aching with the action. "Somewhat of
a shock to us both, I would guess. And I do not want to ruin the discovery
process by bedding you like a rutting bull," his tender hands touched her
face, her hair. "I want to introduce you into a world where you will learn to
crave my touch, to yearn for my kiss. You will learn to need these gestures
as badly as I need them from you. When we couple, I want you to
understand what it is we are expressing."
She studied his face, his sincerity. A faint smile crept onto her lips. "How
fortunate for me that you are so willing to be patient."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Believe me, patience is not an easy attribute
where you are concerned. My instincts tell me to ravage you thoroughly,
but my common sense tells me to control my raging passions. 'Twill be my
pleasure to teach you the art of loving."
"But I already love you."
"And I love you. But you must be taught the most fulfilling ways to
demonstrate that love. Were I to take your maidenhood from you this night,
it would frighten you because you would truly have no grasp as to what is
actually happening. It would be too much, too soon, too quickly. As with all
other skills, lovemaking must be taught and practiced. Do you comprehend
what I am telling you?"
She shrugged vaguely, her smile widening. "I think I have an idea.
Already, I know I like what it is we do together."
He kissed the end of her pert nose. "And you are a brilliant, eager pupil. I
simply do not want you to be angry with me for moving slowly with you. I
do not want to overwhelm you."
She wrapped her arms about his neck. "Your years and years of
experience have taught you that patience is a valuable asset with a woman,
has it not?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "Saucy wench. You remind me of my true age at
every turn."
She laughed softly. "I cannot help it. You are nearly as old as Mossy."
"You are a devil. I should take you over my knee, as I have done before.
You have not been spanked nearly enough."
"I was just a child then. You would spank a grown woman?"
"Absolutely."
She raised her eyebrows as if fearful of his threat. He broke into a smile
and nuzzled her neck, dropping soft kisses on the tender skin. Arissa closed
her eyes against his gentle attention. But thoughts of bliss and a future filled
with Richmond were abruptly overshadowed by darker, more frightening
visions.
 Her eyes opened as sharp recollections of the cloister infiltrated her mind,
as they did so often these days. But now, a sharp distaste for the life of the
cloth was becoming her worst nightmare. More than mere reluctance, it was
a palpable terror.
"When will you speak to my father, Richmond?" she whispered against
his thick brown hair.
He paused at her pleading tone, a thousand thoughts whirling through the
mists of his mind. He paused a moment in silent contemplation before
meeting her gaze.
"When the time is right, kitten. You must realize that this will come as a
great shock to him," he fingered a raven-colored lock. "But, most
importantly, you must not become discouraged or panicked. Even if you are
forced to meet your appointment with Whitby after the first of the year,
which I suspect will be the case, you must not become disheartened. Know
that I will come for you as soon as I can."
Her eyes misted; he could see the tears coming. "I do not want to be away
from you."
He sighed regretfully. "There is nothing we can do, kitten. Your future
has been planned for eighteen years and you certainly cannot expect to
dissolve a matter of this importance in a few days. It will take time."
She blinked rapidly, chasing away the tears. "But you will not forget
me?"
He kissed her forehead, laughing softly at the irony of the statement.
"Foolishness. If I were never to see you again from this day forward, you
would remain as strong and vital in my heart as you are at this moment.
Never forget that, Riss. I shall always love you just as I do now until I die.”
She leaned against him, feeling his strength, his warmth, relishing in it as
she always had. "I am frightened, Richmond. What if my father denies our
request?"
Her head tucked underneath his chin, Richmond's smile faded as he
thought on that very real possibility. Even though a denial would be of no
consequence in the larger scheme of things, it would nonetheless be an
obstacle to overcome. Even though Henry loved him, he simply was not of
Arissa's station and that stumbling block alone would prove to be mighty.
"I can be quite convincing," he murmured after a moment. "My years and
years of experience have given me much practice in the art of persuasion. If
that doesn't work, I shall simply torture him into submission with my
superior strength."
She giggled. "Father weighs more than you do. Surely he will be difficult
to coerce should it come to a battle of strength."
Richmond thought of Henry, strong and proud, with a temper to match.
Not only would it come down to a battle of strength and wills, but mortal
combat was not out of the realm of possibility. Richmond could not begin to
fathom how Henry was going to react to his astonishing demand.
Your primary concern in this life is the child you hold. You will guard her
with your life.
He had completed his orders too well. Not only had he protected her with
his life, she had literally become his life in ways he would have never
dreamed possible. She had been his destiny in every sense of the word.
"Let us keep the word battle out of this conversation," he said softly.

***

Two shrouded figures tethered their mounts deep in the woods. The
horses were frothing and sweaty, indicative of an abusive ride. But the two
men who had driven the animals to the brink of collapse paid no mind to the
miserable horses as they crept through the undergrowth, through the trees
that opened onto the well-traveled road between Lambourn and Goring.
The thoroughfare was deserted, as they hoped. But not for long. A small
party was approaching and they made haste back to the shielding protection
of the trees.
"Do you have it?" the very same soldier who had been stalking Arissa at
Lambourn threw back his hood, fumbling with something underneath his
cloak.
The second soldier, his seasoned companion, nodded and dug about in his
mail. "Aye, I got it. It was not difficult to steal with all of de Lohr's and le
Bec's men watching the Stick and Ball game."
The first man drew forth a small Welsh crossbow, well-made and
compact. As he loaded the dual-arrow catapult, the second soldier handed
him a large strip of crimson cloth.
The first soldier smiled with satisfaction as he held up the banner.
"Excellent. Henry's own tunic, leopards of England." Quickly, he set to
securing the strip of material to one of the arrows.
The second soldier peered over his shoulder. "David, I still do not
understand why you had me steal the length of tunic. What are you
planning?"
David, a Welsh soldier for nearly twenty years, smiled as he secured the
banner. "A brilliant scheme to be rid of le Bec,” he said. “You saw how he
was always near the girl. God's Blood, they were inseparable. If we want to
get to Henry's bastard, then we have to be rid of his knight."
Lyle crouched down beside his comrade, scratching his head. "You still
have not answered my question. What are you going to do to the de Rydal
party?"
Cloth secured, David rose to his feet and Lyle with him. "Simple, really.
Tad de Rydal was ousted from the celebration for injuring le Bec. In
retaliation, le Bec sends some of his men to ambush his enemy," he held up
the crossbow, waving the crimson standard. "Le Bec announces his
vengeance for all to hear. Labeled a murderer, he’s forced to flee to London
and we, my friend, are rid of him. I would suspect that by tomorrow
sundown, Richmond le Bec will no longer be an obstacle and by the end of
the week, Henry's bastard will be in Owen's hands."
Lyle sighed; 'twas as good a plan as any. Le Bec and the girl had been
together constantly and the Welshmen had been thinking heavily on
returning to Owen empty-handed when David had come up with a scheme.
Far down the road, the unmistakable sounds of horses began to permeate
the air, echoing off the forest canopy. Lyle boosted David into a tree, high
enough that he would have an unobstructed view of his target, yet not so
high that a quick escape would be impeded. When David settled himself
confidently, Lyle ducked behind a sturdy trunk.
Slowly, the de Rydal party passed through the corridor of pine. Tad was
at the head of the group astride his magnificent charger. His visor was up on
his helm and his expression was nothing short of hostile. Obviously, he was
still smarting from being evacuated from Lambourn and, as his manner
suggested, he was not taking the rejection well.
The day was beginning to wan and the tall trees were casting long
shadows along the road. Tad was gazing at the path ahead, paying little if
any attention to his surroundings. His mind was still back at Lambourn,
dwelling on the fact that he had been deprived of a glorious evening of
young women and fine food simply because Richmond le Bec had manage
to place himself in the path of his moving stick.
He picked his nose as he rode, disgusted with the entire day. First came
the Lady Arissa's rejection, followed by le Bec's timely arrival and
subsequent challenge. Then came the archery match, which he refused to
recall in detail because he had lost that contest, too. And then the Stick and
Ball game, resulting in le Bec's injury.
He snorted softly with humor, wiping his finger on his tunic. He had
possessed a perfect opportunity to whack le Bec across his dumb face when
the man had stooped down to pick up the ball. One clean stroke, as hard as
he could manage, and le Bec had gone down like a stone. Sweet, sweet
revenge.
To his right, a flock of birds soared noisily into the winter sky as if
suddenly startled from their branches. Tad gave them nothing more than a
passing glance, still lingering on le Bec and the entire de Lohr family. He
hoped he would never again be forced into the company of the Earl of
Berkshire and his brood. Any father who pledged his only worthy offspring
to a convent was a peculiar man, indeed.
A smile came to his lips as his charger passed under a low-lying cluster
of branches. His thoughts were shifting from Lambourn to Goring Hall and
a certain young serving wench that he was particularly fond of. He would
be home in an hour or two and began to look forward to the evening ahead.
A hot meal, a full wench, and he just might forget about the horrors of
Lambourn and Richmond le Bec.
But his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a searing force suddenly
slammed into his shoulder. He felt himself teetering, sliding from the saddle
and unable to steady himself. As a consuming pain devoured the entire right
side of his body, he met the road with a hard, agonizing crunch.
Somewhere, he heard yelling, the shouting of his men as they moved for
cover. Indignantly, he realized that not one of them was moving to assist
him.
Cowardly bastards. He'd take a tassel whip to them when he could move
again. Fact was, he was not entirely sure why he couldn't seem to function.
Only that there was a great deal of pain and warmth that seemed to touch
every part of him. Everywhere, there was agony and a fluid lethargy.
 A peculiar bliss settled over him and he did not fight it, staring up at the
sky as a mist began to cloud his vision. The mist grew into a fog, and the
fog began to blacken. He wondered where the fog had come from. He
wondered if it had anything to do with the pain. Even as he watched, it
continued to grow until there was only darkness.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER SEVEN

As the evening hour approached, most guests had retreated to the

monstrous hulk of Lambourn to prepare themselves for the night's
festivities. The heavy smells of roasting meat filled the compound, the
smoke from three large pits just outside of the kitchens casting a thick gray
haze over the grounds. Up on the battlements, soldiers called out their
rounds as dusk descended.
Arissa had missed evening Vespers whilst tending Richmond's wound.
Now in her bower preparing for the great feast in her honor, Penelope and
Emma kept her company as she toyed with her hair for the fifth time in as
many minutes. In the hour since she had left Richmond, she could think of
nothing else but their encounter and her distraction was obvious.
"Did Richmond require stitches, Riss?" Penelope asked.
She nodded, securing the front section of her hair at the back of her skull
with a bejeweled clip. It was the third attempt. "I told you already."
"You told us that he was fine," Emma said, observing Arissa's collection
of girdles. "You never said if he needed stitches. Riss, do you think this
silver belt goes with my blue surcoat? I like it better than the gold I am
wearing."
Arissa glanced over her shoulder, stroking her raven hair with a horse
bristle brush. "As do I. Wear my silver."
Delighted, Emma disengaged the gold girdle in favor of the silver.
Penelope opened her mouth to continue on the subject of Richmond when
two horn blasts pierced the outdoor air. Strolling to the window as the sun
set, she gazed out over the bailey in time to note the arrival of a single rider.
It was a man she had seen before, more times than she could recall. A man
who was Richmond le Bec's shadow.
"Gavan is here," she murmured casually, turning away from the lancet
window. "I wonder where he’s been?"
Arissa shook her head, finally finished with her hair. Dipping a single
finger into a small alabaster vial at her elbow, she proceeded to smooth the
ocher-tinted beeswax on her lips. "Mayhap in London. Truthfully, I do not
know. I was surprised when Richmond arrived without him."
Emma sighed dreamily. "Sir Gavan Hage. The man of my dreams."
Penelope smiled, shaking her head. "Every man is the man of your
dreams."
Emma thrust her chin up, away from her tormenter. "Untrue, you little
chicken. It has always been Gavan, more than any other. Although I will
admit, I have been distracted on occasion."
A faint smile crossed Arissa's lips as she pinched her cheeks to bring
about a spot of color to her face. "On occasion? Sweet St. Jude, Emma, you
are a fickle character."
"What do you mean by that?" Emma asked, her eyebrows raised.
Arissa turned away from the polished glass mirror. "I mean, all you could
speak of today was Tad. And now you are ready to sink your teeth into
Gavan Hage. Control your lust, woman."
Emma cheeks mottled a faint pink, embarrassed. "I do not lust. I
simply.... simply get distracted by other men when Gavan is away. Now that
he’s returned, however, I plan to devote my time to him entirely, starting
with the evening feast."
Arissa rose from the stool, straightening her green-on-green surcoat.
"Sweet St. Jude, do not throw yourself at his feet and beg for the
opportunity to share his trencher like you did the last time he was here."
Emma looked away. "You shall never allow me to forget, will you? One
small, insignificant incident and I am branded a desperate female."
Penelope snorted, picking up Arissa's brush and running it through her
blond hair. "You are a desperate female. When you practically tied Gavan to
his chair in hopes that he would share his meal with you, I nearly died of
embarrassment. I have never seen anyone so eager for a man."
Emma frowned, her flush deepening. "I am not that bad. But he shared
his meal with me, did he not?"
Arissa cocked a black eyebrow. "It was difficult to refuse when you burst
into tears. Really, Emma. No more attempts to lure Gavan Hage. No
offense, darling, but you simply cannot compete with his wife."
Emma's cheeks were a dull red. "Enough already. Leave me alone."
She turned toward the lancet windows as Penelope and Arissa passed
amused glances. Emma was a sweet girl, but she lacked the humility and
restraint of the average maiden. Her desperation for a male companion
drove her to severe measures at times.
Desperation. Arissa began to think of Richmond again, experiencing the
longing that even one short hour had provoked. He promised to escort her
to supper this night and the wait for his appearance was nearly more than
she could bear.
She glanced at Penelope and Emma, wishing she could tell them of the
most thrilling, wondrous experience of her life. Even if she decided to tell
them, she seriously wondered if they would believe her outrageous claim.
After all, what would a great knight like Richmond le Bec want with the
daughter of an earl? Not an heiress, or even a countess, but a simple lady.
Practically a nobody.
But she would not question his reasons for his interest, as she could not
question her own. The only matter of import was that they loved one
another. She could scarcely believe she had endured her entire life
wondering about his feelings, dreaming of the day that he would declare his
intentions. Yet even as she dreamt of love, she never truly believed her
dreams would become truth.
There was a knock at the door, startling Arissa from her thoughts.
Penelope moved to answer the call and they were all shocked when Regine
spilled forth, sobbing and sputtering. Daniel stood behind her.
"You shall stay here, you wicked little wench, until I can decide what
needs to be done," he jabbed his finger at her.
Regine fell into Arissa's arms. Arissa drew her tight, her eyes wide at the
young knight. "By what right do you speak to the earl's daughter in such a
manner?"
He moved into the room, making certain to close the door behind him.
Only when it was bolted did he return his attention to Arissa. His gaze,
however, lingered on Regine.
"Well? Are you going to tell her or am I?"
Regine sobbed harder, all but ruining the front of Arissa's surcoat. Daniel
waited a respectable amount of time for the girl to reply; however, when it
became evident she had no intention of elaborating, he took charge.
"I was making my rounds tonight, as Carlton was seeing to the safety of
the guests inside the castle. As I was nearing the storage area by Mossy's
tower, I heard muffled voices and what I thought to be crying. Curious, I
peered into the small room where we store hand-to-hand weapons," he cast
a long glance at Regine. "Your sister was inside the room with a soldier,
her skirts hiked up around her waist as the man went to work on her. I
cannot say that I was in time to save her virginity, but I do not think he
spent himself on her."
Arissa looked horrified. Penelope was absolutely white and Emma's
mouth hung agape. As frisky and curious as Regine was, certainly they did
not believe her capable of such an adult act. The three of them immediately
turned to the sobbing young girl as if she had committed a mortal sin.
Arissa swallowed hard, trying desperately to recover a measure of
composure. Gazing down at her sister's blond head, she shook the girl
gently. "Regine, is this true?"
Regine sobbed and sniffled, and Arissa was suddenly seized with a
tremendous anger; snatching her sister by the arms, she tore her free of their
protective embrace. Giving Regine a good shake, she forced her to meet her
eye. "Damnation, Regine, is this true? You will answer me now!"
Regine gazed into her sister's pale green eyes, never more afraid or more
remorseful of anything in her life. But regret did not quite begin to describe
the long-term repercussions of her actions, as she was more fearful of her
punishment than of the act itself. "I.... he told me I was beautiful and he
promised to teach me all there is to know about love. Riss, I simply wanted
to know the experience and....."
Arissa's grip tightened. "And you let him.... you actually coupled with
him?"
Regine nodded unsteadily, tears flowing down her cheeks. She was truly
terrified. "It was.... I liked it until he.... my God, Riss, it was so painful I
thought I might die. He told me to lie still and I would enjoy it eventually. I
was beginning to understand what he meant when...." her voice faded,
overcome by sobs of shock and fear.
"When I interrupted," Daniel's voice was considerably softer. "Riss, it
was one of Richmond's men. I placed him in the vault."
Arissa closed her eyes for a brief moment as if to ward off the greater
implications. "Have you told him?"
Daniel shook his head. "He caught Regine himself the last time she
attempted something like this and blistered her behind. In faith, I fear for
his temper should he discover a repeat offense."
 Richmond's temper was legendary; once aroused, it had a tendency to be
fierce. Every soldier, every knight under his command knew of Richmond's
powerful, decisive temper and went to great lengths to avoid an encounter.
Arissa dropped her hands from her sister, gazing at the young girl as if
she had completely lost her mind. "How could you be so foolish, Regine?
Do not you know what father is going to say to this, not to mention
Richmond?"
Regine was a shaking, disheveled mess. "You do not have to tell them.
Do not tell, Riss. I promise I shall never do it again!"
Arissa sighed heavily, disgusted and wracked with disbelief. Her sister's
promises were impotent and sorely lacking, as Regine had proven many a
time. She glanced up at Emma, Penelope. "This does not go beyond this
room, do you comprehend me?" she said.
Both young women nodded solemnly. Daniel stood waiting, hands on
hips, for Arissa to make the final decision regarding the fate of her
promiscuous sister. But Arissa could only stare at Regine in wonder.
"I never thought you to be daft, Regine," she said softly, her tone laced
with pain. "You gave yourself to a common soldier rather than wait for your
noble husband."
Regine wiped her nose on her sleeve, regaining her senses somewhat.
Glancing about at the shocked and disgusted expressions, an instinctive
surge of self-righteousness filled her. "It's not as if my husband will be
virgin when he comes to me. He will appreciate the fact that his wife has
not come to him a naive maiden, but rather a woman who can match his
experience and know the meaning of pleasure."
Arissa let out a hissing sigh, indicative of the amazement at her sister's
preposterous statement. "I am not going to argue this with you. What you
have done is wrong and the soldier will be punished. Are you not the least
bit remorseful for causing the suffering of another?"
Tears fading, Regine's stubborn nature was beginning to regain control. "I
do not want him punished. 'Twas my idea."
Arissa shook her head, at a loss to understand. "But why?"
Regine averted her willful gaze. "Because.... because Penelope has
Daniel, and Emma has eyes for Tad, and.... Tessa de Rydal is already
married and she’s only eleven years old. I am older and not even betrothed."
 "You want to grow up too fast, Regine," Arissa said softly. "In your haste,
I fear you may have ruined your chances for a decent marriage."
Regine met her sister's eyes. "That is not true. Especially if father does
not know the truth."
Arissa looked to Daniel, torn in her decision. Part of her wanted to forget
the incident, and part of her wanted to confess the entire occurrence to her
father and pray for his wisdom in the matter. But the majority of her wanted
to take Regine over her knee and beat her backside raw.
"Daniel," she said softly, "I am afraid I will have to ponder this for a
time. Not a word to anyone until I have made a decision."
Daniel nodded, casting a long, regretful glance at Regine. Then his gaze
moved to Penelope as he turned for the door. "If you are ready, I shall escort
you to the hall. The guests are already beginning to assemble."
Penelope nodded weakly, taking his offered arm. Daniel had barely
opened the door when Richmond was suddenly in the archway, his beautiful
face grim. He focused directly on Regine.
"You," he pointed a long finger at her. "Come here."
Regine shrieked and ducked behind Arissa. Richmond swept into the
room, snaking an arm behind Arissa and snatching Regine by the sleeve.
Regine's shrieking turned to full-blown screams as he tore her away from
her sister's protective custody. Without a word, he bent at the waist and
threw Regine over his shoulder, turning for the door in one effortless,
unhurried motion.
Arissa was stunned speechless by the knight's sharp actions until
Richmond was nearly through the doorway. Suddenly finding her tongue,
she dashed after him.
"No, Richmond!" she cried. When he did not respond, she grabbed hold
of his arm and dug her heels into the floor. "Put her down!"
He paused, his -hued eyes like blue steel. "This is none of your affair, my
lady. Kindly refrain from interfering."
"I will not!" she retorted urgently. "What are your plans with my sister?"
His expression was entirely emotionless, purely professional. She was so
accustomed to being greeted by his smile that she felt a certain amount of
devastation at his seeming indifference. But she'd seen this persona before
her many a time; the cold, professional soldier. And he scared her to death.
"As I said, it is none of your affair. I will deal with your sister alone."
 Arissa forced herself to calm. Her hands moved from his forearm to his
hand, curling around his massive fingers tightly. She hoped her touch would
soften him somewhat, although glancing at his face, she deemed that result
improbable. Still, she had to try.
"Who told you?"
He gazed at her a moment before answering. "I went in search of an
errant soldier who failed to show at his post at the proper time. I was told by
one of the earl's men that he had seen Daniel take my soldier to the vault.
The moment I entered the man's cell, he confessed his sins and begged
forgiveness."
Arissa took a deep breath, attempting desperately to swallow her fear.
She squeezed his hand tightly. "What are you going to do?"
"That will be for your father to decide when he’s made aware of Lady
Regine's escapade."
Over his massive shoulder, Regine kicked and moaned in protest. Arissa
passed her sister a despairing glance before refocusing on Richmond.
"If you tell him now, you shall ruin the entire evening," she said in a low
voice. "This can wait until the festivities are over."
His jaw ticked. "My lady, one of my personal soldiers is presently
awaiting a harsh sentence for molesting a woman of noble breeding. You
fail to understand the severity of the situation."
Regine kicked and cried again, catching Arissa's attention once more. Her
fingers tightened around Richmond's free hand. "Put Regine down and we
shall discuss this further."
"There is nothing to discuss," he pulled his hand free. "After I have seen
to your sister, I shall return to escort you to the feast."
His manner was cold. Hard. A spark of anger ignited in Arissa's chest,
immediately becoming a blaze of fury. She continued to gaze at him, her
pale green eyes transforming from softly pleading to razor shards of ice.
Damn him and his determined sense of duty!
"Do not bother," she said coldly. "Since you see fit to ruin my birthday
feast, I shall not be attending. For that matter, Richmond le Bec, I do not
care if I ever see you again. Any man who would brutally handle a young
girl and threaten chaos over a situation that could just as well wait until the
morrow is unworthy of my attention or friendship."
 His gaze was steady. "I am sorry you feel that way." Turning for the
corridor, he called to Daniel over his shoulder. "Since Lady Arissa wants
nothing more to do with me, you will have the privilege of escorting the
three young ladies to the feast. Do not be late."
They could hear Regine's grunts and shrieks over Richmond's footfalls as
they faded down the hall. Arissa stood in the center of her chamber, stunned
and bewildered. The anger that had consumed her manner not a moment
before was suddenly gone, replaced by tears of frustration and disbelief at
Richmond's behavior.
Penelope, Emma and Daniel exchanged uneasy glances as Arissa began
to wipe at the tears that were bathing her cheeks. Daniel cleared his throat
and moved toward her timidly.
"My lady," he said softly. "Mayhap we should retire to the gallery and...."
"Nay," she shook her head, cutting him off. "I shall not attend. Tell
mother and father that I am feeling ill and wish to be left alone."
"Riss...." Penelope began pleadingly.
Arissa whirled toward her fair-haired friend. "Nay, Penelope! Tell my
parents that I am ill; I am always ill and they will believe you without
question. You and Emma and Daniel enjoy yourselves, but I am not in the
mood for such gaiety. Go now. Please."
"But it's your party, Riss," Emma pleaded softly.
Arissa shook her head, turning away. "I am not.... going. Leave me."
Daniel glanced to Penelope, who merely shrugged. Without another
word, he herded the two young women out of the room, passing a long look
at Arissa's dark head before shutting the door softly.
Somehow, he had a feeling that she would not remain sequestered all
night. He would not be at all surprised to find her in the gallery later,
dancing the evening away in the arms of several admirers. And he would
not be at all shocked if Richmond was included in that throng.
Somehow, the two couldn't seem to remain apart. If he did not know
better, he would have suspected the feelings ran beyond those of typical
camaraderie. He would have suspected that there was far more to their
relationship than met the eye. But Daniel knew that Richmond had
practically raised Arissa; therefore, an intimate association would have been
something of an incestuous action.
 But the fact remained that Richmond was not a blood relative. Daniel
chewed his lip, deep in thought as he escorted Penelope and Emma to the
stairs. If he did not know better....

***

Regine was bawling her eyes out; even so, she could have been dealt far
worse. After Richmond took his hand to her backside, he had issued several
commandments and, extracting her word that his demands would be
adhered to, left her to compose herself.
Alone in her bower, she had ripped the place apart in her anger and
frustration towards Richmond le Bec. She did not bother to consider herself
fortunate that a spanking was all she had been dealt. All that matter was the
fact that Richmond was a hateful monster who did not understand her, and
she would hate him forever.
But it was not as if this was the first time he had disciplined her. He had
become quite familiar with her fat white bottom over the years and she
feared Richmond far more than any other authority figure, including her
father. Richmond was not afraid to punish her, and her father allowed him
the duty simply because he was not overly involved or interested in his
children's lives. Unless the crime was of mortal consequence, he would not
be bothered with it.
But Richmond would. Where she perceived herself as suffering
punishment and humiliation at the hands of the massive knight, the reality
of the matter was that Richmond was trying to shape her character and
instill the morals of right and wrong into her thick skull. Where she
perceived his actions as cruelty, he knew them to be the result of his
concern for her.
And like any good father, Richmond knew of her fury and annoyance
toward him, but he was impervious to it. As far as he was concerned, he had
dealt with her in an extremely fair manner considering her offense and had
no desire to waste another moment on the matter. His attention moved
onward, away from the spoiled child, and focused on the arrival of his
second in command less than a half hour earlier.
Leaving Regine a howling mess, he descended the stairs into the gallery.
Almost immediately, his gaze fell on Gavan in discussion with the earl.
Thoughts of Regine and her deviant behavior faded altogether as he
approached the two men.
Gavan Hage was closer to him than a brother, an extremely handsome
man of massive build. Eight years younger than Richmond with uncanny
wisdom, Richmond was glad to see the man and shook the man's hand
amiably.
"If it isn't my wandering general," he said with a grin. "How gracious of
you to bless us with your presence."
Gavan cocked an eyebrow. "I did not come to see you, merely the Lady
Arissa. It is her birthday, after all."
"But you missed the festivities of the day," Richmond reminded him.
"You had better have an excellent excuse if the lady is going to forgive your
truancy."
"Excellent, indeed," Gavan snorted. "I have spent the better part of
yesterday searching for an appropriate gift. She will forgive me when she
sees the lovely candle I brought her."
Richmond scowled. "A mere candle for her birthday?" Laughing softly,
he clapped the man on the shoulder. "You and I must have a talk regarding
the gifts ladies prefer. I should hardly consider a candle a much-desired
item."
Gavan's lips pressed into a wry, flat line. "The earl thought it to be most
suitable," he glanced to the rounded man beside him. "I am sorry, my lord.
Richmond does not agree with your opinion."
The earl snorted, reeking of the fine alcohol he had been imbibing in for
the better part of an hour. "He rarely does where it pertains to Arissa," he
muttered. "Since he deems your gift inappropriate, I should ask him what he
selected for this most auspicious day. Well?"
Richmond's expression did not waver, thinking on the lovely cross, the
stolen kisses, and the amazing process of discovery taking place between
them. “I am sure she will tell you in her own time, announcing my token of
esteem to be the finest she’s received this day," he was half-jesting, half not.
Wanting off the subject, he returned his focus to Gavan. "Tell me - how
goes the situation in London?"
Gavan's expression changed. It was not so much an obvious
transformation as it was in the light in his eyes. Richmond caught the
alteration and was needful to get the man alone.
 "Busy," Gavan replied evenly. "I have brought a few items for you, from
Henry. In fact, I left them in my saddlebags. I shall go and get them."
"I shall go with you," Richmond volunteered in a perfect excuse. When
William dismissed them both and went about his business, Richmond and
Gavan strolled casually from the gallery. Instead of moving for the bailey
en route to the knight's quarters, Gavan headed for a smaller solar off the
main corridor, rarely used except by visitors and dallying servants.
There was a small fire in the hearth, casting a warm glow about the dingy
room. As the sun set, Gavan went to his satchel already deposited against
the wall. Richmond closed the door quietly, making sure to bolt it.
"What is wrong?" he asked, his voice a rumble.
Gavan began to fumble through his bag. "A great deal, unfortunately. You
were wise to leave me behind in case any further developments arose along
the Welsh border."
"And?"
Gavan rose on thick legs, a missive in his hand. "God's Teeth, Richmond,
where to begin?” he said. “When you left, Hotspur was holding the Welsh
rebellion and Owen Glendower as best he could. Even though Owen had
captured three garrisons, for the most part the English have the upper hand.
Until Henry began expressing his displeasure at Hotspur's military
abilities."
Richmond cocked an eyebrow. "Displeasure with Henry Percy? I realize
he was unhappy that three bastions had been captured by the Welsh, but he
never expressed his dissatisfaction with Hotspur to me. In fact, he’s
extremely pleased with the man's tactics."
Gavan shook his head. "More than that, he’s simply pleased to have
mighty Northumberland fighting his Welsh war. Just before you left,
however, he began to intimate that the loss of the three fortresses to be
Hotspur's fault. It took a mere day for word of the king's distrust to reach
Henry Percy on the border and, I would imagine, he’s most disturbed with
the king's treachery."
Richmond drew in a deep, thoughtful breath. "You have not heard of his
reaction?"
Gavan shook his head. "It cannot be favorable. If Northumberland turns
against Henry in retaliation for the king's lack of faith, the results could be
devastating."
 "Devastating for Henry indeed. One cannot hold England and not be
allied with Northumberland. They rule the north."
Gavan eased himself onto the corner of a heavy table; the ride from
London had been hard and he was beginning to feel his fatigue. Moreover,
the weight of the news he bore was exhausting.
"Both Henry and Hotspur are close to you. What will you do, Richmond?
You will find yourself in the middle."
Richmond was gazing off into the flickering hearth, his handsome face
expressionless. After an eternal moment, he sighed. "I do not plan to do
anything for the moment. Unless I hear otherwise, I shall continue to wait
out the month at Lambourn and escort Lady Arissa to Whitby after the New
Year. After that, I shall return to London and, I would suspect, move
directly for the Welsh border to assist Hotspur with the rebellion."
Gavan did not say anything for a moment. "What if Hotspur becomes the
rebellion? His alliance with Henry is tenuous at best, and with the added
insult of Henry's faithlessness, we may find ourselves in another civil war."
Richmond moved away from the hearth, his brow creased with thought.
"And we shall deal with it when, and if, it comes. But until such time,
nothing changes," he motioned to the missive in Gavan's hand. "What is
that?"
Gavan rose and handed him the vellum. "From Henry. He would not tell
me what it said."
Richmond broke the red wax seal bearing the leopards and lions of
England. Unrolling the missive, he moved to the hearth to read by the light.
Gavan turned away from Richmond as he read the missive, pacing the
stone floor and lost to his own thoughts. He continued to pace about, his
mind lingering on Hotspur and paying little attention to his comrade reading
by the dim flame.
One minute turned into two, turned into five. When Gavan glanced up to
see why Richmond was taking so long in digesting the missive, he was
struck by the expression on his friend's face. He'd never seen a look of
such.... shock.
"What's the matter?" he demanded softly.
Richmond was staring at the vellum as if he were looking into the bowels
of hell. Gavan's voice seemed to snap him out of his trance, for the vellum
suddenly flew into the flames and ignited in a burst of sparks. The
parchment burned brightly.
"Richmond, what does it say?"
Richmond stared into the fluctuating flames. His mouth opened as if to
speak, then closed again. Swallowing hard, he turned to Gavan.
"A reward," he murmured. "Henry is rewarding me for my years of
service...."
Gavan peered closely at him, his brow furrowed with puzzlement. "I do
not understand. And this displeases you?"
Richmond let out a long sigh, striving to regain control of his reeling
senses. He simply couldn't comprehend what he had read.
"I do not want it," he said hoarsely, dragging his hands over his face as if
he were about to lose his mind.
"You do not want the reward?" Gavan took a step toward him, concerned
with the emotion he was witnessing. Richmond was a man of consummate
control and rarely, if ever, did he display his inner feelings. It was a
disturbing sight at the very least, especially when Gavan did not understand
the significance. Obviously, something was terribly wrong.
Richmond stood by the wall, leaning against the cold stone for support as
he struggled with his astonishment. Gavan moved towards him, eager to be
of assistance if Richmond would allow. Never mind if the missive was not
any of his business; he would make it his business.
"What in the hell is going on, Richmond?" he demanded quietly. "Why
are you so unbalanced?"
Richmond felt Gavan's presence, slowly turning to look at him. A man he
had literally trusted with his life for over ten years, and he known him far
longer than he could recall. He was a man who had no idea of the true
situation around him; for all Gavan knew, Richmond and William were old
friends, and Richmond was very fond of spending the majority of his time
at Lambourn. Considering the Earl of Berkshire was a strong supporter of
Henry, it was not an unusual situation.
Never once had Gavan questioned Richmond's strong attachment to the
earl and his family. Gazing into Gavan's brown eyes, Richmond realized
that the time for truth had come.
He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. "What I am about to tell you
will not leave this room. Do you understand?"
 Gavan nodded. "By my oath as a knight, I swear it."
Richmond's gaze lingered on him a moment longer before pushing
himself off the wall, pacing across the floor. "All is not what it appears to
be, Gavan. I have been in Henry's service for eighteen years, a very long
time. When I have not been fighting for Henry's throne, I have been here at
Lambourn. My routine and dedication has never varied."
Gavan's gaze was open, curious. Richmond continued. "I came into his
service when he entrusted me with a special mission, a task of the utmost
import. Henry himself selected me and for eighteen years I have completed
this task flawlessly."
Gavan was still gazing at him, but a look of puzzlement touched his
features. "What task?"
Richmond lowered himself onto the same table Gavan had occupied,
raking his fingers through his dark brown hair. "I am the Lady Arissa's
guardian. She’s Henry's daughter, the result of a liaison between himself
and another woman. The woman was married to a knight who threatened to
kill the babe, knowing she was not of his loins. When Arissa was five days
old, I brought her here to Lambourn and have been her protector ever
since."
Gavan's puzzled expression bloomed into a look of complete
astonishment. His mouth popped open as he stared at Richmond; quickly,
he clamped his jaw shut and put a hand to his head as if to stop the
spinning. "The Lady Arissa is Henry's daughter?"
"Aye," Richmond's voice was a hoarse whisper. "William knows, of
course, as does Lady Maude and Mossy. Including Henry and myself, there
are only five people in possession of this knowledge. And now you. You
understand why this revelation cannot become public knowledge."
Gavan took a deep, unsteady breath as he attempted to calm his swirling
thoughts. "It would seem there are several reasons why this cannot become
public information. With the instability of Henry's reign, she would be a
perfect target for blackmail or exploitation. Or her mother's husband may
still be interested in being rid of her. God's Teeth, Richmond, no wonder we
have spent the majority of the past ten years here at Lambourn. You have
been watching over Riss!"
Richmond nodded slowly, feeling every one of his thirty nine years.
"Watching over her like a hawk. And falling in love with her in the
process."
All of the color drained from Gavan's face. If he had been shocked
before, that particular expression did not begin to encompass the surprise he
felt at Richmond's subsequent admission. He stared at his friend as if he had
gone completely daft.
"You are in love with her?" he repeated in a strangled voice.
Richmond glanced at his second, noting his disbelief. "Believe me,
Gavan, I am equally stunned by the occurrence. It simply.... happened.
More importantly, she returns my feelings."
Gavan's mouth was hanging open again. "But she’s pledged to Whitby!
What are you..?"
Richmond put up a quelling hand. "I am well aware of the overall
ramifications. I have thought of little else. Until this moment, my greatest
worry was confronting Henry with the situation and demanding that he
dissolve her contract to Whitby so that I could marry her, if he would even
consider allowing the union to take place," he glanced at the red embers of
the parchment smoldering in the hearth. "Unfortunately, Henry seems to
have other plans for me."
Gavan watched the dimming flames. "You mentioned a reward. What
reward?"
Richmond sighed heavily, rising from the table and clenching his huge
fists. "For eighteen years of loyal service, Henry has seen fit to reward me
by instigating a betrothal between myself and a very wealthy widow, a
woman of importance and standing. 'Tis a tremendous honor, promising
money and prestige, a distinction any man would be thrilled to receive," his
gaze trailed up to Gavan, sluggish and somber. When he spoke, his tone
was laced with irony. "But not me. I am acquainted with this woman and
want no part of her."
The anticipation of his answer caused Gavan to lean forward on the table,
bracing himself with his thick arms. His brown eyes glittered. "Who?"
"The Lady Cecily Percy de Clare."
Gavan simply stared at him as the name sank deep. Each revelation
seemed to be greater than the previous and, suddenly, his eyes widened to
the point of popping from his skull. "Hotspur's sister!"
Richmond nodded weakly, pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the
impending ache. "And if I refuse, Hotspur will be insulted, not to mention
the fact that our king will probably string me up by my thumbs," his hand
came down, slapping against his massive thigh. "This is an added element
that is not only unwanted, it is beyond belief. I risk offending both factions
by my refusal."
"And if you offend our king, he will not be inclined to grant your petition
for Arissa," Gavan supplied softly, his shock numbing him to any further
emotion. "God's Teeth, Richmond, you certainly know how to get yourself
into trouble."
Richmond smiled; a thin, ironic gesture. "'Twould seem so. Our king
believes he’s doing me a favor by wedding me to Northumberland's
daughter, a powerful position by any account, and I will not fault him his
generosity. In addition, he’s also making a political match by pledging his
most loyal knight to a fortify an alliance that has never been particularly
robust. He’s strengthening the bonds, and I cannot fault him for that, either."
Gavan did not say anything for a moment as the gravity of the
circumstance settled. As the fire in the hearth died and the orange sun cast
its final light over the landscape, he turned to Richmond.
"What do you plan to do?"
Richmond, the cut above his eye swollen and his inflamed nose aching,
gave a laborious sigh. "Above all else, I will marry Arissa. This entire mess
pales in comparison to my love for her."
"Then it must be a great, great love," Gavan murmured. The familiar
impish smile made a weak comeback as he gazed at his friend. "I am not
sure if I should stand by your side or run for my life."
Richmond cracked a faint smile. "If I were you, I would plead complete
ignorance of the entire situation. But for you, that will not be a difficult
stretch."
Gavan laughed softly, his demeanor returning. "I shall disregard that
remark, my lord. You cannot afford to insult those who would support your
cause."
Richmond's smile faded. "You are a favorite of our king's, Gavan. That
could change should the situation grow ugly," he paused a pensive moment,
scratching his head in a nervous gesture as he struggled to compose riotous
thoughts. After a brief lull, blue eyes focused upon those of deep, earnest
brown. "Now that you are completely aware of my situation, my friend, I
would hear your advice on the matter. And do not think to spare me."
 Gavan gazed at Richmond for a long moment, his mirth fading as well.
"Will you actually listen to my reasoning or ignore me as you always do?"
"I shall listen."
Gavan could read the desperation in Richmond's expression and he
pondered the predicament as evenly as he was able. After a moment, he
spoke with gentle urgency.
"When you reach London, I would suggest that you present your petition
for Arissa before any other business can be conducted. Bargain if you must
in order to gain Henry's cooperation; your service in return for her hand, for
example. Anything to gain an edge. You have got to show the king that you
are well aware of your worth; with Hotspur bordering on rebellion, Henry
needs you as much as you need him. Do not underplay your value to the
man. Use it."
It was a passionate, entirely insightful statement. Richmond had calmed
somewhat, cocking an eyebrow at his friend. "How astute, Gavan. And how
political."
Gavan met his gaze steadily. "I know that Henry relies on you
tremendously. He will not deny you if you play the game, Richmond. You
have always been good at games."
"Arissa is not a game."
"Aye, she’s. She’s a part of the most powerful game in the world. It's
called Politics."
"And you are suggesting that I blackmail Henry with the threat of
withdrawing my service if he does not grant my demand?"
"Exactly."
"But I am sworn to him. I have pledge my loyalty. I cannot simply retract
my vow as one would break a simple promise."
Gavan crossed his thick arms, his rich brown eyes glittering. "Think for a
moment, Richmond. What would happen if you threatened to leave his
service? If he threw you in the vault, he would be depriving himself of your
service at his own hand and that, my friend, would weaken his stand against
the Welsh tremendously. If, in fact, Hotspur's offense at Henry's lack of
faith forces him to side with Glendower, the king needs you desperately and
you must be prepared to use that to your advantage."
Richmond sighed weakly, glancing to the smoldering embers of
parchment. Gavan could sense his indecision, his pain, and he sought to
accomplish final reasoning that would propel Richmond from the realm of
indecision.
"All of your life you have bowed to the man. You have been his greatest
strength, his most obedient knight willing to do anything for his cause. You
obviously proved that the day you accepted Arissa's guardianship. Now it is
time for Henry to pay you your due. Demand that he show you as much
loyalty as you have shown him."
Richmond stared at the distant flames, his pensive expression unreadable.
Gavan continued to watch him, riveted to his face, waiting for an indication
alluding to his inner thoughts. After a moment, Richmond's eyes came
away from the crackling fire, the news of the day consuming his thoughts.
The Welsh, Hotspur, his betrothal, Gavan's advice.... God's Teeth, it was
almost too much to bear.
He had no choice but to accept the world in which he had chosen to exist.
But foremost above the swirling depths of his disturbing reflections, one
idea reigned supreme and he found himself calming with the mere memory
of her face. How he needed that calm.
"She’s furious with me, you know," he muttered.
"Who?"
"Arissa."
Gavan's brow furrowed. "What did you do this time?"
With a heavy sigh, Richmond spilled out the entire story and then some.

***

Arissa could hear the sounds of laughter and music wafting on the chill
night air. Clouds were beginning to gather in the midnight blue sky,
indicative of an approaching storm. The bailey below her window was
filled with soldiers on their rounds, men on horseback and still others with
large wolfhounds. As the party was in full swing in the cavernous expanse
of Lambourn's gallery, the guest of honor was nowhere to be seen.
Lady Maude had pleaded for twenty minutes for Arissa to come
downstairs and take her rightful place. Arissa had stubbornly refused,
insisting that her stomach was terribly upset and she would not embarrass
herself by becoming ill in front of her guests. Actually, it was not far from
the truth; her stomach was twisting with more emotion than she ever
thought possible and it was difficult to refrain from asking of Regine's fate.
Knowing her mother to be the consummate worrier, however, she
suspected that if the woman had any knowledge of Regine's trouble, she
would not have been pleading with Arissa to join her own party in lieu of
shielding her baby from the coming wrath.
Since Maude was obviously ignorant to her youngest daughter's
problems, Arissa was led to believe that her father was shouldering the
shame entirely. But she refrained from asking about her father, too. She
simply wanted to be left alone to wallow in her misery.
She was, however, able to convince her mother to leave with the
assurance that she would rest for the time being in the hope of improving
her illness. Promising her mother that she would try to join the celebration
later, Maude was able to rejoin her guests with the anticipation of Arissa's
future company when, in fact, Arissa had no intention of joining the party
Richmond was in the process of ruining.
Her frustration and misery had not abated since he had left with Regine.
If anything, it had deepened. She simply could not believe that he had been
so cruel, so unfeeling and insensitive toward her needs. He had hurt her
deeply and had not been the least bit concerned with his actions.
A soft knock on the door roused her from her thoughts. Rubbing her arms
against the cold breeze, she turned toward the heavy oak panel.
"Who comes?"
There was a slight pause. "Someone who wishes to congratulate you on
your birthday."
She recognized the voice. Opening the door, she was greeted by Gavan
Hage's smiling face. And what a face it was; square-jawed, masculine, and
very handsome. Gavan's lively brown eyes were glittering as she opened the
door.
"I thought something was missing in the gallery," he said, his huge fists
resting on narrow hips. "When I realized it was you, I made haste to locate
your whereabouts. What are you doing in here while the rest of Lambourn
is drinking themselves into oblivion?"
She couldn't help but smile at him. Gavan was a calm, mannerly, gentle
knight with the most enormous shoulders she had ever seen. A few inches
shorter than Richmond, he was as strong as a bear.
 "I am not feeling well," she offered lamely. "I thought to rest a while
before attending my party."
His smile faded. "Richmond told me that you were angry with him. May
I come in?"
Her smile faded as she stepped aside, ushering him inside her bower.
Softly, she closed the door.
"Did he tell you why?" she asked quietly.
He nodded. "Regine is downstairs enjoying herself, as you should be."
Her brows drew together. "Regine is down.... I do not understand. I
thought Richmond was going to tell my father.... surely Regine is being
punished!"
A flicker of a smile crossed Gavan's lips. "Indeed, she was punished. I
said she was enjoying herself, but I did not mention that she cannot sit
down. She most likely will be unable to use a chair for a week."
Arissa was completely puzzled. "What are you talking about, Gavan?"
He chuckled softly. "Richmond spanked her. Welted her backside so
severely that she can scarcely walk. Your father does not know, and
Richmond's soldier remains in the vault. He will be stripped of his rank and
weaponry and dismissed from the corp come the morrow. Richmond
thought it would be best to handle it in this manner rather than create a
chaotic issue out of the event. He will leave the explaining to Regine; she’s
six months to comply or he will tell your father himself."
Arissa's eyes opened wide with surprise. "He.... he did not kill the
soldier?"
Gavan shook his head. "A few men witnessed Regine's seduction. In fact,
one man even heard Regine order him into compliance. Although the
soldier should have known better, he was more or less coerced by an
aggressive young girl who demanded she teach him the finer arts of
sexuality," he snorted softly. "I would have hoped that Regine would have
outgrown this peculiar phase she seemed to have entered into last year. To
demand a common soldier into taking her virginity is bizarre at best."
Arissa let out a sigh of disbelief, of relief. "And Richmond will allow
Regine to tell father what she’s done?"
"She’s six months."
Arissa turned away from Gavan, almost weak with alleviation. She had
spent the past hour hating Richmond for ruining her party with his
misplaced sense of determination when, in fact, he had dealt with the
situation as befitting his wisdom and tact. Since he had never said exactly
what he had intended to do, and she had assumed the worst. She should
have trusted him. Hesitantly, she turned her gaze to Gavan.
"Surely he’s angry with me," she said softly. "I said hateful words,
Gavan. Is that why he sent you here? Because he’s too angry to come
himself?"
Gavan shook his head. "Nay, Riss. He sent me because he thought you
might punch him in the nose if he attempted to show his face. He wanted to
make sure your anger had cooled."
She smiled, ashamed of her rage. "I was foolish, I suppose. I should have
trusted him."
"Aye, you should have. Richmond has always had your best interests in
mind," his gaze moved over her black head, looking at her through new
eyes. Certainly she was an incredibly beautiful woman; he'd always thought
so. He should have realized Richmond's attraction long ago.
Arissa nodded in agreement as Gavan pondered his thoughts. She noticed
his distant expression but attributed it to his long ride from London. Her
face brightened as she changed the subject. "We missed you during the
Stick and Ball game today. It was most exciting."
Gavan chuckled softly. "Richmond is much better at the game than I.
Moreover, I understand the earl's team was victorious without my help."
Arissa raised her dark eyebrows, her expression humorous. "Nonetheless,
you were missed. Richmond did not have you to knock over the opposing
players, making his victory much harder fought."
He laughed again. ""Tis all I am good for, truly. Knocking down men
who oppose Richmond's tyranny."
Arissa put her hands on his arm. "You think too little of yourself, Gavan.
I am sure you are good for other things, although I cannot think of any at
the moment." Slipping her fingers into the crook of his elbow, she laughed
happily at his insulted expression, deeply relieved that he had come to
explain the turn of events. Suddenly, she felt very much like attending her
party. "Shall we go downstairs? Bart promised me a special performance."
Gavan cocked an eyebrow. "God's Teeth, more paganistic teachings? Or,
mayhap, he plans to reenact the entire battle of Marathon; portraying five
thousand soldiers all by himself."
 She wagged her finger at him as they moved for the door. "My brother is
a great actor, Gavan. I forbid you to criticize his talent."
Gavan opened the door for her. "Your brother is a loon."
"'Tis the future earl you speak of."
"The future earl is a loon."
She laughed as he escorted her into the corridor. Gavan passed a glance at
her beautiful face, knowing exactly why Richmond was in love with her. He
loved his own wife for the very same reasons; beauty, life, spirit, purity of
the soul. And knowing how he felt about his own wife, he also knew
without a doubt that he would shrivel and die without her by his side.
As they took the stairs into the gallery, he could only imagine the torment
Richmond was feeling at the direction his destiny had taken. With all of the
political turmoil threatening the crown, a bevy of personal problems was an
unwelcome factor.
If Arissa only knew the whole of it. He listened to her voice as she spoke,
listening but not truly hearing her. He couldn't help but wonder if the
impending future would somehow alter the spirit within her, quell the life.
As she was destined for Whitby Abbey and Richmond found himself facing
an unwanted betrothal and a potential civil war, it would seem that a
permanent wedge was to be driven between them.
Desperately in love but prevented from being together. As the bright light
from the gallery hit Gavan in the face, he couldn't ever remember a darker
situation.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER EIGHT

"Riss, where have you been?" Bartholomew snatched her away from
Gavan as soon as she entered the hall. "I have been waiting for you!"
Arissa kept an eye out for Richmond as Bartholomew swept her deep into
the room. "I am sorry, I was not feeling well."
He led her towards the head table where William and Maude were seated.
Mossy was absent, as was usual; just as Richmond shied from a crowd,
Mossy avoided social gatherings at all costs and Arissa was not surprised to
discover him to be truant. Regine, however, was lingering by the edge of
the table, in conversation with Emma. When she caught sight of her sister,
her blue eyes widened.
"No matter," Bartholomew said, rushing his sister towards the long table.
"Take your seat and I shall commence."
William and Maude noticed their daughter's approach, rising to their feet
as Bartholomew practically tossed the birthday girl onto the dais. Arissa
stumbled with her brother's rough treatment, passing him an intolerant
glance as she moved for her customary chair. On her father's left hand,
Richmond usually sat to her left. His seat was vacant.
Bartholomew disappeared as she took her chair. William greeted her
fondly, demanding food and wine for the guest of honor. As a trencher was
brought forward, the earl commanded the small minstrel orchestra situated
in the corner of the hall to begin their program in tribute to his daughter's
arrival.
Her appetite was customarily weak as she scanned the room for
Richmond, listening to her father's voice as he conversed with Baron
Buscot. Several retainers were hovering about the head table, men she did
not recognize and had no interest in meeting. At the moment, her primary
concern was locating Richmond.
She was greatly distracted from her search, however, as guests began to
approach, relaying congratulations and delivering small tokens of their
esteem. Lady Maude moved from her husband's right hand, taking a
position beside her daughter as friends and allies paid their respects.
Arissa's patience was brittle, but she tried her best to be cordial in the midst
of a plethora of compliments.
The crowd about the dais was growing larger and Gavan and Carlton
took position in front of the table, controlling the throng and making sure
there was not an eager stampede. Maude delivered most of the thanks, an
extremely gracious woman while her daughter offered feeble words of
gratitude. The fact that Richmond was missing upset her greatly, reflective
in her somber mood.
The crowd began to die down when a troop of dancers assumed their
places near the orchestra. From Macedonia, their costumes were a mixture
of bright colors, mostly greens, reds and whites, and embroidered with
elaborate patterns. Arissa actually found her interest captured as they began
their intricate dance, women with women and men with men.
Her father leaned toward her as the performers cavorted about in the
center of the room. "Do you like them? The Earl of Kent commissioned the
group to perform at the celebration we attended last month in honor of his
birthday. I thought you might appreciate their skills."
She nodded, kissing her father on the cheek dutifully. "They are
wonderful, Father," her gazed moved from the dancers to the gallery
surrounding her. "Where's Richmond?"
William glanced about disinterestedly. "I do not know. I saw him earlier.
But I see that Gavan found you."
She nodded, returning her attention to the dancers as a serving wench
topped her wine. "I hope Emma does not throw herself at him like she did
the last he was here."
William snorted, drinking deeply of his chalice. "Gavan has more women
throwing themselves at him than he can handle. I have never seen such a
reluctant object of adoration."
The music picked up pace and the performers commenced with a lively
routine. The group of guests clapped in rhythm as a line of male dancers
began to dance in a well-orchestrated circle, dropping to their knees and
bounding to their feet as the music demanded. Arissa continued to observe
with growing interest when a body suddenly moved beside her.
"I think they're boring," Regine sniffed, perching herself on the seat
Richmond usually occupied. "I want to dance."
 Arissa peered closely at her younger sister, noting that the girl was barely
resting her bottom on the chair. "We will be dancing all night. And I do not
think the performers are boring in the least."
Regine did not reply, lifting her shoulders in a spoiled gesture. A serving
wench passed by with a full trencher and Regine imperiously demanded
that it be placed in front of her. The plate was barely settled before the
plump young girl was digging into the food with both hands.
The group of performers executed several dances. Regine finished her
trencher and greedily consumed two goblets of fine wine as Arissa wait for
Richmond to make an appearance. Her attention was diverted from the
entertainment at one point when she saw Emma and Gavan to be in
conversation, but Emma seemed to be controlling her urges rather well and
Gavan was actually smiling.
Satisfied the situation did not require her intervention, she returned her
focus to the last few moments of the Macedonian act and wondered if
Richmond was ever going to show himself. She did so want to apologize
for her hateful words.
The performance abruptly came to an end and the gay audience
applauded loudly. Just as the dancers were leaving the floor, a shadow fell
across Arissa from behind. Huge hands reached down for Regine.
"Remove yourself, lady," Richmond's voice was low. "You are in my
chair."
Regine leapt to her feet as if his touch had burned her, stumbling in her
haste to dislodge her blistered bottom from the embroidered seat. Her eyes
were big on Richmond as she gave the man a wide berth, scampering away
in fear. Richmond did not so much as pass her a glance as he assumed his
seat beside Arissa.
Arissa's gaze was anxious as she looked upon him. He kept his attention
averted, however, shoving aside Regine's trencher and summoning his own.
Only when he was served with both food and drink did he turn his focus to
Arissa.
Arissa lost her breath with the intense look in his eye. They blazed upon
her and instinctively, her palms began to sweat. But it was more than his
gaze; the overall picture of Richmond le Bec was enough to strike her
speechless. The magnificent presentation lain before her had been well
worth the wait.
 He was armorless. She'd never seen him armorless on a social situation.
Clad in a dark blue tunic, simple but masculine, black breeches and his
customary black boots, he looked absolutely stunning. The swelling on the
bridge of his nose had almost disappeared and the cut above his eye was
practically invisible. He was glorious.
"Greetings, my lady."
She swallowed hard, followed by a feeble smile. She couldn't seem to
take her eyes off him. "Good eve, my lord."
He returned her smile, his eyes glittering. "Your party seems to be a
success already. What did you think of the Macedonian dancers?"
"They were wonderful," her voice was strangely tight. She couldn't care
less about the Macedonian dancers at the moment. "Where have you been? I
thought.... I thought mayhap you had decided not to attend."
His brow furrowed momentarily. "Why would you think that? I do
apologize for my tardiness, however. After a day of rolling in the dirt I
thought it best to bathe before attending your celebration, lest I chase off
your guests with my foul odor."
Her smile turned genuine. "Where is your armor?"
"I cannot dance in armor."
"You plan to dance? Richmond, I do not believe I have ever seen you
dance."
"Because I have never danced with you."
A charming blush crept into her cheeks and she looked away, taking a
dainty sip from her chalice. The evening was looking brighter already.
"Thank you for sending Gavan to escort me," she said quietly. "I am sorry
he did not bring Kathryn."
"Kathryn cannot travel in her pregnant condition and Gavan is nervous
enough without the added risk of a long ride," he glanced across the room.
"Emma, however, does not share your view."
Arissa looked over her shoulder. Emma was following Gavan around as
he moved about the room. He was seeing to the security of the gallery as
Carlton and Daniel enjoyed themselves and did not need the added
distraction of Emma's company.
Arissa shook her head at her aggressive friend. "I shall go and speak with
her."
 He put his hand on her arm as she moved to stand. "Gavan is a grown
man and can handle himself against the onslaught," when Arissa relaxed
into her seat, he smiled at her. "I demand that you ignore the rabble and
enjoy yourself. This is your party, is it not?"
She returned his grin. "It is," after a lengthy pause, her smile faded. "I am
sorry I became angry with you, Richmond. I should not have said what I
did."
He patted her hand, a quick squeeze before releasing it. "There is nothing
to forgive, kitten. If anyone should apologize, it should be I for upsetting
you so on your birthday."
"You had every right to be angry," she lowered her voice so her father
would not hear. "I approve of the manner in which you handled the
situation. You are exceedingly wise."
He cocked a dark eyebrow, finishing the insult. "As befitting my age."
She smiled. "Your words, my love, not mine."
Arissa watched Richmond through dreamy eyes as he devoured his meal.
He cast her an occasional wink, his favorite gesture, trying desperately not
to appear too upswept with her delightful beauty. But it was terribly
difficult when her sweet face was a mere foot from his own, her green eyes
watching his every move.
More than that, he was positive that if she gazed into his eyes long
enough, she would be able to read of his terrible guilt, his sweeping grief.
Discovering his betrothal not an hour before still had him reeling with
shock, a shock that transformed into unimaginable pain every time he gazed
in Arissa's eyes. He knew, without a doubt, that she would take the news
much harder than he had.
Arissa suddenly leaned against his arm, sending a surge of shock bolting
through his body. His first reaction was to move away from her lest William
take note their close contact, but in the next breath he realized that Arissa
had oft leaned against him over the years, an affectionate gesture and
nothing more. And if she was not leaning on him, she was sitting upon his
lap and demanding stories. There was nothing unusual about their contact
and he struggled to maintain a casual manner.
Her cheek against his massive bicep, Arissa yawned. "When are they
going to commence dancing?"
 He gazed down at her dark head, resisting the urge to deposit a kiss on
the raven tresses. "Give the word, kitten, and I shall command it."
She raised her head, gazing up at his incredible face. "The word is given.
I want a lively dance, if you please."
He frowned, feeling himself being sucked into the powerful vortex of her
gaze. "Not too lively. I will not be able to keep pace."
"You mean you are too old to keep pace," she laughed softly at his
menacing expression. "Hurry, now. Go and tell them to begin playing
before I fall asleep."
"You would fall asleep at your own party?"
It was a comment more than a question. Obediently, he rose to his full
height and Arissa couldn't take her eyes off him. Casting her a bold wink,
he stepped around his chair and moved off the dais. Just as he was passing
in front of the table en route to the orchestra, he came to an abrupt, if not
disbelieving, halt. Arissa tore her eyes off of him long enough to glance to
the source of his focus.
Bartholomew was moving into the room, clad in yards and yards of white
fabric that had been dirtied with soot or some other sort of blackness. His
face was painted white and dark circles ringed his faded blue eyes. Beside
her, she heard her father groan.
"Good Christ, now what?" he said miserably, motioning to Richmond
standing on the other side of the table. "Get him out of here, Richmond. I
shall not have him spoiling the celebration."
Richmond stepped in Bartholomew's direction, but Arissa leapt to her
feet and held out a quelling hand. "No, Richmond, leave him alone. He’s
about to perform a special skit in honor of my birthday."
Richmond halted his forward momentum, his gaze moving between
Arissa and her father. William focused on his daughter. "What sort of skit?
Did he tell you?"
"Of course not, father. It is a surprise."
William cast a long glance at his son, who was currently taking position
by the elaborate hearth. He shook his head slowly. "He looks as if he’s just
survived a bout with the plague. What sort of performance could he be
planning with that costume?"
Lady Maude stood up on the other side of her husband. "If it is honor of
his sister's birthday, then we will all sit and enjoy it. No matter what it is,"
she regained her seat, waving a stern hand to Richmond. "Return to your
seat, Richmond."
Richmond obeyed. As soon as he pulled his chair up to the table, Arissa
wound her warm fingers around his hand. Under the table, he clutched her
tightly.
The crowd saw that Bartholomew was about to speak and a hush settled
over the smoke-hazed room. Bartholomew faced his sister, his parents, and
raised his arm in simulation of a Roman salute.
"Greetings, friends, guests, relatives, honored nobles. In tribute to my
sister's most monumental day of birth, I have prepared a prolific Greek
prose that, in itself, hinges the meaning of life," he focused on his sister
dramatically. "For you, my dear sister. Congratulations that you have
achieved this day:
'Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate,
Sad Acheron of sorrow black and deep;
Cocytus named of lamentation loud
Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon
Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.'"
The prose was delivered with great flourish, gloom-and-doom that would
be better suited for a funeral than a birthday celebration. William put his
face in his hand and shook his head with disbelief while the rest of the hall
was deadly silent, listening with intense concern and puzzlement.
"He’s praising her by reciting a poem about the River Styx?" Gavan was
suddenly crouched by Richmond's left hand. Two seats down, Daniel and
Penelope sat with open mouths as Bartholomew raised his voice with great
theatrical control. Regine, loitering at the end of the table, watched her
sister and Richmond closely for their reaction.
Richmond kept his gaze straight ahead, on Bartholomew. "Hardly
appropriate." Beside him, Arissa hushed them both sternly.
Bartholomew took a dramatic pause, propping his foot on a chair and
pretending to pilot a boat as one does when crossing water, by using a pole
and pushing it across the bottom.
" 'Far off from these slow and silent stream.
Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls
Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks
Forthwith his former state and being forgets,
 Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.'"
He suddenly bowed with great embellishment before any applause was
attempted. As he took his third bow, the stunned audience began to clap
weakly for a performance that was obviously concluded.
Bartholomew soaked up the timid adoration like a sponge. As if he had
just completed the greatest performance of his life, he thanked the crowd
graciously, working his way toward the dais, shaking hands and kissing
women’s' palms as he went on his way. He knew, without question, that he
was the greatest actor in all the civilized world. Soon enough, all of
England would realize it as well.
The applause was already dying out as Richmond and Gavan watched
him approach. "God's Teeth," Gavan muttered, rising from his crouch. "Of
all the...."
Arissa shot him a nasty look, giving her brother a loud standing ovation
as he approached. Gavan bit his tongue and removed himself from the dais
lest Arissa physically attack him for his opinion. Richmond, however, was
not so fortunate.
"That was by far the most unsuitable act...."
Arissa turned to him before he could finish his sentence. "If you say one
negative word to him, Richmond le Bec, I shall have your head. Do you
understand me?"
Richmond glanced at William, his back turned against his daughter and
the great knight as he conversed softly with his wife. And Richmond had
little doubt regarding the subject. Turning his gaze to Arissa once again, he
nodded once in resignation. "Perfectly, kitten."
Pleased with his submission, Arissa returned her focus to her brother as
he came upon the table. His smile was bright as he took both of Arissa's
hands into his own, kissing them loudly.
"For you, my darling Riss," he said happily. "Are you pleased?"
She nodded vigorously. "It was wonderful, Bart, simply wonderful.
Thank you so much for a most memorable gift."
His smile threatened to divide his face in half. He glanced at Richmond,
waiting expectantly for the same words of praise. Richmond cocked a
stubborn eyebrow until Arissa stepped on his foot. It was not a painful
action, but he took the hint nonetheless. It would please Arissa and,
therefore, he would perjure himself.
 "Most accomplished, Bart," he mumbled.
Bartholomew bowed courteously in thanks. "I am glad you are pleased. I
have saved several others for later this eve when everyone grows tired of
dancing."
William had turned away from Maude and sat listening to the
conversation. Maude had managed to convince him to praise his son's
talents and he was fully prepared to do so. But when Bartholomew
intimated that his performance was not yet complete, he could no longer
remain silent.
"This is a party, Bart, not a theatre performance," he said sternly. "You
cannot expect people to sit still when there is music and food and
entertainment to be had. Truthfully, I do believe one dose of Greek Tragedy
is quite enough."
Arissa turned to her father, highly aware of her brother's feelings.
Bartholomew was terribly sensitive when it came to his craft.
"I.... I think it would be wonderful, Father,” she insisted. “Mayhap Bart
could grant us another recitation later on this evening. I would certainly
enjoy it, and you saw the favorable reaction of our guests to his act."
William cast her a droll, irritable glance. "Aye, I saw their reaction. And I
would hardly call it favorable."
"It was grand!" Maude leapt to her son's defense. "However, I would
suggest that you change out of your costume and enjoy the evening. You are
a host and certainly not expected to entertain your guests as a common
artisan. Truthfully, dear, it is beneath your station as heir to the earldom to
perform in front of those you would preside over."
Leave it to Maude to tactfully put an end to Bartholomew's act. His
expression dampened somewhat and he glanced at Arissa uncertainly.
Seeing his indecision, Arissa took her mother's lead.
"I must agree with mother, Bart," she said gently. "Although your
performance was magnificent, it is quite different when you perform for the
immediate family. To display yourself for your vassals, subjecting yourself
to their review, is hardly fitting for the future earl."
Bartholomew's gaze roved over the entire table, his eyes veiled with
doubt. After a moment, he nodded reluctantly. "If that is your wish, then I
shall adhere to it. I am sorry you feel that way."
 Arissa could see that his feelings were hurt and she’stened to assure him.
"Truly, Bart, I could listen to you all night. Please do not be angry."
He shook his head, his mood damp and his demeanor somber. "I am not. I
suppose I shall go and change so that I may join the festivities," he slanted
his father a cold glance. "So that I may blend in with the crowd. That is
what you want, is it not? You would have me be like all the rest so that you
are not embarrassed by your son, the eccentric."
He moved across the room, leaving Arissa in tears. As Regine slipped
after her brother, William sighed heavily. "'Tis about time he realizes my
view. It's taken him a long time to become aware of his station in life.
Mayhap now he will even reconsider his knighthood and forget about this
ridiculous thespian art."
Arissa turned to her father. "How can you be so heartless? Bart is a
deeply sensitive man with a good deal of intelligence and vigor. How can
you quash his spirit under your boot as one would a spider?"
"Do not fret so, Riss," William saw her tears but, as usual, was not overly
swayed. Sometimes he was quite inept when it came to sensing the depths
of the human soul. "He’s not quashed, but merely realizing his place in the
world. He’s to be an earl, not an idiot performer with dreams of grandeur.
The sooner he come to grips with his destiny, the better for us all."
Arissa stared at her father. He could be callous man at times, with little
understanding beyond very basic emotions. Even when it came to his own
family. He viewed the world the way he wanted to see it or not at all; all
else was scorned or ignored.
"You hurt his feelings, Father," she said softly, knowing she might as well
be talking to a stone wall.
William snorted, accepting another goblet of fine wine. "He will
overcome his foolish emotions. I shall not coddle my son's temperamental
state as if he were a weakling. He’s the future earl and damn well better
start acting as such."
There was no use in speaking with the man and Arissa turned away from
him. Concerned with her brother's mental condition, she moved away from
the table intent upon seeking him. Richmond reached out and grasped her
arm as she passed him by.
"Where are you going, Riss?"
 "To find Bart," she passed an angry glance at her father. "Regine is
comforting him and so shall I. Together we will prove to him that at least
two members of his family care about his craft."
Richmond shook his head faintly. "He’s Regine to console him for the
moment. Stay and enjoy your party and we shall seek him later."
She pulled her arm free, hurt and angry on her brother's behalf. "I would
find him now, Richmond."
He snatched her once more, more firmly this time. "Leave Bart to regain
his composure. For now, I feel like dancing. Will you join me, or must I
seek out another willing partner?"
She gazed at him, her mood instantly moving from frustration to one of
uncertainty. "You.... you would dance with another?"
He smiled, moving to take her hand. He kissed it softly before placing it
on his arm. "Perish the thought, kitten. Unless, of course, you refuse me."
She gripped his arm tightly, her eyes bright. As much as she was
concerned for her brother's feelings, there were few things in life that took
precedence over the young man's emotions. And Richmond was one of
them.
"I would never refuse you,” she whispered.
In spite of the fact that Richmond hadn't danced in years, he was a
marvelous dancer. He held his own quite nicely through two folkdances and
one slow ballad until Arissa had to sit down because she was beginning to
breathe laboriously. He brought her a chalice of cider, fending off two
would-be dance partners who were unfortunate to venture too close.
Arissa watched Richmond with sparkling eyes as he intimidated the
young noblemen, giggling into her goblet when they scattered like
frightened chickens. He never had to utter more than a word or two, and his
menacing glare usually precluded even that. One look from Richmond le
Bec was enough to send the fear of God into the heartiest of men.
"Why are you laughing?" he had knelt beside her chair, his amused gaze
upon her.
She fought off a broad grin. "Because you are so entirely nasty. They
simply wished to dance with me, Richmond, not propose marriage."
He looked away, his eyes roving across the moving dance floor. "They
shall not touch you. No man will, ever."
Her grin broke through the restraint, warm and tender. "Except you."
 He slanted her a gaze. "I am the only man worthy of you."
She couldn't take her eyes off him. "I do love you, Richmond," she
whispered.
His gaze turned smoky and deep. "And I love you, kitten."
A pretty flush mottled her cheeks as she tore her eyes away from him,
draining the contents of her chalice. Richmond allowed his gaze to linger on
her a moment longer, moving his attention to the crowd of dancers as one
ballad stopped and another immediately commenced. It was a slow, lovely
song and he rose to his feet, intent on taking Arissa in his arms once more
until he was stopped dead in his tracks.
"Murderer!" came a harrowing cry.
The room slowed, voices hushed as all eyes turned towards the source of
the accusation. Richmond had been in the process of helping Arissa to her
feet when the shout was heard; still clutching her hand, he turned in the
direction of the howl.
Ovid de Rydal stood in the massive archway leading into the gallery, his
fat face coated with perspiration and grief. Richmond did not think it
strange that he seemed focused on him until Ovid began to stumble in his
direction.
"Murderer!" he croaked again, pointing a meaty finger at Richmond.
"You have all but killed my boy!"
Richmond stiffened as an odd silence settled over the gallery. The music,
the dancers, had come to a halt as Ovid de Rydal ranted and swayed like a
madman, and the object of his accusation was apparently none other than
the mighty Richmond le Bec. Arissa watched, shocked, as Ovid came to an
unsteady halt a few feet away from Richmond.
"You did this!" Ovid hissed, a wild gleam to his eye. "You killed him,
you bastard. I demand justice!"
"You will do me the courtesy of telling me what has occurred before you
proceed with your wild allegations," Richmond's voice was
characteristically controlled. "I do not appreciate public slander."
Ovid swallowed hard, licking his dry lips. Tucked into his wide, gold-link
belt was a slip of crimson; he pulled it free, waving it in Richmond's face.
"This is your crest, is it not? Henry's standard!"
Richmond eyed the man before reaching out a deliberate hand to retrieve
the material from Ovid's grasp. After a moment of scrutiny, he nodded. "It
is."
The tension in the room thickened. On the dais, William was on his feet
and Maude watched, terrified, as de Rydal soldiers suddenly appeared in the
doorway leading from the foyer.
"Ovid, remove your soldiers immediately," William boomed, leaping
from the dais as fast as his rotund body could move. "How dare you bring
arms into my home!"
Ovid was quivering violently, unresponsive to his host as his eyes
remained riveted to Richmond. William moved to stand beside Richmond,
his fair face threatening. "Do you hear me? Remove your soldiers before I
unleash my personal guard!"
As if on cue, several dozen soldiers appeared on the lofts overlooking the
grand gallery, armed to the teeth with crossbows and long-range spears. As
Ovid tore his gaze away long enough to look upward, Gavan emerged from
the kitchen doors, leading an entire company of Richmond's soldiers. But he
refrained from positioning them, waiting for Richmond's signal.
Tension was joined by fear. There were as many soldiers as guests in the
gallery and the noblemen began to shield the wives and daughters
instinctively. On the dais, Daniel and Carlton had herded the ladies into a
small, frightened huddle in anticipation of unfolding events.
It did not take Ovid an over amount of intelligence or time to deduce that
he had, mayhap, acted rashly. But his grief was consuming him, driving him
daft with unchecked emotion. Emotion that devoured his common sense as
he faced off against Richmond and William.
"I came for le Bec," his voice was shaky, thin. "Give him to me and I
shall be happy to remove my men-at-arms."
"I am not going anywhere, as I am completely innocent of these
outrageous charges you are so free in announcing," Richmond said steadily.
"If your son has been assaulted, it was not my doing."
"You are a liar!" Ovid crowed in grief, shaking a finger at Richmond.
"My boy is dying because of your twisted sense of pride. You sent your
men to ambush him in retaliation for his alleged action against you during
the Stick and Ball game!"
"That is nonsense," William snapped quietly. "Richmond le Bec is not a
murderer. He’s a respected knight with an impeccable reputation."
 "He was hostile to Tad from the onset!" Ovid returned angrily, his voice
cracking with emotion. "From the very moment my son set foot inside
Lambourn, Richmond has declared a personal vendetta against him!"
"Why would I do that?" Richmond asked calmly. "I do not even know
your son. He, however, has proven to be ill-mannered and sly, which is why
he was sent on his way. If he was ambushed, I had nothing to do with it."
"Then explain your standard, le Bec!" Ovid thrust a thick finger at the
tattered piece of fabric. "It was on the arrow that imbedded itself within my
son's chest!"
Richmond handed the fabric to William, who studied it closely. "I assure
you, Lord de Rydal, that I had nothing to do with the attack on your son. I
swear this to you."
Ovid's expression began to loosen, far less furious and far more
desperate. "He’s just a lad, a young lad with a glorious future ahead of him.
Why would you do this?" Between Richmond and William, he caught sight
of Arissa's astonished face and he suddenly focused on her. His accusations
progressed to gain a portion of madness. "It's because of her, isn't it? My
Tad graced her with his presence and charm and the both of you took
offense to his attentions. You are both involved in this.... this plot!"
"The only plot is the one you have managed to create within your own
mind," William answered, his voice a growl. "You will clear out of here
immediately, de Rydal. Consider yourself fortunate if I do not seek a
measure of vengeance against you for ruining my daughter's birthday."
Ovid's wild gaze moved between Richmond and William. He was so
badly shaken that his gray-hued cheeks were visibly quivering. "The king
will hear about this. Simply because le Bec is a royal favorite does not
mean that he can get away with murder. There will be justice!"
"If I understand correctly, Tad isn't dead yet," William reminded him.
"Furthermore, Richmond has told you that he did not have a hand in this
and you will do him the courtesy of believing his word."
Ovid shook his head, taking a step back and nearly stumbling over his
floor-length surcoat. He continued to weave unsteadily as he quit the room,
his eyes locked on Richmond and William. He moved like a man whose
control had escaped him, a soul spiraling towards the depths of insanity.
"I shall have my revenge," he said hoarsely, spittle dripping from his lips.
"I am not daft, le Bec. You did this, as the evidence states. This is not over!"
 Richmond did not reply as Ovid staggered from the room, followed
closely by his soldiers. Near the kitchens, Gavan emitted a piercing whistle
and Richmond's troops immediately closed in to pursue the de Rydal group.
The sounds of jingling mail and marching boots filled the gallery when the
only sounds heard should have been those of music and laughter.
Shaken, William did not even wait until Richmond's soldiers had cleared
the room before he ordered the music to resume. Weakly, the orchestra
struck up a lively tune that quickly escalated into a gay dance. 'Twould
seem that the entire crowd of guests was eager to forget the fear that had
filled the air not a few moments before, and several couples delved into the
folkdance eagerly.
Richmond was gradually aware that Arissa was clutching his hand so
tightly that her nails had drawn blood. He passed a concerned glance at her
as William turned to him.
"Goddamn lunatic," he muttered, meeting Richmond's gaze. "I apologize
for the public humiliation, Richmond."
Richmond shook his head. "No need, William. But I am rather concerned
that my standard appeared on the arrow that struck down Tad de Rydal.
Under the circumstances, Lord de Rydal could only believe I was
announcing my revenge for being ousted in the game this afternoon."
"You professed your innocence and he should be intelligent enough to
take you at your word," William scratched his head in a nervous gesture,
glancing to the calming dais. "Well, now, Maude is upset. I should go calm
my wife. Will you take care of my daughter, as you have done so ably for
all these years?"
Richmond looked down at Arissa, her face pale and fearful. He forced a
brave smile. "I shall make a valiant attempt."
William looked to his daughter, knowing that Richmond would be far
better at calming her nerves that he would have been. Richmond had always
been able to communicate with her, whereas he had never quite managed to
make a strong connection.
As the earl strolled across the room, loudly assuring guests that all was
well and demanding they continue to enjoy themselves, Richmond pried
Arissa's fingers from his bloodied hand.
"Would you care to dance, kitten?" he asked gently.
 Her eyes were wide at him. "I.... I do not feel like dancing," a sob
suddenly caught in her throat. "Oh, Richmond, he thinks you tried to
murder Tad! Ovid has a huge army and...!"
"And you think he would be foolish enough to declare war against his
liege?" he smiled, attempting to alleviate her growing panic. "I had nothing
to do with Tad's ambush, Riss. When Ovid calms, he realize that I am a man
of my word. If I were going to do away with the lad, I would have had
ample opportunity while he was here at Lambourn. Why would I want until
he was on the road?"
She was struggling to control the threat of tears. "But he says..!"
He grasped her delicate arms firmly. "He doesn't know what he’s saying.
He’s grieved and not thinking clearly," releasing her fragile limbs, he
snaked an arm about her slender shoulders. "Let us take a walk about the
compound and clear your head. Mayhap we shall go up to the battlements
and throw rocks at Ovid's soldiers as they are forcibly escorted from
Lambourn."
She couldn't smile at his attempted humor. "I do not want to go for a
walk," she said softly. "I am exhausted, Richmond. I want to retire."
He gazed at her pale face, feeling the familiar concern for her frail health.
"Aren't you feeling well, kitten?"
She shook her head. "Not really. I fear this eventful day has taxed my
strength."
"Of course," he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and moved
through the crowd toward the head dais. Maude was leaning against her
husband as Lady Livia fanned her furiously. William glanced up from his
wife as his daughter and Richmond approached.
"You are mother isn't feeling well, Arissa," he said. "She begs your
forgiveness that she must leave your celebration early."
"Arissa wishes to retire as well," Richmond answered for her. "This
entire day has been rather draining."
"My poor Riss," Maude said weakly. "I am so sorry, dear. I tried to make
this a wonderful occasion for you."
"You did, mother," Arissa assured her softly. "It was the most wonderful
birthday I have ever had."
Maude smiled faintly as Richmond collected Arissa against him and
excused them both. He was unable to make it free of the gallery, however,
before several well-wishers and hopeful young men blocked their exit with
words of congratulations or praise for Arissa's striking beauty. Richmond
was less than cordial as he fended off the throng.
The foyer was relatively uncrowded, lit with several banks of expensive
tallow candles dyed different colors. Arissa leaned against Richmond as
they moved toward the stairs, feeling his strength flowing through her body
to boost her sagging spirits. Ovid de Rydal's threat frightened her; he was an
aggressive, greedy man and she was positive that he would return for
Richmond somehow, demanding the man's heart on a platter.
Richmond felt her grip on him tighten as they ascended the stairs. Several
of Lambourn's Household guard were assembled in the foyer and he silently
motioned at the group. Stealthily breaking rank, two soldiers obediently
followed.
He led Arissa to her chamber, practically carrying her limp body the last
stretch of the dimly-lit corridor. Opening the oaken door, he quietly ordered
the two soldiers that had trailed them from the foyer to post guard outside
her door. As the well-armed men took position, he entered the room and
closed the heavy panel softly.
Arissa still clung to him and he paused, wrapping his arms about her
tightly and planting tender kisses on the top of her dark head. Against him,
he could feel her body quivering.
"My poor kitten," he whispered, his lips against her hair. "A most
eventful birthday."
She sighed heavily. "I almost wish my birthday had never happened," she
said softly. "Other than your victory in the archery contest, the day has gone
from bad to worse."
"What about our.... encounter in your father's solar?" he looked down at
her, raising his eyebrows inquisitively when she met his gaze. "Had you not
been rude to Tad, I would have never followed you and we might not have
had the chance to admit our feelings to one another. All events occur for a
reason, Riss. We may not realize the greater significance at the time, but
there is a purpose for everything that happens. Good or bad."
He watched her as she gazed up at him, feeling his veins flush with a
surge of desire. Yet before he could succumb to the thrill of their newly-
found passion, he had a short task to complete. In fact, his errand was the
reason for posting the guards outside Arissa's door; he did not want to leave
her unprotected while he was away. But the longer he gazed at her pink lips
and incredible eyes, the weaker his resistance.
"I have a small errand to complete," he said hoarsely, reluctantly
releasing her from his embrace. "I shall return as quickly as I can."
"Where are you going?"
He smiled faintly, moving for the door before his willpower dissolved
completely. "Just a short task. I shall be right back."
He did not answer her entirely, but she was frankly unaware of the
evasive reply. All that mattered was that he was leaving and she missed him
already. She watched him sadly as he opened the door.
"Hurry?" she pleaded softly.
He was in great danger of being further weakened by the lost expression
on her face. Casting her a bold wink, he nodded. "I shall run. I promise."
He closed the door behind him, leaving Arissa standing in the center of
the room. She continued to stare at the closed door for several long
moments, as if expecting him to magically reappear after completing his
task in record time. After a few lengthy minutes, she realized that he was
going to be gone longer than she had hoped.
With a long sigh, she turned for the glowing hearth. Absently, she began
to stoke the dying coals, pondering silly, insignificant thoughts. Ovid and
Tad aside, it had been a most eventful day and she thanked God that He had
been gracious enough to listen to the prayers of a foolish young girl. All she
had ever wanted in this life had mercifully been granted.
As the fire sparked and crackled, Arissa found herself wondering where
she and Richmond were going to live after they were married. After all, he
spent the majority of his time in London or at Lambourn and had no lands
of his own that she was aware of. Be it in a cave or in a palace, she did not
care where they lived. So long as they were together.
And they would be, no matter what.

***

Richmond's task had been completed in short order. Retrieving a small

parcel from his borrowed bower, he was in the process of making his way
back to Arissa's chamber when Gavan suddenly appeared out of the
shadows. Richmond saw the outline of the massive body before he ever saw
a face, but he was unconcerned by the approaching silhouette. There was no
man on earth as wide as Gavan Hage.
"Why aren't you chasing the de Rydal tribe back to their hovel?" he asked
as Gavan came into the light.
The man shrugged. "There was no need. The earl's men are herding them
back to Goring Hall like a band of unruly cattle. Moreover, I am quite
interested to know what is going on. Care to elaborate?"
Richmond braced his thick legs apart, folding his arms across his chest.
"Believe me when I say that I am as puzzled as you are. It all started this
morning when Tad de Rydal was quite assertive with Arissa. At one point,
he became rude and aggressive and I was forced to subdue his attentions. I
proceeded to beat him in the archery competition, for which he decided to
deal me a lashing while we were playing Stick and Ball."
Gavan indicated the cut above Richmond's eye. "Is that how you acquired
your new beauty mark?"
"Indeed," Richmond replied. "I thought he had broken my nose, too, but
it seems to be all right. Mossy doesn't believe it to be broken, merely
bruised."
Gavan cocked an eyebrow ironically. "So Ovid presumes that you sent
your men to ambush his crafty son in revenge for your injury?"
"Something like that," Richmond said. "At any rate, what concerns me is
not the father's anger but the mere fact that someone went to a bit of trouble
to make it appear as if I am guilty of attempted murder."
Gavan shook his head. "Certainly Henry has his share of enemies, but I
too am curious as to why one of them would single out you in particular.
More importantly, for what purpose?"
Richmond sighed heavily and began to move toward the stairs along his
original course. Gavan followed.
"If they wanted to kill me, they would have had several opportunities
today while I was armorless,” Richmond said. “In lieu of an assassination,
they are either trying to make my life miserable or implicate me in a greater
scheme. Mayhap someone is trying to cause friction between the House of
de Rydal and the Earl of Berkshire."
They reached the stairs, dimly lit by the polished iron chandelier above
their heads. "If your last assumption is true, then why single you out? If
someone were attempting to cause trouble between the earl and one of his
vassals, they could just as easily make Bart the target, or the earl for that
matter. Why you?"
"I do not know. But I think for the next several days we should post extra
guards on the battlements and make sure that anyone passing through the
gates of Lambourn is rigorously checked out. I shall not have a paid
assassin make his way into the earl's camp."
"Agreed. I shall speak with Carlton and Daniel regarding the matter."
Richmond left Gavan at the top of the stairs, his mind fogged with the
possibilities as he made his way toward Arissa's room. Gradually, he
became aware of the parcel he still clutched within his hand and his
thoughts shifted from intrigue to the delights that had come with the day.
Coming upon her door, he dismissed the soldiers. Knocking softly, he
heard her soft footfalls approach.
Her sweet smile greeted him. He returned the gesture, stepping into the
room without a word. Arissa closed the door softly and bolted it, turning to
him expectantly.
"Well? Did you complete your errand?"
His grin broadened, filling the room with everything he was feeling for
her. "I am about to."

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER NINE

"What's this?" she asked, gazing at the parcel in his outstretched hand.
"Open it."
Timidly, she took it from him, examining the silken wrapping. "A gift,
Richmond?"
He watched her with glittering eyes. "That is the usual show of tribute for
one's birthday."
She smiled, fumbling with the ties. "I never expected.... that is, you did
not have to do this."
"Aye, I did," he eased himself into a hide-covered chair, his gaze never
leaving her. "Why are you being so careful? I have seen you tear through
gifts as if the wrapping was made of spider's web."
She gave him an exasperated expression, although it was laced with
humor. "I am trying to show some respect for your token. Do be quiet while
I wrestle with these bindings."
"So sorry," his elbow propped on the arm of the chair, he cupped his chin
in his hand. Splayed fingers covered his smirking lips. "Do hurry. I shall die
of old age before you finish."
She cocked an eyebrow. "Surely that is of no surprise, considering your
advanced years," the bindings fell away, revealing an exquisitely carved
box. Arissa's mouth opened with delight. "Oh, Richmond, it is lovely. What
a wonderful box!"
He snorted. "Silly wench, the gift is inside. Open the box."
She giggled, her gaze lingering on him as she carefully opened the lid.
A beautifully crafted rosary lay upon a bed of satin. Made from polished
beads of a beautiful pale wood, it glistened in the dim light as she drew it
forth from the box. Richmond watched her face as she inspected the string
of beads, delighting in the play of emotions across her lovely features.
It was a simple rosary, perfect and solid. It would be the one item the
nuns at Whitby would most likely allow her to retain when she surrendered
all of her material possessions. He had planned it that way.
 "The wooded beads are from the Holy Land," he said softly. "Look at the
base of the cross."
She scrutinized the delicately carved cross, her eyes widening when she
realized what she was witnessing. Astonished, she looked to him. "You had
your name carved into it."
He nodded faintly. "I am sure some would consider it sacrilege. But I
wanted you to remember who gave it to you."
She swallowed hard, fingering the exquisite piece. "As if I would forget,"
she turned it over in her hands, the resplendence of the gift inadvertently
reminding her of her dictated destiny. When she began to blink rapidly,
chasing off the threat of tears, Richmond reached out and pulled her onto
his lap.
"No tears, kitten," he whispered, knowing her thoughts. Naturally, she
disobeyed his command and sobbed quietly onto his shoulder. Listening to
her muted sniffles, he kissed her head tenderly. "There is no need for
sorrow. All will be well."
"But.... but I do not want to go," she wept softly. "You said yourself that I
will have to keep my appointment, and I do not want to. I want to be with
you."
He held her tightly, as if to chase away all of her fear and sorrow with his
imposing presence and strength. "And you shall be, I promise. Have I ever
gone back on my word?"
She shook her head unsteadily and he smiled, stroking her raven-colored
hair. "Your father and I are going to come to terms with the change in the
situation soon enough and I do not want you to worry," he grasped her
gently by the chin, forcing her to look at him. "Do you comprehend me?
Any more tears from you and I shall mostly likely join you. 'Twould be
most humiliating for a knight of my standing to be seen sobbing like a
woman."
She tried to smile, wiping at her tears. "I-I shall try."
His expression was soft as his gaze caressed her damp face. Gently, he
helped her dry her eyes. "Now tell me; do you like the gift?"
She nodded eagerly, gazing down at the strand of wooden beads clutched
in her hand. "I love it. I shall always carry it with me."
"Good," his gentle hand moved from stroking her cheek to touching her
shoulder, trailing down her arm. A surge of excitement bolted through her
slight body when his hand came to rest on the small fist that clutched the
rosary. Squeezing her fingers tightly, he buried his face against her fragrant
neck.
From one emotion to the next, from one level of tenderness to the very
heights of arousal, Arissa moaned softly as his lips came to bear on her
tender flesh. The heat of passion electrified the very air between them as
Richmond took great delight with her delectable skin.
Arissa gripped his shoulders tightly as his mouth moved down her neck,
roving tauntingly over the soft swell of her bosom. His wicked tongue, hot
and lusty, lapped at the sweet valley between her breasts and she groaned
breathlessly, one hand weaving itself into the thick silk of his hair while the
other, still clutching the rosary, grasped his shoulder with a death-grip.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, sending sparks into the chimney as
Richmond swept Arissa into his arms and deposited her upon her curtain-
shrouded bed. Gently, he deposited kisses over her face, her eyelids, her
nose, moving to her chin and neck as his fingers went to work on the stays
of her surcoat.
Arissa turned on her side, allowing him free access to the garment,
wondering how far they were going to progress before he called a halt to
their mounting passion. With a growl, Richmond flipped her onto her
stomach, kissing the flesh of her back as the last of the fastens were
disengaged. Arissa groaned softly with the pleasure of his scorching lips,
realizing that she did not want him to cease the process of their new-found
desire. She never wanted him to stop.
Richmond removed the surcoat inch by exquisite inch, running his lips
and tongue over every delectable portion of exhibited flesh. Arissa
remained on her stomach as the surcoat came off her shoulders, her arms,
baring her breasts against the fluffy bedrug. Although she should have been
properly embarrassed when he pulled the surcoat over her hips and slid it
the length of her buttocks, she was not fearful in the least.
He moved down her legs, kissing the back of her knees and drawing
giggles amidst the moans. Tearing the surcoat free of her feet, he gently
removed her slippers and ran his tongue over the tips of her dainty toes.
Arissa wallowed in the boneless, lethargic state of desire as control left
him. Aye, he'd promised not to ravage her by way of fancy speeches and
displays of restraint, but gazing at her perfect body, nude and supple in the
soft illumination, he was not entirely sure that he could keep his promise.
Trouble was, he did not seem to care.
He ran his hands up her legs, feeling the satin skin beneath his calloused
palms. His breathing came in ragged gasps as his fingers delicately traced
the rise of her bottom, perfect and heart-shaped. Up her back his hands
moved, touching her, feeling her, loving her. God's Teeth, he'd waited so
long for her.
His hands reached her shoulders and he straddled her slight body,
seductively massaging away the tension and concerns of the day. Arissa
groaned softly under the care of his experienced touch, loving the erotic
sensations his unhindered power provided. Although his strong hands
against her spine was a remarkable experience, she distinctly liked it better
the way he had touched her once before.
She rolled onto her back. Pale green eyes bore into eyes of brilliant blue,
glistening with all of the uncontrolled passion and emotion she was feeling.
Grabbing his hands, she pressed them to her breasts.
"Like this, Richmond," she whispered, gazing deep into his smoldering
eyes. "Touch me like this."
The last shred of control left him and he growled, descending upon her
luscious body. His mouth slanted over her lips savagely, licking and
stroking her into the unbridled world of madness. Arissa cries were muted
against his ferocious lips, gasping softly into the still night air as his mouth
moved hungrily over her breasts, whimpering softly when he took
possession of a taut nipple. Writhing beneath him, her legs instinctively
parted to make way for his substantial weight and, without further thought
or reservation, Richmond moved to touch the unfurling flower between her
legs.
Arissa cried out with surprise when his fingers delicately touched the
thick outer lips, matted with a fine fluff of black hair. Richmond maintained
his hold on her nipple, fondling her silky exterior flesh with the utmost
gentleness to allow her to become accustom to his touch. She gasped and
panted as he continued to caress her, gradually relaxing as she became
accustomed to his tender fingers. Only when her body loosened beneath his
restrained touch did he attempt to part her lush, quivering petals.
She was as slick as rain, unbelievably hot. He stroked the tender folds
until his own finger was drenched with her moisture, his entire body
literally shaking with the force of his need. God's Teeth, he was out of
control and loving every minute of it.
Richmond knew, doubtlessly, that he was about to break his promise to
her. To hell with his wise reasoning and righteous motives; he would make
her his in every sense of the word, and he would dare Henry to deny him.
He slipped a wet finger into her sheath, so incredibly tight that he very
nearly soiled his breeches with the pure pleasure of it. But he calmed
himself by focusing on Arissa's gasps of surprise, whispering words of
encouragement and comfort, crooning softly to her. Pants of shock quickly
turned into groans of pleasure and he could feel her tight passage
contracting about his slick finger, pulling at him.
Rising to his knees, he ripped off his tunic so aggressively that he tore a
sleeve. One boot hit the floor with a loud thud, the other went sailing into
the wall. His breeches came off so quickly that he nearly ended up on his
arse in his haste to remove them.
On the bed, Arissa watched with panting, wide-eyed wonderment as
Richmond stood before her, nude and proud and the most magnificent sight
she had ever beheld. His broad, broad shoulders sheltered an exquisitely
muscled chest, covered with a delicious carpet of silky dark hair. His flat
stomach and narrow waist caught her attention and she was awed by the
flawless details of God's most unblemished creation; indeed, the perfection
that was intended for every man.
Richmond watched her as she studied his nude form, smiling faintly
when her gaze came to rest on his enormous arousal. As she stared at the
proof of his desire, he was deeply pleased to note that there was no fear in
her expression. Only wonder. He stood a moment, allowing her to inspect
him, before returning to the bed. As he pulled her close, she smiled and
wrapped her arms about his thick neck.
"You are going to couple with me, are you not?" she whispered.
His gaze was filled with more desire and remorse than she could possibly
fathom. "I am sorry, Riss. I gave you a pretty speech today, informing you
that I would adhere to a slow pace. I did not want to frighten you with my
attentions," a slow finger moved across her beautiful shoulder, his eyes
incredibly tender. "I am not frightening you, am I?"
She shook her head. "Not at all, my love. I want to know the experience
of coupling. I want to feel your love."
 He kissed her chin tenderly. "God's Teeth, Riss, when I think of how long
I have dreamt of this and considered myself depraved for harboring such
thoughts.... I still cannot believe that we are about to complete a most
intimate action."
She held his gaze for a long moment. "This will hurt?"
"A little, I am told."
The corners of her mouth twitched. "I will not go to the convent a virgin."
"You shall not be in the damn convent long enough for it to matter."
Her smile faded as she gazed deep into his eyes. "Promise?"
He kissed her slowly, gently. "That I do, kitten. That I do."
One kiss led to another, led to several, deep and long. She gasped for
breath as he tore his mouth away from her lips, his brazen tongue moving
down the length of her torso. Arissa felt every sensation, every touch, like a
bolt from Heaven.
"Richmond," she panted softly. "Do.... do you remember when you said
that you wanted to teach me to crave your touch?"
"Aye," he mumbled into the flesh of her belly.
She swallowed hard, gasping when he plunged his tongue into her navel.
"I do not need to be taught such yearnings. I have craved your touch longer
than I can remember."
His head came up, a wolfish smirk on his face. "I am flattered."
She met his grin until he returned his mouth to the tender target of her
groin. Gasping with ecstasy, she attempted to retain her escaping thoughts.
"I.... I do not want you to go slowly with me," she whispered. "I want to
know everything, now. I want to sense everything at this very moment."
He wedged his huge body between her legs, lifting her knees as his
mouth moved along the soft flesh of her inner thigh. "That is about to
happen, kitten. But I refuse to allow you to chatter through the entire
event."
"I am not chattering," she said with as much indignity as she could
manage. "I.... I am simply trying to tell you how I feel."
Suddenly, he was looming over her, his massive arms braced on either
side of her slight body. Knees between her thighs, his piercing gaze like
liquid fire.
"I know how you feel, for I feel the same," he whispered. "There is
scarcely more we can say to one another on the subject, though I shall never
tire of hearing it. What I do now, I do to demonstrate how my emotions for
you. Never in my life will any single event meant as much to me as what
we are about to do. This I swear."
She gazed up at him, feeling the sincerity flow from his eyes like a raging
river. A small hand reached up and touched his stubbled cheek, caressing
his masculine features gently. Even as tears of sentiment glimmered in her
eyes, a faint smile of encouragement creased her delicious lips.
"Show me, then,” she whispered. “I would feel your love for myself."
He met her smile, kissing the corners of her mouth tenderly. Holding
himself aloft from her slender body, he rubbed his manhood against her
private core, stroking the outer lips as he had done with his fingers. She was
glistening with wet heat, spilling down onto the linens, and he bathed
himself in her virginal juices as she watched his face without fear.
He moved slowly, wrestling against the natural instinct to ram into her
like a rutting stallion. He worked carefully, gaining headway bit by bit,
feeling her tightness draw him inward. She was so slick that it would have
been terribly easy to simply thrust into her and be done with her
maidenhood in a flash of pain and power, but he unsteadily refrained.
Better to allow her to become accustom to his intrusion before the sting of
losing her innocence cast a measure of reality upon their union.
In spite of the approaching truth of pain, Arissa was amazingly calm
beneath him, gripping his massive biceps for support as he forged into
virgin territory. Beneath her hands, she could feel his body quivering,
straining to maintain control in the face of his most raging desire. She, too,
was quivering with anticipation.
As he laboriously made way inside her, she smiled bravely, silent words
of joy and encouragement conveyed upon the green depths. Although she
felt as if his manhood was stretching her beyond the limits of physical
endurance, she refused to reveal the apprehension she was coming to
encounter. Apprehension she was attempting to ignore, without much
success.
She was unaware that she did not have to say a word about her anxieties.
With every tiny thrust, her body tightened with uncertainty and Richmond
knew that her courage and determination would only last so long. He was
buried within her nearly half-way, a remarkable achievement in itself
considering her petite size, when he felt the resistance of her maidenhood.
When he paused and withdrew completely, her entire body went limp with
relief.
But he would not allow her the chance to renew her apprehension. Falling
atop her, he grasped her breast firmly and descended upon a peaked nipple.
Suckling furiously, Arissa forgot her fears and responded to him with the
low moans and pants that he had come to expect. Her cheeks began to flush
with desire as her fingers wound themselves in his thick brown hair, and he
knew the time was upon him to act. With Arissa properly distracted, it was
time to take her.
Pulling her knees up, he continued to nurse against her breast hungrily.
Arissa was hardly aware of his hands on her knees, his manhood pressing
against her tender threshold once again. The next she realized, he was
thrusting into her harder than she ever thought possible, driving himself the
full long length of his throbbing manhood.
Arissa gasped loudly with surprise at the savage action, a sharp sting of
pain rippling throughout her loins. He was seated to the hilt in less than a
second and she felt all of the fullness and maleness of him that she could
have ever hoped for. The pain, coupled with his closeness, brought tears to
her eyes as she clutched his shoulders with white-knuckle intensity. In spite
of her vow of bravery, his swift movement had startled her and she couldn't
help the soft sobs that escaped her lips.
Fully sheathed within her delicious tightness, Richmond struggled to
remain still as Arissa writhed and panted beneath him. When he heard the
faint sobs of fear and pain, however, he raised his head from her swollen
nipple in a brief return of control and reality.
"I am so sorry, kitten," he whispered huskily. "I would not have hurt you
had there been another way."
She wiped at her eyes daintily. "It's not.... I mean, ‘tis not the pain, but...
but the closeness. I never knew it could be like this."
She trailed off, attempting to regain control of her sobs. Folding his arms
about her slight body, he began to move gently within her. Slowly at first,
relishing the feel of his erection embedded within her unbelievably slick
folds. She clutched him tightly, wrapping her legs about his hips and
clinging to him with an instinctive need.
Richmond's pace increased, quickening his thrusts as he was blinded to
all else but the feel of her flesh encompassing his maleness. It was the most
satisfying and amazing thing he had ever experienced. Against him, Arissa's
resumed pants of passion told him that she was beginning to experience the
same pleasure that had so easily engulfed his senses. Now, they were
experiencing it together as it was always meant to be.
But it was a pleasure that was building to a scalding peak faster than he
ever thought possible; in fact, nothing on earth could have prepared
Richmond for his lightning-quick climax. With a roar, he spilled deep into
her womb, feeling every last spasm of his spent desire with the greatest of
pleasure. But even as the evidence of his passion erupted, he continued to
move within her, wanting her to experience the same searing joy that would
erase the sting of her innocent pain.
He shifted his weight, gazing down at her flushed face as he continued to
thrust. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, and he found his gaze
drawn to her magnificent breasts as they bounced against every thrust he
delivered. One hand trailed down her neck, encircling a breast tenderly
before moving toward the junction where their bodies were joined in
passion. Where the magic of her pleasure pulsed and throbbed, begging for
release.
Seeking the hard little nub, he manipulated it fiercely, watching as
Arissa's eyes flew open with surprise. In the next moment, she pealed off a
loud shriek that echoed against the very walls of the chamber and he could
feel her passage throb and spasm as her own pleasure was attained. Not
only could he feel the delicious convulsions of her gratification, he deeply
sensed it like nothing else.
From pain to pleasure, gentleness to the heights of ferocious desire,
Richmond introduced Arissa to a world where they would cease to exist as
two separate beings. A world where the only matter of import was the love
and emotion they held for one another, binding them together more tightly
than any other circumstance. It was done.
Enfolded in the protective warmth of his massive embrace, Arissa was
not sure if she was dead or alive. Her body was limp, her mind a warm void
of satisfaction as she felt the remains of Richmond's arousal twitching
within her tender folds. It was the most remarkable, private sensation she
had every experienced and she would have been perfectly content to remain
as they were for the rest of eternity.
"Are you all right?" he whispered against her ear.
 Weakly, she nodded. "I do believe I am close to dying from contentment.
Is such a thing possible?"
"I hope so," he murmured, snuggling closer. "But I am truly sorry that
there was pain for you, Riss. It couldn't be helped."
She raised her head to look at him. "Stop worrying so. I have already
forgotten about the discomfort. It.... it was an amazing experience. Much
more than I ever imagined."
He smiled faintly. "You are incredibly brave, my lady. I should possess
such courage."
She returned his smile, pressing herself against him tightly. The fire in
the hearth was dying, casting a heady chill about the shadowed room. But
against Richmond, Arissa had never been so warm or so loved.
"Will you stay with me all night?" she asked softly, her delicate fingers
lingering on his chest.
He stroked her black hair, watching the distant flames. "That would not
be wise, Riss. We cannot allow anyone to become suspicious of our
relationship. Moreover, I promised Gavan I would take the watch tonight
since he’s been occupied all evening with Lambourn's security."
She knew what his answer would be, but was disappointed nonetheless.
She sighed faintly. "I do not think I like the idea of being alone. Now that I
have experienced you in my bed, I never want you to leave. I shall be empty
without you."
He kissed her forehead. "You fail to consider my feelings, kitten. Do you
not think that I will miss you, too?"
She rolled onto her back, gazing up at him with bright eyes. "Did you
know that you are a silly, sentimental fool? Not only do you love me, but
you miss me when I am not by your side. I thought only women had such
ridiculous, romantic thoughts."
"Then I suppose I am a ridiculous romantic."
They continued to gaze at each other warmly as Richmond toyed with a
tendril of silken dark hair. He was so caught up in Arissa's delicious vision
that he failed to notice the slight movement in the giant wardrobe at the
opposite end of the chamber.
One of the carved paneled doors inched open, paused, and then slowly
closed. After several moments, it inched open again, wider. As Richmond
kissed Arissa's cheek tenderly, the door proceeded to yawn even further.
When he moved to cover Arissa's body with his massive frame once again,
giving in to the rejuvenated desire flooding his veins, the door flew open
wide with a resounding crash.
"You.... you hypocrite!"
Richmond bolted out of the bed faster than he had ever moved in his life.
His natural protective instinct was surging as he flew over the mattress, feet
to the cold floor, fully prepared to do battle with the unknown intruder.
Only when his hands closed over the dark, indistinct figure did he realize
the shadow was a weaker being, non-threatening to a man of his incredible
strength and size. His grip met with fleshy soft arms, struggling furiously
within his iron grip.
"You are a liar and.... and a deceiver!" Regine raged, wrestling viciously
in Richmond's mighty grasp. "You punished me for the very same action
you have just committed with my sister!"
Bedcover clutched to her breast, Arissa watched in horror as Richmond
yanked Regine into the weak light. Regine's face mottled an ugly shade of
red, her eyes full of venom, and all of it directed at Richmond.
"I knew you were an overbearing brute, but I had no idea you were a
fraud as well!" she raged. "How could you have spanked me for sampling
the identical pleasure you and my sister have just tasted? How?"
Richmond was as naked as the day he was born, standing before a ranting
twelve-year-old girl. With a long, hostile glare, he forced himself to calmly
retrieve his breeches. Regine twitched and quaked in her anger, completely
ignorant of his nudity and glowering at him as if he were the Devil himself.
"Why were you spying on us?" his voice was amazingly steady as he
secured his hose.
Regine clenched her teeth so hard that she bit her cheek. "I was not
spying! At least.... it had never been my original intention. But you proved
to me that you are a deceiver and I shall...!"
"And you shall what?" he put his hands on his hips, his voice as ominous
as Arissa had ever heard it. He took a step, towering over the enraged
young lass. "Do not ever threatening me, Regine. You shall not like the
results, I guarantee it."
Regine may have been furious, but she was not daft. It did not matter that
Richmond had taken Arissa's virginity while she watched from her hiding
place in the wardrobe; what mattered was the fact that Richmond had
punished her for the very same offense not hours before and she was
outraged by his double standard.
Richmond, however, was gravely concerned for quite another reason;
should Regine tell the earl all she had seen, the consequences would be
severe. To become angry with her would only inflame the situation and he
fought to keep his calm; nonetheless, a natural fury bubbled within his chest
as he faced off against the foolish young wench.
It took him less than a second to carefully analyze the situation, the
results, and the hazards. And it took him less than a second to realize there
was little he could do to alter the course of a most distressing circumstance.
Regine had witnessed something she most definitely should not have. In
lieu of strangling her simply to keep her from spilling the secret, Richmond
was greatly pressed to emphasize the confidentiality of what she had seen
without making it known that she literally held their lives in her hand. God
help them, their very balance hung in the slippery palm of a shallow,
peculiar young girl.
"I was not threatening you," Regine said after a moment, her rage
dampening in the face of his intimidating expression. "But you were unfair
to punish me for experiencing adult pleasures when you and Arissa did the
very same thing."
The tension filling the room was thick enough to cut. Smothering,
encompassing. Arissa's breath caught in her throat as Richmond eyed
Regine grimly. "What did you mean when you said spying had not been
your original intent? What, pray, was your original intent?"
Regine swallowed, the first flicker of uncertainty kindling in her blue
eyes. "I....I followed Bart from the gallery, but he did not want to speak
with me. So I came up here to wait for Riss to return from her party. I was
waiting when I heard your voice in the hall and I did not want to see you
because I was mad at you. So I hid in the wardrobe," she swallowed again,
her gaze moving to her sister for the first time. A shade of genuine remorse
crossed her features. "I saw you kiss her, and hold her, and I became curious
because I did not know you and my sister were.... well, together. I could
have come out of the wardrobe after you left, but I did not. I wanted to see
what happened when you returned."
Arissa, sheet still clasped to her breast, suddenly found her tongue. She
was not embarrassed in the least that her sister had witnessed her first
experience with ecstasy; she was damn well furious for the invasion.
"So you spied on us!” she hissed. “Regine, how could you? After all I
have done for you, defended you, made excuses for you, and even lied for
you! I know you have spied on Penelope and Daniel, but how could you spy
on me? How could you do this to me?"
Regine turned to her sister, fury fading and being replaced by genuine
penitence. "I.... I do not know. I have seen the serving wenches couple with
the soldiers, but it seemed to be rough and over quickly. And this afternoon
when I.... it was not as wonderful as I thought it would be. I suppose I
wanted to see.... it was wonderful for you, was not it, Riss? Is that was
coupling is supposed to be like, always?"
Richmond stood with his fists on his hips, his gaze moving between
Regine and Arissa. His anger began to dwindle as he came to understand
that Regine, although her motives had been selfish and sly, was still in the
process of trying to understand what went on between a man and a woman.
Her experience that afternoon had been abrupt and unpleasant, and the
curious, obsessive girl was still looking for her answers. Even at the
expense of her sister's privacy.
But Arissa was unable to see Regine's curiosity for what is was. She was
furious and shaken at being betrayed by her own sister, and furthermore
terrified that Regine would tell her father what she had seen. Clutching the
linen to her breast, she leapt out of the bed and wound the sheet about her
body as she approached her youngest sibling.
"You will listen to me, Regine Margaret," she hissed. "If you mention one
word to father, I shall tell him of every offense you have every incurred and
every crime you have ever committed. His anger at me won't be half as
powerful as his shock and fury towards you. Do you understand me?"
Regine looked hurt, confused. She opened her mouth to reply, but in light
of her sister's fury she simply nodded her head. "Aye," when Arissa
whirled away and moved towards the wardrobe, Regine's gaze followed.
"Are you terribly angry with me?"
Arissa let out an un-ladylike snort. "Terribly, indeed! If I had a dagger, I
would use it on you!" she veered away from the wardrobe, returning once
again to rage in her sister's face. "This goes beyond what I ever thought you
capable of. I should run to father right this instant and tell him of the
serving wench to kissed, of the stable boy you fondled simply to know the
feeling of male genitalia, or the soldier you coerced into taking your
virginity this afternoon. Sweet St. Jude, Regine, when is this going to stop?"
Regine's expression was guarded, fearful. She opened her mouth, but her
sister cut of her stumbling answer. "Well?" Arissa demanded sharply. "This
must stop this instant or I will tell father everything!"
"I do not want him to know anything. You always promised me you
would never tell."
"That was before you spied on Richmond and I!"
Regine was staring at the floor as her sister's angry face loomed before
her. She was wise enough to know that Arissa'a anger was a direct result of
the fear that her liaison with Richmond would be discovered. And there was
only one way to quell her fear. "I.... I shall bargain with you then. I won't
tell father about you and Richmond if you agree that I do not have to tell
him what happened this afternoon with Richmond's soldier."
Arissa gazed at her sister’s fair head a moment before turning her
apprehensive gaze to Richmond. He had given Regine several months to
make her confession; now, she was throwing a most clever twist into the
deal. Richmond's impassive gaze lingered on Arissa a moment before
turning his attention to Regine.
"A bargain?” he repeated. “Does it stand to reason that if I do not agree,
you will carry out your implied threat?"
In spite of her anger toward him, she was still deathly afraid of the man
who did not hesitate to punish her for the slightest infraction. She shook her
head, hard. "Nay, no threat. But I will know that my secret is safe, as I will
keep your secret safe."
Richmond's hard gaze lingered on her a moment before slanting a glance
to Arissa; he had no choice in the matter. As they both had powerful secrets
to be kept, there was simply no other alternative but to agree to the terms.
Turning away from both ladies, he moved for the remainder of his clothing.
"Your proposal is accepted, Regine. You had better pray that your word of
honor is as good as mine."
Regine watched the massive knight lumber across the room. Pensive and
somber, she meandered to the mussed bed, perching her sore bottom on the
mattress. As Arissa dropped the linen sheet in favor of a heavy brocade robe
from the wardrobe, Regine pondered the predicament her curiosity had
gotten her in to. However, her thoughts once again turned to the apparent
double standard between herself and Arissa, and the harder she thought, the
more indignant she became.
"Why is it acceptable for Arissa to couple with you, yet it is not
allowable for me to experience the act?" she muttered, more to herself than
to the other occupants of the room. She wanted Richmond to hear her; then
again, she did not.
He pulled his tunic over his head, running his fingers through his rich
brown hair to smooth it as he turned his focus to the young girl. "Because,
as you have discovered, Arissa and I love one another. We were
demonstrating that love," when Regine looked as if she did not understand
what he was telling her, his manner gentled. She was trying so hard to grow
up, to comprehend the complex realm of adults. Picking up his boots, he
went to sit beside her on the bed. "Why do you want to mature so quickly,
Regine? Why can't you simply enjoy your childhood and rely on time and
experience to mature your mind and body? You are trying so hard to force
nature, love. You must learn patience."
Regine watched him pull on his boots, her cheeks a dull red. Shrugging
lamely, she turned away from him; she could not provide answers for his
sensible questions. Across the room, Arissa tightened the sash of her
luxurious brocade robe and moved toward her sister and Richmond, her
manner more subdued than it had been moments before.
She heard every word Richmond had spoken and was forced to agree
with his reasoning. As always, his wisdom worked wonders to soothe her
fury and ease her anxieties. She did not hesitate to reach out to him as she
neared the bed; still looking at Regine, Richmond caught her gesture from
the corner of his eye and pulled her onto his lap.
Regine turned to look at her sister, snuggled comfortably on the lap of a
man she had grown up knowing as closely as one would a father. A man
who had treated her with incredible gentleness, respect and caring.
But now, there was far more than simple friendship between them and
observing the tender expressions of Arissa and Richmond, Regine began to
realize that mayhap there was supposed to be more between a man and
woman than superficial pleasure and excitement.
"Riss has always loved you," she said softly. "We have all known it."
They turned to look at her, Arissa's expression one of surprise. "Who is
'we'?" Arissa asked.
 "Penelope and Emma and I. We have always known. But we never
thought Richmond was in love with you, too. He’s so much...." she
suddenly flushed a bright red, quickly averting her gaze. Swallowing hard,
she stumbled over her words. "He’s a great knight, one of Henry's Chosen,
and we did not think he would...."
"What you mean to say is that I am twice her age," Richmond supplied,
the corner of his mouth twitching.
Regine had the fearful look she often wore just before Richmond spanked
her. "I never said that.... Penelope did!"
Arissa let out a gasp of outrage, but Richmond snickered. “She’s right,
Riss. I am nearly twenty-two years older than you are."
Arissa still appeared offended, whether or not he was correct. Regine,
sensing that Richmond was not at all slighted as an effect of her potential
insult, peered at him curiously. "How old are you?"
"Come, Regine, you have been schooled in basic mathematics,"
Richmond chided with a touch of humor. "Eighteen plus twenty two is
forty."
Regine's mouth opened with surprise. She never imagined he was that
old. "You are forty?"
He nodded. "Almost. I am thirty-nine until the eve of the New Year. On
the last day of December, I will become forty years old."
Arissa gazed at him lovingly, smiling as he chuckled at Regine's shock.
"Look at him, Regine. Not a gray streak to blemish his hair, barely a line on
his face. Isn't he wonderful?"
As Regine studied him closely, Richmond merely waved them both off.
"You cannot see the age lines because the light is so dim. Under direct
sunlight, my face looks like the map of France. Roads and boundaries
crisscrossing all through it."
The girls giggled loudly. He smiled at them both, laughing at his own
expense. All of the tension, the fear, that had occupied their world just
moments prior seemed to have vanished. As if a new understanding had
dawned between the three of them; certainly, Richmond had never been
more satisfied nor more content with Arissa in his arms, and Regine's
mannerisms were somehow bordering on those of a normal, respectful lady
as opposed to the spoiled wench he had come to know.
 It was as if they had progressed to a new level of comprehension. Even
though Regine knew the details of an explosive secret, Richmond found
himself willing to trust her oath of silence. Not that she had ever proven
herself to be trustworthy in the least; yet, somehow, he was willing to take
the chance. Furthermore, he had little choice.
He hadn't realized his thoughts to be drifting away from the conversation
until Arissa gently touched his cheek, bringing him back into the world at
hand. He turned to her, drinking in her beauty with more appreciation than
he had ever known. Regine sat beside them, fumbling with her surcoat and
pondering her own quieting thoughts. When Richmond whispered
something to Arissa and she sister giggled, Regine's attention was again
drawn to the happy couple.
In spite of everything, she was thrilled to see her sister so content. But
along with that reflection, the undeniable reality of Whitby Abbey suddenly
entered her thoughts and she found herself intensely curious over her sister's
established future.
"Are you still going to Whitby, Riss?"
Arissa's smile vanished in spite of Richmond's encouraging expression.
He answered for her. "She’s still going, but she will not stay for long. We
will be married as soon as I can arrange it."
"Married?" Regine repeated, incredulous. "You are going to marry my
sister?"
He smiled faintly, kissing Arissa loudly on the cheek in spite of her
somber expression. "Not only am I going to marry her, she’s going to bear
me a dozen sons and we will live happily ever after."
Regine thought on that a moment, still stunned by the news. "Does father
know?"
Richmond's light demeanor vanished. "He does not. And neither does
anyone else, Regine. This is why you must adhere to your pledge of silence.
Were you to allow our intentions to slip, the consequences could be
devastating, not only for Arissa but for me as well. Do you understand
this?"
Regine nodded solemnly. "I swear it, Richmond, I shall not say a word."
Even if Richmond was convinced she was sincere, Arissa remained leery.
But she kept silent, not wishing to provoke her sister into breaking her
promise. Knowing Regine, it would take very little for her to attempt to
seek revenge against the implication of distrust.
"If you do not mind, Regine, I should like to retire for the night. And
Richmond must be leaving," she rose from his lap, allowing him to stand.
Regine stood, moving obediently for the door. Arissa and Richmond
watched the young girl as she crossed the room, noting her submissive
manner and lowered head.
But when Regine reached the old iron latch, she suddenly paused;
turning, her eyes sought her elder sister with a quiet intensity. "Was it really
wonderful, Riss?"
Arissa met her sister's gaze. Slowly, a smile creased her lips. "Aye,
Regine. It was."
Digesting the reply, Regine quit the room. When the door closed behind
her, Arissa turned to Richmond.
"I did not lie. It really was wonderful."
He took her in his arms, embracing her tightly. "And for me, kitten. Until
Regine's intrusion, it was a taste of heaven."
Arissa sighed against his chest, hearing his strong heartbeat. "I do not
know if I trust her to keep our secret."
"We have little choice. But do not forget; even as she knows our secret,
we know a few of hers and that knowledge alone should keep her lips
sealed."
"I hope so. If my father were to find out what has happened, he might
turn you over to Ovid de Rydal with good riddance."
He snorted softly. "I doubt he would allow Ovid the pleasure of
punishing me. William would gladly take the duty himself."
Outside, a fog was beginning to descend and the shouts of the sentries
could be heard upon the battlements. Lambourn was full of visiting houses
and soldiers, the sounds of merriment and gaiety spilling out into the
massive bailey as drunken guests perused the grounds.
Richmond heard the noises, knowing Gavan would be wondering what
had become of him. His second in command had been busy all day
shouldering the security of Lambourn and was no doubt weary. As
Richmond had promised hours earlier, he would take the night duty. But the
thought of spending the night up on the battlements as opposed to Arissa's
warm bed was discouraging.
 Discouraging, but necessary. He knew very well that he couldn't stay and
night duty was an excellent deterrent. Kissing the raven-hued hair beneath
his chin, he sighed loudly.
"I must be going,” he said. “I have drawn the night watch along with
Daniel."
"Daniel is probably with Penelope," she said softly, looking to him with
pleading eyes. "Do not leave yet. Stay with me a while longer."
He shook his head, smiling. "Nay, kitten, I would most certainly be
missed when I did not show up at my post. Someone would come looking
for me."
She gave him a wistful smile. "Very well. Will I see you at the morning
meal?"
"I will be at your door before the sun rises. But for tonight, I must protect
you while you sleep."
They meandered to the door, arm in arm. When Arissa reached for the
latch, Richmond drew her into a fierce embrace. She grinned, a delightfully
seductive gesture, as his lips descended upon her honeyed mouth.
"You are making me mad for the want of you," he murmured against her
lips. "I shall never have enough."
She laughed softly, returning his kisses with equal passion. "I do not want
you to ever gain enough. I want you to crave me, need me, lust for me."
"I already feel all of those things and more. How cruel you are to wish
torture upon me."
"`Tis torture for me as well. I doubt I shall sleep tonight, thinking of your
wonderful kisses and magnificent touch."
He kissed her one last time, tenderly, before disengaging himself. "I want
you to sleep," he said quietly, the warmth in his eyes reaching out to stroke
her like a gentle caress. "I want you to sleep and dream of me."
The door opened and he took a step into the corridor. Arissa's soft voice
made him pause, turn towards her.
"My dreams have already come true. All else is excessive."
He gave her a wink. "Dreams of our passion will never be excessive. It is
beyond the comprehension of mere mortals."
He would not leave until she shut the door and bolted it. Hearing his boot
falls fade down the torch-lit hall, she couldn't help the ecstatic smile that
graced her lips. A smile that moved through her body, sending bolts of joy
though her limbs until her feet began to move.
Arissa spun in aimless, euphoric circles until she could no longer stand.
Even then, she simply lay on the floor and giggled like a fool.

***

In spite of her vow to lament Richmond's absence, Arissa slept like the
dead. A deep, dreamless sleep that was invaded by shouts and commotion
from the bailey. She burrowed under the coverlet in an attempt to escape the
irritating noises, but they grew louder and more harried until Arissa finally
tossed back the covers in groggy frustration.
Her room was nearly dark as she fumbled for the flint and candle. After a
few unsuccessful attempts, she managed to light the small tallow taper. The
temperature was icy as she climbed from the bed, moving towards the oiled
cloth covering the long lancet window that overlooked the bailey. Pulling
back the cloth, she peered into the early dawn.
An extremely heavy fog had descended during the night, coating all
things with a dusting of mist. She could barely see the wall from where she
stood, shrouded in a thick gray haze. But she was acutely aware of the
soldiers upon the battlements, dark shadowy figures, racing about in
apparent urgency. The bailey, too, was alive with more soldiers than she had
ever seen and she was understandably curious.
It was as if they were preparing for something, or someone, but she
couldn't imagine who would be visiting Lambourn this time of the morning.
There was a level of frenzy to the activity that she had never seen before, an
anxiety she could nearly touch. Her curiosity mounted as she watched the
tumult and she seriously considered leaving the privacy of her bower to
seek her answers. If they weren't going to let her sleep, then she was
determined to know what was going on. Mayhap Richmond was running
the men through another drill, which was not uncommon. He believed in
keeping the men under his command fit and prepared.
She frowned as she realized Richmond to be at the head of the
commotion. It was most likely just another military exercise and her
frustration with him mounted. When he came to escort her to the morning
meal, she was going to give him an earful for disturbing her sleep. Her
anger with him grew as she watched companies of soldiers mount the
battlements, armed to the teeth with crossbows and weapons. Then, a
barrage of flame arrows lit up the early morning sky.
Arissa shrieked in terror, watching as the arrows roared over the top of
the wall, pelting the bailey below with their heat and death. Most landed in
the dirt, a few struck targets, and the entire horde of soldiers and knights
swung into action.
The unmistakable sounds of a battle filled the air, the distant sounds of
destriers screaming and men shouting their confusion and excitement. The
battlements were jammed with Lambourn soldiers, as well as Richmond's
troops and those from other neighboring houses. It was ironic that
Lambourn possessed all of the reinforcements she would ever need;
unfortunately, the enemy had trapped them inside the walls like a great herd
of captured cattle.
Corralled inside the massive edifice, there was naught to do but defend as
best they could against the onslaught from an enemy who had used the
shielding cloak of a winter fog to mask their approach. On the battlements
and in the bailey, the soldiers prepared with determination and patience
borne from men who had seen battle time and time again. They would
defend, repel, and hope they did not die in the process.
Deep within the structure of Lambourn, William and Maude were roused
from a deep sleep to the news that their beloved castle was under attack.
Maude cried as William donned his armor, staunchly determined to defend
what was his. As the rest of the household became aware of the situation,
fear and terror ran rampant. Several important households were sheltered
within the seat of the Berkshire earldom and, should it succumb, a great
many important people would fall victim.
But nobles and servants alike took comfort in the fact that a multitude of
soldiers were housed within Lambourn; surely she would not fall with
hundreds of men to protect her from the invaders. And, surely, she would
not crumple to defeat with Richmond le Bec leading her defense. One of
Henry's greatest military minds was at the head of their protection.
Surely, they would emerge unscathed. The identical prayer reverberated
throughout every room and ever chamber in the frightened, assailed
fortress. A prayer for deliverance.
Lambourn was under siege.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER TEN

By noon, the fog had barely lifted and the heavy smell of smoke and
death permeated the thick air. The battle had been ugly and fierce, and as
Arissa sat high in her bower with Penelope, Emma and Regine, they still
hadn't received confirmation as to whom, exactly, they were at war against.
The faceless, evil enemy beyond the walls occupied their every thought and
their gloom was as weighty as the fog that cloaked the countryside.
Penelope couldn't stop sobbing. Daniel had been in the heat of the battle
since the beginning and she was terrified for him. Emma had taken to biting
her nails to the skin while Regine and Arissa stood by the lancet window,
watching the chaos as it progressed. It was still so hazy that it was difficult
to make out much at all, but still, they stood vigilant. Waiting for the
moment when the fog would lift and the hellish chaos below would be
revealed.
The group barely spoke, nor did they eat. A great deal of upheaval was
occurring within the realm of their beloved home and as frightened as they
were, there was also a degree of anger. Who would be so bold as to disturb
their peaceful existence? What malevolent bastard was intent upon invading
their lives? Questions to which there were no ready answers.
Sometime that morning, Arissa did not remember exactly when, she had
changed out of her brocade robe and into a heavy surcoat of gray and white
linen. Underneath, she had swathed herself in thick, soft woolen
undergarments that protected her against the cold. Her lovely hair was
gathered into a net as she stood by the window, stoically observing the
white-shrouded battle. It was remarkable that she had managed to stay so
calm in light of the fact that she had never before witnessed a skirmish.
Lambourn hadn't seen a siege in over forty years.
"What do you suppose is happening?" Regine asked softly, breaking into
her thoughts.
Arissa tore her gaze away from the scene below, glancing at her sister.
Strange that in spite of the fact Regine had obscenely invaded her privacy
the night before, Arissa felt closer to her baby sister than she ever had. As if
they shared a common bond, a common secret. When Regine had appeared
at her door shortly after dawn, they had simply hugged each other in fearful
silence.
Arissa shook her head, returning her attention to the bailey. "I do not
know. It seems to have quieted somewhat."
Penelope, her eyes red and swollen, stumbled to the window.
"Have you seen Daniel?"
Arissa put her arm about her friend's delicate shoulders.
"Nay, Pen. In fact, 'tis difficult to see anyone with the fog as heavy as it
is. But do not fret; I am sure Daniel is safe."
Penelope whimpered, terrified that Daniel was somewhere below, lying
dead with an arrow through his heart. As the three women gazed out over
the compound, a heavy rain began to fall.
It was no time before the bailey was a swamp of muck. The men-at-arms
quickly became soaked through to their woolen undergarments, whereas the
armor shielding the knights afforded them slightly better protection against
the icy rain. The conditions of battle quickly became even more miserable,
if such a thing was possible.
They were so busy in their attempt to gain a glimpse of the courtyard that
they were barely aware when the door to Arissa's chamber squeaked open.
Lady Livia stepped into the room, smiling timidly as several pairs of eyes
turned to her in rapid sequence. Noting that her daughter had chewed her
fingers bloody with apprehension, she reached out to gently still the young,
worried hands.
"We are serving the nooning meal in the hall," she said in a pleasant,
entirely forced tone. "It would do you good to be free of this room for a
time and enjoy the offered fare."
Emma had no choice; her mother had her by the hands and was pulling
her to stand. When Penelope shook her head miserably, Lady Livia simply
took her by the arm firmly and encouraged her toward the door.
"Come along, Arissa, Regine," she said resolutely. "The battle will not be
won or lost if you leave your post by the windows."
"Who has attacked us?" Arissa asked quietly, her eyes still riveted to the
fog beyond her window.
Lady Livia paused a moment, reluctant to answer. After a moment, she
sighed faintly. "We cannot be sure, but your father believes it to be de
Rydal."
Arissa's eyes widened abruptly and she whirled to face her mother's lady-
in-waiting.
"Revenge!" she gasped. "They are seeking revenge against Richmond!"
Lady Livia nodded in resignation. "We have not been able to confirm this
information with Sir Richmond. He’s had his hands full since the attack
began."
Arissa's calm had fled. Ovid de Rydal was intent upon killing her
beloved, at the expense of Lambourn no less. Vengeance for the attempted
murder of his conceited, pompous, dull-witted son.
Terror flooded her veins. Richmond had said Ovid would not attempt
such a bold action as to declare war against his liege. He had been wrong.
"You have not seen Richmond at all?" she asked, her thin voice quaking.
Lady Livia shook her head. "He was on the battlements when the attack
occurred. I am told had it not been for his sharp eyes, we would have been
caught unaware. Thank God he had been on duty this night, not sleeping in
his chamber like the rest of us."
Arissa nearly winced, her desperate request resounding in the depths of
her mind; she had asked him to stay the night with her. Her stomach twisted
with the sickening realization that if he had done as she had asked,
Lambourn would probably be in a great deal of trouble at this moment
because he would not have been up on the battlements to sense the
impending attack. Richmond's own words suddenly came to bear,
reminding her of the element of fate.
All things happen for a reason, Riss. Good or bad.
She was grateful that he had not remained with her as she had begged.
Not only would Lambourn have been compromised, but Richmond's men
would have come looking for him. And they would have found him where
he was not supposed to be - in her bed.
Saying a silent prayer to God for his foresight and wisdom befalling the
chain of events, she followed Lady Livia from the room.

***

David and Lyle had been fighting alongside Lambourn soldiers since
before dawn. It was a perfect situation for them; the Lambourn soldiers
thought they were from a different house, and the soldiers of different
standards thought them to be from Lambourn. Each faction believed them
to be serving another. It was a perfect cover.
The siege was something they had not anticipated. They had managed to
return to Lambourn during the evening, losing themselves in the crowd and
waiting for word to reach Ovid de Rydal that Richmond le Bec had made an
attempt on his son.
They had fully expected le Bec to retreat from Lambourn after the ugly
confrontation with de Rydal simply to ease tensions, but he had refused to
comply with their plans. Instead, he had remained as steadfast as ever
before. It was apparent that Richmond le Bec was not a coward, and
unwilling to run from anything.
As frustrating as that had been, their annoyance had been fed when he
had managed to shadow Lady Arissa as if physically attached. No man, or
woman for that matter, was allowed near the girl as Henry's watchdog stood
guard. And they couldn't help but notice what a lovely, fragile creature she
was; white skin and black hair and rosy, full lips. Aye, she was a beauty
unworthy of Plantagenet loins in their opinion. Her striking loveliness was
better suited to a Welsh lass.
Even now as they toiled in the heat of battle, Richmond le Bec was
grossly occupied with holding Lambourn. Wise enough to be aware when
advantages presented themselves, David and Lyle realized that if they were
going to abduct the lady, there would be no better time. The problem, of
course, would lie in removing her from the fortified walls.
There were limited possibilities; the blockaded servants entrance that led
to the huge field where yesterday's games had taken place, the sealed front
gate, or literally climbing the walls and lowering themselves down the other
side. And not one of those three options looked particularly attractive
harboring an unwilling captive. Still, they had to try. Owen was depending
on them.
Leaving the battlements had not been difficult. It had been as simple as
formulating an excuse to their superior officer that they were going for
ammunition supplies and fresh water. Once in the midst of the ankle-deep
mud of the bailey, the guarded fortress lay straight ahead.
Having been at Lambourn since the day before, they had familiarized
themselves with all known entrances to the bastion and moved confidently
for the servant’s door near the kitchens. David and Lyle were seasoned
veterans, thinking soldiers that had been at war for more years than they
cared to recall. Their movements were confident, the gestures unhurried, as
to not attract attention. As easy as they had anticipated it would be, they
moved past the soldiers lingering by the kitchen portal and were engulfed
by the warm interior of the fortress.
The servants were in a panic, rushing about in chaos. David and Lyle
moved slowly through the crowed, bumping into people as the pretended to
have a sense of purpose. In faith, they were attempting to orient themselves
to the interior layout of the castle to best determine where the Lady Arissa
might be held. Logic dictated that she would be kept to her rooms during a
crisis and they set about to determine the best route to the second floor.
Nearing the gallery, their eyes fell on a host of people cluttering the huge
room, nibbling nervously on bread and talking between themselves. Their
trained eyes scanned the room for the dark head of their intended target as
they struggled to maintain their casual manner.
Fate was on their side; the servants and household troops were so
concerned with the events occurring outside that they scarce gave the two
unfamiliar soldiers a passing glance.
Like preying beasts, they sought their victim.

***

"I am simply not hungry," Arissa said listlessly, turning to her mother.
"And I furthermore cannot believe that father chose to involve himself in
this battle. He’s not been to battle in twenty years!"
Lady Maude did not wish to be reminded of her husband's whereabouts.
In spite of the cool temperature of the gallery, she fanned herself furiously
in response to her daughter's statement.
"'Tis his castle, dear, and he’s compelled to defend it," she said weakly.
"Richmond and Daniel and the rest of them are defending us," Arissa
replied with a touch of bitterness. "Father will only get in the way."
"Your father was a great warrior, once," Maude stopped fanning herself.
She was far too restless to remain seated. Rising on unsteady legs, she gave
her daughter a thin smile. "All will be well, my dear. Remain to the safety
of the castle until you are told otherwise."
 Arissa stood up and kissed her mother dutifully, watching as Lady
Maxine and Lady Livia escorted her from the room. When her mother's
wide form vanished, she sighed and returned her attention to The Horde.
"I wonder where Bartholomew is," she pondered out loud. "Has anyone
seen him?"
"Surely your father would not allow him to fight," Penelope responded.
"He’s not even a knight."
"He would have been had he not been so distracted with his studies,"
Regine supplied. "Father had a suit of armor and a magnificent sword
commissioned for him in anticipation of his knighthood. The armor and the
broadsword sit collecting dust in Mossy's sanctuary."
Mossy. Arissa turned in the direction of the tower as if to see Mossy in
his cluttered room. He was the only one who had known of her secret love
for Richmond all of these years, a shoulder to cry on when she could not
tell anyone of her anguish.
Truthfully, she'd never even admitted the extent of her adoration to the
old man; Mossy had known without the benefit of words. With a back
glance to her gaggle of friends, she excused herself from the table.
"Where are you going?" Regine demanded.
"To see Mossy," she replied honestly. "I simply cannot believe that he’s
not shown himself during our crisis. I would make sure that he’s well."
"Mossy is perfectly safe in his tower," Emma said frankly. "In fact, we
would all be much safer if we would join him. I shall even brave the rats."
Arissa did not want The Horde tagging along after her and shook her
head firmly. "Nay, I shall not have us wandering the halls of Lambourn
when we should simply stay put. I shall check on Mossy and return as
quickly as I can, I promise."
"You should not go alone, Riss," Regine said sincerely. "It could be
dangerous."
"There is no danger within Lambourn," Arissa cocked an eyebrow at her
sister, turning for the gallery door as she spoke. "The enemy is outside,
Regine, not inside. I shall return."
The corridor to Mossy's sanctuary was laden with distant shouts and
shapeless phantoms. Wrapped in yards of warm wool and linen, Arissa
jumped and yelped at every shadow. Regine's foolish words of warning
echoed in her mind and she silently cursed her sister for compounding her
regular cast of anxieties to include skittishness and hallucinations.
It could be dangerous. Arissa shook off the cautions of a silly young girl
and mounted the stairs to the tower room. Far behind her in the dim
recesses of the hall, two of the shadows suddenly took shape and began to
follow. She never saw them.
Mossy's tower room was utterly freezing. She was surprised and relieved
to find Bartholomew seated at Mossy's scarred, uneven table, playing with a
raccoon. She moved toward her brother, putting her arms about his broad
shoulders.
"I was worried for you," she said softly. "No one seemed to know where
you were."
He patted his sister gently; there was a good deal of genuine affection
between them. Where most of the family failed to understand his drives and
whims, Arissa accepted him unconditionally. She may not have always
understood him, but she was never judgmental.
"I have been here since the outbreak," he said, feeding the raccoon a
small apple.
Arissa watched him toy with the animal. "Why? Are you hiding?"
Hardly," Mossy bustled across the floor, his arms laden with bulk; he
always seemed to be terribly busy within the confines of his sanctuary.
Strange thing was, he never seemed to accomplish much of anything. "He
came up to put on his armor and join the melee."
Bartholomew glanced at Mossy. The young man was in the midst of a
severe bout with confusion and self-pity. He shrugged, turning back to the
pet.
"I am thinking on it."
"Why?" Arissa asked. "You are not a warrior, Bart. You are better suited
to the gentler things in life."
He let out a grunting sigh, a frustrated gesture. "You do not understand,
Riss. My father is outside, fighting for my inheritance, and I am not lifting a
finger to help him. I should be out there, defending what is mine alongside
him."
"You are not a warrior," she repeated softly. "He does not expect you to
fight."
 Bartholomew stood up, raking his fingers through his blond hair
restlessly. When he spoke, it was with genuine passion, not the play-acting
she had come to expect from him.
"He’s always been disappointed in me,” he said. “I never wanted to be a
knight, but a scholar and actor, and he’s never forgiven me for it. I know
what he thinks of me, that I am foolish and unconventional, and I have been
content to live with that opinion. As long as I was learning my craft, I did
not care what he thought." His gaze softened, an expression of pain. "Until
this morning. When I came out of my bower to see what all the commotion
was about, my father pushed past me in two hundred pounds of armor as if I
was invisible. He knew better than to ask me to join him. Instead, he reacted
as if I did not exist."
Arissa's eyes were wide with sympathy. "He loves you, Bart. You must
believe that."
He snorted softly, ironically. "Mayhap. But he’s ashamed of his heir. And
I have given him every reason to be."
"So you would wield a sword when you are not nearly as accomplished
as those you would be fighting against?" she pointed out, her tone laced
with quiet urgency. "That is suicide, Bart. It is madness."
He shrugged again, kicking absently at the floor. "I am not a novice. I
have managed to do quite well for myself over the years of fostering at
Barham."
"I did not mean to insinuate that you were not skilled. But you must
admit you have not had as much practice as some, and I do not want
anything to happen to you simply because you feel guilty for disappointing
father because you chose a different life than what he had intended for
you."
Bartholomew's gaze met with her pale green eyes, a world of hurt in his
blue depths. More emotion than Arissa had ever seen from him. "There was
more than mere disappointment in his eyes, Riss. It was.... failure."
She did not say anything for the moment. Mossy pretended to busy
himself with something useless, but she knew very well that he was
listening to their conversation. If anything, he knew what they were going
to say before they said it.
After a moment, she sighed regretfully. "Do what you must, then. But
above all, you must be true to yourself. You cannot be happy trying to live
your life the way someone else wants you to. You have never been a
fighting man; why give in to father's pressure now?"
"Because...," he began softly, searching for the correct words. "Because
he needs me, Riss. He’s never needed me before, but he needs me now. He
needs his son by his side as he wards off the siege to protect my legacy."
She understood his confusion, his indecision. Bartholomew pretended to
be selfish most of the time, merely concerned with the trappings of his odd
world. But she could see, clearly, that he was deeply concerned for his
father. And his guilt for not living up to William's expectations was a good
part of that concern.
She smiled faintly. "Then support him if you feel you must. Go and stand
beside him upon the battlements until the threat fades," her smile faded, an
intense cast to the pale green eyes. "But never give up your dreams to
satisfy another. I would expect years and years of entertainment from you.
In fact, I shall demand it."
Bartholomew sighed heavily, nodding in resigned agreement. Mossy
turned from his work, eyeing his great-grandnephew. "Listen to her, Bart.
She’s wise beyond her years."
The faded sounds of battle floated in on the chilly air, drawing their
attention. Mute just moments before, it seemed to be increasing in strength
and they turned to the distant window as if to see what was transpiring.
Bartholomew was the first to move for the thin portal, overlooking a corner
of the bailey and beyond the western wall. Arissa followed on his heels.
Bartholomew's gaze met with the fighting below, a fiercer battle waging
since the fog lifted, in spite of the driving rain. Arissa stood beside her
brother, horrified to see two platforms on the outer side of the wall being
positioned for a breach. When she gasped at the sight of a new threat,
Mossy scuffled to the window and practically shoved her aside in his
attempt to view the scene.
"Ah. Ovid is attempted to mount the walls," he said casually. "We cannot
burn the platform down because the flame arrows will not maintain their
fire in this rain. All that's left is to fight them off as they come, one at a
time."
Arissa's hand was to her mouth, terrified. "But.... but they shall breach
our wall and...," she suddenly turned to Mossy, her eyes wide with panic.
"He’s come for Richmond! Mossy, he cannot capture him!"
 Mossy was not the least bit concerned, much to Arissa's frustration.
"They shall never capture Richmond le Bec. He’s far too cunning."
She was about to open her mouth with a sharp reply when Bartholomew
suddenly spoke up. "He’s opening the gate," he muttered in disbelief, then
louder: "Richmond is opening the gate!"
Arissa, petrified, returned her attention to the scene below. From where
the three of them stood, they could see a small portion of the front gates. As
they watched in shock, the massive panels began to roll open. Several
hundred soldiers wait in the bailey in preparation for storming through the
breach, spilling into the attacking enemy beyond for the mortal contact of
hand-to-hand combat.
"My Dear God," Arissa breathed, her eyes as wide as the sky. "What's he
doing? He’s going to kill us all!"
Even though Bartholomew was surprised, he knew the mentality of a
siege very well. A brilliant student, he had learned all of his lessons
impeccably during his years under Baron Lymse and sought to ease his
panic-stricken sister. Having no idea the reasoning and methods behind a
battle, she was understandably terrified.
"It's the only answer, Riss," he said gently, putting his arm about her
slight soldiers. "The castle is no doubt secured and there is little chance that
de Rydal's army will make it inside. What Richmond is doing is simple; not
only is the enemy preparing to breach the wall, but they are probably
tunneling as well. Since Lambourn has no moat, 'tis not difficult to dig a
tunnel to undermine our wall. What Richmond is doing is using the might
inside the wall to meet the enemy head-on and scatter their forces. Better
for the man-to-man confrontation to occur outside the walls than wait for
the enemy to overtake us within the close confines of the bailey."
Arissa swallowed hard, still frightened in spite of her brother's reasonable
explanation. "But he’s letting them in."
Bartholomew shook his head. "Nay, Riss. He’s letting our troops out."
Arissa was not entirely convinced and Bart squeezed her gently,
sympathetically. "Have no fear, Riss,” he said. “'Tis a normal tactic. In fact,
it brings to mind the story of Alexander the Great's victory in the battle of
Issus. Even though Alexander's forces were outnumbered by King Darius'
men nearly ten to one, Alexander took the offensive by charging their lines,
taking a sharp turn into their ranks, and carving a path straight up the
middle. Resistance was fierce, but with Darius' men divided, they panicked
and fled. That, darling Riss, is what Richmond is attempting. To divide and
scatter."
She continued to stare out of the window to the brutal scene below,
spilling out into her beloved Berkshire landscape. In spite of her full-blown
anxieties, Bartholomew's story made sense. Taking a calming breath, she
nodded as if acknowledging his calm reasoning. "You are sure that's what
he’s doing?"
Bart nodded confidently. "I am indeed. Besides, Richmond told me the
story I just relayed to you. He’s a great admirer of Alexander and the man's
bold tactics."
"I know," she said softly, feeling somewhat more relaxed. Richmond's
tactics and military brilliance was well-known; during Henry's battle for the
throne, Richmond did the majority of the planning and Hotspur carried
forth the schemes. They had made a brilliant, powerful team.
With every breath, she seemed to regain an additional measure of
composure. She knew that Richmond would not have opened all of
Lambourn to an attack had he not possessed the good reason and
confidence to do so. The man was not a fool.
Next to her, Bartholomew watched the unfolding fight with a good deal
of faith. Knowing Richmond's reputation, he suspected the fight would be
done before the sun set. Down below, a flash of armor caught his eye and he
strained to catch a glimpse.
"Look, Riss," he pointed out the window. "The destriers are charging
forth. Look at all of the knights!"
She caught sight of men on horseback, laden down with battle armor
until there was barely a distinguishing division between man and beast.
She'd never seen knights riding to battle before and her terror gained a
shade of fascination.
"There must be dozens," she agreed. "I see.... there's Daniel! And Carlton
is right behind him! But the other knights are bearing different standards
and I do not recognize them. I.... Sweet St. Jude, there's Gavan! He’s riding
out to meet the enemy, too!"
"I have heard that Gavan Hage can take a man's head off with one blow,"
Bartholomew said eagerly, suddenly very much a spectator to the fight
below. Growing up amongst knights had instilled a great appreciation in
their skill, even if he had no desire to become one.
Arissa's brow furrowed at that brutal thought; although he was a
monstrous man with a fierce reputation, she found it difficult to think of the
gentle knight in those terms. "How.... impressive."
"Not only that, but I have heard tale that Richmond can...." he suddenly
looked to his sister, noting her appalled expression. Weakly, he smiled. "It
doesn't matter. He’s a great knight and that is what he shall be known for."
Gazing into Bartholomew's blue eyes, she somehow obtained the
impression that he sensed the relationship between Henry's great knight and
his younger sister. Being the sensitive, intuitive man that he was, she would
not have been surprised. And she would have trusted Bartholomew far more
that Regine to keep safe her secret.
But she would not elaborate, at least not at the moment. But Mossy was
another story; glancing over her shoulder, the old man was back at his table,
fussing with a myriad of mysterious junkets piled about him. She
desperately wanted to tell him that all of her dreams, her hopes, had finally
come true; smiling to herself, she realized he probably already knew. She
swore the man could read minds.
"Do you see Richmond?" she asked, returning her attention to the
window.
Bartholomew shook his head. "It's difficult to see. This window does not
have a good view of the battlefield. But I would safely wager that he was at
the head of the group of knights that rode from the gates."
She digested his statement, thinking that her bower was far more
strategically located than Mossy's tower and afforded a much better view of
the open front gates. But she was hesitant to make the journey across nearly
the entire width of the castle to reach her bower; should the bastion be
violated, she did not want to be caught alone. Here, in Mossy's tower, was
possibly the safest place she could be.
With a sigh, she turned away from the window. Since she could not see
Richmond, there was nothing to do but wait and trust that his tactics would
prove themselves. But in addition to those anxieties, she found herself
worrying over her father and Gavan, Carlton and Daniel. They were in the
midst of a heated battle and she could not bring herself to even imagine the
worst. They were seasoned, intelligent warriors; they would survive.
 She meandered over to Mossy as the sounds of the distant battle and
pounding rain filled the stale air of the tower. Planting her round bottom on
an ancient stool, she watched his quick movements without interest. Even if
her eyes were focused on the old man, her heart, mind and soul were with
Richmond somewhere in the battle beyond. To think that something might
befall him was an inconceivable notion. She refused to entertain the
possibility.
"What are you doing?" she asked the old man to distract herself.
Mossy was busying himself with something odd, as usual. He continued
to fumble for a moment before answering.
"Yer lover is safe, Riss,” he said softly. “He’s in the heat of it, driving off
the invaders."
She stared at him a moment, a thousand words of inquiry and confusion
coming to mind. How did he always know what she was thinking? It should
not have come as a surprise, yet it always did. This was not the first time.
"He loves me, Mossy," she whispered, shielding her words from
Bartholomew's ears. "He will marry me. He’s promised."
"'Twill not be easy to wrest ye from Whitby, not when they're expecting
yer dowry. They've been hungering for it for eighteen years."
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Bartholomew was not
listening. "It does not matter. He’s promised to speak with Father."
Mossy looked to her, the raven-hued tresses, the flawless skin. He
wondered if, and when, Richmond intended to tell her the entire truth. For a
young lady who had lived a relatively sheltered life, the facts of her
existence were undoubtedly going to cause her tremendous shock. He felt a
good deal of pity for what she was facing.
"I am sure he will," he said after a moment, turning back to his work.
"Richmond will have ye, have no doubt."
She smiled faintly, feeling a great amount of comfort at the old man's
muttered words. To hear Mossy declare that Richmond would meet with
success was as good as the word of God. She believed him, without
question, and her hope began to soar. Not even the noise of the ongoing
battle could dampen her joy.
She was still smiling when the door to Mossy's sanctuary flew open,
spilling forth two men dressed in dirty, rusted mail. Arissa was not alarmed
until they flashed their broadswords menacingly, sinister bolts of light
reflecting against the stone. Shocked and confused, her smiled faded into a,
terrified expression as they moved directly toward her, tearing up
everything in their path.
Bartholomew was startled, but not senseless. He immediately realized
that, somehow, the castle had been breached and the soldiers before him
were intent upon inflicting mortal harm. God help him, he had been wrong
and all of his confident words came tumbling back on him, reminding him
that his arrogant faith in Richmond had been misplaced. As much as the
idea astonished him, the evidence was irrefutable. Lambourn was falling.
Knight or no, Bartholomew possessed a good deal of fighting ability. The
protective instinct in him soared as the enemy soldiers plowed their way
into Mossy's sanctuary, upending cages and spilling out animals. As
raccoons screamed and Samuel, overhead in the rafters, cawed loudly,
Bartholomew hurled himself toward Arissa.
Mossy's ancient table was meeting with an ugly death as the soldiers
kicked and hacked their way through it. Bartholomew grasped his sister
savagely, pulling her with him as he fled across the room. Mossy, lost
amidst the chaos of Arissa's shrieking and crashing furniture, pressed
himself against the wall as the struggle ensued.
Bartholomew had a specific destination in mind as he pulled Arissa
across the floor. His never-used armor and blemish-free broadsword lay
several feet away, wrapped and protected in a dilapidated old wardrobe.
Mossy had always kept it for him, waiting for the day when Bartholomew
overcame his thespian stage and chose to follow the path of a true earl.
He had, in fact, come up to Mossy's sanctuary to retrieve his armor and
fight beside his father. Now, for another reason, he was in desperate need to
reach it. Yanking his stumbling, hysterical sister behind him, he struggled
with every ounce of strength he possessed to reach the broadsword in time.
Arissa fell to her knees as they reached the ancient wardrobe and
Bartholomew ignored her for the moment, tearing open the splintering door
and plunging into the contents. The broadsword, buried beneath the armor,
was difficult to locate.
The soldiers were advancing. Arissa watched their approach, her
breathing coming in panicked gasped. As Bartholomew struggled for the
sword, her gasps became a hysterical chant.
Hurry, Bart, hurry!
 .... please, hurry!
The evil warriors were nearly upon them. With a triumphant grunt,
Bartholomew withdrew the broadsword just in time to meet with an
opposing blade. Arissa cried out in fear, scampering away from the clash of
swords. Unfortunately, the threatening soldier engaging Bartholomew in
battle was far superior in skill and strength and Bartholomew knew
instantly that he was badly outmatched. With every stroke, every parry, he
was being driven further and further into the ground.
His heart ached for Arissa's fate. He damned himself for choosing to
pursue the finer arts in nature and, for the first time in his life, he regretted
his decision not to become a knight. Were he knight, he would have been
better able to protect his sister from the intruders. Were he a knight, he
would have been able to save his own miserable hide.
"Riss!” he hollered. "Run!"
Arissa heard his shout, startling her to her feet. But as she attempted to
obey her brother, the second soldier intercepted her.
"You are not going anywhere, lass," he growled.
She screamed, whirling away from him as he tried to grab her. He caught
her hair net, tearing it free of her scalp, and cascades of black silk tumbled
to her waist. Shrieking with terror, Arissa scrambled away from his as fast
as her quaking legs would take her.
"I shall not hurt you, girl," the soldier tossed the net to the floor,
oblivious to Bartholomew's frantic attempts to dispatch his opponent; he
was watching in horror as the second soldier pursued his sister. "Come
peacefully."
Arissa mind was a void of panic. She stumbled on a piece of debris,
regaining her balance and persevering with determination across the room.
Terror gripped her, the desperate need to run for her life the only matter she
could manage to comprehend. But as she crossed the floor and came upon
Mossy, she was not so utterly selfish that she would leave him behind to be
butchered. As badly as Bartholomew needed to protect her, she was
desperate to defend the frail old man.
"Get up!" she grasped him by the arms, pulling him to his feet. "Come
with me!"
But Mossy resisted in a surprising show of strength. Shirking her grasp,
he shoved her toward the door. "Run, Riss! Find Richmond!"
 She gasped, half with fear and half with disbelief. "I won't leave you!"
"Ye must! Run!"
On the opposite side of the room, Bartholomew let out a loud grunt and
Arissa turned with horror in time to see her brother's opponent disengaging
his sword from the young man's gut. A scream rose to her lips as her
brother crumpled to the cold stone, a victim of his own protective instinct
and a lack of knightly talent. He simply could not let them take his sister
without a fight, and he had paid the ultimate price for his selfless attempt.
Arissa was frozen to the spot in terror, watching her brother's blood flow
upon the floor. She simply could not believe what she was seeing; her
sweet, intelligent brother having met his end defending her against a pair of
invaders who had dared breach the sanctuary of Lambourn.
Hot tears sprang to her eyes, tears of shock and disbelief. For the
moment, she had completely forgotten about the pursuing soldiers as she
watched her beloved brother bleed to death before her eyes. Unfortunately,
her stunned horror provided the soldier who had been pursuing her the
opportunity to close in and, before she realized it, a heavy mailed glove
clamped down on her arm.
"You are coming with me!" the soldier boomed, pulling her into a vise-
like grip.
The second soldier kicked a piece of broken furniture out of the way,
moving for the door. "We have no time to waste, Lyle. The servant's gate is
our best option."
Arissa was still reeling from her brother's demise, almost non-resistant
when the soldier captured her. But hearing their voices seemed to snap her
out of her lethargy, and she suddenly turned into a fighting, spitting cat.
Lyle was the unfortunate recipient of a rake of nails across his face,
catching him in the cheek and nose. He yelped with surprise as Arissa
struggled against him, her frail strength no match for his power.
"Enough of that!" he snapped savagely, easily capturing her hands.
"Princess or no, I shall beat you senseless if you do that again."
Arissa heard the reference but did not comprehend the meaning. In fact,
she seemed to disregard his threat as well, for her struggles did not lessen.
If anything, they increased as Lyle dragged her toward the door.
"Get to the horses," he grunted to David. "Wait for me just outside the
gate. We shall have to take the long route to keep le Bec off our trail."
 "Le Bec is in the middle of a siege," David pointed out, helping him
move the twisting, fighting captive through the door. "I doubt her absence
will be discovered for several hours yet."
Lyle grunted as Arissa dug her heels into the floor, screeching and
wrestling against him. With a growl, he swung her over his shoulder. "You
may be right, but we can't take the chance that le Bec will realize she’s
missing immediately."
David suddenly paused, glancing into the sanctuary. "What about the old
man? He will tell him."
Lyle paused, turning to gaze at his comrade while his burden twisted and
hollered. "Then disable him. And meet me out in the field beyond the
servant's gate. If I do not meet you there within a half hour, ride ahead and
inform Owen what we have discovered. He must be made aware that
Henry's bastard is indeed at Lambourn."
On Lyle's shoulder, Arissa heard the words, but they possessed no
meaning for her whatsoever. She was still consumed with grief for
Bartholomew's death, for her own abduction, and for the threat against
Mossy.
"Do not hurt him!" she cried. "Please do not hurt Mossy!"
David glanced at the flushed, frightened woman. Without a word, he
disappeared into the sanctuary and Arissa screamed at the top of her lungs.
Panting and gasping, her struggles slowly ceased as the result of pure
sorrow.
"Please, please," she sobbed. "Please do not hurt him. I shall.... I shall
come with you peacefully. Just do not hurt Mossy."
Lyle paused a moment. He almost ignored her plea and kept walking, but
something inexplicably made him stop. He knew full well that there should
be no witnesses left to inform le Bec of what had happened, but there was
something in the sweet voice and painful tears that tugged at his fighting
man's heart.
He was a soldier, seasoned and toughened through years of fighting. But
he was also a husband and a father, and female tears cut him just as they cut
through any warm-blooded male. He could just as easily hear his young
daughter's pleas in the voice of the delicate woman slung over his shoulder.
"Please," she whispered again. "Stop him. Do not hurt Mossy."
 Lyle clenched his jaw, disgusted with the weakness that was overtaking
him. He could feel himself relenting. Turning toward the portal leading to
the tower, he shouted to his companion.
"David!" he roared. "Cease! Do not touch the old man!"
Several seconds passed as Lyle and Arissa wait, their struggles against
one another at a halt for the moment. Tears ran down Arissa cheeks and
onto Lyle's mail; from the corner of his eye, he could see the small droplets
and for the first time, he began to regret the brutality of his necessary duty.
Truthfully, there could not have been an easy way to abduct her, but he was
sorry for her fear all the same.
David suddenly appeared in the doorway, his expression puzzled. But
Lyle simply waved at him irritably, irritation directed at himself for being
soft to a woman's tears. "Leave the old man alone. Go get the horses."
"You did not harm him, did you?" Arissa asked urgently, sniffling.
David stepped into the corridor, eyeing Arissa warily. "He’s unharmed.
But a moment longer and my report would not have been as favorable."
Arissa nearly collapsed with relief. Her sobs faded as star-bright tears
still glistened on her cheeks. "Diolch yn fawr," she whispered.
Both David and Lyle looked to her, their eyes widening. "You speak
Welsh?" David asked neutrally.
She nodded faintly. "I know a little," she sniffled again, wiping at her
nose. "I.... I did not think you'd understand me, but I felt the need to thank
you just the same for preserving Mossy's life. As I was raised properly, I
never allow a favor to go without expressing my gratitude."
"So you expressed your appreciation in a language you thought we would
not understand so we would not know you had thanked us? Most peculiar
that you should thank an enemy for an act of mercy," David's gaze lingered
on her a moment, studying her beauty. After several seconds, he cocked an
eyebrow slowly. "Fedra ddim siarad Cymraeg," he said softly.
Now it was Arissa's turn for surprise. She blinked away the remainder of
her tears, droplets gleaming on her thick lashes.
"You speak Welsh?"
"I just told you I did," David replied, tearing his eyes away from her and
focusing on Lyle. "I shall meet you by the servant's gate."
He was gone, slinking down the corridor. With Arissa still slung over his
shoulder, Lyle followed.
 ***

Huddled against the wall in the remains of his sanctuary, Mossy listened
to the boot falls as they faded down the hall. Shaken, he pulled himself up
on an upended stool to unsteady feet.
A quick glance in Bartholomew's direction showed the lad's blood to be
collecting against the stone floor in a bright pool of crimson. Mossy
stumbled towards his nephew, tripping over his robes in his haste to reach
him. The large young man was curled on his side, groaning with the agony
of his severe wound as Mossy struggled to turn him onto his back.
"Nay!" Bartholomew rasped. "I am beyond help. You must.... save
Arissa!"
Mossy dug his fingers into the tear in Bartholomew's tunic, probing the
cleanly-executed wound. On the right side of his torso just below his ribs, it
was bleeding profusely and Mossy wrestled with the hem of his robes,
tearing a length of material free and pressing it to the injury. Bart groaned
loudly, making a weak attempt to move away from the agonizing pressure
the old man was applying.
"Leave me, Mossy!" he breathed again, swallowing hard. "You must save
Riss!"
"Richmond is the only one who can save her," Mossy replied hoarsely,
struggling against the bright red flow.
Bartholomew's blue eyes opened, unnaturally bright against his pasty
face. "Then find him. Do not let my death be in vain."
Mossy stared at him, hearing his words and seeing the truth within.
Reluctantly, he left the dying young man and stumbled toward the doorway.
Nearly more than the shock of Bartholomew's impending death and Arissa's
abduction, the fact that the soldiers who had come for her knew who she
was enough to dash his composure. Distinctly, they had referred to her as
Princess. God help her, they knew who she was.
It suddenly began to occur to him that the siege on Lambourn had not
been revenge for the attack against Tad de Rydal. Mayhap, there was a
greater scheme involved, a plot full of court intrigue and royal conspiracies
that could threaten the very foundation of England's stability.
 Mayhap Ovid de Rydal hadn't attacked in the hopes of exacting
vengeance against Richmond le Bec. Mayhap, it had all been a cover for
another objective.
Mossy was quivering so terribly that he could scarcely walk, but he knew
that he had to get to Richmond before something horrible befell Arissa. He
was her great protector, sworn to protect and serve her with his very life.
For eighteen years Richmond le Bec had carried out his objective. Now,
when she needed him the most, he was distracted.
Mossy's pace picked up speed and urgency, ignoring the panic and
astonishment that threatened to disable him. He had to reach Henry's le Bec
with the news.

***

Lambourn was deserted for the most part as people took to their
chambers to wait out the fighting in and around the bailey. The kitchen
doors had been shut and bolted, hindering David's escape. He had to do
away with two serving wenches and three male servants before he was able
to unlock the door, leaving it open for Lyle's flight. Trudging into the
pouring rain, he went about his objective.
Lyle was not far behind. Arissa bounced miserably on his shoulder, trying
to cushion the blows with each step. As he descended the stairs, she begged
to be put to her feet and he complied without a word. However, the death-
grip he kept on her arm was nearly as uncomfortable as being slung across
his shoulder and she winced continuously as he led her through the dim
foyer and into the deserted gallery.
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked softly, resisting the urge
to struggle against him. She had, after all, promised not to resist in lieu of
sparing Mossy's life.
"That is not for me to decide, princess," Lyle replied, his eyes alert for
any movement that might interfere with their progress.
Arissa tripped on her own feet, nearly falling to her knees had it not been
for Lyle's powerful grip. But the impact of his words settled, including the
title of respect he had used. Not simply my lady, but princess. Puzzlement
invaded her expression.
 "Why.... why do you address me in such a fashion?"
He did not answer her as he pulled her through the gallery and prepared
to enter the kitchens. "Enemy or not, I will address you with due respect."
She gazed up at him as he paused near the threshold leading to the
kitchens, completely confused.
"Due respect? I do not understand. I am a mere lady, the earl's daughter.
But you know that, lest you would not be abducting me," she was
somewhat calmer than she had been earlier, although she knew not why.
She assumed that if the large soldier was intent upon harming her, then he
would have done so by now. "Why does Ovid want me? To lay a trap for
Richmond?"
The soldier was distracted by her words as he scanned the dim kitchens
beyond for signs of danger. Irritably, he glanced at her. "I do not know of
whom you speak. Who is Ovid?"
Her eyes narrowed curiously at his lack of understanding. It never
occurred to her to refrain from elaborating. "Lord de Rydal. You are with
his army, are you not?"
Satisfied that no threat lay beyond in the yawning room, Lyle turned his
full attention to her. "I am not English. I serve Owen Glendower."
Arissa blinked in confusion. "Who is that?"
He cocked his head, less concerned with making it to the servant’s
entrance as he found himself interested in their conversation. "The Welsh
prince opposing your father. Surely he’s told you of his bloodthirsty quest to
maintain a captive Wales?"
Arissa's eyebrows rose in surprise. "My father is intent on maintaining
Wales?" she repeated, surprised. "Good sir, my father is an earl, and we are
easily fifty miles from the Welsh border. You must have him confused with
someone else. Perhaps you have confused me with someone else."
Lyle gazed into the pale green eyes, wondering how on earth she could be
so dense. Either that, or she was an accomplished liar. The mere fact that
she was a woman made him opt for the latter.
"No more talk," he grip on her arm tightened in a display of irritation.
"You must have little respect for my intelligence to plead innocent of your
heritage"
Arissa gasped as he swung her through the kitchens. Turning a sharp
corner, they were confronted with five dead bodies and an open door. The
hellish weather beyond beckoned viciously, calling them forth into her
freezing embrace.
Lyle attempted to move Arissa forward over the corpses, but she cried
and squirmed, resuming the struggle she had pledged to cease.
"Quit your wrestling, wench," he snapped.
She gasped and nearly swooned when one of her flailing feet came into
contact with a bloodied head against the stone. "I.... I need my cloak. Oh,
please, allow me to retrieve my cloak!"
Lyle glanced at the pouring rain, thinking that a cloak would be a wise
acquisition in light of the weather they would be facing. 'Twould not due to
have the princess die of illness before they reached Wales. But returning to
her chamber to retrieve a heavy cover was out of the question; instead, he
glanced about quickly and was not surprised to see that both dead women
were wearing protection against the elements.
Releasing Arissa's arm, he snatched a heavy woolen cloak from one of
the deceased women and shook it out sharply, tossing it at Arissa. She
barely caught it, her hands shaking from disgust and fear as she slung it
about her narrow shoulders and secured it tightly. Pulling the brown hood
over her head and praying there weren't lice nesting inside, she did not
resist when Lyle grabbed her once more and thrust her into the driving
weather.
In spite of the fact that the wool cloak stank to heaven and scratched her
tender skin, it was warm and thick and offered a good deal of protection.
Lyle pulled her through the muddy pond that had once been the kitchen
yard, his eyes alert for any soldier or servant that might alert Lambourn of
the princess' abduction.
Even though the sounds of fighting were loud and fierce, he caught a
glimpse of only a few soldiers, and those men were engaged in mortal
combat with enemy warriors. Not one bothered to pay attention to the
unfamiliar soldier leading a small figure toward the servant’s gate.
Additionally, the pounding rain offered a shroud to partially obscure them
against alert gazes.
Already, Arissa's feet were soaking through. Her hide boots were not
meant to be submerged in water for any length of time and were saturating
quickly. Lyle, however, was oblivious of her discomfort as he hurried her
toward the wall. The closer they drew, the greater his sense of urgency.
 They were almost free. Soon, Wales would loom before him in all her
glory and Owen would be most pleased to discover Henry's bastard
daughter within his midst. Mayhap she would be the leverage he was
looking for, the key to bargaining with Henry. The surprise element the
English king was not counting on.
The gate was within his grasp. He reached out to touch it, feeling its iron
comfort him, assuring him of his successful mission. He gained strength
from the gate, even as he pushed Arissa through it, knowing the satisfaction
of a task accomplished. The princess was his.
But his satisfaction was the last positive emotion he was to feel. As he
was preparing to enter the gate himself, a loud crash sounded directly over
his head as something heavy slammed into the stone of the wall.
Instinctively, Lyle ducked as a heavy mace came crashing down on his
helm. Had it not been for his head protection, he would have been knocked
unconscious. As it was, his ears were ringing as he whirled to face his
accoster.
It was his worst nightmare come to life. Through the sheet of driving
rain, emerging from the very bowels of hell, was a figure so massive and
terrifying that Lyle could scarcely believe it. He knew it would be of no use
to run; he would simply be caught and killed. But he knew in the same
breath that he was going to meet his demise regardless, for the figure
approaching had sent many a man into the depths of the underworld.
Lyle was gazing into the face of the Devil's own ferryman. Surely Charon
hadn't driven as many souls into the maze of Hades as this man before him
had. Terror filled his heart. There was no escape.
Death was approaching.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Richmond le Bec raised his sword, the razor-sharp tip aimed at Lyle's
throat. "You will release her."
Struggling against his natural fear, Lyle's grip tightened on Arissa's soft
arm. "Owen knows she’s here, le Bec. If you kill me, more will come for
her and still more until she’s within the heart of the Welsh resistance. We
will not stop until we have her."
As the soldier spoke of crazy misconceptions, Arissa heart was soaring
with hope. Somehow, Richmond had sensed she was in danger; she did not
know how he had come to discover her predicament, but the reasons behind
his knowledge were of little concern. The only factor of import was his
timely arrival
“Richmond!" she cried. "Thank God!"
Richmond heard her voice, filling him with sweetness and longing and
utter elation. But the soldier's words were rattling about in his weary mind
and he couldn't shake the impact; Owen was aware of Arissa's identity. It
did not matter how the man knew, only that he was in possession of
knowledge very few people were aware of.
Suddenly, the growing Welsh rebellion was striking far too close to his
heart and Richmond was filled with panic and rage. Tightening the grip on
the hilt of his powerful broadsword, he resumed his advance with a
vengeance. Owen couldn't have Arissa; if he had to kill every rebellious
Welsh bastard personally, he would not stop until all hazard to Arissa's
safety was vanished. And he would begin with the idiot before him.
"You cannot have her," he growled as he closed the distance between
them. "You shall pay for your foolish folly with your worthless life."
Lyle, still gripping Arissa, backed away from Richmond's approach.
"That may be, but heed my words. We know her to be Henry's daughter and
Owen means to have her."
Arissa, bewildered and apprehensive, began to struggle wildly within his
crushing grip. Shrieking and gasping, she tugged against his hold and took
to pounding him on the shoulder. A well-aimed fist caught him in the face
and, for a moment, Lyle was distracted.
 Emitting a roar of fury borne from fear and anger, Lyle thrust Arissa
away from him savagely. With a yelp, she went stumbling away in a
reckless reel of force. Before she could stop her momentum, the fortress
wall was suddenly in her path and in a blinding flash of pain, the entire
world went black.
Richmond's brittle composure very nearly shattered as Arissa smacked
her head against the stone wall, crumpling to the swampy mud. But Owen's
soldier had assumed an offensive stance and he raised his sword, charging
the foolish warrior with all of the fury and strength he possessed.
Coming together in a clash of metal and flesh, Owen's soldier tumbled
onto his back from the potency of Richmond's frenzy. But Lyle was
amazingly agile and managed to roll to his feet, regaining his balance and
meeting Richmond's strikes with a good deal of skill. As their battle ensued
across the muck-choked yard, Arissa lay unconscious in several inches of
freezing, dirty water.
Richmond felt a desperation he had never before experienced. He
couldn't be sure if Arissa was even breathing and the need to dispatch his
opponent was greater than any he had ever known. But the soldier was
fresh, unhindered by the hours upon hours of endless fighting that
Richmond had experienced. Knowing it was his age draining his stamina,
Richmond struggled against a lesser opponent to overcome the most serious
threat to Arissa's life that he had yet to face.
Unfortunately, Owen's spy showed little sign of defeat and the battle
lengthened. Richmond's panic began to rise, for Arissa had yet to move a
muscle and he began to seriously consider his limited options. It almost did
not matter whether or not he killed his opponent; of surmounting
importance was that he must reach Arissa.
She needed him desperately and anger anew swept him. He refused to
believe that he had witnessed her demise as her head crashed against the
stone, or as she lay drowning in the mud at this very moment. He simply
could not dwell on the sheer horror his frantic thoughts provoked, 'else he
would lose his concentration and they would both be lost.
Just as he managed to corner the Welsh soldier against the fortified wall,
Gavan suddenly rounded the corner of the kitchen astride his striking red
charger. Richmond exerted a hard blow against the soldier, his heart soaring
with hope and relief as he laid eyes on his second in command.
 "Get Arissa!" he bellowed.
Gavan was off his horse before the words were out of Richmond's mouth.
Over three hundred pounds of flesh and armor made haste to Arissa,
scooping her out of the mud and filth. She was alive, but gray and soaked to
the skin. Even as Gavan moved for the kitchen entrance, he was shouting
urgently to Richmond.
"I am taking her inside!"
"Is she alive?" Richmond took a hard blow, answering with the same.
Gavan muttered something Richmond did not hear. In a panic, he
delivered several bone-shattering thrusts that sent the enemy soldier to his
knees. As the man raised his sword to defend himself, Richmond's weapon
cut through the freezing rain and air so forcefully that Lyle's blade was
jarred from his grip. The Welshman watched with horror as his sword
landed several yards away.
Richmond did not pause in his onslaught. Kicking his opponent squarely
in the chest, he sent the man to his back. Lyle gazed up at Richmond,
amazingly calm in spite of the fact that he knew he was breathing his last.
He comforted himself with the knowledge that David would deliver the
news of the princess' whereabouts to Owen and that factor alone was more
important than his own insignificant life.
"They shall come for her," he said hoarsely. "You cannot protect her from
all of Wales."
Richmond put the tip of his sword to Lyle's throat, his body quivering
with fatigue and emotion. Since there was no use in denying Arissa's roots,
he did not attempt the effort. Instead, he turned the tables. "How did he
know?"
Lyle cocked an eyebrow. "You are about to kill me, le Bec. I do not
presume to believe that if I were to tell you what you wish to know, you
would spare my life. I shall take your answers to my grave."
Richmond gazed down at him impassively. "So be it. But I will tell you
now that every Welshman who comes within the princess' range will meet
with your fate. Hundreds, thousands, it does not matter. They will all die."
"You are too old to fight them all," Lyle said softly, his tone laced with
defiant defeat. "As I nearly beat you, they shall not fail."
Richmond's hands were shaking as he gripped the hilt of his sword.
When he moved to finish his task, Lyle suddenly brought up a foot and
kicked Richmond in the gut. Losing his balance and his breath, he stumbled
back as the Welshman leapt to his hands and knees, crawling desperately
through the mud to reach his weapon.
Lyle's hand met with the hilt of his sword, raising it against Richmond
with the full intent of ramming it through his groin. But Richmond was a
shade faster, his blade plunging deep into the flesh of Lyle's torso before the
Welshman could complete his purpose. Piercing the heart, Lyle was walking
the fields of Paradise before he realized death had finally claimed him.

***

By the time Richmond reached Arissa's bower, Gavan and Penelope were
stripping off her icy, soaked clothing while Regine was screaming to the
servants for hot water. Richmond thrust himself between his soldier and
Penelope, nearly knocking the young girl over in the process.
"I shall get her clothes," he said, his voice shaking. "Somebody find
Mossy."
Gavan stood back, watching Richmond go to work on Arissa's heavy
woolen surcoat. "I shall retrieve him," he muttered.
Richmond did not reply; his entire world was centered around the wet
figure before him, her skin icy and her face an ugly shade of gray. Knowing
of Arissa's delicate health only served to inflame his panic as he tore off his
gauntlets and untangled the sash at her waist. Then, grasping the surcoat
around the neck, he gave a sharp tug and tore it cleanly down the middle.
Penelope, remarkably, was calm amidst the hustle and ripping fabric. The
girl had a tendency to be skittish and jittery, but she was doing an admirable
job of maintaining her composure while Richmond stripped Arissa of her
wet clothing.
"What can I do, Richmond?" she asked softly.
He did not answer her for a moment as the clinging woolen garment gave
him a slight degree of difficulty. His movements were sharp, rough, and
indicative of panic. "Towels, love. Collect as many as you can lay your
hands on."
Penelope was gone, dashing past Regine just as several harried servants
emerged into the room with a copper tub and buckets of hot water.
Richmond, meanwhile, succeeded in removing all of Arissa's soaked
clothing and wrapped her in a heavy coverlet to keep her warm.
There was nothing he could do for the moment but wait until the servants
filled the tub. Cradling Arissa on his lap, he felt the first brick of his
substantial wall of composure tumble.
"Oh, Riss," he whispered into her hair, his quaking fingers tracing over
the lump on her forehead. "Wake up, kitten. You are safe now."
She did not respond and he gripped the back of her limp head with his
great hand, kissing her face tenderly and oblivious to the other occupants of
the room. At the moment, it simply did not if their secret became public
knowledge; he loved Arissa and did not care who knew it.
"Wake up, kitten," he whispered against her temple. "You are safe. Open
your eyes, love, listen to me."
He continued to murmur against her hair as the copper tub was filled to
the rim. But she was determined to ignore him, safe and warm and secure
from the terrible realities of world as she huddled deep inside her
comforting stupor. After a few non-responsive moments, he paused in his
attempt to coax her forth from the depths of unconsciousness, focusing
instead on the nearly-full tub.
As Richmond attempted to remove the bedrug in preparation for placing
her in the copper vat, Arissa's eyes abruptly fluttered open.
"Richmond?" she whispered weakly.
Startled, he clutched her tightly. "I am here, Riss. You are safe."
She closed her eyes, struggling to catch her breath. "The soldier…."
"He’s dead, kitten," he whispered. "He cannot harm you any longer."
She struggled to speak. "There.... there were two of them. One was
supposed to w-wait outside of the servant’s gate with horses for our
escape."
Richmond listened calmly; if the second soldier was as experienced as
the first, he was long gone by now. He squeezed her gently. "It doesn't
matter. You are safe now."
Individually, Arissa's eyelids weighed a hundred pounds; certainly, she
did not possess the strength to keep them open. But as she attempted to
doze, Richmond shook her gently. "I know you are tired, kitten, but do not
go to sleep. Not yet. Regine has prepared a bath and we must warm your
body."
 "I do not want a bath," she mumbled weakly. "Let me sleep first and I
shall bathe later."
He smiled, relieved that the stubborn Lady Arissa he had seen on
occasion was making an appearance. When she was feeling particularly
tired or ill, her usually sunny demeanor fled in lieu of a bitter, combative
shrew. But he would rather be subject to her insolent mood than to witness
her continued unconsciousness. All will be well, he told himself firmly. If
she was willing to contradict him, then she would be fine.
"Bath first, sleep later," he countered quietly, firmly.
Regine moved to her sister's side, her eyes wide as she waited for
Richmond to direct her further. He looked to the young girl, managing a
feeble wink. "She will be fine, Regine. Tell me; where is your mother?"
"In her bower with Lady Livia and Lady Maxine, I believe," Regine said,
shaken and fatigued by the day of events.
In Richmond's arms, Arissa suddenly twitched and her eyes opened wide.
Fat tears began to spill down her temples. "Bart! One of those men killed
him!"
Regine let out a horrified cry and Richmond grabbed hold of the younger
girl in a supportive, if not quieting, gesture. He eyed her as she sobbed
heavily, his brow furrowed with concern as he returned his attention to
Arissa.
"You are sure, kitten? How do you know?"
Weeping softly, Arissa struggled to answer. "They.... they broke into
Mossy's sanctuary and Bart tried to defend me. They killed him!"
Regine's sobs grew louder as Richmond continued to gaze at Arissa, his
age and exhaustion suddenly evident on his features. They had already lost
Carlton to the attack, and now Bartholomew. Lady Maxine had not yet been
informed of her husband's passing; Richmond had been making his way
into the castle to inform her of his death when he had been met by a frantic
Mossy.
Richmond had forgotten all about Carlton when Mossy demanded that he
save Arissa from her abductors. The only matter of import had been to
rescue his charge, his love, and he cursed himself for being neglectful
enough to forget the death of his friend until reminded inadvertently at this
moment. As if Carlton's death had been meaningless. On the contrary;
Carlton had taken a blade meant for Richmond himself.
 He sighed heavily, closing his eyes briefly in a blatant display of disgust.
He simply could not understand what was happening; from the details of
Tad de Rydal's ambush to the revelation of Arissa's abduction, nothing
made any sense and he was too weary at the moment to attempt the feat of
detailed comprehension. Whatever the answers he sought, he would hap
upon them soon enough.
The only matter of concern at the moment, however, was taking care of
Arissa and informing Lady Maxine of her husband's death. After that, he
would confirm Arissa's story of Bartholomew's demise and brace himself
for the eventuality of delivering the news to the young man's parents. An
event he was dreading already.
But he forced himself to focus on the task at hand as Arissa began to
quiver in his arms. She was cold and damp and he was eager to plunge her
into the hot water.
"Regine," he gently shook the hysterical young girl. "Be a good lass and
see what's keeping Penelope. Go on now; that's a good girl."
Hiccupping and weeping, Regine shuffled across the floor as Mossy and
Gavan appeared in the doorway. Gavan peered curiously at the youngest de
Lohr.
"What's the matter, love?"
"B-art's dead!" she sobbed.
Shocked, Gavan looked to Richmond as he stood with Arissa in his arms.
Before Richmond could reply, Mossy moved into the room with far less
energy than he usually exhibited. "He’s not dead, though I expect he will be
shortly," he said in a thin voice. "The lad defended Arissa bravely, but he
simply was not skilled enough with a blade. It was a short fight."
Richmond sighed heavily with sorrow and disgust. "God be merciful," he
murmured fervently, moving towards the tub. "Where is he now?"
"In my sanctuary," Mossy replied. "I did what I could for him. The rest is
up to God."
Richmond reached the tub with Arissa lethargically in his arms. "Gavan,
see if there is anything else to be done for the lad. If he’s already dead, then
move him to where Carlton lies. And see what is transpiring outside and
report back to me. I would know what level of resistance we are currently
meeting with."
 Arissa couldn't decide if she should be delighted that her brother lived
still or grief-stricken because he was not expected to survive. 'Twas a wild
field of emotions wreaking havoc in her muddled mind. But over her
concern for Bartholomew's predicament, she understood Richmond's words
regarding Penelope's father and a new measure of sorrow gripped her.
"Carlton is dead?" she asked.
Richmond set her down gently, peeling away the coverlet. "Aye, kitten.
But Penelope does not know. Not a word to her, please. I have not told her
mother yet."
Gavan escorted Regine from the room, closing the door softly. When the
last of the coverlet fell away from Arissa's shivering body, Richmond gently
helped his very naked charge into the tub. With a sniffle and a sigh, Arissa
submerged herself up to her neck.
As she soaked in the steaming water, Mossy examined the lump on her
forehead. "It's not too severe," he observed. "Do yer ears ring, Riss?"
"A little," she said quietly. "I am terribly tired."
"No doubt," Mossy said, digging through his bag. Suddenly, a large rat
popped forth and skittered across the floor, vanishing underneath the bed.
Mossy acted as if he hadn't noticed the rodent, continuing to rummage
through his satchel. "Damn rats. They like to eat my pessaries."
"Pessaries?" Arissa repeated.
"Aye." Mossy suddenly drew forth a pouch, shoving it at Richmond.
When Richmond looked puzzled, the ancient crone fixed him in the eye.
"To prevent pregnancy,” he said. “Since ye and Arissa are lovers, there is a
great need to prevent her from conceiving before ye can marry her. Were
she to become pregnant, it would become a terrible scandal, not to mention
the nuns would probably take the babe away and ye'd never see it again. Do
ye understand what I am telling ye?"
Richmond stared at him a moment, moving woodenly to accept the
pouch. "I.... I understand all too well," he swallowed, slanting Arissa a
glance. "How did you know?"
Mossy dabbed Arissa's bruise with a clear salve. "She told me. But I will
tell ye that I was not surprised. I have been expecting it."
Richmond did not know what to say. He touched Arissa's hair as Mossy
tended her wound, his weary thoughts threatening to consume his sanity.
Far more had happened in the past two days than he could hope to
comprehend and his exhausted mind was fairly numb with the entirety of
events. When the old man finished spreading the ointment, he returned his
attention to his bag once again.
"Ye might want to consider using the pessaries indefinitely, Richmond,"
he said softly. "Arissa's health is delicate and were she to conceive, it might
prove to be too much for her. With her petite stature and yer massive size,
the child she would bear would most likely kill her. I know ye'd consider
her life over the desire for an heir."
Arissa's eyes came open and she looked to Mossy, suddenly lucid. "That's
ridiculous, Mossy. I shall not hear such nonsense. Richmond must have a
dozen heirs."
Richmond scratched his head. "He’s simply thinking of your health, Riss.
Mayhap we should listen...."
"Nay!" she spat. "I shall not listen to him, and I shall not use his foolish
pessaries!"
Richmond stood up, patting her shoulder gently. "All right, kitten, all
right. Do not get yourself worked up. There will be plenty of time to discuss
this later."
She shook her head firmly, feeling her body relax as he began to massage
her neck. "There's nothing to discuss," she said softly, closing her eyes
against his touch. "I shall bear you a host of sons in spite of Mossy's worry.
I can do it."
Behind Arissa, Richmond passed a lingering glance at Mossy. "I know
you can, kitten." But he did not mean it.
A heavy silence descended on the room, the faint sounds of the waning
battle permeating the air. Richmond knew the conflict was declining and he
was not planning on returning to the action to clean up the remnants; Daniel
was in charge and could handle the task admirably. Furthermore, he had
completed his duty; he had saved Lambourn with his intelligence and
tactics and considered his function fulfilled for the moment.
From the most strenuous of duties to the tenderest of tasks, he continued
to massage Arissa's shoulders, trying desperately not to linger on her
magnificent breasts just below the waterline. She was warming under his
hands, her spirit and life returning and he was infinitely grateful that God
had given him the strength and skill to save her from the most intense peril
yet.
 As Richmond pondered the fortunes of Fate, Mossy sat on the edge of
the bed, rummaging through his bad as usual. The man could never remain
still for any length of time and Richmond passed him a curious glance,
wondering what on earth he was looking for.
"What did the soldier mean when he referred to me as Henry's daughter?"
Arissa's voice pierced the air, thin and barely audible.
Richmond continued to rub her shoulders, not daring to glance at Mossy.
The old man, thankfully, hadn't faltered in his rummaging. Except for the
fact that he was making more noise than usual, Richmond would have
thought he hadn't heard the question at all.
When Richmond did not answer right away, Arissa turned to look at him.
The lump on her forehead was already turning shades of blue as their gazes
locked.
"Do you know what he meant? You did not seem surprised by his words,
Richmond. In fact, you said that Owen could not have me. Who is Owen?"
Richmond stopped his gentle massage. He couldn't help but look to
Mossy then; the old man had stopped digging through his satchel and was
focused openly on Richmond, as if waiting for the knight to deliver a
comprehensive explanation. Obviously, he was expecting Richmond to
single-handedly deal with the situation.
Seeing he would receive little, if any, support from the old man,
Richmond scratched his head thoughtfully and crouched beside the tub.
"Owen Glendower is the Welshman resisting England's rule of Wales," he
said quietly.
Her gaze was open, inquisitive. "The soldier said he was going to take me
to Owen. Why would he do that, Richmond? Why in the world would he
want me?"
Mossy rose from the bed, stiffly, feeling every one of his eighty-odd
years. "De Rydal's attack was a cover for her abduction, Richmond. Of that
I am sure. To distract ye from Arissa and then spirit her away to Wales was
their true objective."
Richmond glanced to the old man. "I do not believe that was the case,
although it was a convenient and coincidental happening. Ovid was
screaming for my head from the moment his army attacked. He wanted me,
to be sure. The man who abducted Arissa must have been here prior to the
attack and simply used the assault to his advantage."
 "That may be so, but the point is that Owen knows she’s here. And he
will undoubtedly attempt to abduct her again."
Richmond opened his mouth, but Arissa suddenly leapt into the
conversation. "What are you talking about? Richmond, what's happening?"
Richmond's gaze fell on her once more. Her inquisitive look was gone,
replaced by a measure of suspicion and bewilderment. He sighed heavily;
she was eighteen, a woman grown, and old enough to know of her true
heritage. Moreover, it would be difficult to conceal any factual evidence
from her at this point, for she had already heard several portions of the
truth.
Henry had wanted to tell her himself when she was old enough to
understand the significance of her position. William had been forbidden to
tell her, but Richmond was under no such orders. Gazing into her wide
green eyes, he could see the time for truth had come.
It was his right and privilege to inform her of her true heritage. Even as
he considered it a necessity in the wake of recent events, he was
nonetheless seized with degree of apprehension. Clearly, for her own safety,
Arissa needed to know what was going on around her.
Before she could ask again, he took a deep breath and brought her hand
to his lips for a tender kiss.
"What I am about to tell you will undoubtedly shock you, Riss. But
above all else, I want you to remember how very much I love you. That will
never change."
Her expression turned faintly guarded as he watched. The fingers against
his lips began to caress his stubble. "What is it?"
He paused a moment as he collected his thoughts, studying her beautiful
face with a twinkle in his eye. "What are your first recollections of me?"
She blinked, initially in confusion and then in thought. "I can remember
you for as long as I can recall. I recollect when I was very young, you
brought me a white rabbit for my birthday and the rabbit scratched me."
He smiled faintly, a tender warmth settling between them. She was calm
and open, trusting him as she always had. He would strive to maintain the
delicate faith between them as the conversation progressed.
"You were three years old at the time," he said softly. "You cried so hard
that you vomited. Not from pain, but because your feelings were hurt. Do
you remember?"
 She nodded, sheepish. "I do," her gaze roved over his chin, his hand
clasping hers, and he saw her take a deep, steadying breath. "You have
always been with me, Richmond. And I have always loved you."
He kissed her hand again. "I first met you when you were five days old. I
remember a tiny baby with a lusty cry endearing herself to me even then,"
he held her hand tightly, meeting her gaze as he spoke. "You were born in
London. I remember carrying a tiny little bundle all the way to Lambourn,
terrified that some mishap would befall you before I was able to complete
the journey. And I remember handing you into the waiting arms of Mossy.
God's Teeth, he made a fuss over you."
She stared at him for several long moments in obvious confusion. "I.... I
was not born at Lambourn?"
He shook his head slowly, gently. "Nay, love."
Gazing into Richmond's beloved eyes, she felt little fear and minimal
apprehension. Only the natural surprise of the secrets he was beginning to
allude to.
After a moment, she licked her lips and her brow furrowed thoughtfully.
"But....I am not.... am I not Maude's daughter? She’s never been to London,
Richmond."
His expression was terribly tender, his voice calm and soothing. "You are
not Maude's daughter. You are the result of a liaison between Henry of
Bolingbroke and a woman not his wife. Henry and I have been friends since
we were children and when you were born, he entrusted me with your
protection. For eighteen years, I have been your protector."
He delivered the news so gently, so casually, that she truly was not
shocked. More than anything, she felt a peculiar sense of peace. It was as if
somehow, she had always known that she had been different. It hadn't been
the fact that her entire family was fair while she herself possessed strikingly
dark features. While her siblings and parents were heavy-set and robust, she
had always been thin and frail.
Her sensation of dissimilarity had been more of a feeling, a nagging
thought that had plagued the recesses of her mind. Mayhap, she had always
sensed her difference and not even realized it.
Suddenly, a great deal became clear - Richmond's constant presence, his
authority when it came to her welfare. As she gazed into his beautiful face,
it was as if a curtain lifted and the sun was shining through. She was
coming to understand.
"You are my protector?" she whispered.
He nodded faintly. "I protect your soul, your body, and would deliver you
from those who would seek to harm you. I have spent the majority of my
adult life watching you blossom into a woman of unbelievable
magnificence. I could not imagine a more worthwhile duty than that."
Her gaze lingered on him a moment before looking to Mossy. "You have
always known this?"
Mossy shuffled to the tub, a quirky smile on his lips. "Can I tell ye what I
remember? A young knight with bright blue eyes who was absolutely
terrified of the tiny, fragile babe within his care. Every time ye cried, I
thought he was going to collapse. I have never seen anyone so nervous
whilst clutching a new child."
Richmond shrugged as if to concede his point, while Arissa's astonished
expression took on a shade of a smile.
"Fortunately, he seems to have overcome his fear of touching me."
Absently, she touched her cheek as if to make sure she was not dreaming
the entire conversation. Although calm, her expression was still somewhat
dazed. "Sweet St. Jude, Richmond. Is that what the soldier meant? That I
am the king's daughter and, therefore, his enemies would harm me?"
"Potentially,” he nodded. “Which is why I have been by your side for
eighteen years, with little exception. The only instances I have left you have
been the result of very necessary situations. But I always returned to
Lambourn, eager to resume my station."
Her pale eyes met his blue eyes and he could literally read the thoughts
rolling through her mind. "All of these years.... it never seemed strange to
me that you were always here, always by my side, when it was common
knowledge that you were sworn to Henry. I loved you so much that I simply
did not care why you were here. But when you left, I always felt as if you
had ripped out my heart and taken it with you."
He continued to gaze at her, astonished that she had digested the details
of his disclosure with such ease. He had expected shock, denial, disbelief at
the very least. Instead, she had accepted the information without question.
Arissa had grown up knowing the man before her, loving him with all of
her heart, and knowing that he would never lie to her. If he said she was
Henry's daughter, then she would accept it. Everything he was telling her
made perfect sense.
Richmond broke in to her gently rolling thoughts. "Whenever I went
away, it was under Henry's direct orders," he said. "Literally, I was forced to
react. Usually it was because he wanted first-hand knowledge of your
wellbeing or, within the past few years, to fight for his throne."
Absently, she touched a black tendril of damp hair in lingering thought.
"I.... I do not look anything like him. I saw him once, when I was young.
He’s fair."
"You favor your mother."
"Do you know who my mother is?"
He cleared his throat quietly, think. He was not sure it would be a wise
thing to tell her every circumstance of her birth, at least not now. "I met her
the night I took you to Lambourn. I have not seen her since, and I have no
knowledge of her whereabouts."
More than the mere revelation of being Henry's daughter, Arissa's face
softened at the thought of the faceless, unknown mother who had been
forced to give her up those years ago. Even though she had never birthed a
child, she instinctively knew how badly the woman must have hurt to have
been forced to relinquish her flesh and blood. Unless.... unless she had been
willing to discard the unwanted royal bastard.
A stab of sorrow pierced her heart at the thought that she had been
deliberately cast-off. Mayhap the woman had simply turned over the fragile
little girl without a second thought on the matter.
"Why do you look like that?" Richmond broke into her thoughts yet
again, kissing her hand again tenderly.
She hadn't been aware of her furrowed brow, her distant expression.
Looking to Richmond, she simply shook her head. "'Tis nothing. I supposed
I am simply overwhelmed by all of this."
He smiled faintly. "I must say, you are far calmer than I imagined you
would be. I am very proud of you, Riss. This cannot be easy for you."
She shrugged. "Mayhap I am calm simply because I am so shocked.
Mayhap in an hour or two, the reality will settle and I shall become a
quivering wreck. Truthfully, so much has happened since yesterday I
believe I have become numb to it all."
 His lips drifted over her fingers tenderly. "Do not say that. I do not want
you to be numb to anything."
She glanced at him, catching his implication and blushing furiously. "You
are incorrigible," she whispered bashfully.
His teeth nibbled on her fingers. "Nay, lady, I am simply overcome with
my feelings for you. Pray be kind."
Her eyes were riveted to his white teeth as they nipped her flesh, feeling
bolts of excitement surging through her veins. Were Mossy not in the room,
she would have been extremely eager for another encounter. The old man,
however, dampened her enthusiasm.
Struggling to divert her wicked emotions, a far-flung thought came to
mind. "Richmond,” she turned to him thoughtfully, “if I am Henry's
daughter, then it was he who pledged me to Whitby?"
"Aye."
Her brow furrowed as she pondered the information. "Then you will have
to discuss our marriage with him?"
"Aye. Gladly."
She paused a moment, watching his teeth on her thumb. "But if I am of
royal blood, will he allow you to marry me? As a mere knight?"
He stopped, his eyes intense. He was amazed at how astute she was. She
heard him sigh, faint and long. "I told you it will not matter. I will marry
you with or without his consent."
"But we were speaking of my father.... I mean, the earl when you made
that particular declaration," her gaze was suddenly soft, imploring. "You
would defy the king for my hand?"
His stare was scorching, his expression blazing with sincerity and intent.
When he spoke, his tone was almost unnaturally commanding. "My lady, I
would defy God himself."
Outside in the corridor, soft voices gradually became louder and
Richmond stood, knowing that The Horde had returned. He slanted Arissa a
final, if not firm, glance. "Not a word, Riss, about any of this. What we
have discussed must not go any further, at least not now."
She nodded solemnly, a bit unsteadily. "In faith, I would not know where
to begin."
Giving her a confident wink, he moved for the door and opened it in time
to see Emma and Lady Livia in the corridor, their arms laden with towels.
 Richmond's brows drew together. "Where are Penelope and Regine?"
"We found them in the foyer, sobbing hysterically," Lady Livia
explained. "I was only able to understand that you required towels for Lady
Arissa. When we agreed to tend the duty, they fled to Lady Maude's solar, I
believe."
"God's Teeth," Richmond muttered, passing a glance at Mossy. "Regine is
going to tell her mother before I have had the chance."
"Waste no time," Mossy waved him on. "We shall take good care of
Arissa."
Arissa, her wide eyes filled with new tears of grief as she was reminded
of her brother's mortal injury, sat huddled in the tub. Knowing she would be
well tended, Richmond decided to make his way to Maude's solar to control
the damage Regine had undoubtedly inflicted as best he could. As long as
Arissa was safe and whole, he was better able to concentrate on more
immediate matters.
"Very well," he grumbled, collecting his helm. "I shall return later to see
how my lady fares."
Emma and her mother were already into the room, busying themselves
eagerly. "She will be fine, my lord," Lady Livia said, smiling fondly at
Arissa.
Leaving his lady to the care of others, Richmond struck out across the
labyrinth of Lambourn in search of a hysterical young girl and, he was sure,
her equally hysterical mother.

***

Lady Maude had swooned the moment she had heard of her son's
impending death and, with few exceptions, had yet to become fully lucid.
Penelope and Lady Maxine, dealing with the death of Carlton, had taken to
their chambers in the throes of grief. While Emma remained with Arissa,
Regine and Lady Livia had retreated to Lady Maude's bower to offer their
comfort.
Twice already, Lady Maude had pleaded for a dagger to end her
miserable life as Mossy returned to his sanctuary to remain by
Bartholomew's side until death claimed him. In all, a chaotic situation had
descended upon the inhabitants of Lambourn and Richmond was at his wit's
end trying his best to minimize the damage. He seemed to be the only sane
person left.
As dusk drew nigh, Daniel and Gavan managed to chase away the last
remnants of de Rydal's army. Immediately, the various houses who had been
fearfully residing within the walls of Lambourn packed their belongings
and set out for home.
It did not seem to matter that the rain was fiercer than before, or that
traveling at night was foolish and dangerous. The only factor of concern
was leaving the battered but relatively intact bastion of Lambourn. Indeed,
the Lady Arissa de Lohr's party had been an affair to remember and in
parting, her guests managed to exhale a sharp sigh of relief. Far too much
excitement and surprise for their tastes.
As the bailey vacated the last noble visitors, William, Gavan, Daniel and
Richmond settled wearily in the earl's small solar for a debriefing
conference. The talks, however, were limited to Gavan, Daniel and
Richmond; since learning of his son's mortal wound, William had been a
numbed soul, clouded with grief.
The earl sat in his great carved chair, unfeeling and unblinking, drinking
himself ill and staring into the depths of space as the world around him
went along its way. It was not the mere fact that his son was dying; more
than that, it was the fact that Lambourn was losing her heir. An eccentric
heir was better than none at all as the de Lohr legacy loomed towards
extinction.
After nearly an hour of small, weary talk and basic information, Mossy
joined the group to inform them that Bartholomew was still hovering one
step above death. Upon delivering the news to the catatonic earl, the old
man wearily took a seat and helped himself to a large chalice of wine.
Richmond eyed the aged crone, glad for the silent support as he prepared to
delve into the true core of the situation.
"Although there is no doubt that Ovid attacked Lambourn in retaliation
for Tad's ambush, of which I am completely innocent, you should also
know that something far more concerning has happened."
William was still staring into the wall. Richmond braced his balled fists
against the table, leaning on his arms as he focused on the earl. "William,
you must hear me. Owen Glendower has discovered Arissa's true identity.
While we were preoccupied with de Rydal's assault, two of his spies used it
as convenient cover to abduct Arissa. That was why Bartholomew was
mortally injured; he was attempting to protect her from the Welshmen who
had come to abduct her.
William appeared as if he hadn't comprehended a single word. Daniel's
eyes widened while Gavan, in complete understanding, clenched his teeth
with fury. When it became apparent that William was to remain non-
responsive, Richmond opened his mouth in a final attempt to force the man
to understand that there was far more going on than his son's death
impending death.
But William never gave him a chance. As if the impact of Richmond's
words settled deep, he leapt from his chair in a fit of shock and
astonishment.
"Bart.... Bart was defending her?" he roared.
Even Richmond was taken aback by the tone, although he did not
outwardly react. His gaze held steady. "Mossy witnessed the event. Bart
was extremely brave, but badly outnumbered." He did not bother to
mention the fact that Lambourn's heir lacked the necessary skills, too. Such
a point was of no consequence at the moment.
William, however, did not seem the least bit mollified by the explanation.
If anything, his face mottled a deeper shade of red. Spittle formed on his
lips. As the men in the room watched, the Earl of Berkshire transformed
from an intelligent, rational man into a being of unrestrained madness.
"Owen.... Owen came for Arissa and killed my son," he muttered, nearly
tripping over his chair as he moved away from the table. "And Ovid.... this
is all her fault, Richmond. All of Tad's actions were a direct result of his
attraction for her and now my son is killed while trying to protect her from
Henry's enemies." He raked his fingers through his thinning hair, his eyes
wild as if everything suddenly became clear. "Everything that has happened
this day has been her fault!"
Richmond faced him, his usually expressionless features gaining a degree
of hostility. "That is simply untrue. Listen to yourself, William; your grief is
speaking."
"Nay!" William boomed, smashing his empty wine flask to splinters.
"'Tis not madness in the least. Henry's bastard has taken my son from me, as
she’s very nearly destroyed my keep as well! This is all her doing!"
 Richmond's body was tense; Gavan rose from his chair, eyeing his liege
warily. He'd never seen Richmond react in such a hostile fashion; the man
had been issued endless challenges, verbal insults and the like, and had
never once showed an outward reaction. To see his body coiled like a spring
in the face of the earl's ravings was disturbing to say the least.
"She had nothing to do with any of it," Richmond's calm voice did not
betray his tight manner. "I forbid you to blame this catastrophe on her."
"You forbid me?"
William was rapidly spinning out of control, his fatigue and grief
decaying his sanity. He kicked at an unfortunate chair that happened to be in
his path, reaching down to pick up the broken pieces and smashing them
into kindling. Daniel was on his feet, flanking Richmond with an astonished
expression as William descended into the darkened realm of madness. Even
though the earl had never been particularly adept at controlling his
emotions, he had never raged out of control as he was doing now. And all of
it aimed at Arissa.
Richmond well knew that the earl's rantings were that of a man gone
temporarily insane, but he was nonetheless apprehensive of his attitude.
William was using Arissa as a convenient excuse for his life suddenly gone
wrong, the cause of his pain and sorrow because he had no one else to
blame. His insanity was irrational and confusing.
But it did not excuse the insults dealt. As the candles burned slowly and
the log fire crackled, the strain in the room grew to snapping proportions.
"William, calm yourself before you hurt someone," Richmond said as
steadily as he could manage. "You are not thinking clearly."
William was in the process of snapping a piece of wood, grunting and
huffing as he twisted and pulled. When the wood snapped sharply, he tossed
it to the floor and stomped on it like a spoiled child.
"I always knew what could happen should Henry's enemies discover her
whereabouts," he rasped, spreading his hands in a display of disbelief,
imploring those present for answers to his agony. "Ovid supported Richard,
for God sake. Do not you see? He’s siding with the Welsh rebellion. But
you knew this else you would not have attacked Tad!"
Richmond's jaw ticked. "I did not ambush Tad."
"You did!” he accused. “Henry ordered you to disable his unfaithful, and
you started with the de Rydal heir in hopes of wiping out the entire barony.
With Tad gone, the legacy dies. All of this talk about defending Arissa's
honor was a ploy, a ploy invented by you to convince me that Tad de Rydal
was a dishonorable man," he suddenly stopped in the midst of his ravings
and jabbed a thick finger at Richmond. "You wanted me to throw Tad from
Lambourn so that you could do away with him and make it look as an
ambush. You are to blame for this, Richmond. You have brought Henry's
war down upon us."
Richmond sighed, passing a long glance at Gavan. The situation was
moving from bad to worse, the ranting of a man far gone with grief
clouding the issues. The further he spouted, the more apprehensive
Richmond became.
"You are mad, William. I shall not listen to this nonsense any longer."
William, his teeth clenched tightly, threw himself in Richmond's path as
the knight attempted to quit the solar. His chest was heaving with emotion
and pure dementia, his foul breath cloaking the air.
"You and that bitch are to blame for my son's death," he rasped. "I shall
gladly allow the Welsh bastards to have her so long as they leave us in
peace."
A massive hand shot out, grasping William around the throat. Gavan and
Daniel leapt on Richmond as he shoved William back, back into the wall in
a crash of armor and flesh. Pathetic grunts and the sounds of a struggle
filled the small solar to the rafters, threatening to rupture the very walls.
Ignoring Gavan's pleas for calm, Richmond focused on William. "You
will listen to me and listen well,” he hissed. “I have been Arissa's guardian
for eighteen years and I will not hesitate to kill you if your threat is sincere.
However, considering your grief, I will spare you for the moment," even as
Gavan and Daniel struggled to prevent him from strangling William, his
grip tightened. "But hear me; I had nothing to do with Tad's ambush, and
Arissa had nothing to do with the attack upon Lambourn. She’s a victim in
all of this, just as you and I are, and I shall not listen to your slander. Your
son is dying because he showed an ounce of courage to defend a fragile,
weak woman, and for no other reason than that. I will not allow you to cast
the blame where it does not belong."
In Richmond's mighty grip, William labored to breath. Although
somewhat subdued, his insanity was not diminished. If anything, it was
growing.
 "I.... I am an earl," he rasped. "You will remove your hands under penalty
of death!"
Richmond's grip tightened slightly, his nostrils twitching with menacing
flare. "And I am the guardian of royal blood. I will do what is necessary to
protect her."
With that, he released the heavy man. William collapsed forward onto his
knees, gasping with every breath. Richmond turned away, moving for the
door with Gavan on his heels. Only Daniel and Mossy remained, staring at
William as if he were a creature from the unknown.
Daniel felt the sticky terror and it frightened him; swallowing hard, he
glanced from William to Mossy and back again. He had no idea what to
think, for the words he had heard coming forth between the earl and
Richmond were staggering. A fairly simple man with simple thoughts, he
could barely comprehend what he had heard.
As Richmond hit the threshold of the room, William coughed violently
and cried out to him. "You will leave Lambourn and you will take her with
you. If I see her again, I shall kill her!"
Richmond paused, his expression one of utter enmity. Gavan, directly
behind him, put his hands against his friend to prevent him from killing the
man. The mood filling the air was chaotic, completely erratic.
"No, Richmond," Gavan commanded softly. "Let's go. We shall leave this
minute."
As Gavan forcefully shoved Richmond from the solar and into the foyer,
William began to pound his hands against the floor. His mad ravings turned
to hysterical tears and he collapsed in a heap, clawing at the stone in his
throes of grief.
"My son, my son," he sobbed, spittle running from his mouth and onto
the stone. "My legacy. All is lost without you."
Over in the corner, Mossy drank the last of his wine. Not bothering to
refill the chalice, he drained the entire flask.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER TWELVE

Bundled in layers of wool and covered with a heavy oiled tarp, Arissa sat
beside one of Richmond's soldiers on the bench of a wagon. Weeping softly,
she hardly noticed Richmond and Gavan move their company of weary men
through the battered front gates of Lambourn. Around her, the destroyed
bailey was eerie and silent in the midst of the driving rain, but she ignored
that as well. She could only focus on her grief.
Not an hour before she had been whisked from her cozy bed by
Richmond. With barely a word, he commanded her to dress as warmly as
possible while he and Gavan packed everything they could fit into a single
large trunk. When she demanded to know what was amiss, her inquiry had
been met with silence. And when Regine and Emma had come to the door
to see how she was faring after her harrowing day, Richmond had barked
them away so severely that Regine had burst into tears. Arissa could still
hear her sister crying through the closed door.
It did not take an over amount of intelligence to realize they were
leaving. But she hadn't been permitted to say farewell to anyone and
Richmond had carried her, puzzled and bewildered, from the warmth of her
bower into the mess that had once been the bailey of Lambourn. As her
bafflement wore thin, the tears of fright and disorientation came and she
struggled with them even now as Richmond mounted his weary charger and
ordered the wagon forward.
He reined his mount next to her as the rig exited the open gates, partially
burned from the siege. Her pale green eyes fell on the thrashed panels of
wood, turning to gaze at her cherished home as the wagon made way into
the night. The tears fell harder and faster as she returned her gaze forward,
mystified and sorrowful.
They were leaving, never to return. Even though he'd not said a word, she
knew in her heart that she was seeing her last of her beloved Lambourn.
They were barely clear of the gates when Richmond reached out to touch
her hand. Startled, not to mention suddenly furious with him for his silence
and cruelty, she yanked her arm away. He did not say a word, nor did he
look to her. After a moment, he simply drove his charger forward into the
midst of the column.
She watched him from behind her soaked handkerchief, her fury rapidly
fading. She resisted the urge to call out to him, to apologize for her flash of
anger. But, Sweet St. Jude, she did not understand any of what had
happened. Being swept from her warm bed and thrust out into the raining
dead of night had left her rattled and bewildered.
Beyond her grief and disorientation was the deeply puzzling question as
to where, exactly, was their intended destination. She suspected that
Richmond was terribly uncomfortable now that the Welsh rebels knew the
whereabouts of Henry's illegitimate daughter. They would return for her as
they promised, and Richmond had decided to move her immediately.
.... but move her where?
Another charger moved beside her, jolting her from her thoughts, and she
found herself passing a long glance at Gavan. His visor was raised, keeping
the rain off his face, and he smiled when their eyes met. But she was not
ready to give into his kindness, either, and she lowered her red-swollen
gaze. Gavan's smile faded as his eyes lingered on her shrouded head;
spurring his steed forward, he charged through the rain and mud to reach
Richmond.
"Talk to her, Richmond," he said softly. "She’s bewildered and hurt, and
you are making it worse with your silence."
Richmond ignored him. “I have sent a messenger to London to inform
Henry of what has happened,” he told him. “I have instructed him to wait
for a reply. Until and unless we have a different directive, it is my intention
to take Arissa directly to Whitby. She will be safe there.”
Gavan nodded at the business-like reply. Richmond was being cold as
only Richmond was capable of doing, like a great block of ice. No emotion,
no feelings. Gavan cleared his throat softly.
“Agreed,” he said, shifting back to his original statement. “But you must
tell her something. She’s understandably frightened.”
Slowly, Richmond shook his head. "Do you think she will want to hear
that the only father she’s ever known has sworn to kill her on sight? How do
you think she will feel when I tell her that William blames her for Bart's
injury?" he sighed heavily, ignoring the dripping water on his face. "I
cannot bring myself to tell her those things. Any of it."
 "So you would allow her to cry herself ill while you refrain from
explaining why she had to leave home?" Gavan closed his visor against the
driving rain. "You are being cruel."
Richmond's head snapped to Gavan, his blue eyes blazing beneath his
open visor. "I am sparing her feelings."
"Not at all. You are hoping she will never question your reasons for
abruptly leaving Lambourn, therefore, you will not voluntarily tell her the
factors behind her departure," his helmed head turned to his friend. "That's
not like you, Richmond. You have always been exceedingly honest and
forthright."
Richmond's intense gaze lingered on his second a moment longer before
turning away. After a heady pause, he let out a sharp sigh.
"You are right, of course. She’s to know, even if it is only a portion of the
truth."
Gavan eyed him for a moment. "'Tis understandable that you are afraid to
tell her. You do not want to be the cause of her grief."
"I loathe to be the cause of her grief."
"But you do not seem to realize that you are causing her more grief with
your silence."
Richmond slanted the man an intolerant, nearly-mocking glance. "You
are too damn wise for your own good, Hage. Get away from me; you have
piqued my irritation because your wisdom exceeds mine."
Gavan smiled. "'Tis time you come to realize my superiority."
"Arrogant swine," Richmond slammed his visor down, reining his
charger towards the rear of the column where Arissa rode aboard the
provisions wagon.
Arissa did not see him approach until mud suddenly splashed up from the
road, pelting the heavy cloth across her lap. Directing his destrier next to
the jostling wagon, he raised his visor, his weary face wet from the rain.
"I am sorry we had to leave in the middle of this storm," he said quietly.
"Are you comfortable?"
She did not say anything for a moment. Then, her angry, pale face glared
at him from beneath her hood. "Why did we have to leave so suddenly? I
did not even get to say farewell to anyone."
His blue eyes were laced with fatigue, the shadowy stubble on his face
speaking volumes of a man who hadn't seen a moment's rest since before
dawn. He held her gaze for a lengthy pause.
"Because you are still my charge, Lady Arissa, and I deemed it necessary
to leave Lambourn immediately to preserve your safety and possibly your
life,” he sounded snappish. “In case you haven't realized it, Lambourn is a
battle zone and certainly no place for you. Furthermore, your natural
father's enemies have discovered your whereabouts and the sooner you
leave, the better. Do you comprehend me?"
Her fury faded and she lowered her gaze, ashamed with her behavior. As
always, he was only thinking of her best interests and she should not have
become angry with him for doing what he must.
She wiped at her nose daintily. "But why couldn't I even say good-bye?"
His compassion for her plight deepened, torn so brutally from her friends
and family. His voice softened. "Because we could not spare the time. I am
sorry, kitten. I truly am."
She sniffled softly, wiping at her nose again. "I.... I am going to miss
them terribly. I did not even have the chance to tell Penelope how sorry I
was for her father's death."
He reached out to touch her hand; this time, she did not pull away and
wound her fingers tightly around his massive gauntlet. "She knows how
sorry you are, kitten. Do not fret so."
They rode in silence for a few moments. The rain had lessened in
intensity, although it was still quite wet. But there was a peace to the rain, a
soothing quality that comforted and consoled weary soldiers and lady alike.
Arissa listened to the rain, holding Richmond's hand and feeling a
measureable degree of tranquility. But the calming sounds did nothing to
ease the apprehension for her future.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked quietly.
His grip tightened around her fingers. "Whitby."
Whitby. A month ahead of schedule. She had been looking forward to
spending the next thirty-one days with Richmond, exploring and
discovering, creating memories to lock deep into her heart that she could
draw upon when she was forced into the lonely isolation of the abbey. She
had been counting on those recollections to preserve her sanity.
But Richmond had decided to alter that schedule. She did not want to go
to Whitby; not now, not ever. The tears that had so recently fled were back
with a vengeance, and she sobbed softly into her handkerchief.
 Richmond squeezed her hand tightly. "Do not cry, kitten. You shall be
perfectly safe there while I attend to necessary duties. I will not be long, I
promise. Just long enough to plead for your hand."
Her sobbing grew louder, more hysterical. "But.... I do-on't want to go. I-I
shall be away from you for C-Christmas, Richmond. Do not take me t-there,
not now!"
He tugged on her hand, hard enough to cause her to lurch to her feet.
Before she realized it, he was grasping her about the waist and placing her
in front of him in the saddle. Adjusting the oiled cloth to keep her dry, he
spurred his charger forward.
Arissa continued to sob miserably as his thick arm clutched her tightly.
Faceplate raised, he leaned close to her ear. "I do not want to take you there,
you know that. But I have virtually no choice in the matter."
She sniffled and sobbed. "N-not there! D-Do you have friends we could
stay with? O-Or you could t-take me to Windsor. I am sure the k-king
would not mind."
He did not say anything for a moment and she could feel his hot breath
against her ear. Certainly it would not be a keen idea for her to be roving the
halls of Windsor for several good reasons; Henry would not want to be
reminded at every turn of a love gone by, of the painful indiscretions that
had plagued a young noble. Furthermore, Richmond most likely would be
kept apart from her out of pure protocol. He was, after all, a mere knight.
And she was of royal blood.
His heart sank when he realized Arissa had no true home, no place to
seek refuge in her time of need. There was nowhere for her to go. Except
Whitby.
"That would not be wise, Riss," he murmured softly. "There is nowhere
for you to go but the abbey."
She wept into her hand. "D-Do not leave me there, Richmond. Please do
not leave me there alone."
He held her tightly. "I have no choice, kitten."
"Then I w-want to go home," she sobbed pathetically. "I want to go back
to L-Lambourn."
His jaw ticked faintly as he remembered William's words, harsh threats
spoken in the midst of agonizing grief. "You cannot go home. You cannot
ever go home."
 She continued to sob and cough, breaking his heart with her sorrow.
Although he had numerous friends scattered throughout the country, he felt
most comfortable for her safety and health tucked away in the Yorkshire
abbey. Far away from Owen and far away from Henry's enemies who were
clearly aware of her existence. Whereas Arissa could be wrested from the
walls of a breached fortress, or even the walls of Windsor for that matter,
those who sought to do her harm would think twice before violating the
haven of an abbey.
"Listen to me, love," he squeezed her gently, attempting to distract her
from her misery. "I promise we shall take our time traveling to Whitby. We
shall make an adventure of it; stopping at every inn that captures your
fancy, purchasing sweets and pretty things. We shall have a wonderful time
doing whatever our moods dictate. Will that be acceptable?"
She ran a finger under her nose, thinking on his offer a moment. "T-The
nuns will make me give up the pretty things we purchase."
He shrugged, attempting to keep his manner light in the hope that she
would follow suit. If she noted his unconcerned attitude towards the
unknown amount of time to be spent at Whitby, mayhap she would cease to
view the necessary separation as a death sentence.
"I shall keep them safely for you,” he assured her. “I have also had in
mind to build my own keep; mayhap we shall discover a suitable piece of
land as we travel northward. We shall pass through portions of lovely
country and I am sure we can choose a fitting location. I will depend upon
you to assist me in this most important duty."
She sniffled again, her tears fading as a faint excitement took hold. "You
want me to help you?"
"Absolutely. It will be your keep too, will it not?"
She thought a moment; certainly it would be her keep, too. The place
where she and Richmond would spend the rest of their lives, basking in a
love that had existed since the day she was born. She wiped at her nose yet
again, turning to look at him in the rain.
"M-Mayhap we can build it on a hill, overlooking the land,” she said
helpfully. “Mayhap we can even build it overlooking a river; a huge grand
place with hundreds of rooms for all of the children we will have."
His smile faded, thinking on Mossy's words. Were she to conceive, it
could kill her. Gazing into the pale green eyes, he tried not to let his
depression show. "I doubt we could have enough children to fill one
hundred rooms," he said softly. "In any event, you will help me select a
suitable site for our keep. Agreed?"
Our keep. Her tears were forgotten as he successfully diverted her grief
and she smiled hopefully. "Can I name our fortress?"
"Certainly you can," he pulled the oiled tarp tighter about her slender
body as the rain increased, turning her away from the direction of the wind.
"Did you have a name in mind?"
She sighed, feeling her fatigue as her emotions settled. "Not yet. But I
will spend my days contemplating a list of names for your approval."
"And I shall look forward to it." Thankful his attempt to calm her had
succeeded, Richmond spurred his destrier into a jaunty canter to the front of
the column. Gavan was riding alone at the head, and he turned to look at
Richmond and Arissa as they rode up. One look at the lady's pleasant
expression and he knew that all was right in the world once again.
"Good to see you again, my lady," he raised his visor, smiling.
Richmond cut in before Arissa could reply. "There is a fork in the road
about a mile ahead. Veer to the right."
Gavan nodded, still grinning at Arissa. "Aye, my lord. We are bound for
Whitby."
Arissa was no longer concerned for her Yorkshire destination as she
heard Gavan repeat Richmond's orders. Instead, she smiled at the younger
knight. "We are going to select a parcel of land to build on," she informed
him proudly. "Richmond said that I could name our keep."
Gavan bobbed his head in approval. "A wise decision. Women are much
better with names than men."
"I disagree," Richmond said. "Men select names worthy of their glory,
while women tend to choose titles of home and hearth."
Arissa cocked an eyebrow. "Are you saying, in effect, that I would saddle
your glorious keep with a name unworthy of your veneration?"
"Not at all. But you must take my magnificent reputation into account
when you make your selection."
Her eyes twinkled at Gavan as she replied to Richmond's arrogant
statement. "I have chosen a name already. We shall call our splendid new
fortress Mother's Lap."
 Richmond winced as Gavan laughed uproariously. "She knows you well,
Richmond," Gavan snorted. "Why not call it Fool's Lair?"
"With you lingering within the walls, that particular name would be
fitting," Richmond retorted, returning his focus to Arissa. "As much as I
would like to consider your title for our fortress, I must ask that you amend
your choice. Surely there are other names that can be suggested."
She smiled wearily, heavy-lidded as a result of her crying jag and the
sway of the horse. "I suppose I can think of something else, if I must."
Richmond pulled her closer, wrapping the oiled tarp more tightly about
her body as the wind kicked up. "How gracious, my lady."
The rain increased substantially as bolts of lightning began to light up the
sky. Cradled against Richmond, Arissa started in response to the addition of
the lightning, but Richmond casually glanced into the pounding night sky as
if the element was of little concern.
"We will stop for the night to remove Arissa from this harsh climate," he
said to Gavan. "Oxford is another two hours."
Gavan nodded, watching a vicious streak of lightning carve a path
through the black clouds. "Agreed. In fact, I shall send a couple of soldiers
ahead to secure a room at a local inn. She should not be exposed to this
weather any longer than necessary."
"Absolutely not," Richmond agreed. "In fact, have the soldiers secure
two rooms."
Gavan cast him a glance. "One for you? Since when do you sleep in a
warm bed while I suffer in the rain?"
Richmond's gaze was steady. "Where I sleep, my second sleeps. The
second room is for you."
Gavan, however, still was not grasping his meaning. "Me? I am to sleep
in a warm bed while you...." suddenly, he comprehended exactly what he
had been told and a shadow of a grin crossed his lips. "Thank you, my lord.
You are most generous."
Arissa, however, had yet to comprehend the gist of it. Her lovely brow
furrowed and she sniffled into her damp handkerchief. "If Gavan has one
room and I have the other, where are you going to sleep?"
Richmond cocked an eyebrow, lowering his visor as he gazed at the road
beyond. "Not with Gavan."
 ***

Oxford was a bustling city situated fifteen miles north and east of
Lambourn. The rain continued to pour mercilessly as the column closed in
on the outskirts; fifty men, horses, a wagon, two armored knights and one
drenched lady. Richmond and Gavan were met by the two soldiers they had
sent ahead to procure accommodations.
"We had our pick of inns, my lord," one man saluted Richmond sharply.
"We selected The Willow and secured two rooms and a meal."
"Excellent," Richmond glanced over his shoulder at his men, standing in
ranks under the driving rain. Beyond them, less than a quarter of a mile
away, was a thick cluster of trees. Richmond gestured to the foliage.
"Grimsby, have the men set up camp in those trees. The Willow is on
Longwall Street, is it not?"
"Aye, my lord."
"Then you will know where to find me. Make sure the men eat before
they retire; they shall need their strength."
As the two soldiers went to do their liege's bidding, Richmond spurred
his charger forward and sent Gavan for Arissa's trunk.
Oxford was quiet but for the occasional shouts of distant laughter
emitting from one of her numerous inns. Arissa watched the small buildings
and shops pass by, scrutinizing each one curiously. Except for the village of
Lambourn, she'd never strayed beyond the limits of the earldom and felt a
certain amount of enthusiasm as Richmond's massive charger plodded past
the bakery, a jeweler's shop, and a silversmith. It was all new and
wonderful, and her mood began to lighten with the excitement.
The Willow was the largest hostel in town, well-lit and moderately
crowded. Richmond dismounted his steed, gently setting Arissa to her feet
in the sticky mud. Taking her hand, he led her into the warm, hazy structure.
The smell of smoke and vomit hit Arissa like a sharp slap as she entered
the establishment, causing her to catch her breath and wrinkle her nose.
Richmond slanted her a gaze, his eyes twinkling with mirth. He was
relatively immune to the repulsive scents of humankind, but Arissa's
delicate balance was immediately offended.
"Richmond, if our room smells like this...."
 He put his arm around her protectively, his eyes searching for the
innkeeper. "It will not, I promise. If it does, I shall demand that they scrub it
clean until it meets with your approval."
The proprietor of the tavern was already moving toward them, a small
man with little hair. He knew a well-paying customer when he saw one.
"Welcome, my lord," the man bowed at the waist. "A room for you and
your daughter this night?"
Arissa felt as if she had been struck, a physical blow that took her breath
away. Richmond did not react outwardly, but his eyes took on a most
peculiar gleam. "My wife and I have already secured two rooms in your
stench-cloaked establishment. The name is le Bec."
The innkeeper's eyes widened and he stumbled back a step as if to escape
the huge man's fury. "I.... I apologize, my lord, I meant no offense," he
stammered quickly. "You are wife is so tiny, such a perfect little female, I
assumed.... pray forgive, my lord."
Richmond's gaze was deadly, but he allowed the infraction to pass. It
would only upset Arissa if he were to punish the man for his ignorance.
"Where are our rooms?"
"Up the stairs, sire, the last two doors to the right."
Richmond, clutching Arissa against him, moved to mount the steps. "My
officer will be here shortly, a massive man bearing a trunk. You will direct
him to me."
The landlord nodded eagerly. "Of course, sire. I shall send your meal to
your rooms immediately."
Richmond did not reply as he took the stairs. As they entered the dim
corridor of the second floor, the acrid smells and noise seemed to fade
rapidly. By the time they reached their designated rooms, the clutter from
the common room was a muffled roar.
Arissa moved to open one of the doors, peering inside. Richmond opened
the second door, scrutinizing the room. "Too small," he commented, moving
to the door Arissa had opened. "Ah, this will do nicely. Let Gavan struggle
in the small bed. This one is more my size."
Arissa giggled as he escorted her into the room, glancing about the small
chamber with indifference. "It smells in here, too."
He pulled the oiled cloth off her shoulders. "Would you rather sleep in
the rain?"
 She smiled, a devilish gesture. "Of course not. But you promised me that
if our room smelled, you would order the innkeeper to scrub it until it met
with my approval. Well?"
He tossed her protective cloak onto the chair. "I lied. If you do not like it
here, you can sleep out in the rain with my horse. As for me, I am going to
enjoy a warm bed and a hot meal."
She tried not to grin. "Richmond le Bec, do you mean to say that you
deliberately deceived me? I shall.... I shall go sleep with Gavan. His room
smelled better."
"How do you know? You did not smell it."
"Anything is better than this."
Richmond removed his helm, running his fingers through his damp hair.
"Go then, you ungrateful wench. I shall not listen to you complain all
night."
Her grin broke through and she went to work on her cloak, removing the
thick garment with the rabbit lining. Underneath, she wore a surcoat of
burgundy wool, a magnificent shade against her striking coloring.
Richmond cast her an appreciative glance as he removed his gauntlets.
"Well? I thought you were going to go and sleep with Gavan."
She turned to him, her glorious breasts emphasized to the extreme in the
clinging wool. A gold belt graced her slender hips, accentuating her bosom
further. With the high neckline and long sleeves, the picture was
consuming.
She cocked an eyebrow, noting his lustful gaze. "Are you sure that is
where you want me to sleep?"
"Hell, no. Come here."
She giggled, gliding across the floor and into his arms. He kissed her
deeply, fully, smiling as he listened to her whimpers and gasps of delight.
But as her fingers raked through his dark hair, he pulled his lips away.
"God's Teeth, woman, let me remove this armor before I explode," he
grunted, unfastening pieces of plate and allowing them to fall to the floor.
Arissa stood back, watching him undress with great deal of anticipation.
Down to a damp tunic, thick hose and boots, he smiled seductively at her.
"There," he said softly. "Now, as I said. Come here."
She cocked her head. "Aren't you going to take all of your clothes off?"
 He laughed, deep and hearty. "God's Teeth, Riss, control your lust. I do
believe I have created a wanton."
Her cheeks mottled with a faint flush and she smiled shyly. "Not at all.
'Tis just.... well, I thought....."
"I know what you thought, my shameless little tart, as my thoughts are
exactly the same. But we must wait for two reasons; one, Gavan will be
here shortly with your trunk and, two, our meal will arrive at any moment."
She averted her gaze, clasping her hands behind her back and turning
away from him. "Of course. I have forgotten already."
He continued to grin, watching her pace across the floor toward the
hearth. "I promise you, kitten, the wait shall be worth it."
She cast him a sheepish gaze, still smiling. He chuckled softly at her
embarrassment as a sharp knock rattled the door. Gavan was in the
doorway, Arissa's trunk slung across his massive shoulders. He moved into
the chamber, dumping the wet case onto the floor.
"God's Blood, Richmond, what in the world did we pack that would
make that thing so heavy?"
"Nothing but the necessities, as I recall," Richmond said, shoving the
trunk against the wall. Suddenly, he paused, passing the trunk a curious
gaze. After a moment, he kicked it into the wall again. This time, they all
heard the muffled grunt.
Gavan unsheathed his broadsword before Arissa could draw another
breath, moving to take a protective stance in front of her. As Richmond
unlatched the case, she strained to peer around Gavan's massive body; she
did not see anything at first, but Richmond's stern gaze told her that he was
not pleased in the least. He continued to stare into the trunk, his expression
severe.
"How, may I ask, did you get in there?" he finally asked, struggling to
maintain his calm.
Emma's blond head appeared, her pale blue eyes wide at Richmond. "I....
I slipped in when you put Arissa's trunk out in the corridor before
transporting it to the wagon."
Richmond pursed his lips, scratching his head with a great deal of
irritation. "Where are her clothes?"
Emma, flushing red about the ears, shifted in the trunk as if to look
underneath her. "A few items are still here, but I took the majority out and
put them in the servant's alcove."
Richmond's stern gaze lingered on her a moment before turning to
Gavan. "I thought you secured this trunk yourself before putting it into the
hall."
"I did," Gavan lifted a disapproving eyebrow at Emma. "She must have
slipped in the very moment we left it unattended."
"And then the soldiers who were ordered to store the trunk on the wagon
re-secured the latches, thinking we had failed to do so," he shook his head
with wonder, moving away from Emma. "Thank God she’s not a Welsh
assassin. We should have never left the trunk unattended."
"Welsh assassin?" Emma repeated, confused. "I.... I simply want to go
with Riss."
Richmond returned his grim attention to her. "You have put me in a very
awkward position, Lady Emma. Did you actually believe I would allow you
to accompany Arissa to the abbey?"
Emma nodded unsteadily, moving to unseat herself from the trunk. Her
joints were stiff and her head hurt from all of the movement, but she was
not nearly as concerned for her own discomfort as she was apprehensive of
the look on Richmond's face. "What are you going to do with me?"
He put his hands on his hips. "Send you back to Lambourn. What did you
expect I would do with you?"
Emma's cheeks flushed bright red and she lowered her gaze, moving
away from the massive knight. But somewhere within the fear and respect
for the man came a seed of defiance. She did not want to return to
Lambourn; Arissa was her very best friend and she was terrified to be
without her. Penelope had Daniel, her mother was busy with Lady Maude,
while she herself had no one. When Arissa left, she would be all alone and
she hated the very idea.
Which was why she had stolen away in Arissa's trunk. After Richmond
had chased her and Regine off and slammed the door, it had not been
difficult to slip into Arissa's baggage unnoticed. A quickly-formulated plan
that had been just as quickly executed. She was going, too.
"I am.... I am going with her, no matter what you say," she stood her
ground against Richmond, albeit weakly. "I am sixteen years old and if I
want to pledge my life to Whitby, I can do so without my mother's
approval."
 Richmond cocked an eyebrow at her insolent tone. "Very well. Take your
vows if it pleases you. But do not expect me to escort you; you must find
your own way. Until then, you will return to Lambourn."
Emma's flush grew brilliant. Her breathing was coming in heavy gasps,
indicative of her emotion and rising anger. She licked her lips, swallowed
hard, struggling with the words she was attempting to bring forth. "If you
take me back to Lambourn, I shall.... I shall tell the earl about you and
Arissa, I swear it."
Arissa gasped, standing next to Gavan. "You.... who told you, Emma? I
demand to know!"
Emma turned to Arissa, regret suddenly visible in her blue eyes. "Regine.
She told Penelope, too. She said she watched as Richmond took your
maidenhood."
All of the color drained from Arissa's face, not merely from the not-too-
surprising revelation that Regine had betrayed her word, but from the mere
fact that Richmond would not allow Regine's breach to go unpunished. She
looked to Richmond, her eyes wide with apprehension and horror.
"I told you I did not trust her, Richmond," she said, her voice hoarse with
emotion.
Richmond met her gaze evenly. "And what would you have me do, Riss?
Kill her to keep her silent?"
Arissa lowered her gaze and turned away, shaken and nauseous.
Richmond returned his attention to Emma, who was visibly losing her
courage under his piercing stare. Brave not a moment before, it was
becoming obvious that her attempt at blackmail had been a mistake.
"Do as you must," Richmond said quietly. "Tomorrow, Gavan will return
you to Lambourn."
Emma went from bright red to a sickly gray. "Oh, Richmond, I am sorry.
I should not have said that. It's just.... I cannot bear to be away from Riss.
She was the only bit of life at Lambourn and with her gone, it will be a
colorless place."
Richmond merely turned away from her. Emma began to shake, knowing
he had effectively shut her out. Slowly, she turned to Arissa. "I will
apologize to you too, Riss," she moved toward her shaken friend, tears in
her eyes. "You are my very best friend. I do not know what I shall do
without you."
 Arissa suddenly let out a choked sob and turned to Emma, throwing her
arms around the young woman and weeping. Emma's sobs filled the room
also as the two ladies wept and consoled one another.
Richmond passed a glance at the two of them, shaking his head faintly
when he realized that, more than likely, Emma would be accompanying
them to Whitby. He knew the question before Arissa even asked and as he
tried to formulate a refusal, he knew with resignation that a denial would be
fruitless. As always, he would do as she asked.
Irritated with himself but resigned to the inevitable, he moved toward the
two women.
"There, now, stop weeping," he put his hands on Arissa shoulders. "You
are going to make yourself ill. Gavan, seat Lady Emma. Our meal should be
here shortly."
As if on cue, a loud knock rattled the door and Gavan opened it to the
innkeeper and two serving wenches. They whisked into the room silently
and efficiently, depositing the ordered faire and leaving the room with equal
rapidity. The food steaming upon the table was pungent and appetizing and
Richmond seated Arissa, serving her himself and then hovering over her to
make sure she ate.
It had always been the same with her; Arissa could go for days without
food and would have probably died of starvation had someone not forced
her to consume nourishment once in a while. Richmond couldn't count the
times he had literally spoon fed the defiant young girl, sputtering and crying
throughout the meal as if he were torturing her.
Tonight, however, she was hungry and ate every bite. Between her and
Emma, they managed to devour a good portion of the meal, leaving the
more chivalrous men to consume the leftovers. But it was not nearly enough
to sustain them and Richmond ended up ordering more food when Arissa
and Emma left the table to throw themselves on the large bed in over-
stuffed misery.
"You naughty gluttons," he scolded, although he was pleased with
Arissa's ravenous appetite. "I hope you both explode."
Arissa, flat on her back in the great bed, frowned. "I am very close to
achieving your desire," she rolled over, causing Emma to shriek in protest
as the mattress jostled. "I could sleep forever."
 Richmond and Gavan, two huge knuckles of beef between them, passed
glances. Gavan snorted into his food as he read Richmond's thoughts,
knowing that Lady Arissa would be claiming very little sleep this night.
As the ladies quieted, Richmond and Gavan devoured a meal fit for
several men, listening to the rain outside as it pelted the windowsill. All
suddenly seemed peaceful, serene, as if the battle for Lambourn that had
constituted their day was a million miles away. As if the threat to Arissa's
life had only been a bitter dream, easily forgotten.
The conversation between them was quiet and light. Even after the food
was gone, they continued to talk and drink the remainder of the ale. But the
longer they sat, the more fatigued they became until Richmond finally rose
stiffly to his feet.
"I do believe I am going to retire," he passed a glance at the bed, noting
that the two female occupants had suddenly grown very still. "Oh.... damn."
As if in response, Emma snored softly. Gavan laughed as Richmond
shook his head grimly. "You should have never let them lie on the bed,"
Gavan said.
"What was I supposed to do?" Richmond went over to the overstuffed
mattress; Arissa was sound asleep, her angelic face serene. Emma was
rolled up in a ball like an opossum. Richmond shook his head again. "I will
not be tossed from my own bed by a fugitive."
"Let them alone," Gavan said quietly, still smiling. "I would wager the
inn isn't full. There is another bed for you to sleep in."
"I do not want another bed," Richmond gestured to Gavan. "Take Emma
with you."
Gavan's smile vanished. "I do not want her. God's Teeth, Richmond, that
girl is worse than my shadow. I can't get rid of her. Do you realize what
could happen if she sleeps in the same room with me?"
"I care not of the sleeping arrangements. But she will leave this bed and
this room, and I expect you to watch over her until morning. Am I
understood?"
Gavan gritted his teeth. "Aye, I understand you. But you, apparently, have
no comprehension of her infatuation with me. Last eve, she followed me as
I went along my rounds, distracting me from my duties with her foolish
chatter. And do you know that I caught her spying on me when I went to
relieve myself? She’s a damn nuisance, I tell you!"
 Richmond fought off a grin. "God only knows what she sees in you. But
the fact remains that I have ordered you to take charge of her. And you
will."
There was no point in arguing with a direct order. Sighing heavily, Gavan
cast Richmond a baleful glance as he moved around the bed toward Emma's
huddled form. He shook her gently once, twice, but she refused to awaken.
By the third and fourth jarring, she simply rolled over in an attempt to
ignore him and he sighed again.
With a grunt, Gavan scooped Emma effortlessly into his arms.
Immediately, she burrowed against him in her sleep and he shot Richmond
a completely hostile glare. Struggling against a wicked smirk, Richmond
waved them from his room.
He bolted the door behind them, moving to stoke the fire before retiring.
It was completely silent but for the patter of rain and he took a moment to
breathe in the silence, feeling the tension drain from his body as the food
and wine coursed through his veins. Silently, he moved toward the bed and
doused the fish-oil lamp by Arissa's head.
The room was dark but for dancing fingers of light cast by the crackling
hearth. Richmond stood over Arissa a moment, touching her raven-hued
locks, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips. Quietly, he
removed his clothing and slipped onto the bed beside her.
"Did you take all of your clothes off this time?" she mumbled, her face
half-buried in the pillow. She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her, his
face a few inches from her own. She returned his smile sleepily. "We're
lying atop the bedrug."
"So we are. I suppose we should get up and pull back the covers."
She raised her head, watching the firelight reflecting in his blue eyes. "I
suppose so. You must be chilled lying atop the bed without a stitch of
clothing on."
"Not at all. Are you cold?"
She shook her head faintly, her eyes raking over his magnificent chest,
his narrow waist, his groin. Already fully aroused, he was absolutely
enormous and her gaze lingered on him for a lengthy moment.
"You are curious," he said softly.
She nodded vaguely. "I have.... I have never seen.... well, of course I saw
you briefly yesterday, but I have never...."
 "You have never seen a naked man in your life and you are
understandably curious," he could see her blush in the firelight and laughed
softly. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Riss. 'Tis very normal to be
inquisitive."
"Regine is inquisitive."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Then I make an exception. Regine is not normal
in the least."
She smiled, a grin to alleviate her natural embarrassment. She hadn't been
prone to a maiden's modesty yesterday because the heat of passion had
taken the edge off her concerns. But now, with a slower, gentler pace, she
was provided with the opportunity to realize that, indeed, she had never
before seen a naked man.
In faith, her chagrin was short lived. Richmond had the most magnificent
body she had ever seen, perfect and sculpted. He was not as bulky as
Gavan, but his muscles were thick and well-developed and she found
herself touching his chest, marveling at the power beneath the flesh.
Her fingers moved to his stomach, dancing over the rock-hard muscles.
He rolled onto his back, his abdominals rippling with the motion and she
watched with fascination as his body moved with fluid ease. She'd never
seen any man function with such grace and it excited her terribly. To think
of his magnificent body against hers, flesh upon flesh and heat upon heat,
brought warmth to her cheeks.
In her wonder, she had stopped her exploration and he watched her
expression as she studied him.
"What's wrong, kitten?"
She smiled, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Nothing."
He propped himself up on an elbow. "Then why are you...?"
His words were cut off mid-sentence as she unfastened her golden belt
and let it slide to the floor. All previous signs of humiliation and shame had
fled, replaced by a sensual confidence that made his blood boil. As the light
from the hearth illuminated her beautiful figure, he bit his lip with great
anticipation.
Innocent or not, Arissa knew instinctively how to make a man want her.
God's Teeth, she'd been causing him to want her for the past two years and
not even aware of her charms. But now, in the privacy of the chamber, she
knew well how to tempt him mindless. She was about to treat him to an
extraordinary event.
Arissa smiled, moving her hands behind her back to undo the stays of her
surcoat. As he watched with surging anticipation, the shoulders of her
surcoat fell away, followed by the bodice. He licked his lips unconsciously
as the entire surcoat slithered to the floor, leaving her clad in only her shift,
stockings, and slippers.
His heart was thumping madly against his ribs as she moved to dislodge
her shift. He thought he would be content to watch the unfurling, but he
quickly realized that he had been mistaken. He could no more remain idle
than he could control his emotions.
His hands ached to touch her, his body cried to have her. Mayhap next
time, he would allow her to set a slow, erotic pace. But not tonight.
One moment, he was on the bed gazing at her. In the next second, he was
upon her, towering over her as his lips descended hungrily on her luscious
mouth. Arissa was aware of one hand wrapped in her hair, yanking her head
back as his lips consumed her ravenously, while the other hand clutched her
breast possessively. She could hear her own gasps as if they belonged to
someone else.
Richmond could barely comprehend anything beyond the feel of Arissa
in his hands, the smell of her in his nostrils. He was gripping her hair
savagely as if afraid she would attempt to escape him, while his free hand
roved her breasts and torso selfishly, silently claiming her body as his
personal possession. Under his fingers, he could feel the neckline of her
shift; grasping it tightly, he tore it straight down the middle.
Arissa gasped with surprise, giggles filling her throat at his eager action.
He smiled in response, kissing and suckling every inch of her throat, lips,
and shoulders. As the shift fell away and her large, firm breasts were
revealed, he knew he was close to losing his control. He had to have her.
A burst of lightning illuminated the room, casting their undulating bodies
in a flash of white light. Another bolt cut across the sky, and still another.
Richmond tore his mouth away from her lips long enough to gaze at her
desire-hazed expression in the brief glimmers of light; it was by far the
most erotic vision he had ever beheld. Her lips were parted with lust, her
eyes half-closed, wordlessly commanding his attention within their pale
green depths. 'Twas a command he would readily obey.
 Another burst of light filled the room as he slipped into the world of
mindless abandonment, lifting Arissa into his arms and swinging her onto
the bed. His weight descended upon her and he heard her cry out softly, her
fingers in his hair as his hot, wet mouth clamped down on a tender nipple.
Hands as large as her head gripped her buttocks, kneaded her flat belly.
Beneath him, she whimpered like a child.
His fingers moved down her thighs, coming into contact with her thick
woolen hose. With a low growl that shook the very walls of the chamber, he
suddenly pushed himself off her and wedged himself between her legs,
stripping off her stockings with his teeth. Arissa watched him, her
breathing coming in heavy gasps and moaning softly when his lips blazed a
scorching path from her ankles to her groin.
In spite of his furious pace, he slowed somewhat when his lips began to
nibble about her soft inner thigh. Arissa could feel his hot breath upon her
most private core as his mouth gently suckled on the thick lips, coaxing
forth the blooming flower to open and accept his worship.
She watched him as he tenderly introduced her to the world of oral
manipulation, thinking it to be a most wonderful form of pleasure. She was
not aware, however, that he had barely scratched the surface; spreading her
lips with gentle fingers, his wicked tongue immediately found her taut
womanly bud and she nearly bolted from the bed when he began to work
her furiously.
Richmond grinned in spite of his own consuming lust, listening to her
wild pants of excitement. As she thrashed and cried, he inserted a finger
into her private passage and was not surprised to discover that she was as
wet as the ground outside. Slick moisture, laced with musk, cloaked his
finger as he thrust in and out of her in rhythm with his wicked tongue.
When he felt her climactic tremors approach, he rapidly ceased his
orchestrations and raised himself up onto her delicious body once more.
She was nearly incoherent with need. He kissed her fully, delving into the
sweet depths, acquainting her with the taste of her own body. Arissa
responded recklessly, wrapping her arms about his neck and meeting his
mouth with fevered desire. Unable to wait any longer, Richmond grasped
her buttocks and thrust hard, driving himself to the hilt in one clean stroke.
Arissa gasped with utter pleasure, wrapping her legs about him, clinging
to him with every ounce of strength she possessed. He rocked her with his
thrusts, driving to the hilt every time and then slowly, completely
withdrawing. The effect was rapturous; with every surge it was as if he
were entering her anew, bringing them more pleasure than they ever thought
possible. Arissa felt herself stretching to accommodate him, clasping him
tightly as if to never let him go. She would have been content to feel him,
his power and sensuality, forever.
Her release was close and she felt herself build to tremendous proportions
as his pace quickened. In an explosion of triumph, her loins convulsed with
erotic rhythm, demanding that Richmond spill forth his seed. He obeyed
her, as always; grunting through clenched teeth, he filled her full of his
searing eruption. Love, desire, life and death; they all combined into one
powerful surge as they descended together on a cloud of contentment.
Arissa could hear his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, his skin damp
against her cheek. She could barely move, vaguely aware of her own
pounding heart. The only matter of import was the feel of Richmond against
her, touching her, within her. Her eyes closed, lulled into a dozen by the
rhythmic sound of his breathing.
Their satisfaction went beyond words; in faith, Richmond did not trust
himself to speak. He could not imagine that verbal communication could
enhance the experience of their lovemaking any more than his tender
caresses were expressing against her flesh at the moment.
In his arms, she slept soundly, dreamlessly. Richmond found himself
clutching her tightly, aware of the fact that he had neglected to use Mossy's
pessaries. The old man had been correct when he surmised that Richmond
would protect Arissa's life over the desire for an heir but, somehow, his lust
had taken control of his common sense and he had been helpless against it.
He found himself praying that she had not conceived, cursing himself for
his stupidity and weakness. He knew better than to allow his physical
demands to overshadow his better judgment, but God help him, it would
have taken the strength of Samson to deny her heated little body in the heat
of passion.
The rain continued to pound outside the oil-clothed window as Richmond
forced himself to push aside all thoughts of the neglected pessaries;
certainly, now was not the time for those thoughts considering very shortly,
he and Arissa would be facing a separation of unknown length. He wanted
to enjoy her while he was able with little thought of anything else.
 Pulling her more closely against his heated body, he found himself
wondering how in the hell he was going to survive the painful division that
faced them.
Already, it was killing him.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Welsh Border
One week later

Sir Charles de Worth sat motionlessly in the middle of the dimly lit tent
of cowhide, the walls reeking of burning dung and molding animal skins.
The cloying stink only served to fortify his mood; having ridden from
Shrewsbury to the Welsh border in a little over a day, he was
understandably fatigued.
But he had been compelled to obey the invitation cast by none other than
Owen Glendower, and even now he sat with restrained anticipation of their
meeting. Though the subject of their conference had not been mentioned in
the missive received three days prior, there was little doubt as to the topic.
Fortunately for the aged knight, he was not kept waiting overlong. Owen
Glendower, dark and average in height, entered the tent surrounded by a
host of supporters. De Worth suddenly found himself encompassed by the
core of the Welsh rebellion, eyeing the dark, weary men around him with a
certain amount of distrust. To his right, Owen cast his hands over the dung-
burning vizier in a vain attempt to ward off the Welsh chill.
"Captain de Worth," Owen said in perfect English. "Thank you for
coming."
De Worth eyed the infamous leader of the Welsh Resistance. "After the
missive I sent to you, 'twas my duty to heed your summons. How may I be
of service?"
Owen rubbed his hands together before planting himself in a small
collapsible chair opposite the English knight. His dark eyes were sharp and
appraising, his manner calm as he studied the man before him. Since
pleasantries were dispensed and he had no desire to linger in incessant
conversation, he moved directly to the point.
"I have certain questions regarding the missive you sent me pertaining to
Henry's bastard daughter," he glanced at David, standing to his left, before
continuing. "She was exactly where you said she would be. In fact, we very
nearly had her within our grasp but, unfortunately, our attempts were
thwarted. Tell me; why did you give me this information?"
De Worth swallowed uncomfortably, shifting in his chair. "Does it truly
matter, my lord? The information was righteous."
"Indeed it was, but I would know your motives just the same," he sat
forward in the chair, closer to the iron vizier. "What grudge do you hold
against Henry that you would jeopardize his daughter in such a fashion?"
The English knight sat stiffly a moment before replying. "I believe I
informed you in my missive that my reasons were my own. Why should
they matter? Have I not provided you with accurate information?"
"Absolutely. But I am troubled by the fact that there was a terrible attack
the day we attempted to abduct the princess and if I did not know better, I
would think it to have been an act of treason on your part," Owen's voice
was soft. "Are you somehow intent on manipulating Henry's opposition to
your own end?"
Charles' brow furrowed. "Of course not. I had nothing to do with any
attack."
"But I lost a man, a very good man. Was it your intention to, mayhap,
lure my men into a trap with information regarding Henry's bastard, only to
manipulate an attack that would damage my cause?"
De Worth drew in a long, heavy breath; he could see that the situation
was rapidly growing sour and sought to dispel Owen's accusations. "As I
said, I gave you the information regarding Henry's bastard to retaliate
against Henry himself. I hold no grudge against the Welsh rebellion. If I
were any younger, I would fight with you."
Owen studied the man a moment before relaxing in his chair. His dark
eyes glittered with thought. Truthfully, he did not believe de Worth capable
of the substantial undertaking of damaging his rebellion. But he was curious
as to the man's motives; his cousin David had seen and spoken with Henry's
bastard, a woman of exquisite beauty who was apparently unaware of her
royal relations. Combined with the mysterious clues to her whereabouts
from the man seated in front of him, it was an intriguing mystery.
"Tell me why you divulged her whereabouts. My patience wears thin."
De Worth's ruddy cheeks flushed and he lowered his gaze. "As I said, my
lord, my reasons were my own."
Owen stared at the man. "Tell me or I will kill you for subversion."
 "Subversion?" Charles repeated, outraged more than frightened. "I
never..!"
"Kill him," Owen issued calmly, rising from his chair as if their business
was concluded.
Hands reached down to roughly yank de Worth from his chair. Struggling
against the Welsh resisters, Charles sought Owen's gaze in desperation.
"Why is it necessary for you to know my purpose?" he demanded, a
substantial fear gripping him.
Owen eyed him. "As I said, it would appear that you lured my men into
an ambush with tales of Henry's bastard daughter, who was amply
protected. Explain your motives for divulging her location and I may be
merciful."
De Worth's face was a sickly white, beads of perspiration on his brow.
After a moment, he swallowed hard, his resistance lessening. He knew, as
he lived and breathed, that he had no choice but to admit the humiliating
truth.
He swallowed again, nodding his head in resignation. "Very well, if that
is what you require to realize that I am not involved with any subversive
activity." Immediately, the hands that had grasped him so brutally fell away,
leaving him weak and disheveled. Charles groped for the chair, collapsing
against the leather seat. "I was captain of King Richard II's household guard
for almost ten years. My wife and I lived on the castle grounds, happy but
for the fact that we had no children. You see, I had an accident as a young
man that left me barely able to.... function. Although we thought, mayhap,
we would be blessed with a son someday, it became apparent that fortune
was not with us.”
Owen listened carefully. “Continue.”
Charles sighed. "We ceased our physical relationship all together after
several years. We had not had marital relations in well over two years when
I noticed that my wife was beginning to put on a good deal of weight. I
questioned her about it, but she insisted it was nothing. She continued to
grow and grow and I paid little heed until one night she seemed to be most
uncomfortable. I went about my scheduled rounds and when I returned at
dawn, she was exhausted and pale and slept heavily until noon. It was not
until days later that I realized...." he paused, wiping at his sweaty face. "I
realized that she had given birth. Knowing the child was not mine, I set out
to find the babe with a vengeance. Until I discovered that the child was in
protective custody."
Owen was seated, listening intently. "Protective custody? I do not
understand."
De Worth met his gaze, his eyes glittering with an old pain. "Royal
custody, my lord. 'Twould seem that my wife had shared an affair with the
Duke of Bolingbroke and the child was his."
Owen's eyes widened. "Henry!"
"Exactly," Charles nodded, his gesture slow and weary. Noting the varied
expressions of disbelief and understanding about him, he shrugged vaguely.
"Now you understand why I have taken such an interest in Henry's bastard.
My vengeance shall come when he least expects it."
"But what of your wife? Did you kill her for her betrayal?" Owen asked
quietly, curiously.
De Worth shook his head. "I never got the chance. Henry sent her away
to Whitby Abbey in Yorkshire and I have not seen her since."
A peculiar gleam came to Owen's eye. Passing a glance at David, he
noted the same odd expression glazing his cousin's features, an expression
that caused his own uneasiness to increase with each successive moment.
When he returned his attention to the fatigued English knight, he realized
his hands were beginning to quake.
"Did your wife have a name?"
"Ellyn," de Worth's voice was barely a whispered.
Owen's breathing suddenly became a harsh, ragged gesture. He rose
abruptly, toppling his chair in the process and moving to right it with
shaking hands. He couldn't seem to control the violent tremors that had
infected his movements and he struggled to keep the same quiver from his
voice. "Lloyd, show our English friend a bit of food and ale. He’s free to
leave when he’s rested."
The silent Welsh soldier waited patiently for Charles to regain his
composure, escorting the man from the tent as the English knight rose to
unsteady feet. With a lingering glance at the Welsh prince, a silent gesture
of shame and remorse, Charles de Worth quit the tent in favor of a hot meal
and a measure of much-needed rest.
When his boot falls faded, David turned to Owen with an expression of
utter astonishment. "It's her."
 Owen nodded vaguely, his hand over his mouth as he attempted to rein
his reeling thoughts. "I never imagined.... God's Blood, how were we to
know? Of all the knights in England, how is it possible that we should come
across her husband?"
David's astonished expression gave way to a pale countenance as he
paced the frozen ground, lost in his own thoughts. "I haven't seen Ellyn
since she left for London. We received word from her only twice since;
when she married, and when she pledged her servitude to Whitby."
Owen eyed his cousin, the impact of the discovery weighing heavily on
his shoulders. What had begun as a simple fact-finding endeavor had
become a monumental discovery and he was having difficulty grasping the
facts. But they indisputable.
He finally sighed, shrugging off his shock. "You never did discover why
your sister took her vows at Whitby?"
David shook his head, raking his fingers through hair the color of a
raven's wing. "Never. I tried sending her several missives, but received no
reply until a simple message came from the abbess herself informing us that
Lady Ellyn or, more correctly, Sister Repentia, had taken an oath of
solitude."
Owen closed his eyes in a gesture of disbelief. The tremors that had
seized his body were gone now, replaced by an odd weakness. "How can I
use my own cousin against my mortal enemy?"
David looked at him. "The Princess Arissa is my niece, for Christ's sake.
How do you think I feel? Lyle and I were less that kind with her during the
abduction. And when I think of Lyle in mortal combat with Richmond le
Bec as Arissa lay unconscious in the mud...."
He closed his eyes and looked away, unable to continue. Owen
meandered to the dying vizier, putting his hands against the warm iron.
"Le Bec never saw you, did he?" he asked.
David shook his head, fighting off a deeper remorse. "I was too far away,
shielded by the rain and the chaos of the fighting. I did not even see Lyle's
final minutes, for I knew that le Bec would be the victor and I had no desire
to face him. I knew I had to return to you with confirmation of Princess
Arissa's whereabouts," he suddenly slapped at this leather-covered thigh,
emitting an explosive hiss. "She’s my niece. Christ's Sake, Owen, do you
realize what this means? We are related to the King of England!"
 Owen did not say anything for several agonizing moments as both men
pondered the revelation. Owen seemed to be riveted to the dying embers of
the vizier as David continued to pace, remembering the beauty and frailty of
his niece. He could scarcely believe the evidence, but believe he did.
Thinking back, he realized that she looked a good deal like his sister and
only now did the uncanny semblance have a measure of meaning. She was
his blood - she was Owen's blood.
David studied the chair de Worth had been planted in before slowly
depositing his own weary body atop the leather sling. "Now what? Do we
forget about her?"
Owen shook his head faintly, rubbing the sharp stubble on his chin.
"Nay," he said softly. "We do not forget about our relation." He removed his
hands from the vizier, his jaw ticking as he mulled over the future. Certainly
he would not forget about Henry's daughter, his own cousin. She could still
be a very powerful weapon in his war against the English.
He turned to his cousin. "Would it be safe to assume she’s still at
Lambourn?"
David nodded weakly, feeling drained as his shock wore thin. "As long as
Lambourn is still standing in light of de Rydal's attack."
Owen scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Then I would have you return to
Lambourn again. Mayhap a second abduction attempt would meet with
some success."
David stared at him a moment before shaking his head. "Le Bec is her
shadow. He’s no doubt aware that Henry's enemies have discovered the
princess' whereabouts and I doubt a second attempt to seize her would be
productive."
Owen sat opposite his cousin, his gaze heady. "Then we will keep trying
until we have her. She’s Glendower and I mean to have her."
"She’s Plantagenet."
Owen did not reply as his gaze left his cousin, moving to the dying
embers in the vizier. The freezing night was seeping into his bones and
somewhere in the distance, he could hear a wolf cry to its mate. He would
not be deterred in his scheme to obtain Henry's daughter; not even the threat
of Richmond le Bec was enough to dampen his conviction. The fact that the
girl was of direct relation to him changed the overall design little; truthfully,
he had never meant to harm her, merely use her against her father. And he
would still use her against her father. But first, he had to obtain her.
"It would seem to me that our biggest obstacle is Richmond le Bec," he
said after a moment, returning his gaze to his cousin. "Neutralize le Bec and
the princess is ours."
David sighed irritably. "Brilliant, Owen. And just who is supposed to
neutralize Henry's greatest knight? There is not a man among us who could
best him in a fight. Who did you intend to act the role of assassin?"
Owen's brown eyes glittered dully in the weak light. "Not a Welshman.
Mayhap one of le Bec's own countrymen will turn against him."
David's brow furrowed. "I do not understand."
Owen leaned into the palm of his hand. "Henry Percy and I have been
communicating, as you are aware. Hotspur is growing weary of Henry's
rule; in fact, his relationship to the king has never been hearty, whereas le
Bec is well known as Henry's greatest supporter. If Henry Percy is to align
with me, mayhap we will be able to annihilate le Bec with a man who has
fought with him. A man who knows his strengths and weaknesses."
"Hotspur?" David repeated incredulously. "You are mad! He will never
agree to such a thing!"
Owen shrugged. "Mayhap. But we must not disregard our options. In any
case, I will expect you on the road to Lambourn before sunrise."
David eyed his cousin in the darkness, pondering the information that had
been revealed this night. In spite of discovering her relationship to them,
Owen still wanted Arissa as a weapon in his struggle against Henry. And
with the possibility of Hotspur's alliance, the Welsh resistance was growing
stronger by the day.
A certain young lady was about to find herself the central focus of a very
long, very bloody conflict.

***

It did not take David Glendower an over amount of time to ascertain that
the Princess Arissa was no longer within the walls of Lambourn. He'd spent
nearly a week lingering in the woods, assuming the role of a tradesman
from the village in order to gain access to the keep. Being rebuilt from her
recent siege, there was always work available and he involved himself in
the renovations as deeply as he was able. Being a fine stonemason, he was
able to find daily work.
With one eye on his mortar and stone and the other roving the grounds
for any sign of the princess, he established a moderate rapport with a few of
the lesser men-at-arms supervising the rebuilding of the wall. Through
several days of carefully orchestrated dialogue, he was able to discover that
Richmond le Bec had fled Lambourn with the earl's eldest daughter,
escorting her to Whitby in the hope that the church would be able to protect
her from Ovid de Rydal's wrath.
It was well known that Tad de Rydal received his severe wound from
Richmond's men as a result of his attentions toward the earl's daughter, and
it was the general opinion that Ovid would disregard his anger towards
Lambourn if the very reason for his fury were extracted from the walls.
Even though his son was on the mend, the father's rage had not abated in
the least and with Richmond and Arissa removed, mayhap the situation
would be able to calm somewhat.
It was the overall consensus that justice had been served, however,
considering Bartholomew de Lohr had also received a near-fatal wound in
the attack. Ovid had nearly lost his son and it was only appropriate that the
earl's heir be compromised as well. Both young men, however, were said to
be recovering from their fierce injuries but the animosity between the
House of de Rydal and the Earl of Berkshire was nasty. 'Twas said the earl
had even sent word to Henry demanding crown retaliation against Ovid de
Rydal, a move that could only extend the hostilities should Henry respond
to the earl's request.
A complicated issue, David was told, but he was not concerned with the
complexity of the feud between Lambourn and Goring Hall. All that
mattered was that he had discovered the Princess Arissa's whereabouts and
he set out with a vengeance for the Welsh border. Owen had to be made
aware that the young lady was no longer in the protective custody of the
crown, but something far more powerful. When the earl had sent his
daughter into the shielding confines of Whitby Abbey, it had been with the
intention of protecting her from a vicious act of revenge.
Little did he realize how many people sought to gain vengeance against
the petite raven-haired beauty and David realized that the situation was far
more complex than originally believed. There were more people determined
to acquire control of Henry's daughter than could be counted, each for their
own reasons, each for their own aspirations. But through it all, one thing
had remained constant - Richmond le Bec.
Henry's most powerful knight was always by her side, creating an even
more difficult situation. But more than le Bec, Whitby Abbey would prove
to be a most powerful adversary. Even if David’s own sister was imprisoned
within the walls of the Yorkshire abbey, it was of little comfort. Ellyn would
not assist their cause, he was sure; in fact, David was not particularly
surprised that Arissa's destination was Whitby. Mayhap the earl believed
that the princess' mother would be an extra incentive against the jaws of
harm. As if, somehow, the reclusive nun could protect the child she gave up
those years ago.
Upon returning to Wales, David spilled the news. Owen was not overly
surprised to discover that Arissa had been moved from Lambourn. In fact,
he considered it somewhat of a blessing that she had been taken to Whitby
and he immediately sent word to Henry Percy requesting a meeting.
Although Hotspur had not officially joined the ranks of the rebellion and
was still, technically, considered Henry's premier general in the war against
the Welsh insurgents, Owen was well aware that the man was verging on
mutiny against the crown.
He and Hotspur had already met twice, discussing their mutual roles in
Henry's England, and Owen could sense nothing but bitterness and
uncertainty from Henry Percy. It was apparent that the king was intent on
blaming his greatest military leader for the loss of several fortresses along
the Welsh border and Hotspur’s offense was limitless. If Henry did not trust
his general, it was apparent that Hotspur no longer had reason to maintain
his loyalty to the crown. All it would take was the correct persuasion to lure
Hotspur into the Glendower fold.
Owen was no fool; an extremely intelligent man, he knew how to play
the games of the Rich and Powerful. He knew that Henry could not survive
without Northumberland's support and set forth with great determination to
undermine the weakening foundation of Hotspur's loyalty. All it would take
was the correct inducement.
He had a plan.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The bowl, with the porridge in it, went sailing across the room. The
servants shrieked and fled the room as it hit the wall and splattered on the
fine chair nearby.
“I told you that I did not want porridge!” Tad shouted after them. “The
next fool who brings me porridge shall feel my hand to their backside!”
Goring Hall was in an uproar. Nine days after the ambush that seriously
injured him, Tad was feeling infinitely better thanks to the finest physics his
father could employ. One man had come from London and the other all the
way from York. The chest wound had been deftly sewed and, most
fortunately, no poison had set in. It had truly been a miracle.
Tad had recovered quickly, thanks to his youth and good health, but now
the physics had a more seriously problem on their hands. The young man
did not want to stay still.
“My lord, you are still recovering,” the first physic, a skinny man with
wild red hair, tried to remain calm. “It is in your best interest to keep your
diet without fatty foods. Porridge is easily digestible and....”
Tad was sitting on the edge of his bed, a little paler and thinner than
usual, but certainly looking healthy enough. He interrupted the physic’s
prattle.
“I want meat,” he stressed angrily. “Breads and sweets. Give me
something more than this... this rubbish.”
The physic sighed heavily, looking to his shorter, rounder associate for
support as he prepared to deny the young man as Ovid entered the room.
The man was thrilled that his son had recovered so quickly, so much so
that he had the entire family saying prayers three times a day in thanks. His
son’s mood was foul but he didn’t seem to mind; he entered the room
happily, greeting his son with a kiss to each cheek as the young man
pushed him away.
“Tell them to bring me meat,” Tad demanded. “I want beef pie. Kidney
pie. Anything but this slop they are trying to feed me.”
 Ovid wouldn’t dare deny his son’s request. He looked to the physics as
they huddled a few feet away. They were the same men who had saved his
son’s life so he tried to be somewhat respectful to them.
“The boy requires meat,” he pleaded. “Can you not see how much better
he’s feeling? Meat will do him a world of good.”
The skinny physic tried to deter him. “But, my lord, his body cannot....”
Ovid cut him off, though not entirely unkindly. “Please,” he said,
although it was a command and not a request. “Go and select something
appropriate for him to eat that does not include food you would feed
infants. I implore you.”
The physics looked at each other, shrugged, and quit the room in a
manner suggesting they were not at all pleased. They knew best, but the
spoiled young man always got what he wanted. His father saw to that. Ovid
watched them go before returning his attention to his son.
“They are only doing what they feel best,” he said. “You could try to be
more cooperative.”
Tad shrugged and looked away. “What news have you brought me
today?”
He was changing the subject to the one and only thing that had held his
interest for the past nine days. He would hardly speak of anything else and
Ovid, still hell-bent on vengeance against Richmond le Bec, was more than
willing to indulge him.
“It is as we suspected,” he said. “Le Bec left Lambourn the morning after
the battle and took Lady Arissa with him. I have paid people well to glean
information to this regard and from what they have been told, le Bec is
taking the girl straight to Whitby.”
“Do we know this for certain?” Tad stood up, stiffly, rubbing at his tender
torso. “We have been hearing these rumors for days now. This is not new
information.”
“But it has been confirmed,” Ovid insisted. “I paid a man well whose
wife works in the kitchens of Lambourn. This woman has confirmed that le
Bec left with Lady Arissa and is taking her to Whitby. That is what de Lohr
is telling everyone. Oddly, he does not seem to be too heartbroken about
it.”
Tad moved about gingerly. “What do you plan to do?”
 Ovid fell silent a moment, his manner turning from doting father to
conniving enemy. “My fury against le Bec has not abating,” he said quietly.
“By the grace of God you have healed, but that does not end my sense of
vengeance. The man will pay.”
Tad turned to him. “So I will ask you again; what do you plan to do?”
Ovid began to pace just as his son was, his demeanor pensive. “If le Bec
is heading to Whitby, then we can catch him outside the walls of a fortress
where the odds will be even,” he said, then looked at his son. “I will send
my army after him and destroy him.”
Tad cocked in an eyebrow. “What about Lady Arissa?”
Ovid’s gaze was intense. “If she’s not yet made it to the abbey, then
perhaps we shall claim her. You are attracted to her, are you not?”
Tad thought a moment before nodding. He had a rather dirty look about
him. “She’s beautiful, no doubt. Perhaps she would make a splendid Lady
de Rydal.”
“Perfect vengeance against le Bec,” Ovid wriggled his eyebrows
suggestively. “It is said he’s a fondness for the girl that goes beyond mere
concern. His attack upon you is evidence of that.”
“Then I will take her, marry her, and there will be nothing he can do
about it.”
“Exactly.”
Tad liked that suggestion a great deal. Still moving a bit gingerly, he
made his way towards the massive wardrobe in his room where his
broadsword lay resting in a custom-made casket of silk and oak. He opened
the door to the wardrobe and lifted the lid of the case, eyeing the sword that
had cost his father a small fortune. Not strangely, he could see le Bec’s
suffering reflected in the blade.
“Summon our army, then,” he said, looking at his father. “We will travel
light and hard, riding swiftly for Whitby. If le Bec is indeed traveling north
to the abbey, then he’s a substantial head-start. However, traveling with a
woman, I would suspect his pace has been very slow. It is possible if we
ride hard enough to make it to Whitby before he does, where I will wait for
him to come. Then, I shall take what is mine.”
Ovid wasn’t too keen on parts of that plan. “You are too weak to ride,” he
insisted. “A ride to Whitby will take over a week at a swift pace. You
should stay here. The lady will be brought to you when she’s captured.”
 Tad shook his head. “If we do manage to capture her, unless le Bec is
dead, I will need to marry her as quickly as possible because he will track
her like a hound. To suffer a journey all the way back to Goring risks her
being recaptured and taken out of our control. That must not happen.”
Ovid didn’t want his son riding the two hundred miles to Whitby but he
understood his reasoning. “I do not suppose I can stop you.”
Tad shook his head. “He tried to kill me, Father,” he said, his voice quiet
and deadly. “This time, vengeance shall be mine. Le Bec will pay once and
for all.”
Ovid didn’t doubt him in the least.

***

The trip north had been something of a delight.

True to his word, Richmond stopped in the villages where Arissa wanted
to stop, purchasing anything that she desired. If she saw a trinket, she got
it, and if she even mentioned the fact that she liked a purse or admired a
pair of boots, she received that as well. Richmond would do anything to
make her happy, loving the smiles he received when she clutched a pretty
vial of expensive perfume or a bolt of exquisite material. Each day, each
delight, saw his love for her deepen. He was becoming acquainted with her
on a level he could have never imagined.
Since he had promised Arissa a leisurely trip, a journey he could make on
a hard march in ten or twelve days took almost three weeks. They stopped
where they wished to stop, camped by great rivers or stayed in lively inns.
Whatever Arissa wanted, Richmond would comply. The weather, for
December, had been remarkably mild so the trip hadn’t been a difficult one.
But no matter how languid the pace, eventually, they drew close to Whitby.
Just to the north of the city of York, they passed through a berg called
Pickering. There was a big castle overlooking the village but Richmond
bypassed the castle, mostly because he knew the garrison commander and
the man tended to be fickle in his loyalties, so he at least sent word of
greeting to identify his big army as he passed through the town. It was his
intention to camp just north of the city before reaching their destination of
Whitby Abbey on the morrow. Already, he could feel the anxiety building
in his chest for the separation to come. He’d been ignoring it for weeks, but
now, he could ignore it no longer.
Pickering had a fairly large merchant street and although the army
paralleled the street of the merchants as they traveled the main avenue
through town, Arissa and Emma could nonetheless see the stalls in intervals
when houses would part and reveal the street beyond. Richmond could see
it, too, as he and Gavan traveled at the head of the column and he knew it
was only a matter of time before Arissa called a halt. It was not long in
coming.
“Richmond!” she called.
He reined his charger around, noting the smirk on Gavan’s face as he
made his way back to Arissa and Emma in the provisions wagon. He reined
the animal next to her.
“Aye, kitten?”
It sounded more like a statement of resignation than a question, but
Arissa smiled brightly and pointed.
“I saw a merchant’s stall over there with garments hanging from the
rafters,” she said, rather sweetly. “Do you think we can go and look?”
He grunted softly, with resistance. “Riss, I am not entirely sure we have
any more room to store your goods,” he tried to sound gentle, not like a
man who was going back on his promise to buy her anything she wanted.
“Do you not think you have enough? I am going to have to build a
monstrous castle as it is to house everything.”
Arissa giggled, not taking him seriously. “I simply want to look. Please?”
Richmond’s resistance held out for another second or two before he
finally nodded in defeat. Dismounting his charger, he handed the reins over
to the nearest soldier as he reached up and lifted Arissa from the wagon
bench. Emma squealed and he lifted her down, too. Taking the ladies in-
hand, he called a halt to his brigade and led the women over to the next
street where a good deal of commerce was taking place.
The avenue was wide and filled with holes and ruts, with lots of activity
occurring beneath moderately sunny skies and a very brisk temperature.
Wagons, people and carts were everywhere in the cold, clear weather.
Arissa and Emma went straight for the merchant with the garments hanging
from the rafters as Richmond hung back and watched them dive into the
merchandise with gusto.
 “You are going to be broke by the time we reach Whitby,” Gavan came
up behind him, fussing with a gauntlet. “You must learn to deny her once in
a while.”
Richmond puckered his lips wryly. “Think not to lecture me,” he told
him. “I seem to recall you having difficulty denying your wife anything.”
Gavan returned the wry expression, although there was a defensive
attitude with it. “This is not about me. This is about you, and you are
spoiling Arissa. She’s going to expect this from you for the rest of your
life.”
Richmond just shook his head, watching Arissa giggle happily as the
merchant, a thin woman with bad skin, held up a lovely blue surcoat against
her to see if it would fit. Arissa took the surcoat and, with Emma’s
approving nod, rushed over to Richmond as he stood in the street with
Gavan. Her lovely features were alight with joy.
“Richmond, look,” she held up the surcoat. “What do you think? This
woman has all manner of coats that are already sewn. She says that she sells
a great number of them because they are already made. Have you ever seen
such a thing?”
Richmond shook his head. “Alas, I have not,” he said. “May I point out
that you already have plenty of fabric to make your own coats with?”
Her face fell slightly and she looked at the surcoat, made from a lovely
and billowing Perse fabric. It was very fine.
“But these are already made,” she insisted. “This one will fit me. Do you
not like it?”
Richmond looked at her, a smile playing on his lips. Then he looked at
Gavan, who simply lifted his eyebrows. After a moment, Richmond
returned his attention to Arissa’s hopeful expression. He couldn’t deny her
and they all knew it.
“I like it,” he told her, conceding complete and utter defeat. “Get what
you will.”
Arissa was back to smiling brightly. With a giggle of joy, she rushed back
into the shop and began having the shop keeper remove several more
surcoats that were hanging on nails. As Richmond stood there, ignoring
Gavan’s smirks, something suddenly hit him on the back of his armored
legs.
 It was not a hard hit, but enough to get his attention. Hand on the hilt of
his broadsword, he turned to see a young girl picking herself up out of the
dirt. She was a filthy little urchin, with tangled red curls and freckles on her
nose. Richmond peered down at the child as Gavan, having heard the
knock against Richmond’s armor, reached down and grasped the child by
the arm.
“Here, now,” he all but shoved her away from Richmond. “Watch where
you are going.”
The little girl tripped when Gavan firmly directed her away and ended up
on the ground again, this time falling on a rock. She immediately started
wailing as she came away with a cut knee. That brought a cavalry charge of
more children pouring out of the shadows and doorways around them.
There had to be a dozen or more, all rushing in the child’s direction.
“Oy!” a boy around ten years rushed to the child’s side, pulling her up off
the street and noticing her bloody knee. Rather than cower from the two
enormous knights, he actually grew angry. “Did ye have tae hurt her, then?”
Gavan looked rather surprised at the challenge. “I did not hurt her,” he
said. “She fell and scraped her knee. Moreover, she ran into us first. She
should be more careful next time.”
The boy with the matted blond hair and extremely dirty body did not
back down as more children gathered behind him in mute support. There
was strength in numbers. The weeping little girl was absorbed by the group
as they pulled her back into a protective huddle.
“She couldna have hurt ye,” the boy sounded very much as if he was
scolding Gavan. “Ye didna have tae bloody her!”
By this time, Arissa heard the commotion and exited the merchant’s stall
to see what was going on. She saw Richmond and Gavan squaring off
against a gang of small children, the eldest of which could not have been
more than ten or eleven years old. In the middle of the group, a little red-
haired girl wept loudly.
“Richmond?” Arissa positioned herself between Richmond and Gavan,
her focus on the suspicious children. “What is going on?”
Richmond shook his head. “I am not quite sure,” he admitted casually.
“But I believe we are being threatened.”
Arissa’s brow furrowed as she looked between Richmond and the
children. “What happened?”
 He shrugged. “A child ran in to me,” he said. “You can hear her crying.
When Gavan tried to remove her, she fell and hit her knee on a rock. Now
these children think we have brutalized her.”
Arissa looked at Gavan. “What did you do to her?”
Gavan put up his hands as if he truly had no idea. “I did not do anything
to her,” he insisted. “She was on the ground so I pulled her up and directed
her away from Richmond. And then she fell.”
Arissa looked displeased. “Gavan, I have seen you when you go in
defense of Richmond,” she said. “Did you truly just direct her away? Or did
you push her?”
Gavan looked at Arissa as if insulted by the question. Then he rolled his
eyes and stepped away, unwilling to get into a verbal battle with her. “I did
not shove her,” he said, walking away.
Arissa scowled at the man before returning her attention to the children.
In truth, Richmond did not seem to know how to react to a gang of youths
accusing him of injuring one of their own so he thought it best to say
nothing. He did not want to start anything that might bring out the adults,
or worse, other knights. He was not looking for a fight in any case and did
not want to waste his time. Therefore, he focused on Arissa.
“If you are thinking of making a purchase, go and make your selection,”
he told her. “We have a few more miles to travel before setting up camp and
I do not want to be setting up in the dark.”
Arissa nodded, though she was still eyeing the children. The boy who
had defended the little girl so stringently was still standing in front of the
group, his fists balled, as if preparing to do battle. She focused on the
young lad.
“Is the little girl your sister?” she asked kindly.
The boy looked at the lovely young woman who was not a whole lot
bigger than he was. He appeared confused by the question at first but
eventually shook his head. “No,” he said. “She dunna have a brother.”
Arissa smiled at the lad. “You make a very good brother. You are very
brave to protect her.”
The child scratched his head, looking at the group behind him as if his
courage was suddenly waning and he was looking to them for support.
Then he looked back at Arissa.
“He did push her,” he insisted, though it was without force.
 Arissa nodded patiently. “If he did, I am sure he did not mean to,” she
said. “I am sorry if your friend was hurt.”
“Is he yer husband, lady?”
Arissa shook her head, pointing to Richmond instead. “He is.”
The boy, and the children behind him, looked at the enormous man.
“Does he beat ye, then?” the boy asked, incredulous.
Arissa laughed. “Of course not,” she said. “Why would he?”
“Because he’s a big ‘un.”
Arissa was still smiling, shaking her head. “He’s very sweet and very
kind,” she told him. “Now, tell me; where are your parents?”
The boy shrugged. “We dunna have ‘un,” he said, kicking at the dirt and
glancing to the group behind him. “We.... well, we take care o’ each other.”
Arissa understood somewhat. “Which is why you defended the little
girl.”
“Aye.”
At this point, the little girl’s weeping could no longer be heard and the
gaggle of children began to disband. It would seem that the crisis was over
and they were losing interest in what was going on. As they started to
wander away, Arissa called out to them.
“Wait,” she said. “Please.... wait.”
The boy, and most of the group, came to a halt. Then she turned to
Richmond. “Give them a few coins,” she whispered.
He was surprised by her request. “What?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard
her correctly. “A few coins....?”
Arissa held out her hand to him. “Please,” she hissed. “Look at them,
Richmond; they are filthy and starving. Show them the same generosity you
show me and give them a few coins so they can at least buy something to
eat.”
He eyed her, displeased, but did as she asked. Reaching in to his tunic,
he pulled forth his purse and plopped five coins into her palm. Arissa went
to the boy with the matted blond hair and extended her hand.
“For you,” she said. “Please buy something to eat for your friends.”
The child took the coins from her, awed. He stared at the pences in his
palm as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Then, he grinned
brightly, displaying green and crooked teeth.
“Thanks, lady!”
 He dashed off, calling to the children, and they all swarmed around him.
As he excitedly showed off the coins he had been given and pointed back to
Arissa and Richmond, Arissa stood there and grinned. Richmond came up
behind her.
“Very generous, my lady,” he said, winking at her when she turned to
look at him. “Now, if you do not mind, it is time to make your purchases so
we can get out of this town before I go broke.”
With a giggle, Arissa turned back to the merchant stall and the amazing
pre-made surcoats. Emma was standing just inside the stall, still holding on
to the blue Perse coat, having just watched the happenstance with the
children. Arissa and Emma were just beginning to engage in conversation
when Richmond heard a shout.
He turned to see Gavan heading towards him with something in his hand.
“Our messenger has caught up to us,” Gavan told him as he approached.
“We have a reply from Henry.”
Richmond’s attention was diverted from Arissa spending all of his money
as he went to Gavan and accepted a worn leather pouch that was sealed
with an iron pin.
“That was fast work,” Richmond replied as he opened the pouch. “From
Lambourn to London, and then to Whitby in less than two weeks.”
“Indeed.”
Richmond dug into the pouch and pulled out the first of two missives
stuck inside. “I wonder what Henry has to say to all of this,” he muttered,
eyeing the first missive that had his name on it. Then he pulled out the
second and noted that it was for his eyes only. He put that one back in the
pouch as he focused on the first. “I can only hope he does not order us to
turn around and head back for London.”
“Why?”
“Because it would not be very safe for Arissa there, not with all of the
turmoil surrounding the king right now, and I am not entirely sure how I
could deny the king’s orders without revealing our little secret,” he replied
as he popped the wax seal and unrolled the fine vellum. His gaze digested
the words for a few moments before he started to read.

“Sir Richmond le Bec

 Dated this tenth day of December, Year of Our Lord Fourteen Hundred
and Two

Richmond,
We have received your missive regarding the removal of your ward from
Lambourn Castle and We approve. Continue to Whitby Abbey with all due
haste, whereupon your ward shall begin her sentence with the sisterhood.
When you have accomplished this task, you will return to London with all
due haste. We have need of you.
Tasked the Day of Days,
Your Lord and Sovereign, Henry.....”

Richmond looked up from the missive. “So we return to London once

Arissa is charged to Whitby,” he muttered, lowering the missive as he began
to roll it up again. His movements were slow and pensive. “It is as I had
hoped.”
“You do not seem pleased.”
Richmond shrugged. “I do not suppose we could take another few weeks
before I have to leave her.”
Gavan sighed faintly, glancing up at Arissa and Emma in the distance as
they bartered for the garments. “Nay,” he said quietly. “Richmond, I realize
this is difficult for you, but the sooner you leave her and attend Henry, the
sooner you can return for her. That is what you want most of all, is it not?”
Richmond tucked the missive back in the pouch, noting the second one
and remembering that he was instructed to read it alone.
“It is,” he nodded, though he was still feeling depressed. “I still do not
like the idea of leaving her with strangers. More than that, I do not want her
to be away from me.”
“It is necessary for now. You know that. You and Henry have a great deal
of business to discuss and it is better to get it over with.”
Richmond could only nod again. Then he pulled out the second smaller
missive and gestured to Gavan with it.
“Hurry the women along,” he instructed. “Whatever they want, buy it for
them. Let us depart this berg sooner rather than later. I am eager to get the
men settled in for the night.”
 Gavan broke away from him and headed for Arissa and Emma, who saw
him coming and hastened to wind up their bartering. Richmond watched
for a moment as Gavan came upon them and evidently told them to hurry,
because he could hear Arissa scolding him.
With a grin, Richmond broke the seal on the second missive and read the
short note, also from Henry. This news was regarding Gavan’s wife and
was far more devastating, like a blow to his gut, and Richmond struggled
quickly to recover.
He made sure there were no tears in his eyes when Gavan returned with
the women a short time later.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Richmond’s encampment had been set up about three miles north of

Pickering in a vale of trees with a large brook running through it, enough so
that his men were able to wash and cook with plenty of water.
In spite of the fact that it was December in the north, the skies were
remarkably clear and the land fairly dry. It was, however, very cold.
Richmond had his men spread out and set up a perimeter, setting watch
shifts and security, as several of his men set up his tent and stoked two
viziers into a nice, warm blaze.
Arissa and Emma had huddled around one of them while the tents went
up, until Emma grew bored and began to speak of the winter blooms she
had seen. She began to speak of pomades and oils, pulling Arissa into her
excitement, and soon the two of them were out of the tent in search of the
elusive winter blooms. That was fairly normal behavior for Arissa.
Unbeknownst to Richmond, they wandered away from camp.
But his clues came soon enough. Richmond heard a chorus of screams,
faint and muffled against the damp trees, and he knew without a doubt the
screams came from Arissa; he would know her voice anywhere. He had just
located Gavan amongst the soldiers and was preparing to deliver the
contents of the second missive when the air had been pierced by the
unmistakable sounds of terror. Deterred from his dreaded task, both he and
Gavan had been jolted into action.
Within seconds, the entire camp was a boiling cauldron of men and
armor, determined to seek out and protect the two women from the
impending threat. The five soldiers that had been left in charge of the young
ladies' safety suddenly found themselves stripped of their arms and
corralled into a tight group. Guarded by ten soldiers of Richmond's personal
choosing, hope for a relatively painless future was not guaranteed as
Henry's most powerful knight discovered their failings.
Richmond and Gavan were already mounted, tearing into the thicket of
trees to the south of the wagon, the very last place the two ladies had been
seen and assuming it was a logical location to begin. But several feet into
the undergrowth, it was obvious the destriers could go no further in the
heavy foliage. Dismounting, swords were unsheathed as both knights and
several dozen soldiers charged headlong into the dense, wet leafage.
Heart pounding, Richmond was not given ample time to work himself up
into a good panic; within moments, he found himself gazing upon a black
and blond head from where the ladies sat, perched on a large moldering
rock. Beside them, a vaguely familiar figure clad in rags sat happily and
several feet away, a cluster of children were hovered intently over a small
fire.
Richmond could see that the women weren't in any danger and his
anxiety transformed into simmering anger. Pushing through a bank of heavy
brush that he practically tore to shreds with his force and size, he jabbed an
armor-clad finger at the two figures on the rock.
"What goes on here?" he boomed.
Arissa started violently, leaping up from the rock in surprise. Emma, her
eyes wide with shock, stared at Richmond and Gavan as if the Devi had
suddenly made an appearance; covered with exposed swords and weapons,
the picture was terrifying.
"We.... we came into the trees looking for flowers," Arissa stammered.
"The children found us and are preparing a special treat in our honor."
Richmond stared at the overall picture a moment; seventeen very
frightened, very cold children gazed back at him as if he was pure evil. On a
small fire built into the mucky earth, five small fish were cooking on spits
and Richmond sheathed his sword, moving to grasp Arissa by the arm.
"'Twas foolish to venture into the trees without an escort," he growled. "I
would expect more of a show of intelligence from you, my lady. You are
fully aware of the dangers that lurk about."
 Arissa winced at the brutal grip on her arm. "Release me, Richmond, you
are hurting me," she said with as much force as she could muster. His grip
immediately lessened, but he did not let go of her and she attempted to pull
free. He did not budge. "Let go of me, Richmond. I demand it."
"You do not make demands," he flipped up his visor, his eyes like ice as
his gaze moved from the frightened children to Emma. He gestured at her
with his free hand. "Take her, Hage. Tie her to the wagon if she cannot
show more wisdom than to venture out into forest without the proper
attendants."
As Gavan moved for Emma, Arissa could see that the situation was
rapidly deteriorating. Since she could not match Richmond's anger, and his
fury was quite correct for wandering away from the campsite, she decided
to play to his sympathies instead. As she had proven abundantly in the past,
a little honey against the hard facade of Richmond le Bec could work
wonders.
"Richmond, may I speak with you a moment before you haul Emma and I
away like a pair of criminals?" she asked politely.
He eyed her. "When we return to camp, I will expect a full explanation.
You may speak to your heart's content at that time."
She shook her head, her soft hands moving to grasp his massive glove.
Smiling faintly, she pressed against him. "Now, Richmond. I shall take but a
moment of your precious time. If you do not agree with my words, you may
spank me all night."
There was a decidedly erotic invitation in that statement but he ignored it,
still focused on his anger. "After I remove you from this rabble, I shall be
happy to speak with you."
He made the attempt to pull her with him but she balked, digging her
heels in. His jaw ticked at the show of insolence but she tried not to let the
gesture intimidate her.
"Please, my love," her voice was suddenly very soft, very seductive.
"Allow me a moment to speak with you. Just a small, insignificant
moment? Please?"
God's Teeth, he could never refuse her. Somehow, he was always caving
into her imperious commands disguised as prettily uttered requests.
Releasing her from his grasp, he put his hands on his hips in a display of
irritation. "What, then?"
 She smiled, pressing herself against him and winding her arms about his
waist. Next to her, Emma was fighting off a grin as Gavan pretended to
look the other way; they both knew Arissa would have her way in the end,
regardless of Richmond's harsh stance.
"They are preparing a feast to thank me for my kindness in defending
them against you earlier today," she whispered, watching the blue eyes
soften as she spoke. "Those five fish are all they have to sustain the
seventeen of them, and still they are willing to share with me. I shall not
refuse their kind tribute, Richmond. Even though they are dirt-poor,
scraping the very dregs of society in their attempt to maintain a meager
existence, they still know the true meaning of selflessness. That, my love, is
worth all of the kings and knights and wealth this world has to offer and I
am honored to be a part of it."
He stared at her a moment before emitting a weary, heart-felt sigh. She
continued to smile at him, watching his uncertain expression as he glanced
to the wary cluster of children. It took him a moment to realize that during
the course of their conversation, he had distracted the orphans from their
fire and the fish were burning brightly with flame as he watched.
With another sigh, this one of pure resignation, he realized was about to
give in to her request yet again. Watching the fish burn, however, he was
suddenly aware of how to please Arissa without appearing weak in front of
his men. God's Teeth, he was a fool for the woman.
"Their tribute appears to have become a torch," he grumbled, touching
her cheek; he simply couldn't help himself as she gazed up at him. His gaze
lingered on the children a moment before turning away from Arissa. "You
will tell them to sup with us since I have ruined their dinner. I shall wait for
you on the other side of the thicket, so do not delay."
Arissa smiled broadly, a beautiful smile that rendered him weak with love
and adoration. "Of course, my love. I shall do it right away." Before he
could move away completely, she reached out to gently grasp his massive
hand. "Thank you, Richmond. You are an extremely generous man."
He barely acknowledged her thanks as he moved into the foliage he had
so recently crushed. "I am not generous; I am a fool," he muttered, listening
to Gavan's snort of agreement.
Hearing Gavan’s laughter reminded him of the second missive from
Henry, the one whose contents he had been directed to deliver to Gavan in
private. The man had to be made aware, the sooner the better, and
Richmond's heart sank as he once again braced himself for the devastating
duty.
His gut churned as they reached the destriers, preparing to mount. God's
Teeth, how he hated what he was about to do. Eyeing Gavan as the man
moved to mount his horse, he wondered if his best friend would ever be
able to forgive him.

***

Seventeen children around a campfire filled with hardened soldiers

proved to be a surprising, wonderful source of entertainment. The children
sang, danced, told stories and involved the men-at-arms in betting games.
Two boys would wrestle as the men eagerly placed wages, adding to the
festive atmosphere, while two of the girls would take bets on who could spit
the farthest.
Knowing well their liege's fondness for sports and betting, Richmond
found himself coerced into placing wagers on the wrestling matches and
was pleased when his chosen contender emerged the victor in the majority
of the contests. In spite of any reservations about the skinny, dirty, happy
children, Richmond was forced to agree that inviting them to dine with his
men had been a wise decision.
He relaxed against a rotted stump with Arissa in one hand and a tankard
of bland ale in the other. All in all, a most delightful night appeared to have
descended and he listened to the sounds of laughter and revelry with
satisfaction. When a few of the soldiers broke out their lutes and began to
play, Arissa and Emma found themselves swarmed with children
demanding them to participate in a communal dance. With a delighted
glance to Richmond, Arissa joined the children in the campfire frolics.
Richmond observed her beautiful form with pleasure and would have
been completely content to gaze at her all night had Gavan not moved up
beside him, chewing loudly on a knuckle of mutton.
"Most of those children are bigger than Arissa," he commented with a
grin. "If you could harness their energy and focus the cumulative power,
you would have a hell of a fighting company."
 Richmond's smile faded as he watched Arissa dance, listening to his
friend prattle as if he did not have a care in the world. Certainly he could
not, in good conscience, delay Gavan's message any longer. While Arissa
and Emma and the rest of the soldiers were occupied was the perfect
opportunity to relay the contents of the second missive, and he took a deep
breath for courage as he set his pewter cup to the ground.
"I have a need to speak with you, Gavan," he said as evenly as he could.
"In private."
Gavan swallowed his bite, tossing the stripped bone aside. "Certainly.
Where shall we go?"
Richmond rose to his feet. "Near the tents, I suppose, wherever there
aren't a thousand wild children dancing about," the two knights moved
toward the trees as Richmond struggled to keep his manner unhurried.
Already, he was breaking out in a cold sweat in anticipation of Gavan's
reaction as they meandered to the edge of the clearing, watching the
festivities in the distance.
Richmond turned to Gavan, knowing it would be easier if he simply spit
out his purpose. The longer he delayed, the more painful it would be for the
both of them and he found himself swallowing hard, twice, before he was
able to find his voice.
"Gavan," he began softly. "There is simply no easy way to broach this
subject, so you will forgive me if I seem insensitive or careless in manner;
certainly, I am neither of those things."
Gavan's brow furrowed. Richmond almost seemed ill at ease and he
smiled encouragingly, slapping his friend on the arm. "I am well aware of
your unpolished characteristics. Come out with it, man, and say your
peace."
Richmond gazed into the brown eyes of the man he had known over half
his life. He remembered a very young page by the name of Gavan Hage
from a very old and powerful Saxon family, a big boy with a good deal of
intelligence and grace. Even as he squired, being several years older than
the young Hage lad, he remembered an eager boy more than willing to learn
from those older and more experienced. He remembered requesting Gavan
as his squire when he first became a knight, and how they worked together
until Gavan was knighted eight years later.
 Gavan had been the best squire England had ever seen as far as
Richmond was concerned. And he had been his best friend for seventeen
years. Staring into Gavan’s trusting eyes, he struggled against his natural
instinct to protect the man from pain both physical and spiritual.
He sighed heavily. "A missive came today from London, Gavan."
Gavan looked perplexed. "I know. I was there when you read it."
Richmond shook his head. "Nay, not that missive. Another one," when
Gavan scratched his head in confusion, Richmond sought to clarify the
mystery. "There were two missives in the pouch, if you recall. The second
one was meant for my eyes only."
Gavan's confusion cleared and Richmond observed a glimmer of
apprehension ignite in the depths of the rich brown eyes. He crossed his big
arms.
"What did it say?" he asked.
Richmond swallowed, an unconscious gesture. He could tell by the
countenance in Gavan's eyes that he already possessed an inkling of what
was coming and Richmond struggled to soften the blow as best he could.
But there was simply no delicate way to phrase the unmerciful truth.
"It's Kathryn, Gavan,” he said softly. “She went into labor on the third of
December and struggled to bring forth your son for three days. In spite of
the best efforts of the physics, the child was unable to come forth. Your
wife passed away on the sixth of December and your son died with her."
Gavan stared at him as if he hadn't understood what he had been told.
Richmond met his gaze as steadily as he could, attempting to anticipate his
reaction and wondering if he would be able to control him in the midst of
his agonized rage. But after several long, brutally painful moments, Gavan's
only reaction was to swallow.
"My Kathryn is dead?"
"Aye."
"My son is dead?"
"Aye, Gavan. Your son, too."
Gavan blinked as if digesting the information. "She died with the child
still inside her?"
Richmond nodded slowly and Gavan uncrossed his arms. Before
Richmond could say anything further, words of comfort or sympathy or
encouragement, Gavan abruptly turned for the trees and disappeared into
the darkened bramble. Richmond watched him go with tears in his eyes.
There was nothing left to say. Blinking back the moisture flooding his
eyes, Richmond decided not to follow Gavan into the forest to allow the
man to sort through his grief alone. As much as he wanted to offer what
condolences he could, there were times when even well-meaning intrusions
were unwanted. Gavan had lost his wife and child to a common enough
occurrence and he alone would have to come to grips with his tragedy.
Richmond's job as the Messenger of Death was complete and he took a
deep breath to compose himself as he turned for the bonfires burning
brightly into the cloudy night sky. Struggling to refocus his attention on
something other than Gavan's shattering grief, he caught sight of Arissa as
the great fire silhouetted her exquisite figure, watching as she danced a
lively folkdance with a young boy in her arms. As she bounced and twirled
gaily, his thoughts shifted from Gavan to Arissa.
Hearing the echo of Mossy's warning in his head, Richmond couldn't
escape the apprehension. Arissa had refused to use the pessaries and
Richmond, naturally, had given in to her refusal. Watching her frolic about
the bonfire, he cursed himself for being so weak-willed; clearly, he needed
to be more firm where her health was concerned and he pledged at that
moment that he would never again allow her to persuade him differently
when her very life was at stake. If the same thing happened to Arissa that
had happened to Kathryn, he knew for a fact he would not survive it. The
mere thought made him sick.
He continued to watch her as he approached, focused on her flowing hair
and fabulous figure. Richmond was half-way to the campfire when a
piercing howl filled the air. Loud and mournful and completely horrifying,
he came to an unsteady halt, returning his attention to the direction from
whence he had come. It took him little time to deduce that Gavan was
expending his grief.
The entire festive camp came to a grinding halt at the sound of the
sorrowful groan. The harrowing cry echoed off the trees, filling the
December sky with sounds of pain. Upon the heels of the first shout was
another, and still another. In rapid succession, cries of pure agony filled the
air until they slowly died away.
 As the bonfires died during the progression of the night, Gavan's grief
maintained its searing intensity, hot enough to ignite a hundred bonfires. On
his knees in the midst of the damp, moldering forest, he wondered if a man
could survive the torrents of grief and sorrow that threatened to drown him.
He wondered if there was a life after Kathryn. He wondered if he was at all
interested in living it.

***

Arissa was sobbing when Richmond directed her into the tent he had
pitched for them both. Gavan was still in the trees, dealing with his
consuming grief and Richmond found himself comforting two very
distraught young ladies. Since it was only natural that the women be
concerned for Gavan's mental state, as he had taken to howling like a wolf,
Richmond had taken it upon himself to inform them of Kathryn's demise.
Sorrow-stricken, Arissa and Emma had sobbed into each other's arms
before Richmond separated them, gently demanding they retire for the
night.
But it was a grief not easily forgotten. Although Arissa wept for the
lovely woman with light brown hair and beautiful blue-green eyes, Emma
wept for an entirely different reason; she had wished this misery upon
Gavan with her shameless pursuit and wicked thoughts. How often had she
prayed for Kathryn's non-existence, as if being rid of the woman would
allow the reality of her dreams. As if the dashingly handsome knight would
pay her any mind without the hindrance of his beautiful wife.
She had brought his misery upon him, for that she was certain. Her
stomach churned and her head swam to think that he would blame her for
his wife's death, wishing her away with evil prayers. Surely, he would
never love her now. Not when he realized what she had done.
Emma continued to weep pitifully for the pain she had caused her dearest
love even as Richmond gently directed her to her small tent. Practically
forcing her down on the furs and tucking the covers about her, Emma could
do naught to thank Richmond for his kindness. Her heart, her soul, her
spirit, was lodged with the great man on his knees in the middle of the
forest, vomiting emotions so strong they threatened to tear him apart.
 After settling Emma for the night, Richmond retired to his own tent to
find Arissa still weeping with sorrow. Forcing her to drink a large cup of
wine, he managed to calm her somewhat with a combination of tender
manner and relaxing alcohol. Stripping off her garments as she stood
unsteadily in the center of their tent, he swept her into the warm furs of
their bed.
Enfolded in Richmond's naked embrace, the wine filled Arissa's veins,
making her sleepy and languid. Gradually forcing herself to come to terms
with Gavan's pain, she was aware of her own repressed anguish. She and
Richmond were spending their last night together for some time to come
and she was distressed at the fact that she had been distracted with another's
grief. Certainly, she was facing grief of her own.
Brushing the stray hair from her face, she lifted her eyes to find blue eyes
gazing at her. She smiled bravely. "So we arrive at Whitby come the
morrow, do we? I do not think I am ready. I have more places to visit, more
money to squander."
He returned her smile, adding a weak chuckle as he kissed the tip of her
nose. "We have already been overlong on this journey. Besides, I do not
have any more money. You have wasted it all on currant buns and fancy
trinkets."
Her expression was indignant. "How dare you accuse me of devastating
your financial resources. If that is the case, then I do believe I shall marry
someone else. I shall not be saddled with a poor knight who cannot
maintain my living habits."
"Please, please," he shushed her softly, with humor. "I must take you to
Whitby in order to secure enough time to regain my lost wealth. Mayhap a
length of time spent with the nuns will cool your expensive habits."
She cocked an eyebrow. "As I recall, the only habits I shall be wearing
will be those made of coarse gray wool. Dreadful, really. Coarse wool
always gives me a rash on my bum."
They giggled together for a moment as he stroked her face, her hair,
memorizing every feature to sustain him in the days and weeks they would
be separated. He struggled to suppress the anguish that threatened to burst
like an over-filled dam, knowing that once the tide burst forth there would
be no stopping his agony. Although Gavan's grief was no less important, he
found himself focused on his own sorrow at the moment. The longer he
gazed into her eyes, the harder it was for him to maintain his composure.
God's Teeth, it was killing him already.
"The rash will fade against the silk of your wedding surcoat," his humor
faded as he cupped her beautiful face in his great hands. "I saw a wedding
surcoat of ivory silk, once. It was the most beautiful surcoat I had ever seen.
I do believe I shall commission one made for you while I am in London."
"Ivory silk is terribly expensive," Arissa returned softly. "You said not a
moment ago that your coffers were drained."
"Then I shall steal the money," his hands began to quiver as he kissed her
tenderly, savoring her. A gentle kiss proved to be the final blow against the
barrier of Richmond's thinly-held control; he heard Arissa gasp as his
mouth descended on her with aching force, suckling the life from her. Small
white hands wound themselves within the rich brown strands of his hair,
clutching his scalp with sharp nails, and he pulled her more closely against
him than he ever had before.
He was not going to elongate their passion; he intended to make love to
her all night and he was determined to start immediately. His hot lips
moved from her mouth to her delicious torso, taking in a rosy nipple and
sucking fiercely. He wanted her instantly hot, ready for his demanding
entry. Moreover, it would make it easier to insert the pessary without her
knowledge if she was as slick as rain and eager for his touch.
Secretly, his hand slipped between the folds of the furs behind him.
Fingering the small pebble containing the ingredients that would mayhap
preserve Arissa's life, his left hand moved to the curve of her torso, trailing
to the dark thatch of hair between her legs. Stroking her gently with his long
middle finger as he pinched the pessary between his thumb and forefinger,
he growled seductively when she pressed against him in eager anticipation.
Arissa was already wet for him, begging for his heated member, and he
groaned again when she wrapped her thighs about his hips urgently.
Inserting his middle finger into her tight passage, he thrust long and hard,
listening to her gasps of pleasure. When her hips began to gyrate in a
frenzied manner, he quickly removed his finger and placed the pessary at
her searing threshold. Just as he moved to insert it as far as it could go,
Arissa suddenly stopped her delirium.
"What is that? What are you doing?" she demanded, her face flushed with
passion and her green eyes wide.
 He moved to kiss her, anything to distract her from his covert purpose.
"Nothing, kitten. Come to me now."
She averted her lips, moving away from him so that she could see what
he had been attempting to lodge within her. She had felt the slightly coarse
composition of the little pessel, far different from Richmond's smooth skin
texture, and had immediately suspected what he was planning.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw the dark pessary Richmond had been
unsuccessful in delivering and she pulled away from him sharply, her
expression accusing. "I told you that I would not use those.... those things.
You must have a dozen sons, Richmond, and I shall not use Mossy's silly
concoction!"
He sighed heavily, aware that he had been caught in his deceit. But his
motives had been true and he hastened to defend himself. "Riss, you cannot
conceive a child. I do not want to end up like Gavan Hage, mourning the
death of my wife in childbirth," his massive hand cupped her beautiful face,
his eyes suddenly filled with tremendous pain. "Mossy was correct when he
speculated that I would consider your life over the desire for an heir. You
are my world, Riss, and I shall do anything in my power to keep you safe."
She stared at him, struggling between her rage and her understanding of
his fear. But a powerful, motherly urge to fight against the unnatural
prevention of a life that was meant to be consumed her, the need to provide
Richmond with his legacy a most powerful force.
As much as she sympathized with his terror of losing her in childbirth,
the desire to bear him a worthy son far outweighed her own natural fear. As
much as she wanted to live a long existence with Richmond by her side, she
would gladly relinquish her life if she could grant the man she loved the gift
of immorality. A son to carry his name.
She knew if she became angry with him, refusing to use his pessaries, he
would most likely not make love to her this night out of anxiety and
stubbornness. And she was desperate to touch him, to be touched, to
experience their love again and again. She did not want to delay their
ecstasy with a silly quarrel.
Richmond suddenly found himself underneath a writhing little body,
supple and warm and wonderful. Arissa's full breasts grazed his chest and
shoulders as she pressed herself against him tightly.
 "Make love to me, Richmond," she rasped into his ear, her hot breath
driving bolts of erotic passion through his big body. "Make love to me all
night."
She was dangerously close to distracting him from the issue at hand. He
put up his hands, attempting to dislodge her somewhat, but she simply
wrapped her arms about his neck tightly and refused to let go. Straddling
his flat abdomen, she ground her pelvis against him and he could feel her
wet heat dampening his flesh.
"Riss...," he grunted, fighting both her and himself.
"Now, Richmond. Take me now."
"Do not do this. You must listen to reason, kitten. You must not
conceive...."
Her ripe lips fastened to his neck, alternately suckling his skin and
stroking it with her tongue. He opened his mouth in a last attempt to lodge a
stern protest when her delicious mouth descended upon him, kissing the
very life from his bones. The feeble objections died in his throat.
The pessary fell to the ground as his big hands lost themselves in the
silken web of her hair, gripping it so tightly that he nearly pulled it from her
scalp. Arissa whimpered in response to his demanding onslaught, fierce and
powerful as he turned her onto her back. Trapped beneath his big body, she
gasped with desire as his tongue invaded the honeyed recesses of her
mouth, devouring her until there was nothing left to give.
His mouth left her lips, moving to the rosy-tipped breasts he took such
delight in. Firm and full and delightfully soft, he lost himself within the
mounds of flesh as Arissa cradled his head, encouraging him to suckle her
harder, faster, better than before. He answered her pleas with silent
obedience, suckling and licking until the moist heat between her legs
became raging. She parted her legs for him, grasping at his buttocks in an
attempt to direct him toward her searing target. But he pulled away from
her, gently, as his mouth moved to her naked belly, trailing to the curve of
her torso in lingering delight.
Arissa groaned when he rolled her onto her stomach, his mouth moving
to consume her delectable backside. She could feel his teeth on the swell of
her buttocks, nipping at her, licking her. He moved down the back of her
thighs, worshipping every inch of her silken flesh as she thrashed and
twisted beneath him. Just when she was sure she could stand no more of his
attentions, anxious to feel his manhood fill her, he grasped her hips and
pulled her to her knees.
Buttocks in the air as her nipples grazed the furs, she turned to look at
him through the wild web of black hair that covered her. "What are you
doing?" she rasped.
He smiled wolfishly, running his hands down her smooth buttocks,
moving to grasp her thighs. Pulling them apart slightly, she was aware of
his throbbing erection pressing against her from behind. Without a word, he
thrust deep, driving into her, sliding his full hard length until he was
completely sheathed within her tight little body.
The ease of his entry into her slippery passage fed his lust like nothing he
had ever experienced, and he did not afford Arissa a chance to adjust to the
new position before he was driving into her with unearthly force.
In the grip of passion, Arissa cried and gasped, biting off her screams as
his pulsing shaft created a scalding friction deep within her loins. The
harder he pushed, the harder she wanted him to push. She began to work
with him, meeting his rocket thrusts, grunting with pleasure each time their
bodies collided. A faint sheen of perspiration coated their bodies in
response to the physical demonstration of their love.
Richmond could feel the tiny muscles of her sheath fluttering in
preparation for her fulfillment. He released her hips, running his hands up
the front of her torso until he came to her beautiful breasts. Grabbing hold,
he pulled her into an upright position against him and continued to thrust.
"Give it to me, Riss," he rasped into her ear. "Give me all of it. Let me
feel it."
She whimpered, shaking her head incoherently. Knowing she was unable
to comprehend his meaning, he maintained a grip on her breasts with one
hand as the other hand moved to the triangle of moist dark curls between
her legs. Stroking her hard, he could feel her tiny bud of pleasure, hard and
taut, awaiting release.
Arissa's climax burst forth in a deafening roar as Richmond manipulated
her swollen nub. Feeling her muscles contract around his engorged member
was all of the encouragement he required to spill his seed, hard and long
and lingering. He was barely aware of her shrieking gasps, hardly cognizant
of her heaving body as she swooned against him. As his tremors died, his
reeling senses struggled to return to the world at hand and he collapsed onto
the furs with Arissa clutched tightly against his chest.
He could not ponder the fact that he had neglected yet again to use the
pessaries. Somehow, she had taken control of his common sense and he had
been helpless against her. But the deed had been done and there was no use
lingering on the fact as the night passed in icy stillness around them.
He found himself praying to God that she had not conceived, cursing
himself again for his own stupidity and weakness. He knew better than to
allow her demands to overshadow his wisdom, but God help him, it would
have taken the strength of Samson to deny her heated little body the bliss of
his uncontrolled passion. What troubled him the most was the fact that he
knew it would not be the last time.
Unaware of Richmond's fear and remorse, Arissa pushed the stray hair
from her eyes and raised her head, focusing on his beautiful blue eyes.
"Did I give it to you?" she whispered.
He erupted into low laughter, shaking with mirth. "You did indeed, kitten.
You gave me everything I asked for."
She smiled sleepy, satisfied and content as his chortles faded. "Good. 'Tis
my pleasure to grant your requests. Even if I do not understand exactly
what I am granting."
He kissed her hair. "Your body understands even if your mind does not.
But that will come with time."
She sighed with contentment, falling silent as she listened to the sounds
of the cold December eve. In truth, they were both at a loss to find the
correct words to voice the imminent separation that would face them come
the morrow. They had spent the past week in complete ignorance of the
future, living day to day as if nothing else existed.
But reality was upon them, whether or not they were ready to accept it,
and Arissa savored the feel of Richmond against her, tucking the sensation
of his heated body deep into the recesses of her memory when the nights at
the abbey grew particularly cold and lonely. The thought of the sun rising,
bringing forth the new day, brought stabs of agony to her heart and the sting
of tears prickled her eyes, threatening torrents. But she refused to give into
the pain; for tonight, she would feel only the pleasure of his love. Come
tomorrow, there would be tears enough to drown her.
 Richmond began kissing her ear tenderly, distracting her from the
thoughts of the pending morrow. Remembering her vow to maintain a brave
front, at least for the duration of the night, she gave into his kisses, twisting
in his arms until his heated lips came to bear on her own. Whimpering
softly as his warm hand found her breast, she wrapped her legs about his
narrow hips in preparation for accepting his scalding manhood when
another low, mournful wail penetrated the night sky.
Richmond suddenly paused, sighing heavily into Arissa's mouth as he
raised his head as if to see Gavan through the thick oiled tarp. Arissa, her
arms wound around his neck, followed his gaze and she could sense a
change in his mood. While he was tucked away, warm and content to enjoy
all that love had to offer, his best friend was in the midst of the greatest
agony he had ever known.
For a few blissful moments he had been completely oblivious to all but
his own needs; now, however, hearing Gavan's testimony of grief as it
carried on the damp night air brought a measure of guilt.
"We cannot leave him out there all night, Richmond," Arissa whispered,
reading his thoughts. "We must try to bring him back, if only to keep an eye
on him so that he does not hurt himself in his anguish."
"Gavan would not hurt himself," Richmond replied, stroking her skin and
feeling her life as desperately as Gavan wanted to feel the life of his
beloved Kathryn once more. He refocused on her pale green eyes, drinking
in her exquisite features. "But I fear for his sanity. I have never known the
man to lose control."
Arissa gazed into his eyes, seeing his terrible indecision; he wanted to
remain with her, loving the night away, but deep inside he harbored a fierce
desire to comfort his friend. Even if they were on the verge of separation,
one factor remained clear; they would be together, eventually. Their brief
respite from one another was nothing compared to the picture of their
overall future. They would be together again, eventually. But Gavan could
not look forward to the same with his wife.
Pushing her own wants aside, she tapped Richmond lightly on the
shoulder. "Get up and find your clothes. We must comfort Gavan."
He looked surprised and uncertain. "But... Riss, this is our last night
and...."
 "I am well aware that is our last night together for a short time," she said
as bravely as she could manage. Another pitiful wail wafted on the salty air
and Arissa gave him a second pat, encouraging him to rise. "Up, I say. After
we put Gavan to bed, we shall still have until sunrise for our own pleasure.
We must take care of him, Richmond. He’s all alone now."
He’s all alone now. Richmond saw the truth of her words, the selflessness
of her manner, and his decision was made for him. Kissing her gratefully,
he pushed himself up and went in search of his clothing as she fumbled for
her soft woolen undergarments. Securing his hose and heavy tunics, he
turned to help her finish fastening the lamb's wool surcoat he was so very
fond of. Securing a new woolen cloak about her slender shoulders, he
grasped her hand and quit the tent in search of Gavan.
He was not hard to find. On his knees in the middle of a muddy clearing,
his massive broadsword had been driven into the ground before him and
Gavan leaned against the weapon as if praying to it. Richmond and Arissa
emerged onto the mucky field, their manner silent and hesitant. They
approached to within several feet of the grieving man before Richmond
released her, silently beckoning for her to remain in place as he moved
closer.
Richmond was reluctant to speak, lest he interrupt whatever prayers
Gavan was offering to God on Kathryn's behalf. After several doubtful
moments, he cleared his throat quietly.
"Gavan?"
The big man did not move; there was no indication that he had even
heard Richmond's softly uttered hail. Arissa watched Richmond with big
eyes as he slowly knelt beside his friend, concern in his expression.
"Gavan, do you hear me?"
Again he was met with no response. Feeling a growing measure of
despondency, he cast a long glance at Arissa and was about to make a third
attempt when Gavan suddenly shifted on his bent knees.
"I hear you."
Richmond let out a long, heavy sigh. "The hour grows late. Mayhap you
would allow Arissa and I to escort you back to camp."
Gavan shifted again and his head came up, his impassive expression
barely visible under the cloud-shrouded moon glow. He stared at the hilt of
his sword as if the semi-precious jewels encrusted the hilt contained all of
the answers he was seeking. Over his shoulder and several feet away, Arissa
could feel his pain as if it were her very own. Tears renewed themselves in
the pale green eyes as she gazed at the once-mighty warrior, all but
crumpled with grief and agony.
She could only empathize with his pain; knowing that if anything ever
happened to Richmond, surely she would not want to live, either. She knew
that her grief would kill her.
"I killed her," Gavan said after a moment, his voice faint and raspy. "I
killed her with my massive seed. She was far too small to carry my son. I....
I should have known, Richmond. I should have known."
Arissa swallowed hard, hearing Richmond's word echoing in her mind.
But Richmond did not look at her; he was focused on Gavan.
"That is simply not true,” Richmond replied softly. “What happened was
the will of God, Gavan. You must not believe you had anything to do with
her death."
Gavan's hands came up, gripping the sword with fierce intensity as he
walked the fine line between reason and madness. "God is punishing me.
He’s proving my worthlessness by taking away what is most precious in my
life," he suddenly grasped the hilt of the sword, driving it deeper into the
earth, carving through the damp soil as he wanted to carve out his own
heart. "God is punishing me for my shortcomings. Perhaps he’s punishing
me for not being pious enough or for creating more widows than I can
count. In battle, they say all is forgiven in heaven and hell, but that is not
the truth. God is punishing me, Richmond. I have become his fallen.”
Richmond was distressed. "Untrue, my friend. Kathryn succumbed to a
familiar happening and nothing more. This has nothing to do with
punishment."
Gavan suddenly bolted to his feet, weaving dangerously as a startled
Richmond nearly stumbled in his attempt to regain his footing. Gavan's face
was filled with more emotion than Richmond had ever seen. "You do not
understand, Richmond," he exploded with madness. "God is condemning
me by taking my wife."
Arissa let out a choked sob, rushing to Gavan in a great billowing cloud
of soft wool. Throwing her arms about the man's waist, she sobbed loudly
into his chest, absorbing the anguish from his soul as if it were her own.
 Watching him descend into the depths of agonizing madness frightened
her; Gavan had always been an exceedingly kind and gentle man, his
wisdom and rationality unmatched. To observe his plummet into the bowels
of grief was a truly terrifying event; not knowing how else to save him, she
grabbed hold of him as if to physically prevent him from plunging further
and further into the realm of dementia.
"Gavan, please do not curse yourself," she murmured urgently. "You did
not kill her, nor is God punishing you. Please do not hate yourself for loving
your wife enough to give her a son," her head came up, tears streaming
down her cheeks as she gazed into his tormented eyes. "Any woman will
tell you that the risk of bringing forth a son for the man they love is worth
the threat of death. It is considered an honor to devote one's life to
something so selflessly that you would be willing to die for it, is it not?"
Gavan gazed at her, unbalanced and disoriented. But he managed a slight
nod and Arissa forced a smile through her anguished tears. "You would
willingly die for England, or Richmond, would you not? And you would do
it a thousand times over were you give the choice because you love them
so," she sniffled, releasing one arm from him and wiping daintily at her
eyes. "'Tis the same with women and childbearing, Gavan. To bear a child
for the man you love, to provide him with a legacy, is the greatest honor any
woman could ask for. Death is simply a part of that choice and you cannot
blame yourself for a risk she was more than willing to take."
He stared at her, hearing a powerful rational in her softly spoken words.
He was tremendously torn between the desire to seek comfort in her
intelligence and the undisputable evidence of God's wrath. As Arissa gazed
into his tortured brown depths, silently beseeching him to come to reason,
he closed his eyes and looked away from her; he could not entertain the
notion that, mayhap, she was correct. He knew for certain he had as much
as killed his beloved Kathryn himself.
"God is... he’s…," he stammered, refusing to look at her.
Arissa squeezed him tightly, firmly. "He’s not punishing you. Kathryn
has died attempting to complete a most noble task. Are you going to
disgrace her by casting the blame upon yourself to divert attention from her
sacrifice?"
He swallowed hard, meeting her urgent gaze with the utmost reluctance.
Bits and pieces of her wisdom were succeeding in penetrating his brittle
shell, weakening him and strengthening him at the same time. The longer
he gazed at her, the more his reasoning began to return.
He suddenly let out a huge sob, collapsing to his knees and nearly taking
Arissa with him had Richmond not grabbed her. Gavan wrapped his
massive arms about Arissa, pressing his face into her soft abdomen as if to
hide from the reality that threatened, the truth that cut him to the bone.
Richmond stood behind her, supporting her against Gavan's considerable
weight and putting his arms about the both of them. Wrapped in two pairs
of comforting arms, Gavan allowed his tears to come.
"She died for me," he sobbed.
Arissa's tears fell onto his light brown hair. "She died for you both. There
is no sorrow in a noble sacrifice, Gavan. Only gratitude and love. You must
remember that."
The dark December sky crowded with gray-puff clouds, threatening rain
as three grieving mortals huddled beneath it. But God did not choose to add
to the sorrow that cloaked the muddy field; a brisk sea breeze gently
whisked the clouds away, leaving the night a brilliant, beautiful thing
indeed.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Whitby Abbey was nestled upon the sheer cliffs of the Yorkshire coast, a
looming gray sentinel above the churning waters. A large structure, moody
and silent, Arissa took one look at her future home and burst into tears.
Seated on the wagon bed, Emma did her best to comfort her friend as she
too drew in the imposing sight.
The caravan passed through the eastern portion of the North York Moors,
hugging the coastline as they drew closer to the stone abbey. It could be
seen in the distance for several miles, hanging on the horizon as if silently
beckoning the approaching horde into her gaping jaws. After her first
glimpse, Arissa refused to look at the structure any longer and turned her
back on it stubbornly. With every step her grief took greater foothold and
she sobbed quietly into her kerchief as Emma held her hand.
Although his reaction had not been quite as emotional, Richmond too felt
the distinct pressure of sorrow as his eyes beheld the abbey with the solid
reputation. The closer the column drew, the weightier the sentiment became
until he found himself looking away from the structure. He just couldn’t
stomach to look at it anymore.
It did not strike him odd that Gavan seemed to be in full command of the
troops this morn, allowing his liege the opportunity to become acquainted
with the idea that the day of separation had finally come. All of Richmond's
energies were focused on the larger-than-life cathedral looming ever closer,
threatening to snatch what was most precious to him, and he found himself
struggling against the familiar anxiety that had plagued him for well over a
week.
Twenty glorious days filled with the ever-lurking threat of separation.
Forcing himself to concentrate on his strategies, he found himself planning
his schedule once he deposited Arissa within the safety of Whitby's walls;
to plea for her hand, to wrangle the king's cooperation in the matter, to settle
the unpleasant business at hand. He began to calm as he determined the
time table by which to complete his duties and retrieve Arissa. It was going
to be as short as he could possibly make it.
 Richmond was so involved with his thoughts that he was genuinely
startled when several of his men chorused an alarm. Momentarily off-guard,
he reined his destrier in the indicated direction only to be faced with a band
of soldiers charging towards him across the bleak moor.
It took him less than a second to observe the wicked flash of weapons in
the weak sunlight, at least a hundred men armed for warfare, and his heart
surged into his throat when he realized, very shortly, they would be under
attack.
"Gavan!" he roared, unsheathing his mighty broadsword. "Take Arissa
and Emma to the abbey!"
Gavan was already in motion, the surge of an impending fight infiltrate
his veins. Digging his golden spurs into the charger's sides, he made way
toward the ladies as Richmond's men-at-arms took up defensive positions.
Arissa and Emma were hovering at the edge of the rig, watching the
rapidly approaching army with a good deal of fright. Gavan drove his steed
to the edge of the bed, holding out an arm.
"Riss, Emma!" he shouted. "Come to me! Hurry!"
Arissa did not hesitate. She leapt into his arms in a great bundle of
burgundy and gray wool, barely seated in front of him before he was
extending his arm to Emma. Wedged behind the mighty knight, Emma
wrapped her arms about his armored waist and closed her eyes tightly as he
spurred his destrier toward the abbey. She had never been so terrified in her
entire life.
Richmond glanced at Gavan and the women as they charged past him,
too caught up in planning a defense to give them more than a look.
Ordering the wagon to follow Gavan, he commanded his men forward to
meet the onslaught; in truth, there was no place for them to run, nowhere to
hide. With the sheer cliffs of Yorkshire to their backside and surrounded by
miles of bleak moors, there was nothing to do but face the attack with their
customary courage.
Even as his men moved to greet the assault, he was wildly curious to
know who would be launching an attack against him this far north. Surely
the Welsh would not stray so far from their borders in a group of this
considerable size, and he knew with great certainty that William would not
have sent an army to trail him only to launch an attack at the very moment
Arissa reached her destination.
 Bearing that in mind, he met the wave of incoming soldiers with his
habitual boldness, slicing through flesh and bone easily. Dispatching two
soldiers immediately, he raised his sword to a third when his gaze fell on
the brilliant colors of the man's tunic.
Green and gold. De Rydal bore colors of green and gold. In that
horrified slice of an instant, realization dawned. He knew the identity of the
attacking army and panic surged through his veins like nothing he had ever
experienced before. God help him, there was little question as to who had
planned the attack. His bright blue eyes sought out the face he knew to be
looming somewhere within the midst of the battling soldiers.
Aye, he knew who it was. And he had to find him.
He had to kill him.

***

Gavan reached the abbey with the thundering wagon on his heels. The
sounds of battle wafted from the moor in the distance and he was desperate
to move Arissa and Emma to safety. Pulling the ladies off his snorting
charger, he hastened to the massive oak door that protected the abbey from
the outside world.
He had barely lifted his fist to knock when the door flew open. Several
nuns, wide-eyed with fright, gazed between the massive knight and the
fields beyond.
"Sir Knight," the nun who had opened the door spoke softly, her voice
quaking. "What hell has been brought about us?"
Gavan thrust Arissa and Emma forward, ignoring the pleading question.
"Take them," he commanded. "I shall return."
As Arissa stumbled into the nuns' protective custody, Emma turned her
big blue eyes to the man who had been determined to ignore her for the
better part of three weeks. With a bloody battle waging in the near distance,
she was in a panic over his safety. She put a hand on his arm.
"Gavan," she said. "Please.... please be careful. If something hap...."
He cut her off sharply, yet with the distinct gentleness she had seen on
occasion where it usually pertained to Arissa. All Emma had ever seen in
his eyes when he gazed into her face was annoyance.
 "Child's play, my lady,” he assured her softly. “Trust me that all will be
well."
Swallowing hard at the gallant, confident expression, it was almost as if
he was pleased for her concern. As if he welcomed it. She'd grown so
accustomed to his rejection that open kindness was a baffling concept to
behold.
"But...,” she stammered. “But...."
He shook his head, squeezing her hand reassuringly as he removed it
from his arm. "Please excuse me while I banish these ruffians from
Whitby's lands. Have no doubt that the battle shall be brief."
He turned on his heel and mounted his charger, ordering the wagon out of
sight. Unsheathing his brilliant broadsword, he turned his destrier in the
direction of the battle and spurred the beast into a gallop.
Arissa, Emma, and a host of nuns watched Gavan make haste toward the
skirmish. After several long, dazed moments, gentle hands reached out to
grasp the young ladies and pull them into the dimly-lit interior of the abbey.
As the ancient door closed, Arissa and Emma found a host of curious faces
upon them.
Arissa swallowed hard, dazed and shaken with the turn of events. "I.... I
am the Lady Arissa de Lohr. I believe you are expecting me."
The nuns stared at her a moment before looking to each other in
confusion. Arissa and Emma passed uncertain glances and Arissa cleared
her throat daintily, preparing to explain.
"I was due to arrive after the first of the year, yet because of unforeseen
circumstances I find myself having arrived early," when the nuns continued
to look baffled, Arissa hastened to clarify the still-puzzling situation.
"My....my father is the Earl of Berkshire. Surely your mother abbess is
aware of my impending arrival?"
"I am.”
A sultry, low voice came from behind the group of nuns. Startled, the
women clad in gray parted to reveal an older woman, swathed in a heavy
woolen habit from her head to her toes. Shielded in the dank shadows, she
moved forward with the grace of a cat and Arissa found herself gazing into
piercing, all-knowing eyes. They appraised her openly and Arissa struggled
against the urge to shy from the intense stare.
 After several moments of scrutiny, the woman drew in a deep breath as if
satisfied with her observation. "You do not look like your father. He’s rather
fair."
Swallowing again to regain of measure of composure, Arissa nodded
weakly; there was something in the woman's eyes that suggested she was
not speaking of William de Lohr.
"I.... I am told I favor my mother," she said softly.
The woman did not respond and Arissa could again feel the heat of her
gaze. Averting her eyes, she pondered the well-scrubbed stone floor, the
bare walls, acutely aware of the smells of soot and must around her; it was
an atmosphere she discovered to be most cloying. She found her thoughts
drifting to Richmond when a soft, wrinkled hand suddenly reached out to
clasp her chin.
The abbess' eyes were far gentler than they had been moments before.
"Look at me, child, do not hide your beauty," she said quietly. "What is it
you have brought to my doorstep? A battle for your very soul, mayhap?"
"I.... I do not know who has attacked us, Your Grace," Arissa stammered.
"We were caught by surprise."
The abbess gazed at her a moment longer, scrutinizing features so fine
she would have sworn that God himself had intended to have her. A young
lady she had been expecting for eighteen years, whose heritage and
bloodlines were as powerful as England herself. She recognized the
features, as they were very similar to another woman she knew.
A woman she had met for the first time eighteen years ago, devastated
and crushed by circumstances beyond her control. A woman she had
nurtured to a fragile emotional health that, to this day, was still not
particularly robust. Gazing into the familiar features of the young woman
before her, she hoped the sight of pale green eyes and raven-black hair
would be enough to fortify the aching spirit housed within these old walls
for the past eighteen years. The ache of a mother's love.
"I am Mother Abbess Mary Deus," she said after an eternal pause,
dropping her hand from the lovely face. "You are indeed early, as we were
not expecting you until the after Christmas. But your company is welcomed
all the same and we will not question God's wisdom in bringing you to us
sooner than intended," her intense gaze moved from Arissa to Emma, and
she fixed her heady stare on the young blond girl. "I am afraid servants are
not allowed at Whitby, my lady. She must return to Lambourn."
"She’s not my servant," Arissa grabbed hold of Emma, pulling her
forward for the abbess' inspection. "This is the Lady Emma Trevor. She
wishes to pledge servitude to God."
The abbess cocked an eyebrow, indicating either disbelief or pleasure. "I
see," she replied non-committal. After a moment, the woman turned to the
other nuns. “Where is Sister Repentia?"
"In the kitchens, Mother," came a soft reply.
Mary Deus nodded briefly and Arissa swore she saw the woman's jaw
tick. "Seek her. Inform her that our new pledge has arrived."
A nun broke off from the crowd, shuffling away on silent feet. When the
woman disappeared into the depths of the sanctuary, the abbess refocused
her attention on the two frightened young women before her. A weak smile
creased her lips.
"You are undoubtedly tired. Follow me and you shall be refreshed."
Still clutching one another as if permanently joined, Arissa and Emma
did as they were told. As they moved down the ancient corridor, each lady
found herself torn between great curiosity for her new surroundings and a
deep concern for the raging skirmish in the moor.
Beckoned into the bowels of the musty abbey, they found themselves in a
soaring gallery, rather small in size, but the ceilings overhead were of
magnificent height. There were a few tables, scrubbed and worn, and little
else. The entire place reeked of dampness, of age, and of a humble
existence.
The mother abbess bade the ladies to sit. "Sister Repentia will be with
you shortly," she said, watching as the young women silently took their
seats. "This is where we eat and pray, and sometimes it is used to house
weary travelers who seek refuge for the night," she indicated a slumped
bundle against the far wall, hidden in the depths of the shadows. "Alas, that
man came to us recovering from a great injury. As we commonly do not
accept men into our sanctuary, he was quite weak and we could not refuse
him aid."
Arissa and Emma turned to stare at the swathed figure. "Do you tend a lot
of sickness?" Arissa asked softly. "I am aware that some abbeys dedicate
themselves to healing, but I did not believe Whitby to be such an
establishment."
"It is not," Mary Deus replied. "We prefer the isolated life, paying
reverence to God and doing penitence for man's evil nature. In fact, I harbor
five recluse nuns within my abbey, women intent on maintaining the purest
life possible."
Arissa nodded in understanding, folding her hands and trying not to
appear overly unnerved. Although her body was safely guarded within the
confines of the gallery, her mind wandered outside the walls of the abbey,
seeking Richmond as he waged battle in the moors beyond. She was
horribly worried.
Tears sprang to her eyes and she lowered her head, desperately
attempting to fend of the tide of emotions. The mother abbess excused
herself without a word, leaving Arissa and Emma alone in the midst of their
fear and disorientation.
Alone in a mysterious realm of holy penitence and literal scripture; alone
without those they loved for the first time in their young lives.
Alone at Whitby.

***

Mary Deus moved into the lightless depths of the abbey's kitchen, a large
room filled with the sharp smells of smoke. Her intense eyes searched for
the familiar figure that inhabited this chamber most of the time, a woman
who took delight in preparing God's bountiful harvest. But the room was
vacant and the mother abbess sighed slowly, wondering if the nun who had
been sent to inform Sister Repentia of the newly arrived pledge had only
succeeded in chasing the woman into hiding.
Her gaze lingered on the room a moment longer, attempting to ascertain
where Sister Repentia might have disappeared to. Just as she turned to quit
the chamber, a slight figure dressed in yards of gray wool entered the room
from the cellar, one arm laden with a basket of autumn fruits and the other
holding her skirts so that she would not trip over their length.
"Sister," the abbess hissed. "You are expected."
Sister Repentia looked up from her basket as she came into the light. Pale
green eyes gazed back at the mother abbess.
 "I have been made aware, Mother," she said softly. "I was preparing
refreshments."
The abbess stared at her a moment. It was obvious by her calm
expression that she had not been informed of the arrival's identity and the
older woman sighed again, her manner softening. Unaware of the
impending news, Sister Repentia moved to the stone counter and began to
prepare the food.
Behind her, the older nun's hesitant gaze lingered on the woolen-swathed
head. There was simply no easy way to soften the blow.
"She’s here."
Sister Repentia placed an apple into a wooden bowl before turning her
confused expression to the mother abbess. "I.... I do not understand. Who is
here?"
The abbess moved toward her, slowly. Her manner gentled dramatically.
"Arissa, my child. She’s come early."
Sister Repentia stared at the woman a moment, emotionlessly. After an
eternal span of time in which she allowed the abbess' words to settle, her
only reaction was to lick the lips that had suddenly begun to quiver.
"My.... Arissa has arrived from Lambourn?"
The abbess nodded, unwilling to be party to the emotions Sister Repentia
was feeling. She would council, assist, and pray with her charges, but she
was disinclined to experience the depths of the emotions that so often
plagued them. For a woman whose natural sympathies were endless and
deep, she had found it painful and exhausting.
Even though she had allowed herself to become far more involved with
Sister Repentia than was her usual practice due to the woman's unusual
circumstances, she realized she had to halt the progression at some point in
time. With the addition of the dark-haired woman in the gallery, she was
aware that the time for separation had come. Truthfully, there was nothing
more she could do. Sister Repentia would have to face her daughter alone.
"She’s waiting for her refreshments," the abbess said quietly, turning for
the door and away from the emotional turmoil that threatened to snare her.
"You will greet her immediately, sister. Do you understand?"
Sister Repentia stared at the bowl of food before her, nodding after a
moment. Even as she repeated the abbess’ words in her mind, over and over
as if somehow afraid she had dreamt them, their meaning was still difficult
to believe.
With shaking hands and a heart that screamed with joy, she fumbled with
the apples before her. Although she had known this moment would
eventually be upon her, still, she found herself emotionally unprepared for
the reality of it.
Her baby had arrived.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Arissa was glad when the mother abbess left them alone; she had no
desire to explain her tears to the old woman, for it would only serve to open
the gateway for more explanations that would hardly be pleasant to a
woman of the cloth. While Emma sat in brooding, perplexed silence over
Gavan's unexpected display of chivalry, Arissa struggled with a complete
unwant to have come Whitby at all. She hated the place already.
But she was distracted from her ponderings by softly approaching
footfalls. A small wooden bowl of apples and bread was placed upon the
table and Arissa quickly wiped at her eyes, preparing to thank the provider
of the sustenance; even if she did not want to be at the old abbey, she would
not be rude.
Lifting her gaze, she found herself staring into eyes of the most amazing
nature and the words of gratitude died in her throat.
Pale green eyes stared back.
"My name is Sister Repentia," the nun's voice was strangely tight, as faint
as baby's breath. Arissa didn’t even notice the tremble to the woman’s
hands. "Welcome to Whitby."
Arissa forgot all about her tears as she continued to stare at the woman, a
feeling an odd curiosity. The longer she gazed at the woman, the stronger
the feeling became.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The nun’s response was a forced smile. But Arissa did not particularly
notice; she was still staring into the woman's strangely familiar eyes.
"I hope your journey was uneventful, my lady," Sister Repentia sounded
as if she was breathless. "'Tis a long trip from Lambourn."
Arissa listened to the woman's soft, beautiful voice. It occurred to her that
the nun was vaguely familiar, as if an acquaintance of long past. But try as
she might, Arissa could not remember where she had ever met the woman.
"Have.... have we met, sister?" Arissa asked, studying the woman closely
as if to recollect what refused to come to mind. "You seem very familiar to
me."
 Look in the mirror, my darling Arissa, and see me within your lovely
features. The former Lady Ellyn Glendower de Worth gazed into an exact
likeness of herself in days past, joy and sorrow such as she had never
known threatening to destroy her composure
Her mind wandered back to those dark days when she had first been
separated from her only child. Only the knowledge that someday her
beloved daughter would join her at Whitby had provided Sister Reptentia
the strength to go on during those desolate years. Before she had been
smuggled north to the abbey, Henry had made a promise; since it had been
necessary to separate mother and child at birth, he had vowed that the two
of them would spend the rest of their lives together when Arissa became of
age, sequestered in an abbey far from the realities of England's politics.
Even if Sister Repentia had missed the first eighteen years of Arissa's life,
she would spend the rest of her years coming to know the young woman
she had birthed. It had been Henry's vow.
"Sister?" Arissa's voice was faint, inquisitive. Torn from her thoughts,
Sister Repentia struggled to focus on her daughter's question.
"I apologize, my lady," she labored to recover a measure of her
composure, hoping her voice did not reflect her emotions. "You put forth a
question to me?"
Arissa nodded, noting the woman's cheeks had pinkened slightly in the
past few moments. "I asked if we have met before. You appear most
familiar."
Sister Repentia shook her head, slowly. "Nay, my lady, you do not know
me."
Arissa frowned, attempting to sort her memories. The odd, warm
emotions that had swarmed her the moment Sister Repentia had introduced
herself seemed to be fading and she shrugged. "Then I apologize if I am
staring at you,” she said. “I thought we might have been introduced once
before and that I knew you."
Sister Repentia smiled weakly, tears stinging her eyes as she held back
the confession she so desperately wanted to release. She had shared this
conversation with Arissa a thousand times in her mind, imagining her
daughter's reaction when she revealed her true identity.
But now was not the time for such admissions. Certainly, with time, the
opportunity would present itself and Sister Repentia looked forward to that
moment. Until then, however, she had every intention of remaining by
Arissa's side as she became accustom to life in the abbey. The mother
abbess had entrusted her with Arissa's introduction to Whitby, and she
would gladly accept the duty.
With a deep breath for courage and strength, she turned from the young
ladies to retrieve a cooling pitcher of wine and two wooden cups. As Arissa
and Emma gingerly helped themselves to the bread and fruit, Sister
Repentia poured the tangy liquid and listened to their insignificant chatter
with more contentment than she ever thought possible. Hearing her
daughter's voice for the very first time.
She was so involved listening to the sweet sounds of her only child that
she failed to notice the wounded man in the corner as he shifted from the
floor, rising unsteadily to a sitting position. Swathed in yards of dirty,
stinking wool, he resembled a badly-wrapped corpse until some of the
bindings fell away to reveal glistening pieces of mail beneath.
More bindings fell away as Sister Repentia remained focused on her two
young charges, gradually becoming acquainted with her daughter and
listening to the young woman's tale of their trip north. By the time Arissa's
story reached the boundaries of Coventry, nearly half of the rotted wool had
fallen away from the armored man in the corner.
Rising from the floor, the tall man retrieved his helm from the
dilapidated satchel at his side and placed it on his head, leaving the visor
raised. His eyes, glittering in the dim light, were full of malevolence as he
silently congratulated himself on a plan well executed. There was a God,
after all. His victim had finally arrived.
Turning toward the table occupied by two young women and a nun, his
sinister smile flickered in the darkness.
"It's about time you made an appearance, you little bitch!"
Arissa and Emma shrieked at the sound of the voice, turning their
attention to the armored man emerging from the shadows. Immediately,
they instinctively bolted from their wooden chairs and stumbled away as the
phantom stormed his way into the heart of the dimly-lit room.
Crashing into tables and stools in their haste to escape the advance, the
two young women watched in horror as his sinister features met with the
soft illumination of the gallery.
 Tad de Rydal jabbed a gloved finger at Arissa. "I have come all the way
to Yorkshire for you, wench,” he announced. “You are coming with me!"
Sister Repentia had been frozen with shock until the moment the evil
knight made his target known. Seized with a fierce sense of protectiveness,
she grabbed the pitcher containing the wine and hurled herself forward,
smacking Tad on the side of his armored head. Caught off guard by the
avenging nun, he lashed out and caught her in the chest, sending her
crashing to the floor.
Horrified, Arissa and Emma screamed as Sister Repentia lay in an
unconscious heap upon the cold stone. But Tad continued to move for
Arissa, knocking aside tables and stools as he progressed. As Emma
separated herself from Arissa and fled into the kitchens in search of help,
Arissa made a mad dash for the entrance of the abbey.
She could scarcely believe Tad de Rydal had come for her. The last news
of his well-being had not been favorable, wounded in an ambush, and she
had assumed that he had met his death. But the man following her with
determination was anything but dead; his face was pale and his movements
slowed, but he remained powerful nonetheless.
Arissa raced down the small corridor leading to the massive oak door;
beyond lay the North York moors and Richmond. Around her, she could
hear screams and shouts as the nuns cried alarm, but she was unconcerned
with their panic as she dashed for the door. She was only concerned with
her own terror and the fact that Tad was determined to do her great harm.
Her pace came to a panicked halt as she fumbled with the lock on the oak
panel, heavy with age and size. The door was bolted and she struggled to
dislodge the lock, acutely aware of Tad's approaching footfalls.
Time passed as she wrestled with the iron bolt. A shriek came to her lips
as she heard his heavy boot falls beside her, closing in. She was trapped.
"Try to flee from me, will you?" he slapped her on the cheek, forcefully
enough to bring a trickle of blood as her teeth carved into the soft tissue of
her mouth. Grabbing her brutally, Tad forced his captive to meet his gaze.
He smiled devilishly, his gaze roving her beautiful features. "I am pleased
to see that you have grown more beautiful since we last met," his breathing
was harsh, his face pale with exertion. "So you are surprised to see me?
Fortunately, your lover failed to complete his act of vengeance against me
and it is my pleasure to be able to seek revenge against him by stealing
what is most precious to him."
Arissa shook her head with disbelief and horror. "You cannot steal me,
Tad. I belong to Whitby!"
His smile vanished, a malevolent gleam in his eye. "And I told your
father that he was a fool for committing you to the church when a woman of
your beauty should be savored and enjoyed. Something I would wager
Richmond le Bec has already indulged in."
She struggled against his mighty grip in an attempt to break free. "You
are mad!"
His grip tightened and he moved to pull her close, attempting to kiss her
blood-streaked lips. But she spit at him, spraying his flesh with saliva and
blood, and he hissed angrily.
"I shall teach you the meaning of madness, bitch,” he snarled. “Know
that I have come from my death bed to capture you, to plan a diversion for
le Bec while I waited for you in the abbey disguised as an injured traveler. I
fooled the witless nuns into sheltering me so that I could lay in wait for you,
knowing you had to make an appearance sooner or later with le Bec as your
escort," he calmed strangely, gazing at her frightened beauty. "I mean to
have you. All of you. I knew it from the moment I first lay eyes upon you."
"Is that what all this is about? Having me?" Arissa shook her head,
bewildered and terrified. "You have violated an abbey, Tad. The wrath of
the church shall come down upon you and your family, and there will be no
protection from their anger!"
Tad's jaw ticked. "There will be no proof of my presence or my
transgression. Especially after I burn the abbey to the ground and her
occupants with her, there will be no witnesses left to identify me," keeping
a firm grip on her arm, he jerked the iron bolt free of its lock. Casting a
lingering glance to Arissa, he smiled wicked. "You shall enjoy me, love. I
am quite good, I am told."
Her expression rippled with loathing. "I simply cannot believe that you
would come all the way to Yorkshire simply to abduct me. You are
supposed to be dead."
A flash of madness ignited in his sunken eyes. "Le Bec's men were off
their mark, damaging my shoulder and nothing more. Even so, I was only
able to arrive yesterday and pray that I was not too late," as if suddenly
remembering his fury, his grip tightened and he yanked her against him
harshly. "No more talk. You and I have a date with destiny."
She opened her mouth to protest as he jerked open the door, but what
wait on the other side of the heavy oak panel did not surprise her.
Richmond's sword was raised in an offensive stance. Tad caught a
glimpse of the glistening metal and was wise enough to surmise the
situation. With lightning speed, he pulled Arissa in front of him to act as a
human shield; thrusting her forward, he expected her to meet with le Bec's
fatal downparry.
Richmond was a hair’s breadth away from striking Arissa but veered off
at the last possible second. Off balance and filled with terror, he stumbled
sideways as he narrowly avoided slicing her in two. Heaving with shock
and horror, he raised his faceplate to her swollen, bleeding face.
"Dear God...," he gasped, swallowing the bile that threatened to erupt.
"Kitten, are you badly injured?"
She shook her head, her pale green eyes filling with frightened tears.
Richmond emitted a ragged sigh, struggling to return his focus to Tad. The
moment he gazed at the man, he felt his loathing and determination return
tenfold.
What had begun as a moderate game of abhorrence had transformed into
something so malignant that he was not at all concerned with the
repercussions his actions against the de Rydal heir might have. He did not
care if Lambourn and Goring Hall remained embroiled in a bitter feud for
all eternity as a result of his deed. He was going to kill the bastard and
enjoy every minute of it.
Tad smiled thinly, stroking Arissa's arms in a seductive manner purely to
enrage Richmond. "So you discovered my plot, le Bec? I am not surprised,
although I expected you to be involved with the battle time enough to allow
me to escape. But no matter; I shall be allowed to go on my way or the lady
will meet with an ugly beating. Right before your eyes."
Richmond struggled to maintain his composure as Tad attempted to kiss
the side of Arissa's head, only to be met by a slap. She squirmed and
shrieked, trying to pull free, but he simply laughed and tightened his grip. "I
shall wager she’s not so resistant to you, Sir Richmond. In time, I am sure
she will show me the same eager response."
 "You shall never leave this place alive," Richmond growled. "Release her
and I shall end your life mercifully."
"I think not. Move aside or the lady will suffer."
Richmond took a deep breath, shifting on his thick legs. He seemed to be
calming, refusing to look at Arissa lest his composure dissolve completely.
As long as she was relatively unharmed, he could handle the negotiations
with Tad without an overly emotional reaction. But the struggle to maintain
his control was a constant, unnerving battle.
He had been shocked to realize the de Rydal heir had masterminded the
ambush. He had been led to believe that the arrogant young knight had one
foot in the grave, hence Ovid de Rydal's attack against Lambourn. Even
though the man before him was pale and drawn, he was alive nonetheless
and fully capable of executing an organized abduction.
Too weak to fight in the battle he had staged as a diversion from his true
goal, Richmond had suspected early on that, somehow, he had unknowingly
delivered Arissa into Tad's waiting arms.
Tad knew that Richmond would remove her from the battle zone, and the
abbey had been a most logical destination. Relying on his healing injury,
Tad had acquired the nuns' sympathies in order to gain entrance to Whitby
to wait for Arissa.
He was sorry that he had not realized the plan soon enough to foil Tad's
kidnap attempt. But no matter. What the earlier ambush by unknown parties
had failed to complete, Richmond would gladly finish. Gazing calmly into
Tad's eyes, he could only envision the man's death.
"Nay," he replied slowly. "I shall not move aside. And the only person to
suffer shall be you."
Tad cocked an eyebrow. In a flash, he unsheathed a small dagger lodged
within the plated sections of his armor. Pointing the tip against the curve of
Arissa's slender torso, he applied pressure until she winced with pain.
Richmond clenched his teeth so tightly that he bit his lip as he watched
Arissa squirm with agony.
"Move aside or I swear I shall cut her. Do not push my patience, le Bec."
The sharp point of the dirk broke through the material of her surcoat and
Arissa yelped when the razor-edge punctured her skin. All color drained
from Richmond's face, staring at Tad as if to look right though him.
"You have already pushed mine."
 A thin wail suddenly pierced the damp air, growing louder by the
millisecond. The smug expression faded from Tad's face as he identified the
sound, knowing it was meant for him, and knowing it was already too late
to save himself.
Grasping the hilt of the dirk as the last fractions of his life ticked away,
he prepared to drive the weapon deep into Arissa's body when he suddenly
emitted a harsh grunt and lurched forward, sending a terrified Arissa to her
knees.
The dirk fell to the moist earth and Tad fell beside it, the brutal sounds of
death gurgling deep within his throat. Shrieking and gasping, Arissa turned
to witness a large arrow protruding from Tad's neck in the precise seam
where the helm met the body armor. Even as Richmond swept her into his
arms, she continued to watch as Tad de Rydal drew in his final breath, the
sightless blue eyes closing forever on a world that had permanently evaded
his grasp. The first arrow a week prior had missed its mark; the second
arrow did not.
Clinging to Richmond's neck, Arissa turned toward the direction the
arrow had come in time to see Gavan emerging from behind the parked
provisions wagon. A Welsh crossbow lodged in his two-fisted grip, his
handsome face was taut as he lowered the weapon. His jaw ticked furiously
as he looked down at the man whose life he had been forced to take.
"Rot in hell, you miserable bastard,” he rumbled.
Arissa was trembling so violently that she could barely respond to the
man who had saved her life. Turning from Gavan's angry face, she
collapsed in sobs against Richmond's shoulder; she'd come too close to
death to react in any other fashion.
"Shush, kitten," Richmond murmured, his own body quivering with
emotion. "All is well. He cannot hurt you again."
Arissa continued to sob, bordering on hysteria as Gavan approached.
After a moment, she felt his gentle hand on her back.
"I killed him for you, Riss,” his voice was hoarse. “You do not have to
worry about his spoiled antics any longer."
She was incapable of replying; with one arm about Richmond's neck, she
extended the other hand to Gavan and he caught it tightly within his grasp.
Her silent thanks moved beyond the scope of words, her fear and relief
palpable.
 Emma and a few nuns had spilled forth from the interior of the abbey,
torn between the horror of what had occurred and the relief that it was over.
Sobbing with fear, Emma moved toward the small, shaken group with
hesitant steps, wanting to be comforted just as she wanted to give comfort.
Hand to her mouth as her eyes spilled over with tears, she came to an
unsteady halt a few feet away from Arissa and the knights, too reluctant to
proceed any further. She had not lived through the terror as they had;
therefore, they were entitled to their own brand of grief. As an outsider to
their pain, she simply stood by and watched.
Gavan caught sight of her, turning his ashen face to gaze upon her fair
loveliness. After a moment's hesitation, he extended his free hand to her in a
gesture of welcome to their exclusive clique.
Even though she was desperate to comfort Arissa, Emma found herself
reluctant to accept Gavan's invitation purely for the fact that it would prove
to be both wildly easing and desperately grieving at the same time. Selfish
ideals consumed her as she gazed at the knight, thinking only of herself
when she should have well been considering Arissa. To be embraced by the
man who had spent the past few weeks reluctantly escorting her northward
was nearly more than she could bear.
Emma was not daft. For the sake of her own sanity, she was coming to
resign herself to the fact that she and Gavan would never know happiness
within each other's arms. Whitby, in fact, was the perfect opportunity for
her to escape her dreams of a man she could never have. Even now, as she
stared at his outstretched gauntlet, silently beckoning her to partake of his
strength and comfort, she knew the point of separation had to be
emphasized for the sake of her rejected heart. Turning away, she hadn't
taken two steps when strong hands were suddenly grasping her.
"Riss needs you, Emma," Gavan said gently, winding his massive arm
about her shoulders and turning her in Arissa's direction. "Be brave, my
lady. All is well now."
Emma looked up into his magnificent face, her confusion and emotions
rendering her weak as she caught sight of the rarely-experienced warmth
within his eyes.
"She.... she has Richmond,” she said softly. “She does not need me."
Gavan nodded faintly, his grip on her tightening. "Aye, she needs you,
love. Come along and render comfort."
 Love. He called her love. Emma's heart soared and sank with the joy and
agony of it all. Before she could recover from his term of endearment,
Gavan had maneuvered her against Arissa and the two ladies burst into a
fresh chorus of sobs as their terror found its release.
The mother abbess and Sister Repentia, nursing a substantially bruised
abdomen and an aching head, watched the touching scene as long as they
dared. The abbess stood next to the green-eyed nun, her piercing riveted to
the four people huddled beneath the clouded sky.
"She favors you tremendously," the abbess said softly.
Sister Repentia nodded. "I was surprised to see for myself, Mother. She’s
a beautiful girl."
Mary Deus continued to watch the tender scene. "The knight holding her
is Richmond le Bec, is he not?"
"That is correct. He’s been her guardian for eighteen years."
The abbess sighed. "'Twill be hard to separate them. From the affection
displayed, I suspect their relationship is deeper than mere companionable
concern."
Sister Repentia watched Richmond as he crooned to her daughter, well
remembering the bright-eyed young knight entrusted with the royal bastard
those years ago. He was an extremely handsome man who had grown more
beautiful with age and as she observed his manner toward Arissa, she
surmised the mother abbess to be correct in her assumption.
"Shall I take her?" she asked, her voice small and hesitant.
The abbess shook her head. "Nay, Sister. The lady is my charge and I
shall complete the necessary action," she turned to the other nuns clustered
in a fearful group by the abbey's entrance. "Retreat inside, sisters."
"But what of the battle on the moors, Mother?" a novice nun wanted to
know.
Mary Deus turned her attention southward, listening. "I do not hear the
sounds of battle. I suspect Sir Richmond's men have triumphed," waving a
hand at the gaggle of nuns, she focused on the two knights and two ladies in
the near distance. "Inside, Sisters. Go about your chores."
No one dared to argue with the woman who had managed Whitby for
nearly twenty years. Only Sister Repentia remained, her pale green eyes
continuing to observe the tender display. Remembering a love gone by,
eighteen years past, she felt a fresh stab of anguish to an old wound as she
pondered vague memories of a young man with fair hair, secretly devoted to
her.
Not entirely unaware of the tender memories lurking in Sister Repentia's
heart, and knowing the woman's history as she did, the abbess decided to
call a halt to the compassionate spectacle before her. The sooner the lady
and her guardian were separated, the better for them all. A task, she
suspected, would be difficult enough as it was.
"Sir Richmond," the mother abbess addressed him calmly, interrupting
their huddle. "I am Mother Abbess Mary Deus. I thank you for escorting the
lady from Lambourn and defending her from those who sought to do her
great harm," she passed a lingering glance at the still form of Tad de Rydal,
resisting the urge to shudder with horror. "When he came to us yesterday, he
was weak with his wound and requested assistance. We had no choice but to
offer him refuge."
Richmond raised his head from where it had been buried against Arissa,
his face pallid. "I understand, Your Grace. Certainly you are not to blame
for the man's twisted sense of vengeance against the lady and me," his gaze
lingered on the silky black head, resting against his shoulder. "And as for
your mention of my accompanying the lady north, you will know that I am
her guardian. It was not only my pleasure, but my duty. You are
undoubtedly aware that she’s been delivered sooner than expected."
The old nun nodded. "I take it that circumstances dictated such actions
and I will not question your reasoning. Suffice it to say that she’s welcome."
Arissa raised her head from the safe haven of Richmond's neck, swollen-
eyed and puffy-lipped as she met his ashen expression. With a feeble smile
purely for her benefit, Richmond set her gently to the ground.
"She’s cut her lip," he murmured. "I would tend her wound, if I may,
before going on my way."
The abbess gazed at Arissa a moment before extending her hand to the
young lady. Dazed and uncertain, though not lacking in proper manners,
Arissa obeyed the request and reluctantly moved from Richmond's
company. As the abbess' warm hand closed over Arissa's arm, the woman
discreetly motioned Sister Repentia forward to take charge of the girl.
Richmond realized what was happening without benefit of an
explanation; from the moment they set foot on Whitby's lands, Arissa was
considered their property and even now, she was considered the abbess'
charge. Without fanfare or ceremony, Arissa ceased to become his sworn
duty and assumed her role as a holy pledge. He was no longer her guardian.
"Sister Repentia is quite capable of tending her lip, my lord," the abbess
said, not unkindly. "You have completely your duty admirably and are to be
commended. But she’s our responsibility from this day forward."
Richmond opened his mouth to politely argue the point, desperate to see
to Arissa's needs himself. But his gaze fell on the slight nun approaching
Arissa and his protest died in his throat. Although Sister Repentia was
properly covered in layers of gray wool, all flesh obscured but her delicate
face, the familiarity of the woman's features pummeled him like a hammer
blow and he heard his breath catch in his throat.
Greetings, Sir Richmond. There was no mistaking the pale green eyes that
silently acknowledge him and Richmond felt as if he had been slapped in
the face. But in the same instant, a great deal suddenly became clear to him;
Henry had delegated Arissa to Whitby because it was the same abbey to
which her mother had been pledged.
He continued to gaze at the woman, dumbfounded, but the nun quickly
averted her eyes and he was not so dazed that he did not receive the silent
message of her guarded countenance; Arissa had no know knowledge of the
woman's true identity and he would not betray the fact, no matter how
surprised he was. But, God help him, he simply couldn't believe what he
was seeing. Arissa's mother was at Whitby.
Arissa was unaware of Richmond struggle to recover his and more
concerned with the fact that they were separating her from Richmond. With
panic in her eyes, she looked to Richmond for help, realizing that Sister
Repentia was putting more and more distance between them. She wasn’t
ready to leave him, not in the least.
"But.... but I have not yet said my farewell!" she said, digging her heels
in. "Can.... can he not stay for sup?"
Richmond realized that he was the only person who possessed a remote
chance of calming her before she built into a substantial fit. Turning to the
abbess, he struggled to maintain an even tone.
"Might I have a word with her, alone, to explain the situation?" he asked.
"I do not believe that to be necessary," the abbess replied steadily. "The
lady realizes that she’s now our responsibility and you are free to go along
your way. She’s in safe hands now."
 Arissa could scarcely believe what she was hearing. They were not going
to allow her to say good-bye to Richmond! Knowing that she should obey
the abbess' directive by showing proper submission to the will of the
church, she simply couldn't help the panic and disbelief that surged through
her heart.
When Richmond turned his helpless gaze upon her, something deep
within her snapped. Pulling roughly from Sister Repentia's gentle grasp, she
threw herself forward with the intention of propelling herself into
Richmond's arms. However, the mother abbess reached out to stop her
momentum, grasping hold of the emotional young girl in an attempt to
contain her. With a shriek, Arissa tore herself from the old woman's hands
and stumbled aimlessly in the direction of the wagon.
She could hear Richmond's soft pleas intermingled with the sultry voice
of the mother abbess. Arissa continued to stagger toward the wagon, having
no idea where she was going or what she was intending to accomplish, only
that she couldn't let him go without a word, a touch, a final gesture. She had
to feel him, to taste him, one last time.
The events of the day were weighing heavily on her fragile mind,
creating a wild spin from which there seemed to be no escape. She bumped
into the wagon and her forward movement came to a halt; turning toward
the bed of the rig, her eyes came to rest on her oaken trunk.
As she stared at the box, she began to calm. Inside, she had packed
several possessions of a personal and sentimental nature, items Emma had
managed to leave intact when she stowed away in the case.
Taking a deep breath to ease her tumultuous emotions, Arissa realized
that the likelihood of being able to physically display her affection for
Richmond in front of the mother abbess an impossibility at best. In lieu of a
kiss to remember or a touch to linger upon, she realized that a tangible
token of her adoration might work a similar effect.
Arissa leapt into the bed of the wagon, struggling to unlatch the heavy
oak lid of the case. Releasing the locks, she propped the lid open and began
to rummage through her belongings, new and old, searching. Several feet
away, Richmond and the mother abbess had come to an uneasy agreement
and Richmond approached the rig, eyeing Arissa with a good deal of
concern and curiosity.
 "What are you looking for, kitten?" he asked softly. "You know that you
cannot bring any of your possessions with you."
She continued to rummage about, finally coming upon the object of her
search. Richmond watched as she drew forth the rosary he had given her.
She smiled weakly at him, stringing it over her neck for safe keeping. He
returned her smile and extended his hand to assist her from the wagon, but
she ignored him and delved into the trunk once more.
His smile faded. "What are you looking for now?"
"I know I put it in here...." she mumbled, tossing her expensive new
garments onto the bags and crates of provisions in Richmond's wagon. "I
put it....ah! I found it!"
He watched curiously as she drew forth a small, elegant box of ivory.
Exquisite carvings graced the sides of the rectangular case and he continued
to observe as she raised the lid, peering inside. A bit of color reappeared in
her cheeks as she cautiously fumbled with the contents of the box until she
came to the item she apparently sought. Drawing forth a small envelope of
green silk, she replaced the ivory box in her trunk.
"What is that?" Richmond asked softly, noting the care with which she
held the tiny parcel.
On her knees, Arissa moved to the edge of the wagon to where Richmond
stood. His bright blue eyes were filled with a thousand emotions, all of
them piercing her heart until she could scarcely breath. She struggled
against the natural instinct to collapse into his powerful, comforting arms.
To have him so close yet forbidden the luxury of a simple touch was torture.
The hands that clutched the package began to quiver as she began to
unwrap it.
"I do not press all of the flowers I collect into pomades," she said softly,
her voice quaking. "Sometimes I simply press them flat between pieces of
wood. Once dried, they are preserved in a lovely state to enjoy forever."
Richmond watched as she unfolded the green fabric, revealing a
flattened, perfectly preserved collection of tiny blue flowers. He stared at
the dehydrated bouquet a long moment, the name of the delicate blooms
suddenly coming to mind and he raised his eyes, his gaze softer and more
emotional that Arissa had ever seen it.
"Forget-me-nots," he whispered.
 She nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I want you to keep them.
So you will forget me not."
He swallowed hard, blinking away the sting of his own tears. Without
hesitation, he carefully accepted the small parcel from her outstretched
palm, groaning softly when their flesh inadvertently touched. Under the
guise of presenting him with a gift, Arissa greedily caressed his fingers as
he slowly, lingeringly, claimed her tribute.
He was loathed to pull his hand away from her gentle fingers, but he
could not allow their covert contact to continue lest the abbess become
suspicious. Already, she was uncomfortable with the proximity of their
conversation, as it had been a struggle to persuade the woman that he would
do naught but calm Arissa with a few brief words.
He had been forbidden to touch her in any manner and although
Richmond had been prepared for the fact that Arissa would officially cease
to become his charge the moment he delivered her to the abbey, it was still
difficult for him to accept the fact that he was no longer able to do with her
as he pleased.
You are forbidden to touch her, sir knight. She’s no longer your concern.
Technically, the abbess was correct. But his heart still ached with the
reality of it.
Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile and refolded the green silk about
the flowers. He was well aware that it would be far less painful for them
both if he were to put on a brave front, showing her that he was confident in
his ability to return for her as quickly as possible. He had to show courage,
for Arissa's sake.
"I shall keep your gift next to my heart, always," he said evenly. Noting
the faint smile on her lips, he gave her a saucy wink to reinforce his light
tone. "I shall return as soon as I can, kitten. Until then, you must decide
what you would name our fortress. I am depending on you."
She nodded eagerly, swallowing the torrents of miserable tears that
threatened. He was determined to be brave; so was she. "I shall make my
decision, have no fear. And I shall watch the road for your return, every
day."
He chuckled softly, struggling to maintain the positive atmosphere. "I
shall hurry, then. I would hate for you to become bored waiting for my
reappearance."
 Her smile faded, looking at him with such longing that he was forced to
step away from her or risk breaking down completely. "I will not become
bored. But I will miss you more dreadfully with each passing moment.
Already my heart aches for you, Richmond."
His own smile died, feeling her pain as it mingled with his own
consuming anguish. "As does mine for you, kitten," he whispered. "Be
brave, my love. We shall be together soon, I vow."
She was making a valiant attempt to maintain her courage but he could
see that her strength would not hold out indefinitely. The sooner he made a
quick break, the stronger they would both be.
With a final, weak smile as if to prove to her that he believed his own
words, he turned away and motioned for Gavan to release Emma to the
custody of the nuns. Before he could move away completely, however,
Arissa’s delicate voice came wafting to him upon the damp sea breeze.
"I love you, Richmond. For all time, I will love you."
He turned to her, slowly, his eyes screaming with emotion. "And I love
you, Lady Arissa,” his voice was hoarse. “In this life and beyond."
Without another word, he mounted his charcoal gray charger. Arissa
watched as he and Gavan galloped down the rocky road, toward the column
of men that had collected since the disbanded skirmish. A company of
soldiers that would have virtually no time to recover before their liege was
marching them to London.
Arissa continued to watch the two armored figures until they disappeared
from sight. Even then, she could scarcely believe he had gone. Trying
desperately to bite back the tears, she was simply was not strong enough to
stop the heart-wrenching sobs.
Richmond's wagon driver attempted to help her from the wagon so that
he might join the rest of the column, but she refused to leave. Sobbing and
gasping, she ignored his requests, his offers of aid, simply for the fact that
she irrationally hoped he would give up his efforts and drive away with her
lying amongst the wheat sacks and take her back to Richmond.
She was vaguely aware of Emma's comforting voice, of the mother
abbess' throaty tone, but little else. The only matter of import was the fact
that Richmond had left her. Even when gentle hands forcibly removed her
from the flat bed, she was barely aware of their efforts.
Richmond was gone, and he had taken her soul with him.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Henry Percy was becoming quite familiar with Owen Glendower's

hospitality. Even though it was the dead of winter and there was scarce food
to be found, Owen always provided the very best that he had which, at the
moment, included dried autumn fruits and wedges of tart cheese.
But Hotspur was not interested in the Welsh menu. Having ridden over
miles of snow and ice, he was interested in the topic of the proposed
meeting. Owen had indicated that he had the key to Henry's control; being a
naturally curious man with a dwindling loyalty for the English king,
Hotspur was interested in Owen's information. Through the year of fighting
that had occurred between them in the battle for Wales, Owen had always
shown his penchant for honesty. A characteristic, at the moment, Henry
trusted more than his own king's.
Even now, Owen and his cousin David sat across from Hotspur, making a
weak attempt at small talk and meaningless chatter. On his second goblet of
smuggled French wine, Henry moved to the heart of the summons.
"You have not brought me here to speak of the intricacies of Byzantium
glass," he said quietly. "What is it you would say, Owen?"
Owen's pleasant expression held firm as he studied the mighty warrior
before him; tall and dark, he was Northumberland's heir. As Kings of the
North, Owen knew he would have powerful ally in the son of the Earl of
Northumberland if he were able to convince the man to side with him in his
resistance against Henry.
By Hotspur's body language, Owen was able to deduce that the man's
patience was thinly held. Setting his emptied pewter chalice to the table
before him, he drew in a deep breath as he collected his thoughts.
"I will move to the point, then," he said, fixing Hotspur with a piercing
stare. "You are bordering on mutiny, my lord. Even though you have not
indicated as much, rumors to the effect have been rampant for months now
and the fact that the war on the border has all but stagnated is a good
indication of your indecision."
 Hotspur's gaze held even. Without waiting for the reply that he knew
would not be forthcoming, Owen continued. "I have received reliable
information that Henry's bastard daughter, a young lady he’s shown
particular interest in, has recently been sequestered at Whitby Abbey in
Yorkshire. If we can obtain the girl, I believe Henry can be controlled."
Henry stared at him a moment before raising a droll eyebrow. "Is that
why you called me here? To inform me that we can control Henry if we are
to hold his bastard daughter hostage? Honestly, Owen, I forbid you to waste
my time with such nonsense."
Owen shook his head. "I have simplified the matter a great deal, but it is
far more complex than that," he suddenly paused, a dull gleam coming to
the black eyes. After a moment, he lazily reached for the half-empty bottle
of wine. "What if I tell you we can undeniably defeat Henry if we hold the
girl?"
"I would say you were mad."
Owen smiled faintly, watching the garnet liquid as it spilled into his
chalice. "Tell me, my lord; if you rebel against Henry, who will lead his
armies against you and against me?"
Hotspur drew in a long, vague breath. "Richmond le Bec, I suppose. He’s
second only to me in the chain of command; but you know that already, do
you not?"
"Would you fight Richmond?"
Henry's irritation with the conversation faded. After a long moment, he
looked to his hands. "The man is like a brother to me."
"But would you fight him?"
Hotspur pondered his gloved hands a moment longer. "'Twould not be
pleasant task, but one that I would engage in if necessary."
Owen studied the man's expression, seeing the pain at the thought of
waging battle against le Bec. He quaffed deeply from his chalice. "Tell me
this, if you will; if Richmond le Bec was not leading Henry's armies, what
chance would the monarch have against your forces and mine?"
Hotspur snorted softly. "Very little, I should think," sighing sharply, he
met Owen's gaze again in a return of weak annoyance. "What is this about,
Glendower?"
Owen met his gaze, pausing a moment purely for effect. When he spoke,
his voice was low.
 "Because I am to understand that Richmond le Bec is in love with
Henry's bastard daughter,” he said. “If we can acquire the girl, we can not
only control le Bec, but we can control Henry because he will undoubtedly
be pained with a double stake in all of this. Not only will he be haunted
with the knowledge that his daughter is our prisoner, but he will have to
deal with the fact that his greatest knight will not lead the crown armies
against the faction who holds his beloved hostage. Am I making myself
clear?"
The color was gone from Hotspur's face as he stared at Owen, feeling the
shock of the situation as it penetrated deep into his veins. "Richmond loves
the girl? But.... but you said she’s at Whitby. She’s a nun?"
"Richmond delivered her to the abbey sometime last week after the home
she where she was raised fell under siege. Presumably he moved her to
Whitby for safety's sake," Owen poured his shaken companion more wine.
"Apparently, Richmond has practically raised the girl. You are aware that
he’s spent a good deal of his time at Lambourn, seat of the Earl of
Berkshire."
Henry nodded slowly, taking a healthy drink of alcohol. "William de
Lohr and Richmond have been friends for many years. In fact, I visited
years back and...," he suddenly paused, his brow furrowed. "I do not
understand. What does Lambourn have to do with Henry's bastard
daughter?"
"The girl was raised there by the earl and his wife. Her name is Arissa."
Hotspur's eyes opened with surprise. "Arissa de Lohr is Henry's
daughter?" he boomed. "God's Teeth, I had no idea! All I can recall of her is
a thin child with black hair and.... you say Richmond is in love with her?"
"Undoubtedly," Owen watched Henry Percy's reaction to the revelation,
casting David a lingering glance before returning his focus to the English
knight. Unwilling to give the man time to recover his shock, he intended to
drive his desires to the forefront and he rose from his chair, bringing his fist
to bear on the old tabletop. "Help me, Hotspur. Help me obtain the girl and
thereby guarantee Henry's defeat. If we have her, we can drive England to
her knees. There is no opportunity for failure, I tell you, but I need your
support. Will you do this for the peace of England and Wales? One
insignificant girl is all that will be compromised to assure two countries
their right to live in harmony."
 Hotspur was staring at him, his dark eyes dull with the concept. After a
moment, he sighed heavily. "If Richmond loves her, I cannot be a party to
her misery."
"Would you rather meet him on the field of battle?"
"I already told you I would not."
Owen's harsh manner subsided somewhat as his gaze lingered on
Northumberland's heir. After a moment, he relaxed into his chair once again
and pondered the embers in the vizier. "Would you have him fight for your
cause?"
Hotspur raised his eyebrows wearily. "That would be preferable, but he
would never go against the crown. He and Henry are very fond of one
another."
"Would you wager to say that he loves his king more than the black-
haired girl residing at Whitby?"
Owen's subtly-phrased blackmail settled and Henry turned his astonished
gaze to the Welsh prince, a heavy understanding of the man's motives filling
him. He scratched his stubbled chin as he pondered the statement. "Are you
suggesting that I use the girl to force Richmond to fight for our cause?"
"I am told he would do anything for her."
Henry Percy licked his lips in nervous thought. He was well aware of the
time Richmond spent at Lambourn and it suddenly became clear to him as
to why; he had been in love with the skinny little girl graced with a glorious
mane of black hair, a girl he knew to be Henry's daughter. Or mayhap
Henry had sent him to Lambourn to watch over the girl and somewhere
during the process Richmond discovered that he had fallen in love with the
royal bastard. Whatever the case, it was abundantly clear that Owen spoke
the truth. Richmond had spent the majority of the past eighteen years
residing at Lambourn for no apparent reason... until now.
Hotspur held a good deal of love and respect for his friend. But his
politics differed greatly from those of Richmond, and he had cemented a
weak loyalty with Henry the very day Richard II had surrendered his crown.
The Percys and their allies had been staunch supporters of Richard and it
had been difficult to stomach their monarch's defeat. But as a vow to assure
England's peace, he and his father had pledged support to Richard's cousin,
Henry, and for the past two years it had been a brittle alliance at best.
 With a cold stab of reality, he realized hated Henry more than he loved
Richmond. Although he did not take delight in betraying his friend, the
opportunity to defeat the distrustful English monarch was worth the risk of
Richmond's hatred.
After several long moments of silent reflection, he sighed heavily and
quaffed the last of the fine wine. "I would assume you have a plan?"
Owen fought off a smile, pleased beyond words that Henry Percy had
finally chosen a path for his future. "Am I to take it that we are allies?"
Hotspur grunted, evading the question. "Tell me of your scheme to grab
Henry by the throat."
Owen glanced at David, silent words of victory filling the air between
them. Hotspur was in their fold. As David pulled his stool closer to the
table, Owen faced Hotspur with restrained joy.
"We must assume that Richmond has not remained at with her at Whitby
for one very good reason; the nuns will not allow him to stay. Moreover, I
would wager that with the Welsh resistance and the rumors of your
insurrection, Henry requires his power and wisdom in London. Therefore, it
would be a safe assumption that the Lady Arissa is alone in Yorkshire while
her beloved is embroiled in the politics of England. Which is where you
play a part in all of this."
Hotspur's face was impassive. "I am listening."
Owen paused a moment. "You will ride to Whitby bearing a forged
missive from Henry demanding that his daughter be released to your
custody. Certainly, no one will question the mighty Hotspur as he moves to
accomplish the bidding of his king by escorting Henry's bastard daughter to
London."
"For what purpose is she required in London?"
"Does it matter? She’s the king's daughter and it is his prerogative to do
with her as he pleases. Moreover, she’s not a nun and thereby not bound to
the abbey by her vows. Based on Henry's commanding directive and your
powerful presence, she will be relinquished to your protection."
Henry's jaw ticked. "How can you be so sure?"
Owen shrugged. "The abbess cannot keep her if the King of England
demands her temporary release. Technically, she has no legal right to hold
her over the demands of her parent and I would wager a good deal on the
fact that she would be unwilling to anger the king with a refusal."
 Hotspur drew in a long, harsh sigh, pondering his overall role in the
Welsh prince's scheme. A scheme that appeared to be safe enough, although
he would not stake his life on the fact. Nothing in this world was ever safe.
"And I will bring her here?"
Owen's eyes glittered. His design was foolproof, providing one factor
remained true; that Richmond le Bec was indeed in London. "Aye, my
lord," he replied softly, with confidence. "You will bring her here."
On the snowy hills overlooking the weakened camp of the Welsh
resistors, a lone wolf bayed into the crystal-clear evening sky. A thousand
diamonds of light glittered across the black expanse, their light casting
silver fingers on the gloom of evil that had settled over the western border
of England.
The malevolent darkness that became a plan this night.

***
Richmond passed through the King's Gate to the south side of Windsor,
having completed his glorious procession through the Great Park in order to
reach his destination. The massive bailey of Windsor was open and
welcoming, soldiers and courtiers alike shouted their greeting to the mighty
warrior. Ignoring the admiring throng, Richmond ordered his weary soldiers
to seek rest and food before they collapsed entirely.
Gavan dismounted beside Richmond, exhausted after the seven day
march from Yorkshire. Stubbled and bordering on disheveled, Richmond
raised his visor and wiped at his clammy brow as his eyes drew in the sight
of The Earl Marshall's Tower, towering four stories into the bright blue sky
overhead. St. George's Hall was directly to his right, a gallery he was most
familiar with, but it merely warranted a passing glance as he loosened his
gauntlets.
"I am intent on seeking Henry this moment," he said, his voice rough
with fatigue. "Retire to the knight's quarters and wait for me."
Gavan's gaze was dull, wary. As if he did not trust Richmond to simply
present his case in a rational manner; the man had been an emotional bundle
for the past several days and Gavan was not at all sure that anything but a
positive response on Henry's part would be met with a sword through the
gullet.
"I would be more than happy to accompany you...."
 Richmond cut him off. "Do as I say, Gavan. I have business to attend to
and I would complete it alone."
Gavan watched his liege march into the gaping entrance to the castle.
Concerned for his mental state though he might be, his concerns were not
strong enough to warrant the disobedient action of following him into the
castle. Richmond could well handle Henry's audience and did not require
supervision. Moreover, Gavan was not in the position to supervise a fellow
warrior's emotions at the moment; he was quite consumed with sentiment of
his own.
His dead wife and son were expecting him.
Leaving his second in command behind to disband the troops, Richmond
made his way into the cool interior of Windsor. Taking the grand staircase
to Henry's suite of rooms, he marched past a collection of household guards
as if their protecting presence was insignificant against his strength. He
intended to seen Henry immediately and to hell with any delay or show of
resistance.
Since the moment he had left Arissa, there had been nothing else to
occupy his thoughts. He had lived, breathed and slept Arissa, feeling her
soft body against him in his dreams only to awaken to a cold bed and an
even colder heart. But the building desperation to reclaim her only served to
fuel his determination to bargain with Henry; Gavan had been correct when
he had advised him to play the Political theater. And play he would.
Henry was certainly no amateur when it came to bureaucratic intrigue
and the king was about to find out that Richmond le Bec was to be included
as a viable player as well. For too long, Richmond had simply followed
orders like a moronic simpleton, never voicing his opinion or opposition to
anything his king suggested. But no more. He had played the role of
Henry's obedient dog long enough. If the king wanted his services against
the Welsh resistance and Hotspur's mutiny, then he would have to pay for it.
Henry IV, formerly Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, was in his
private solar, embroiled in a game of chess with a lesser official of his
court. Average of height and fair of coloring, he did not bothering looking
up from the game board as the door to the solar creaked open. His master
chamberlain cleared his throat carefully.
"Richmond le Bec has come, Sire," the man said. "He demands audience
with you immediately."
 Henry's head came up from the board, his eyes wide with surprise. "Do
not keep the man waiting. God's Blood, let him in!" he waved his hands
erratically at his game partner. "Out, Thomas, out. Everyone get out!"
The room became a flurry of activity as his courtiers rushed to do his
bidding. Entering from a smaller door, Richmond caught a glimpse of the
dandy horde as the collection quit the room. Without a second glance to the
group of well-dressed men, he bowed crisply to his king.
"Richmond, thank God you have come," Henry exclaimed, clapping a
hand against Richmond's metal-clad arm. "Where have you been?"
Richmond gazed at his king, genuinely fond of the man. "Taking your
daughter to Whitby, Sire, to be with her mother," he cocked a knowing
eyebrow at the bit of information Henry had neglected to mention, but the
king merely looked away. "Undoubtedly, you received my message
regarding the circumstances of our rapid departure from Lambourn."
Some of Henry's excitement faded. "I was distressed to learn of
Glendower's discovery of Arissa's identity. You were correct, of course, in
removing her to the safety of the abbey if Owen is intent on capturing her.
Furthermore, I do not fault you for informing her of her heritage; certainly
she had a need to know with Owen's men hounding her. But I do not believe
I understand the full extent of Ovid de Rydal's declaration of vengeance
against her. Care to clarify?"
"Ovid's vengeance is against me for having discouraged his arrogant
son's attentions towards Arissa," Richmond corrected. "However, I am sure
to have sealed an irrevocable rift between de Rydal and Lambourn; Tad de
Rydal appeared at Whitby in an attempt to abduct Arissa and Gavan was
forced to kill him. Apparently, the lad was trying to exact revenge against
me by seizing her."
"Vengeance for the ambush you were supposed to have orchestrated
against him?" Henry shook his head. "Do you think it possible that Owen
had a hand in the entrapment to somehow create a diversion for you while
he set his sights on my daughter? Truly, Richmond, this is most confusing."
Richmond stared at his king a moment, thinking what he could not
manage to say. Far more confusing than you know. Emitting a weary sigh,
he removed his helm and set it upon a rich cherry wood table. "I was only
able to give you a brief explanation of the circumstances in my missive and,
to be truthful, I do not wish to delve into the details leading up to the
skirmish involving Goring Hall at this moment. For now, Arissa is safe and
that is the only matter of import. Truthfully, there are concerns far more
significant we must discuss."
Henry accepted his statement without question. "Indeed there is," he
gestured to a hide-covered chair. "Remove some of your armor and sit. You
must be exhausted."
Richmond ignored the indication to relax, instead, moving for the
decanter of Venetian glass that graced a lovely silver tray. Pouring a hefty
quantity of wine into a silver goblet, he drank deeply before pouring
himself a second serving. Henry watched him a moment, his sharp
movements and stiff countenance, knowing that the man had been through a
great deal in the past week. Still, it was unnerving to see that Richmond was
not his usual even-tempered self.
"Has so much happened over the last several days that you would become
edgy and coarse? Towards me, no less?" Henry made a muted attempt at
humor, moving to acquire his customary chair.
Richmond downed his third goblet of wine, unwilling to drag his purpose
out over frivolous conversation. Short of patience with the lack of rest, he
started on his fourth cup of wine.
"What's all of this I hear about Hotspur?"
Henry stared at the stiff, proud back of his mighty vassal. If rumors were
correct, the last of his two most powerful vassals. After a moment, he
sighed faintly.
"I am afraid I angered him with my expression of displeasure in the fact
that Owen Glendower has managed to capture three of my fortresses against
Hotspur's defenses," he replied quietly. "I believe he’s intent to turn against
me, Richmond. Against us. Therefore, I need you to help ease the situation
by marrying Cecily and then riding for the border to inform Henry of your
new relationship. I believe you are my best hope for maintaining
Northumberland's alliance."
Richmond finished his fourth cup of wine, setting the chalice to the table
and feeling the fortifying warmth coursing through his veins. Drawing in a
deep breath for courage, he turned to his king.
"And if my efforts to retain Hotspur's loyalties falter, then you would
have me lead your armies against him?"
 Henry nodded slowly. "If all else fails. I do not relish going to war
against Northumberland, Richmond. Without Percy's support, England will
once again be divided."
Richmond did not say anything for a moment, moving to scratch his
scalp in a weary gesture. "You are suggesting, then, that the success of a
united England depends on me?"
"You are my last, best hope."
The statement issued by a desperate monarch was exactly what
Richmond wanted to hear. Henry needed him. And he wanted something
from Henry.
The game had begun.
"I will do this for you, Henry," he said softly, feeling the fine wine bolster
his bravery and determination. Focusing on Henry's blue eyes, he leaned his
considerable weight against the hide-covered chair opposite his king. "But
you will do something for me in return."
Henry met his gaze a moment before cocking a slow eyebrow. "No
request you have ever issued has gone ungranted. What would you have?"
Richmond's jaw ticked a moment as he thought quickly, arranging his
priorities. After a moment, he stood away from the chair. "There is no
guarantee that Hotspur will remain loyal to you if I wed his sister. I realize
that you consider a marriage to Cecily Percy a valuable reward for my years
of service, but I must be honest when I say that I have no desire to marry
the woman and, frankly, it is a weak power play by the crown at best. Were
you truly determined to fortify the alliance between Northumberland and
the crown, you would wed one of your relatives to the woman."
Henry did not appear pleased in the least that Richmond was contesting
his match. "And I disagree. If I did not believe it to be a strengthening
maneuver I would not have suggested it."
Richmond met his gaze, steadily. He was not about to back down, to fold
into submission as he so often did to Henry's will. This time, Henry would
find himself bowing to the conviction of another, or Northumberland would
run amuck with Richmond's blessing.
"I shall not marry her," he said after a moment, his voice low. "I have
another in mind for my wife."
Henry's rising anger banked, taking on an edge of curiosity. For as long
as he and Richmond had been friends, he'd rarely known the man to express
an interest in a woman, much less one he desired to wed. Still fixed on his
mighty warrior, he folded his hands deliberately.
"Before I punish you for your blatant disobedience and insubordination,
tell me who you would have for your wife?"
Richmond did not say reply for a moment; Henry was greatly displeased
and growing more irritated by the second. It was increasingly apparent that
the time had come for Richmond to make his demands known. And he
would delay no longer.
"I want that which you gave to me for safekeeping eighteen years ago,
Henry. I want Arissa."
Henry's reaction was immediate; his eyes widened and his jaw swung
open. He attempted to speak, but all that came forth from the great gaping
mouth was something of a strangled cough. Licking his parched lips, he
tried again.
"Arissa? God's Blood, she’s a child!"
"She’s eighteen years old and a woman grown."
Henry's face turned an ugly shade of red. "Out of the question, Sir
Richmond. She’s a novice nun, pledged to Whitby, and a princess of royal
blood. She’s beyond your...."
"Give me Arissa or you can fight Hotspur by yourself."
Richmond did not think it possible that Henry's eyes could grow any
wider; he was wrong. They bulged grotesquely and the king's body stiffened
in astonishment. Throughout the twisting and gasping, however, Richmond
remained calm. He had to maintain his composure if he was to obtain his
wants in the face of such outrageous shock.
"I mean every word, Henry. Give me Arissa or Northumberland can
march on London with my blessing."
Henry clenched and unclenched his meaty fists in agitation. "How dare
you threaten me!"
Richmond watched his furious monarch quite impassively. "I am not
threatening you. I am simply stating a fact. You want me for a very
important task; I am more than willing to complete that task successfully if
you are willing to pay for my services," he shoved the chair out of the way
that had been separating them; face to face, they glared at each other. "You
gave Arissa to me at birth, instructing me to watch over her, care for her,
protect her, and I have done so flawlessly. She has always been mine,
Henry. What I am asking is nothing outlandish or impulsive. I simply want
my due. I want her."
Henry had to look away from Richmond lest he give in to his inclination
to strangle the man. "I entrusted her protection and safety to you and
nothing more. And now you intend to claim her like a... a prize?"
Richmond shook his head firmly. "Not a prize, Henry. I want her as my
wife. I love the woman with all my heart."
Somewhere in the midst of his tirade, a small seed of recollection burst
forth, blooming into a garden of memories. As Richmond's words settled,
Henry found himself remembering the delicate black-haired woman he had
loved so long ago, a woman he had worshiped with his words and emotions
and body. A woman who tore his heart to pieces when she committed her
life to a north Yorkshire abbey.
A good deal of bluster drained out of Henry as he found himself relieving
pieces of broken memories. A certain touch, a stolen meal, a night of
ecstasy. The same ecstasy that had resulted in a beautiful dark-haired
daughter. The daughter Richmond had been assigned to protect.
"Oh, Richmond," Henry's voice was faint, his hand over his face in a
gesture of disbelief and resignation. His hand came away from his brow and
he grasped at the chair next to him as if the furniture could support his
weakening body. "You love her?"
Richmond studied Henry intently, scrutinizing every move, every word.
"I cannot remember when I haven't loved her,” he said, his voice softening.
“And she returns my love. But let me be clear; it wasn’t always like this.
Only over the past two years have I been living every moment for the sound
and sight and smell of the woman. I fought my feelings as long as I could
but I can no longer deny them. How could I not have fallen in love with
such beauty and sweetness?"
"She’s beautiful?" Henry turned to him inquisitively, immediately
shaking his head with the foolishness of his question. "Of course she’s
beautiful. Her mother was beautiful. I myself saw Arissa when she was
eleven years old and even then she was beautiful."
Richmond's heart began to soften as he pictured Arissa in his mind,
savoring every exquisite feature. "The angels are jealous of her beauty,
Henry. A more magnificent creature has ever existed."
 Henry leaned on the chair a moment longer before lowering his body
onto the supple cushions. His movements were slow, laced with defeat. The
longer he pondered Ellyn and the result of their liaison, the more depressed
he became.
"You are entirely serious about this?" his dull eyes met Richmond’s gaze,
a fair eyebrow cocking gently for effect. "You will leave me to Hotspur's
mercy if I do not grant you Arissa?"
Richmond sighed, thinking that mayhap he had been too harsh, too
demanding in his presentation. But he was determined to gain Arissa, no
matter what. Henry had to know there was no room for negotiation.
"I am serious," he replied softly. "Give me Arissa and I swear to you that
Northumberland will remain your ally. You have my word as a knight."
Henry scratched his chin, wearily. "Which brings me to another point.
You are a mere knight, not even a baron or an earl. If Arissa were to marry,
it would have to be a man of higher rank."
"So grant me a title. Have I not earned one for my years of service?"
Henry cast him a droll glance. "I did grant you one, you fool. If you
marry Cecily you shall have a bloody earldom."
"I do not want Cecily's earldom. I want Arissa and lands of our own."
Henry rolled his eyes sardonically, clapping a hand over his face and
wiping at his perspiring forehead. "God's Blood, I cannot believe you would
take advantage of me this way. Threatening to throw me to the wolves if I
do not grant your request."
Richmond slowly took the chair opposite the king, his eyes soft and
speculative. "I am not threatening you, Henry. But you want something
from me, and I want something from you. We are bargaining to gain what
we both desire."
"Bargaining?" Henry snorted. "Hardly. You seem to hold the advantage."
Richmond shook his head weakly, their confrontation leaving him
drained. "Wrong again. You hold the advantage, 'else I would not be so
determined to bargain," he sighed heavily, with feeling. "You are my friend,
Henry. I do not relish backing my friend into a corner with harsh demands
and warnings of disservice. But for Arissa, I would do just that. You must
understand how important she is to me."
"And you must understand how important England is to me," Henry's
voice was faint as he stared into the dying embers of the hearth,
contemplating the turn of events. An inkling of an idea suddenly occurred
to him and he glanced to Richmond, shrewdly. "I have a counterproposal,
Richmond. I will dissolve your betrothal contract to Cecily, which will be
no easy accomplishment, but I shall do it because I see your reasoning in
the matter. Mayhap I shall offer her a groom of royal blood to offset the loss
of Richmond le Bec and to fortify the crown's relationship to
Northumberland, as you have suggested."
Richmond could sense a compromise coming; he had been involved in
Henry's circle long enough to know when the king was preparing to strike
against a weaker, simpler adversary. Bearing that in mind, he braced
himself when Henry took a long drink of wine, licking his lips before
continuing.
"In addition to Arissa's dowry to Whitby, I shall donate a sizable sum to
release her from her contract to the church so that you will be free to marry
her," noting that Richmond's expression remained even and constant, he
cocked a stern eyebrow purely for effect. "And I shall grant you a barony so
that my daughter will not be marrying a man beneath her station. But you
must complete one particular task before I will do these things for you."
Richmond drew in a long, steady breath. He had suspected as much.
"Speak, then."
Henry sat forward in his chair, his blue eye piercing and sharp. "You will
determine the path Hotspur has chosen to follow. If he chooses to remain
loyal to me, then you shall assist him in defeating Glendower. And if has
chosen to move against me, then you shall destroy them both."
Richmond pondered Henry's counterproposal, not entire unexpected or
unreasonable. "You would have me complete this mission before I marry
Arissa?"
Henry nodded, a sly expression creasing his features. "You want
something from me, and I want something from you. I will agree to your
demand for Arissa, but you must resolve Henry Percy's standing and the
Welsh rebellion before I will grant your wishes. The guarantee of Arissa at
the conclusion of a mission well executed shall make you work harder in
your endeavor, will it not?"
Richmond pondered his king a moment longer before rising wearily from
his chair, moving to draw his fifth goblet of wine. Swirling the ruby liquid
upon his tongue, he realized that Henry was playing the political game very
well. The king was being forced to compromise by dissolving his betrothal
with Cecily Percy; Richmond, in turn, would be compromising by delaying
his nuptials to Arissa until the Hotspur situation was resolved.
It was not unreasonable. He'd waited this long for Arissa; another few
months, although an eternity, would not matter overly in the grand scheme
of his life. But he was not entirely comfortable with the prospect of losing a
valuable friend in the process. Henry Percy had no idea what was at stake.
After a moment, he sighed. "What will happen if I fail?"
"I have never known you to fail."
"Nor have I. But for the sake of argument, we will suppose that I do.
What then?"
Henry did not hesitate. "Then you get nothing. Arissa stays with her
mother at Whitby, and I lose Wales."
Richmond drained his cup, feeling warm and calm. Slamming the chalice
to the table, he turned to face his king with all of the power and confidence
he was experiencing. Arissa would be his; of that he had no doubt. No
matter what.
"Hotspur will maintain his loyalty to the crown or I will destroy him. Any
way I can."
"And Wales?"
"The resistance shall meet a decisive end."
Henry nodded, feeling a tremendous assurance as their mutual
understanding settled. "I have the utmost faith in you, Richmond. I always
have."
Richmond quit the room without another word, leaving Henry alone to
ponder the future. If he was lucky and Richmond was successful, he would
still have a kingdom come the new year.

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Arissa? Emma? Where are you?"

The soft but unmistakably sharp command echoed against the ancient
stone walls. For the past two weeks, walls that had been accustomed to the
prayers of the faithful or the strains of heavenly music had suddenly
become witness to the shortcomings of two foolish young maidens unused
to life in an isolated abbey. Sharp footfalls bounced off the scrubbed stone
as a slight nun made her way down the corridor.
"Arissa? Emma?"
Her demand for response was met by the soft shuffle of clogged feet and
Sister Repentia was not surprised when Arissa and Emma came bolting
from a slender staircase, a winding flight that led to the loft high above.
Nearly plowing the green-eyed nun over in their haste, Arissa and Emma
skidded to an appalled, unsteady halt.
"Sister!" Arissa gasped. "Forgive us! We did not see you and...."
Sister Repentia cut off the beginnings of what would undoubtedly be a
rambling explanation. As much as she loved her daughter, as much as the
entire convent had come to love the sweet young woman, she could talk
God himself off his mighty throne and Sister Repentia was unwilling to
stand patiently through another insipid explication.
"There is no need for excuses, ladies," she said breathlessly, a bit startled
by their sudden appearance. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she
straightened the kerchief that covered her daughter's dark head as tendrils of
silky black hair attempted to escape. "Vespers is upon us and you will not
be late again. Be off with you."
"But.... Sister!" Arissa protested as Emma hovered eagerly by her side.
"We saw a great army approaching from the south!"
Sister Repentia sighed. Arissa and Emma spent a good deal of time in the
loft when they weren't moving about their chores, waiting for the
reappearance of Richmond le Bec and his muscle-bound knight.
"You said the very same thing two days ago,” Sister Repentia said
patiently. “And two days before that. You should have realized by now that
the fog from the ocean oft appears dark on the horizon, like a tide of men,"
before Arissa could protest, she shook her head sharply and directed the two
young women into the corridor, towards the chapel. "Vespers, ladies. And
then we will eat."
Arissa was wise enough not to dispute the nun who had become an
integral part of her life for the past two weeks. With Emma by her side, the
three women made their way to the dimly-lit chapel, bowing their respect to
God as they entered the sanctuary and moving for their assigned places. At
the rear of the chapel, behind the novice nuns, Arissa and Emma dropped to
their knees and made the sign of the cross about their head and shoulders.
Sister Repentia's gaze lingered on the two kerchief-clad heads as they
bowed in prayer. By the stone altar in the very front of the sparsely-
furnished room, Sister Mary Ignatius was preparing to commence with the
reading and Sister Repentia quickly moved for her assigned space.
But even as she made the sign of the cross over her slight body and knelt
in reverence, she couldn't stop her thoughts from lingering on Arissa and
her young friend who had literally breathed life into the old abbey within
the span of a few short days. A spirit the gloomy structure had lacked for
decades, unmissed until now.
Laughter had come again, as had beauty and bright opinions of the world
in general. Even though the mother abbess had tried to discourage such
interaction in the beginning, afraid the addition of the two lively young
women would upset the delicate balance of her abbey, it was apparent that
the aura emanating from Arissa and Emma had worked in harmony with the
holy atmosphere of the godly fortress.
A measure of vigor began to infiltrate their lives, the meaning of life that
a few of the older nuns had forgotten existed. As the holy women of the
order taught Arissa and Emma about life at the abbey, they in turn received
an updated education on what it meant to be young and happy and full of
hope.
Arissa had never attempted to deny her relationship with Richmond le
Bec and it was obviously from the day she had arrived at the abbey that she
was desperately attached to the man. It did not seem to matter that he was
twice her years, an aging knight who was rapidly approaching the winter of
life. The only matter of concern for Arissa seemed to be when he would
return to marry her, and she had taken to expressing the joy of endless love
to all who would listen. Expressing her glee to women who had never
experienced such feelings and who had quickly become consumed with the
intriguingly concept.
With haste, the mother abbess had put a stop to Arissa's stories of
undying devotion lest her nuns find themselves confused and willing to
explore such areas that were better left unventured. Even so, Arissa had
never made any secret of the fact that she was not destined to join the
cloister and looked forward to the day when Richmond le Bec would return
for her.
The foolish fantasies of a young maiden's mind? Mayhap, Sister Repentia
thought. But, somehow, she realized she would not be at all surprised
should Richmond le Bec reappeared at their door one day.
Sister Mary Ignatius finished the reading and the entire congregation rose
to praise God in song. As the hymn commenced, Sister Repentia found her
gaze wandering to her daughter and her young companion. It was odd how
the two of them seemed to have physically matured over the past two
weeks; with the simple fare provided, Emma had slimmed considerably,
dropping a good deal of the weight she had carried on her short frame.
What emerged was a beautiful figure, full of bustline and slender of waist,
and her face had refined to a beautiful oval shape. In fact, as Emma rapidly
approached her seventeenth birthday, Sister Repentia realized a very
beautiful woman was surfacing before her eyes.
Arissa had matured as well. Rather delicate and frail upon arrival, she
seemed to have increased in vigor and the roses gracing her exquisite
cheeks were a constant phenomenon. Even now, swathed in the simply gray
frock and kerchief worn by all new pledges, there was no beauty on earth
that could compare with her. She seemed to gain a certain strength from the
chores that she was required to accomplish, churning butter and scrubbing
floors. The more she exerted herself in a controlled fashion, the healthier
her glow.
Sister Repentia had been told of her frequent bouts with chill and of her
breathing attacks, and she had been lead to believe that Arissa had led a
fairly easy life due to these afflictions. But with the exercise and food and
routine of the abbey, she seemed to have flourished into an extremely
healthy specimen. Even though Arissa professed her dislike for the abbey,
mayhap it had been good for her in a manner to which she was unaware;
although her spirit had been dampened by her longing for le Bec, her body
had thrived nonetheless.
Sister Repentia was barely aware when Vespers was concluded. She had
been consumed with reviewing the days since Arissa had arrived, marveling
at the change that had occurred within the confines of Whitby's holy order.
As the nuns filtered from the chapel in anticipation of the evening meal, a
lamb stew Sister Repentia had been simmering all afternoon, the slight nun
hurried from the chapel ahead of the throng to prepare the gallery for the
feast.
Behind her, she heard the soft footfalls of clogged feet. Her novice
helpers scurried after her like eager pups.
"We could smell the lamb stew up in the loft," Emma said eagerly,
licking her lips and tucking stray blond hair back into her kerchief. "It has
been over a week since we have had stew."
Sister Repentia marched into the gallery without replying to Emma's
enthusiastic statement. "Set out the bowls and the bread, please."
Arissa and Emma immediately moved to do the sister's bidding. Helping
her with kitchen chores had been part of their daily routine for the past two
weeks and for young women who had grown up relatively pampered and
well-removed from mundane chores, they enjoyed the satisfaction of
manual labor a good deal.
The young pledges giggled and whispered as they set out the coarse
wooden bowls and crude cups. Sister Repentia emerged from the kitchen
bearing the pot of stew and the two young ladies rushed to her aid. As
Arissa carefully ladled out the thick soup, Emma placed loaves of crusty
brown bread on every table.
The coarse crust of the brown bread reminded Emma of the occasion
when Bartholomew had used two stale bread crusts to create "horns" for
effect during his recitation of a prose involving the ancient Minotaur. Her
humorous recollection of the event sent Arissa into gales of laughter and
even Sister Repentia struggled against the grin that threatened.
But Arissa's laughter soon faded, a deeper grief taking hold as she
realized the recitations, the outrageous skits, the inane manner in which her
brother had portrayed Greek tragedies was to be no more. Bartholomew
was gone, killed defending her against the Welsh enemy, and her tinkling
laughter was suddenly replaced by the swell of tears.
 Emma was immediately remorseful as she observed her friend's
despondent manner. Bartholomew's death had been a difficult event for
Arissa to deal with; naturally, she felt very guilty for having inadvertently
caused the incident. "I am sorry, Riss. I did not mean to remind you of
Bart."
Arissa sniffled, swallowing her tears bravely. To cry would only bring
shame to her brother's brave sacrifice and she loved him too much to
dishonor him in such a fashion. "I want you to remind me, always. I do not
ever want to forget Bart and his unique personality."
Sister Repentia watched her daughter a moment as she doled out the
remainder of the stew. "Who is Bart?"
Arissa sniffled again, squaring her shoulders bravely. "My brother. He
was killed defending me when Lambourn was invaded."
Sister Repentia stared at her a moment as the words of selfless sacrifice
sank deep; uttering a small prayer of thanks for the brave actions of the
earl's son, she returned to her duties silently. Arissa, for her part, was
reminded of another amusing incident and opened her mouth to relay a
similar image of Bartholomew's foolery when a flustered young nun
suddenly rushed into the fragrant hall.
"An army approaches, sister!" she announced breathlessly. "Where is the
mother abbess?"
Sister Repentia was startled with the news; before she could respond,
Arissa leapt to confront the woman.
"Are they flying a banner?" she demanded. "Can you see the standards?"
The young nun fixed Arissa in the eye; she had been one of the many
who had been privy to the young lady's tales of interminable love and in
spite of her devotion to God, she found it wonderfully romantic that
Richmond le Bec had indeed returned for his fair maiden. "Henry's
standard, Arissa. I saw the crimson myself."
Arissa dropped the wooden spoon in her hand; the color drained from her
face as she turned her wide green eyes to Emma.
"Richmond has returned," she whispered, her entire expression laced with
disbelief and the most unimaginable joy. "He’s come, Emma. He’s come!"
Emma's face was a mirror of Arissa's; startled blue eyes gazed back at her
friend. "Gavan," she murmured. "He must have come, too. Oh, Riss, Gavan
has come too!"
 Sister Repentia tried to stop them, but she knew her shouts of restraint
were in vain as the two young women made haste to the front door. The
panel was closed, although several nuns were trying to peer from the
slender crack between the frame and the slightly-ajar panel.
Shoving the gray-clad women aside, Arissa yanked the door open and
dashed across the muddy walk before anyone could stop her. Emma was
directly on her heels, the both of them ignoring the cries of Sister Repentia.
Clearly, there were matters of far greater import than the anxious shouts of
an aging nun.
Richmond and Gavan had come.
Arissa saw the army approaching on the road, riding the crest toward the
abbey with Henry's banners streaming in the brisk sea air. The charger in
the lead was a dark animal, though distant, and Arissa set her sights on the
mighty beast. Richmond's charger, she was sure. Her heart sang with the
joy; already, she could taste him upon her lips. Already, she could feel his
body on her, in her, never to let her go. She had never been happier in her
life.
Until she realized the charger in the lead was a brown animal.
Apprehension and confusion filled her as she slowed to an unsteady halt,
scrutinizing the additional chargers that made up the front of the knightly
column. More browns, grays, even chestnut. She'd never seen them before.
A creeping anxiety swept her as the destriers closed in on her position;
frozen to the muddy turf, she could do naught but stare at the mighty
warhorses as their riders reined them to an uneasy halt. The column of men
flying Henry's banner came to a grinding stop and Arissa could feel Emma
behind her, clutching at her in fear.
The man on the brown charger approached her, a big man in well-used
armor. It was apparent that he was studying her, for his helmed head
focused on her for several moments before he offered a weak, if not
somewhat disbelieving, salutation.
"The Lady Arissa, I presume?"
Arissa stared at him, bitter and disappointed to the core. Angry, even, that
the knight before her had dashed hopes. "You are not Richmond."
The man shook his head, slowly. If there was any doubt that the rumors
regarding the existing love between the Lady Arissa de Lohr and Richmond
le Bec were false, it had been dashed in that instant. From the expression on
her face, he could see that she was beyond disappointed. She was crushed.
"Nay, my lady, I am not Richmond," Henry Percy could scarcely believe
the beauty before him. "I have come with a message from your father."
Arissa continued to stare at him, her considerable bitterness eased
somewhat with the knight's brief explanation. "What message? And who
are you?"
The knight dismounted his warhorse. Raising his visor, Arissa caught a
glimpse of dark eyes, not entirely unkind. "My name is Henry Percy. Might
I speak with the abbess?"
Arissa blinked as the sound of his name settled into her memory. After a
moment, she tilted her head thoughtfully. "Hotspur?"
His eyes crinkled with a smile. "Then you do remember me?"
She nodded, studying him guardedly. "Northumberland's heir. I met you
once many years ago when you came to Lambourn with Richmond. I was
twelve or thirteen, I believe."
"You were eleven," he corrected, his eyes still creased with mirth. "You
were a lovely child then and I am pleased to see that your beauty has come
to rival the magnificence of the angels. Truthfully, you are breathtaking."
She blushed slightly, a bit wary of his presence and still extremely
disappointed that he was not Richmond. Before she could reply, soft
footfalls met the earth behind her and a gentle hand was suddenly resting on
her shoulder.
"I will thank you not to molest my charge, sir knight," Mary Deus' voice
was taut, stern. "Arissa, Emma, retreat to the abbey immediately."
The two young ladies turned to comply with the abbess' bidding, but
Hotspur halted their progression. "It was not my intention to vex them, Your
Grace. I am Sir Henry Percy, sent by order of the king and I would ask that
the lady hear my message," snapping his fingers, no easy feat through the
thickness of gauntlets, one of his knights produced a rolled length of
parchment and handed it to him. He extended it to the small abbess. "As
you can see, the missive bears Henry's seal. I would suggest that you read it
immediately, as there is little time to waste."
The abbess did not change expression. Tearing her eyes from the
somewhat-pushy knight, she gazed at the yellowed vellum and was met
with the sight of Henry's garbled seal. "It's muddled," she said, tracing her
finger over the red wax. "I can scarcely read it."
Hotspur eyed the seal; it had taken two days to perfect a seal that was
similar to Henry's. Still, they had not possessed the time for trial and error
to create a perfect likeness and had taken their chances with the first
passable forgery. If the woman was swayed by the barely-accomplished
signet, he would be pleasantly, and thankfully, surprised.
"I have been riding for several days through all varieties of weather
conditions," he said honestly. "If the seal is mussed, then it was purely
beyond my control, I assure you. If I may, Your Grace, I suggest you read it
now."
The abbess' jaw ticked, a strong indication of her displeasure. After a
moment's indecision, she broke the seal and unrolled the vellum. Arissa and
Emma, Hotspur and his knights, watched with anticipation as the educated
woman read the missive carefully.
After several long, tensely-silent minutes, the abbess seemed to sigh with
regret.
"I was unaware of Henry's poor health," she said, raising her gaze to meet
Hotspur. "How long has he been suffering?"
"For some time now," Henry replied, wondering how much time he was
going to spend in Hell for lying to a woman of the cloth. "Unfortunately, his
physicians do not believe he has much time left on this earth and Henry has
requested to see Arissa before he dies. I am ordered to bring her to London
as soon as possible."
The abbess sighed again, pondering the news and the consequences
thereof. Certainly there was no time to send a missive to London
confirming the request if King Henry was on his death bed. The man was
understandable eager to make amends with the wrongs he had done in this
life, Arissa included, and the abbess could not fault him the desire to
reconcile with his bastard.
Carefully, thoughtfully, the abbess re-rolled the missive. "Why did Sir
Richmond not come for her?"
Hotspur did not falter. "Because he’s busy with the situation on the Welsh
border," he replied steadily. "Henry asked that I accomplish the duty since
Sir Richmond was else occupied."
 "Richmond is on the Welsh border?" Arissa asked before she could stop
herself, filled with concern and confusion. He was supposed to be in
London, demanding her hand. Why was he in Wales?
Henry's soft eyes found her. "Sir Richmond is a master of negotiation and
Henry asked that he assist the crisis on the border to see if a bloodless
conclusion cannot be sought against the Welsh," seeing the sorrowful
expression on Arissa's face, a measure of guilt swept him; God help him,
Richmond was his friend. What he was about to do was not only
treacherous, but blatant cruelty. Yet, it was necessary.
Tearing his gaze from the magnificent face, he refocused on the abbess.
"Time grows short, Your Grace. Every moment we delay is a moment away
from Henry's life. Surely you cannot deny a father the right to see his child
before he passes on?"
 The abbess drew in another long sigh, staring at the mighty knight before
her; she was well aware of Henry Percy, soon to be the second earl of
Northumberland. Hotspur was a fierce fighter, the most powerful knight in
England next to Richmond le Bec, and she knew he was a man of honor.
Truthfully, she had no firm basis to deny the request and she realized with
resignation that she had no choice but to allow Arissa to travel to London to
meet her dying father.
"Nay," she said after a long moment, her voice quiet. "I shall not deny his
request. But the lady will travel with an escort, a chaperone of my choosing.
And she will be returned to me as soon as Henry has finished with her. Is
this understood?"
Hotspur felt a bolt of relief run through him, so powerful that he fought
the urge to collapse with thanks. But the added element of an escort was
something he had not anticipated; still, it would be of no consequence. A
harmless nun was insignificant in the overall scheme and he would not fret
over the unexpected addition. All that mattered was that Arissa was to be
placed in his custody, as Owen had corrected predicted.
"I understand your directive perfectly, your grace," he said steadily. "The
lady will be in good hands."
The abbess continued to eye him a moment before faintly gesturing to her
two young charges, silently demanding them to return to the abbey. As
Arissa and Emma dashed away, the abbess maintained her cool gaze on the
mighty knight.
"I must tell you that this situation is unnerving," she said quietly. "But
based upon your reputation as an honorable man, I will not dispute the
poorly written missive nor the blotched seal. All I ask is that you return
Lady Arissa to me, unharmed. She is, after all, my charge."
OceanofPDF.com
 Hotspur nodded faintly, feeling a substantial increase in his own guilt.
"I shall guard the woman with my life." He meant it.
While Hotspur and his army wait on the road, Emma helped Arissa pack
a small satchel. Soap, a comb, another clean woolen frock and the surcoat
she had arrived in filled the small bag. As Arissa donned a pair of soft
woolen hose to protect her against the chill, Emma seemed particularly
distracted. Securing the heavy cloak Richmond has given her, Arissa
laughed softly at the picture she presented.
"Look at me, Emma. Dressed in a plan gray woolen frock and an
exquisite cloak of the finest material," with a smile, she turned to her
moody friend. "I look terribly mismatched. I suppose I should.... now,
what's the matter with you? Why do you look like that?"
Emma had been fumbling with her hands, a frown on her face as she
immersed herself in thought. Hearing Arissa's softly demanded question,
she cast her a long gaze.
"What did Hotspur mean when he called you Henry's daughter?"
Arissa's smile faded. After a lengthy, guilty moment, she averted her gaze
and planted her bottom on the edge of her cot. "Do not be angry with me for
not telling you," she said softly. "I myself discovered my true heritage only
a few weeks ago. Apparently, I am a bastard of royal blood, sent to live
with the Earl of Berkshire so that I would not shame my father the king."
Emma stared at her, shocked but not completely disbelieving. After all,
she'd had time to dwell on the clues Hotspur had raised and was somewhat
prepared for the startling truth. After a moment, she exhaled sharply and
leaned against the wall. "So you are the king's daughter?"
"Aye."
“Truly?”
“Aye.”
"Does Richmond know?"
"He’s the one who informed me of my true heritage."
Emma's gaze lingered on her dark head. After several long seconds, she
simply shook her head. "I.... I simply cannot believe it, Riss. You are not the
earl's offspring, but a princess?"
Arissa shrugged vaguely. "Apparently. But I do not feel like one. I feel
like a cast-off, a bit of rubbish that no one can decide what to do with."
Emma's brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"
 Arissa toyed with the hem of her cloak, advancing to chewing on her
nails, a habit she had yet to break. "Look at the situation; my mother
abandons me at birth and I am forced to live with another family, my true
identity concealed from the world. When I become of age, I am forced into
an abbey to hide for the remainder of my life. Would you not feel like so
much extra baggage?"
Emma pondered her question a moment. "I do not know, Riss. Richmond
doesn't think you are extra baggage."
Her smile made a weak appearance. "Nay, he does not. Mayhap I shall be
lucky enough to see him in London. Certainly, I can hope."
Emma's gaze lingered on her friend a moment longer, still reeling with
some shock and amazement. But, truthfully, she did not know why she was
so surprised; Arissa had always possessed a special aura, a grace and beauty
beyond the limits of mere mortals.
Still, Emma found herself giddy with the knowledge. The longer she
gazed at Arissa, the more excited she became.
"You are going to London to see the king," she said, her mood rising.
"Aren't you excited?"
Arissa sucked on a fingernail she had nearly chewed raw. "You heard the
contents of the message; the king is dying and wishes to see me. I.... I do
not think I should be excited about death."
"I did not mean it that way. Yet, it's as if an entirely new life is about to
open up for you. The acknowledgement of your royal blood by your ailing
father," she suddenly cocked her head in thought. "Mayhap he will tell you
that he’s agreed to a marriage between you and Richmond. Would not that
be exciting?"
Arissa nodded, attempting to fold her hands lest she chew them all to
bloody nubs. "Certainly, I can hope for the best," she glanced at her satchel,
sighing with longing. "Sweet St. Jude, Emma. I miss him so."
Emma's rising excitement cooled. As badly as Arissa missed Richmond,
she found herself longing for Gavan in the same manner. Even though the
guilt of wishing death upon the man's wife had not faded entirely, she found
her sorrow of the woman's death had not cooled her love for him. If
anything, her adoration had grown. It was a breathing entity, capable of pain
and madness. It was something she was unable to control in the least.
"I know you miss him, Riss. But you shall be with him soon."
 Arissa rose from her cot, pondering the dingy little room. "Mayhap he
will join me in London and I shall never have to return here again. Mayhap
this is the last I shall see of this gloomy place." Moving to the window, her
gaze wandered to the large army waiting patiently in the distance. After a
moment, she turned to her friend. "I shall send Gavan for you, Emma. I
shall not leave you here alone."
Emma met her gaze, torn between her fading guilt and the love she had
always felt for the man. "Do not.... do not force him. After all, he just lost
his wife. He must have time to heal."
"He will be given ample time to heal. And then I will send him for you."
Emma did not say anything for a moment. Meandering to the window,
her gaze fell upon Hotspur's stationary army. "If he comes, it will be the
answer to my prayers, Riss. The impossible dream I never thought to come
true."
Arissa put her arm around Emma's shoulders, hugging her gently.
"Dreams do come true, Emma. I am living proof of that."
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER TWENTY

Sister Repentia was well acquainted with the relatively flat topography
that surrounded London, which was why the first inkling of trouble
infiltrated her veins at the sight of snow-capped mountains in the distance.
Although the rest of the caravan seemed unconcerned, including Arissa, she
felt the distinct taste of apprehension as they drew closer to the white
cluster of hills. There was something vaguely familiar about the sharp
landscape and she spent the majority of her time staring at the snowy
mountains, trying to determine their placement.
She couldn't seem to shake the uneasy sense of familiarity. As Lady
Arissa's chaperone to the Sodom and Gomorrah that was London, she was
supposed to remain focused on the lady. Unfortunately, she seemed to be
utterly riveted to the snow-capped hills in the distance.
As the caravan actually crossed into the hilly terrain and the sharp iciness
gripped them, Sister Repentia couldn't help succumb to the growing
knowledge that they were nowhere near London. Somehow, they had been
directed down another path.
Her increasingly concerned attention moved from the icy landscape to the
massive knight riding the lead, wondering if he even realized his error. It
was, after all, their ninth day of travel and it was quite possible that the man
had been thrown off course somehow, moving into the harsh territory of the
borders when he should have been following the path of the Thames.
But even as she sought a reason for their change of direction, she realized
her efforts were foolish. Hotspur was acutely aware of the path he had
chosen and Sister Repentia's heart sank as she became cognizant of the fact
that, somehow, the plot to remove Arissa from Whitby had nothing to do
with Henry. Hotspur was part of something the slender nun was unable to
figure out at the moment, but shrewd enough to realize that subtle plots
were enveloping them. Plots involving Henry's daughter.
She would not upset Arissa with her suspicions; at least, not at the
moment. Not until she had the opportunity to speak with Henry Percy
regarding his reasoning and motives. Motives, she discovered, she was
fearful to know. God help her, she had unknowingly escorted her daughter
into the gaping jaws of political intrigue and there was absolutely nothing
she could do against the fickle tides.
The caravan traveled from harsh, frozen ground to a firm-packed snow,
newly placed. Sheer mountains on either side of the road were coated with a
fresh white dusting and the wind that screamed off the mountains was harsh
and beautiful at the same time. Even as Sister Repentia simmered in a
growing horror, Arissa thought the trip to be quite wonderful. Wrapped in
her warm woolen cloak, she drew in the magnificence of the scenery with
her usual pleasure; she'd never seen anything so brutally lovely.
Arissa was the first one to spy an encampment, eyeing it curiously as the
company drew near. Heavy tents of hide, sewn together in a mismatched
design, gathered in a large cluster amidst the white packing of snow. The
wagon upon which Arissa and Sister Repentia were riding came to a jolting
halt and Arissa turned her puzzled expression to the nun.
"This.... this is London?" she asked hesitantly.
Sister Repentia did not reply; her gaze was riveted to Hotspur as he
dismounted his charger and made his way back along the column. Arissa
continued to stare at the nun, expecting an answer, as the mighty knight
drew alongside the wagon.
His dark gaze met with frantic, angry eyes of pale green. "Where have
you brought us, my lord?" Sister Repentia asked.
Even as Henry held up his arms for Arissa, he met the nun's gaze steadily.
"To our destination, Sister."
Sister Repentia grasped Arissa by the arm, firmly pulling her away from
Hotspur's extended hands. "This is not the destination that was indicated to
the mother abbess," her voice was remarkably cold. "Where are we?"
Hotspur was not deterred by the suspicious nun; reaching out, he gently
grasped Arissa by the hand and pulled her to her feet, into his arms. Cradled
in the massive knight's embrace, Arissa looked quite puzzled as Hotspur
and Sister Repentia glared at each other.
"I believe you already know the answer, 'else you would not have asked,"
he answered quietly.
Sister Repentia was pale with fright and anger. She pondered the knight a
moment. "Then I would calmly ask what you intend to do with us. If you
were going to kill us, why did you not do it on the road? Why bring us to
Wales to accomplish this task?"
 Arissa, her arms wrapped around Henry Percy's neck, gasped with shock.
"Wales?" she suddenly began to squirm, well remembering the fact that
Owen Glendower was intent on capturing her. "You must take me away
from here! The Welsh prince has already tried to capture me, and if he finds
me...!"
Hotspur met her panicked gaze, tightening his grip against her twisting.
"He will not harm you, I vow. He merely wishes for you to be his guest for
a short time, nothing more."
Arissa stopped wrestling, staring at the man as if he had gone completely
mad. Her breathing, coming in sharp little pants, sent up puffs of fog into
the icy winter air. "His guest? What are you.... but what of my father? Am I
not to see him? And where is Richmond? You said he was on the Welsh
border!"
Hotspur shook his head, feeling his guilt return in one forceful blow. "I
am afraid it was necessary to deceive the abbess so that I would be able to
escort you to Wales without a struggle. The tale of your father's illness was
a fabrication, as was the story of Richmond's whereabouts. Owen
Glendower is most anxious to meet with you, my lady, and it was necessary
to do all that we could in order to assure your deliverance."
At the mention of the Welsh prince, Sister Repentia's pallor washed a
sickly gray. Struggling to maintain her composure, she looked to Arissa
with a mixture of apology and terror; she simply could not believe that they
had been delivered into the hive of the Welsh rebellion, by an English
knight, no less.
A sickening horror filled her body, threatening her thoughts, her mind,
her functions. She wished it were possible to protest this action, demanding
the immediate return to Whitby, but she couldn't seem to muster the
strength. In fact, she was quite close to falling away into a cold stupor as
she listened to Arissa express her confusion.
"And that would include lying to a woman of the cloth?" Arissa asked,
her fear taking flight. "Moreover, why is Owen Glendower so eager to
speak with me? He tried to abduct me from Lambourn and killed my
brother in the process. He wants to harm me, I tell you."
Hotspur was afraid to set her to the ground lest she attempt to escape.
"Nay, lady, he has no such desire. I promise that I shall protect you should
he make such an attempt," when her struggles suddenly resumed, he
clenched her tightly to prevent her from wriggling free. "I swear on my oath
as a knight that no harm shall come to you. Do you understand me?"
She was not listening to him; her sense of terror was sharp as she
struggled against his iron grip. "Let me go! I shall not meet him! He wants
to...!"
Abruptly she slipped from his grasp and would have tumbled to the cold
snow had Hotspur not broke her fall. Clutching her arms tightly, he forced
her to meet his eye. "Listen to me, Arissa. I will attend you in your meeting
with Owen. He will not be provided with the chance to harm you as long as
I am present. Do you understand? For Richmond's sake, I swear to protect
you with my dying breath."
Her fear-filled eyes stared at him, confusion and terror running a tight
race. After a moment, she shook her head in awe. "You have delivered me
into his arms?" It was a whispered statement, not a question. "How could
you do this, Sir Henry? He’s my father's enemy. He’s Richmond's enemy,
and yours as well... isn't he?"
Hotspur's grip loosened, his guilt increasing. "I realize you do not
understand the finer elements of England's politics, my lady, and I am sorry
if you are frightened and puzzled. But the situation is not as desperate as
you seem to think; in fact, there is no war going on at the moment. As you
can see, the world is quite peaceful and I think you will come to see the
reasoning behind the calm if you will only listen to Owen's explanation.
Will you do this?"
Arissa pondered his words a moment, torn between her natural fear and
her natural curiosity. Hotspur was a legendary soldier, a man of grace and
honor and skill. Richmond and Henry Percy were very good friends, and
she knew Richmond thought highly of the man. Therefore, it was
reasonable to believe that if he assured her there was no need for her fear,
then it would be well to heed his advice.
Slowly, she felt herself calming. His dark eyes seemed to have a
comforting effect on her, a man who had been closely allied with Richmond
for several years. If he said he would protect her with his life, then she
would believe him.
After an eternal moment, she sighed with great resignation. "As you say,"
she whispered. "I do not believe that I will be given any choice in the
matter."
 Hotspur cast her a brave smile, releasing his grip to tuck her gloved hand
into the fold of his arm as he passed a rapid glance at the pale nun in the
wagon. "You will remain here a moment. The lady's conversation with
Owen will be private," turning to Arissa, he urged her forward. "Come
along, my lady. We must get you out of the foul weather that would threaten
your health."
Fresh snow crunched under her sturdy shoes as she passed Hotspur a
peculiar expression. "You sound a good deal like Richmond."
His smile faded. "We think a good deal alike." Or we used to.

***

Owen was waiting for her. The arrival of the caravan had been announced
nearly an hour prior and Owen wait with veiled patience for his young
cousin to make an appearance. He was pleased that his scheme to obtain the
princess had finally succeeded and he paced the floor nervously,
anticipating Hotspur's arrival.
Seated by the vizier, David watched his cousin grind the aged rushes into
the frozen earth. All of the planning, the hoping, the prayer for the sorely-
needed advantage to bolster the Welsh resistance was finally within their
grasp. They had her.
Hotspur did not keep them waiting. Hearing soft voices outside the tent,
Owen and David barely had time to turn for the opening when the English
knight suddenly emerged into the stuffy innards of the tent, pulling with
him a woman of such refined features that, for a moment, Owen was
actually struck speechless.
Arissa's pale green eyes were wide with apprehension as she gazed to
Owen, and then to David. As her gaze lingered on David, an odd look of
familiarity crossed her face.
"You...," she began softly. "I.... I know you, my lord, do I not?"
David gazed back at the features of his sister, unbelieving that he had
once been so blind to the similarity. Even though Ellyn had been
exceedingly lovely, Arissa was by far more beautiful than her mother had
ever been. Even if he hadn't suspected her parentage from the start, he had
realized her heritage from the beginning. She was far too colorful and
striking to be a pale English wench.
 "Sut mae, my lady," he greeted softly.
Arissa continued to stare at him, a sickening realization dawning. He was
the soldier who had killed Bartholomew. Swallowing her distress and
nausea, she averted her gaze from the man. "Da iawn, my lord." Her voice
was a strangled whisper.
David noted the taut expression, realizing she did indeed recognize him.
Knowing she had responded to his inquiry of her well-being purely out of
courtesy, he was eager to make amends for their brutal first encounter. Yet
before he could respond, Owen was set to interrupt.
Placing himself between the magnificent young girl and her uncle, the
Welsh rebel’s expression was soft with the overwhelming realization of her
presence.
"You speak Welsh?" his voice was gentle, surprised.
Arissa eyed him nervously. "A....a little, my lord," her gaze found David
once more and he was not surprised to note the hatred. "My brother taught
me."
Owen disregarded her fury toward David. "Welcome, Princess Arissa,"
he said after a lengthy pause. "I am Owen Glendower. It is a pleasure to
finally make your acquaintance."
In spite of her anxiety, she managed to dip into a practiced curtsy. "My
lord," she greeted, her voice quivering regardless of Hotspur's reassurances.
Owen heard the quake in her tone, passing a long glance at Henry. "Am I
to understand that there were no obstacles to her acquisition?"
Hotspur shook his head. "None. You are plan was executed flawlessly."
Owen nodded faintly, drawing in a deep breath through his nostrils. "I am
pleased," his gaze once again moved to Arissa. He could scarcely
comprehend her blinding beauty. "God's Blood, she’s exquisite. I had no
idea Ellyn's daughter would be so fair."
Arissa, staring at the ground, suddenly blinked as the impact of his softly-
uttered words settled. Brow furrowed, she raised her head to meet his dark,
appraising eyes. "I.... I do not understand your meaning, my lord. Who is
Ellyn?"
"Your mother, of course," Owen replied.
Arissa's eyes widened, forgetting her fear and apprehension and
confusion. All that mattered at the moment was that Owen Glendower knew
of her mother, the mysterious woman who had abandoned her at birth..
 Gazing into Owen's stubbled face, she removed the hood of her cloak, her
eyes as vast as the sky above. "You know of my mother?" her voice was
faint. In spite of the fact that the woman had left her to the mercy of the
angels, Arissa simply couldn't bring herself to hate her. It was not her nature
to loathe. "Tell me what you know?"
Owen shrugged, glancing at David. "You would undoubtedly know more.
I have not seen Ellyn in twenty years."
Arissa shook her head faintly. "I know nothing about her, my lord. I have
never met her."
Owen's eyebrows drew together. "Was she not at Whitby?"
"There was no Ellyn at Whitby."
"She doesn't use her birth name any longer," he turned to David. "What
was the name she assumed when she took her vows? Rachel? Re..Re...."
"Repentia," David supplied. "Sister Repentia."
Arissa suddenly found herself on the ground, her bum stinging with sharp
impact as her flesh met with the cold earth. Her head was swimming, her
ears ringing, and she could scarcely draw a breath. Strong hands were
reaching down to aid her, but she brushed them off, eventually swatting
them away. Crawling, rolling, moving away from them, she somehow made
her way to the edge of the tent, leaning against a pole for support. Shock did
not fully encompass what she was experiencing.
She had no idea what she was feeling. All she knew was that she was
feeling more astonishment and anguish than she ever thought possible. The
knowledge that demure, kindly Sister Repentia was the woman who had
given her life was far more than her young mind could comprehend at the
moment.
Hotspur watched her with concern; it was obvious that the lady had been
unaware of her mother's identity and he cast Owen a long, critical glance.
"Sister Repentia accompanied us from Whitby," he said softly. "I ordered
her to stay to the wagon."
David suddenly rose from his chair. "My sister is here?" he rasped. "Ellyn
is in Wales? Why.... how..?"
"As a chaperone," Hotspur answered softly, refocusing on Arissa bowed,
quivering head. "The mother abbess would not allow me to take Arissa
without a chaperone."
 David's pale face stared at the tent flap as if to see his sister in the camp
beyond, clad in the nun's habit secured with a simple coarse rope, tied with
four knots to remind the holy woman of the four vows she had taken upon
entering the cloister. A woman he hadn't seen since his twelfth birthday,
when last he had been witness to a terrible disagreement between his only
sister and their parents.
Horrible words, nasty rumors. A disagreement that had caused her to
leave Wales for the bustle of London, to fend for herself however she was
able.
An argument that David had not been a part of, but he had been old
enough to know that their parents had accused his sister unjustly and he
found himself more than willing to apologize for her anguish. If Ellyn was
truly in their midst, then he would not permit her to leave without allowing
him to make amends for the sins of their parents.
Without another word, David quit the tent. Owen let him go, still focused
on Arissa. He felt rather guilty that he had not realized her ignorance of
Ellyn's identity and knelt beside her quaking body, wondering how he could
possibly make reparation for his lack of tact.
"I apologize for your surprise, my lady," he said softly. "Had I known that
you were unaware of your mother's identity, I would not have been so
callous. Forgive me."
Arissa did not reply, completely shaken and bordering on madness. From
the very moment she had gazed into Sister Repentia's eyes, there had been
something uncannily familiar about the woman. A puzzled inquiry of
familiarity that had been politely refuted. Suddenly, she felt foolish and
sickened; if Sister Repentia had wanted her to know, then she would have
told her immediately. She would not have allowed weeks to pass with nary
a word of recognition. Instead, the link had gone ignored. Just as the
woman had ignored her since birth.
In spite of the fact that she could not bring herself to hate the woman, it
did not prevent her from experiencing a barrage of violent emotions.
Resentment, anger, the agony of the unknown... Arissa felt the emotions
building within her chest, swirling into a hurricane of torrential feelings.
She simply couldn't believe that the woman had been intent on making a
fool out of her.
 "My lady," Owen broke into her turbulent thoughts. "Might I help you to
rise? Come and sit by the vizier."
"Leave her be, Owen," Hotspur's voice was tight as he interrupted.
"Allow her to recover her shock alone."
Owen rose to unsteady feet, raking his fingers through his dark hair. "Had
I been aware that she was ignorant of Ellyn's identity, I certainly would not
have...."
"Why did not you tell me Arissa was your cousin?" Hotspur cut him off,
his dark eyes stormy. "If you have been intent to betray me from the
beginning, I shall...."
Owen shook his head sharply. "It has never been my intention to betray
you, Henry. I simply thought it best not to mention that the lady's mother is
David's older sister."
Hotspur's jaw ticked unhappily, turning once more to linger on Arissa's
lowered head. "Not only is she Henry's bastard, but she’s your cousin as
well?" he shook his head, pondering the enormity of Arissa's station in life.
"God's Blood, Owen, she links the Welsh rebellion with the crown of
England. Do not you understand she could be the true instrument of peace?"
"All too well. And I intend to utilize that instrument."
"Aye - with threats and warnings. Not with understanding and good
faith."
Owen cocked an eyebrow. "Just as Henry has shown good faith in your
ability?" when Hotspur looked away, Owen drew in a deep breath and
returned his attention to his niece. "Have no fear, my friend. Arissa shall be
my guest until Richmond and Henry come to terms with the new order of
England and Wales. Her presence will work to our advantage, I promise
you."
Hotspur's gaze lingered on Arissa a moment longer, an ugly mottle
shading his cheeks. The situation was deepening by the moment and he was
not at all sure that allying himself with Owen Glendower had been a wise
decision. But it was done, and he was forced to make the best of it. He had
come too far to turn back.
Moving for the tent flap, he jabbed a gloved finger at Owen. "Do not
touch her. And allow her time to recover before you inform her of the
reasons for her imprisonment," his jaw ticked a moment as he gazed
between the Welsh prince and the young girl on the floor. "I shall return for
her, have no doubt."
Alone with his cousin, Owen reflected on the events that had led to this
point in time. Lives lost, wasted efforts exhausted. He mused that the
emotional toll had been far greater than the physical. As he at the young
lady's dark head, it would stand to reason that the emotional destruction was
about to rise.
Higher, yet.

***

Arissa lost track of time as she huddled in Owen's tent, oblivious to all
else but her disorderly thoughts. She still was not completely rational when
Hotspur removed her from the shelter and took her to a small, warm tent
lined with an abundance of furs. She had allowed him to carry her across
the snowy compound, thinking his powerful embrace to feel a good deal
like Richmond's and wishing that it was.
Henry managed to settle her nicely in the musty, warm tent, muttering
something about returning with a bit of food. But Arissa had ignored him
for the most part, still shaken with the news of Sister Repentia’s identity.
Although she did not blame Hotspur for her emotional state, he felt
extremely guilty nonetheless and quit the tent without another word.
Knowing that whether or not he and Richmond met on the field of battle as
a result of their political differences, surely they would do battle
somewhere, somehow, for his transgressions against Arissa. He was sure of
it.
Even as Hotspur wrestled with his guilt, Arissa forgot him the moment he
left the tent. In faith, it had not been difficult to understand the truth behind
her royal heritage; Richmond had taken the time to explain the facts,
maintaining a calm and tender atmosphere, and although she had been
astonished with the concept, she hadn't felt near the devastation or
confusion that she was experiencing now.
After an eternity of sitting atop a pile of warm furs, attempting to calm
herself, she shifted a little and removed her hood, taking the time to note
her surroundings for the first time. She'd barely begun her observations
when her vision came to rest on an identical pair of pale green eyes, gazing
at her from the opposite side of the tent with the utmost apprehension.
Sister Repentia sat huddled in the corner, obscured by a pile of furs and
the dim shadows. She stared at her daughter, and Arissa met her gaze with
the same shocked expression.
Truthfully, she did not know how to react. It was obvious by the
countenance on Sister Repentia's face that she was aware that Arissa had
been told her identity. Arissa did not know how the woman knew, but she
did. And the longer she gazed into the familiar pale green eyes, the more
unnatural fury gripped her.
"How could you do this to me?" she suddenly hissed.
Sister Repentia swallowed. "It.... it was never my intention to keep the
truth from you, Arissa. But the timing never seemed to be correct for my
confession. I had hoped that we would come to know one another better
and...."
"You made a fool of me!" Arissa exploded, leaping to her feet. She tore at
the cloak, ripping it free and tossing it to the frozen ground as she faced her
mother with a degree of resentment never before witnessed. "You let me go
on thinking that you were my friend when, in fact, you were my... my
mother! Sweet St. Jude, did you have a laugh at my expense when you
retired at night, thinking of the silly young girl who was living her daily
existence in complete ignorance of your identity?"
Sister Repentia shook her head, her breathing coming in harsh gasps. The
reaction Arissa was experiencing had been her greatest fear; no
understanding, no compassion, no love. Only hatred and fury. Only
rejection.
When her brother had come to her as she wait in the wagon, she had not
been overly surprised to see him. The reunion had been brief and
comforting as he apologized for their parents actions those years ago that
had driven a very young girl into the heart of London, desperate to escape
the parental hatred.
Through the sometimes-awkward conversation and timid peace, she did
not elaborate to David regarding her life in London and was quite surprised
when he mentioned his knowledge of Arissa's parentage. Although he did
not mention the reason behind Arissa's visit to Wales, she suspected
correctly that it had something to do with the Welsh's resistance against
Henry and actually began to fear for her daughter's life. Somewhat
humiliated that her brother had discovered her liaison with the English king,
she further wondered if the Welsh rebels were intent on harming her, too.
But her fear for Arissa's safety and her own well-being quickly turned to
horror of another sort when she became aware that Owen, a cousin she
hadn't seen in some time, had taken it upon himself to inform Arissa of her
mother's identity. Gazing into her daughter's face, she realized it was a
horror well justified.
"You must believe me, Arissa. I never intended to deceive you," her voice
was pleading. "But the time was never right for me to tell you of our
relationship. Can't you understand?"
"Then when would it be right? Now? In five years, ten years? Never?
But, of course, you never wanted me in the first place so why would you
even think to tell me of your true identity? Mayhap you did not want me to
know the mother who had willingly given up her child in the face of such
overwhelming shame."
Sister Repentia rose, unsteadily. Her pale green eyes were wide with gut-
wrenching sorrow as she listened to her daughter rave. Slowly, she pulled
away the protective wimple that had perpetually concealed her head from
the corrupt world of Sin. Black, silky hair, mussed and untamed, spilled
well past her shoulders.
"Is that what you have been lead to believe? That I never wanted you?"
she shook her head, her action laced with remorse. "My God, Arissa, I
loved you more than life itself. But it was necessary to place you in
protective custody, away from those who would do you harm. Being the
king's bastard entitled you to more than your share of enemies, but being
borne from a woman married to a man not your father entitled you to the
hatred of a shamed husband as well."
Arissa stared at the woman, her anguish maintaining a constant level as
she observed Sister Repentia's complete features for the first time; she'd
never seen the woman without her wimple to cover thick lengths of glorious
black hair. Richmond had been correct when he told her that she favored
her mother; they were identical.
But as she gazed at her mother, the woman's words took hold and Arissa
found herself contemplating the meaning, the edge of her furor reduced by
her uncertainty. "But.... if I was the king's child, then why couldn't he
protect me? Why was it necessary to send me away?"
"Henry was not the king at that time - Richard was," Sister Repentia said
softly. "Furthermore, Henry was married to Mary Bohun. It was unfortunate
for us that we happened to fall in love, resulting in your birth. And it was
imperative that we did what was necessary to assure you a full, unhindered
life. We had to remove you from the bowels of political intrigue and
hatred."
Arissa's uncertainty was gaining hold. But her resentment was still a
powerful force. "You loved Henry?"
Sister Repentia smiled tremulously in remembrance. "As you love
Richmond."
An entirely new light was cast onto Arissa's arena. If the woman had
loved Henry as much as she loved Richmond, then it had been a powerful
love indeed. A love strong enough to warrant sacrifice for the safety and
happiness of another.
She continued to gaze at her mother, the pain of abandonment and
separation in her eyes. "And you loved me?" She found she needed to
know. .
Sister Repentia's eyes filled with tears, her smiled fading. "Enough to
sacrifice my life for you," she whispered, allowing her tears to fall as her
naked pain became evident. "You see, my husband had vowed vengeance
upon both of us. The only solution was to send you away to assume a secret
identity, shielded from the rage of a dishonored husband. And my only
alternative was to commit myself to the one place my husband could not
harm me."
"An abbey?" Arissa echoed.
Sister Repentia nodded, wiping at her damp cheeks. "Henry was already
married and there was no possibility that we could ever be together. Whitby
became my refuge, my strength, my rock of faith until such time as you
came to join me. Although you and I were separated at birth, Henry had
promised me that you would join me in the cloister when you became of
age. I lived on that promise."
Arissa lowered her gaze, feeling her mother's pain as it mingled with her
own. The woman had waited for the day when Arissa would join her, but
Arissa had ignored the reverence of the abbey by declaring her love for a
man, a man who would rescue her from the sheltered existence of Whitby.
Unknowingly, she had completely disregarded her mother's joy.
If only she had known. She found she simply could not maintain her fury
any longer. There was no longer the need.
After a moment, she shook her head, returning her attention to the black-
haired woman. "No wonder you never told me of your identity. With my
anticipation for Richmond's return expressed on a daily basis, I can
understand your reluctance."
Sister Repentia sighed heavily, relieved that Arissa was calming and
coming to understand the sacrifice, the pain, the daily anguish that had
constituted her life for the past eighteen years. But even if they were
coming to understand one another, they had barely scratched the surface of
the entire circumstance.
"It doesn't matter now," she said softly, moving toward the vizier,
studying her daughter in the weak light. A faint smile appeared once again.
"All that is of import is the fact that you now know the truth. And I must
tell you all that is within my heart, if you would be willing to hear me."
Arissa nodded faintly, coming to realize why the woman's features had
struck a chord deep within her on the first day they had met. She knew her.
"I want to hear everything," she whispered. “Please.”
Sister Repentia touched her face, feeling the silky skin. The last time she
had touched the same cheek, her daughter had been an infant and the beauty
resulting from that tiny babe was beyond her comprehension. "You are so
utterly beautiful, Arissa. I can scarcely believe God has blessed me with
such a magnificent child."
Arissa smiled, her lips quivering. Her fury was vanished, replaced by a
desperate need for understanding and a hunger for knowledge.
"I love you, Mother," she blurted, her defenses dissolved and the contents
of her heart pouring forth. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she took her
mother's hand. "I have always loved you. I loved you even when I believed
you did not want me."
Sister Repentia joined her in her tears. She had waited eighteen years to
hear those very words and she could hardly believe the sweetness they
evoked. Kissing the young hands, she wiped at her daughter's tears even as
she ignored her own.
"And I love you, my darling Arissa. I always have."
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Mayhap it was because his fortieth birthday approaching in a matter of

days and he was growing more decrepit by the moment. Or mayhap it was
because he hated the Welsh and their damnable snow. For whatever the
case, Richmond found that his joints were achier than usual as he crossed
the border into the midst of a harsh Welsh winter.
Having left Gavan at the border camp just outside of Minsterley, it had
been a difficult decision to travel alone into the heart of the Welsh rebellion.
Upon receiving information from Henry's border commanders regarding
Hotspur's whereabouts, he and Gavan had concurred that it would be wise if
Richmond descended into the midst of the insurrection alone, a single man
as opposed to a threatening collection of knights.
The majority of the crown's army based on the Welsh border had not seen
Hotspur in over two weeks, when he had paused in camp long enough to
comment on his "negotiations" with the Welsh Prince and to retrieve about
two hundred of his personal troops. It was the universal consensus that he
was planning to rebel against the king, a rumor that was becoming more of
a reality by the moment.
Having spent nearly three weeks collecting intelligence against Hotspur
to better understand the man's moves and motives, Richmond had been
forced to agree with the overall assessment of the situation. His heart sank
to realize that most likely he would be forced to destroy Hotspur, a task he
looked forward to with the utmost reluctance. But he had made Henry a
promise; if he was unable to maintain Hotspur's alliance, then he would
obliterate the man.
Riding in layers of wool and his armor, steel protection that took on the
characteristics of a block of ice, he directed his sturdy destrier in the
direction of the Welsh encampment based on the instructions given him by
the English spies. As he finally came upon the encampment, complete with
a large bonfire struggling fiercely to ward off the bold Welsh winter, he was
met by a patrol about a quarter of a mile out. Six men armed with
crossbows and broadswords, and Richmond immediately held up his hands
to indicate he was not a threat.
 "I have come seeking Hotspur," he announced loudly. "My intentions are
peaceful."
The man in the lead rode alongside, sizing him from top to bottom. "Are
you one of his men?"
Richmond nodded without hesitation. "My name is Richmond le Bec.
Announce my arrival."
Since the war between the English and the Welsh had cooled over the
past few months, hostilities were not as high as was usual and the Welsh
patrol was not particularly reluctant to admit the seasoned knight entrance
to their stronghold. But not without a standard measure of security.
"Hand over your sword," the Welsh soldier commanded.
Richmond unsheathed his broadsword immediately, delivering the heavy
weapon hilt-end first. As the patrol encompassed him in a protective circle,
the group spurred their horses toward the distant camp.
The atmosphere was heavy with smoke as Richmond reined his charger
into the belly of the encampment, noting the heavily-clad soldiers as they
patrolled the cluster of tents under the threat of a fierce snow. A host of dark
eyes returned his impassive gaze as he halted his steed in the indicated area,
dismounting into nearly a foot of slushy snow.
Two of the soldiers from the patrol took the lead, directing him to follow.
Richmond passed a group of heavily-bundled women, whores who serviced
the soldiers, and was the recipient of several suggestive leers. Ignoring the
trollops, he made his way through the deep snow and into a collection of
larger tents.
The soldiers led him to a lean-to shelter, constructed from oiled tarp and
well-tanned hides. While one man slipped inside, Richmond waited with
the other soldier under the canopy of thick gray clouds. As the rumble of
soft voices emanated from inside the tent, a light dusting of snow began to
fall.
Hotspur's appearance was almost immediate. Eyes wide at Richmond, he
stepped out into the snow to greet his friend.
"God's Blood, Richmond!" he said in disbelief. "Why did not you send
me word of your arrival? I could have met you on the border, man!"
Richmond shook the extended hand, his heart warming at the sight of his
friend. But in the same breath, his sense of despair deepened as he greeted
the man he would soon be forced to kill.
 "It has been a long time, Henry," he said softly, feeling the warmth and
camaraderie between them in spite of the unnerving circumstances. "I
apologize for not sending word ahead. In fact, I couldn't be sure that you
were even here."
Hotspur's smile faded somewhat. Dismissing the two soldiers with a few
whispered words, he led Richmond into his tent. The interior of the shelter
was warm, lit by a brightly burning vizier reeking of dung. Feeling the heat
like a slap in the face, Richmond removed his helm and tossed it to the
floor, already sweating. Henry grinned, handing him a goblet of wine that
was eagerly accepted.
Richmond took a long drink, grimacing with the aftertaste. "Welsh wine,"
he muttered. "I never could develop a taste for it."
Henry snorted softly, quaffing from his own tin goblet. "When it is the
only drink supplied, you learn to live with it," he drank again, refilling the
chalice Richmond had already managed to drain. As Richmond put the cup
to his lips, Hotspur eyed him carefully. "Care to tell me why you are here?
'Tis a long way from London."
Richmond drained his cup, already feeling the warmth fill his veins. All
of his armor from the waist up fell to the floor in pieces, along with a heavy
woolen tunic. Clad in his lower body protection and a relatively thin linen
tunic, his poured himself a third cup of wine.
"You know why I am here," he said quietly, pondering the dark contents
of his goblet. "Truthfully, Henry, do you take me for a fool? At the king's
bequest, I ride to the border to assess the progression of the Welsh rebellion
and upon arrival I am told that you have not been seen in weeks. It is
assumed that you have turned against your king and have taken up camp
within the Welsh resistance," he took a long drink, eyeing Northumberland's
heir. "Would you refute these rumors?"
Hotspur stared at his friend though the dimly-lit interior of his tent. He
could scarcely believe the man was before him, living and breathing. He
fully expected him to be stationed in London, by Henry's side, as a missive
arrived from the Welsh border announcing a precious hostage.
Henry was terribly possessive of Richmond; during the skirmish with
Richard, Henry had kept Richmond with him constantly as if using the man
as a bizarre security shield. Rarely had Richmond left his king's side, and
the fact that he had suddenly appeared in the midst of the Welsh stand-off
was somewhat of a shock.
Owen would think so, too. Although they eventually desired Richmond
within their fold, to have the man here on the very day that Arissa had
arrived was something of a surprising event. Glendower had prepared for
months of exchanging missives before allowing Richmond into his
encampment, and Hotspur was correct in his reasoning that having
Richmond and their valuable hostage within the same enclosure was not a
particularly attractive situation.
It was dangerous to have the lovers within such close proximity. Events
could rapidly spin out of control if they weren't careful.
But for the moment, Richmond was expecting an answer and Henry
struggled not to appear too distracted by the unexpected wrinkle in their
plans. He smiled feebly and averted his gaze.
"I fear to refute the rumors would be to perjure myself," he said softly.
"Obviously, I have taken up residence within the heart of the Welsh
rebellion and I have brought two hundred of my men with me. Hundreds
more will be coming from Northumberland and her allies to the north,
numbers that will be able to bring Henry to his knees. But, certainly, this is
of no surprise to you. If you listened to the hearsay, then you have already
suspected as much."
Richmond gazed at his friend a long moment, sighing heavily after a
time. Slowly, he set his empty goblet to a worn table. "I know your alliance
with Henry has never been particularly strong, but I never realized it would
take something as insignificant as a monarch's thoughtless ramblings to
drive you to the enemy."
"Thoughtless ramblings?" Hotspur's eyebrows rose in mild outrage. "I
would hardly call the slander he spouted insignificant, Richmond. The man
accused me of incompetence and foolery, among other things. If my
alliance to the king is dissolved, then it is by his own hand and not mine."
Richmond sighed again. "You are well aware of the careless nature of
England's monarchs. You knew the loss of the three fortresses was not your
fault and you should have maintained your innocence. Instead, you defect to
the enemy and it makes your guilt appear entirely sincere."
Hotspur bolted from his chair, his face taut. "Do not tell me how to
maintain my reputation, le Bec. My nickname speaks for itself."
 "Hotspur indicates quick temper and sharp skill," Richmond returned
steadily. "It would seem that at least half of that nickname is more prevalent
than the other."
"Bastard," Henry muttered angrily, turning away. "How dare you come
here to question my judgment and loyalties. 'Tis I who have been battling
the Welsh on the border for nearly two years, only to be slapped in the face
for my efforts by an ungrateful monarch who, by all accounts, isn't even the
rightful king. If there was any justice of righteousness in this world,
Richard would still ruling England."
"And England would still be divided by bitterness and inner turmoil.
Henry, for the most part, has stopped the civil squabbles by united her
feudal barons."
"Henry is king only because the church forced Richard to step down,"
Henry shook his head sharply. "I have no desire to argue the point with you.
We will always see differently in this regard."
Richmond scratched his head wearily, thinking on another cup of wine.
"Mayhap. As it is, I have ridden all the way from London to obtain the
answer I have received this night," he moved to pour himself another
chalice of liquor. "You are intent to oppose Henry?"
"I am."
Richmond finished pouring his wine, studying the contents closely.
"Then you have put me in an extremely awkward position," he said softly.
He turned to his friend, his expression one of remorse and sincerity. "You
realize we will be fighting on opposite sides, Hotspur. I do not relish the
idea of meeting you on the field of battle."
Henry met his gaze with a countenance of equal depth. "Nor I. But I must
do what I feel is correct."
"You mean you must seek vengeance on your king."
Hotspur nodded faintly. "There is a measure of truth in that statement, but
it is not the entire reason. There are several, those which we have discussed
before and those I have never mentioned."
Richmond pondered his statement a moment, drinking the dark liquid in
his cup. "I am sorry for the both of us. You are my good friend and I do not
want to see you die."
"Nor I, you," Owen Glendower entered the tent, his dark eyes wide at the
sight of Richmond le Bec. A frantic soldier had sought him in his tent,
informing him that le Bec had arrived and was currently in Hotspur's
company. Shocked that Richmond had made an unexpected appearance, he
had hastened to join the conversation.
Gazing at the two English faces, he could see that he had been correct in
assuming the topic of discussion. And he further suspected that he would be
forced into playing his advantage far earlier than anticipated. In fact, he
expected his bargaining pawn to arrive shortly. He’d sent for her when he
heard of le Bec’s arrival. The sooner Sir Richmond and King Henry knew
of his advantage, the sooner a reasonable truce could be met.
"Greetings, Sir Richmond, " Owen said quietly, moving into the room.
"We have not met; my name is Lord Owen Glendower."
Richmond appraised the shorter man. "I am honored, my lord."
Owen studied the man a moment; exceedingly large, he was powerfully
built and amazingly youthful-appearing for a man in his fortieth year. "We
were not expecting you."
"I sent no word ahead," Richmond acknowledged. "Truthfully, I have not
come to see you, but Henry. My conversation pertains to him alone at the
moment."
Owen moved to a chair by the vizier; in spite of his warring ways and his
Welsh ancestry, his blood was not as thick as he would have liked it to be
and he was constantly seeking warmth where he could find it. Sitting, he
extended his hands to the iron heater. "If you are discussing Hotspur's role
against English oppression, then I am afraid your conversation does concern
me," he eyed Henry. "I would assume that you have informed him of your
plans?"
"Not all of them," Hotspur replied. "He’s aware that I am no longer
supporting the crown."
"And he’s aware of your reasoning?"
"Aye."
"Is he also aware of his role in our plans?"
Hotspur did not reply for a moment. "We have not yet moved into that
particular area."
Owen nodded faintly, noticing the gleam of curiosity in Richmond's
bright eyes. After a moment, he offered the man a forced smile. "I can see
that our words have piqued your interest," he rubbed his hands together in
the heat. "In faith, I can tell you that our inferred plans have stemmed from
Hotspur's resistance to the idea of facing you in battle. You are his friend,
Sir Richmond, and he has no desire to kill you."
Richmond's jaw ticked faintly. Already, he could see that Owen was
confident, ambitious and calculating. However, the man was talking in
riddles and Richmond felt himself losing patience with the conversation
already.
"Killing is never a true pleasure, friend or foe. It is a necessity," he said
shortly. "If you would be so kind as to inform me how I seem to fit into
your grand scheme for world peace, I would be obliged."
Hotspur's gaze was unreadable across the dim room, but Owen seemed to
take pleasure in the imminent disclosure. When it became apparent that
Hotspur had no intention of elaborating, Owen took charge.
"Hotspur does not seem to think that Henry is manageable with you
leading his armies," he began softly. "It would stand to reason, then, that if
Henry and I were to do battle against you and the crown's armies, the
struggle for Wales' independence could never come to a harmonious ending
within our lifetime. And I demand to know a measure of peace before I
die."
Richmond crossed his arms as he listened, indicative of his rising
agitation. Hotspur rose from his chair, pacing away from the Welshman as
he focused on Henry's mighty knight; already, he could sense the storm
coming and hated himself already for being a part of it.
Richmond scratched his chin when Owen paused in his grand speech, his
annoyance evident. "So what do you intend to do? Kill me now and be done
with it? I can guarantee you that I will not make an easy target."
Owen smiled at the sarcastic remark, feeling the power of his edge over
Henry's great warrior. "Not at all. We do not want to see you harmed in any
way, Sir Richmond. In fact, we loathe the idea of waging war on opposing
sides so severely that it seems most logical that we should be fighting with
you, not against you."
Richmond annoyance stopped its advance, maintaining a holding pattern
as his curiosity increased. "You are suggesting you fight with me?"
abruptly, his irritation fled as he focused on the Welsh prince. "Are you
suggesting a truce? A surrender, mayhap?"
Richmond was off track, veering away from their line of thought. Before
Owen could respond, Hotspur turned from his post in the corner and
focused on his friend. "Nay, Richmond. He’s suggesting that you fight with
us."
Richmond's gaze focused on his friend, laced with mild surprise and a
good deal of disgust. "Honestly, Henry. How could you let him believe that
I would even consider such a thing? It's not only outrageous, it's absolutely
absurd."
"Richmond...," Hotspur shook his head, looking pained and distressed.
Owen saw Northumberland's struggles and hastened lead the conversation.
"It is not absurd, I assure you. And I also predict that you will pledge
your service willingly before this night if through," Owen smiled at the
expression of intolerance on Richmond's face. When the man turned away
from him, moving toward yet another chalice of wine, Owen rose from his
chair. "I swear it, Sir Richmond. Before this night is over, you will be
leading my ranks."
Richmond sighed sharply. "I have heard enough nonsense," he snapped.
"Henry, if we have nothing more to say to one another, I shall be on my
way. I grow weary of this conversation."
Owen was already moving for the tent flap, preparing to drive his point
home. "This conversation may be tiresome, but it is necessary," peering
from the tent flap, he motioned to the soldiers outside. After a moment, he
sealed the flap and fixed his gaze on Richmond. "If you would be so kind as
to move to the opposite side of the tent with Hotspur, my lord."
Richmond was out of patience. As he opened his mouth to insult the
Welshman, Henry interrupted his tirade. "Do as he says, Richmond. Please
do not be difficult."
Richmond looked to Hotspur. "Difficult? Damnation, Henry, we were
doing quite well by ourselves until...."
"Please, Richmond," Hotspur snapped softly in a display of real emotion.
"Listen to him, I implore you."
After a long, highly-annoyed moment, Richmond tossed the chalice of
wine to the ground and marched to the opposite side of the tent. Flustered
and agitated, he took to raking his fingers through his damp hair and
grinding his teeth. He hardly noticed when the tent flap opened, spilling
forth several figures.
Chewing his lip in an agitated gesture and crossing his arms as he
pondered the insanity of the situation, his entire body jolted as he heard his
name spill forth from a very familiar, very beloved voice.
"Richmond!"
Instinctively, he groped for the sword at his side that was non-existent
and he nearly stumbled to his knees in his haste to move in the direction
from whence the pleading voice had come. But strong hands were on him,
preventing him from moving forward, and he heard the unmistakable chime
as swords were unsheathed from their scabbards, the glistening steel aimed
at his heart.
In that horrified moment, he hoped he was dreaming as his gaze fell upon
Arissa. Surrounded by several Welsh soldiers at the entrance to the tent, her
face was as pale as the snowy mountaintops and, by her expression, he
could see that she was equally surprised to see him.
The harsh reflection of broadswords blinded him in the dim light, rods of
death aimed at halting his advance towards his lady. He could hear Hotspur
whispering desperate words in his ear, attempting to calm him before he ran
amuck in a fit of insanity and death, and he found himself torn between
wanting to listen to the man and wanting to kill him for his treachery.
Listening won over.
Arissa had begun to weep and Richmond was consumed with the vision
before him. He simply couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him,
filling his mind with the black tides of disbelief even as he struggled to
retain his grip on reality. Arissa was here, in the midst of the Welsh
resistance. Owen, somehow, had managed to obtain her.
Suddenly, he understood a good deal of the Welshman's irritating words.
God's Teeth, it was all painfully clear as he stared at the woman before him,
more anguish filling him than he ever thought possible.
Before this night is through, you will pledge your loyalty to me.
"Oh, Riss," he breathed, his chest heaving with emotion. "I am so sorry,
kitten. Are you well? Have they harmed you?"
She was sobbing softly, swathed in the cloak he had given her. Her pale
green eyes were wide with shock and fear, but she managed to nod faintly.
"I am fine," she whispered, her voice rising as she spoke. "Why are you
here, Richmond? What is happening?"
He opened his mouth to explain, but truthfully, he was not sure how to
answer. Owen, several feet from Arissa, moved toward the slight young
woman with a good deal of sympathy in his expression.
 "The Lady Arissa is aware that as my enemy's daughter, she’s my guest
for a time. Beyond that, I told her nothing more," he said evenly. He had
neglected to tell her of their blood relations, of her ties to both the crown
and the Welsh rebellion. For all she knew, she was simply a captive as
Henry's bastard daughter.
Furthermore, Le Bec had no knowledge of Owen's ties to Arissa and he
intended to keep it that way, for certainly, the knowledge could be used
against him just as he was using the same factors against le Bec. The pain
of blood relations went in both directions.
"It is not necessary that she be privy to the detailed political dealings of
men and I have chosen not to enlighten her," he continued, almost quietly.
"Do you dispute my wisdom in this matter?"
Dazed as he was, Richmond was not daft. For Arissa's sake, it would be
best to allow her to believe the simplest explanation, not the more extensive
dealings of factional intrigue. And having no knowledge of Owen's
relationship to his beloved, he couldn't begin to imagine the precise depths
of Glendower's softly uttered statement. Had he known, he would have
come to appreciate Owen's sense of restraint; clearly, if both Arissa and
Richmond knew the Welsh resistor was a cousin of Arissa's mother, it
would have made a grossly complex situation considerably more difficult.
But Richmond was unaware of the deeper connotations of blood ties; he
had enough grief to deal with at the moment. After a lengthy pause, he
lowered his gaze. "Nay," he whispered, raking his fingers through his hair
as he struggled against his shattered composure. "She does not need to
know…."
He trailed off, unable to continue as he focused his attention on Arissa
once again, drinking in the sight of her. Owen watched the meaningful
expressions between them, the love and warmth filling the room even
though they were separated by several feet. Feeling as if he were intruding
on the intimate reunion, he cleared his throat softly to regain Richmond's
attention.
"I apologize for the blunt presentation of my guest, but I wanted you to
understand my sincerity when I made my previous statement," he
motioning to the guards holding Arissa, indicating for them to remove her.
All of Richmond's resolve to collect himself vanished as Welsh soldiers
moved to handle Arissa; he broke from Hotspur's grasp, throwing himself
forward as a host of broadswords lurched towards him in response to his
action. Startled, Arissa screamed in horror; Richmond was unarmed,
without his usual protection, and she was terrified that he was about to end
up impaled on the tip of a Welsh broadsword.
"No, Richmond!" she shrieked, extending her hands beseechingly to
Owen. "Order them to sheath their swords, my lord! Please, before
Richmond kills himself!"
Owen motioned sharply to his men, who were slow to obey. With
Richmond uneasily restrained by Hotspur's strength and Arissa's words,
Owen gazed at the man with a genuine concern.
"If you cannot control yourself, my lord, I will make it so that you will
not see her again for some time," he said seriously. "However, if you can
guarantee your composure, I will allow her to remain for a short while."
Richmond, unfortunately, could not vouch for his composure. His entire
body was aching to hold her, to protect her from enemy hands. She was an
unknowing pawn in a game of cataclysmic stakes and it nearly killed him to
realize that, at the moment, there was nothing he could do to help her. He
was being used as much as she was.
"Can.... can I hold her?" he whispered.
"No."
Richmond's jaw ticked furiously, his gaze fixed on Arissa. Taking a deep
breath, he struggled fiercely to regain his control and pulled himself gently
from Hotspur's grip. Raking his fingers through is rich brown hair in a
gesture bordering on madness, he faced Owen with as much composure as
he could muster.
"I shall be calm," he said, his voice raspy. "I swear it. Just.... do not
remove her. I want her here, where I can see her."
Owen nodded faintly and his soldiers vacated the tent, leaving Arissa
unattended. As Richmond tore his gaze away from her and struggled to find
a chair, any chair, so that he would not collapse completely. As he fumbled
about, Arissa put her soft hand on Owen's arm.
"Please let me go to him," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "You have a
camp full of soldiers that will guarantee he will not make an attempt to
remove me from your control. Please.... my presence can only serve to relax
him. Will you grant us a display of your infinite mercy?"
 Owen looked to her, seeing a good deal of his cousin in the beautiful
features. As Richmond toppled a chair in his agitated state, Owen watched
as Hotspur righted the chair and practically shoved Richmond onto it. After
a moment, he simply shook his head.
"I cannot, my lady. He will not listen to me if you are in his arms, I
promise you. And it is imperative that he listen to my words."
Arissa blinked, fat tears rolling on to her cheeks. Wiping the moisture
away with shaking hands, her gaze trailed to Richmond's pale face. "When
you are finished, then?" she whispered pleadingly. "Can I go to him when
you are finished?"
Owen sighed; certainly, it seemed against the natural order of the heavens
to keep Sir Richmond and his lady apart. The two were a part of each other,
that much was evident. Even though the maintained distance was necessary
in his opinion, he still felt as if he were being unusually cruel.
"Mayhap when I am done." More than likely, he realized his cousin
would receive her wish.
He grasped Arissa by the arm, gently, and moved to within several feet of
Richmond. His dark eyes were intense on the massive knight, who was
entirely focused on Arissa. In his grip, he could feel the young woman
quaking.
"I will reiterate my words from earlier," Owen said softly. "You will ally
with Hotspur and myself, and the three of us will prove unbeatable against
Henry's rule. Is this clear?"
Richmond was lost in the depths of the pale green eyes, barely aware of
Owen's words. But he heard them nonetheless. "And if I refuse?" He
couldn't help himself from expressing one final act of rebellion; after all, he
was sworn to Henry to the death. His allegiance to the king had always been
his stronghold, but gazing into Arissa's eyes, he realized that his loyalty to
the king was a pale comparison to his love for Arissa.
"Then you shall never see her again," Owen said frankly. "Choose your
private hell, le Bec. Henry or the lady."
There was no choice and they all were aware of the fact. But as
Richmond gazed at Arissa, a million thoughts were flashing through his
mind with dizzying speed and he fought to concentrate on one particular
line of thinking; he had established that Hotspur was allied with Owen, and
he had furthermore vowed to Henry that he would destroy
Northumberland's heir if the man had turned against the crown. To meet
Henry Percy on the battle field could prove hazardous; Richmond knew the
man would be surrounded by warriors and to kill him would not be easy.
As Richmond pondered the situation, realization began to dawn; he knew
how he could defeat Hotspur and keep his promise to Henry, thereby
gaining Arissa's hand. Certainly, it did not matter whose side he was
fighting on, so long as Hotspur and the rebellion were terminated.
If he were fighting alongside the man, eliminating him would be
considerably easier. It did not matter that his reputation risked irrevocable
damage; it did not matter than he would be placing himself in the utmost
danger. All that matter was disposing of Hotspur in order to gain Arissa's
hand, any way he could.
Piece by piece, block by block, he could weaken the rebellion if he was
placed on the inside and considered a valuable ally when, in fact, he would
proceed to disembowel the resistant faction from the inside out. Sometimes
external threats were not nearly as deadly as internal assaults - a disease to
destroy from within.
He would become that disease. By the time Owen realized he had
brought about his own downfall with his clever blackmail, it would be too
late. Richmond would kill them all.
But he had to know Arissa was safe before he was able to commence.
Drowning in his treacherous thoughts, he was aware that the Welsh prince
was expecting an answer. And he realized he had only one answer to give,
the only possible choice.
"I am yours," he heard himself utter the fateful words. After a moment,
he focused on Owen. "Providing one factor - that you release Arissa."
Owen held his gaze for a long moment, pondering the compromise
Richmond was suggesting. "What guarantee do I have that you will not
refute your vow if I release the very woman who would insure your
loyalty?"
Richmond swallowed. "I am a knight and my word is a good as my
reputation. If you cannot trust my word, then we have nothing more to say
to one another."
Hotspur interrupted Owen's careful reply. "He’s given you his word. You
do not need the lady."
 Owen faced a moment of indecision; it had taken him a very long time to
secure the king's daughter. As much as he desired to use the girl against her
father, something far more important had resulted from her possession;
Richmond le Bec had sworn his service. That in itself was the most
powerful achievement he could have hoped to accomplish. The girl had
already served her purpose.
Owen was unwilling to insult Richmond by declaring distrust in his word
of honor. As reluctant as he was to release Arissa, he realized he had no
choice if he were to show faith in Richmond's pledge. But his display of
compromise did not come as easily as he had hoped.
"Do you swear to me that you will pledge your service to my cause if I
release the lady?" He hated himself for sounding so distrustful.
Richmond sighed heavily, his body weary with emotion and fatigue. "I
already told you I would. You would insult me by doubting my pledge?"
Owen was left with little choice; he would have to trust him. He stared at
the man a moment before releasing his grip on Arissa.
“I would not," he said softly, eyeing Arissa as he turned for the tent flap.
"I shall give you five minutes alone with the lady. She will leave this night."
"You would send her out in to a threatening snow storm?" Richmond rose
to his feet, imploring. "Give us the night. She will leave come the morrow."
Owen opened his mouth to staunchly refuse, but Hotspur interrupted him.
"Of course we would not send a delicate lady into this vicious weather," he
said firmly, daring Owen to contradict him. He looked at Richmond, hoping
the man didn’t hate him too much. "You have her for the night, Richmond.
She leaves at dawn."
They quit the tent, leaving Richmond and Arissa in stunned silence.
Dazed and shaken, Richmond let out a ragged sigh before turning to find
pale green eyes staring up at him. Arissa was in his arms before he realized
he had even moved to her.
"God, Riss," he murmured against her mouth, listening to her soft sobs.
"What happened? How did they find you?"
"Hotspur came for me," she wept softly, tasting his musk as if she had
been starving for him all of her life. "He gave the mother abbess a false
missive from the king, demanding that I be delivered to Henry's death bed.
She had no choice but to release me to Hotspur's custody."
 Richmond’s jaw began to tick again. "He must have probed Lambourn to
discover your whereabouts," he mumbled, suckling her lower lip. "It was no
secret that you were destined for Whitby. Damn him, he knew that I would
be in London and unable to protect you and, being allied with Owen, he
was a willing party in the Welsh bastard's scheme to acquire you."
She gasped as his mouth latched onto her honeyed lips, his tongue
plundering the depths of her mouth. Her small fingers gouged crescent-
shaped wounds into his scalp as she held him to her fiercely.
"What's going to happen now, Richmond?" she tore her mouth away as
he devoured her neck, her jawline. "Are you really going to fight for
Owen?"
"I gave my word, kitten," he whispered, his eager manner slowing. "They
knew exactly how to manipulate me with your abduction and I am
furthermore convinced that they were planning on holding you captive in
order to subdue the English crown. But I turned the situation on them
somewhat; I promised my services in exchange for your release."
Her eyes opened as her eager pace eased. "You shall be branded a traitor."
He did not say anything for a moment. "Trust me, kitten. I am not a
traitor. No matter what you hear or what things appear to be, I swear to you
that I am loyal to Henry. And to you."
"But you are fighting for the rebellion now," she insisted fearfully. "What
will happen when...?"
He kissed her hard to stop her words, the fears that were tearing at them
both. He felt as if his heart were being broken into a million little pieces and
his anguish knew no boundaries. How could he make her understand the
deeper implications of what he was about to do, the betrayal and treachery
and murder? He was about to descend into the ranks of the soulless,
aligning himself with those who would kill for a price or a cause or a need
for blood.
He was about to become a part of the filth. As much as he loathed
assuming the role of assassin and betrayer, he had no choice. But she need
never know any of it. He couldn't bear to see her disgust for him in her
eyes. He had to do this - for her.
"Nothing will happen, kitten,” he murmured. “All will be well in the end,
I promise you. You must believe."
 Her eyes began to well with frightened, exhausted tears. "When.... when
will I see you? Richmond, you are going to battle again!"
He kissed her softly, feeling his eyes stinging with tears. "You shall see
me very soon," his voice was hoarse with emotion. "I never could stay away
from you for an over amount of time."
"You stayed away for nearly a year when Henry was battling for the
throne," she reminded him, wiping at her damp face.
"I promise I will not be away for a year," he said firmly. "Weeks, months.
When we are together forever, what will a few short days matter?"
She sighed, shaking her head. "All I know is we are about to face another
painful good-bye. When you left me at Whitby, I thought I was going to die.
Now I do not believe even death will be strong enough to ease my pain."
He gazed at her a moment, knowing well the meaning of her words.
Suddenly, he remembered a worn fragment of affection he had tucked
deeply inside his heavy tunic, a token he kept with him always. Digging
into his tunic, he drew forth a wrinkled bit of green satin. Arissa tore her
eyes away from his face long enough to recognize the package.
"My flowers," she whispered.
He smiled, tucking them into her palm. "You gave them to me once and
they sustained me. Now I would return them to you, for safe-keeping. So
that you will forget me not while we are separated."
Arissa clutched the parcel to her chest, smelling of leather and Richmond.
"I swear to you, I shall keep them next to my heart, always," releasing a
ragged sigh, she grasped at his stubbled face in desperation. "Why must this
happen, Richmond? My chest hurts so that I believe I am going to fade
away at this very moment."
He pulled her to the pile of furs by the vizier, sending her to her knees as
he knelt in front of her. His face, half-illuminated by the blazing embers,
met her anguished gaze and he smiled. He was tired of feeling pain and
there would be enough pain in the weeks and months to come. But tonight,
he only wanted to feel Arissa, one last time.
"I shall ease your pain, kitten," he murmured, moving to release the
fastens on her cloak. "This night is ours. Owen and Hotspur and the
rebellion have granted us that much. Tonight we will erase all pain and
create memories of joy for the future."
 She watched his massive hands as they disrobed her, feeling a mixture of
heat and anguish the likes of which she had never experienced. The pain in
her chest flowed to her hands, passing through to Richmond. "Then there is
nothing more we can do?"
He shook his head, swallowing his sorrow. "Nay."
Tears came to her eyes again but she struggled against them, offering him
a feeble smile. "Promise me we will not sleep."
The cloak fell away. "We will not sleep."
"Promise I shall forget all of my pain."
"I promise."

OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Year of our Lord 1403

The Month of July
Lambourn Castle

In spite of the heat and humidity, bugs danced upon the surface of the
water like a thousand happy fairies, frolicking endlessly. In the reeds, frogs
burped and waterlillies hovered silently as small fish nipped at their ragged
edges. All was peaceful and serene in this delightful, sticky little world as
The Horde infiltrated the shores of the tranquil sanctuary.
Laughter floated about the joyful haven, peppered by the squeals of those
who were unfortunate enough to become the recipient of water to the face.
As Emma and Regine waded up to their knees in the cooling relief, Arissa
and Penelope sat on the shore beneath the shade of a large oak tree in
various degrees of discomfort.
"Sweet St. Jude, it's hot," Arissa mumbled, lying on her back and staring
up at the massive branches creating futile shade in the face of such
sweltering humidity. "I can hardly stand this heat. It's merciless."
Lady Penelope Ellsrod fanned herself furiously in response. Her husband
was undoubtedly cooking within the confines of his armor, patrolling his
station somewhere within the rebuilt bailey of Lambourn. In command of
the massive structure with the earl off fighting the Welsh rebels, Daniel was
as arrogant as if Lambourn were his very own fortress. Penelope wished
he'd pay as much attention to her as he did to Lambourn's security.
"Daniel's going to die of heat exhaustion before our son is even born,"
she muttered, rubbing her slightly rounded belly. "I do believe his armor has
somehow become physically attached."
Arissa smiled, sitting up with effort. In fact, Penelope had to reach out
and pull her into an upright position. "He’s the earl's captain now, Pen. Of
course he’s busy with Lambourn's security while Father is away."
"There is nothing more to worry over now that Ovid de Rydal has ceased
his hostilities," Penelope insisted. "Good Lord, I thought the man was going
to die of pure shock when he was told his son had violated Whitby. He’s
apologized for Tad's attack more times than I can count, and still he sends
gifts and tokens of esteem to make amends for the actions of his impetuous
heir."
Arissa nodded faintly. "I am glad the man has finally come to reason,
especially after Gavan reiterated that Richmond had nothing to do with
Tad's ambush. Father thought Ovid would go mad with the knowledge that
his son had been killed in his attempt to abduct me, but I am pleased to see
that his assumptions were wrong. Ovid realized Tad's vengeance was
misplaced, as we all did. I am so very tired of battles, of fighting. I simply
want to know a measure of peace."
Her smile faded as Emma waded back to shore, the soaked hem of her
surcoat clinging to her ankles. Slender and beautiful at seventeen years of
age, her cheeks were flushed a delicious pink in the humidity as she sat
gracefully before her two friends.
Arissa's gaze moved to her closest friend, truly at peace for the first time
in her life. She remembered when she had sent Gavan to retrieve Emma
from Whitby. Emma had returned seated in front of the knight, as happy
and as lovely as Arissa had ever known her to be. And Gavan, in spite of
the violent circumstances surrounding the Welsh rebellion and Richmond's
defection, had seemed very much content with Emma in his arms. A
situation that Arissa hoped would develop to a pleasing end.
Emma did so love the man, and she knew that Gavan was in desperate
need of comfort after his wife's death. But as Arissa pondered the passing of
Gavan's wife, she inadvertently began to ponder her own emotional state
should Richmond meet his fate upon the cold hills of the Welsh border.
Lingering on her darker thoughts, she couldn't help her expression from
dampening.
Emma shifted herself on the cool grass, gazing into Arissa's gloomy
countenance. From the melancholy settled upon the beautiful features,
Emma could guess the subject of her friend's thoughts.
"Have you heard from him at all, Riss?" she asked softly.
Arissa shook her head. "You would have known the minute I received
any missive. I have not heard from him since February, when Owen was
preparing an offensive. Father took the missive from me and burned it in a
fit of anger," her throat constricted with sobs, but she swallowed them
away, forcing down her sorrow and longing. She thought, once, her grief
would ease with time. Unfortunately, it had grown.
"Your father still believes him to be a traitor," Emma said softly, sighing.
"I never thought I would see the day when Richmond and Gavan would
fight against one another."
Arissa's brow furrowed with sorrow and Penelope rose unsteadily,
extending her hand to her raven-haired friend. "Come, let us go inside. It is
much cooler in the hall and we can play games."
Regine, splashing about loudly, meandered onto the shore. Still tubby and
round at the brink of womanhood, she hadn't changed overly in the past
several months. In truth, with all of the transformations Arissa had been
witness to, she found the fact that Regine had remained constant very
comforting. Some things never changed.
"Forget about the games, Riss," Regine said loudly, plopping heavily on
the grass beside her sister. With a contented sigh, she moved to rest her
head on Arissa's vanishing lap. "Let's talk about Ronald de Becket. Do you
suppose he will come to call on me now that he and father have become
good friends, battling the Welsh together?"
Battling Richmond, you mean. Arissa tried not to let her depression
reflect on her sister's eagerness to attract a beau. With her thirteenth
birthday approaching in less than three weeks, Regine was eager now more
than ever to find a husband and Arissa resigned herself to the fact that her
baby sister's inquisitive ideals would never change. "I do not know, Regine.
He’s rather old for you, do not you think? He’s past thirty years."
"And Richmond is forty," Regine snapped before she could stop herself.
As Penelope and Emma looked on with varied levels of sorrow and
apprehension, Regine quickly sat up beside her sister with remorse in her
eyes. "I am sorry, Riss. I did not mean to.... it does not matter how old he
is."
Arissa opened her mouth to reply when a familiar figure approached
across the grass, his fair hair glistening under the bright sun. "I have been
sent to escort you inside," Bartholomew de Lohr announced loudly. "Word
had come down from Hera herself; escort the fair Muses into the safe haven
of Olympus before Hades himself burns them to a crisp."
Distracted from Regine, Arissa smiled brightly at her brother. Convinced
he had been killed by the Welsh spies, it was a perpetual surprise to realize
he had been fortunate enough to survive his injury.
It had taken him months to recover from his near-mortal wound, leaving
him a good deal thinner and considerably weaker. Yet in spite of the
physical obstacles, Bartholomew's spirits had never been healthier; he was
the same brilliant eccentric she had come to know and love.
"Which Hera might that be?" she asked as he extended his hand to help
her to stand. Between Penelope, Bartholomew and Regine, Arissa was able
to rise easily. "Do you refer to Lady Maude or my mother?"
"Actually, both," Bartholomew said, tucking her hand into the crook of
his arm and leading her across the grass. Penelope and Emma occupied his
other side as Regine trailed behind. "Your mother has planted herself before
the upstairs solar window so that she would be able to observe as you
frolicked in the water. But Lady Maude was unable to watch you for fear
she might witness some sort of horrible catastrophe. Such as you sinking to
the bottom of the lake, I suppose."
Arissa smiled, patting her swollen belly. "With this buoyancy, I doubt I
shall sink." Well into her seventh month, she was already large with child.
Almost too large, if one would ask the opinions of Lady Ellyn or Lady
Maude. But Mossy assured them the child was fine and Arissa was
extremely healthy; in fact, she was healthier than he had ever known her to
be. There was nothing to worry over, he told them. Naturally, they were not
easy to agree.
"Great Gods, I would think not," Bartholomew snorted, passing a glance
at Penelope. "And what about you, my fine lady? You have a great deal of
growing to do to catch up with my sister."
Penelope's lips folded in a pout. "I have not been able to eat as well as
Riss simply because I have been ill nearly the entire time. She’s not been ill
one day!"
Arissa shrugged. "I do not know that it is better to eat like a horse from
morn until evening. I do not think I have stopped eating for seven months."
Emma snorted with humor. "Do you remember how Richmond used to
practically feed you every meal? You ate less than a bird and he was
constantly scolding you for it. He would hardly believe were he to see you
at the table now, stuffing everything into your mouth that you can lay your
hands on."
 Arissa laughed softly in agreement, her joviality fading to think of
Richmond once again. The past seven months had been a winding journey
through the inner depths of an emotional hell, joy and sorrow than she ever
thought possible.
Parting with Richmond on that icy December morn had been harder than
she ever imagined; in fact, had it not been for Sister Repentia's calm words
and comforting presence, she doubted that she would have allowed herself
to be taken from Richmond at all. The fact that he had clung to her as if he
were drowning only made it worse.
Her mother had stayed with her throughout the entire journey home,
consoling her, singing to her, treating her as if she were a babe once again.
Arissa was content to lay in the woman's lap day after day, barely able to
think or feel or move, and Sister Repentia was content to cradle her as she
had so wanted to all of these years. Her child needed her, more than ever,
and she would not disappoint.
Never once had Owen's name mentioned as they travelled through the
snowy landscape, nor did she make mention of Arissa's blood ties to the
Welsh leader. Arissa need never know the truth as far as her mother was
concerned. The less she knew of the harsh realities of life, the better for her
well-being. She did not need any more grief than had already been
delivered.
Hoping the trip homeward would prove to be calming and uneventful in
the face of Arissa's wrenching extraction from Wales, their wishes were
granted. However, an odd twist occurred that neither lady was aware of at
the time; when Richmond had ordered Arissa sent home, he had been
referring to Whitby. Naturally, she assumed he had meant Lambourn and
when they arrived, they were met by Bartholomew's inquisitive face. On
Bartholomew's heels came William, full of vigor and pleasantries and
without knowledge of his most violent words towards Arissa and
Richmond.
As Mossy had explained some time later, William had been drunk and
exhausted the day those fateful words had been uttered and had been
sincerely distressed to awaken from a two day's sleep to discover that
Arissa had been whisked from Lambourn. Knowing Richmond had final
judgment on Arissa's safety, William had assumed the knight had deemed a
compromised fortress an inappropriate place for Henry's daughter and had
seen fit to promptly remove her.
Which was why he had been overjoyed with her unexpected return.
Exhausted and hysterical, she had relayed stories of Richmond's bravery
and betrayal, and William had been deeply shocked to learn that Richmond
had allied himself with Owen Glendower. Arissa had informed her father
that Richmond had betrayed his king to save her from the Welsh prince's
clutches; William wondered if it was true.
The New Year came and went, and the Welsh resistance had fired in
earnest thanks to the brilliance of Richmond le Bec and the mighty sword of
Hotspur. Gavan and William left for the border to aid Henry's cause,
despondent that they were to be fighting against a man who had been a
sworn ally and friend for the better part of their lives.
It was a painful predicament Arissa did not like to dwell on. Her father
and Gavan were waging war against Richmond and to maintain her sanity
in the face of such upheaval was a constant struggle.
The battle threatened to deepen as she and her friends left the serenity of
the lake; for the sake of her brittle composure, however, she forced herself
from her gloomy thoughts and passed a disinterested glance at Regine and
Emma as they quibbled over something undeniably serious. Penelope,
having had enough of the arguing between the two younger women, moved
beside Arissa as they made their way toward the fortress.
"Mayhap we can lose Emma and Regine and retire to the solar for a game
of backgammon. Are you hungry? I feel as if I could eat something."
Arissa glanced at her fair friend, flushed rosy with her pregnancy. "It is
indeed a miracle if you feel like eating. Certainly I shall join you; mayhap I
can convince my mother to prepare her special apple-and-cinnamon treat
for us."
Penelope nodded vigorously. "Your mother makes wonderful dishes; poor
Whitby, we have taken away their talented cook."
Arissa smiled, thinking on her raven-haired birth mother. "Whitby's
misfortune is my greatest fortuity," she sighed, gazing into the hot blue sky
above. "I am so very glad she has decided not to return to the cloister. She
belongs here, with me. We have eighteen years of separation to make up
for."
 "That is what Lady Ellyn said," Penelope agreed softly. "I heard her tell
Lady Maude that she’s destined to be with you, be it at Whitby or at
Lambourn. And Lady Maude eagerly agreed."
Arissa nodded. "How fortunate that I have two mothers who care deeply
for me."
She paused a moment in thoughtful silence, thinking on the relationship
she and Lady Ellyn had formed. No longer was the green-eyed woman
known as Sister Repentia, a title she had given up the day she decided to
remain at Lambourn. Outside of the confines of the convent, her holy title
seemed out of place and hollow. At Lambourn, she had finally found a
place where she belonged, a place where she could be happy. Anywhere
Arissa was, she was happy.
"I thought there would be a great deal of jealousy between Lady Ellyn
and Lady Maude for your attentions, but there has been none at all,"
Penelope interrupted Arissa's thoughts as she watched the clover under her
feet. "In fact, they seem to work well as a team."
Arissa made a face at the thought. "Team, indeed. Sometimes they can be
most overbearing. Having one mother can be difficult enough, but two...."
she rolled her eyes humorously, giggling when Penelope laughed. "But my
mother seems very happy to be here, don’t you think? I am so glad Lady
Maude has welcomed her into Lambourn's family."
Penelope nodded, catching sight of her husband on the battlements.
"Even though Lady Maude did not give you life, you are still her daughter.
And she considers Lady Ellyn part of the family because she’s your birth
mother."
Arissa's slippered feet met with the gravel and dirt road leading to the
bailey of Lambourn. "I remember when I first met my mother at the abbey,
how somber and quiet she was. As if the years of separation had taken
something out of her. But here, she seems most content. She knows she
belongs."
"She belongs with you," Penelope waved to her husband as he
acknowledged her from the ramparts above.
Arissa agreed as she allowed her brother to lead her into the beautiful
new bailey. The babe in her belly kicked as she moved across the dusty
courtyard and Arissa was positive it was because, naturally being not only a
le Bec but a male child, he was expressing his pleasure at the sounds of
horses and soldiers and weaponry. All that his father was, he would soon be
a part of, too.
In spite of the somewhat shocking pregnancy of an unwed lady, Arissa
relished the feel of the life inside her. She did not care what anyone else
thought of her shameless state, for she knew the child had been conceived
in love and devotion. Both of her mothers knew that as well, especially
Ellyn, who acutely remembered her similar circumstance those eighteen
years ago.
Even if a few of the other occupants of Lambourn whispered and pointed,
it was of no matter to Arissa. She was proud to bear the child of a man she
loved with all her heart. A man she had loved for as long as she could
remember.
The child gaining strength and size inside her was a portion of Richmond
that crown or country could never take away, and she prayed every night
that he survived the wars in order than he might know his son. However, as
fearful as he had been of her conceiving a child, she wondered if the sight
of her swollen body would be enough to accomplish what hordes of English
knights had failed to achieve; perhaps the shock would be enough to send
him to his grave.
As the small group crossed the bailey with leisure borne of a slow pace
and obvious conditions, Daniel came swinging down the ladder from the
battlements. Penelope thought he was coming to see her; instead, he
focused directly on Bartholomew and Arissa.
"An army has been sighted a mile out, Bart," he said. "Your father is
coming home."
Bartholomew's face immediately brightened. "Are you sure?"
Daniel nodded, passing a glance at Arissa. "Henry's banner has been
sighted as well."
The color drained from Arissa's face. If the army was returning, then it
could only mean something monumental had occurred; her father had been
at the border for five months with nary a reprieve. If the entire army was on
the retreat, then it could only mean that the war for Wales' freedom had
come to a conclusion. God help her, she did not want to know the details of
the conclusion.
Bartholomew felt her sway in his grasp, his glee quickly turning to
concern. "Riss, I am sure he’s all right," he whispered comfortingly,
releasing his hold when Emma and Penelope took a firm grip on either arm.
"Allow Emma and Pen to escort you into the castle. I shall come to you
with the details, I promise."
She shook her head, her face pale and her lips colorless. Just as she
attempted to refuse his request, Mossy came scurrying from the castle.
"I saw the banners!" he announced loudly. "The earl's returned, and
Richmond with him!"
Arissa nearly collapsed. "How can you say that?" she gasped. "He was
fighting against my father and the rest of the English army, including
Gavan, and they all want to kill him because he’s a traitor!"
Mossy took Arissa from Penelope's grasp, patting her arm gently. "Do not
get yerself worked into a fit, Riss. Ye'll bring about yer son far sooner than
we would like, and I do not expect I would enjoy delivering a seventh-
month babe," he attempted to pull her toward the castle, but she was slow to
come about. Mossy simply patted her arm again in a comforting manner.
"If ye come, I shall make ye a brew of honey and rosehips. Ye like honey
and rosehips, Riss."
She allowed him to lead her to the steps when the sentry horns sounded
high above her head, piercing the heat of the late July sky. Arissa was jolted
by the sound, digging in her heels at the threshold to the castle entrance and
refusing to go any further.
As Mossy supported her gently, she turned with fear and apprehension to
the yawning gates of Lambourn. 'Twas foolish to run, she knew. Whether
the news from Wales was good or bad, she had to know all the same.
It all seemed to have come about so quickly, with nary a message or
rumor announcing the ending of the border wars. The troops that had
battled against Richmond and the Welsh were suddenly returning home,
undoubtedly victorious, which could only mean that her beloved had met
his end at the hands of those who had once served him. Sweet St. Jude, he
had promised to return to her. He had promised!
The horn sounded again as Penelope, Regine and Emma joined Arissa in
her wait. Lured by the blast of the horns, Lady Maude and her women
appeared in the doorway, followed very shortly by Lady Ellyn. Eight ladies
with wide eyes wait on the steps of Lambourn, listening to every shout,
watching every action, as Daniel and even Bartholomew prepared the bailey
for the earl's arrival.
 The minutes dragged. Arissa's palms were sweating, her face pale as she
waited for the first of the column to appear. Beside her, Mossy continued to
hold her hand and he could feel her rapid pulse, sensing her terror.
After a small eternity, a rider clad in the earl's colors came barreling
through the gates, met by a host of sentries and the ladies on the stairs
strained their ears to catch a word of the message being delivered. After a
moment, two of the sentries abruptly broke from the huddle and came
racing towards the castle.
Arissa’s heart was in her throat as the soldiers bore down upon the small
group, positive that they were preparing to relay cataclysmic news. Hand to
her neck, she nearly toppled over when the soldiers reached them.
"The earl requests your presence, Mossy," one of the men practically
shouted. "He has a mortally wounded man."
Arissa could scarcely breathe as Mossy let go of her, calmly sending one
of the men for his medicament bag as he descended the steps and moved
toward the huddle of soldiers. The women on the stairs watched with
apprehension as Mossy was loaded onto a destrier and whisked out of the
bailey.
From that moment on, Arissa remembered very little of the wait. The
column was growing closer, indicated by the activity on the battlements,
and the first of the standard bearers finally appeared in the gaping gateway.
She was vaguely aware of her mother's comforting hand on her shoulder, a
slender white appendage that resembled her own. As the ladies observed the
activity, more of the earl's army poured forth to reveal a column of knights.
Arissa recognized Gavan before she recognized the earl.
Something deep inside of her suddenly broke free and Arissa pulled from
her mother's grasp and bound across the bailey toward the incoming
warriors. She could hear a good deal of shouting and commotion as she
dodged soldiers and horses alike, struggling, striving with every ounce of
strength she possessed to reach Richmond's former best friend. She had to
reach him. She had to know what had happened.
"Gavan!" she screamed. "Gavan, where's Richmond?"
Gavan saw her coming, torn between shock at her condition and
complete, utter grief. He dismounted his charger so rapidly that he nearly
stumbled, fighting to regain his weary footing even as Arissa propelled
herself into his arms. In a great cloud of silk and raven-black hair, Gavan
found himself clutching her as if to crush her.
"Riss!" he gasped, dazed and overwhelmed. "My God, You are.... you are
pregnant!"
She had no desire to respond to his observation. "Where's Richmond?
What happened?"
She was hardly cognizant when he grasped her tightly and began to lead
her back into the collection of men and wagons still filtering in through the
gate. "It's over, Riss," he said hoarsely. "Henry was victorious."
Her face went ashen and he could feel her strength wan. Adjusting his
grip, he found himself practically carrying her through the ranks of men and
animals. "Sweet St. Jude, Gavan,” she moaned. “Where is Richmond?"
Gavan swallowed hard, his eyes searching for the familiar wagon he
knew to be at the rear of the column.
"We engaged the Welsh army at Shrewsbury on a bright morning, the
twenty-first of July,” he said. “The battle was intense, as fierce as I have
ever seen any battle, and above the smoke and death and carnage I could
see Richmond poised on a rise, watching the scene below him. He just sat
there, unmoving. It was odd, Riss; I have never known him to be inactive in
any fighting."
"Gavan...," Arissa pleaded. She did not want to hear his story. She only
wanted to know what had become of Richmond.
But Gavan was not ready to disclose the fate of his friend. His best
friend. There was still a good deal more to tell.
"The day progressed and Richmond remained on the hill, and I was
sorely tempted to engage him myself,” he continued. “But as I made my
way toward him, Richmond abruptly spurred his charger headlong into the
massacre below. As I watched, he approached Hotspur with his broadsword
drawn and, suddenly, the two of them were battling like Lucifer and
Gabriel.”
Gavan paused as his eyes located the wagon which he sought.
Instinctively, he pulled Arissa closer as he advanced on the rig. "He.... he
was magnificent, Riss," his continued in a scratchy whisper. "He and
Hotspur fought for hours and hours, ignoring the rest of the battle waging
around them. As if it was just the two of them, determined to resolve the
outcome of the entire battle between them. I have never seen anything like
it and I pray to God I never will."
Arissa could barely function. Her breathing had all but stopped, her legs
barely able to support her weight as she gazed up at Gavan's weary,
stubbled face. She could scarcely ask what she knew she must.
"What.... what happened?"
Gavan reached the rig; Arissa was so caught up in his story that she failed
to notice Mossy kneeling in the wagon, huddled over a prostrate form.
Gavan noticed, however; he couldn't help the tears that stung his eyes.
"Hotspur gored him as I watched,” he murmured. “But as Richmond fell
back, I was witness to the most amazing battle strategy I have ever seen. He
closed his eyes and I thought surely he was dead; instead, he managed to
bring his blade up and catch Percy in the neck. What hours of close-quarters
fighting had failed to procure, Richmond achieved in his final blow. I have
oft seen him lodge arrows visualizing the target rather than actually seeing
it, but I have never seen him use the tactic in open battle," his voice was
hardly a whisper as his anguish-filled gaze found her. "He killed Hotspur
without seeing him, Riss. It was the only stratagem he had left because all
else had failed."
Arissa's knees gave out completely and Gavan lifted her in his arms,
moving toward the bed of the rig. "Gavan, Gavan," she murmured, too
consumed with her grief and terror to allow her tears to come forth. "What
happened to him? Where is he?"
He put her in the wagon bed.
"Here, Riss. He’s here."
On her knees, Arissa's eyes drank in the sight of Richmond lying prone
on the rough slats of the wagon bed. At first, she simply couldn't
comprehend what she was seeing; it did not look like Richmond. His hair
was long, his face sporting several days growth of beard. Baffled, she
peered closer to notice that he was clad only in his lower body protection
and his magnificent torso was naked but for the heavy wrappings Mossy
seemed to be adjusting.
Arissa was in limbo as she approached the still figure. She wondered why
she couldn't feel anything as she gazed down upon Richmond's still face, a
face she had loved for as long as she had been alive.
 Somehow, she managed to inch forward on the wagon bed, unaware that
the earl, Bartholomew, Gavan, and the rest of her tightly-knit family had
suddenly appeared at the edge of the rig, watching with the greatest sorrow
as she came to grips with Richmond's state. But she was not conscious of
any of them; only Richmond.
"He’s in a bad way, Riss," Mossy said gravely. "Hotspur cut him through
the groin and he has a terrible infection, not to mention that he’s lost a good
deal of blood."
Arissa heard him but she could not respond. As she continued to gaze at
Richmond, she realized that the most meaningful thing in her life was
stretched before her eyes, dying from a wound sustained in battle. Dying as
a result of his love for her, of his duty to his king. Dying for his torn
loyalties.
She couldn't cry. As she watched his shallow breathing and ashen
complexion, her pain went beyond simple tears. Nay, tears were not strong
enough. Not cleansing enough, not forceful enough. Nothing was strong
enough to ease her anguish. Nothing but her love for him.
A white hand reached out to touch his clammy forehead; he was burning
with fever. "How long has he been like this?" she whispered.
"Four days," William was standing next to the wagon, his sunken gaze
moving between his daughter and the knight. His voice was weak, tight.
"You were right, Riss. He was loyal to Henry to the end. He turned against
Hotspur and killed him, making it possible for the English to emerge
victorious. When Hotspur was killed, the Welsh panicked and ran. If it
hadn't been for Richmond, England would not have been victorious. He
won our battle single-handedly."
Her hand still on his head, she raised her eyes to the group collected
about the rig. Her gaze was unnaturally bright. "I told you, but you did not
believe me. Richmond was never a traitor; he did what he had to do in order
to save me. He’s still Henry's greatest knight."
The earl nodded briefly, making the sign of the cross over Richmond
before turning away. He had done all he could do; bringing Richmond back
to Lambourn to die had been his final act of devotion, an apology to his
friend for ever doubting his loyalties in spite of the overwhelming
circumstances. Whatever happened now was in the hands of God. He could
do no more.
 Arissa noticed that Lady Ellyn was kneeling by the edge of the wagon,
her head bowed in prayer as Mossy rummaged about in his great black bag
for something that would ease Richmond's fever. A small brown mouse
leapt from his bag and scurried off the edge of the wagon, but the old man
let the creature go without a comment or a word. He was too consumed
with saving Richmond's life to lend remark to a common enough
occurrence.
Arissa turned back to Richmond, ignoring the mouse and all else
transpiring about her. She continued to gaze at him, stroking his sticky
brown hair, touching his perspiring face. No tears, no screaming, no fits;
only the tenderness and love she had always felt for him. She was so very
proud of the man. After a moment, she bent over to kiss his lips with
incredible gentleness.
"Richmond?" she whispered against his lips. "Can you hear me? I am
here, my love, I am here. Awaken and look at me."
He did not move. Arissa kissed him again, her dazed state beginning to
wear thin as her torrential emotions began to grow. Her hands began to
quake with the struggle to keep them at bay. She refused to lose control, not
now. Not when she had so many things yet to tell him.
"Richmond," she murmured, kissing him yet again. "Awaken, my love.
Awaken and see the fruits of our love. You will not die before you have
seen the results of our adoration. Do you hear me?"
Suddenly, his leg twitched and Penelope shrieked with surprise; standing
by the rear of the wagon enveloped in her husband's arms, she had been
sobbing softly at the heart-wrenching scene. But Arissa ignored the cry;
Richmond could hear her, she was positive, and hope surged to thunderous
proportions within her soul.
"Richmond!" she hissed pleadingly. "Open your eyes and look at me.
Open, I say!"
His leg twitched again and his head abruptly lolled to the side. Arissa bit
her lip raw with anticipation as he moved his mouth, licking his dry lips.
Putting her hands to his clammy cheeks, she smiled. When he opened his
eyes, she wanted him to see her smile.
"Open your eyes, Richmond, or I shall do it for you," she commanded
softly. "You will not disobey me."
 He licked his lips again and his eyelids moved, his eyes crusty and sore.
"God's Teeth," he slurred with the greatest of effort. "Riss, you... you are a
tyrant."
Daniel laughed loudly, joyfully. The earl managed a tremulous smile to
his wife and younger daughter, expressing his relief and happiness that
Richmond was reacting to any stimulation at all. He'd been unconscious for
four days and they were beginning to doubt that he would ever recover from
his stupor. A lethargic sign, as feeble as it was, was still an invitation for
hope.
Only Gavan was not smiling. As far as he was concerned, there was no
hope; he'd never seen anyone recover from a wound of this magnitude and
he suspected Richmond would not be an exception, whether or not he had
managed to emerge from the depths of unconsciousness.
Struggling with consuming regret, he stared at the man on the wagon bed,
wondering how he could have ever doubted his loyalties. Thinking back, he
never truly believed; he knew Richmond better than anyone and the man
did not possessed a rebellious bone in his body. He was loyal to the core,
devoted to the end. And, as he had proven while a host of astonished
English knights witness, willing to sacrifice his life for his beliefs.
He wished he could tell Arissa all of it, but now was at the time. Even as
Gavan continued to doubt Richmond's chances of survival, Arissa refused
to believe that he was going to die in her arms. She could not believe.
Struggling against her fears, she smiled broadly and kissed him again,
sweetly. This time, he responded.
"Welcome home, my love," she murmured, her silky hair tumbling over
the both of them. He could feel it caressing his chest and shoulders.
"H... home?" he rasped, trying desperately to open his eyes. "Where i...is
home?"
"Lambourn, of course," she said softly, collecting one of his massive
hands. "You are going to be fine. Mossy will heal you, as he has healed me
so often in the past. You will survive, Richmond, do you understand?"
He licked his lips again. "Lamb... I do not...."
She would not allow him to continue. Pressing his huge hand against her
rounded belly, she rubbed the appendage across her swollen midsection so
that he would feel her state. In the muddled throes of agony and fever,
Richmond did indeed feel her condition and his head lolled to the side again
as he struggled more fiercely than before to focus on her.
She smiled as she saw his increased agitation. "Do you feel the result of
our love? We are expecting our son in September."
His swollen eyes were open, staring at his hand as it touched her
blossoming stomach. She watched his dazed expression as he swallowed,
hard.
"My God, Riss...,” he rasped. “Do you... feel all right?"
To hear words of his concern for her health nearly broke the threads of
her slimly-held control and she couldn't help the tears that welled in her
eyes. The man was on his death bed; still he was only concerned for her
well-being. One tear broke free, pelting his pallid cheek.
"I am fine, my love, never better," she assured him, her voice tight with
emotion. "Now, you must recover in time for the birth of your son."
Richmond's hand moved weakly against her tight stomach as the news of
her condition sank deep. In spite of his own agony, he couldn't help the
despair that swept him at the sight of her protruding abdomen; his greatest
fears were evident beneath his touch and his already-shaking hand quivered
more violently as his terror took hold.
"But... Mossy said that...."
"She’s as healthy as a horse, a far sight better than ye I might add,"
Mossy hovered over Arissa’s shoulder, a glass vial in his hand. "It is up to
me to heal ye so yer son will know his father. Ye've got to drink this."
As Mossy thrust the vial forward, aided by Arissa, Richmond's crusty
eyes widened. "Nay," he whispered, fending them both off. "There.... is
something I must do first," he rolled his head away from Mossy and Arissa,
looking for familiar features he knew would be lurking about. His gaze fell
on William. "Seek Father Ralph from the village, William. I... I have a need
for his services."
The earl did not hesitate. He sent several men on their way
instantaneously and Richmond closed his eyes, too weary to thank the man.
He could hold out until the priest arrived to join them in matrimony,
mayhap giving him last rites at the same time. After all, it was his privilege
to marry the fair maiden. He'd won her fairly enough.
He'd killed Hotspur as he had promised, quashing the Welsh rebellion in
one powerful blow. Even if he had been branded a traitor, rumors had
probably already reached London spouting tales of his valor and bravery, of
turning against his friend in battle and taking the man's life. Henry, he was
sure, had been the first to hear the tales from the border, knowing his
greatest knight was still his mightiest supporter. Knowing that Richmond le
Bec, in fact, had not betrayed his king.
Richmond had kept his part of the bargain. And he was positive Henry
would keep his.
It was amazing how the months of separation from Arissa had shaped
him, bringing about a strength of character he never knew he had. He had
learned of her blood ties to Owen, and that Sister Repentia or, more
correctly, Lady Ellyn was Owen's cousin. He'd come to know David
Glendower and had actually come to like the man, making it hard to kill
him in one of the many smaller skirmishes along the border. Richmond had
made it to look as if an enemy dagger had done away with him, a necessary
action leading to the systematic weakening of the Welsh resistance.
An internal weakening that had taken a strange turn when Charles de
Worth had managed to make his way back into Owen's camp, demanding
monetary compensation for more information on Arissa's whereabouts.
Richmond had taken great pleasure in doing away with the treacherous
bastard, his former captain, even before he learned that Charles de Worth
had been responsible for Owen's initial knowledge of Arissa's existence.
As from the beginning, Richmond found himself protecting Arissa
against those who would seek to do her harm, especially her mother's
vengeful husband
He had been unaware of his dozing state, reliving vivid memories of the
past several months until Arissa gently touched his cheek, kissing his
parched lips and bringing him back to the world at hand.
"Richmond? Can you hear me still?"
He grunted feebly. "I am with you, kitten."
"Why did you send for the priest? I told you that I forbid you to die."
His eyes cracked open, a faint smile coming to his dry lips. "And I have
no intention of dying at the moment. The priest will marry us, you silly
wench, unless you have decided against my proposal during our months of
separation."
Her tears came then, freely. Tears of joy, of sadness, of the longing that
had been her constant companion during their time apart. She could
scarcely believe what she was hearing from his pale lips.
"Today? We will be married today?"
"I refuse to wait any longer."
"But what of Henry? Mustn't you speak to him first?"
His smile faded and she could see fire within the depths of the bright blue
eyes. "I have done my duty for God and Country, and Henry can rot in hell
if he has a notion to dispute our union. You are mine, Riss. I have earned
you."
She did not question him any longer. All that mattered was that they were
to be wed this day, and the delight of her impending marriage was almost
enough to offset the sorrow of Richmond's injury. He was terribly frail;
even as Mossy struggled to dispense the healing liquid from the vial into his
dry mouth, Arissa and Gavan had to help him lift his head. When the
contents of the glass were consumed, Richmond laid his head to the slats
with a grunt of exhaustion.
A hush settled over the collection of people gathered around the wagon
bearing Richmond. Arissa continued to hold his hand tightly, clutching it
over her rounded stomach as they wait for the priest to return. Yet in the
midst of her grief, she also felt a certain amount of hope.
She simply couldn't believe he had survived five days with a vicious
belly wound only to die at some later time. The injury should have killed
him immediately, but it did not. The life flowing within his body was a
direct testimony to his fortitude and power, and of his love for her. He was
going to survive. He had to.
"Riss?" his voice was faint.
She turned to him, noting his eyes were wide open, staring at the hot blue
sky above. She smiled and touched his cheek.
"What is it, my love?"
"You will promise me something."
"Anything."
He looked at her, then. "If you promise to survive the birth of my son, I
will promise to survive my bout with Hotspur's sword."
Her smile broadened and she leaned down, kissing him sweetly. "I
promise."
"And tonight - promise we will not sleep."
 She put her cheek against his, feeling his life and knowing he would live
to see another day. Knowing he would grow old beside her, loving and
laughing and living. She had ordered him to endure, and it was his pleasure
to obey.
"We will not sleep."
"Promise I shall forget all of my pain."
Hot tears found their way onto her cheeks and his, knowing his softly
uttered plea held a double meaning. She would make him forget his pain.
As her guardian had struggled to shield her from the worst in life, in turn,
the charge would now become the protector. She would ease his ache, his
heart, and his weakened body. She would give him the strength to live.
It was the very least she could do for the man who had loved her enough
to die for her. A man who devoted his life to her protection eighteen years
ago, risking everything so that she might survive.
A man she loved beyond the barrier of time. Even if he broke his vow
and left her this day, there would be no ending to their love. On the next
plane in their existence, she would still adore him with limitless devotion.
She would always be his charge, and he would always be her great
protector.
"I promise, my love," she murmured against his lips. "No more pain."
I promise.

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