She had to see Blaidd as soon as possible, to ask his forgiveness for doubting him. She hoped he would understand how difficult it had been to hear such things about her fa—about Lord Throckton.
She tried to sit up, but pain as fierce as a hot poker laid against her side made her gasp and fall back.
“Don’t try to move,” Dobbin said from somewhere beside her. “You’ll tear the stitches.”
She hadn’t seen him sitting in the shadows beside the head of the bed. He leaned forward now and gave her a small smile as he took her hand in his callused ones and held it tightly.
This was her father. Her real father. How proud she was, and yet how foolish she felt for not realizing it sooner. How could she not have noticed that their eyes were the same shade of blue, or the way his nose sloped just like hers?
How could she not have noticed that Hester looked more like Laelia than she did? How could she have been so blind about so much?
Meg turned around, a dripping piece of pink linen in her hand, her eyes red rimmed. A relieved smile lit her face. “You’re awake!”
“And you’re dripping bloody water on the floor,” Dobbin charged.
Dobbin was always brusque with the maidservants, so Meg paid him no heed. She continued to smile as she approached the bed, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Can I get you anything, my lady? Rowan made some broth special when he heard…” She chewed her lip and swallowed hard. “When he heard you were hurt. He claims it’ll make you feel better in no time.”
Becca nodded. “If Dobbin has no objections.”
“Bit o’ broth’ll do you good,” he decreed. “And some bread, too, maybe. I wouldn’t mind a bit o’ bread and cheese myself, and you should have sommat to eat, too.”
Meg nodded and hurried out of the room.
“You lost a lot of blood before I could get that wound stitched up proper,” Dobbin remarked as he studied Becca’s face. “You just lie still now, or all my work’ll have been for naught.”
“Where’s Sir Blaidd?”
“I don’t know.”
Dobbin’s expression and tone reminded her that he had yet to hear the real reason Blaidd had gone to the brothel. “He wasn’t with Hester for the reason we assumed,” she assured him. “When he went there after his squire, Hester told him she had important information for him. He returned to the brothel to find out what it was.”
For the first time in her life, Becca saw the color drain from Dobbin’s cheeks. “What did she tell him?”
Becca could guess why he was upset. She would speak of that in a moment, after she made certain Dobbin knew Blaidd wasn’t a lascivious scoundrel like Lord Throckton. “She told him that Danes had come here before, pretending to be Germans. She feared my—Lord Throckton was up to no good and she wanted to warn Blaidd, so he could protect me from the king’s wrath. She also told Blaidd that Throckton was her father, to prove what a lustful, greedy man he was.”
Dobbin slowly exhaled.
Becca gripped his strong, rough hand, which had tended to her wound with such gentle care. “I know what you thought I was going to say—that you’re my real father. Throckton himself told me, before he tried to kill me.”
Dobbin flushed, then rose abruptly and walked over to the window.
“Why didn’t you tell me yourself?” she asked gently.
Without looking at her, Dobbin said gruffly, “Because I knew what you’d do if I did. You would’ve left Lord Throckton’s household, because you’d never live a lie.” He raised his blue eyes to regard her. “But you deserve to be a lady, just as your mother was, and have all that a lady has.”
He moved away from the window and spread his hands. “What could I offer you but the rough life of a soldier’s daughter? So I contented myself with staying here and watching you grow into a fine lady, like your mother.” He lowered his hands and stared straight ahead, not at Becca, but at some vision she couldn’t see. “Your mother was the finest, bravest, kindest creature who ever walked this earth, and what she ever saw in me…” His words trailed off as he shook his head.
“A good man, that’s what she saw,” Becca said with firm conviction. “And you loved her.”
“Aye, I loved her,” Dobbin murmured as he returned to the stool beside the bed. “Too selfishly, or I never would have gotten her with child. I would have been content to worship her from a distance.”
“I’m sure she loved you, too, Dobbin. And if loving you was selfish, I don’t condemn her for giving in to it.”
“She wasn’t weak, Becca,” he replied. “She was good and kind, but strong as iron, too. She had to be, to put up with the pain your father brought her. He tried to break her spirit, the way he tried to break yours, but he had no more luck with her than he did with you.”
Becca thought of how she’d felt when she first began to believe that Blaidd truly liked her. “She had your love to give her strength.”
“Not at first. Not for a long time. I admired and respected her from the beginning, of course. And when I realized what was happening, I fought against it. So did she. She was an honorable woman.”
“But she was miserable and she turned to you for comfort, and then love. I’m glad she had you to love her, Dobbin. Very glad.” Becca reached out and took his hands in hers. “I’m proud that you’re my father.”
“And I’m more than proud that you’re my daughter.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “My daughter.”
A silence filled with heartfelt emotions no words could express stretched between them.
Then Dobbin’s expression changed, to one of grave concern. “You can’t tell anybody else about this, Becca. This’ll have to be our secret still.”
“Why not?” she asked, dismayed. “I’m not ashamed to admit that you’re—”
“For the people of Throckton. Who else will speak for them, and make sure the king knows nobody else here—not you, not Laelia, not me or my men—was in on that lout’s schemes? Laelia may be the eldest, but she’s only good for weeping and wailing.”
Becca realized he was likely right. “Yes, I see,” she murmured, “but I don’t like it.”
“D’you think I do?” Dobbin asked, frowning. “But we’ve got no choice. You’ve got to think of the household, and I’ve got to think of my men.”
“Where is Laelia? Did you tell her about—?”
“Last I heard, she was in the chapel, crying. He told her what happened.”
It wasn’t hard to guess to whom Dobbin was referring, and Becca’s heart filled with sorrow—for Laelia and also for Blaidd, for having to be the one to tell her about her father’s death. “Has Blaidd said anything about what’s going to happen now?”
Dobbin shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard, but he’s taken command of the castle. He’s ordered the Danes to leave. They rode away at dawn.”
“I want to see him, Dobbin, as soon as possible. Will you find him for me?”
They were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.
“Ah, that’ll be Meg with the broth,” Dobbin said, slapping his hands on his thighs as he got to his feet.
But it wasn’t Meg who walked into the room.
It was a grim, grave Sir Blaidd Morgan, and he was dressed for battle.
Chapter Sixteen
Or so it seemed to Becca, for he wore chain mail beneath his cloak and spurs on his heels, and he carried a helmet under his arm.
His broadsword slapped his thigh as he marched forward more like a soldier on parade than a man coming to see the woman he loved, the woman he’d saved from certain death. “I hope I find you recovering, my lady.”
“You do,” she murmured, dismayed by his stiff bearing and the cool way he spoke.
“I’m sorry to have to be the bearer of more bad news.”
Becca pushed herself up, regardless of the pain her action caused. “What bad news?”
Blaidd’s distant, steadfast regard faltered. “I regret to have to tell you this, my lady, but your sister’s…” He he
sitated, then straightened and went on. “It seems, my lady, that your sister has run away.”
“Run away?” Becca cried incredulously.
“So it appears.” Blaidd’s expression grew even grimmer. “Last night she said she wanted to keep a vigil over your father’s body in the chapel. I saw no harm in it, provided one of the servants stayed with her. Apparently the servant fell asleep, and when she awoke, your sister was no longer there. The servant came to me at once, and I ordered a search of the castle. This was found in your bedchamber, which was in some disarray.”
Blaidd came forward and thrust a piece of parchment at her. “She can write?”
“Yes, although not very well,” Becca replied. “I wanted to learn, to keep the household accounts, but she didn’t. My fa—Lord Throckton insisted.”
“The letters are very shaky.”
“Hers always are.”
Becca read the messily scrawled words. It was a note of farewell, addressed to her and saying that Laelia was leaving with Valdemar. That Becca could have all her clothes and jewels.
She read it through three times before she could fully comprehend what Laelia had done, and why.
Then she raised her eyes to regard Blaidd before looking at Dobbin’s worried face. “She’s run off with Valdemar.”
“She always wanted to go to court, but I thought she meant the English one,” he muttered, not hiding his scorn.
“I’m not convinced she went willingly,” Blaidd declared.
Becca spoke to Dobbin again. “Your men would have come to you if there was anything amiss at the walls or gate, even if you were tending to me, wouldn’t they?”
“Aye, my lady. Nobody can get past my sentries.”
“Your sentries didn’t catch me going over the wall,” Blaidd noted.
“Oh, didn’t they?” Dobbin retorted, raising a brow.
Blaidd’s face betrayed nothing. “This still could be a trick, or some sort of revenge on Valdemar’s part.”
“If she wanted to go and not be seen, there is a way,” Becca said. “It’s known only to the family, but I’m sure I can trust you with the knowledge, Sir Blaidd.”
She hoped he would appreciate her choice of words and how much she was willing to trust him now. “There’s a secret passageway out of the castle, in case we’re ever besieged. The entrance is in the chapel.”
“Maybe the Danes found out about the passageway,” Blaidd suggested. “Perhaps Throckton told them. They could have come in and taken her out that way.”
Dobbin snorted. “Ain’t you noticed how she’s been looking at the man? After what’s happened, she’s likely terrified you’re planning to have her arrested. No wonder she ran off with him. I wouldn’t waste my time chasin’ after ’er.”
“You might not, but I must,” Blaidd countered. “I gave the Danes the opportunity to leave. If there’s even the slightest chance they’ve kidnapped Laelia, I’ve got to bring her back.” Finally, he looked again at Becca, this time with something approaching deference. “You do want to be certain it was her choice, don’t you, my lady?”
“Yes, of course, I want to be completely certain Laelia went willingly,” she replied, pleased that he was not quite so distant.
“I’ll take twenty of your men and head after them,” he said to Dobbin.
“There’s fifty Danes,” Dobbin pointed out.
“So twenty of your well-trained men ought to be plenty if it comes to a fight.”
“Twenty-one, because I’m going with you,” Dobbin replied.
Blaidd turned to leave, then looked back at Becca. “If she fled because she feared me, she had no cause. I am well aware that neither of you were knowingly involved in your father’s plans, and I intend to make certain Henry knows that, too.”
When he spotted the Danish cortege not ten miles from Throckton Castle, Blaidd had the grim satisfaction of realizing that Lady Laelia had indeed probably chosen to go with Valdemar. If Valdemar had kidnapped her, he would surely have urged his men to ride at the gallop and been farther away by now. They must have gone at the more leisurely pace Laelia preferred.
Distinguishable by his bearing and his hair, Valdemar was at the head of the entourage. A blond woman clad in a blue cloak rode beside him, another sign that this was no abduction.
In spite of the evidence, Blaidd was still determined to speak to them. As he’d told Becca, he represented the king, and he had to be absolutely certain there was no mischief here.
Shouting an order for Dobbin’s men to follow, Blaidd spurred Aderyn Du into a gallop. Trev would be sorry he’d missed a charge like this, but Blaidd had ordered him—forcefully—to remain behind. This was no tournament or practice drill, and he wouldn’t risk Trev getting hurt.
Valdemar twisted in his saddle to look behind him when he heard the noise. Around him, his soldiers’ horses shifted nervously and whinnied as their riders tried to control them. Some of the men gave up and took off down the road. More joined them, disobeying Valdemar’s shouted commands. The woman started to scream.
Blaidd expected Valdemar to flee, but the man stood his ground and stayed beside his companion, who was, indeed, Laelia. By the time Blaidd and his men reached them, they were the only members of his party left. Even Valdemar’s baggage cart had disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.
The Dane positioned his horse in front of Laelia, blocking her from Blaidd and his men.
“I thought I was free to go,” he said, still arrogant, still very much the prince.
“You’re free to leave England, Valdemar, and the sooner the better,” Blaidd replied. “It’s because of the lady I’ve come after you.”
Laelia nudged her horse forward, so that she was beside the Danish prince. “I chose to go with him,” she said, and Blaidd could hardly believe the firm, stern voice belonged to the same woman. “You’re not my father or brother. You have no authority over me. You can’t make me return with you.”
“Since you have no father or brother, Henry is your legal guardian until such time as your nearest male relative is found, or you’re married, so as Henry’s representative, I do have authority over you,” Blaidd answered.
“There aren’t any male heirs,” Laelia replied. “And you’re looking at the man I intend to marry.”
Blaidd turned his attention to Valdemar, whose horse was prancing nervously. Blaidd saw fear in the man’s eyes, but it wasn’t as if he feared pain or death. He looked like a man afraid of losing something he held dear. “You’re willing to marry her?”
“Yes,” he answered firmly, and without hesitation. “I would have this woman for my wife.”
“You’ll take her without a dowry?” Blaidd asked, although he thought he already had his answer. He didn’t doubt that their feelings for one another were sincere. Nevertheless, he felt it necessary to make certain Laelia and Valdemar understood all the ramifications of their actions. “If Laelia goes with you now, you’ll get only what she has with her. Her father was a traitor and everything he possessed is forfeit to the crown. The king could take her title, too.”
“I want the woman, not the dowry or a title,” Valdemar said, as if Blaidd’s remarks were barely worth a response. “She will be my wife, a worthy mother of my sons. Legitimate sons,” he declared with fierce resolution. “I give you my word she will not be a mistress, but a prince’s bride.”
Blaidd heard the ring of truth in his words, saw the sincerity in his eyes. “I believe you.” He even managed to smile. “Maybe you’re not a pirate, after all.”
Valdemar’s shoulders relaxed. “Then you’ll let us go?”
“Yes.” Blaidd turned to Laelia. “You do understand all that you’re giving up?”
Laelia smiled, and never had she looked more beautiful or happy. “I do—and what I’m gaining, too. I love Valdemar, and he loves me.”
“You may never be able to return to England, not even to visit.”
Laelia’s delicate chin began to quiver and her eyes filled with t
ears. “The only thing I’ll miss is Becca. Please tell her I hope she’ll be happy, and that one day she’ll find happiness with a man she loves, as I have. Tell her goodbye and may God bless her. If He is kind, perhaps we’ll see other again someday.”
Valdemar reached out and covered her hand with his. Laelia looked at him, and if Blaidd needed any confirmation that he was doing the right thing by letting them leave together, he had it then. “Go to your ship, Valdemar,” he said. “I’ll take your message to your sister, Lady Laelia.”
“What will you tell your king?” Valdemar asked.
Blaidd thought a moment. “That Lady Laelia fell in love with a Viking and fled with him rather than risk her sovereign’s wrath.” Blaidd gave them another little smile. “He’ll like that last part.”
“Farewell, Sir Blaidd Morgan,” Valdemar said, smiling in return. “I’m glad we didn’t meet in battle. It would have been a great pity to kill you.”
“I would have regretted killing you, too,” Blaidd said.
Then he watched as Valdemar and Laelia turned their horses and headed down the road. Together.
When Blaidd returned to the castle, he tossed his reins to the waiting Trev, leaped from Aderyn Du’s back and immediately went to see Becca. Meg opened the door to Lord Throckton’s bedchamber and ushered him inside, where he came to an awkward halt. Becca was sitting up in the luxuriously appointed bed, her bountiful, dark brown hair loose about her shoulders. She looked young and lovely and vulnerable, although far too pale.
Sir Blaidd Morgan, knight of the realm, champion of tournaments, friend of the king and supposedly able to whisper a woman to bed, suddenly felt as shy as a lad, and tongue-tied, too.
As he stood there, all his errors seemed to pile up on him. He’d killed her father. He’d wooed her while in her home under false pretenses. He’d as good as lied to her.
The questions that had been haunting him since he’d left this room returned in full force. Would his love make up for all his deceit, and would self-defense excuse him of causing her father’s death? Or would she hate him now, thinking him nothing but a deceitful spy and the cause of her family’s destruction?
Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] Page 18