He stood in silence, waiting for her to speak, to say something, to give him some indication of her feelings.
“Meg,” Becca said as if he were any other visitor, “leave us, please.”
Meg glanced at them uncertainly.
“I want to speak with Sir Blaidd alone, Meg.”
As the girl went out and closed the door behind her, Blaidd hoped the tension would ease, but he discovered the opposite was true. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, or if he should even venture onto personal ground.
The silence lasted until he could stand it no more. Then he took refuge in news of Laelia. “It was your sister’s choice to go with Valdemar.”
Becca nodded, her expression betraying nothing except mild interest. “I thought so.”
“I had to be sure.”
“Yes, I appreciate that. And I’m relieved there is no hint of doubt.” Her gaze faltered. “I only wish we’d had a chance to say goodbye.”
Blaidd instantly regretted not ordering Laelia to return and take proper leave of her sister. “She was upset about leaving you,” he told her. “She said you’d be the only thing she’d miss. She also hopes you’ll be happy one day.”
Becca looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “I see.”
“I truly believe she loves Valdemar, and he cares for her,” Blaidd continued, stepping closer, then halting a few feet from the bed. “She has no dowry, and Valdemar was content that it be so. I believe they’ll be married. If I didn’t, and that she wasn’t going of her own free will, I wouldn’t have allowed them to leave.”
Becca slid him a glance. “You wouldn’t have allowed it?”
All he could do was be honest. “I do represent the king, my lady.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that.”
He immediately wished he’d said something else.
“So what will happen to me now, Sir Blaidd?”
He wanted to say, “Now we’ll marry,” but he couldn’t. Her future depended on Henry, not him.
Even if Henry believed that she was innocent of involvement in her father’s conspiracy, he might still be doubtful of her allegiance. To prove her loyalty, she would have to do whatever Henry commanded.
Blaidd hoped to convince Henry of her innocence and persuade the king to let them marry, but if he could not, they’d have no choice but to abide by the king’s will. Becca’s life could depend upon it.
And if this were so, knowing that he loved her still might only add to her misery. He should keep his distance and say nothing of love, for both their sakes.
“What do you think Henry will do with the daughter of a traitor?” she asked, echoing his own distraught thoughts. “Will he imprison me?”
“There’s nothing to charge you with,” Blaidd replied. “You weren’t a coconspirator with your father. I’m absolutely certain of that, so Henry should be, too.”
“You have that much influence with the king?”
“I believe he’ll listen to me, my lady. I’ll assure him of your innocence.”
“Thank you. Will he take away my title and inheritance?”
“I honestly don’t know, my lady. I think there’s a good chance that once he’s convinced of your innocence, he’ll make you a royal ward and allow you to keep your title and at least a portion of this estate, for a dowry.”
How her intense gaze seemed to search his mind! “Then I suppose that, like most men who have power over women, he’ll want me to marry where my inheritance will do him the most good. Perhaps Queen Eleanor has a relative who needs a wife.”
Blaidd’s heart twisted, and he had a moment’s sympathy for the traitor he had killed. “I wouldn’t say such things aloud, my lady.”
“No, I shouldn’t. Not unless I want Henry or anybody else to question my loyalty.” She regarded him steadily. “Tell me, Sir Blaidd, do you think there’ll be a nobleman willing to overlook my father’s activities and marry me?”
“No one can force you to marry against your will, not even the king, my lady,” Blaidd replied. “It’s against the law of the church. However…” He hesitated, upset at what he had to say, but she had to know where her safest course of action lay. “However, I wouldn’t recommend that you object, given what’s happened with your family. If you refuse a man he chooses for you, or anything he commands, you could risk rousing his suspicions about your loyalty, and perhaps even jeopardizing your life.”
She frowned. “So although I wouldn’t be imprisoned, I wouldn’t be free? If I am so fortunate as to become Henry’s ward, I’ll have to do whatever he says, or my life could be in danger because I’m a traitor’s daughter. Is that it?”
Blaidd’s mind overruled his heart; his concern for her life overcame his desire. “Yes.”
She plucked at the silken coverlet. “What if I were to run off like Laelia? What if there were no heir of Lord Throckton here, what would happen to this estate?”
“Why are you asking this? Are you planning on running away?” He came closer as a vision of the future burst into his head.
“I would be free then, wouldn’t I?”
Reality destroyed his excitement, and that unfeasible future died. “No, you wouldn’t be free. Henry would surely take your flight as evidence of guilt. Like all kings, he has a fear of conspiracies. He would hunt you down until he found you, and then you would be executed.”
Blaidd knelt beside the bed. “He would never believe you were innocent if you run away. You mustn’t consider it, not if you value your life.”
“Perhaps I don’t believe a life as Henry’s chattel will be a life worth living.”
“Don’t say that!” Blaidd cried, afraid that she would do something drastic. “You’ll be alive, at least.”
There was so much he wanted to say, but caution still silenced him. As a loyal knight, he was bound to obey his king, and so must she.
“So what comes next, Sir Blaidd?” she asked, a quaver in her voice that made him yearn to take her in his arms and never let her go. “I assume the king will have to be informed of all that’s happened here. Will you go yourself, since your duty is done, or will you take command of the castle, send word and wait to be told what to do?”
She made him sound like the king’s page. Was that how she thought of him? “I’ll go to the king myself. That will be the best way to ensure his mercy for you.”
“It would be best of all if I went with you. I’ll plead my innocence to the king myself and personally swear my allegiance to him.”
If she were a delicate, beautiful, weak woman, Blaidd might have agreed, but as he imagined Becca facing Henry as boldly as she’d ever confronted him, he decided otherwise. “That would not be wise.”
“Why not? Don’t you think I can speak for myself?”
“Indeed, I’m sure you can. It’s what you might say that worries me.”
A muscle in her jaw twitched, and not with laughter. “You think I’ll make things worse.”
“Becca, I know Henry. You don’t. If Laelia could go instead—”
“Well, she can’t! She’s run off with that Dane!” she cried. She winced and put her hand to her wounded side.
Again his heart twisted, but he didn’t dare touch her unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Even if I agreed,” he said, “you’re too injured to ride to London. I’ll speak to the king on your behalf, and I give you my word I’ll do all I can to make him see that you’re innocent of any wrongdoing and deserve his regard and respect.”
She met his worried gaze steadily. “I’m not questioning your good intentions, or your abilities, Sir Blaidd. But as you’ve reminded me, this is my home, and these are my people. It’s my place to speak for them, as well as for myself. Don’t deny me that opportunity.”
He couldn’t deny her anything. “Very well,” he said as he got to his feet. “When you’re well enough to travel, we’ll go to London together.”
“Thank you. I should rest now, Sir Blaidd.”
“Yes, of c
ourse,” he said, before he turned and strode from the room.
When Blaidd was gone, Becca closed her eyes and slipped down beneath the covers. She really wanted to roll on her side and give herself over to her misery, but the movement would hurt too much.
She felt so alone. Her unloving, false father was dead, her sister gone, and Blaidd had been so cool, so distant, like a soldier at the changing of the guard. Worse, he’d been willing to relegate her to a minor role, although he was speaking of her future. Even at the end, when he’d come so close to her, he wasn’t the Blaidd she’d fallen in love with.
She’d gotten the answer to her question about his feelings, and it wasn’t the one she wanted.
Whatever had been between them before, whatever dreams she’d dreamed and hopes she’d harbored, no matter how she loved him, things were vastly different now.
Chapter Seventeen
A week later, Blaidd and Trev, Becca and Meg and a troop of ten soldiers arrived in the greatest city in England. Dobbin remained in Throckton to look after the castle and estate until either Rebecca returned or another overlord came to take the late Lord Throckton’s place.
Claudia had remained behind, too, Dobbin declaring that under no circumstances should Becca ride until the wound in her side healed more. She and Meg traveled in the back of a wagon, seated on cushions like the inmates of a harem. Becca thought it almost decadent to be ensconced in such comfort, with a canvas covering to shield her from rain or sun, and it slowed their pace considerably.
Once in the city, she assumed she and Blaidd would go their separate ways, just as they’d done every time they stopped at an inn as they made the long journey to London. He would find happiness with another woman and climb the ladder of power at court, while she did whatever the king commanded, because her father’s treachery had left her no other choice.
In spite of Blaidd’s deception when he’d first arrived at her home, she didn’t begrudge him any future success or happiness. His feelings for her had not been false, and what came after had been because of Lord Throckton’s deception, not Blaidd’s. Many times she’d wanted to tell him that, yet she’d been unable to summon the words. One look at his grim visage had silenced her, until she’d convinced herself that it would be better to keep mute. Things were as they were; what good would revealing her anguish do, for him or for her?
The wagon rolled through Smithfield toward the New Gate, and the closer they got to the city, the louder was the noise. A great hum it was at first, before breaking into the familiar sounds of a marketplace, albeit a gigantic one: cows lowing as they were driven toward the Smithfield market, sheep, pigs, peddlers’ shouts, people’s conversations, raucous laughter, curses, dogs barking, chickens clucking, carts creaking, ropes straining—the hustle and bustle of many, many people doing many things.
“God’s teeth, my lady,” Meg said beside her, her whispered exclamation echoing something of Becca’s own awestruck reaction as she rolled up the canvas covering at the sides, so that they could see everything around them while the canvas roof still shielded them from the sun. “I never seen so many people and livestock in one place in all my life!”
“Neither have I,” Becca agreed.
A herd of cattle moved around them like a river. The two women held on to the sides of the cart for dear life, fearing it would tip and they’d be sent tumbling to the ground, to be crushed under their hooves.
“Oh, that was frightening,” Meg murmured, and Becca didn’t disagree as she gingerly shifted forward to get another look at the mob slowly making its way toward the city gate.
In some places, the wagon could barely move for the crowds, yet as always, there was Blaidd, as calm as if he were riding along an empty country road. Trevelyan Fitzroy was somewhere to the rear, with the rest of the men.
“I wonder how long it will take us to get to the palace?” Becca asked as they halted at the New Gate, where the way narrowed and they had to wait for a large coach to enter first. “Maybe as long as it took to reach this city from Oxford.”
Meg looked distressed.
“I’m not in earnest,” Becca quickly added.
“As long as it’s before dinner, my lady,” Meg replied, relieved. “I’m starving.”
Becca wasn’t. She hadn’t had much appetite lately.
The wagon lurched into motion again and she moved back inside, where it was more comfortable.
“Why don’t you take a nap, my lady?” Meg suggested. “Dobbin said sleep would be the best thing for you.”
“There are too many things to see,” Becca replied, although in truth, she was too nervous to sleep. Soon enough they would be at the palace and her future—a future without Blaidd—would begin.
They said no more for a long while, both watching the sights of the city, and the jostling crowds. Peddlers and paupers accosted rich merchants and fine gentlemen, mingling with every status of person in between. It was like a whole different world, a foreign place, and one that had Becca pining for home, and a swift ride on Claudia with the wind in her hair. To think Laelia would have given her eyeteeth to be in this crowded, filthy, noisy place…
Becca tried not to think about Laelia, or begrudge her the happiness she’d apparently found with Valdemar. After all, hadn’t she hoped Laelia wouldn’t be envious of her own happiness with Blaidd, once upon a time?
The wagon halted again.
“What now?” she murmured as she moved forward to see why they’d stopped.
They were at another gate. A large, ornate gate in a very large, imposing wall. Blaidd had dismounted and was talking to the armed guards.
The palace. This had to be the king’s palace at Westminster.
Now that they were here, Becca’s heart started to pound and her hands felt clammy. What if Henry didn’t believe her? What if he imprisoned her in the Tower?
Blaidd left the sentries and walked back to the wagon. He looked up at her, his face grave as it always was now. “We’ll be staying in my brother Kynan’s apartments in the palace. You won’t be seeing the king today. He’s gone hunting. It’ll have to be tomorrow, or maybe the next day.”
She was glad of the reprieve, but tried not to betray that; and as relieved as she felt, she had a new cause for anxiety. She’d assumed she’d be staying at an inn, not the palace itself. “Very well.”
“I’ll meet you for some refreshment later, my lady,” Blaidd said, turning away. “I have to find Kynan and tell him he has guests.”
Dressed in one of Laelia’s gowns of deep blue velvet with long cuffs lined in gold, and a gilded leather girdle about her hips, Becca took a deep breath and opened the door into the main room of Sir Kynan Morgan’s chambers. Her gaze roved over the trestle table set with a flagon of wine, silver goblets and plates of fruit, bread and sweetmeats, to settle on the man standing at the window. One hand on the frame, he looked out over the walls of the palace and the city beyond, toward the setting sun.
He looked achingly familiar, and yet different, too, probably because of the fine clothes he wore. She’d never seen Blaidd in velvet or other luxurious fabric. Even his boots were embossed with silver. At least he hadn’t cut his hair, so he still seemed that intriguing mixture of civilized and savage.
Then he turned and she saw that it wasn’t Blaidd, but another man enough like him to be his twin. “Lady Rebecca, I assume?” he asked genially.
“Yes. You must be Sir Kynan Morgan.”
“At your service, my lady,” the younger Welshman said as he grinned and bowed. He looked very much like his brother and obviously shared the same easy charm and self-confidence.
Kynan gestured at the table. “We’ve taken the liberty of having some refreshments brought here. Blaidd and I thought you might not want to face the evening meal in the king’s hall.”
“Since I’m not exactly the king’s invited guest,” she replied, “I thank you for your consideration, and the repast.”
Kynan’s grin widened and he put his equally strong hands
on the backs of two chairs and dragged them to the table. “Then let’s begin, shall we?”
“Without your brother?”
“I’m not sure when he’ll be back, so there’s no point waiting. He’ll understand.” He gave her an insouciant wink. “Besides, I’m starving. Aren’t you?”
She realized it might be something of a relief to be spared the stress of Blaidd’s silent, brooding presence during the meal, so she smiled and limped forward to join him.
As she did, Kynan’s glance dropped to her skirts and a little wrinkle of puzzlement appeared between his eyes. “I could have some of this sent to your chamber while you rest if your injury is troubling you.”
“Thank you, but I don’t limp because of my recent wound,” she said as she settled into the chair. “I’ve been crippled for ten years, ever since I fell out of a tree and broke my leg.”
Kynan flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“I’m surprised your brother didn’t mention it,” she said matter-of-factly, wondering why he hadn’t.
“He, um, didn’t tell me much at all,” Kynan confessed as he took the other chair.
She wanted to ask him where Blaidd was, but uncertainty held her tongue. It might be better to keep things to herself, too, if Blaidd wasn’t willing to reveal to his own brother all that had happened in Throckton. Instead, she tried to focus on the excellent food and wine.
She discovered she really was hungry, but even so, she could only pick at the items on her plate.
After what seemed a long time, Kynan said in a soft voice that reminded her too much of his brother’s, “Don’t worry, my lady. Blaidd gave me the general gist of what happened, and I’m sure you’ll be all right. Henry’s got a temper, but with Blaidd arguing mercy for you, Henry’s bound to listen. He trusts Blaidd, you see, as well he should.”
Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] Page 19
