Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] (2 page)

“I hope you’ll forgive my questions, sir,” she said as she bowed low. “We so seldom have any visits from the king’s minions that naturally I was suspicious.”

Minion?
Blaidd was no longer moved to excuse her insolence, vibrant blue eyes or not, and as for kissing her, he’d sooner kiss Aderyn Du.

“He’s not a minion!” Trev cried, echoing his thoughts. “He’s a friend of King Henry’s.”

“Trev, please, allow me to deal with this
underling,
” Blaidd said as he slowly ambled toward the woman until they were less than a foot apart.

She stiffened as Blaidd perused her in a leisurely manner.

“What’s your name, wench?” he asked with deceptive tranquillity before he gave her a smile that his opponents in armed combat had learned to dread.

Her chin jutted out with defiance. “Becca.”

“Tell me, Becca, do you always speak this way to your superiors?”

“Usually I don’t speak to anybody who considers himself my superior.”

She was, without doubt, the most insolent wench he’d ever encountered. “If this is the welcome nobles can expect at Throckton Castle, it’s no wonder to me that your lord is not held in high esteem at the king’s court.”

The woman’s steadfast gaze finally faltered—but only for the briefest of moments. “If he isn’t, that merely confirms what I think of the English court.”

“What do you know of the English court?”

Her eyes widened with what he recognized as a completely fraudulent innocent bafflement. “I never said I knew anything about the English court, sir. I said it confirms what I
think
about it.”

She bowed again, with an unexpected grace. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Sir Blaidd.”

He tilted his head as he studied her, not at all taken in by her change of manner. “Are you?”

“If what I’ve said causes trouble for Lord Throckton, I am.”

Then she smiled, with so merry an expression, it was like finding a flower blooming in the dead of winter. “But if my honesty means you think I’m an insolent wretch who ought to be punished, I’m not sorry a bit.”

Under the force of that smile, Blaidd’s anger
melted away. “Perhaps I’ll be merciful and not tell Lord Throckton about his impertinent gatekeeper.”

“Perhaps he won’t be surprised.” Her smile dimmed, but she didn’t sound worried.

Then she wrapped her cloak more tightly about her slender frame. “Aren’t you in a hurry to meet the lovely Lady Laelia?” She gave him another smile. “I think
you
might actually stand a chance.”

“Well, then, since I’ve apparently won your good opinion, I’ll consider myself nearly betrothed.”

The look in her sparkling eyes shifted again, becoming serious. “You may not have had much competition in anything before, Sir Blaidd Morgan of Wales, but you will now. I wish you luck, if you think Laelia and her dowry will make you happy.”

He asked the next question without thought. “Will I be seeing you in the castle?”

“I hope not,” she replied, in a way that left no doubt that she meant it.

The guards nearby stifled smiles and tried not to laugh.

Sir Blaidd Morgan enjoyed having people laugh
with
him, and women most of all. But he hated being laughed
at,
and it had been years upon years since anybody had dared.

He turned on his heel, marched back to Aderyn Du and threw himself into the saddle. “Let’s go, Trev,” he snapped.

His squire immediately obeyed. “Do you suppose she really is a gatekeeper?” he asked as they rode into the ward.

“Whoever she is,” Blaidd answered grimly, “I don’t think she’s right in the head, and I hope I never see her again.”

As Sir Blaidd Morgan rode away, Becca glanced at the castle guards, and the tall, gray-haired man in mail at the head of them. “Poor man. I don’t think he expected my reception.”

They burst out laughing.

“That’s enough, lads,” the commander of the garrison ordered, although Dobbin was having trouble keeping a straight face himself. “Back to your duties.”

Exchanging muffled words and snickers, the men returned to their posts, while Dobbin joined Becca in the room in the gatehouse where the guards spent their time while not on patrol or sleeping. The plain stone walls were as stark as the battered trestle table upon which, over the years, men off duty had scratched their signs or initials. A couple of stools provided the only seating. A single shelf held materials for cleaning metal and leather, a task often performed here. The scent of the polish lingered, and helped add to the cozy feeling of the room, which was warmed by a fire.

Becca and Dobbin hung up their drenched cloaks on pegs near the door and returned to their stools by the small hearth.

Dobbin stretched out his legs and sighed. “I’m getting too old to stand in the rain,” he muttered, his
words betraying his childhood spent in the dales of Yorkshire.

“You could have stayed inside.”

“Too risky.”

“They were hardly on the attack.”

Dobbin gave her a shrewd look. “But what might you have said if I wasn’t there?”

She smiled, for he was quite right. She might have been even more impertinent toward yet another knight who’d arrived to see if the beauty of Throckton lived up to that name, and to court her if she did.

“Big fellow, he was, for a Welshman,” Dobbin noted. “Sits his horse well. A man with shoulders and legs like that would probably be some fighter.”

“I daresay he probably is a champion of tournaments,” Becca agreed as she spread her damp skirts to enable them to dry more quickly. The ring of keys at her belt jingled with the movement.

“He’s a handsome one, too, even with that hair. I’ve never seen a nobleman with hair to his shoulders like some kind of savage.”

“Maybe all Welshmen wear it that way.”

“I’ve never seen ’em do it,” Dobbin replied, “and I’ve met a fair few at tournaments and such.”

Becca clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll ask him, shall I?”

Dobbin nearly fell off his stool. “You’d better not. He looked angry enough to strangle you before. I thought he was going to, the way he got so close to you.”

Becca tried not to remember how her heart had
pounded when the handsome knight with the incredible physique had strolled toward her, a look on his face as if…as if…

Well, she’d never had a man walk up to her with that look on his face. “Very well, I won’t ask.” She gave Dobbin a grin. “Judging by that smile of his, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sir Blaidd expects to win Laelia with nothing more than a wink and a grin.”

“I just hope his lordship ain’t going to be angry when he hears what you said to a knight from King Henry’s court.”

“I expect he will be.” Becca hunched her shoulders, lowered her chin and gruffly spoke in imitation of the overlord of Throckton Castle. “Ignore her, Sir Blaidd. She’s flighty and foolish—a woman, that’s all.”

Dobbin shook his head. “You’d better take care, my lady, or one of these days you might push your father too far, and then where will you be?”

W
hile Trev finished taking their baggage to the chamber they would share, Blaidd waited for Lord Throckton in the great hall. He stood with his back to the massive hearth, and the heat felt so good, he barely managed not to squirm like a pig in mud.

His mood continued to improve as he surveyed the chamber, which, like the rest of the fortress, was larger and more indicative of personal wealth than he had expected. After entering the cobbled courtyard, he’d taken note of the huge building that had to be the hall, and the chapel beside it, judging by the windows. The rooms on the second level of the half-timbered stables were surely barracks for the garrison and living quarters for grooms and stable boys. Blaidd guessed the two-story building on this side of the yard, adjoining the hall, contained the apartments where the family and the other servants slept, as well as the lord’s solar. The other buildings he could readily identify were the kitchen, attached to the hall and
with a large chimney louvered so that rain couldn’t put out the fire below, and the blacksmith’s shop. The keep, a huge circular building to the left of the entrance, probably doubled as the armory, and would serve as a last redoubt should the walls be breached.

The keep was decades old, and the inner walls, too. Blaidd estimated that the hall, the chapel, the outer wall and the formidable gatehouse were new, built within the last five years. The second floors—the apartments and barracks—were likewise of recent construction.

As for the interior of the hall, the only place Blaidd had seen to rival it belonged to the king. Heavy and finely wrought tapestries covered the walls, depicting battles and hunts, their bright green, scarlet and gold threads catching the light. The benches and tables were relatively new, free of scars, scratches and gouges, and polished to a high sheen. Clean rushes covered the floor, and the light scents of rosemary and fleabane reached his nostrils.

Huge oak beams supported the ceiling, and banners of knights who owed allegiance to Lord Throckton moved in the shifting air like lazy maidens dancing. It was quite a collection—far more than Blaidd would have expected for a lord of Throckton’s apparent standing—and most of them were unfamiliar. Should the king’s suspicions about Throckton’s possible disloyalty prove well founded, he would have to remember them.

One of the hounds slumbering near the fire twitched, drawing his attention. They had stood
growling and quivering at him when he had first entered, until one of the male servants had commanded them to sit and be quiet.

That wench at the gate had practically snapped and growled at him, too. What would
she
look like asleep, her bright blue eyes closed and her breasts rising and falling in gentle rhythm? He recalled hints of the form beneath that damp cloak she held so tightly about her, and realized she was quite shapely.

His body warmed more, and not from the fire, as he imagined the spirited Becca in his bed. She wouldn’t lie there unmoving, he was sure. If she decided to give herself to a man, she would—with zest. He would be free to tease and suggest and play, and she would probably respond in kind.

He began to harden, and forcibly reminded himself he had important business here that had nothing to do with women, even if he was supposed to be interested in Lady Laelia. And he should no more dally with a maidservant than Trev should go to that brothel, no matter how interesting or challenging the maidservant might be.

“Welcome to Throckton Castle, Sir Blaidd!” a deep voice called out.

Blaidd swiveled toward a curving stairway at the far end of the hall. A robust man with thick gray hair and broad shoulders strode toward him. He was well-dressed, wearing a long tunic of indigo blue belted with gilded leather. By his manner and confidence Blaidd assumed he was the lord of the castle.

When Lord Throckton reached the dais, he came to a halt and smiled pleasantly, revealing fine teeth.

Blaidd, however, had spent years among hypocritical courtiers so he quickly realized that the friendly smile did not reach the man’s hazel eyes. They were as wary as the girl’s at the gate.

The hairs on the back of Blaidd’s neck tickled, as if he was trying to pick his way across swampy land, yet he betrayed nothing of his foreboding. After all, what man wouldn’t be suspicious of a knight who arrived without warning? And it could be that his own disinclination for subterfuge was making him more suspicious than he should be. “Greetings, Lord Throckton,” he said as he bowed.

“Nasty weather for traveling,” the nobleman noted.

“Which is why I’m thankful for your hospitality.”

“Think nothing of it, man! It’s my pleasure.” Lord Throckton’s smile grew, but his eyes did not lose their shrewd wariness. “Still, I doubt it’s merely chance that brings you so far from the main road.”

“No, it isn’t,” Blaidd replied with his friendliest smile. “However, my reason for coming here is one that I would prefer to speak of in private, if we may.”

“Of course! We can discuss what brings you here in my solar.”

Lord Throckton led Blaidd toward the staircase he had just descended, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that he was following.

They reached a landing, and Lord Throckton opened the door leading off it. He gestured for Blaidd
to enter the chamber first, and when he did, he found himself in a very comfortable room that provided more evidence that Lord Throckton was rich and liked his creature comforts. More colorful tapestries covered the walls, and the chairs, of pale new oak, sported silken cushions in bright, jewel-like colors. A trestle table was covered with parchments, vessels of ink, several quills and a silver candleholder. An open chest painted blue and green revealed parchment scrolls, likely the records of tithes and other estate business. A bronze brazier glowed with coals and a carpet covered much of the stone floor. Linen shutters over the tall, narrow windows shut out the chill spring breeze.

It was like being in a warm, comfortable, Oriental cocoon, and a far cry from many a nobleman’s plain, chilly solar.

With a sigh of pleasure, Lord Throckton sank onto the scarlet silk cushion on the ornately carved chair decorated with vines, leaves and grapes behind the table. He gestured for Blaidd to sit in a slightly less intricately carved chair opposite.

“Are you related to Sir Hu Morgan, by any chance?” Lord Throckton asked when Blaidd had done so.

Blaidd didn’t hide his surprise that the man knew who his father was. “I’m his son. Have you met him?”

Lord Throckton’s eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “No. As I’m sure you’re aware, I don’t go to court. Westminster and London are too noisy and crowded
for my taste. But I’ve heard of him nonetheless. He has many important friends.”

“My father rarely goes to court, either,” Blaidd replied, electing to say nothing of his father’s friends, some of whom were very powerful indeed. “He shares your dislike of cities, and he prefers to stay at home.”

“With your mother, who was reputed to be the most beautiful lady of her time,” Lord Throckton added with a chuckle. “A wise and happy man.”

Blaidd inclined his head and didn’t disagree.

“I recall many people were shocked that Lady Liliana married a man who had been born a shepherd.”

He didn’t speak with obvious disrespect or malice, but Blaidd’s jaw clenched regardless. He didn’t reply until he’d mastered the flash of anger such statements about his parents’ marriage always elicited. “My father was a knight when she wed him.”

“And a very handsome fellow himself, like his son. So I suppose that you’ve come to woo my beautiful daughter?”

“Word of the lady’s qualities have reached the court, and I am unwed. I hope you won’t hold my father’s birth against me, but will allow me the privilege of meeting her, at least.”

“Indeed, I shall. I have a great respect for men who have risen above their station,” Lord Throckton replied with every vestige of sincerity. “So does my daughter.”

“Then may I also have your permission to woo her if she’s willing, my lord?”

Lord Throckton toyed with the thick gold ring on his left hand and ran a measuring glance over Blaidd’s clothes. The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. “You haven’t asked about her dowry, Sir Blaidd.”

“From all that I’ve heard about your daughter, Lady Laelia herself will be the true prize.”

Lord Throckton looked pleased. “Naturally, I agree, but I don’t think it’ll trouble you to know her dowry won’t be small. Nor will it be the largest you’ve ever heard of. But I’ve had many offers from many men for Laelia, from the time she was twelve years old, and not a one of them complained about her dowry.”

Blaidd bestowed a smile on his host. “Despite my attire, I’m not a poor man who seeks only wealth when it comes to a bride, my lord. I’m dressed thus because it’s prudent when on the road, to avoid tempting outlaws.”

“I should warn you, Sir Blaidd, it’s not Laelia’s heart you have to win over. It’s
my
head. Be you knight or commoner, comely or not, and friend of the king or no, it’s me you have to impress, not her.
I
have refused every man who asked for her. Are you still willing to try to woo and win her?”

Blaidd nodded. “If you are willing to allow me the opportunity, my lord.”

“I am, and you are welcome to stay for as long as you like.” Lord Throckton put his hands on the arms of his chair and hoisted himself to his feet. “Now that we’ve reached an agreement, Sir Blaidd, the eve
ning meal should be ready, and I am near to starving. Shall we?”

Blaidd rose and followed the man back down to the hall, which was now crowded with tables, benches, servants and soldiers. Trev was waiting near one of the tables, and after a nod to Blaidd, the lad continued his survey of the impressive hall and bevy of servants.

The hounds, now roused and hungry, prowled among the tables, noses aloft. Several of the men didn’t look much different, and Blaidd couldn’t blame them, for the aromas wafting out of the corridor that led to the kitchen smelled heavenly. His stomach growled in response, for his last meal had been half a loaf of bread that morning, accompanied by a drink from a stream.

“Here is my lovely Laelia already waiting,” Lord Throckton said.

Blaidd’s gaze followed the man’s gesture toward the dais, and then his breath caught in his throat. He had met many a beautiful woman, especially since more than one went out of their way to be introduced to him. But he had never, ever seen a woman who was as truly, absolutely beautiful as this one was. Dressed in pale blue velvet raiment, Lady Laelia was like an angelic vision, with perfect features, a graceful swanlike neck and shining blond hair cascading in curling waves over her slender shoulders. The picture was made perfect by her attitude of modesty, her head lowered as she stared at the rush-covered floor.

“Is she not a beauty?”

“Indeed, my lord, words fail me.”

Lord Throckton chuckled with pride and continued through the assembly like a horse through high grass.

Blaidd looked at the dais again—and got a second, even stronger jolt of shock that made him check his step.

What the devil was that wench doing seated at the high table? Wasn’t she a servant? This meant she couldn’t be, and if she wasn’t, what the devil was she? What had she been doing at the gate?

Perhaps she was a friend of Lady Laelia’s, and her interrogation of him had been her idea of a joke.

But then why would she be seated while Lord Throckton still stood?

The woman’s blue-eyed gaze locked on to him, and even from this distance, he could tell that she was amused by his surprise. As she continued to regard him with that mocking merriment, energy and determination fairly hummed in Blaidd’s veins. Whoever she was, and whatever she thought she was doing, she was going to rue the day she’d made Sir Blaidd Morgan feel like a fool.

Lord Throckton reached the dais ahead of him and took the blond beauty’s hand, leading her a little forward. “This is my daughter, Lady Laelia. Laelia, this is Sir Blaidd Morgan, from the king’s court.”

The lady didn’t raise her head or her eyes—a blessed change from being looked at as if he were a trained bear sent solely for someone’s amusement, Blaidd decided.

He bowed low and took her right hand, as limp and
cool as a fish in a basket, and brought it to his lips to kiss. “My lady, reports of your beauty don’t begin to do you justice,” he said as he straightened.

It was an easy, unoriginal compliment. Usually he enjoyed exerting himself for a lady’s good regard, especially a beautiful one, but it must be the presence of that insolent wench that made his mind incapable of coming up with better flattery.

“You’re most welcome to our hall,” Lady Laelia replied, raising grass-green eyes to look at him, her tone high-pitched and breathless, like a little girl’s. Or a woman trying to sound younger than she was.

He couldn’t remember anybody ever saying how old Lady Laelia was.

The brown-haired young woman loudly—and rudely—cleared her throat. Was she some sort of mad relative? That would explain her place, and her bizarre behavior.

Lord Throckton’s thick gray brows lowered and he frowned as he looked at her. “Sir Blaidd, this is Rebecca. My other daughter.”

Daughter?

No one had ever mentioned that Lord Throckton had another daughter, perhaps because she wasn’t as beautiful as her sister, and was decidedly insolent.

Her lack of beauty might explain her rudeness, though. Envy may have twisted her into a bitter shrew.

“What, no compliment for me, Sir Blaidd?” Lady Rebecca asked as she tilted her head and gave him a merry smile. “Granted, I’m no match for Laelia, but
aren’t all you courtiers trained in flattery? Surely you won’t disappoint me.”

Rising to the challenge, Blaidd laid his hand over his heart and let his voice drop to the low, sultry tone he usually reserved for a clandestine rendezvous. “Far be it from me to disappoint a lady, in anything.”

He strode toward her, reached out, took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles, then raised his eyes to regard her. “You, my lady, are the most surprising young woman I have ever met.”