Rowena didn’t respond. She couldn’t take her eyes from the invader. How had he gotten within the walls of her castle? Why had someone not launched an arrow through his neck as soon as he uncovered his head?
Because no one wanted to start a war with William Marshal. She hadn’t known this man’s reputation, but thankfully her knights had.
From the impressive proportions of his body to the fierce arrangement of his features, he emanated power. With lithe agility, he dismounted, his heavy mail apparently no hindrance to the fluidity of his movements.
His men rode in behind him, quickly forming a menacing circle. In an instant, she and Farrell were trapped within the ring, face-to-face with the dark knight. He tossed the helm to one of his soldiers, striding directly toward Rowena. Her insides quivered and throat constricted. He was huge—and obviously furious.
His mail-covered hands closed around her upper arms, jerking her violently forward. She collided with his chest. He shook her once, hard, and then glared down into her upturned face.
“I have killed men for far less insult than you dealt me this night. Never has my simplest request been met with such discourtesy.” After sneering the words directly into her face, he shoved her away.
Rowena stumbled backward, barely catching herself before she fell to the dirt at his feet. “You accuse me of discourtesy and insult, but you are the one issuing threats.” With quicksilver speed, anger evaporated her fear. “I’ve explained that I am unable to leave my castle. That is all the explanation any honorable knight should require.”
He rejected the statement with a harsh laugh. Rowena planted her fists on her hips. Heat burned her cheeks.
Farrell smoothly stepped between her and Sir Dominic. “Might I suggest we move this conversation into the hall? Surely, you’d both be more comfortable having this discussion over a tankard of mead or ale?”
Remembering Farrell’s earlier words, Rowena reined in her temper. She still had no intention of going anywhere with this beast, but she must find out how he’d breached her defenses. If he could get in, so could Edwin.
“Farrell is correct,” she said softly. “Shall we away to my hall? I would be honored to extend my hospitality.”
Another burst of laughter assured Rowena he hadn’t missed the possessiveness in her invitation.
“Farrell, please ask Ludlow to see to the needs of Sir Dominic’s men.” She turned back to the knight. “If you will follow me.”
She didn’t wait to see if he accepted her invitation. Spinning on the ball of her foot, she maneuvered between two of his soldiers and marched toward the keep. Never before had she been this angry—or this afraid. Her world was coming unraveled and this man was gleefully tugging the string.
Rowena jerked open the door, stomped past the center hearth and gestured toward the head table. “Please be seated. I’ll see to your refreshment.” She tossed the words over her shoulder and headed toward the service rooms at the lower end of the hall.
Her angry façade slipped just a little when he could no longer see her face. What was she to do? How had this been accomplished?
And who had died that he might succeed?
She’d have to find out from Ludlow which of her guards had given his life. Her people depended on her. It was her responsibility to keep them safe. She’d reacted with pride and anger—and one of her people had paid the price. It was a bitter brew to swallow, but Rowena accepted her failure.
Before she secured bread from the pantry, she entered the buttery, unsure what beverages she would need. An odd moaning reached her from one darkened corner and Rowena stepped backward.
“Who goes there?” she demanded. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw the shadowy outline of a person, or persons.
The quick shuffling of clothing and a familiar chuckle instantly soothed Rowena’s fear.
“So sorry, milady.” Thora stepped forward into the light spilling in from the hall. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Thora’s hair was down around her shoulders. The laces of her gown had been loosened and the chemise beneath bunched at one shoulder. Milton, the castle marshal, stepped up behind Thora and awkwardly tugged his forelock.
“We’ve visitors, Milton, and the visitors have horses. You do still oversee my stables, do you not?”
“Aye, milady. I beg your pardon. I’ll go there now.”
He shuffled past Rowena and made a hasty exit.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening tryst, Thora.” Rowena allowed a hint of reproach to harden her tone.
“What are you after, milady?” the servant asked, apparently unashamed to be caught at her amusement.
“I need refreshment for one of the visitors as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Amazed that her attendant didn’t grill her with questions, Rowena turned back toward the hall. She made it to the doorway and then paused. “Redress your hair before you serve us.”
Rowena smiled for the first time that night as she left the buttery. Thora was one of the few rays of light at Pendragon Castle, all the rest had been hardship and strife.
The smile proved to be short-lived. As Rowena stepped back into the great hall, she stumbled to a halt. Sir Dominic sprawled in the master’s tall-backed chair, his muddy boots propped on the head table.
Dominic knew he was going out of his way to provoke the lady, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. She stood motionless in the stone archway leading to the storerooms. He stared at her, hiding his reluctant admiration behind a hostile glower.
Her bright green eyes narrowed in a nearly angelic face, the lush fullness of her mouth compressed into a grim line, and her hands clenched into tight little fists.
God’s blood, she was adorable!
She didn’t want him here. Every movement she made, every word she uttered, illustrated her displeasure. But he couldn’t understand her attitude. Why did she perceive him as a threat? William Marshal had invited her to court, not scheduled her execution.
Dominic watched the subtle sway of her slender hips while she crossed the hall. She kept her shoulders squared, her bearing regal. A fluttery wimple framed the pale oval of her face, held in place by a golden fillet. He wondered if the hair hidden beneath was the same dark brown as her highly arched brows. Was it long and silky or wild and curly?
She looked far too young to be entrusted with the vast Pendragon holdings. The thought made him suppress a smile. William Marshal knew how badly he wanted holdings of his own. He’d not aspired to anything so grand as Pendragon Castle, but… Could it be his liege had an ulterior motive for this errand?
“Thora will be with us directly,” she informed stiffly, her gaze hostile.
Dominic swung his legs to the stone dais and leaned forward, resting his elbows impolitely on the scarred tabletop. He was hot and uncomfortable in his heavy chain mail, and this chit was the cause of it all. He’d worn the hauberk more for effect than any suspicion he’d need the protection.
This was supposed to be a quick, simple errand. William needed to speak with this girl, and Dominic was to bring her to Windsor Castle. Yet she’d refused not only William’s summons but the simple hospitality customarily extended to any knight.
“How did you get beyond the curtain wall?” Her momentary attempt at civility fell away like a cheap costume.
Dominic laughed. How could so tiny a creature possess such indignation? She reminded him of a feisty kitten, hissing and spitting at the world, with no concept of her true size or limitations. “I rode across the drawbridge.”
“Who lowered the drawbridge? Who raised the portcullis? How did you get a man inside my castle?”
She stood before the dais, glaring up at him, but he was in no mood to soothe her. “Join me.” He motioned toward the empty chairs at his right with a lazy nod of his head.
Stiffly, Rowena moved around the table and took a chair, leaving one empty between them. “How was it done, Sir Dominic?”
“Fine,” she sneered. “Shall we discuss the weather? The upcoming harvest? A recent skirmish? The merits of Magna Carta, perhaps?”
“You really are in need of—”
His comment was interrupted by a throaty, feminine laugh. “I could tell you exactly what Lady Rowena is in need of, but I don’t think she’d thank me for the suggestion.”
Dominic glanced toward the speaker and smiled. Now here was a woman. Her simple woolen gown and the crude pattern to her harshly accented French placed her among the lower class. Rarely could a commoner speak the language of the nobility, however coarsely. Who was she?
Her bright blonde hair and curvaceous form were pleasing indeed. Amusement sparkled in the depths of her wide blue eyes, and Dominic switched to English, hoping the lady wouldn’t understand. “Tell me, fair damsel, what does the lady need most?”
The servant glanced quickly at her mistress and then placed the small tray on the table in front of him. “A good long tumble with a man who knows what he’s about,” she returned in English with a pretty smile.
Dominic waited for the lady’s outraged gasp or harsh remonstration, but her expression didn’t change.
“Pour the wine, Thora, and then be off,” Rowena instructed in French.
Dominic studied the lady’s delicate features while the servant filled their cups and quietly slipped away. Could Lady Rowena not control her own people? It hadn’t seemed so, until now, but what a bold comment for a handmaiden. Even if the lady hadn’t understood—
“I’d know the reason you’ve forced your way into my home.” Rowena’s insistent tone cut through his confused thoughts.
“Forced my way into your home?” he challenged. “I remember no siege. I employed no battering ram. There are no holes in the walls of your castle.”
Rowena happily pictured herself dumping the contents of her cup over his head. “Why are you here? What do you really want? How did you get in?” She had no patience left where this man was concerned. He was rude and presumptuous, and she was terrified she wouldn’t be able to outwit him.
“I’m here because my liege lord bid me come, and I want a hot bath.”
Rowena closed her eyes, knowing he’d see her exasperation. Then she looked directly into his face. His eyes were blue. Not brown, as she’d first thought. They were a rich midnight blue.
Scrambling to remember the issue at hand, she finally said, “If we can have done with this foolish conversation, I’ll see to your bath myself.”
“An intriguing proposition. And I have one in return.”
“A proposition?”
He nodded. “I’ll answer your questions one at a time. But for each answer I give, you must provide the answer to one of my questions.”
“Agreed. How did you get within the walls of my castle?”
“I rode my charger.” He chuckled. “How long has your husband been dead?”
Rowena seethed. This was a game to him! “He died on All Hallow’s Eve.” Even as she spoke the words, Rowena found it hard to believe she’d been free of Gaston for nearly a year. “Did one of your men kill my guard?”
“Aye.” He smirked, obviously enjoying the game. “Who is Edwin of Llangly?”
Rowena smiled. If he hadn’t been told the details of her relationship with Edwin, then this game could be far more interesting than she’d first thought. “My father.”
“But I thought—”
“The next question is mine. Who killed my guard?”
“Ephraim.” Dominic offered no more information.
His expression was thoughtful. Rowena was sure he was deciding how best to phrase his next question.
“Is Edwin of Llangly your mother’s husband?”
“Aye.” He’d never puzzle through that tangle. “What position does Ephraim hold within your household?”
“He’s my squire. Why is your mother’s husband challenging your marriage to Gaston of Pendragon?”
“For the obvious reason. He wants Pendragon Castle and all of the other holdings that came to me upon Gaston’s death.” If Ephraim was Sir Dominic’s squire, and it was this squire who’d killed the guard, then it stood to reason Ephraim also raised the portcullis and lowered the drawbridge. “How did Ephraim get within the castle walls?”
“He climbed up the chute of your garderobe,” Dominic explained with another quick grin.
“That’s disgusting! You ordered your squire to climb up through the latrine? That is vile.”
Dominic chuckled. “Ephraim will be well compensated for his trial and apparently the ploy was effective, for here I sit within your cozy hall.”
“I never thought to fortify the pit of the garderobe. This is too much. Must I station guards outside the privy door?”
“The next question is mine, but if you’d prefer I answer that, I’ll allow my questions to accumulate.”
“Nay.” She waved away the suggestion. “I wasn’t posing a question. I was thinking aloud.”
“Why have you been so reluctant to cooperate with me?”
Rowena lost interest in the game. “Edwin of Llangly has been a thorn in my side longer than I can remember. After Gaston’s death, he determined to have my holdings, but I’m just as determined to retain them. A widow is afforded many rights other women are not. I’m in the rare position of controlling my own life, and I intend for it to remain so.”
“How does Edwin hope to gain control of Pendragon? On what grounds is he contesting the marriage? Has he blood ties to Gaston? Is your mother still alive?”
Rowena laughed and pushed her chair back from the table. “I’ve no more questions for you. So, I’ve no reason to answer yours.”
“Then keep your own counsel,” Dominic grumbled. “But know this. I’ve been instructed to bring you to William Marshal in a timely manner—and I fully intend to do just that.”
“I understand.” Rowena stood. “I’ll go see to your bath.”
* * * * *
“How dare you insult me in front of the knight. What were you thinking, Thora? I should have you flogged!” Rowena anxiously paced in front of the crackling fire in her solar, her private sanctuary above the great hall.
“I was thinking what I’ve been thinking for nigh unto a year. You need a man in your bed. Why not Sir Dominic?” Thora’s wide blue eyes revealed concern, but the hint of a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.
If the buxom blonde were not her dearest friend, Rowena wouldn’t tolerate her insolence. But Thora had been Rowena’s only ally since she arrived at Pendragon Castle, a terrified bride of fifteen. “Your solution to a great many problems can be found upon the surface of a bed.”
The servant’s smile departed entirely. “I’ll not deny my fondness for bed sport, but this situation is a bit more complicated than the need for pleasure.”
“Do you think I don’t comprehend the situation?” Rowena snapped. “Edwin needs only prove my virginity and all is lost. My maidenhead must be gone before I’m presented to the regent. But how do I go about this? Where do I turn?”
Thora studied her thoughtfully. “I think what Edwin really wants is to wed you himself.”
“What he wants is irrelevant. Brother Leland assured me that such a union would never be allowed. Edwin was wed to my mother. It would be considered incestuous were we to wed. How could I share the bed of a man I once called father?” Rowena shuddered. “Edwin knows ’tis impossible. But if Sir William finds out the truth, he will recommend that the Church annul my marriage.”
“If you took a lover, even for one night, Edwin would have no grounds on which to pursue the annulment.”
“I know, but this secret is too damning. How can I trust anyone—and what if I conceived a child?”
“We would retire to one of your other fiefs and return to Pendragon with my child.”
She squeezed the older woman’s shoulder, warmed by her loyalty. �
��I couldn’t do that to you, Thora,” Rowena said quietly. “I couldn’t do that to a child born of my body.”
“Is it better to submit yourself to Edwin and surrender Pendragon Castle?”
“I’ll never surrender.” Determination surged through Rowena.
“And every person I know is grateful. Edwin is vile! We have to keep him from Pendragon no matter the cost.” Thora paused, her expression cautious. “There is only one way to fight this. You must seduce Sir Dominic.”
Rowena laughed until she realized Thora didn’t share her mirth. “Surely, you jest.”
“Nay, I do not. I think Sir Dominic is perfect for this task. Who better to rid you of this unwanted obstacle? He’s strong and handsome, and he’s honor bound to protect you until you’ve been delivered to William Marshal. He’s sitting naked in his bath even as we speak.”
“This is madness. If Sir Dominic realized the truth, he would be ‘honor bound’ to reveal my virgin state to William Marshal.”
“That wouldn’t happen. Men see what they expect to see. If he thinks you’re a lusty widow, deprived of her husband’s attentions, then that’s what he’ll find. Even if he did realize the truth, you’d only need to weep pathetically, explain all you’ve suffered at Edwin’s hand, and you’d have an ally. It’s worth the risk. Edwin must be stopped!”
“I cannot,” Rowena said, but there was no conviction in the protest.
* * * * *
Dominic allowed the soothing heat of the bath water to ease the tension from his body, but no power on earth could have relaxed his turbulent thoughts. One stubborn slip of a girl had nearly bested him. The realization stuck like a fishbone in his craw. He’d battled England’s enemies for longer than he could remember and never had he been so close to defeat.
Her delicate face and flashing gaze materialized within his mind, so Dominic opened his eyes. He didn’t want to think about how appealing he found her features. He refused to wonder if her lips were as soft and pliant as they appeared. Instead he looked about the chamber. The room was not large but the furniture was stout, the floor clean. Was Rowena responsible for the orderly environment or did— His thoughts ended abruptly when he heard an odd creaking sound.
Tears of the Dragon Page 2