Daniel passed a glance at the ancient man, as old as the sky and then some. A faint gleam came to his eye as he observed the crusty old crone. “Mossy, I have always been curious. How did you acquire your name?”
Mossy drew forth a few items. “Ye ask me that now? Daniel Ellsrod, ye’ve been at Lambourn for two years come January.”
Daniel grinned, ignoring Penelope’s silent urging. “I have never had an interest until now.”
“Ye selected a peculiar moment to ask.”
“Answer me and I shall go. Why are you called Mossy?”
Richmond looked to the young knight. “Because he’s so old that moss grows on his limbs. And he cannot stand in one spot for too long else his feet will take root.”
Daniel’s eyes widened and he sputtered a loud guffaw. “Is that so?”
Mossy examined a length of silk thread. “It is. Do ye need to see the proof?”
Daniel shook his head and, still snorting, followed Penelope into the corridor. He had no sooner moved into the hall when a soldier suddenly appeared in his place, his face flushed with excitement.
“Mossy, Lord William demands you come. Bartholomew has been injured.”
Mossy looked up from his thread sharply. “Injured? What happened?”
The soldier swallowed, his flush deepening as he glanced at Arissa. “He… he’s been hit… that is to say, he’s in a good deal of pain.”
“Ye did not answer my question. How badly is he injured?”
The soldiers swallowed hard, a ripple of fright creasing his features when Richmond focused his hard gaze on him. Weighing the options, he found he was willing to risk great embarrassment in lieu of Richmond le Bec’s anger.
“He took a stick to the groin,” he mumbled. “Lord William demands you tend him, as he’s heir to the earldom. He fears for the continuation of the family line.”
Mossy stared at the soldier for a moment as if to disbelieve what he had been told. Sighing, he set the thread to a nearby table and extracted several other items from his bag, including a delicate embroidery needle and a wad of linen.
“Riss, ye’ll have to sew Richmond’s cut,” he collected his bag, forgetting about the errant rabbit. “I have got to tend yer foolish brother to guarantee him a son.”
Arissa watched him scuffle from the room, moving to close the door behind him. The awareness of suddenly being alone with Richmond was almost more than she could bear and a faint mottle crept into her cheeks as she returned to the table by his bedside.
With a quivering hand, she poured water from a pewter pitcher into a small bowl Mossy had left. “I…. I do hope Bart is all right.”
A massive hand suddenly shot out, snatching her by the wrist. Arissa barely had time to set the pitcher to the table whenshe was suddenly pulled onto the bed beside him. With her next breath, she found herself gazing into eyes of bright blue.
“Forget about Bart. You should only be concerned with me.”
A timid smile creased her lips. “I am only concerned with you, as I have always been. Am I not preparing to tend your wound?”
A dark eyebrow raised. His face was looming closer. “I was not speaking of wounds, Riss.”
His mouth was on her before she could draw another breath. Arissa forgot everything at that moment; his injury, her brother, the world in general. When his warm, tender lips touched hers, all of the love and emotion she had ever felt for him melded into one glorious burst and she was vaguely aware of her hands in his hair, holding him tightly.
Richmond clutched her tightly to his chest, feeling her warmth and softness against him. When they had embraced earlier he had been wearing armor, and the sensations of her supple body provoked against his thinly-clad flesh were consuming. The little girl he had known and protected had blossomed into a woman of unbelievable magnificence and he was still having difficulty coming to grips with the turn their relationship was taking.
He had ceased to think of Arissa as his charge long ago. Aye, there was still a fierce protective instinct towards her, greater than any instinct he possessed, but the emotions he had developed for her overshadowed all else. She was a woman, and he was a man. And he loved her.
He drew her down on the bed next to him, looming over her with his great body and half-burying her into the mattress. Arissa gripped him tightly, whimpering softly as his lips devoured her. His hands moved from her hair, down her neck, trailing the length of her arms. Then, as one hand wrappeditself about her narrow waist, the other moved to her wonderful breasts.
She startled when his warm fingers moved over the crest of her nipples, gasping when he toyed with a tender bud. He laughed low in his throat at her reaction, but he did not halt his onslaught. Instead, he snaked his hand behind her back and deftly undid several stays.
Arissa was barely cognizant when he slid her new surcoat off her shoulders, kissing every exposed inch of white flesh. She was a quivering shell of awakening desire, experiencing every brush of his lips as if it were a gift from God. His body had shifted and she was nearly smothered by his great form, feeling his heat as if nothing else on earth existed.
His tender touch trailed to the rounded swell of her breasts as the surcoat slowly moved downward, barely covering the delightfully puckered buds. Richmond’s breathing came in heavy gasps as he gently peeled the material away from rosy crests, letting out a sigh of awe as his gaze beheld succulent nipples. He couldn’t wait to taste them.
