A Lord for Haughmond (41 page)

     “Rhys, oh, Rhys!”

Chapter Twenty-nine

    
Call me Dafydd.

     In exasperation, Katherine stood beside the bedstead, staring at her husband’s slumbering face, remembering his sharp admonition of moments agone. Though the bedchamber was quiet for the nonce, her emotions roiled inside her like a blustering winter tempest. The arrow tip had been removed from his thigh, the wound cleaned and stitched. He’d lost blood, but naught sufficient to cause alarm.

     Time would see him mended far quicker than her turbulent spirits.

     “Who is this knight who lies in my bed?” She pointed an accusing finger toward Rhys—or whoever he was.

     Sir William, feeding the brazier with more coals, lifted his gaze to hers. “The king dubbed him Dafydd Rhys of St. Quintin the day he was knighted.”

     Katherine trembled with rage and helplessness.

     He lifted an inquiring brow. “Is he yet your beloved?”

     She shot a severe look at his barb.

     But he merely shrugged. “’Tis a question you alone can answer, my lady.”

     “Verily!” She heaved a cleansing breath. “Is he Sir Geoffrey’s progeny?”

     The knight straightened and held up his callused palms as though in surrender. “Speak to your husband when he wakens. I have no wish to be caught in the midst of this storm.”

     Staring at Dafydd’s ashen face, she snorted in disgust. “Your response is answer aplenty.” Was this man, indeed, her husband? Frustrated and weary by the circumstances, she closed her eyes and sought to quiet her anxious fears.

     From the bed came a weak query. “Do you pray that I die?”

     Her eyes flew open at the dismal query. “Rhys!”

     “Call me
Dafydd
. Or husband—if it should suit you.”

     Her heart lurching at his distraught expression, she laid a hand on his forehead. Praise be to St. Winifred, ’twas cool to the touch.

     He shifted his gaze to the other knight. “See how easily my secret is relinquished?”

     Sir William countered the sharp accusation with one of his own. “Think you she will admit it?”

     “’Tis your doing, Will. You seek my death.”

     Sir William’s countenance took on a wounded expression far too rapidly for it to be sincere. “No doubt, you do not relish being at my mercy.”

     Katherine dropped down on the edge of the mattress, shaking her head. “Cease your bickering. ’Tis a sufficiently trying day without you at each other’s throats.”

     “Well it should be.” Her husband’s bitter remark showed his torment before he shuttered his gaze. “Much vexation would be resolved if the Welsh bowmen had been more precise.”

     “Nay, Rhys— ” She clamped a hand over her mouth, alarmed at how easily she misspoke. Her words set her teeth on edge.

     Dafydd threw her an accusing look. “You imperil my life when you speak that name.”

     Sir William stepped close. “You should have considered that when first you embarked upon this falsehood.”

     “You should have considered that when you broke my trust,” he shot back defiantly. “As a result of your heedless interference, she will have none of me, you can be sure.”

     Sir William rolled his eyes. “Mayhap you’ll pay the piper for your misdeeds. Mayhap you do not merit her loving care. But in truth, she does sit beside you and thus far has not clobbered you.”

     Katherine had no more patience with their male posturing. “I would speak with my husband, if it pleases you.” She gave Sir William a pointed look. “Some victuals will sustain you against your hunger.” When the knight took her hint and rose to depart, she added, “Have Sibyl fetch hot broth for—”

     “
Dafydd
,” her husband supplied with a weary sigh.

     Sir William limped to the door. “Mayhap your lady wife will bestow some pity while you are laid low.” He chuckled. “Puts a different complexion on things, does it not?”

     Dafydd threw him a scowl. “You have erred greatly.”

     Sir William gave a slow but determined shake of his head. “I think not, my friend. Would that I possessed so lovely a lady wife, I would not have treated her thus.”

     “I could not be assured of her secrecy.”

     Katherine gasped at the affront and opened her mouth to argue.

     “’Tis not a statement of condemnation, but of fact, my lady.” Her husband’s brow creased in a frown. “Your face does reveal your sentiments. Depending on your mood, your eyes do sparkle or throw darts. When you look on one knight, you display unwavering enmity. When you look on the other, you glow with love. Sir Geoffrey must not know I that masqueraded as Rhys.”

     She frowned at his severe tone. “He would harm you?”

     Dafydd grimaced. “My life would be forfeit.”

     “I do not understand.” She shook her head. “He is your sire.”

     “But he is not Rhys’s sire. See you the difference? My mission has naught to do with you, Katherine. It was set in motion before we met. You must allow me to it.” His voice was weak and though his determination did not seem to waver, he lapsed into silence.      

     Anger, fear and frustration were all wrapped up within her and chasing her conscience. Was it possible her husband’s accusation could be true, that she might jeopardize his safety?

     Sir William seemed to sense her turmoil, for his expression softened and a half-smile touched his lips. “I will go and see what the rest of the world is about. Lady Katherine, you do not possess a feebleness of character, but even when you decry your sentiments, they show in your face. I pray in the future you ponder carefully before you set an expression to your countenance.” He gave her an encouraging nod and departed.

     Turning back to the bed, Katherine’s throat constricted at her husband’s pained manifestation. Yet she must ask the question burning in her heart. “Are you Geoffrey de Borne’s progeny?”

     Squinting up into her face, clearly reluctant to answer, Dafydd slowly nodded.

     Covering her face with her hands, she groaned out a ragged breath. Turmoil churned within her once again. Would that such a terrible circumstance was not soothfast.

     “Do you repudiate me?” Hopelessness trembled in his voice.

     While unshed tears pricked her eyes, she realized the power she held, realized how deeply she could hurt this man. Their future—their happiness—hung on her reply. She lowered her hands. 

     “I cannot help but love you.” She stepped closer and grasped his hand, held it betwixt both her own while she stared steadily into his eyes. “You were kind and patient and ever chivalrous when first we met.”

     “Thence, in your sight, am I sufficiently dissimilar from Sir Geoffrey?”

     A new light glowed within his blue eyes. Was it hope? Their gazes held a long moment. She tried to smile. “Someone told me a child could not be blamed for its sire. I bear you no malice on that account. But there are other matters that make acceptance complicated.”

     Dafydd heaved a stuttering sigh, as though all his pent-up fears were unleashed. “This gives my life a different prospect. I despaired of ever tasting your mercy or your grace, knowing how you despised my sire.”    

     Tears blurred her sight at his woeful tone and tormented expression.

     “’Tis well and good he did not raise you, else you would be a lesser man. For all that, your mother did a fine job. Do you favor her?” she asked.

     “’Tis difficult for me to determine. I knew neither parent. I was fostered at St. Quintin. Servants raised me before I became a page. Then the tiltyard became my home and my family—the knights with their quintains and swords, who plied their skills on my hapless frame. I learned right quickly to deflect their blows, and to give as good as I got.” Regret spilled from his depths.

     Her heart ached for the forsaken child he had been, without family connections or guidance. She had been fortunate to have Aunt Matilda’s counsel and wisdom. Even her mother had had influence in her early years.

     How did Dafydd learn without suchlike? Every child required a nurturing family. ’Twas the reason for this terrible and entangled affair?

     Her heart ached for the grown child. She squeezed his hand. “As Rhys, you breached my heart before I could prevent it.”

     His eyes met hers. “But you despised Dafydd. Even at this moment I feel your reluctance in saying my name.”

     “My loyalty and love were bestowed upon the one, not the other. Certes not upon Geoffrey de Borne’s son.”

     Dafydd winced. “Your reluctance for me exercised a vast influence on my deeds. Know you how desperately I struggled to secure your love?”

     She relinquished his hand and wove her fingers together when conflicting emotions attacked her once more. “And know you I could not give up Rhys on a moment’s notice? I am not easily swayed. In great despair, I watched the man I love stripped of honor, defeated in combat— ” She interrupted herself, needing confirmation on a sudden point. “Pray explain how you contrived the joust.”

     “Simon played the role of Rhys. When I approached the king’s pavilion, I represented myself.”

     “The king was versed in this preposterous scheme?”

     Dafydd nodded in acknowledgement. “At the onset he seemed intrigued, but clearly my deeds came to provoke him. ’Twas the reason you were ridiculed. I yielded myself to atonement for that terrible sin.”

     Dismayed at the astounding revelation, Katherine’s lower lip trembled. “You shattered my pride.”

     He rose up on an elbow. “You were not to love Rhys of St. Quintin. He never existed.”

     “Tell that to my heart,” she cried, tears once again blurring her sight. “You were what any maiden would desire. I was caught in the depths of despair at the loss of you. And you allowed it!” Her voice broke. She swiped at falling tears.

     “I did not know how to save us. I am a knight trained for combat, not a troubadour or poet. I know not matters of the heart. I seem to say and do the wrong thing. My actions produce pain when I seek otherwise.”

     Exasperated once more, she sprang to her feet and stalked to the far side of the chamber. Turning, she demanded, “How did this farce come alive? Let me understand the whole of it, I pray, for you have forced me to endure much.”

     “You do not know what manner of request you make.”

     She vented an indignant exhalation. “You speak to the one who loves you. Can you not let me have the truth? Why have you masqueraded as different men?”

     “When first we met, I was on a quest. I did not want my identity known. I cannot say more.” He fell silent.

     “Have you fulfilled your mission, Rhys?” she asked, hoping secrets were no longer necessary.

   “Dafydd,”
he stressed. “You must needs remember my name.” He shook his head. “Nay, my mission is not completed. God’s bones, Katherine, use my proper name.” His urgency was unnerving. “Give me your word!”

     Seeing his fear, she nodded. Yet she could not help feel disappointed. “As you value your bridal vows, can you not trust me to hold you safe?”

     “Everything I hold dear is at stake.” She could see that he tried not to betray his fears, but it showed in the tension in his face.

     A shiver of unease galloped down her spine. She recalled his anguish when Will tore away his disguise. Frightened, she asked, “Are you involved in some royal intrigue? Is Sir Geoffrey party to this? Are you in danger?” She paused, hoping for an answer. Her wait brought no response. Thinking to settle the matter, she persisted. “Are you, mayhap, a spy? Is that the reason for the vexatious facial hair?”

     “You must be gracious and forgive me, but I cannot discuss this.” Dafydd averted his gaze and lay back upon the mattress.

     She felt the villain for her unkindness and persistence, when clearly she caused him pain.

     Yet was she not a victim? Could she not expect truth?

     But did she not love him?

     She swallowed the lump in her throat and forged ahead. “You have proclaimed your love and I believe you. But what of trust? Give me reason to trust you. Plainly, you do not trust me.”

     “Katherine— ”

     “It should not offend you that I am like to insist on a better understanding betwixt us. Do not begrudge me the question.” She glared at him. “Blessed peace cannot abide when doubts and secrets remain.”

     “Be at ease, Katherine. The duties I set myself have naught to do with my love for you.” He propped himself on an elbow once more and drilled her with all his emotion. “I could use your argument against you, say that if you trusted me your query would be unnecessary. Neither of us wishes to feel the fool. Would we rather not feel the joy of love?”

     He paused. When she did not respond, he continued. “I have wished to take you to wife and have full use of you. And you of me. Is that not love? We both are beset by demons, but should not love be able to grant pardon? Should not love conquer our human frailties?”

     Again he awaited her reply and was forced to resume his one-sided conversation. But his voice grew hesitant. “What say you, my dearest lady wife? Will you share your love or do you leave me bereft?”

     How could she protest him? She had had her own undertaking and understood the need to see it accomplished. She had secured Haughmond. This knight had diligently aided her toward that end. In repayment, she must force him to betray his own quest? She must not.

     Recalling Sir William’s words, her lips lifted in a tentative smile. “You are a half-wit to think me capable of denying my love. I am joyed to be your wife.”

     “Then come you here and have at me. I hunger for your touch, for your lips against mine, for your body warm and willing. I am not inclined toward celibacy with so sweet a morsel near at hand. I wish to cherish you.”

     “I will remind you of those words when others bring tales of deceit.”

     “Mean you Sir Geoffrey?”