The Warrior's Wife (3 page)

“If the royal court is so unfriendly, why don’t you leave?” Kate asked.

Ami shot her a disbelieving look. “You have been cloistered, haven’t you? Would that I could leave, but the king will never let me go. The warden he gave me is busy milking my dowry and widow’s portion for every pence that can be wrung from my lands, sharing half of what he takes with his royal master.”

Kate stared at Ami in shock. “They can do that?”

“Who’s to stop them? Our John is still England’s king, even if he’s no longer Normandy’s duke,” Ami replied bitterly. “I should be grateful that he hasn’t made a gift of me, the way he’s done with some of the other widows, and married me off to one of those hired foreign swords of his. Be grateful you’re not in his custody.”

Kate stared at Ami for a startled moment. If this was what the king did, then no wonder there were those who talked of rebellion. Still, Ami’s call for gratitude teased a breath of scorn from her.

“Don’t be thinking me the fortunate one. You heard Lady Haydon. My sire cannot wait to see me out of his home and into another marriage I don’t want.” As Kate spoke, her gaze shot over the hall until she located her father.

Tall and thin, Lord Bagot’s shoulders were bowed, bearing as they did the death of two wives, his only brother and nephew, all three of his sons--one only recently--and one of three daughters. Although the hair on the top of his head was gone, the lower half of his narrow face was hidden beneath a rusty bush of a beard. It was his beard that wagged, not his chin, as he spoke to a portly middle-aged man. Intensity beamed from his gray eyes, the only feature he shared with his daughter.

Of a sudden, Lord Bagot straightened to scan the room. When he located his daughter, he pointed rudely at her.

She cringed. “Must he be so obvious?”

“What’s he doing?” Amicia asked, looking toward Lord Humphrey.

“He’s pointing at me,” Kate complained. “Lord, but I can hear him now.
So
, says he to each man he meets,
I hear your grandsire, son, nephew, brother, is looking for a wife. Would he be interested in my daughter?
”

“Why doesn’t he spare me the torment and simply call out
wife for sale
for all to hear?”

Ami laughed. “Don’t say that too loudly. It may give him ideas.” Her amusement died into a smile filled with quiet mischief. “I vow, at least half the eligible men in England are here in this room. What say you? Why don’t we choose one of them to be your husband? Then you can tell your sire which man to approach. That way you’ll get a decent husband, he’ll get you married and there’ll be no more pointing.”

“I hardly think he’d consider any man I suggest even though the decree grants the right to choose my next husband to me,” Kate said, without rancor. No sensible woman beneath the age of two score who yet had living male relatives expected to have a say over the choice of her mate, and Kate felt she was nothing if not sensible. Still, there was something tantalizing about this game. What could it hurt?

She smiled at Ami. “As you will. Find me the perfect husband.”

“First you must tell me the sort of man you want,” her new friend replied.

With a happy sigh, Kate let her attention leap to the table where her father’s steward sat with other knights his equal. “He should be a man like Tristan or Lancelot, someone slender and strong, not bulky.” At three and thirty, Sir Warin de Dapifer was tall, his form long and lean. “He should own a sweet voice and be courteous to a fault.” Just as Warin was. “His hair and beard should be fair.” As was Warin’s hair and mustache. “His eyes should be gray.” Warin’s eyes were blue; it was his only flaw. In all other ways, her father’s steward was the perfect knight.

He was a man Kate could never have and not just because he was her father’s employee. Warin was landless. Without income, no man could marry.

The sheer hopelessness of their love made Kate’s heart fill and ache in the same glorious instant. She took the pain as proof that her love for Warin was true, as true and pure and chaste as love was meant to be. And Warin loved her in return, their affection unsullied by carnal desires. Kate couldn’t wait for the joust. Although doing so might well jeopardize his position in her father’s house, she hoped Warin would ask to be her champion and wear her token.

“All that in one man?” Ami laughed and shook her head. “I’ll do my best.”

The sheriff’s widow scanned the hall, her gaze flitting from man to man, then she caught her breath. “Oh my,” she said, her voice husky, her words barely audible over the thunder of conversation and hazy echoes of the shivaree from the solar. “I think I have just the man for you.”

“You do?” Kate tore her gaze from Warin to look where Ami indicated, even though she knew it wasn’t possible there could be two such perfect knights in all the world.

In the open space where the wedding party had done its dancing stood a clutch of six young men. Although Kate couldn’t hear them, she knew they were conversing, for their heads turned from one to another in a way that marked the flow of words. It was the nearest man Ami indicated. Flickering torchlight made his fair hair gleam like gold. Shadows clung beneath the sharp lift of his cheekbones and marked the gentle curve of his brow and his nose’s slight hook.

“Who is he?” Kate asked, knowing she’d been introduced to him at some time during the day. With all the folk she’d met or re-met today, she couldn’t recall his name.

“Lord Haydon’s natural son, Sir Josce FitzBaldwin,” Ami replied.

Kate gave a quiet snort. “A bastard? My father would never accept a bastard.”

“He’s not of low birth,” Ami protested, as if she thought persuading Lord Bagot’s daughter of the man’s worth would have any effect on her sire. “His mother was a knight’s daughter. Lord Haydon claimed him and saw to his raising. Why, he even sent Sir Josce to be raised at court and knighted by the king.”

“None of that matters to my father,” Kate retorted with a harsh breath. “Gentle or not, as long as Sir Josce can’t inherit Haydon, my sire won’t consider him.”

“Well, if you won’t have him, I will,” Ami said, her sigh filled with longing. “I came to know him at court this spring after I first entered into the king’s custody.” She broke off as across the room Sir Josce threw back his head to laugh. Even from a distance, the sound was merry enough to make Kate smile in reaction.

Again Ami sighed. “No matter his birth or his worth, that is a fine-looking man, one I wouldn’t at all mind taking to my bed.”

“Ami!” Kate cried, shock reverberating all the way down to her toes. She reared back on the bench to stare in dismay at her new friend.

“Ami, what?” Ami asked, wicked amusement glinting in her pretty eyes. “That Sir Josce isn’t fine-looking or that he’s not the sort of man I should take to my bed?”

Hot color washed Kate’s cheeks. “Say no more! A proper woman doesn’t jest about such things,” she chided, sounding every bit as harsh as had Lady Adele.

God in His heaven knew Adele would have beaten Kate for such a comment. Adele divided women into two classes: those who controlled themselves to live pure lives, loving only chastely and from afar, and those who gave way to lust’s temptation and paid the price. Kate knew what that price was, because Adele had never ceased to remind her. Either the sinner rightfully died at her kinsmen’s hands or she was ruined in the eyes of the world. Of the two fates Adele claimed ruin the worse.

Ami laughed, her brown plaits sliding against the breast of her red overgown as she shook her head at Kate. “How old are you, Kate?”

Sensing there was more to this question than mere curiosity, Kate hesitated. “A full score. Almost a score and one.”

“Ah, four years younger than me. And you were married how long?” Ami wanted to know.

“Five years,” Kate replied, her suspicion growing that there was some taunt hiding behind these questions.

“As long as that?” Ami asked, pressing a hand to her breast as if shocked. “I’d not have thought it, with you still so innocent.”

“I’m not naive,” Kate protested, piqued by this assessment of her character.

“As a babe,” Ami replied, the corners of her mouth lifting. “If you weren’t, you’d know the difference between wishing and doing. I know better than to take any man to my bed, no matter how much I might want him. That doesn’t mean I can’t dream. Now, since you won’t have Sir Josce, what about that one?” She pointed.

Still stung by Ami’s assessment of her Kate glanced at the man Ami meant. He was pudgy and so short that his head wouldn’t have topped Kate’s shoulder. Relief that Ami had abandoned the dangerous topic of illicit relations, even if it was for a taunt, washed over Kate. She shook her head and joined this new game. “Nay, too short.”

“That one’s probably rich, but he’s a wee bit too old,” Ami said, the lift of her chin indicating a doddering ancient at a nearby table. The old man snored, his head braced on a hand. “Still, the possibility that he wouldn’t be a burden to you for long could be an asset.”

As Kate laughed, Ami shook her head, rejecting the oldster. “Nay, that’s no compensation. I know old men. My husband was over three score when he died. A good man he was, gentle and kind, but incompetent between the linens during the last three years of our union and not much better before that. If you must marry again, you should have a man who’ll be vigorous in your bed.”

The very thought made Kate grimace.

“There, that’s the one.” Amicia pointed to the room’s center. The jugglers had finished their act, leaving the area empty save for a page, a lad of ten or so. “He’s handsome and young.”

“He’s only a child,” Kate protested.

“Isn’t he just,” Ami said, her expression smug. “I heard your first husband was younger than you. I thought you might feel more comfortable with another young one.”

“Oh, you!” Kate chided with a laugh. “Be serious. Show me a man I really could wed.”

As Ami again studied the hall, the door to the solar opened. The musicians strode back into the room, playing a merry romp as they came. Cries of pleasure spilled from those within the hall, gentle and servant alike. Before another moment passed commoner and nobleman joined hands to form a circle, the hall’s raised hearthstone at its center. When the dancers were ready, the musicians paused. An instant of breathless silence followed, then the drummer found a new rhythm on his tambour. The piper joined in and the ring began to move. The sound of so many footsteps on wooden flooring thundered up into the hall’s naked rafters almost loud enough to drown out the music.

“There he is, the perfect husband for you,” Ami cried, a strange, sly tone to her voice. She was once again looking at the group of men around Sir Josce. The group had moved now that the musicians and the dancers had claimed their space. The young men stood before the wooden screens that guarded the hall from door-drawn drafts.

When Kate saw the man Ami meant, her lip curled in dismissal. This man was the opposite of her heroic ideal. Although Ami’s choice was as tall as Warin, his shoulders fair strained the seams of his gray tunic. His gown’s sleeves bunched on the bulky curves of his upper arms. True, his brow was wide and clear, but it was framed by the loose ebony curls that tumbled out from beneath his brown cap. There wasn’t the slightest curve to his black eyebrows or his narrow nose. Nor was he clean-shaven like Warin. This man’s beard was a carefully trimmed narrow band of hair that outlined his mouth then traced a bare line along the length of his strong jaw.

“He’s not for me,” she said, rejecting Ami’s choice with a shrug.

Surprise started through her new friend’s eyes. “That’s all you can say about him? He’s not for you?” she asked, her tone almost a prod, as if she’d expected another answer entirely. “Come, now, I know he’s not golden-haired, but a man’s coloring is no reason to reject him. Look again, ignoring that about him. Surely then you’ll find him worthy of consideration.”

To please Ami, Kate did as commanded and once more looked at the dark-haired man. He’d left his companions to saunter in a wide circle around the dancers. “Nay, I won’t have him. He swaggers.”

Ami blinked and again considered the man she’d chosen. A moment later, her head cocked as if in serious study of the arrogant way he walked. “You’re right. He does swagger,” she said as if surprised, then added, “but I can’t say I find that unattractive.”

“Hah,” Kate crowed, relishing the opportunity to repay Ami’s tease over her innocence. “Thus do you prove you’ve had little experience with swaggerers in your life. His strut tells me yon man will be naught but an overbearing bully. You only need watch my father walk to know I speak the truth.”

Kate’s gaze followed her words to where Lord Humphrey had been a moment ago. Her sire was no longer there. Instead, he was swaggering in his daughter’s direction, the portly man to whom he’d been speaking at his side.

“Ach, Ami,” Kate cried in mock pleading, clutching her new friend’s hand. “Here comes my sire with another potential husband who’ll want to count my teeth. Save me!”

“Ask and you shall receive,” Ami replied with a laugh. Grabbing Kate’s hand, she pulled Kate up with her as she came to her feet. “I think it’s time we joined the dance.”

 

“I mustn’t,” Kate protested, albeit feebly, as Ami pulled her away from their table. “My sire will be angry if I run from him.” She started to throw a worried look in her father’s direction.

“Don’t look,” Ami commanded, forcing Kate ahead of her, pushing her new friend on toward the dancers. “If he catches you peering at him, he’ll know you meant to escape him. If you don’t turn your head, you can say in complete honesty that you didn’t see him coming.”

Such a subterfuge hadn’t occurred to Kate. A wild laugh spilled from her at the thought of repaying her father’s indifference with an innocent hoodwinking. How could she not have known that disobedience could be so enjoyable? Perhaps it was the vigorous way Lady Adele had plied her belt that had dimmed Kate’s desire to misbehave.

She and Ami stopped just outside the turning ring of folk. Calling for Kate to follow, Ami plunged eagerly into their midst, catching the hands of those at either side of her. It took but an instant for her feet to match the others’ steps. Kate, lacking the same confidence in her footwork, hesitated, hoping the tune and the dancers would slow a little.

“Katherine?”

Her father’s call was barely louder than the music, but it was more than enough to shatter Kate’s qualms. She thrust into the ring between two women. Taking their hands, she jogged to the beat while studying the steps of the woman to her right. She was still studying the woman’s footwork when the woman at her left released her and a man’s hand closed over hers. His fingers were strong, his palm warm and callused.

Startled, Kate glanced at him then nearly stumbled. It was the dark-haired man, the one Ami had chosen to be her husband. Beneath his smooth ebony brows his eyes were a deep brown. He smiled at her. His teeth were even and white. Kate’s breath caught as she saw now what she hadn’t noticed at a distance. Dark and swaggering he might be, but Lord in heaven, he was handsome.

To Kate’s surprise, as she acknowledged his attractiveness her heart set to a nervous stuttering. Perhaps it was the way the man’s fingers curled around hers, owning her hand more than holding it. Or it might have been the way his gaze seemed to smolder as he watched her.

Unnerved, she forgot to concentrate on the dance. Her feet lost the music’s beat and began to move to their own discordant rhythm. Even as Kate recognized what was happening, there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was going to stumble and make a fool of herself in the process.

Just as she began to fall, the man tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her out of the dance. Those on either side of them cried out, hurrying now to close the gap. Still off balance, Kate staggered backward a few steps until her rescuer caught her by the upper arms to steady her. She came to a panting halt against him, her hands braced on his chest.

“My thanks,” she offered in true gratitude. “You saved me and everyone else in the dance. I was falling.”

“I know,” he replied with a quiet laugh, the sound warm and deep. “And it is my pleasure to be your rescuer, Lady de Fraisney.”

Kate blinked, startled that he should know her name. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Have we met?"

His brows shot up. His eyes widened. Embarrassment twisted in Kate. It was written on his face for her to read: she should know him just as he knew her.

She racked her brain, but nothing came to mind. Oh Lord, but she’d collected dozens and dozens of new names this day. True, this man wasn’t Warin, but surely she wouldn’t have forgotten one so handsome if she’d met him.

His surprise died almost as swiftly as it was born then his lips lifted into a quiet smile. “Come with me, my lady,” he said, giving her no chance to refuse as he caught her hand and started toward the nearest wall.

“What are you doing?” Kate protested. Her complaint was lost in the noisy room.

He stopped before one of the painted linen panels and shoved aside the hanging. The embrasure hidden behind the fabric was more than a cloth-yard deep but only wide enough for a single archer to stand comfortably as he shot at besiegers. Moonlight silvered its plastered walls, while cool night air poured through its unshuttered arrow loop.

Before Kate knew what he was about, her rescuer pushed her into the alcove ahead of him. She pivoted, turning her back to the window, but he was already in front of her, blocking her escape. The hanging dropped behind him, swinging slightly as it fell. Oily torchlight disappeared into an intimate and unseemly darkness, broken only by the moon’s pale radiance. That weak glow touched the man’s brow, the line of his perfect nose and the bow of his lips, leaving the rest of his face in shadow. His eyes were bare gleams.

Kate scowled at him, not caring that he most likely couldn’t read the expression on her face any better than she could his. May God chide her for a fool! She’d let this man’s handsome face so boggle her that she’d forgotten Lady Adele’s lessons. Any man who wasn’t a chivalrous knight was a lecher. Indeed, even a usually courteous man might give way to temptation and press untoward caresses on his ladylove if she wasn’t vigilant against potential sin.

Crossing her arms, Kate put what barrier she could between them. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“A moment is all I ask, my lady.” His voice was smooth. He smiled, his white teeth bright in the alcove’s darkness. “That and a bit of privacy in which to introduce myself. I’m Sir Ralf--Rafe, Rafe--Godsol.”

It didn’t escape Kate that he offered her both his given name and its more intimate form. That was to be expected of a man bent on seduction. What did surprise her was the flicker of recognition at the back of her brain as she heard his family name. When whatever she should have remembered about his surname didn’t leap to mind, she tapped her toe in impatience.

“Aye well, you’ve had your moment, and we’re introduced,” she said. “Now stand aside so I can depart.”

A startled breath left him. His smile, brilliant against the night’s blackness, suggested he was greatly pleased. “What, so quickly? Stay a moment longer, my lady, and share a bit of conversation with me. I’d like to know you better.”

Kate’s irritation soared. What sort of fool did he think her? Indeed, Lady Adele had warned her most strictly against conversations in private places, saying such meetings only led to sin.

“You’ll stand aside or I’ll scream.” This threat was the tool her former mother-by-marriage claimed worked best in such instances.

It was sheer pretense. Adele believed a woman need only scream when accosted by the crudest and most callous of men. Gently born men, however forward they might be, were still gentlemen. As such, they would behave honorably when a lady made it clear she wanted nothing to do with them, although said lady might need to prod them into recalling their manners.

“Now my lady, there’s no need for that,” this Rafe Godsol protested, sounding confused, as if he hadn’t understood her perfectly clear threat. “S’truth, it’s naught but conversation I intend.”

Kate’s mouth tightened. A promise from a lecher was worth nothing, especially when the man didn’t move an inch. Not only was this Rafe Godsol a swaggerer, he was a gentleman with no manners at all. To add weight to her threat, she drew a deep breath. It was sheer mummery. She had no intention of screaming, not when that meant being found intimately closeted with a man.

Rafe made a sound that mingled surprise and panic, then threw his arms around her and yanked her close to him. Kate’s breath left her lungs in a startled huff as she hit his chest. His arms tightened around her.

Bracing her hands against him, Kate shoved. Rafe Godsol was no gentleman at all! When she filled her lungs again it was to fuel a true scream.

Before so much as a peep left her lips, his mouth took hers. Kate froze. The taste of the night’s sweet wine lingered on his lips. His skin smelled of soap. She felt the scrape of his narrow beard against her cheek. Beneath her yet tense hands his heart pounded. His lips were soft and warm.

Caught in the tumble of sensations, Kate’s eyes shut of their own accord. Of the few kisses she and Richard had shared none had ever felt like this. In the next moment, his mouth shifted a little atop hers. That wee movement woke something warm and hidden within her. Heat, wondrous, glorious heat, followed.

With it, Kate forgot she should escape Rafe Godsol. Everything outside the alcove--the music, the dancers, her father, the possibility of another guest discovering them in this private place--disappeared. All that mattered was the astonishment of this feeling.

Her arms relaxed. Her hands slipped up the front of his tunic, feeling the strength of his chest beneath her palms. She laced her fingers at his nape. His hair was thick and soft where it curled against her knuckles.

Rafe’s arms tightened, drawing her closer still until her breasts pressed against his chest. Pleasure washed like a wave over Kate. Rafe made a quiet sound deep in his chest then his mouth began to move on hers, the sensation at once gentle and filled with longing. With that, Kate lost herself to him. Nothing else mattered save that he never stop what he was doing.

* * *

In the corner of Rafe’s mind least affected by the incredible woman in his arms, he chided himself for a fool. Dragging the daughter of his enemy behind this curtain was surely the most idiotic thing he’d ever done. After all, one shout from her and any chance of stealing her away from her father died. Rafe doubted he’d remain at the wedding long after Lord Humphrey found his available heiress closeted with a Godsol. That was, if Rafe lived through that discovery.

Of course, none of this would be happening had Lady de Fraisney recognized him as a Godsol. The instant he realized she didn’t know him, all he could think was to confide his name to her in privacy. How he imagined this might change her hatred of his family was beyond him just now, but it seemed the thing to do at the time.

To his complete astonishment Katherine de Fraisney, nee Daubney, hadn’t even raised a brow upon hearing him speak his surname spoken aloud. Instead, as impossible as it seemed, she’d taken insult at his offer of conversation, acting as if he’d threatened rape! God save him, but his heart had nearly dropped through the floor when she drew breath to shout.

All of which was why he’d kissed her. In his panic it was the only way he could think of to stop her scream. It wasn’t, however, why he was kissing her now.

This kiss, which should have been the second most foolish thing Rafe had ever done and might still cost him his life, had gone wonderfully awry. Kate Daubney had fair melted in his arms. Behind the dazing sensation of her breasts pressed against his chest, a flicker of confusion woke.

Aye, melt she had, even going so far as to put her arms about his neck. But now, when she should have stroked and caressed in encouragement, she stood passive and still against him. Indeed, she acted more like an innocent virgin than a widow long familiar with the ways of bedplay and husbands.

What did it matter how she was reacting? All that counted was Rafe’s need to feel more of her against him. Pulling her closer, he shifted until the mound of her womanhood rested against his shaft. Even with the layers of their clothing between them, the sensation was strong enough to make him shudder. Kate made a quiet sound. Her arms tightened around his neck as she lifted herself against him.

Rafe groaned against her lips. It didn’t matter that she didn’t follow this with an inviting touch. There was still no mistaking her intent. She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her.

Catching her face in his hands, he pressed kisses to her cheeks, her brow, the tip of her nose. She made a mewling sound of protest then turned her head to catch his mouth with her own. Rafe’s knees weakened at the need that flowed from her to him. If there’d been a way to take her from Haydon through the arrow slit behind her, he’d have done it in a heartbeat. The sooner he married his enemy’s daughter, the better for them both.