“You are limping, sir. What is wrong?”
He glared at her a moment as if he would like to tell her to mind her own business, and then a glimmer of laughter lit his blue eyes. “You are persistent, lady. I fell while fighting off some brigands in the forest south of here. A foolishness for which I am paying now. But it is not necessary for you to concern yourself—”
“You are my guest, Alric,” she said smoothly, “and as such I will see to your hurts.”
The boy arrived just then, and hurried to help his master with his heavy chainmail. There was no need for Isabella to stay; she could have returned when Alric was ready for her, but for some reason she wanted to stay. The man intrigued her, and it would do him no harm to be put off balance by a woman watching him undress.
His tunic came to mid thigh, and when the boy helped him off with his tight breeches, he was still decently covered. Isabella felt a tingle of disappointment. She would have liked to see him stripped bare, naked before her. She told herself she would have stood, hands clasped before her, observing him as if he was nothing to her.
And yet the thought of his naked body also brought a strange warm glow to her skin. She could feel it, and the pulse beating at the base of her throat. Foolishness. Why was she hungering after a man she didn’t even know? She’d been disappointed before. On the first night that Hamon came to her bed she’d had such hopes. Why did she think this Alric would be any different?
No, it was simply rutting, like the beasts of the field; men seemed to enjoy it well enough and some made babies. She hadn’t even been able to do that. There was no heir to inherit Godestone when she was gone, no child to teach to be a custodian of the estate. It was a source of grief to her that she kept very private.
The squire had finished and Alric waved him away. He sat upon the stool by the narrow window, shoulders hunched, his bare leg stretched out awkwardly before him. His thighs were thick with muscles, and he looked as if he could do with a good wash. Isabella was glad she’d asked for water to be brought for a bath for her guest. But for now she must see to his injury.
Kneeling, she began to inspect the swollen knee joint with practical but gentle hands. He winced when she pressed, but she could find no break of the bone and no puss in the swelling. He had twisted the limb, no doubt, and it would heal in its own time. If he’d allow it to, that is. He did not look to be the sort of man to sit still for long.
“You should rest it until the swelling goes down,” she said, looking up at him.
He was closer than she thought, his blue eyes fixed on her, his big body curled over toward her. While she’d been busy tending to him he’d been taking the opportunity to observe her.
“I do not have time to rest,” he said quietly, his voice a rumble in his chest. His arms were bare beneath the short sleeved tunic, and there was a tattoo on one of them, a Celtic cross. His hair needed cutting, and the whiskers grew long on his jaw, but there were traces of the boy he must have been. A memory played with her, teasing, but the harder she tried the further away it fled.
“If you wish your knee to heal you must find time. Otherwise you may well be lame for life.”
Now he said nothing, and she wondered whether he had not heard her or was simply ignoring her. But his silence was disconcerting and she felt colour rising in her cheeks. Was she blushing? She had not blushed since she was a young untouched girl. She was the Ice Queen and the Ice Queen did not blush. Ever.
“Lady, have you met me before?”
Isabella shook her head.
He sighed, rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. “Never mind. There is something more important I must tell you. I have a purpose in being here at Godestone.”
The seriousness of his voice made her forget anything else. She stayed at his feet, watching his face intently. “What purpose? You spoke before about an urgent matter, sir. Please tell me what you meant.”
Alric reached down to rub his knee, and she saw that the back of his hand had a wound in it, a cut that looked deep and not very clean. With a click of her tongue, she reached for her bowl of water and cloth, and began to clean it.
He stared at her as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing. “Lady, this is important.”
“So is this, Alric. Talk to me while I work.”
He shrugged, then gave a huff of laughter. “You have not changed,” he murmured.
Startled, she met those blue eyes again. It was as if they were looking beyond her Ice Queen beauty, beyond the years, to . . . but the memory eluded her again.
“Lady,” he said, and his face was serious now, “there is a band of men on their way here. They come from Matilda, the king’s cousin, and their leader is Lord Freemantle.”