The Maiden and Her Knight (16 page)

“Good.”

“I've never seduced a woman before.”

Oswald's thick lips pressed together in aggravation for a moment; nevertheless, his voice was calm when he replied. “It is not that difficult, if you try.”

“Say what you will, she likes the Welshman better than me,” he muttered.

Oswald's brows lowered. “Are you as stupid as you sound at this moment? Have you not seen the lay of the land? Isabelle may like him, but he prefers her sister.”

Auberan gasped. “Lady Allis?”

“Lady Allis?” Oswald mocked. “Yes, Lady Allis. He practically salivates when he looks at her.”

“But she—”

“She wants him, too.”

“What of Rennick?”

“He will find out soon enough, if he doesn't already suspect.”

“He'll be furious.” Auberan's eyes widened. “Is that why Sir Connor's lance—?”

“The wood was old.”

Auberan looked unconvinced. “If Rennick didn't want to kill him before, he will now.”

“We need the Welshman, and Rennick understands that.”

“What about the betrothal? Surely he won't want to marry Lady Allis if she's not a virgin.”

“Did I say she would not be a virgin when she marries Rennick?” Oswald sighed and shook his head. “Good God, Auberan, you have no understanding of women, especially women like Allis. She will yearn for him, and perhaps accept a kiss or a caress, but she will never sully her honor, not when she is betrothed to another. She would rather die.”

“You sound very sure, my lord.”

“I am. I have known her since childhood, and she is the epitome of dutiful women who hold their honor dear. Sir Connor may sniff about her all he wants, but he will inevitably be disappointed. However, he may not be aware of that for some time. Until he does, he will stay and that will give me a chance to enlist him in our cause.”

“I don't think Rennick will applaud this plan.”

Lord Oswald drew himself up to his full height and regarded Auberan with indignant majesty. “I do not require Rennick DeFrouchette's permission for anything.”

Auberan humbly backed away. “Yes, my lord.”

“As for the seduction of a fifteen-year-old girl, it isn't so difficult. Compliment her on her beauty. Tell her she is sweet and charming. Entertain her. Treat her as if she were a grown-up, and for God's sake, be more agreeable, Auberan. Nobody likes a man who sulks like a baby.”

Auberan nodded like a studious disciple. “Yes, my lord.”

“And bring her presents. All women like presents.” He strolled to the door. “One thing I suggest you do not do, Auberan, and that is try to sing. You will only suffer by comparison. Now good evening. The night is young, and Merva is waiting for me.” He glanced back at the younger man. “Pray for success, Auberan, for remember, the rewards will be great, especially when Richard is no longer on the throne.”

T
he sun was still low in the morning sky as Connor made his way toward the main gate of Montclair Castle. During another restless, sleepless night, he had come to a decision. Things could not go on as they were. As much as he wanted to be with Allis in any way possible, subterfuge and secrecy made him feel soiled and sinful, and he abhorred the taint it gave their relationship. Something must be done, and soon, to clarify what was between them and what the future might hold, for good or ill.

In one way, it was already too late. He was in love with Allis. She had become the center of his world and the person most important in his life. Her affection and good opinion were the means by which he measured himself and his worth, which was both bane and blessing: blessing, because she made him feel that his past
could be overcome and overlooked; bane because if they could not be together, he would always feel an emptiness in his heart.

Wrapped in such thoughts, he almost didn't realize something was not right as he approached the gate. Years of warfare had honed his senses sharp, however, and a part of his mind realized something was amiss. He halted, and scanned the wall walk. Thank God, the sentries were still there, pacing the walk as they should be.

But it was too quiet. Much too quiet. A castle always bustled with soldiers and servants, even at dawn, and so there was a constant low rumble and rustle of movement and voices. Today, he might have been standing in the vast confines of an empty cathedral all by himself, or on a battlefield, surrounded by corpses.

He anxiously hurried on to the gate. Two guards—Bob and Harry—stood deep in discussion, their heads bowed and their expressions grim. In other parts of the courtyard, small groups of servants stood huddled together, whispering, and many of the women were crying.

When Bob and Harry caught sight of him, they stopped talking.

“What's happened?” he demanded.

“The earl is dead,” Bob mumbled.

Oh, sweet heaven. Poor Allis!

“Last night,” Harry continued. “In his sleep and without pain, Lady Allis said, thank God. My old mam suffered terrible, and I'm glad to think he was spared anything like that.”

Bob sighed as he leaned on his spear. “Aye, he was a good master.”

“And Lady Allis? How does she fare?”

Bob and Harry exchanged sorrowful looks. “Not weepin' and wailin' like some,” Bob offered.

No, she would not do that. She would bottle it up, as she did so much, and keep it to herself. She would be strong for her brother and sister, and her people, but the pain would be just as bad as if she rent her clothes and screamed to the heavens. No, it would be worse, for she would carry it alone. “Isabelle and Edmond?”

“She woke them and told them herself, poor thing. Merva's with them. She was their nursemaid when they was little. That's why they let her take the liberties she does.”

“Aye,” Harry confirmed. “She's right tore up, too. I ain't never seen Merva cry, but she's a-cryin' now, all right.” He sighed. “She and the earl used to get teasing each other in the old days. Not that he ever touched her—never like that. He loved his wife too much, and she knew she was well off and smart enough not to risk it.”

“Where is Lady Allis?”

They both nodded at the hall.

Thinking only of Allis and her sorrow, he hurried toward the hall, past the little knots of mourning servants. He threw open the door, then came awkwardly to another halt.

Lord Oswald, Auberan and Allis stood together on the dais, speaking with a priest Connor had never seen before. To judge by the man's majesty and the quality of his robes, he was a high-ranking member of the church. He was probably the man who stood to preside over the future cathedral.

All three turned to look at him. Oswald cocked a curious brow, Auberan sneered, the priest looked as if he thought Connor must be a servant, and Allis…

He hoped he would never again see in her eyes that look of unshed tears and anguish.

She came toward him, her face pale, but her back straight, and never did he admire her more, for he knew that she was maintaining her self-control with a strength few men possessed.

Yet they were being watched, and he was merely a guest in this hall, so he didn't even dare to touch her fingertips. “I am very sorry about your father, my lady.”

“Thank you, Sir Connor.”

He glanced at the men, who were clearly waiting for her and begrudging the interruption.

“We are planning the funeral mass and temporary interment of my father,” she explained, her voice dull and flat. “Later, when the cathedral is built, we will move him there, of course.”

He nodded. He wanted so much to tell her how truly sorry he was, and even more to gather her into his arms and hold her close, to offer her the comfort of his embrace. “My lady—”

She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, tears threatening to fall until she blinked them back. “I know,” she whispered, her lips trembling as she tried to smile for him. “Leave me to do what I must, and there is much. I will come to you when I can.”

She was being so courageous, so strong, yet he knew her heart must be aching and full of pain, as his had been when he learned of his parents' death. Regardless of the others, he took hold of her cool, quivering hand and brought it to his lips. Very gently and tenderly did he kiss it.

Then he bowed and left her.

 

Panting and perspiring, Connor set down the half-filled bucket of water and wiped his brow. He flexed his left hand and raised his arm again, this time without lifting the bucket.

“My shoulder is definitely getting better,” he said to Demetrius. “Today, perhaps I can even take you on something more than a walk, eh, my friend?”

Glancing at the wall surrounding the courtyard of Montclair, he slowly expelled his breath. “Something to pass the time.”

Four days had passed since the death of the earl of Montclair, and five since he had had an opportunity to be alone with Allis. Those days had seemed unbearably long, yet he thought it best to wait for her to come to him, because that was what she wanted.

On the third day, he had joined in the solemn funeral mass and witnessed the temporary interment of the earl beside his late wife. It had been painful watching Allis and her family as they stood through the whole of the rite, only kneeling to receive the host. Isabelle's face was puffy from crying, her eyes red-rimmed, and she leaned upon Auberan as if she would swoon without him.

As befitting a young noble, Edmond was stoic. Despite his lack of expression, though, his whole body trembled with suppressed emotion, and once he surreptitiously wiped his eyes.

Allis stood as motionless as a marble statue. Wearing a severely plain black gown and equally severe white scarf and barbette, she looked like a nun who had been serving a heavy penance. He doubted she had slept or eaten much since her father had died, and it was very likely that what vitality she had went to comforting Edmond and Isabelle.

The baron still had not returned. The main estate of the earl of L'Ouisseaux was over a hundred miles away, and it would take time for a messenger to reach there.

Not that he was in any rush to have the man return, although the necessary secrecy weighed upon him like a blot upon his character.

“Well, let me try this one more time, Demetrius, and then I shall stop,” he muttered as he bent down to pick up the bucket again. “Enough is enough.”

The hem of a woman's black gown came into view. He quickly straightened and found himself face to face with Allis. He quickly and carefully drew on his shirt, surreptitiously studying her.

The strain in her pale, weary face and the dark circles beneath her eyes smote him. She had already endured so much and had so many obligations. Surely she deserved an end to pain. He yearned for something—anything—he could do to ease her sorrow, but all he could offer was his compassion. “How are you faring, my lady?”

“Everyone has been kind, Lord Oswald especially. Very kind and very sympathetic, very willing to do things for me.”

He caught the edge that crept into her voice as the sadness in her eyes gave way to annoyance. “But you don't want pity or condescension or people taking charge over you, not even now—or perhaps especially not now?” he suggested.

She thrust her hands into her long cuffs and began to pace as if she couldn't bear to keep still. “I do not want to be treated like a child. I know my father is dead. I know what needs to be done. I would have sent for the baron eventually, given the situation between the baron and my family, but Lord Oswald took it
upon himself to do so immediately. It will probably be worse when Rennick gets here. I hope his horse throws a shoe every mile of the journey back!”

She sounded so angry at the last, he didn't know what to say. At least she felt free enough to speak her mind to him, and was no longer trying to hide or subdue her feelings. It would be better for her to let them out, or like a festering infection, they would do more damage over time.

She stopped and as she regarded him, seemed to shrink. “I shouldn't be saying such things. I must be a sinful woman. My father is dead, and right now, all I feel is anger.”

He ached to hold her, to feel her head resting against his shoulder, but he could not forget the sentries on the walls above. “My mother said once that when someone dies suddenly, you mourn them afterward. When they die slowly, you have already mourned them by the time God takes them into heaven. Your mourning time is past, and it is no wonder to me that you feel as you do.”

Her eyes softened as her pale cheeks bloomed with pink. “It was like I was holding my breath all the time, Connor,” she confessed softly. “As if I could never loosen the bindings that seemed wrapped about me, of duty and responsibilities, and that if I did, I would break apart like a broken jar.

“Well, that isn't quite true,” she said, shaking her head and giving him a tremulous smile. “When I was with you, I felt free. Since that first night in the garden, you have made me feel happier than I have been in a long, long time. You brought joy and hope back into my life.” She put her hand lightly on his arm. “It was as if I started to breathe again when I met you.”

In all his life, he had never been so thrilled as he was by her simple, heartfelt words. Despite the soldiers on the wall walk who might see, he could not resist the impulse to gather her into his arms. She stood stiffly for a moment, then slowly relaxed and laid her head on his chest.

He longed for the privilege of always holding her secure in his arms, protecting her from any hurt or harm. And how he longed to kiss her—not with passion and desire now, but with tender affection. He yearned to press his mouth gently upon her cheek as a sign of his devotion.

How long they stood thus, he didn't know, but he appreciated every moment, if this was all he could do to ease her pain.

At last she drew back, gently extricating herself from his embrace. Clasping her hands in front of her, she raised her shining eyes to regard him steadily. “My brother is the earl of Montclair and head of the family now.”

He nodded. Being more concerned with Allis's sorrow, he had not considered all the ramifications of the earl's death, but this was certainly one of them.

“As such, he has the right to confirm or deny the decisions of our father. There has been nothing officially signed or sealed regarding my betrothal to the baron.”

Her simple words, spoken plainly and with firmness of purpose, sent his mind reeling.

Suddenly, that vista of heaven on earth with Allis by his side sprang back to life. If there was no formal legal document, Edmond could easily break any verbal betrothal between Allis and the baron. “Does this mean what I hope it does?”

“While Edmond admires the baron,” she said, her smile blooming, “he admires and
likes
a certain Crusader more.”

If the heavens had parted and angels appeared to offer him a place with St. Michael himself, he would have happily refused. Heaven on earth was almost in his grasp. “How soon can the betrothal with DeFrouchette be broken?”

“I see no reason it cannot be done as soon as he returns.” She took hold of his hand and caressed his fingers, increasing the tension in his body that made him long to pull her into his arms. “I'm sure Edmond will agree, and I am willing to risk the gossip.”

Another impediment arose in his mind, threatening to blight his hope again. “Edmond is a minor child. He will have to have a guardian. King Richard is a greedy man, Allis, and many men would pay him well to have the right to oversee Montclair, I suspect the baron most of all.”

“I know. That is why I have already decided who should be Edmond's guardian. As soon as it can be arranged, Edmond and I must travel to London to speak with the king about it. Thank heavens Richard is actually in England, so that we can petition him ourselves.”

“Who would you ask to have made Edmond's guardian?”

She ran her fingertips along his arm, the sensation delightful and incredibly arousing. “I would
like
to suggest you, but I think it best if we ask Lord Oswald. He is well known and well regarded.”

Even in his joy, the past came again to haunt Connor. “And he has no quarrel with the king.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “He is also older and presumably wiser.”

“There is that, I suppose.”

“I am glad you are not older, or wiser. I like you just as you are, Sir Connor of Llanstephan with the barbarous hair. Besides, Lord Oswald likes you, too, so he will surely not disagree with Edmond's choice of husband for me.”

Connor brought her hands to his lips. “Edmond's choice, is it?”

She twisted her hands so that she held his firmly, her grasp both a confirmation and a promise. “The night my father died, he said I should marry a man who gives me laughter.” Her voice dropped so that it was as subtle and sultry as the surreptitious caress she gave his hand. “You give me laughter, Connor, and so much more. I would have you with me always. I want nothing so much as to be your wife.”