That he was not getting a wench to assist him did not matter. He was not in need of a woman after his indulgence last night. He was instead intrigued by Theo’s presence. Not full grown yet, the boy was lanky with a slow grace of his movements that was almost womanish, surely to be outgrown eventually. Dark blond hair curled about his ears and nape, and his brown eyes were too boldly direct for a servant’s. But he was a handsome boy, or would be once his face matured past its prettiness.
Ranulf had noted the way Lady Reina had put her hand on the boy’s shoulder as she gave him her orders in the hall. The gesture was noted because it was not usual to see a lady touch a servant, for any reason, especially a male servant. He had also heard her say to him, “Then you may see to me.” What that could mean he could not imagine, but the boy was obviously special to her in some way. So being, ’twas likely he had her confidence as well as trust, and would know just about all there was to know about her. That he was here must also be at her order, and could only be to gain information from Ranulf for her, though he had yet to ask any questions himself, and had not hesitated to answer all of Ranulf’s inquiries about Clydon.
Stripped down, Ranulf stepped into the large round tub, the weight of his body as he sat down raising the water up to his chest. He did not notice the way Theo’s eyes watched his every move, glittering with anticipation.
Theodric was fair drooling, but frightened, too. He had never seen a body so beautiful or so big. Ironhewed strength rippled from every muscle. Arms like that could break bones without even trying. Long, long legs, a tight, exquisitely curved arse, a broad back that went on forever, all golden-skinned and rock-hard. Theo could be killed. He must take the chance. But he did not know how to proceed with one such as this.
He had removed the knight’s clothes, fingers lingering and touching as much as he dared without offending, but the man had not noticed, had barely even looked at him as he asked questions Theo answered by rote, his thoughts centered on only one thing. He did not usually have to be so obvious. A sultry look was enough, but not apparently for this man, whose interest seemed wholly for Clydon—until now.
“How old is she, your lady?”
Theo saw the knight reaching for the washcloth and soap on the stool by the tub and dived for them himself. “Do let me wash you, my lord.”
Ranulf shrugged, though he had not expected the boy’s help to extend this far. But Lanzo or Kenric often scrubbed his back for him, so he leaned forward to expose it, yet did not forget his question.
“Your lady?”
Theo soaped the cloth, but hesitated in both answering and touching. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I saw no breasts, no hips, no curves of any kind to help me to even come close in guessing. Is she no more than a child?”
Theo might have been offended to hear his lady’s breasts and hips and curves mentioned by a stranger—by any man, for that matter—but he grinned instead, though Ranulf did not see it. Reina was not in fact as shapely as most women, but what she had was just right for her size. The trouble was, her size was extremely petite. For anyone not allowed into her chamber where she could be seen unclothed, there was no way to tell that her legs were perfectly formed, that she had the prettiest, most enviable little derrière, a gracefully sloping back as smooth as silk. Her breasts might not be a handful, but, freed of restriction, they were pert and upthrusting, with large nipples that would make a man’s mouth water—most men’s, anyway.
Theo had to force the smugness from his tone when answering, for he might know all this, but this knight never would. “My lady has not been a child for many years. She might not appear so, but she is a woman full grown.”
Ranulf was aware his question had not really been answered as to age. If the boy would not speak of the lady, he would know it now.
“If she is so long past childhood, why is she not married?”
Theo moved the washcloth caressingly over the golden skin. It was difficult to think with that beautiful, thick-muscled back under his hand.
“She was betrothed, but he died two years past.”
“But she was betrothed again?”
Theo frowned, trying to concentrate. This was now a dangerous subject. The man was from Shefford, so he should think Reina was betrothed as Shefford thought she was, when in fact she was not, not yet. So why would he ask about it?
“Certainly she is betrothed. Did Sir Henry not send you here to inquire of the date for the wedding? Lord Guy’s castellan must come to witness and accept the new Lord of Clydon’s homage to Shefford in the earl’s stead.”
Ranulf was grateful to have an excuse for being here given to him so easily. And ’twas obvious now that Rothwell had been right in at least one thing. If there really had been a contract with Rothwell, the lady was indeed ignoring it. She was planning to marry someone else.
“Then the date is—finally fixed?” Ranulf asked.
Theo took advantage of the giant’s distraction to lean closer and bring the washcloth around to his chest. “Only my lady can answer that.”
“And who is the fortunate husband-to-be?”
Theo was out of his league now, for Reina usually fended off such questions. How could he say it was de Lascelles, when if de Arcourt should miraculously show up first, Reina would pick him instead? He took a chance that Ranulf Fitz Hugh did not know that a name had never been given, and would not admit to being excluded from that knowledge if he thought it was known by the man who had sent him.
“’Tis not widely known, but surely Sir Henry would have told you?”
Ranulf grunted in answer. The boy was being evasive again, and he liked it not. If the planned wedding was to be soon, and the lady would certainly want it to be soon after coming so close to capture this morn, what was so secretive about the name of this man she was taking in Rothwell’s place? He could not be her father’s choice, if Rothwell had spoken the truth. So it had to be the Earl of Shefford’s doing, done after Roger de Champeney’s death. No woman would presume to arrange an alliance for herself or break a betrothal. The scorned man would doubtless send an army after her, or a mercenary, as Rothwell had done. Then why would the earl leave her unprotected all this time? If he wanted to give her to another man, it should have been done immediately, for she was fair game until the deed was done.
It was a puzzle, but one that did not really matter. Ranulf’s duty was to take the lady to Rothwell, and so he would. It was nothing to him who eventually held Clydon through her. He could envy the man such a prize, for Clydon was magnificent. That it came with a tiny, childlike woman who gave orders like a general was the only drawback, but of little account, for she could be a crippled hunchback and still be desirable as long as Clydon was hers.
With his thoughts wandering, Ranulf had not been paying attention to Theo or what he was doing, so it was a jolt to find the boy on the side of him now, his arm in the water in front of him, his hand with the washing cloth in it moving up the inside of Ranulf’s thick thigh. He stiffened, disbelieving the suspicion that leapt to his mind. The lad could not be that suicidal. And yet giving him the benefit of the doubt hanged him, for that hand continued on. In the same second that it touched Ranulf where it had no business touching, he turned to the boy and caught the glazed eyes on him, and then his reaction was instantaneous.
His bellow of rage shook the rafters, and with a single swipe of his arm he sent Theo tumbling across the room. “Christ’s toes! She sends me a catamite!”
