Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] (13 page)

Blaidd stayed where he was. “Hester, I’m willing to accept that Lord Throckton may not be quite as he seems, but if I’m to believe anything more, I’ll need proof.”

She shrugged. “Believe me or not as you will, Sir Blaidd. But if I’m right and Throckton’s up to no good, I want you to know that Lady Rebecca’s innocent. I want a friend of the king’s to know the truth.”

“I give you my word, Hester, that if the man’s a
traitor, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that Lady Rebecca doesn’t suffer for it.”

Hester got to her feet. “Good. Now go, and tell that sow I won’t be earnin’ any more money for her tonight. I wager she got enough out of you, anyway.”

Blaidd went to the door, then paused before opening it to look back at her, standing so stiff and defiant in that squalid room. A lord’s daughter? He could well believe it now.

He bowed as if she were the queen. “I appreciate why you’ve told me all this, Hester. I thank you, and it may be that one day, Lady Rebecca will thank you, too.”

Hester nodded regally as he went out and closed the door.

Then she sat on the filthy bed and covered her face with her hands.

The next morning, Becca hesitated on the stairway leading from the apartments to the courtyard. Dobbin was waiting at the bottom, leaning against the wall, his head down and his arms folded across his chest, in an attitude that looked so like despair, she shivered.

She tried to think of what could account for both his presence and condition. “What’s happened?” she asked as she continued her slow progress downward. “Is there trouble with the men?”

Straightening, Dobbin uncrossed his arms. “With
a
man,” he clarified.

“Which one?” she queried, assuming it was one of the soldiers. “What’s he done?”

Instead of answering immediately, Dobbin put his hand on her upper arm and steered her outside, then into an alley between the apartments and the hall, as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear what he was about to tell her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked urgently, dread growing with every moment.

Dobbin ran his hand over his chin, and she realized how tired he looked, as if he hadn’t slept all night.

“Dobbin, tell me!”

His eyes full of remorse, he said, “I’m sorry, my lady, but last night, Sir Blaidd Morgan went to the village. To the brothel.”

Becca slumped back against the stone wall. Blaidd had gone to the
brothel?
Blaidd, who had seemed so disgusted when his squire had done that very thing? Who had spoken with such distaste about the existence of such things, and even with sympathy and dismay for the women who worked in them? “Are you
sure?
”

Dobbin nodded. “Aye. Charlie was on sentry patrol on the wall walk and he saw him start over the wall. He was sure who it was because of his hair, you see, so he didn’t raise the alarm. After all, the man’s a guest, and he was one man going out, not a bunch coming in. I told Charlie to go after him and tell me where he went.”

Charlie was the one archer in the garrison Becca could never beat. He’d once hit an apple hanging on a tree more than seventy feet away. So if he believed he’d seen Sir Blaidd Morgan—so distinctive with his
long, savage hair—climbing over the wall, he probably had.

“He was even more certain who it was when Sir Blaidd come out of the brothel. Got a good look at ’im then.” Dobbin reached out to touch her arm. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I misjudged him, too. I never thought he’d be the sort.”

Becca took a deep breath and tried not to let disappointment overwhelm her. “I was sure he wasn’t.”

“Aye, and that’s why I thought you had to know. I’ve seen what’s going on between you, and I was glad, for your sake. But now…” He paused a moment, then continued, his voice stronger. “But while it might break your heart to hear it now, I’ve seen the misery a man like that can cause a woman, and I won’t have that happen to you.”

It did break her heart, for Dobbin’s words had destroyed the honorable, moral Blaidd she’d believed in. She’d been right that first night in the chapel: he was a lascivious scoundrel. Even worse, he was a hypocritical lascivious scoundrel. He’d tricked her with his soft words and passionate kisses, and played her for a fool. As for other things they’d done… She could only be grateful she hadn’t gotten into his bed.

“Becca—Lady Rebecca, maybe it’s time he left,” Dobbin gently suggested.

“Oh, yes, he’ll be leaving. Today,” she declared, her voice gruff. Despite her growing anger, there was a lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away.

“What reason will you give your father?”

“Hopefully I won’t have to give him any, after I
speak to Sir Blaidd alone and make it clear his true nature has been discovered. If he goes to my father, and Father allows him to stay, at least Laelia will know what she’s letting herself in for if she marries him, and I’ll have done all I could to prevent it.”

“On the attack, eh, my girl? I should have guessed. After you’re done talking to the lout, I doubt he’ll stay. Want me and a few of the lads to follow him and make sure he knows he won’t be welcome back?”

“As well as give him a scar or two to remember us by?” She shook her head. “No, Dobbin. Don’t waste your time. The less we have to do with him, the better.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Dobbin replied, with an undertone of regret.

She patted his arm. “I do appreciate how hard it was for you to do this, Dobbin, and I’m grateful. Now I’d better get to Mass. Sir Blaidd Morgan, hypocrite that he is, will surely be there, and afterward, I can send him on his way.”

Dobbin watched her as she headed slowly toward the chapel, her head high. She was a lady of dignity and worthy of the utmost respect, loyalty and love. More than that, she was her mother’s daughter, and a woman any man but Throckton would be proud and blessed to call his daughter.

B
laidd knew something was wrong the minute he saw Becca in the chapel. She was deathly pale, and she looked at him as if he’d hurt her terribly and roused her formidable ire at the same time.

What the devil had happened? Had she guessed he’d lied about his motive for coming there? Or was it something else? Had he been seen going into the brothel? That would certainly account for her indignant mouth and disappointed eyes.

How could he explain what he’d been doing there without telling her what Hester had said, and the reason he’d come to Throckton in the first place? He’d have to think of something. He’d have to make things right between them, somehow.

Standing to his right, Lord Throckton gave him a questioning glance, and Blaidd realized he was fidgeting. To his left, Trev had apparently noticed that, too, for he was regarding him quizzically.

Lady Laelia, on Lord Throckton’s right, and Val
demar beside her, didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything except each other.

“Itch,” Blaidd muttered in explanation to Trev, reaching around to scratch his lower back, and incidentally glancing at Becca again.

She was still staring at him as if he’d betrayed her utterly.

He faced forward again, and tried to stand still and be patient. It was torture, though, feeling her looking at him, yet unable to do anything about it until the Mass was over—unless he wanted to make a scene, which he certainly did not. He wanted to take her hand and lead her someplace where he could speak to her alone, where he could find out exactly what she was thinking and try to make amends.

He didn’t dare excuse himself and rush from the chapel when the service finally ended, either. He dare not reveal any impatience as he waited for Lord Throckton, Lady Laelia and Valdemar to lead the way out.

Becca was standing by the chapel door. She didn’t speak; she just gave him a significant look, and headed toward the keep.

“Trev, you go ahead and break the fast,” he said to his squire. “I’ll be along shortly. I want to get a whetstone to polish my blade.”

Trev nodded and walked away with the other people headed toward the hall, leaving Blaidd free to casually saunter after Becca, who was unlocking the armory with a key from the ring she wore on her belt. She disappeared inside.

He continued to stroll toward the keep as if in no great hurry. When he neared the round stone structure, he checked to see if anyone was watching. The sentries were all looking outward over the walls and not into the courtyard, and everyone else was in the hall, breaking their fast.

He slipped into the ancient tower. Lances leaned against the curved walls to his left. To his right were racks of plain swords. Beside them were pegs holding quivers. Unslung bows lay on wooden shelves, and there were smaller shelves for arrows. In the center of the room was a large empty hearth and a workbench where the armorer must do his repairs. Buckets, rags and some iron tools lay on its surface.

“Becca?” Blaidd called out quietly, his words echoing in the stillness.

“Down here.”

He followed her voice and discovered a set of narrow steps leading to a level below, to what must be a storehouse, or perhaps cells for prisoners.

When he went down, he was relieved to find that the lower level was not cells, but a large and virtually empty chamber. A single small window provided a little light, enough to make the walls shimmer where water dripped down.

Becca stood in the center of the chamber, her arms crossed, her attitude one of anger and defiance.

“Where were you last night?” she demanded, stern and majestic.

He wondered if perhaps she’d thought he’d signaled her or somehow arranged a rendezvous—that
she was upset over that, and nothing more serious. “Were we supposed to meet?”

“If you’re going to try to play the ignorant innocent with me, it won’t work!” she charged.

Obviously, he was wrong. This was much more serious a matter than forgetting a rendezvous.

“You’ve tricked me into believing you’re an honorable, noble man, but you’re not,” she said. “I was right that first night you kissed me in the chapel. You’re nothing but a lascivious, immoral hypocrite!”

There could be but one explanation for those particular words. “Somebody told you I went to the brothel,” he guessed.

“Yes,” she hissed, glaring.

“Who?”

“Someone I trust, the way I
thought
I could trust you.”

“Did this informant also tell you I didn’t stay long?”

“How much time does such business take?” she retorted. “I’m sure you’re fast when it suits your purpose.”

“Becca, I didn’t go there for that.”

She raised one brow skeptically. “Oh, you just wanted to
talk?
”

He regarded her angry features for a long moment as he decided what to do. He could hide his suspicions about her father, although that would mean agreeing that his visit to the brothel had been for his pleasure. Or he could be honest with her. He could trust her enough to tell her the truth, and warn her of
her potential danger if her father was plotting against the crown.

And that was what he would do. “When I went after Trev that night and found him in the brothel, Hester said she had something important to tell me, something about you. I went to find out what.”

Becca’s eyes narrowed. “And you forgot this until last night?”

“I agree I shouldn’t have left it so long.”

“How wonderful to hear that you should have taken yourself to a stew sooner,” she mocked.

“I’m being honest with you, Becca,” he said firmly.

Her eyes flickered, but her lips remained thinned. “Let’s say you’re
not
lying. What thing of import did Hester have to impart?”

“Danes have come here before.”

“They have not,” Becca asserted. “I’d have known if they did.”

“She said they claimed to be Germans.”

Becca’s angry gaze faltered for the briefest of moments, but in the next, defiance kindled again in her brilliant eyes. “Danes, Germans, what does it matter?”

“If it didn’t, why would they keep their true nationality a secret?” he countered.

“That’s assuming Hester’s right. How did she come to have this alleged knowledge?”

“One of them told her where they were really from.”

The defiant disbelief dwindled a bit, but her voice
didn’t betray anything except absolute faith in Lord Throckton. “You would have me question my father’s business based on what a man tells a
harlot,
one my father cast out of the household? She probably just wants to make trouble for us. And why would she tell you this, and not me?”

“Because she’s heard I’m a friend of the king. She wants to protect you—and so do I. You could be in grave danger.” Regretting what he had to say, but determined to tell her everything, he spoke with both sympathy and grim resolution. “Becca, your father may be plotting treason.”

“Treason?” she gasped, too stunned even to be angry. “What madness is this? My father’s as loyal to the king as you are! I won’t stand here and listen to such nonsense!”

She made to go past him, but he grabbed her arm and looked intently into her agitated face. “Is he loyal, Becca? Are you absolutely certain?”

She wrenched her arm free. “Of course! How dare you suggest otherwise?”

“He complains about Henry and his rewards to his wife’s relations.”

“So do many men! So do
you!
”

“But I’m not entertaining Danes, or entering into alliances with them, or building a huge fortress with vast wealth that cannot come from the income of this estate. I haven’t raised a personal army of well-armed fighting men with superior skills.”

Becca backed away from him as if he were con
tagious. “Why shouldn’t my father entertain a Danish prince? We’re not at war with them. Why not enter a trade alliance? As for his wealth…I have no idea about my father’s finances, but I’m sure he’s come by every ha’penny honestly. And what man of wealth wouldn’t want it well protected?”

“Becca, there’s more,” Blaidd said, his tone commanding, demanding that she listen. “Your father’s loyalty was already suspect. Why, exactly, I don’t know, but Henry sent me here to find evidence of a plot, or to reassure him that his suspicions were groundless.”

“You’re a
spy?
” Incredulity gave way to revulsion as she stared at him. “Oh, God—that’s why you asked me about his loyalty! You were trying to get me to incriminate my own father!”

Her lip curled with scorn as she backed toward the steps. “You disgusting, despicable rogue! Is that why you kissed me, too? And made me believe you cared for me? So that I would tell you anything you wanted to know about him? Did you think that if I loved you, you could make me say whatever you wanted? That I would turn against my father and lie, the way you do?”

She tried to run to the door, but her legs were trembling, and her weaker one gave way. She fell to the floor of hard-packed earth.

He crouched beside her and put his arm around her to help her stand. “Listen to me, Becca! Please!”

She pushed his arm away and struggled to her feet.
“Leave me alone, you liar! I’d rather lie on this floor and die than take any help from you!”

“I love you!” Blaidd cried desperately. “That’s why I’m telling you all this.”

Although her whole body trembled, she managed to get to her feet and regain her balance. “I’m sure you love me,” she sneered. “You love me so much, you suspect my father is a traitor and you want me to provide evidence of his guilt. You know what will happen to your beloved if he’s found guilty, don’t you? All my father’s lands will be forfeit to the crown. Laelia and I will be penniless—and that’s if we live. The king might accuse us, too. It won’t matter if we’re innocent or not. A Dane has come and a whore tells Sir Blaidd Morgan that he and my father are scheming to overthrow the king, so our fate is sealed.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you stand to gain if my father’s convicted? Land? An earldom? Power? Wealth?”

“I’m trying to save you! How do you know he’s
not
a traitor? If you have proof, tell me,” Blaidd pleaded.

“I don’t need proof that he’s innocent. He’s my father!”

“How well do you know him?” Blaidd demanded as frustration overwhelmed him. “Enough to know that Hester is his child?”

“What? You
are
insane—or she is!”

“She looks like Laelia. Haven’t you ever noticed the resemblance?”

“Of course not, because it isn’t there! And don’t
you think I’d know if that were true? A thing like that could hardly be kept a secret.”

“She says her mother was sworn to secrecy as part of the bargain she made with your father when she discovered she was with child. He paid her for her silence. She made Hester swear not to reveal it, too.”

“Until now,” Becca demanded scornfully, “when a man comes seeking proof of duplicitous acts. What a convenient morality she has!”

“Until she guessed that the time had come to protect a person she truly does care about. Because of your kindness, she wants you safe, and because of what she knows about your father and his dealings, she fears that you’re in danger, just as I do.” Blaidd went to her and grasped her careworn hands in his, willing her to listen. To believe. To trust him. “Becca, I came here because the king asked me to, for the reason I told you. I did lie about courting your sister, and I regret that. But what’s happened between us is not false. I love you, and I want to marry you. If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be trying to warn you. I’ve already heard enough to have your father arrested. I could have kept what I know to myself, and left for London without saying anything to you of my suspicions.”

She yanked her hands from his. She was calmer now—too calm. Calm in a way that told him she couldn’t or wouldn’t believe him. “Whatever you say or think, my father is loyal to Henry. If it be treason to suggest that the king favors his wife’s relatives at some cost to his kingdom, the dungeons of England
would be filled to capacity. I suggest, Sir Blaidd, that you return to court at once and tell the king whatever you
think
you know. But be prepared, because if you accuse my father, I’m going to tell everyone that you found your reasons in a whore’s bed, and that you tried to take advantage of your host’s daughter for your own ambitious ends.”

“Are you going to tell your father what I’ve told you?”

He saw her struggle, and waited tensely for her answer. If she told her father, he and Trev might find out if there
were
cells in Throckton Castle.

Blaidd couldn’t risk that. He’d have to keep her down here until they could get away.

“No,” she said at last. “Because I think you’re wrong and nothing will come of your suspicions.
You have no proof.
I’ll tell him you left because—”

“Tell him I realized the woman I loved was not going to return my affections, and I saw no need to linger.”

She nodded curtly. “Very well.”

She went up the steps without a backward glance.

As he watched her go, he prayed to God that someday she would understand what he’d done, and why, and believe that he did love her.

He still loved her. He’d finally found a love that could last forever, but it wasn’t going to bring him happiness.

Only the despair of knowing what might have been, and was forever lost.

Blinking back tears, Becca crossed the courtyard as quickly as she could. Sir Blaidd Morgan had to be wrong! Her father wasn’t a traitor. He couldn’t be.

Blaidd had come there under false pretenses. He was a liar, a sly, deceitful rogue who’d used her loneliness and vulnerability to further his own schemes.

She’d be happy when he was gone. Very happy!

She entered the hall and realized everyone had finished eating. “Where’s my father?” she asked Bran.

The man’s eyes widened at her harsh tone, and he pointed toward the stairs leading to her father’s solar.

Without another word, she went to the stairs and began to make her way up. Her leg ached and she paused, rubbing it, before starting up again.