A Lord for Haughmond (3 page)

     The two knights, having returned to gathering what few items of value were to be found, chuckled at her disgusted tone.

     Simon guffawed once more and eyed Anne. “Me master’s not by nature inclined ta disparage ladies. He’s most chivalrous.”

     “So he takes his vows seriously?” Katherine stared down the dark silent glade and saw only a trail of dust motes drifting in the wake of the departed knight. She felt abandoned, which she found astonishing. Sir Rhys was a stranger and one she wasn’t at all sure she could trust.

     “Steadfast and true is Sir—me master.” Simon nodded emphatically. “He was ta the Holy Land on crusade. An’ he did escort nuns on pilgrimage ta Canterbury. He’ll not leave ye in distress.”

     “His presence will prove more the distress.” Put out at the youth’s loyalty and confounded by her own unsettled reaction to the knight, her voice was sharp. Why did a stranger unsettle her so completely?

     The squire smiled. “Ye misjudge me master, lady. He’s usually quite amiable.”

     “No doubt he prefers a greater appreciation than I can bestow upon him.”

     “Katherine!” Anne threw her a startled look. “We needs be grateful to Sir Rhys, do we not?”

     “Indeed.” At once Katherine was outwardly contrite as she began stuffing her hair back into the foul-smelling hood. She turned and hid her sister’s thick curls likewise. “Your intercession on our behalf, Simon, is appreciated.”

     She dropped to her knees beside the tree cavity and fetched out their meager bundle. Coming to her feet, she carefully examined what sky could be seen through the bare limbs overhead. “Mayhap Sir Rhys is not to our taste, as he is more accustomed to the ways of warfare and warriors.” She gave a brief smile. “Now if you will excuse us—” Hiking up her sagging tunic she took hold of Anne’s arm and propelled the younger girl along beside her and set out toward the east.

     Simon stared at them, but a snicker from one of the knights remounting his charger brought his slack jaw shut.

     “Ye can’t leave!” He bolted after them.

     Behind him the two knights exchanged glances and nudged their mounts forward.

     Katherine forged into the tangled vegetation. “Why not? Sir Rhys has deserted us. We can manage on our own.”

     Simon stepped lively to keep apace. “Me master hasn’t deserted ye. He only returns for the baggage we left behind when we stumbled on the Welsh encampment.”

     “More reason we should not inconvenience him in his endeavors. If it appeases his conscience tell him
we’ve
deserted
him
.” Katherine marched on, prodding her sister with an urgent hand. “At any rate, we cannot be far from the London road.”

*  *  *

     “Where are your charges?” Rhys kept his tone polite, knowing the answer before Simon jerked his thumb toward the underbrush.

     He frowned. “Fool, you told them the direction of London?”

     “Nay!” Simon was quick to defend himself. “The Lady Katherine seemed ta know her way.”

     “You told them I would champion their cause?”

     “Aye, but ’twould appear the lady doesn’t fancy a champion.” Simon shoved his newfound dirk into his worn leather belt.

     Remembering the disparate attitudes of the two young women, Rhys bit back a smile. “Did you not try to detain them, for the sake of the younger sister? For the sake of her trusting eyes?”

     The squire scowled darkly.

     “Poor Simon.” Rhys looked toward the direction of London. In his mind’s eye, he yet saw her frantically grab for Katherine. Though she’d broken her sister’s fall, she’d lost her own balance in the process. Together, they’d toppled to the ground. Both were long-limbed and trim of figure, a stirring sight to a man long without a woman. If Lady Katherine weren’t so angry he would have relished the view of her face, for she possessed lovely features, with finely arched brows and expressive eyes, and the thickest brown curls a woman ever possessed. Perhaps ’twas her dissatisfied mouth that had forestalled his intercession. For shame, he had sat like a statue, enjoying the view of tangled arms and dark sweeping tresses, intrigued by her stormy face gone suddenly soft and sweet in repose.

     Returning to reality, Rhys cleared his throat. “Helpless?” Never before in his travels had he come across so intriguing a damsel. “I think not.” He nodded toward the hillock. “Settle camp on yonder ridge. A wager says I’ll be back before you’ve reached it.”

     With a firm shake of his head, Simon climbed on his stocky cob.

     “Not willing to be drawn into another bet, my cowardly friend?” Rhys chuckled. “Forsooth, your coins grow too precious.”

     “’Twould spare me bones if I could get me a better steed than this ancient nag.” Simon shifted his seat with a grimace. “An’ ’twas a warmin’ fire at Much Wenlock’s priory last eventide.” He shot a sulky glance at Rhys. “I’d be grateful for another night’s ease instead of pursuin’ this reckless vengeance.”

     “So you keep reminding me.” Rhys’s irritation seeped into his sharp reply.

     “Think ye’ll wrest Myton Castle from Sir Geoffrey’s clutches?”    

     Rhys punched the air with his fist. “Do you doubt it?”

     “Well—his reputation in the lists—”

     “Silence your maw!” His squire took liberties with his good nature. “I won’t forego my vengeance. Just because I plucked you out of a miserable existence and gave you a future doesn’t endow you with the right to beset me with your opinions.” He vented an exasperated sigh and tried to rein in his growing ire. “And you’d best remember to speak the King’s English, if you expect to become a knight.”

     Simon sliced him a sidelong glance at the rebuke. “’Tis a holy portent ta have stumbled upon Sir Robert’s daughters.” An unbidden smile tugged at his lips.

     Rhys arched a speculative brow. “The younger sister has a charming face, do you not agree?”

     His squire ducked his head in embarrassment.

     “One to inspire a new adventure, methinks.”

     Simon’s chin jutted out in defiance.

     He laughed aloud. Yea, his squire was indeed smitten.

     Simon spied the loitering knights. “What are ye two buggers gapin’ at?”

     His surliness prompted them to set off to search the miserable Welsh camp while trying, without success, to contain their mirth.

     Rhys swung about and set spurs to his horse. But abruptly he reined in the destrier with an angry oath. The heavy hooves dug into the frozen turf as the stallion jerked to a halt.

     “Stay, Zeus!” His arm slashed the air in a commanding arc. Beside him, the dog stopped in his tracks, his broad, shaggy head lowering. He gave the hound a rueful look. “You’ve suffered ample abuse for one day. ’Tis unnecessary to purchase more.” 

     A lop-sided grin played on Simon’s face. “Come on, ye beggar.” He withdrew a piece of dried venison from the leather pouch strapped across his shoulder and tossed it to the alan, who snapped up the offering. “Yer beloved master will have powerful trouble without ye addin’ ta the fray.” The dog’s long, pink tongue lolled out at the side of his mouth. His lips drawn back gave the appearance of a smile.

     Simon chuckled. “Ye agree ’tis a fool’s errand.” He threw Rhys a provocative glance. “Which is more wearisome, Zeus, the long days in the cold or challengin’ Sir Geoffrey to the death?”

     Clenching his teeth to prevent further comment, Rhys tapped his destrier’s ribs and galloped off into the glooming forest.

*  *  *

     “God’s bones!” Sir Rhys’s angry expletive echoed through the trees.

     Hidden in a thicket of hemlocks, wanting naught to do with the ill-tempered knight, Katherine held her breath and prayed they had not left tracks.

     The knight passed them, examining the ground as he went, and disappeared from view. But presently he returned, his eyes yet on the ground as he leaned over his mount’s withers.

     Anne bolted from Katherine’s grip. “Have pity, Sir Rhys!” Stumbling from behind the trees, she prostrated herself upon the frozen ground. “I beseech you, be merciful.”

     The knight flinched. 

     Katherine did likewise, self-condemnation welling up within her at the sight of her sister’s anguish. Verily, she had muddled their escape. Filled with shame, she hurried to Anne.  

     But Sir Rhys brushed past her. Having dismounted, he lifted the weeping Anne in his arms and carefully deposited her into the high-backed saddle.

     “By God’s grace, we’ll recover your lost courage,” he said with a strained smile. Turning, he beckoned to Katherine and offered his interlaced fingers. “I have no pillion, but mayhap we can fit, if we sit tight.”

     Reluctantly she set a boot in his hands and gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder for balance. A jolt of heat surged through her at the contact. He was strong and young, with muscles developed for war. Gladdened when his boost settled her astride the horse, when she could remove her hand from the rugged shoulder that strained beneath his chain mail, she dared not venture a look in his direction.

     Faith, when had the mere touch of a man been so nettling?

     “’Tis not my wont to aggrieve fair maidens,” Sir Rhys commented in a disgusted tone, cocking a frown up at her. “Natheless, I seem to have succeeded this day.”      

     Katherine felt the heat rise in her cheeks. He had noticed her discomposure. She darted an embarrassed glance in the opposite direction.

     The knight swung up behind her, jostling her within his arms as he wrapped the leather straps around his gauntlets.

     But as the steed was nudged toward the hillock, Katherine found the hard, chain-clad frame at her back not unsettling, but reassuring. In truth, the knight’s presence gave succor to her flagging spirits. For the first time in days she was not burdened with fear of the morrow. The mighty dread overwhelming her and the body-splitting weariness that was her constant companion since Aunt Matilda died in her arms, faded away. With a heavy sigh she relaxed against the stalwart chest.

     “God’s mercy!” 

     While the knight hauled on the reins, his bellow in her ear nigh deafened Katherine. The horse lunged to a stop. Betwixt Sir Rhys’s long arms, she jerked upright and rubbed the back of her head where she had met unforgiving armor.

     “Sit aright, else I’ll be off my horse’s ars—rump!” he commanded.

     Katherine shifted her hips, trying to shimmy closer to the leather saddle. But with her legs dangling on either side of the destrier’s haunches and her wounded hand useless, she found no leverage.

     In the next instant, powerful hands encircled her waist, lifted her as though she were a feather, took her breath away as she was settled up against the high-backed saddle. Sir Rhys pressed behind her, his sinewy thighs cradling her buttocks and legs.

     She resented the pain where the saddle cut into her breasts, resented as well the disturbing apposition of the knight. “’Twas unnecessary to manhandle me,” she muttered. Her skin tingled where his armor rubbed against her spine, while her cheeks flushed with heat.

     He slapped the reins and his mount moved into a walk. “’Twas most necessary, Lady Katherine.” His murmured breath tickled her ear. “A horse has a limited magnitude. You would not wish me to fall onto my—the ground. ’Twould be most ungracious of you when I have rescued you this day.” His voice lowered all the more. “And ’tis possible more Welshmen do lurk hereabouts. You would not have me attacked and left for dead, would you? Particularly when I have been most chivalrous?”

     Was he mocking her? Katherine bit her lip. She inhaled raggedly and winced in sudden pain, her breasts crushed betwixt hard leather and impudent knight.

     “I’d have found a way to escape the brigands,” she replied in a tight voice.

     “Mayhap.” Sir Rhys leaned closer so that his lips all but touched her ear. “But ’twas I who saved you from starvation, if you do recall.”

     Nonplussed by the taunting assertion, Katherine twisted an irritated glance at his profile.

     He grinned and threw her a wink. “You are safe for the nonce, damsel.”

     “I am ever in your debt,” she replied reluctantly, knowing he’d maneuvered her into the compliment.      

     “Ah, but what becomes of you on the morrow?”

     She caught her breath. What, indeed? The knight baited her with her own fears, made light of their predicament. But she could not. On the morrow, would Sir Rhys pry the truth from them? Anne could not dissemble. It made them ever vulnerable.

     The light of a campfire flickering through the trees whipped her fears higher. She felt like an ensnared cony. Mayhap they could flee during the night and she could rid herself of this disconcerting champion, who frustrated her and menaced her peace of mind. 

     Trembling, thoroughly vexed at her predicament, she feared her own misgivings forestalled such a plan. Though he seemed to amuse himself with their pain and the twinkle in his eyes belied a seemingly uncharitable bent, her shattered confidence in the wake of the day’s events was more the deterrent. Dangers existed betwixt them and the king—wild beasts, outlaws, knights with deadly sabers. But mostly, Sir Geoffrey.

     She trembled anew.

     “What becomes of you, Lady Katherine?” the knight repeated, his warm breath stirring the loose strands of hair on her cheek, stirring her emotions into a frenzy.

     Exasperated, she tossed out the first thought that came to mind. “By all that is right, you needs escort us to the king.”

Chapter Three

     She did not trust these mercenaries. She had no desire to be in their debt. She intended to remain alert, to escape with her sister at the first possible moment. But Katherine didn’t consider her own exhaustion or the warmth she shared with Anne beneath their bed of borrowed wolf pelts.

     In the midst of the night, amid fitful dreams of rugged warriors pounding at the gates of Haughmond, the sound of a loud and snarling sound jolted her awake.