Chapter Two #3
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?”