His lips found hers once more, and they kissed deeply, passionately.
Until somebody gasped.
They jumped apart as Bea remembered where they were. They were kissing like lovers in the hall of Penterwell, where anybody might see them.
It wasn’tanybodystaring at them. It was Lady Celeste, pale and horrified at the bottom of the stairs, one hand to her slender throat as if she were choking.
Nobody moved or spoke, until Celeste felt shakily for the handrail carved into the stone wall beside her.
“Ranulf,” she stammered. Her eyes closed and her knees gave way.
Ranulf immediately rushed to her side, Beatrice right behind him. As he caught Celeste and lifted her in his powerful arms, Beatrice couldn’t help wondering if this was a show on Celeste’s part, a desperate attempt to regain Ranulf’s attention.
“She feels very warm,” Ranulf said, his brows knit with worry.
Beatrice put a hand to Celeste’s brow. She was hot. A swoon might be bogus, but unless Celeste had somehow anticipated finding them kissing, she couldn’t have planned to feign a fever. “Let’s get her to her bedchamber, and I’ll see if I can help her.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“IDON’T KNOWwhy you have to tend that woman,” Maloren muttered darkly as she watched Beatrice prepare some willow bark for Lady Celeste’s medicine in the castle kitchen three days later.
Beatrice stood at a small worktable at one end of the large chamber, while Maloren sat on a stool with her back against the wall. In the main part of the room, the cook and the servants busily prepared the evening meal.
“She’s rich,” Maloren grumbled. “Let her pay for a physician, or go to the holy sisters and have them take care of her.”
“She’s Ranulf’s guest, and fortunately not seriously ill. She should be well enough to travel in another day or two, and then she’ll be leaving.”
“Aye and good riddance to her! I see what she’s up to, the hussy!”
Beatrice slid Maloren a questioning glance. “And what is that?”
“You’re too sweet and innocent to see through her, my lamb,” Maloren declared, waggling her finger at Beatrice as if Beatrice were five years old. “ButIknowexactlythe sort of creature that woman is! Married for money and now that she’s got it, she thinks she can buy another husband for pleasure.”
“I don’t think Sir Ranulf is for sale,” Beatrice answered, looking down at the bark she was grinding with her mortar and pestle.
“Well, if Lady Celeste was as ugly as a boar, I’d say you might be right, but she’s not. She’s a beauty and knows it, and how to use it, too. I’ll wager she’s had men wrapped about her little finger since she was twelve years old.”
“Perhaps once she had Sir Ranulf wrapped around her finger, but that was long ago.”
Maloren sniffed derisively. “You think that means he can’t be caught again? Of course he can, because she’ll remind him of his youth and seem to promise him another.”
Beatrice’s teeth clenched as she continued to grind the bark and other ingredients to ease the pain in Lady Celeste’s head. “I’m fairly certain Ranulf is too clever to fall into any traps Lady Celeste may set.”
Especially since he had come to care for her, just as she’d always hoped.
Unfortunately, since Hedyn and Gwenbritha’s murder, she’d seen very little of Ranulf. He was late for the evening meal every night and looked so tired and frustrated when he did arrive, she didn’t want to pester him with questions. Not only was she anxious about the murders, she was still waiting to learn what he’d planned to tell her the day after Wenna had given birth, and to hear him say he loved her.
He would tell her eventually, she was sure, and in the meantime, she was confident enough of his affection to wait patiently. Well, perhaps not patiently, she inwardly confessed, but to wait nonetheless.
“You seem very concerned for Sir Ranulf’s welfare,” Beatrice noted, hoping Maloren’s criticism of Celeste meant she was finally beginning to appreciate Ranulf.
“I hate to see any man the dupe of a rich widow. They’ve had their chance and ought to be content. But no, they must seek another husband, although there’s women who can’t even get one. But what’s that to them, the selfish creatures?” Malorensniffed with scorn. “Lady Celeste with her silks and brocades and perfumes, lying about pretending to be sick just so she can get her hooks into Sir Ranulf!”
Had she just learned a possible cause for Maloren’s disgust with men? Beatrice wondered. “Didyouever want to marry, Maloren?”
“No,” the maidservant snapped. “Let some oaf of a man order me about? Or try to sweet-talk me into doing whatever he wants?”
Beatrice refrained from pointing out thatshehad the right to order Maloren about, and she’d often resorted to sweet-talking her to get what she wanted. “Lady Celeste has no children,” she suggested. “Perhaps if she marries—”
