Wonderful (10 page)

Who was this speaking? A priest. Latin. Last Rites? Who had died?

Merrick opened his eyes.

’Twas raining.

He blinked and his vision cleared.

Brother Dismas was sprinkling holy water over him and praying for his wretched soul.

“God’s feet!” Merrick bellowed. “I’m not dead, you fool!” He tried to sit up, but a thousand wee candle flames flickered before his eyes, and his head felt as if someone had tried to cleave it in two.

He lay back down with a pithy string of curses. His head throbbed now, so he winced, then gave a low moan.

Water dribbled on his face.

He opened one eye. “If you shake that water in my face one more time …”

“My Lord God says that his holy water ’twill make you pure of heart and protect your vile human soul.”

A growl escaped from Merrick’s mouth and he reached for the monk with his huge hands, but someone pulled the thick-headed man safely out of his line of vision.

The next thing he saw was Clio’s face staring down at him. Her skin looked almost too pale.

He dropped his arms to his sides and felt the dry dirt beneath him. He was lying on the hard ground.

“What happened?” he asked her.

“I hit you in the head with a pot.”

He was not surprised. He heard the worried whispers of his men. The squires and many of his men-at-arms formed a ring around them.

Lady Clio was still searching his face for something while she chewed on her lower lip.

His gaze locked with hers. “Was I good?”

She frowned, clearly startled. “Good at what?”

“Whatever it was that made you fling a pot at me.”

He heard his men laugh. Yet she did not. She looked angry. She had hit him with a pot and there was no contrition in her expression, nor in her manner.

There was no fear. No apology. Instead she grew haughty again, that chin came up and her mouth thinned into a familiar stubborn line.

He stared long and hard at her lips, for they were the only color on her face. They were stained red and looked sweet and inviting and as if she had reddened them to torture him.

’Twas time.

His hand shot up and pulled her head down to his so swiftly she fell across his chest. His mouth closed over hers, hard and open, and his arms clamped around her, holding her where he wanted her.

She struggled against him, squirmed and made muffled sounds against his mouth, so he rolled over, pinning her under him in the dirt.

The air erupted with the whoops and whistles of his men. She opened her mouth and tried to cry out, so he plunged his tongue inside.

Her struggles ceased and she grew still as stone. He opened his eyes as he kissed her, as he stroked her mouth with his full tongue.

Her startled gaze was staring back at him. And in those eyes he saw desire and passion and more.

Then she bit him.

Clio shoved at Merrick’s shoulders and he rolled off of her with a muttered curse. She could hear the men behind them laughing quietly.

She scrambled to her feet and glared down at him. “You had no right to do that.”

He seemed to grow before her eyes. A moment later he was standing before her, tall and intimidating and truly angry. They stood barely a foot apart.

“No right?” he asked with lethal quietness.

“Aye.” Her response was clipped and firm and meant to spite him.

“You are mine, Clio.” His voice was measured and even, the kind of voice that brooked no argument. “You seem to have forgotten that.”

“No. I did not forget, my lord. You are the one who forgot.” She paused, then said exactly what she was thinking, “For six years.”

For an instant there was no sound. Nothing. Her words just hung in the air to taunt him. The men began to back away, mumbling. She heard someone speak fearfully of the Red Lion and his reputation. Another man called her a fool.

But she would not back down. She had lost so much already; her home, her pride, and now her dignity.

All round them the men began to disperse.

“Tobin!” he called out to his squire, never taking his gaze from her. “I would speak with you.”

The squire who had been beating on Thud stopped near the corner of the stables. He no longer looked so cocky. Thud and Thwack had scrambled away the moment Merrick awoke.

Merrick broke his gaze from her and moved toward his squire.

She exhaled.

He stopped and glanced back at her. “Wait here.”

They were a few strides apart when she said quietly, “You seem to have a penchant for leaving me to wait, my lord.”

He ground to a halt and stood so still he looked rooted to the ground.

Immediately she wanted to take the words back.

He turned very slowly and looked at her from narrowed eyes. “I did not think waiting here a moment would so tax your spirit.”

Since she was already sinking into a deep hole from which she would have no easy time escaping, she decided to go down fighting. “I am well used to waiting for you. I do not like it.”

His look was long, hard, and seemed to see into places she wanted hidden. He crossed his arms. “Why do I have the feeling that at any moment you will stamp your foot?”

She could feel her face flush with embarrassment. She remembered her father speaking to her in such a way when she was a small child. It galled her that he was right; she was acting foolishly.

But pride was such a hard thing to give up, especially when her pride had been so terribly wounded by the way he had neglected her.

Those two years had seemed like a lifetime to her. The daily looks of those who knew she’d been forgotten or perhaps even abandoned. The pity in their eyes had pricked her pride more than any chiding could have.

She’d had such wild dreams of what love and marriage should be. But those dreams had slowly died, hour by hour, until every day that she waited for him stretched out before her like a long and endless road to nowhere.

“’Tis not important.” She waved a hand loftily in the air. “Go about your business as you will, my lord. I shall wait.” She paused, and some devil inside her made her add, “I’m becoming so good at it.”

He closed the distance between them with a few long strides. “Forget what I said.” His words came through gritted teeth.

He took her arm in a firm grasp that made her gasp.

“I have changed my mind. I should like to have your company,
my lady. “

He spun around with her so quickly she became lightheaded; then he headed for the keep.

She had to quicken her steps to keep up with those long strides of his. As she trotted along beside him, the silken coif and circlet covering her coiled hair slipped to one side.

Muttering, she slapped her hand down on it and struggled to keep up with her betrothed—the Earl of Quickfeet.

Chapter 11

Merrick did not care to be reminded of his faults, particularly in front of the whole castle, and especially by Clio, someone who he wished would see him as a man. Not as if he were ready to kill her at any moment. She seemed to be trying with a strong purpose to force him to react that way. ’Twas as if she were trying to goad him into something.

He did not know what she wanted from him. He had always found women to be odd creatures whose thoughts were so different from his. He was trained to speak openly, honestly, as frankness was revered in men.

Yet women seemed say one thing and act as if they wanted something else. He had the hardest time trying to understand them. He never knew whether to listen to what they said or watch the way they acted.

Frustrated, he half dragged her with him to the great hall, behaving like the brute she had implied he was.

He sat in the high-backed chair meant for the lord of the castle. He waved a hand toward the smaller chair next to him and looked at Clio. “Sit.”

She did not move swiftly, but his squire did. The lad sat down on one of the lower benches.

“Not you, Tobin!” Merrick barked at the young man, who shot to his feet.

Tall and blond and muscular, Tobin de Clare was a strapping boy of sixteen, and nephew to the Earl of Chester, one of the most powerful noblemen in all of England. The lad would make a good knight, if he ever chanced to learn some humility.

Clio was still standing near Merrick. He turned back and gave her a pointed look that made the knot on his forehead throb. She finally sat down with a loud sigh that sounded as if she was annoyed.

For just one instant he felt a flash of understanding for those men who had locked their wives away in a tower. More than likely it was not to protect the women from their enemies, but from their husbands’ anger.

He studied his squire for a long time, a calculated move to make the lad squirm.

The silence dragged on, and finally Merrick spoke. “I heard some tale of a fight between you and those puny young lads. ’Twas the reason I happened to be rounding the corner when my lady, here, sought to crack open my head.”

“’Twould take more than a tin pot to crack open that rock you claim is your head,” Clio muttered.

He scowled at her. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said blithely. “I was only praying.”

“A good idea, especially if you said what I think you said.” His tone should have warned her to keep quiet. Experience, however, convinced him she would probably not heed such a tone.

“I had little else to do
but
pray for all those years at the convent.”

After he counted to fifty and made it a point to sit on his hands, he managed to ignore her. He turned back to his squire. “Have you nothing to say, Tobin?”

Clio shot to her feet and planted her small hands on the table. She glared at Tobin. “He can say nothing that would justify what he did. He was beating up on those poor boys for amusement.”

“That is not true.” Tobin gave Merrick a direct look, then turned to Clio and made a small bow. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but they wished to fight. ’Twas their idea.”

“I see,” Merrick said, resting an elbow on the table and rubbing his chin. “Two young orphan lads who have no training or experience, who must use kitchen tools for arms, and who barely have enough sense to come in out of the rain, challenge you, a trained swordsman, to a mock battle, and out of the goodness of your heart, you decided to beat the holy hell out of them?”

Tobin blanched.

Merrick bellowed for the guard. The man ran over from his post at door and made a quick bow. “Aye, my lord.”

“Bring those two young lads here.” Merrick paused. “Thump and Thwart.”

“Thud and Thwack,” Clio said indignantly, which seemed to be the only way she spoke to him.

“Bring them here,” Merrick repeated. “Now.”

The guard hurried from the hall. From outside he could hear the bustle of the castle yards, the constant sounds of building, and the barking of a dog. Then the heavy doors closed and the noises were muted.

Within the great hall there was little sound, something Merrick wished to use to his advantage. He sat there with his lady, both silent, while Tobin stood before them.

Merrick had not invited the young man to sit. He wanted him standing and wondering and worrying.

Beside him, Clio wiggled slightly; then from the corner of his eye he felt her look at him. She wanted to speak. He could feel it, like a live thing between them.

Lord, but she was a stubborn one.

“What are you going to do to them?” Clio finally asked.

He turned to her. “Do not fret over it, my lady. There are other things that should be worrying you.”

“Such as?”

“Your mouth for one.”

“It did not seem to bother you, my lord, when you had your tongue in it.”

Tobin made a choking sound, and Merrick whipped his head back around. His squire had turned away and had his hands locked behind his back and he was engrossed in examining the roof beams.

The doors to the hall creaked opened, and the guard came back with the boys in tow. He stood before Merrick, holding them by their tunic collars, a lad in each hand.

Clio stood. “Release them.”

The guard’s eyes never left Merrick’s face. It was as if she had not spoken. He had trained his men well and they were loyal and true.

He placed his hand over hers. “Sit down. I will handle this.”

She started to snatch her hand away, but his fingers held on to hers firmly. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but she did not. She sat.

“Tell me, lads, why you challenged the squires.”

Thud straightened and took a brave breath that made his bony chest puff out like a pigeon’s. “We wish to be knights, my lord. We wish to fight, for practice.”

“I do not want to fight anymore this day, Thud.” Thwack was still nursing a knot on his head. “My head hurts.”

Merrick felt a jolt of sympathy for the lad. His own forehead was beginning to hurt like hell.

Thud jabbed the lad with his elbow. “We
both
want to be knights, my lord. We wish to train with the pages and squires.”

Tobin burst out laughing as if the idea were the most amusing thing he’d ever heard. “Those two? Knights?” He howled.

Clio’s fingers tightened within Merrick’s grasp.