The Velvet Promise Read online

  “It’s the spring’s strawberries and the juice of last year’s apples after they are boiled, then a bit of cinnamon.”

  “Cinnamon?”

  “Yes, my lord. The Lady Judith brought it with her from her home.”

  Gavin abruptly thrust the empty mug back at the girl and turned away. Now he was truly starting to get annoyed. Had everyone gone mad? Quickly, he made his way to the far end of the bailey, to his armorer’s. At least in that hot place of forged iron he would be safe from a woman’s interference.

  The sight that greeted him was shocking. His armorer, an enormous man, naked from the waist up, muscles bulging from his arms, sat quietly by a window—sewing. “What is this?” Gavin demanded angrily, suspicious already.

  The man smiled and held up two small pieces of leather. It was a design for a new hinge that could be used on a knight’s armor. “See, the way this is made, the hinge is much more flexible. Clever, isn’t it?”

  Gavin clenched his jaw tightly. “And where did you get this new idea?”

  “Why, from the Lady Judith,” the armorer answered, then shrugged when Gavin stormed from the shed.

  How dare she! he thought. Who was she to interfere in what was his, to make change after change without so much as asking his approval? These estates were his! If any changes were to be made, they were to be made by him.

  He found Judith in the pantry, a vast room attached to the kitchen, kept separate from the house for fear of fire. She was buried, head and shoulders, inside an enormous bin of flour. Her auburn hair was unmistakable. He stood close to her, taking full advantage of his height.

  “What have you done to my home?” he bellowed.

  Instantly, Judith came out of the bin, narrowly missing banging her head on the cover. In spite of Gavin’s height and his loud voice, she was not afraid of him. Until her wedding less than two weeks ago, she had never been near a man who wasn’t angry. “Your home?” she answered in a deadly voice. “And pray, what am I? The kitchen maid?” she asked as she held out her arms, covered in flour to her elbows.

  They were surrounded by castle servants who backed against the walls in fear, but who would not have missed such a fascinating scene for anything.

  “You know damn well who you are, but I will not have you interfering in my business. You have altered too many things—my falconer, even my armorer. You are to tend to your own business and not to mine!”

  Judith glared up at him. “Then pray tell me what I’m to do if I’m not to speak to the falconer or whoever else needs advisement.”

  Gavin was puzzled for a moment. “Why, women’s things. You are to see to women’s things. Sew. See that the maids cook and clean and…make face creams.” He felt the last suggestion was inspired.

  Judith’s cheeks blazed, her eyes glittering with little splinters of golden glass. “Face creams!” she snarled. “So now I am ugly and need face creams! Perhaps I should also make lash darkeners and rouges for my pale cheeks.”

  Gavin was bewildered. “I didn’t say you were ugly, just that you are not to set my armorer to sewing.”

  Judith’s jaw was set firmly. “Then I will not do so again. I will let your armor stay stiff and cumbersome before I talk to the man again. What else may I do to please you?”

  Gavin stared at her. The argument was not going his way at all. “The mews,” he said weakly.

  “Then I will let your birds die of soft feet. Is there anything else?”

  He stood there dumbly with no answer for her.

  “Now I assume we understand each other, my lord,” Judith continued. “I am not to protect your hands, I am to let your birds die, and I am to spend my days concocting face creams to cover my ugliness.”

  Gavin grabbed her by the upper arm and lifted her from the floor so that they faced each other. “Damn you, Judith, you are not ugly! You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stared at her mouth, so close to his.

  Her eyes softened and her voice was sweeter than honey. “Then I may set my poor brain to something besides beauty enhancers?”

  “Yes,” he whispered, weakened by the nearness of her.

  “Good,” she said firmly. “Then there is a new arrowhead I should like to talk with the armorer about.”

  Gavin blinked in astonishment, then set her on the floor so hard her teeth jarred together. “You will not—” He broke off as he stared at her defiant eyes.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  He stormed from the kitchen.

  Raine sat in the shade of the castle wall, his bandaged leg thrust before him, sipping Judith’s new cinnamon drink and eating rolls still warm from the oven. Every now and then he tried to suppress a chuckle as he watched his brother. Gavin’s wrath was apparent in his every move. He rode his horse as if a demon chased him and thrust his lance viciously through the stuffed quintain that represented his foe.

  Already the fight in the pantry was being told and retold. In another day it would reach the king in London. In spite of his mirth, Raine felt sorry for his brother. He’d been bested publicly by a bit of a girl.

  “Gavin,” he called. “Give the animal a rest and come sit awhile.”

  Reluctantly, Gavin did as his brother bid when he realized that his horse was covered with foam. He threw the reins to his waiting squire and walked tiredly to sit beside his brother.

  “Have a drink,” Raine offered.

  Gavin started to take the mug then stopped. “Her new drink?”

  Raine shook his head at his brother’s tone. “Yes, Judith made it.”

  Gavin turned to his squire. “Fetch me some beer from the cellar,” he commanded.

  Raine started to speak then saw his brother’s eyes strain across the courtyard. Judith walked from the manor house, across the sand-covered training field toward the line of war-horses tethered at the edge. Gavin’s eyes watched her hotly; then, as she stopped by the horses, he started to rise.

  Raine grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him down to the seat again. “Let her alone. You’ll only start another quarrel which you will no doubt lose again.”

  Gavin started to speak, then stopped when his squire handed him a mug of beer.

  When the boy was gone, Raine spoke again. “Don’t you do anything except bellow at the woman?”

  “I don’t—” Gavin began, then stopped and gulped more beer.

  “Look at her and tell me one thing that is wrong with her. She is beautiful enough to rival the sun. She works all day to set your home to rights. She has every man, woman and child, including Simon, eating from her hand. Even the war-horses dantily take apples from her palm. She is a woman of humor, and she plays the best damn game of chess in England. What more could you want?”

  Gavin had not taken his eyes from her. “What do I know of her humor?” he said bleakly. “She has never even called me by my name.”

  “And why should she?” Raine demanded. “When have you ever so much as said a kind word to her? I don’t understand you. I have seen you woo serf girls with more ardor. Doesn’t a beauty like Judith deserve sweet words?”

  Gavin turned on him. “I am not a simpleton to be told by a younger brother how to pleasure a woman. I was in women’s beds when you were with your wet nurse.”

  Raine did not reply but his eyes were dancing. He refrained from mentioning that there were only four years’ difference in their ages.

  Gavin left his brother and went to the manor house where he called for a bath to be prepared. As he sat in the hot water, he had time to think. As much as he hated to admit it, Raine was right. Perhaps Judith did have a reason to be cool to him. Their marriage had started on the wrong foot. It was too bad he had had to strike her on their first night, too bad she had entered his tent at the wrong time.

  But that was over now. Gavin remembered how she said he would get nothing from her but what he took. He smiled as he lathered his arms. He’d spent two nights with her and knew she was a woman of great passion. How long could she keep from his bed?