Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] (9 page)

“How could you do it?” Laelia complained the moment Becca entered their bedchamber. Even though Laelia lay in bed, where she’d been all day, her body fairly quaked with rage.

Without waiting for her sister to respond, Laelia launched into a litany of Becca’s latest sins. “Going to the outer ward and mingling with the soldiers! Interrupting their practice! And then challenging Sir Blaidd to an archery contest!”

“How’s your head? Better, I hope?”

“Don’t try to change the subject! How could you act with so little regard for your dignity and station?”

“I went to the outer ward to tell Sir Blaidd that you were ill. Forgive me if I shouldn’t have. As for the archery contest, that was Sir Blaidd’s idea. Wouldn’t I have offended him if I’d refused?”

Laelia’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. “How did he discover you could shoot? You told him, didn’t you?”

Becca put a shocked expression on her face. “What, me mention such an unladylike accomplishment? Of course I didn’t.”

“Then it was Dobbin! I’m going to speak to Father about him—”

“Don’t you dare!” Becca cried, glaring at her. “You leave Dobbin out of your complaints! I accepted the challenge, not him.”

A timid knock at the door interrupted them. The door opened and Meg sidled inside.

“You’re late!” Laelia snapped.

“Yes, my lady. I’m sorry.” She scurried to the table and got the brush. “I’ll do your hair first, shall I?”

“Yes.” Laelia eased herself out of the bed and put on her thick robe. She slid her feet into her fur-lined slippers and went to sit on the stool by the dressing table.

Becca hoped that was going to be the end of her tirade, but alas, it wasn’t.

“Making Sir Blaidd send his poor squire after you—”

“He didn’t have to do that,” Becca interrupted. “There was no need, and I’m sure Father made that perfectly clear.”

Obviously she’d been wrong to think that hadn’t bothered Laelia, even if she hadn’t mentioned it in the interim.

“He did because he’s a
gentleman.
When will you ever behave like a
lady?
” Laelia demanded.

Becca pulled off her scarf and shook out her hair. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. Sir Blaidd didn’t come after me. You had all that time to be with him on your
leisurely
ride back to the castle. You wouldn’t have wanted his squire with you, would you? You ought to be grateful to me.”

“Well, I’m not! Riding off like a bandit, dressing like a servant, shooting weapons like a soldier. It’s a wonder you’re not the laughingstock of Throckton!”

“Dobbin wanted to show—”

“
Dobbin
wanted?” Laelia replied incredulously. “What does it matter what
Dobbin
wanted?”

As Meg gave her a sympathetic look over the top of Laelia’s head, Becca regretted bringing her friend Dobbin into it, especially when she didn’t have to agree to shoot. The truth was,
she’d
wanted to show Blaidd her skill. “You’re right,” she said after tossing her scarf on her bed. “It was my choice, not his. But I’m not sorry for it.”

“You should be! What an undignified thing to do!”

“You’re forgetting that I limp, too. All in all, I’m a sad disappointment to my noble blood.”

Laelia swiveled to regard her sister, leaving Meg holding the brush in midair. “You don’t have to be,” Laelia retorted. “If only you’d behave properly.”

“If I behaved the way you consider
proper,
I’d be bored out of my head,” Becca replied honestly. “Father doesn’t seem to mind—much.” She hesitated a moment. “Or not often anymore, so there’s no need for you to get so upset.”

“Father simply got tired of trying to stop you,” Laelia charged. “He’s given up, but I won’t. It’s not too late for you, Becca, to change and make yourself more…more…”

“Marriageable?” Becca suggested.

“Yes!”

“You should stop worrying about my chances of getting married, Laelia. I don’t.”

“You’re my sister, Becca. Of course I’m going to worry about you.”

“I do appreciate that you care, Laelia, really I do,” she replied, “but I don’t want to change. And if that means I don’t get married, so be it.” Becca headed to the door. “I’ve just remembered something I forgot to tell the cook for tomorrow.”

She went out and made her way down the steps. In truth, she hadn’t forgotten anything, and Rowan was probably fast asleep. She just didn’t want to be around Laelia anymore. Not for a little while.

She didn’t want to talk about Sir Blaidd, or her deficiencies or marriage. She wanted to be alone.

She continued through the dim hall, lit only by the fire still glowing in the hearth. Some of the hounds
slumbering there stirred and growled low in their throat, until they realized who it was.

She paused at the door and peered into the courtyard. Nobody stirred except the sentries on the wall walk and the guards at the gate.

She hurried on toward the chapel as swiftly as she could. Once inside, she wondered for a moment if Sir Blaidd would appear again, then dismissed that thought. She’d do better not to think of him at all, ever again. Or remember how he’d looked that afternoon, half-naked with a broadsword in his hand, circling Dobbin.

Or later, during their little contest, when he hadn’t seemed to mind losing to a woman.

He really wasn’t like any other knight she’d ever met.

Apparently, however, he’d found just as much favor with Laelia. Her father certainly enjoyed his company, too. It seemed that, of all the men who’d come here, Sir Blaidd had the best chance of winning Laelia. That meant Becca would have to look on as they married. Visit them at their home. Dandle their children on her lap….

As she envisioned all these things, Becca realized that she’d been lying—lying terribly—when she’d told Laelia that she didn’t care about getting married. She hadn’t before, when it seemed better to live a life unwed than to marry any of the samples of young manhood who came to court Laelia. But her feelings had changed with the arrival of Sir Blaidd. If she could marry him…or someone like him…

There was no one like him. She felt that in her bones, and as a vision of her future spread before her, she realized she’d never really known true loneliness before.

Her life could be worse, of course. Much worse. She was the daughter of a wealthy lord, so she would never go hungry or be cold. She had friends here, especially Dobbin, who was like a second father to her. She would always have a home here.

She said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for all that she had, and of hope that she wouldn’t begrudge Laelia her husband, if it came to pass that it was indeed Sir Blaidd.

Rising, Becca made the sign of the cross and went to the door. As she went into the courtyard, she glanced at the gate to see who was on guard tonight, and spotted two men, one helping the other, who seemed to be unconscious.

The one who was not unconscious had very long hair. Sir Blaidd…and his squire?

Fearing the lad was hurt, Becca broke into the sort of half gallop that was the closest to a run she could manage. “Sir Blaidd,” she cried when she was closer. “Is he injured?”

Sir Blaidd came to a halt. “He’s not hurt. I regret to say, my lady, that he’s passed out from too much drink.”

The lad raised his head as if his neck were made of twine. “I’mmmm na’ drunk,” he slurred. “Jus’ sleepy.”

Sir Blaidd grimaced and raised a brow, as if to say, “You see?”

She didn’t want to add to the tension she’d already inadvertently caused between them by sounding upset or dismayed, or even disappointed. “He’s young, and young people sometimes do very foolish things. Here, let me help.”

She went to his other side and slid her shoulder under Trevelyan’s right arm.

“You don’t have to do that,” Sir Blaidd protested. “I can manage.”

“If you’ve had to get him all the way here from the village in this condition, I imagine you’re tired. Despite my leg, I’m perfectly capable of lending a hand, or a shoulder, in this instance.”

She spoke in a tone that brooked no dissent, and this time, Sir Blaidd wisely didn’t protest.

As they made their way toward the apartments, she said, “I thought he looked a little ragged at dinner. I should have asked Meg to stop serving him.”

“I should have told him to stop drinking,” Sir Blaidd said. “He’s my responsibility.”

She couldn’t deny that. “Where did you find him?”

Sir Blaidd’s expression hardened, and she guessed his answer before he gave it. “The brothel. He hadn’t had time to do anything truly stupid, I’m glad to say.”

She was rather surprised by the note of disdain in Sir Blaidd’s voice.

He caught her look. “They’re desperate places for desperate men, and even more desperate women.”

“I’ve been suggesting to my father for years that he find a way to close it down, but he never does. He’s of the opinion that men must have their sport.”

“Then it’s very unhealthy sport, for the whores as well as their customers.” Sir Blaidd sounded quite firm in that opinion, and she couldn’t help being impressed.

And yet… “A poor woman may have no choice.”

“I know.” The knight sighed with resignation.

It was only when they reached the entrance to the apartments that it occurred to her that it was very unladylike to be discussing prostitution.

However, getting the limp Trevelyan up the stairs in the dark was enough of an effort that they had no more conversation, about anything. They got to the second level and started down the corridor that ran along the outside of the building. Narrow, arched windows allowed light in during the day, and since it was a clear, moonlit night, no torches burned in the sconces.

Once at their chamber, she helped Sir Blaidd get Trevelyan onto the bed. The knight grabbed one of the boy’s boots, and she the other, and together they tugged them off. After dropping the boot, Sir Blaidd tossed a blanket over the youth, who began to snore.

Blaidd turned toward her then, his face illuminated by the silvery light of the full moon. He gestured for her to leave the room, following her when she did.

After shutting the door behind him, so that they were alone in the corridor, he whispered, “Thank you
for your help. Those stairs would have been difficult without you.”

She couldn’t think of a thing to say to that.

Nor could she think of a thing, period, as he moved a little closer. His eyes were in shadow, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze nonetheless. “My lady, are you in any danger here?” he asked in an urgent whisper.

She hadn’t expected
that.
“No, of course not. This is my home.”

“There is nothing to make you fear for your future well-being?”

There was, and she was looking at him, but she’d never admit that to his face. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Meg said something to me today that makes me fear all isn’t well for you here.”

“She’s wrong!” And she would have a few words with Meg about the error of a servant discussing her mistress with a guest.

“Is she? She says they don’t appreciate you here as you deserve, and I don’t disagree.” He reached out and caressed Becca’s cheek. Her whole body seemed to tingle at the contact. She should make him stop, but she…simply…couldn’t. “Are you happy here, my lady?”

“Yes,” she sighed. Then she came to her senses and abruptly stepped back. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re courting Laelia.”

“I did come here with the notion of courting her, and she’s a fine young woman in her way, but…”

But what?
Becca wanted to shout. She felt as if she might explode as she waited for him to continue.

“But she may not be the woman for me.”

As a wild hope and conflicting doubt warred within her, all Becca could manage to reply was a very feeble, “Oh?”

“Indeed, I’m beginning to think I should be courting her sister instead.”

Thrilled and confused, aghast and delighted, Becca couldn’t speak.

Then he put his arms around her, drew her into his embrace and kissed her.

S
ir Blaidd Morgan had kissed many women, but no other woman’s embrace ever inspired such a fierce longing within him.

For a long time he’d dreaded that he was doomed to a series of shallow relationships. That he would wind up marrying simply to satisfy duty and the need to provide an heir. That he would never have a truly loving marriage like his parents.

The hope that he might escape that fate with Becca was his final coherent thought before he surrendered to the passion she created within him. He thought no more about his parents, or Laelia, or the king, or Lord Throckton, or Trev slumbering in the chamber nearby. All Blaidd was aware of was her, warm and soft and welcoming, as she returned his kiss. Her fingers wound through his long hair as she pressed her body close. And closer.

Her limbs relaxed, soft and supple as a willow bending in the wind.

His desire exploding, he slipped his tongue between her lips, to touch and dance with hers. As their kiss deepened, he eased her back against the wall.

Becca didn’t feel the coldness of the stones behind her, or their roughness. She was glad of their solid support as his right hand slipped along her ribs and up toward the curve of her breast.

While he stroked and kneaded gently, she relaxed, soft as melted wax, her whole body hot with need in a way completely new, completely wonderful. Her arms entwined about his waist, her hands moving up his back and over the taut muscles. She clutched him tightly and swayed, leaning into him more.

He began to undo the lacing of her bodice, beneath her collarbone. Too overwhelmed by the sensations he was creating, she made no protest. When her bodice was loose, he insinuated his hand into the woolen garment.

Over her linen shift, his thumb brushed the hard peak of her nipple, making her gasp with surprise at the unexpected pleasure.

He broke their kiss to trail his lips along her cheek, her jaw and down her neck as she arched back, her head grazing the stone walls ever so slightly. Panting, she felt him nuzzle her bodice and shift lower, so that his mouth pressed against the naked flesh of the rounded tops of her breasts.

She put her hands on his head, supporting herself, as he licked and nibbled. Then, regardless of the fabric, he drew her nipple between his lips, and his tongue swirled over and around the taut tip.

She moaned softly. He raised his head and again kissed her mouth—not softly this time, or delicately, but with a warrior’s fierce, unbridled need.

And she, a warrior, too, in her own way, met his need with just as much intensity. There was no tenderness, no gentle yielding. It was an equal give and take, of need and lust and yearning.

His hips ground against hers, telling her more strongly than words what his body craved.

She pulled him closer, rubbing against him with savage urgency. Never in her life had she felt this way, needed this way, wanted anything as much as she wanted to be with him, completely.

His knee slipped between her legs and she pushed her center against the firmness of his thigh. A new hunger arose, primal and desperate, as she repeated and repeated the action, rocking against him with wild abandon. Again he pleasured her breasts, first one, then the other.

An anxiety unlike anything she had ever felt surged through her body, propelling her beyond thought to a place where only feelings and this burning, driving need existed. Until the tension snapped, replaced by a clenching, throbbing release.

He stilled and drew back, nearly as limp as she was without his support. He was panting so hard he could barely speak. “Becca…my lady…I…forgot myself.”

With her own ragged breathing filling her ears, she stared at him. His hair was a tousled mess. At some point, she must have undone his tunic, as he had un
tied her laces. Her lips felt swollen and so did…somewhere else.

God save her, she’d acted no better than a whore in an alley! She had forgotten who and what she was: a high-born lady who should conduct herself with dignity.

And yet she still wanted to throw herself in his arms and beg him to make love with her.

His hands slipped to her bare shoulders, then he slowly raised her bodice back into place. He took her cheeks gently in his hands, and it was all she could do not to turn her face to kiss his palm. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I should have stopped you,” she whispered.

“I should never kiss you.”

“I should slap you if you try.”

He smiled wistfully. “I think, my lady, we’re both besotted. We know better, and yet—”

“And yet we can’t help ourselves.”

He nodded. “Obviously, we have a dilemma, unless I cease courting your sister.”

“Do you…do you want to do that?”

His smile grew slowly. “I’m quite certain I don’t want to court your sister anymore. I’d rather court Lord Throckton’s younger daughter.”

Happiness stole over Becca. And yet she didn’t want to cause her sister any unnecessary pain. “I think both she and my father may be upset about that.”

Blaidd’s hand meandered slowly up her back. “She may be upset, but I don’t think it’ll last. I’m sure
another man will be along to court her soon. As for your father, he likes me, does he not?”

“Yes.”

“Then why should he care which of his daughters I choose?”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, I don’t want our…us…to cause a lot trouble if we can avoid it. It would be better if you first made it known that you didn’t think you and Laelia would suit, and took your leave. After a little while, you could come back on another visit. Since you and my father get along so well, that shouldn’t seem suspicious.” Becca smiled merrily as she toyed with the dangling lace of his tunic. “Then, lo and behold, you discover
me.
Perhaps by then, as you say, there’ll be somebody else already courting Laelia. That way, there’ll be no hard feelings.”

Blaidd grew thoughtful. “You seem to have this all planned out.”

“I can think very quickly sometimes.”

“And well, too. Therefore, I’ll do as you say. I don’t think I should leave too soon, though. It might look suspicious if I suddenly depart.”

“You’re right again. In about a week, perhaps.”

“That will give me time to let Laelia realize on her own that my feelings for her are not what they should be. Even better, I can use the time to get to know you more, my lady, although my
feelings
for you,” he whispered, bending toward her, “are already turning into something quite amazing.”

They kissed again, losing all track of time or place, until a sound in the room behind them interrupted them.

“God’s wounds, I think Trev’s fallen out of bed,” Blaidd said, letting go of her.

“And I should leave before somebody sees us,” Becca said, suddenly realizing how it would look if that happened.

She had no real idea how long she’d been there. Had Laelia gone to sleep, or was her sister waiting up for her, wondering where she was and what she was doing?

Not that she’d ever guess, not in a thousand years. Still, Becca didn’t want to have to come up with an explanation.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Blaidd whispered, kissing her quickly once more.

“Until tomorrow,” she said softly as he went inside the chamber.

As Becca hobbled away, she felt as if she were dancing with happiness.

Which, in a way, she was.

Trev had not fallen out of bed. He’d knocked the candlestick off the table beside it.

Once Blaidd realized what had made the noise, he relaxed against the closed door and slowly let out his breath.

God’s wounds, what the devil was he doing?

Despite how he felt about the astonishing Becca, he’d come here on a mission for the king, not himself.
He shouldn’t be falling in love. But he was. He felt that in his heart, in the marrow of his bones.

Worse, he was falling in love with a woman who might be the daughter of a traitor.

What if her father was guilty? Lord Throckton would be arrested, charged with treason and beheaded—because of
him.

What would Becca think of him if he were the instrument of her father’s conviction? Would she be able to love him then?

And what would Henry and Blaidd’s own parents say when he declared his intention to marry a traitor’s daughter? No nobleman should want such a woman for a wife.

Blaidd ran his hand through his hair, then sat heavily on his bed. Perhaps he was getting worried over nothing. It was still very possible that the king’s suspicions regarding Lord Throckton were unfounded. In all their conversations, Throckton had said nothing many other, loyal nobles hadn’t expressed concerning the king and the power and rewards he was giving to his wife’s relatives. Even Blaidd had voiced some reservations in that regard. If Becca were not here, he might already be heading back to Westminster to assure the king his fears were groundless.

And yet…there were things that still didn’t make sense here. Not just what he’d noticed at the first, about the fortress and Lord Throckton’s wealth. Meg seemed so fervent in her need to have Becca married and away from here. That harlot had something to tell
him—for Lady Rebecca’s sake, she’d said. He sensed that there were many secrets in this place. Whatever else was happening, it was his duty to ensure that those secrets didn’t include a conspiracy against Henry.

How long should he stay here? Blaidd wondered. How long would it take him to be sure, one way or another?

He pulled off his boots, then yanked his tunic over his head. Trev moaned and shifted, smacking his lips.

Blaidd looked outside at the moon and decided on a course of action. He’d stay for another fortnight. If he couldn’t find evidence of a rebellious conspiracy by then, he could be relatively certain there wasn’t one to find.

Trev opened his eyes a crack. Thankfully, and although he knew not how, he was in his bedchamber at Throckton Castle, the windows shuttered with linen so that the room was blessedly dim. His head ached like the devil, his mouth was as dry as old leather and his stomach… He’d barely thought of his stomach before he leaned over the bed and emptied its contents into a bucket somebody was holding for him.

When he was finished, he flopped back and squinted at Blaidd, who was shoving the bucket out the door with his foot. “Oh, God save me,” he groaned. “I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not,” Blaidd replied as he sat on the end of the bed. “You were drunk and now you’re paying for it.”

Trev rolled on his side so he faced the wall, away from the stern visage of Blaidd Morgan, who couldn’t possibly understand what he was feeling. How could he? Every woman Blaidd wanted, wanted him more. Trev’s brothers always spoke of that with awe and respect, and not a little envy.

“Why don’t you go away until I feel more myself?” he muttered. “Then you can lecture me all you want about the evils of too much ale, as I’m sure you’re anxious to do.”

“I think you’re learning about the evils of too much ale all by yourself. It’s the evils of going to a whorehouse that you apparently need to hear again.”

Trev pressed his eyes shut as his stomach rolled. Those weren’t just dreams? He’d really gone there and done…something. Try as he might now, he couldn’t remember much beyond stumbling up the steps behind that blond beauty who smiled so invitingly, crooking her finger for him to follow.

“Don’t you remember?”

Trev wished Blaidd would go away and leave him to his torment.

For tormented he was, in a way that had nothing to do with his physical ailments. Now, in the harsh light of day—or what would be the harsh light of day if the windows weren’t shuttered—he was horrified to think that his first time with a woman had been nothing more than a cold business transaction. What should have been a pleasant memory instead filled him with disgust and shame. And dread. What if Blaidd was right, and the girl was diseased? What if
he got sores—or worse? What if it fell off? After all, what did he know of such illnesses?

He rolled over so that he could see Blaidd, then struggled to sit up. “I made love with her, didn’t I?” he demanded, a note of panic in his voice. “Is she diseased, do you think?”

“I have no way of knowing if she’s diseased or not—and neither would you, so it’s a damn good thing you didn’t get very far.”

Trev fell back against the sweat-soaked pillow. “I didn’t?”

“No. You were still fully clothed when I found you, and so was she.”

Reprieved.
Relief flooded through Trev, taking the edge off his shame.

“So although I’m going to give you a lecture you won’t soon forget, it won’t be as bad as the lecture you would have gotten if you’d rutted with her.”

Trev stared at Blaidd with surprise, and not because he was going to be lectured. That wasn’t unexpected. It was the word Blaidd used. Unlike many knights, Blaidd rarely used such words for anything to do with women and lovemaking.

“I’m not going to dignify what men do with a whore by calling it making love.”

“Oh, God, Blaidd, I don’t know what I was thinking….”

“Try. I’d like to believe you had some reason for behaving in such a manner, even a poor one.”

Trev felt even more foolish as he attempted to ex
plain what had motivated him to go to the brothel. “I was angry at you.”

“I apologized for scolding you in the courtyard, and I don’t think I destroyed the honor of Wales by losing to Lady Rebecca yesterday. At any rate, I fail to see how being angry at me prompted you to get drunk and go to the stew. There may be a fleeting pleasure in such a thing, but no man I respect would find his self-esteem between the sheets of a whore’s bed.”

Trev plucked at his bedclothes. “I wasn’t angry about that.”

Blaidd’s brow furrowed with puzzlement. “What then?”

The lad shrugged and looked away.

“What got the son of Sir Urien Fitzroy so upset he’d act like an idiot?” Blaidd asked in a tone that demanded an answer.

The suffering Trev turned as red as holly berries. “Meg,” he mumbled. “She…she hardly even notices me when you’re around.” He shrugged again.

Blaidd was about to tell him that was a stupid reason for what he’d done when he recalled a certain period of irrational jealousy when he was fifteen, over a milkmaid whose name he could barely remember now. “So you were trying to drown your sorrows, and then decided to redeem your wounded pride by finding a woman who wouldn’t say no to you. Oh, Trev, my lad, you should have come to me. If the girl’s paying attention to me, it’s not because she’s
interested in me herself—and I wouldn’t respond if she was. I’m a guest here, too, so I wouldn’t dally with my host’s servants even if she threw herself in my arms, which she won’t because she thinks I should marry her mistress.”