The Warrior Knight and the Widow

by Ella Matthews

  ‘Perhaps they will have some food they are willing to share,’ she suggested.

  He laughed out loud. ‘You and your stomach.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ She was too pleased to be cross that he was making fun of her—and, really, what was so funny about wanting to know where your next meal was coming from?

  ‘Only that you appear to be ruled by your appetite.’

  He was still smiling gently at her, so she didn’t think he was criticising.

  ‘I just like to know when I’m next going to eat,’ she said, remembering a time when she hadn’t always known. It had been one of Lord Swein’s crueller mental punishments. It hadn’t hurt as much as his physical ones, but it had still frightened her to know that he had so much control over her life.

  One particular instance stood out in her mind.

  Her bleeding had been late starting one month. It hadn’t been something she’d been able to hide from Swein—he had wanted daily updates from her and had paid a maid handsomely to spy on her. He’d been so sure that this time she had finally fallen pregnant and he’d actually treated her to her favourite meal. She’d hardly been able to eat because she’d been so full of dread and hope in equal measure.

  When her bleeding had started a few days later his anger had been ferocious. She could barely remember the beating he’d given her, but she did recall waking up alone on her bedchamber floor, the door locked to prevent her from leaving. He’d left her for days without food, and her only water had come from the washbowl that had been left in her room.

  She’d truly believed she would die and she’d almost welcomed it. Anything would have been better than the life she was living. But it had turned out that Lord Swein wasn’t done with her. After that his attempts to get her with child had become increasingly unpleasant, until he’d fallen too ill to attempt it any more.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Braedan said, his smile dying. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ she said, wishing she’d been able to laugh the moment off. She’d been enjoying his more relaxed demeanour around her after the tense day yesterday. ‘Shall we go?’ she asked, before the mood could deteriorate even further.

  She followed him out of the room and down into the courtyard.

  ‘By the way,’ he said as they emerged into the sunlight, ‘I’ve packed away my chain mail because we’re now Mr and Mrs Carpenter. We’re travelling from our home in Nerdydd to visit your mother, because your father has just died and I’m taking over his business.’

  ‘Do we have any children?’ she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

  He glanced down at her. For a moment their gazes locked and the shared knowledge of their kiss surged between them.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No children.’

  A babbling family emerged from the inn behind them and the moment was broken.

  ‘Ah, Mr Carpenter,’ said a jovial man who was nearly as round as he was tall. ‘Is this beautiful young lady your wife?’

  ‘Yes, this is Mrs Carpenter. This is Mr Webb, my dear.’

  Ellena was welcomed into the family and she climbed up into the cart, settling into a space amongst the family’s luggage, along with Mrs Webb, who was either heavily pregnant or just as round as her husband, and their four young children. Braedan climbed onto one of the horses, next to Mr Webb.

  The morning passed quickly as the children kept Ellena entertained by involving her in their games. One day her maid and dear friend Bronwen would have children, and she would be a doting aunt to them because she would never have any of her own.

  When the children eventually fell asleep Mrs Webb kept up a steady stream of conversation, obviously pleased to have an adult to talk to for a change. She didn’t ask any questions, and Ellena was content to let her animated conversation wash over her. It made a relaxing change from being on high alert all the time.

  Their progress was slow and uncomfortable, but they weren’t fighting for their lives and she was thrilled when they stopped for an extensive lunch at an inn. By the time they’d arrived at their evening destination she’d almost forgotten she and Braedan were on the run.

  The situation only came crashing back to her when once again she realised that she and Braedan would have only the one room between them.

  Despite her protesting that it was her turn to sleep on the floor, he insisted that she take the bed before he left for the taproom again. She meant to stay awake and argue with him when he returned, but she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  The next day was almost an exact repeat of the day before, and by the time she crawled into bed once more that night Ellena was almost relaxed.

  On their third and last day with the family, Mrs Webb finally showed some interest in Ellena and Braedan.

  ‘How long have you and Mr Carpenter been married?’ she asked.

  ‘A little over a year,’ said Ellena, having been briefed by Braedan beforehand.

  ‘Are you expecting yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Ellena, running her hand over her flat, barren stomach.

  Her look of anguish must have been apparent, because Mrs Webb’s face contorted in sympathy and she said, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that, pet. It took me three years to fall with Rulf, there. Now I’m pregnant nearly all the time. Peter can’t get enough of me!’

  Mrs Webb threw her head back and laughed.

  Ellena’s heart stopped. It had taken the Webbs three years to conceive and they now had four children, with another one on the way. Could it be that she wasn’t barren? Could it possibly be that she might one day have four children of her own? But, no, she mustn’t go down that route. To have children she would need to remarry and engage in that awful act again. It was not going to happen.

  The memory of Braedan’s hand in her hair as he pulled her towards him flashed through her mind and made her face heat.

  ‘Ah, look at your face,’ crowed Mrs Webb. ‘It’s obvious what you’re thinking about and I don’t blame you. With that strapping husband of yours I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else either.’

  She waggled her eyebrows at Ellena and Ellena couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘You must tell me,’ she continued. ‘Is he that big all over?’

  Braedan took that unfortunate moment to ride up alongside the cart, and Mrs Webb let out one of her wild cackles.

  ‘In case you’re wondering,’ she screeched at Braedan, ‘yes, we are talking about what you think we’re talking about.’

  Pleased with herself, Mrs Webb burst into fresh peals of laughter.

  Mortified, Ellena didn’t know where to look. She settled on Braedan’s chin as Mrs Webb carried on laughing, evidently finding Ellena’s embarrassment hilarious.

  Braedan cleared his throat and Ellena felt her own lips twitch slightly; she’d noticed he did that when there was a slightly uncomfortable moment between them.

  ‘We’re coming up to the point where we shall leave you, Mrs Webb,’ said Braedan, and then he abruptly spurred his horse on.

  ‘Oh, my,’ said Mrs Webb. ‘I do enjoy it when these big men get all flustered. But I am sad we are parting already, my dear. What am I going to do without you?’

  The children were equally disappointed, and they clung to her in their last moments together. But at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere Ellena clambered down from the cart, hugging everyone as she did so. She promised them all that she and Braedan would visit them at their home during the following summer, even though she knew that was impossible.

  ‘What now?’ she asked as the carriage trundled slowly away, the children waving madly until they disappeared from sight.

  ‘We start walking.’

  ‘We’ll find somewhere to get some food, though, won’t we?’

  He grinned down at her.

  ‘Surely you’re hungry t
oo?’ she protested as they started to walk.

  He laughed, and her heart thrummed at the boyish sound. He was serious so often that surely it would do him good to laugh more.

  ‘We’ve got the provisions I picked up at our last stop,’ he said, amusement running through his voice.

  ‘Yes, but we’ll want decent food too.’

  ‘We will eat at an inn this evening—but we must be careful and stop less in towns, because we don’t want to run into Copsi and his men. We’ll be more conspicuous now that we’re travelling alone.’

  ‘Surely he’s lost our trail?’ protested Ellena.

  They’d seen and heard no trace of Copsi or any of his men since that night in the forest.

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Braedan, his voice sounding serious all of a sudden. ‘The closer we get to Ogmore, the wider his nets are bound to be. We’re only two or three days away now, so his traps will be wide and varied. Don’t forget he is determined to marry you.’

  ‘I don’t see what he’s hoping to get out of the alliance,’ said Ellena grumpily.

  ‘Don’t you?’ said Braedan, slanting his gaze down to her.

  ‘It’s not as if my father will accept Copsi’s claim to Swein’s land. He’ll fight Copsi for it and probably win. Then Copsi will be left with a wife he doesn’t want.’

  Braedan took another few steps before saying, ‘I think you are underestimating your worth to your father. He would fight to keep you too.’

  Ellena snorted. ‘I am useful to my father only as a negotiating tool. I’m worth about as much to him as maybe a chest of gold, or something equally likely to find favour with a high-ranking lord.’

  Braedan scratched his beard. ‘I have heard your father speak about you many times. He is proud of you...and I can understand why.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said, quickly losing interest in her father. She wanted to know what Braedan thought of her, because up until this moment she’d been convinced he thought of her as an irritating burden.

  Braedan smirked. ‘You don’t need me to dish out compliments. I bet you hear them all the time.’

  She kicked a stone and watched it skitter along the road in front of them. ‘I can’t remember ever hearing a compliment about myself,’ she said quietly.

  She heard Braedan huff out a breath and she thought he wasn’t going to say anything further. Then he surprised her.

  ‘You’re kind, resilient, hard-working...tough when you need to be and soft when it’s appropriate—like when you were playing with those children.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and added, ‘Any man would be proud to have you as his daughter.’

  He picked up his pace a little and she had to scurry along to keep up with him. She pondered his words as his long legs ate up the countryside with ease. His description of her hadn’t been mere empty praise. He’d picked up on traits about her that she was sure no one else had noticed, but about which she was most proud.

  ‘You’re kind too,’ she said, when they’d walked so far she could no longer see the crossroads they’d left behind.

  He gave a bark of laughter. ‘No one has ever called me kind. I’m The Beast, remember.’

  She stopped in shock. ‘You know people call you that?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, without breaking his stride.

  ‘Do you mind?’ she asked, catching up with him quickly.

  ‘Mind? No, it’s appropriate, isn’t it?’ He gestured to his face.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The scars on my face make me look like a hideous beast. I’m told that parents warn their children to go to bed when they’re told, just in case The Beast comes and gets them. I’m the stuff of nightmares.’ He smiled without humour.

  Ellena stumbled on a stone and he grabbed her to stop her falling to the ground. His hand was warm through the layers of her clothes. She felt a pang that could only be disappointment when he let go.

  ‘I don’t think it’s your face that’s given you the name,’ she said, when they were walking again. ‘I think it’s your reputation as a fearsome warrior.’

  ‘Ah, but you’re being kind again. There are men equally as fierce as me, but without hideous scarring like mine. They all have heroic names, like “The Spear Lord”, or something just as ridiculous.’

  She giggled. ‘The Beast sounds better. It’s a lot fiercer. No one would quake in their boots if they thought The Spear Lord was laying siege to their castle. But, honestly, your scars aren’t hideous or scary.’

  She didn’t know why, but she thought it was important that he know this.

  ‘My own mother can’t bear to look at my face any more,’ he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead of them.

  Was it her imagination or was he walking even faster than before?

  ‘Perhaps she feels guilty?’ suggested Ellena as her legs moved quickly to keep up with him.

  ‘Guilty?’

  ‘Yes. She didn’t stop your father when he made those silly decisions. If she had then you would still have a castle and lands to run and you wouldn’t have to fight for your living. I expect she feels terrible. I wouldn’t give your face another thought—you’re an attractive man and your scars don’t take that away from you.’

  He stopped so quickly that she crashed into him. He turned and caught her against his chest to stop her from falling. She stepped back slightly before she could enjoy leaning against his solid body too much. He let her move away, but he still held on to her arms.

  She was so close she could see his pulse beating at the base of his neck and a few red hairs scattered through his beard. Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his. She couldn’t read the expression on his face. For a long moment she thought he was going to kiss her again, and she couldn’t tell if she wanted him to or not. She didn’t pull away.

  Without warning, he let go of her and strode off. ‘Come on,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘We don’t want to miss our evening meal, do we?’

  They didn’t speak for the rest of the afternoon.

  * * *

  Another taproom and another lonely ale. Braedan scrubbed his face and then dropped his hands to his knees. He should be thinking about this mission and keeping watch for any sign of Copsi and his men, but he wasn’t.

  She thought he was kind and she thought he was attractive. Marriages were often formed on less than that. He dropped his face into his hands again. He must not think like this.

  He straightened and again began to tick off the reasons why he should not: she was the Earl of Ogmore’s daughter, the King’s niece and the woman he was about to betray. He would never be able to marry her.

  But, his mind tormented him, you could marry her tomorrow.

  There would be nothing Ogmore could do about it, short of having him killed—which would be a distinct possibility but might be worth it. Death would be a reasonable price to pay for the few days of bliss he was sure he would experience if Ellena became his wife.

  He hung his head. He wasn’t good enough for Ellena and he knew it. The fact that he wanted to be, more than anything, alarmed him.

  The sooner this mission was over the better. She would be married and he would be living in Castle Swein. Their paths would never cross again.

  He rubbed his chest where an unpleasant ache had started up and downed his tankard. It was time to get another drink.

  Much later he stood up and realised he’d had too much ale when the room swayed alarmingly. Damn it. She was messing with his mind. He never became drunk—not even when he was off duty. There was always potential danger lurking and he needed to have his wits about him.

  He stumbled up the stairs to their room. He wished he’d rented two but the possibility of something happening to her during the night was so high he wanted to be with her.

  He snorted. As if that was the only reason he wanted to be in the same
room as her! He might as well be honest with himself, even if he wasn’t being so with her. The truth was he hated being parted from her. When they weren’t together she was all he could think about. He worried about whether she was safe or whether she had enough to eat.

  Those three days when he’d been forced to ride behind the cart had been torturous. He’d missed watching the many varied expressions that crossed her face and he’d longed for a conversation with her—even one in which she was trying to give him orders—just so he could see the emotions shining out of her eyes. He was pathetic.

  He paused outside the bedroom door and took a deep breath. He might have had too much to drink but he mustn’t act out of character. She must never know how deeply he cared for her.

  He groaned as he entered the room. For the last two nights she’d been insisting that he take his turn sleeping on the bed. He should have known something was up when she hadn’t protested this evening. She was curled up in a makeshift nest of covers and pillows in a corner of the room. The bed lay temptingly free.

  He crept over to her. She looked so young and vulnerable in her sleep. Gone was the stubborn lady who gave orders throughout the day, to be replaced by a soft woman who had curves in all the right places. He’d got used to her short hair now, and although he’d admired the long, luxurious locks he had to admit he enjoyed being able to see more of her now the hair was gone.

  Even though the room was dark he could see her long, graceful neck and the way her lips were parted as she breathed softly in and out.

  He bent down and scooped her up. He was taking so much from her. He was damned if he was going to take her bed as well.

  * * *

  Ellena awoke to find she was airborne. She should have known Braedan wouldn’t let her lie on the floor, but she’d hoped he would see sense.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked. ‘Put me back at once.’

  ‘No, you must sleep on the bed,’ was his stubborn reply.

  She smelt the sweet smell of ale on his breath and wrapped her arms around his neck as he stumbled over one of the satchels lying on the floor.