Knight of Seduction (3 page)

“Well?” his cousin, Henry, asked.

“Shackled by noon tomorrow.”

Male laugher and clapping drifted up.

“She’s a wild one, you lucky dog,” Henry said.

“She definitely is.”

“Be careful with her.  A brash girl like that might stab you in your sleep.”

“I’ll keep her flat on her back for months.  She’ll never have a moment to grab a knife.”

The male laughter became loud guffaws.

“What a disaster,” Anne murmured.

She crept away and rushed to find Rosamunde.

CHAPTER TWO

“You won’t believe what a little bird told me.”

“What?”

Hugh glanced over at Henry as Henry nodded at a serving girl to leave the room so they could talk privately.

They were in the bathing chamber behind the kitchen, the bathing tub being filled with hot water.  Hugh wasn’t typically given to such luxuries, but his time among the heathens, fighting for king and Christ, had softened him in many ways.  He’d developed a passion for cleanliness and bodily indulgence that others found peculiar.

The door closed, the maid tiptoeing out, and they were alone. 

“What did you hear?” Hugh asked as he shucked off his sword belt and the knives dangling from it.  He laid them on a nearby table. 

“Your Lady Rosamunde isn’t Rosamunde, at all.”

“She’s not?”

“No.”

“Who is she?”

“Ranulf’s bastard get.  Her name is Anne.”

Hugh chuckled, amazed by their temerity.  “They’re tricking me?”

“Yes.”

“To what end?”

“Probably to embarrass you.  They won’t say anything until the wedding is over—“

“—and then I’ll realize that I’ve been duped.”

“Yes.  You’ll be fettered to the dead lord’s natural daughter instead of his legitimate one.”

Hugh rolled his eyes.  “The stupid fools.  Don’t they know I could have them whipped or imprisoned?  I ought to marry them off to goat herders as punishment.”

“I don’t think they thought it through to the conclusion.”

“Obviously.” 

Hugh lifted his arm, gesturing for Henry to help him with his leather breastplate.  He wasn’t wearing armor—he wasn’t afraid of anyone in the castle—but his body was covered with hidden weapons and leather.  If some oaf jumped from the shadows to stab him, they’d have trouble piercing the skin.  And, of course, Hugh would kill any man demented enough to try.

“How did you learn of this?” he asked.

“I kissed a maid who hates Blodwin.”

“Ranulf’s widow?”

“Yes.  I guess she’s a shrew.  The maid couldn’t wait to tell me of the scheme that was hatched.  In case Blodwin was behind it, the maid wanted her foiled.”

“Have you seen the true Rosamunde?”

“No.”

“I suppose I should take a look at her before I wed that auburn-haired virago.  Just to be certain.”

“You’ll still go through with it?”

“Why not?  You know I don’t care who I marry.”

Hugh’s life had been filled with soldiering and battle.  He’d had scant interactions with women, unless they were whores.

He was marrying for the reason all men married.  To sire sons.  To establish his line.  He’d been orphaned as a boy and had no siblings.  Henry was his sole relative, so he’d always been an outcast. 

Now, for his years of loyal service, King Richard had rewarded him with Castle Morven.  For the first time ever, Hugh had a home to call his own.

His bride could be a halfwit or a dullard or a harpy.  It mattered not to him, so long as she spit out the boys he required.  He didn’t plan to expend much effort with her and would visit her bed only as necessary so that impregnation occurred on an annual basis.

His passionate entertainment would be provided by his paramour, Charmaine, who was impatiently dawdling in London.  He would bring her to Morven as soon as affairs at the castle were more stable.     

“Wouldn’t you rather wed the lord’s daughter?” Henry pressed.  “If your intent is to calm hurt feelings over Ranulf’s demise, shouldn’t you settle on Rosamunde?”

“If you’d seen Anne, with her hair down and her emerald eyes spitting fire at me, you wouldn’t have to ask.  Besides, I was informed that Rosamunde is spoiled and insipid.  In a choice between the two, I’ll have the tempestuous vixen.”

“She might be more trouble than she’s worth.”

“I’m sure you’re correct.” 

“She claims she’s about to take the veil.”

Hugh scoffed.  “It would be a crime against nature for that beauty to be locked behind convent walls.”  He grinned, titillated by the memory of how sparks had flown whenever he’d touched her.  “Let’s play a game with them, shall we?  Summon them both.”

“Why?”

“I want to watch Anne as she lies and pretends.  Then I’ll have her bathe me.”

“Bathe you!  Gad, you’re wicked.” 

“With Blodwin away, she’s supposed to be the lady of the manor.  She’s obligated to offer me the courtesy.  Let’s check her mettle.  I’m curious to see how she holds up.”

Henry went to the door, murmuring to the maid who was hovering outside.  She hurried off to fetch Anne and Rosamunde.  Hugh and Henry relaxed and drank, waiting for the pair to arrive.

An eternity passed before he heard them scurrying down the hall.  Anne had delayed to the end of his patience, to the point where he’d been about to go to her room and force her to comply.

What she didn’t seem to understand, but what he would teach her, was that she was his minion—as was everyone at Morven.  He could be a fair lord or a cruel one.  She would quickly learn how to stay on his good side, and the sweeter she was, the better his disposition would be for all concerned.

Anne—the real Anne—marched in, and a thin, plain blond girl slinked in after her.

Hugh and Henry remained rudely lounged in their chairs, refusing to rise in greeting and Hugh in the initial stages of undress.  Hugh stared at Anne, the false Lady Rosamunde, until she couldn’t bear the tension.

“You wished to see us, Lord Hugh?” she finally asked.

“Yes.”

He added nothing further, and her color rose, her temper sparking.

“Well,” she snapped, “what do you want?”

“I’m told this is your sister.”  He gestured in the blond’s vicinity, but didn’t take his gaze from Anne.  “Introduce me.”

Anne sucked in a deep breath, as if mustering her courage.  “Lord Hugh, may I present my half-sister, ah…Anne.”

She was a terrible liar and had no aptitude for artifice.  Her cheeks flushed, and she was peering over his shoulder.  If he hadn’t already been notified of their deception, he’d have been suspicious as sin.

He bit down a snort of amusement.  The blond was hiding behind Anne, and he barked, “Show yourself.  Let me have a look at you.”

Rosamunde stepped forward, and Hugh studied her, his boredom clear.  She was a vain creature whom he instantly disliked.  It was obvious she was incensed by his arrogance, by his lack of regard for her, but she couldn’t mention it.

She was so ordinary, while her half-sister was so extraordinary.  How did the poor bland child stand it?  She paled in comparison to the point of being invisible.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said to Anne, the fake Lady Rosamunde, “as to what should become of your sister once I wed you.”

“First of all, I’m
not
marrying you.  Get it through your thick head.”

Hugh grinned at Henry.  “I’ll never have a dull day with her.”

“Because she’ll drive you insane with her absurd chatter,” Henry replied.

“Second,” Anne interrupted, “you needn’t worry about my sister.  My mother is her guardian.”

“No.  I’m in charge now, and I’ve decided she should wed.  One of my knights needs a wife, and I promised him he could have a bride from the castle.”

The duo shared a frantic visual exchange, and Anne declared, “You’re not marrying anyone in this castle to your knights.  You’ll take no action until my mother is present.”

“And why shouldn’t I?  Your sister should be glad I’m interested in her welfare.  After all, she’s just Ranulf’s love daughter.  With his paramour, wasn’t it?  It’s not as if she can be choosey.”

Both girls were fuming, and the real Lady Rosamunde was about to explode.  Surreptitiously, she reached over and pinched Anne.  Anne whipped around and glared at her.

“Do something,” Rosamunde hissed.  “Say something.” 

They shared another silent, frenzied exchange, then Anne pushed her toward the door.  “Why don’t you return to your bedchamber, dear sister?  I’ll conclude this conversation with Lord Hugh, then I’ll join you.”

Rosamunde scowled at Hugh, her malice clear, but she was exhibiting an enormous amount of spite for Anne, too.  Apparently, Rosamunde wasn’t blind, and she understood who was the true beauty in the household.  No doubt Anne had suffered years of belittlement and scorn.  What a wretched life she must have had! 

“Go!”  Anne shoved Rosamunde out, but before she stomped off, Hugh couldn’t resist hurling a last jab.

“We’ll have your wedding in the morning—the moment mine is over.  I’ll tell my man the happy news so he can celebrate all night.  He’ll be hung over tomorrow, but you might as well get used to his drinking right from the start.”

Rosamunde stiffened as if he’d hit her.

“Go!” Anne repeatedly more firmly, and Rosamunde heeded her, her angry strides echoing down the hall.

Anne seethed, “You are not picking a husband for her.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with one wedding.  Mine to you.”

“Do you ever listen to anyone?”

“I listen—if the person is male and if he says something worth hearing.  As we’ve previously established, you’re a woman, and I can’t imagine how you could possibly interest me when your remarks are all so ridiculous.”

“You’re a brute and a bully, and I hate you.”

He peered over at Henry.  “And she wonders why I won’t listen to her.”

“She has your character pegged, though,” Henry retorted.  “You
are
a brute and a bully.  It’s sweet how she knows you so well—and so quickly, too.”

Hugh chuckled, then nodded to the door where the maid was still lurking and eavesdropping.  “My bath has cooled,” he advised Anne.  “Tell her to add more hot water.”

“Tell her yourself.  May I be excused?”

“No, you may not.”

Henry waved to the maid, and she hurried over to where a cauldron was heating over the fire.  She dipped a bucket and poured the steamy contents into the tub, then she curtsied and rushed out.  Henry allowed her to exit, but when Anne tried to follow, he blocked her way.

“Let me pass,” she demanded.

“No.” 

Anne glowered at Hugh.

“I will not stay in here with the two of you.”

“You don’t have any choice,” Hugh told her.  He rose and extended his arms.  “Remove my tunic.”

“I most certainly will not.”

“Your mother is away from the castle, and I wish to bathe.  In her absence, I expect you to assist me.”

“I…I…”  She licked her lips, fiddled with her skirt.  “My mother wouldn’t want me to help you.”

“Where’s the harm?  We’re to wed in the morning.  I have no qualms about you seeing me naked this evening.”

“Naked!”

For the briefest instant, she paled, and Hugh worried she might faint, but she was sternly molded.  She straightened, scowling, her annoyance shining through.

“When my mother returns, she’ll be furious with how you’ve treated me.” 

“I’m quaking in my boots, Lady Rosamunde.”  He gestured to Henry.  “You may depart.”

“Shall I guard the door?” Henry asked.

“There’s no need.  She’s a wee mouse.  If she runs, I can catch her easily enough.”

“I might surprise you,” she interjected.  “I might run like the wind.”

“I doubt it,” Hugh smirked.

“Good evening to you,
Lady
Rosamunde.”  Henry placed special emphasis on the word
Lady
.

“Please,” she beseeched Henry, losing her courage, “don’t leave me alone with him.”

“Don’t be frightened,” Henry said.  “He doesn’t bite.  Not usually anyway.”

He strolled out, whistling a jaunty tune, the lyrics of which were too risqué for a maiden’s ears, and Hugh was positive she wouldn’t know them.  She had a sensuality that drew a man’s eye, that made him want to throw her down and rut till dawn, but she was innocent as the day was long.

He’d bet his life on it.

He extended his arm again.  “What’s it to be, Lady Rosamunde?  You are the hostess in your mother’s stead.  Will you bathe me or not?”

“I will not.”

“Coward.”

He couldn’t figure out why he was teasing her.  He had no patience for females, and he wasted no effort in wooing them.  He was a handsome, powerful man.

Women flocked to his side, anxious to entertain him in any fashion he would allow.  Though he was a knight and had spoken many vows, he wasn’t a saint.  He accepted what was offered.

Why was he bothering with her?  He had no idea.

Eager to disconcert her, he tugged his tunic over his head and dropped it on the floor.  In the brief moment when fabric had obscured his vision, she’d lunged to the table where he’d deposited his weapons.

She was holding a dagger, the tip aimed at his belly.

“If you take one step toward me,” she warned, “I will gut you like a fish.”

He had to admit that she looked incredibly lethal, as if she wielded knives everyday.  But her hands were trembling, giving lie to her spurt of bravado.

Before she could realize what he intended, he had her by the waist, the blade tossed in the corner.

At being disarmed, she was spitting mad, kicking at his shins and clawing with her fingers as she attempted to pry herself from his grip.

She was too small to inflict any damage, but he was impressed by her pluck.  He let her continue until she wore herself out, until she recognized that resistance was futile.

He would always have his way with her.  She might as well learn it from the start.

With a sigh of defeat, she slumped against him.

“Are you finished?” he asked.

“Yes.”

She was still furious, though, and he couldn’t help but laugh.  Henry was correct:  She would be a handful, but in such an isolated, godforsaken land, he would welcome the diversion she would provide.