Becca nodded and tried to smile. “I’m grateful for any effort he makes on my behalf.”
The door suddenly flew open and Blaidd strode into the room.
How had she ever mistaken Kynan for him? Kynan might share his brother’s dark good looks and charm, but he lacked that sense of controlled power she’d always sensed in Blaidd, even that first day when he’d appeared at the gate.
Oh, God, how she regretted her lack of faith in him! If only she could go back in time and repair the damage. Listen to him. Believe him. Trust him.
But it was too late for that. For her.
Not sure what to do, afraid to reveal too much of her hopeless feelings, Becca stared at her hands, limp in her lap.
“Lady Rebecca,” Blaidd said brusquely. “I’ve managed to arrange an audience with Henry for mid-morning tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, telling herself that the sooner her fate was decided, the better.
Still not looking directly at Blaidd, she rose. She couldn’t stand being so close to him, feeling as she did. Coupled with her anxiety about her meeting with the king, the strain was more than she could bear.
“I’ve had enough to eat. It was most excellent. Thank you, Sir Kynan. Good night, Sir Blaidd,” she said, and she left the room with a swish of velvet.
After she’d closed the door behind her, Kynan regarded Blaidd as if he were a stranger. “God’s wounds, brother, I’ve never heard you speak so rudely to a woman in my life.”
Blaidd threw himself into Becca’s vacated chair. “I said nothing impolite.”
“Not the words, the manner. I don’t care if she’s a traitor’s daughter or not—”
“I don’t need lessons in etiquette from you,” Blaidd growled as he grabbed a loaf and tore it in half.
“It seems you do.”
Blaidd’s only answer was a darker scowl as he reached for the wine.
Kynan remained silent for a few minutes, watching his brother eat and drink. Blaidd pretended his scrutiny didn’t bother him, and focused on the food.
“You didn’t tell me she was crippled.”
“It’s not important.”
“You might have mentioned it. I thought she walked that way because of her wound, and said something about it. It was embarrassing to have to be set straight, even if she didn’t seem to mind.”
Blaidd wordlessly selected an apple and bit into it.
“What do you think Henry’s going to do with her?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered, chewing. “I’ve been talking with Gervais Fitzroy. He seems to think that if I vouch for her loyalty, Becca—Lady Rebecca—won’t be charged with treason. If she becomes a royal ward, Henry will have control of her estate and fortune, and that should help appease him.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
Blaidd shrugged. “Until he decides to marry her off to somebody of his choosing, or his wife’s. Lady Rebecca won’t be able to refuse whoever he selects if she wants to prevent any suspicion of disloyalty.”
“Yes, I see that,” Kynan agreed. “Still, she’ll be free of the threat of death.”
But not truly free.
“Her dowry had better be considerable,” Kynan remarked. “I can’t think of too many who’d be willing to take a traitor’s crippled daughter.”
The tumultuous emotions Blaidd had been struggling to hold in check for days exploded in fierce anger. The apple splattered into a pulpy mess as he threw it onto the table. Then, scowling, he rose slowly like a god of war roused to battle. “Don’t you ever call her crippled again!”
Kynan stared at him in disbelief. “God, Blaidd, what’s got into…” His eyes widened as understanding dawned. “You like her.”
Blaidd fought for self-control. “I respect and admire her.”
“It’s more than that,” Kynan said as he cautiously came around the table, never taking his eyes off his brother. “You really like her.”
“You’ve got the Sight now, have you?” Blaidd demanded as he crossed his arms and watched his brother’s progress.
“I may not have the Sight, but I can see that you care a lot about her. Aye, too much. What happened up there in the north, Blaidd—what really happened?”
“I told you.”
Kynan shook his head. “Not all of it, not by a long shot. I’ve never seen you like this before. Something has turned my charming, jovial brother into a gruff and surly bear. Or should I say, someone?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No? Then that’s another odd thing. Not that you were given to regaling me with your conquests, but at least you’d—”
Blaidd’s hands balled into fists. “That’s enough, Kynan!”
“Not yet. First answer me this question. Do you love this woman?”
Blaidd didn’t reply, but in his eyes, Kynan saw the truth. “God’s wounds, Blaidd,” he said with a gasp, “you can’t want to marry her!”
Kynan had seen Blaidd on the tournament field; he knew his brother’s “warrior” face. He’d seen the steely determination that made it impossible for Blaidd to yield, and he saw it now when Blaidd said, “And what does it matter to you if I do?”
Eyes wide, Kynan felt for the nearest chair and sat heavily. “You can’t be serious! What will Father say? And Mother? Not to mention the king? Her father was a traitor, Blaidd—you know that better than anyone.”
“Aye, so I do,” Blaidd retorted. “I killed the man, remember? Even though her father’s death could be justified because of his actions, I was the one who struck the fatal blow. I was the one who told her what he was. I lied to her about why I’d come there in the first place. Her sister left the country, in part because of what I did. Now Becca’s future is in Henry’s hands, and she dare not disobey his commands, for fear of her life. So calm yourself, brother. Even if Henry gave his consent, how could she possibly care for me when I’m the one who brought about her family’s ruin?”
Kynan’s expression softened with sympathy, and relief. “Well, I’m sorry you feel bad about it, but honestly, Blaidd, it would have been impossible, anyway. She’s a traitor’s daughter, when all is said and done. And cheer up, there are plenty of beautiful ladies here at court to help you forget her.”
With an utterance of complete disgust, Blaidd marched to the door. “You’ve never been in love—really in love,” he snarled as he yanked it open, “or you’d never say anything so damn stupid!”
Chapter Eighteen
Dressed in her sister’s velvet robe and silken shift, Becca turned quickly away from the window as the door to her chamber crashed open.
His dark brows lowered, his expression fierce, Blaidd strode inside, then kicked the door closed. “Becca, do you hate me?” he demanded, his hands on his hips.
She was so taken aback by his arrival, his expression and his question that it took her a moment to find her voice. “No, no, I don’t hate you.”
His hands fell to his side, and his expression softened—a little. “I could understand if you did.”
She stared at him incredulously as the words tumbled out of his mouth.
“I’ve ruined your life. I killed your father, and your sister’s run off with that Dane, and because of me you may lose your title and property and have to do what Henry says—”
He was blaming himself for what had happened?
“You didn’t ruin my life, Blaidd!” she interrupted. “Lord Throckton did. He’s responsible because of his treasonous conspiracy, not you.” She approached him slowly, warily, and yet with a renewed hope she couldn’t subdue. “You did what you had to do to save your life, and mine.”
“I lied to you from the start and—”
“Oh, Blaidd,” she murmured, taking his strong hands in her own. “Don’t you think I can understand that you were obeying the orders of the king? That as his loyal knight, you were obligated to do what he asked? That you were honor bound to unmask a conspiracy against the crown? I assure you, I do. I coul
dn’t hate you for that, and I don’t. I don’t hate you at all.”
His gaze searched her face. Now he wasn’t the powerful warrior, but simply a man, vulnerable, hopeful and anxious, looking as if he feared he dared to hope too much.
“As for my father…” She was taking a risk, but she couldn’t bear to conceal the truth from him any longer. “My father is very much alive.”
Blaidd stared at her as if she’d gone mad.
“Lord Throckton wasn’t my father,” she explained. “He told me so himself before he attacked me. Dobbin is my father.”
“Dobbin is your father?” Blaidd repeated incredulously.
“Yes.” She straightened her shoulders, once again a lady in dignity, if not in law. “Although my mother was Lord Throckton’s wife, I’m the bastard daughter of a soldier. I didn’t want to tell you sooner because I want to speak for the people of Throckton, to assure Henry that they are not treasonous.”
Blaidd still looked doubtful. “If that’s true, why did Throckton acknowledge you?”
She couldn’t blame him for being wary, given Throckton’s nature. And she, of all people, could understand how hard it could be to accept something that seemed, on the first hearing, so unbelievable. “He couldn’t stand the thought that it would become common knowledge that his wife had given herself to a foot soldier. But now I know why Dobbin always treated me as he did.”
She clasped her hands together like a supplicant, which in a way she was. “I beg you not to tell the king, Blaidd. If he thinks I have no claim to Throckton, he’ll certainly send somebody else to be overlord. If I have no claim to the estate, I won’t be able to ensure that the tenants and servants—my friends—are well and justly treated.” She regarded him with love and hope. “Will you keep my secret?”
Blaidd frowned and began to pace as he mused aloud. “If I reveal it, Henry wouldn’t consider you fit to be a royal ward. He’d confiscate all Throckton’s goods and leave you with nothing. And then there’s the shame—”
“I’m not ashamed that Dobbin is my natural father!” she cried.
Blaidd stopped pacing and his incredible lips lifted in a breathtaking smile. “Nor should you be. Some of my father’s best friends are bastards.” His eyes seemed to glow as he looked at her. “All in all, if it were up to me, I’d suggest you tell Henry. You’d be penniless, and some people whose opinion doesn’t matter much anyway would look down on you, but the bastard daughter of a common soldier wouldn’t be considered a threat to his throne. You’ll have lost your title and your wealth, but you’ll be free to do as you wish.”
The liberty, if not the poverty, was tempting, yet she had more than herself to consider. “I can’t think only of myself, Blaidd. What about my people? What will happen to them?”
There was an air of suppressed excitement about Blaidd as he answered her question. “I think between Gervais Fitzroy—that’s Trev’s brother—and me, we could probably persuade Henry to give the estate to somebody who’ll be a good overlord. Gervais is a very clever politician, and we can surely come up with a few excellent candidates. So I don’t believe you need worry about them. It’s time to think about yourself, Becca.”
She crossed the room, moving away from him as she tried to keep calm and not read too much into his fervor. “There’s always the convent, I suppose. They’d have to take me in, poor bastard though I be.”
“I have another suggestion.”
She couldn’t help her reaction. As he spoke, his deep voice full of barely contained excitement, hope sprung into wild, vibrant life. She faced him, her heart pounding, her breathing fast and shallow, as Blaidd slowly approached her.
“Will you be able to trust me again after all that I’ve done?” he asked softly as he took her hands in his and looked into her eyes.
“I was wrong not to trust you when you told me about Lord Throckton,” she answered in a whisper.
“So you can trust me?”
“I do trust you.”
“And you don’t hate me?”
“No, I don’t hate you.”
“I love you, Becca,” he whispered, his brown eyes shining. “Is it possible…can you…do you still care for me?”
Her heart soared. Sir Blaidd Morgan, knight of the realm, champion of tournaments, stood before her—crippled, homely, bastard Becca—humble and sincere, and offering her the greatest, most precious gift in the world: his love. “I can and I do, Blaidd. I love you with all my heart.”
There was an instant’s hesitation, a moment where they looked into each other’s eyes, seeing the measure and depth of their love. Then joy and hope and laughter and relief exploded simultaneously, and she was in his arms, kissing and being kissed. Happiness fueled her passion and she clung to him tightly, holding him as if she’d never let him go again.
“There is no better woman for me, Becca, and I’ll be more than proud to have you for my wife,” Blaidd murmured as his lips moved along her cheek toward her ear. “If you will have me.”
“If I’ll have you?” Becca cried, delighted beyond measure. “Of course I will!”
With a tender touch, Blaidd brushed a lock of hair from her face. “We still must have our audience with the king.”
“I’ll gladly swear any oath of loyalty he chooses,” she replied. “And surely your willingness to marry me should help banish any doubts he may have of my allegiance,” she added with a smile.
Blaidd didn’t smile back. “Even if he agrees you present no threat, he might have his own ideas about who I should wed.”
Becca slowly ran her hands up Blaidd’s chest. “I can think of one way, sir knight, that would make it harder for him to refuse your request. What if you were to marry me tonight, in one form, at least? Wouldn’t honor then demand that we make it legal in the eyes of God and the law?”
Blaidd knew what she meant, and the primitive male in him shouted that she was right; that if they made love, the king could not deny them. But the rational part of him wasn’t certain. “Many noblemen make love to women they never marry. In the past, I have, too. I’m not saying I’m not tempted to try this plan, because God knows, I am, but—”
“I want to make love with you tonight, Blaidd Morgan,” Becca said softly, yet with firm resolution. “Whatever happens, I will have one night with you, whether we wed or not. Please don’t deny me.”
God help him, he couldn’t say no. He simply couldn’t, so he gathered her in his arms and said, “I want to marry you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, Becca, and I’m going to do everything I can to make it happen.”
She put her finger against his lips. “I know. I believe you. I trust you absolutely.”
More in love with her than ever, more determined to make a future with her, Blaidd thought of one more thing he could do, a sacrifice he would gladly make if it meant Becca could be his wife. “If the king refuses, I’ll offer to renounce my title and all the privileges that go with it. He won’t have so many objections if I’m not a knight, but simply one of his loyal soldiers.”
“You would do that, for me?” she asked incredulously.
He caressed her cheek, as he had that first night in the chapel, and the same thrilling desire trilled through her body. “Without regret. You wouldn’t mind a husband who is only a soldier?”
“My true father—and the man I’ve always loved like a father—is just a common soldier. And I would rather live in a peasant’s cottage with you than a palace with anyone else.”
He believed her, and the last, lingering doubt and dread dropped away. This was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, and no man, not even the king, was going to keep them apart.
Now certain, he stopped trying to subdue the heat of his desire. He became acutely aware of her body close to his, and the luxurious garments she wore—the dark green velvet robe, incredibly soft, and the white silk shift, like liquid moonlight against her smooth skin.
He kissed her again, deeply. She relaxed in his arms, leaning i
nto him without restraint as his mouth moved over hers. Her wondrous lips parted, and he insinuated his tongue between them. As he did, he slipped off her robe and let it drop to the floor.
How soft her shift was! Sliding down her back, his fingers grazed the delicate fabric as if it were her naked skin.
Her warm, soft skin, which he wanted to taste. His hands cupped her buttocks as his lips left hers to trail down the slope of her jaw toward her slender neck, then brushed ever so lightly over her collarbone.
Clutching his shoulders, Becca sighed when he nuzzled her shift downward. She moaned softly as he pressed light, yet heated kisses to the tops of her breasts, first one, then the other.
He moved his head lower still. Ignoring the silk, he flicked his tongue across her pebbled nipple before drawing it into his mouth. A gasp, a sigh, a groan escaped her lips as he pleasured her until the silk was damp.
He felt her move, but before he could think about what she was doing or why, she took his head between her palms and brought him upward. Her mouth captured his with a fierce hunger that roused a primitive, intense desire.
He returned her kiss with savage need. His hands stroked and caressed, seeking to arouse and excite her, to make her want him as he wanted her.
She tore at the lacing of his tunic until it was untied and loose, then plunged her hand inside. She explored him, brushing her palm over his skin, sliding it over his nipples until he groaned.
He broke their kiss and tugged his tunic over his head, then threw it on the floor. Panting, aroused, he looked at the woman he adored and craved. His gaze raked her body: her hair disheveled as if they’d already slept together, her shift glowing white in the moonlight, her hardened nipples pushing against the thin fabric, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, the eager look in her eyes….
He’d never been so inflamed.
Then they were together again, bodies separated by only that thin shift and his breeches. Almost nothing. He could feel her breasts against his chest, and she could surely feel him hard against her.
Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] Page 20
