He had no idea what his brother was talking about. Then Rhys stripped away his chainmail hauberk and tunic, until he stood bare-chested. ‘If she’s going to look, shouldn’t you give her something to look at?’
He wasn’t at all certain of this, but Rhys was already reaching to help him with his hauberk.
‘I’ll wager her gaze is upon you this very moment,’ his brother said in a low voice.
‘This is foolish.’
‘Not for quarterstaffs,’ Rhys argued. ‘You don’t need heavy armour.’
He was right. Although Warrick felt awkward about it, he stripped to his waist. Just as Rhys had predicted, he caught Rosamund eyeing him. She gave a secret smile and continued sewing.
At that moment, Rhys lunged at him, and Warrick deflected the blow out of instinct. His brother was merciless, striking with speed and strength. Warrick dodged a blow and followed up with a hard strike to his brother’s ribs.
Rhys grunted and retaliated by slicing the quarterstaff at Warrick’s knees. He jumped out of the way, only for his brother to strike his back and knock him to the ground. He rolled away and caught his brother across the ankles, tripping him. ‘I thought you were going to make me look good.’
His brother cursed and got to his feet just as Warrick did. ‘I lied. But even so, she’s watching you.’
Warrick turned his head and moved out of the way at the same time. His brother’s blow missed him entirely, and Rosamund smiled.
He struck Rhys’s quarterstaff over and over again, moving with speed and intensity, until his brother was forced to retreat. He lunged hard, about to knock his brother to the ground, but Rhys dodged the blow, laughing.
‘Go and talk with her.’ His brother clapped a hand on his back, half-pushing him towards the beautiful maiden.
Warrick gripped his quarterstaff, pausing a moment. Rosamund remained on the stairs but set her sewing down. Her face softened at the sight of him with the hint of another smile. God above, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He couldn’t think of what to say to her, for his tongue tangled up.
The sparring match had ignited his desire for this woman. When he crossed the inner bailey, she stood to meet him. A faint blush stained her cheeks, but she never took her gaze from his. He stood two steps below her, and glimpsed the fallen sewing. It was like nothing he had seen before, with all the colours of the sky and clouds blended into a scene. It reminded him of a stained-glass window, with all the colourful pieces creating the whole.
‘You fought well,’ she said quietly.
Her face was so close to his, he could imagine sliding his hands through her thick dark hair and bringing her mouth to his. She was the sort of woman men would fight for, hoping to win her as a conquest.
Warrick wanted to tell her this or to compliment her sewing. But the words were caught in his throat, stifled by his own awkwardness.
Rosamund reached over her shoulder to pull a ribbon free from her braid. Her green eyes studied him with interest as she ordered, ‘Hold out your arm.’
He obeyed, and she tied the ribbon to it. The light touch of her fingers against his bare skin evoked a searing ache. He wanted to press her back against the stairs and kiss her until she could no longer stand. But he was aware of the others watching over them.
When she had tied the ribbon, she let her hands linger a moment before she lowered them to her sides. The small scrap of silk was a visible binding to this woman. In a low voice she murmured, ‘Now you have my favour.’
Warrick reached for her hand and held it a moment. His thumb brushed over the centre of her palm, and he answered, ‘Just as you have mine, my lady.’
A blinding smile crossed her face, and she gripped his hand in answer. Several seconds passed before she released his palm. ‘I should go now. My father will be looking for me, as will my mother. Or my sister Cecilia.’
Before he could speak a word, she grasped her skirts and walked down the stairs past him. ‘Farewell, Warrick.’
Only after she had gone did he realise that she’d left her sewing behind. He picked it up, not knowing whether to follow Rosamund and return it.
He studied it, and his brother approached. ‘Are you thinking of picking up a needle yourself, Warrick?’ Rhys’s tone held a teasing air.
‘She dropped it,’ was all he could say.
‘Did she? Or did she leave it on purpose, to give you a reason to see her again?’
The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but it was possible. He was about to pursue Rosamund when Rhys caught him by the arm. ‘Not yet, Brother. Wait another day.’
Warrick reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head. ‘I’ll give it to one of the servants to return to her.’
‘Why would you? She deliberately left it to you.’ His brother shrugged. ‘Claim a kiss from her as thanks.’
