Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (15 page)

“And understand this, my lady. I will not be prey to your feminine wiles again. I have your measure now, and although you could probably tempt an archangel to sin, you will never again tempt
me
.”

Breathing as hard as if he had run to Ingar’s ship and back, trying to control the flurry of emotions she had roused, he turned on his heel and left her.

His head bare, his hair blowing in the breeze, Alexander strode along the road to Bellevoire. His cloak was thrown over his shoulder and his broadsword slapped his thigh with every swift stride. Yesterday, Ingar had set him ashore a little farther up the coast, as they had planned. Mercifully, the weather had been clear and the wind brisk, so they had made a swift passage over the sea.

After Bellevoire’s lady had been taken, Sir Connor would surely have patrols and search parties all over his land. The plan was to either continue unhindered to Bellevoire, or allow himself to be found by a patrol. If that happened, he would tell them to take him to Sir Connor, and why.

Soon, it would be the moment he had dreamt of since Lord Oswald had found him and told him of his father’s death. Soon, he would face Sir Connor and watch the man’s expression as he told him why he had taken his wife and what he wanted in return.

He would not allow any worry about the lady to spoil that glorious moment for him. Denis could keep her safe until his return, and Osburn was too drunk most of the time to make good on his threats. Besides, the sot had his young mistress to distract him.

He would not wonder if his prize would try to escape in spite of what he had said. She was an intelligent woman, so surely she saw the merit in his warnings.

She was so intelligent that he had nearly been duped like any rustic at a village fair.

Head lowered, he quickened his pace.
Damn the woman
! How could he have been such a fool to have believed, even for an instant, that she’d kissed him because she’d felt desire for him?

But if you were in her shoes, would you not try any means to escape, too?

Hoofbeats sounded on the road, drowning out the nagging voice of his conscience. He raised his head to see a troop of mounted men riding toward him, their helmets and chain mail shining dully in the sunlight. He halted and waited as they approached. His heartbeat quickened the closer they came, but he would maintain an aura of calm. He had the upper hand, and he would act like it.

The gray-bearded man leading the patrol spotted Alexander, and he raised his hand to signal his men to rein in their horses. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice gruff and his manner that of a man who had been a soldier all his life.

“Are you a soldier of Bellevoire?” Alexander replied.

The man frowned as he studied him. “I am Godwin, the commander of the garrison of Bellevoire. I ask you again, who are you?”

Alexander bowed. “I give you greetings, Godwin, and I demand that you take me to your lord.”

“Demand?” Godwin retorted, glaring, while the men behind him began to whisper and mutter and nod at him.

“I have come with news of the lady of Bellevoire. I am sure your overlord will want to hear it. If you will be so good as to ask one of your men to loan me his horse, I believe we will get to Sir Connor all the faster.”

Godwin’s gaping mouth snapped shut. Then he twisted in his saddle and addressed his men. “Joss, double up with Robert and give this fellow your mount.”

The man did as he was ordered, and soon Alexander was riding beside Godwin, who regarded him with both suspicion and disdain. “What’s your name?” Godwin asked as they rode around the curve that skirted the wood where he had waited with Denis.

“I will tell Sir Connor, and until then, it is enough that you take me to him.”

Godwin sniffed. “Maybe you know something and maybe you don’t,” he muttered, sliding Alexander another look.

“I assure you, I do.”

Whether it was because of Alexander’s firm tone or the fact that he was not getting the answers he wanted, Godwin said no more, even when they reached the village. It was not as crowded as on market day, so they did not have to slow their progress.

Other people did, and stopped and stared. A plump, well-dressed fellow halted in mid-bustle to watch them. His eyes wide as the moon, he made the sign of the cross, then darted into the tavern. Soon, other men came pouring out to join the whispering women.

Alexander wondered how many of them recognized his father’s likeness in him, and what they made of it. Whatever they thought, this was much better than sneaking into Bellevoire dressed as a peasant. His only regret was that he was not wearing finer clothes.

Once he had his portion of the ransom money, he would buy himself some, as well as a better scabbard. And an embossed leather belt, and new boots.

The horses’ hooves clattered over the wooden drawbridge. They rode through the outer gatehouse in the outer curtain wall, and into the ward. The second wall facing them now looked just as impressive and strong as the first. Both walls had towers at their corners, although the fortress was not an exact square. The wall facing the village was longer, no doubt to give the defenders more chance to maintain an advantage over foes attacking the town.

He had known Bellevoire was a large fortress, but he had not known the half of it, he thought with awe.

They continued beneath the massive portcullis of Bellevoire and into the inner ward.

He was finally here at last, in the castle that should have been his.

Godwin ordered his troop to halt. Alexander reined in his mount and surveyed the walls, the buildings and the people.

The inner ward was nearly as large as the village, and just as busy. The clang of hammer and anvil declared which building was the smithy; another with smoke rising from the louvered opening in the slate roof must be the kitchen. Across the yard was another tall building, and judging by the wide steps and ornate door, it was the lord’s hall. Another building adjoining it, with windows on the second level, must be the private apartments of the household.

On his left, a long building two stories high, with wide doors and small windows, was the stables. Grooms and stable boys were leading saddled horses out for the group of soldiers waiting near the entrance.

A patrol, no doubt, or search party, obviously preparing to ride out.

Then, among the men outside the stable, Alexander spotted Sir Connor, formerly of Llanstephan, now of Bellevoire, standing beside a saddled horse. The man was older now, of course, and his face was more angular, creased with a few wrinkles, as if he had known some suffering since those merry days of his youth. His clothing, however, was made of excellent cloth and his scabbard of wonderfully worked leather. His sword was surely a masterpiece of craftsmanship, too—nothing like the inexpensive one he carried that had nevertheless cost his mother so much, in so many ways.

No matter what had happened in the years since he had last seen Sir Connor, though, the man was what he had always been: an example of the rewards of privilege and rank, considered worthy enough to earn the love of an amazingly bold and beautiful woman, and to possess Rennick DeFrouchette’s estate. Sir Connor had been blessed from birth, while
he
had been cursed.

As Alexander took his time dismounting, noting that an older maidservant standing beside the well had dropped her bucket and was regarding him with openmouthed shock, Godwin hurried over to his overlord, who started and looked his way.

Their gazes met and held, and Alexander watched the flash of recognition, the look of shock, the comprehension dawn, just as he had imagined.

He had not imagined the way Sir Connor’s expression hardened into outright revulsion.

Connor issued an order to his men to carry on, then he strode across the cobblestones toward him. He came to a halt and regarded Alexander with a scrutiny that was both intense and suspicious. “Godwin told me what you said.”

Alexander inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, I know where your wife is.”

The man blinked, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“She is unharmed.”

“You have my wife?”

“Not with me at present, obviously, but I know where she is, and for a price, I will return her to you.”

“Ah!” Understanding dawned. “You stole her for ransom.” Sir Connor ran a long, slow, measuring stare over him. “I see. Godwin also told me that you wouldn’t reveal your name, but he is new here since Rennick DeFrouchette’s death. It is obvious to me by your looks that you are related to him, and if I had any doubt, your villainous act would have confirmed it.”

Alexander wouldn’t allow himself to be upset by this man. “Have a care, my lord. It is surely not wise to annoy the man who has your wife’s safety in his hands.” His gaze swept over the courtyard, taking in the soldiers milling about and the maidservants. More had come to cluster about the well, and they stood watching.

“Is it your usual practice to discuss your business in the courtyard, my lord?” he inquired. “Or shall we go somewhere more private?”

H
is eyes flaring with undisguised rage, Sir Connor started for the hall. “Follow me.”

Alexander did as he commanded, but he was not pleased at being treated like one of the man’s foot soldiers, especially not here and not now.

Once inside, the comfort of the great hall surpassed his expectations, adding to his envy and indignation. Colorful tapestries lined the lime-coated walls, and there was a huge hearth along one wall, an innovation that made for a much less smoky room. The furnishings were many and wonderfully carved and polished. Most were of new oak, as blond as the braid of Lady Allis’s hair, which he carried in the pouch at his side.

A few servants were here, too, cleaning out the hearth. With a brisk order, Sir Connor sent them away, so that they were alone.

He sat in a chair cushioned with a scarlet pillow and gestured for Alexander to do the same. “So, you look like DeFrouchette, so I assume you are a relative. Judging by your age, I suppose you are a nephew, possibly a cousin, although I am not familiar with any of the man’s family.”

“Neither am I.” Alexander waited a moment, trying to summon the joy of anticipation. “Although I am his son.”

Sir Connor’s eyes merely narrowed. There was no shock, no jolt of surprise—just that subtle, disappointing reaction. “It is well-known that Rennick DeFrouchette had no sons.”

“That is what your charming and beautiful wife said, too. I am Rennick DeFrouchette’s bastard, and you killed my father before he could acknowledge me as his issue. If he had, I would now be master here, not you.”

Again the man’s expression barely altered. “So you claim. How is it nobody has ever heard of you, especially here in Bellevoire?”

As Sir Connor could be calm, so could he. “My father abandoned my mother when she told him she was with child. I daresay he never spoke of me because he preferred to pretend I did not exist.”

He had believed that since he was eight years old, and the pain of that realization still galled him like an open wound, but he would not reveal that, either.

“Now
that
I can believe.” Sir Connor folded his arms. “However, as to your claim that Bellevoire would be yours—your father was a traitor to the Crown. It would have been forfeit to the Crown regardless of your acknowledged existence or not, even if you had been named the legal heir.”

“There was no trial, so no legal proof offered that my father was a traitor.”

Sir Connor sat up straighter and stared at him incredulously. “There did not need to be, man! Your father tried to assassinate the king in front of a courtyard full of people.”

Shock struck Alexander like the blow of an ax, and he had to fight not to betray it. Lord Oswald had not told him that.

A woman appeared at another entrance, flushed and panting as if she had rushed there. Attired in a royal blue velvet gown of simple, yet elegant, cut, the bodice fit to perfection, while the skirt flared outward from her slender waist. A leather girdle sat low on her hips, the ends dangling down nearly to the ground, like the gown’s cuffs. Her hair was a lighter blond than Lady Allis’s, yet her features were similar enough to guess that this was Lady Allis’s sister. She was nearly as beautiful, but not quite, for she lacked the spark of fierce vitality that her sister possessed.