by K. C. Helms
By rights, hunting trophies went straightaway to the kitchen. Sitting up, Katherine bit her lip to keep silent at yet another demonstration of her husband’s authority.
Two winded serfs strained beneath the weight of a stout pole from which hung the carcass of a large buck. A bevy of rabbits dangled from a leather thong within the fist of one knight. Several grouse and pheasant were held aloft for all to admire.
She looked away, but she could not shut out the noise of their high spirits.
“You ran this one over with your horse. See here!” laughed one knight. “You burst its feathers!”
Katherine glanced out of the corner of her eye to see a rather denuded bird held up amid raucous laughter.
“’Tis akin to laying claim to this stag. On Saint Joseph’s thigh, to think it did stumble in a rabbit hole. Never have I seen such easy pickings.”
“And a fine rack it does boast. Where will you hang it, Dafydd?”
“Mayhap my father lays claim to it. ’Twas his sword that did bring it down.”
Katherine scowled, misliking the pride she heard in her husband’s voice.
“What say you, Sir Geoffrey, would the antlers not look splendid in your hall?” Sliding onto a bench, Dafydd waved away the hunting trophies. The weary serfs hefted the booty to the kitchen. Removing his helm, he leaned back against a table.
Stripping off their helms and gauntlets, the knights quickly joined him, lounging on the narrow benches and tables.
“Yea!” Sir Geoffrey smiled broadly. “Mayhap I will hang it in Adela’s solar.”
Adela’s solar? Katherine’s head snapped up. Her mother had been the lady of Myton. ’Twas her mother’s solar.
A hoot of laughter came from one knight. “Fancy a woman allowing suchlike in her domain.”
Another inquired, “You will wed this Adela after your year of mourning?”
Katherine canted her head and tried not to look interested in the conversation.
Sir Geoffrey’s blue eyes sparkled. “Mayhap.”
“Then again, you could find another who strikes your fancy,” came a suggestive comment.
Sir Geoffrey shook his head. “I doubt me ’twould be wise. Adela loves the children as though they were her own. Thereto, she’s the only mother they know. My lady, Constance, was abed for much of their brief lives.”
Katherine trembled in silence. How quickly her mother was replaced, in both the husband’s eyes and the children’s. Though she staunchly believed the three babes were not her mother’s offspring, hearing how easily her mother was dismissed shot terror and fulsome anger through her. She bit down on her thumb and struggled to keep silent.
“I do recall you have two heirs?” Sir William asked. He had moved from Katherine’s side to join his comrades.
“Yea, and a precious little girl with lovely dark hair. ’Twas her birth that did take my beloved wife from me.”
Katherine wanted to jump to her feet. Such mockery. Little evidence existed to show her mother had been cherished.
Her insides churning with frustration, she hunched down in her seat. Her hand clasped her middle. Was Rhys’s child being harmed by these turbulent emotions? Is that why a sudden sickness made her want to gag up the contents of her stomach?
“Your children have need of a mother’s love,” Sir William urged in a sharp tone.
Lowering her lashes, Katherine eyed her husband’s knight in surprise. ’Twas uncommon for men to concern themselves with such trifling matters.
“Yea,” agreed Sir Geoffrey with a slight smile. “And I have needs of a wife. The scriptures encourage man not to be without the convenience of a woman.”
“Ho-ho,” shouted a knight. “Speak quickly to the lady.”
“But in truth, ’twould be unnecessary to wed her at all.” Sir William chuckled and winked at Sir Geoffrey, drawing another round of ribald laughter.
Katherine scowled, perplexed by Sir William. This last comment, in variance to his first, made her wonder. Was he baiting her stepfather? She shifted in the chair and studied him.
“I have never seen my young brothers and sister,” Sir Dafydd said. “Mayhap you will allow us a visit before I depart for Wales.”
“I am at your disposal,” exclaimed Sir Geoffrey.
“I avow my wife would take pleasure in becoming acquainted with her siblings.” Sir Dafydd turned and looked across at Katherine. “Is that not so, my lady wife?”
Such a startling thought! ’Twould be a horror to lay eyes on those children. Katherine stared at him in silence, the tension rising in her face.
“Your lady is dumbfounded,” chuckled Sir Geoffrey. He eyed her linen bandage. “I see you did bestow a firm hand on her. ’Tis good.” He turned back to Sir Dafydd and smiled warmly. “’Twill be a pleasure to receive you, my son. And let Anne accompany her sister. She was always my favorite.”
Katherine’s mouth went dry. On Saint Winifred’s bones, he would not be allowed near her precious sister. Vile man! At all costs, Anne must not come to harm.
“’Tis most kind of you to bestow your invitation.” She all but choked on the polite words. “My sister and I remain at Haughmond. ’Tis no time for women to be abroad. While the king plays at war, we will tend the planting and— ”
“And breed,” snarled Geoffrey, his face darkening.
Katherine felt he blood drain from her face. She dared not behold her husband’s reaction. Rising, she squared her shoulders and headed for the stairs.
* * *
Sibyl made sure they did not go wanting, bringing roast pheasant and trout boiled in a mustard sauce, spiced lampreys, bread and cheese, and Anne’s favorite, a pie of quince. Katherine kept to her bedchamber, seeking privacy, seeking to keep her sister close at hand and away from Sir Geoffrey.
But ’twas not long before Sir Dafydd appeared in the doorway and motioned Anne away.
“I never had the opportunity to tell you how my sister fares,” she murmured, sidling past.
“’Twould appear so,” he snorted before bolting the door behind her retreating figure.
Katherine glared at her husband. How easily he asserted his authority. ’Twould be difficult to assert herself, but she must attempt it.
“If you think I will step foot in Myton Castle you are mistaken.”
When he looked at her, she was unable to discern his expression beneath his dark facial hair. Had she vexed him, or merely drawn his attention? It made her uneasy that she could not read him better.
“Then I am not mistaken.” Sir Dafydd leveled a pleasant smile upon her. “I did not expect you to journey there. Lady Adela is a dangerous woman. I would not have you at risk.”
She was taken aback. “I thought you desired Adela to rid me of my babe.”
“And earn your eternal enmity?” The knight shook his head. “’Tis not likely I would be so reckless when I seek your love.”
“Do you spare my child?” Her voice broke, showing her vulnerability. But there was no help for it. She trembled. ’Twas unbearable to think she would lose this precious child agrowing in her womb. Rhys’s child. ’Twas all she had left.
“Your babe will not be harmed.”
Katherine scowled, fearing that he forced a bargain. Bitterness filled her mouth. “Verily, to this end you expect my gratitude?”
“Mayhap I will earn your love.”
“False hopes, sir. You align yourself with your father and his misdeeds. When I convince the king of Sir Geoffrey’s perfidy, what will you then?”
“Perfidy?” His bushy brows rose. “I would like to know exactly what that means.”
“Your father murdered my mother!”
“Many women do not survive childbirth.”
“’Twas more than that.”
“What is your proof?” Scowling, Dafydd’s brows beetled over his eyes, casting his face in shadows, lending him a fiendish expression.
Her gaze skittered away. Aunt Matilda’s warnings were all she had, certainly no evidence of the
dastardly deed. Given her aunt’s enmity toward Sir Geoffrey, an old lady’s rants would easily be discounted. The son would deem his father blameless.
“I—have none.”
She heard what sounded like a growl and the shadowed monster stepped closer. Swallowing nervously, she took a step back, despising her fears.
“Do not accuse my father without sufficient cause.” His eyes drilled her with disgust. “His weakness is women, not misappropriated violence. Do not sully his good name.”
“Good name!” Katherine thumped her fists on her hips. “I am accustomed to deceit and mistrust. For years I have been girded by such foolery. His son does not inspire a different inclination.”
Dafydd’s fist shot out, plowing into a jug perched on a table near the hearth. Shards of pottery crashed to the floor amidst a cascade of water.
He turned and stalked toward Katherine.
She cringed. She could not help it, though it did strengthen her ire. The scent of wet leather filled her flaring nostrils as he passed close to her and strode to the bed.
“Come hither,” he commanded.
“Nay.” Her whisper was barely audible.
“The servants think I beat you. Do not press me.” His voice was low, yet it brooked no argument. “Come hither.”
Her palms broke into a sweat. “Nay, I will not submit to you.”
Sir Dafydd shook his head. “What makes you so ill tempered, when pain will be the result?”
She backed away from the fiend, but it did no good. Advancing, he grasped hold of her wrist.
“Unhand me!” She struggled to free herself, yet found herself dragged to the bed.
Fighting to pry her arm free, she tried not to scream.
But scream she did, when she found herself airborne, tossed gracelessly but unharmed onto the mattress. She twisted to face the demon, but Sir Dafydd had turned his back on her.
“Are you not weary after such a day?” he inquired, proceeding to the far side of the chamber, where he commenced to prepare a pallet on the floor.
In silent wonder she watched him. This knight acted like no other husband. Did he love her so much, as he claimed, that he was unable to reprimand her as others would their reluctant wives? And why did she yet doubt him? He continually demonstrated noble restraint. ’Twas astounding!
Was it possible he possessed a measure of good?
Was it possible to love him, to be his wife in every way?
Sir Dafydd lay down on the thin mattress and heaved a tired sigh. “You will not leave this chamber this night, else you test my limits. There exists a stout chain attached to the foot of your bedstead. ’Twill encourage your pliancy, if necessary. Pray, give me no cause to humiliate you.”
Ah, he was as capable as other husbands in demonstrating the heavy yoke of matrimony. Polite words laced with threats. For years she had witnessed Sir Geoffrey exhibiting similar traits with her mother.
Verily, Sir Daydd was his father’s son.
Drenched in sorrow, she blew out the candle beside the bed. If only Rhys had been the victor, her life would be such happy delight. The chamber felt suddenly cold and drafty. Or was it her fears, having to accept reality? Sick at heart, knowing she was a prisoner, she burrowed under the thick coverlet.
“I am for Myton on the morrow,” came Sir Dafydd’s voice through the dark. “I will go with my father and see his newest offspring. Be at peace, Katherine. You shall have the castle to yourself for the day. Does that prospect not please you?”
Jolted by the relief of his words, pleasure, indeed, filled her. “Yea,” she whispered. Then anger surfaced anew. She poked her nose out from under the cover.
“’Twas heartless of you to imprison me.” Her rebuke contained more frustration than venom.
“You were not a prisoner, Katherine.”
Anger boiled up within her. “’Tis a lie, else you would not threaten to chain me.” Her voice shook, she forced herself to be calm. “Your conscience must bedevil you.”
“You were safe in Sir William’s care while I was absent.”
“’Twas but a spurious excuse to starve me apurpose.”
“Will you have me apologize for the oversight with each new day? ’Twas not an intended slight.”
“So you own. Yet I do not feel your kindness.” Katherine tugged the coverlet up around her shoulders and gingerly formed a hollow in the feather pillow with her fist and lay down again.
“Alas, I thought ’twas plain. Or do you wish to exchange beds?”
Forsooth, the feather mattress was soft and warm. Fancying to remain where she was only made the guilt grow stronger. She bit her lip in consternation, unwilling to entertain tender sentiments for this whelp of Sir Geoffrey’s. Not when this occasion reminded her of the last time wherein she shared a chamber with a knight. Her memories conjured up Rhys and a magical time at Warwick.
If only—
Chapter Twenty-six
Dafydd regretted smashing the crockery. His hand was bruised—his sword hand. And battle was looming.
Troops mustered at Worcester in mid May but plans seemed unsettled. Another royal edict arrived at Haughmond Castle, with a new muster scheduled for the second of August at Rhuddlan.
Dafydd was surprised at the change, but his father was not.
“The magnates brought pressure on the king, I am sure of it,” Sir Geoffrey declared, sitting back in his saddle, returning the royal message across the space betwixt their horses. A royal messenger had interrupted practice in the tiltyard.
Dafydd leaned down from his saddle to give the parchment to his squire. The lad raced to the hall to deposit it for safe keeping with the steward.”
“Consider how many are rallying to the cause,” continued his father, settling his lance in the crook of his arm. “Recruitment is not a problem.”
The squire came charging back to the tiltyard and swept up his sword and dented helmet, then planted his feet in his best fighting pose, ready to continue his practice with the other squires.
“Feudal service allows better opportunity for spoils.” Sir Geoffrey turned with a knowing look. “You can be sure a powerful baron has pressured the king.”
Later that day as he bade farewell, returning to Myton Castle to outfit himself and his knights, he quipped, “Let us hope England’s barons are capable of finding the battlefield.”
Unsettled by the hearty clasp his father bestowed upon him, Dafydd added, “Yea, else they will miss the spoils they hold so dear.”
“Ah, but we shall not miss the opportunity, shall we, my boy?” Sir Geoffrey laughed, climbing into his saddle. “We will garner much from the king’s bounty.”
* * *
Relief flooded Dafydd with his father’s departure, but this he kept to himself, unlike Katherine. Her laughter peeled through the corridors of the upper floors where she supervised the spring-cleaning of the bedchambers.
He had been summoned back to Chester. ’Twas yet another thorn in his side that his wife eagerly anticipated his impending departure. She had not liked sharing the bedchamber with him these past days, he knew. Yet since that first night, she endured his presence without complaint. He had hoped they would be able to forge a normal marriage, with lively banter and growing love. But it did seem a fanciful musing. Naught could move his wife to accept Geoffrey de Borne’s son.
She remained in the chamber with him out of necessity, for he had insisted she help with his armor. ’Twas his squire’s customary duty and she was not amused with the task. The grim set of her mouth made her rancor obvious. He tried to shake off the guilt of being the cause for her present sour mood.
Her mouth drew his eyes like a butterfly to nectar. What sweet lips! Was she aware how they puckered when she frowned? How soft and pliable they became? How inviting?
Giving himself a mental shake, he tried to get a grip on his emotions. How could this one moment make a difference, when he had yet to break through his wife’s defenses? But arrayed in full armor and ready to leav
e, he yet lingered. On all the saints’ souls he yearned for a token, a touch—mayhap an encouraging word—anything he could take with him into battle.
Katherine thrust his metal helm at him. Stepping away, her eyes remained downcast, shutting him out.
“You should be grateful, lady, for the reprieve.”
Damnation! That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. He sounded like a sharp-tongued shrew.
Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I am away, my lady wife. Mayhap you will be grateful for my absence.” He paused, hoping against hope for a response.
Katherine did not acknowledge him. Her expression remained as hard as stone. She stood silent, her eyes roving everywhere, save in his direction.
“Would you bequeath me a parting token? ’Twould be gratifying to see a smile upon your winsome face, my lady.”
“Am I to be locked away each day?” Her gaze remained steadfastly upon the floor.
His heart leapt with hope. “Nay, dear Katherine.” He attempted a smile. “The castle is yours.”
“Do you leave your knight to guard me?”
It took all of his efforts not to take her in his arms and plant a lengthy kiss upon those sweet, red lips. “Nay, my lady wife. You are free from restraints.”
Still she refused to meet his eyes, but a brilliant smile split her face. “Then I allow ’tis a blessed day.”
Pain smote him in the chest. Bereft of hope, Dafydd turned on his heel and strode from the chamber.
* * *
In June the English forces were ambushed in the south of Wales and roundly defeated. Angered, anxious to engage the hill people and bestow the might of his wrath upon them, King Edward gathered his troops. Reinforced with a long line of supply wagons, they advanced into Wales with all speed.
Assigned to Edward’s main force, Dafydd, along with the rest of Reginald de Grey’s men, pushed to Flint then on to Rhuddlan, fanning out to harry the Welsh and ensure the safety of the army’s flank.