A Lord for Haughmond (6 page)

     A sharp pain stabbed through Rhys at her pitiful expression. Already he sought vengeance for one victim. Could he allow another to draw him in? He shook his head in bemusement. But the lady was right on the mark—Sir Geoffrey might well receive the king’s blessing before they could make their case.

     ’Twas one more reason to kill the bastard, as he’d vowed. Yet how could he, with the responsibility of two more women? King Edward might blame Katherine when Sir Geoffrey turned up dead. Imprisonment would be the least of her punishment.

     He wished he weren’t so moved by the lady’s circumstance or by her dark, trusting eyes. He wished he weren’t incited to chivalry, when he’d undertaken another mission.

     But her lively spirit intrigued him, inspired him. Though she’d thrown his world into chaos, he could not turn his back on Katherine de la Motte.

Chapter Four

     Powerful and impregnable, staunch defender of the crown, the fortress of Warwick Castle stood guardian to the River Avon and the surrounding lands. Enlarged and strengthened in the two hundred years since The Conqueror had established the defensive stockade, the newly constructed stone keep rose high above the curtain wall. Under the snapping silver and azure banner of St. Quintin, Katherine and her fellow travelers were given leave to enter Sir William Beauchamp’s stronghold. 

     Making their way across the drawbridge straddling a dry moat, they passed through the new gatehouse. Flanked on either corner by imposing stone towers, archers, with their long bows strung taut, stood poised on the battlements.

     Under the close observation of the porter, with his heavy spiked mace, they rode into the bailey and into a beehive of activity. At the stables a dozen mounts were being readied for the tiltyard. Beyond, the castle wheelwright was refitting a broken cart, pounding loudly with his hammer. The noise prompted a nervous whinny from a lady’s piebald awaiting the smith. Toiling at his anvil, the burly fellow swung a red-hot iron aloft, sending a plume of steam curling into the cold air above his shaved head. Closer to the keep, where the baking ovens stood and the air grew sweet and tantalizing, bustling cooks harried their army of pages. 

     Sir William, apprised of the visitors, rode across from the tiltyard where he was overseeing the training of young squires. He bestowed a warm welcome upon the three knights. Mounted behind Simon, Katherine ducked her chin into the cowl of her woolen hood. But she needn’t have worried. An earl took no notice of a lowly peasant.

     The knights were to be lodged in chambers within the hall. Eagerly they followed the earl, expecting to be feted with wine and a hearty meal. Simon and “his lads” were given permission to pitch their tent along the curtain wall where they would be dry, if not entirely warm.

     As the knights disappeared into the hall, Katherine experienced, for the first time in her life, what a serf’s miserable existence must be. Earlier, they had been caught in a driving rain and all of them were soaked to the bone. She was as cold and tired and thirsty as those who would enjoy Sir William’s hospitality. 

     But ’twas no time for complaint. Under Simon’s supervision, she and Anne found themselves burdened with the unfavorable task of unloading the mule. ’Twas a daunting feat, given the weight under which the small beast had labored.

     Thankfully, the squire pitched in, hefting the more cumbersome baggage. But they were expected to fetch the chain-mail armor that slithered out of their arms like a litter of restive snakes and the long spears and swords and unwieldy shields that clanked loudly with each step. Their clumsy efforts earned them a jeering comment from a passing knight.

     “Such scrawny peasants as ever I spied,” he sneered. “No wonder you needs wait upon them, squire.” 

     One of the household knights, overhearing the remark, leered at Simon from atop his warhorse and waggled his eyebrows in invitation. “You appear unusually attentive, squire. Do not hover over your lads. Be gracious and share them with us.” 

     In a sudden panic, Katherine tugged the irascible hood further over her head. Unmindful of aught else, she lost her balance and nigh tripped on the rough cobblestones. It took all her fortitude to heft the leather satchel higher in her arms. Staggering forward, she struggled to maintain a steady pace and not draw undue attention to herself.

     Suddenly, her burden was lifted from her grasp, well nigh taking her with it.

     “I am sworn to help damsels in distress,” came Sir Rhys’s whisper as he peered around the unwieldy parcel. Grinning, he started up the narrow curving stairwell.

     With a sigh of relief, she hurried along in his wake, nestling her throbbing hand against her breast. ’Twas impossible to keep pace with his long strides down the corridor and only after the knight was within his cramped chamber and she’d secured the door, was she able to approach him to heap her gratitude upon him.

     Tossing the satchel of jerkins upon the thin mattress, Rhys waved her aside. “Alas, Lady Katherine, we have yet to see your mission happily concluded.” 

     Instantly he regretted his comment, for the winsome smile tugging at her parted lips disappeared. Her eyes, huge in her small face, made him feel certain he could drown in their depths—dark pools of trust that inspired a sense of worthiness and duty. Startled, he frowned in sudden consternation. Those eyes didn’t belong to a lad. Nor did those lush, red lips.      

     “On Saint Michael’s soul,” he burst out, fear whetting his voice. “Wipe that expression from your face, else any one-eyed lackwit will know your secret.”

     Lady Katherine’s sparkling gaze lost its luster. She gaped at him in bewilderment.

     Damnation, he hadn’t intended to frighten the lass. He stepped closer. She stepped back. He grasped her chin, turning her head first one way and then another.

     “What ails you?” she demanded, trying to pull away.  

     His frown deepened. “Lady, with those beckoning lips, I’ll never be able to avouch for your safety.”

     Her gaze took flight as her cheeks flushed a bright red. 

     He swung away and began emptying the garments onto the bed. “Verily, you will remain in this chamber, far from prying eyes.”

     “’Twas not done apurpose!” Her resentment filled the chamber. “Why must you speak harsh?”

     Why, indeed! Did she not realize the danger? Did she not comprehend how desirable she was? How afrightened it made him that he would not be able to protect her. What would become of her?

     She’d be at Sir Geoffrey’s mercy.

     A pain shot through his head. That knave wouldn’t be merciful! Did she not know that fear made him harsh and senseless when he’d rather be kind and gentle? Her vulnerability should have made him strong. But when he thought of her stepfather and his capabilities at villainy, he went weak with dread. He was no coward, yet experience had taught him that ofttimes, the wicked unfairly inherited the earth. Nothing untoward must happen to sweet Katherine.

     Frustration boiled up from within. “Most women don’t do things apurpose.” He flung the sharp retort over his shoulder to hide his rising ardor. “But trouble oft follows them.”

     Katherine crossed her arms. “Seems to me ’twas a man, in the guise of Sir Geoffrey, who begat our troubles, not I.”

     Rhys threw her a dark look. “And ’twill require a man to see it to conclusion.” He backhanded the uppermost jerkin, sending it sailing across the chamber.

     Katherine pursed her lips and returned his scowl.  

     He froze. God’s bones, but did she not know what a vision she was? His jaw clenched as he stared at the enticing picture. Her short tunic swelled provocatively around the contours of her breasts, forced up above her crossed arms. Her long, shapely legs in the knitted hose and her boot tapping on the floorboard merely enhanced the depiction of a beautiful and tempting woman.

     It rendered him utterly helpless.

     Pained confusion swept over Katherine’s countenance. “Why must you be disagreeable?” she asked in a tight voice. “We cannot be so great an inconvenience. You were kind and chivalrous to the religious sisters. Can you not be so with us?”

     Disappointment sent a hollow ache through his breast. Katherine merely desired the protection of his sword arm. Certes, she had no concept of him as a man.

     “You try my patience, woman,” he muttered, finally discovering the strength to turn away, angry at her bewilderment, angry with himself for causing it.

     “I did naught to—”

     “Here ye be!” A booming voice from the corridor and a boot kicking the door announced the arrival of the bath water.

     Rhys pushed Katherine toward the corner where his belongings were stacked. “Hide your face,” he growled, pausing to make certain she complied. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and snatched up a leather jerkin, bending over it as though it required mending. Only then did he throw open the door.

     Two hearty servants swept into the chamber with buckets of hot steaming water suspended from wooden yokes balanced across their broad shoulders. Setting the heavy buckets down, they dragged out a small metal tub from the corner and emptied the water into it.

     With a bob of their heads, they retreated, but not so fast that they didn’t settle an appreciative leer on the comely maidservant who arrived in their wake. Carrying a pile of linen towels, she turned her nose up at the brutes and swept into the chamber. She paused when she caught sight of Rhys and assessed his virtues with a practiced eye.

     “D’ye want I should assist ye with yer bath?” She threw him a sly smile and didn’t await his answer but crossed the chamber, sashaying past him with an enticing swing of her hips and began to line the tub with the linens. “My talents are known to relax a weary traveler,” she added breathlessly, turning a bold stare upon him.

     Behind him came a squeak of protest. Certain Katherine would give herself away, Rhys grabbed the towels from the eager servant and propelled her toward the doorway. “My page will assist me.” None too gently, he shoved the girl from the chamber.

     She stumbled out, throwing him an angry glower before the door slammed in her face. 

     Across the chamber, Katherine came to her feet with a frown and an indignant gasp.

     Rhys ignored her discomfort and turned his attention to securing the door, hefting the stout bar into the metal brackets set in the wooden frame. With her beguiling looks, he wished he could forget she was a protected and innocent daughter. Unlike the servant, Katherine’s eyes and her mouth—ruby-red and sweet and inviting—were turning him inside out with desire. Exasperated by what he deemed to be the unfairness of The Almighty, he snatched up the towels and flung them in her direction.

     “Put these away,” he commanded.

     She lunged for the cascading towels, missing most of them. They landed in a heap at her feet. The precious sliver of soap atop the pile tumbled to the floor and broke into two pieces. With a smothered plaint, she fell to her knees and began pulling the pile to her.

     Rhys rolled his eyes in annoyance, yet paused to view the trim form of her backside. Her tunic revealed more than it hid. Her legs, wrapped within the cross garters, were long and slender and alluring. Heat smoldered his body. The throbbing in his head descended to his loins. He wondered how he was supposed to bathe. Had Lady Katherine ever seen a naked man? A naked man aroused and obviously wanting her?

     Katherine cast a frown up at him. “Is it your usual wont to encourage such brazen invitations?”

     Rhys shrugged and turned away. “’Twas unavoidable, a desirable weal from an ambitious wench bent on improving her lot.” He glanced at Katherine and instantly regretted doing so. A hurt expression blighted the beauty of her eyes.

     He flung out an impatient hand. “Plainly, ’tis impossible to redeem myself in your sight.”

     He didn’t feel an explanation was warranted, for he had done nothing to encourage the servant’s attention. But such was his usual experience with wenches. Katherine would blush all the way to her toes if he told her how they treated him, what they freely offered. They appreciated his physique and what he bestowed upon them in return. Many a damsel had avowed that truth with inviting eyes and whispered words and eager bodies. He knew how to be a laudable lover, for he’d enjoyed many tutors. Forsooth, she’d faint dead away if she knew the entirety of his experience.

     But though he’d been intimate with many damsels, he hadn’t been intimate with their lives. He’d lived a warrior’s existence and possessed little knowledge of the fairer sex, except in bed. He’d never considered how they might struggle to survive the grind of daily living. Lately, after recent conversations that illuminated the plight of women, he’d come to realize that females ofttimes sought advantages due to their disparate status in society. A greater forbearance had grown in view of that stark and sobering knowledge.

     Katherine’s resentful glare while she folded the towels made it obvious that patience would needs include this damsel, thereto.

     Turning, he shed his chausses and linen breeches and climbed into the low tub, deliberately positioning his back to the room, hiding his ardor from her sight. Scrubbing vigorously, he managed to remove the filth of travel, as well as his lustful desires.

     Slouching down in the tub, soothed and fully relaxed, he closed his eyes. He shoved from his mind the vision of long shapely legs in stockinet and became aware of nothing except the soothing water.

     ’Twas a long while before he stirred from the cooling bath, standing and reaching for a dry towel. None was at hand and he peered about. It took him a moment to realize Katherine watched him. With a bold stare, her gaze raked the length of his nakedness.

     Rhys could feel himself responding. On another occasion he’d have enjoyed the attention. Instead, he felt embarrassment, not for himself, but for Katherine, whose face had gone deathly white.