Ranulf turned on his back and frowned up at the dusty bedhangings. She had a right to fear him; he had used her hurtfully that first night. It was a shame that such should have been her introduction to lovemaking, but he would replace those memories tonight at Aylesbury Castle, when there would be time to show her the art.
He turned on his side, head propped on his hand. He was enjoying her nervous movements, her obvious avoidance of him. On the morrow he would ask her how she felt about the nights after the one he now planned for her.
“You will rise soon?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky.
Ranulf chuckled at some jest she did not share. “Aye, very soon.” He watched her push some clothes into a bag and saw her hastily stuff a brown leather pouch back into place. He frowned again at some memory, half-forgotten, that the pouch stirred. He seemed to see a shadowy figure, but could not grasp the whole picture. When Lyonene went to the window, he recalled the wispy memory. But surely it was a dream.
“You said you wished to speak to me last night. May I know your thoughts now?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, far different from what he felt inside. He tried to detach himself as he watched her clenched hands, saw she would not meet his eyes.
“It was naught. I only… Ranulf!” She ran to the bed and he pulled her into his arms.
She was shaking, and he held her tightly, wondering at the delicacy of her body, fearful of hurting her. Something had upset her greatly. He lifted her chin and marked that her eyes were dry. “What is it? What troubles you?”
“I… I wish you to be careful, to be on guard.” A lump closed her throat.
“It is the fire that has made you fearful of my safety?”
“Aye… Nay. It is else.”
“Then tell me. I will not harm you for a few words.”
“It is Giles, he…”
“You dare to speak his name to me!” He pushed her from him roughly. “Be you glad I did not kill your little friend. Had I found him to be your lover, to have gone where you now shun me, I would have killed him and you mayhaps also.
You should be grateful I have tried to believe your words over his. Now call that maid of yours and dress, for we leave soon.”
He hastily threw aside the bedclothes and began to pull on his own clothes. Two days wed and she had caused him more anger than he had ever known—deep anger, going to the core of him, hurting more than his ax wounds, his anger at the Welsh during the years of war or the Saracens on Crusade. This girl came closer to him than aught else ever had. Only Isabel… He stopped his thoughts, regretful of any memory of her.
“Here, Lyonene, come here.” She stood before him, gathering her courage. “I fear I cannot abide your talk of another man.” It cost him some to say even this much. “I am recovered now and you may speak your mind.”
If the mere mention of Giles’s name caused such rage, how would he react to five letters addressed to another man? Was she so childish as to think he would listen to reason before tearing her to pieces? He might regret his action later, but she would not risk it now.
“There is naught to say,” she whispered and turned away.
Ranulf also turned away, for he knew she lied. He left the chamber without a further word to her. In the courtyard, he did not hear Maularde’s quiet voice at first. He was using all the control he could muster to believe in her, to try and recapture those first two days together of happiness. How could two people so attuned to one another have become so estranged?
“Lord Ranulf,” Maularde’s soft voice insisted. “I have news that you need to know.”
Ranulf listened intently, incredulouly, to his guardsman, his scowl deepening with each word, each revelation. “I will watch for him,” Ranulf concluded.
“And my lady?”
“She is mine and must be my … responsibility.” Burden, he had almost said.
Chapter Seven
Lyonene watched Lucy climb into the wagon, too old and too fat now to ride a horse, and then turned to her own place beside her husband. Ranulf stared at her a moment, his black eyes intense, searching her face, before lifting her to her horse.
They rode in silence, and several times Lyonene wanted desperately to tell Ranulf of Giles, but each time, the solemness, even the sheer size of him, stopped her.
“We will stop early for dinner. The fire has taken much strength, and there is no rush.”
He helped her from her horse, left her a moment to tend to the people in his charge and then returned. “You would walk with me?” He held his arm for her.
Happily, she took it, and he led her into the woods, within sound of the others, but out of sight. “I fear I make a poor husband, as my brother has warned me. Here, let us sit and talk a while.”
The cold ground seemed to seep through her, and she shivered.