THE WARLORD (6 page)

They rode hard and fast after leaving the scene of the skirmish. Tess was surprised at first by the groups of Kenric's men they met along the road. By afternoon more than one hundred soldiers rode behind them and she was growing accustomed to the clattering racket created by so many horses and soldiers, all armed for battle. She no longer worried about MacLeith. Her new concerns lay with her husband. He grew more irritable as the day wore on, answering his soldiers' occasional questions with short, curt replies that discouraged further conversation.

Even Tess's one attempt at talking with him ended badly. Thinking Kenric would mistake her question for wifely concern, she asked quietly and humbly if he was pleased by what he'd gained through their marriage. She hoped his affirmative answer would allow her to find out more about his plans for Remmington.

Examining the angular lines of his face as she waited for his reply, Tess was struck again by the imposing aura of power that surrounded him. She was playing a dangerous game with a dangerous man. No one had ever made her so nervous just by looking at her, not even the MacLeiths. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that Kenric of Montague was unlike any man she'd ever met. And he was also the most uncooperative. Rather than answer the question that had but one answer, he continued to stare at her for the longest time, the thoughts behind those wintry gray eyes his alone to know. Tess met his steely gaze without flinching, a significant feat considering the fear that flowed through her.

"Nay."

Tess and her question were dismissed. She pursed her lips to release a disappointed sigh. It had been a foolish question. She realized that fact too late. Seeing matters Kenric's way, she realized that he'd gained nothing yet of any value. Marriage had brought him a wife who possessed the meager belongings contained in two sacks and an in-law who had no intention of handing over her inheritance. A warlord would find little to appreciate in such a marriage.

"Well, perhaps I did not ask that question very clearly," she conceded. "I realize my stepfather will be a bother—"

"Lady, I find both you and your stepfather a bother. Now cease your babbling."

"Babbling!" she echoed, incensed by the insult.
"I was merely asking a polite question that—"

"Aye, you babble
. 'Tis also unseemly for a wife to question her husband."

"Just what
do
you want in a wife, milord?"

The corners of Kenric's mouth tightened over the clear note of censure in her voice. "I don't want a wife at all. No more than you want a husband, Lady. We married by order of our king and I suggest you make the best of it.

You may begin by remaining silent until you are spoken to, for I dislike talkative women."

Tess wisely remained silent, seething over the unwarranted rudeness of her husband's remarks. He made her sound no more significant than a hound, a beast best appreciated when lying faithfully at its master's feet. Only this master had no wish for a pet. With that attitude, he'd probably be overjoyed when the king annulled their marriage. She certainly would be.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she acted instinctively when she saw Kenric lift his hand as if to strike her. She instantly raised her arms to protect her head and turned her face toward the protection of his chest.

When the blow never came, she peeked over her arm,
then
quickly shielded her face again, waiting. Kenric's hand was resting on his shoulder, as if frozen in the act of adjusting his cloak. Hah. She wouldn't fall for that old ploy. Gordon and Dunmore MacLeith had both caught her with that trick, striking her the moment she let her guard down. She'd learned long ago that they would eventually lose patience if she hid her face long enough. Yet she hated the waiting.

"Look at me."

Tess wrapped her arms tighter over her ears and shook her head. Kenric resisted the urge to shake her, knowing that would do little to convince her that he intended no harm.

"I'm not going to hit you," he said impatiently. He was thankful they rode several lengths ahead of everyone else so his men wouldn't witness this scene. Some might take it into their heads that the lady was already unhappy in her marriage. That kind of trouble he didn't need. "What makes you think I would want to strike you?"

Tess was silent several moments. Her muffled explanation finally came from beneath one arm. "I annoyed you with my questions."

"You believe I will strike you each time you annoy me?" Ah, but what else would she expect from the Butcher of Wales?
his
conscience asked logically. He felt Tess nod her head against his chest. "You annoyed me much more at Kelso Abbey with all your foolish arguments. Yet did I strike you then?"

"My uncle might have retaliated," she countered, still hiding against his chest.

"You annoyed me when you let go of my waist during the skirmish this morning. Aye, I was good and angry with you for disobeying me. Did I strike you then?"

She remained silent, motionless.

"And it also annoyed me that you'd lied to the good priest who married us." It didn't hurt to add a lie
of his own
. He tried hard to think of another example, but realized it would be foolish to point out that she was annoying him mightily right now. Instead he gently pried her arm from her head. She allowed him to pull both arms away and didn't protest when he took hold of her shoulders and moved her away from his chest. But she flinched when he raised his hand to lift her chin. He frowned over her reaction but waited patiently for her to look up at him, seeing only fear and distrust in her eyes when she did.

"Did they hit you often?" he asked quietly. Her gaze slid to one side and she shrugged.

"That would depend on what you consider 'often,' " she said woodenly
. "
The MacLeiths find a fist handier than sharp words if someone displeases them."

"I see." He examined her face closely to see if she bore any scars but found none, no telltale marks to indicate that she'd been struck with any frequency.

"I prefer sharp words," he said tersely, allowing her to know that much of their future. He didn't want a wife who cowered and flinched each time he touched her or made a sudden move. "There will be no more beatings."

She gave him a quick, jerky nod, then bowed her head, but not before Kenric saw the surprise in her eyes.

He felt the relief flow through her body, allowing her to relax against him. A moment earlier he'd wanted her to pull up her hood and turn away from him, but now, when she did, he felt disappointed.

Still, he waited patiently for her list of complaints. Surely she would tell him how the MacLeiths had abused her, bore him with each small detail. Women loved to complain especially to a man capable of meting out justice. It wasn't until Tess burrowed deeper beneath her cloak that Kenric realized she had no intention of telling him anything more. Aye, she remained blessedly silent. He should be pleased. Kenric scowled at the top of his bride's head.

Tess awoke hours later in a darkened room, not quite sure what startled her awake. Her gaze focused on a wall that seemed to be made of animal hides. Her eyes traveled upward and she soon realized the room was not a room at all, but a tent. She was stretched out on a fur of some sort, a bear's pelt, she decided, curling her fingers into the wiry fur. One long, blissful moment passed before she recalled the events of the day and previous evening. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest as the memories flooded back.

Tess said another silent prayer for the soul of the MacLeith soldier she'd killed, as she had each time she'd recalled the horrible incident. She doubted her husband offered as much consideration to the souls of those he'd slain. If he did, he'd do nothing
but
pray. Yet this same man had the power to make her feel safe, protected.

Tess frowned against the fur. She shifted on the pelt and cautiously peeked over her shoulder. Kenric was seated cross-legged on a pile of furs a few feet away, his elbows resting on his knees. A fat candle flickered near the opening of the tent, but as usual, his dark gaze revealed nothing. Still, there was
an intensity
in his eyes that unnerved her, a subtle difference in the way he watched her that sent goose bumps down her arms.

He was probably thinking about what a skilled murderess he'd married, she thought. Aye, what a fitting bride for the Butcher, a woman who slays a man mere hours after their wedding, displaying a skill that looked deceptively practiced.
So much for gaining his trust.
He'd never turn his back on such a talented assassin.

Fighting down her fear and uncertainty, she sat up and began to smooth her gown, brushing her hands along the worn brown fabric with exaggerated care while trying to think of something to say. The silence of the tent seemed unnatural, ominous after listening to the deafening noise of hoofbeats for so many hours.

"I fell asleep again, didn't I?"

Kenric didn't provide the obvious answer and she tried not to shiver. His eyes brought to mind a wolf stalking its prey. It was troubling how little she knew of this man and his moods. What she did know brought little comfort. He'd said he didn't want a wife. Those stares of his that lacked any trace of human warmth doubtless masked thoughts of how best to rid himself of his bride. Her heart began to beat faster as the tales she'd heard of the Butcher took shape in her mind.

Perhaps he really did drink blood with his dinner.

His eyes narrowed and she wondered if he could read her mind, if he could sense her fear. She licked her lips nervously and tried to push her worries aside.

"I'm hungry."

Tess frowned. She'd meant to say that differently, to remind him that a full day had passed since her last meal,
then
to ask politely for something to eat. But his mood had affected her manners as well.

Kenric stood up and left the tent without a word. He returned a few minutes later, but she wasn't sure he'd requested food until a voice called out from the other side of the tent flap.

At Kenric's order, a young man of about thirteen or fourteen summers entered, carrying a tray laden with food and wine. At that awkward stage between youth and manhood, the boy kept a careful eye on the tray. When he raised his eyes, the tray in his hands was soon forgotten. He stared at his new baroness as if he were the one who had yet to eat, too besotted to notice the darkening scowl from his lord.

"Leave us," Kenric growled.

The anger in that voice set the squire into instant motion. He nearly dropped the tray in his haste to obey.

"Thank you," Tess murmured with a kind smile. She hoped to ease the boy's nervousness, disturbed that even the Butcher's own people seemed terrified of him. That was not encouraging.

The young man snatched his fur cap from his head and bowed at least five times as he backed out of the tent, sounding like an echo of himself as he repeated his thanks.

"Your squire?" she asked, glad for something to talk about. Kenric didn't answer her question, but she glanced up in time to see him nod. "He seemed rather… uneasy."

"Thomas is merely curious about his new baroness."

Tess nodded absently, none too appeased by the explanation. She was thinking Fitz Alan had likely told the boy about the Scot she'd killed, and that was the reason he'd behaved so oddly. Another thought caught her off guard, and her eyes widened with alarm. Kenric had called her his new baroness. She was Baroness Montague, his wife, and this was the closest thing to a wedding night her hasty marriage would ever allow. Tess didn't know much about marriage, but she did know that new brides were bedded on their wedding night.

Busying herself to cover her uneasy thoughts, Tess picked up a knife from the tray and sliced a wedge of cheese into bite-size pieces. Her husband wasn't acting like a man anxious to bed his new wife. Maybe he really did want to get rid of her. She knew well that a wife's death could be explained away easily enough.

The cheese Tess had popped into her mouth seemed to swell until it threatened to choke her. As if he'd guessed her distress, Kenric poured two goblets of wine, handed one to her, and settled back on his seat of furs. She gulped the wine greedily,
then
placed the goblet on the wooden tray, her appetite gone. Still, she'd asked for the food and he'd think it strange indeed if she ate no more than a bite of cheese. Picking up a loaf of bread, she tore off a small piece and stuffed it into her mouth. She kept the wine handy to wash it down. She glanced at Kenric,
then
snapped her eyes back to the food, popping a slice of dried apple into her mouth. She prayed her voice didn't sound as shaky as she felt.

"Are you going to eat s-some of this delicious food?"

"Nay.
I ate less than an hour ago when we arrived."

Tess reached out to pick up the wine, but her hand shook so badly that she chose another piece of apple instead.

"I have no intent of bedding you tonight, if that is what
has
you so worried," he said, watching her over the rim of his goblet. "You will not become my wife in more than name until we reach the warmth and comforts of Montague. Doubtless you have heard many tales of me, but I am
not a wild beast nor
some coarse peasant who is unable to contain his lust."