A Lord for Haughmond (33 page)

      Will spoke the truth—he unfailingly spoke the truth. But naught could be done to improve the circumstances. Not with Sir Geoffrey hanging on every word. Dafydd scowled in growing frustration. Will had agreed to the task. Why was he suddenly being irksome?

     “It needs be, Will, for I will not allow my lady wife freedom until she acknowledges my authority.”

     “I am willing to help you toward that end,” offered Sir Geoffrey, speaking around the bits of marrow he had slid into his mouth on the slender blade.

     A quiver of unease coursed down Dafydd’s spine. “My thanks, Sir Geoffrey. ’Tis kind that you do offer, but I cannot countenance the inconvenience to you.” He turned so he was no longer facing his father directly and threw Will a hard glare, the best hint he could offer.

     Sir Geoffrey was not so easily dissuaded. “’Tis no inconvenience, my son. I am here to lend a hand in your time of travail.” Uncoiling himself from his seat, he flipped the bone to one of the castle hounds. Impaling the arm of his chair with a quick thrust of his dagger, he stalked toward the two knights.

     Dafydd shifted his position again and bestowed on Will all the panic he could muster.

     Sir William’s eyes widened. He cocked a brow, then squinted, his usual reaction when confused.

     “’Tis not the task for a young knight,” admonished Sir Geoffrey as he came to stand beside them. “You needs be occupied with the business of war, if you are to gain lands. Certes, not guarding a woman!”

     “Yea, Sir Geoffrey, you speak true.” Will turned his back to Dafydd and engaged the older knight.

     Beads of perspiration formed on Dafydd’s forehead and he felt the prickle of sweat gathering on his scalp beneath his chain mail coif. He jabbed Will in the back, but the knight ignored him, the half-wit!

     “You will miss the opportunity for spoils,” suggested Sir Geoffrey. “Mayhap as fine a castle as this. You needs avail yourself of the king, and bend his ear.”

     “’Tis true,” came Will’s eager response. “Forsooth, Edward does reward loyalty.”

     Dafydd’s mouth went dry. He seized his friend’s shoulder and gave it a hard shake, wishing he had his mace. He would strike some sense into William’s addled brain. “Mind you, Will, you have no squire to watch your back.” 

     “I have an understanding of young Katherine,” Sir Geoffrey persisted with a nod of his head. “’Twould be easy to bring her to heel. I have done so ofttimes.”

     Grasping the hilt of his sword, Dafydd glared at the back of Will’s head with all the force of his roiling fears. He could do naught else. Except sweat. Beneath his armor, a rivulet dripped down his spine.

     Will chuckled suddenly. “Ah, but Sir Geoffrey, you do not know the whole of it.”

     Dafydd could barely breathe. Betwixt his vexation at Will’s feeble-mindedness and the unwelcome heat of the fire, he was baking within his armor. What would that blackguard spew? God’s thigh, did Will not grasp his warning?

     “I am most eager for Dafydd’s task.” Will shifted his position, turning to include Dafydd in his remarks. “Anne de la Motte is a lady I wish to become acquainted with.” He bestowed a lively grin upon Sir Geoffrey, whose face had grown dark and stormy. “Think what a boon it would be to make of the lady a conquest. I could take her favor into battle.” His wink encompassed both knights.

     Dafydd scowled in relief and considered running Will through with his sword. The bastard played him apurpose. ’Twas no time for jests. But it made no difference to his friend. Making sport of others was a greater part of Will’s daily existence. Rarely was the man serious. Revenge would be sweet, when next the two of them met in the tiltyard. He would give Will the pounding he so richly deserved.

     Dafydd stared pointedly into his friend’s sudden bland expression, then bowed swiftly to his father. “Pray, excuse us, Sir Geoffrey. I needs show Sir William his duties.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the staircase that led to the upper chambers. At the moment his ire was sufficient to carry him into battle and to slay the whole enemy throng.     

     Will was as irksome as his father and Katherine.

     “With me, William!” he called over his shoulder.

     ’Twas many moments before Will’s lagging footsteps caught up with his.

     “I cannot stomach your abominable caprice,” he muttered when he had reached the upper corridor near Katherine’s locked chamber.

     “Clearly.” Sir William gave him a sidelong smirk.

     “You vexed me apurpose, you son of Satan.”

     “’Twas aimed at Sir Geoffrey. He deserved to have his hopes dashed and I relished the torment. Be easy, Dafydd. Your judgment is befuddled.”

     “Do not throw my own words back on me, Will. ’Tis the very reason I have need of your good offices.” He shook his head. “I am mired so deep, the quicksand of my lies will bury me alive.”

     “If there is justice in this world.”

     Dafydd shot a dark scowl at Will and received an innocent shrug for his trouble.

     “When Lady Katherine is finished with you, I can only hope you will wish you had been drawn and quartered.” Will snorted. “My sword is at the lady’s command, does she require it.”

     Dafydd rolled his eyes. “Do not make light of this. Truly, you will not be distracted by Lady Anne?”

     Sir William sobered and clamped a sturdy hand upon his shoulder. “She is a child. My taunting is unkind, my friend, though you do deserve the insults. I am ever steadfast to your friendship—and your entreaties.”

     Dafydd expelled a loud sigh of relief. His heartbeat began to slow to a steady beat. “’Tis good, for your task is far more important to me than the one I am about. If truth be known and we could trade places, ’twould please us both mightily. You would seek adventure at Shrewsbury Castle, while I— ”

     Sir William’s cunning laugh gave Dafydd pause. “Your lady wife has a rare beauty. ’Tis no wonder you prefer to abide at Haughmond. Had I such a wife I should never leave her.”

     “Were I you, she would have no cause to hate her husband.” Dafydd regretted having to share the painful truth. “She speaks plainly, does she not, for the entire castle to hear? I will have no secrets in this marriage. Herein lies a lesson, eh?” He sighed again. “Hold here, Will. Matthew Squire shall do his duty. Forsooth, if he is unable, ’twould resolve all manner of vexations.”

     “Nay, ’twill not help the king’s cause, with you butchered and left to rot on a Shropshire highway.”

     “Fear not, my friend. All I desire abides within this castle. I shall return— ”

     “—with all haste.” William finished the sentence, his lips quirking in merriment.

     “You know me too well. What secrets have I ever kept from you?”

*  *  *

     The sound of thudding hooves on the drawbridge brought a sigh of relief from Katherine, knowing her husband departed Haughmond. But ’twas well she could not see the gate from her window. A fond adieu was beyond her capabilities.

     Natheless, Sir Dafydd had surprised her in his understanding of his father and in his forbearance of her infidelity. ’Twas another marvel that he accepted it with such rare grace, that he had not punished her. His chivalry was impressive.

     But as the afternoon became dusk and night lengthened, and neither nourishment nor drink was brought to the chamber, her charitable thoughts of her husband collapsed in proportion to her growing distress.

     And in the depths of night, when an empty, rumbling stomach mirrored a passing thunderstorm, the bold lightning splitting the black sky could not match her fomenting ire and overwhelming fears. Sir Dafydd dared to be so heartless? ’Twas proof of his despicable nature. Clearly he sought to starve her into submission. A cold dread coiled around her stomach. Was this how he planned to rid her of Rhys’s babe?      

     ’Twas a woesome existence she did face. She would be made to pay for her husband’s wounded pride. 

     Alas, ’twas a similar trait in Sir Geoffrey, for that knight marked every wrong, soothfast or imagined.

     She tried not to weep, tried not to retch. Yet dry heaves did come. In the night, bitterness from an empty stomach soured her tongue and burned her throat. A throbbing head and watery limbs rendered her helpless. Her legs nigh buckled beneath her when she tried to stand. And the dank chamber, without so much as a small brazier to offer relief, waves of chills could not be dispelled. 

     The chamber rang with her tirade of rebukes and denouncements and accusations. But finally, she found it needful to lie still with eyes closed. She must guard her strength.

     Would her babe survive this ordeal? Helpless terror seized her. “Saint Winifred, hear my prayer. Spare Rhys’s child. Let not an innocent pay the price for my sins.”

     In the cold light of dawn, her laments grew quieter. The tears on her cheeks dried. Mayhap death would be a blessing, if such torture were her destiny. 

     When the castle trumpet blared, unaccountably faint and distant, she barely heard it.

     But the crashing of the chamber door bursting open was neither faint nor far away.

     Hearing the approach of footfalls, she tried to subdue the blinding pain stabbing through her head. She tried desperately to force open her weary eyelids. 

     “Ah, good fortune is upon me. My earnest prayers are answered in a biddable wife.”

     Through her lethargy, she recognized her husband’s deep and eager voice. Her eyes flew open. With a cry, she twisted away from the hand reaching toward her.

     Clawing at the coverlet, edging herself across the bed, she rolled, and dropped into black darkness.

*  *  *

     “Katherine!”

     Dafydd vaulted overtop the bed, shouting for help as he scooped his unconscious wife off the hard floor. Frantic though he was that she had fallen, never had his arms felt so alive, so responsive, so fulfilled. Holding fast to Katherine! Catching her to his breast, he breathed in the scent of—

    
Onions
?

     ’Twas not surprising. A worthy chatelaine toiled alongside her servants. Peering closer, he scowled at the blood oozing from a cut on her forehead.

     Will skidded through the doorway with drawn sword. “Dafydd?”

     “My lady’s hurt! Fetch a servant!”

     Settling her upon the bed, her wimple broke free from its pinnings and fell to the floor. But her linen chin-band remained in place on her head, absorbing the trickle of blood. He groaned at the sight, then bellowed with rage. ’Twas far easier to bear his own injuries than to endure this wound of hers. Settling on the mattress, he leaned close, tucking his arm beneath her shoulders.      

     Caressing her face, tracing the contour of her lips, his fingers moved deliberately, absorbing every delicacy of her flesh. Such sweet torture! Leaning forward, he kissed the growing bruise, smearing blood on his whiskers, praying she would remain unconscious. Did she waken her rejection would pierce him to the heart.

     Yet his heart was pierced. Did he conjure up so much hatred and fear that his sweet wife would faint at the sight of him?

     “Oh, lady!” Sibyl rushed into the chamber.

     “See to your mistress!” Dafydd levered himself off the mattress. “Do you know how to mend a bleeding wound, woman?”

     Keeping her face averted, she sidled past him and peered at her mistress. Then she eyed him as though he were the devil himself. “Yea, my lord. I’ve stitched up many a soldier. And more than one fool.”

     “Mind your tongue! Your mistress is no fool!” His hands clenched into fists. “Her beauty shall not be marred by your careless hand. If you are unable to physic her properly, fetch Anne. She plies a straight needle.”

     Sibyl scrambled onto the bed and gave Katherine a close look. “’Tis but a scratch, my lord. I can manage.”

     Trying not to show his immense relief, Dafydd breathed deep. But spying the offending chest, he gave it a hard shove with the bottom of his boot, sending it in a long skid across the floor, safely away from the bedstead.

     Confounded by riotous emotions, new and overwhelming, he made for the hall. A horn of ale would ease his agitation.

     “’Tis good you starved the wench.”

     The inflammatory greeting rose from Sir Geoffrey, hailing Dafydd from where he sat with his feet propped up on the small stool, quaffing his ale. “Young Katherine needs to learn her place.”

     Halfway across the great chamber, he halted in mid-stride. His thick brows lowered in rage at his father’s approbation for brutality.

     “Anne!” Swinging around, his gaze swept the chamber. Not seeing her right away, he roared again, “Anne!”

     A servant dashed to the kitchen and returned in a flash, bringing Anne with him. Her face pinched in fear, she paused beside the nearest bench and seemed disposed to come no closer.

     Dafydd’s glower settled upon her. “Come hither, girl!” He had not the time for her sniveling. Nor for the wretched curtsy she presented when she finally faced him.

     “What has your sister eaten this day?”

     Anne cried out when he yanked her up against his armor and drilled her with his impatience. He cared naught that his growl sounded brutish. Regret could come later.

     “Nothing, my lord.” Anne shrank back. But he held her fast. Her eyes darted thither and yon, but not at him. “I did not aid her. No one did. As you bade, your knight would not let us pass.”

     His jaw clenched with his rising anger. On Saint Peter’s thigh, he had no one to blame but himself. In his urgency to protect Katherine from his father’s fury, he had not conferred the proper instructions. He wrinkled his upper lip at the irritating strands of moustache curling into his mouth, swiped them aside with his tongue.

     ’Twas no solace that Katherine’s suffering was unintentional. Damn Sir Geoffrey! Naught passed the man’s keen interest. His meddling not only put Katherine in jeopardy, but ’twas affecting his own judgment. If he were not more cautious the gambit would be lost. But—