need stretched itself to life, demanding that she feed it. Johanna laced her hands behind Rob's neck, pulling herself closer in a plea for more. He groaned in soft compliance, the sound rumbling in his chest. His kiss deepened, until his mouth slashed across hers.
She gasped, aware of every inch of him. There was the brush of his hair against her wrists, the movement of his beard against her cheek. A pulsing warmth shot through her as the smell of him filled her, the taste of him left her craving more. Trembling, she shifted against him, letting her body flow into his. Just as had always happened, their bodies melded as though they'd been created one for the other.
Stanrudde
Mid-June, 1173
From his stool in the kitchen's darkest corner, Rob watched in misery as the midday meal was prepared. He hated Master Walter's house, or rather his kitchen, that being the only part of the house he'd seen since his awakening. There was nothing familiar or normal about this place.
Not the folk. He watched Tom lift a cauldron from the flames and begin ladling thick mutton stew into a tureen. Although the lackwit was a man full grown he acted almost as young as Gretta. Nor the smells or tastes. Beside his son, Philip put the finishing touches on a fruit and marrow pie for the midday meal: a stranger creating an equally strange dish. Moreover, it was never quiet here. No amount of counting or imagining was strong enough to escape the endless noise coming from every corner of this city. Hammers pounded on anvils from dawn to dusk, bells clanged, and, worst of all, folk shouted and called to one another, even deep in the night when all decent beings should be at their rest.
Of a sudden homesickness churned in Rob. He longed for the comforting routines, the gentle woodland quiet spiced by the call of the lark and the song of the wind through a field of barley. He no longer cared that Papa didn't want him. As soon as he'd earned the value of those coins, he'd leave this awful place and go home. As if to punctuate his misery, the kitchen door flew open with an annoying squeak.
It was Johanna who danced into the room, her bouncing plaits glinting in a shaft of golden midday light, a jumble of green and brown fabric in her arms. Excitement filled her face. On her heels came Helewise. Rob glanced at the housekeeper. As always, Helewise's pale brown eyes were as cool as the metal band that held her veil in place. And, as always, her gaze pierced his soul.
Rob turned his attention to his blanket-clad lap as guilt twisted in his stomach. He should never have agreed to help Johanna. Although Philip had accepted his contrived tale over the broken bowl Rob was certain Helewise knew he lied. He was equally certain the housekeeper now hated him for his sin.
"Rob, look!" Johanna cried, stopping before him to thrust her burden into his lap. "I begged and begged until Helewise said you may dress and eat in the hall this day."
From the bottom of the pile, she pulled out a green tunic and tossed it down on the ground before her. Crouching at its hem, she pointed to the large, ungainly stitches that puckered over a rent there. "I mended it for you myself." Her smile was broad in pride.
Rob stared in confusion at the wholly foreign garment, then looked at the brown chausses, green garters, and worn linen shirt yet lying in his lap. Only his shoes were his own. He shook his head in refusal. "You've given me someone else's clothing."
Johanna rolled her eyes as if he were as dense as the lackwit. "We have not, you goose. Everyone in this house wears green and brown, except for me. I don't have to, do I, Helewise?" she said in sweet arrogance as she glanced up at the housekeeper.
Rob closed his fist around the voluminous linen shirt that lay uppermost on the pile. It felt fine and smooth against his palm. At last year's fair he and Papa had traded a yearling ram to the old clothes seller for a gown for Mama. That was one sheep for one garment. There were
She gasped, aware of every inch of him. There was the brush of his hair against her wrists, the movement of his beard against her cheek. A pulsing warmth shot through her as the smell of him filled her, the taste of him left her craving more. Trembling, she shifted against him, letting her body flow into his. Just as had always happened, their bodies melded as though they'd been created one for the other.
Stanrudde
Mid-June, 1173
From his stool in the kitchen's darkest corner, Rob watched in misery as the midday meal was prepared. He hated Master Walter's house, or rather his kitchen, that being the only part of the house he'd seen since his awakening. There was nothing familiar or normal about this place.
Not the folk. He watched Tom lift a cauldron from the flames and begin ladling thick mutton stew into a tureen. Although the lackwit was a man full grown he acted almost as young as Gretta. Nor the smells or tastes. Beside his son, Philip put the finishing touches on a fruit and marrow pie for the midday meal: a stranger creating an equally strange dish. Moreover, it was never quiet here. No amount of counting or imagining was strong enough to escape the endless noise coming from every corner of this city. Hammers pounded on anvils from dawn to dusk, bells clanged, and, worst of all, folk shouted and called to one another, even deep in the night when all decent beings should be at their rest.
Of a sudden homesickness churned in Rob. He longed for the comforting routines, the gentle woodland quiet spiced by the call of the lark and the song of the wind through a field of barley. He no longer cared that Papa didn't want him. As soon as he'd earned the value of those coins, he'd leave this awful place and go home. As if to punctuate his misery, the kitchen door flew open with an annoying squeak.
It was Johanna who danced into the room, her bouncing plaits glinting in a shaft of golden midday light, a jumble of green and brown fabric in her arms. Excitement filled her face. On her heels came Helewise. Rob glanced at the housekeeper. As always, Helewise's pale brown eyes were as cool as the metal band that held her veil in place. And, as always, her gaze pierced his soul.
Rob turned his attention to his blanket-clad lap as guilt twisted in his stomach. He should never have agreed to help Johanna. Although Philip had accepted his contrived tale over the broken bowl Rob was certain Helewise knew he lied. He was equally certain the housekeeper now hated him for his sin.
"Rob, look!" Johanna cried, stopping before him to thrust her burden into his lap. "I begged and begged until Helewise said you may dress and eat in the hall this day."
From the bottom of the pile, she pulled out a green tunic and tossed it down on the ground before her. Crouching at its hem, she pointed to the large, ungainly stitches that puckered over a rent there. "I mended it for you myself." Her smile was broad in pride.
Rob stared in confusion at the wholly foreign garment, then looked at the brown chausses, green garters, and worn linen shirt yet lying in his lap. Only his shoes were his own. He shook his head in refusal. "You've given me someone else's clothing."
Johanna rolled her eyes as if he were as dense as the lackwit. "We have not, you goose. Everyone in this house wears green and brown, except for me. I don't have to, do I, Helewise?" she said in sweet arrogance as she glanced up at the housekeeper.
Rob closed his fist around the voluminous linen shirt that lay uppermost on the pile. It felt fine and smooth against his palm. At last year's fair he and Papa had traded a yearling ram to the old clothes seller for a gown for Mama. That was one sheep for one garment. There were
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