THE WARLORD (3 page)

Kenric didn't realize he was holding his breath until the woman turned toward her uncle. One look at those flashing violet eyes had actually weakened his knees. Now he was certain the king jested with him. Only a blind man would describe this girl as pretty. Tess of Remmington was magnificent.

"You will explain yourself," Tess ordered, a sharp nod at her uncle emphasizing the point. She unhooked her cloak and shrugged it off, folding the garment carefully over one arm as if she had all day to hear Ian's explanation. "And it had best be good."

"I was going to tell you," Ian said. He spoke in Gaelic, his voice lowered. "But you've had your mind so set on this convent idea that I wasn't sure you would agree to leave, knowing you would be wed to a man you'd never met."

"This plan makes no sense, Uncle." Tess answered in Gaelic as well, with a sidelong glance at the mercenary knights who escorted them here. "A convent can be explained away by a religious calling.
But marriage to a man of your acquaintance?
Neither your king, nor mine, is like to believe you're not involved. You risk your life with this plan."

"Calm down, lass." Ian placed his big hands on Tess's shoulders. "Now you know I've your best interest at heart. Your own King Edward has named your betrothed."

"What?" Tess looked hopeful for a moment,
then
her expression turned suspicious. "But the king already approved my stepfather's choice of husband. How can Edward name another when he's given MacLeith his word on the matter?"

"Well now, that's the tricky part," Ian admitted, rubbing his chin. "MacLeith has kept Edward good and worried since the day he took control of Remmington. He's been a loyal subject on the surface these past five years, but Edward knows MacLeith's game well enough to see a snake in his garden. Not one Englishman remains as lord of any Remmington holding and MacLeith plaids litter every battlement. Your stepfather knew it was time to test Edward's patience with this betrothal business. By refusing MacLeith's choice, Edward would have given your stepfather an excuse to defy his overlord and start a war. And everyone knows that any war so close to the border involving the King of England would soon involve the King of Scotland. When he approved the choice, Edward avoided a war, but practically handed Remmington over to MacLeith on a platter."

"So the king doesn't intend to honor his word?" she asked, her brows drawn together in a puzzled frown. "Won't that give MacLeith another excuse to challenge Edward?"

"Not if Edward pretends ignorance of the marriage." Ian smiled over the cleverness of the plan, still amazed that an Englishman could be so shrewd. "Then it becomes a war between your husband and stepfather. Edward can provide your husband with aid, but as long as he avoids direct involvement, King Alexander will have no reason to interfere."

"Who does the king think to pit against MacLeith?"

"Your betrothed is one of the king's finest barons," Ian told her enthusiastically. "You didn't expect a baron, now did you?"

"Nay," Tess said slowly. "Before he approved MacLeith's choice, I thought Edward would pledge my hand to one of the landless knights who vie in his tourneys for just such a favor
. '
Tis unusual to offer such a large dower to a man already landed."

"Aye, your betrothed is no pauper. His estates easily match your own. Indeed, he is a man known for protecting what he has made his own. King Edward has pledged your hand to the only warrior capable of tossing Dunmore MacLeith back over the border. You are to wed Baron Montague," he announced cautiously. "The baron is—"

"The Butcher?"
She sounded as if she were being strangled. Her hands flew to her throat, her voice hoarse with fear. "You think to tie me to the Butcher of Wales?"

"Watch your tongue, lass." Ian drew himself up to his full height, the tolerant uncle transforming instantly into the powerful laird. "I'll not listen to you blaspheme the man you're to wed. You've heard one too many wild tales. Baron Montague is a man well respected by those who fight for your country, and well feared by those who do not. I couldn't have made a better choice myself, had I the opportunity. I'll rest easier with Baron Montague on my border than I do with that jackal MacLeith licking his chops over my keeps. Were you expecting MacLeith to give you a fine husband like Montague?"

"You know who I'd get from him."

"Aye, Dunmore MacLeith's own son, Gordon, is the man he chose for you. Though I have my doubts' that Gordon MacLeith is much of a man."

"Is this fate any better?" Tess whispered.

She realized her hands were still on her throat and she quickly lowered them to a tight grip at her waist, wondering what she had done to her king to deserve this fate. Why, everyone from
Scotland to
Normandy
knew of Montague's baron. The man had made a name for himself in the tourneys as an undefeatable knight, then later as a fearless warrior in the king's Crusade. His name became a legend in the war against
Wales. But the stories of his deeds were never wrapped in gallantry or heroics. Nay, tales concerning the Butcher of Wales were wrapped in blood. Tess thought of Baron Montague as more of a demon than a man who actually walked the earth as a mere human. Even MacLeith's men whispered the name in awe, as if its very mention was reason enough to cross themselves against evil. Tess knew how he'd earned his name and she shuddered over the knowledge. The Butcher of Wales took no prisoners. It was said there were parts of
Wales where no one of Welsh blood could be found for as far as the eye could see. He'd slaughtered them all.

Of course, some of the stories were exaggerations, but there must be some shred of truth to the foul tales. Tess had no desire to find out firsthand. She knew from the braced legs and firm tone of voice that her uncle's decision was made and any argument on her part would be a waste of time. She decided to hear Ian out, then appeal to the priest for sanctuary in the church. Surely a man of God wouldn't want to see a gentle maid forced to wed such a monster. By the time the bridegroom arrived she would be under the protection of the church, safely beyond the reach of any man.

"Edward chose Baron Montague some time ago," Ian continued. "Father Olwen here was King Edward's own confessor in his younger days. He's to perform the wedding ceremony,
then
send a copy of the marriage papers back to
London. As for the MacLeiths, they must believe you escaped on your own. They'll be told Baron Montague caught you, thinking to collect a reward, but decided to marry you instead."

"MacLeith will go to any lengths to get me back. If I'm recaptured, the marriage could be annulled. Even the English barons would recognize that right. Then where would the king's plan be?"

Ian frowned at her logic, but continued trying to reason with her.

Kenric understood Gaelic well enough to follow the conversation, but he wasn't really listening. He let his eyes wander down the thick blond braid to its tip, past an incredibly small waist and nicely rounded hips. His fingers itched to touch the silky rope, to undo the neatly woven tresses and fill his hands with gold.

That idea held Kenric's attention until he began to wonder if he'd just imagined the color of her eyes. Rich jewels could reflect such a mesmerizing shade of violet-blue, but he'd never seen the like in a woman's eyes. Lady Remmington turned her head slightly as he pondered the unlikely color and he was given another glimpse of her face. Those fascinating eyes were hidden behind the thick fans of lowered lashes, allowing him to examine her features without distraction. Her expression was calm, composed,
almost
regal. But he noticed the way the corners of her mouth turned down whenever her uncle mentioned the word "marriage." That didn't distract from the lushness of her mouth. Prettily bowed on the top, full and pouting on the bottom, he couldn't wait to feel those luscious lips beneath his. He wanted to touch her, certain her skin would be just as powder-soft as it looked. Her lips parted slightly to reveal the tip of her tongue as she wet her lips. The gesture was so unconsciously innocent yet sweetly
seductive,
Kenric found himself holding his breath again. It didn't take long to realize the exquisite beauty didn't need bewitching eyes to distract a man's attention. Her delicate profile alone set his groin to aching.

He forced himself to look away, attempting to discipline his wandering imagination. He couldn't remember the last time he'd reacted physically to a woman without even touching her. Hell, he didn't even know her. What was the matter with him? His gaze slid to Fitz Alan, and he was pleased to realize his second-in-command appeared just as dazed by Lady Remmington's appearance. Fitz Alan's mouth hung open quite stupidly.

"You're drooling," Kenric informed him behind one hand. Fitz Alan's mouth snapped shut but his eyes didn't leave the girl.

"You were right after all," Kenric went on, a certain smugness in his voice. "Her face is not too difficult to gaze upon."

"She is an angel," Fitz Alan whispered in awe.

Smiling, Kenric looked again to Lady Remmington. She was arguing fiercely with Ian.
"Aye, an angel with a temper."

The smile disappeared completely when he heard her next words.

"The only solution is to take me to a convent. I'll take the vows."

"The only vows you'll be taking are marriage vows," Kenric growled from his place behind her, his Gaelic almost perfect.

"I have been… been…"

Her words trailed off the moment Tess spun around and took a good look at the knights, the mercenaries hired to help her escape Dunmore MacLeith. Several unpleasant realizations struck at once.

They weren't mercenaries.

Mercenaries were not known to possess clothing
so
fine as that worn by the men who stood before her. She also recognized the worth and craftsmanship of their armor. Nay, she wouldn't gain the sanctuary of the church before the bridegroom arrived. He stood before her.

But which one?

Her gaze slid to the man on the right, and she found nothing objectionable in his appearance. In truth, he was downright handsome. He had tawny hair and deep brown eyes that had probably melted many a maid's heart. The knight's roguish grin said he knew of his appeal, but the grin soon faded and became sheepish, as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Tess felt her heart sink with her hopes. She should have known Baron Montague would not look so nice. Nay, he would look like the other one, the one who looked like the Devil.

The Devil was taller than his friend, taller even than Uncle Ian, and his bulk made him much more imposing. His cloak was thrown back, and her gaze traveled slowly over his body, studying him with open curiosity. He was clad in finely linked chain mail armor covered by a blue and white surcoat. His armor did little to disguise a powerful build and an impossibly broad chest. Her gaze lingered on one of the massive arms crossed against his chest. She wouldn't be able to wrap both hands around those bulging muscles. The man was a giant, although she had to admit there was nothing hulking or clumsy about him. Every part of his body appeared in perfect proportion to his size. He reminded her of the sleek, dangerous panther that Dunmore MacLeith kept as a pet; the coiled power magnificently fascinating, yet just as deadly.

Her gaze continued upward to his hauberk, which was pulled back to reveal hair as black as his fierce scowl. Even darker eyes glared at her from a face that was marred by a wicked-looking scar that ran the length of one cheek.

Why, his expression was all wrong.

Tess's lips parted slightly in surprise as she realized there was something intensely familiar about this man, a memory that floated just out of reach. Yet there was a difference she couldn't quite name. The eyes were too dark for one thing, Tess decided, her brows drawn together in a frown. And the lines of his face were too sharp, too vivid. She looked him over again from head to foot, trying to recall where she could have seen the man before.

Kenric knew his expression was severe enough to set friends and enemies alike on edge. It was wasted on Lady Remmington. The way she eyed him up and down like a cook inspecting a side of beef was insulting. He was about to redouble his efforts to put the bold wench in her place when their eyes met.

" 'Tis
you," she whispered, looking ready to scream.

"Aye, 'tis me," he answered, his voice caustic. For a moment he'd sworn there was a look of recognition in her eyes, the same look a woman would use to greet a cherished friend.
Or a lover.
But the warmth in her eyes disappeared so quickly that he wondered if he'd only imagined it. The girl's lasting expression of stunned disbelief was more in keeping with a maid's normal reaction. She'd just been introduced to the Butcher of Wales, a man bearing the name mothers used to frighten their children into obedience. At least she hadn't fainted.

"You'll be marrying me whether you like it or not," he said in his own language. He was uncomfortable with the difficult Gaelic burrs and wanted the lady to understand his every word. It didn't matter if she'd rather marry a three-headed goat. The King of England had gifted him with Tess of Remmington, and Kenric had every intention of keeping her. He paused to give her a brief, chilling smile of triumph. "Or do you dare defy our king's command?"