THE WARLORD (8 page)

"Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" she repeated dumbly.

"You've a most peculiar look on your face."

"Oh." Tess made herself look away from the tall warlord, a difficult task since he took up so much of the tent. She stumbled for a quick explanation. "Perhaps I always look peculiar in the morning."

Tess groaned inwardly as soon as the words left her mouth.
Perhaps I am the most dull-witted woman alive
, she added to herself.

"I hope so." Kenric grinned. "That look somehow reminds me of the lie you told Father Olwen."

"I believe I am ready to depart," Tess announced in a clipped voice, a blatant attempt to change the subject.

Kenric picked up Tess's cloak and draped it around her shoulders, missing her wince of pain. He pulled the hood up to protect her from the cold.
" 'Tis
colder today. Let us hope we don't get snowed on before we sight Montague."

Kenric hoped in vain. The snow started less than an hour into their journey. Fluffy white flakes drifted in lazy circles from the sky before the winds picked up and the soft flakes turned into hard, driven pellets. Tess was covered under two warm layers of cloaks but she worried for Kenric and his men. The soldiers donned fur caps and those who owned them wore gloves, but they were surely miserable. She was the best protected yet she seemed plagued by chills that set her teeth to chattering, only to become warm, almost hot, each time the bout of chills passed.

A fever, she finally realized with a shudder. Please God, let it be a mild one, she prayed. Fevers were feared by rich and poor alike. Though most were not fatal, one could never tell until it was too late. She slipped her arms around Kenric's waist and decided God would not be so cruel.

Kenric shifted Tess in his arms, feeling much like a well-used bed. He couldn't blame her for using sleep to escape the dull ride and harsh weather, but as the day grew longer, he began to wonder how anyone could sleep so much. At least she'd be well rested, he thought with a grin. She would need her strength for the evening he had planned.

The weather broke near noon and Kenric was relieved to discover the snow had scarcely touched the road ahead. They made good time in the afternoon and were within sight of his castle when the dying sun broke through the lingering gray clouds.

Kenric drew his cloak back and spoke softly in Tess's ear. "You are home, wife."

Castle Montague rose dark and forbidding against the fading twilight, an uninviting place made gloomier by scores of fire-charred trees. Their lifeless limbs rose from the snow like specters, silent guards standing on all sides of the massive stone fortress. The bleak sight was enough to make Tess shiver.

" 'Tis
little better on the inside," Kenric warned. "Best prepare for the worst,
then
perhaps it will not seem so bad."

"What happened to the trees?" she asked, deciding to ignore the warning. No need to let her imagination run wild, wondering what the "worst" might be inside the Butcher of Wales's fortress. She'd find out soon enough.

"I had them burned. They would provide too much shelter should an army lay siege to the castle."

Tess nodded then glanced around his shoulder. His soldiers rode forward silently, their faces grim. Odd, she thought, pondering this strange reaction. MacLeith's men would be riding into the bailey amidst their own loud cheers if they'd kidnapped an heiress for their laird. Their solemn stares increased her dread.

The baron pulled his horse aside and allowed the men to file past him through the outer gates. She could feel the somber mood increase as they rode through the outer bailey of their bleak home. They passed the inner gates without
so
much as a word of greeting called down from the walls. The baron's men were still mounted, lined up by rank on each side of the road that led from the inner gates to a set of massive stone steps. The steps led to Montague's great hall. Not one servant was in evidence, a situation unheard of even in a small, poorly staffed keep, much less a sprawling castle the size of Montague. Tess was too curious about this strange reception to be insulted by the cold welcome to her new home. To be sure, Kenric's men acted as if they didn't expect to see a living soul within the walls.

Kenric rode up to the stone steps and dismounted, pulling Tess down to his side. Every pair of eyes followed their progress up the steps. Tess had never been the focus of so much attention. She was Baroness to these strangers, wife to their leader. Did they know Kenric didn't want her? Did they know they'd soon be going to war over her, risking their lives for an unwanted bride, a stranger, a murderess?

Her grip on Kenric's arm tightened, and he laid one hand over hers. The effect was immediate. She could almost feel his strength surrounding her, calming, giving her a burgeoning strength of her own. Just as she was thinking the gesture was unintentional on his part, that he couldn't know how frightened she was, Kenric leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Calm yourself, Tess. These steps lead to the great hall, not a sacrificial altar." He turned then to face his men, saving Tess the embarrassment of a reply.

"I have taken Tess Remmington to wife," he began. His voice rang out through the courtyard, the deep sound reverberating off the stone walls. "All of you know the challenge laid down to Dunmore MacLeith when I made her my bride. As of the night 'ere last, Dunmore MacLeith is a trespasser on my land."

Tess glanced up at Kenric,
then
wished she hadn't. The look on her husband's face was frightening. He smiled, yes, but it was a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes.

"The MacLeiths will challenge this marriage, but I intend to take
Remmington
Castle
and all her good English keeps from the Scottish squatters by any means necessary."

The men cheered at the end of that declaration. But they really weren't cheers, Tess decided. Nay, they were roars of battle cries. The sound was nearly deafening, making the feverish ache in her head even worse. The awful noise continued as Kenric drew her forward, unfastened her hood, and pulled the cloak from her shoulders. He placed his hands on her shoulders in a blatant display of ownership. Tess locked her knees so they wouldn't buckle beneath her.

"You will protect my lady's life with your own. The loyalty you owe me now extends to my wife."

Fitz Alan drew his long battlesword, an act followed by each man until the entire bailey glittered with swords, each lifted in a silent pledge of fealty. Tess thought she should say something, but found herself speechless for the first time in her life. The fiercest army in
England had just given her their loyalty. Nay, Kenric gave her their loyalty. And she intended to betray them all.

"Come, Tess," Kenric said quietly, turning her toward the doors.

Tess tried not to dwell on the issue of allegiance as he led her inside, then up another set of stone steps to the hall. She focused all her attention on the strangeness of her new home. Inside the great hall, Montague was a mixture of wealth and squalor. The wealth was well evident. She found her eyes drawn to intricate carvings of faces, flowers, and miniature scenes on each end or crossing of the massive rib beams that supported the structure. The windows were cased with glass in a myriad of colors and the casings were as intricately carved as the beams. Not one, but two massive fireplaces flanked the hall, and well-vented ones at that. Each had its own chimney instead of a simple hole cut through the ceiling, as was the case at Langston Keep. Rich, colorful tapestries covered several walls, and Montague banners hung from the huge, round pillars supporting the roof.

Yet the squalor was just as apparent. Filthy, broken reeds littered the floor, their stench no doubt worsened by the remnants of more than one meal and the pack of hounds running loose through the hall. The dining tables, set up to form a U-shape in the middle of the room, were uncovered and fashioned of the crudest lumber. Long benches and simple stools were the only available seats.

Whatever hard times had befallen this hall, they were recent ones, she decided, completing her inventory of the place. If she had any intention of staying here, a good cleaning and a visit to the carpenter would have been the first order of business. Kenric's hall was in sore need of a lady to see to such things.
A lady much like the one walking toward them.

The woman was dressed in the kind of finery Tess had only dreamed of in her days at Langston. Her gown was made of richly trimmed blue velvet embroidered with white stags. Sapphires sparkled at her throat and wrists. Waves of jet-black hair framed a delicate face with high, exotic cheekbones and eyes perfectly matched to her gown. She seemed a bit older than Tess, but perhaps that was because she walked with such stiff dignity. Her gaze narrowed with ill-concealed hate as she came to a halt before Kenric.

"Welcome home,
brother
." The woman's greeting was so
cold,
Tess expected icicles to form in the air.

"Good eve, Helen," Kenric responded curtly. He pulled Tess closer and introduced her to his sister.

"I am very pleased to meet you," Tess said sincerely. This woman could be an ally, someone who might be able to aid in her escape. She clasped Helen's hands and smiled at her sister-in-law, hoping to melt some of the ice in Helen's eyes. "I hope we shall become good friends."

Helen's composed expression faltered for a moment before the cool mask of indifference slipped back into place. She pulled her hands away and folded them at her waist.

"We shall see," she replied with a regal nod.

"My men are in need of food," Kenric told his sister, his face as disinterested as hers. "Make arrangements to serve a meal as soon as possible."

"The kitchen is ill prepared to serve a meal at this hour," Helen informed him. She turned and walked toward the kitchens, then called over her shoulder, "I shall see what is available."

Kenric's face didn't show any emotion. Tess was amazed by her husband's control. The MacLeiths would have bloodied Helen's lip the first time she uttered a word.

"Helen did not know you would arrive this eve?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

"She knew."

Kenric's tone said the subject was closed. He took his position at the head table,
then
motioned for Tess to sit next to him. The servants finally appeared, each bearing flagons of wine and ale to the groups of men near the tables and fireplaces. Some of the men's faces were familiar from the courtyard, but many were present in the hall when they arrived. Montague's vassals, Tess supposed, eyeing their rich, colorful clothes. These would be the knights who ruled at Montague's keeps or smaller fortresses. It wasn't unusual for them to gather at their lord's main fortress, although their ladies were conspicuous by their absence. Aside from some of the servants, Tess was the only woman in the hall.

Several men seemed eager for Kenric's audience and they soon had him deep in conversation. Though Tess tried to find something to do other than eavesdrop, the task was not easy. Helen had disappeared and Fitz Alan was talking to several men she didn't know. She didn't think it good manners to start a conversation with anyone she hadn't been properly introduced to.

Bored by her own company, she gave up all pretense of disinterest and listened avidly to Kenric's conversation, discovering some intriguing details about her husband's past. Most curious was the fact that, until recently, Kenric had not set foot on Montague land since his departure for the Crusades, nine years earlier. Being far away in the Holy Lands was excuse enough to stay away from home, but in the five years of war with
Wales, Kenric hadn't found or made the time to visit his family. Not even when his father died three years earlier and Kenric assumed the title.

Kenric's vassals droned on and on while Tess struggled to remain alert. The excitement of their arrival was wearing off and the conversation had turned to mundane matters that didn't interest her. Nearly an hour passed before the meal was served, if the slops
laid
before them could be called such. Every dish was
either undercooked
, overcooked, or unrecognizable. All were awful. If she were of a mind to stay married to Kenric, a trip to the kitchens would have topped her list of tasks to accomplish, right after a tour of the castle. Not that she'd be staying at Montague long enough to concern herself with those wifely duties. She was leaving at the first opportunity.

No one lingered over the tasteless meal. Kenric rose immediately after eating what he could to join a group gathered near one of the fireplaces. Tess remained seated, unsure what she was expected to do. She tried to keep herself occupied by thinking over the chores that would be necessary to right the place. Habit, she told herself. She'd been trained from birth to run an estate the size of Montague. Helen's training must have been lacking, indeed. The conditions at Montague were disgusting. The rushes were filthy, the hounds showed no signs of being housebroken, and the remainders of the meal still lay upon the table. God only knew what the rest of the fortress looked like. Thank goodness she wouldn't be staying long.

Tess stretched from one side to the other, trying to relieve the cramped pain in her back and ignore the thought of how wonderful a bed would feel. There was the slight worry over Kenric's promise to make her a wife in more than name, but she doubted he meant that night. He'd been in a saddle for at least four days, with little enough rest the last two. Surely the man wasn't up to such vigorous activity.

A moment later Tess snapped her head up in alarm, shocked to realize she'd actually nodded off at the table. Right in front of Kenric and all his men! She didn't relax until a quick glance around the hall satisfied her that none had witnessed the slip.

Relaxing was a mistake.

Her eyelids seemed weighted with lead. She desperately searched the hall for something that would hold her interest enough to stay awake. Kenric was extremely interesting to look at, but staring at her husband would surely be considered rude. Her attention turned instead to the vast array of weapons that hung on one wall. She began to study the diverse designs. She was concentrating on keeping the wall in focus when true panic set in. No matter how hard she fought the urge, her eyes were determined to close. She propped her elbows on the table, chin in hand, and reserved every bit of strength for the mighty effort of keeping her eyes open. A moment later they slid shut.

Why did I fight this?
she
asked herself. Just a few more minutes and she'd open her eyes feeling good as new.

On the other side of the hall, one of the servants dropped a tray and the loud clatter brought Tess awake with a start. Disoriented, she lifted her head then raised one hand to her forehead, wishing the room would stop tilting back and forth. Kenric was at her side in an instant.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. He took the stool next to Tess and put a steadying arm around her shoulders. A hand placed against her forehead made him swear foully under his breath. "You burn with fever, Tess. Why didn't you tell me you were ill?"

"
Ill
?" Tess tried to shake her head but the sudden movement made her dizzy. She put one hand on Kenric's knee to steady herself. "Am I ill?" Realizing the truth of his observation, she said, "Doubtless 'tis just a slight fever, milord. I am sure it shall pass by morn."

Kenric didn't reply. He lifted Tess in his arms, unaware that she winced in pain, and walked toward the steps leading to the upper chambers. He stopped long enough to give orders to Fitz Alan.

"Tell the men my wife is exhausted from her journey and bid them enjoy my hospitality. She has a fever," he went on, lowering his voice. "Send someone for the old healing woman in the village. She can administer her foul brews if this does not pass by morning."