Dance of Desire (38 page)

The missive was sealed with wax, but did not bear the imprint of a crested ring or other identifying marks. Of course not. Rudd would not be so foolish as to announce he had penned the note. How remarkable, though, that he had obtained wax.

She broke the seal and unfurled the parchment.

I am the randy bee. I cannot wait to suck your nectar.

Rexana gasped. She quickly rolled the document closed.

Tansy looked up. "Milady?"

Heat flooded Rexana's face. Her most secret of places tingled with a shocking, thrilling tension. Fane had written those bawdy words. She recognized his bold, elegant script from his signature on the marriage contract.

Nelda and Celeste hurried to her side. "Milady? Are you hale?"

Tansy elbowed the girls out of the way. She caught Rexana's arm, then steered her toward the made bed. "Here. Sit. Ye look flushed. Do ye feel queasy?"

Rexana sat. She clutched the parchment between her damp fingers. Her every nerve buzzed. Her pulse thumped at a dizzying pace. How did he affect her so, with only a few words?

"The note," Celeste whispered behind her hand to Nelda. " '
Tis
foul news."

Tansy's mouth crumpled in sympathy. With a motherly cluck, she plopped down on the bed beside Rexana. The bed ropes groaned and sagged in violent protest. "There now. I pray the news is not too awful."

" '
Tis
not bad news. '
Tis
—" She bit down on her lip as the fire in her cheeks intensified. What did she say now?

Tansy and the girls leaned closer. "Aye?"

Rexana looked into their bright, curious faces, and laughed. " '
Tis
a love poem."

"
Ooohhhh
. From 'is lordship? How romantic." Tansy's fingers twitched. "What does it say?"

"Do tell, milady!" Celeste squealed. Nelda elbowed her in the ribs and she added in a hushed voice, "Only if you wish, of course."

As Rexana unfurled the missive again, her face burned.
"I
am the randy bee
," she read.
"I
cannot wait to suck your nectar."

Celeste frowned. "Suck what?"

Tansy rolled her eyes. "Nectar, you silly girl. From flowers."

Bewilderment clouded Celeste's gaze. "Aye, but. . . Milady is not a flower."

"Sheriff Linford is trying to write a
chanson,"
Rexana said. "He uses the extravagant language of the courtiers to express his . . . feelings."

With a loud snort, Tansy got to her feet. "We are all aware of those feelings, milady. Even a blind woman would see his lordship's affection for ye." She scowled down at Celeste and Nelda. "If the rest of the poem is as bawdy,
ye'd
best read it in private. Would not wish
ta
give these girls any notions."

Celeste and Nelda wailed in dismay. "But —"

"'
Er
ladyship is not even washed or dressed," Tansy said. "We must not forget our duties, must we?"

And I must not forget mine
, Rexana reminded herself. The excitement in her blood dimmed. As enticing as Fane's missive was, she must not dally. She must focus on seeing Rudd.

As soon as she had broken her fast, Rexana quit the solar. As she walked, her braided hair swept against her lower spine. A yellow bliaut, cut from the softest wool, brushed her ankles and a gold cloth girdle pressed upon her hips.

As Rexana's shoes tapped on the stairs down to the hall, unease rippled through her. What if Fane learned of her visit to the dungeon? He would be angry. Yet, she could not sit idle, and let her brother be punished for a crime he did not commit.

She hurried down the
forebuilding's
steps, then out into the sunny bailey. Murmuring hello to the children drawing pictures in the dirt with sticks, she approached the slate-roofed building that housed the kitchens. She dried her hands on her gown and opened the door.

Steam wreathed the huge pots hung over the cooking fires. Servants stood nearby, stirring in handfuls of vegetables and spices. The scents of stew and baking bread wafted to her.

The cook chopped onions at a nearby table. Setting down his knife, he smiled at her. "Milady, ye look lovely this morn." He wiped his fingers on his stained apron and crossed to her.

"Thank you." Keeping her voice light and steady, she said, "I thought the prisoners in the dungeon might like some bread and cheese. Will you get it ready?"

He frowned. "They ate well earlier this morn."

Hellfire!
"Ale, then," she said.

With a puzzled smile, the cook shook his head. "They had ale too. His lordship asked me to make sure they have enough food and drink."

She sighed, scarce able to control her rising impatience. "When is their next meal?"

"Midday." With a corner of the apron, he dabbed his sweaty nose. "Surely you do not wish to deliver food to the dungeon yourself? From what I have heard, 'tis not a place for a lady." Raising his hand like a claw, he hissed, "Spiders." He shuddered as though he saw one crawling across the floor.

"I am not afraid of spiders."

The cook's mouth tilted into a reluctant smile. "I do not mean to offend, milady, but I cannot help you. His lordship chose the servants who will deliver the meals each day. No one else is permitted."

Rexana resisted the urge to stamp her foot. Fane had outwitted her. Yet, if he thought she would be deterred, he was very wrong. She would find another way to access the dungeon.

As she stepped out of the kitchens, she spied Winton. He stood near the
forebuilding's
door, speaking to one of the laundresses. Rexana skirted a flock of geese waddling across the bailey and marched to Winton, a new plan already buzzing around in her mind.

With a brisk nod, the steward dismissed the laundress. He smiled as Rexana approached, and bowed. His head shone like a newly minted coin. "Good morn, milady."

"Good morn to you."

"Did you get the missive I sent with Tansy?"

She flushed at the reminder of Fane's note, tucked into her girdle for when she had time alone to read the rest of the poem. "Aye, thank you." She cleared the blush from her voice. "I realized this morn I have not yet completed a tour of Tangston Keep. There are several places I have not seen. I feel that in order to properly fulfill my role as lady of this fortress, I must know it with utmost thoroughness. Do you not agree?"

He blinked. His expression turned grave, as though he blamed himself for erring in his duties. "I will see that you finish the tour at once. Where —"

"The dungeon."

Winston shook his head. "I am very sorry, but —" Summoning her sternest tone, the one that made even Rudd pause, she said, "You refuse my request?"

The little man's face lost color. His hands fluttered as though he did not know quite what to do with them. "I would be glad to accommodate you, milady. However, first, Sheriff Linford must give his permission. I have strict orders. So do the guards in the dungeon."

She growled. "I should have known." Winton's shoulders raised in an awkward shrug. "Mayhap if you asked the sheriff for a visit —" "Thank you, Winton. That is all." Rexana spun on her heel and marched across the bailey. Dust swirled at her feet. The breeze blew her hair into her eyes, and with an angry hand, she swept it away. Frustration threatened to choke her.

She passed the well, the stables, the kitchens, and the blacksmith's, only slowing her pace when she reached the keep's gardens. A riot of herbs and greenery tumbled from earthen beds and popped up in the stone path under her feet. In the far corner, distinct from the rest of the garden, rose bushes grew in profusion. Climbing roses wove through a long, arched trellis and draped down in a curtain of leaves and pink petals. Inhaling a breath of the sweet perfume, she skirted the trellis to sink onto a weathered wooden bench.

Her eyes smarted. Rubbing her hands over her face, she vowed not to despair. She must think of another way to visit Rudd. A ruse. God forgive her, another deception.