Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion (45 page)

Where could he be? She sauntered down the corridor. A series of steps off one end of the hall led down a dark passage. That must be the way to the dungeon. Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to her. Perhaps he
had
gotten himself into trouble. Perhaps he’d been caught in that disguise, impersonating a noble, and been thrown into the dungeon! She supposed she should take a peek.

Slowly, tremulously, picking her skirts up from the slimy-looking steps, she inched down into the cold world below the castle. There was no sound from below, only the smell of damp earth.

Shite—what if there were another prisoner down there, or the remains of one? She shuddered, and her eyes dilated as she slowed her descent into the cavernous black ahead. She felt for the edges of the steps with her slippered toes and placed one hand upon the wall for balance, but she recoiled quickly from the eerie, slick moss growing in the joints of the stones.

Finally, becoming claustrophobic in the lightless, thick air, she stopped, leaning forward into the darkness to whisper.

“Duncan?”

“He’s not here.” The gentle voice immediately behind her startled Linet so badly that she almost took a tumble down the steps. Fortunately, whoever it was caught her. She clung to his tunic until he picked her up by the waist and set her above him on the stair.

“You frightened me!” she gasped at the unseen man.

“I saw you wander down here. I imagined you were lost,” he explained in a soothing voice. “Did you know this was the dungeon?”

“What? Oh, aye. I thought it probably was.”

“And you thought Duncan was down here?”

Linet didn’t know how to answer him. “You know, I think I’m feeling a bit faint from the close air. I believe I’ll go above.”

“As you wish.” He grasped her firmly by the elbow, and together they climbed back into the light.

“You,” she said to him when she saw his handsome face, his misty gray-green eyes, “you were the other guard in Lady Alyce’s solar. I remember you.”

He inclined his head slightly in a nod.

“I’m Lady…I’m Linet de Montfort, the wool merchant,” she told him.

“I know. I’m pleased to see you again, my lady. I’m Sir Garth de Ware.”

Linet looked at him for signs that he was teasing her, but he continued to stare, unwavering. She dropped into a hasty curtsey. “My lord, I had no idea. Please forgive my trouble here. I’m looking for—”

“Duncan.”

“Aye.”

“He wouldn’t be in the dungeon.”

What an odd conversation they were having. The young man seemed to possess no sense of humor.

“He wouldn’t?” She chuckled sheepishly. “Of course he wouldn’t.”

“Unless he were having it cleaned.”

Having it cleaned? Cleaning a dungeon? One of them had obviously lost their mind.

“I see,” she replied, not seeing at all.

“He doesn’t like to see anyone suffer, not even the prisoners,” Sir Garth explained.

That
sounded like Duncan. But how would Lady Alyce’s son know the beggar?

“The dungeon goes empty most of the time anyway,” he told her.

“Ah.” She smiled. “Well, should you see…Duncan, will you tell him I’m looking for him, my lord?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “He’ll be at supper, naturally.”

“Naturally,” she agreed.

“I shall see you then, my lady,” he murmured.

He left her to her search then, which turned out to be fruitless.

Supper was an entertainment in itself for Linet, marred only by the fact that the beggar was nowhere to be found. The fire in the midst of the room blazed brightly, and the great chamber was filled with the sounds of laughter and shouting, jesting and scolding, so different from the dignified halls of her Flemish uncle. Candles burned on all the tables, and there were linen napkins at each place. Children scurried to find their spots on the benches, and the hounds in the corner of the hall yipped for morsels of food.

Linet sat at the high table in a place of honor beside Lady Alyce. The place next to her was empty, and beyond that were Sir Garth de Ware, a lady-in-waiting, and the guardsman she remembered from before, who clung to a raven-haired woman beside him like moss to a stone.

She wondered which two men were the other de Ware sons. She had just leaned over to ask Lady Alyce about it when she noticed the woman’s husband seated on the other side of her.

Her eyes grew round at the familiar face.

Then she chanced to look up behind Lord James, and her heart nearly stopped beating.

It was Duncan, a Duncan she’d never seen. This one was freshly shaven, scrupulously clean, his hair combed and shining. He was dressed in a rich tunic of gray wool overlaid by a tabard of deep blue velvet, a color that echoed the blue of his eyes, eyes that were identical to…his father’s, she realized.

Duncan bent to kiss his mother’s cheek, and then sidled by her to take his place beside Linet. He grinned. “You look lovely,” he murmured.

Linet’s hand trembled as she reached for her goblet of wine and took an awkward sip. Frantically, she tried to remember everything stupid she’d said to Lord James, Duncan’s father. She gulped down a swallow of wine. Hadn’t she referred to his clothing as ridiculous?

What had she said to his mother? His brother? Suddenly, the room seemed to sway out of kilter, and she longed desperately to leave the table.

Duncan clasped her hand and turned to her in concern. “What is it?”

“You
are
Sir Duncan de Ware,” she whispered in accusation.

“So I’ve said,” he answered, raising his brows, “numerous times.”

“You’re not a player,” she said under her breath. “You’re not even a commoner.”

“I never said I was.”

In spite of the delectable scents of roasting meat, mustard, and freshly baked bread, Linet felt sick to her stomach. She pressed her napkin to her bloodless lips and tried to breathe steadily. But it was no use. This revelation was the final log placed on the cart, the one that brought the entire precarious load of wood tumbling to the ground.

Her eyes brimmed with tears of humiliation. Without a word, she staggered to her feet. Then she fled the hall. Thankfully, the chaos of supper let her escape without too much undue attention. But she could feel the eyes of the family at the high table following her all the way.

Duncan pursued her, out the door of the great hall, up the steps, into the chapel. She tried to push the door closed between them, but he forced it open again, invading her place of asylum.

“Leave me,” she cried, backing down the aisle of the chapel, “leave me alone!”

Duncan frowned. What was wrong with her? She should be deliriously happy. In all the star-crossed lover legends he’d ever heard, the heroine was delighted to discover that her hapless hero was in truth a prince.

Gently, he pressed the door shut behind him. A dozen candles flickered against the whitewashed walls, illuminating Linet as she retreated to the center of the chapel, trying to catch her breath.

“I thought you’d be pleased,” he breathed, coming toward her.

“Pleased? To be made a fool of?”

“I never intended to—”

“Never intended?” Her chin quivered. “For weeks you’ve had the opportunity to let me know! When did you
intend
to tell me?”

“I
did
tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

She had no answer for that.

He came close and set his hands atop her shoulders, but she ducked away from him.

“Was I just some conquest for you? Were you bored with the ladies of the Court? You noblemen think you can snap up any woman you like, just because you are who you are! Well, you may not have
me
, sir—”

“What?” Duncan exploded, incredulous. This was too much for him. She was like a hotheaded knight fighting against the quintain. The harder it hit her in the back of the head, the harder she swung at it. “Don’t you see?” he demanded. “That is
exactly
why I did what I did!”

“You conniving, blackhearted son of a—!”

“Don’t swear at me, not in the chapel!”

“I’ll do what I like!”

Duncan ran both hands through his hair in exasperation. He was getting nowhere. “You agreed to marry me, didn’t you?”

She only glared at him.

“You agreed to wed me, in spite of the fact you believed me to be a beggar.”

She lowered her eyes.

“Admit it. You wanted to marry me. Why?”

She was chewing on her bottom lip. That was a good sign. At least he was forcing her to think.

“Was it because you knew I was the heir to the de Ware title, the eldest son of the lord?” The chapel was still, except for the dust motes filtering down in the candlelight. “Was it because you knew I was wealthy, and you couldn’t wait to get your hands on all that coin?”

“You know it wasn’t,” she muttered.

Duncan sighed and rubbed his chest. “It used to be that when a woman professed to love me, I never knew if it was for my title or my wealth, or both. Until now. At last, a woman has agreed to marry me without knowing what title or wealth I possess.” He cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Can you understand what that means to me?”

Linet’s jaw clenched stubbornly. For a moment she seemed prepared to deny everything. But then her eyes softened, and her shoulders dropped in surrender.

“Tell me why, Linet. Why do you want me for your husband?”

“Because…damn it all…I love you.”

He grinned and ran his thumb across her pouting bottom lip. The candlelight made a golden halo around her hair. Never had she looked more holy. “And I love you, my angel.”

The affection blossoming in Linet’s eyes was so warm, one would think he’d given her the universe.

There was an abrupt rattle at the door. They drew apart self-consciously.

“Come,” Duncan called out.

Lord James himself entered and swung the door shut, closing off the stares of the handful of others behind him. He cleared his throat. A strange combination of embarrassment and pride played over his features. Duncan knew instantly that Lady Alyce had sent him in.

“My lady.” Lord James nodded stiffly. “Please accept my sincere apologies for…for neglecting to properly introduce myself when we first met…due to the fact I scarcely had time to get a word in edgewise.” The last words came out in a rush, and Lord James’s chin lifted haughtily, daring Linet to challenge him.

Duncan quirked a brow. What kind of an apology was that?

Before anyone could comment, the door swung open again, and in crept Lady Alyce. As she pressed the door closed, she squinted suspiciously at her husband. “Did you apologize, my lord husband, or did you try to excuse your behavior?”

Lord James turned on her fiercely, his fists balled, but she didn’t even flinch. She was well accustomed to this show of temper from him. Lady Alyce then approached Linet, taking her hands in her own. “These men,” she confided, clucking. “They think they can only win a woman’s heart with elaborate scheming.”

“Scheming?” Lord James thundered. “Was it not you, my lady wife, who contrived to secure the king’s approval for this match by bargaining with our other son’s commission?”

The ladies gasped in unison.

Lady Alyce paled, pulling away from Linet. “How did you find out?” she sputtered, shamefaced.

“Garth,” Duncan and his father said simultaneously.

As if on cue, Garth made his way into the chapel. He nearly made a hasty exit as well when he saw the accusation in his parents’ faces.

“Robert and I…” he began. He looked behind him for his companion, but Robert had made a timely disappearance. “I,” he amended, “wish to express my sincere apologies—”

He was nearly knocked off his feet as a familiar little old woman came barreling into the chapel.

“Margaret!” Linet exclaimed.

“I had your household follow us here,” Duncan explained.

“Don’t ye worry none,” the maidservant soothed, pride blazing in her eyes as she turned to Lord James. “I know what ye think. Ye think my Linet is not noble enough for yer son!”

“God’s blood!” Lord James boomed.

Lady Alyce cuffed him. “Don’t curse—not in the chapel!”

Margaret continued, “I’ll have ye know she’s been endowed with all the rights and privileges—”

“I don’t care if she’s the Queen of Faeries!” Lord James countered.

“Faeries?” Garth mouthed, completely baffled.

“She’s a de Montfort!” Margaret proclaimed. “Her family—”

“Goes back hundreds of years,” Lady Alyce recited. “We know.”

“Perhaps yer son is not noble enough for my Linet,” Margaret said haughtily.

“Old woman, are you suggesting—” Lord James demanded.

“God’s wounds!” Lady Alyce cried, throwing up her hands.

“Not in the chapel,” Lord James and Garth chided in unison.

“I see no reason Lady Linet should continue with this farce of a—”

“You mean to say my son brought her from Flanders for—”

“The king himself has sanctioned the match. Will you counter…”

The remainder of their argument was lost on Duncan. Suddenly, the rest of the world didn’t matter. He only had eyes for the angel before him—his bright, beautiful, intriguing angel who’d been willing to sacrifice everything for him.

Linet knew, as Duncan bent to fit his lips to hers, that she’d never grow bored of him. Sometimes he kissed her like a beggar bent on breaking hearts. Sometimes he kissed her like a pilgrim pressing reverent lips to a sacred relic. Sometimes he kissed her like a sea reiver claiming his riches. But always, he kissed her like a man desperately, passionately, hopelessly in love.

All around them the battle raged, but they took no notice. They were embroiled in a battle of their own, dueling to see who would tire of kissing first.

“Who shall it be tonight? The minstrel? The beggar? The sea reiver?” Duncan murmured.

“Hmm…” Linet replied, twining her fingers through one of his sable curls. “I think perhaps the old crone Robert said you do so well.”