Knight's Caress (9 page)

Shaking her head, Amberlie looked him straight in the eye. “He didn’t ravish me.”

“Did he touch you then? Did the brute run his hands over your beautiful body,
cherie?
I cannot bear to think of it.” Guy pulled Amberlie close against him, and the chain mail from his hauberk ground into her breasts. “I want to be the only man to touch you and bring you pleasure, only me, Amberlie.”

Guy’s mouth descended upon hers, bringing with the kiss a plea for something she wasn’t prepared to give to him. Curling her hands into fists, she pushed against him, offering no response. Finally he ended the assault. “Let me go—at once!” she commanded, much offended but not truly surprised by Guy. For months, she’d endured his heated looks, always watching him and wondering when he’d spring upon her. Why now? she wondered.

“Did Tedric kiss you like that?” he asked, his voice husky and filled with jealousy. “If so, I shall search the forest myself and find him. And when I do, I shall kill him, for no man touches you but me.”

Amberlie took advantage of his loosened embrace and jumped away from him. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to erase the vestiges of Guy’s kiss. “I don’t want you to touch me—ever again! You’re my kinsman, the uncle of my husband.”

“Not for long,” he returned with an amused snort, though he made no further move toward her. “King William arrives in a fortnight to see how work on the keep is progressing. I plan to petition him for your hand in marriage. I want you to be my wife.”

Amberlie’s heart thudded in her chest. As much as she hated the idea of marrying a man chosen by the king, she detested the thought that William might allow a marriage to Guy de Bayonne. Henri had considered his step-uncle to be conniving and unscrupulous, but Guy was a fine soldier and had fought side by side with Henri in battle. His prowess with a sword had made up for his deficiencies of character. But to marry such a man was unthinkable. She’d sooner marry the Devil. She clutched at the folds of her gown. “If the king grants your petition, I shall refuse you.”

“Ah,
mon petite,
you shall do what you are told. Now to bed with you before you fall over from weariness.” Their conversation ended when he held the door open for her. She knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue further with him, for Guy was the type of person who’d walk away from an argument when it wasn’t going his way.

Amberlie walked the short distance to her room, her mind in a fog. Magda joined her and silently helped undress her. Wearing only her shift, Amberlie climbed into the high, wide bed and snuggled beneath the covers, too tired to dwell upon Guy’s absurd notion of marrying her. All she wanted was to sleep and forget Guy and a shaggy-haired Saxon who’d started a slow burn in her body with his kisses.

But even that was denied her.

Her dreams contained images of Tedric’s face, and in these dreams she waited beside the pond for him to come to her—and when he did, she found herself willingly wrapped in his impassioned embrace, willingly drowning in his fevered kisses. She ached for him, begged for him to love her, and just before Tedric lowered her to the soft grass, she glanced up to find that her lover was no longer Tedric but Henri.

In her dream Henri didn’t smile his boyish grin; he didn’t hold out his hand to her when she told him how glad she was to see him. Instead, his face was hard, his voice was cold. “You’ve betrayed me with my murderer,” he told her. “You’re a weak woman to let him kiss you. Until my death is avenged, you’ll know no peace and love shall be denied you.”

She woke from the dream in a puddle of perspiration, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Though Henri was dead, she had no doubt that his spirit had somehow come to her in a dream to heap this curse upon her. Henri knew how she’d betrayed him with his murderer, and he wanted her to avenge his death. But how could she do that?

“Weymouth Keep.” She spoke the name aloud, unaware at first that she’d even said it until she remembered that Tedric’s mother had carelessly mentioned this as a hiding place. Amberlie realized that Guy’s knights wouldn’t find Tedric in the forest—he was hiding in the cellar of Weymouth Keep until he could organize and train more men for battle. That was where Guy would find him, and poor Lady Mabel had unwittingly been the instrument of her son’s downfall.

A sinking sensation of guilt flooded Amberlie even as she made the decision to tell Guy where to find Tedric. Part of her hated what she must do, but the dream was so real and vivid in her mind, and Henri so alive and contemptuous of her, that she knew only one path was open to her. And if her own guilt for having responded to Tedric’s advances was alleviated in the process, then so be it. She owed Henri her loyalty, and she must be the one to bring Tedric to justice. And when she did, these disturbing dreams of being locked in the brawny Saxon’s arms would cease.

At least, she trusted this would be so.

Amberlie watched the next afternoon as Guy led his knights out of the bailey, riding in the direction of Weymouth Keep. She didn’t move away from the tower wall until the red and gold banner was but a speck in the distance. “I’ve done the right thing,” she whispered, and thought about how Henri’s life had been cut short. Yet she also thought about Tedric for more than a fleeting moment, and could almost imagine his fierce stance as he fought for his freedom, only to be defeated in the end. She knew Guy would take him alive; Julianne had ordered that Tedric be brought to her upon his capture. Given her uncertainty about seeing Tedric punished, Amberlie shivered to imagine just what Julianne might have in mind for the man, and she suffered pangs of guilt.

She turned and pulled her cloak about her, and found herself facing Father Ambrose. He smiled benignly. “My child, have you anything to confess to me?”

Amberlie shook her head. “Nothing, Father.”

“Julianne said you might have something to tell me concerning … your ordeal.” Ambrose looked almost uncomfortable.

Amberlie’s cheeks grew pink with her blush until anger darkened them. How dare her meddling mother-in-law send Father Ambrose to her to get her to confess her sins! She was no child, and she wouldn’t confess to Ambrose how she’d fallen under Tedric’s spell—she couldn’t. The humiliation of responding to Henri’s murderer was too much for her to even think about, much less openly confess. “I have done nothing wrong that I must seek forgiveness.” A lie, but better to let her sin remain in her heart than to tell Ambrose, who might break his priestly vow of silence and reveal the contents of her confession to Julianne.

“But Julianne said you must unburden yourself,” he persisted.

“I care not what Julianne said or what she wants!” Amberlie snapped, her dark eyes shooting fire. “I am mistress here, not Julianne, and I will not be treated as a child.” With those words hanging in the chilly air, Amberlie swished past Ambrose and headed for the kitchens.

For the next four days, she busied herself with household duties, taking most satisfaction from ministering to the sick who lived at Woodrose, and in the tiny village surrounding the keep. Gundred, a small, stooped old woman, was Amberlie’s mentor. She’d lived at Woodrose all of her eighty years, and was much revered for her knowledge of herbs and healing poultices. Gundred’s little cottage was a hodgepodge of dried fruits, berries, and leaves that hung from the rafters and were freely scattered upon a wooden table. She had explained to Amberlie what each of the herbs were and what each herb and fruit could do to help ease the pain, and which ones should never be given since sickness would surely follow, and perhaps death. Assisting Gundred when she ministered to the sick was the highlight of Amberlie’s day; though it distressed her to see someone suffering, she felt useful and much needed.

It was on the fifth day as Amberlie helped Gundred prepare a poultice for a sick baby that she heard the horn blow in the distance. “Sir Guy returns,” Gundred said matter-of-factly, and continued her ministrations for the crying child. Amberlie’s heart began to pound hard, and her mouth grew dry with tense fear. Had Guy captured Tedric?

A serf who’d been working on the castle’s fortifications appeared at the cottage door. “My Lady Amberlie, Lady Julianne insists ye wait with her in the bailey. Sir Guy approaches with his captives.”

Minutes later, Amberlie stood beside Julianne and watched from the battlements as the conquering knights approached. Three knights on horseback entered the bailey first; each held a woman before him. Instantly Amberlie recognized the figures of Glenna, Lady Mabel, and Edytha. Despite the enmity she knew she should feel for these women, Amberlie felt only pity. Glenna tried to appear indifferent and proud, Lady Mabel looked frail and sick, while Edytha only seemed confused and frightened. But it was the sight of Tedric that caused her heart to lurch painfully in her chest.

Guy, atop his destrier, galloped into the bailey. Behind the horse ran Tedric, whose arms were tethered to the back of the animal by a short rope. His tunic had been stripped away to reveal unevenly placed stripes across his broad and muscular back which were raw and covered with dried blood. His face was puffy and his eyes blackened. Apparently, Tedric had been savagely beaten, and Amberlie had no doubt that Guy had delivered the blows.

“Ah, my son’s killer is finally here,” Julianne jeeringly proclaimed, and rubbed her hands together in what only could be described as vicious glee. “Now he shall suffer for robbing me of my child, and no one can help him. Come, Amberlie, we should see to our guest—and his discomfort.”

Amberlie hesitated, not eager to face Tedric again, not willing to contribute to his further suffering or his family’s though she knew she should by all accounts be pleased to have Tedric in her power. After all, this was what she’d planned. Revenge had been uppermost in her mind for months. Yet now that the reality was upon her, she didn’t know how to deal with it for cruelty truly wasn’t in her nature.

“Why do you dawdle?” Julianne’s beady and perceptive gaze fastened upon her. “Are you fainthearted, or perhaps there is another reason you’re not eager to face your husband’s murderer?”

“Neither,” Amberlie lied, and propelled her legs to move down the wooden stairs to the bailey below and away from Julianne’s penetrating stare. “I’m as eager as you to see justice done.”

The Saxon women were lowered from the horses. Amberlie breathed a relieved sigh to see that they hadn’t been mistreated. Glenna immediately went to Lady Mabel, holding the thin, old woman about the waist while Edytha cowered beside her mother. Flaubert, the young knight who’d ridden in with Edytha, watched the young girl with something akin to adoration. He loomed protectively over his charge. When Amberlie approached the group, Flaubert came forward and bowed to her. “My lady, what is to be done with these prisoners?”

Amberlie thought it odd that he addressed her and not Julianne, but perhaps he realized that Julianne’s venom against Tedric might extend to these innocent women. Empathy for their plight touched her heart, for she remembered how frightened she’d first been after her own kidnapping. Even Glenna glanced fearfully at her, but it was the blatant fear shimmering in Lady Mabel’s eyes which undid Amberlie. No matter how she might detest this woman’s son, Lady Mabel and these two other women were blameless.

“Flaubert, I place you in charge of these captives to see that no harm befalls them,” Amberlie said, trusting her intuition that Flaubert possessed a kindly disposition. “Take them to the kitchens for nourishment and then to Magda. Under no circumstances are they to be placed in chains, by my order as lady of this keep.” That very order would prevent even Julianne and Guy from harming them. She knew that every knight would bow to her authority in this instance for she very seldom issued such a statement.

“Oui,
my lady.” Flaubert bowed to her, and with the help of the other two knights led the women into the keep.

Amberlie glanced around, and saw that Julianne was much more interested in Tedric than in his family. Julianne savagely kicked out at Tedric, who was on all fours like a wounded lion, ready to pounce but unable to move because of the way a strong, able-bodied knight held the tether. Julianne screamed at him in French, all of her hatred unleashed through her feet, hands, and words. Never had Amberlie seen such hatred directed at another human being, and something inside of her churned in disgust. Julianne was totally out of control.

Guy, on the contrary, gave Amberlie a large, pleased smile and slid down from his horse to escort her personally toward Tedric. “Because of you,
cherie,
I have captured my dear nephew’s slayer. You are the reason he fell into my hands. I am forever grateful.” Guy laughingly took her hand and kissed it. Amberlie drew away in repulsion, but not before Tedric had settled his agonized gaze upon her, and she saw unbridled hate flare within his eyes. He fell onto his side just as Julianne directed a painful blow to his back with an ax handle she’d taken from a knight, who stood nearby and jeered along with the rest of the soldiers.

“Stop!” Amberlie screamed, unable to stand any more of this brutality.

Julianne halted, surprise and bafflement giving way to anger that Amberlie had been the one to call out. “Have you a soft spot in your heart for your husband’s murderer, Amberlie? Well, I do not! Tell me why I should stop, tell me why I should not derive great joy from hurting this barbarian killer, the killer of my son!” Julianne clenched her teeth and her hands. For an instant, Amberlie thought the woman might attack her. She’d never seen such undisguised hatred on another human being’s face, and she felt chilled to her very soul.

“I—I don’t believe such punishment is proper for this man.” She didn’t know why she said such a ludicrous thing. “Tedric is a proud Saxon,” she continued lamely. She was not certain what she wished to say, but she knew she couldn’t stand seeing Tedric brutalized, no matter that he’d killed Henri.

Guy snorted in disgust. “Death is his destiny, though he is prideful. I shall take delight in killing him.”

Julianne’s eyes narrowed at Amberlie, and she ignored Guy. “Then what do you suggest as punishment for your husband’s murderer? I think he should be thrown into the pit and kept there until he rots, but I want to hear how you think he should be punished.”

“It doesn’t matter how Amberlie wants him punished,” Guy interjected with a nasty glance at Julianne. “I want him dead—at my hand—to pay for the way he lanced me in the side. The pit is not enough to satisfy me.”

“The pit is my choice,” Julianne insisted, “but since Amberlie is lady of the keep and my son’s widow, she must decide what to do with Henri’s murderer.”

Amberlie thought it was a fine time for Julianne to remember that she was lady of the keep and that, as the mistress, her wishes must be respected. Was Julianne testing her, trying to decide if something had happened between herself and Tedric?

Tedric lay on the ground, apparently in a great deal of pain, but his eyes held nothing but hatred and contempt—and he directed it in Amberlie’s direction. She knew Guy wanted this man to die, not to avenge Henri, but to alleviate his own humiliation for not having captured Tedric before now. He wanted Tedric to die for an insignificant wound he’d suffered at Tedric’s hands. Julianne wanted Tedric to spend the rest of his life in the pit, a place dug deeply in the earth behind the keep from which no man could escape without help. Tedric would die slowly and painfully for he’d be fed rancid leavings from the table that not even the dogs would touch. Amberlie couldn’t stand for such a proud man to be treated like an animal; there had to be another way to punish him.

Amberlie heard herself speaking before she fully realized what she was saying. “Tedric shall be my personal slave, performing all of the duties which only a woman does for her mistress. He shall clean my clothes and fetch my meals, serving at the high table with the women. As a once- proud nobleman, he will suffer the slights of his own people and our knights by serving the widow of the man whom he murdered. He’ll never be free but will live in bondage until he draws his last breath. That is what I decree as lady of this castle.”

“You’re mad!” Guy shouted, and cursed. Taking Amberlie’s arm in his hand, he squeezed tightly. “The man deserves death and you decree he live in bondage. What justice is there in that?”

“I’ve spoken,” Amberlie reiterated, and pulled away from him. “As Henri’s widow and the mistress of Woodrose, I have the right to expect my wishes to be fulfilled without interference from you—or anyone.” She peered at Julianne, expecting a tirade, but strangely none was forthcoming. Instead Julianne only nodded.

“Such punishment is fair exchange for my son’s death. I agree with my daughter-in-law.”

“You’re both mad!” Guy strode away from them, apparently of the opinion that it would do little good to fight both Amberlie and Julianne.

Julianne looked down at Tedric and made a cackling sound. “Proud Saxon indeed!” Then she entered the keep.

Amberlie watched as Tedric was hauled to his feet by two knights. Before they led him past her, he turned frosty eyes upon her. “T’would have been better had you killed me.”