скачать книгу бесплатно
“Then what was that kiss about?”
“If you don’t know, then it was a stupid mistake, and one I won’t make again,” he retorted, his deep voice fiercely angry.
Good. Angry men she was used to and could handle. Men who tried to seduce her, however… “I wouldn’t try seducing Laelia, either,” she warned. “First, I’m onto your game. Second, Laelia may look and sound a bit dim, but I assure you, when it comes to men and their tricks, she’s seen them all.”
Sir Blaidd sidled closer, seeming taller, more menacing, every inch the fierce warrior and champion of tournaments. “If it’s impossible for me to seduce either of you—supposing that was my despicable plan—then your warnings are quite unnecessary, aren’t they? And I must say that kiss was rather amazing for a modest young maiden of limited experience, which leads me to wonder what exactly you were doing here at this time of night. You don’t strike me as devout, so a sudden urge to pray seems unlikely.” He ran a haughty, impertinent gaze over her body. “Did I interrupt something? Were you waiting for somebody else?”
“How dare you suggest such a thing!”
“How dare you suggest that my motives are dishonorable?”
“You kissed me!”
“You kissed me back!”
“I had no choice.”
“Of course you did. You could have stopped me at any time. But you didn’t, and what’s more, you enjoyed it.”
“Oh, you are an expert on women’s feelings, are you?”
“Expert or not, I know when a woman’s desire matches or exceeds my own.”
“Exceeds? Of all the arrogant, pompous, self-righteous—”
“Yes, you certainly are.”
“You…you base, loathsome blackguard!” she cried, wrenching open the door, determined to get away from him. “Don’t you ever come near me again!”
She limped off into the night.
“Trust me, I won’t!” Blaidd muttered as the chapel door creaked to a close.
Every Welsh curse he knew tumbled out of his mouth in a low rumble of frustration and anger. How dare she call his honor into question? Granted, kissing her had been a little…well, a lot…
Well, he shouldn’t have.
He let out his breath slowly. God save him, he’d been an idiot. An idiot totally overwhelmed with desire. An idiot so overwhelmed with desire that he’d forgotten that he was here because King Henry himself had sent him to verify if Lord Throckton was plotting treason or not.
He wouldn’t be able to do that if Lord Throckton sent him packing the day after he’d arrived because he’d presumed to kiss the man’s daughter. He should have been able to control himself, no matter what the circumstances or how tempting the lady. After all, he was no youth anxious to experience love, like Trevelyan.
“Fool,” Blaidd mumbled under his breath as he left the chapel and headed toward the apartments.
He reached the chamber he and Trev were sharing and cautiously opened the door, which didn’t squeak like the one in the chapel. He quietly crept into the comfortable room with its two beds. A brazier stood nearby, along with a chest for their baggage, and a small table bearing a ewer and basin for washing. There were no tapestries or carpet, or even a stool to sit on, but Blaidd had slept in worse places.
Someone was in one of the beds—Trev, to judge by the tousled hair. Blaidd hoped the lad had already fallen asleep, thereby sparing him the need to explain anything.
Trev was not asleep. He sat up abruptly and said, “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”
“I was looking for you,” Blaidd truthfully replied.
Trev hugged his knees and regarded him quizzically. “I’ve been right here for a long time.”
Blaidd sat on the end of his bed. He might as well make a point, and incidentally turn the conversation away from his own whereabouts. “And before that, you were looking for that maidservant, Meg.”
Trev blushed. “How do you know?” Then his eyes widened. “Were you spying on me?”
Blaidd was in no mood for more indignation, especially from a stripling youth. “I happened to see you looking for her in the courtyard, as anybody could have.”
“How did you know I was looking for her? Maybe I was searching for you.”
“I saw her leave the kitchen, and you came hot on her heels. If you were looking for me, I don’t think you would have been so disappointed when you didn’t find me.”
Trev stared at his toes and shrugged his shoulders. “All right. I wasn’t looking for you.”
“She’s a servant, Trev,” Blaidd said not unkindly. “You’re a young nobleman who’s a guest in her master’s household. She wouldn’t want to risk offending you.”
He saw dismay flash in Trev’s eyes, and took pity on the boy. “Look, Trev, I’m not saying that’s the only reason she talked to you. It could be she really likes you. But you’re not equals. You have power and rank, and she has none. And we are guests here. It would be an abuse of your host’s hospitality to dally with his maidservants.”
“What if a woman…you know…what if she’s interested?”
Blaidd recalled what his father had said to him about such situations. “With such things come responsibilities, provided the man is honorable and not some lustful lout. What if the woman got with child?”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Have you enough silver to give her a tidy sum to raise it? Would you be ready for a young man to show up at your gate one day claiming to be your son? Would you be willing to acknowledge a bastard?”
“I hadn’t thought of all that.”
“No, I didn’t think you had.”
“But with a whore, there wouldn’t be—”
“You’re not going to go with any whore while you’re my squire. Do you understand me?”
Blaidd didn’t often use that tone of command, but when he did, it always got results, and this time was no different. Trev swallowed hard and nodded.
A twinge of guilt assailed Blaidd. He’d hardly acted as an honorable knight himself tonight. And given the possible repercussions, it might be wise to prepare Trevelyan for a likely departure, as well as give him as much of an explanation as necessary. “We might have to leave tomorrow.”
Trev’s mouth fell open. “Why? Because I was looking for Meg?”
“No. Because I quarreled with Lady Rebecca.”
A devilish gleam lit Trev’s eyes. “After all your warnings and admonitions to me about the proper behavior of a guest?”
Blaidd bent down and pulled off his boots. “Yes.” He glanced up. “And no, you don’t have to gloat. I know that was a stupid thing to do.”
Trev didn’t gloat. “She seems a very quarrelsome woman,” he said comfortingly, “and it didn’t look to me as if her father or sister like that about her. Perhaps they’ll take your side.” He grinned. “Especially Lady Laelia.”
Blaidd hadn’t expected to find solace in the observations of a youth, but he did. “Well, we’ll find out come the morning,” he said as he rose to finish disrobing. “Go to sleep, Trev.” He gave the lad a wry smile. “We may have a long journey tomorrow.”
Trev made a face. “I hope not. I don’t want to go home yet. I’ve had enough training.”
“A knight can never have enough.”
“You say that only because you don’t have to do it anymore,” the lad said as he snuggled beneath the covers.
When Trev’s eyes closed, the rueful smile left Blaidd’s face. If they did have to leave in the morning, how was he going to explain his failure to the king?
Chapter Four (#ulink_a627fd09-71d8-5c2d-949f-7c255d411423)
In their bedchamber the next morning, it was obvious that Laelia was in a foul mood. Becca had long ago learned that the best way to dissipate a conflict with her sister was to keep quiet until Laelia deigned to speak. It went against the grain, but she stayed silent while Meg helped Laelia put on a beautiful gown of emerald-green velvet trimmed with golden bands of embroidery, and a gilded girdle about her slender hips. Laelia then sat on a stool before her dressing table, which was covered with little pots of perfumes and unguents, a silver-handled brush and a small cedar box holding ribbons to adorn her hair. Another wooden box, inlaid with ebony, held her jewelry.
Becca had no ribbons or baubles, and her jewelry, worn much less frequently, was in the bottom of her embossed chest on the other side of her bed. Laelia’s bed was made up with fine linen sheets, a thick feather bed and large pillows, and curtains of scarlet damask kept out the chill night air. Becca’s bed was just as sumptuous. She didn’t feel the need to dress richly, but she wasn’t about to turn up her nose at being warm and comfortable.
When they were children, she and Laelia had shared the bed that was now hers alone. They’d had many a whispered conversation together after the curtain had closed, punctuated with giggles. That had changed when Becca fell from the tree. Laelia couldn’t share her bed for some weeks after that, and her father had purchased a new one for her.
Becca could easily guess why Laelia was upset this morning. She was furious that Becca had stormed out of the hall—well, stormed out as dramatically as a woman who limped could—coupled with her greeting of Sir Blaidd at the gate. Laelia had heard about that meeting before the evening meal, and her verbal jousting with Sir Blaidd in the hall would have raised her ire even more. Fortunately, Laelia had been asleep when Becca had returned from the chapel, or at least she’d pretended to be, sparing a quarrel last night, but letting her annoyance fester all the more, probably even as she slept.
Becca had been tempted to wake her sister and tell her that Sir Blaidd had kissed her, to warn Laelia that the man was up to no good. Becca had considered speaking to her father in the morning, too, and telling him to send Sir Blaidd away. Surely he shouldn’t be courting Laelia.
But now, in the light of day, and considering how rarely her father ever paid heed to her concerns, she decided that the less said about what had happened last night, the better. There was no reason yet to believe that Sir Blaidd would be deemed any more worthy of Laelia’s hand than any of the other myriad suitors who had come to Throckton Castle.
She hadn’t exactly been a model of ladylike behavior herself. She should have left the chapel the moment Sir Blaidd arrived. Regardless of his manner and his voice and his apology, she should have fled.
Therefore, rather than risk unnecessary conflict, she decided to say nothing of her nocturnal encounter with Sir Blaidd Morgan, unless and until it seemed he was in contention for Laelia’s hand.
“You were very rude to Sir Blaidd yesterday,” Laelia suddenly declared as she regarded Becca’s reflection in her mirror. “And as for that business at the gate—I suppose Dobbin put you up to it?”
“Of course he didn’t. It was my idea,” Becca replied firmly as she tied the side lacings of her over-tunic. She wore a gown of plain brown wool beneath it, and a linen shift under that, and rarely required assistance to dress.
“That makes it even worse. And then to march out of the hall like a…like…I don’t know what! If Sir Blaidd decides to leave today, it’ll be all your fault!”
Becca didn’t appreciate being scolded like an errant child. “You sound quite taken with the Welshman. I didn’t think you could be so easily impressed.”
“Easily impressed?” Laelia repeated indignantly as Meg finished brushing her hair and began to braid it as quickly as she could, clearly wanting to finish her duties and be gone. “I’m not easily impressed—but he’s handsome, he’s charming and he’s a courtier. Even you must admit that it’s rare we get a man from court coming here, given Father’s opinion of Queen Eleanor.”
It sounded as if Sir Blaidd had already found favor with Laelia. “Ah, yes, for a moment I forgot how much you yearn to be presented at court.”
“While you would rather stay here in this…this wilderness, consorting with the peasants,” Laelia replied.
“I enjoy consorting with the peasants,” Becca said evenly as she began to make her bed.
Laelia pulled a face. “Will you never have any regard for your rank and title?”
“I do, as well as for the responsibilities that go with it. But I have no wish to marry a man just so I can be presented at court.”
“That isn’t the only thing I like about Sir Blaidd. I daresay the only thing that you’ve noticed about him is that he’s a man, and you hate men.”
“I don’t hate men.”
“You certainly do!” Laelia exclaimed as Meg tied the first braid with an emerald-green ribbon. “No man who’s come here has ever found favor with you.”
“That’s because they’ve all been vain, spoiled and arrogant.”
“Even you can’t think Sir Blaidd is vain. His clothes are plain, his accoutrements, too, and he didn’t seem very arrogant to me.”
He had been very simply dressed when Becca had first seen him at the gate, the sodden cloak clinging to his broad shoulders, his damp breeches to his muscular thighs. Later, he’d changed into a simple tunic with a narrow trimming of embroidery about the hem and a plain white shirt beneath. “Maybe he dresses that way because he’s poor,” she said, which would mean he would certainly not be considered a fit husband for Laelia.
“He’s not. Father says so.”
It was on the tip of Becca’s tongue to point out that their father had been known to make a few mistakes. His vocal condemnation of the king’s wife at feast times and other public gatherings was hardly wise. However, Becca didn’t think it was time to bring him into this argument. “What about that hair of his? That hardly seems a fitting style for the king’s court.”
Laelia considered, as if the question were of national importance. “It looks well on him, so perhaps it is. If not, should we marry, I’ll ask him to cut it.”
“What if he won’t?”
Laelia gave Becca a superior little smile that never failed to annoy her, for it hinted at a vast and secret feminine knowledge she would never possess. “I’m sure he’ll do it if his wife asks him.” That thought seemed to put her in a forgiving mood. “To be sure, he’s a bit rough around the edges, but I can fix that.”
Becca imagined Sir Blaidd with his “rough edges” smoothed out until he was like every other bland and smooth-talking nobleman she had ever met. She didn’t think that would be an improvement.
Perhaps she should at least give some hint that he might not be as wonderful as her sister seemed to think he was. “If I’m not in favor of him as a husband for you, Laelia, it’s precisely because he is so charming and good-looking. He’s probably had scores of lovers, and likely keeps a mistress—maybe more than one. He’ll probably never be faithful.”
Laelia regarded her reflection without a hint of distress. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has lovers now. But once he’s married to me, he won’t be tempted.”
“I don’t think marriage to anybody would make much of a difference. If he’s a lascivious scoundrel, chances are he’ll be one after marriage, too, no matter who his wife is, or how much he claims to love her.”
Her coiffure now complete, Laelia gave a long-suffering sigh as she rose. “You would think an archangel would make a terrible husband.”
Before Becca could point out that archangels didn’t marry, Laelia gave her a pointed look, silently reminding her it was time to be on their way to the chapel for morning Mass.
“You go ahead,” Becca said. “I need to talk with Meg for a moment.”
“Very well, but don’t be late.”
Again, Laelia spoke as if Becca were a child. Her jaw clenched as Laelia sailed out the door and closed it firmly behind her.
“I ain’t done nothing wrong, I hope, my lady,” Meg said, a frown darkening her usually cheerful face. “Or forgot something.”
“I’m not going to scold you,” Becca said kindly. She gestured toward the stool and Meg perched on it, as tentatively as if she expected it to disappear at any second. “I wanted to speak to you about Trevelyan Fitzroy.”
With an expression of dismay, Meg sat up even straighter. “I ain’t done nothing unseemly!”
“I don’t believe you have, but I wanted to warn you to take care. I’m sure he’s a very persuasive and fascinating young man, but you’re a servant, and he’s not. He may want to take liberties because of that. If he does, you have my permission to refuse him as forcefully as necessary, and if he continues to bother you, I want you to tell me right away. We won’t countenance any young man treating our servants with disrespect. I don’t want you to share Hester’s fate.”
And she herself should remember the fearsome consequences of seduction.
“Of course I’d come to you, my lady, if he was bein’…like that. No honey-tongued squire who looks like the devil’s own temptation is going to get far with me. Why, he’d just be after a quick tickle and tumble and—” She colored. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady.”
