Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (17 page)

Chloë smiled coyly, her gaze
moving between Keir and Cassandra. “Well enough,” she told her sister, letting
go of Keir and moving to her sister. “You and I must have a conversation,
Cassie.”

Keir watched her go, pulling her
sister back towards their blanket with the knitting and stools spread upon it. 
His gaze drank in the graceful fall of that magnificent hair, the gently slope
of her torso and luscious figure.  All of the fear he felt at opening himself
up to her, of giving away his heart again, fled as he watched her speak with
Cassandra.  He knew he had made the correct decision and he could not have been
happier about it. But he had work to do and very little time to do it if he was
going to meet Chloë ’s deadline.

“I will see you later,
sweetheart,” he called to her.  “Do not be out here too much longer. The hour
is growing late.”

Chloë and Cassandra looked to
him, Chloë with a sweet smile on her face and Cassandra with an expression of
mild amusement.  Cassandra’s amusement grew when he blew Chloë a kiss and
headed back towards the castle. The man was fairly giddy. As he walked away, he
could hear the sisters’ tittering and whispering, voices growing louder but not
agitated.  It was clear that Chloë was telling her sister the joyful news and
Cassandra was reacting in kind.

Keir held the same satisfied grin
all the way back to the castle.

CHAPTER TEN

Pembury did not go down without a
fight. Literally.

It all started innocently
enough.  Keir, Lucan, Michael, Kurtis and one of Kurtis’ knights from
Northumberland, a muscular warrior with a bushy red mustache named Ranulf
Kluge, were in the great hall at supper time, imbibing of the heady red wine
that Keir had shipped from Manchester, and speaking of trivial things.

The mood was light, the warm fire
burning in the hearth, as one of the serving women began to bring out trenchers
of freshly baked bread. Dogs followed the woman, sniffing and begging.  The men
pulled at the bread, laughing as they shared stories of battles, and women,
long past.

Kurtis was in a surprisingly good
mood. Usually a silent and dour man, he was actually smiling and laughing along
with the others until Michael brought up Cassandra. That was all Kurtis needed
to hear for his smile to vanish.

“Wipe her from your mind,
Pembury,” he said steadily, regarding the cup in his hand. “She will soon be
Lady St. Hèver and out of your reach.”

Michael sighed heavily, his smile
fading. “How many times do I have to tell you this? I am more handsome than you
are and set to inherit a barony. You have nothing to offer the woman, St.
Hèver. You would do well to concede defeat so we can remain friends.”

Kurtis’ pale blue eyes were icy.
“At least I would remain true to her. The same cannot be said for you.”

The verbal blows were coming low
and swift.  Michael’s humor left him completely. “What do you mean by that?”

Kurtis didn’t back down; he had a
bulldoggish manner that had served him well as a battle commander. He would
keep coming and coming or die trying.

“I seem to remember hearing of a
young lady in Carlisle that you abandoned after stealing her virtue,” he said
casually.  “I heard that you left her for another pretty girl, of more noble
breeding, because she was better connected.”

Michael was outraged. “Who told
you that?”

Kurtis was as cool as ice. “De
Velt,” he said, throwing Lucan to the wolves. “He said that the young lady in
Carlisle bore your bastard.”

Michael turned furious eyes to
Lucan, who immediately went on the defensive. He threw his hands up in
surrender.

“I never…!” he sputtered

“You told him that?” Michael
roared.

Lucan stood up from the table,
backing away from the enraged Michael. “We were speaking of many things,
Michael,” he insisted, then pointed accusingly to Kurtis. “St. Hèver bedded the
sister of a Northumberland enemy so he could glean information from the woman.
When she found out she had been used, she killed herself!”

Kurtis was on his feet, posturing
furiously as Michael turned his venom back on Kurtis.

“You pretend to be so pious and
pure,” Michael hissed. “See how the mighty have fallen into the pool of dirty
dealings just like the rest of us.”

Keir was on his feet, moving
between his brother and Michael. “Sit down!” he barked, looking at Lucan
threateningly. “Another word from you and I will gut you myself. Keep your
damnable mouth shut.”

Lucan threw up his hands again
and backed away, watching Michael and Kurtis circle each other like hungry
wolves. Keir stood in the middle of them with his arms outstretched to prevent
them from rushing each other.

“Listen to me, both of you,” he
growled. “I will not tolerate this foolery. Since when do women come between
you two? You have known each other since you were squires.  Neither one of you
is perfect so put the unsavory accusations aside and reclaim your cups. That is
not a request.”

Michael, glaring daggers at
Kurtis, started to obey but Kurtis wouldn’t move. He stood there and glowered
at Michael, the man who was indeed set to inherit a barony and was, in fact,
gloriously handsome.

Perhaps if Kurtis was to think on
it, there was some jealousy there. Kurtis, a rather quiet and serious man,
wasn’t one to show interest in a woman but for some reason, Cassandra had his
full focus. She was bossy and strong willed, but she was also very humorous and
sweet. He liked that.

With uncharacteristic
frustration, he moved back to the table with his brother right behind him.
Sitting heavily, he poured himself a full measure of wine.

“You can have any woman you want,
Pembury,” he muttered. “I, in fact, cannot. If I told you I was in love with
Lady Cassandra, would you leave her alone?”

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “Are
you?”

“Possibly.”

Michael shook his head. “That is
not good enough. Either you are or you are not. Playing on my sympathies will
only infuriate me.”

Kurtis began to stiffen again. “I
do not care if it infuriates you. Why can you not be a chivalrous man about
this and understand this is not another one of your conquests? I am serious
about Cassandra and I am positive you are simply looking for your next sexual
victory. Are there not enough blue-eyed Pembury bastards in Yorkshire already?”

Michael flew over the table with
a cocked fist but Kurtis was ready. He clobbered Michael in the face, sending
the man spinning off the table. Keir was up, jumping in to the fracas as Lucan
and Ranulf dove in to separate the combatants.  Fists were flying in all
directions as Chloë and Cassandra entered the hall.

Eyes wide at the chaos, the women
froze with shock the moment they entered the hall.  Men were rolling around on
the ground, throwing punches, and it was difficult to see who was fighting
whom. There were toppled benches and toppled containers of wine, bleeding
expensive red wine onto the floor. The dogs were barking at the commotion as
Michael picked up Kurtis and literally tossed the man over the feasting table.
Kurtis flew into the bench, breaking it with his bulk, and Cassandra screamed.

“Kurtis!” she cried.

The brawl came to a grinding halt
as the men turned to look at the women standing in the arched doorway. Keir was
on his knees, standing up when he saw Chloë, and making his way over to her.
She looked at him in shock, noting the blood trickling from his nose.

“What is going on in here?” she
demanded softly, lifting a finger to wipe away the blood. “You are bleeding.”

He ran his fingers over the
smudge she had made, sighing heavily.  “A disagreement,” he said vaguely.

Cassandra ran to Kurtis, who was
picking himself up from the shattered bench.  She raced around the table in time
to grab the man’s arm to try and help him up.

“Kurtis,” she gasped. “Are you
well?”

Kurtis was dazed.  He braced
himself against the table so he wouldn’t fall down again. “I am fine,” he told
her. “Nothing to worry over.”

Cassandra was deeply distressed.
She noted that the red skin around his right eye was already showing signs of
bruising and she stroked his blond hair soothingly before turning furious eyes
to Michael.

“Why did you throw him like
that?” she demanded.

Michael could already see that he
was at a disadvantage. His nose was bleeding and he had a couple of loose
teeth. He would have liked to have had some female comfort but he could see
that was not going to happen unless he could calm Cassandra down and woo her
away from Kurtis.

“I fight between men, my lady,”
he replied steadily. Then he lifted his hands wearily. “It happens all of the
time.  It is nothing to concern yourself with.”

Cassandra was raging. She
returned her attention to Kurtis, who was pretending he was worse than he was.
He could see the tides of favor rolling in his direction and he intended to
take full advantage of it. He put a hand to his hand.

“I think…,” he feigned a groan,
“that I should lie down. My head is swimming.”

Cassandra put one arm around his
massive shoulders. “I will help you,” she said gently. “Where is your bed
chamber?”

Kurtis was feigning injury to the
point of disbelief. “In the keep,” he grunted. “Your assistance would be most…
appreciated, my lady.”

Cassandra had a good grip on him
as she helped him from the hall, casting a vicious glare at Michael as they
went.

“You are despicable,” she hissed.
“Horrible, terrible and despicable!”

Michael didn’t react other than
to shoot Kurtis a dubious expression. The man was acting like an invalid all
for the benefit of the lady, which put Michael at a terrible disadvantage in
the battle for her affections.  Cassandra caught Michael’s disbelieving glare
and she jabbed a finger at him.

“I saw that, Pembury,” she
snapped. “You are positively hateful. I hope I never see you again, you wicked
man!”

Kurtis stopped moaning long
enough to glance back over his shoulder, noting Pembury’s expression of defeat.
When Michael caught his gaze, he sneered victoriously before returning to his
moaning routine.  As Michael shook his head and turned back for the table,
Chloë went to her sister and the wounded knight.

“Are you all right, Sir Kurtis?”
she asked anxiously.

Kurtis nodded, one big arm around
Cassandra as she helped him to the door. “I shall be fine with your sister’s
expert tending.”

He grunted and groaned his way to
the door as Cassandra carefully helped him.  Even Keir thought it was an
overdramatic performance at best but he didn’t let on. He smiled at Chloë when
she turned her attention to him and reached out to take her hand as she seemed
genuinely concerned for his brother.

“I hope he is all right,” she
said earnestly.

Keir tucked her hand into the
crook of his elbow, patting her soft fingers. “He will be fine.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I should go
help my sister.”

He held on to her. “He will be
fine. No need to attend your sister.”

“But if she…?”

He turned to her swiftly and
lowered his voice. “If you want my brother to offer for her hand by tomorrow,
then you will leave them alone.”

She looked at him with big eyes,
her mouth forming an ‘O’ as she realized what he was saying. Then her eyebrows
drew together. “Is he feigning injury simply to gain her sympathy?” she hissed.

Keir chuckled and shook his head,
turning to the knights as they reached the table. The smile left his face as he
looked at the men around him.

“I trust we will have more
civilized dinner entertainment with Lady Chloë at the table?” he asked Michael.

Michael was feeling defeated and
depressed. He nodded his head, noticing that Chloë was shooting him daggers with
her glare also.  He rolled his eyes as he regained his seat; it would seem he
was destined to lose in all areas tonight.

 Sitting heavily, Michael grabbed
a pitcher of wine and poured himself a sloppy cup.   Frustrated and a little
jealous when he saw how cozy Keir and Chloë were, he ended up leaving the hall
and getting quite drunk in his chamber.

As it turned out, one of the
serving women Chloë had hired from town was apparently not too old or too ugly
for Michael’s drunken taste.  In a pitch-dark room, he could imagine his bed
mate was Cassandra.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Aysgarth Castle was a busy place
at any given time, even busier with the party from Pendragon that had
unexpectedly arrived in the late afternoon.  Now, as the sun set and the skies
were turning shades of purple and dark blue, the enormous pale-stoned fortress
took on an eerie glow. Torches flamed on the battlements, in the bailey, and in
the great hall. There was fire and light everywhere, reaching deep into the
night sky.