Lord Liar Part 46

If you try to send me, I'll just return. Which is better, to keep me safe with you now or risk having me back on the roads? "

"How safe do you think you would be, living in a camp with rough men, with the possibility of attack by the rebels?

And if that were not enough, Aldyth, you just missed running into G.o.d fie and Turold by an hour. There would have been the devil to pay if I'd had to fight them both for you. "

"G.o.dric was here? And T-Turold?" When she said the name of her former betrotbed, she paled a little.

"Yes, they're with the king's English contingent, marching south to Tonbridge, but if all goes well for Rufus, eventually we shall all be one grand army together. What of your plan then, Aldyth? Can't you see why you must return to Beauworth and stay there?"

She had been waving h.e.l.lo to Urse but turned now back to Ranulf.

"I.

won't leave you now that I'm here," she insisted an almost mulish expression taking over her hearti shaped face.

"You made Warin stay with Lady Vivienne, and I'm glad of that," she added quickly, "but now you have no one to cook your supper and tend to your clothes."

He snorted.

"My squire can certainly do that," he said, nodding in Urse's direction.

She smiled maddeningly.

"Not like I can."

He groaned inside. He could picture all too many things she could do for him that Urse could not!

"And you'd be without him near a fortnight if you send him to escort me back, as I can guess you'll wish to do. I will be your servant, and no one will guess--but I am not going tamely back to Beauworth like a witless fool."

"You were a witless fool to disobey me and come here," he growled, but he knew she had again defeated him. He had not the time to stay here by the roadside, arguing with her, and he believed she would do exactly what she said and keep attempting to return to him. Another time, her luck could run out and she might meet with some brigand who would not care if he attacked a wench or a lad. And the ira- her there beside him, even if it meant weeks of frustration because they could not be alone to make love, "I suppose you'll promise to obey me perfectly after this is over and we are man and wife," he grumbled. "Of course, my lord,"

she said meekly. But her eyes danced with joy.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Good even, soldiers. May I sit down and share your fire?

"Tis a brisk night for late May, don't you think?"

Desiderata asked the two men. They had been staring at the coneys turning on a spit as if the roasting meat contained all the answers to life. And so it did, mused Desiderata wryly to herself. It was very difficult to think much further than an empty stomach. She smiled winningly, hoping they would invite her to share their meal; if luck were really with her, they would have a few pennies to spend and would want what Desiderata was so talented at providing.

"Why, certainly," replied the blond one, while the brown- haired one just stared.

"Come and share our humble supper, lovely one.

"Tis not often we get a visit from a fine Norman lady, is it?"

"Nay, it is not," said the other one, not exactly frowning, but not smiling, either. Desiderata was content. It was not necessary that both men l.u.s.t after her--one was enough to get her a seat near the fire and a bit of roast meat to keep her going. If both men had found her equally irresistible, in fact, it might have led to one of the violent quarrels be, twcen men that sometimes got in the way of Desiderata's profession.

"Oh, you're English," she remarked, as if she were just discovering that fact and hadn't known it by their long, s.h.a.ggy locks and bushy mustaches and the bands of engraved silver they wore on their upper arms. She made her voice breathy, knowing men found it enticing. "Aye. I hope that does not disqualify us from your ... uh, company?" the blond one said, patting the place next to him with a grin.

"Non, pas du tout. Not at all," she translated.

"I have learned to speak the EngLish very well since I have come to your land, and I find Englishmen very--how do you say it?--fair and generous and--dare I say it?--virile, my lords."

She could see her flattery was working. The blond Englishman was practically melting at her feet--except for his swelling c.o.c.k, which she could see outlined against the fabric of his rough tunic.

"Best you know that I'm no lord, my lovely, just plain TUrold of Swanleft, an EngLish freeman. Now, G.o.drie there" -- he pointed to his comrade "--he's a squire and knighted someday, if you prefer that sort of man."

he found his honesty rather touching, but she would not be ually honest about herself. She would not tell him about the lung fever that had followed the robbery and rape by two other EngLishmen, requiring an eight-week eonvaieence at a convent. Then, not only had she failed to gain an audience with King William Rufus so that she could de.

no unco one of his lords as a traitor, but her efforts to ply her Irade among the lords and knights in the king's train had met with disinterest at best.

There were already plenty of harlots following the army, and the addition of a pretty red Norman wh.o.r.e was not an occasion of great note. . My name is Desiderata, sweet Turold, and non, I care about t.i.tles and such," she lied, stroking Turold's muscular arm.

"I only care that a man is a man. And Turold of Swanlea, you look very much a man to me," she purred, marveling at how easy this was. Turold was practically drooling. But perhaps she had overplayed it. She was hungry, yet the heated gleam in his blue eyes made her wonder if he would manage to wait until after they supped to drag her off into the undergrowth.

"Mmm, does that not smell good?" she cooed, pointing to the meat the squire was turning on the spit.

"I vow I would do almost anything for a bite of coney, dear Turold."

"Anything, Desiderata?"

"Anything, after we sup, Turold," she said, thinking she had better speak plainly.

"Very well, you shall have a bite of supper first, sweeting, and then... then I'll have a bite o' you, my Norman vixen." He chuckled, hugely pleased at his jest. Later, as Desiderata lay against the stocky Englishman's chest under a yew tree, she had to admit that s.e.x with Turold of Swanlea had been surprisingly pleasant. Not only had he given her a silver penny before taking her, thus preventing her having to nag for it later, the st.u.r.dy Englishman's braies had concealed the fact that he was built like a bull.

She'd been thrilled to find he had the endurance of one, too, bringing her to a whimpering climax before he allowed himself to spill his seed within her.

Most men didn't care whether the wh.o.r.e they'd bought experienced any pleasure or not.

Now he was drifting off into sleep, but she wanted to attach herself more firmly to him, and so she began to ask him about himself.

"Turold, you're a very handsome man, but your eyes hold great sadness," she said, running a fingernail across his muscular chest so that he roused enough to hear her. It was a wonderful thing to say to a man, a sentence that never failed to set them talking about their favorite subject-- themselves.

What man had not experienced some disalypointment, and what man could fail to appreciate a woman who had noted their tristesse?

"That's true, Desi, and you're right clever to sense it, for I keep my feelings well hidden, as a man should," he said, cuddling her closer with one powerful arm while his fingers strayed onto her breast.

"That you do, but I could just feel life had not treated you justly,"

she purred, archirig up against him like a cat confident that she will be petted.

"Aye, well, life has been fair enough, but there's a woman who cheated me,"

he told her, "of what was mine."

"And who was this evil woman?" Desiderata asked, thinking it was always a woman.

"I hate her before you even tell me her name."

"She was my betrothed. We were to marry the next day, but she ran away, leaving me hurt and, worse yet, unable to wed another, for the contract still existed."