Bartholomew gazed down at the spread tapestry, knowing he had little choice in the matter. His grand performance had been ruined, unfortunately, but not entirely destroyed. In fact, he thought it had ended on a rather exciting note. Too bad Richmond had cleared the room of his audience.
He loosened his grip.
“‘Safe comes the ship to haven,
Through billows and through gales
If once the great Twin Brethren….’”
He suddenly let go, falling through the air like a stricken bird, his toga flapping wildly and revealing his taut, hairy buttocks. He landed with a grunt on the tapestry, his dead weight causing Daniel to lose his grip.
Bartholomew crashed to the floor and Daniel toppled onto him, both of them becoming entangled in the heavy folds of the mussed tapestry.
Across the room, the chandelier crashed into the large table, spraying food and trenchers and hot wax from the tallow candles in every direction. Arissa, standing against the wall, received a barrage of hot wax droplets to her delicate forearm. Burned, she did not utter a sound as she watched Richmond and Carlton struggle against the huge tapestry.
The two knights were yanking at the material, attempting to locate the two men within the creases. They could see a hand and a leg, listening to Daniel’s growls of frustration as he struggled like a cat in a snare.
Suddenly, Bartholomew’s head appeared and a split second later, Daniel’s emerged. Daniel glared daggers while Bartholomew smiled brightly. With a wink, he ruffled the furious knight’s blond hair.
“‘….Sit shining on the sails.’”
Daniel grunted loudly and pushed himself off Bartholomew, regaining his footing. “You are a bloody fool, de Lohr. You could have broken your goddamn neck!”
“Not so, Danny m’lad,” Bartholomew said happily. “I am sitting on shining sails.”
“You are sitting on a tapestry,” Carlton shook his head slowly, passing Richmond an intolerant glance.
But Richmond did not react. He gazed down at Bartholomew, his face characteristically unreadable. Bartholomew, however, was smiling expectantly at him.
“Well? Did you like it?”
Richmond did not say anything for a moment. He could only stare at the heir to the Berkshire earldom and feel a certain amount of trepidation.So this is to be the future of England,he thought bleakly. He hoped he was dead by then.
“I thought it was wonderful,” Arissa was suddenly behind him, her sweet voice soft and caressing.
Richmond turned sharply to her, startled by her appearance. He opened his mouth to speak but, instead, his eyes were drawn to the angry red spots on her delicate skin. Without thinking, he reached out and snatched the arm.
“What happened?”
He was touching her. Sweet St. Jude, he wastouchingher! Arissa gasped as the searing heat of his flesh burned her far more than the wax had. His bright blue eyes were dark with concern, anger.
“Answer me, Arissa.”
She opened her mouth, cleared her throat, and tried anew. “I…. the wax from the chandelier burned me. I suppose I was not standing far enough away when it came down.”
He glanced over at the destroyed table. “The wax could not have splashed into the foyer, which is where you should havegone,” his steady gaze returned to her. “Why did you not leave with the others?”
His tone, hard and cold, hurt her tender emotions. She tried to pull her arm free, but his grip was like iron. “Because I was frightened for my brother.”And you.
She was looking at the floor and Richmond’s gaze lingered on the top of her dark head a moment longer before glancing to the rising Bartholomew. It was obvious that the young man was uninjured by his adventure, severing any further concern on Richmond’s part. Without another word, he led Arissa from the room.
Lady Maude met them in the foyer. One look at Arissa’s arm and she fell into a shrieking fit. When Bartholomew wandered into view, she berated the young man for his foolish actions and nearly worked herself into a spell. As Lady Maxine and Penelope returned Lady Maude to her bower, Lady Livia and Emma offered to tend Arissa’s arm.
But Richmond declined their offer, instead, choosing to tend her himself. He wanted the excuse to be alone with her. Sending a serving wench for Mossy, he took Arissa to her chamber.
“Sit down, kitten,” he said softly, moving her toward a chair. “Mossy should have something to ease the sting.”
The pain increased when he released her from his grasp. She swallowed hard, trying not to watch every move he made. Trying desperately to ignore the mad twisting of her stomach and the quivering in her hands.
