Warrior's Lady (15 page)

Mistress Faulkner hustled in.

"Would you allow Magdeline to assist you?" He held the towel out to Mistress Faulkner. The woman accepted the cloth with a frown.

"I would be grateful," Rhiannon said.

Camden turned to Mistress Faulkner, sparing Rhiannon any more censure. "Magdeline, please find Mistress Rhiannon something suitable to wear down to supper. The whole castle will be wanting to gaze upon the woman who saved their lord."

When he was gone, Rhiannon stood. Cool evening air caressed her skin, dispelling what remained of the heat between herself and Camden. She turned to face the chatelaine. "Mistress Faulkner, if you'd rather not assist me, I understand. I've grown used to caring for myself over the years."

"Nonsense," she said, wrapping the towel around Rhiannon's body. "I am capable of performing my duty regardless of my feelings for you. What the master does is his own business. He is the one who has to live with his choices at the end of the day."

The chatelaine turned away, toward the tall wardrobe on the wall opposite the door and swung the doors open wide. "I cannot pass judgment on what goes on around here. If the master wants to dally with the woman who's responsible for killin' his kin, what do I have to say about it?"

It seemed as though the woman had a lot to say on the subject. Rhiannon moved toward the fire, and stared into the flames as they licked the logs, devouring them as surely as her family's reputation devoured her. No matter what she did, nothing would ever change the fact that she was a Ruthven.

The usual emptiness that she carried inside her returned. For a short while today at the cottage, she and Camden had talked, like friends. He had not judged her then.

But they had done more than talk. Heat crept into her cheeks at the memory of his lips upon hers. She touched her lips with the back of her hand. This evening he had continued to treat her in a friendly manner. The heat in his eyes did not reflect hatred, only desire.

And in those moments she had felt different, satisfied, almost as if she mattered to someone else on this earth.

Almost.

Rhiannon shifted her gaze back to the chatelaine. With her back turned, Mistress Faulkner hummed a lilting tune that Rhiannon recognized as a Celtic prayer. "Lady Lockhart must have left something behind here that would fit you."

While Mistress Faulkner sorted through garments, Rhiannon toweled her body dry, then set to work on her hair.

"This will do just fine." The chatelaine stepped back from the wardrobe, a triumphant gleam on her aged face. She gathered a few other things before coming to stand beside Rhiannon at the hearth. "While you don't deserve to wear her things, this dress will look lovely on you."

Rhiannon's throat burned with unshed tears, but she held her emotions in check. The woman continued her belittling rambling as she slipped a sheer linen chemise over Rhiannon's head, followed by a sapphire blue velvet gown.

Rhiannon remained silent, trying to force her mind on to other things until the woman finally stood back, satisfied with what she saw. "The evening meal is being served. If you want to eat, you will have to join the others." With those last words, she left as quickly as she had come.

Feeling unwanted and suddenly alone, Rhiannon nervously smoothed her fingers over the luxurious fabric of the dress Mistress Faulkner had chosen for her. The color reminded her of Camden's eyes as they'd filled with passion earlier this afternoon.

Heat came to her cheeks again at the memory. Would he have kissed her like that if he still hated her? It was hard to imagine so. Rhiannon forced a smile to her lips. Perhaps she wasn't as alone as she imagined. With Camden and Violet on her side, she could handle the rest of the household.

Gathering her tattered pride, Rhiannon moved to the door only to be greeted by the two hulking warriors Camden had placed at her door the night before. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said as she strode past them down the hall. They followed.

A cacophony of sound greeted her as she stepped into the great hall, followed by the savory scent of roast mutton and onions. She paused for a moment, fortifying herself for the night ahead, when the sound in the room suddenly died and all eyes fastened on her.

More people than she had ever seen together in one room before sat at long tables in rows across the entire hall. Lord Lockhart and Violet sat at the table in the front of the room, and on legs that trembled ever so slightly, Rhiannon made her way into the room.

She had no idea where to sit. No doubt not with Camden at the high table, but where else? Open spaces on the benches seemed to close as she drew near. Weaving her way between the tables, Rhiannon did not miss the scowls directed at her. One woman spit on her as she passed, and several people hissed. The man she knew as Camden's steward, Bertie, stared at her with hatred in his eyes.

She held her head high as she continued forward looking for a quiet, perhaps isolated place to sit. Her legs wobbled beneath her now.

"Mistress Plague," cursed a scullery maid as she passed.

"The devil's daughter," another woman hissed.

Rhiannon kept moving forward. A moment later, her foot snagged something and she catapulted forward, hitting her elbow and her thigh against the wooden bench on her right, before she slammed against the hard stone floor. She hitched in a breath. Tears threatened from the pain as well as the humiliation that burned in her chest. Someone had tripped her intentionally.

"Fill your heart with forgiveness." Mother Agnes' parting words to her played through her mind. 

Mustering everything she had inside, Rhiannon let go of her anger, her pain, as she forced her thoughts to that of forgiveness.

"Are you all right, milady?" Hamish asked as he and Travis gently lifted her from the floor.

Travis drew his sword and turned, aiming his weapon at a dark-haired warrior's heart. "You dare to harm a guest in this castle, Garrett?"

The warrior's face reddened. "She should sleep with the dogs, not eat with us."

Travis pressed his sword more firmly against the man's chest, drawing a gasp. "That is for the master to decide and not you. If you value your position here in this castle, I suggest you remember that."

The warrior's face paled and his gaze dropped to the floor. "Aye."

Travis sheathed his weapon. A low-level murmur rippled through the room. "Come, milady," he said, taking her by the arm. "You have us to support you."

Rhiannon gazed at the two big men, and offered them a soft smile. "My thanks," she said, grateful for her new champions. Together, the three of them made their way past the remaining tables, until there was no doubt in Rhiannon's mind that they headed to the high table. Once there, Travis released her arm. Rhiannon breathed a sigh. The worst was over.

She stopped and consciously braced herself before she brought her gaze to Camden's. He looked so different tonight, dressed in a dark shirt and dark breeches with his hair tied back at his nape. He looked tough, sleek, elegant.

"You look well," he said, his gaze lingering on the rise of her breasts as they pressed against the low-cut bodice.

She tried to control her response to him as she remembered the lecture about staying away from him that she'd given herself upon their arrival at the cottage. Her mind might want one thing, but her body responded otherwise. Her breasts swelled beneath his gaze and heat moved through her body in mindless, melting waves.

She forced a calm smile as she approached the empty seat between Camden and Violet. "Good evening, Lord Lockhart, Lady Violet." 

"No!" Violet cried, her distress echoing throughout the room. The room plunged into silence. Her chair crashed to the floor. She threw herself at Rhiannon. Tears rolled unchecked down her reddened cheeks.

Rhiannon froze, startled by the little girl's attack.

"Take it off," Violet sobbed, raking her small fingers across the fabric of Rhiannon's dress. "Take it off!"

"Violet, what is the matter?" Camden thrust back his chair, coming to kneel beside his niece. He grasped her hands gently with his own, protecting Rhiannon from Violet's violent attack.

"Violet, what have I done to distress you so?" Rhiannon asked, as she also knelt beside the hysterical child.

"Make her take it off." Violet writhed in Camden's grasp. He pulled her tight against his chest. "That's my mum's dress."

Rhiannon felt the blood drain from her face. "What have I done?" she whispered, realizing the grief she had caused Violet. To her knowledge, the little girl had never truly grieved her mother and father's loss. No doubt she'd been too traumatized by the events to truly do so.

Grief poured from the little girl now. The sound of her wails knifed through Rhiannon's chest.

Camden stared at Rhiannon. She could read the uncertainty in his face. How could she explain the trick Mistress Faulkner had played on her? Would he believe her if she did?

"Excuse me." Rhiannon raced for the stairs. The faces of the people and the names they called her became a blur as her sight fastened on one woman's face. Mistress Faulkner stood near the staircase, a satisfied smile on her face.

A cold sickness settled in the pit of Rhiannon's stomach. Rhiannon stopped before Mistress Faulkner. "How could you do something so hurtful to Lady Violet?"

The woman's gaze flew to the front of the room. "I hadn't thought… I never considered…"

"Next time you want to hurt me, hurt me. But leave Lady Violet out of it. That girl has been wounded enough."

Mistress Faulkner's mouth gaped open, trying to form words, though none would come.

Feeling slightly redeemed, Rhiannon raced up the stairs to her chamber and after fumbling with the lacings at her back, she ripped the dress from her body. She hurriedly put on her old gray dress. She opened the chamber door to find Hamish and Travis heading for her chamber. "We are going back downstairs," she said as she passed them. She needed to reassure Violet that she would never wear her mother's clothes again.

Rhiannon braced herself for the barrage of hateful words that would no doubt come her way. The others might think that Ruthvens were good for nothing. But this Ruthven knew her duty, and would let nothing and no one stand in her way.

Camden stared at the sleeping form of his niece. Her eyes were closed, free from the horror he had witnessed in them earlier this eve. "Are you sure she's asleep?" he asked Rhiannon.

From her position on the opposite side of Violet's bed, she nodded. "Absolutely."

"Will she be all right?"

Rhiannon nodded. "Give her time. She's lost much. Grief comes out in odd ways sometimes."

"You sound as if you know something about grieving."

She dropped her gaze to her hands. "I still miss my mother after all these years."

He could hear the pain in her voice and he felt an answering echo in his own chest. "Aye."

Camden shifted his gaze to Violet. He stroked a yellow-gold curl that lay against the girl's rosy cheek. Out of necessity, he'd been forced to see to Violet's grief, to reassure the girl that she was safe here with him. Yet Rhiannon needed his reassurance almost as much. Not with her grief, but about her position within his home.

He hadn't missed the hateful glances and vicious words Rhiannon had had to endure on her journey through his hall. He had watched her progress from the moment she'd stepped into the room. He'd witnessed her fall, and had started to rise to assist her when Hamish and Travis had intervened.

He was to blame for the way they treated her. He had set the precedence the moment he'd learned who she truly was. He'd made his feelings for her abundantly clear, and his staff now rallied behind him.

When had his feelings about her changed? What exactly did he want from her? She'd come here to care for Violet. Did he want something more? This afternoon he'd experienced lust, pure and simple. His body quickened at the memory of her warm and willing flesh pressed so intimately against his own.

Camden frowned at the woman across the bed. Candlelight flickered over the rich gold of her hair and stroked the creamy rise of her breasts as they pressed against the square bodice of her gown with each breath she took.

She gazed at him, a question in her soft, tawny brown eyes, her lips parted. If Violet were not between them, he would take her in his arms and…

And what? Satisfy his need for her? Because that's where his desires would take him if he allowed himself to forget who she was and what her family had done.

Was he ready to move beyond that? This evening, his household's response to her and the anger it had invoked within him, had proved one thing; something had to change.

"Rhiannon." His voice was thick, and he clamped his fingers together before him. Saints above, he wanted to touch her. "I saw the way you were treated tonight by the other members of my household."

Her body stilled; she stared at him, not speaking.

"They had no right to treat you that way. I shall speak with them."

She appeared momentarily disconcerted. "You don't have to do anything for me," she said, shifting off the bed, moving away from him.

"I don't have to," he said gently. "I want to."