Defiant (26 page)

Blast! She wore a plain dress and a hair covering, and she was
still
the most brazenly gorgeous, exotic female he’d ever seen. What to do with her vexed him.

If she wasn’t kept under tight rein, heaven only knew what might happen. Rebellion? Treachery? An uprising? ‘Twas no wonder Montgomery was so glad to be rid of her.

“Are we in a hurry, my lord?” she asked after a few moments. He noted that she was panting trying to keep up with him and he slowed the pace somewhat.

“Nay,” he said.

“Where are we going?” She looked around, taking in a nearby baker’s shop that had a rack of fresh pies in the window. The warm scent of apples and cinnamon hung in the air.

They had reached the cobbler’s shop: Jared’s destination. Ignoring her inquiry, he pushed open the door, glad to be able to not delve further into this conversation.

At that moment a small street urchin came barreling up to them. “Lady Gwyn! Lady Gwyn!”

Jared grabbed Gwyneth to get her out of the way before she could scream.

Too late, they were both pushed back by the force of the child projecting itself at her. Filthy hair, skinny legs, and a grime-splattered tunic was all he could make out as the child plowed straight into Gwyneth, smearing dirt all over her kirtle. He wasn’t sure if it was male or female.

He cringed, fully expecting Gwyneth to give the child a dressing down for ruining her kirtle.

The memory of running across the castle lawn, with open arms, came sharply into his mind. He was four years old and the falconer he lived with had confessed to him that morning that the lady of the keep was his real mother. She had been gorgeous that day—arrayed in a rich velvet houppelande with an ermine collar. He’d wanted to hug her, be held in her arms the way that Rafe was. As he approached, she’d turned to one side. He kept running toward her. “Mama,” he’d said. His body jerked as he remembered the way she’d cuffed him. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that. Go back to that dirty falconer.”

Jared shook himself. He was no longer a child.

“Kiera!” Gwyneth stooped and picked the child up, completely heedless of the dirt.

Kiera? Gwyneth knew the urchin? The grime-coated girl looked to be about six and had fuzzy brown hair that was caked with mud. The stench rolling off her was biting.

Another memory, this one of Gwyneth holding a child on her hip at the faire and how he’d wanted her as a wife to fill her with his own heirs floated unbidden into his mind.

“Mama said you got married,” said the child, her small hands burying in Gwyneth’s luminous mane of hair.

“Aye.” Gwyneth nodded. “Where have you been? You are filthy. ”

“Farmer Matthew let me feed his pigs.”

“Did you have to wallow in their muck?”

Jared wiped his hand over his nose to diminish the stench.

“I was hungry. ‘e said ‘e would give me a scone.” The girl plucked at Gwyneth’s wimple, smearing more mud on the white cloth. “Why are you wearing this?” she asked.

Gwyneth spared a quick glance at Jared. “My new lord wishes it of me.”

“Mama says all men are lumbering jackasses.”

“Well.” Gwyneth looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Um. ”

“Look what me gots for you, Lady Gwyn.” The girl reached into her tunic and pulled out a set of carved bone buttons.

“That’s wonderful, Kiera. Did Farmer Matthew give those to you?”

“Oh, no, Lady Gwyn, me gots it from the vendor over yon.” She pointed down the street at a tinker pushing a cart piled with all manner of goods—cooking pots, feathers, hats, tools.

A furrow formed on Gwyneth’s brow. “You bought buttons for me?”

“I sees ya coming up the street a bit ago, Lady Gwyn, so I sneaks in real nice and easy and"—the girl leaned close to Gwyneth and whispered something in her ear.

Jared cocked a brow as Gwyneth’s face paled. Of a truth, the child had just confessed she had stolen the baubles.

“Kiera.” Gwyneth set the child down and gave her a stern look. “You mustn’t steal buttons.”

“But I gots them for you. Why did you not bring a haircomb to me like you promised, Lady Gwyn?”

“It… it just was not possible right now.”

“Why nots?” Kiera wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

Gwyneth looked from the child to Jared and back again.

“Oh.” The urchin backed up and put her hands on her hips. “Ye thinks yer too good for us now that yer married. Mama always said that would ‘appen.” At once, Jared realized where he’d seen that look before. This was Irma’s daughter. Her frizzy hair and big brown eyes gave her away.

“Nay, Kiera, ‘tis not like that at all.”

“But ye don’ts come see us anymore. Mama said we’s count on you. And you didn’t bring me a comb even though you promised!”

Gwyneth looked at Jared.

“You won’t be going to the brothel, wife. “ He could scarcely walk down the street without men trying to steal her away from him.

Kiera glared at Jared, her little jaw jutting out.

“You should bathe,” he said. “You stink.”

“Mama used to bathe you—” Kiera started.

“Mayhap your mother would let you come see me,” Gwyneth said brightly, obviously trying desperately to change the subject.

“She won’ts. She says nobles are bad peoples.”

Jared could see the pain dance across Gwyneth’s face.

“We have to be going now, Kiera,” he said firmly. The sooner he cut off this unhealthy relationship, the better. His wife would no longer be cavorting with harlots and their children. Irma had been part of the scheme to kidnap him. If Jared didn’t need to avoid the authorities, he would have her brought before the judge and thrown into prison.

“Asides, Mama’s taken with fever.”

“With fever?” Gwyneth clasped Kiera by her shoulder. A look of concern crossed her face. “What fever?”

“She’s in bed.” Kiera turned to Jared. He noted that she had the same large brown eyes, the same jut of her jaw, and the same boldness as her mother, Irma, did. “I wants to show Lady Gwyn me new doll.” She took Gwyneth’s clean, lily-white hand in her dirty one. “Come, Lady Gwyn.”

Jared stepped forward and placed his hand on Gwyneth’s shoulder. “Time to go. I have people I must speak with.”

“I-I’m sorry, Kiera.”

A wash of anger clouded the child’s face. She glared up at Jared, yanked her hand out of Gwyneth’s, and shook her finger at him. “Mama was right. Big lumbering jackasses, every last one of ‘em.” Whirling, she fled down the street.

“Heave! Ho!”

Frustration worked through Gwyneth’s body as she shielded her eyes from the glow of the morning sun. Men lined up on the banks of the moat and pulled carriage wheels, branches, waterlogged fabric, rotted carcasses, and other garbage from the green, slimy water. A cloud of flies buzzed the area and waves of stench wafted into the air.

Five days had dragged by with Jared insisting that she follow him around night and day like a puppy. She was useless here, watching the men. She needed to be in the great hall supervising the maids, overseeing the meals, making new tapestries for the walls.

Elizabeth’s wide green eyes slid into her thoughts. She wondered if the child was still sitting by the filthy prison wall hugging herself or if she had gotten free. If only she could bring the girl here—give her skills to work. Teach her to communicate.

Aeliana’s talons tightened around the leather glove on Gwyneth’s hand as she flexed and released her fingers.

She looked longingly at the keep, then turned to watch the progress. With luck the river would be un-dammed and fresh water would flow through the moat by noon.

Jared, unlike any lord she knew, did not stand idly by watching the servants. He was stripped to the waist and pulling in tandem with the other men. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and sweat trickled down the curve of his spine. But it was not his bronze, godlike body that fascinated her: For the past week, he had been designing and building a contraption with a series of pulleys to make the lifting easier. That he was a man of intellect and not mere brawn fascinated her.

The book he had given her tickled her mind and she wondered what had happened to it. It had been with her on the wedding night, but she had not seen it since Jared had rescued her from the man who had attacked her behind the brothel. Likely it had fallen from her bosom into the alleyway.

A wave of sadness hit her that she had never learned to read. Her time had been spent making and selling embroidery and taking care of Windrose. She shook her head; the women at the prison needed her and the sacrifice she had made—using her time to get enough money to be able to rescue them—was worthwhile. Perhaps it was a foolish dream and her father had been correct that teaching women to read was a worthless waste of resources.

“Heave!” Jared boomed and what appeared to be a wagon lifted from the clogged moat. Slime dripped from the wood.

The burden was too heavy for the number of men and it sank back into the green, murky water.

Jared called men to him and dusted an area on the ground. He knelt and drew in the dirt, making lines that went this way and that. The leather of his breeks tightened against his buttocks.

She licked her lips.

A few moments later, the workers changed the pulley system slightly and tried again. This time the cart came dragging out of the water.

Despite her best plans to stay unaffected, Gwyneth’s admiration for Jared rose with every bit of progress that was made. His chest lifted and fell in mighty gasps as they dragged the cart away from the moat and into a large pile to dry. Later, a fire would be started and whatever could not be salvaged would be burned.

Jared’s eyes flashed in the sun like green agate as he turned toward her. He lifted one arm in greeting. A ripple of muscle danced.

She touched her hair, remembering how gently he had braided it yesternight. Her scalp had tingled with pleasure at his careful ministrations.

Logs lifted, unclogging the inflow of fresh water from the nearby river. A rushing stream flowed into the moat, at first mingling with the dirty water and then pushing it through.

Hope sprang inside Gwyneth. As vexing as it was to be forced to spend every minute of the day and night at Jared’s side at least her lands would be made useful again. Hopefully soon she would be able to resume her work in the prisons.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said a short while later as he approached her. “Both your care for my land and your cleverness in making that device is appreciated.”

“Our land,” he corrected as he always did when she made personal claim.

“Perhaps I should see about the keep in
our
castle,” she said pointedly. “The shelves need organized.”

“Nay. You will stay with me. I want no rebellion.”

“I want to clean the kitchens, not start a rebellion!”

He rinsed himself off in a barrel of clean water and donned his tunic. “The kitchens are being taken care of by Kaitlyn.”

“Kaitlyn has not—”

“Enough on this, lady wife. This subject has been discussed and my answer is no.”

What a stubborn, obstinate man! Placing her hand on her hip, she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand toward their chamber.

“Shall I get the brank?”

She gritted her teeth. “Nay, my lord.”

“Good.” He turned, obviously expecting her to follow. Hmph. “'Tis time for the morning hunt so that we will have meat later.”

Frustrated, she resisted the urge to stamp her foot and did not budge from the spot.

He twisted back toward her, taking in her scowl with a grin and a wink. The same wink he had given her years ago when he’d gifted her with the book. “Asides, I have something for you.”

“Something for me?” What on earth could he possibly give her? “I am sure you have naught that I want.”

“Oh, but I do, Gwyneth. Come on … admit that spending every moment with me has not been
all
bad.”

“It has been nigh a week and I cannot even use the privy without your permission!”

He grinned. “But I’ve never denied you.”

She rolled her eyes but fell in step beside him. Just as she did every day.

“I only want to see to my duties.”

“Your only duty is to attend me.”

Irksome. Utterly irksome. “If we must live together, then I do not see why I cannot—”

“Silence, wife. Or we go back for the scold’s bridle.”

She clamped her lips and squared her shoulders. If only she could talk to Irma and come up with a plan!

They followed the river to the south through the forest near the edge of the wall.

Despite their row, companionable silence yawned between them as they walked. Aeliana took flight and circled overhead. No matter how much she wished to be at the keep organizing the household, Gwyneth found the time that they spent hunting each day magical. The issues between them faded as they watched Aeliana catch prey.

The suspicion in the bird’s yellow eyes had lessened. She no longer ruffled when Gwyneth came near. Today she had practiced soothing the hawk by singing a soft song to her the same as Jared did.

Several rabbits were caught, but instead of heading farther into the trees, Jared drew Gwyneth over to a shady place beneath a giant oak.

He reached into his tunic and brought out the book with the carved dragon cover.

She blinked. “Where did you get that?”

“You had it in your bodice the night I carried you back to the cave.”

“I thought I had lost it. ”

She reached for it, but he held it away. The fabric of his tunic strained against his shoulders. “First, tell me why you carried it with you.”

She placed one hand on her hip. “What do you mean?”

“I doubt you were teaching the harlots how to read.”

Unbidden, she felt her cheeks heat. The book had been her constant companion for years. She still did not know how to read, but it had represented hope to her all the same that someday she would have a place for women and control her own lands, her own life, and her own destiny. Every time she glanced at the dragon on the cover she’d felt new courage.

She looked at the sharp planes of his face—at the precision of his jaw and the sheer masculinity of his goatee and mustache. Her dreams seemed silly and foolish in the harsh light of reality.