скачать книгу бесплатно
“You sound just like my father.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Blaidd replied, keeping his voice light, “and I am responsible for you while you’re in my service. If your father found out I’d let you go to a brothel, he’d probably have a fit—but he’d still be able to break my head before he succumbed. I’m not about to risk that.”
“Have you ever been to a brothel?”
Blaidd was glad that he could answer honestly. “Never wanted to, never had to.”
Fortunately, they reached the gatehouse of Throckton Castle, effectively ending the conversation. He had a job to do here—one that had nothing to do with courting Lady Laelia—and he didn’t want to have to play tutor to Trevelyan in matters such as these, as well.
Blaidd studied the raised portcullis, a huge wooden grille with pointed ends. Sentries patrolled the wall walk above. At the other end of the gatehouse was a closed second gate that led to the outer ward. It was made of solid oak, inches thick and studded with brass.
Lowering his hood, Blaidd rode beneath the portcullis and into the gatehouse, passing under the murder hole. If enemies got trapped between the wooden grille of the portcullis and the solid inner gate, defenders could pour boiling oil or throw rocks through that hole. He shivered, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was wet with rain. He had seen a child accidentally burned by hot sheep’s tallow once, and the thought of a great vat raining such a doom from above was the stuff of nightmares.
Arriving at the inner gate, he pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. Trev followed suit, and Blaidd handed him Aderyn Du’s reins.
Before Blaidd could call out a greeting, though, a panel in the right half of the door slid swiftly back. No doubt the sentries on the wall walk had notified the guards below that they had visitors.
A thin face wreathed in a rough, dark brown woolen hood appeared. The guard’s brilliant blue eyes regarded Blaidd as if he wanted to accuse him of cheating. “Who are you and what do you want?” a slightly husky voice demanded.
“It’s a woman!” Trev cried in what was meant to be a whisper, although it was loud enough to be heard twenty feet away.
After the first moment of astonishment had passed, Blaidd did what he always did when he met a woman. He smiled. “I wasn’t aware Lord Throckton had Amazons in his garrison.”
With an expression that looked suspiciously like scorn, the blue eyes surveyed him slowly, from the top of his soaked head, over his woolen cloak and leather jerkin, past his sword belt and breeches to the soles of his black boots. Then her expression changed to one of approval—because she’d caught sight of Aderyn Du.
Blaidd stiffened. Aderyn Du was an undeniably fine animal, but he wasn’t used to having his horse meet with more favor than he did.
Turning her attention back to Blaidd, the woman said, “I asked you who you were and what you want here.”
“He’s Sir Blaidd Morgan,” Trev declared incredulously, as if the whole world must know that.
Blaidd, however, knew that the whole world did not know of him, and it was very possible that his fame, such as it was, hadn’t traveled this far north of London and east of Wales.
“As my squire has said, I am Sir Blaidd Morgan,” he replied, once more his calm, genial self. “I’ve come to pay a friendly visit to Lord Throckton, provided you’ll let us through the gate.”
The woman sniffed. “You’ve come to court the Lady Laelia, like so many men before you. Well, good luck.”
“I do hope I have good luck, if Lady Laelia proves to be worth courting.”
“Well, well, no false modesty in you, sir knight, is there?” the woman replied. “It should be interesting to see how a Welshman fares. You are a Welshman, aren’t you?”
By now, Trev was fairly hopping with indignation. “Are you going to let her talk to you like that? Do we have to stand here like a couple of peddlers asking to come in?”
Blaidd continued to smile, and while he ostensibly replied to Trev, he didn’t take his steadfast gaze from what he could see of the woman’s face. “As a matter of fact, since she is keeper of the gate, I am going to let her talk to me like that, and keep us waiting, if she likes.”
The woman laughed, a low and rather cynical chortle. “I’ll give you credit for your manners, Sir Welshman,” she said. “Enter, then, and be welcome.”
She slammed the grille closed, and they heard the sound of the heavy bolt being drawn back.
“And about time, too!” Trev muttered. “God’s blood, Blaidd, that’s the rudest—”
“Never mind, Trev. We’re here without a specific invitation, so we can hardly be offended if the welcome is less than warm.”
“I hope Lord Throckton is more polite.”
“I’m sure he will be. It’s a nobleman’s duty to extend hospitality to a fellow nobleman.”
His squire didn’t respond; nonetheless, Blaidd could fairly feel the annoyance shooting out of him.
In truth, he was a little annoyed by the woman’s brazen manner, too, but he had had more experience with disrespect. His father was not nobly born, and it had taken winning several tournaments, as well as the friendship of the king, before Blaidd was truly accepted at court.
So while this was far from his usual reception both at castles and with women, he wasn’t as quick to take offense as Trev. As for the woman, he was very curious to see the whole of her face. If it was half so fascinating as those vibrant blue eyes, his time here might be more interesting than he had anticipated.
Although he mustn’t lose sight of his true, and important, purpose.
The gates slowly swung open, and he and Trev proceeded through, entering a wide, grassy outer ward. Beyond was the inner curtain wall of the castle, with towers at the corners.
Several armed guards—all men—stood at attention beside the gatehouse. The blue-eyed woman shrouded in a long brown cloak waited closest to the gate, as if she had personally drawn back the bolt. Her face was thin, her skin pale, and her blue eyes seemed rather too large for her face. But her features themselves weren’t too bad, and when he considered her lips, the first thought that came to mind was kissing.
“I hope you’ll forgive my questions, sir,” she said as she bowed low. “We so seldom have any visits from the king’s minions that naturally I was suspicious.”
Minion? Blaidd was no longer moved to excuse her insolence, vibrant blue eyes or not, and as for kissing her, he’d sooner kiss Aderyn Du.
“He’s not a minion!” Trev cried, echoing his thoughts. “He’s a friend of King Henry’s.”
“Trev, please, allow me to deal with this underling,” Blaidd said as he slowly ambled toward the woman until they were less than a foot apart.
She stiffened as Blaidd perused her in a leisurely manner.
“What’s your name, wench?” he asked with deceptive tranquillity before he gave her a smile that his opponents in armed combat had learned to dread.
Her chin jutted out with defiance. “Becca.”
“Tell me, Becca, do you always speak this way to your superiors?”
“Usually I don’t speak to anybody who considers himself my superior.”
She was, without doubt, the most insolent wench he’d ever encountered. “If this is the welcome nobles can expect at Throckton Castle, it’s no wonder to me that your lord is not held in high esteem at the king’s court.”
The woman’s steadfast gaze finally faltered—but only for the briefest of moments. “If he isn’t, that merely confirms what I think of the English court.”
“What do you know of the English court?”
Her eyes widened with what he recognized as a completely fraudulent innocent bafflement. “I never said I knew anything about the English court, sir. I said it confirms what I think about it.”
She bowed again, with an unexpected grace. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Sir Blaidd.”
He tilted his head as he studied her, not at all taken in by her change of manner. “Are you?”
“If what I’ve said causes trouble for Lord Throckton, I am.”
Then she smiled, with so merry an expression, it was like finding a flower blooming in the dead of winter. “But if my honesty means you think I’m an insolent wretch who ought to be punished, I’m not sorry a bit.”
Under the force of that smile, Blaidd’s anger melted away. “Perhaps I’ll be merciful and not tell Lord Throckton about his impertinent gatekeeper.”
“Perhaps he won’t be surprised.” Her smile dimmed, but she didn’t sound worried.
Then she wrapped her cloak more tightly about her slender frame. “Aren’t you in a hurry to meet the lovely Lady Laelia?” She gave him another smile. “I think you might actually stand a chance.”
“Well, then, since I’ve apparently won your good opinion, I’ll consider myself nearly betrothed.”
The look in her sparkling eyes shifted again, becoming serious. “You may not have had much competition in anything before, Sir Blaidd Morgan of Wales, but you will now. I wish you luck, if you think Laelia and her dowry will make you happy.”
He asked the next question without thought. “Will I be seeing you in the castle?”
“I hope not,” she replied, in a way that left no doubt that she meant it.
The guards nearby stifled smiles and tried not to laugh.
Sir Blaidd Morgan enjoyed having people laugh with him, and women most of all. But he hated being laughed at, and it had been years upon years since anybody had dared.
He turned on his heel, marched back to Aderyn Du and threw himself into the saddle. “Let’s go, Trev,” he snapped.
His squire immediately obeyed. “Do you suppose she really is a gatekeeper?” he asked as they rode into the ward.
“Whoever she is,” Blaidd answered grimly, “I don’t think she’s right in the head, and I hope I never see her again.”
As Sir Blaidd Morgan rode away, Becca glanced at the castle guards, and the tall, gray-haired man in mail at the head of them. “Poor man. I don’t think he expected my reception.”
They burst out laughing.
“That’s enough, lads,” the commander of the garrison ordered, although Dobbin was having trouble keeping a straight face himself. “Back to your duties.”
Exchanging muffled words and snickers, the men returned to their posts, while Dobbin joined Becca in the room in the gatehouse where the guards spent their time while not on patrol or sleeping. The plain stone walls were as stark as the battered trestle table upon which, over the years, men off duty had scratched their signs or initials. A couple of stools provided the only seating. A single shelf held materials for cleaning metal and leather, a task often performed here. The scent of the polish lingered, and helped add to the cozy feeling of the room, which was warmed by a fire.
Becca and Dobbin hung up their drenched cloaks on pegs near the door and returned to their stools by the small hearth.
Dobbin stretched out his legs and sighed. “I’m getting too old to stand in the rain,” he muttered, his words betraying his childhood spent in the dales of Yorkshire.
“You could have stayed inside.”
“Too risky.”
“They were hardly on the attack.”
Dobbin gave her a shrewd look. “But what might you have said if I wasn’t there?”
She smiled, for he was quite right. She might have been even more impertinent toward yet another knight who’d arrived to see if the beauty of Throckton lived up to that name, and to court her if she did.
“Big fellow, he was, for a Welshman,” Dobbin noted. “Sits his horse well. A man with shoulders and legs like that would probably be some fighter.”
“I daresay he probably is a champion of tournaments,” Becca agreed as she spread her damp skirts to enable them to dry more quickly. The ring of keys at her belt jingled with the movement.
“He’s a handsome one, too, even with that hair. I’ve never seen a nobleman with hair to his shoulders like some kind of savage.”
“Maybe all Welshmen wear it that way.”
“I’ve never seen ’em do it,” Dobbin replied, “and I’ve met a fair few at tournaments and such.”
Becca clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll ask him, shall I?”
Dobbin nearly fell off his stool. “You’d better not. He looked angry enough to strangle you before. I thought he was going to, the way he got so close to you.”
Becca tried not to remember how her heart had pounded when the handsome knight with the incredible physique had strolled toward her, a look on his face as if…as if…
Well, she’d never had a man walk up to her with that look on his face. “Very well, I won’t ask.” She gave Dobbin a grin. “Judging by that smile of his, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sir Blaidd expects to win Laelia with nothing more than a wink and a grin.”
“I just hope his lordship ain’t going to be angry when he hears what you said to a knight from King Henry’s court.”
“I expect he will be.” Becca hunched her shoulders, lowered her chin and gruffly spoke in imitation of the overlord of Throckton Castle. “Ignore her, Sir Blaidd. She’s flighty and foolish—a woman, that’s all.”
Dobbin shook his head. “You’d better take care, my lady, or one of these days you might push your father too far, and then where will you be?”
Chapter Two (#ulink_d004f0cf-7586-5845-b6a9-78e12b33aa8f)
While Trev finished taking their baggage to the chamber they would share, Blaidd waited for Lord Throckton in the great hall. He stood with his back to the massive hearth, and the heat felt so good, he barely managed not to squirm like a pig in mud.
His mood continued to improve as he surveyed the chamber, which, like the rest of the fortress, was larger and more indicative of personal wealth than he had expected. After entering the cobbled courtyard, he’d taken note of the huge building that had to be the hall, and the chapel beside it, judging by the windows. The rooms on the second level of the half-timbered stables were surely barracks for the garrison and living quarters for grooms and stable boys. Blaidd guessed the two-story building on this side of the yard, adjoining the hall, contained the apartments where the family and the other servants slept, as well as the lord’s solar. The other buildings he could readily identify were the kitchen, attached to the hall and with a large chimney louvered so that rain couldn’t put out the fire below, and the blacksmith’s shop. The keep, a huge circular building to the left of the entrance, probably doubled as the armory, and would serve as a last redoubt should the walls be breached.
The keep was decades old, and the inner walls, too. Blaidd estimated that the hall, the chapel, the outer wall and the formidable gatehouse were new, built within the last five years. The second floors—the apartments and barracks—were likewise of recent construction.
As for the interior of the hall, the only place Blaidd had seen to rival it belonged to the king. Heavy and finely wrought tapestries covered the walls, depicting battles and hunts, their bright green, scarlet and gold threads catching the light. The benches and tables were relatively new, free of scars, scratches and gouges, and polished to a high sheen. Clean rushes covered the floor, and the light scents of rosemary and fleabane reached his nostrils.
Huge oak beams supported the ceiling, and banners of knights who owed allegiance to Lord Throckton moved in the shifting air like lazy maidens dancing. It was quite a collection—far more than Blaidd would have expected for a lord of Throckton’s apparent standing—and most of them were unfamiliar. Should the king’s suspicions about Throckton’s possible disloyalty prove well founded, he would have to remember them.
One of the hounds slumbering near the fire twitched, drawing his attention. They had stood growling and quivering at him when he had first entered, until one of the male servants had commanded them to sit and be quiet.
That wench at the gate had practically snapped and growled at him, too. What would she look like asleep, her bright blue eyes closed and her breasts rising and falling in gentle rhythm? He recalled hints of the form beneath that damp cloak she held so tightly about her, and realized she was quite shapely.
His body warmed more, and not from the fire, as he imagined the spirited Becca in his bed. She wouldn’t lie there unmoving, he was sure. If she decided to give herself to a man, she would—with zest. He would be free to tease and suggest and play, and she would probably respond in kind.
He began to harden, and forcibly reminded himself he had important business here that had nothing to do with women, even if he was supposed to be interested in Lady Laelia. And he should no more dally with a maidservant than Trev should go to that brothel, no matter how interesting or challenging the maidservant might be.
“Welcome to Throckton Castle, Sir Blaidd!” a deep voice called out.
Blaidd swiveled toward a curving stairway at the far end of the hall. A robust man with thick gray hair and broad shoulders strode toward him. He was well-dressed, wearing a long tunic of indigo blue belted with gilded leather. By his manner and confidence Blaidd assumed he was the lord of the castle.
When Lord Throckton reached the dais, he came to a halt and smiled pleasantly, revealing fine teeth.
