"Oh, aye," Sir John said rather gruffly.

"Maman, you've got blisters. Do I?" Henri almost laid his hand on her skin, but Sir John forestalled him.

"No, Henri, do not touch them. If they break your Maman will become very ill. We must be very careful

with her."

"Do I have blisters, too?" He wanted to know. Both Bella and Sir John looked him over carefully as he turned around, naked and pink and very beautiful. As he did that, Bella realized for the first time, Henri had the same birthmark her father, Iain and she had. A distinct reddish cross between their shoulder blades. "Do I?"

"Oh. No, Henri, you don't have blisters," Bella told him. "You may thank your father's genetic pool for that." "Whas a genetic pool?" Henri dropped back into the water, splashing energetically. "It just means that you got better skin than I do. You take after Sir John...in that regard." "I got Papa's eyes," he said proudly.

"That's right, you do," Bella concurred. "And Robin and Geoffrey got yours, Maman. But don't you think it's time you gave us all a little sister with hair just like yours, Maman? If you would do that, then Robin couldn't call me the runt of the litter any more."

"He should not call you that at all," Bella scolded.

"I will speak to him about that."

"And so will I," Sir John added as his fingers ma.s.saged a heavy lather through Bella's tresses. She sighed

from the sheer pleasure of having someone else wash her heavy head of hair. Henri was content to blow bubbles for a minute or two, then he popped up bored.

"I feel better. May I get out?"

Clarise brought him a towel and carefully blotted the moisture from his reddened skin, then coated him with the cooling cream Jean-Pierre had sent from the kitchen.

"Papa, are you going to get me a pony?" Henri asked. "Hmm." Sir John considered that request. "We shall see, Henri. First, you will have to show me what you have learned about riding and how well you can care for a pony. A pony is a big responsibility. Like a puppy it must be fed and groomed and cared for every day." "Oh, aye," the little boy said solemn-faced. "Thank you, Clarise. I feel much better now." He plopped a kiss on Clarise's red cheek and ran hollering out the door for all to hear that he was getting his own pony very soon.

"That will be all, Clarise." Sir John dismissed the maid. She bobbed him a curtsey and departed closing

the doors to the chamber after her. "Why didn't you tell me Henri asked you for a horse?"

"I tried to," Bella answered lamely. "But everytime I tried to speak last night, you found the ways and means to shut me up."

"You gave no indication to me that you wished to speak about our sons."

Bella heard that as an accusation and it exasperated her. "For heaven's sake, what do you think real people do when they are in bed and the heat of pa.s.sion has subsided? They talk about their children, the problems they ran across that day, their wants and their needs."

"How would you know what other people talk about in bed, lady? You have spent d.a.m.n little time in it with me."

Bella's jaw dropped in shock. "I beg your pardon, sir, but since I got here three days ago I've spent more time in bed with you than I have with my husband in the past ten years!" "And that is exactly my point, lady!" Sir John snapped right back. "I question your willingness and change of heart. What are you hiding? Another man's b.a.s.t.a.r.d in your belly? It wouldn't be the first time you plied that trick."

"What?" Bella gasped. "How dare you say that! Listen, mister, I didn't go seaching you out, begging you to make love to me." She stopped herself all at once, realizing what she was doing, taking his comments about Isabel's past behavior personally.

Sir John's hands had left Bella's soapy hair and gripped the rim of the tub. His knuckles were white as chalk. "For once, Bella, I would have you speak the truth.

Tell me exactly whom you spent the last week with."

Bella pushed the soapy tresses to the back of her head, privately d.a.m.ning him for asking that question, now that she had learned the answer to it. A Calais pirate named O'Donnell very likely was the man whose name he wanted to know. In an attempt to turn the tables, she looked him squarely in the eye and asked, "Do you keep a mistress, Chandos?" "Be glad you are sunburned, lady." He growled.

"Why?" Bella asked. "Am I prying into your personal affairs?"

"Nay, you insult my honor."

"Then your answer is you do not keep a mistress. When you do not come to our marriage bed you remain celibate. Is that what you are telling me?"

"You have the gist of it in that, lady," he said with chilling intensity.

"Then I apologize for insulting you," Bella said sincerely. "I didn't ask those questions to insult you, only to

understand you."

"Apology accepted."

The words were said and retracted, but the sting of them lingered, putting a barrier between them where

there had not been one before.

He reached for the bucket of clean water and bid her to stand in the tub so the soap could be rinsed from her hair and her body. Bella complied with his request, standing and holding up her hair for the onslaught of cool water. He set the bucket down and handed her a length of toweling cloth. As Bella wrapped the cloth around her body, she said casually, "We have a bigger problem in the kitchen, Chandos."

"Oh, what is that?" He offered her his hand as she stepped out of the tub.

"The staff from France wants to go home."

"The what?"

"The cooks, Jean-Pierre and his wife and the rest of the French cooks want to go home."

"Whatever for?"

Bella leaned over the tub, twisting her hair, expressing the water from it. "Because they have family there and are worried that there will be war soon between France and England. Under the circ.u.mstances, I happen to agree with them. They should go home while they can. France and England will be at war within a month."

His gaze travelled deliberately down her body, watching how she moved in the swaddling of damp linen, but it wasn't the same sort of heated appraisal as before. He said, "Oh, aye, there will be war, but they will be out of harm's way in England."

"That is not the way they look at it," Bella told him simply. "I promised Jean-Pierre I'd speak to you about releasing them from our service. I promised the same thing to the men in my service who did not pledge their swords to King Edward last night.

"By that I mean that I promised to speak with you regarding their need to talk directly with you so that their status may be clarified. I did not know what else I could tell them at the time. Will you be able to speak with them?"

"Lady, that has already been done. Now, you tell me who would replace the cooks in the kitchen?"

That Bella didn't know, because she did not know where any of the people that worked for him at this castle came from. "Could we not hire people from London? Surely there are people needing honest work somewhere in this country."

"Trained cooks are not easy to come by. I know that well enough from all my campaigns."

"Well, it is something you must think about. But I wanted to tell you what they have told me. The French resent serving the King of England, knowing that he plans to lay waste to their homeland."

"Bella, Flanders, Normandy, Anjou and Brittany belong to England. Edward by blood has more right to be King of France than his cousin Phillipe of Valois. When you speak against Edward you foreswear the very vow you made to him last night. I pray you did not act in so cavil a manner as to make your pledge solely for your own convenience. You will not say anymore against Edward, do you understand that?"

"Yes," Bella answered sincerely. She didn't like having to speak about it either. It wasn't her war or her concern. She was American and these squabbles between kings seemed petty to her. She couldn't tell Sir John that, because that would be opening that can of worms she had vowed not to bring up again--where she had come from. Hadn't she just gotten trapped in a now win argument because of that very same thing? Yes, she had. It was better for all concerned that she keep her opinions to herself. That didn't mean she didn't feel protective toward the French caught in the middle. What to do? How was she

supposed to walk this tightrope and keep from sabotaging herself?

Sir John removed the towel she had wound around her torso to survey the extent of damage the sun had done her.

"Well, merrow, it appears that you will not be wearing clothes for a day or two."

He drew her to his chair and sat down, then patted his thigh as a gesture for her to sit there. Bella did and was very conscious of the feel of his leather-clad legs under her bottom. She sat very still as he coated her face, throat, shoulders and arms with the heavy cream. Her feet and legs were also burned. Wet, her

cotton under cotte had the sun blocking power of illusion netting. Sir John smoothed the cream on each limb then shook his head.

"Bella, you know better than to do this. Why would you risk scalding yourself so badly in the sun?"

Bella looked at him through the mask of cream. "I was banking on the fact that the ultra-violet light was less intense in this timeframe...I mean, I was hoping I would tan." He c.o.c.ked his head sideways, puzzled, not knowing the word the way she meant it. "Turn brown like you." He sighed. "Do you still feel sick at your stomach?" "No, I'm better now that I am out of the sun." "You're going to shed skin like a snake."

"Most likely." Bella sighed and leaned into his chest. "I'm sorry I have inconvenienced you."

"I am thinking of our guests. The house is full. Never mind, I will do what I can. You rest a while. I will go to the kitchens and talk to these people of yours, then Henri and I may spend some time in the stable.

I will be up to check on you anon."

He stood up, holding her in his arms, and carried her to bed. Placing her on the turned down sheeting, he said, "Rest."

"Yes, my lord," Bella stifled a smile. "John?"

"Aye?" He had a queer expression in his eyes, concerned, but something else too, something Bella couldn't put her finger on.

"It was not my idea or even my suggestion to go to the beach," Bella said sincerely. "Queen Phillipa came up with that plan all by herself."

Sir John straighted beside the bed, looking down at her with gravely serious eyes.

"Madame, I know Phillipa very well. No one puts ideas in her head. If she hadn't wanted the outing,

herself, it would never have happened. You, I am discovering, are very easily led astray and need a much stronger hand to guide you than Phillipa does. Now, rest and do not get out of this bed for any reason."

"Yes, my lord, by your command." Bella giggled. John de Chandos was so terribly straight laced he would have made a Victorian minister preaching h.e.l.l-fire and d.a.m.nation proud.

She made herself as comfortable as possible while he washed his hands and neatly put on his discarded shirt and tunic. He let Aristotle in on his way out.

Bella waited a moment to make certain he wasn't coming back, then she popped out of bed and sat at the escritoire. She had much to write about and did not want to forget a single detail of all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

A BIRTHDAY.

-19-.

It was nearing sundown when Clarise returned. By then Bella had used the tub of water again to wash away the heavy cream. Her skin felt much, much better. The herbs in the water and the cream had soothed the burn greatly. Nothing much could be done for the blisters on her shoulders except to wait for them to heal.

"I need something very soft to wear tonight, Clarise." Bella told the maid.

"You can't be thinking of going to hall," she gasped.

"Of course, I must. It's Robin's birthday. I have to be there. Now, find me something loose and comfortable on my shoulders. The rest doesn't matter."

The servant shook her head, but was smart enough this time to say no more. For that bit of peace, Bella was exceedingly grateful.

The hall was reserved for dining, so half the activities Sir John had planned had been set up outside in the inner ward. A mummer's play was the first event, followed by acrobats and jugglers showing off amazing skills. For those who wanted to try their hand at sports, there were targets down by the stables. Wagers could be placed on contestants or distances of weapons.

The festivities began when the king presented Robin with a battle sword, so highly polished it shone like a dark star in the glittering torchlight. The youth was so pleased with the gift, he strapped it reverently to his hip and strutted about, showing it off to one and all.