Ranulf’s chain mail and helmet rested on a stand in one corner; clearly, Ranulf was not about to let that fall into neglect, although he had no squire. Perhaps he had one of the soldiers or servants tend to it. Or, more likely, he trusted that duty to no one else.
As for the rest of his clothing, it was surely in that battered wooden chest near the narrow arched window that didn’t have even a linen shutter to keep out the chill breezes or night air. Inside the chest, his clothes, such as he possessed, were probably a feast for moths.
There was also a spindly sort of small table holding a large wooden bowl that must serve as a basin for washing, and a simple clay jug for an ewer. Some small pieces of other linen for drying, none too clean, lay folded beside the bowl.
Saying nothing to Tecca, who remained near the door, Beatrice ventured farther into the room, reflecting that at least the open window meant it didn’t smell.
She hesitated when she saw something black and furry on the floor on the other side of the bed. It looked like the hind end of a large shaggy dog.
“It’s a bear pelt,” Ranulf announced from the doorway.
Beatrice wheeled around to find him leaning against the frame of the door, his arms crossed, his expression impassive.
“Is it meant to be on the floor, or has it fallen from the bed?” she asked, deciding she would act nonchalantly, too, or as much as possible, even though she was acutely aware that she was in Ranulf’s bedchamber, and memories of the last time she’d been alone with him in such a room kept pushing their way into her thoughts.
Ranulf continued to regard her dispassionately. “It’s meant to be on the bed. Last night, I grew too warm and kicked it off.”
She tried not to envision Ranulf in that bed, warm or otherwise.
“I regret I didn’t pick it up earlier,” he said, pushing off from the door frame and strolling closer, his gait easy, his shoulders relaxed.
Yet there was a tension in his body, too, and she was reminded of the times she’d seen his ease disappear, replaced with a warrior’s readiness to defend his honor, or that of his friends.
She’d often wondered if he would react that way if someone offered an insult to her. Would he fight to uphold what remained ofherhonor?
“I would have picked it up,” he continued, “had I known my bedchamber was going to be subject to a lady’s inspection. I must point out, my lady, that it’s highly improper for a maiden to be in a man’s bedchamber unless it is her wedding night and he thegroom. Since I have no intention of taking you for my bride, this chamber should be exempt from your efforts, and thus your presence.”
He truly must not remember anything about what had happened the night before he left Tregellas. “I thought that since I was already here, I might as well do a little of what Constance charged me to do,” she replied honestly, “such as ensuring that your living quarters are as comfortable as they can be. Besides, it’s not as if we’re alone. Tecca is…”
She fell silent when she glanced at the open door. The maidservant was no longer there.
Beatrice swallowed hard and told herself to stay calm. There would not be—could not be—a repetition of what had happened the last time they were alone.
“I take it you’re referring to the wench who was standing in the corridor,” Ranulf said evenly. “I dismissed her. I didn’t think she needed to hear us arguing.”
“Arguing?” Beatrice repeated warily. “What have we to argue about? I’m only going to make sure you have fresh linens and a clean hall and some decent food. Why would you want to quarrel about that?”
“Because it isn’t your place to do such things for a man to whom you aren’t married, or betrothed.”
Bea went to the window and stood with her back to him. The last remaining light of day illuminated her as if she were an angel about to ascend.
“As for my comfort,” he continued, forcing himself to consider more mortal matters, “I’m a knight, my lady, not a pampered prince. I am comfortable enough.”
And she shouldnotbe in his bedchamber, most especially not alone. As it was, he didn’t dare so much as glance at his bed because of the impure thoughts that Bea near his bed aroused.
She slowly turned to face him, regarding him not with anger or indignation, but with a sorrow that was heart-wrenching to see. “Constance has done so much for me, and since she couldn’t come herself because of the baby and Merrick’s leg, I was happy to take her place. Now you command me to go back and tell her I’m unable to do even this one simple thing for her husband’s dearest friend.”
He felt like the most callous brute in Christendom, but he was right, nonetheless. She simply couldn’t stay. “Leave my chamber, Beatrice.”
Before I do something I will regret.
Her expression questioning, she slowly walked toward him. “Is Maloren right to say you’re an immoral scoundrel? Is that why you’re so upset I’ve come? Am I not safe with you, Ranulf?”
He nearly groaned aloud. Could she truly have no idea how appealing she was, to him or any man? Was that why she saw no danger in her actions? She was safe with him because he willed it so, but his restraint was fraying fast.
Perhaps, that small voice prompted in his desperate mind, it was time she learned to take more care around men, even those she could trust. Maybe she should be made to realize that even those most determined to be honorable could be tempted beyond their strength. And many men wouldn’t care that she was innocent and naive, more girl than woman. They would see only the beauty of her face and form, and have no care for the tender heart within. They would think her seduction a test of their manhood, a battle to be won, a prize to be gained, or a way to restore lost or wounded pride.
As he had with other women, once upon a time.
