He forced himself away from his gripping thoughts, focusing on the earl. “So I shall play nursemaid to The Horde this day? I must be receiving punishment for a great offense I have unknowingly committed against you.”
William laughed, watching his men scatter as the first of the de Rydal’s escort rode into the bailey. “Better you than me.”
Arissa chose that moment to exit the castle, positively ravishing in green silk. Although it was far too cool to move about without a wrap, she would have refused a cloak from God himself if it meant concealing her new surcoat. She had already received two compliments from the servants as she exited the castle and thought, mayhap, that her own conservative observations had been wrong. Mayhap the garment did not make her look too short or too busty.
A cool gust of wind caught her and she involuntarily shivered, her pale green eyes riveted to the party just passing under the portcullis. Several feet to her right stood her father, Bartholomew, and several knights including Richmond.
Swallowing her nerves, she descended the stairs towards the men. With every step, she began to hope that she would see Richmond’s approval in his eyes, a silent appreciation for the trouble she had gone through to make herself lovely. His word and his alone would decide how she truly felt about her appearance.
She’d lied when she had told Penelope and Emma that she had little concern whether or not Richmond attended her birthday. It was the best possible gift she could have hoped for. The only gift she truly wanted.
Richmond caught a flash of green from the corner of his eye. Turning with mild disinterest, his blue eyes came to rest upon a sight so incredibly beautiful that he swore he was gazing upon a window open to Heaven. Certainly, only angels were in possession of such beauty.
Arissa smiled at him and he felt his aging joints turn to warm, silly, wicked mush. His heart thumped madly against his ribs as she greeted her father and brother, accepting birthday kisses from the both of them. William was particularly proud of his eldest daughter, praising her beauty, her poise, her charm. Arissa smiled through all of it, absorbing it as any young maiden would.
Richmond continued to watch her through fascinated eyes. He thought, however, that her gaze was continually drawn to him, even as her father prattled on about the events scheduled for the day. The pale green eyes managed to find him regardless of who she was talking to. Or mayhap it was his imagination; mayhap he was seeing what he wished to see, his obsession causing him to hallucinate. Why would a creature as lovely andperfect as Arissa de Lohr allow her gaze to linger on an aging knight who was well past his prime?
Even if he was merely imagining her attention, his gaze was unmistakably lingering on her. When William took her hand and led her over to Richmond, placing her soft palm in his forearm where it had rested a thousand times before, he smiled at her as if he were a giddy young squire. He simply couldn’t stop himself.
William snorted. “God’s Teeth, le Bec. I do not ever think I have seen you smile for such an extended period of time. Did you hurt yourself, man?”
Richmond cursed himself for being so indiscreet. He hadn’t meant to react so openly to her but, God’s Teeth, she was impossible to ignore. Ever since he had returned yesterday, it was as if the separation had somehow fortified his feelings for her a thousand fold. His smile broadened and he patted Arissa’s hand as neutrally as he could.
“I am sorry, William,” he said without taking his eyes off her. “I forgot myself. How could I gaze into this face and not smile?”
Arissa flushed a lovely shade of pink, lowering her eyes as her guests drew closer. She would have sold her soul to the Devil for the look in Richmond’s eyes to have been a reflection of her own adoration. Her small, tapered fingers found their way around his gloved hand, fingers that were as thick as three of hers combined. There was no mistaking his response; leather-clad fingers that had wielded a sword for Henry in battle clutched at her, tightly.
Arissa nearly gasped with his instant response. Instinctively, her fingers curled tighter. So did his. The de Rydals were drawing closer, but she was not paying them any mind. All that mattered was Richmond’s powerful grasp, igniting a raging wildfire that was surging through her veins and causing her chest to ache.
A fatherly response, she told herself giddily.He’s simply responding to the young girl he’s always known, the young girl who has always sought comfort from her father’s powerful friend… a fatherly response!
Her eyes came to rest on their two hands, intertwined, touching. Remembering how the same hand had clutched her hair so tenderly the day before. Her eyes trailed up his arm, so thick and powerful. Arms that had made her feel safe and protected since she had been a child. Shoulders so broad that he could barely fit through a door without turning sideways. A mail-clad neck she had wrapped her arms about innumerable times.
Then there were his eyes. She did not realize how long she had been gazing into his beautiful eyes. Furthermore, she had no concept of how long he had been staring at her either. She’d been studying him for an endless amount of time when, suddenly, it occurred to her that he was doing the same. They were looking at each other.
“You look magnificent this day, my lady,” his voice came as a growl, words only she could hear.
Her cheeks flushed as she received his approval. “Thank you, Richmond,” she whispered.
He smiled, a devastating gesture that was far too rarely seen. She returned his smile, timidly, and she felt him squeeze her hand gently.
Arissa’s hot cheeks threatened to explode. Averting her gaze was the only possible solution, and she did so. But the small hand that was clutched within his great one was joined by its mate. Both hands, fragile and small and soft, lost themselves within the great tight cave of his armor-bound hand.
Ovid de Rydal, a large man with bushy red hair, practically fell from the wagon as a servant tried to help him down. He was far too obese to ride, straightening a tunic that was large enoughto cover an entire bed. His wife, the Lady Margaret, was nearly as rotund and a head taller. Having borne eleven children, she wore her plump stature like a badge of honor.
The majority of the de Rydal brood had accompanied their parents, with the exception of the five daughters that were married. Ovid de Rydal was so eager to be rid of his female children that he had begun marrying them off at twelve years of age and the most recent bride, married to a poor knight more than twice her age, was three weeks past her eleventh birthday. When Regine had learned of Tessa de Rydal’s marriage, she had raged for nearly a week.
Bartholomew was standing next to his sister. He leaned toward Arissa. “I would wager that Ovid the Blob proposes to marry off his ten year old daughter Mary before the day is out.”
Richmond heard the comment and tilted his head in Bartholomew’s direction, his eyes still riveted to the de Rydal party. “I shall cover you on that wager, Bart. A solid gold piece says your father has you married off by tomorrow.”
Bartholomew appeared incensed. “An outrageous statement, sir. I shall not marry a ten-year-old wench, and I do not care how wealthy her father is!”
Richmond cocked an eyebrow as Arissa grinned. “I see that you do not meet my wager. Am I to understand that you agree with me?”
Bartholomew scowled, returning his attention to the group before him. In his most menacing, evil voice, he began to recite.
“‘Perseus washed his hands, bloody from his victory over the monster, in the sea. So that the hard sand should not damage the snake-bearing head he made the ground soft with leaves and branches that grow beneath the sea’s surface, and on these he placed the head of Medusa.’”
