“People die all the time!” He raised a sly eyebrow. “If Lord Winterton is found dead—hunting accidents, you know, are such frequent occurrences—then we simply walk in and take the lands. It will be that easy.”
“What of the other brothers—Savari and William, home in Norfolk?”
“They’re not fighters, not like Rufus. They pose no such threat. No, believe me, Rufus is not long for this world.” The boy leaned forward and held his index finger up to his neck and swept it across the front.
It was all Kezia needed to hear. She looked over to Rufus, the man who’d saved her from rape. She owed him.
Rufus tapped his clenched fist on the table as he looked around, wishing he were anywhere else. How his brother could stand being in such company, he couldn’t imagine. The place had degraded with every hour that had passed. He shifted in his seat, so he didn’t need to look at the king, and pushed his fingers through his hair, frustrated by his feeling of imprisonment, sickened by the task which lay ahead of him. By God, how he longed for the open spaces of his native Norfolk.
“For goodness sake, Rufus, go to bed if you must. You sit there looking like you’re about to jump up and strike someone.”
“Aye, you’re right. Things will turn ugly if I stay here much longer.” Rufus rose.
“Sleep well, brother. For tomorrow you must be at your charming best.”
Rufus shook his head, and Savari laughed. But as Rufus walked away, his footsteps ringing down the dark, stone-flagged hallway to the rear of the castle where he and Savari had been assigned to sleep with other men, his heart was heavy. Unlike his brother, Rufus wasn’t known for charm, and if his family’s fortunes truly depended on it, then they were doomed.
He lay down and wrapped his cloak around him. He was alone, and the only sounds were the distant shouts, laughter, and drunken singing coming from the hall. He tucked one arm beneath his head and looked up at the arched stone ceiling above him, trying to work out how he could play the role his family had carved out for him. When his mother had first told him that he should marry to save their family fortunes, he’d laughed. He’d thought it a jest. Fight, yes. But marry? He’d survived ten years of fighting only through ensuring he felt nothing. What had begun, at the beginning of that time, as something he’d willed, had ended as a permanent thing. The few tender thoughts he now had were restricted to his sisters. And he’d had no thought of marriage until his mother spelled out the choices—marry or watch his three young sisters displaced and thrown to the mercy of the world. Even his dead heart couldn’t let that happen.
Suddenly he was aware he was no longer alone. The torchlight flickered and a denser darkness shifted against the blue-black of the shadows. He was instantly alert, his hand gripping the knife which he kept strapped to his side. “Who goes there?”
There was a rustle, and he grabbed an arm and had his knife up to the throat of the shadow in an instant. The shadow squeaked.
“What are you, a mouse?”
“A girl, sir.” He felt her tremble beneath his grip.
“And why are you here? If you think I require company, you are mistaken.”
She pushed back her hood, and he recognized her—the girl with the cat’s eyes. “I am here to repay you for the earlier kindness you showed me.”
“I told you I don’t need a whore.”
“And I am not offering you that,” she replied sharply.
“Then what do you offer me?”
“Information. I overheard two men talk of how Sir Gilbert plans your death. You should leave, sir, as soon as possible.”
“I intend to. But tell me, know you if the threat extends to my brother?”
She shook her head. “No. They mentioned only your name. Your death will be made to look like an accident.”
He grunted, and released her. “So I won’t be attacked in the night, then.”
“No. Even they are not so stupid as to kill you in the castle, in your bed. It will happen in the forest, during the next day’s hunt.” She backed away. “I must go.”
“Back to the shadows, eh?”
“Yes. It is the only safe place.”
And in a moment she was gone, leaving Rufus alone to ponder that not only did his family wish him to marry the king’s whore, but that their supposed ally, Sir Gilbert, wanted him dead. It seemed the world beyond the Crusades was more dangerous than he’d supposed.
Chapter 3
Kezia shivered and shifted a little nearer to the dying embers of the fire. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her. The fire’s heat warmed her skin but did nothing to relieve the chill which had settled in her heart at the confirmation that the woman who was her best friend, her adopted sister, her mother, her savior, her everything, was dead. Killed by her own hands after having been used by the king’s men.
She squeezed her eyes tight and huddled into a ball, trying to shut out the snores and snuffles of the servants who lay around her, and remembered the woman who’d saved her life so many years before, and whose disappearance had changed her world.
From the moment when Kezia had been discovered by the Romani, deep in the forest after her family had been killed by outlaws—and along with them, all knowledge of her past—her world had revolved around Ethelinda. Ethelinda had taken her to her own family’s fires, and been both a sister and mother to her. And now, without Ethelinda, Kezia’s world had become suddenly empty. She felt dead inside, killed by the pain of her beloved’s absence. She could think of nothing ahead of her, only what was behind her and what would never be again.
But she knew that Ethelinda would be angry with her for thinking that. Because there was one thing that she had shown Kezia how to do above all else, and that was to survive. But it seemed even Ethelinda had been no match for the gang who’d swept her away when she’d gone farther than she should in search of herbs.
Kezia’s hood was wet with tears as she imagined the torment which must have driven her friend to her end. But she refused to dwell on that. She hadn’t the luxury of grief. She swept away the tears with the coarse cloth of her sleeve. She needed to leave before Ethelinda’s tormentor, Sir Gilbert, recognized her.
But she would need two things to make the journey—food and fair weather. Neither of which she had. The smell of snow and the muffled sounds from outside the castle walls confirmed it. She rose quietly and pushed aside the hide which covered the window to see thick snowflakes drifting past the dark trees, already edged in white. There was no surviving without shelter the two nights it would take to return to her people on foot. She’d have to wait.
She picked up some charcoal from the fire and rubbed it into her fair hair, making sure the brightness was obscured, because while she was here, she had to remain invisible—seeing everything, but not being seen herself. It was the only thing which would keep her safe.
Kezia managed to stay out of sight for most of the next morning—happy to help the cook with any job which would keep her in the kitchen and out of the hall—until the servants became too busy with the demands of the increasingly restless men, frustrated by the lack of activity the weather had enforced upon them.
“Girl!” called the steward’s assistant. “Where’s Artie?”
She shook her head.
“Where is he?” he bellowed.
“I don’t know, sir. Not here.”
“Then, here, you take these out.” He held up two jugs. She dipped her head, unwilling to draw attention to herself anywhere, and took the jugs of ale. It worked. The man scarcely looked at her. She just hoped it would work with Sir Gilbert because if he recognized her, she’d have to run, snow or no snow. Then she remembered the herbs she’d given him the day before. She also had herbs that could curdle a man’s guts. She checked a grin and followed the steward through to the Hall.
The fetid heat and noise hit her like a wall as she carried the ale carefully through the door. A quick look around revealed no sign of Sir Gilbert. But still, it didn’t pay to linger, so she pas
sed the jugs to the king’s attendants and slipped into the corridor again, breathing a heavy sigh of relief as she walked quickly back to the kitchen along the shadowy, cold passage.
Suddenly a hand shot out from the shadows and clamped down on her arm. Before she could scream, a hand came over her mouth.
“I will not harm you girl, I simply don’t wish you to draw attention to us.”
That was no reassurance to Kezia, and she tried to bite his hand. He pulled away so she could see him better. “I have saved you once from rape, girl. If I’d wanted you, I’d have taken you already. I merely wish to talk.”
It was the stranger from the day before. The man the king wished dead. He wanted only to talk? Then this was a very different kind of noble, indeed.
“Just to talk,” he gentled, as if settling a flighty animal. “If I release you, will you promise not to call out?”
She nodded, and he took his hand from her mouth but continued to hold onto her arm to prevent her escape. She twisted around to face him. She had to look up as he was much taller than her. The darting light of the distant rushlight glanced off the planes of his face, leaving his eyes and the bracketed lines around his mouth in shadows. For some reason, her eyes lingered on his mouth, and she wondered how lips so sensuous could be so stern. For one brief moment, she imagined those lips touching hers. She was no stranger to the ways of lovers—the Romani among whom she was raised celebrated love and gave it freely. And she knew the magic such lips as his could bring to a woman. An unexpected shiver tracked down her skin and settled deep inside her. Then his eyes narrowed and his lips hardened and she remembered where she was—a place where men took what wasn’t theirs, and destroyed it at a whim. A place of danger.
“What do you want?” she whispered.
“Information. Last night you told me to leave. I want to know why.”
“I told you. I overheard Sir Gilbert’s squire boasting about how the de Montmorency family fortunes were on the rise.” Her eyes locked with his. “Because yours are on the decline.” She licked her lips. “Sir Gilbert has sworn to see you dead rather than marry his daughter. He wants your land, and if you’re dead it’ll be easier for him to take. That, sir, is all I know.”
He grunted and released her arm, and she leaned against the pillar, weak with relief. He walked to the window and pushed open the wooden shutter, looking out over the white land. “He speaks truly. Without the marriage, and without me, he’ll be able to take our lands.” He tapped his fist against the stone wall. “Would that I could leave. But with this snow…”
They were both trapped in the castle. Neither he, a great knight, nor she, a lowly Romani, could escape.
Taking advantage of his averted gaze, she backed quietly away, but he didn’t turn around. There was something in the way he held himself that was different from the others. Tall, broad-shouldered and with the obvious strength of a warrior, yet there was something different in his eyes. While they held the same color and resistance as stone, yet there was an air of sadness about him which she couldn’t fathom. It was then that she made a mistake. She hesitated. He must have been more alert to her footfall than she’d thought and he swung around, his flinty eyes meeting hers with a direct and unerring gaze which made her gasp.
“Why do you wait, girl? Go, now, before you are caught talking to a doomed man.”
She nodded and half-turned. Then paused and looked back at him. “I am sorry that the only man who has shown me kindness here is also doomed.”
Did she imagine it, or did those hard eyes suddenly brighten with humor? “No more sorry than I. Go now, wench. Go, with my thanks.”
With that, he turned and walked away. She watched him stride along the stone passage and disappear up the narrow stairwell at its far end. The man set her heart pounding, and yet it was not through fear. His eyes seemed to bore into her, to know her like she’d never been known before, to see beyond her drab clothes and see her, the woman beneath. She shook her head. He’d actually thanked her. Ridiculous, she thought, as she walked quickly back to the kitchen. She’d be gone as soon as the snows had melted, and so would he if he knew what was good for him.
Rufus slipped into a chair beside his brother, Savari. He reached over and poured himself some ale and spoke quietly. “I will leave in the morn. There’s nothing for me here.”
“Don’t give up hope yet. It is entirely possible that John will tire of Maud shortly and you can win her back.”
Rufus gave a scornful laugh. “Win?” He shook his head. “If I did stay, I’d have to be watching my back every moment of every day. It seems Sir Gilbert prefers me dead than alive.” Rufus nodded to where Lady Maud’s father sat, his head in his hands as if suffering from the mother of all headaches.
Savari narrowed his eyes and looked away from Rufus. “Who says?”
“A serving maid.”
“Your trustworthy source is the serving maid?” he asked.
“A servant can be more trustworthy than a noble with an ax to grind,” replied Rufus. He took a draft of ale, and swept his hand across his lips. “Besides, I feel it. I know it.”
“Listen to me, brother. Bide your time, and all will be well. This is not the kind of game you played on the Crusades.”
He slammed his cup onto the table. “That was no game.”
Savari held up his hand in an effort to calm. “There are different rules at play here. But they are equally of survival. Play the king’s games, and all will be well with our family. And our mother will be pleased with the outcome.”
Rufus was torn. He felt the underlying currents of danger here. Ten years abroad, where death lurked all around, had taught him to trust his feelings about a situation. His hand reached for his sword, which wasn’t there. He swore under his breath.
“Nothing good will come out of this. De Montmorency no longer has any interest in marrying his daughter to me. We must abandon that plan, Savari. De Montmorency is our enemy now.”
Savari frowned. “Don’t be so hasty, brother. Even with the king’s favor, de Montmorency has not the support from the other Norfolk barons to lay claim to our lands. And there are other daughters of marriageable age with whom we can form an alliance.”
“In which case, it is best for me to return to Norfolk and marry someone else.” A door opened, and a gust of frigid air blew into the hall, bringing with it a flurry of snow. “But that will have to wait until the snow melts. And when that happens, I’ll be gone.”
The day dragged on and, while the fires were bright, the king’s mood wasn’t. The snow had put paid to any hunting, and King John sat moodily on the dais of the great hall, surrounded by people who were trying their best to please him. But not Sir Gilbert, Rufus was glad to note. It seemed he still hadn’t recovered from the previous evening and had shown no sign of recognizing either Rufus or the wench.
But Sir Gilbert was the least of his worries. For once in his life, Rufus felt impotent, unable to talk or to act as he should. He felt like a stag caught in the hunt, waiting for the king’s mercurial nature to turn to him.
Rufus watched his brother walk around the tables and pause by the dais, striking up a conversation with the steward. And, while he had his back to the king’s dais, Rufus knew Savari’s object was to listen to the talk at the high table behind him, rather than the small talk he was making with the castle’s steward. The harassed steward was talking animatedly to Savari, no doubt offloading his concerns that they’d run out of victuals as the king’s stay at the castle lengthened, with no respite in sight.
Savari turned suddenly and smiled at Rufus, a frosty smile that turned Rufus’s blood even colder. Then he noticed the cat-eyed wench cast her intense gaze his way before looking down once more and becoming instantly unnoticeable. She disappeared as quietly as she’d entered the Hall. He couldn’t help but smile. She was clever, doing what she had to do to survive.
“It doesn’t look good,” Savari said as he returned to his seat, his lips barely moving. “Everyth
ing I have seen only serves to make me heed the wench’s warning. Something is afoot.”
Savari’s words removed any remaining doubts.
Rufus gripped the place where his sword should have been and regretted once more that they’d been forced to surrender it upon entrance to the hunting lodge. King’s orders.
“Then we must fight.”
“No. We are outnumbered. What we do, brother, is wait for the snow to clear. Then you will leave, and I will stay.”
“It is not safe for you to stay.”
“It is not safe for our family if I don’t stay,” said Savari. “Nay, brother, don’t be afeared. All will be well.”
Savari looked around, a faint cool smile curling his lips, his sharp blue eyes noticing everything. “Now, sit, eat and drink. And bide your time.” He looked at Rufus. “It will come soon enough.”
Rufus flexed his right hand, wishing he could use his sword to fight his foe. But he was out of his depth here, and reliant on his brother’s skills. He watched as Savari greeted someone and walked with confident grace to join him in a cup of wine. His brother was clever; he’d always been clever. He’d been his mother’s favorite, and it had broken her heart when their father had sent Savari away to France as a boy to live in the household of an influential noble. From there, he’d learned the law and ended up at the French court. But his father had been correct in his choice, about the only thing he’d been correct in. Savari had made a place for himself, and yet somehow hadn’t compromised his integrity. Rufus watched as Savari smoothly left one group to join another without having drunk a drop of wine, unlike the men to whom he’d been talking. No, his brother knew what he was doing, and Rufus had to be guided by him.
“Keep low, brother,” said Savari, returning to sit beside Rufus.
“I have no intention of doing otherwise.”
“Good, for if we get through this day, then—”
Whatever Savari had been about to say was drowned by shouts and whoops from the top table. Rufus followed Savari’s gaze and saw the cat-eyed girl’s hood had been pulled from her hair, and that her eyes were wild with fear as the king caught hold of her. Everyone turned to see, eager for entertainment.
Defending His Lady (Norfolk Knights Book 4) Page 3