My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  “I be Una, the castellan o’re this keep. Well? Do ye think to shirk yer duties the first morn ye’re here? A fine impression that’ll make on Lady Elen.”

  “Duties?” Deidre asked as she swung her legs out of bed and then winced as her feet hit the cold floor. Where was that maid, Anna? She needed a nice, warm fire and maybe some tea.

  “Aye.” The woman handed her a modest gown of soft, blue wool. “Make quick with yer washin’. I’ll be back for ye in a few minutes.”

  Deidre padded over to the pitcher, poured some water into the basin and dipped her fingers. She flinched. “The water is icy. Could I send for some hot?”

  The woman stopped halfway through the door and turned around, an incredulous look on her face. “If it’s hot water ye’re wantin’, ye’ll need to get up earlier and get it yerself. Master Gilead informed me that ye came seekin’ work.” Her eyes momentarily shifted to the well-tailored traveling dress that Deidre had tossed over a chair the night before. “I normally start newcomers in the kitchen or dairy or maybe as a chambermaid, but Master Gilead said to let ye attend directly to our lady.”

  “Attend?” Deidre asked. “You mean a lady-in-waiting?”

  “Ye won’t be waiting. Ye’ll be doing…anything that Lady Elen wants.”

  Deidre frowned and then quickly smoothed her brow. The last thing she wanted was for this giant of a woman to assign her to scouring pots and pans. She hoped the “lady” would not be too snobbish or demanding. Deidre didn’t know if she could handle that, but what choice did she have at the moment? She had no idea what had become of her escort, and the news of Caw’s death had been a blow.

  “Of course,” she said as she turned back to the basin. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” What time was she going to have to get up in the days to come? She stole a longing glance at her warm, soft bed and sighed. “Where can I break my fast?”

  The woman snorted. “Tomorrow, if ye’re willing to haul yerself out of bed in time, ye can make ye’re way to the kitchens. Make ready now.”

  Deidre stared as the door closed behind the woman. She wasn’t going to be allowed to eat? Surely, there were others who were still breaking their fasts in the Great Hall. She could imagine sideboards overburdened with a surplus of food. Her stomach growled in anticipation, and she groaned. Perhaps she had not found Camelot after all.

  ◊♦◊

  She wasn’t prepared for Lady Elen. When Una opened the door to the lavishly decorated chamber, the stench of a sick room assailed her nostrils. Pungent herbs blended with the sharpness of eucalyptus, but both were overpowered by the oppressive smell of camphor that seemed to seep from every expensively woven tapestry. Deidre longed to throw open the shuttered window and let in some fresh air.

  Elen sat plumped in a huge, overstuffed chair, bright tartans draped over her lap. She seemed lost in the chair, so small was she. Deidre was not much over five feet herself, but she wondered if Elen was even smaller. Her fragile body was wrapped in a fine ivory silk nightdress, matching her pale hair, but her blue eyes—so much like Gilead’s—were kind as they watched her.

  Two other women were in the room. One seemed to be Deidre’s age, with dark hair and eyes; the other was several years older, with red hair and snapping ginger eyes. Both of them looked at her sullenly as Una brought her forward. She guessed they were ladies-in-waiting, too, since their dresses were similar to hers.

  “This is the one yer son said to bring ye.” Una’s tone clearly mirrored the negative attitudes of the two women in the corner.

  “Ah, yes,” Elen started to say in a soft, whispery voice, but was interrupted when the curtains parted in the back of her chamber and a white-haired woman stepped through. She carried a cup that she handed to Elen.

  “Drink this now, my lady. Ye’ll feel much better soon.”

  At first, Deidre took the woman to be ancient, but when she turned to look at Deidre, her eyes were black as ebony and her face nearly lineless. She could have been any age. Deidre shivered a little, although the room was stifling, with two braziers burning brightly.

  Elen wrinkled her delicate nose. “Do I have to have this horrible concoction every day, Brena? Ye know I hate it.”

  “I’ve told ye, Mistress, the brew will keep the soreness from yer joints.”

  Just then, Deidre heard a timid scratching at the door and Anna pushed it open slowly, bearing a heavy tray laden with food. She set it down on the table beside Elen and dipped a curtsy. Deidre’s mouth watered at the smell of still-warm bannocks and freshly churned butter. The steam from the cinnamon-scented porridge was heavenly and if she could just have a slice of that cheese… She put a hand to her stomach to keep it from rumbling.

  Anna smiled at her and Deidre was relieved that at least one of the servants was friendly. Then Anna nodded toward Brena.

  “This is the healer I told ye about last eve. She might take a look at the bump to yer head.”

  Deidre started. “No. That won’t be necessary.” Too late. The healer was already heading her way.

  “I’ll have a look.” Deft fingers felt through Deidre’s hair and when Brena stepped away, she gave Deidre a speculative look. “’Tis nothing that won’t heal itself.”

  The healer knew she lied. Deidre tried not to fidget and then, to her embarrassment, her stomach gave a huge and hungry growl.

  The women in the corner twittered and Lady Elen sent them a reproving look. “Sheila,” she said gently to the older, red-haired one, “ye and Janet should know better than to make fun of someone in front of me. I wilna tolerate it.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” they said in unison, and dipped their heads.

  Deidre was grateful that Lady Elen seemed kind, but feared that somehow those soft words had sealed the other maids’ dislike of her. Seething resentment floated toward her from both of them.

  Elen glanced at Una and then turned her attention to Deidre. “Have ye not broken yer fast, my child?”

  Before Deidre could answer, the door was flung open wide, nearly hitting the back wall, as a man strode through, well-muscled thighs rippling beneath the tight leather of his trews.

  His presence filled the room. Tall, even more broad-shouldered than Gilead, the man had well-developed biceps that bulged from the jerkin he wore with no shirt beneath it. The massive chest tapered to a narrow waist and taut belly. His dark hair, pulled back with a leather thong, showed no signs of silver, even though Deidre knew without a doubt that she was looking at the laird of the castle. Everything about him roared pure, raw male.

  Elen seemed to shrink further into her wrappings as Angus towered over her and placed a silver goblet of wine on the table.

  “Drink this instead of that tea ye’re so fond of. ’Twill put some color in yer cheeks.” He wiped a band of sweat from his forehead. “Bel’s fires! Why is it so hot in here? Someone open that window.”

  Sheila moved forward, slanting an upward glance at him and arching her back so her breasts thrust out. “Allow me, my lord.”

  He nodded and watched as she swung her hips provocatively on her way to the window. “All the way, my lord?” she asked.

  He grinned appreciatively at the innuendo, giving her a slow, lopsided smile. “Aye. All the way, lass.”

  Deidre groaned inwardly. His voice was the same rich, soft baritone as Gilead’s, and his smile was a lot like his son’s, too, only there was nothing archangelic about him. The devil’s own spawn, more like, judging from how mesmerized Sheila seemed by him.

  As though he had heard her, he swung his dark-eyed gaze her way. His eyes were penetrating, the kind that could make a woman feel like she was not wearing any clothes. He turned, legs splayed, appraising her. Deidre forced herself to stand still and not fidget. But God, he was intimidating.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Leave us,” he said.

  Sheila looked disappointed, but had enough sense not to question him. Deidre turned to follow the rest of the women out.

  “Not you.”
r />   She paused in midstep. “What could my lord possibly want with me?”

  He raised an eyebrow. A corner of his full mouth lifted as his eyelids lowered slightly, but he said nothing until the door had been closed.

  She made herself meet his hooded gaze. “My lord?”

  Still, he didn’t answer, but he circled her, pacing slowly like a predator. Deidre willed herself not to pivot and keep him in her sights. The skin on her back crawled when he came up behind her. Saint Brighid! What did the man intend to do? His wife was sitting not ten feet away, her blue eyes wide in her pale face. Clearly, she was afraid of him.

  Deidre brought her chin up defiantly. She refused to be cowed by him, laird or no. She whirled around to face him.

  He looked surprised and faintly amused.

  “I don’t appreciate your stalking me like I’m prey,” she said.

  Elen gasped, but Angus paid her no mind. Something that looked almost like respect flashed through his smoke-colored eyes and then was gone.

  “So ye’re the one he wants.”

  He? Who? Gilead? Could Gilead possibly want her? The hopeful virgin perked up her ears.

  Angus walked over to the table and partially sat on it, thrusting one long leg out in front of him. “Suppose ye tell me how ye came to be here? I dinna know of highwaymen robbing coaches of late.”

  Deidre gulped. The laird must have patrols on his borders. Were those men in the red cloaks his? She had to think quickly. “Bandits, my lord. Two days past. Perhaps before we came on your lands.”

  He narrowed his eyes, the predator back. “Ye speak strange. With yer yellow hair and blue eyes, ye could be Saxon. A spy, mayhap?”

  She felt herself pale. She hadn’t thought about being taken for a Saxon, intent on hiding who she really was. He needed to believe her story. If he turned her out, where would she go? She took a deep breath.

  “No Saxon, my lord. My coloring is the same as your wife’s. I doubt that she’s Saxon. Is she?”

  Elen shrank even further into her wraps as Angus cast a cursory look over her and then shifted back to Deidre. “Ye’ve a sharp tongue, lassie.” He moved toward her suddenly, as agile as a cougar, and then grinned antagonizingly. “Mayhap ye would suit me, after all.”

  Suit? Did he mean “bring together”? Him and her? He couldn’t possibly be making such an outrageous advance in front of his wife. And yet, something told her he could. She drew herself up to her full five feet and one-half inch. Her nose came to his chest. “You insult me. You are a married man and I will not go to bed with you just to insure a place here.” There. She’d said it. And she’d probably be turned out on her ear in the next five minutes.

  Angus stared at her for what seemed a breadth of infinity. Then he threw back his head and laughed—a deep, full-bodied rumble.

  For a moment, Deidre felt relief, and then her temper began to simmer. Really. It wasn’t that funny. Why was he nearly howling like that? Suddenly, she felt herself flush to the roots of her hair. Perhaps he thought her so unimportant that such a proposition wasn’t possible? The gall of him. He was toying with her like a kitten with a string.

  He held up a hand, attempting to stop grinning. “Ah, lass, there be no need to flash sword points of fire through me with yer eyes, pretty as they are.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I meant that I think ye’re strong enough to stand up to the man. God help him.” He squelched another chuckle.

  To him? Whom? Gilead? Deidre’s blood heated at the thought of being suited to him. That was something she wouldn’t protest, not that she would want to stand up to him—lie beside him, maybe—could Gilead actually have asked his father for her? Mayhap this would turn out to be Camelot, after all.

  “I might consider that an honor, my lord.”

  “Would ye now? Then Gilead rescued ye for naught last eve?”

  “I was grateful to your son for saving me,” Deidre answered. “If you think we suit, I will…” She stopped, both because of the small cry that came from Elen and the look on Angus’s face. For a moment she thought she saw—pity?—then it was gone.

  “Och, no, lass.” He sounded almost resigned. “Gilead has little time for women, even though many, like ye, are willing to throw themselves at him.”

  Deidre felt the heat break over her face and looked away. She was a fool, letting herself get carried away again. Gilead had only been a gentleman last night. Like any true knight of the Round Table would have been, she reflected ruefully. Had that meddling old magician all those years ago somehow bespelled The Book so that she was forever enthralled in flights of fancy? Slowly, another thought emerged and she looked up at Angus in dread.

  “Who, then?”

  He hesitated briefly. “Niall has asked to be handfasted to ye.”

  Deidre’s blood sludged to rivers of ice. Engaged? To be married? The thought of that man’s burly body on hers made her want to retch. Except there was nothing in her stomach. Numbly, she heard Elen protest. Angus silenced her with a glance. Deidre took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  “You can tell the man I said ‘no.’ He nearly raped me.”

  Angus frowned slightly. “I was told that he might have come on a bit strong last eve, but it was Beltane. Lasses that are about are fair game.”

  “I told you why I was out. I had nowhere to go after the attack.”

  “Aye. The bandits.” He studied her, his dark eyes seeming to penetrate to her very soul. “Ye appear to be high-born, but ye have no coin and no clothes other than what ye’re wearing.”

  She didn’t have to be told she was a charity case. The one small trunk she’d managed to take was gone, along with the coin that her guard carried for her. Deidre shifted uneasily, refusing to think that she was at this man’s mercy. But she would take to the roads and risk her luck before she’d let that…that monster near her again. She gritted her teeth.

  “I thank you for taking me in and giving me shelter. I am quite prepared to work hard, attending Lady Elen, and earn my keep.”

  “Attending Her Ladyship is not hard work. She rarely leaves this room.” He glanced at his wife perfunctorily. “Mayhap if she did, she’d be fit to bear me a son…or a daughter that I could marry off and bind the clans.”

  Elen’s delicate features flushed with embarrassment and she ducked her head. “My lord knows the physician said…”

  “Yes.” He cut her off and turned back to Deidre. “Niall’s been widowed nigh two years. He is a wealthy mon with holdings half as large as mine. Many a lass has gone willingly to his bed, trying to entice him into making her his wife.”

  “Fortunately, I am not one of those.” The man was twice her age!

  “Ye’re a mite stubborn for a woman. Niall will be wantin’ to cure ye of that.”

  Did he think to break her like a horse to saddle? Hardly. “I said ‘no.’”

  He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “’Twould be wise of ye not to provoke him thus. He has a bit of a temper.”

  She just wagered he did. “The man threatened me last night.”

  “Did he, now? In what way, with Gilead there?”

  “He said…he said I hadn’t seen the last of him…”

  “He spoke true there, lass. But it’s an honorable thing he’s doing, asking to handfast. Ye should be pleased that he honors ye.”

  “Honors me?” Deidre shook her head, hoping to clear her ears. Did the overbearing laird not understand a thing she said? “He said no woman would get the best of him.”

  Angus stifled a grin. “No woman gets the best of me, either, lass. It’s the way of things. No harm there.”

  What had happened to chivalry? The Book said men were supposed to treat women as fragile, delicate creatures whose virtue was always to be protected. Deidre nearly stamped her foot in frustration. She would try one more time.

  “He would abuse me—beat me—for I would never stand down from him.”

  Angus took a step toward her and bent close, his handso
me face inches from hers. “I don’t know where ye’re from, lass, but here ’tis a wife’s duty to obey. A husband has every right to keep his wife in line.”

  Deidre’s eyes shifted to Elen, whose face had gone pale as an Easter lily. She looked back at Angus, refusing to flinch at the overwhelming sense of power that sprang from him. “Do you beat Lady Elen?”

  He drew back at that and stared at her. For a fleeting moment, Deidre was afraid he might strike her, so stormy had his eyes become.

  “Nae. I’ve never struck a woman in my life.” He gestured at Elen. “Ask her, if ye’ll not believe me.”

  Deidre looked askance at Elen, who seemed to be struggling to find her voice.

  “’Tis true,” she said in barely a whisper. “My husband has n’er laid anything but a gentle hand on me.”

  Deidre had a hard time envisioning this big, brawny male as gentle. Gilead, yes. His father, no. Why else was Lady Elen so frightened of him, then?

  “Ye see? I’m no ogre, nor is Niall.” Angus watched her intently. “’Twould be a good match, lass. Niall is the son of an Eire king— the second son, which is why he is here—but noble, still. Ye could do much worse, being an orphan with no dowry.”

  “For once and for all, I’ll not marry the man.” Her prince was Gilead or none! Deidre’s heart sank. Of course, Angus would require a noblewoman for his only son. And probably one with a huge dowry, no less.

  His eyes turned dark again. Clearly, she was trying his patience, yet Deidre felt she was desperately fighting for her freedom, if not her life. Angus might not be cruel, but Niall certainly was. She didn’t need the Sight to know that.

  Angus sighed and began to pace, stalking the room like a lobo wolf. Finally, he stopped and turned back to Deidre. “I don’t know why I needs must explain myself to ye, but I will grant ye that. We have three great cenels north of Hadrian’s Wall. Mine own land, Oengus, stretches east to the North Sea. To the west, near the Firth of Clyde, lies Cenel Gabrain, an ally of mine, as is the smaller Cenel Comgaill to the northwest. Our great foe be Fergus Mor of Loairn who holds much of the North and ever seeks to take more lands from the rest of us.” He stopped. “Are ye understanding aught of this?”