A Knight and White Satin

by Jackie Ivie

  He shifted on the sofa they were using, grimaced at the heavy bruising his left side had taken, and hid it. That was odd. He hadn’t felt it at all when she’d been having her way with him. Making him sit on the settee over in the hidden alcove that she’d taken to calling theirs, while she did all the movement and possessed all the power. Or so, she’d claimed. All he’d had to do was guide.

  He let her. It was exciting and enticing and satisfying to watch. And receive. He shifted slightly at the remembered passion, and then sucked in a breath as his left side connected with Dallis’s shoulder. She didn’t appear to notice, and he relaxed again.

  Slowly.

  “I’ve finished it! And ’tis more beautiful than I’d hoped!”

  She was gesturing to her aunt. That lady brought over a wrapping of some kind and handed it over. Payton watched without comment. His expression must have said something, for after a quick glance to him, the aunt curtsied and returned to the door.

  Payton turned his attention back to where his wife was busy, unfurling a long, small gown with lace all about the edges.

  “See here? Lady Dunrobin has taught me her method of stitching.”

  He nodded. And then yawned.

  “Payton!” She lowered the item onto her lap. “’Tis a christening gown for our son! I made it. And you yawn?” Her eyes were tearing up, and he hated that.

  Payton leaned forward quickly, pulled in the ragged gap in his breathing as she connected with his side again and had her in his arms before she turned the emotion into full-out tears.

  “Dallis, pray doona’ take on so. ’Tis verra fine. I swear.”

  “You doona’ even care!” She was whispering it, but she might as well be wailing it for the way his heart pained him.

  “Doona’ allow the workings of a man’s mind to harm you. I would na’—” His voice caught as she touched his left side. He’d gone stiff with remembered pain, and held it as she blinked the tears away and stared.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Naught.”

  He tried to reply quickly, since that was the best way to ease her mind. It didn’t work. He didn’t need the calculating look that came over her features to prove it.

  “What has been done to you, Payton?” she asked.

  “Little.”

  “Let me see.”

  She was lowering her chin and giving him the look he used with enmity on any challenger. On her, it was just adorable, and whimsical. He grinned and bent to kiss her nose. That went awry as a sore rib jarred against flesh, and he sucked for breath again.

  “Damn…!” His curse whooshed out with the released breath. He was forced to sit back again. And take as shallow breaths as possible.

  “Payton?”

  He’d hidden it to keep the concern from her face. And then he’d stupidly betrayed it. He groaned. She took it as pain.

  “If you doona’ let me see…”

  She didn’t finish her threat. Silence grew for a bit, and then he looked toward her.

  “’Tis little, Dallis. I promise. And means naught.”

  “You lie.”

  “Doona’ let it spoil our time. I beg of you.”

  She tipped her head and studied him.

  “You are fighting again,” she accused.

  “Na’…true.”

  “Then, let me see.”

  Payton turned his head and met her gaze. “There is nae fight, Dallis. I swear it. But His Majesty claims he canna’ get any bets unless there is a challenge. And if he canna’ get any takers to his bets, then I canna’ see you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and Payton swore again.

  “Then…how can you say…’tis nae fight?”

  “I will na’ fight for him. I made him that vow, and I’ll keep it. The little runt knows this. So, he sends challengers into the list that I have to…fend off. Without injury. Nae weapons.”

  “How do you fend them off?”

  “I am verra good, wife. Verra.”

  “Then why are you hurt now?”

  He blew the sigh hard enough to dry his eyes. “I was na’ quick enough, and the Frankish knight he found was stout. You ken? Short.”

  “So?”

  “I took a head-butt when I thought him cowed and beaten. I was na’ looking. Why would I? They’d played the pipes and called the match. And then he cheated.”

  “A head-butt?” Dallis asked.

  He nodded. “Aye. With a helm. He had a lot of spines on that helm, too, the rotten Frank.”

  “Dear…God,” she whispered.

  “Dallis.” He moved sideways, rather than twist, to face her, since it might prove painful, and he didn’t want any further pain reflected in her eyes. “I would take ten times more if I could see you. You ken that.”

  “But—he makes you fight.”

  “What makes you say that? I dinna’ give a blow to any man.”

  “Then how did the Frankish knight lose?”

  Payton lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “I told you he was short.”

  “So?”

  “Short men, who find their heads held in place, canna’ reach another man with their arms. Nae matter how much they flail about.”

  “You held him in place?” She giggled. Payton’s smile broadened at being the one to bring her to such a heart-warming sound. He loved the sound of her laughter. Much more than her tears.

  “Aye. Until the guards got there and took him away, dragging his sorry carcass from the list. With the title of cheat added to the loss. I doona’ think he will appreciate the king’s hospitality, henceforth. I hope his family has a large purse. To pay his fine. Now, show me this christening gown that you have created.”

  Payton concentrated on giving correct responses of appreciation for the tiny slashes of thread she’d worked in vinelike patterns across a bit of material. And he enjoyed every coo of pleasure she gave as she showed them to him.

  Chapter 23

  Payton slammed the scrawny bit of a man to the ground again, and jumped back as more foam-flecked blood was spat at him. The man wouldn’t stay down. It was as if demons controlled his frame, and Satan his will. Payton went back to blocking fists that flew nearly too quick to see, and a mouth that continually bit at him.

  He barely moved his hand away again, as teeth slammed shut, without Payton’s skin between them, and then he was flinging the slim body through the air and watching him thud into the mud quagmire the list was turning into. That’s what happened when a battle took place that wouldn’t end. And that’s what happened when they tossed buckets of water at the participants when the late spring sunshine turned them into opponents who didn’t look active enough to keep the crowd entertained.

  That wasn’t the case with this duel, but since it was the third Payton had been in already, the mud was getting slippery, and the holds harder. And then they’d sent this scrawny ghoulish fellow into the fray.

  The lad was up again. Yelling and spraying more foam about, and then coming at a dead run for Payton. The fellow slipped, almost going down, and Payton put a boot out to make it a certainty. Then, he had to leap backward as the lad bit at his calf.

  “This one…appears rabid!” Payton called it out from a side railing, as he watched the lad get up again.

  “He is,” Redmond replied. “We were just told!”

  Payton turned his head in shock.

  “What?” he asked.

  “My Laird!”

  Redmond’s warning came with enough time for Payton to twirl about the lad’s attack, giving him nothing but air to the launching of his frame.

  “Rabid?”

  Fury was starting to pump through him, warming blood he’d tried to keep cold and calculating, and aloof. Payton speared a glance up at the king’s balcony before going back to the battle, with an opponent who was on his feet again and lowering his head. And foaming from the mouth even more.

  “Give me the hand wrap.”

  Payton went to a crouch stance, willing his heart to
accept what he was about to do, and waited for the lad’s next move. And then he was catching the body in midair before using the movement to slam it face-first into the turf. He ignored the huge roar of crowd approval. He ignored everything, save the lad who was starting to stir again. Payton was at the railing by then, grabbing the loop of steel from Redmond and sliding it over his right hand, to settle it atop his knuckles. It was a mark of extreme cowardice, and he’d never used it, but this bit of steel that a knight could wear beneath his gauntlets, would change the course of any battle if used correctly.

  The lad was up, shaking his head and looking even more maddened with blood trailing from his chin this time, mixed with the foam. Then he fixed his eyes on Payton, lowered his head and came again. Payton didn’t move. The lad slipped, recovered, came again. Just before he reached him, Payton stepped to one side, bent at the knees, and launched an arm across the lad’s throat, sending him onto his back with a thud the mud absorbed. Payton was astride him instantly, his left hand holding the lad’s throat, although the lad struggled and twisted and snarled and bit at him. Payton squeezed, watched the fluids coating the skin come oozing from between his fingers. Payton arched up, and slammed his right fist into the boy’s chest, directly at the heart.

  He was off the lad the next moment, looking down at him without expression as the lad grabbed at ground and struggled for air that his stopped heart no longer craved.

  Payton stepped away and moved his gaze up to where the king sat, perched at the front of his chair as he watched. They all watched. And waited. The entire crowd was hushed as it listened for the lad’s death rattle, holding a collective breath as it came before the body went still. That’s when the entire crowd came alive again, roaring wildly with approval. Payton ignored it and took the steps over to his men with legs that trembled, while he pulled at the steel ring.

  “Quick. Redmond. Get me to the cistern. The one atop the latrine. Just you. None other.”

  Redmond nodded once.

  “Why canna’ we all go?” Alan asked.

  Payton turned to the lad, and he must have read the panic, because Alan’s eyes went wide. “I need water to wash. I need to strip. I need Redmond to look me over. ’Twill be most…uncomfortable.”

  “Look…you over?” the lad asked.

  “For tears in the skin. Any. You heard them. He was rabid! If I have any scratches…”

  “Oh, God. I’m going to be ill.” The lad turned away before he made it true.

  Payton didn’t bother with anything else. He was already running, with Redmond on his heels.

  “My Lady Evelyn Caruth? The king sends a missive.”

  Dallis looked up from composing the letter she was writing to Payton. She’d given off needlework for the day, although it never seemed to bore her companions. A letter might be just the thing to take her mind off the discomfort that came from carrying a barrel-sized belly around, adjusting from every time the babe kicked or punched, or made sitting difficult. And all that did nothing to mute the wait for the moment when her hour with Payton arrived.

  She stood, using the table for balance, since Payton’s bairn stretched far enough out she was off balance and couldn’t see her feet. She wobbled toward the door, but Lady Evelyn got there first. It was an unfair contest, even if Dallis had made the challenge. Her aunt might be past sixty, but she was spry, and slim, and light on her feet in comparison.

  It didn’t truly matter who got the message, or who read it. The missive may be addressed otherwise, but they all knew it was for Dallis.

  “It say…it says…”

  “Aye?” Both Dallis and Lady Dunrobin answered.

  “He’s granting you an additional hour. In the same chamber. Earlier.”

  “With Payton?” Dallis couldn’t contain the joy. It was in her voice, covering her skin with shivers, and in her eyes as they misted over.

  “He does na’ say that. But there is nae other reason. Is there?”

  “Well, assist me with my bath, then! I must wear the new dress. The one that does na’ make me look like a pig! And my hair. We must do my hair, in the loose fashion he likes so much.”

  “Dallis,” Lady Evelyn stopped her before she could put any of her plans to action. “I doona’ believe the man notes what you wear. Or how your hair is arranged. Or anything other than that it is you.”

  “Truly?”

  “Well…I doona’ note much, as you ken…”

  Both Evelyn and Lady Dunrobin snickered.

  “But I am na’ lying when I tell you the man is smitten. Totally. He thinks you the most beauteous woman birthed. And he thinks the sight of you carrying his son is the most heavenly sight on the earth. Aside from which, I doona’ believe he cares much for any of your clothing, unless it is in his way.”

  Dallis gasped. And then she was giggling, too.

  “Oh, please, Aunt Evelyn. You ken we have na’ done anything like that in some time. At least a month.”

  “A sennight. Mayhap. And that only because the bairn has made it too difficult. ’Tis what I suspicion, anyway.”

  “The king is granting us another hour. A whole hour!”

  Dallis tried to twirl but only managed a half turn before having to grasp at a table for balance. And then she sobered. “Oh, I do hope he has na’ done something horrid to earn it,” she whispered.

  The same guards came to escort her. They didn’t use blindfolds any longer. They weren’t needed. The lesson was learned. There was no escape from a Stewart King’s hospitality, and no reason to try.

  Dallis longed to run, once they’d opened the door and let her and Lady Evelyn through, but her weight and condition forbade it. So she settled with leaning backward and waddling. As was normal anymore.

  The room was deserted.

  Dallis looked about in the waning sunlight. The torches were lit already, but they weren’t needed. Sunlight was still lighting the area, especially the alcove she considered theirs, coming through glazed, thick green glass. Dallis walked a circuit of the room, at a slow pace that necessitated stopping and waiting for the bairn to subside movement, or to make breathing easier, before continuing.

  The room felt oddly empty and lonely without Payton there.

  She sat on the padded settee they always used, heard the door he used opening, and tried with every bit of control at her command not to yield to the instant stab of fear she felt at who walked in.

  “Cousin Dallis! I vow it’s been months! Years! An eternity! So pleasant to see you. And you look so…so…large.”

  Dallis didn’t bother moving from her seat as her cousin, Giles Carmour, walked toward her. Her mind was racing through so many avenues, she almost didn’t hear the slur he cast on her form. And then she sneered slightly.

  “May I say the same to you, Giles,” she answered sweetly. He stopped and his face fell. That was gratifying. Giles hadn’t improved since she’d seen him more than a year ago. He was a flirt, and she’d always thought his orange-streaked brown hair attractive. As was the hazel color of his eyes, and the fancy dress he wore, that she now knew matched the king’s penchant for European fashion, and not Highland wear.

  Now, she decided he was wearing so much frippery, he looked ridiculous. And effeminate. And weak. She hadn’t missed in the accuracy of her greeting, either, for the large volume of flesh about his middle almost prevented the buttons fastening on his doublet. He wasn’t even wearing a kilt, but strange tight-wrapped pants, with a heavily embroidered tunic atop it. He was carrying a sword that looked incongruous with such tawdry finery, as well.

  “What do you want, Giles?” she asked.

  “What? The pleasantness of our greeting is over? So soon?”

  He moved to sit on the settee beside her, where Payton always did. Dallis knew she paled as she considered it.

  “What do you want? I’ve nothing for you.”

  “I’m beset by duns,” he replied.

  “Nonsense. Your attire is new. In fashion. It reeks of wealth. And you’ve
na’ missed many sups, if the girth about your belly is any show.”

  “May I say the same of you? As well as the richness of your own dress.”

  Dallis tipped her head. “I carry the champion’s bairn. Why would I be small?” she replied.

  “I’m na’ fashing you, Dallis. The money-lenders truly are after me. I am destitute.”

  “So?”

  “I need funds.”

  “I doona’ possess any,” she replied.

  His eyes narrowed. “And here we just went over how expensive your attire is, how fashionable…considering. And how many sups you appear to have consumed.”

  Dallis glared over at him. “I used to find you charming. I doona’ ken how.”

  He grimaced. “You have a sharp tongue. Too bad. I was trying to work with you, here.”

  “On what?”

  “Is na’ your husband due…soon?”

  “Long after you have vacated. That’s when he’ll be here.”

  “Oh. I doona’ think so,” he replied, and turned a look to her that started her heart into such a speeded thumping the bairn complained.

  “Payton is na’ to see you,” Dallis replied.

  “I beg to differ, My Lady Dunn-Fadden. But I am here for that verra reason. And he is going to see me.”

  “I’ll have the guards remove you. Aunt Evelyn!”

  “You’d allow me to find him in a quiet corner and tell him what I have to tell him? When you have the means to stop me?”

  “Wait, Aunt Evelyn! I spoke…too soon.”

  The spinster aunt wasn’t listening. She kept coming and stopped when she was at Dallis’s other side. Giles looked up at her and then back to Dallis.

  “She can hear this, too. She already kens most of what you did, anyway. I fear the champion and his Honor Guard are the lone ones in the dark. I wonder how he’ll take word of how his wife betrayed him, paying for his death, over and over, and over again. Why, she even sent her wedding ring for me to sell…in order to see him perish.”