He laughed harshly, facing her. He did not move away, could not. Heat steamed between them. She still gripped his forearm. “We both know that I have not saved you, madame, although I would that I could. And we both know that you hardly wish to thank me. I will not be seduced, madame.”
Her black eyes flashed. “You mistake me.”
“I do not mistake you, Lady Beaufort. That would be impossible.”
As seductive as she had been, she was now enraged. “Apparently I have mistaken you!”
He did not answer, for her words were a complete lie—she had recognized him from the first, recognized his huge, misplaced lust, recognized that in a way, they were exactly the same.
And then her next words made him forget himself completely. “I mistook you for a man, despite your robes! But you are no man, are you? You are no man, you are one of those others, one of those boy-lovers!”
Geoffrey forgot that they were in a public place. He caught her wrists and had her up against him a scant instant later. Her dark eyes widened when she felt his engorged manhood, then they turned to smoke.
The obvious invitation issued there brought him to his senses. He released her, stepping back from her. His smile was twisted and harsh. “Never doubt my manhood again.”
“In truth,” she whispered, “I never did!”
But Geoffrey had already shoved past her. Behind him, he heard her cry his name. His strides lengthened, as did his determination. But he was shaken.
Not an hour later, the Earl of Northumberland was ushered into the King’s chamber after having had a very private meeting with his son, Geoffrey. He was an older version of both Geoffrey and Brand, all hues of bronze and gold except for vivid too-blue eyes. Like all of his sons, he exuded an unmistakable virility, and women ran after him hoping to entice him into their beds. He ignored them—he was still extremely fond of his wife.
His aura of power was unmistakable. It was the power of a King-maker, indeed, he was called such behind his back, both by friend and foe alike. He found the nickname somewhat amusing, but secretly it pleased him. Once he had been nothing but a mercenary knight, and he would never forget those times.
The King’s apartment was one of the largest chambers in the Tower, half as large as the hall outside, dominated by a massive carved and canopied bed, covered with furs and velvets. Chests and coffers abounded, filled with the King’s most prized and valuable possessions.
Rolfe approached and knelt before Rufus. The King was a big man. Once he had been all heavy muscle and almost handsome despite his flaming locks; now the excesses that drove him had faded his looks and added more than a layer of fat to his big build. For a moment he continued to sprawl indolently in a chair massive enough to suit his frame and weight. He took another sip of rich red wine from France, his face flushed from its effects, as if in no hurry to greet his vassal. Finally he said, “Rise, dear Rolfe, rise.”
Rolfe stood, ignoring Duncan, who sat next to the King, his interest open and apparent. Duncan had grown up at court with Rufus. Several other retainers were also within, but immersed in conversation on the other side of the room. Rolfe noticed that Roger Beaufort was not present—apparently he had yet to worm his way back into the King’s favor.
“How is your son?” Rufus asked casually. His shrewd eyes belied his tone. Rolfe knew the King’s curiosity ate at him.
“Geoffrey is, as always, fine.”
“He awaits an audience with me,” Rufus commented, taking another sip of wine.
Rolfe was aware of that, just as he was aware of why. “My son is eager to show you his accounts,” Rolfe murmured. He and Geoffrey had not discussed the issue, in fact, but Rolfe could not say otherwise.
“If he is eager to open his books to me, then he has surely transformed himself into a man I have yet to meet,” William Rufus remarked dryly.
Rolfe smiled. “The archdeacon is your loyal vassal, sire.”
“He is loyal only because he cannot best me,” Rufus said.
Rolfe decided not to respond.
He had known William Rufus since he was a child. When Rolfe had fought at Hastings at William the Conqueror’s side, Rufus had been ten and already the physical image of his father, of whom he was the favorite. There had been the promise that he might be like his father in substance, as well. Now it was clear Rufus would never be the all-powerful man his father had been. Yes, he was as ruthless, and as fearsome in battle, as shrewd in politics, but in many other ways he was lacking.
The bullying boy had become a bullying King. He bullied his nobles, he bullied the common people. His laws and justice were harsh and unreasonable, fomenting intense discontent and opposition. His taxes, which he levied at whim to support all his wars—and there were many—were oppressive. Already there had been one major rebellion in 1088 in the east of England soon after Rufus ascended the throne. He had broken the back of the rebellion with brutal military repression and many promises of good government and relief from his severe taxation and the harsh forest laws. His victory had been quick, the offenders banished forever, their lands forfeit. One of the rebels had been the first Earl of Kent, and much of his lands had been awarded to Roger Beaufort, along with his title, for Beaufort had played a strong role in crushing the rebellion, as had Northumberland. But it had not been long before it was clear that Rufus’s promises were false and conditions throughout the country remained the same.
Rolfe had sympathized with the rebels, but he had always been the King’s man. First for Rufus’s father, William I, now for Rufus, and should he live to see the day, for Rufus’s son. But his loyalty was sown from much greater reasons than his strict code of honor and sense of duty.
William Rufus needed Rolfe’s sincere guidance. Rolfe never stopped trying to steer the King onto the path of a more just and equitable administration of his subjects and realm. Indeed, in the past four years since the good Archbishop Lanfranc had died, Rufus’s penchant for arbitrariness and decadence had worsened. Lanfranc, like Rolfe, had sought to morally guide the King while he was alive. Rolfe knew that should he leave the King’s side, Rufus would be influenced only by his cronies, men with the same—or worse—shortcomings as he.
And of course, always, Rolfe protected the interests of his family and Northumberland.
Now he intended to further those interests as never before.
Rufus had dismissed Duncan as well as several other retainers. As they paraded out, not a man among them could conceal their curiosity; each and every one was determined to learn, as quickly as possible, what the King and Rolfe de Warenne deemed important enough to discuss so privily.
