Ruthless (24 page)

"Sir Magnus' only interest in me is what lies
betwixt my legs!" She flushed making such a crude declaration.

"Ye both may think so. I know better."

"Ye forget. I am his servant. His seamstress.
His laundress. I dinna doubt he thinks to add being his leman to
the rest of my duties!"

"Humph!"

Grunda shook her head and went over to pull
the coverlet, blanket and pillows into the middle of the bed then
dumped the soiled sheets atop them.

"What are ye doing!?"

"Saving ye from falling over yer words when
the laundress arrives to find a bed without sheets. Helen comes up
the stairwell now."

Sure enough, afore Muriele could count to
twenty, the rotund woman appeared in the doorway, her arms full of
clean sheets and her face wreathed in a smile.

"Sir Magnus says ye are to be accorded
respect and treated as the other knights' wives. 'Tis about time!"
Helen dumped the clean bedding on the wooden chair and bustled
about the room setting it to rights.

So, he wanted her treated like the other
wives? He may as well have bellowed to the world she was now his
favored leman!

"Esa, 'tis glad I am to see ye," Grunda
said.

Muriele whirled around to see her friend
looking uncertain as she stood in the doorway. Why did she hesitate
to enter?

"Come, we will all go down to break our fast
together," Muriele said, holding out her hand to her.

"Ye young lasses go ahead. I must visit the
Alewife. She has been feeling poorly. I fear it willna be a good
birthing."

With a waggle of her hands, Grunda hurried
them along.

The two women were silent, for there was no
privacy in the spiral stairwell. You never knew who might be coming
up from below, or who could be behind you in the last turn.

Once they sat at what they began to feel as
their favored table, they filled their wooden bowls with gruel,
berries and honey. When they began to eat, Muriele remembered the
night's activities and fought to keep any expression from her face.
'Twas good she had. Looking up, Feradoch's sky blue eyes stared
into hers.

He smiled and nodded then glanced at Esa. His
eyes squinted then lit. Esa tensed and her hands began to
tremble.

"Why does he upset ye, Esa? He appears to be
most gentle."

Esa shrugged.

Muriele glanced toward him again and watched
him smile and laugh with the men at the table. He never seemed to
demand having his own way. It was a pity Feradoch's complaisant
personality hadn't softened Magnus' harshness.

"Does Feradoch leave at dawn tomorrow to
return to the Morgan's at Clibrick?"

"Aye. He leaves for the last time. When he
returns here, 'twill be for good." Esa sighed quietly.

There was a sound of resignation in the soft
breath of air. Would this quiet, lovely woman miss him while he was
gone? They were such opposites in looks they drew your gaze when
they appeared in the same room. Esa was near as tall as Feradoch.
Where he was all sunlight with his blue eyes, light skin and
red-blond hair, she was midnight, with near black eyes, skin kissed
brown by her ancestors and hair as black as a moonless night.

The day passed quietly. As if they knew each
other's thoughts, they avoided the great hall at the noon meal and
sought cold slices of beef and heavy bread in the kitchens
instead.

The men eyed Muriele with open appreciation.
They knew. Just by looking at her. And no doubt, Magnus strutted
more than usual. Everyone had seen him stalk her when she fled the
banquet last eve. He may as well have declared his possession of
her afore the whole castle.

Whenever Muriele glimpsed him, she veered in
the opposite direction. Esa seemed to understand. They worked in
the herbal garden with Grunda, and when they finished and returned
to the hut to clean their hands, Muriele heard Gille's light steps
approaching. She rolled her eyes and called out for him to enter
afore he needed to scratch at the door.

"I know, Gille. Yer helpless master orders me
to return to wash his sweaty back," she said as she heard the door
open.

Gille's eyes near popped from his head. His
master stood no more than five paces behind him. Did the dratted
man walk on clouds to annoy her?

"Not my sweaty back, lady. A most special
part."

Magnus' deep, resonant voice flowed over her
body like a heated waterfall. His eyes smoldered and his lips
lifted in a wicked grin. How could he cause her body to respond
with naught but his voice and the look in his eyes?

"Ye dinna appear to need help with anything,
my lord," Muriele said. "Yer hair is still damp from washing and ye
have donned clean apparel"

"Aye. And ye are as grubby as any farmer." He
walked over to take her hands and turn them palm upward. "What good
does it do if I lighten yer duties only to have ye work in the
fields?"

"I wasna in the fields. The herb garden was
in need of clipping. The days are over-warm. Ye can near watch the
weeds sprout."

Muriele tugged her hands from his grasp and
wiped them on the cloth hanging from her pocket.

"Ye look like a common villager. Return to
the keep and prepare for the meal. I have no time to see ye dressed
properly afore the Chief grows impatient."

"'Dress properly? Appear on time?' Muriele
near shouted the words. She stiffened, hands on her hips as her
eyes regarded him with withering contempt. "I dinna need ye to
select my clothing, ye hulking oaf!"

Taking determined steps toward her, he
regarded her with cold speculation. He halted only when his boots
met the tips of her shoes. She dared not take a deep breath else,
her breasts would prod his chest.

"As I said afore, I have no time at the
moment. But this 'hulking oaf' will tend to ye later."

Magnus' hand shot out and grabbed her hair in
his fist then pulled her head back, holding it still. He glared
into her eyes then crushed her lips in a kiss unlike any he had
given her. His teeth crashed against hers as his fingers on her jaw
made sure she opened to him.

His tongue didn't play with her lips. It
didn't explore. It conquered.

She shuddered and her knees quivered. She
near crumpled. He stopped the kiss as quickly as he started it.
Abruptly. Suddenly, he was gone, leaving her to sway and grab onto
a stool near at hand.

She heard the door slam and felt the draft
from it before she gained control of her seething body. If any
other man had dared treat her so roughly she would have kneed his
groin. Why did she turn to butter in Magnus' hands?

When Grunda chuckled, she turned and eyed
her. The old seer approved!

"Ye have met yer match, Muriele, else why did
he leave with nary a scratch or bruise on him?"

Grunda lips quivered just the slightest bit
when she spoke. Why, she must have read Muriele's mind.

"Huh! If he thinks to tend to me later, he
will have bruises and cuts aplenty," Muriele muttered her face
aflame.

Esa stood, wide-eyed and uneasy. "Come. It's
much later than we expected. We have time enough for you to bathe
and wash your hair. I'll help."

"Ye have enough to do for yerself, Esa. I can
manage."

"I can dress your hair. I'm good at it."

"If ye prepare in one room, 'twill be much
faster." Grunda beckoned them to follow.

As they hurried to the keep, she laid out a
plan whereby the two women could bathe and dress quickly. Muriele's
hair would be the last thing needing tending. By the time they put
her plan to work and were finished, the bedchamber looked like an
army had tromped through it.

Grunda stood and regarded the two beautiful
women, one so fair and graceful, the other dark and mysterious. She
noted their physical differences were much like Magnus and
Feradoch's.

Muriele wore a striking sleeveless green
kirtle with bands of golden-colored threads embroidered on the
bodice and sleeve openings. A filmy, long sleeved smock the color
of pale new leaves in spring flowed through the openings. Esa
combed Muriele's hair, gathered it in layers and braided them in
rows down the back of her head. The last was at Muriele's nape,
where Esa tied it off with silken ribbons, leaving a hand's length
of golden hair free. Wisps of soft curls trailed each temple.

Esa wore black and pale gray with her tightly
curled ebony hair pulled back from her face and gathered with
curved combs to hold it there.

Muriele's face and slender neck were pale
wheat; Esa's features were striking angles and warm dark honey.

"Off with ye. I'll put the room to rights
before Sir Magnus returns." Grunda opened the door and held it.

"I'll go first to be out of the way," Esa
said as she started forward.

"Nay. Walk beside me." Muriele took her
elbow. "Many thanks, Grunda. We'll be in time. I wouldn't want our
lofty Sir Magnus to strain his throat bellowing for me."

"Watch yerself, lovey. Dinna prick his temper
overmuch." Grunda's tone held a stern warning.

"They are well into their cups from the
sounds of it."

Muriele looked over her shoulder at Esa,
uneasy hearing the rowdy men so early in the evening.

"The night before Feradoch returns to
Clibrick, Chief Olaf provides special entertainment for him."

Esa hesitated, one foot hovering above the
next downward step.

Muriele tilted her head and studied her
friend's expression in the dim light. Esa's lips had tightened to a
thin line and her eyes held a hint of fear. Surely, she didn't fear
Feradoch. He would do naught to cause her unease. If not him, then
Magnus?

When they stepped out into the open, Muriel
grasped Esa's hand and brought her alongside. Occupied with
comforting her, she paid no heed to the crowded room. Feeling a
change in the room, she glanced around to find its cause. Her gaze
clashed with Magnus' own. His intense stare roved from her head to
her toes, appreciating what he saw—if one could count lust as
appreciation. Feradoch, too, looked over the women as if judging
their worth.

His gaze shifted to study Magnus. His lips
tightened. What displeased him? Did he not like the way Magnus
studied her and Esa? Mayhap he felt Magnus was crude to take
advantage of his position as conqueror of Blackbriar?

Chief Olaf clapped his hands for quiet and
waited until the room stilled.

"Ah, all that is sunshine and shadows rolled
into two beautiful women." He slapped both men on the backs. "Fetch
them. They will sit beside you. Our traveling musicians are from
Wales, as is Esa. After our meal, she will dance to their rousing
music."

The closer the men came, the more Esa's
fingers trembled within Muriele's grasp. Magnus' face was intent.
Severe even. But then, when was it not? He was forever grim-faced.
She could count on one hand the times she had seen him smile or
even look at ease.

Her gaze turned to Feradoch. Hungry
anticipation hardened his face when he looked at Esa. 'Twas not
simple lust. More like a wolf before he devoured a plump hare. It
was quickly gone, for now his features showed only kindness and the
desire to please.

Magnus' warm, calloused hand separated hers
from Esa's and placed it on his arm. The soft hair tickled her palm
until he pressed her hand down firmly to grasp him. The heat of his
bare skin and the hard muscles there sent shivers from her fingers
to her shoulder.

Wearing a black sleeveless tunic falling
short of his knees, his strong muscled arms and powerful legs added
to his massive frame. He must have sensed the heat rippling through
her. Though his face tightened, devoid of expression, his black
eyes gleamed.

He was the vivid image of a magnificent
unrestrained animal.

Did all of the Morgan clan run true to their
motto,
with a strong hand
? If Magnus was any indication,
they did. Her mind flashed back to last night. Strange. Those hands
had been most gentle. If they had not been, his ardor would have
caused bruising over every inch of her flesh. Her fingers jerked at
the memory. He glanced down, his eyes heated with passion.

How had he known where her thoughts had
lingered? Then, suddenly, all expression left. It was like dousing
a light, hiding his thoughts in deep darkness.

"Aye, ye didn't need me to select yer
clothing," he murmured. "No one would recognize the filthy little
lass fighting in the bailey with dirt smeared over her face."

He thought her little? She was as tall as
many men in the room.

"As beautiful as ye are, lass, be reminded.
It will not matter to this hulking oaf. I willna allow
anyone
to speak to me with so little respect."

If he thought to beat her for what she'd said
earlier, he'd best think twice. Though she might not have her
weapons strapped to her thighs, her hands and feet would aid her in
making sure he wouldn't remain unscathed.

They had arrived at the high table and
talking quietly was at an end. He helped her to sit, but with every
gentle touch, he reminded her of his tightly controlled power.

The meal passed in a blur, for entertainment
accompanied each course. As before, Magnus cut the meat in small
pieces and placed them on her side of the long plate. His own were
much heartier.

There was little chance for conversation, for
she refused to raise her voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
Often she leaned forward and glanced at Esa. As the evening
progressed, whenever she saw Feradoch whisper in the dark beauty's
ear, Esa's face became frozen and blank, giving no hint of
feeling.

Finally, a course of fruits, nuts, small hot
rolls and sweet wine ended the meal. Olaf, more than a little the
worse for drink, banged his goblet on the table and stood. His
voice boomed out.

"Bring on the Welsh performers. It has been
long since the wench Esa has performed for us."