Page 18 of The Rose of Blacksword

17

Rosalynde’s return to Stanwood Castle brought a myriad of changes. Many were obvious, for even the most slovenly of castle residents could not help but enjoy the new regime of cleanliness that the lord’s daughter enforced with a sweet voice and an iron hand. No one complained at the change in authority when Maud and Edith took over the now-spotless kitchen. Even the grumblings about the new work required of everyone were slowly dying down, for everyone was equally affected, and the truth was, the servants took a certain comfort in knowing precisely what their duties were.

Each morning, noon, and evening Sir Edward presided over the meals in the newly pleasant great hall. The castlefolk had begun to respond to the higher expectations made of them. Even his personal garments were clean and mended; indeed, his entire life had brightened in the two weeks since his daughter had returned to him. He was well fed, well housed, and well clothed, as content as a man might hope to be.

“Come walk with me,” he requested of her one particular day when the noon meal was complete. “I would have a moment of your time before you hurry away to your next task.”

Rosalynde gave her father a surprised look. Although she knew he approved of all she’d done, he had rarely singled her out to speak with. She welcomed his attention now.

“Will you accompany me to the bailey? I’ve several vats set to boil and I must check their progress.”

“What new labor have you begun?” he asked as they made their way out of the hall and into the midday sunlight.

“We melt tallow and beeswax and wax bark to skim the dirt away. There are candles to make and rushlights to replenish.”

They strolled on in silence before he spoke again. “Stanwood shines under your deft hand, daughter. I’d not noted the loss of comforts until you began to restore them.”

His eyes were straight ahead as he spoke, never touching her own, and his voice was somewhat gruff. But Rosalynde nonetheless felt the approval there, and a warm rush of feeling went through her.

“ ’Tis not so much,” she demurred.

“ ’Tis enough to make me know that you are a woman now, not a child as I had persisted in thinking. You are a woman fully grown and a chatelaine to be proud of.” He halted when they reached the huge vats, and he turned to stare at her expectantly. “ ’Tis time to see you wed.”

Rosalynde gasped in shock at his unexpected words, and in the first moments after his pronouncement she only stared at him in horror, looking for all the world as if she had just learned she was to be executed at dawn. Her heart thundered furiously and her throat grew dry as she stared mutely at him, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping open.

It was clear he anticipated a pleased reaction from her, even though it might understandably be tempered with a natural hesitance. Every noblewoman expected to marry, and there was no reason for him to think she would feel any differently about it. When his brow creased in a puzzled frown, however, she abruptly closed her mouth and assumed a less revealing expression. But her father was not to be fooled.

“What is this, Rosalynde? You gape at me as one amazed. Yet was it not you who said you were well trained in the housewifely arts? You have proven that well enough. It only remains for you to take a husband. And yet methinks the idea does not set well with you.”

For a moment Rosalynde could not think of a reply. At least not one that did not threaten the well-being of Aric. “I … it’s only that, well.…” She faltered. “I have only just returned to Stanwood and already you would send me away.”

“You cannot think I would send you from Stanwood, daughter. As my only heir, you and your husband should be here.” His lined face smiled reassuringly and he patted her shoulder. “Never fear. I’ll not send you away again.”

Had it not been for her terrible predicament of already being bound to Aric, Rosalynde would have been very much comforted by her father’s words, for there was a wealth of revealing emotion in them. In his own awkward way he was expressing his regret for the long years he had kept her away. In his own way he was showing his love to her. Rosalynde recognized that at once. But the urgency of her own situation prevented her from savoring the knowledge. Instead she clasped her hands together and turned nervously toward the nearest vat.

“There is no rush, is there, Father? I mean, certainly I expect to wed, but … but I had thought we could spend some time together first. And also,” she added, grasping truly at straws now. “Also, it would be unseemly to host a wedding so soon after poor Giles’s death.…”

She trailed off as sorrow for her young brother combined with her own panic to choke her voice.

“There, there, Rosalynde. Do not fret for this.” Sir Edward hovered near her, clearly discomfitted by this unanticipated turn of events. “ ’Tis not my wish to send you tomorrow into marriage. I but thought to begin the process. Make the inquiries.”

“Oh.” Rosalynde turned a hopeful face to her father. “Oh, I see,” she said with relief.

“And since you have worked such wonders with the castle,” he hurried on when he saw her change of mood, “I thought to begin by entertaining a few guests.”

Rosalynde’s relief skidded to a halt. “When?” she asked fearfully.

“Oh, soon,” he said evasively. “But don’t worry on that, daughter. A guest or two now and again will hardly trouble you.” He shifted his gaze to the ramparts and frowned somewhat. “I … ah … I must see to something. If you will pardon me? I must speak to Cedric … to Sir Roger, I mean. Well …” With those parting words he strode quickly away. Rosalynde was left to stare after him, her emotions in a quandary as she pondered the new complication that had just been thrust upon her.

She refused to work with Aric that afternoon. The thought of dealing with his ever-strengthening demands was too much for her to face, especially after her troubling conversation with her father. But it was not only his demands that she feared. More than that, it was her own weakening resolve.

A week had passed since she’d bribed him with that kiss, and in that time he’d only become more and more familiar with her. He hadn’t kissed her again. It would almost have been better if he had. Instead he talked to her most easily, did not hesitate to touch her in passing—at least he did that only when no one was in sight—and all too often smiled at her. It was that smile—sometimes friendly, sometimes mocking—that proved her biggest trial. His eyes would sweep her lazily. Possessively. And he would smile, showing strong white teeth beneath curving lips.

Those lips fascinated her, and more and more she found herself dwelling on them. Whenever she was alone, whether working or resting, the memory of those lips pressed to her own haunted her. She imagined him kissing her neck, her shoulders. Her breasts. Something deep inside her would tighten into a hot churning knot and she would even imagine him sweeping a trail of kisses down to her belly, as if he might be able to release the pent-up tension that coiled in her down there. Then, appalled at the wicked wanderings of her own thoughts, she would retreat to the sanctuary of prayer. Many long hours she spent on her knees. In the small chapel. In her own chamber. Sometimes even in the garden. She would kneel on the small fustian pallet, pulling up nettles and felonwort and friar’s cap, and she would pray for divine intervention. Nothing but God’s own intercession seemed likely to contradict the overwhelming emotions that so perversely drew her to Blacksword. Only God could help her.

She was staring at the huge vat of tallow, seeing but not really noting how industriously the young lad stirred the bubbling mess and how carefully he skimmed away the scum. Her mind was preoccupied with Aric and with her father’s words regarding her marriage. When the first shout came she did not at first look up. But when she heard a frightened cry followed by a babble of alarmed calls, her head jerked up. Across the bailey, just beyond the great hall, she could see a knot of people. But above them, dangling from a rope, a man twisted crazily. He’d been repairing crumbling portions of the wall earlier, sitting in a sling that had been lowered from the ramparts above. But one of the ropes had broken, and unable to crawl up or get down, the man could only cling to the single remaining length of jute.

She did not stop to think as she dashed toward the man. From all across the bailey people stopped to look, then hurried toward the excitement. But one person reacted more quickly than the rest. Instead of heading toward the screaming man, Aric rushed to a narrow stone stairs that led up to the ramparts. Then before anyone else could even formulate a plan to aid the hapless fellow, Aric was standing above him, gripping the rope in his mighty fists. With one hand he lifted the man a foot, just enough to unloop the other end of the rope, which was anchored to a huge timber. Then in slow, steady movements he lowered the terrified man hand over hand to the ground.

When the poor fellow finally reached the ground, a huge shout went up from the gathered crowd. Cheers and clapping greeted the trembling mason, and for a moment he was unable to speak. Then he looked up at the brawny man who now pulled up the rope and coiled it neatly in his hand.

“Ye have me thanks, friend,” he called up to Aric. He gave him an abbreviated bow, then smiled up at him again. “Ye have me thanks and me undying friendship.”

As cheers followed that pronouncement, Rosalynde also stared up at Aric. In the late afternoon, with the sunlight glancing golden off his hair and backlighting his powerful silhouette, he looked almost an angel of deliverance. Most certainly he had rescued the mason from sure injury. With his quick reaction, shrewd thinking, and physical strength he had saved the fellow before his arms gave out. He had not waited for instructions or orders. Instead he had taken control of the situation and averted disaster.

Her brow creased as she studied him. He was not a follower, but a leader. He was too smart and too capable to be a mere runagate, yet how had he come by such qualities?

Rosalynde knew this one act would go far in establishing the outlaw Blacksword among the rest of the castlefolk. He would be Aric the hero now, and accepted, instead of remaining an outsider.

Yet in his dark tunic and braies, with nothing to commend him but his native intelligence and uncanny strength, he appeared to be as much devil as angel. Lucifer, the fallen angel, her fanciful thoughts named him. He had a considerable capacity for good. Why had he ever been drawn into a life of crime?

She watched as his eyes skimmed the crowd. She trembled when they stopped on her. For a tense moment their eyes clung and she sensed the taunt he sent her. She’d avoided him today. He knew it and he would not let her get away with it. On shaking legs she sought to turn away from that mocking stare, to flee to the safety of her candles and wax. But her father appeared in the bailey then, and with a wave of his hand called her to his side.

“Are you hurt, Tom?” he asked the old mason with the concern of a good lord.

“I’m shaken, milord, and none too steady in my knees. But I’m sound, and I’ve that young fellow to thank for it. If he hadn’t been there …”

“So it seems,” Sir Edward agreed as his eyes turned up to where Aric stood. As he and Rosalynde watched, Blacksword gathered the ends of the rope, whipped them tightly around the loops, and tucked them securely in place. Then he slung the heavy coil over one shoulder and made his way toward the stairs.

“This Aric,” Sir Edward mused, watching the man’s sure descent. “He’s one not easy to fathom.” Then he turned his eyes on her. “If you’ve finished with him in your garden, I’ve another more likely place in mind for him.”

His words created unexpected confusion in Rosalynde. Logic deemed it best that she and Aric not spend any time in company together. That only created all sorts of temptations for her. But she quite perversely did not want him out of her sight. She justified it as only self-preservation. Away from her he might accidentally—or intentionally—give their secret away. But she could not completely pass it off as such, at least not to herself.

“What would you have of him?” she asked her father quietly.

“If he is so inclined, he would make a good man-at-arms. He has the strength and the quickness. He’s not a stupid fellow. I’m just not certain of his loyalty,” he added thoughtfully.

“I had thought—” Rosalynde started to speak, and then had second thoughts.

But her father pinned her with his astute gaze. “You had thought what?” he prompted as the crowd began to disperse.

“Well, I mean …” She hesitated, knowing she must tread carefully. “It has been only a fortnight since you had him flogged, and then you spared him only because I interceded. Yet now you would make him a man-at-arms with weapons at his disposal?” She looked away, unnerved by her father’s steady gaze. “It’s just that I am surprised, that is all.”

“Is there something about this man that I should know, Rosalynde? Something you are aware of that would better help me to judge his character?” When she did not answer, but only shook her head mutely, he sighed. “The man is an odd one. I mark that well. There is that side of him that is a savage. I have seen it in men of war and I recognize it in him. But he has a self-control that sets him apart. I know he but bides his time, daughter. He was not meant to till earth. But I have only to channel his savagery and shrewdness to my own use. Eventually I will find the proper niche for him here at Stanwood. That’s the only sure way to ever inspire loyalty in a man. Make him fit in.”

Rosalynde was much taken aback by her fathers well-considered words. She’d not noticed that her father was even aware of Aric’s whereabouts, let alone the vagaries of the man’s personality. Yet she could not but agree with his assessment. Aric was most assuredly possessed of a savage side. And he was a man accustomed to danger, to war, as it were. She’d not thought about his self-control, yet now that her father had put voice to it, she recognized it well. He’d kept silent during that brutal flogging. And since then he had most definitely been biding his time, waiting for his reward even though what he demanded and what she offered seemed far beyond compromise. Oh yes, he was a man possessed of both savagery and self-control.

For a weak moment she wondered which of those traits fascinated her more. But her father was watching her, and she sternly willed such thoughts away.

“He is a man hard to understand,” she admitted slowly.

“Do you fear him?”

This time Rosalynde could not hide her startled expression. “I … well, no. No,” she said in a firmer voice. “I have never feared harm at his hands,” she declared. At least not the sort of harm her father meant, she thought to herself. What she feared from the man was the singular power he seemed to have over her body and her emotions. That was what made him so particularly dangerous to her.

“Never?” Sir Edward’s gray brows raised doubtfully. “How come you by such faith in a man of his questionable past?”

“What I mean is, once I got to know him I was not afraid. At first … well, at first I was too desperate for help to worry. But once he agreed to help us …”

“You trusted him to keep to his word.”

“Yes, I trusted him to keep his word.” And he had, she knew. The only problem now was that he also trusted her to keep hers.

She pressed her lips together, unable to suppress the guilt that besieged her at that thought. More than anything she wanted to escape her fathers keen gaze, but for once he seemed determined to keep her in his company. “Aric will make you a good man-at-arms, Father. He is strong and smart, and can be very determined. My garden nears completion. Take him with good heart. I wish you well of him. As for me, however, I’ve much left to do this day. If you will excuse me?”

Sir Edward watched her depart with a small frown on his face. Twice in one day he’d left her side bewildered by her reactions. Was it only that she was a woman and he a man? Was that why nothing he expected from her came to pass?

He’d thought to find a girl too young and too spoiled to take over the workings of a household as vast as Stanwood. Instead, he’d found her to be capable and willing, a young woman of admirable talents and grace. He’d anticipated her excitement at the thought of her own marriage, yet she’d clearly been dismayed. Resistant even. And now, when he’d only offhandedly remarked on the uses of one of his many servants, he’d gotten a strong sense that she was vitally concerned with whatever befell the man.

For a moment he wondered at such concern, and a vague voice of doubt tugged at him. Had something passed between the two of them before they’d been found and brought to Stanwood? Had the boy’s accusations been true?

But if they had been true, if the man had attacked her and done his worst with her, she would hardly have defended him at the flogging. Although she might be tempted to lie to preserve her own reputation, if he had misused her she would surely not have balked at seeing the man punished. No, he decided with a slow shake of his graying head. Rosalynde felt gratitude toward the man, but nothing else. He had saved her and the boy, and as a result, she would very likely always have a particular interest in this man’s well-being. Under the circumstances she should be well pleased, for as a man-at-arms his life would improve considerably. Assuming, of course, that the taciturn fellow was bright enough to appreciate what was being offered to him.

Aric was wary when he was called into Sir Edward’s presence. He had seen the man staring at him after the mason had been rescued, but his own eyes had been drawn to Rosalynde who had stood at her father’s side. Now he wondered whether she had finally confessed, finally revealed the truth of her marriage to her parent. Since she had pointedly avoided him all day, there was no telling what he might expect.

If Rosalynde had told her father of the handfast vow, the man would undoubtedly be furious. Just as Rosalynde had foreseen, her father’s first reaction would most certainly be violent. Aric’s only defense would be the revelation of his own noble upbringing, and he counted on that to ensure the marriage stood.

He frowned as he strode across the bailey, and once again he wondered at his own perversity for not simply revealing the truth of his identity. Day by day his chance for revenge against his unknown foes was slipping away from him, confounded by his feelings for this one slender maiden. Even worse, being so near Rosalynde and yet not having leave to bed her taxed him almost beyond the limits of his control. It did not help at all that the dairymaid constantly dogged his path. That one’s willing and ample form interested him not the least, and only served to increase the desire he felt for the dark-haired mistress of the castle.

Rosalynde desired him as well—there was no mistaking that fact. But her noble birth held her apart from him, and although he suspected she would accept him better should his true identity be revealed, for some reason he wanted more than that. He wanted her to admit to her desire. He wanted her to come to him willingly, disregarding all the reasons she should not. Only then would he be sure that she wanted him , the man she knew him to be. Only then would he tell her the truth of who he was.

When he entered the great hall and stopped before her father, he was immediately certain that Rosalynde had not revealed a thing to him, for Sir Edward’s smile, though reserved, was nonetheless sincere. This time there was no waiting in silence, wondering what was to come. This time Sir Edward laid down his quill and leaned back in his chair, eyeing him with friendly interest.

“That was a commendable feat I saw this morning. Quick thinking, even more quickly carried out. I thank you both for myself and for Tom.”

Aric considered Sir Edward a short moment before bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment. “It was little enough to do for a man in need.”

“Yes,” Sir Edward mused. “Perhaps so. But I am as inclined to reward good deeds as I am likely to punish bad. We did not meet under the best of circumstances. But I am ready to let the past be, and move on to the future. If you can agree to that, I offer you a position among my men-at-arms.”

This Aric had not anticipated, and he was momentarily taken by surprise. To have weapons in his hands once more! To test himself daily in exercise and combat. If he must maintain this disguise, far better to be a soldier than a farmer. But as a soldier, how likely was he to see Rosalynde? It was for this that he hesitated until Sir Edward’s smile began to fade.

“Well?” the older man demanded more brusquely. “Is my faith in your quick wits so soon proved foolish?”

“Nay, sire. Not foolish at all. I had but wondered …” Aric halted, then his resolve jelled. He would see Rosalynde, one way or another, and in a better light. She would be his yet, as would the whole of Stanwood some day. But it was the woman he wanted above all else, and with a sudden grin he faced Sir Edward. “I had but marveled at your generosity, sire. Most assuredly I do accept your kind offer. I only hope, Sir Edward, that I may prove worthy of your trust.”

So do I , Sir Edward thought once he had sent the intimidating fellow off to Sir Roger. So do I .