A Tavern Wench to Bed

by Brenda Williamson

  “Then I should say I believe the servants’ explanation for the heart symbol, too.” She smiled. “What more evidence does anyone need?”

  Thomas began lighting more candles, brightening the room.

  She felt closer to Henry, protective of his emotions, and defensive against the cause of his sadness. “Do we have time for that tour?” she asked, hoping to distract him from showing his vulnerability in front of his servant.

  “We can do whatever you’d like.” He swept her hair back over her shoulder with the flick of his hand. “The food will be here when we get back.”

  She had the power to take advantage of the moment, to gain ground with Sir Henry in her struggle to make a name for herself. Only, she knew her next move would be more personal.

  “Or we could have our meal in the privacy of your chambers.” She suggested.

  “Thomas,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Yes, Sir Henry?” Thomas stopped his seeming attempt to light the room as bright as sunshine.

  “Bring the food to my chambers.”

  “Yes, Sir Henry.”

  “You are the first lady I’ve brought here, so I’m treading new ground,” Sir Henry informed her as he took her hand and wrapped her fingers around the crook of his arm.

  “I am doubly honored then.” Whether it was true or not, her insides burned from her rising emotions as she walked with him. “I’ve never seen past the great hall of a castle and I’m very much interested in what one looks like.”

  “Then I’d be happy to give you a tour of every nook and cranny. Including the dungeon and the top of the highest tower.” He stopped at the base of the stairs. “Where would you like to start?”

  As always, his warm smile and easy disposition made it hard to distance herself from her emotions. He was a likable man, charming, funny, and valiant. But she couldn’t let those fine attributes make her forget what mattered most. His reputation as a dragon fighter fit her plans. If she won against him in the tournament, she’d have the instant fame she needed.

  She moved in close. “Let’s start with your bedchamber, Sir Henry. I’d like to settle my debt first.”

  “I told you, there is no debt.”

  She rubbed her hand over his tunic, feeling the ripple of the steel-linked chain mail vest beneath. She cupped the back of his head and pulled his head down. “Then my gratitude, Sir Henry. You’d not show the bad manners to refuse me, would you?” She swished her index finger over his bottom lip.

  His low groan of surrender conveyed his answer well.

  “I didn’t think so,” she whispered.

  Their lips met in a gentle collision, eagerness displayed in their desire to savor every moment. They twisted and turned their heads as their needs escalated and the kiss deepened. Sir Henry’s brief and drunken kisses before had been memorable, His sober one was an intoxication in itself. He took command of her senses showing her that control was not going to be hers.

  She wanted to stop him, and yet, she didn’t want the kiss to ever end.

  * * * * *

  Henry scooped Sorcha up and felt her fold her arms around his neck. He mounted the stone steps, never letting his climb interrupt a second of their kiss. She had broken through a barrier he kept around his pain for a mother he had never met. It was that pain that drove him to seek answers about his mother’s life before her marriage. He couldn’t protect her, but he could defend her good name. Sorcha’s similar loss connected them, and he knew Sorcha felt this, too.

  Without relinquishing his claim on her mouth, he managed the passageway and the door to his room. Her lips tasted sweet, her breath hinting of apple. He liked the flavor and examined her face for more other deliciously sweet spots.

  “Would you not like to put me down now, Sir Henry?”

  He nuzzled his nose into her soft red locks and nibbled her earlobe. “I’m content.”

  “Tis not very practical.”

  Reluctantly, he let her down gently.

  “You carried me as if I weighed nothing.” She placed her hand on his chest and rubbed her fingers over his tunic. “I’m impressed by your strength.”

  “There are many kinds of strength, milady.” He tugged his tunic up and over his head. “I’m about to show you all of them.”

  He reached to the side to unbuckle his chain mail and found it a strenuous task, one that he had a steward usually assist with.

  “Again, you are trapped by your own armament.” She pushed his arm to get him to move it away.

  He watched her unfasten the leathers down one side. When she shifted to the other, he raised that arm out of her way. Then she helped lift the steel vest off over his head. It clinked loudly when he dropped it to the floor.

  “You should have taken that off and left it with your steward. Now you’ll have to put it back on before leaving here.”

  “How nice that I’ll have you to help me with it.” He smiled. “Now, isn’t there something of your clothing you’d like to remove? I haven’t forgotten my promise to pleasure you with long hot kisses.”

  “As I remember, you wanted to be a cat while doing so.”

  Henry dropped to his hands and knees. “Meow.”

  “What are you doing?” She jumped back as he crawled toward her.

  He licked his lips, teasing her. “I’m anticipating the taste of your sweet cream.”

  He cornered her by the bed and a trunk against the wall.

  “Sir Henry, stop that,” she squealed as he rubbed his face against the skirting of her gown-covered leg.

  “Meow,” he said again.

  “Sir Henry, please.” Her surprised tone disappeared as she laughed. “Henry, that tickles.”

  He chased her slow walk around the room, flipping up the hem of her gown and going for her leg. Once she stopped trying to escape, he lifted the skirt and licked her ankle. She gathered the cloth and slid it higher, exposing her slender limb.

  “Meow,” he purred, speckling her shin and knee with kisses.

  Not getting ahead of himself, he show patience and dragged his lips down to the top of her foot just before the rim of her shoe. At the sound of a forced cough, he turned his head to see Thomas in the doorway.

  Sorcha dashed away to the opposite side of the room. Henry rose from the floor and silently scolded himself for not thinking to close the door.

  “Your meal, Sir Henry.”

  “Thank you. Just leave it on the table.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Thomas?”

  Henry watched Thomas come closer, hoping he wasn’t going to hear an earful about his undignified behavior. While Thomas liked to still treat him as the boy he’d helped his brothers raise, now wasn’t the time to be reprimanded like one.

  Chapter Four

  Sorcha stood at the embrasure and stared out at the rolling hills while Thomas whispered in Sir Henry’s ear. Was he telling the noble knight to throw her out, boot her from the castle before he ruined his good name by bedding a tavern wench? The cool air coming through the opening wasn’t much help at taking the sting of heat from her cheeks. Embarrassed to have the servant see his master on his hands and knees, she tried to think of a way to apologize. She admonished herself for enjoying Henry’s good-humored foreplay. He had the ability to make her laugh, and she lost herself in the gratifying way she felt at ease with him.

  She didn’t realize the servant had left until Henry came up behind her and slid his arms around her midsection.

  He rested his chin on her shoulder and nuzzled a kiss beneath her jaw. “I think Thomas is smitten with you, milady.”

  “Don’t say that,” she demanded, twisting out of his hold and stepping away.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not a lady. If I were, I wouldn’t have put you in such a degrading position. It was a humiliating scene for you to be on all fours before me.” She wrung her hands together, hating the way she felt so inferior to Sir Henry. She catered to serving ale to his kind, not socializing with them.
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  “First, you are every bit as much a lady as any titled woman, more so in many ways. Secondly, I did not feel degraded or humiliated pretending to be a cat. Learn one thing about me, Sorcha. I do as I please, and I don’t care what anyone thinks of my actions. Besides, Thomas knows my playful nature.”

  “And of my willingness to indulge a man’s odd behavior, what did he say about that?” She paced the room nervously.

  “How did you know he said anything?” Sir Henry rested his hands on his hips.

  “He may have been whispering, but not so low I didn’t hear him telling you something. Did he ask that you throw the tavern wench out of the castle?

  “Did you not hear me say that I think Thomas is smitten with you?”

  “Why, did he confess some bizarre fantasy he has about me? Is that why he scurried off so quickly?” she asked.

  Leaving was a good idea. Sorcha’s delight in the castle had turned to misery. Why did she ever let Sir Henry bring her here as if she could belong? Every fiber of her self-confidence waned and it upset her to no end.

  “I believe Thomas was thinking of your feelings when he ran out of here as if his clothing were on fire. And for what he said, I’d not exactly call having a bath a bizarre fantasy.” He chuckled.

  “He wants to bathe me!”

  “No. He had the servants prepare you a bath, Sorcha. He thought you might like to refresh yourself after riding one of the beasts.”

  “Are those the words he used?”

  “He did.” Henry stopped laughing and reached for the decanter. He poured a little wine in each of the two silver goblets on the tray. “You see, Thomas is not wholly appreciative of dragons, and the sooner we cleanse what he refers to as ‘the animal stench’ from our bodies, the better it is for his illusion that dragons don’t exist.”

  “Why does he stay here if he doesn’t like dragons? I mean he is a servant and not a slave, isn’t he?” She started to relax, knowing the servant wasn’t against her, just her dragon.

  “He’s a loyal servant from the house of Tregarth. He came here with my mother, Lady Gwyneth Tregarth when she married my father. Her father thought she needed protection from the beastly Lord Pembroke.”

  “So Lord Tregarth is your grandfather. I thought he had no children—no heir.” She took one of the goblets Henry offered her.

  “No sons. His daughter’s oldest son, my brother Ware, will inherit the lands of Tregarth.” He raised his goblet and took a drink.

  “Who will rule? If no one resides at Tregarth, we will be vulnerable to attacks.”

  “So, you are from Tregarth? I had wondered how I had not met you before in Milstead.” He apparently liked having one of his questions about her answered. “As for my grandfather, he hasn’t died yet. He could have decades left in him to protect Tregarth.”

  “You’re right. I’ve never seen him in all my years living in Tregarth, not even a glimpse, so I don’t know how old he is or what his health is like.” She took a drink of the red liquid and found its taste sweet and smooth, very mellow compared to the ale she served in the tavern. “I do know he oversees his people well.”

  “An admirer? He’d like that. Seldom does he find anyone who thinks his way of doing things is right.”

  “Then he should visit the commoners. We see him for the generous ruler he is.”

  “And his peers see him as a conniving Lord, out to trick the people into favoring him so that he might take over neighboring lands, when all he really wants is for everyone in Tregarth to live peacefully.

  “You said Lord Tregarth thought your mother needed protecting from your father. Did he not like him? Why arrange a marriage if Lord Pembroke wasn’t who he wanted for his daughter?”

  “My grandfather told me it was my mother’s choice. Gareth Pembroke had the strength to be a good ally for Tregarth. After my mother met him, she told her father she thought the union would be beneficial to the kingdom.”

  “Did she fall in love with your father?”

  “I don’t know. Lord Tregarth said she liked Lord Pembroke. Ware said they were happy. So, I’d like to think that they were more than compatible.” He pulled Sorcha to him. “It’s obvious she was receptive to his attention. She bore him three sons, even though her third was the death of her.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, Henry.” She rubbed his bristly jaw.

  “In my head, I know that. In my heart, I sometimes feel responsible. No one ever told me exactly what happened to her. What if they could have saved her over me?”

  Her heart nearly broke from the abundance of empathy she had for him.

  “I suppose.”

  “No one can foretell the outcome of a pregnancy. Women die all the time in childbirth, and no one would ever think to blame an infant,” she said.

  “You are good for a man’s soul.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Now if I can figure out why rumors have started about her, and who’s behind it, maybe I could stop them.”

  “What rumors?”

  “That she was the whore of Tregarth, sleeping with lords and promising them her hand to secure protection for her kingdom.”

  “I live in Tregarth, and I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “It started recently. A man I didn’t know mentioned it in a tavern when he learned who I was. Then Reven confirmed it. Except I can’t believe it could be kept a secret all these years. Someone must have started the falsehoods on purpose.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what Reven and I were fighting about when I met you.”

  “What have your brothers said?”

  “I haven’t asked Kilburn. Ware says it’s a lie so forget about it. He thinks questioning who the source is will make it seem true.”

  “I can understand his reasoning. Maybe it’s better not to pursue it. If you ignore it then no one will believe it.”

  “She was my mother. I can’t let it go.” His eyes misted.

  Her heart went out to him. She found herself falling deeper into a trap of her own making. In her single-minded focus on her goal, she’d never thought she’d meet a man so suited to her that she’d question her choice to have a business instead of a husband.

  “Come with me.” He took her hand and led her from the room.

  The narrow passageway had several doors and one set of stairs leading higher. Lit candles set in iron sconces on the walls dripped wax to the floor. The smell of burnt wick overpowered other scents that may have hovered.

  “Where does that go?” She looked up, unable to see further than where the staircase turned a bend in the wall.

  “A tower room. Ware used to sleep up there. He liked the solitude.”

  “It sounds interesting. If he’s not here, maybe you could let me take a peek at it?”

  “I’ll show you a better one. The Tower Keep is accessed from the great hall behind a tapestry. Through the door, across a bridge over a deep moat, there stands the tallest of our structures. From any of the four attached turrets you to see in every direction.”

  “To watch for enemies,” she said, knowing of the necessity.

  “Luckily, we haven’t had any battles here. Pembroke Castle is practically impenetrable the way it’s built into the hillside.”

  Henry opened a door and took her inside a room that looked like a storage room. However, in the center of the floor sat a wooden tub. Steam rose off the water’s surface. A woman poured a sweet floral liquid into it.

  “Metta, this is Sorcha Bronson.”

  “Your bath is ready, Miss.” Metta bobbed her head in greeting.

  “Metta will show you the way back to my chambers when you’re done.” Henry squeezed her hand lightly and then let go.

  “I think I remember the way, Sir Henry. It wasn’t such a long walk.” She pushed the door shut, separating them, then she turned to the servant. “Sir Henry has considerate manners.”

  “Sir Henry wants to bed you,” Metta said bluntly.

  Taken aback by the comme
nt, Sorcha chose her words carefully. “The nobles usually do get what they want.”

  “That boy should be told no once in a while.” Metta unfolded a towel and hung it over a rack to warm near a fireplace. “T’would be better you put him in his place the first chance you get if you wish to keep him interested in you.”

  “I’m not a whore.”

  Metta waddled toward her and turned her around. “If you were, I’d not be talking to you.” She unfastened the laces on Sorcha’s gown.

  “I don’t understand.” Sorcha stepped out of her clothing.

  “The Lady of Pembroke must be a strong woman, an equal to the master of the castle.” Metta guided her to the tub and held her arm as she climbed in.

  “I didn’t know there was a Lady in residence.”

  “There isn’t.”

  “Who are we talking about then?”

  “Sir Henry has never brought a woman home,” Metta commented. “You being here is a sign he is settling down.”

  Realizing what the woman was saying, Sorcha laughed. “You think Sir Henry wants to marry me?” She picked up a rag and rubbed it over her arm. “While I don’t claim to know what he thinks, men like Sir Henry don’t marry women like me.”

  “Oh, and you know the young sir so well you presume to know what he wants?”

  “He’s a charming man who enjoys life. I don’t see him settling down with one woman, especially one with the ambition to be more than a man’s wife. I plan to train dragons and live as I choose, not by the whims of any man.”

  Metta made an amused grunt and muttered, “It’s more serious than Thomas thought.”

  “What is?”

  “Never mind,” Metta answered.

  “Do you always talk so freely with Sir Henry’s guests?”

  “Only when we approve of them.”

  Sorcha looked up at Metta, appreciative of her honesty. “Tell me about him and his family. Are they all as overconfident and impulsive?”

  “Lady Gwyneth came here when she was quite young. Her father needed the strength of Pembroke’s army to protect Tregarth from Lord Relt Tulane.”