Raven’s Rise Page 7
She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Why is it to be a nunnery?” he asked, more intently. “Why not marry again? You were widowed so young. How have you not gained more suitors?”
“I have nothing to offer. Who would wish to marry the broken widow of a minor nobleman’s son? Even aside from my affliction, I bring no great lands, nor distinguished name. And…” she broke off.
“And what?”
“Nothing.”
“Were I a lord, I’d offer for you.”
“Were you a lord, you would need to make alliances, or gain land, or get an heir, like any other man. You’d choose a young bride with a great dowry to bring to the marriage bed.”
“Just as well I’m not a lord then. None of those things do I want. Not lands, or alliances, or an heir.”
She was skeptical. “What man doesn’t want a legacy? What would your father say if you told him such?”
“I don’t know, because I don’t know who my father is,” Rafe said. His tone was careless, but she saw a flash of pain in those deep blue eyes. “Maybe he’s one of the great lords of England. Or maybe he was a common soldier, dead a day after siring me. I have no idea, and no loyalty to a man I have no name or face for. Let that be my legacy—that I won’t do the same to a child that my father did to me.”
“Oh,” Angelet said, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. “Don’t say that. You don’t know where you come from, but I am sure you were loved. Your mother, what of her? Did she tell you nothing of your birth?”
“My mother’s identity is a mystery to me too. I don’t remember her at all. I think she must have got rid of me the first moment she could after I was born.”
“You can’t say that about your mother!” Angelet said, thinking of what she’d do to see her own son again.
“I can and I will,” Rafe said bitterly. “The cold fact of the matter is that I was born a bastard and then instantly abandoned. So don’t speak to me of family name or legacy. They’re empty dreams, stories nobles tell each other to convince themselves they’re better than the peasants plowing their fields. I’ll make my own way.”
“Is that why you’re a soldier?”
“It’s a profession where skill is all that matters. Doesn’t matter how noble a man’s blood is…he can still lose it all on the battlefield.”
Angelet winced at the thought of him dead.
“Forgive me,” he said. “None of these things are subjects to discuss with a lady. I shouldn’t have said anything. In fact, why am I telling you any of this?”
“Do you not normally confide in a woman?” she asked.
His expression became more closed off than before. “I don’t confide in anyone.”
“You must have someone,” she said. “I refuse to believe you’re alone, without friends or companions or someone you love.”
“Why does it matter to you?” he asked. He turned toward her, his expression dark. “I don’t want pity—”
Without knowing that she was going to do it, Angelet leaned over and kissed him.
It had been a terribly, terribly long time since she’d kissed a man, and the initial touch of his mouth to hers sent a shock through her whole being, as if she’d been brushed with fire. She leaned closer, deepening the kiss as she laid her hands on his shoulders.
She didn’t know what she thought he would do in reaction to her wanton advance, but she expected something faster and fiercer than what he did.
Rafe slipped one work-roughened, calloused hand behind her neck, teasing the soft skin there. He took his time tasting her, running the tip of his tongue along her lower lip. Angelet moaned a little as she pressed herself closer to him. The dusk surrounding them weakened her inhibitions, allowing her to indulge in this unwise but most tantalizing folly.
He drew out the kiss slowly, as if they were the only people in the world. Angelet desperately tried to remember how she was supposed to kiss, but with every passing second, her mind spun further and further from reason, lost in the maelstrom of sensation caused by Rafe’s mouth on hers. No need for her to remember how to kiss…he knew what to do. When she felt his tongue flick against hers, she gasped and pulled back for a second, but Rafe didn't let her go far—by now he’d somehow wrapped both arms around her, and she was molded against him, kissing him over and over.
Only when the cry of a night bird pierced the air did she recall exactly where she was, and why. She pushed herself away from Rafe, breathing hard. “A moment,” she gasped. “I need to…I don’t know what I need…” She shook her head, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “Forgive my behavior.”
“Nothing to forgive, Angelet. I liked it.” His voice was warm, easy. “If that's how you show pity, maybe I do want to be pitied after all.”
“It wasn’t pity,” Angelet confessed. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not like this normally.”
“Or you are, and you just needed to get free of your prison to know it.”
“I’m not in any prison,” she objected, remembering all the details of what brought them both here. “Remember, I’m going to join a nunnery.”
“That’s another word for prison, if the going isn’t your choice.”
“I do want to go there,” she insisted. And indeed she did, if that was where she could be cured of her affliction and if it meant she would see her son again.
“You’re hell-bent on a heavenly reward, even after a kiss like that. So you’re not going to invite me into your bed along this journey? You don’t need a lover, one last wild indulgence before you lock yourself away for the rest of your life?”
She gasped at the suggestion. “I can’t take a lover!”
“Why not?” he asked, sounding far too reasonable. “Consider, my lady, that you have what—a week? two?—before you lock yourself away behind walls for the rest of your life. You might never see a man again. You certainly won’t see one as handsome as me.”
Despite everything, she bit her lip to stop a giggle.
He continued, “For a little while, you’re on your own. You can do anything you like, experience anything you like. Including some pleasures which are denied you by the circumstances of your widowhood.”
“You offer to be my lover,” she said, to ensure she heard correctly. She couldn’t have. His words were too bold and too scandalous to be real.
Rafe nodded, his eyes locked with hers. “If you like, Angelet. If you don’t like, I’ll never press you. You have my word. And if you do take me as a lover, you can rely on my discretion. I’ll never betray a confidence, not during, and not after. And while we’re together, it’s on your terms.”
“My terms?”
He gave her a little smile. “I’ll obey your every command, indulge your every whim, satisfy your every curiosity.”
“Oh.” Angelet had never heard an offer quite like that before.
Rafe took her hand in his. “I’m not modest—I admit that. But I also don’t boast about something unless I can back it up. If you take me as your lover, you won’t be disappointed.”
“Oh.” Eventually she’d have to start breathing again. Rafe’s proximity was making her feel distinctly light-headed.
“And what have you to lose?” he added. “We’re together a fortnight, at most. Then it’s over and we go our separate ways. You to your nunnery, and me to…wherever. Either way, soon we’ll never see each other again.”
“What if we spend a night together and I wish to end it there?” she asked, hardly believing this conversation was happening.
“Then it’s ended. I mean what I say about obeying your every wish.”
“Oh.” Sweet Mercy, stop saying oh, you fool, she thought.
He waited, his eyes intent on hers. She waited for some hint that he was teasing her, or that it was a joke. But everything in his demeanor suggested he was serious.
At last, she whispered, “I must think on this.”
“Of course. It’s an unusual proposal, to be sure.”
“That’s an answer in itself.” He took her hand, laid a soft kiss on the back of it, and then released her, showing her that he didn’t just take what he wanted. He was content to wait for it to come to him. And his words made it seem quite natural for her to want to come to him.
“You’re a most perplexing man,” she said.
He smiled and it nearly took her breath away. “Yes, I know,” he said. “It’s part of my charm.”
She realized she was already leaning in for another kiss. Lord, he was dangerously attractive. Too bad he knew it.
Trying to recover a modicum of dignity, she rose to her feet. “It’s well past time to return.”
“You’re undoubtedly right.”
But she just stood there, overwhelmed by emotions.
Rafe stood too, never taking his attention from her. He raised one eyebrow. “What’s the matter? One foot in front of the other, beautiful. That’s how I manage it.” Now he was teasing her, but his teasing felt gentle rather than cruel.
“I’m moving.” She took a step. There. She did remember how to walk. Then she stumbled in the darkness.
Rafe’s hand was at her elbow. “Careful,” he said in a low voice. “If you get a scratch, it will look very bad on me. Not to mention on you.”
Rafe walked Angelet back to the inn. It was as if the kiss and his outrageous proposal never happened. But Angelet could still feel his mouth on hers, and his arms around her, a sort of protective circle that urged her to forget the whole world and focus only on him. She had no doubt that if she allowed him into her bed, it would be…memorable. He made no secret of his flirtatious nature and his experience with women.
However, actually accepting his proposal was out of the question. She was a modest lady, a widow, a soon-to-be postulant in a nunnery. She was not some woman ruled only by her lust.
In fact, she’d been good and modest her whole life…and what had it got her except being sent away to a place where there was no other choice but to be good and modest? She curled a lip in irritation. Why should she never be allowed to enjoy anything in life on her own terms? She was always being ordered by someone else. A man with more power and authority than she’d ever have.
I’ll obey your every command.
The more she thought about it, the more Rafe’s offer made her blood catch fire. What would a night with him be like, if he truly obeyed her every command and indulged her every wish? Wouldn’t that be worth it, considering the years of solitary, holy loneliness that awaited her?
Chapter 9
Back at the inn, Rafe took Angelet directly to her door, and he was actually grateful the maid Bethany was there, attending to some task by candlelight. Two guards stood outside, just as Rafe ordered, which also kept him from making any remark that was too familiar.
On the left stood Dobson, one of the four men-at-arms that Otto had included as part of the revised agreement after the value of the chest had been revealed.
Dobson nodded a greeting to Rafe. “We’re to switch watches halfway through the night, sir?”
“Yes. Two others will take your place.”
“Are two guards at a time necessary, sir?” Dobson’s tone was diffident, but he obviously thought that it was overkill to guard a door inside the inn at all, let alone with multiple men with multiple watches.
“I hope it’s not necessary, Dobson,” Rafe said, keeping his manner easy. “But those are my instructions. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Dobson looked to be about forty—in other words, old enough to have learned that questioning an order wasn’t worth the hassle. “You’re in charge.”
Rafe relaxed. The last thing he needed was an insubordinate soldier on his first outing as a leader.
“Get some rest, my lady,” he told Angelet. “We leave early tomorrow.”
She nodded graciously, her manner not giving a hint that they’d exchanged a wildly inappropriate kiss. “I thank you for your advice, Sir Rafe. After such a long day of travel, and knowing my door is guarded so thoroughly, I shall sleep well indeed. Good night.”
He turned away and then got the hell out of range. Her words, designed to be neutral, immediately caused Rafe to picture Angelet laying on a soft, white featherbed. Her hair would spill out on the fabric, and her body would be just as soft as the feathers themselves. God, what he’d give to see that with his own eyes, to have her smile and invite him to join her, to spend a whole night with her.
However, she hadn’t accepted his offer, and who knew if she ever would? Rafe guessed she wasn’t quite as demure as she seemed as first—after all, she had been married, and she had kissed him. But she didn’t exactly jump at his offer, either.
Until she did, he wouldn’t do anything about it. Well, he would try not to. Old habits died hard, though. Rafe spent most of his life indulging his vices, which happened to center around women. Over the past year or so, he’d been trying to be a better man. Truly. And in many ways, he had improved his behavior. But he’d never run into a temptation like Angelet before. Beautiful and intriguing and somehow still very innocent. He'd never been attracted to the fair, wide-eyed type. But he was attracted to Angelet. Far too much.
Even before her unexpected kiss, she had affected him in some strange way. He told her about his parentage—or lack thereof—which was something he hated to think about. He certainly never chatted about it, not to anybody. And there he was, offering up his history without the slightest reservation. He was worried by how much he’d already revealed, not thinking of the consequences. Something in Angelet’s fey eyes made him forget all his defenses. He couldn’t risk anyone in this party learning of his past transgressions.
The bitter truth was that Rafe hadn’t merely left his lord’s service to pursue fame and glory on the tourney circuit. He’d violated an oath, nearly killed one of his only true friends, and betrayed the blood of the one man who’d offered him a home.
As a very young boy, Rafe knew that he owed everything he had to Rainald de Vere. Rafe was a bastard, a child of no importance or distinction. He didn’t even know how he’d come to Rainald’s attention, in fact, but once it became clear that he had an aptitude for fighting, Rainald allowed him to join the small group of boys who were at his manor for training.
They were sons of the gentry, and in one case the nobility. Allies often sent their children to be fostered elsewhere as a way of strengthening bonds and taking advantage of each others’ resources. De Vere employed an excellent master of arms and several very skilled veteran knights. Now retired from active service on campaign, they still served their liege lords by training up new men to be squires and knights.
For some boys, the training was rather perfunctory. A young lord needed to know the basics of battle, but not much more than that. One of Rafe’s cohort, Luc of Braecon, had been a proud and annoying little snot, assured of his place and certain of a comfortable future due to his family’s wealth and connections. Luc participated in practices for swordplay, riding, and hand-to-hand fighting. But he had aspired only to competence—his true interest lay in politics.
Rafe was the opposite. He knew little of politics and cared less. However, he could make a name for himself on a battlefield. In a world perpetually at war, skilled fighters were always in demand. Rafe was blessed with natural athleticism and innate skill for combat. He could see weaknesses in any opponent, and he trained himself to know how to exploit those weaknesses. From the age of fourteen, Rafe could beat Luc every time they met on a practice field.
In fact, Rafe’s only true competition was Alric of Hawksmere. He was the son of a knight, so his dedication to training equaled Rafe’s. Alric was big and broad, even as a boy, and he was nothing to laugh at when it came to a duel. Still, by the time they finished training, Rafe usually triumphed against Alric too. He was just a little quicker, a little more adept, a little more driven.
“No question. You’re the best of us,” Alric had often sa
id after practices. The other boy never knew how much those words meant to Rafe. To hear someone praise him—to confirm that Rafe had worth at least in one setting—was music to him. Without a mother or a father, or any family at all, Rafe never heard such things.
When they all grew from boys into men, they fought together on the battlefield, relying on each other to stay alive. Those experiences forged a bond among them, one eventually solemnized with an oath they each gave to the others. Rafe promised, on his life, to be a brother to Alric and Luc.
Well, Cain was a brother to Abel, he reminded himself. And it is written how that ended.
He still remembered the day he broke his vow. The day that started his descent from a respectable knight to what he was now…a mercenary and a vagabond.
Since fleeing from his old life, Rafe hadn’t stayed in one place for more than a week or two. The longest he’d stayed anywhere was London. He thought he’d be able to fade away, lost amid the thousands of other bodies. And for a while he had been happy there—well, not happy, but at least not miserable.
Then, one day, he saw a familiar face across a market square. The face and figure of Octavian de Levant was unmistakable. There was more than one African-born, black-skinned man in England. But only one who was friend to Alric and Luc, and who saw Rafe’s misdeeds up close. So when Rafe noticed the young knight in the market, he ducked behind a linen seller’s stall.
He felt like an idiot. Octavian couldn’t have seen him, and in any case, he was probably in London on his own lord’s business—he wasn’t searching for Rafe. But that didn’t mean that Tav wouldn’t send a message to Lord Rainald if he learned Rafe’s whereabouts. So Rafe left the city the next day, and had kept moving ever since, usually to the next tournament he could find. Winning at tournaments was a profitable living, but it wasn’t a vocation. When he got Angelet delivered to her destination, he’d be able to take a few days to decide his next step. And he might need those few days to forget Angelet, who already occupied more of his brain than he wanted to admit.