from reaching my home as quickly as possible.”
“Trivial?” she echoed, her eyes wide with sudden pain.
“Aye, trivial,” he pressed on ruthlessly, “as are all womanly cares.”
She opened her mouth to retort, then shut it with a snap. She reached over and took a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese from Warren, ignoring the lad’s bereft look. Then she took the apple and bit into it viciously.
“Do you know what you are?” she said, between bites.
Richard watched the fire in her eyes and found that the sight of it relieved him somewhat. The last thing he needed was a bawling woman to contend with. Not that he was used to contending with women anyway outside the bedchamber, but he supposed if the task was thrust upon him, ’twas better that the wench have a bit of sharpness to her tongue.
Then again, perhaps ’twas better he return to his former position of wanting her to be meek and tractable. Surely she would be easier to cow if that were her mien.
Richard suddenly had the desire to throw up his hands and retreat to the safety of a sentry post. He had no idea which way he would have preferred the wench before him and it irritated him to find he was even having such a foolish debate with himself. He cared nothing for the handsomeness of her face, nor for the fire in her eyes. He had a bloody keep to build and no time to be distracted by some foolish girl who had obviously gotten separated from her company and wandered onto Hugh’s fields.
“A month,” he muttered. “I can endure this for a month.”
“Well?” she demanded. “Don’t you want to know?”
He suspected he didn’t, but there was no sense in her thinking he was afraid to hear her assessment of his character.
“What am I?” he asked reluctantly.
“A chauvinist.”
Chauvinist
was no word he’d ever heard before and he prided himself on having learned a great deal on his travels. He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
“A chauvinist?”
She nodded, taking another bite of apple that made himvery relieved she hadn’t take a like bite out of his backside.
“Aye,” he said, deciding suddenly to assure her he was familiar with her term for him, “that I am. You would do well to remember it.”
“I doubt I could forget it, even if I wanted to.”
Somehow, he had the feeling
chauvinist
was not flattering. And, torn between admitting his stupidity and saving his pride, he walked away. The wench was eating. He’d won that battle.
He remained on the far side of the camp until most of the men had settled down to sleep. No fires had been lit. The warmth would have been pleasant, but it also could have meant unwanted and unforeseen arrows in the back. Life instead of comfort was never a poor trade.
He rose and began to walk, having no destination in mind. To his discomfort, he found himself again standing over Jessica. She was trembling even beneath his cloak. Warren lay next to her, sleeping peacefully. Richard didn’t stop to think, he merely reached down and stripped away his brother’s blanket. The boy woke with a curse, then shut his mouth hastily. He lay back down and stared up at Richard, mute.
Richard ignored the look in his brother’s eye, something he suspected might have been reproach, and draped Warren’s blanket over Jessica. He didn’t remain to see if that helped her at all. That he had even made the effort to look after her galled him. No one had ever cared for his comfort; why should he bother troubling himself for anyone else?
Two turns about the camp only succeeded in landing him back where he’d started. He looked down at Jessica and saw again in his mind’s eye the bleak look in her eye he’d seen that afternoon. She had lost something very dear to her, and despite himself, he felt a kinship with her because of it. He’d lost his innocence and any hope of joy. What she’d lost was a mystery, but he had the feeling he would find it to be grave indeed when he learned of it.
That thought pulled him up
“Trivial?” she echoed, her eyes wide with sudden pain.
“Aye, trivial,” he pressed on ruthlessly, “as are all womanly cares.”
She opened her mouth to retort, then shut it with a snap. She reached over and took a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese from Warren, ignoring the lad’s bereft look. Then she took the apple and bit into it viciously.
“Do you know what you are?” she said, between bites.
Richard watched the fire in her eyes and found that the sight of it relieved him somewhat. The last thing he needed was a bawling woman to contend with. Not that he was used to contending with women anyway outside the bedchamber, but he supposed if the task was thrust upon him, ’twas better that the wench have a bit of sharpness to her tongue.
Then again, perhaps ’twas better he return to his former position of wanting her to be meek and tractable. Surely she would be easier to cow if that were her mien.
Richard suddenly had the desire to throw up his hands and retreat to the safety of a sentry post. He had no idea which way he would have preferred the wench before him and it irritated him to find he was even having such a foolish debate with himself. He cared nothing for the handsomeness of her face, nor for the fire in her eyes. He had a bloody keep to build and no time to be distracted by some foolish girl who had obviously gotten separated from her company and wandered onto Hugh’s fields.
“A month,” he muttered. “I can endure this for a month.”
“Well?” she demanded. “Don’t you want to know?”
He suspected he didn’t, but there was no sense in her thinking he was afraid to hear her assessment of his character.
“What am I?” he asked reluctantly.
“A chauvinist.”
Chauvinist
was no word he’d ever heard before and he prided himself on having learned a great deal on his travels. He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
“A chauvinist?”
She nodded, taking another bite of apple that made himvery relieved she hadn’t take a like bite out of his backside.
“Aye,” he said, deciding suddenly to assure her he was familiar with her term for him, “that I am. You would do well to remember it.”
“I doubt I could forget it, even if I wanted to.”
Somehow, he had the feeling
chauvinist
was not flattering. And, torn between admitting his stupidity and saving his pride, he walked away. The wench was eating. He’d won that battle.
He remained on the far side of the camp until most of the men had settled down to sleep. No fires had been lit. The warmth would have been pleasant, but it also could have meant unwanted and unforeseen arrows in the back. Life instead of comfort was never a poor trade.
He rose and began to walk, having no destination in mind. To his discomfort, he found himself again standing over Jessica. She was trembling even beneath his cloak. Warren lay next to her, sleeping peacefully. Richard didn’t stop to think, he merely reached down and stripped away his brother’s blanket. The boy woke with a curse, then shut his mouth hastily. He lay back down and stared up at Richard, mute.
Richard ignored the look in his brother’s eye, something he suspected might have been reproach, and draped Warren’s blanket over Jessica. He didn’t remain to see if that helped her at all. That he had even made the effort to look after her galled him. No one had ever cared for his comfort; why should he bother troubling himself for anyone else?
Two turns about the camp only succeeded in landing him back where he’d started. He looked down at Jessica and saw again in his mind’s eye the bleak look in her eye he’d seen that afternoon. She had lost something very dear to her, and despite himself, he felt a kinship with her because of it. He’d lost his innocence and any hope of joy. What she’d lost was a mystery, but he had the feeling he would find it to be grave indeed when he learned of it.
That thought pulled him up
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