Carolyne Cathey (3 page)

"A
virgin?  Satan's curse!  What a cruel trick the fates have played!"  A
battle waged behind Lord Kyle's eyes.  He tilted his head downward and stabbed
her with his gaze.  "You're so desperate to scrub my floors?  Well, so you
shall.  You'll be on hands and knees in filth and slop."

Eleanor
released a sigh.

"Relief? 
You show relief?  Well, curse you!"

She
heard Sir Jerrod's misplaced laughter again.

"'Tis
good to see ye, Lord Kyle.  I'm Beth."  A young woman dressed as a servant
bobbed a curtsy, her smile ecstatic, her dimpled cheeks as flushed as a red
sunset.  Copper curls peeked from beneath her coverchief to hint of an unruly
mane.  "As you can see, milord, I'm all grown up now."

Lord
Kyle straightened, then his eyes widened in obvious male appreciation. 
"Heaven's mercy, Beth.  A fair lass you've become."

Lass? 
He had called that overly endowed servant, lass.  Not wench, not woman, but
lass, as well as her name.  Eleanor stiffened with insult and a hard knot
formed behind her breastbone.

The
girl frowned at Eleanor and eyed her as if with suspicion.

Eleanor
grinned at Beth for malice, tightening her arms about Lord Kyle's neck in a
possessive gesture, then felt aghast she had done so.  Why should she care if
the girl was smitten with her master?  Eleanor's mission decreed she must
fulfill her destiny, not to plight her troth with the man.  And for certain,
not to share the presumptuous man's bed.

Beth
flared her nostrils, then turned a sickeningly-sweet smile on Lord Kyle. 
"I'd be happy to serve ye in
any
way ye need, milord."

Eleanor
tensed is wait for Lord Kyle to drop her like unwanted refuse and pounce on the
over-eager harlot.

Instead,
he cleared his throat.  "How kind, Beth.  I'd be most grateful if you made
certain all is well in the scullery."

Beth's
smile soured, then she curtsied and sashayed toward the same doorway as had the
lad. 

Eleanor
sneered at Beth's retreating figure.  "If the hussy sways her hips any
harder she will sweep her feet right off the floor."

"The
greater the sway, the greater a man’s pleasure."  Lord Kyle shifted his
stance and adjusted her in his arms. "You grow more weighty by the
moment."

"Then
put me down."  Since he treated her with such contempt, Eleanor refused to
call him "my lord", as he did expect.  Wench, indeed.  He showed more
respect to that shameless strumpet he called Beth than to her, his future
advisor. 

Lord
Kyle's eyes narrowed with her comment.  "Put you down?  You mouth a most
gracious request in a most gracious tone."  He let her feet drop to the
floor.

Eleanor
cried out in pain.  She flailed out for his arms, but he stepped back out of
her reach.

"I
expect you to begin now, wench.  And for your own sake, you'd best not shirk
your duties, or
I'll
set the task, not you.  Since scrubbing filth seems
more to your liking than being in my unholy presence, find Nurse Kincaid. 
Now."

Perspiration
drizzled between her breasts as she concentrated on a step.  The rebellious
limb refused to obey.  She released a resigned breath.  "I...I
cannot."

Although
triumph flashed within the blue depths of his eyes, he waited as if he expected
for her to add his title.  Curse if she would.  Not until he called her by her
given name.

"You
cannot, you say.  Well then, wench, I must warn you.  If you refuse to pay your
debt upon your feet, then you will do so upon your back."

"But
your floors--"

"You
return to that?"  He cocked a brow.  "Nay, I warned you.  Since you
refuse to set about your chores,
I'll
set the duty."  One corner of
his mouth lifted in a smug grin.  "You'll scrub my body, not my
floors."

Her
heart skipped a beat, but she'd sell her soul before she showed her cowardice. 
She lifted her chin.  "Even so, I prefer to walk."

Sir
Jerrod chuckled from where he leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. 
"Kyle, since you have such a submissive lass for your bedmate, 'tis only
fair I have Beth." 

Eleanor
jammed her fists on her hips.  "Sire, I am not this arrogant soul's
bedmate!"

"Bite
your tongue, woman."  Lord Kyle turned toward his friend.

"'Tis
expected of you to furnish me with a warm companion if I so request, Kyle.  And
I request Beth.  But as you know, since you are her lord and master, I must
have your permission."

Eleanor
stiffened, appalled.  Never in her life did she think she would hear such a
degenerate discussion.  And one of the two involved was her savior, or so she
had once believed.  "You men are insufferable!"

Lord
Kyle and Sir Jerrod turned to her, mouths open as if in disbelief at censure from
a mere peasant.

Heat
flooded Eleanor's once-chilled face.  "Women are not tankards of ale to be
passed about from hand to hand.  We are worthy souls and deserve the same honor
as men.  When knighted, you swore to honor women, yet you treat Beth and me as
if we're but pig slop."

Lord
Kyle tilted his head as if befuddled.  "All mankind does know 'tis ladies
of noble birth we honor, not female servants or peasant wenches."

Rage
boiled in her veins.  She longed to toss his own "burn in hell" oath
back at his presumptuous face, but she had made too much ado about blasphemy to
dare to mouth the words.

Sir
Jerrod grinned.  "Me thinks, Kyle, your tarnished image has just received
another smudge."

Lord
Kyle only stood there as if dumbfounded.  Then he blinked and turned back to
Sir Jerrod.

Eleanor
determined to disappear before he finished his decadent conversation.  She took
a step.  Tears flooded her eyes; the distant door became a blur.  Her soles
stung as if she walked on daggers.  She took another step, then groaned.  She
might have to crawl, after all.

"Not
if Beth's a virgin, Jerrod, and only if the lass is willing."

Eleanor
scowled at Lord Kyle's rules of common decency, at least as far as female
servants were concerned.  Savior, indeed.

"And
will you follow your own advice, Kyle?"  Sir Jerrod's tone sounded filled
with sarcasm.

Eleanor
took one more step.  The doorway must have moved further away, for spite.  She
prayed Lord Kyle would become so engrossed in his sinful banter that she would
be out of sight by the time he remembered her.

"What
mean you, Jerrod, by my own advice?"

"The
part about, not if she's a virgin, and only if the lass is willing."  Then
Sir Jerrod laughed.

One
more step.  Eleanor looked down at her wretched feet. 
Well, curse him
.

"Do
you imitate a snail, woman?"

Eleanor
gasped and looked up. 

Lord
Kyle stood to her side, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Nay,
man.  I study your filthy floor.  Me thinks I'll scrub right here."

Lord
Kyle laughed.  "I think I'd best carry you again."

"Nay! 
I'll walk."  Eleanor gritted her teeth and took another step.

"At
this pace, I'll be dead and buried before you reach my chamber."

Her
gaze flew up to his.  "Is that a promise?"

In
a flash, Lord Kyle gripped his fingers in her hair and placed his face close to
hers.  His sharp glare pierced her steamy core again, except now, her core
burned hot with fury, not the nameless sensation she had experienced before.

"Tell
me, wench.  When you left the convent, did the sisters smile and cross
themselves in grateful appreciation?"  He spoke low, for her ears alone. 
Then he jerked her head.  "Until this moment, I have shown patience with
your insolence, but we are among my servants and I will no longer tolerate your
shrewish tongue."  He swung her from the floor into his arms and clutched
her against his body.  He strode toward the dais at one end of the hall.

Embarrassed,
Eleanor wondered how the servants noted her humiliation, but the workers
hurried about their tasks, heads down, as if they dare not notice for their own
well-being.

"Will
we have the pleasure of your company at supper, Kyle?"  Sir Jerrod's tone
mocked her across the smoky space.  "I pray we shall not have to wait for
your sated presence.  We might starve before you reach your fill."  His
sardonic laughter echoed within the stone walls.  "Or, mayhaps, you're too
weary and may go straight to bed."

"Jerrod,
you may go straight to--"

Eleanor
drew in a breath.

Lord
Kyle didn't finish his oath.  He only glared at her, then continued on his way
and stomped up on the raised platform.

Desperate
to cool his anger, Eleanor felt she must explain her inability to walk,
although if he weren't such a dolt he would grasp the problem on his own. 
"I beg you, Sire..."

Lord
Kyle scraped to a halt.  He tilted his face downward, his eyes the color of a
winter pond, all icy and glazed.  "Oh?  You beg me, do you?"  The
thin line of his mouth curved into a smug grin.  "Is that a
promise?"  His words came out all soft and whispery.  The ice of his eyes
melted to a deeper blue.  "Aye.  Before this night is over, wench, you
will beg me."

Apprehension
twisted her insides.  What kind of torture did he intend, for her to have to
beg for mercy?

He
moved forward, rounded the end of the screen behind the dais, then strode
through the solar, a generous-sized but more intimate room than the great hall,
except the fire blazed not in the center of the floor but within a hooded
hearth against the wall.

He
continued to a staircase at the far end, then carried her up steps that wound
to an upper floor.  Lord Kyle paused when he reached the upstairs landing,
staring at an open doorway he seemed hesitant to enter.  Tightening his hold on
her, he barged into what Eleanor assumed must be the lord's chamber.  His gaze
swept the room, halting on something.  His face paled; pain filled his eyes.  A
muscle twitched in his clenched jaw.  His breaths sounded tight, disturbed.

Eleanor
followed the line of his stare.

The
bed
.  His large curtained bed of red and gold dominated one end of the
room, and of a sudden, Eleanor felt trapped.

A
woman of some years swept a bundle of sheets from a recessed window seat,
curtsied, then smiled.  "Yer mattress is newly stuffed with goose down and
covered with fresh linens, milord.  The fur coverlet is shaken and brushed."

Lord
Kyle let out a ragged sigh and opened his eyes.  "'Tis sweet news, Jane. 
You fare well, I see."

Eleanor
noticed his forced smile, as if a past horror tugged at his mind. 

The
woman laughed.  "Aye, thanks to ye, milord.  And I see ye fare thee well
yerself."  With a glint in her eyes, she nodded to Eleanor and hurried
from the room.

A
young woman brushed at her brown skirt and bobbed.  "Me has put lavender
and rosemary in with the fresh rushes, milord."

"Ah. 
You're thoughtful, as always, Anne.  I noticed the fragrance as soon as I
entered."

How
curious.  With his servants he showed kindness and concern.  Only with her had
he seemed surly, driven.

The
girl giggled and ran past two men who entered with a large, wooden tub.  Others
followed with buckets filled so full that water sloshed onto the rushes.  They
plopped down their burdens in front of the flaming hearth and left the chamber.

A
shiver coursed up her spine.  A tub.  He had warned her she must scrub his
back.  Eleanor wondered how a true bath might feel.  To sink at least half her
body into warm wetness instead of washing with cold water from a cracked clay
bowl must be wondrous indeed.

A
white-haired man leaned a poker against the fireplace stones.  He nodded, then
showed sparse, uneven teeth when he smiled.  "The chill should be gone
before long, Lord Kyle.  I placed two stools beside the hearth.  Is there aught
else ye need, Sire?"

Lord
Kyle dropped his gaze to Eleanor's.  Color returned to his face.  His eyes
softened, then blazed with that same fire as when he had vowed she would do
aught he asked when she shared his bed.  He winked at her, then glanced at his
servant.

"Nay,
Peter, that's all I need.  At least, from you."

Heat
flooded Eleanor's cheeks and her heart fluttered at too rapid a pace.

The
servant nodded, a knowing smile on his face.  "We're grateful you've
returned home, milord."  The door thumped shut behind him as he left the
chamber.

Alone. 
Heaven help her.
  Her weakness against his strength, woman against man,
peasant against knight.  Fear trembled her even more.

Lord
Kyle moved to the hearth and with a sigh, lowered her onto a stool. 

Coolness
chilled her side where his body once pressed; heat from the fire warmed her
other side.  A log popped, then sizzled.  Smoke wafted to her nostrils.

She
studied the top of Lord Kyle's wet, leather skullcap as he concentrated on her
legs that rested on his arm.  He slid his hands until her feet rested in his
palms.  With tender care he placed first one of her heels, then the other on
the clean rushes.  She grimaced with the sudden pressure.  Surely she must have
three hearts, for one throbbed in each foot, as well as the one in her chest.

Before
she could pull her legs together, he knelt between her outstretched limbs, and
a shudder fled along her nerves.

Even
though he rested on his knees, because of his height, his head remained at a
higher level than hers, his bulky form much too near.  Vulnerable, that's how
she felt, as she sat, splayed, astride his thighs.

Thunder
rumbled closer, louder, as if in warning.

"Now,
wench, I would examine you."  Lord Kyle pierced her with a determined
gaze.  "Lift your skirt."