A Lord for Haughmond (11 page)

     “Nay,” Anne shrank back, her eyes filling with tears.

     He leaned closer, pressing against her knees. “Answer the question, my pet. Are you yet a virgin?”

     She stared at him with quivering lips. Tears spilled down her pallid cheeks.

     His patience snapped. Grasping the inside of her knees, he yanked her legs and stepped between them. Her gown skimmed up her thighs, revealing the creamy flesh of her slender limbs, exposing the dark curls at their juncture. ’Twas a familiar sensation, this pressure of a wench’s flesh straddling his hips. Within his chausses, his manhood sprang to life. Losing the battle against his increasingly compelling needs, he pressed his hips forward, thrusting against the soft and secret flesh that tantalized him, that beckoned to him from its wreath of curls.

     With a choking sob, Anne struggled to pull her limbs together and to shove her gown down over her legs.

     “Your answer, and right quickly,” he demanded in a low, measured tone, grabbing her wrists and bringing her up fully to his chest. He had never been this close to Anne, had never touched her soft curves, nor felt her ripe breasts, the mounds of soft flesh thrust up beneath his chin, just out of reach of his tongue and teeth. His manhood ached for release, throbbed in frustration. He envisioned sliding into that oh-so-tight niche. Warm spittle filled his mouth.

     “Yea, Father, I am a virgin,” Anne cried, her panicked gaze meeting his.

     “’Tis good.” His breath came unsteadily as he stared at the creamy flesh of her thighs, where his fingers created white indentations. Grasping hold of her buttocks, he savored the feel of her bare flesh. The pounding blood in his ears and groin all but drowned away her whimpers. “No knight worth his sword desires a woman of easy virtue.”

     All that separated him from release was the blasted flimsy cloth of his chausses. He leaned back for a better view, relishing her nakedness, moving his hand so his thumb could more easily caress her womanly nub of pleasure. His erection hardened.

     Anne went rigid beneath his hands. He yanked her, crushing her again to his chest, stanching her gathering scream. “Not a word!” he growled. Impaling this virgin would soothe his wounded pride as naught else could. Palming her buttocks with both his hands, he thrust against the linen cloth once again. Damnation!      

     With a cry, Anne twisted away, but he held her one-handed, slipping his other hand betwixt them, tugging aside his leggings.

     “Let us discuss which Marcher lord shall be your husband,” he murmured as he maneuvered her legs further apart against his straining hips. “Mayhap Sir Hubert will care naught for your absent virtue.”

*  *  *

     “’Twill be announced at an evening feast. I cannot abide it!”

     Katherine’s lament was far too loud for Rhys’s peace of mind. “Tush, the king must not know you are dissatisfied. His anger is easily aroused,” he admonished under his breath. With grim fortitude he led Katherine away from the dais, holding aloft his arm, enduring her fingernails digging into his flesh and hoping desperately that Edward’s hearing was not as precise as his sword arm. He could sympathize with Katherine ’til the end of time, but ’twould do little good. No one dared gainsay the king. 

     They pushed their way through the multitude, those restlessly awaiting the king’s inclination, and those deft pick pockets who plied their trade and whom Rhys carefully avoided. He maneuvered himself betwixt Katherine and the hustlers offering for sale anything of value, including their noisome bodies so she would not be harassed. Finally, they approached the spot where Anne was to wait for them.

     She was nowhere to be seen. 

     “Sir Geoffrey has taken her!” Katherine exclaimed, darting a look every which way.

     A nearby nobleman and his wife dressed in their velvet finery awaited their audience with Edward. The lady turned at Katherine’s frantic words. “Seek you the young damsel who tarried here?” she asked with a concerned frown.

     Katherine turned to the lady. “Yea, mistress, ’tis my sister. She was to bide here ’til my return.”

     “Alack, she was escorted away by an older knight,” the noblewoman replied. She leaned close. “I do hope she hasn’t done something amiss to incur his wrath? He seemed quite vexed.”

     Katherine threw her panic up at him.

     Instinctively, his hand moved to his sword hilt. “Where did he take her?”

     “Through that door.” The lady pointed to where a page appeared with a tray of dried fruits and cheeses for the king.

     Rhys’s heart lurched in fear as Katherine ran toward the narrow entrance of the stonewall. He caught up with her in a few strides. “You needs leave Sir Geoffrey to me. You are no match for him.”

     Katherine lifted her skirt higher and flew down the steps. “Skewer him with my blessing. All I want is to find Anne safe.”  

*  *  *

     “If your husband is sufficiently old, he won’t mind that you are not a virgin. ’Twill make no difference to a man with little vigor.” Geoffrey, his thoughts tumbling over the delicious prospect of the moment, watched Anne squirm within his hold. Usurping this priceless gift, knowing she would be of lesser value in the absence of her virginity, did give him pause, but only for a moment. A fine plan had formed and his vengeance would soon be complete. It made him almost gleeful.

     He arced a wad of spittle into his hand, to help him slide into her with less pain to himself. ’Twas the ultimate revenge, to ravage this stepdaughter, mayhap send her to a husband with his own babe agrowing in her belly. ’Twas gratifying thereto, that her sister, like a burr under his saddle, would be powerless to undo his revenge.

     “Remove your hands from the lady before I cleave you in twain.”

     The sharp bite of a sword blade pressed into his neck as the harsh command rang out behind him. Christ’s Toes! He lifted his hands, allowing his clothing to slide back into place. Out of the corner of his eye he noted Katherine’s armored champion poised at the far end of a long and finely honed sword, piercing him with blue, condemning eyes.

     The burr under his saddle shouldered her way past him, jostling him, forcing him back a pace. “Vile man!” She spat, pawing at her sister’s gown while Anne scrambled off the barrel. Together, they retreated behind the knight.

     “’Tis a foolish blunder. You interfere, sir, in a family matter.” His voice was equally resolute. A blustering, untested knight was naught to him, save the sharp, menacing blade nigh piercing his flesh. If this young upstart sought to intimidate him, he did not know his man. “You trespass on a private discussion.”

     “He speaks false,” cried Anne from where she huddled against Katherine.

     “Clearly a most rare and unsettling discourse,” commented the knight, his sword tip prodding Geoffrey’s neck once more. “Naught else?”

     The ruthless voice raised Geoffrey’s hackles, but he dared not move with the sharp blade all but slicing his throat. “Your rebuke is groundless.”

     “’Tis not groundless. You would rape my sister, had we not found her.” Katherine’s sharp accusation grated on his sensibilities.

     “Tush, Katherine, Sir Geoffrey needs deal with me.” The knight’s harsh stare remained on him.

     Geoffrey knew a moment’s hesitation, but refused to give it credence. “Your name, sir,” he demanded. “Do you force my attention, I’ll have a name.”

     “Rhys of St. Quintin. Remember it well.”

     The knight stepped back a pace.

     Geoffrey turned to face him.

     “Does not the insult I’ve delivered you demand a redress?” Rhys of St. Quintin lifted a menacing brow. 

     He refused to be goaded.

     “Throw down your gauntlet, sir, for I am eager to accommodate you,” the knight continued in a snarl.

     Stunned by the man’s aggression, Geoffrey’s mind whirled as he tried to dredge up a memory of this knight. Who, exactly, was this obnoxious man? He drew a breath. “I will not be intimidated by threats, sir.”

     “Will you not?” The knight’s glinting sword moved closer. His intent was unmistakable. “Coward!” he growled.

     Not about to be drawn into a fight without knowing its cause, Geoffrey awaited the knight’s next move.

     “This day’s mayhem is deserving of Edward’s attention.” The knight’s eyes narrowed into dark slits. “The royal wrath can be counted upon to descend unerringly.”

     Geoffrey’s ire erupted at his helplessness. He was the one to dispense threats, not others. And ’twas the first time an amorous conquest had been interrupted. He liked not the disturbing sensations yet lingering in his groin. Thereto, he needed no reminder of Edward’s prickly disposition. But determined to show none of the effort it took to master his humiliation, he stepped away.

     “I should not have supposed an acquaintance of Katherine’s would demonstrate manners of common civility. Young Anne required counseling on marriage. I thought to make her a brilliant match, but she is much like her mother. Take the spineless creature.” He backhanded the air. “If Katherine is like to insist on the responsibility herself, she may have it!” Shrugging, he tried to make himself appear agreeable. “I will not hinder her.”

     “See to it,” retorted the knight with a cold glitter in his eyes that made his skin crawl. With a final threatening flourish of his sword, Sir Rhys backed away. Motioning Katherine and Anne from the chamber, he followed them, but his eyes never left Geoffrey as he withdrew.

     Left alone, Geoffrey clenched his jaw. In the future, he would find the opportunity to run that arrogant bastard through, the arrogant knight of St. Quintin. And he would delight in meting out every last measure of pain.

     In the meantime, ’twould be best if there were no more half-fledged schemes whilst this champion of Katherine’s lurked about. Rhys of St. Quintin appeared to keep his wits about him.

     And Katherine—that prideful bitch would yet feel his wrath. ’Twould be a pleasure to break her spirit and bring her to her knees where she belonged. Mayhap he’d find the opportunity to corner her. ’Twould humble Rhys of St. Quintin, thereto, if he did diddle that bastard out of a legitimate heir.

     Christ’s Toes, but he ached to wring someone’s neck!

     “Pardon me, sir, I thought the chamber empty.” A servant girl of no more than twelve summers, hesitated in the doorway, a basket balanced on her hip.

     “I am departing.” He beckoned to her and stepped out of her way.

     With a hesitant smile, the servant moved further into the chamber.

     She went about her task, sliding a three-legged stool beneath the hanging herbs and climbing up to gather them from the rafters. Geoffrey paused. Mayhap not all was lost. Her woolen skirt flared over full hips and her breasts were ripe and young. She was not particularly pretty, with pockmarks on her cheeks and forehead and round chin. But he wouldn’t look at her for long. 

     He licked his lips. This damsel would thank him for his attentions on the morrow. If she proved satisfactory, he’d engage her services while he tarried at Bereford.

     Kicking the door shut with the heel of his boot, he turned and smiled. “Ah, lass, I pray a moment of your time.”

Chapter Eight

     Weak with relief, hunched over one of the clothing chests in the castle wardrobe they shared with four other women, Katherine stared at her sister asleep on their pallet of straw. Praise Saint Winifred, Anne was safe. Thanks be to Rhys.

     Why, then, was she not happy? Why was she more unnerved and agitated at this moment, than when they discovered Anne missing? What disturbed her so greatly? Was it because Rhys did everything he said he would do? Astonishingly, he had even purchased the gown for her meeting with the king.

     Did she trust him?

     Did she—? Was this love?

     Jolted by the astounding thought, she gripped the chest as though she had lost all strength. Such a homefelt sentiment was not easily recognized. She had never experienced it hitherto.

     She loved Rhys of St. Quintin?

     She loved Rhys of St. Quintin!

     Rhys should stand as her husband, not some stranger! Hiking up her flowing gown, she ran from the chamber like an unnerved hind, down through the keep, across the inner ward and into the outer ward, where the knights and men-at-arms encamped. 

     “Rhys!”

     She burst into the knight’s campaign tent and promptly collided with Simon. A conical-shaped metal helmet flew from his arms as he sprang back. It spun across the matted grass and bounced to a halt against a leather-bound traveling chest. From his corner where he lay curled in a tight ball, Zeus lifted his massive head. His long coarse tail thumped a greeting against the hard ground. But Rhys was nowhere to be seen.

     “Where is your master?” she demanded, gasping for breath.

     With a grimace, Simon hefted up his load of chain-mail armor that threatened to shift out of his arms. “He went ahawkin’ with the king.”

     “You do not attend him?” She couldn’t help the dubious brow lifting in amazement. Simon and Rhys were inseparable.

     “Nay, he allowed me a moment to myself.” Simon dropped the armor on a leather hide beside the alan. “’Tis my right, you know.” 

     She had no time for the squire’s self-righteous indignation. “What direction did they take?”

     Retrieving the wayward helmet, Simon squatted down beside the armor. “The north road, past the fish pond.”

     Katherine ran on feet made desperate by the royal command. The king expected her to be joyful? His decree forbade it.  

     She must not lose that most chivalrous knight. Rhys must demand an audience with the king. He must be given her hand. And Haughmond. Would he not savor such a boon? Being unlanded, he was sure to marvel at his good fortune.

     Her breath grew labored as she raced to the stable and demanded the stable boy’s help. While Simon’s horse was saddled, she paced through the mud.