Chapter 13 #2
“Neither of them were, fighting with sticks.”
“Men like de Lisle can kill with sticks. Or with bare hands.” What, by heaven, was his point? If he wished to argue against this union, he was far too late.
He was studying her, as if seeking the answer to a puzzle. “You must welcome a happy day after sorrow.”
His tone made her protest. “I had little choice, my lord. I am simply making the best of it.”
“You show great fortitude, then.”
Then she understood. No wonder he sounded disbelieving.
Her wanton display earlier, and her apparent eagerness to marry tomorrow must make her seem a horribly callous daughter.
She moved a little farther from the hall, hoping he wouldn’t follow.
But when he spoke, he was close behind. “Your father was not a supporter of Henry Beauclerk as king.”
She turned with a sigh. “The whole world knows that, my lord.”
“Yet you rush to marry one of Henry’s closest supporters?”
She spread her hand. “What would you have me do, my lord? The king has given Lord Renald our property, and commanded him to marry here. Are we to make matters worse by refusing?”
His jaw tightened. “Perhaps I am dismayed by your enthusiasm, Lady Claire.”
Her cheeks were hot with shame, but she would not cower. “You would have preferred that I drag through this day weeping?”
“Yes, I think I would.”
“Well, that is not my way.”
“When I saw you kissing that sword—”
“Ah, the sword! The sword you smeared blood on, my lord?”
He stiffened. “I? Why accuse me?”
“Because you asked that it be brought out. Insisted on it, in fact.”
“I had my reasons.” He seemed to frown even more deeply.
“And what of the cup, my lord? What point was there in encouraging Lord Renald to use a cup that could only remind me of unpleasant matters?”
“Claire, I thought you must know, but—”
“Claire?”
Claire turned and hurried to Renald’s side, feeling only sharp relief.
She didn’t care if he was angry that she’d fled the hall.
She just wanted to escape accusations and disapproval, to return to being a happy bride.
She had no choice in all this. Unless she was to sacrifice her whole family, she had no choice.
Renald glanced between her and the earl, but then smiled and took her hand. “It is hot in the hall, isn’t it? Would you care to walk in the gardens, my lady?”
“That would be delightful.” She dropped a curtsy to the earl. “Thank you for your advice, my lord.”
She thought Salisbury might continue what he had been saying, but after a moment he turned on his heel and stalked off.
As the din of the raucous hall faded, Renald said, “Advice?”
A thrush trilled in a nearby bush, balm to her lingering distress, and the slight breeze cooled her wine-hot cheeks. “He thought I should have avoided marrying you, and if I could not, I should have dragged myself through the day wailing.”
“Thank God you have not.” He kissed her hand, studying her. “In the hall. You seemed upset.”
She could not really express her irrational unease, so she said, “You were shaming Lambert.”
“He looked too fondly on you.”
So it had been deliberate. “Will you always attack men who look fondly on me?”
“Would you rather I did not?”
After a moment, she accepted that the answer was no. Something in his hot possession of her sang to a wicked part of herself. It was wicked, though. “I do not wish to be the cause of any man’s death.”
“Then I will not punish unless you command it.” A smile flickered. “One advantage of being who and what I am is that I need only frown. As you need only frown at me.”
“My lord, I doubt it.” Yet deep inside, his words settled like a warm comforting flame in a place that had once been cold with fear.
“Don’t doubt. Don’t doubt your power over me, Claire of Paradise.”
He wove his fingers with hers and led her—unsteady as she was—into the garden, down misty, shadowy paths. How different now from the evening before, when every nerve had been on the alert. Now she was soft with warm security, even if tingling with spicy hopes.
He paused beneath one of the pear trees that grew against the wall. Leaves and branches blocked the fading light, creating mysterious shadows. He led her to a bench set deep in the shade. She knew she was going to be kissed again, and unlike last night, her heart danced with anticipation.
But he did not immediately take her into his arms. “I spoke honestly in the hall, Claire. I do intend and hope to make you happy.”
“And I you, my lord.” The words were more than formal courtesy. Happiness, that had once seemed gone forever, now hovered within their grasp.
“I know my nature bothers you. I’m a warrior. That is my life and my nature. I must train for war. And train my men.”
“In Summerbourne?” Claire hoped her dismay hadn’t marked her voice. She controlled herself and added, “Could it perhaps be outside the walls, my lord?”
“Most of the time. I, too, would keep Paradise untainted.” He smiled and looked around. “Perhaps this is the Garden of Eden. I’ve never known a place with such a halo of peace within it.”
“An Eden without snakes, thank goodness,” Claire said, “except the occasional harmless little adder.”
“Heaven on Earth.”
She tried to see the familiar garden with his eyes. It had always been part of her life—the shape of its beds, the cool of the stone paths, the seasonal glories of leaf and flower, providing food, healing, and balm for the soul.
“I suppose you’ve never had a garden of your own.”
“Nor access to many. They are generally a ladies’ domain. Except for the lord, lusty men would definitely be seen as snakes.”
“Surprising then, my lord, that you’ve seen any.”
He grinned at her joke, and she studied the garden further, seeking to see what he saw.
It was just a garden, wasn’t it, and not really at its best in this fading light.
Flowers clouded in mottled shades of gray and white above dense shadows of bush and leaf.
Yet she and Renald sat surrounded by scents and music.
Insect-hum filled the air, bass note to the busy chorus of birds.
Flowers, herbs, and good healthy greenery spiced every breath.
She was suddenly, fiercely grateful that she would never have to leave. And that was because of this man. She turned to him, and dared to put her hands to his face. Then she kissed him gently on the lips in gratitude.
He accepted it, suddenly still. “And what was that for?”
“Is a bride not allowed to kiss her husband’s lips?”
“Indeed she is. And the husband is very grateful. But it seemed a kiss of thanks.”
“I am thankful to be here, and to be staying here.”
He raised her chin and kissed her back, as gently. “Then we are both blessed. Remind me never to eat an apple again. I have no wish to be thrown out of Eden.”
She thought that now he would kiss her properly, but he relaxed and looked around. “Is all this your work?”
Ah, well. It would come in time, and she shouldn’t be greedy.
“Not at all. I work here, but the garden is old and passed on from lady to lady.” She smiled ruefully.
“You might as well know more of my faults. Not only do I lack a sensitive soul, I’m too impulsive to be a good gardener, and too much the dreamer.
I don’t like to plan years ahead, and I forget to water the new plants. ”
His eyes crinkled. “Somehow, I might have guessed. But an impulsive dreamer sounds charming, too. What plant is that with the purple flowers?”
“Foxglove.”
“You grow gloves for foxes?”
She smiled. How precious to have the gift of humor back. “When you get old and your heart falters, you may be glad of it.”
His smile faded. “Perhaps I’d rather not grow old. What use is an old wolf?”
Claire wanted to protest, but she knew what he meant. She’d seen old warriors, weakened by age, gnarled by joint disease, frail with a wheezing sickness, reduced almost to beggary once their one asset—their strength—was gone.
Already, however, the thought of his distant death was painful. As his wife, it would be her task to keep him healthy, and now he had property he was protected from the worst.
He asked about other plants and she answered, pointing out the most interesting and describing their uses. His voice, she realized, was deep, relaxed, and comfortable, in harmony with the surrounding peace and the evening shadows.
He clearly knew little about gardens, however, this man whose trade was to damage, not to nurture or heal.
No. She would not think of that.
A robin flew down to the turned earth quite close to their feet and trilled a song.
“Letting us know that it owns this patch of ground,” she said. “Ordering us to dig to make its hunt for worms easier.”
“Lazy bird. Work for your dinner, sirrah.”
As if it understood, the robin stopped its song and cocked its head at them. Then it hopped along. It soon found a worm, tugged it out, and flew off with it.
“More death.” Claire sighed. “Why do we not care about the fate of worms?”
“Perhaps because they’ll eat us in the end.”
Then he stiffened, clearly realizing his words were unfortunate. She touched his hand. “We cannot avoid all mention of death, my lord.”
He took her hand in his. “You are a pearl without price, my lady Claire. May I request a boon?”
Without any wariness, she said, “Of course.”
“I would have you call me by my name. Renald.”
Claire realized that over the past hours she had begun to think of him that way, and so she smiled and said, “Certainly, Renald.”
He drew her gently into his arms, and lowered his head to kiss her, gentle again at first, a mere brushing of lips against lips.
Then his hand slid into the back of her hair, rough and warm against her nape and scalp, shaping her to him.
He kissed her then as he had in the hall, but here in the private dark, it was softer, sweeter, and more deeply intimate than she could ever have imagined.