Lord of the Blade (16 page)

"The sun's been up for hours," answered
Malcomn. "Besides, I felt I should tell you that Lord DeBurgh from
London is here with his two daughters. He says either of them would
make you a fine wife."

"I'll be there soon." Corbett spoke the
words in the process of closing the heavy wooden door.

Devon wondered why a page hadn’t delivered
the message instead of Malcomn.

Malcomn's hand stopped the door in motion.
"I heard you have taken Devon into your care."

“’Tis none of your concern."

Malcomn pushed the door open wider, seeing
Devon. She looked away quickly, and snuggled deeper into Corbett's
robe.

"So this is why you refuse to let me enter.
You have bedded the woman who was supposed to be mine."

"You have no claims on the girl," growled
Corbett. "She is my personal servant, and I may do with her as I
would. She doesn't want you Malcomn, so why don't you go back to
your brothel?"

"Oh, I suppose she wants
you
? Or did
you use that silver tongue of yours to make her think she wants
you, like you do so well? I will not have a woman refuse me."

"And neither will you have the chance to be
refused by this one. She’s mine." Corbett slammed the door.

Devon stood still, not sure if she should be
pleased Corbett claimed her as his own, or furious he’d seduced
her. If what Malcomn said was true, Corbett was only pretending to
be kind, gentle and caring to get what he wanted. Why had she
fallen for his alluring antics?

"I need some clothes" she demanded. "I would
leave at once."

He pulled a clean black tunic carefully over
his head, but with difficulty. Devon knew that it hurt him to raise
his arm, but she refused to offer her help.

"You are not going anywhere. I cannot let
you roam the castle, not knowing what you will do next."

Having been under lock and key her entire
life at the monastery, she wasn’t going to live that way here,
too.

"You cannot keep me locked up like a
prisoner when I have done nothing wrong. Nothing that is, but let
myself be fooled by the likes of you."

A look of despair crossed his face and his
eyes darkened. "What is that supposed to mean?" He sat on the bed
and pulled on a short pair of boots with no ties.

"I am not a trophy you and Malcomn can toss
around. I am a woman who demands the same respect you give your
loyal knights."

"No woman will ever have the respect of
which you speak. Certainly not a servant. Remove those ridiculous
thoughts from your head before they get you into trouble.”

“My thoughts are not ridiculous. But the way
you’ve treated me, is.”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” he
told her, rising and running a comb through his hair. “I have two
noblewomen downstairs and I need to choose one of them for my
wife." He hurried to the door, ignoring her.

"I wasn't finished!" shouted Devon.

He stopped in his tracks and his body
stiffened. He turned around, and she backed away when she saw the
dangerous look upon his face. Mayhap she’d gone too far by shouting
at him. Her own brashness might be her undoing. His hands clenched
and so did his jaw. He stormed across the room and grabbed her by
the arm. Devon braced herself for what he’d do to her, never
expecting his reaction.

"I wasn’t finished either," he said lowly,
pulling Devon forcefully against his chest. This time his kiss
wasn't gentle or kind. This time his kiss was domineering and
claiming. He dropped her on the bed, and she landed face down. She
pushed up, her long hair entangling around her as she met his angry
gaze.

"You’ve stepped out of line for the last
time,” he warned her. “You are a servant and no servant has ever
spoken to her lord as such and lived to tell about it. This will
not continue. You will start acting like a servant and stop all
this ill talk of being respected. I owe no one respect except for
my liege lord and the king himself. One more outburst from you and
I'll be forced to take drastic measures." Corbett stomped to the
door and slammed it as he left the room.

Devon stared at the closed door and realized
another door had closed as well. The one to her devastated
heart.

Chapter
12

Corbett made his way down the steps with Malcomn
right behind him. He wasn’t in the mood to meet any prospective
wives, but he knew he had no choice. He would do whatever it took
to secure his holdings.

“The wenches are comely,” Malcomn relayed as
Corbett walked briskly toward the great hall. “Huge dowries,
too.”

“Thank you for informing me, but I have no
need to hear more.”

“You don’t want to hear more, do you?” asked
Malcomn. “After all, we both know you’ll choose neither of
DeBurgh’s daughters.”

“You speak nonsense,” said Corbett. “If they
meet my standards, then I shall marry one.”

“You won’t,” challenged Malcomn, causing
Corbett to stop in his tracks.

“And why are you so sure?”

“Because you’ll sully the Blake name just as
your father did. You want that servant girl, Devon, and will give
up everything for her. Everything for love.”

“Nay!” he answered. “I am Lord of Steepleton
and I will keep my title. A marriage is naught more than a dealing.
I would never be so foolish as to marry for love.”

Lord DeBurgh walked up to introduce himself,
with his two daughters right behind him.

“Lord Corbett, I presume?”

Corbett surveyed the girls and saw what
Malcomn said was true. They were comely, not to mention, titled.
And when he heard what kind of a dowry was being offered, he knew
he would be a fool to turn either girl away.

“So which will it be?” asked De Burgh. “Did
you want to marry my daughter Lady Edith, or will you choose Lady
Nelda?”

The girls looked at him and smiled. It did
nothing to entice him, and he found himself thinking of Devon and
how he felt when she smiled at him. Malcomn’s words rang through
his ears and he cursed himself for thinking of a servant when he
had two rich, titled ladies to choose as his bride.

But the image of Devon lingered in his mind,
and the thought of her lying asleep upon his bed. Her will and
feistiness intrigued him, but her brashness and foolish thoughts
would ruin him. He reached for each of the lady’s hands in turn,
bowing and pressing his lips against the back of their hands in an
act of chivalrous respect. He would choose one today and be done
with his menacing problem. The faster this chore was finished, the
better.

“My lord? My lord?”

Corbett looked up to see Devon standing
before him. She’d donned the new servant attire he’d sent to the
room, and her hair was thrown over one shoulder, shiny and combed.
He jerked upward, releasing Lady Nelda’s hand so quickly, she
gasped in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” he growled under
his breath. Devon was the last person he needed to see right
now.

Devon looked at each of the ladies in turn,
and raised her chin defiantly with a sarcastic smile. Corbett knew
she was up to no good.

“I apologize for interrupting, my lord, but
if I’m to be your leman, than I thought I, too, should meet your
future wife. After all, we will be using the same bed quite
often.”

Lady Nelda and Lady Edith raised their hands
to their mouths in horror. Lord DeBurgh scowled and tried to calm
them.

“What is this, Steepleton? Since when do you
have your castle whore telling you who to marry?”

“Castle whore?” How dare the man call her
that. Couldn’t he see she’d been raised in a monastery?

“She is just my servant,” he tried to
explain to DeBurgh. “She is not a whore and I have never bedded the
wench.”

“Wench?” Devon’s anger increased, and
Corbett knew he should have chosen his words more carefully.”

“So are you saying this girl means nothing
to you?” DeBurgh questioned.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he tried
to convince him.

“That’s not the way it looked to me just
moments ago,” added Malcomn, doing nothing to ease the situation.
“After all, I saw her half-naked in your bed and you refused me her
services.”

“I was not in the bed when you entered,”
corrected Devon. “I saw to remove myself before the door was
opened.”

Both the ladies wrung their hands, and
pulled their father to the side to speak with him. Corbett could
overhear them saying they wanted a loyal husband, not one who
looked to his servants every night for pleasure.

“I’m sorry, Steepleton, but my offer of my
daughters in marriage is null and void. I will not have them
marrying a man who flaunts his mistress before he’s even taken his
vows.”

“She’s not my mistress,” he tried to
explain, but DeBurgh only rounded up his daughters and made a
beeline for the door.

“Corbett looked back to Devon, who was
smiling and looking up at him with those innocent eyes. Then he
looked over to Malcomn who likewise had a grin on his face, but he
was staring at Devon.

“You!” he growled, pointing a finger in
Devon’s face. “You will not get away with this.”

Devon’s smile faded, and she backed away.
Her green eyes took on that look of fear he’d seen in his
nightmares. How could he reprimand her when the sound of her
screams of terror echoed in his brain?

“My lord?” A young pageboy stood next to
him, urgency upon his face. “The baron has called for you in his
chamber at once.”

Corbett dismissed the boy and looked to
Malcomn in question. “Has his health taken a turn for the
worse?”

“Nay,” interrupted Malcomn with a shake of
the head. “I’ve spoken with him just this morn and in actuality,
he’s seemed to improve.”

“Then I wonder why he calls for me. It must
be of importance.” He headed for the stairs, and then returned for
Devon. Taking her by the arm, he dragged her along with him.
“You’ll come with me, as I’ll not have you wandering around my fief
and destroying me before I’ve had a chance to lock you up
properly.”

“I did naught but save you from marrying
someone you didn’t love.”

“Love? What does that have to do with
choosing a bride?” He stomped up the stairs, wondering why he
hadn’t placed a guard at his chamber door to keep her from leaving.
Had he really thought she’d stay in his room of her own accord?

“You did naught but destroy my chances of
keeping my land and title. If I don’t choose a wife soon, Lord
Malcomn will be ruling Steepleton.”

“Is that all a marriage is to you?
Insurance?”

He took the stairs two at a time now,
pulling her along so fast she almost stumbled. He felt his blood
boil, and wanted nothing more than to lock her out of his sight for
the rest of the day.

“You know naught of marriage,” he told her,
approaching the baron’s door.

“And you know naught of love,” she
challenged him, stopping alongside him.

Two guards stood watch in front of the door,
and while Corbett wanted to say so much more to Devon, he would not
do it with onlookers present.

“We would continue this conversation later,”
he told her, nodding to the guards and entering the room. When he
realized Devon still stood out in the corridor, he reached out and
pulled her inside and closed the door quickly.

"Baron, you wished to see me?" Corbett was
sincerely glad to see his old friend sitting up in bed as Mercia
cleared away the empty food tray.

"Corbett. I would have summoned you earlier,
but you seemed to be sleeping late today. I hope that Yetta didn't
give you any trouble."

"Devon tended to my wound with expertise,"
he answered, avoiding the true issue.

"Devon? Oh, yes. Yes, that is her name,
isn’t it?”

"Why do you call her Yetta?" Corbett
questioned the baron. The man’s face clouded over, and his smile
diminished.

"'Tis naught, son." There was a definite
sorrow in his voice, and Corbett thought it a personal matter of
which his superior didn’t want to speak of in front of
servants.

“Mercia, Devon,” said Corbett. “Please go
help in the kitchen for now.” The girls headed for the door and
when it was open, Corbett called to one of the guards.

“Escort Devon to the kitchen,” he said with
a wave of his hand. “And stay with her until I give you further
notice.”

The guard obliged, but by the look on
Devon’s face, he knew their conversation later would be more heated
than he’d expected. Once the door closed, he took a seat at the
baron’s bedside.

"If you do not mind my asking, was Yetta
perhaps a mistress?"

Kenric looked up slowly and nodded. "'Tis
about time I told you," he explained. "I have been holding this
grief for the last eight and ten years, and it has done me no
good."

“Please, go on.”

"Yetta was a servant in Torquey, many years
ago," the baron explained. "She was so kind and caring…so different
than the rest who seemed only to do their job because it was
ordered. She gave thoughtlessly of herself, always putting others'
needs before her own. She never complained, and seemed to me a
savior to which I could unload a weary mind at the end of the
day."

Corbett couldn’t help but compare his own
feelings for Devon to those of the baron’s.

"I loved her,” he said, surprising Corbett.
For a nobleman to love a woman, especially a servant, was unheard
of. “Only I could not let my love for Yetta be known. I was already
betrothed to Gilda - a woman I neither loved or knew. When I had
found that my betrothed and her guard were the only ones to survive
the robbers' deadly attack, I found myself indifferent. I wanted to
be with Yetta, instead. The one I loved."

"Surely," questioned Corbett, appalled at
this confession, "you never would have married her?"

"Nay, at the time I was too arrogant to
admit my love for a mere servant. And even when I found she carried
my child, I could not show her how I truly felt."