Tribute Page 9
After the first week or so, she knew that something was going have to give. She’d stopped sending the girl in to clean because by the time she got there in the morning, Fleur had already done everything that needed to be done except changing the sheets, which was only done once a week anyway.
She was a young woman, obviously used to stimulation and activity—granted, she probably wasn’t used to cleaning, but at least it was something to do besides sit and wait for his return. Fleur began to beg Marianne for some kind of chore, something, anything to do.
It was natural that she would begin to involve Fleur in the running of the household—at least planning the meals at first but eventually more than that, and Fleur, for as much of a tomboy as she had been, had also been raised by her mother to run a large household. The two of them got on so well from the start that a stranger might have mistaken them for mother and daughter.
But even with the addition of some small duties from her, Marianne could see just how unhappy Fleur was growing. And who could blame her, stuck in that room all day alone. And the master, he was at her nearly every minute that they were together—the whole household knew it. There was no way they wouldn’t, considering how much of a racket they made. It made them all smile, thinking that eventually there’d be a child about, someone to carry on the Arndt name.
But Marianne wasn’t at all sure about that eventuality, and the unhappier Fleur became, the less likely she thought it was that the young woman would conceive.
No matter when he arrived home, the first thing he did was head up the stairs to his room. Marianne had learned to put off bringing him dinner until an hour or so after he’d gotten home or she’d end up hearing and seeing things she’d really rather not.
There was no question that she took her own pleasure in what they did; the whole house could hear her cries of ecstasy at all times of the day or night whenever the lord was home, but a young woman couldn’t live on that alone, and the longer he kept her away from everyone and everything but him, the sadder she became. At first she stopped doing the small things she’d volunteered to do then she started refusing to join Marianne for meals, and when she came up to fetch the trays, there was less and less eaten off of them. She tried to keep her informed and ask her advice about household dilemmas and in planning the meals, which she seemed to enjoy the most, but it wasn’t long before she refused to talk about that, either.
The girl had asked her to bring some books for her to read when she was alone, and Marianne had always been so busy that she hadn’t done so, and granted she couldn’t read much herself so when she entered the master’s small study and chose the books, she had no idea what she was picking, but even they failed to raise any interest from her.
Eventually, she refused to get out of bed, saying there was no real reason to. What broke Marianne’s heart was the way Fleur’s tiny voice from under the pile of furs on the bed thanked her very sincerely for trying to be her friend, as if it was some kind of hardship on her. Marianne was no expert on young people—she and her husband had loved each other dearly, but they had never had any children and she had long since lost him on one of the master’s father’s failed campaigns to expand his empire—but she knew this wasn’t a good turn of events at all. She thoroughly enjoyed the time she spent with Fleur, and was sorry that she was so unhappy.
She knew what she had to do; she had to talk to the master.
That night, when he returned, Marianne assailed him on the stairs to his room, refusing to let him pass until he agreed to talk to her. “Milord, I know it’s not my place to say–”
“Then don’t say,” he growled, trying to brush past her. He was not in the mood for a chat. He’d been helping with the horses that had arrived from L’Ondre, and one of the big stallions had stepped on him. It didn’t help that he knew that the fault was his not the horse’s, of course. He should have been more careful around a horse that was skittish of his new surroundings and the men who were handling him.
But the old woman was sprier—and heftier—than he’d thought and since he wasn’t prepared, even in this mood, to risk knocking her down, he sighed heavily and simply looked at her.
A bit flustered at his dark countenance despite herself and trying not to be, she began, “I can’t in good conscience remain silent while you’re treat that young lady—and she may be a tribute but she’s nonetheless a fine young lady—so poorly.”
He made no response but to raise a bushy eyebrow.
Marianne continued, “Can you not see how despondent she is being locked away from the world? She’s withdrawn so much that she barely gets out of bed at all any more. At first I’d take my lunch with her–”
He looked surprised at that revelation, but didn’t say anything.
“–and we’d talk and even laugh some times and I tried to involve her in the running of the house, planning meals and other things.”
His mind caught on the idea that Marianne had been sharing the household duties with a tribute, but it was most piqued at the idea that they laughed together. Fleur had never even cracked a smile when she was with him, but then, when they were together he was almost constantly at her. They never really talked. He was exhausted when he got home and late as soon as he got up, and any time not spent trying to run his kingdom was spent inside her, making her squeal and groan and scream until she was hoarse from it.
He had a tendency to be single minded and he wanted his scheme to bear fruit but was he willing to make her miserable to do it? He’d kept her confined because he didn’t want her to run like several others had, but one of the things that had attracted him to her was her intelligence, and he knew that smart people needed to exercise their minds.
And Marianne had said that, as far as she knew that morning when he had thought she’d left him she’d actually been trying to make herself of use to him, not get away from him.
But he wasn’t about to say all of that to her. Instead he commented sharply, “If she’s planning the meals and running the house, then what do I have you for?”
Not at all cowed, Marianne put her hands on her hips. “Because she doesn’t have the experience that I do, and because whether or not she bears a child, she’ll be gone in two years. But if you don’t loosen your grip a little bit, she’ll be gone before that, and I don’t mean by running away.”
Raiz’s frown deepened. He didn’t like to be reminded of the idea that he was going to lose her eventually, nor did he like to hear that she was potentially going to waste away.
The cook lowered her voice and toned it down quite a bit. “I’d also like to remind you that happy women are more likely to conceive.”
He’d never heard that saying, but then, it was hardly his area. He’d gotten himself into a corner about marriage and producing the required heir that he’d bent his own rules and gone and brought her to his home, and he’d be damned if he was going to let his pride be damaged when she snuck out in the middle of the night. Not that he’d bothered to pursue any of them that had left. But she was different. If Fleur left, he’d be hard pressed not to go after her, especially since she could very easily already be with child.
And then he struck on an idea. “Will you be responsible for her if I let her out while I’m gone?”
Marianne didn’t answer him, but challenged him instead. “You know, you could take her with you—especially if you’re going in to town some time. I bet she’d love to see it. Maybe you could stop at the Grogswaldt and have lunch.”
Raiz wasn’t going to be deterred. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, you stubborn man, I’ll be responsible if it’ll get you to grant her some freedom,” she answered, more exasperated with him than she had been in quite a few years.
“Well, then, let it be on your head.”
Actually it would have been more accurate to say that it was on Fleur’s bottom, in the end.
That night when he’d entered the room, she hadn’t bothered to greet him or even rouse herself from the bed. She didn’t pester him like she usually did with questions about what he’d done during the day, seeming almost overly interested in everything he did, even the most mundane of things until he kissed her just to shut her up.
It was a night for firsts, and it seemed to him that none of them were good ones. She had had the habit of coming to sit with him while he ate the dinner that Marianne had brought up for him, but she didn’t so much as stir from under the bedclothes, which seemed to cover her from head to toe. Usually by the time a very discreet dinner tray appeared at his door, he’d already made love to her once—at least—but some of the things the old woman had said to him danced around in his head, and he could see the evidence of her sadness for himself when he just bothered to look.
He would have asked her what she had been doing all day—which would have been a first in and of itself, but then he already knew the answer to that question, he realized—nothing. Moping in bed. And when he finally came to lie next to her on it, pulling at her until arm inexorably so that she had no choice but to come lie in his arms, he could see what else she had been doing—crying.
Her eyes were red and puffy, and there were dried streaks of tears down her cheeks. She looked miserable. Despite that, the sight of her—as always—had him nearly exploding in his breeches, and because of that, he was entirely willing to overlook how she was feeling in favor of taking her.
She was his, after all, and even with her beauty somewhat dimmed, he still found her to be the most attractive woman he’d ever set eyes on.
And, although he found his own release within her with the usual ease, and she didn’t fight him as he did so, which would have earned her a punishment, he knew she also hadn’t found her own joy as she always had. It was the first time since he’d won her in the hunt that she hadn’t responded to him. And it wasn’t that she’d only enjoyed it a little, it was that she hadn’t made any movements or sounds that indicated to him that she was feeling anything at all, even though he spent as much time touching her as he usually did, and doing all of the things he’d learned that she couldn’t resist.
Apparently she could resist.
But the worst thing of all was that when he finished and rolled off her, she rolled away from him and burst into tears.
Raiz wasn’t anyone’s idea of a dandy. He wasn’t a one for showing his emotions or even acknowledging them much when he had them, but the sound of her crying—as if she hadn’t a friend in the world—wrenched his gut as if one of those horses had hauled off and kicked him in the stomach rather that stepping on his foot.
And it wasn’t one of those quick cries and then she fell asleep, which, of course, he was hoping for. It was a long bout that slowly lessened over the evening, until eventually she went to sleep.
He knew he could have forced her to let him soothe her. He could have threatened to punish her if she didn’t respond to him. But that wasn’t what he wanted from her, when he’d already experienced the unexpectedly sweet heights of her sexuality despite her—or perhaps because—of her newness to the entire realm of fleshly delights.
He wanted those deep violet eyes shining. He wanted her eager to go to bed with him, even if it meant that he had to let go enough to trust her—and Marianne, who he already trusted with his life—in order to do it.
So he left her alone for the rest of the evening in that he didn’t touch her. She slept fitfully, as if something pained her. He occupied himself with what paperwork there was to take care of—and with a kingdom his size, there was always paperwork that needed to be done—his eyes frequently darting to the bed and then he decided to relax a bit and finish a book he had started weeks ago.
He was surprised to see, however, that there were several books piled atop his, ones he knew that he hadn’t brought up here.
Marianne came up to retrieve her tray just before she retired, as was her habit, and he cornered her as soon as she came into the room, speaking in a low whisper. “How did these books end up here?”
“I brought them to her, hoping she’d enjoy reading them for something to do,” Marianne confessed, not sounding the least guilty.
“The History of the Amaladons? How to Prevent Infestations in Orchard Trees and a book about a language that hasn’t been spoken in several centuries?”
“I can’t read!” Marianne hissed. “I just got what looked pretty.” Raiz put the books on top of the nearest bureau. “How is she?” Marianne asked, staring at the bed.
He sighed heavily. “You were right. I’ll take her out with me tomorrow, and then maybe we’ll set some ground rules for her being out and about. But when she’s with you,” he warned, shaking his own finger in her face for a change, “you have to take exquisite care of her. She could be the mother of my son.”
“I will guard her with my own life.”
“Yes, you will,” he repeated back to her with much more emphasis and not a little threat.
The next morning, Fleur found herself rudely awakened not long after he got up. The man was like a bull in a china shop—he always woke her up when he got up, but usually she just rolled over and went back to sleep—if he wasn’t at her, which he usually was.
But not this morning, apparently.
“Up and at ‘em, Fleur.” He slapped the bottom of the foot that was sticking out from under the covers none too gently.
She retracted it immediately and rolled away from him, burrowing further under the furs.
“Fleur!”
He hadn’t used that tone with her in a while because he hadn’t needed to. One of the advantages of being cooped up as she had been was that she didn’t have a chance to get into much trouble.
“Up now, or you’ll find yourself over my knee before you’ve woken up.”
She remembered every stroke of every horrible punishment he’d meted out to her, so she sat up immediately and threw the covers off, knowing that if she didn’t, she’d go right back to sleep.
His tray—which seemed to contain a lot more food than it usually did—was already on the table.
“But I usually take a bath in the morning,” she stated to the floor, not sounding pouty or whiny, just stating a fact blandly.
And he didn’t want bland from her. “Not this morning. You’re coming out with me.”
Her head shot up and she looked him in the eye—if only for a fleeting second. “We’re going out?”
“Yes. You’ve been such a help to Marianne these past weeks, I wondered if you had any suggestions for me.”
Fleur hoped he really wasn’t expecting much from her, because a household she could probably manage by the skin of her teeth. An entire kingdom, no.
“What should I wear?”
He had gotten her well-made, serviceable clothes, along with one nice dress, but she hadn’t had much need to wear them. “Something comfortable that you can ride in.”
He forced her to eat some of his breakfast, feeding it to her himself in small bites from his own plate, but she was so fidgety and bouncy from the excitement of the idea that she wasn’t going to have to spend another day imprisoned that he couldn’t get her to simply sit still to eat until he finally reached out and gave her rounded behind—which was nicely outlined in the soft, fawn colored breeches she was wearing—a forceful swat, saying, “Sit and eat, or you won’t be going anywhere but over my knee. And if I have to threaten you with a punishment again, it’s not going to be a threat.”
Her almost smile and the feel of her bottom cheek in his hand were n
early enough for him to call the outing off to spend the day in bed with her, but he agreed with Marianne that she needed a change of scenery and perhaps even a bit of a challenge, so he stifled his incessant hunger for her in favor of trying to change her almost smile into a real one today.
And he managed it as soon as he showed her her mount.
She was a sweet little filly—kind of like the woman who was going to ride her—of a beautiful sorrel with a white blaze that went from a star on her forehead all the way down to the tip of her nose. She was a bit small for her age, but she had a great disposition and was always willing to walk out smartly. Raiz hadn’t realized it before, but he’d been thinking of Fleur when he’d evaluated Starla.
They rode out into his lands and were greeted warmly by everyone they saw. It reminded her of the man she’d seen a glimpse of when they had dined together that first night. He interacted easily with his subjects, and they with him. There was a mutual respect there that was plain for all to see, and it raised her estimation of him quite considerably to see how he treated those who were less than he.
Except, apparently her.
He had a kind word or a sweet for every child that dared approach him—and they all did, knowing they were likely to be rewarded for doing so, and held every baby every woman offered to him easily, as if he’d been doing it for years.
He would make a great father.
The thought surprised her, but she knew the truth of it, too.
They visited the men who were building a rock wall around a pasture, the parson of the neighborhood church, and tiny little cottage whose inhabitant came out on crutches to greet him enthusiastically.
Fleur could see that the man was simple, and yet Raiz spoke to him as an equal, as he did everyone, it seemed.
Except her.
He praised the man for a having done a good job at whatever his task was, patted his enormous dog on the head and they were on their way.
By way of explanation, Raiz said, “Roget cards the wool for us. He’s quite a genius at it and does it faster than anyone else in my kingdom.”