Beneath the steel helm, Kenneth saw Felton’s face explode in anger. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”
“A sword is not a toy. I was merely showing the lads that you should not hold it as such. You might remind yourself of that when you go pick it up.”
“How dare you interfere—”
“Perhaps your men might like to see you practice your techniques on someone your own size.”
Felton didn’t miss the slur and his face burned hotter than before. One of his men had retrieved his sword and stepped forward to hand it to him.
Felton’s eyes gleamed with anticipation as he took it. “I thought your arm was still healing?”
“It is. I will use my left.” He wasn’t as good with the left, but he’d be good enough. He was going to humiliate the bastard. Pay him back for everything he’d done to the lad tenfold. And he was going to enjoy every bloody minute of it.
“Wait!”
Kenneth turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Mary rushing toward them. Something lurched in his chest, but he refused to acknowledge it. She wore a hooded cloak that swallowed her up in its heavy folds, as much to hide her pregnancy, he suspected, as for the cool weather.
“There you are,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Her words might have had a different effect on him if he didn’t see the worry behind the overly bright smile.
His jaw clenched, guessing what this was about. Her next words confirmed it.
She feigned as if she had just become aware of the crowd around them. Her eyes widened, and a delicate blush rose to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”
She knew perfectly well what she’d interrupted. She’d done it on purpose. She didn’t want him to fight Felton because she thought he would lose.
Suddenly, she noticed David, still on the ground covered in dirt. Kenneth anticipated her instinctive move forward, and before she could embarrass the lad further by showering him with motherly distress, he caught her by the arm to stop her. He shot her a warning glance. “Nothing that can’t be resumed later. Was there something you needed?”
She glanced over at David again. She may have picked up on his warning, but it was clear she didn’t want to heed it. “Uh, yes.” She forced her gaze from her son and turned a beaming smile to Felton. “I hope you don’t mind, Sir John. But there is a matter with one of my dower estates that needs to be attended to as soon as possible.”
Felton gave her a gallant bow. “Of course, my lady.” But it was clear from the taunting look that he directed toward Kenneth that he, too, had guessed the cause for the interruption. They both knew that his wife thought Felton the better knight. “I can finish this anytime.”
Kenneth gritted his teeth at the boast, fighting a fresh surge of heat through his blood. He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, but he wanted to, damn it. His muscles clenched.
“Kenneth,” Mary said, putting her hand on his arm.
The soft entreaty broke through the haze. No matter how tempting, he couldn’t do this. The personal satisfaction he would get in besting Felton wasn’t worth the risk. His wife was right—albeit for the wrong reasons—but antagonizing Felton wasn’t wise. It had been a mistake to make an enemy of Felton, and she’d saved him from making an even bigger one. Kenneth would have humiliated the other knight, and Felton would have made it his sole purpose to discredit him. Felton was already watching him too closely. But although Kenneth might appreciate her interruption later, right now it stung. He never wanted to be second best in her eyes.
With a look that told Felton this wasn’t over, Kenneth led his wife away from the fray.
They walked in silence back to the tower chamber that they’d shared since their wedding. Once in the room, she untied her cloak and tossed it on the trunk before the bed. He could tell that she was nervous by the way her hands shook and how she fluttered around the room for a few minutes rather than meet his gaze.
He stood stone-still by the door, waiting.
She filled a goblet of wine from the pitcher at the side table. “Would you like some?”
“No.”
She turned to the side, and he could just make out the soft swell of her stomach beneath the wool folds of her gown. She’d changed in only a week. She wouldn’t be able to hide the pregnancy for much longer beneath heavy gowns and cloaks. He should send her away …
He cleared his throat. “The babe … You are well?”
She glanced up at him, surprised. “I’m fine.”
There was another uncomfortable silence, in sharp contrast to how it had been between them before. The walls of the small chamber seemed to be closing in on him. She was too close. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to take her in his arms and make love to her until she admitted that she cared for him.
He had to get out of here. “I believe you mentioned an estate matter.”
She flushed, biting her lip. “There isn’t an estate matter. I was on my way to the Hall when I saw you and Sir John. The way he was looking at you …” She shivered. “Whatever is between you, I wish you would put it aside.”
He gave her a long look. “That isn’t possible.”
She was what was between them. But she didn’t see it.
“Why not?” Her face fell. “Sweet mercy, I thought he was going to kill you.”
“You should have more faith in me.”
She frowned, picking up on something in his voice. “I do, but …” She looked away. “Your arm is still injured.”
But. They both knew it wasn’t just his arm. He stiffened.
“You’ve nothing to worry about. I have no intention of locking swords with Felton.”
She looked at him quizzically. “You don’t?”
He forced a smile to his face that he didn’t feel. “I’ll not make you a widow so easily.”
She frowned. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him, although it did. Very much. He was surprised how much he wanted her to believe in him. He didn’t know when it had become important, but it had. Damn it, he thought he was done with this. He’d been proving himself his whole life; he’d just never thought he’d have to do so with his own wife.
“Did your argument have something to do with Davey? I’ve wanted to speak with you, I’ve been worried—”
“Leave the boy alone, Mary. He needs to work this out himself.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Work what out? I knew something was wrong. He’s been so quiet lately. Even more quiet than normal. Is it Sir John? One of the other boys? You must tell me if you know something.”
She was fierce in her defense of her son, if only she could feel the same intensity of emotion about him. She would be a good mother to their child, but mothering wasn’t what Davey needed from her. Not now at least. “He’s too old for coddling, Mary.”
Her eyes shimmered with dampness. “I know that.”
“He will need you again. Just give him time.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait, where are you going? Are you leaving again?”
“I’m afraid not. Percy is waiting for my report.” He held her gaze. “Was there something more you needed?”
She flushed and looked away. “No.”
He held her gaze. What had he thought? “I may be back late. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Oh,” she said, a strange look on her face. Disappointment? He didn’t know. He was too full of his own emotions to try to decipher hers.
As Kenneth escaped from the room that was beginning to feel like a torture chamber to him, he knew he was going to have to do something. He wasn’t going to last another four days, let alone the thirty-three that remained of Lent, if he didn’t find a way to rid himself of the frustration teeming inside him.
Twenty-one
Mary had made a mistake, and she knew it. The stiff, awkward
conversation a week after her husband had taken her against the wall in an explosion of lust—and nothing else—had been a precursor of what was to come.
In the nearly forty days since she’d sent him from her bed, there had been no more ribbons, flowers, or buns, no more rides, and no more long conversations. She arranged her own bath, she couldn’t think of an excuse for riding, and their conversations were brief and impersonal.
It was as if she were married to Atholl all over again. The only difference was that Kenneth collapsed beside her at night when he finally returned from whatever it was that kept him away from the castle so late, reeking of whisky and damp from a dunking in the river.
Her heart stabbed. At least he had the decency to wash the scent of his liaisons from him before coming to her bed. But she couldn’t be grateful for his discretion, when the very idea of him with another woman made the misery she’d felt with Atholl seem like a pittance in comparison.
Despite her best efforts to approach this marriage with open eyes and a hardened heart, she’d failed. Miserably. She’d fallen in love with her husband. Not the starry-eyed young girl’s infatuation based on a myth, but the mature love of a woman who appreciated the flawed man as much as she admired the hero.
She loved the young boy who’d always had to fight to prove himself and had the confidence and belief in himself to become the best. She loved knowing that beneath the seemingly impervious shell of the fierce warrior was a man of surprising depth and—yes, Sir Adam was right—sensitivity. She loved his passion. Envied it. Was drawn to it. Even when he lost his temper. She loved going toe-to-toe with him—challenging him. He brought out her fight and made her feel bolder and stronger than she ever had before. He’d never treated her as an afterthought or as chattel, but as an equal. He listened to her. Cared about her thoughts.
Ironically, by trying to protect herself from having another marriage like her first, she’d all but ensured the second turned out the same way. She’d sent him from her bed; why was she surprised that he’d found another?
She regretted so many things. She’d been a fool to think it had only been passion. The hollowness in her heart when he’d left her that night told her that. She shouldn’t have let her pride and jealousy prevent him from telling him she cared. And she shouldn’t have interfered in his argument with Sir John. Although Davey refused to discuss what had happened, she suspected Kenneth had been protecting her son.
He was also right to urge her patience. Her son wasn’t used to having a mother around to love him. It was no wonder that Davey was uncomfortable and defensive. Knocking down those barriers would take time—especially when his attention was focused on trying to become a knight. She needed to think of him as the man he would become, not the boy she never had a chance to know.
But it was more than that.
“You should have more faith in me.” He was right. She’d seen him fight. She knew what he could do; it was just that he wasn’t fully healed. But his admonition was about more than his fighting skills. Yet how could she believe in him when he wouldn’t make her any promises?
Of course, she’d never asked him for any. She’d just tried to accept what she thought was her fate. She’d tried to make do with what life had doled out, the way she always did.
But that wasn’t good enough. Not this time. She wasn’t content to be grateful for what she had. She wanted more. She wanted his heart.
But how was she going to breach the seemingly impenetrable wall that had been erected between them?
Every time she inquired about his day or activities, he cut her off. Even her attempt to tend the wound on his jaw he’d received in a tavern brawl the week before was refused. Though he’d yet to resume full activity in the practice yard, he had suffered an inordinate number of scrapes and bruises lately. But every time she expressed concern, he bristled as if she were questioning his skill, so she’d stopped mentioning it.
Lent was nearly over, but she dared not wait for him to return to her bed. What if he did, and it was merely a repeat of the last time? Or worse, what if he didn’t return at all?
The answer of what to do came to her a few days before Easter when a missive arrived for her from Brother Thomas, the monk who had confused her with the Italian nun. She’d considered enlisting her husband’s help or Sir Adam’s in her search for more information about the nun, but as Kenneth wouldn’t give her the opportunity and Sir Adam had returned to Huntlywood Castle in preparation for his journey to France, she’d sent one of the stable lads with a sizable donation to the church for Easter, and a note asking him to send for her should he hear any more about the nun who looked so much like her.
To her shock and barely contained excitement, the castle priest found her after the midday meal and passed on a message from Brother Thomas that the nun in question had returned.
She raced back to the Hall, hoping to find her husband still lingering with his men. She’d been wanting to ask him for help with her sister and now she had a chance. Surely, he would accompany her?
She found his squire, Willy, and to her surprise learned that Kenneth had returned to their chamber. She hastened across the courtyard and up the stairs.
But once she pushed open the door, the excitement fell from her face. He’d changed from the fine surcote he’d worn to the evening meal into a worn dark leather cotun and chausses. Despair shot through her like a flame, scorching the insides of her chest and throat. She knew what those clothes meant.
“You’re leaving?”
He stiffened, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. “Aye, I have business in town.”
“At another tavern?”
Perhaps he heard the unspoken accusation in her tone. One corner of his mouth curled. “I thought you didn’t care.”
She swallowed, burying her pride and taking, if not a leap, at least the first step. “What if I do?” she said softly, her heart drumming in her throat. Their eyes locked, and for a moment she thought he wanted to say something, but then he turned away. He didn’t want her to care.
“I may be back late.”
He was back late every night. She swallowed again, the second attempt to break through even harder than the first. Her pride and her heart were raw and ragged. It was like the time she’d asked Atholl to take her and their son with him. “May I come with you? There is something I need to do in town. I’ve had some exciting news, and I would be grateful for your help.”
“I’m afraid it will have to wait.”
“It can’t—”
“Not today, Mary.”
She flinched at his curt tone. Maybe it was too late. Maybe he’d lost interest in her. Maybe it really had only been a game.
“All right.” She tried to hide her disappointment, but she feared she looked just as wounded as she sounded.
“It’s not like that.” He took a step toward her before he stopped himself. “Ah hell.” He muttered another oath, dragging his fingers through his hair. “There is a lot happening right now. I have many things on my mind.”
Things he wasn’t going to talk to her about. “I understand,” she said, even though she didn’t. “You are busy preparing for war.” And women.
“Aye.”
But that wasn’t all of it. She was sure of it. Something was bothering him. What was he keeping from her?
“Edward will be coming north soon. I’ve spoken with Sir Adam, and I think it is time.”
“Time?” she echoed.
“For you to leave the castle.”
Mary froze, her senses struck numb. “You are sending me away?” Her voice sounded as ragged and dry as it felt.
He wouldn’t meet her stricken gaze. “The child,” he said. “You won’t be able to hide the babe much longer. There will be less talk this way.”
She didn’t say anything. Tears were burning at the back of her throat, and she feared they would escape if she opened her mouth. He was right—her attendants had guessed her secret weeks ago—but she knew it was also
an excuse.
“This was always the plan, Mary.” She met his gaze. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“When?” she said dully.
“After the Easter celebration. It won’t be for long, and you will be only a few miles away. Sir Adam has given us the use of Huntlywood Castle while he is in France. You can bring your attendants. It has all been arranged.”
But no matter what he said, they both knew he was sending her away.
“How considerate of you both. Did you even contemplate taking my wishes into consideration?”
Why should he? She was his to do with as he pleased.
He didn’t answer, but moved to the door. “I know you don’t understand right now, but it will be for the best.”
The best? Mary no longer knew what that was. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want a chance to decide for herself. “How thoughtful of you to decide that for me.”
If he heard her sarcasm, she didn’t know. She wasn’t looking at him. She thought he hesitated as he passed her on the way to the door, but whatever he felt, it wasn’t enough to stop him.
Not long after he left, Mary donned her cloak and headed for the stables. Her heart might be breaking, lying in pieces and stomped on, but she wasn’t going to allow the first possible lead on her sister slip by.
She’d planned to arrange for a few of Percy’s men to accompany her, but Sir John happened to see her as she was leaving and insisted on escorting her into town himself. Perhaps because she knew how much it would anger her husband, she didn’t try to dissuade him.
She quickly regretted the moment of pique. By his manner, Sir John made it clear that he did not see her marriage as an impediment to his courtship. He implied a number of times—too many for her to be mistaken—that if something were to happen to Kenneth or if things “did not proceed as she expected,” he would be there for her. And her son. Needless to say, her pregnancy had little to do with the uncomfortable ride.
Then, when they arrived at the church and she learned that neither the monk nor the nun could be found—indeed, the abbess told her they’d had no visitors the past few days other than the Bishop of St. Andrews and that the monk must have been mistaken—her disappointment had been such that she would have welcomed the quiet and peace of her own thoughts.
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