My Lady's Choice. Lyn Stone
her, chilling her to the marrow. “Do you?”
She lowered her head submissively. Now was no time to assert herself with a pithy reply. He looked dangerous. Not surprising, but disappointing all the same. Reason might not work today.
For the present, however, she could remind him of all he had gained by this match. “The king offered me a choice of husbands, you see. This was my reward for saving your life. I asked myself why would any landless knight not welcome rich properties, more coin in his coffers, a strong woman to bear his children?”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “I am not landless, nor do I need your wealth. And I already have children.”
“Oh, but that’s wonderful, sir! Will you bring them here? I adore—”
“Spare me that tripe,” he snapped. “I’ve seen how you noble women adore! My progeny can do without that quite well, thank you!”
Sara moved to the bed and laid a hand over his. He snatched it away, scattering the papers across the coverlet. “Richard? I may call you so, may I not? I am sincere in this, believe me,” she continued without awaiting an answer. “I love little ones, I do. Nothing would please me more than to have you send for them. I do recall the king saying you were father to a fine son. You have more than one child, then?”
Richard grunted, not deigning to look at her.
“How many and how old are they?” she asked, hoping to supplant his ire with fatherly pride. “Come, do tell me!”
“A son of seven years,” he said, nearly spitting the words. Then he turned his gaze on her. “And a daughter of eight. A bastard. How will you adore that one, madam?”
Sara stood back, folding her hands in front of her and tilting her head to one side. Her husband thought to shock her, mayhap even to humiliate her by demanding she take in his natural child. Foolish man. A real smile crept across her face. “I shall gladly be mother to both if you will allow it.”
His expression changed to one of patent disbelief. Then he changed the subject entirely. “The king wishes me to settle the Scots matter hereabouts as soon as I am well. That was his intent in allowing you this marriage to me. So much for your fine reward.”
If he meant to disappoint her with that news, he had certainly failed. “I know. Your success in that alone would be reward enough. They did kill my father. ’Twas my reason for choosing you over the other suitors.”
“You had others?” he demanded.
She smiled wryly. “Surprising as it is, I did.”
“Why did they not merit your grand gesture?”
She shrugged, still holding on to her smile. “One was nigh as much trouble as the reivers and the other probably tied to his lands in Kent. I wrongly assumed you were landless since you travel in the king’s retinue as a knight. I thought we would both benefit by this arrangement.” She toyed with a tassel on the end of her belt, swinging it to and fro, then feathering the tufts with her fingertips.
He followed the motion of her hands for a moment and then jerked his attention elsewhere.
“That is all it shall be,” he announced. “An arrangement. The king wants these lands and this keep made safe, so I shall make them so. But if you expect a loving husband to the bargain, you have made an unwise choice in me. When all is done, I shall remove myself to Gloucestershire and leave you to your precious Fernstowe.”
She digested that, losing the smile but holding on to her dignity. “I know I am no prize to covet, sir. My mother warned me well not to expect more than I was due or I would suffer for it. I need nothing from you but your sword once you are mended.” She rose to leave.
“Hold a moment. We are not done with this. Where is this mother of yours? Dead?”
“Nay, she took herself to a convent just after my father was slain.”
“A right good place for a woman who belittles her own child,” he said. “I do hope she acquires a smattering of kindness along with her vows.”
Sara jumped to her dam’s defense. “My mother was not unkind! She did not belittle me! She merely spoke the truth!”
He sat up straight and swung his legs off the side of the bed. “By disparaging your worth?”
Sara shook her head, uncertain what to say next.
“Do you seek sympathy from me with this tale? Or do you expect me to gainsay her and shower you with compliments? Very well then. You are beautiful. Beyond compare.” He tossed his head and scoffed. “As though you do not know it!”
Sara’s mouth dropped open. What did he mean, spouting this nonsense? “You speak of my mother’s unkindness and then you mock me?”
He narrowed his eyes and shook his finger at her then, as though she were a fractious child in need of chastising. “You mark me well, madam, I hold beauty in contempt. It means less than nothing, do you hear? Nothing!”
“You taunt me, sir,” she said, more hurt than angry, but she was that, too. “I accept that you do not want me as wife, but it is a done thing! So let it be!” With that, she whirled around and quit the chamber.
Richard regretted the conversation. Though he believed his ire justifiable under the circumstances, he found no excuse for destruction of the woman’s pride. She thought he objected to the marriage because of her face. He did not want her to believe that, but he could hardly give her his real reasons. He didn’t even like to admit them to himself.
He covered his eyes with one hand and exhaled all the pent-up fury in his lungs. When he had done so, only despair remained, and that so invasive, he almost prevented himself drawing in another breath. Yet, he could not afford to die. Good Lord, he had too many people dependent upon him; aging parents, his young children, the folk on his father’s estate and that of his son. Now, thanks to that king of his, he had acquired a wife and her assorted problems.
Though Richard never shirked responsibility, he did resent shouldering his older brother’s load. Had the errant Alan assumed what was rightfully his as he should have done, Richard would never have had the task of managing an estate that he would never really feel was his own. And he would not have had to wed in order to add the necessary pasturage needed to make Strodesouth turn profitable.
Though if he had not married, Richard recalled, Christopher would not exist, and having his son proved one of the finest joys in his life. The other was Nan, of course. Sweet little Nan.
Since he must remain here and do as the king had ordered, Richard wondered who would see to things at home. He had planned to be there in time to arrange for the shipping of the wool. Now he would not.
Richard forced himself to his feet again. He had to recover his strength as rapidly as possible and lying abed was no way to do that. Each halting step wrung new agony from the wound in his chest. He knew from experience that the grunts he uttered now would lessen in frequency as he became accustomed to the pain. The discomfort would sharpen his wits and banish the lethargy that fostered his current feelings of frustration. He needed to move, get things done. God only knows there were enough of them.
“You will come unstitched and bleed yourself out!” came the dulcet sound he both craved and dreaded. She was back again.
He turned too quickly and nearly fell. “What do you here?”
“What else?” She shrugged, holding out both hands, palms up. “To make amends. You must excuse my temper.”
“Do not tell me what I must do!”
She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Comes from issuing too many orders, I would think. There’s been no one else to do so for some half a year now, since my father died.”
In trying to quell the urge to fall down and faint, Richard held his breath for a moment. He released it on a question. “Why?”
“The Scots who killed