The Chief Read online

And with that ominous warning ringing in her ears, he turned on his heel and left.

  Three days later the tears had dried, but Christina was still smarting from her husband’s blunt set-down. The injustice outraged her. How could he speak to her so harshly? Everything she’d done since arriving here had been to try to please him—even using wanton attempts to please him in bed. One minute they were sharing the most sensual experience of her life, doing erotic, wicked things that she could never have imagined. In those moments, she’d never felt closer to anyone. The next he was firmly putting her in her place. Distancing himself. Shutting her out. Making her feel like a shameless harlot for attempting to win him with her body.

  Was passion all he was going to ever give her?

  It certainly seemed that way.

  She’d dreamed of so much more. If he would just open up a little, she knew it could be wonderful. He was so alone; he needed a little warmth in his life. But it was like trying to chip stone with a needle of bone—exhausting, and doomed to failure.

  To Hades with him. The flash of anger surprised her. But if this was how it was going to be—if passion was all he would give her—she was going to take it and find a way to eke out a little happiness for herself.

  And that didn’t include sharing him with Lady Janet.

  Despite his warning, Christina could not let it go. He’d thought her a jealous, silly girl, which was appropriate, because that’s exactly how she felt. And her jealousy continued to fester with each day he was gone.

  Of course it didn’t help that Lady Janet was absent as well. Curse him, what was she supposed to think?

  If it weren’t for Brother John, she would have gone mad. He seemed to welcome her company as much as she did his, and they’d taken to walking together around the barmkin in the morning when the weather allowed; and often, such as today, when Rhuairi was busy elsewhere, she would join him in the solar as he transcribed the seemingly endless correspondence and accounts. No matter how hard she tried, her husband’s seneschal had not warmed to her, and something about him made her uncomfortable. He’d made it quite clear that he did not think she belonged in her husband’s solar.

  If he knew that she could read, he’d be even more horrified. From the surreptitious reading that she’d managed, she realized she’d had no idea about the immense amount of work that went into being chief of a large clan. From the mundane, such as fixing leaking roofs in a villager’s cottage and collecting the rents for his vast holdings, to the lawdays spent presiding over disputes between clansmen or passing judgment for far more serious crimes, her husband had a hand in it all. No wonder he was so busy. Though she couldn’t help feeling proud, it was too much for any one man to handle and made her even more determined to help. There was more to life than war and duty, if only he could see it.

  She’d hoped her husband would confide in her on his own, but since he wouldn’t, she was happy to learn about him any way she could.

  She was tempted to confess her ability to read and write to Brother John—he could certainly use her help—but many of the documents were confidential and she worried that he would bar her from joining him if he knew.

  Besides, she wanted to tell her husband first. She’d almost done so that night when he’d caught her eating figs and reading her book, but for some reason she hesitated. It wasn’t that she thought he would react like her father, but he was a proud man, and she didn’t know whether it would matter to him if he had a wife who was more educated than he was. Still, she’d begun to wonder whether her unusual skills might be the way to help him. Maybe it would help him see her in a different way—as more than just a bedmate.

  The clerk finished his story and Christina laughed at his absurd description. “I’m sure it couldn’t have been as bad as all that,” she said kindly, handing him the new quill she’s just finished sharpening.

  “I assure you it was worse,” he said, taking it with a grateful nod. “I was so scared I went running out of the dormitory wearing nothing at all. When the tutor finally opened the door the next morning, let us say he was not amused.”

  “Did the other boys get in trouble?”

  He looked affronted. “Or course not. I swore I’d walked in my sleep and somehow the door had locked behind me. The tutor told me to sleep in my robe from then on, lest I do so again.”

  “That was very magnanimous of you. Those boys were terrible to scare you in your sleep so.”

  His gaze dropped back down to the piece of vellum he was working on. “Not magnanimous,” he said uncomfortably. “I was a coward. I feared what they would do to me the rest of the time if I told.” His mouth curled. “Not that my silence mattered much.”

  Christina’s heart went out to him. She, too, understood the shame of being a coward. Of being forced to confront your own helplessness against a much stronger foe. She and Brother John had much in common.

  She placed her hand on his and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Sometimes surviving is the bravest thing of all.” A cold shadow crossed behind her, sending a shiver down her neck. She turned, but there was no one there.

  He looked at her hand for a long moment. She was just starting to feel self-conscious about the unthinking gesture when he gave her a wry smile. “Do you know, I didn’t want to go into the church?”

  “Really?” She removed her hand.

  He shook his head. “I had three older brothers.”

  She nodded her head in comprehension. There hadn’t been much left over for a fourth son. “What did you want to do?”

  He gave her an uncertain look. “To be a great knight.” Color stained his cheeks. “Like Lancelot.”

  Her eyes widened. “Do you know Chrétien?”

  “They are my favorite stories.”

  A broad smile spread across her face. “Mine, too.”

  They laughed again and spent the next hour regaling each other with the exploits of Arthur’s greatest knight, stopping only when she realized it was well past time to break their fast.

  Christina returned to her room for a moment to freshen up and approached the Hall alone. Later, she was grateful no one was there to witness her shock. Brother John, she knew, already felt sorry for her being ignored by her husband, and she wouldn’t have been able to hide the tumult of emotions.

  At the opposite end of the Hall, near the main entrance, she caught sight of Lady Janet surrounded by a large retinue of men. Christina’s relief that the other woman had returned alone was short-lived. The group of men shifted, revealing the formidable figure of her husband. Her heart jumped the way it always did when she saw him. Unconsciously, she took a step forward. Had he just returned?

  She came to a jolting stop. If so, he appeared to be leaving, freshly bathed and dressed in a clean leine that she’d mended only yesterday.

  Her heart sank like a rock, realizing he’d come back the night before and not even told her.

  And he meant to leave again without saying good-bye.

  Her eyes blurred, not just with hurt, but also with outrage. Past caring, she was going to march over there and demand an explanation when the gorgeous blond Amazon put a hand on his arm.

  Tor covered it with his. It wasn’t the touch but the look he gave her that ripped through Christina’s heart like a jagged knife. Tender. Kind. The meager sign of affection she’d sought for weeks dispensed so effortlessly to another.

  God, it hurt! Her chest burned so badly it was difficult to breathe.

  She watched him leave, standing there like a witless, stunned fool. Thus she didn’t miss the look of longing in Lady Janet’s gaze as she watched him go. Longing that matched her own. The twinge of empathy was hardly welcome under the circumstances. If there had been any doubt, there was no longer: The relationship was not over—at least not for one of them.

  No longer hungry, Christina stepped back, intending to return to her room. Running away. Nay. She stopped, taking a moment to compose herself. She would not tuck her tail between her legs and run. Not this time. Not