Joining

  “Are you hurt?”

  “My stitches may have opened, but otherwise I am fine,” Milisant assured her sister.

  She turned to see that Wulfric was still there, when he should have returned immediately to capture the assailant. She was distracted for a moment, because he, too, was wearing no more than braies, and that was just too much male skin, his male skin, for her senses to handle all at once.

  It took some very strong willpower to tear her eyes away from that broad expanse of chest to find out why he was still there. Yet she hesitated to point out his duty, recalling his reaction the last time she had insisted he apprehend someone, that day on the path.

  She compromised by merely mentioning, “He is going to escape.”

  “He goes nowhere—ever again,” Wulfric replied.

  Only then did she notice the blood smeared across the end of his sword. “Jesu, you killed him? You do not think questioning him would have been preferable?”

  “Mayhap, yet was there little time to decide, when the weapon in his hand was descending on you.”

  It was jolting, to realize she had been that close to death. She had known it, had felt the fear at the time, but to hear it had really been so …

  She conceded the point with a nod, though she would not thank him for saving her life, when he was responsible for protecting her. He had taken her away from her home to do so, yet was thus far doing a dismal job of it. That she could complain about, and did.

  “You take me away from the safety of my home—”

  “Your home was not safe.”

  “Neither was this abbey. There should at least have been a guard at my door.”

  “There was.” She blinked, but he did not notice, had already looked toward his brother to say, “Find out what happened to him.”

  Raimund nodded and abruptly left the room. While he was gone, Jhone pulled Milisant closer to the candle and, under the cover of the blanket, pulled the sleeve of her tunic down to examine her wound.

  “There are only a few drops of blood,” Jhone whispered, still shaken from the whole ordeal. “The wound only opened slightly, though the stitches still hold.”

  Milisant smiled tiredly, grateful. To have had to undergo more stitching tonight would have been more than she could endure.

  Raimund was quick to return and impart what was already half expected. “He is dead, Wulf. A dagger to the heart—thrown, ’twould seem. He was then dragged and set behind that tree in the courtyard.”

  Wulfric frowned thoughtfully, then looked at Milisant again. “Who wants to see you dead?”

  “A question you should have asked ere now, do you not think?”

  He ignored that. “Who?”

  She shrugged. “Obviously someone who would like to prevent our joining.”

  “I see no obvious to it, yet might it be possible. If so, then we should be wed immediately. And if not, then we should still be wed immediately, so I need not worry about the competence of whomever I set to guard you, since I wouldst be doing the guarding myself.”

  “There is no need to be that drastic,” she hastily assured him. “I will merely keep my pets with me henceforth. They can protect me well enough.”

  He snorted at that idea. “They can die as easily as you.”

  “They can kill as easily as you,” she countered, her chin lifting stubbornly.

  His frown darkened for a moment, but then he sighed. “Very well, I will stand duty at your door for the remainder of this night, and we do not stop on the morrow, no matter how harsh the weather or how late into the night it takes, until we reach Shefford.”

  She readily agreed to that. Obviously he did not like his suggestion that they marry posthaste any more than she did. Thank God for alternatives.

  Eighteen

  The last two hours had been traveled in the dark. Wulfric had been true to his word; they had not stopped once this day, not even to eat, merely chewing on crusty bread and cheese bought from the monks as they rode. The snow had not continued, and what little had stuck to the ground had melted by midmorn. So at least the ride had not been as uncomfortable as it had been the previous day.

  Still, considering their near dawn start, many of them were fully exhausted by the time they rode over the drawbridge into Shefford Castle that night. Milisant was one, having been unable to return to sleep the night before. She could blame Wulfric for that. She had simply been unable to relax, knowing he stood guard outside her door. What should have made her feel safe made her feel—anxious instead.

  She was not at all sure why she had felt so. She certainly had not thought he would come in and harm her. Even if he was behind these attempts on her life, he would not risk seeing to the deed himself.

  Besides, if he wanted her dead, it would be to his benefit to wed her first and collect her dower, then see to eliminating her. So she was inclined to feel foolish now for even suspecting him, especially now that one of his men had been killed, and he had himself killed the intruder.

  Although she and Wulfric had managed to avoid each other over the many years of their betrothal, their parents had visited each other often, either at Shefford or Dunburh, and for weeks at a time. So she knew Shefford well, might have actually felt at home there, if not for the unwanted marriage. She also knew Wulfric’s parents well, so she was not really surprised to wake up finding Anne de Thorpe in her chamber.

  Both Anne and Guy had most likely been present last eventide to greet their arrival, but Milisant had been too exhausted to recall much of it, other than her eagerness to find a bed. And she would have slept longer if given the choice, but Wulfric’s mother was of a different mind.

  Anne was speaking of preparations for the wedding, of guests who were being invited, including the king. She was fair bubbling with excitement, and seemed to be so very glad to be arranging this joining. Jhone, already up and dressed, though still in the chamber the sisters would be sharing, was graciously being a rapt audience for the lady. Milisant seriously thought about hiding her head under the pillows.

  She did not want to hear about these grand preparations that would bind her to Wulfric de Thorpe. But she didn’t want to insult his mother either, by telling her that she abhorred her precious only son. That might be a guaranteed way to get out of the marriage contract, but she couldn’t do that to her father. She needed some other reason that wouldn’t reflect on his parents and wouldn’t shame her father.

  Roland still seemed the most likely option—citing her love for him. It would help, it really would, if it were true. But she would worry about that later. The time was not right to mention Roland yet. She still had to abide by her father’s month of giving Wulfric his chance to prove himself worthy, to get Nigel’s support. It was going to be a very long month.

  She was not able to get back to sleep even after Anne left the chamber. Jhone mentioning that ’twas Growls howling down in the bailey that had awakened her reminded Milisant that she hadn’t properly seen to her pets upon their arrival. Her exhaustion was no excuse to not at least have found Stomper a warm stall, when she knew very well no one else would risk getting near him to do so.

  She found all of her pets in the stable; to her amazement, even the destrier was happily munching away on feed in a stall of his own. When she asked one of the stable lads who had managed to get the horse into the stable, she wasn’t truly surprised to hear it was Wulfric who had done so. But that answer had her quickly examining Stomper for whip marks or wounds. Finding none was what did surprise her.

  Nor could she leave it go at that and just be glad that her pet had been well cared for. She did something she never thought she’d do, she actually sought out Wulfric.

  After much questioning of the castle folk, she found him in his own chamber. She didn’t think about the fact that it wasn’t appropriate yet for her to go there. She had questions, and in her typical fashion, the direct approach was more important than what might be considered unseemly.

  He appeared only momentarily surpris
ed at her entrance. He was in the process of scraping the hair from his face. The sharp blade he was using suspended briefly.

  Milisant’s thoughts suspended a bit longer. But then she hadn’t expected to find him half naked. Verily, this second time she saw him so was as bad as the first had been. It was nigh impossible for her to concentrate when all that bare skin on his chest and arms was there for her to look upon.

  His voice finally recalled her to her purpose when he questioned, “I hesitate to ask if you mean to be here, or are you lost?”

  She ignored his dry tone to answer seriously, “Lost in Shefford when I have been here so frequently over the years?” But then she couldn’t resist adding, “Of course, you wouldn’t know that, never having been here when I was.”

  He smiled. “You imply that was deliberate. Let me assure you it was most deliberate. Mayhap someday you will ask why and we can discuss it without rancor. Truly, I doubt me that time is now.”

  She almost snorted. For herself, she doubted that time would be ever, but refrained from saying so. But now her questions were suddenly much less important than a quick retreat. For a reasonably large chamber, as his was, it seemed much too intimate with only the two of them present, and she liked it not at all, how nervous he made her when she didn’t have anger as a buffer to shield her from it.

  So she meant to ask only the one question that she was most curious about, and then exit posthaste. “I was told you stabled my horse. Why did you?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “It annoyed me to see him left in the bailey, when your servants saw to all of your other pets.”

  She had been hoping his reason wouldn’t show him to have even that small measure of decency, not after the conclusions she had drawn pertaining to his treatment of animals. Of course, he had mentioned annoyance. Had there not been other pets involved that had been seen to, he might not have given Stomper a second thought. She needed to be wary of giving him kind qualities that he did not truly possess.

  However, he had attended to her horse when he hadn’t had to, and her face lit with color from unwanted gratitude for his having done so. She nigh choked on the words that needed saying. “Thank you.”

  He grinned, sensing her feelings. “That was difficult, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye, likely as difficult as your handling Stomper was,” she retorted.

  “Actually, the horse was no trouble once he scented the sugar I offered.”

  So that was why there had been no whip marks. He was smart enough to tempt, rather than coerce. Too bad he hadn’t tried the same approach with her. Not that she was so gullible, but anything other than his typical “do it or else” would be an improvement. Of course, that was from her viewpoint. From his viewpoint, his “do it or else” was working just fine …

  Which brought her aggrievement with him to the fore and prompted her to say curtly, “I’ll disturb you no longer, Lord Wulfric.”

  She’d already turned toward the door when his voice stopped her with, “Do you not agree ’tis time you called me Wulfric? Even Wulf would do.”

  She didn’t agree at all. Using his given name implied a friendship, or at the least, a solid acquaintance, which they did not have.

  But instead of insulting him so early in the morn by pointing that out, she turned back to him with a new question. “’Tis an old English name you have, unusual for a Norman. How came you by it?”

  “To hear my father tell it, a pack of wolves came to the edge of the woods near Shefford the night I was born, and set up a howling for hours—till I was born, and howled louder than they. He felt it was prophetic, that the pack should quiet upon hearing me, and thus I became Wulfric, despite my mother’s preference to name me after my grandsire. Actually, he did compromise. He would have named me just Wolf.”

  Loving animals as she did, Milisant found that amusing. His grouching tone indicated that he didn’t. So she merely said, “An unusual tale to match an unusual name,” then turned again to leave.

  But again he stopped her, this time more directly when he asked, “What is your hurry, Milisant? You seem always to be in a rush. I wonder, do you ever take time to admire the flowers in bloom?”

  What an odd question from him, yet did she reply truthfully, “Were there such to smell this time of year, aye, I would stop to smell them. I am, in fact, more at home among nature’s bounties than inside a cold stone building.”

  She was immediately annoyed with herself for telling him something that personal. It was certainly nothing that he needed to know.

  “I wonder why I am so little surprised by that,” he said in a soft tone as he took a step toward her.

  Alarms went off in Milisant’s head. He had no reason to get close to her that she could think of, other than to intimidate her with his large size. That he did easily enough, whether he was across the room from her or standing right next to her. He was apparently determined to stand right next to her, though …

  She should have bolted. She realized that later. He would have called her coward and she wouldn’t have minded at all—if it had kept her from finding out what his kiss was like. But she didn’t bolt. She stood a bit transfixed by the sensual expression he suddenly wore, which so greatly changed his demeanor. He was handsome normally, but there was an added attraction now that disturbed her, causing her to feel strange things, causing her to feel trapped, as if she’d been snagged by a lucky fishing hook and was being yanked to an unknown fate.

  The touch of his lips upon hers broke the spell he’d put her under. She jerked away, ending the contact. His hands on her shoulders drew her right back to him, much closer now, and ended her formal protest for the moment as his mouth captured hers more fully.

  Devouring came to mind. The trapped rabbit came to mind. The falcon swooping down on his prey came to mind. Not one image offered escape, but held her immobile in fear—and something else. It was the something else that she hoped to forget, but doubted she would, that small, tiny urge to relax against him and let him have his way.

  The taste of him was—pleasant. The heat of his lips was—pleasant. The feel of his body pressed to her was—more than pleasant. However, considering how she felt about him, none of that should have been so and was rightfully confusing. But she only thought of that afterward. During the kiss, she thought of nothing, and that was the most frightening, that she could be rendered witless.

  She had to wonder what might have happened if that kiss had continued. Thankfully it was interrupted by a servant’s sharp rap on the door, causing him to release her and step back to his previous position. She vaguely noted that he seemed somewhat embarrassed now.

  Still in a daze herself, Milisant didn’t think before asking baldly, “Why did you do that?” “Because I can.”

  Had she expected some romantic answer from him? More fool her. The answer she got had her own cheeks flushing with angry heat. So typical of the male of the species. I can, therefore I will. Bah, would that a woman could ever say the same and not have someone tell her why it would never be so.

  She gave him back his own answer, as derisively as she could, as she left him to deal with the servant who entered as she opened the door. “I wonder why I am so little surprised by that.”

  Nineteen

  Because I can?

  Wulfric amazed himself sometimes, and this was certainly one of those times. He could not think of a more stupid answer to have given Milisant, and hardly the truth. But the truth had caught him by surprise, that he could desire her so suddenly, and so strongly, when verily, there was so little about her that he liked—nay, that wasn’t entirely true.

  She was an exceptionally comely wench when she wasn’t wearing more dirt than clothes. And she had a sharp wit that he found more and more often amusing. Of course, she used it to try and insult him at every opportunity, but her daring in that also amused him.

  She was unusual to be sure. She had too much pride. She was too opinionated. Her pursuits were unseemly in the extreme. Yet he had no dou
bt now that he would have little trouble bedding her; nay, he was sure now he would find much pleasure in that. So although he was still not thrilled with their approaching marriage, he couldn’t say he still found it utterly abhorrent either.

  Which was likely why he refrained from mentioning his reservations to his mother when he joined her at the Great Hearth before the midday meal, though previously he had considered enlisting her aid.

  Also, she couldn’t have helped noticing his sour mood when he had left here last week to collect Milisant. But in her typical fashion, she would have ignored it. Unless and until she was actually confronted with a dire situation directly, she found it quite easy to explain away any portentous signs of approaching disaster.

  So she would have had warning, if he cared to discuss with her the many reasons, and there were still many, why Milisant would not make him a suitable wife. But he chose to bide his time and keep silent on the matter, well aware that the taste of Milisant, still fresh in his mind, was likely the only thing to decide him.

  Cynically, he had to wonder how many decisions of great import were based on a man’s sexual needs, without his even being aware of it. Too many, no doubt. Even kings were not immune to self-interest in the sexual arena. King John was a prime example in that.

  Unfortunately, he should have realized that his mother would want to talk of nothing but the wedding—and the bride. He didn’t even get a proper greeting from her before she launched into those very subjects, when he joined her on her favorite bench.

  “Ah, I am glad you have come ere the hall begins to fill for dinner, so I can tell you how pleased I am that you have finally fetched your betrothed. You are truly lucky, Wulf. She is such a lovely girl. Verily, betrothing you to her at her birth as was done, we could not know how she would turn out, could we? Yet did it work out exceptionally well for you.”

  He managed to keep from laughing. Did she really have no idea how unusual Milisant was? But then he realized she really might not know. The girl could, after all, turn herself out decently and behave when she cared to, and mayhap she had cared to do just that whenever his mother had been present over the years.