Outrage grew. Why didn’t someone else cry out that he’d seen her father removing that cap? Hypocrite, a small voice within her chided. Why should it be someone else when she’d seen what happened?
Another wave of shame surged through her. Coward. It was fear that held her tongue. Were she to admit what she knew everyone here would spurn her as a traitor to her own blood. No honest knight would ever offer for her hand against the possibility that she might one day betray him as she had her sire. That might well leave her sire no choice but Sir Gilbert for her mate. The very idea was enough to keep Kate’s tongue from wagging.
There was but one flicker of grim satisfaction in all this. Although no one else admitted to seeing what her father had done, neither did his usual supporters rally to him this time. Only those men like Sir Ronald, who owed their living and their allegiance to him, had joined in his demand that Warin not be censured. Why, not even Sir Gilbert had said a word in his favor.
“Well spoken, my lord,” Sir Ronald replied. “Every man should recognize Sir Warin de Dapifer for the good knight he is. I ask you now, what of the Godsol? Where does his responsibility in this lie? He too, must have noticed the missing cap. Why didn’t he call the fault when he saw Sir Warin hadn’t noticed and pull out of the run?”
Her sire grinned broadly at this attack on a Godsol. Righteous indignation tore through Kate. Of course her sire would enjoy hearing Rafe blamed for what was truly none of his fault.
“Aye,” Lord Humphrey said. “If the Godsol had felt himself in any danger, he could have withdrawn from the run. Since he didn’t and he took the purse, we can all assume he saw the uncapped lance as no threat. Another reason Sir Warin shouldn’t be blamed.”
“Indeed.” Sir Ronald, every inch the lackey, nodded. The movement of his head was a shade too vigorous. “Know you my lord, that I’ll miss Sir Warin in the morrow’s melee. Your steward is a stout-hearted warrior, and battling won’t be the same without him at your side.”
“My thanks for that,” her father replied. For the first time a hint of regret showed in his voice. “I shall miss him as well.”
With his required show of loyalty at an end, the knight offered his lord a small bow then turned and strode back down the hall’s length to his own seat. As he went every man along the opposing line of tables across the room watched, their expressions black with disapproval. So many men all glowering in her direction was enough to dampen even Kate’s indignation.
No doubt to prevent a riot in his house, Lord Haydon had rearranged the mealtime seating for this day. Rank no longer determined where his guests sat. Instead, the Godsols and their defenders were on one side of the room; the Daubneys and those connected to them peopled the other. That hadn’t stopped the enemies from biting their thumbs at each other throughout the meal. A shiver shot down Kate’s spine. So much animosity promised a vicious melee on the morrow.
Beside her, her father turned his attention to the last of his meal, wholly unconcerned by the looks aimed at him. Her appetite gone, Kate’s gaze shifted until she looked at the high table. There, seated between the bridegroom and the just now departing bishop, was the day’s champion.
As if he felt her gaze Rafe’s head turned toward her. When he saw her watching him his lips lifted. That was all it took for need to etch a channel through Kate. Forbidden or not, she wanted to feel his mouth on hers once more.
In the next instant his smile ebbed until only longing touched his fine features and filled his dark eyes. Kate’s heart tore in twain. The truth she already knew was written on his face for her to read. Never again would she feel his touch or the glorious press of his lips to hers. Any chance of ever again being close to him was gone, killed by her father’s misdeed. Godsol and Daubney would mingle no more at this event.
Someone touched Kate’s shoulder. Startled, she jerked around on the bench to look behind her. It was Sir Gilbert.
Her skin crawled. Unable to bear that her vulnerable back was to him, she eased around on the seat, all the while slipping as far from him as possible on the bench. A tiny smile flickered to life on his mouth at her retreat. Something in his expression said he knew she found his touch repulsive and that her reaction amused rather than upset him.
Alerted by her movement, her father shot a glance over his shoulder. The narrowing of Lord Humphrey’s eyes was enough to convey that he hadn’t forgiven his neighbor either for his lack of support this afternoon or for his offer of a handfast with Kate. He afforded Sir Gilbert a mere grunt of acknowledgment.
Unperturbed by his lordly neighbor’s rudeness, Sir Gilbert offered Kate a courtly bend of his head in greeting. “My lady.”
“Sir Gilbert,” she replied, the words slipping from between clenched teeth as she willed him gone and swiftly so.
“It was another fine meal, wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Fine enough.” Kate shrank back against the table. God preserve her! He intended to make small talk when her heart was broken and her life in ruins. She shot a frantic glance around the room, seeking some avenue of escape.
Just as she had done before Lady Haydon again came to her rescue. At the head of the room, both Emma and her mother were on their feet. Lady Haydon came around the high table’s corner and raised her hands to catch her guests’ attention.
“My ladies, the bride has decided to retire to my garden and enjoy the remainder of the afternoon in the presence of the musicians. What say you all? Shall we leave the men to their talk of battles and their dicing while we make merry on our own?” That she was excluding the menfolk from her invitation along with the chiding tone of her voice left no doubt that Lady Haydon was unhappy with the sour turn her festivities had taken.
Kate fair bounded to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Sir Gilbert, my lord sire.”
Her father shot her a harsh look. “You’ve not asked my permission to go, nor have I given it,” he told her.
The amusement in Sir Gilbert’s gaze redoubled. “What a pity, my lady. It seems you won’t escape me so easily after all.”
He reached out as if to take her hand. Kate snatched her arm behind her and tried to take a backward step, only to find herself trapped between the table and the bench.
“She stays with me, not you,” her father said, once more eyeing Sir Gilbert. There was no mask for his hostility this time. “You’ve made your offer and been refused. I’ll warn you to keep your hands to yourself where my daughter is concerned.”
Sir Gilbert only shrugged off his neighbor’s bluntness. “My, but the two of you are out of sorts this afternoon.”
Out of sorts! Aye, Kate wanted to scream, she was out of sorts. She’d just discovered she was daughter to a lying cheat.
All around the room women left their male companions and came to join their hostess. Ami stopped abreast of Kate’s table, waiting for Kate to join her. Kate sent her sire a pleading look. Her father ignored her.
“She stays,” Lord Humphrey said, waving the young widow on her way.
With a regretful shrug and a worried look Ami moved on to join the other women as they filed out of the hall. Kate’s longing to go with them rose to desperation. She twisted her face into the expression that had ever won Lady Adele’s pity. “My lord, might I please join the ladies? I cannot bear another moment in this room, what with so many men angry at us.”
Her words were out before her good sense had a chance to catch them. Kate’s heart sank. She gave up any hope of escape. Surely her father would interpret her words as chiding for his wrongdoing.
Rather than rage her sire only grunted again. “It’s only the Godsols who glare, and what care we Daubneys for that?” he asked. His tone was even, as if he discussed the vagaries of the weather, not a whole family’s hatred for his kin.
From his stance beside Kate Sir Gilbert’s sly little smile widened into a full grin. “I’d say it’s more than just the Godsols who disapprove of your steward’s behavior, my lord.” New shrewdness lurked in the depths of his eyes. “
Indeed, even now there are some among your closest supporters saying you should release Sir Warin from your employ. These same men suggest keeping one who stooped to such a trick only blackens your good name. I wonder if these men might also rethink their connection to Bagot should you refuse to rid yourself of this supposed loathsome individual.”
“What?” Kate cried, this new and unfair attack on Warin stinging all the deeper because it was Sir Gilbert who mouthed it. Her own sense of shame grew. Coward, coward! She should speak the truth and save Warin, even if it meant destroying her own life.
Kate expected outrage of her sire. Instead, the hostility drained from his face. He leaned back a little on their bench and scratched idly at his bearded chin. In silence, Sir Gilbert and her father considered each other, their moment of quiet stretching as Haydon’s ewerer stopped to refill Lord Humphrey’s cup. Once the servant had departed, taking Lord Bagot’s nod for his thanks, Kate’s father once more looked at Sir Gilbert.
“Does any man in particular say this?” he asked, his words careful and slow.
Sir Gilbert’s brows gave a pleased upward jerk. “Sir William of Ramswood is one man of that opinion.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed to slits. Shifting on the bench to face the table, he leaned forward to see around his still-standing daughter. His glance flew down the room’s length to where Kate’s likeliest suitor sat. Kate’s look followed his.
Sir William watched them in return, his round face creased. When his gaze met that of Bagot’s lord he flushed bright red. In the next instant he turned on his bench as if to speak to his seatmate, effectively showing his potential bride and her father his back. Even Kate recognized the rejection for what it was. There’d be no marriage contract with Sir William.
“Damn me,” her father muttered as he shrank into himself. In the next breath, he added, “It seems I must needs begin my search again after the wedding is finished.”
Shame’s shackles shattered as Kate’s heart nearly danced from her chest. Could it be that no man who’d seen that joust would have her to wife? If that was so, then it was naught but God’s miracle. Nay, it was better than a miracle. Here was how God would punish her sire for the wrong he’d done, even if all mankind blamed Warin for the doing of it. As wrong as it was to take pleasure from Warin’s unfair treatment, Kate couldn’t stop her grin.
Surprise flashed across her father’s face as he watched her, then his expression darkened. “Do you dare to look at me so?” he demanded.
Sir Gilbert loosed a quick harsh laugh. “By God, but she’s a bold thing.” Reaching out, he caught Kate by the chin and forced her to look at him. “Bold and beautiful.”
Loosing a harsh breath, Kate jerked her face from his grasp. “My lord sire told you to leave me be.”
Again Sir Gilbert laughed, this time the sound naught but amused. “Lord, but what sons we’ll have between us, sweet Kate,” he crooned.
At the suggestion of a future between them in the knight’s words, the pique left her father’s face. In its place came new eagerness. “If you’re so enamored of her, then ask for her. But no handfast. You’ll take her before a church, speaking vows of wedlock for all to hear.”
Something akin to triumph took fire deep in Sir Gilbert’s eyes then his face flattened, all emotion draining from his expression as he made his offer. “Remember, my lord, that she was five years wed to de Fraisney with nary a flicker of life in her womb. If I must risk her potential barrenness then I want more in return than just Glevering. I want Bagot and the title.”
“That you cannot have,” came her sire’s swift retort. “Bagot goes to her sister, who’s already borne her husband two sons, hale and hearty.”
Kate’s elation collapsed into shock. This couldn’t be happening. Why, they were haggling over her right here.
“And the title will still go to those lads if Lady Katherine bears me no boy children,” Sir Gilbert replied swiftly. “But if she does, it’s the title I want for my line. If you need some sop to offer her sister’s husband, then remind him that Glevering is the better property. I doubt he’ll complain. After all, his wife is the younger sister. Consider it, my lord. You can have me as her bridegroom in three weeks’ time if you so choose or you can begin again to find a mate for her.”
Kate’s shock devolved into depression as dark and deep as she’d ever felt. Her father wouldn’t agree to this. He couldn’t, because she couldn’t bear to wed to Sir Gilbert.
Every muscle in her body tensed as she watched her sire, waiting for his response. For a long and thoughtful moment, he sat perfectly still. Then he tilted his head to one side.
“What if I need to offer him a little of Bagot’s acreage along with Glevering?” he asked.
Sir Gilbert’s eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened. “I’d part with a few virgates in that instance.”
Kate’s head spun. The need to escape grew until she simply had to move. She backed away from the two men, easing out from between bench and table.
“Where are you going?” her father snapped, reaching out to grab her, even though she was already out of his reach.
“To the garden,” Kate replied, her voice small against what was happening to her. “You no longer need me at this stage of your discussions.”
Her father’s face cleared, and he shrugged. “Aye, that’s true enough. Go, then.” It was a pleasant command.
Kate nearly stumbled as she started toward the hall door. So lost in inner blackness was she that she didn’t notice the wee serving lad standing before the tall wooden screens at the hall’s door until she was upon him. The boy stepped forward to block her path. Stopping short, Kate eyed him in surprise. It was the same lad she’d seen at the hearth a few nights ago. Shifting to one side, Kate started around him, only to have him move to block her path.
“Stand aside, child,” she demanded, but in her present state her voice lacked any of the rebuke his impertinent behavior warranted.
“Pardon, my lady,” the lad said in heavily accented French as he offered her a sketchy bow, “but I have a message for you.”
A flicker of hope rose in Kate. If ever she’d needed a kind word from one who loved her, it was now. She shot a guarded look at Rafe and the high table only to have her hopes deflate. Her dearest love was speaking to Gerard d’Essex, the bridegroom. The message couldn’t be from him else he’d surely be watching to see how she received it.
Kate looked back at the lad. “Who is it that sends me this message?”
“Your knight, my lady,” the boy replied. “So too, does he ask that I see you receive what he says in private.”
Her knight? Kate eyed the child in bewilderment. Which knight was that?
The boy beckoned her to follow him as he retreated into the space between the screens and the door. Kate followed him. Once around the screens’ corner, they were hidden from the hall’s view. Only one of Haydon’s porters stood outside the door to witness their conversation. He paid them no heed as his head nodded and his toe tapped to the music wafting up from the courtyard and garden below him.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
The boy closed his eyes and began to speak. With the uncanny talent of the illiterate he put the very cadence of Warin’s voice in his words. “My dearest Lady de Fraisney,” the lad intoned, “I beg you meet with me. I know you’ve no reason to trust me since my behavior over these last days has been appalling. For that I have no excuse save that my heart aches for you day and night. So too, do I know that the events of this morning make me seem lower than a villein. I vow to you on my honor and my soul that in the heat of the contest I noticed nothing amiss with the lance I carried. Please my lady, meet with me as you did this morn outside Haydon’s postern. If you cannot come for my sake then come to retrieve your ribbon, which yet lies near my heart as I send you this message. As always, your servant in God’s love and mine, Sir Warin de Dapifer of Bagot.”
The boy paused, nodding to himself over successfully repeating what he’d hea
rd, then continued. “The knight says he’ll wait for you along the stream below our postern where the trees will shield him from view of our guards atop the walls. This he does for fear that our men be commanded to drive him from the estate should he linger.”
It was this last comment that did it. Between her shame over not vindicating Warin and her outrage over the wrong her father had done him, Kate’s heart broke. It didn’t matter that she no longer loved Warin. He needed to hear at least one person say that she knew beyond all doubt he wasn’t a scoundrel.
“I’ll go to him,” she told the child.
How could it be that he’d won the contest, taken the purse, basked in Kate’s admiration, but was still the loser? Rafe didn’t think his spirits could get any lower. Across the room, Kate left her father and started for the hall door, belatedly on her way to join the women in the garden. He watched her go, knowing that with every step she beat any chance of him marrying her into dust beneath her feet. As it was, it’d be a miracle if he ever again got within a mile of her.
For this he had no one to blame but himself. Why hadn’t he realized using her ribbon would goad Sir Warin past all sense? His stomach knotted. He hadn’t realized because once again he’d let his heart rule his head. Only this time, unlike at the picnic, when he’d only almost lost everything, his impetuous action had destroyed all hope and all chance of his future.
“You shouldn’t stare at her so,” Gerard said.
Rafe blinked, startled by his friend’s unexpected comment then looked at the bridegroom. Occupying Lord Haydon’s massive chair at Rafe’s right, Gerard yet had his head bowed over his trencher. Now that his new wife no longer distracted him from his meal Gerard was plying his spoon with all the efficiency of a starving man.
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