The Warrior's Wife (8 page)

Just as had happened twice since she’d entered the hall tonight, Rafe seemed to feel her watching him. His head turned in her direction. Their gazes met.

Earlier this evening his expression had been clouded, as if he worried over her--but of course he worried, he loved her! Kate swallowed another bubble of happiness. This time, when Rafe saw she stood with Ami, pure relief flowed across his face.

Kate’s heart did a little dance in her chest. The sweet jerking wasn’t so different from what she felt when she thought of Warin. Could this mean that she loved Rafe in return, at least a little?

“Stop looking at him or folk will notice,” Ami whispered with quiet laugh. “Come, my lady. Pay heed,” she continued more loudly, sounding very much like an irritated tutor. “The dance is about to begin.”

It was a courting dance, this one, with twin rings, one male, the other female. Although the dancers faced each other, they moved in opposite directions. As the music started Kate and Ami joined hands with the other young women. The men facing them did the same. Never a confident dancer Kate kept watch on her wayward feet for the first moments. Only when she had the steps and the rhythm did she dare lift her gaze to the men dancing opposite from her.

Warin glared at her as he moved past. Kate’s shock over this was followed by a surge of pique. What right had Warin to be angry with her? It was her reputation in tatters, sacrificed for his sake.

‘Round and ‘round, she and the other female dancers went, then the tempo changed and the rings broke. The women began to wend their way through the men, once, twice, thrice, before taking a partner. Just as Kate stopped before a tall, thin man, Warin stepped in front of him.

“Dance with another,” he growled at the hapless fellow, grabbing Kate’s hand.

“What are you doing?” Kate cried quietly, disconcerted by such rudeness in her usually courteous knight.

“I’m dancing with you,” Warin retorted, leading Kate through the procession as if nothing untoward had just happened between them. His face was a thundercloud, his lips so tight they whitened.

Kate frowned. This wasn’t the man she’d come to know at Bagot. Moreover, Lancelot never snapped at Guinevere. There was no room for discourtesy in the game of courtly love. “I think I’d prefer a less surly partner.”

Warin’s hand tightened on hers so swiftly that Kate yelped more from surprise than pain. “Sir Warin!”

Instantly, his grip loosened. “My pardon my lady,” he muttered, but there was no sincerity in his apology. Kate’s eyes narrowed. If Warin thought he could rule her by brute force, he’d best think again.

A moment later it was time for them to return to their respective rings and begin circling once again. Yanking her hand from his, Kate coldly showed Warin her back in punishment for his misbehavior. The next time the rings again broke into partners, he was on the opposite side of the circle. Grateful that she didn’t need to encounter him a second time, Kate made her way through the final procession with the scarred young man who’d defended Rafe this afternoon.

When the dance ended to the cheers of both participants and witnesses, folk milled for a moment. Friends sought out their companions while couples went looking for their mates. Kate turned a wee circle, waiting for Ami to find her, only to come up against Warin.

He caught her by the arm. “We need to talk,” he snapped.

Kate didn’t like his tone, nay not at all. Moreover, the last thing she needed was for the hall to witness her walking into some darkened corner with the same man who’d come dashing from the woods after the fact this afternoon, his clothing all undone. “I think me there’s nothing for us to discuss, Sir Warin,” she told him, jerking her arm out of his grasp.

“Nothing to discuss?” he whispered, his slitted eyes glittering with threat. “I want to know what in God’s hell you were doing speaking to that devil-spawned Godsol this afternoon and why the cur looks at you as if you belong to him and no other man.”

Irritation flared in Kate. This was the knight for whom she’d sacrificed herself? There was nothing of Lancelot in Warin. She crossed her arms and drew herself up to her tallest.

“Sir Warin, I have no control over how others look upon me. As for what I do and to whom I speak, that is none of your concern. You’ve apparently mistaken yourself for my nursemaid or my keeper when last I knew you were only my lord father’s steward.” Her voice was frigid, her words conveying in their every syllable the end of their attachment.

Warin caught a shocked and sudden breath. Even though the torchlight was dim Kate saw concern flash across his face. He took a swift backward step and bowed deeply. When he straightened, the seething, arrogant man was gone, leaving in his place the honest and true Warin whom Kate loved.

“I pray you my lady, forgive me,” he begged and prettily so this time. “I’ve no excuse for my forward behavior save that my heart has run away with my tongue.”

Kate’s irritation with Warin drained from her in a great rush of emotion as she understood. He was jealous, just as Rafe had been jealous of Warin this afternoon. She savored the sensation. Two men loved her, and each was jealous of the other.

“My lady?” Warin extended his hand, wanting hers in return.

Kate frowned at his fingers. Warin knew well enough that it was only words, never touches, that they dared share. That he would ask this of her where others might witness and after what happened at the picnic was doubly worrisome. She shot a swift glance around her to see who might have noticed his gesture.

Squatting before the hearth only a foot or so away was a wee serving lad. The boy wasn’t watching them as he poked uselessly at the wood burning upon the stone. His crouched stance suggested his true purpose was to escape the eye of his master.

Her face alive with interest, Ami hovered at the discreet distance good manners dictated, standing where she could see but not overhear her friend. Beyond her, most of the others had dispersed. That left Kate and Warin alone at the room’s center and a possible focus of all attention.

“You know I dare not, good sir,” Kate whispered to Warin, striving to keep the reproach from her voice as she reminded him of their relationship’s proper form. “Folk watch.”

Frustration danced across Warin’s fine features, but his hand fell to his side. “Of course, you’re right,” he agreed, then lowered his voice to a breathy whisper. “My lady, my love, forgive me. Forgive me and tell me you love me still despite what I have done, as I yet love you.”

Pleasure washed over Kate. This was the Warin she adored. Surely, there was some explanation for the disarray of his dress this afternoon, for he would never think to misuse her. She smiled at him, grateful to have their relationship back on familiar ground.

“Forgive I can and already have,” she told him. “Love you I always will.”

Warin’s smile was beautiful. “You are a saint, my lady, I know it, aye. Two days hence, I will redeem myself in your eyes when I take the prize in the joust as your champion.”

His words sent Kate floating down a wondrous river of emotion. How was it possible for her heart to hold so much at one time? This must have been how Guinevere felt when Lancelot stood as her hero.

He half-reached for her before he caught himself. The glorious ache of hopeless, unrequited love deepened in Kate’s heart. It was sweet torment to know that he wanted so to touch her yet never could. How she longed to allow him what he so desired, but even the smallest of touches was forbidden to them. She dropped into a deep curtsy. “I am honored, good knight,” she murmured as she rose, keeping her head bowed like the virtuous woman she knew she was.

“If I am to be your champion, then you must give me your ribbon to wear next to my heart,” Warin said, his voice soft as he fulfilled Kate’s dreams.

Her heart swelled until it nearly broke. With a trembling hand, she touched her plait and the embroidered strip of fabric she wore braided into it. Warin would wear it, despite that to do so threatened his position in Bagot’s house should her father catch him with it.

“How can I give it to you?” she asked, her voice breaking against the hopelessness of their cause. “I cannot do it now, not when so many watch. Nor will the morrow be any better.” The wedding party hunted on the morrow. While the woodlands offered the possibility of a moment’s privacy in which to give him the ribbon, to thrust the gift at him with no chance for the pretty words and phrases that should accompany it wasn’t what she wanted.

“Aye, it cannot be the morrow,” Warin agreed, “for I must accompany your sire the whole while we hunt. After this day’s misadventure he cannot be left unprotected, for fear the Godsols, dishonorable worms that they are, might attack him under cover of the sport. What of the morn of the joust? Your father will be busy arming. For those few early hours while he prepares, he’ll free you from his presence. I’ll wait for you near the postern gate outside Haydon’s walls. There we can have our privacy.”

Kate hesitated. Only hours ago she’d vowed to herself that she’d never again meet any man alone and unchaperoned. Then again, no matter what Warin thought, there was no chance her father would ever release her from his custody. Which meant she’d have no champion when she needed her courtly lover to fight for her more than she craved breath in her lungs. Against that need, her vow dissolved.

“Aye, should my father indeed release me we’ll meet then,” she said, nodding to emphasize her agreement.

Warin’s smile was glorious. “So it shall, my lady. It shall do well, indeed.”

When he turned and strode away across the hall Ami came to join Kate. The young widow’s brows were pinched. “Did Bagot’s steward bring you news of your sire’s negotiations with Sir Gilbert?” she asked.

“Nay,” Kate replied. “Sir Warin but wanted to apologize for his behavior at the picnic.”

“Ah,” Ami said, the very sound of the word fraught with her wish to have more than that for an explanation.

The desire to share the tale of her hopeless love for Warin welled up in Kate only to die. It was one thing for Ami to know about Rafe’s attachment to her, for Rafe’s cause was obviously impossible, he being a Godsol. Although Warin’s cause was no less futile, Warin was her father’s steward. No accidental word about their love could ever reach her sire.

At last, Kate only shrugged. “He spoke discourteously before me in the interchange between my sire and Rafe Godsol.”

“That’s all?” Ami asked, sighing in disappointment. “I hoped for something more meaty than that.” She caught Kate’s arm. “Come. We’re all going out to the garden, it being a lovely night. Emma wants to play a round of Hoodman Blind in the dark.”

A moonlit game sounded like pure joy to Kate. She laughed in anticipation as they hurried toward the hall door only to meet Lord Humphrey when they were but halfway there. Even Ami quailed at the black look on Lord Bagot’s face.

Kate’s father caught his daughter by the arm, yanking her away from Ami. “A handfast!” he snarled, speaking more to himself than to them. “He suggested that because you’d proved barren in one marriage that the two of you should handfast instead of exchanging true vows! That might have been good enough during the interdict, but for him to suggest it now is insulting. No daughter of mine will risk bearing a bastard on the promise that the child and the relationship might be legitimized after. Come, Sir William of Ramswood has gone to the garden.”

So great was Kate’s relief that she wouldn’t have to marry Sir Gilbert that it was hard to be disappointed over losing her freedom. She threw Ami a triumphant look as her father led her out of the hall ahead of the widow. After all, she was still going to the garden and the game, doing it all the while without the possibility of Sir Gilbert trying to force another touch upon her.

* * *

“Here’s your coin, lad. Now, what did they say?” Speaking in the child’s native English rather than the French of his own class, Rafe handed the serving lad a single pence, one he could afford to spend only because the dice had made the contents of Simon’s purse his own.

The boy examined the coin, checking to see that the image of their king decorated one side and the Lord’s cross the other. He ran a finger over its edges, seeking missing bits. When he was satisfied he stuffed it down inside the high collar of his shoe. With his new riches safely stowed, the lad straightened to face the gentleman who’d bought his ear.

“First the knight was angry. Jealous, I think me, since he wanted to know why you, sir, kept looking at the lady. Then the lady got angry and high-handed over him asking her such questions. Then they talked of love, sir,” he said, spitting his disgust over such a topic into the thick layer of rushes that covered Haydon’s hall floor.

That much Rafe had been able to discern from a distance. Although he doubted Sir Warin’s emotion was jealousy over Kate. Nay, it was ownership of Glevering that Bagot’s steward meant to protect. As for Kate, her face reflected her every emotion. Rafe had never been happier than when he’d seen her frown at her sire’s steward.

Unfortunately, her bad mood had too swiftly given way to the same adoring glow she’d worn this afternoon when looking at Sir Warin. It was an expression that pained him mightily since he wanted that sort of look all for himself.

“Anything else?” he prodded, scanning the hall for Kate.

A moment ago she and Lady Amicia had been headed for the hall door, no doubt on their way to the garden with most of the other guests. As much as Rafe longed to follow, he couldn’t, not this night. He dared not risk some wayward glance or chance meeting that might further enrage Lord Bagot.

Now, the morrow would be different. Once those in the wedding party had broken their fast, they’d all ride out into the royal chase for the hunt. There was no order in the wild racing of hound and horse after the buck. Better yet, men and women would ride together, each to their own abilities. If a man were to come across a woman during such an event, say even keep pace alongside her for a time, he could blame it on the chaos of the sport.

“Aye,” the child said, “the knight vowed to win the joust for her.”