Spicing It Up. Tanya Michaels

      Chapter Four

      More than a fortnight had passed since his wounding. Richard thanked God the Scots had stayed on the other side of the border for the time being. Though he had healed well, he had enough trouble as it was right here at Fernstowe.

      As a rule, he rarely dreamed. Now Sara not only invaded his privacy by day, but also by night. In the days following her interruption of his bath, he could not banish the woman from his mind no matter how hard he tried.

      The clean, flowery scent of her clung to his pillows as though she had slept there. He would awake with his nose buried in their softness, seeking the phantom source of her essence.

      His hands tingled for want of touching that fine, smooth skin of hers. More than anything, he ached to teach that impudent mouth of hers a lesson, to devour it with his own and make her groan with need as he felt like doing. She set his senses afire, waking and sleeping.

      On this particular morning, he again woke in a sweat, highly aroused and with every detail of the fantasies fresh in his mind. Before he’d had time to recover, she swept into his chamber chattering. Though nothing she said was in any way provocative, the mere tone of her voice made him burn like a brush fire.

      “’Tis dawn! Looks to be a lovely weather. I thought we might hold the court outdoors.”

      “Court?” he questioned, squinting at the window and its meager light of early morn. He had sudden visions of a daylong harangue between squabbling peasants.

      She handed him the cup of ale she’d brought with her. “Not really court as such, though it is the time for it. There are no quarrels to settle that I know about, but the villagers and many of those farming the outer reaches will come today to swear fealty to you. I thought we would make a celebration of it. Nothing grand. Extra ale and sweet cakes, cheese, broken meats.”

      She whirled around and threw open the lid of his clothes chest. “What will you wear? I’ll help you dress.”

      He thunked down the cup on the table and swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep his body covered lest she see the state he was in. “Go along. I’ll be down directly.”

      She glanced over her shoulder and for an instant vulnerability and uncertainty clouded her features. Then, quick as a blink, the expression was gone, replaced by a blinding smile. “Very well. I am glad you are feeling better.”

      Carefully she laid down the tunic she was holding and backed away from the chest.

      She hesitated when she reached the door and turned back to him. “Richard, would you grant me a favor? Just for the duration of the swearing and the feasting afterward?”

      He did not feel disposed to grant her anything after the restless nights she had caused him, but he was curious. “I owe you for tending me and you know it. I always pay my debts. What is it you wish?”

      She banished the blush she wore and met his eyes directly. “Hide your displeasure with me for the day?”

      Richard could clearly see what the request had cost her. She bit her lips together and stood as straight as a lance, but her knuckles gleamed white on the one hand that clutched the other. He noted a tremor shake her ever so slightly as she awaited his answer.

      “If you wish,” he agreed, watching her closely.

      She nodded once. “My thanks.” Then she turned quickly and left, silently closing the door behind her.

      Richard began to dress, wondering all the while why he should feel so guilty. Had he treated her any worse than she deserved? What could a woman expect when she tricked a man the way she had done? But his cursed conscience bothered him all the same.

      Sara had believed him landless. She thought he also would profit by their marriage, so he could not complain that her motives were entirely self-serving. And save for an occasional flare of temper, the woman did act kind and cheerful, almost desperately so. Patient with him, too, even on the occasions when he had deliberately set out to raise her ire.

      He shrugged and put his mind to dressing himself as befitted a lord about to assume the rule of a new estate and win the confidence of its people.

      No reason to air his grievances about his new wife publicly, Richard decided. By rights, what lay between the two of them should remain private. In any event, he would never disparage Sara before Fernstowe’s people. But he would make an extra effort to appear congenial toward her now that she had asked it of him.

      When he arrived in the hall, he saw Sara in an earnest discourse with two of her men. In truth it appeared to be more an argument than a discussion.

      Richard recognized Everil and Jace, two of the most vocal among Sara’s men-at-arms. He had become fairly well acquainted with most who resided at Fernstowe now, and had appraised the force available to him for defense. At present, both guards were disagreeing hotly with something she had just said.

      Richard approached, stood close and laid his right palm at the back of Sara’s waist. The men immediately fell silent. They regarded him and his proprietary gesture toward their lady with sharp curiosity.

      “I trust nothing is amiss here,” Richard said evenly, favoring each man with a pointed look of warning.

      “Nay, milord,” the man called Jace assured him. Then he smiled. “Milady says we should ride to the outer reaches this morn and escort in the folk who bide there. Ev and I, we thinks they’ll be coming without our prodding. They know it’s court day. We’ll stay here.” The other fellow, Everil, nodded in agreement.

      Richard raised an eyebrow and pinned both men with a glare that promised retribution if they balked further. “If your lady says ride out, then mount up and do it. Her word is mine, and you will obey her every command hereafter. Or else. Am I understood?”

      They left immediately, all but stumbling over each other in their haste to reach the stables.

      Richard removed his hand from Sara and propped it on the hilt of his sword. “Have you had problems with those two before this?”

      “Not really,” she answered with a short laugh. “’Tis only that they find it loathsome to risk the others appropriating their added portions of ale while they are gone.”

      “And they do not like a female issuing directives,” he guessed. “We cannot have that. If they question your orders again, I shall put them on the road.”

      “It is good of you to support me so,” Sara said with a shrug of embarrassment. “I did not expect it, but I do thank you.”

      “My duty,” Richard replied. When he glanced down at her and saw the frank gratitude in her beguiling eyes, he added, “And my pleasure.”

      Now why the devil had he said that? Her artless appreciation of it made him uncomfortable. Next she would be treating him as though they were boon companions or some such. Or worse yet, taunting him in his bath again, as if they were lovers.

      Why did she persist with this idea that they could be friends? A ridiculous notion. He could never be friends with anyone he did not trust, and he knew without doubt that Sara had some ulterior motive in befriending him.

      She wished him in her bed. He knew very well that it was not for want of him as a man. Nobly born women only suffered that duty for one reason and he supposed that was as it should be. Sara wanted a child, probably to insure that his own son did not inherit Fernstowe.

      The fairness of her thinking struck Richard fully for the first time. Fernstowe should belong to her and hers. Neither he nor his son had any use for this place. Christopher already owned one twice the size that had been his mother’s