‘I thought you weren’t talking to me?’ She wrenched herself away with a glare, brushing her skirts down in an attempt to hide her confusion. If he thought she was going to forgive him for his earlier rudeness so easily then he could think again.
‘It’s not you. It’s—’ he started to answer and then stopped, muttering an oath before curling a hand around her upper arm and drawing her onwards again, his footsteps only marginally slower than before. ‘This way. Stay close and say as little as possible.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
As much as she hated to admit it, there was a good chance that Henry had been right, Mathilde realised, entering a long, low-roofed chamber filled with several rows of tables and benches set between rounded, stone pillars. There were no women anywhere, but more than a dozen men, several of whom she recognised. They were Mortimer’s retainers, his guards, though most of them wouldn’t be of much use tonight, looking glassy-eyed and clutching cups of ale as they turned in her direction with half-curious, half-leering expressions that made her wish the Queen had chosen someone else to deliver the pouch, after all. Now that she was there, however, she had no choice but to go forward, putting on a much braver face than she felt.
If Henry sensed her unease then he gave no sign of it, leading her across the room to where a man with greasy-looking blond hair was sitting alone beside the fireside, nursing a tankard. He didn’t appear quite as drunk as the rest, but there was still a smirk on his face that made her uncomfortable. If he was one of Mortimer’s men then she ought to be safe, she reassured herself, although somehow his expression made her feel anything but.
‘Dubois,’ Henry addressed him tersely. ‘Mortimer will speak with you in the morning. The Queen sends you a gift in the meantime.’
Mathilde held the pouch out as she felt his shoulder nudge against her arm, dismayed to find that her fingers were trembling.
‘From the Queen?’ The man pulled the bag from her hand like a hawk falling on its prey, his face lighting up greedily as he tore the leather cord away and peered inside.
‘You’re not to go anywhere or speak to anyone before morning.’ Somehow she forced the words out.
‘I’ve no intention of doing either.’ Dubois looked from the pouch to her with a speculative expression. ‘Is this all I get? Or do you come with it, sweeting?’
She gasped, indignation warring with fear. Her throat felt dry and sticky at the same time, making it difficult to answer, but fortunately, Henry did it for her, his grip on her arm tightening as he spoke.
‘No. We’re leaving.’
‘So soon?’ Dubois laughed. ‘Why can’t she follow her mistress’s example and be kind to us Mortimer men? Especially when the Queen is so very grateful.’
Laughter exploded in the room, only gaining in volume as Mathilde looked around, horrified by the insult to her mistress. She opened her lips, determined to say something quelling this time, but Henry wheeled her about before the words could emerge, hauling her back in the direction they’d come.
‘Why leave so soon, Wright? Do you want her for yourself?’ Another man stepped in front of them, blocking the way, the stench of ale on his breath so overpowering that Mathilde couldn’t help but sway backwards.
‘Don’t be a fool.’ Henry shoved him out of the way.
‘We won’t keep her for long. Then you can have her back. Come on, pretty. You can be grateful like the Queen, can’t you?’ The other man laughed and darted forward again, sliding a finger beneath her chin and tipping it upwards.
‘Let me go!’ Mathilde twisted her face aside. ‘Pig turd!’
‘Get out of the way.’ Henry’s voice was like steel, sharp and inflexible as a sword.
‘Or what? What are you going to do about it?’
Henry moved so fast that his hands were wrapped around the man’s throat before Mathilde had even noticed they were gone from her arm. She’d seen him look stern and intimidating before, but never angry, and right now he looked ferocious, slamming the other man against a wall so hard that stone dust erupted around them. She inhaled sharply, her heart hammering so violently that she was half-afraid it might burst out of her ribcage. Other men were stirring now, more and more of them getting to their feet, albeit unsteadily. The situation was getting out of hand and she had no idea what to do. She glanced back over her shoulder towards Dubois, but he only looked amused by the scene.
‘Let me go!’ the man spluttered, his face darkening to an alarming puce colour, but Henry’s grip didn’t slacken.
‘Go!’
It took her a few seconds to comprehend that he was talking to her, his voice still as hard as his expression, though when she did, she went quickly, slamming the door behind her with an ominous thud. Every instinct of self-preservation told her to run, but she couldn’t bring herself to abandon him, not when he was still trapped inside, defending her honour. Desperately, she picked up an empty flagon that had been left outside the door, thinking that she could at least smash it over someone’s head if necessary, and then stood back, torn by indecision, listening to the sounds of a thud followed by a scuffle, then a yelp and more thuds, all of them accompanied by raised voices, within.
She’d just about decided to go and fetch help when the door opened again and Henry stepped out, closing it calmly behind him. His jaw was set in a grim line, but his look of fury was gone and he seemed unharmed, his hair and tunic barely even ruffled.
‘Thirsty?’ He looked at her and quirked an eyebrow.
‘What?’ She gaped at him for a second, too relieved to make sense of the question, before remembering the flagon in her hand and dropping it quickly. ‘It was the only weapon I could find.’
‘Fortunately, most of them were too drunk to get this far.’ He grunted and took hold of her arm again, his grasp like iron. ‘Come on.’
‘Are you all right?’ She looked him up and down as they walked, searching for injuries, unable to believe that he could have escaped the room so unscathed. He looked completely calm, while her own stomach was still churning with nerves.
‘Never better.’
‘You shouldn’t have attacked him.’
‘Shouldn’t I?’ He looked down at her, blue eyes glittering. ‘Should I have let him have you, then?’
‘Of course not!’ She felt nauseated by the thought of the man’s hands anywhere near her. ‘But you could have been hurt.’
‘So could you.’
She shook her head, unwilling to think about what could have happened. ‘I don’t understand. I thought they were Mortimer’s men.’
‘They are. Dubois’s another of his spies.’
‘Like you?’
‘Nothing like me!’ A muscle bulged in his jaw. ‘The Queen should never have sent you there tonight.’
‘She sent me under your protection.’
‘Did she know that?’
Mathilde clamped her mouth shut defensively. No, Isabella hadn’t asked who had brought the news of Dubois’s arrival. She hadn’t known who her protector would be, if any, but then she couldn’t have known how Mortimer’s men would treat her either. If anyone was to blame, then it was Mortimer.
Henry’s lip curled when she didn’t answer. ‘She didn’t, did she? She sent a dove into a den of wolves because she didn’t care to ask. I told you before, don’t trust her.’
‘Should I trust you instead, then?’ she challenged him and he gave her a look of incredulity mixed with exasperation.
‘Do you need any more proof?’
She swallowed, realising the truth of it. No, she didn’t need any more proof. Whatever mixed feelings she’d had on that subject had resolved themselves that evening. She didn’t want to think about what he’d just saved her from, but traitor or not, she knew that he’d saved her. She knew that she ought to thank him, too, but somehow she found herself arguing instead. ‘You insulted me! You called that m
an a fool for saying you might want me for yourself!’
‘What?’ Henry stopped walking abruptly, pulling her sideways into a window embrasure. ‘That’s not why I said it.’
Mathilde lifted her head, shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. The nearest torch had gone out so it was darker in this part of the corridor, but she could still see the fierceness of his gaze, his eyes almost scorching her with their heat. They made a stark contrast to his touch, which was tender as he lifted a hand and pressed his palm against the side of her face, cupping her gently from brow to chin. His fingers felt warm, though she was acutely aware of the calloused patches of his skin. For some reason, she wanted to press her cheek closer against them.
‘I was trying to get you out of there.’ His voice sounded deeper than it had a few moments before. ‘That was all I was thinking about.’
‘Oh...’ A fresh shiver of excitement coursed through her body. After the heightened emotions of the past hour, even the lightest of touches felt dangerously potent. Her very toes felt as if they were curling. ‘Then you didn’t mean it?’
‘Are you asking me if I want you? What do you think, Mathilde?’ His thumb dipped, tracing the line of her mouth. ‘But I’ve no right to. You’re a lady.’
‘Only in name. My family are more like farmers.’
‘“Pig turd”?’ He laughed softly. ‘I wondered where that came from.’
‘I have three brothers.’ She smiled. ‘So you see, not much of a lady. I’ve no fortune at all.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’re still noble-born and I’m...’ He grimaced and then took a step backwards, sliding his hand slowly, seemingly reluctantly, away from her skin. ‘Ask your friend. She’ll tell you.’
‘Why can’t you tell me?’ She put her hand on his arm, closing the distance between them again, surprised by her own boldness, but her cheek felt cold without his fingers.
‘Because...’ He sucked in a deep breath and then blew it out between his teeth. ‘Because I’m not just one of Mortimer’s men. I’m a Mortimer, too.’
‘What?’ She drew her brows together, uncomprehending. ‘But your name is Wright.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Oh!’ She felt her jaw drop as the truth dawned on her. Apparently, she was blind as well as naive. She’d noticed the resemblance between him and his master the first time they’d met, but she’d never once guessed at the reason, not even when Katharine had asked whether he was named after his mother’s family. ‘You mean, Mortimer’s your father?’
‘Or brother or uncle or cousin. I don’t know. All I know is that I have Mortimer blood. For all the good that it does me.’ A muscle tightened in his jaw, his expression turning bleak for a moment. ‘And a bastard does not aim for a lady, no matter how much he likes her, or how much he might want to. It was wrong of me to ever seek you out.’
He reached for her hand as she continued to stare at him in surprise, pressing a kiss slowly and solemnly into the palm before leading her out of the embrasure and on towards the Queen’s apartments.
‘Goodnight, my lady.’ He made a perfunctory bow at the corner of the gallery, out of sight of the guards.
‘Wait!’ His farewell seemed to jolt her back to herself as she lifted a hand to stay him, sucking in a breath as it brushed inadvertently against his chest. ‘I haven’t thanked you for what you did back there.’ She paused, staring at her splayed fingers where they rested on his tunic, somehow unable to pull them away again. The urge to touch him was too strong to resist. He’d gone very still, but she could feel the heavy pounding of his heartbeat beneath. It struck her as primal somehow, as if their bodies were joined together as one. She licked her lips, feeling the rhythm in the pit of her stomach, beating in echo to her own. ‘I’m very grateful.’
‘Grateful?’ His voice sounded hoarse, the word seeming to hover in the air between them.
‘Yes, and...’ She peered up through her lashes, a rush of heat making her cheeks bloom and perspiration break out beneath her tunic. ‘You said that I owed you a kiss.’
‘I shouldn’t have.’ His brows compressed, though his gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘You don’t have to thank me, lady.’
‘But I want to. You see... I like you, too, Henry Wright, even though I shouldn’t.’
She lifted her other hand, sliding it around the nape of his neck and on into the thick, dark curls of his hair, though, to her embarrassment, he still didn’t move. He seemed completely frozen, so that, for one horrible moment, she thought she’d made a humiliating mistake, before he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and lowered his face towards hers.
Her pulse quickened as she leaned closer towards him. It was a strange, unstoppable impulse, as if her mind were no longer in control of her body. Instead, every part of her seemed to be quivering with anticipation as his hands encircled her waist and then slid lower, over the flare of her hips, drawing her so close that she could feel the whole length of his body against her own.
It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, hard and muscular and dangerously masculine, fitting perfectly against hers. She saw him tilt his head sideways slightly and then felt his mouth brush lightly against her own for one single, heart-stopping moment before a woman came around the corner and they jumped apart guiltily.
Henry lifted a hand to the dagger concealed inside his tunic, his nerves still on edge from the earlier altercation, then dropped it again almost as quickly. The woman coming from the direction of the Queen’s rooms was no threat. On the contrary, she looked to be in some kind of danger herself, one hand clasped to her side as if she were in pain.
‘Lady Cecily?’ Mathilde gasped and rushed forward, taking hold of the woman’s arm with a look of concern. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘My lady?’ Henry grasped hold of her other elbow. ‘Perhaps you should not be out here?’
‘I need...some air.’ The woman looked up at him, her green gaze misting, before her whole body seemed to sag and her knees gave way beneath her.
‘We should get her to bed.’ Mathilde tried to turn her around, but the woman dug her heels in with a surprising show of strength.
‘Not yet... Over there...’ She gestured towards a window seat, gritting her teeth against the pain as they carried her across to it. ‘Thank you. Don’t worry, this will pass.’
‘Has this happened before?’ Mathilde exchanged a worried glance with Henry. ‘Shall I fetch someone? A healer?’
‘No. It won’t do any good.’
‘Something for the pain, then?’ He crouched down on one knee.
‘I have this.’ The woman pulled a small vial from her sleeve. ‘I’ve already taken a little. It just needs a few moments to work.’
‘What about Katharine? Shall I go and fetch her?’ Mathilde was already several feet away.
‘No!’ The woman sat forward again, stretching a hand out in protest though the movement obviously caused even more pain. ‘I don’t want her to know about this, not yet. Promise me you won’t tell her.’
Mathilde hesitated, but the woman’s gaze was fixed on hers and she had no choice. ‘I promise.’
‘Thank you. You’re a good girl. I know that you’ll take care of her for me...afterwards.’
‘Hush. You’ll be able to take care of her yourself.’
‘No. I’ve seen healers.’ The woman tipped her head back and closed her eyes with a sigh. ‘Don’t let her grieve too deeply.’
‘Cecily...’
‘Come away.’ Henry jerked his head towards the opposite side of the gallery as the woman let out a faint snore, the lines of tension in her face gradually slackening. ‘She’s one of the Queen’s older attendants, isn’t she? I’ve seen her before.’
‘Yes.’ Mathilde nodded miserably, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘She hasn’t been well of late, but we thought she was getting better.’
‘Does she have a husband? If she’s really so ill, then perhaps you ought to send for him?’
‘She does, but...unless she asks, I don’t think she would want me to. They’re not close.’
‘Ah.’
‘She and Katharine...’ She dipped her gaze. ‘They are close. It’s not...that is, I don’t quite understand what it is, but they’ve both been very kind to me.’ She looked up again, her gaze challenging. ‘They’re good women.’
‘I know.’
‘You do?’ She looked surprised. ‘Then you don’t think we should judge?’
‘Why? Who are we?’ He lifted a shoulder. ‘Does she have any other family?’
‘Three sons, but she won’t want them travelling to France at the moment. The King might suspect them of different motives.’
He frowned. Unfortunately, there was probably some truth in that, however unjust it might be.
‘She’s been so kind to me.’ Mathilde sniffed. ‘She and Kat and the Queen. I hate to see her like this.’
‘I know.’ He placed a hand on her shoulder, fighting the urge to go further and wrap both of his arms around her. As much as he wanted to offer comfort, he’d already touched her more than he should have that evening, albeit nowhere near as much as he wanted to. ‘If you need any help with Lady Cecily in the future, send a page to find me. If I’m here, I’ll do whatever I can.’
‘If you’re here?’ Her gaze widened. ‘Does that mean you’re leaving again?’
‘Perhaps. I don’t know. I have to go wherever Mortimer sends me. Often without a great deal of warning.’
‘I see.’ She bit down on her bottom lip for a moment. ‘Henry...about what you said earlier... I want you to know that I understand, but I don’t care who you are or where you come from. You’ve behaved like a true knight this evening.’
He swallowed, feeling a pang in his chest and an unfamiliar lump in his throat. The words made him feel better and worse at the same time. A true knight would have a chance of winning a lady, but their respective positions in life made any alliance between them impossible. If this evening had proven anything it was that they belonged in different worlds and his was too dangerous for her. Maybe in the future things would be different, but there was no way to know when or how or even if Mortimer would ever reward him for his service.
Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 54