The Knight’s Reward: Border Series Book Ten

by Mecca, Cecelia

  Looking over his shoulder, clearly stalling for time, she cleared her throat.

  Allowing her to believe she’d bested him, Neill crossed his arms and waited. He hated to allow the reivers to escape without more than Magge’s scolding, but it would be worth it to speak with her. Although he knew better than to expect he’d get the truth from her, he was nonetheless anxious to hear what she’d say.

  “My name is Kathryn Baird, the daughter of Richard Baird of Bondgate-in-Darlington.”

  His lady, though spirited and uncommonly fair, was a liar.

  “Hmmm. And that is all you’ll give me, I suppose?”

  “What else do you want?”

  Realizing what she’d said, Kathryn looked at him with wide eyes, and even though Neill considered himself a gentleman, he purposely goaded her.

  “Shall I answer that honestly?”

  Her mouth parted, those full lips tempting enough for his mind to consider the possibilities. And then she promptly closed it.

  “Since you are very much a lady,” he said, hurrying to finish before she could argue that point, “I’ll not do so. Instead, I’ll ask only for your true identity.” He frowned. “It intrigues me to learn why a highborn lady such as yourself is serving men like the one who just left here with his person fully intact.”

  She intrigued him too, although he’d do better not to think it, let alone say it. He was, after all, no longer free to pursue relations with the fairer sex.

  Pity.

  “It intrigues me,” she finally shot back, “to know if you are who I suspect.”

  This would be interesting.

  “And who do you suspect me to be, my lady?”

  He was sorry his use of her title annoyed her, but getting a rise out of Lady Kathryn was proving too much fun for him to desist.

  “Magge called you Waryn—”

  “And indeed, she hit her mark.”

  “I’ve seen both of your brothers at the inn, and know you are neither the husband of the beloved Countess of Kenshire nor Bryce Waryn, who frequents The Wild Boar quite often on his travels from Brockburg to Kenshire Castle.”

  Neill waited, leaning against the wall of the inn, wondering if she was being missed inside. Magge seemed to rely heavily on the young woman who was as much from Bondgate-in-Darlington as he hailed from France.

  “Which means you are the youngest of your family. The great Neill Waryn who has supposedly been crowned champion of more tournaments than any other before you. The black-haired ‘beast of the list’ whose jousting lance has never been broken.”

  Though it was true, the nickname was not one he relished, simply because Cora abhorred it. He also would not self-identify as “great” for his performance in the tournaments. He’d only participated in so many of them because the real test of a man’s mettle, the battles for which the tourneys were meant to prepare the king’s men, were so few. Adam had begged him not to take up the Crusades as his cause, reminding him that his true purpose was to rejoin his family in the north and help keep peace along the mercurial border. Though relative peace had reigned in recent years, Lord Caxton, an English warden, abused his post, taking bribes for allowing men to go free. Because of it, the Scots refused to attend the monthly Day of Truce, where criminals from both sides were brought to justice. Without it, chaos now reigned once again.

  He’d only participated in two actual battles, hardly making him one of the greatest knights in Christendom as some would claim.

  “I am Neill Waryn,” he said instead, bowing. “At your service. Though my elder brother, with whom you are apparently acquainted, should be along any moment. We’re headed north—”

  “This eve?”

  Neill couldn’t tell if her tone was hopeful or just the opposite.

  “Aye, though the hour is late, we’ve a council to attend.”

  Kathryn smiled for the first time that night, though it faltered for a moment, and damned if Neill’s knees did not buckle just a bit.

  “You are as I suspected.” She curtsied as prettily as if he were the king. “My thanks again for your assistance earlier, Sir Neill.”

  With that, she fled through the back door and into the inn.

  She’d flitted in and out of his life like a beautiful butterfly, alluringly elusive, never to be seen again.

  A good thing, for she was a woman for whom a king would give up his kingdom.

  Chapter 4

  “Come in.”

  Picking her head up from the parchment, the letter she’d taken from her father’s belongings, Kathryn sat back in her seat when she heard a knock at the door. She’d read it so many times, looking for clues, that she knew it likely would not help her anyway.

  Mary had taken longer than usual to apologize.

  “I’m beggin’ your forgiveness—”

  “For abandoning me in the hall or forcing me to lie to Magge?”

  “Both,” Mary said, looking anything but sorry. Smiling so broadly it looked as if her cheeks may crack at any moment, she sat down on Kathryn’s modest bed.

  “Maybe someday I’ll be lyin’ for you.”

  She could feel the heat in her cheeks. Kathryn had spent a sleepless, torturous night thinking not of the violence and terror that had driven her to the inn but of Sir Neill Waryn.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him leaning against the inn, arms crossed, lips curled up ever so slightly. What was the matter with her? Plenty of men as handsome as Neill Waryn had wandered into The Wild Boar.

  Well, maybe not quite that handsome.

  Still, there had been other guests she’d admired. Some she’d even imagined kissing.

  The men at court were not shy with their attentions, and Kathryn had in fact been kissed before. Both times, however, she’d felt only mild curiosity and very little in the way of excitement. Neither kiss had been her idea, although she’d been curious enough to play along. The first time, because she’d never been kissed before. The second, to know if the first was typical or not.

  But neither time had she lain awake in bed imagining scenario after scenario in which the man swept her into his arms and—

  “About time.”

  Mary forced her attention back to the present.

  “Pardon?”

  “Who is he?”

  So much for being coy. Although Kathryn had known from the start she was no card player. Magge had told her as much when they’d first attempted to conceal her speech, attempting to turn her into a simple country maiden and disguise the fact that Kathryn was, in fact, the daughter of one of the most favored men in the English court.

  Magge had eventually told her to give up the ruse, do her best not to attract attention, and if asked, simply refuse to divulge her background. Sure, plenty had wondered, but few dared to outright ask as Neill Waryn had. Most wanted something more from her, and when they realized they would not get it, they lost interest in the serving maid, highborn lady or not.

  But not him.

  “Never mind.” Mary stood. “I already know.”

  As her friend turned to leave, Kathryn practically shrieked, “Wait!”

  “Yes?” the younger woman said, her eyes sparkling.

  Oh. She’d been goading her.

  Kathryn glared at Mary. “How do you know?”

  “You think a man like him don’t attract attention?”

  “But you weren’t in the hall last eve . . .”

  “He’s breakin’ his fast even now.”

  Kathryn’s heart pounded faster in her chest. He hadn’t left yet? She’d told herself he was long gone, that she’d never see him again. She paused, trying to regain control over herself, then said, “He said he was waiting for his brother and that they were leaving immediately.”

  Mary shrugged. “I must be wrong then.”

  Clearly, she didn’t believe so.

  “Is he an Englishman?”

  “Aye. A knight by the looks of him.”

  “Black hair?”

  “Aye.�
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  “Blue eyes?”

  “Didn’t see them.”

  “Is he—”

  “Handsome as the devil?”

  Kathryn nodded before she realized she’d been utterly and completely trapped.

  “Ha! Come down an’ see for yerself.” Mary threw her a saucy wink and flounced out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Though she wanted nothing more than to follow her, Kathryn didn’t move. The man was too perceptive, by far. As much as the famed knight intrigued her, nothing was more important than remaining unseen. Unnoticed.

  Unidentified.

  Instead, she remained where she was, staring at the blank parchment on her desk. Still, there was no denying the thought of him being just belowstairs made her restless. Standing, Kathryn moved to the window and opened the wooden shutters. Nothing to see except for the very same stables where he’d found her the night before.

  After a few moments, Kathryn actually realized she was waiting for him to appear down below. If indeed it was the famed tourney knight. But if so, why was he still here?

  Another knock.

  Despite what Mary had said, Kathryn would not go—

  “Magge!”

  The innkeeper opened the door and stood in the opening, staring at her.

  “Is something amiss?”

  Magge looked as if she were about to cry. And Magge never, ever, ever cried. Railed against cheaters, swatted men twice her size for their boldness, yelled out orders with as much confidence as the king.

  But cry?

  Nay.

  “This is your chance.” The innkeeper pushed into her room and shut the door behind her.

  “What do you mean?” Kathryn asked, disconcerted and out of sorts.

  “I overheard young Waryn . . .”

  Her heart leapt. So he was still here. The man she’d dreamed about last night was right below her.

  “I hear he’s headed to Brockburg Castle, in Scotland.” Magge planted her hands firmly on her large hips. “And you’re going with him.”

  Going with him? Had Magge bumped her head?

  “Pardon?”

  “There’s to be a council meeting. All of the Scottish wardens will be present, along with one of the English wardens and some of the more important border lords from both sides.”

  “Magge, I fail to see—”

  “The Earl of Bothwell will be there.”

  She immediately understood. This time, her heart lurched for a very different reason. This was the chance she’d hoped for. She needed access to Bothwell, the last man who’d seen her father alive.

  “I do worry if you leave you may never return.”

  Kathryn grabbed the older woman’s hands, knowing Magge was right. She had to take this chance. “I will come back.”

  The older woman did not look convinced.

  “But you are right. I have to go. It may be my best chance to get to Bothwell.”

  “Sir Neill cannot know your purpose.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Ye better think of a good reason to accompany him, and quickly. I overheard ’im talkin’ to one of his men. They’ll be leavin’ as soon as his brother arrives. From the sound of it, he’ll be here any moment.”

  Kathryn began to pace the room, frantic for a viable explanation for why this man who did not know her should take her on such a journey.

  “He’ll never do it. I’ve no chaperone, no reason why he should—”

  Magge cleared her throat. Her expression left no doubt as to what she was thinking.

  “Oh no. No, no, no . . . Magge, how could you even suggest it?”

  “He’s as fine a man as any. Nay, more so.”

  “Are you suggesting I . . .” She could not even say the words. Every part of her rebelled at the idea. “He’ll not take me if I flirt with him.”

  “Gah! Flirt? Give yourself to ’im, more like.”

  “Magge! I will not.”

  She was not a good mentor in many ways. To think this was the woman her father had told her to seek out should anything happen to him. If he were here now, certainly he’d have second thoughts.

  Shrugging, unapologetic, Magge walked toward the door. “Then stay. I’ll not argue against keepin’ the best helper ever to grace The Wild Boar. ’Tis you who have lamented these past months, saying how much you long to learn the truth. Well, if yer hopin’ it walks through the doors of the finest establishment, I fear you’ll die as ignorant as ye are now. If you can live with that—”

  “There must be another way to convince him. I can tell him . . .”

  What? What could she tell him? Not the truth. She knew too little of the man to guess where his loyalties lay—and to lose such a wager would be costly indeed. She could simply ask him to bring her to the council meeting? Nay. He would most certainly demand an explanation.

  One she did not have to give.

  “Yer the prettiest maid I ever seen, the most well-read too. And yer body . . .” She shrugged again. “I don’t doubt ye can convince him without offering him what every man wants, but time is wasting.”

  Kathryn could not believe she was considering this.

  Bothwell will be there.

  “You forget, I was raised in the English court, lady to Queen Eleanor herself.”

  “I never forgot it, my lady. Ne’er for a moment.”

  It was the first time Magge had used her title.

  She had to go with him. Whatever it took. If she could get him to accept another explanation, she would, but either way, she was leaving here with him.

  “I may be ill,” she said. And meant it.

  “You might think to wait until after you convince Sir Neill to take you with ’im to do that.”

  And then, with no warning, the woman who had, quite literally, saved her life, wrapped her arms around her.

  “I’ll miss you, my lady,” she said, using her title again. For some reason, though she’d been addressed as such her whole life, it felt odd coming from the innkeeper. Too formal.

  “I will be back.”

  “Nay,” she said. “I don’t believe you will.”

  Kathryn had no time to ask what she meant, for a disturbing sight caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

  Neill Waryn was entering the stables.

  He was leaving.

  And she aimed to go with him.

  * * *

  “Lord.”

  Neill spun in his saddle, still unaccustomed to the courtesy title. Aylmer, his closest confidant at his surrogate family’s home in Langford, had accompanied him north, along with two other men. Both Neill and Aylmer were third sons, something that had strengthened the bond they’d forged under Adam’s tutelage. Assuming the king kept his word and replaced Lord Caxton, restoring peace at the border, they planned to return south after the council meeting, whence Neill could collect his bride and return to Kenshire with her.

  Geoffrey and his wife, Sara, had invited Neill to Kenshire many times. Their castle rivaled in strength and size any other fortress in England. He looked forward to seeing it again, although he’d not thought to return for an extended stay so soon.

  Nor had he expected to take a bride.

  Seeing Aylmer nod to something behind him, out of his view, Neill immediately halted his mount. He turned to see what had caught his friend’s attention, and the relief he felt surprised him.

  Kathryn.

  When Neill had received word from a messenger that his brother would not be joining him after all, he and his companions had decided to stay the night. He’d looked for Lady Kathryn in the hall this morn, but to no avail. The innkeeper had acted oddly coy when he’d inquired about her. Still, he’d left soon after sunrise, eager to get to Brockburg.

  Although he’d originally intended to make his way to Scotland through Bristol Manor so he could see his young nephew—Bryce’s wife, Catrina, had given birth to their first son the year before—he could no longer afford the delay. He needed to make has
te to Brockburg so he could arrive in time for the council.

  Neill would be offering his account of the king’s reward to the border lords there, and since the king had assured him the new warden would be fair, unlike Caxton, he was happy to give it. While he had been playacting battles on the tournament circuit, his brothers had been fighting real battles, ones that would protect their families.

  Finally, he’d been able to make a difference.

  “Kathryn,” he murmured.

  A vision in yellow, her hair hanging down her back in a long brown braid, she approached him hesitantly.

  “Go,” he said to the other men. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  She looked . . . different somehow. Less guarded.

  “Good morn, my lady.”

  “I am no lady,” she said, anticipating his greeting.

  “If you insist.” Neill dismounted to speak to the maid properly. “You are well? No further incidents?”

  “In fact . . .” She looked down to the ground, which was when he noticed the satchel at her side. “Earlier, in the stables . . .”

  She didn’t finish. “Was it the same man?”

  “Nay,” she said. “But ’tis a daily occurrence, and I can no longer stay here.”

  So she was leaving The Wild Boar. “Where will you go?”

  She looked at him and blinked. Which was when Neill suddenly realized her intent. He shook his head regretfully.

  “I cannot take you with us.”

  “I beg you . . . I am accustomed to travel and will not hinder you in any way. I’ve saved some coin.”

  “I am not traveling toward Bondgate-in-Darlington.”

  “My destination is north. Dunbar, perhaps.”

  Dunbar was just north of Brockburg. Even still. And yet . . . Neill stopped to consider his next words. Although he doubted she could keep the pace they had intended to set, they could afford a short delay. One or two days at most. And he’d never before refused a lady in need. After what he’d witnessed the night before, he thought it best for her to leave the inn. “Who would serve as your escort?”

  “My escort?”

  He knew her answer before she gave it. No one would accompany her, which meant she cared little for her reputation. Perhaps she was not so gently bred as he’d thought.