Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] (4 page)

“God’s wounds, no!” he said as he regained his balance. “I swear to you, my lady—”

“Swear all you want, but kissing me seems an odd way to woo Laelia. Or am I a means to practice your technique?”

Sir Blaidd stiffened, his back as rigid as a lance. “I had no intention of kissing you when I came here, and I’m not in the habit of seducing my host’s daughters, however tempting they may be.”

“Then what was that kiss about?”

“If you don’t know, then it was a stupid mistake,
and one I won’t make again,” he retorted, his deep voice fiercely angry.

Good. Angry men she was used to and could handle. Men who tried to seduce her, however… “I wouldn’t try seducing Laelia, either,” she warned. “First, I’m onto your game. Second, Laelia may look and sound a bit dim, but I assure you, when it comes to men and their tricks, she’s seen them all.”

Sir Blaidd sidled closer, seeming taller, more menacing, every inch the fierce warrior and champion of tournaments. “If it’s impossible for me to seduce either of you—supposing that was my despicable plan—then your warnings are quite unnecessary, aren’t they? And I must say that kiss was rather amazing for a modest young maiden of limited experience, which leads me to wonder what exactly you were doing here at this time of night. You don’t strike me as devout, so a sudden urge to pray seems unlikely.” He ran a haughty, impertinent gaze over her body. “Did I interrupt something? Were you waiting for somebody else?”

“How dare you suggest such a thing!”

“How dare
you
suggest that my motives are dishonorable?”

“You kissed me!”

“You kissed me back!”

“I had no choice.”

“Of course you did. You could have stopped me at any time. But you didn’t, and what’s more, you
enjoyed
it.”

“Oh, you are an expert on women’s feelings, are you?”

“Expert or not, I know when a woman’s desire matches or exceeds my own.”

“
Exceeds?
Of all the arrogant, pompous, self-righteous—”

“Yes, you certainly are.”

“You…you base, loathsome blackguard!” she cried, wrenching open the door, determined to get away from him. “Don’t you ever come near me again!”

She limped off into the night.

“Trust me, I won’t!” Blaidd muttered as the chapel door creaked to a close.

Every Welsh curse he knew tumbled out of his mouth in a low rumble of frustration and anger. How dare she call his honor into question? Granted, kissing her had been a little…well, a lot…

Well, he shouldn’t have.

He let out his breath slowly. God save him, he’d been an idiot. An idiot totally overwhelmed with desire. An idiot so overwhelmed with desire that he’d forgotten that he was here because King Henry himself had sent him to verify if Lord Throckton was plotting treason or not.

He wouldn’t be able to do that if Lord Throckton sent him packing the day after he’d arrived because he’d presumed to kiss the man’s daughter. He should have been able to control himself, no matter what the circumstances or how tempting the lady. After all, he
was no youth anxious to experience love, like Trevelyan.

“Fool,” Blaidd mumbled under his breath as he left the chapel and headed toward the apartments.

He reached the chamber he and Trev were sharing and cautiously opened the door, which didn’t squeak like the one in the chapel. He quietly crept into the comfortable room with its two beds. A brazier stood nearby, along with a chest for their baggage, and a small table bearing a ewer and basin for washing. There were no tapestries or carpet, or even a stool to sit on, but Blaidd had slept in worse places.

Someone was in one of the beds—Trev, to judge by the tousled hair. Blaidd hoped the lad had already fallen asleep, thereby sparing him the need to explain anything.

Trev was not asleep. He sat up abruptly and said, “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

“I was looking for you,” Blaidd truthfully replied.

Trev hugged his knees and regarded him quizzically. “I’ve been right here for a long time.”

Blaidd sat on the end of his bed. He might as well make a point, and incidentally turn the conversation away from his own whereabouts. “And before that, you were looking for that maidservant, Meg.”

Trev blushed. “How do you know?” Then his eyes widened. “Were you
spying
on me?”

Blaidd was in no mood for more indignation, especially from a stripling youth. “I happened to see
you looking for her in the courtyard, as anybody could have.”

“How did you know I was looking for her? Maybe I was searching for
you.
”

“I saw her leave the kitchen, and you came hot on her heels. If you were looking for me, I don’t think you would have been so disappointed when you didn’t find me.”

Trev stared at his toes and shrugged his shoulders. “All right. I wasn’t looking for you.”

“She’s a servant, Trev,” Blaidd said not unkindly. “You’re a young nobleman who’s a guest in her master’s household. She wouldn’t want to risk offending you.”

He saw dismay flash in Trev’s eyes, and took pity on the boy. “Look, Trev, I’m not saying that’s the only reason she talked to you. It could be she really likes you. But you’re not equals. You have power and rank, and she has none. And we
are
guests here. It would be an abuse of your host’s hospitality to dally with his maidservants.”

“What if a woman…you know…what if she’s interested?”

Blaidd recalled what his father had said to him about such situations. “With such things come responsibilities, provided the man is honorable and not some lustful lout. What if the woman got with child?”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Have you enough silver to give her a tidy sum to raise it? Would you be ready for a young
man to show up at your gate one day claiming to be your son? Would you be willing to acknowledge a bastard?”

“I hadn’t thought of all that.”

“No, I didn’t think you had.”

“But with a whore, there wouldn’t be—”

“You’re not going to go with any whore while you’re my squire. Do you understand me?”

Blaidd didn’t often use that tone of command, but when he did, it always got results, and this time was no different. Trev swallowed hard and nodded.

A twinge of guilt assailed Blaidd. He’d hardly acted as an honorable knight himself tonight. And given the possible repercussions, it might be wise to prepare Trevelyan for a likely departure, as well as give him as much of an explanation as necessary. “We might have to leave tomorrow.”

Trev’s mouth fell open. “Why? Because I was looking for Meg?”

“No. Because I quarreled with Lady Rebecca.”

A devilish gleam lit Trev’s eyes. “After all your warnings and admonitions to me about the proper behavior of a guest?”

Blaidd bent down and pulled off his boots. “Yes.” He glanced up. “And no, you don’t have to gloat. I know that was a stupid thing to do.”

Trev didn’t gloat. “She seems a very quarrelsome woman,” he said comfortingly, “and it didn’t look to me as if her father or sister like that about her. Perhaps they’ll take your side.” He grinned. “Especially Lady Laelia.”

Blaidd hadn’t expected to find solace in the observations of a youth, but he did. “Well, we’ll find out come the morning,” he said as he rose to finish disrobing. “Go to sleep, Trev.” He gave the lad a wry smile. “We
may
have a long journey tomorrow.”

Trev made a face. “I hope not. I don’t want to go home yet. I’ve had enough training.”

“A knight can never have enough.”

“You say that only because you don’t have to do it anymore,” the lad said as he snuggled beneath the covers.

When Trev’s eyes closed, the rueful smile left Blaidd’s face. If they did have to leave in the morning, how was he going to explain his failure to the king?

I
n their bedchamber the next morning, it was obvious that Laelia was in a foul mood. Becca had long ago learned that the best way to dissipate a conflict with her sister was to keep quiet until Laelia deigned to speak. It went against the grain, but she stayed silent while Meg helped Laelia put on a beautiful gown of emerald-green velvet trimmed with golden bands of embroidery, and a gilded girdle about her slender hips. Laelia then sat on a stool before her dressing table, which was covered with little pots of perfumes and unguents, a silver-handled brush and a small cedar box holding ribbons to adorn her hair. Another wooden box, inlaid with ebony, held her jewelry.

Becca had no ribbons or baubles, and her jewelry, worn much less frequently, was in the bottom of her embossed chest on the other side of her bed. Laelia’s bed was made up with fine linen sheets, a thick feather bed and large pillows, and curtains of scarlet damask kept out the chill night air. Becca’s bed was
just as sumptuous. She didn’t feel the need to dress richly, but she wasn’t about to turn up her nose at being warm and comfortable.

When they were children, she and Laelia had shared the bed that was now hers alone. They’d had many a whispered conversation together after the curtain had closed, punctuated with giggles. That had changed when Becca fell from the tree. Laelia couldn’t share her bed for some weeks after that, and her father had purchased a new one for her.

Becca could easily guess why Laelia was upset this morning. She was furious that Becca had stormed out of the hall—well, stormed out as dramatically as a woman who limped could—coupled with her greeting of Sir Blaidd at the gate. Laelia had heard about that meeting before the evening meal, and her verbal jousting with Sir Blaidd in the hall would have raised her ire even more. Fortunately, Laelia had been asleep when Becca had returned from the chapel, or at least she’d pretended to be, sparing a quarrel last night, but letting her annoyance fester all the more, probably even as she slept.

Becca had been tempted to wake her sister and tell her that Sir Blaidd had kissed her, to warn Laelia that the man was up to no good. Becca had considered speaking to her father in the morning, too, and telling him to send Sir Blaidd away. Surely he shouldn’t be courting Laelia.

But now, in the light of day, and considering how rarely her father ever paid heed to her concerns, she decided that the less said about what had happened
last night, the better. There was no reason yet to believe that Sir Blaidd would be deemed any more worthy of Laelia’s hand than any of the other myriad suitors who had come to Throckton Castle.

She hadn’t exactly been a model of ladylike behavior herself. She should have left the chapel the moment Sir Blaidd arrived. Regardless of his manner and his voice and his apology, she should have fled.

Therefore, rather than risk unnecessary conflict, she decided to say nothing of her nocturnal encounter with Sir Blaidd Morgan, unless and until it seemed he was in contention for Laelia’s hand.

“You were very rude to Sir Blaidd yesterday,” Laelia suddenly declared as she regarded Becca’s reflection in her mirror. “And as for that business at the gate—I suppose Dobbin put you up to it?”

“Of course he didn’t. It was my idea,” Becca replied firmly as she tied the side lacings of her over-tunic. She wore a gown of plain brown wool beneath it, and a linen shift under that, and rarely required assistance to dress.

“That makes it even worse. And then to march out of the hall like a…like…I don’t know what! If Sir Blaidd decides to leave today, it’ll be all your fault!”

Becca didn’t appreciate being scolded like an errant child. “You sound quite taken with the Welshman. I didn’t think you could be so easily impressed.”

“
Easily
impressed?” Laelia repeated indignantly as Meg finished brushing her hair and began to braid it as quickly as she could, clearly wanting to finish her duties and be gone. “I’m not
easily
impressed—
but he’s handsome, he’s charming
and
he’s a courtier. Even you must admit that it’s rare we get a man from court coming here, given Father’s opinion of Queen Eleanor.”

It sounded as if Sir Blaidd had already found favor with Laelia. “Ah, yes, for a moment I forgot how much you yearn to be presented at court.”

“While you would rather stay here in this…this
wilderness,
consorting with the peasants,” Laelia replied.

“I enjoy consorting with the peasants,” Becca said evenly as she began to make her bed.

Laelia pulled a face. “Will you never have any regard for your rank and title?”

“I do, as well as for the responsibilities that go with it. But I have no wish to marry a man just so I can be presented at court.”

“That isn’t the only thing I like about Sir Blaidd. I daresay the only thing that
you’ve
noticed about him is that he’s a man, and you hate men.”

“I don’t hate men.”

“You certainly do!” Laelia exclaimed as Meg tied the first braid with an emerald-green ribbon. “No man who’s come here has ever found favor with you.”

“That’s because they’ve all been vain, spoiled and arrogant.”

“Even you can’t think Sir Blaidd is vain. His clothes are plain, his accoutrements, too, and he didn’t seem very arrogant to me.”

He had been very simply dressed when Becca had first seen him at the gate, the sodden cloak clinging
to his broad shoulders, his damp breeches to his muscular thighs. Later, he’d changed into a simple tunic with a narrow trimming of embroidery about the hem and a plain white shirt beneath. “Maybe he dresses that way because he’s poor,” she said, which would mean he would certainly not be considered a fit husband for Laelia.

“He’s not. Father says so.”

It was on the tip of Becca’s tongue to point out that their father had been known to make a few mistakes. His vocal condemnation of the king’s wife at feast times and other public gatherings was hardly wise. However, Becca didn’t think it was time to bring him into this argument. “What about that hair of his? That hardly seems a fitting style for the king’s court.”

Laelia considered, as if the question were of national importance. “It looks well on him, so perhaps it is. If not, should we marry, I’ll ask him to cut it.”

“What if he won’t?”

Laelia gave Becca a superior little smile that never failed to annoy her, for it hinted at a vast and secret feminine knowledge she would never possess. “I’m sure he’ll do it if his wife asks him.” That thought seemed to put her in a forgiving mood. “To be sure, he’s a bit rough around the edges, but I can fix that.”

Becca imagined Sir Blaidd with his “rough edges” smoothed out until he was like every other bland and smooth-talking nobleman she had ever met. She didn’t think that would be an improvement.

Perhaps she should at least give some hint that he
might not be as wonderful as her sister seemed to think he was. “If I’m not in favor of him as a husband for you, Laelia, it’s precisely because he is so charming and good-looking. He’s probably had scores of lovers, and likely keeps a mistress—maybe more than one. He’ll probably never be faithful.”

Laelia regarded her reflection without a hint of distress. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has lovers now. But once he’s married to me, he won’t be tempted.”

“I don’t think marriage to anybody would make much of a difference. If he’s a lascivious scoundrel, chances are he’ll be one after marriage, too, no matter who his wife is, or how much he claims to love her.”

Her coiffure now complete, Laelia gave a long-suffering sigh as she rose. “You would think an archangel would make a terrible husband.”

Before Becca could point out that archangels didn’t marry, Laelia gave her a pointed look, silently reminding her it was time to be on their way to the chapel for morning Mass.

“You go ahead,” Becca said. “I need to talk with Meg for a moment.”

“Very well, but don’t be late.”

Again, Laelia spoke as if Becca were a child. Her jaw clenched as Laelia sailed out the door and closed it firmly behind her.

“I ain’t done nothing wrong, I hope, my lady,” Meg said, a frown darkening her usually cheerful face. “Or forgot something.”

“I’m not going to scold you,” Becca said kindly. She gestured toward the stool and Meg perched on it,
as tentatively as if she expected it to disappear at any second. “I wanted to speak to you about Trevelyan Fitzroy.”

With an expression of dismay, Meg sat up even straighter. “I ain’t done nothing unseemly!”

“I don’t believe you have, but I wanted to warn you to take care. I’m sure he’s a very persuasive and fascinating young man, but you’re a servant, and he’s not. He may want to take liberties because of that. If he does, you have my permission to refuse him as forcefully as necessary, and if he continues to bother you, I want you to tell me right away. We won’t countenance any young man treating our servants with disrespect. I don’t want you to share Hester’s fate.”

And she herself should remember the fearsome consequences of seduction.

“Of course I’d come to you, my lady, if he was bein’…like that. No honey-tongued squire who looks like the devil’s own temptation is going to get far with me. Why, he’d just be after a quick tickle and tumble and—” She colored. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady.”

“However you say it, you’re right, and I’m relieved you’re on your guard.” As she should be, Becca reflected. “Now we’d best get below. If I’m late for chapel, my father won’t be pleased.”

Meg rose. “I’m grateful to you, my lady, for carin’ enough to warn me.”

Becca nodded as she headed for the door.

“My lady?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

Meg looked even more nervous than she had when Laelia was in high dudgeon. “I’ve been wondering…that is, you’ve got some pretty dresses. Why don’t you ever wear ’em?”

Becca glanced down at her plain garments and simple leather girdle, which held her ring of keys to all the locks in the castle save her father’s chest in his solar. “My woolen gowns are comfortable and I don’t have to worry about getting them dirty. When I’m wearing an expensive dress, I always feel that if I move too much, I’ll ruin it.”

“I’d wager that if you wore such clothes more often, you wouldn’t,” Meg replied. “You’d soon be used to them and stop thinking about it so much.”

“I don’t think they suit me, either.” Becca shrugged. “Besides, what does it matter how I look? I realized long ago I’d never be a beauty.”

“But you’re not homely, neither,” Meg said eagerly. “You don’t want to be a maiden all your life, do you? In a pretty dress and with your hair done like your sister’s, I think you’d look very nice indeed.”

Becca bristled. “I’m not about to hamstring myself trying to please some man. If someone wants me, he’ll have to take me as I am, and if that’s not good enough, I won’t have
him.
”

Meg blushed. “Yes, my lady. Sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean no disrespect.”

Becca let out her breath. “No, I’m sorry, Meg, for losing my temper. I know you meant well.” She man
aged a grin. “Everybody who wants to see me married means well, I suppose.”

“I do see what you’re getting at,” the maid replied. “About a man wanting you as you are. Maybe that’ll happen sooner than you think.”

“And one day, men will walk on the moon,” Becca replied skeptically. “Now we had best be on our way. I’ve been chastised enough already today.”

Although secretly fearing an indignant command to leave at once, Blaidd strode toward the chapel as if all were well in the world. He didn’t want anybody watching—the servants, the soldiers, even Trev—to realize just how important it was that he stay. Last night he should have remembered his purpose and the ruse to support it, even if he chafed at the dishonesty.

In spite of his impetuous, foolhardy behavior, he couldn’t help harboring the hope that Lady Rebecca would admit, if only to herself, that he hadn’t forced his kiss upon her. Then he could also hope that her own guilty conscience would ensure that she keep what had happened between them a secret.

He shoved open the chapel door and saw both the lord of Throckton Castle and his beautiful daughter turn and smile at him. They also shifted aside, making room beside them. Obviously, he was not in disfavor.

He couldn’t be completely relieved, however. Perhaps Lady Rebecca hadn’t yet had the opportunity to tell her father what had happened.

He swiftly surveyed the rest of the people assembled for Mass and caught sight of that lady, half hid
den by the gray-haired, but still robust, soldier Blaidd had seen at the head of the guards at the gate. This man had watched with interest, and with something else in his eyes, when the lady spoke. With…affection.

Judging by his position, he was probably the garrison commander, and it wasn’t inconceivable, based on his age, that he’d known Lady Rebecca all her life. Perhaps he had that devotion some servants developed for the children of their masters.

Then Lady Rebecca realized Blaidd was looking at them. Her expression grew as scornful as if he carried a particularly loathsome, communicable disease.

Once more fearing his stay at Throckton Castle was almost over, Blaidd made his way to the front of the chapel.

“Good morning, Sir Blaidd!” Lord Throckton cried with jovial geniality as Blaidd joined the nobleman and his beautiful daughter. “I’m delighted to discover that you aren’t like so many young men nowadays who have so little respect for our faith, unless a Crusade be attached to it.”

His friendly manner made Blaidd regret his actions last night even more. “There are plenty of young men more devout than I,” he replied.

Somebody behind him sniffed with audible disdain, and he wasn’t hard-pressed to guess who it was.

The priest arrived to begin the Mass, sparing Blaidd any further conversation. He paid little heed to the words of the service, however. He kept envisioning Lady Rebecca going to her father afterward
and telling him that Blaidd was an immoral, disgusting lout who should be sent packing without further delay.

By the time Mass concluded, this image was so vivid he wouldn’t have been surprised if she walked up to the altar, faced the entire assembly and denounced him for a blackguard right then and there.