A Lord for Haughmond (32 page)

     “Good, son, give the wench a thorough beating!”

     She turned and kicked Sir Dafydd’s shin—not a worthy attack against armor. But when she swung at his face with talon-like fingers, he lunged back, loosening his hold. Surprised at her sudden freedom, she did not pause to consider its reason, but raced away as fast as her wobbly legs could carry her. 

     She passed Sibyl, who stood hunched over a table, tears staining her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw other servants hanging back in wide-eyed terror.

     Forsooth, no one could save her—except herself. Though she had never endured a beating, Sir Geoffrey had dared to cuff her with the back of his hand at the times her mother was unable to intervene. Those occasions had left their mark.

     Would she be scarred? ’Twas likely! Her wrist yet throbbed from her husband’s iron grip.

     Perspiration broke out on her forehead. 

     Swinging toward the kitchen doorway and freedom, she glimpsed Sir Geoffrey’s gleeful smile. He had swept up his empty horn and was banging it on the table for a refill.

     Heavy footfalls and the alarming whisper of armor magnified her dread, spurring Katherine onward. But in an instant she was jerked off her feet, her arm nigh wrenched from her shoulder as she was caught and swung about. Once again she was propelled toward the staircase, with the unrelenting hand of her husband gripping her like a vise.

     Fear flooded her. “I will not submit to you!” Digging in her heels, she slid through the soft rushes like a dray skimming across fresh snow. But her efforts did not slow her husband. He pulled her up the steps while she stumbled to keep her feet beneath her.

     On the upper level Sir Dafydd slammed into the nearest bedchamber and shoved her inside. Katherine staggered to keep from falling headlong across the mat-covered floor.

     Kicking the door shut with his boot, he followed her through the chamber. She whirled, not daring the turn her back on this brutish assailant and shrank back from his reaching hand. Too late, her woolen bliaud was captured within his fist. She twisted away, only to have her gown give way, shredding into pieces, laying bare her shoulders and breasts.

     She screamed.    

     ’Twas a frightening sound, humiliating her more than the nakedness she sought to cover, for it betrayed her vulnerability.

     Sir Dafydd’s hand fell away. His breath came in shallow gusts. He stared, his eyes feasting on her exposed flesh.

     She scurried back from the hulking demon, trying vainly to pull the remnants of her drooping gown over her breasts, trying to avoid his avaricious gaze. 

     “You possess a great beauty.”

     With her scream still echoing in her ears, Katherine glared her hatred. How dare he look upon her! She was for Rhys and no other.

     “Remove your hands. I would behold the spoils of my victory.”

     Instinctively, she cupped her breasts more tightly. Her jaw jutted out. Could she hide her crumbling resolve?

     “Come thither. I wish to sample your wares.”

     “Nay, I carry a child. I would not have it harmed!”

     Katherine thought she heard a growl—raw and primal. But she could not be certain, what with her heart pounding in her head.

     Cowering to protect her belly, sure she would be struck, she was surprised when the shadowy figure actually stumbled back apace. His scabbard rattled loudly against the stone wall.

     “God’s blood, have you no conscience? You do confirm Sir Geoffrey’s suspicions with such little effort!”

     She gasped, recognizing her blunder.

     “What am I to do with you?” Sir Dafydd burst out from across the chamber. “Another husband would lay you flat with the back of his hand. Yet I am beleaguered by your beauty, helpless to properly rebuke you.”

     Katherine took heart at his astounding words. Mayhap he would refrain from violence.

     “There you stand, taunting me. I can do naught but gaze upon you with desire. You tell me you are already with child. Do you not consider that I, too, yearn to be your lover? To know you and have you know me as a loving husband? Most precious wife, I wish to abide within you, to give you joy, to receive the same from you.” His voice ground to a halt. “Dare I venture there?” he asked faintly.

     Unable to find her voice in the face of such terror, she could only wrap her arms closer to herself and stare in silence.

     The knight shifted his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. “By all that is holy, I should be enraged that you do resist me.” His voice swelled with emotion. “My greatest desire is to show you that I am as much a lover as any you have known.”

     In the silence that followed, Katherine continued to gape at the dark figure across the chamber.    

     “Give me your word you will nevermore see that knight,” came Sir Dafydd’s sudden demand.

     “I will not.” She straightened and her jaw snapped shut.

     “I could lock you within this chamber.”

     Yea, he could do as he pleased. They both knew she was helpless. Her breath came quicker and she tried to hold her tongue.

     “I could chain you in the dungeons for a week.”

     Squaring her shoulders, she leveled a glare across the chamber.

     “For a month,” came Sir Dafydd’s exasperated voice through the shadows. “Mayhap for the rest of your life.”

     “A cold and damp bower, indeed, where love will never flourish.” She crushed the torn gown to her breasts.

     But for the knight’s heavy breathing, silence filled the chamber. Finally, he shifted his weight once more, again scraping his sword against the stones of the wall.

     “You leave me no choice. I will take your child from you.”

     ’Twas like a gauntleted fist to her midsection. Forsooth, Sir Dafydd intended to break her spirit. Her palms broke into a sweat. She bit her lip to keep from swooning.

     “Nevermore shall Rhys of St. Quintin come betwixt us.”

     A heart-wrenching sob filled the chamber. Too late, Katherine flung her hands over her mouth. ’Twas a tactic of war, she knew, that her husband threatened her where she was most vulnerable. How could she lose both her child and her beloved?

     “I shall hate you evermore.”

     Her broken declaration, issued through shaking fingers, met with silence.  

     Choking on acrid spittle, she fought down waves of nausea. The sharp air of the chamber was naught compared to the cold cutting through her frame, an icy dread that rendered her senseless, that chased her breath from her.

     Her husband held her in a silent, steady gaze. ’Twas some moments before she realized the reason. With a startled mewl she yanked the torn garment over her bare breasts, wrapping her arms around the split material as though clutching a priceless possession.

     “’Twould be honorable for you to lie upon yonder bed and display a wifely mien. ’Twould make a worthy trade for all you hold dear.”

     “Have mercy on me, I pray,” she whispered, cringing.

     “I shall be very gentle, my lady wife. Do you not know how much I already love you?”

     How could this be? Her breath came faster. He could not love her so immediately. She did not love him. Though Sir Dafydd’s voice was indeed gentle, deep and beseeching, dare she bargain with him?

     Nay, ’twas a vile notion.

     “Lie upon yonder bed as you did for your lover, Katherine,” urged his cajoling voice.

     “Could we not strike a bargain?”

     “What have you to parlay that I do not already possess?”  

     “My heart.”

     “Nay, Katherine, I am not so smitten that I will fall prey to that ruse.” Sir Dafydd’s sigh floated across the chamber. “But your honesty and tenacious loyalty are to be respected. Admirable traits for a man—or a wife.”

     Verily, his velvet words were meant to distract. She reached out a beseeching hand. “If you would but give me time to become accustomed to this marriage, to have time to learn— ”

     He snorted. “Does that not seem a hopeless gesture after your declarations? You only put off the inevitable.”

     Tears blinded her. “Yea,” she murmured hollowly, swiping at her eyes. “But other causes have been as hopeless and the day was won.”

     “’Tis not likely we both shall be satisfied with this day. As the king decreed this alliance, we must needs see our duty accomplished.”

     “’Tis easy for you, a knight gifted with a castle and lands.”

     “But ’tis the beauteous wife, to ease my troubles, that is the more precious.”

     Casting aside the suggestion, Katherine glanced away. Her gaze fell upon the bed and a despairing moan escaped her.

     “’Twould not be so difficult, should you know me better,” Sir Dafydd murmured, seeming to understand her thoughts. He took a step forward. Then suddenly he shouted, his clenched fist pounding the air, “I am not a monster! I am not my father!”

     Katherine flinched.

     “’Tis plain on your face, lady, you can not separate me from Sir Geoffrey. You— ” A knock on the door halted his outburst. “Cover yourself!” He grabbed a garment hanging on a peg behind him and tossed it at her.

     She clutched it to her ruined gown and backed away.

     “Put on a browbeaten expression. Spare me the shame of not having beaten you.”

     When the door opened, his squire stood in the hallway wearing a troubled frown. “A thousand pardons, my lord.” He hurriedly presented a sealed parchment. “’Tis a message from De Grey, else I would never have disturbed you.” The young man tried not to look at Katherine, but she caught his struggle and his curiosity before he could pull his gaze away.

     Sir Dafydd’s shaggy brows knitted together as he broke the seal and scanned the contents.

     Clutching the flimsy garment to her, she hung her head and let loose a mournful sigh.

     The squire eyed her with renewed interest.

     Frightened by the dark scowl Sir Dafydd flung at her, sure she displeased him further, she tried for a more sorrowful expression and slumped against the bedstead.

     “We are called to Shrewsbury, lad. Make haste to ready our mounts.” Sir Dafydd motioned the squire away. “God’s eyes, what ill timing.” Swinging around, he leveled a vexed look at Katherine.

     “You shall await my return within this chamber, lady. My father needs not be troubled by your nettlesome presence.”  

Chapter Twenty-four

     “I am most displeased with my lady wife!”

     Standing by the high, stone hearth of Haughmond’s keep, Dafydd made sure his announcement was loud—and angry. Verily, ’twas sufficient to waken the dead. But it served its purpose, instantly gaining the attention of the two knights seated nearby in great hall.

     His life-long friend, Sir William la Napier, threw him a quizzical look, his fair brows rising above his startled blue eyes. Will, far from deaf, likely wondered at the booming elocution. 

     Plying extravagant measures to silence Katherine’s slack tongue had provided sufficient reason for Dafydd’s dudgeon. ’Twas naught what he envisioned as a newly wed husband.

     ’Twas equally troubling that he could not entertain Will properly.      

     He glanced at his father sitting in the seat opposite and forced the distaste from his mouth. Sir Geoffrey scraped marrow from a joint of venison with the point of a dagger while he cast sharp attention on their conversation.

     This day had been most vexing. Dafydd gave himself a mental shake to dispel his weariness. The journey from Shrewsbury, in knee-deep mud from so much official traffic heading toward Wales, had slowed them considerably. Thereto, Sir Geoffrey’s hostility preyed on his mind. As did Katherine’s resistance.

     Betwixt the two of them, he found little peace in his new abode. A wolf, in the guise of his father—thinking himself wronged, and hungering for power and honor—did not bode well for Katherine’s safekeeping. ’Twas telling that his father’s anger did exceed his own.

     For years he’d yearned for a home and a wife. For years his love had been bound up within him, with no one to bestow it upon. He intended to cherish Katherine and their life together.

     Anger welled up within him, that his father disallowed any happiness to reign on the day of his homecoming. ’Twas evident he could not elicit a fain compliance from his wife, but he had not expected such a tempest from his father. 

     Sighing, he tried for a pleasant expression. Will did not appear concerned by the lack of amenities. He was as talkative as ever and laughed with easy grace. Though eight years separated their ages, ’twas the reason a friendship had forged betwixt them—their dispositions suited each other remarkably well.

     Impatient to inspect Dafydd’s new holding, Will had begged leave of the king. He had ridden down from Chester, claiming himself eager to remark on this fine inheritance. ’Twas more likely his friend did elicit sympathy for his own misfortune in remaining landless. The man found humor in everything. 

     “To be sure, ’tis a sorry state in which you find yourself, my friend,” Will said. “Your lady is not as biddable as other wives, I have observed.”

     Will’s tone was sympathetic, but Dafydd knew better. He frowned at the sparkling look that accosted him. Worry plagued him afresh. The situation was too dangerous for Will to dispense his usual wretched humor. 

     “My lady wife will be kept locked up until my return.” Dafydd made his voice deliberately harsh, to counter his friend’s breezy reply. “No one shall enter. Nor is she to set foot outside the chamber. I depend on you. You shall see to it, Will?”

     “I am to remain behind?” Will’s brows lowered. He sprang to his feet and closed the short distance to the hearth with quick strides, the firelight showing his concern. Tall, he stood at eye level to Dafydd. “’Tis not safe with only your squire, and him so new to the task. ’Tis a dangerous journey in these times, Dafydd.” Swiping at a shock of blond hair dangling over his eyes, he shoved the strands beneath his chain mail coif, reminding Dafydd how very similar they were.