Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion (6 page)

“Ah,” he said with a nod, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’ll give me some of
that
for a new tunic.”

Her jaw dropped. That cloth, of course, was worth a fortune. It was clear from her expression that she considered him naïve or insane or both.

“Well, what do you say?” he asked, all innocence.

Linet could feel an ache starting at her temples. The beggar must be mad to think she’d give him her best…

She took a deep breath. Losing her temper would gain nothing. Instead, she forced a regretful smile to her lips. “Alas, that piece has already been sold. Lady Alyce just purchased it.”

The beggar shrugged. “With such a large order, she won’t miss a few inches off the end.”

That did it. That broke Linet’s control. Her eyes blazed with fury. “How dare you suggest such a thing—taking advantage of a fine lady?”

“Me?” he exclaimed with a bark of laughter. “Who has taken advantage here? What of your prattle about the king? You haven’t sold Edward so much as a thread of wool, have you?”

Her face went hot. She slammed the lid of her basket down.

“What about,” he said, chuckling, “’the blue makes your eyes shine like sapphires,’ or ‘that fabric will not do for you—you deserve a much finer weave’? I’d be amazed indeed if Lady Alyce has so much as a farthing left.”

Linet trembled in embarrassment and ire. Curse the peasant! A nobleman would never speak to her so rudely. She fought to maintain her calm. “Shall I summon the guard, or will you leave of your own accord?”

The beggar grinned in spite of her threat. “I’ll leave,” he promised, his azure eyes warm with amusement, “when
you
do.”

“You can’t hound me like that!” she whispered fiercely. “Who do you think you are?”

His smile remained an enigma. His gaze dropped sensuously to her mouth. “At this moment? An admirer of beauty.”

Linet resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She’d heard this type of gushing nonsense before, from noblemen who were misled by her innocent appearance. She certainly wasn’t going to put up with it from a peasant. She was no wide-eyed maid to be distracted by flattery, no matter how silky his voice was. “Indeed? And this pursuit keeps food on your table?”

“It appeases my hunger,” he replied cryptically, looking at her from beneath lowered lids.

Linet cursed the fair complexion of hers that showed every subtle flush of emotion. Damn the rogue! She’d dealt with such gibberish before. Why was she blushing?

“What is it you really want?” she blurted in frustration.

“Aside from a new tunic?”

She managed to keep her gaze steady, but a tiny muscle in her jaw tensed.

“You may make little of it,” he said, sniffing. “You’re a wealthy merchant. But I? I’m only a poor wretch with no tunic on his back.”

Linet felt her poise ebbing away as surely as the tide. This scoundrel was cocky and arrogant and underdressed, and all she could think about was getting rid of him as quickly as possible. With a flustered sigh, she rummaged through her basket and tugged out a short length of cheap woaded wool. The Guild would have given her a tongue-lashing for giving away her goods. But she was desperate.

“Here,” she bit out, shoving the cloth at him.

The knave had the audacity to inspect the fabric, as if he would’ve known the difference between fine worsted and Kendal cloth.

“Anything else?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

He tucked the fabric beneath his cloak, brushing it with annoying intimacy against the bare skin of his chest.

“As a matter of fact, aye,” he replied, drawing himself up to his full imposing height before her.

She felt suddenly overwhelmed. His presence dominated the room, and she regretted her hastiness in dropping the dagger out the window.

“I intend to offer you my services for the duration of the fair,” he told her.

“Your…services?” Her voice sounded high and brittle in her ears. She didn’t want to think about the pictures his words had just conjured up. His speech was innocuous enough, but somehow his body was imparting another message altogether.

“You need me,” he murmured.

Her breath froze in her throat. She must have heard him wrong. To her chagrin, another flush stole up her cheeks.

“You shouldn’t be out alone,” he told her, folding his arms decisively. “I fear those two knaves in the marketplace haven’t finished with you. I’m offering you my protection.”

“Protection.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, wrinkling his brow in concern. “A prosperous merchant like you is at great risk from thieves.” He shrugged. “And a poor beggar like me could use a spare farthing or two for a good day’s labor, keeping them at bay.”

Linet could only stare at him. His smoky, sapphire eyes and that deep triangle of his chest were making it difficult to concentrate. “I can manage well enough on my own,” she choked out at last, irritated with herself and eager to distract him.

“Keep me in food and clothing, and you can even defer paying my wage until you’ve sold the season’s goods,” he offered.

“Nay, I—“

“I insist,” he said in a voice that, while soft, brooked no argument.

She wasn’t about to enlist the services of this too proud, too smooth, too smug commoner who wore a fake beard. He was as suspect as rotten cod. He’d probably
cause
more trouble than he’d prevent. She didn’t need a guardian. Harold was protection enough. She’d simply tell him so.

She glanced up at the dark beggar again and noted the firm, stubborn line of his jaw. Somehow he didn’t look like the sort of man to do a woman’s bidding. She supposed she’d have to use her merchant’s wits.

“You think you can protect me from thieves?” she asked, pretending to consider his offer.

He spoke solemnly. “You may rest assured.”

“And you have experience in this?”

“My dagger has tasted the blood of many a varlet.”

“So you can singlehandedly defend me from two, three, four attackers?”

“Aye,” he said with easy confidence.

“Then let’s put it to the test,” she told him, linking her arm through her basket of wool. “Guards!” she cried. “Help! Guards!”

The beggar flinched, and his right hand went reflexively to his belt. It came up empty. He had one brief moment to glare at her in baffled accusation. Then the solar door burst open beneath the shoulders of two de Ware knights.

Robert and Garth leaped into the room. Their bright new swords, already drawn, flashed in the sunlight as the oak door banged against the outer wall, sending a puff of dust into the pregnant air. They glanced in confusion back and forth from Duncan to the wool merchant, awaiting an explanation.

“Well?” Linet asked, eyeing Duncan expectantly.

So this was her game, he thought, narrowing his eyes. She wanted him to prove his skill. Very well, he decided, dropping the length of woaded wool and tossing off the cloak—he would oblige her. Weaponless, he slowly turned to his brother and his best friend. He crouched like a wolf about to spring. Then he winked at them.

Garth was accustomed to maintaining a sober expression in the face of his brother’s wiles. Robert was not. He smothered a laugh, clearing his throat importantly.

“Do you require assistance?” Robert asked Linet.

“Yes. This man has gained entry here without the consent of Lady Alyce.”

“I see,” Robert nodded, tapping his thumb on the hilt of his sword.

“Come on!” Duncan goaded them with a snarl, a feral gleam in his eyes. “Come on and fight!”

“It would hardly be a fair fight,” Garth remarked. “You’re unarmed.”

“No matter!” Duncan recklessly declared. “I can best you both!”

Robert and Garth exchanged quick looks that indicated otherwise. It was clear that even the best swordsman alive, without a weapon of any sort, against two armed guards who were also his bosom companions, didn’t have a prayer.

“Don’t…hurt him,” Linet requested, studiously avoiding his eyes. She collected up her basket and made her way to the door. “He’s fairly harmless. Just make certain he doesn’t follow me, please.”

Robert, the traitor, decided in a moment of mischief to side with his antagonist. “As you desire, my lady,” he bobbed, flicking the point of his sword up to touch the tip of Duncan’s chin.

Duncan shot Robert a clandestine look that would’ve singed his friend’s brows had Robert not been so highly amused by the whole affair.

Damn their betraying hides, there was nothing he could do. He was trapped in his own disguise, and it was apparent that his companions weren’t about to rescue him. Robert was deriving far too much enjoyment from having his blade poised at Duncan’s throat.

Curse the wench! She’d bested him again, coolly and completely humiliated him without a hint of remorse. Where was her gratitude? Where was the appropriate awe he always inspired in the gentler sex? He’d nobly offered her his sword arm, and she’d hurled his own gauntlet back in his face.
Fairly harmless
she’d called him. She hadn’t wanted to test his mettle at all. She’d simply wanted to be rid of him. And the little princess hadn’t given him a second thought as she smugly made her way out of the room.

The instant the door closed behind her, Duncan hissed out an expletive that startled Garth. “Put up your swords, both of you!” he snarled.

They sheathed their blades, but Robert remained undaunted, his eyes dancing merrily. “Well, we have fodder for the jongleurs now, don’t we, Garth?” he teased. “A woman has fled Duncan’s side. Perhaps she’s daft, touched by the moon, eh?”

“Cease!” Duncan thundered.

He paced across the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists, drawn to the window every few moments as he checked for the girl’s departure. A glint of metal from the sward below caught his eye. Before he could blink, a scrawny peasant lad scooped up Duncan’s discarded dagger, furtively tucking it into his jerkin. Duncan opened his mouth to protest, then merely kicked the wall in frustration instead and resumed his pacing.

“The fool wench wants to be rid of me,” he muttered. “By all rights, I should oblige her. She’s laid out her own damned pallet, so let her sleep in it. If she wants to risk life and limb for a pile of wool, what concern is it of mine? If she wishes to tempt fate by…by flaunting her power in front of the most notorious sea reiver in all of Spain…” He stopped in his tracks. God’s wounds—what was he saying?

He couldn’t let her go back to the fair alone. It was a de Ware’s duty to protect ladies. He’d never turned his back on a woman in need. And she was in need. Even if she didn’t know it.

He swept Robert’s cloak from the floor and whirled it across his back. “Your sword, Robert!” he demanded.

Robert looked crestfallen. “My new…but…”

Unwilling to waste time, Duncan unbuckled Robert’s sword belt himself and fastened it about his own hips. Shouldering his way past Garth, he bolted for the door. “Don’t wait supper for me!”

Linet couldn’t have been more pleased with herself as she made her victorious way across the de Ware courtyard. She’d bested that meddling beggar again. Her first year as a
femme sole
, and already she was proving the de Montfort cleverness her father had always praised.

The castle yard was nearly deserted. She supposed most of the craftsmen had gone to the fair. There were only a few armorers hammering hot steel over a forge and a thatcher repairing a rotted roof. In the midst of the courtyard, draped across three trestle tables, an enormous pennant was being stitched by four young ladies. Drawing near, she could see the figure of a great black wolf depicted on the green serge, the Wolf de Ware. The eyes were fierce and chilling, the mane bristling. Suddenly she was very glad she’d be done with her business here in a fortnight.

She’d heard the stories. Everyone had. The three de Ware sons were warriors not to be trifled with—powerful, cunning, ferocious. In fact, the eldest was considered by many to be the most dangerous swordsman in all of England. All three had earned their spurs at an early age, and it was said they indeed possessed the hunting instincts of the wolf so boldly emblazoned on their crest.

She shivered involuntarily. She hoped Lady Alyce would be content with the cloth she’d purchased. Spanish captains and an overzealous beggar Linet could handle. But she wasn’t sure she could face a trio of disgruntled, sword-wielding wolves. She wondered how sweet Lady Alyce managed to keep her pups on their leashes.

She cleared the portcullis and nodded to the guard for her cart. Beyond the wall, the balmy spring breeze soughed through the elms and maples and wafted the fragrance of bay up the hill. It was the best time of year, with the grass new and sweet, sprinkled with periwinkles and daisies, and the willows tipped with vivid green. The sky was riddled with tufts of clouds, reminding her of shearing time and the wool harvest, which reminded her in turn that she had little time to waste on savoring the spring day. There was business to attend to before night dropped its dark cloak over the land.

As she slipped her basket into the cart’s bed, she couldn’t help but think about the beggar with the azure eyes. Who was the cocksure knave, she wondered, and what did he want? Of course, his story about protecting her was nonsense. After all, he was only a commoner. He was probably just eager to get his hands on her cloth or her coin. He wouldn’t be the first to entertain such a notion. Like the others, however, he’d find himself in peril of his good health should he attempt to cheat Linet de Montfort out of her hard-earned living.

She shook her head as the breeze tugged at the edges of her cloak. She should’ve slapped the cur for his insolence. Her father had warned her about dealing with peasants, how they were not to be trusted, how they possessed few manners and fewer morals. The de Montfort family was not to stoop to their level—so he’d drilled into her time and time again. Despite his own fall from grace, he never let Linet forget that, by blood, she was a real lady.