A Lord for Haughmond

by K. C. Helms

  “I am not timid, Sir Geoffrey. I know my own mind. ’Tis a pleasant thought to have a home to call my own. A father’s steady hand and a mother’s love were denied me in my youth. My years at St. Quintin were spent learning the art of war. ’Tis time I did learn the art of domestic tranquility.” He laughed, a deep and rich sound. “Forsooth, I intend to be an apt pupil, with this lady as my loving tutor.”

  “I did not know you were at St. Quintin,” Geoffrey said. “You are well-acquainted with that knight who does lust after your wife?”

  Sir Dafydd gave an impatient sigh. “I do not wish to discuss the matter. I would enjoy this day.” He sipped his ale and lapsed into silence, but his boot tapped the floor with an increasing tempo.

  Katherine could not help but be aware of her husband’s presence, for his leg rested beside her head and brushed against her wimple with more regularity. Muscular and well formed, it seemed to reflect a growing agitation, quite what she would suppose, given the course of the conversation. Clearly, Sir Geoffrey meant to provoke.

  “See what a calm and sweet repose my lady displays for us. Already I am charmed.”

  Katherine sighed in relief. Sir Dafydd’s voice was at once gentle and cajoling. But in the next instant she caught her breath and went rigid, for his heavy hand descended upon her shoulder.

  He leaned toward her with warmth in his eyes. “It does suit me that you favor us with a winsome smile, my lady.”

  She cringed at the caressing fingers. ’Twas like maggots crawling upon her flesh. Faith, did she dare fling herself from his repugnant touch? Her stomach lurched and she fixed a narrowed gaze upon the stone floor.

  “Are you not capable of such things?” Sir Dafydd persisted.

  “’Tis a request I cannot meet,” she whispered.

  “See you her defiance?” demanded Geoffrey, lunging forward in his chair. “Heed me when I say— ”

  Sir Dafydd shook his head. “Nay, you must not denounce my wife. In return, I will not believe the rumors apportioned to you. Most are false, eh?” His deep voice trailed into silence. “Come, Sir Geoffrey, I wish to be better acquainted, to be friends. Fate brought me here. ’Tis not every day one resurrects a father from the grave.”

  “You presumed me dead?” The knight’s surprise showed in his face.

  “’Twas the tale I was told.”

  “You were not slighted. I knew naught of your existence.”

  “I do not feel slighted. And I thank you for demonstrating graciousness at my elevation to the lordship of Haughmond. The king thought we would do well together.”

  “So he owns,” responded Sir Geoffrey with a lowering of his brows.

  “I find myself gratified by the arrangement. There is much bounty hereabouts, much to delight my eye.” Sir Dafydd’s hand moved across Katherine’s shoulder.

  She shifted, desperate to escape his touch. But his fingers followed her and remained firmly in place.

  “I am greatly pleased with my lady wife. Is she not fair and sweet and calm? ’Twill be a joy to know more of her.”

  “She does bewitch you. You do not know what grief the day may yet bring.”

  “I bid you not to seek it, my father. Let us enjoy Christian charity. And God’s bounty.” Sir Dafydd’s voice was gentle, yet it held reproof.

  Glowering, Geoffrey took a long pull against his ale. “Are you always so tolerant?” he demanded.

  “Nay, but I find I can rejoice with a newfound father and a beauteous wife. What better manner to begin anew?”

  He dared much, her husband. Katherine did not know what to think of him. With smooth aplomb, he had fielded every assault and objection from Sir Geoffrey, even though it appeared to goad him. And glory be to the saints, no fray had erupted with drawn swords or spilled blood. She could not help but be impressed.

  One of Sir Dafydd’s knights approached with a sealed parchment.

  “My apologies, Sir Geoffrey, that our amiable conversation must needs by interrupted.” Sir Dafydd rose and presented a bow. “I have a message from the king. Be assured, I shall return posthaste. In the meantime, allow me to leave you in the care of my lovely lady.”

  Geoffrey nodded in reply. Lifting his horn to his lips, he watched the knight retreat to a quiet corner with his companion.

  “A pleasant family gathering,” he hissed when Sir Dafydd was out of hearing. “You do plot to make a fool of my son. He is deluded in thinking ’tis a warm and fond welcome he receives as lord of the castle.”

  “’Tis meet it should appear so.” Nervously, Katherine folded her hands in her lap and looked away. In the past, Sir Geoffrey’s civility had not boded well for her sister and herself.

  “You fill his head with your beauty. I will see it does not dim his good judgment. He must needs know of your mala fides.”

  “You decry my mode of affection most earnestly. Yet Sir Dafydd does not seem eager to indulge your gossip,” she commented and tossed her head, hoping ’twould display a measure of confidence.

  A dark shadow crossed his face. “You, who take another man to your bed, know aught of wifely affection.”

  Katherine leaped to her feet. “I do not seek the love of your son. Never a son of yours! Think you I am eager for the seed of your lineage? The sanctity of this marriage was polluted long before the vows were forced upon me.”

  “But they are holy vows!” Geoffrey lunged out of his seat and thrust his face at her. “My son would know any child you birth is his and not another’s bastard!”

  Katherine glared back at him. “You dare— ”

  “Cease this bickering! I will not have my homecoming disrupted by such.”

  Katherine spun around at the harsh undertone. Her husband stood so close that the hem of her bliaud caught on his metal stirrup. Yet his proximity did not deter her. She could have faced Satan and not been daunted. Though Sir Dafydd’s face was in shadow and the firelight blazed fully into her own, half blinding her, she stared into the featureless visage without flinching.

  “Your lady wife is most ungracious. She bears me much ill will,” blustered Sir Geoffrey from behind her. “’Tis alarming how easily rudeness does spring from her tongue.”

  “My apologies if Katherine offends you, Sir Geoffrey. Mayhap she does not yet know her proper role and needs to be instructed.” Sir Dafydd took her elbow and tried to move her. “Sit and be silent, my lady.”

  Though fear and anger exploded within her, Katherine refused to budge. So short a time and already her husband ordered her about. So swiftly she became his chattel.

  Wrenching her arm free, she dared mock him. “You display a spurious pretense at civility. Likely the strain of politeness is past bearing. ’Twould not be surprising, given your bloodline.”

  “’Tis not the time for inflated pride, my lady wife. Go to our chamber and await me there. We needs discuss your behavior,” Sir Dafydd admonished in a deep, brittle voice.

  She would not be bullied. Nor would she be affrighted half to death, though she did shake like a trembling cony facing the watering fangs of a hungry wolf. Was this the manner in which she would live the rest of her days, beneath the heel of a husband who berated her, a man who resembled his sire far too well?

  Moving from his reach, she squared her shoulders. “So you can beat me in private?” she cried. “If a beating I must bear, then level it upon me before my people, that they might know what manner of monster you are, that you do so simply to conceal your shame.”

  “Have I given you reason to fear me, my lady?”

  Her husband’s calm civility was frighteningly reminiscent of his sire’s. Fury rushed through Katherine, left her panting, left her without logic. She glared up at the shadowed face of her husband, unable to halt the rushing words.

  “Yea, for never did you win a virgin bride.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The crashing of a pottery jug mingled with the startled exclamation of a servant in the kitchen passageway.

  “’Tis not to be borne
!” Sir Geoffrey’s bellow filled the chamber. “See to your duty, my son! Your wife will fetch a beating for this grievous confession!”

  With a cry of dismay, Katherine whirled to face her stepfather. The years rolled back and ’twas as though she were a child afresh, with Sir Geoffrey raising panic within her. All that remained was for him to close the distance, so he could more easily dispense his brand of persuasion.

  A sudden parched mouth and watery limbs did not hearten her confidence. But Katherine was not so dismayed as she might have been, for she could not distinguish the faces of the two knights within their chain mail coifs. Squinting into the bright, roaring flames of the fire, she tried to swallow down her fears.

  “You were taken against your will, I presume?” Sir Geoffrey stepped closer.

  “Nay!” Her jaw lifted a defiant notch. “The man I love laid claim to me before I was sacrificed at the altar.”

  “Sacrificed?” Sir Geoffrey snorted. “Hardly that! For family honor, let be it known ’twas rape.”

  “’Twas an act of love.” She bunched her fists in determination.

  Sir Geoffrey swung toward Sir Dafydd. “What if she is already with child? What do you then?”

  “We will put forth the tale of a seduction,” Sir Dafydd murmured in a deep and measured reply.

  Katherine eyed her husband warily. His quiet restraint, much resembling the calm before a storm, was as frightening as Sir Geoffrey’s rant. In her experience, forbearance never endured long. She would have her say before she was silenced. “I will not submit to your lies. ’Twas love alone that took my maidenhead, naught else.”

  “There, her own admission to an affaire d’amour!” Though Sir Geoffrey shook a finger in her direction, he drilled his son with his scowl. “Worth a hearty use of the cat, if ever I heard one.”

  Katherine’s knees threatened to give way. Yet the obscurity of the figures towering so near allowed for a measure of wilting bravado.

  Sir Geoffrey stepped so close she could see the imperfections of the links in his armor. The scent of horse sweat filled her nostrils. Her nose wrinkled in distaste.

  Turning on his heel, Sir Geoffrey shouted, “Guards, lock up this harlot until she is delivered of her bastard! Then bring me the babe.” He veered back and pinioned Katherine with the intent gaze of an executioner bent on his grisly task. “A quick snap of its ill-begotten neck will put it out of its misery.”

  Katherine gasped and stumbled back. Spinning around to flee to the safety of her bedchamber, she all but tripped.

  Sir Dafydd jerked to attention with a growl. “’Tis my right to seek retribution.” He seized her arm in an iron grip, yanking her up beside him and began stalking toward the stairs.

  “Nay!” She plucked at the unyielding fingers shackling her wrist to him. “Do not beat me to avenge your anger. ’Twas done before the marriage. You were not shamed.” She despised the panic in her voice.

  “Was I not?” came a biting query beside her. “’Twas done apurpose to shame me and well you know it.”

  “Good, son, give the wench a thorough beating!”

  She turned and kicked Sir Dafydd’s shin—not a worthy attack against armor. But when she swung at his face with talon-like fingers, he lunged back, loosening his hold. Surprised at her sudden freedom, she did not pause to consider its reason, but raced away as fast as her wobbly legs could carry her.

  She passed Sibyl, who stood hunched over a table, tears staining her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw other servants hanging back in wide-eyed terror.

  Forsooth, no one could save her—except herself. Though she had never endured a beating, Sir Geoffrey had dared to cuff her with the back of his hand at the times her mother was unable to intervene. Those occasions had left their mark.

  Would she be scarred? ’Twas likely! Her wrist yet throbbed from her husband’s iron grip.

  Perspiration broke out on her forehead.

  Swinging toward the kitchen doorway and freedom, she glimpsed Sir Geoffrey’s gleeful smile. He had swept up his empty horn and was banging it on the table for a refill.

  Heavy footfalls and the alarming whisper of armor magnified her dread, spurring Katherine onward. But in an instant she was jerked off her feet, her arm nigh wrenched from her shoulder as she was caught and swung about. Once again she was propelled toward the staircase, with the unrelenting hand of her husband gripping her like a vise.

  Fear flooded her. “I will not submit to you!” Digging in her heels, she slid through the soft rushes like a dray skimming across fresh snow. But her efforts did not slow her husband. He pulled her up the steps while she stumbled to keep her feet beneath her.

  On the upper level Sir Dafydd slammed into the nearest bedchamber and shoved her inside. Katherine staggered to keep from falling headlong across the mat-covered floor.

  Kicking the door shut with his boot, he followed her through the chamber. She whirled, not daring the turn her back on this brutish assailant and shrank back from his reaching hand. Too late, her woolen bliaud was captured within his fist. She twisted away, only to have her gown give way, shredding into pieces, laying bare her shoulders and breasts.

  She screamed.

  ’Twas a frightening sound, humiliating her more than the nakedness she sought to cover, for it betrayed her vulnerability.

  Sir Dafydd’s hand fell away. His breath came in shallow gusts. He stared, his eyes feasting on her exposed flesh.

  She scurried back from the hulking demon, trying vainly to pull the remnants of her drooping gown over her breasts, trying to avoid his avaricious gaze.

  “You possess a great beauty.”

  With her scream still echoing in her ears, Katherine glared her hatred. How dare he look upon her! She was for Rhys and no other.

  “Remove your hands. I would behold the spoils of my victory.”

  Instinctively, she cupped her breasts more tightly. Her jaw jutted out. Could she hide her crumbling resolve?

  “Come thither. I wish to sample your wares.”

  “Nay, I carry a child. I would not have it harmed!”

  Katherine thought she heard a growl—raw and primal. But she could not be certain, what with her heart pounding in her head.

  Cowering to protect her belly, sure she would be struck, she was surprised when the shadowy figure actually stumbled back apace. His scabbard rattled loudly against the stone wall.

  “God’s blood, have you no conscience? You do confirm Sir Geoffrey’s suspicions with such little effort!”

  She gasped, recognizing her blunder.

  “What am I to do with you?” Sir Dafydd burst out from across the chamber. “Another husband would lay you flat with the back of his hand. Yet I am beleaguered by your beauty, helpless to properly rebuke you.”

  Katherine took heart at his astounding words. Mayhap he would refrain from violence.

  “There you stand, taunting me. I can do naught but gaze upon you with desire. You tell me you are already with child. Do you not consider that I, too, yearn to be your lover? To know you and have you know me as a loving husband? Most precious wife, I wish to abide within you, to give you joy, to receive the same from you.” His voice ground to a halt. “Dare I venture there?” he asked faintly.

  Unable to find her voice in the face of such terror, she could only wrap her arms closer to herself and stare in silence.

  The knight shifted his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. “By all that is holy, I should be enraged that you do resist me.” His voice swelled with emotion. “My greatest desire is to show you that I am as much a lover as any you have known.”

  In the silence that followed, Katherine continued to gape at the dark figure across the chamber.

  “Give me your word you will nevermore see that knight,” came Sir Dafydd’s sudden demand.

  “I will not.” She straightened and her jaw snapped shut.

  “I could lock you within this chamber.”

  Yea, he could do as he pleased. They bot
h knew she was helpless. Her breath came quicker and she tried to hold her tongue.

  “I could chain you in the dungeons for a week.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she leveled a glare across the chamber.

  “For a month,” came Sir Dafydd’s exasperated voice through the shadows. “Mayhap for the rest of your life.”

  “A cold and damp bower, indeed, where love will never flourish.” She crushed the torn gown to her breasts.

  But for the knight’s heavy breathing, silence filled the chamber. Finally, he shifted his weight once more, again scraping his sword against the stones of the wall.

  “You leave me no choice. I will take your child from you.”

  ’Twas like a gauntleted fist to her midsection. Forsooth, Sir Dafydd intended to break her spirit. Her palms broke into a sweat. She bit her lip to keep from swooning.

  “Nevermore shall Rhys of St. Quintin come betwixt us.”

  A heart-wrenching sob filled the chamber. Too late, Katherine flung her hands over her mouth. ’Twas a tactic of war, she knew, that her husband threatened her where she was most vulnerable. How could she lose both her child and her beloved?

  “I shall hate you evermore.”

  Her broken declaration, issued through shaking fingers, met with silence.

  Choking on acrid spittle, she fought down waves of nausea. The sharp air of the chamber was naught compared to the cold cutting through her frame, an icy dread that rendered her senseless, that chased her breath from her.

  Her husband held her in a silent, steady gaze. ’Twas some moments before she realized the reason. With a startled mewl she yanked the torn garment over her bare breasts, wrapping her arms around the split material as though clutching a priceless possession.

  “’Twould be honorable for you to lie upon yonder bed and display a wifely mien. ’Twould make a worthy trade for all you hold dear.”

  “Have mercy on me, I pray,” she whispered, cringing.

  “I shall be very gentle, my lady wife. Do you not know how much I already love you?”

  How could this be? Her breath came faster. He could not love her so immediately. She did not love him. Though Sir Dafydd’s voice was indeed gentle, deep and beseeching, dare she bargain with him?