“What do you want, Ash?” Rosetta demanded.
You. He smothered the impulse to voice that desire, and said instead, “Since you will not dine with me in the great hall, I am bringing the meal to you.”
“I am not hungry.”
He grinned, a roguish curve of his mouth. “Oh, but I am.” He let his gaze wander to her lips and then down the elegant column of her throat to her bosom, as if she stood naked before him and he was appreciating what he saw—which he was. The bliaut wasn’t her usual style or quality of garment, but she still looked lovely.
Her gaze sharpened with annoyance, and she crossed her arms, mimicking his posture. From her expression, she was clearly struggling with the urge to walk over and slap him. That, however, would mean getting close to him, and he sensed her reluctance to draw near.
Was she afraid of him, or her own feelings for him? She must know that he’d never physically harm her, not under any circumstances, so that meant she didn’t trust herself. How intriguing.
A muffled clattering nose came from outside. Easing away from the door, Ash opened it, and servants entered, carrying a folding oak table.
“By the hearth,” he said.
Rosetta moved back as they set up the table. More servants followed with a linen cloth, wine, goblets, a platter of sliced bread, and bowls of stew. After pushing two chairs up to the table, the servants left, leaving him and Rosetta alone in the solar.
She hadn’t moved from her spot near his linen chests.
“Come,” he said, gesturing to the table.
“As I said—”
“I know what you said. I also know that you have not eaten since you arrived.”
“You care so much about my eating habits?”
I care so much about you. “I am responsible for everyone within my castle, including my guests.” He crossed to the table and sat. “The cook makes a good rabbit stew. ’Tis best eaten warm, not cold.”
She remained where she was, her fingers drumming on her arms. Picking up a spoon, he dipped it into the rich brown broth, scooped up chunks of parsnip and carrot, and then ate the mouthful. He’d already eaten a while ago in the great hall with the rest of his subjects, but she didn’t need to know that. “Delicious,” he said.
“Ash—”
There was a plea in her voice that hadn’t been there before. Good. If he persisted, she would likely yield. He sure as hell wasn’t going to give in.
“At least try the stew,” he said, bestowing on her his most charming smile. “Please?”
She sighed. Her arms fell to her sides, and she walked to the vacant chair and sat.
“Thank you.”
“If you are here, Ash, because you want me to eat—”
“I am.”
“I will. Then you will have no reason to stay.”
God’s bones, but she was stunning, her eyes glittering with resolve and her cheekbones darkened with a rosy flush. A mischievous part of him wanted to goad her more, but she had agreed to sit and eat. He’d rather not ruin his small victories thus far.
“Once I have eaten, I will leave,” he agreed and poured her some wine. “In the meanwhile, I was hoping we could talk.”
She spooned up some stew and eyed him warily. “Talk?”
“We have not spoken to one another in years. There is much for us to catch up on.”
“I did not think you were at all interested in getting reacquainted.”
His brows rose. “Why do you say that?”
“As I mentioned before, you did not answer my letters. Nor have you made any effort to contact me—or Edric—in any other manner, even though you returned to England some time ago.”
Ash clenched his jaw. “There were good reasons for—”
“So, if you intend to ask about my relationship with Edric, beware. I do not believe I owe you any explanations.”
Oh, he did want to know about Edric, but Ash doubted she would speak of such personal matters until he had regained a little more of her trust. Sipping his wine, he waited for her to finish her mouthful. “To be honest, I would rather not discuss Edric right now. Let us begin with something easy. How are your parents?”
“Fine.”
“Still living at Millenstowe Keep, I understand.”
“Aye.”
“Your older sister?”
“She married three summers ago. She and her lord husband live in Derbyshire and have two children, a son and a daughter.”
He fought not to smile as Rosetta took another spoonful of stew, her expression softening with delight in what she was tasting.
“What about your parents?” she asked. “I remember meeting them years ago, when they came to visit you at Millenstowe.”
Regret lanced through him. “Both dead.”
Shock widened her eyes. “Oh, Ash. I am sorry.”
“So am I. They died while I was away on Crusade. They caught the sickness sweeping through my father’s lands and…never recovered.”
She looked down at her stew. “Truly, I am sorry. I cannot imagine losing one parent, let alone both of them.”
He drank more wine, wishing he could ease the pain of losing his family. “My brother inherited my sire’s keep. He ruled it until he perished from a leg injury that festered and spread corruption through his body. He died about a month ago, soon after I had returned to England. His son inherited, but he is very young and upset at losing both of his parents; his mother, you see, died a while ago in childbirth. I arranged with the crown to have the keep managed in his stead until he is old enough, and ready, to rule.”
“I see.” She took a piece of the wheat bread and broke off a chunk. “Thanks to the King, you also have a castle of your own now.”
“Damsley is a fine fortress.”
“Your estate also borders my father’s lands,” she said, her gaze holding his, “just like Edric’s.”
Ah. So she did know what a tremendous prize she was as a bride.
“You are no doubt aware that Edric’s father died not long ago,” she continued, dipping her bread into her stew, “so he became lord of Wallensford Keep.”
Caution sifted through Ash. He remembered hearing about the older Lord Sherborne’s demise from an informant, who had been convinced the death hadn’t been natural; no proof of murder, though, had been found. “I had heard that Edric’s sire died, but—”
“Is that why you abducted me before I could be married? Because you do not want Edric to lay claim to my father’s lands when my sire dies?”
Ash glanced at the fire, his mouth pressing into a hard line. He couldn’t deny the prospect of expanding his estate was an enticing one. However, there was far more at stake than his own personal gain.
“You have gone quiet,” she mused.
“I am deciding how to respond,” he countered.
“You could just be honest and admit I was right.”
His gloved hand tightened on the stem of his goblet. “I could. However—”
“You would rather not confirm the truth.”
He hissed a breath through his teeth. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t. To ensure her safety, he had to keep his secrets, especially when much of his investigation was still ongoing. “I will not confirm what others, who do not know all of the facts, may well misinterpret.”
Surprise lit her features. “Misinterpret? Every lord wants more wealth and lands. From childhood, he is brought up to strive for those things.”
“True. Not every nobleman is willing to do what others are, though, in order to get those riches and lands.”
Her spoon landed in her bowl with a metallic clink. “Are you saying—?”
“Mmm?”
Her eyes sparked with fury. “Are you implying Edric’s only reason for marrying me is to eventually gain more riches and lands?”
Ash downed more wine, delaying his answer. The drink left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Edric cares for me.”
Nowhere near as much as I care about you.
“He respects me.”
As do I, Briar Rose.
“He has been my closest friend through the years, especially after his return from the East, and…and you have no right to make such an outlandish claim.”
Anger coiled through Ash, rising up from the simmering resentment that had been sown the day he’d been attacked. The blood streaming down into his eyes and running from his hands had been naught compared to the agony of betrayal. “You are mistaken,” he bit out. “I have every right.”
Rosetta’s heart pounded in her breast. Ash looked so forbidding, she wanted to shrink back in the chair. Yet, she mustn’t show weakness. She’d learned more about Ash in the past few moments than she had in all the years he’d been away, and if she wanted to outwit him, she needed to understand his reasons for acting and speaking as he had.
“Why do you believe you have such a right?”
His gaze narrowed until his eyes were glinting slits. “I know Edric better than anyone.”
“Because you are best friends?” At the last moment, she remembered he’d spoken of the friendship in the past tense.
“Were best friends.” Ash’s fingers tightened again on his wine goblet, and as the leather pulled taut across his hand, he grimaced. Ash couldn’t be comfortable wearing his gloves indoors, and yet, she hadn’t seen him without them. Why? Had he injured his hands?
As he relaxed his grip on the vessel and the discomfort faded from his features, past memories tugged at her: Ash and Edric laughing and throwing buckets of water at one another in the bailey of Millenstowe Keep; the two of them with arms draped around each other’s shoulders, grinning after winning prizes at the local tournament; Ash and Edric riding side by side over the drawbridge as they began their journey to join the King’s army and travel to far off lands to battle the Saracens, with no guarantee that they would ever return to Warwickshire.
“You were close friends with Edric when you left for Crusade.”
The barest hint of regret flickered in Ash’s burning eyes. “Indeed, we were inseparable for many months while we sailed, marched, and battled for our King. We made other friends too, with lords who had traveled from all over England to go on Crusade. Many of them…” His bronzed throat moved with a swallow, and he looked back at the fire, his expression shadowed by grief. “They did not survive.”
“That must have been very difficult for you,” she murmured. She set aside the bread; it had started to taste like straw.
“Difficult is a far from adequate word.” He dragged a gloved hand over his chin and jaw. “One of the reasons I returned to Warwickshire months later than Edric was that I wanted to honor some of our friends’ dying wishes. One of the lords from London asked that I give his betrothed his signet ring so she’d always remember him. I needed the crown’s help to find out where she lived. There were others…” His words trailed off to silence, filled only by the snap and pop of the fire.
He suddenly seemed lonely, his soul heavy with the weight of his memories. Rosetta longed to reach across the table and touch his hand, but there was no point; he’d never feel the heat of her skin through the leather.
“I also left the East later than Edric did because I needed to heal,” Ash said quietly. “I was badly wounded when the Knights Hospitaller took me into their care. They spent long days and nights treating my injuries, but feared the wounds would become corrupted, and I would die. My fellow soldiers, you see, did not find me for some time after I was attacked, because I had become separated from the rest of the army.”
Rosetta feared for him even as she knew he had lived to tell his tale. “Did you not call for help?”
“I shouted until I was hoarse, while I prayed over and over that I would be found by friends and not the Saracens. I damaged my throat. My voice has never fully recovered.” His shoulders lifted in a stiff shrug. “The Knights Hospitaller also feared I might lose all use of my hands, but thanks to their efforts, that did not happen.”
“Mother Mary!” She couldn’t keep the horror from her voice.
His fiery gaze locked with hers. “You must have noticed my gloves.”
“A-aye, but—”
“I wear them to spare others from seeing just how repugnant my hands are now.”
The barely leashed rage in his voice sapped the breath from her lungs.
“My caregivers did what they could to help me. They used different kinds of poultices, ointments, and some other treatments I barely remember because…”
“Because?”
“I was in pain, and I was angry.” He scowled. “I did not want to be lying in a hospital bed. I wanted revenge, but they insisted that my life depended upon me resting and focusing on my healing. When I received a missive from King Richard, ordering me to stay with the Knights Hospitaller, I had to obey.”
As though speaking of his hands had made him self-conscious, he linked them together atop the table, the leather of his gloves whispering.
“The scar across your brow is not so awful,” she managed to say. “Neither, I am sure, are the scars on your hands.”
He laughed roughly. “They are more than enough to make a gently-raised maiden swoon.”
Did he mean that they would make her swoon? She frowned, for she hated that he would assume such a thing. “Should I not be able to make that judgment for myself?”
Ash shook his head. “No one sees my hands. No one.”
Her heart ached for him. What must it be like not to be able to touch another person? To be denied the sensations of warmth or softness beneath one’s fingertips? To be forbidden the pleasure of giving…a caress?
Years ago, he had touched her as though he loved the feel of her skin, as though she was precious and treasured—
She forced aside the unwelcome thoughts.
“What are you thinking?” Ash asked softly.
She reached for her goblet of wine. “If you must know, I am honored that you shared—”
“Nay, you are not.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. “You might not care to remember that I once knew you intimately—”
She gasped. She had not lain with him, although she’d wanted to, so very much.
“—but I have not forgotten.”
Rosetta bit down on her bottom lip and struggled to keep hold of her emotions. She didn’t want to talk about their past together, although he seemed to be luring her down that hazardous path. He must realize they could never go back to those days now that she was bound by her betrothal to Edric—no matter how wondrous their relationship had been, or how much he’d once meant to her.
“I know what you are thinking,” Ash said, his tone a gritty rasp. “You wish I had never returned to England.”
“Ash—”
“You cannot stand to look upon me with my ugly scars—”
“Not true!”
“—and you hate that I prevented Edric from taking you to his bed—”
Her hand moved, purely on instinct. She hurled the rest of her wine at him. The ruby red liquid splashed his face and dripped down onto the front of his tunic.
Before she could fully register what she’d done, he’d risen from his chair and was upon her. His gloved hands closed on her arms, hauling her to her feet.
“Ash! Stop,” she screeched, struggling. She clawed at his tunic, tried to break his imprisoning hold, but he was so much faster, bigger, and stronger. He propelled her backward, his muscled legs knocking hers, his breath as hot as fire on her brow. Her heels hit the wall and she gasped, breathless, as he pinned her against the cold, rough stone.
Fear tingled through her, but also a wild, wicked excitement.
He growled like a wounded beast and set his right hand to her throat. Cool leather pressed against Rosetta’s skin, causing a shiver to ripple down her spine. His hand shook, but gently, so gently, he forced her chin up with his thumb.
She tried to avoid meeting his gaze, how she tried, but the heat of his stare bored into her until she had no choice but to look at him. What she saw in his eyes made her tremble. “Ash,” she whispered.
“Aye, Ash,” he answered, his voice hitching on what sounded like a sob. “Not Edric. Ash.”
Before she could say a word, Ash lowered his head and kissed her.