Hers to Desire. Margaret MooreЧитать онлайн книгу.
him like that? Why couldn’t he stay angry with her? Then he might be able to ignore his wayward desire.
“I saw a woman riding as if her life was in danger, so naturally I came to her aid,” he replied, doing his best to control his tumultuous emotions as he marched to her mare and grabbed the dangling reins.
“Naturally,” she said, following him like an eager puppy. “You are a most chivalrous knight.”
“Whether these lands are safe or not, it wasn’t wise to get so far ahead of your party. I’m surprised Merrick was so remiss.”
“Oh, but he wasn’t,” Beatrice hastened to reply. “Merrick had nothing to do with it.”
Ranulf made no secret of his confusion. “What do you mean? As leader of your party and your guardian—”
“He’s not. Well, he’s still my guardian,” she amended, “but Merrick isn’t with the cortege. He can’t leave Tregellas. Indeed, he can’t ride at all, or even walk because of what happened the night little Peder was born.”
Ranulf stared at her as if she’d just spoken in tongues. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Merrick merely sprained his ankle.”
“I know Merrick didn’t think he’d done anything serious, but the apothecary discovered that he’d broken his leg, so it’s a good thing Constance insisted on sending for someone more learned, isn’t it? Fortunately, it’s a clean break, so it shouldn’t leave Merrick crippled, provided he stays off it for several more days, or so the apothecary says, and he seems a wise fellow, so I think we can take comfort in his opinion.”
Ranulf felt the need to sit, but as there was no chair, bench or stool nearby, he didn’t. “Who is in charge of your party, then?”
She beamed a smile. “Well, I suppose I am, although Aeden’s in command of the soldiers, and I can hardly tell the masons what to do. That’s for you to decide.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ranulf muttered.
Bea’s smile died. “I wouldn’t lie about a thing like that. In fact, I don’t generally lie about anything, unless it’s how a gown looks or something equally unimportant.” She crossed her arms beneath her perfect breasts. “I must say I’m offended you would accuse me of making up a story like that.”
She certainly sounded offended, so what she’d said was almost certainly true. Merrick had broken his leg and wasn’t coming. But she had, and without a proper chaperone or escort, just some soldiers and two masons, all of considerably lower rank.
Had Merrick lost his mind? What, in the name of the saints, was Bea supposed to do at Penterwell, except aggravate and distract him?
And tempt you, too, a lustful little voice prompted in the back of his mind.
“That doesn’t explain why Merrick sent you here,” Ranulf said brusquely, his anger now partly directed at himself.
“Well, naturally when Merrick received your letter, he was concerned—and Constance, too— about the conditions at Penterwell. So was I, so I’ve come to oversee your household the way the masons will oversee the repairs to the walls. It sounds as if you could use some assistance with the servants, at the very least. And I’ve brought food and wine, too.”
Ranulf drew his broadsword and took a moment to calm himself by swinging it from side to side, as if decapitating the grass.
“I know the news about Merrick must come as a shock,” Bea went on, “but I thought you might be a little glad to see me.”
God save him from apologetic young women with the eyes of an angel and a body to tempt even saints to sin!
“Coming here without Merrick or any other relative was not wise and I’m surprised Merrick and Constance allowed it,” he said as he sheathed his sword.
Bea’s bright blue eyes sparkled with what looked remarkably like defiance. “Surely you’re not telling me I need to be protected from you?” she asked. “Are you implying you would forswear your oath of loyalty and friendship to my cousin’s husband and ravish me?” She cocked her head to study him. “Or are you suggesting I’ll throw myself into your arms because you’re irresistible?”
He tried to ignore the wondrous vision of Bea rushing into his open arms, then pressing her soft, shapely body against his as she lifted her sweet face for his kiss. “No, of course not,” he growled.
“Then why should I not come here when you need help, and the sort a woman can best provide?”
Had she no idea how that sounded? The notions it gave a man, especially a lonely one, and even if he didn’t think her the most beautiful, tempting woman he’d ever met? “Because other people will talk and make assumptions that could call your honor into question.”
She drew herself up to her full height, which was about even with his nose. “I appreciate your concern for my reputation, Sir Ranulf, but I point out, I have little honor to lose. My father was a traitor, and executed.” Her eyes flashed with a stern determination that surprised him, for Bea was usually the most gentle and softhearted of women. “If other people wish to see a sin where none exists, they are not worthy of my acquaintance.”
“How do you intend to get a husband if—?”
“If a man thinks me a loose woman, why would I care if he wants to marry me or not?” she demanded. “And surely if neither Constance or Merrick object to my coming here, you shouldn’t. They are legally obligated to protect me, not you.”
Exactly. “Which is why they never should have let you come here as you have.”
Her eyes grew cold, like blue ice, and her tone just as frosty. “Very well, Sir Ranulf,” she snapped, “as you see fit to question my guardians’ decision and wish to decline my assistance, I shall gladly return to Tregellas at once.”
He told himself he ought to be relieved.
And then a drop of rain fell upon his nose. Another fell on her cheek.
She glanced up at the cloudy sky before regarding him with grim triumph. “It seems, my lord, that the rain is not going to hold off. Given that we are closer to Penterwell than Tregellas, we shall be forced to spend this night at the castle you command. Otherwise, I might take a chill and die. Then Merrick and Constance will hate you and Maloren will no doubt attempt to assassinate you in revenge.”
She was, unfortunately, right, at least about staying the night in Penterwell. “As you say, my lady, given the weather we have little choice,” he agreed, determined to sound as stern and commanding as he could. “You may come with me to Penterwell, but in the cart with Maloren. Now that you’re under my care, I won’t risk another fall.”
Bea frowned as she wrapped her cloak more tightly about herself, her brow wrinkling and her lips turning down at the corners. “Maloren won’t like sharing.”
“I point out, my lady, that this is not a request. I am your host and responsible for your welfare while you’re at Penterwell.”
As he spoke, it suddenly dawned on Ranulf that Bea would be his first noble guest. Just as suddenly, he recalled the state of his hall, and the kitchen, and got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea at all what sort of chamber might be available for a noble female guest and her maidservant, either. He’d spent most of his days out on patrol, or in the village with Hedyn, meeting the villagers and trying to find out what had happened to Gawan and those other two missing men. When he returned to the hall, he ate whatever the cook had prepared—which was always fish of some sort—and climbed into his messy bed too tired to care if the linen was clean as long as he didn’t wake up flea bitten in the morning.
Had his first guest been Merrick, he wouldn’t have worried about creature comforts. Like him, Merrick would be more concerned about possible enemies, not what was served at the evening meal or where he’d be sleeping. But this wasn’t