Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] (3 page)

Her cheeks flushing, she tugged her hand away. “Hardly a compliment, sir knight. I’m not impressed.”

He lifted the corners of his mouth in the sort of lazy smile he gave a woman after they had made love. “I assure you, a man likes to be surprised by a woman, and a truly surprising woman is a very rare creature.”

For the briefest of moments, her eyes widened in shock, and he wanted to shout with triumph.

Then her eyes flashed with that scornful fire that was becoming familiar. “Creature?” she demanded. “Is that what women are to you—creatures?”

He tensed and became the knight who had won many tournaments. “Women who would make a mockery of a stranger and a guest are creatures to me, yes.”

“Becca, I think we’re heard quite enough from you at the moment,” Lord Throckton declared. He strode
past her and sat in his thronelike chair. “This man is our guest and should be treated accordingly.”

She turned away from Blaidd to address her father. “I’m treating him as I treat all the men who come to see Laelia.”

The way Lady Laelia’s lips turned down seemed to confirm that.

“Damn it, Becca, that’s the trouble! When will you learn to behave? Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

“Because I am not my sister?”

“You know what I mean!” Throckton gestured at the seat to his right. “Sit down, Sir Blaidd, sit down. Don’t mind Rebecca. Where’s the damn priest? Let’s have grace.”

Wondering if this sort of exchange occurred frequently, and deciding that it probably did, if they would speak that way in front of a stranger, Blaidd did as he was told, taking the place accorded to honored guests. That also put him between Lord Throckton and Lady Laelia. Lady Rebecca was to her father’s left and, miraculously, once the grace was said, she seemed content to be silent.

Or maybe it was the fact that the conversation, such as it was, consisted of her father’s descriptions of the vast array of suitors who had sought Lady Laelia’s hand. Whenever there was a lull in the recitation, Laelia stayed silent or answered Blaidd’s questions as briefly as possible, no matter how he exerted himself to be charming.

If somebody were to tell him this place was be
witched and everything he did had the opposite effect than usual—repelling rather than attracting a woman—he could believe it. On the other hand, he had to stay at Throckton Castle for some time, so if courting the lady was an uphill climb, it would give him a good excuse to linger.

He looked around the hall for Trev and found him engaged in conversation with a serving maid who looked a little younger than the squire. She had a jug of wine balanced on her hip and swayed while winding a lock of ruddy-brown hair around her finger.

Ah, the universal sign of feminine interest. Perhaps a reminder of their duties as guests wouldn’t be amiss. And perhaps it would have been better if he’d come here alone, Blaidd thought.

“Then I sent that young buck packing,” Lord Throckton declared, interrupting his musings. The man’s voice was slurred from the copious amount of wine that seemed necessary to keep his throat lubricated for the long enumeration. “That was the last of them till you.”

That meant his recitation must be at an end, thank God, Blaidd realized as he turned to his host with a smile pasted on his face.

Lord Throckton put his broad hands on the table and heaved himself to his feet. Blaidd started to rise, too, but Lord Throckton waved him back down. “Just off to the garderobe. That French wine goes right through my English guts.” He gave Blaidd a rather sodden wink. “But it tastes too good not to drink it.”

With that, he made his way out of the hall, leaving
only an empty chair between Blaidd and Lady Rebecca.

He couldn’t resist the temptation. “So, my lady,” he said to her, “do you often play castle guard?”

She regarded him steadily, obviously not the least embarrassed by his question. “No, sir knight.”

“But today you thought to amuse yourself at my expense?”

“Not only myself. The garrison enjoyed it, too. I’m sorry you didn’t see the humor in it.”

He didn’t believe she was sorry at all. “Nobody likes to be made a fool of.”

“No, and handsome young knights with all the world at their feet most of all. But humility is good for the soul, is it not, sir?”

“Yes, it is. It’s a pity you don’t possess that quality yourself.”

She reared back slightly. “How can you say that? Of course I’m humble. How could I not be, when I must compare myself to my sister every day?”

“What else could it be but arrogance to think you have the right to make a knight play the fool?”

“If I am arrogant, what are you—a man who smiles at every woman he meets as if she must be fairly salivating with desire for him?”

“Becca!” Lady Laelia gasped.

Blaidd had forgotten she was there. “It’s all right, my lady,” he assured her. “I take no offense.”

Nevertheless, Lady Laelia’s expression hardened and her lips thinned. No soft and gentle maiden was
she now; she was at war. He had seen women at such battles often enough to recognize the signs.

“If you’re so disposed to talk, sister,” she said through clenched teeth, “why don’t you tell him about the time you fell out of the apple tree?”

Lady Rebecca flushed as her eyes flashed with anger. Blaidd suddenly had the sensation that he was caught between two enemy lines, without even a dagger to fight with.

“Would you like to hear that story, Sir Blaidd?” Lady Rebecca asked with a serenity distinctly at odds with the look in her eyes. “It’s really terribly amusing.”

Blaidd was quite sure it was anything but. “I think I have listened to enough stories for tonight. May we have some music instead?”

Lady Rebecca continued to regard him with her steadfast and bold gaze. “I’ve heard that Welshmen are excellent singers. Perhaps you would prove the point, sir knight?”

“He’s a noble guest, not some troubadour,” Lady Laelia protested.

Blaidd gave them both a friendly smile to show he took no offense. “It’s true that most Welshman can sing, something we are justly proud of. If you wish to hear my humble attempt at a ballad, I’ll be happy to oblige you.”

Lord Throckton came staggering back and threw himself into his chair. He looked from one daughter to the other, and his eyes narrowed. “What’s been going on?”

“Becca has—”

“Been my usual annoying self,” she interrupted. “Sir Blaidd has just offered to sing us a Welsh ballad.”

“Has he now?” Lord Throckton cried, ignoring the first part of her comments. “Wonderful! I’ve always wanted to hear a Welshman sing. But before that, what do you say to some dancing?” He shouted at the young serving woman Trev had been talking to. “Meg, fetch Rebecca’s harp! Bran, Tom, take down the tables!”

It became too noisy for conversation as Meg disappeared up the stairs leading to the household apartments. The two male servants the lord had addressed quickly marshaled some others to help them take down the tables. The high table they would leave for last.

“Your daughter plays the harp?” Blaidd asked when the worst of the noise abated.

“Aye, and well, too.” Lord Throckton leaned toward Laelia, forcing Blaidd back in his chair. “But not so well as my Laelia dances!”

That explained the urgency to have dancing. The man wanted his daughter’s talents on display.

Meg reappeared, bearing a small stringed instrument. The reverent way she gave it to Lady Rebecca suggested that she was particular in its handling, as if it were very valuable. Yet the harp was plain, and although the wood had been polished to a bright sheen, it did not look to be worth much in itself. It
must be the value its possessor placed on it that made the servant treat it with so much care.

While Lady Rebecca tuned the instrument, Blaidd rose and held out his hand to Laelia. She limply placed hers in his and allowed him to lead her to the cleared space.

Then Lady Rebecca began to play.

How she played! Her fingers flew along the strings, coaxing out marvelous sounds and quick rhythms perfect for a round dance. As she played, she bent over the instrument, swaying, lost in the music with the true joy of the naturally gifted.

If she were in Wales, she would be far more valued than Lady Laelia for her talent. As for Lady Laelia’s dancing, it was excellent, but she moved with all the joy of a soldier on a long forced march.

The dance came to an end and, applauding enthusiastically, Blaidd left Lady Laelia and approached her sister. “That was wonderful, my lady. You play very well indeed. If you dance as well as you play, you would astonish even the court. I hope you will dance next with me.”

Instead of being pleased, Lady Rebecca looked as if she’d like to strike him dead on the spot. She slowly got to her feet, clutching her harp so tightly her knuckles whitened. “If you will excuse me, Sir Blaidd, I’m going to retire.”

Then she limped out of the hall.

S
lipping into the cool darkness of the chapel was like diving into the river at night, Becca reflected as she closed the heavy door behind her. Before her accident, during the warm summer months, she would sometimes sneak out of the castle for a night dip in the pond below the mill.

That sort of risky escapade had ended with the tumble out of the tree.

Putting those happier, carefree days from her mind, Becca moved forward slowly, one hand against the cold stone wall to guide her steps, the hem of her garments slapping against her booted ankles and making small sounds in the stillness.

The air smelled of damp and incense, and a single votive candle burned in a niche holding a statue of the Blessed Virgin. Weak shafts of moonlight penetrated the narrow windows, and one feeble beam illuminated the altar.

Becca knelt before it, the stones hard and cold and unyielding, and pressed her hands together.

“Dear Father in Heaven,” she prayed, “let it be a fine day tomorrow, so that I may ride out. Let me leave the castle for a little while.”

Her voice turned grim. “If I can’t, grant me the grace to guard my tongue and not say hateful things I regret the moment they leave my lips. Help me not to be jealous of Laelia, Father. She can’t help it if she is beautiful and I’m not. Help me to overcome my anger and bitterness because I can’t hope to have a suitor like…”

She drew a deep breath and her knuckles whitened. “To have any man want me,” she corrected. “I don’t want to make people hate me but to have yet another knight ride up to our gate seeking Laelia and to know that it will never be thus for me is getting so hard to bear!” Her voice began to rise again with her rancor. “And when such a man smiles so, and has a voice that makes me feel like I’m wrapped in a velvet cloak and cradled in his arms… When the merest touch of his lips to my hand heats my blood near to boiling—”

Her breath caught and, ashamed, she bowed her head. “Oh, God, take away these lustful thoughts and feelings! Please, God, let me accept my fate and be
quiet.
”

In the silence following her fervent plea, she heard the chapel door creak open. Then the dull thud as it closed.

Startled, she tried to stand quickly despite her twisted and shortened leg, which had not healed properly and never would. A spasm of pain racked her at the sudden motion, but she pressed her lips together
to make no sound as she cautiously continued to rise. Turning, she swiftly searched the small building.

A man stood silhouetted against the window to her left. There could be no mistaking who it was; no one else in Throckton Castle wore his hair to his shoulders.

Was this God’s idea of a joke, to send her the very man who roused such lust and remorse and bitter jealousy in her while she was at prayer?

It crossed her mind to flee, but her pride simply wouldn’t permit her to hobble from the chapel like a crippled coward. “What do you want, Sir Blaidd?” she demanded, her voice loud in the quiet.

“How did you know who it was?” he inquired as he walked toward her.

She squared her shoulders. “Your hair is very distinctive, in a savage sort of way. And everyone who has ever stayed here and attended chapel knows how that door creaks, and would take care to prevent it if they wanted to enter in secret.”

He came to a halt a few feet away. “I have no need to be secretive. I was looking for my squire and saw you slip in here. I thought it might be a good time to apologize for any offense I’ve caused you.”

He sounded absolutely, completely sincere. Yet he didn’t have to apologize at all, and she couldn’t think of any other knight who’d stoop to express regret to anyone, let alone her.

“You didn’t know I was crippled,” she said. She decided she could be a little magnanimous, too. “I’m
sorry if I upset a guest in my father’s house. In hindsight, it wasn’t the behavior of a lady.”

“What say we begin anew, my lady?”

She made her away around the simple wooden altar that bore a carved wooden crucifix until it was between them, like a defensive wall. “Very well, Sir Blaidd, I agree. We’ll forget my insolence at the gate and your request to dance, and begin again.”

“Excellent!”

He sounded as if he was truly pleased, which would mean he would have been disappointed if she’d refused. That was unexpected. And rather delightful.

Perhaps she was making too much of his apology and enthusiastic tone. Maybe he simply wanted to avoid conflict of any kind while he was a guest of her father’s, which would be wise. “Now that we’ve come to an understanding, Sir Blaidd, you should leave. It isn’t seemly for us to be here alone together.”

“I suppose not. But first, will you answer one question?”

She didn’t see any harm in that, since she could always refuse when she heard what it was. She nodded in agreement.

“Do you play the gatekeeper often, or was that a special welcome?”

“No, not often.” She wasn’t going to admit that she’d watched the knight and his squire riding up to the gatehouse through a loophole after the sentry called out that someone was approaching. She wouldn’t confess that she’d turned to Dobbin and
wryly said, “Here comes another one. Let me see if he’s as arrogant as the rest.”

Dobbin had started to protest, but she’d given him a devilish grin and he’d thrown up his hands in surrender.

Sir Blaidd bowed. “Then I’m honored I had at least that much to single me out from the vast horde who’ve come to see your sister.”

“Yes, sir knight, you’re one of many.”

“So you wanted to confront me and take my measure first, before your younger sister. I hope I passed muster, for no doubt your opinion means a great deal to Lady Laelia.”

Becca crossed her arms. “I’m not the eldest. Laelia is.”

“Forgive me,” he said, obviously taken aback. “She seems less…mature.”

Becca didn’t know if she should take that as a compliment or not.

“That explains the necessity of getting her married, though, so that you’ll be free to accept offers for your own hand.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Nobody had ever suggested that she hadn’t married because of Laelia’s spinster state. “There have never been any offers for my hand.”

“What, not a one?”

He sounded genuinely shocked.

She struggled to regain her usual self-possession and changed the subject. “You said you were looking for your squire.”

“Yes. I want to make sure he’s not getting into any mischief.”

An honest answer. “Are you expecting him to?”

“I’m hoping he’s got more sense, but he’s young and high-spirited, and this is his first time away from the care of his parents or older brothers—his first taste of freedom, so to speak. Like many young men in such circumstances, he may be tempted to act without considering all the consequences.”

“He’s not likely to steal anything, is he?”

“Oh, no, he’d never do that.”

“Then what…?” She fell silent as she considered the comely youth in the hall who’d been talking to the young and pretty Meg.

Becca bit back a curse and started toward the door. “You’re right to be concerned, Sir Blaidd, for if there’s the slightest implication he’s been bothering any of the female servants, I’ll ask my father to order you both to leave at once. I’ve seen the trouble a handsome young nobleman can cause—”

Sir Blaidd put his hand on her arm to halt her, his grip warm and strong and irresistible. “I don’t think you need be overly upset. Trev’s a good lad, and when I find him I’ll give him a stern warning about—”

“What, you’ll order him not to seduce the maidservants?” she demanded skeptically.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he said firmly.

She could well believe that would be enough to nip any such behavior in the bud. Nevertheless, the servants here were her responsibility and she would en
sure they weren’t taken advantage of. “Be that as it may, that doesn’t mean he’ll obey your warning. He’s young and so’s Meg, and neither one of them may consider the consequences,” Becca said as she yanked open the door.

She was about to step into the courtyard when she saw Meg exit the kitchen. Alone.

Hopeful that the maid had enough sense to ignore whatever honeyed flattery a handsome young squire offered, Becca drew back into the chapel and peered out the door. As she watched Meg continue toward the maidservants’ quarters, Sir Blaidd came to stand behind her. Close behind her. His powerfully masculine body couldn’t be more than a few inches away from hers.

“What is it?” he whispered, his hot breath stirring the wisps of hair on the back of her neck.

“There’s Meg,” Becca murmured, nodding toward the girl and trying to ignore the unfamiliar sensation of having a virile male so near her—and failing utterly.

Without so much as a backward glance, Meg hurried up the outer steps toward the maidservants’ quarters and disappeared inside.

Sir Blaidd’s sigh of relief echoed Becca’s feeling and seemed to come all the way up from his toes. “That’s the one he was talking to, I’m sure of it. He’s probably gone to bed already. It was a long day’s ride.”

The words had no sooner left Sir Blaidd’s lips than the same door opened and his squire stepped into the
courtyard. He hesitated, obviously looking for something.

Or someone.

The lad surveyed the courtyard for a few more moments, then, his shoulders slumped with disappointment, turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen.

Sir Blaidd muttered something that sounded like a Welsh curse. “I’ll certainly be speaking to Trev about how I expect him to behave while we’re your father’s guests.”

“Good,” Becca said, closing the door and facing him.

“I give you my word as a knight of the realm that I’ll tell Trevelyan that if he doesn’t conduct himself honorably, I’ll send him home to his father in disgrace.”

“That may not seem like much of a punishment to a boy that age,” she noted.

“You don’t know his father. Have you heard of Sir Urien Fitzroy?”

“Doesn’t he train men in the arts of war?”

“Yes, he does. He trained me, and believe me, my lady, if he thinks his son has behaved unchivalrously, the punishment
will
be severe.”

Becca suddenly regretted getting so annoyed. “I hope it doesn’t come to that, and your warning will be enough. I’ll speak to Meg, too.” She hesitated, then decided to explain her reaction. She didn’t want him to think she was completely hotheaded, about everything. “We had a serving girl here a few years
ago, Sir Blaidd, named Hester. She was as pretty as Meg, and just as coquettish—well, perhaps a little more brazen than Meg.

“A young knight arrived, supposedly to court Laelia. One day, he left without so much as a farewell. At first we thought it was because my father hadn’t seemed inclined to consider his suit. A few weeks later, though, we discovered that Hester was carrying his child. He’d made all sorts of extravagant promises to the poor girl. He’d even said he’d marry her. We’d seen enough of the man to guess that he would have said whatever it took to get Hester into his bed. But Hester wouldn’t give up hope that he’d return, so I asked my father to send a messenger to the knight to tell him about the baby. I tried to believe he’d at least send her a word, some money,
something,
but the lout’s response was that he should be thanked for ‘breaking her in’ and teaching her how to please a man.”

Becca shivered with revulsion. “That man’s callousness destroyed Hester.” She sighed, saddened as always when she recalled those terrible days. “If her baby had lived, things might have been different, but she lost it, and with it, every gentle part of her.”

Becca looked away, unable to meet Sir Blaidd’s concerned, steadfast gaze. “She’s a whore now, in the village. I see her sometimes, and when I do, it breaks my heart.” She raised her eyes, defiant and commanding once more. “I won’t have that happen to Meg.”

Sir Blaidd caressed her chin with his strong, cal
lused palm. “I see it isn’t only your sister and the gates of this castle that you guard, my lady,” he said softly. “I trust your care is appreciated.”

She moved back, away from him and his touch and his deep, sympathetic voice. “Of course it is.”

“I give you my most solemn vow that I will ensure that Trevelyan doesn’t do anything so disgraceful.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her breathing fast and shallow as she told herself she should get away from the knight.

He reached out and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. She opened her mouth to tell him to let go, but the words wouldn’t come. No one had ever touched her like this, as if she was fragile and precious.

She didn’t make a sound as he pulled her close. She not only couldn’t find the voice to protest, she couldn’t find the will. She slid her arms around his waist, silently agreeing to what was coming.

So he kissed her. His lips brushed hers, a gentle, tentative whisper of soft flesh to soft flesh. Her embrace tightening, she leaned into him, permitting him to kiss her more deeply, as she was kissing him.

Oh, how wondrous, after all these years in Laelia’s shadow, to think a man might desire
her!
He made her believe that she was a normal woman, and an attractive one at that. She felt whole and unbroken and wanted. His desire inflamed her own until she couldn’t think.

His hand meandered down her back, cupping her buttocks and pressing her close to him, while the
other held her steady. She needed that support, for her body softened and throbbed with yearning as she ran her hands over his shoulders and back, feeling the taut muscles through his tunic.

His body. His strength. His desire, matching her own.

A call rang out, signaling the changing of the watch. Reminding her of where she was, and who she was. Becca wasn’t the beautiful Laelia; she was plain, crippled Rebecca, and this handsome, seductive man was here to court her sister.

So why was he kissing
her?
What did he hope to accomplish? Seduction? Power?
Control?
She would let no man use her for his own purpose, whatever that might be.

She shoved him back. “Is this your idea of honorable conduct, sir knight?” she demanded. “Do you think that because I’m crippled and homely I must be desperate and so easily, willingly, seduced?”