He spun her around once they were outside in the moonlit courtyard. “You certainly enjoyed yourself!” he hissed, his teeth clenched.
“You are hurting me,” she said quite calmly, trying to pry his fingers from her upper arms.
“I ought to beat you!”
She glared at him. He was really going too far! “That is truly a man’s logic! You were the one who wanted to come here. You were the one who insisted upon acting like a child. And now, to cover your own stupidity and childishness, you wish to beat me!”
He dug his fingers deeper into her arms. “I told you to sit quietly, out of sight, but there you were giving Hugh those enticing little smiles. You were telling him that anything he wanted from you he could have.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “That may be the most absurd thing I ever heard.”
“You’re lying! I saw you!”
Her eyes opened even wider, and she was very calm when she spoke. “Stephen, what in the world is wrong with you? I looked at the man as I would any man. I was curious because you talked of how slow he was, yet you seemed to think he had a lot of women.”
“Were you trying to add yourself to his stable?”
“You are being crude and insulting,” she said flatly. “And you are still hurting me.”
He didn’t release her. “Perhaps you wish the king had given you him for a husband, along with Roger Chatworth. If I can beat one, I can certainly beat the other.”
The statement was so childish that Bronwyn could do nothing except laugh. “That is an irrational statement. I did nothing but look at the man. If I smiled it was because I was thinking of something else. I will remind you again that I never wanted to come here in the first place.”
Suddenly all of Stephen’s anger left him, and he grabbed her to him in a bone-crushing embrace. “Don’t do that again,” he said fiercely.
She started to reply that she hadn’t done anything, but the way Stephen held her was almost comforting. Her arms hurt and she could feel the imprint of each of his fingers, but somehow she rather liked the idea that he was jealous of another man looking at her.
He held her away. “I almost wish you weren’t so damned pretty,” he whispered, then put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m hungry again. Let’s see if there’s anything left in the kitchen.”
Bronwyn felt especially close to Stephen as they went back to the kitchen. It was almost as if they were in love and not just physical lovers. The kitchen people grumbled that they were back again, but Stephen winked at the cook, and Bronwyn saw the fat old woman melt under his warm blue eyes. She had her own pang of jealousy and realized she wanted all of Stephen’s looks for her own.
They stood to one side for a moment, eating juicy apple-filled fried pies. “There’s too much waste in here,” Bronwyn said.
Stephen started to retort in defense of the English kitchen, but he’d been in Scotland too long. He’d lived with Kirsty’s parents, seen their poverty. Even in Larenston the people were frugal, always aware of the value of food and that tomorrow it might all be gone. “Aye, it is,” he said firmly. “We could use some of this food at home.”
Bronwyn looked up at him with great warmth. She reached up and moved a curl from off his neck. The long hair and deep tan suited him. She glanced across the room and saw a buxom young cook’s helper staring with interest at Stephen’s bare, muscular thigh, which was exposed as he put one leg on the seat of a chair. She grabbed his hand. “I’ve had enough of this place. Shall we go outside?”
Stephen agreed with her and left before he noticed the kitchen maid.
It was the storm that kept them from leaving Hugh’s estate. It came suddenly, raining violently. One minute the skies seemed to be clear, and the next there threatened to be a repeat of Noah’s flood.
Bronwyn begged Stephen not to stay. She told him a little rain never hurt a Scotswoman, but he wouldn’t listen. He didn’t want to risk her to lung fever, not when he could possibly prevent it. So they prepared to spend the night at Hugh’s house.
The Great Hall floor was covered with straw pallets, ready for the many retainers and guests. Stephen tried to find a private corner but there was no such thing. When he was settled beside Bronwyn, he slipped his hand under her skirt and touched her knee. She hissed at him and told him in no uncertain terms that she’d not perform in such a public place. He sighed and eventually agreed with her. She snuggled next to him and was asleep in minutes.
But Stephen couldn’t sleep. He’d been in the open too long, and now all the walls seemed to be closing in on him. He shifted his position again and again, but the straw still felt too soft. Rab even growled at him once because he was so restless. He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the beamed ceiling. He kept remembering the way Hugh had looked at Bronwyn. Damn the man! Hugh thought he could get any woman he wanted. No doubt he was encouraged by the way Meg had gone to him.
The more he thought about the trick Hugh had played on him, the angrier he became. In spite of Bronwyn’s warnings he knew he wanted to let Hugh know he’d been there.
He quietly slipped off the pallet, commanded Rab to stay with Bronwyn, and silently went toward the eastern door to the Great Hall.
As children he and his brothers had often visited the Lasco estate. One day, when they were very young, he and Hugh had discovered a secret passage leading upstairs. They were trembling with excitement when they reached the door at the top of the stairs. They were surprised to find the door well oiled and silent as they slipped into the room behind a heavy tapestry. They weren’t even sure where they were until they heard sounds coming from the bed. But it was too late then. Hugh’s grandfather was in bed with a very young housemaid, and both of them seemed to be having a marvelous time. The old man found no humor in looking up and seeing two seven-year-old boys watching him with wide-eyed interest. Stephen still winced when he remembered the beating Hugh’s grandfather gave them and the one he promised if they revealed their knowledge of the secret passage. Four years ago, when the old man died, Stephen cried at his funeral. He hoped he could pleasure young girls at the same age. Stephen laughed and was glad Bronwyn hadn’t heard that thought.
He slipped behind a screen in the anteroom off the Great Hall. He went to the window seat and took his knife and pried off the linen-fold paneling behind the cushions. It had been a particularly violent pillow fight that had knocked the panel away the first time so long ago. He had to stick his arm through an inch of cobwebs before he could even see the outline of the stone staircase. Once inside, he pulled the panel back into place.
It was black inside the stairwell, and tiny feet scurried back and forth. More cobwebs hit his face, and he wished he had his sword to clear them away. The passage had been in constant use and had been kept clean when Hugh’s grandfather was alive. Since Hugh lived alone, Stephen guessed he had no reason to hide his trysts from anyone.
The door at the top of the stairs opened with only a slight creak, but Stephen had no time to wonder at this. His eyes were used to the black stairwell, and so the room, lit by a single fat night candle, seemed to blaze with light. Stephen smiled at his extraordinary luck, for Hugh lay asleep on the bed. Stephen smiled at the quiet, unsuspecting man, then removed his knife from its sheath at his side.