Rhuddlan Read Online Free PDF

moment he had first seen Bolsover
dancing in circles around the red-haired brute in the ward at
Westminster Palace. It was the reason he had permitted himself to
be captured on the tournament field and why he had gone to the
trouble of evading Roger of Haworth all day.
    Thinking of Haworth suddenly troubled him. He
swung his legs over the side of the plush mattress and walked
across the chilly floor to the polished table near the flaming
brazier. Light and heat reflected off his bare skin and tousled
russet hair. His frame was solid and escaped a propensity towards
carrying excess weight by almost constant activity on horseback.
This had also strengthened his legs, which were finely shaped,
thick and muscular. His arms were thin in comparison, although his
right was somewhat larger because it was his sword arm. In an
effort to build up these muscles, he practiced combat as often as
he could, usually with Haworth.
    He poured wine into a silver cup and sipped
at it, making a face. Not nearly as good as what had been served at
the coronation, but not as terrible as it might have been. Most
wine was imported from Bordeaux, and Normandy was closer to
Bordeaux than England so there was less chance for it to spoil. He
took the cup back to the bed. Bolsover lay with eyes closed,
entwined in the linen bedclothes, a fine sheen of sweat on his
smooth skin. What a difference, Hugh thought, gazing upon him,
between him and Roger. Although he enjoyed his time with his
captain, Roger was as coarse and undemonstrative as Bolsover was
lithe and passionate. But that wasn’t to say Haworth wouldn’t care
about this little tryst; Hugh knew he would be deeply hurt, and the
knowledge made him feel guilty.
    Bolsover was a vision of beauty. His damp
blond hair curled into little tendrils around his forehead. His
chin was clean as if no beard had ever grown upon it. Just looking
at him and realizing he had the prize he’d been lusting after for
months was enough to drive away his feelings for Haworth and start
Hugh’s heart beating faster again.
    Suddenly Bolsover’s eyes
flew open. A smile spread slowly across his face. “Did you bring
that for me?” he asked. “I am thirsty.”
    Without a word Hugh passed him the cup of
wine.
    Bolsover drained the cup and, reaching over
the side of the bed, placed it on the floor. “You must be cold,
standing there on the bare floor,” he said to Hugh.
    “I’m not cold,” Hugh said in a low voice.
“I’m burning.”
    Bolsover laughed and rolled over to make room
for him. “Come, then,” he commanded.
    Hugh lay down on his side next to him. He put
a hand on the younger man’s head and caressed his short hair.
Bolsover’s grey-blue eyes watched his face.
    “Why haven’t you married?” he asked the earl.
“Is it because…of this?”
    “No,” Hugh answered. “I will marry, someday.
I need an heir, of course.” He lifted his free shoulder
indifferently. “I’m sure the king will make some kind of
arrangement…”
    “A great political match? Perhaps he’ll find
you a nice, rich widow, gently used.”
    “It doesn’t matter to me,” Hugh said. His
hand moved to stroke Bolsover’s shoulder, lean but hard with
muscle. “Anyway, I have the feeling Henry will only approve of a
marriage which will actually bring me very little. The reason he
won’t give me Lincoln and Stafford is because he thinks I’ve got
too much property already. And property means power.” Bolsover’s
skin was warm to his touch, inviting. His hand traveled down
further, to the solid mass of his hip.
    Bolsover’s face was only inches from his own.
His eyes were glittering with the promise of reckless fervor. Hugh
stared into them and felt his breath start to shorten.
    “Then, you’re in the enviable position of
being able to marry for love, my lord…” the younger man
whispered.
    “It is a damnable position because I can’t
love a woman…I need a wife only to make me an heir.”
    “Then, my lord, any young