by Sarah Hegger
“I never.” But her lovely smile spread.
“Perhaps you should remind me.” He kissed her neck, right over the pulse, where she liked his touch.
She dug her nails into his hair and gave him more of her neck. “I feel sure you are mistaken.” Her thighs tightened about his hips. “I would never have said how much I regretted the words I spoke in anger.”
“Aye.” He nibbled his way back to her mouth. “That does not sound like you.”
“Or say that I had spoken hastily out of fear for my mother.” Her voice faded into a low moan.
“My mistake.” He halted, mouth poised over hers. “Then there is no need for me to tell you that I understand, and I hold no grudge.”
“Nay,” she whispered. “No need at all. But there is a dire need that you kiss me.”
With that Roger happily complied, and being a man who liked to do a thorough job, a whole lot more as well.
Chapter 24
Disliking his brother by marriage had become more of a habit than anything else. Roger could not remember the last time he had experienced the genuine desire to plow his fist into Garrett’s face.
Beatrice had married far, far, far beneath her, picking a blacksmith and a bastard at that. No matter how good the blood on his father’s side, Garrett’s mother had been a leman in her earlier years, and later a common whore.
For a prize like Beatrice, Father might have sought a groom from the highest families in the kingdom. Of course, Beatrice being Beatrice, had destroyed that plan and run off to London with Garrett. His youngest sister did not understand duty, and their doting father allowed her that ignorance. An heir had no such privilege. Roger made the ongoing tension between Beatrice and Garret his first act in taking charge of Anglesea.
Garrett followed the page Roger had sent to fetch him into the armory. No matter that he now wore a tunic of finest linen, the man always looked like a street rough. It lay in the way he walked, always alert for the next snatch-purse to leap out of a dark alley. William had endeavored to teach him to fight like a knight instead of a common thug. Garrett could now wield a sword like one born to it. But William also now knew how to fight his way out of a tavern brawl by biting, ball-kicking, scratching and pulling hair.
“You wanted to see me?” Garrett crossed his arms.
The man did not even stand like a gentleman. Chest puffed up, chin thrust out, he looked ready to wrestle Roger down.
“Aye.” Roger indicated the seat beside him.
“Will this take long?” Garrett stuck his hands into his belt.
“You have something better to do?” If Garrett accepted his proposition, there would be nobody else to snipe and growl at. He might even miss that. A little.
“Bea is uncomfortable,” Garrett said. “I do not like to leave her alone.”
Then there was that. He couldn’t completely dislike a man whose existence rose and set on his sister. For all his many faults, Garrett loved Bea to distraction, and in a manner Roger only now understood.
“If Bea is uncomfortable, then she should stop having so many babies.” His sister’s fourth in as many years.
Garrett’s gaze hardened to black ice. “You overreach.”
“My apologies.” Ballocks to that. “Forgive that I do not want my sister worn down by childbirth.”
“And you think I do?” Garrett balled his fists and stepped nearer. “She wants all these babies.”
“She does?”
“Aye.” Garrett ran an impatient hand through his dark hair and made it stick up. A street tough through to his marrow. “Damned if I can persuade her different. And double damned in that I cannot say nay to her.”
A couple of weeks ago, Roger would have jeered. Not today however. An inkling of how that might be snaked through his mind. “Perhaps if we provide her with another outlet for her vigor.”
Garrett glowered at him.
Aye, Roger surprised himself with his instant empathy. “God’s bones, you stubborn bastard, sit down.”
Garrett smirked but took the seat anyway. “What did you have in mind?”
Roger poured them both a mug of mead. Garrett preferred it over wine. “Sir Arthur and my mother intend to leave Anglesea,” he said. “Their plan is to spend time with William first and then Faye, and return here occasionally. This leaves the running of Anglesea to me.”
“How fortunate.” Garrett curled his lip up. “Most men have to wait for their father to die.”
Roger clenched his hand around the armrest. He did not have to rise to the bait every time. “When Henry returns, he will function as my chamberlain.”
“What about the old chamberlain?”
“He has a cottage by the sea all picked out for himself. He will step down when my father leaves.”
“Did you call me here for my approval?” Garrett sipped his mead, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He followed that up with a hearty belch. The bastard knew how to behave. Garrett did it purely to gall him.
“Strangely enough your approval matters about as much to me as a pair of dog’s ballocks,” he said.
“Aye, and you would know, being well acquainted with the ass end of a dog.” Garrett grinned.
The man did appreciate a good insult. Where others might be reaching for their sword, Garrett merely dredged up an even worse insult to return. Damn! He would miss him. “Nay. Even you might have noticed that I have recently married.”
“Lady Kathryn has my deepest sympathies.”
Roger fought his grin and lost. “What you may not know is that in marrying her, Anglesea has added to its northern border.”
“Does the king know you own almost as much land as him now?”
Roger chuckled. Of course, Garrett knew. He probably knew to an acre how much land and where it lay. It made his task that much easier. “I had not planned on sharing that with the king,” he said. “It is good land, very fertile but has been allowed to run wild for years now.”
Garrett’s shifted in his seat.
“There is a manor on the eastern edge of the land, mostly a ruin now, but it could benefit from a lord. The entire demesne could do with someone overseeing it.”
Garrett drained his mead and set the cup on his armrest. “Your mother has been speaking out of turn.”
“The entire keep has heard you and Bea going at it.”
“The keep should mind its own business.” Garrett clenched his hand around the armrests.
Just like the blighted man to get his back up over that. “I trust you do not include my mother in that statement.” Roger sneered. “God knows why, but she seems fond of you. She wants to see the two of you happy.”
“I do not want any charity from Anglesea.”
“Good.” Roger refilled Garrett’s mug. “Because this is a sod’s job. It will be years before she yields anything.”
“And you thought I might be just the sod for the job?”
“I know what a sod you are,” Roger said. “I thought you might want to make yourself useful.”
Garrett rose, jaw jutting, fist clenched. “I will make my own way.”
“Indeed.” Roger kept an eye on Garrett’s fists. The bastard had a wicked left hook. “And do you see my sister and your children making their way in a hovel right alongside you.”
“Damn you.”
“Nay, Garrett.” Roger stood and went toe-to-toe with him. “Damn you and your stupid pride. You married an Anglesea, and now you would have her reduced to beggary because you cannot swallow your pride enough to take this opportunity.”
“Beatrice will never suffer. Not as long as I breathe.”
“Or I.” Roger met his stare and held it. “I need this land managed, and you need a way to be a man for your family.” He softened his tone. “You will pour your sweat into that land before you make it profitable. I offer you a mixed blessing.”
“With you and Henry interfering every step of the way.”
“Nay.” Roger sensed Garrett weakening and went for the kill. “The land is yours, all decisions will be yours. I will be your liege lord, aye, but I will treat you as I do any other vassal. Your land, your way. Of course, once you are yielding a good crop, you will owe me scuttage.”
“Of course.” Garrett thrust his hands into his belt. “And I can rely on your protection?”
“Aye.” Roger held out his arm. “Do this for Bea, Garrett. Anglesea will provide assistance until you are able to support yourselves.”
“Nay.” Garrett stared at Roger’s outstretched arm. “I do this alone. From the beginning, and I will pay scuttage as any other vassal.”
Roger wanted to punch some sense into the bastard. “You expect my sister to live in a ruin?”
“It will be our ruin,” Garrett said. “And you know better than to think I would ever put Bea in any danger or discomfort.
Roger did know it, and he nodded. “On your own then.”
“No interference.”
“None.”
“No little gifts for Bea.”
“Not from me.” Roger smiled. “But I cannot control my mother, or my father, if they choose to do otherwise.”
Garrett stared at him with narrowed eyes for a long, long while and then took his arm. “Show me the map.”
* * * *
Kathryn discussed with Roger and Sir Arthur how to get her mother to Anglesea. Four days of discussion and still they went in circles. Thus far, they could devise no good plan. Sir Arthur grew impatient. Roger counseled a considered approach. The tension between father and son grew apace their mutual frustration.
She tried not to fret, and her life certainly provided enough distractions to help her, but in the back of her mind persisted the concern. Keep life settled into a daily routine after the last of the wedding guests left. Sir Arthur and Lady Mary decided to delay their trip north. They never said so, but Kathryn knew they did it because of her mother. Kathryn’s only comfort lay in the knowledge her mother had considerable experience at staying out of his way.
Roger spent his days with Sir Arthur, as his father handed Anglesea to him.
Sir Arthur showed her a different way of being a father, and somehow her own became Sir Royce even in the privacy of her thoughts. With his family, Sir Arthur could be loving, sweet, firm and even gruff, but he never raised a hand to any member or to anyone in his household staff. He did not need to. His power lay like a mantle on Sir Arthur’s shoulders, but did not suffocate those around him. Instead, it sheltered them, keeping them safe and cherished.
This morning he invited her to the practice yards to “teach her a thing or two that Roger does not know.” How could a girl resist such an offer?
Dagger lay on the edge of the practice yards, head on his paws, keen brown eyes watching every move.
“First off.” Sir Arthur took the sword from her hands. “Let us get you some decent steel.”
Kathryn tried to take it back. “But…”
“The stability is wrong.” Sir Arthur sneered at the blade in his hand. “It will throw your balance at what could be a critical moment.”
“I know that.” Kathryn loved her sword. It might not be beautiful but it was hers. “I shift my weight to compensate.”
Sir Arthur growled and motioned his page over.
Rob shuffled forward and took the sword from him.
“Do you have it?” Sir Arthur glared at Rob from beneath his unruly brows.
“Aye, my lord.” Rob’s freckled face broke into a grin as he handed Sir Arthur a wrapped sword.
“Right then.” Sir Arthur pulled the sacking from the blade. “It seems that everyone but me has welcomed you to Anglesea.”
“You do not need to…”
“Beautiful,” Sir Arthur murmured. Sunlight blazed along the gleaming blade length. Jade stones encrusted the pommel, which appeared far too small for Sir Arthur’s huge paws. “Our new smith knows his steel.”
Raising it to eye level, Sir Arthur he held the length of the blade straight before him. “See how she curves from the middle to the outside?”
Kathryn looked down the sword’s length. “Aye.”
“It means her heart is sound, and her edges are wickedly sharp.” He flipped the pommel in his hand and held it out to her. “Welcome to my family, lovely Kathryn.”
“Eh?” Kathryn stared at the gleaming metal. “For me?”
“Aye.” Sir Arthur beamed and nudged the sword toward her. “I asked Roger what you would like best, and he suggested her.”
“My own sword.” Tears welled and she tried to blink them away.
Into her limp hand, Sir Arthur pressed the pommel. Her fingers curled about it.
“How does it feel?”
“Perfect.” Kathryn ducked her head as more blasted tears welled. When had she become such a bedamned leaky pot? “Like it was bespoke just for me.”
“And so it was.” Sir Arthur tipped her chin up. “Any daughter of mine deserves her own blade.”
Kathryn lost her words. Her throat too tight for them in any case, she pressed her forehead to his shoulder and managed a quick. “Thank you.”
“There now.” Sir Arthur cleared his throat. “None of that. Your tears will rust the blade.”
A sob-choked giggle escaped her.
“You should name her,” Sir Arthur said.
“Should I?” She stepped back and raised the sword. The grip molded to her hand. She cut down and left. And the balance! Sublime.
“All the best swords have names.” Sir Arthur braced his legs akimbo and studied her form. “You are throwing your weight to the left.”
Kathryn corrected her stance. “What is your sword called?”
Sir Arthur held his sword hilt. “Fate.” He grinned. “When I was full of piss and pride, I would invite my opponents to meet their fate.”
On a bark, Dagger got to his feet. Alert, he stared at the entrance to the outer bailey.
“What is it, boy?” Kathryn patted his head.
Someone entered the bailey, shrouded in a hood despite the hot day.
“Is it someone you know?” Sir Arthur stood beside her.
The way the person walked seemed familiar. “I am not sure.”
“They seem to know you,” Sir Arthur said. “Because they are coming this way.”
Dagger pressed closer. Sir Arthur moved his shoulder in front of her. Protecting her. Kathryn almost embarrassed herself with more tears.
The figure pushed her hood back.
“Matty?” Kathryn drank in the familiar features. It really was who she thought it was. “It is Matty.”
“Matty?” Sir Arthur frowned at her.
“My sister, Mathilda.” Kathryn broke into a run. She had missed Matty so much.
Matty ran toward her, and they met in a tangle of arms and tears. “Oh, Kate.” Matty sagged against her. “Thank God, I have found you. I am saved.”
Chapter 25
Kathryn handed her sister the soft, rose-scented soap Lady Mary made for bathing. “What do you mean he treats you cruelly?”
With a sob, Matty crumpled in her bath.
They had come here almost directly from the bailey. Matty had ridden with a swineherd and his family all the way from Digory’s farm. The smell lingered on her clothes and hair, strong enough to have Kathryn call for bathing water to be brought to her chamber.
“I married in haste.” Matty wiped away a tear. “I should never have done it.”
Well, Kathryn might have told her that. In fact, she had told her that. “How is he cruel to you?”
“He shouts at me.” Matty’s breath hitched on another sob. “All the time. Naught that I do is good enough for him.”
“Does he hurt you?” Nobody would raise their hand to Matty, not as long as she drew breath. She had made sure the harsh voices and raised fists of Mandeville had rarely come near Matty. Probably the only person at Mandeville who
m Sir Royce truly valued, and if she believed him capable of such an emotion, Kathryn might even have said he loved Matty.
“He shook me.” Face buried in her hands, Matty’s words were almost indecipherable.
“Why?”
“I forgot to close the gate to the chicken coop.” Matty trembled. “How was I to know that beastly fox was lurking there waiting to eat the chickens?” Fresh tears welled and spilled down Matty’s cheeks. “We were not raised that way, Kate. I was raised to be a lady, not a farmer. He picks at me all the time. Looming and shouting about what I do wrong.”
“But, Matty.” Kathryn tiptoed carefully around her words. “Is it not possible that you and Digory need only to become more accustomed to one another.”
“You are taking his side?” Matty sniffed.
“Nay, Matty. I am on your side. Always. It is only that I was thinking the loss of all a farm’s chickens is a heavy loss to bear.” Matty’s bottom lip pushed out, a sure sign she took one of her pets. Kathryn gentled her tone. “Perhaps he spoke in haste and regretted his words after?”
Matty turned her shoulder on Kathryn. “That is easy for you to say. You have all this.” Water sprayed as Matty swept her hand to encompass the chamber. “You married a knight, and a future baron. Nobody will yell at you about chickens and plowing, and dishes.”
Aye, but “all this” had been Matty’s for the taking. In fact, Kathryn had tracked her down with Roger to try to ensure Matty took it. Nobody had forced Matty to marry Digory.
“I know what you are thinking.” Matty heaved a massive sigh. “You are thinking I brought this on myself.”
“Nay.” Well, only partly.
“And you are right.” Voice quivering, Matty buried her face in her hands. “But I believed myself in love. You cannot know, Kate, the agony of loving a man you may not have.”
Kathryn had never known what it was to love a man, agony or no. “What will you do?”
“I cannot go back.” Another sigh rippled through the chamber. “I will die if you make me.”
“I would not make you go back.” Where had Matty got such a notion? Kathryn always looked after her.