Blaidd grew thoughtful. “You seem to have this all planned out.”
“I can think very quickly sometimes.”
“And well, too. Therefore, I’ll do as you say. I don’t think I should leave too soon, though. It might look suspicious if I suddenly depart.”
“You’re right again. In about a week, perhaps.”
“That will give me time to let Laelia realize on her own that my feelings for her are not what they should be. Even better, I can use the time to get to know you more, my lady, although my feelings for you,” he whispered, bending toward her, “are already turning into something quite amazing.”
They kissed again, losing all track of time or place, until a sound in the room behind them interrupted them.
“God’s wounds, I think Trev’s fallen out of bed,” Blaidd said, letting go of her.
“And I should leave before somebody sees us,” Becca said, suddenly realizing how it would look if that happened.
She had no real idea how long she’d been there. Had Laelia gone to sleep, or was her sister waiting up for her, wondering where she was and what she was doing?
Not that she’d ever guess, not in a thousand years. Still, Becca didn’t want to have to come up with an explanation.
“Until tomorrow, then,” Blaidd whispered, kissing her quickly once more.
“Until tomorrow,” she said softly as he went inside the chamber.
As Becca hobbled away, she felt as if she were dancing with happiness.
Which, in a way, she was.
Trev had not fallen out of bed. He’d knocked the candlestick off the table beside it.
Once Blaidd realized what had made the noise, he relaxed against the closed door and slowly let out his breath.
God’s wounds, what the devil was he doing?
Despite how he felt about the astonishing Becca, he’d come here on a mission for the king, not himself. He shouldn’t be falling in love. But he was. He felt that in his heart, in the marrow of his bones.
Worse, he was falling in love with a woman who might be the daughter of a traitor.
What if her father was guilty? Lord Throckton would be arrested, charged with treason and beheaded—because of him.
What would Becca think of him if he were the instrument of her father’s conviction? Would she be able to love him then?
And what would Henry and Blaidd’s own parents say when he declared his intention to marry a traitor’s daughter? No nobleman should want such a woman for a wife.
Blaidd ran his hand through his hair, then sat heavily on his bed. Perhaps he was getting worried over nothing. It was still very possible that the king’s suspicions regarding Lord Throckton were unfounded. In all their conversations, Throckton had said nothing many other, loyal nobles hadn’t expressed concerning the king and the power and rewards he was giving to his wife’s relatives. Even Blaidd had voiced some reservations in that regard. If Becca were not here, he might already be heading back to Westminster to assure the king his fears were groundless.
And yet…there were things that still didn’t make sense here. Not just what he’d noticed at the first, about the fortress and Lord Throckton’s wealth. Meg seemed so fervent in her need to have Becca married and away from here. That harlot had something to tell him—for Lady Rebecca’s sake, she’d said. He sensed that there were many secrets in this place. Whatever else was happening, it was his duty to ensure that those secrets didn’t include a conspiracy against Henry.
How long should he stay here? Blaidd wondered. How long would it take him to be sure, one way or another?
He pulled off his boots, then yanked his tunic over his head. Trev moaned and shifted, smacking his lips.
Blaidd looked outside at the moon and decided on a course of action. He’d stay for another fortnight. If he couldn’t find evidence of a rebellious conspiracy by then, he could be relatively certain there wasn’t one to find.
Trev opened his eyes a crack. Thankfully, and although he knew not how, he was in his bedchamber at Throckton Castle, the windows shuttered with linen so that the room was blessedly dim. His head ached like the devil, his mouth was as dry as old leather and his stomach… He’d barely thought of his stomach before he leaned over the bed and emptied its contents into a bucket somebody was holding for him.
When he was finished, he flopped back and squinted at Blaidd, who was shoving the bucket out the door with his foot. “Oh, God save me,” he groaned. “I’m dying.”
“No, you’re not,” Blaidd replied as he sat on the end of the bed. “You were drunk and now you’re paying for it.”
Trev rolled on his side so he faced the wall, away from the stern visage of Blaidd Morgan, who couldn’t possibly understand what he was feeling. How could he? Every woman Blaidd wanted, wanted him more. Trev’s brothers always spoke of that with awe and respect, and not a little envy.
“Why don’t you go away until I feel more myself?” he muttered. “Then you can lecture me all you want about the evils of too much ale, as I’m sure you’re anxious to do.”
“I think you’re learning about the evils of too much ale all by yourself. It’s the evils of going to a whorehouse that you apparently need to hear again.”
Trev pressed his eyes shut as his stomach rolled. Those weren’t just dreams? He’d really gone there and done…something. Try as he might now, he couldn’t remember much beyond stumbling up the steps behind that blond beauty who smiled so invitingly, crooking her finger for him to follow.
“Don’t you remember?”
Trev wished Blaidd would go away and leave him to his torment.
For tormented he was, in a way that had nothing to do with his physical ailments. Now, in the harsh light of day—or what would be the harsh light of day if the windows weren’t shuttered—he was horrified to think that his first time with a woman had been nothing more than a cold business transaction. What should have been a pleasant memory instead filled him with disgust and shame. And dread. What if Blaidd was right, and the girl was diseased? What if he got sores—or worse? What if it fell off? After all, what did he know of such illnesses?
He rolled over so that he could see Blaidd, then struggled to sit up. “I made love with her, didn’t I?” he demanded, a note of panic in his voice. “Is she diseased, do you think?”
“I have no way of knowing if she’s diseased or not—and neither would you, so it’s a damn good thing you didn’t get very far.”
Trev fell back against the sweat-soaked pillow. “I didn’t?”
“No. You were still fully clothed when I found you, and so was she.”
Reprieved. Relief flooded through Trev, taking the edge off his shame.
“So although I’m going to give you a lecture you won’t soon forget, it won’t be as bad as the lecture you would have gotten if you’d rutted with her.”
Trev stared at Blaidd with surprise, and not because he was going to be lectured. That wasn’t unexpected. It was the word Blaidd used. Unlike many knights, Blaidd rarely used such words for anything to do with women and lovemaking.
“I’m not going to dignify what men do with a whore by calling it making love.”
“Oh, God, Blaidd, I don’t know what I was thinking….”
“Try. I’d like to believe you had some reason for behaving in such a manner, even a poor one.”
Trev felt even more foolish as he attempted to explain what had motivated him to go to the brothel. “I was angry at you.”
“I apologized for scolding you in the courtyard, and I don’t think I destroyed the honor of Wales by losing to Lady Rebecca yesterday. At any rate, I fail to see how being angry at me prompted you to get drunk and go to the stew. There may be a fleeting pleasure in such a thing, but no man I respect would find his self-esteem between the sheets of a whore’s bed.”
Trev plucked at his bedclothes. “I wasn’t angry about that.”
Blaidd’s brow furrowed with puzzlement. “What then?”
The lad shrugged and
looked away.
“What got the son of Sir Urien Fitzroy so upset he’d act like an idiot?” Blaidd asked in a tone that demanded an answer.
The suffering Trev turned as red as holly berries. “Meg,” he mumbled. “She…she hardly even notices me when you’re around.” He shrugged again.
Blaidd was about to tell him that was a stupid reason for what he’d done when he recalled a certain period of irrational jealousy when he was fifteen, over a milkmaid whose name he could barely remember now. “So you were trying to drown your sorrows, and then decided to redeem your wounded pride by finding a woman who wouldn’t say no to you. Oh, Trev, my lad, you should have come to me. If the girl’s paying attention to me, it’s not because she’s interested in me herself—and I wouldn’t respond if she was. I’m a guest here, too, so I wouldn’t dally with my host’s servants even if she threw herself in my arms, which she won’t because she thinks I should marry her mistress.”
Trev’s mouth fell open.
“Meg likes me only insofar as she thinks I’d make a good husband for her mistress,” Blaidd clarified. He wondered how much he should tell Trev, then decided that Meg might say something to his squire about her views if she thought it would help her cause. “She wasn’t speaking about Lady Laelia, either. She thinks I should marry Lady Rebecca.”
Trev frowned. “But Lady Rebecca’s crippled.”
Blaidd got to his feet and looked down at the young man with an expression Trev had never seen before. “I see I’ll also have to lecture you on how ignorant it is to judge a person by such things.”
Blaidd turned on his heel and headed to the table across the room. He poured some water into a goblet there, using the activity to get his temper back under control. The lad was only saying what other people would, expressing the surprise they would feel about his choice. He should be able to subdue his temper better. After all, he wasn’t new to prejudice. Men at court had whispered unflattering things about Welshmen behind his back. Some still did, although never the ones he’d faced in a tournament.
But this was different, because they would be talking about Becca.
He went back to the bed and handed the goblet to Trev. “Sip, don’t gulp,” he cautioned.
As the boy did as he was told, Blaidd said, “Lady Rebecca may not be as outwardly beautiful as her sister, but she has many other qualities. She’s good and clever and kind, plays the harp like an angel, runs this castle as well as either of our mothers could and…” He was, perhaps, revealing too much of his affection for her too soon. “You should respect and admire her for those things, even if she walks with a limp.”
“I do admire and respect her—a great deal,” Trev said as he set the goblet down on the small table beside the bed. Between the bucket and the water, he was already looking much better. “I didn’t realize you liked her so much, that’s all.”
Blaidd didn’t answer as he went to back to the larger table and pulled a linen cover off a tray. The aroma of fresh bread wafted toward Trev. “Can you eat anything?”
“I don’t know,” he answered warily. “What do you think?”
“It’s been a very long time since I’ve been dead drunk. Once was enough for me—and I trust it will be for you, too. That’s hardly a way to earn respect.”
Trev eyed the loaf. “Maybe a bite will help settle my stomach.”
Blaidd nodded and brought the tray to him. As the lad broke off a piece and began to nibble as delicately as any novice nun, Blaidd settled back down on the end of the bed. “Now, which lecture will it be first—the folly of sleeping with whores, or the stupidity of judging a person by outward appearances?”
Trev sighed. It was going to be a long morning.
Smiling at the contrariness of life, Becca hummed softly to herself as she drew out the pretty blue velvet gown her father had given her last Christmastide. Now that she didn’t have to dress well to attract a man’s notice, she wanted to.
“You’re very cheerful this morning,” Laelia noted as Meg tied the lacings at the back of her own emerald-green-and-gold damask gown.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Becca answered brightly, which was true. The sun shone like a day in Eden, the air was warm, the scent of herbs from the kitchen garden wafted in their window—and best of all, Blaidd Morgan liked her. He liked her better than Laelia. He liked her enough to kiss her with passion and desire. He liked her enough to want to court her, and perhaps—oh, joyous, exciting thought—perhaps soon his affection would turn into love.
She’d lain awake for hours after she’d returned last night and found, to her relief, that Laelia was already fast asleep. She’d snuggled under the covers and remembered his kisses, his embrace, the excitement, the need, and all the words he’d said. She couldn’t have been happier if her leg had been miraculously made normal again.
She looked back at the dress and frowned. If she didn’t want to arouse any suspicions, she shouldn’t act as if anything was different, or dress in a way that would cause people to wonder what had changed. Besides, riding was definitely in order today and the velvet dress wouldn’t do for that.
“I should think you’d be too tired to be cheerful after you were so late coming to bed last night,” Laelia said.
Becca glanced at her and her gaze met Meg’s, whose eyes were wide with barely suppressed curiosity. “Yes, well, I had to remind the cook to get some eels. Father was saying how much he’d relish a dish today.”
That wasn’t strictly a lie. She had reminded Rowan about the eels, but before the evening meal.
When she went to return the blue gown to the chest, Laelia caught sight of it. “Are you finally going to dress like a lady today?”
“I thought I noticed a tear, that’s all. Fortunately, I was wrong.” Becca replaced it and pulled out her dark blue gown. It was made of light wool, and while certainly not as luxurious as the velvet, it was pretty in its own way, and fit to perfection.
“Then I suppose it’s also too much to hope that you’ll act more like a lady today and not decide to joust, or wield a blade?” Laelia sighed with exasperation as her hands fell limply to her sides. “I know you’re proud of your skill with a bow, Becca, but I don’t know how we’re ever going to find a man who’ll want to marry you if you do masculine things like shoot a bow.”
Laelia walked toward her, and Becca was surprised to see the sincere concern in her eyes. “I do care about your happiness, Becca. I truly do.”
Becca took hold of her sister’s hands and spoke just as sincerely. “It’s not that I don’t want to be married, Laelia. It’s just that if I do marry, I want to be loved, and cherished, and respected. Otherwise, I’d rather not be married at all.”
“I suppose we’re not so very different,” Laelia wistfully replied. “I want to be loved, too, Becca, and for more than my beauty. I think with Sir Blaidd, I may finally have found a man who truly sees beyond that.”
For the first time in her life, Becca realized that she wasn’t the only daughter of Lord Throckton who was judged for one characteristic. She’d always assumed it would be wonderful to be as lovely as her sister, but now she realized beauty could be a curse as much as her own crippled leg.
Yet as sorry as she felt for her sister, she hoped Laelia wouldn’t begrudge her any happiness when she learned about her relationship with Blaidd. After all, Laelia’s beauty gave Laelia an advantage Becca would never possess: a greater chance of finding a loving husband among the many men who came to court her.
Laelia headed for the door without pursuing the subject. “Don’t be late for Mass,” she said before she swept out of the room.
The moment she was gone, Meg stopped tidying the dressing table and turned toward Becca with barely suppressed excitement. Her eyes sparkled and she clasped her hands expectantly. “Well, my lady?” she whispered, as if she feared somebody might overhear.
Becca suddenly felt shy and embarrassed. “Well, my lady, what?”
Meg took a step toward her, and her eyes shone
even more. “Well, Sir Blaidd…that is, did he say…anything?”
How well could Meg keep a secret? Becca wondered. Maybe she already guessed too much. If her father and sister found out what had happened, and from a servant’s gossip…!
Becca forced herself to look stern. “I understand you have forgotten your place. It is not for a servant to discuss her mistress with one of our guests.”
Meg’s face reddened. “I was only trying—”
“I didn’t ask for an explanation, did I?”
Meg hung her head. “I’m sorry, my lady.”
“So am I. You could have caused some serious discord with your assumptions, Meg. Need I say, we couldn’t keep a servant who did something like that, could we?”
“N-no, my lady.”
Remorse gnawed at Becca, but she gave no indication that she was anything but annoyed. “If you give me your word you won’t do something so foolish again, I won’t tell my father. This can stay between us. Now go about your duties.”
“Aye, my lady,” Meg murmured before she hurried from the room.
Becca followed after, her steps slow, as she told herself that as much as she regretted upsetting Meg, there’d been no help for it. She couldn’t risk letting Meg’s loose tongue spoil her chance for happiness.
Chapter Ten
On the top of the rise, Aderyn Du restlessly shifted. Blaidd tried to steady his mount as he watched Becca gallop across the meadow by the river. She was easily the finest horsewoman Blaidd had ever seen; it was as if she and her horse were one creature.
Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] Page 11