Knight of Seduction

by Cheryl Holt

  “I’d like the remainder of my years,” he advised her, “to be easier than the prior ones have been. I don’t wish to struggle ever again.”

  “I understand.”

  “I want comfort and…harmony. I want good food and a warm bed and enjoyable company.”

  “They shouldn’t be difficult to provide. You have excellent servants, and they love you already.”

  “But it’s more than that, Anne.”

  “Explain it, if you can.”

  “I want to belong here. That’s what Morven means to me.” He gestured around the room, as if it encompassed the entire world. “If I ride out to hunt, or secure the border for the king, or perform any other of the tasks that will be required of me, I will come home weary and cold and troubled. I need to find that I am welcome, that you are eager to attend me. I need you to supply me with sustenance and solace. Can you try?”

  “Of course, I can try. I will always do my best for you.”

  “I knew you would.”

  He finally kissed her as he’d contemplated since awakening at dawn. Her lips were as soft as he remembered, her auburn hair as silky and lush, her skin as creamy and smooth.

  As he’d discovered during their wedding night, she was a quick learner. She kissed him back with all the ardor he’d shown her how to exhibit, and he was tickled to note that she wasn’t under the influence of any bride’s wine, but she was participating to the fullest.

  “Now then,” he said as he drew away, “what is your plan for the rest of the day?”

  “I suppose I should speak with the cook about the food and the meals.”

  “A grand idea, but in a bit.”

  “Why?”

  “You have some other wifely duties that must be accomplished first.”

  “Which ones?” She frowned, confused by what he meant.

  He nodded to the bedchamber, suddenly excited at the notion of having her in his own bed, rather than hers. The prospect was exotically thrilling, outrageous, unheard of. Yet, why shouldn’t he?

  Perhaps he’d move her into his room. Perhaps he’d have her abandon her chamber and reside in his. Perhaps he’d keep her with him every night. He could simply roll over, and she would be …

  He shook his head, stunned by his wild, careening thoughts.

  “You want to…oh!” She looked shocked, but intrigued, too. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

  “It certainly is.”

  “Can we just…proceed whenever we wish?”

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t have to wait till dark?”

  “No. That’s the splendid part about being married.”

  “Could I decide that I want to do it? Could I ask you at any time?”

  Blood rushed to his loins. “Yes. You can ask me, and I’ll be more than happy to oblige you.”

  She slid off his lap and took his hand.

  “Come,” she said, pulling him up and starting for the bed.

  He followed like a dog on a leash.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Anne stood on the battlements, peeking over the edge to the action down in the yard. Hugh and his knights were sparring with fists, swords, and other weapons. For a good portion of everyday, he worked them, ensuring they remained sharp and ready.

  She’d tried to stay away from the daily sessions, but with the first clang of steel on steel, she would sneak out to spy.

  It was thrilling to observe the burly, bare-chested men as they grappled for advantage. Hugh was particularly remarkable, which was why she couldn’t keep away. In their personal dealings, he was unfailingly polite and considerate of her, so it was fascinating to see this side of him.

  He was stronger and shrewder than the others, the ablest and most dangerous opponent. He never lost even the most brutal match, and Anne was secretly proud of his menacing prowess.

  In past years, Ranulf had nearly always been gone from Morven, so Blodwin had been in control. When villainy occurred, she mustered meager responses. Her men were poorly trained and equipped, and they’d refused to chase after agitators.

  If any miscreants caused trouble now, they’d be in for a surprise. There would be no exhausted farmers plodding after them. Hugh would ride them down, and Anne didn’t like to imagine the consequences for anyone who dared to break the peace.

  Blodwin had also been negligent in maintaining the castle’s defenses, and Hugh was correcting that lapse. Boys had been conscripted to learn how to fight, and some from the wealthier families in the area were being tutored as pages and squires.

  Once Hugh had the castle more secure, his knights would head back to the Holy Land to join with King Richard. They would take their new charges with them, and everyone was excited that local sons would have a chance at glory and adventure.

  They would come home rich. They would come home heroes. Every person—high and low—had a stake in their rise to fame and fortune.

  Footsteps sounded, and Anne glanced over to see Rosamunde marching toward her.

  Since the morning Rosamunde had discovered the bounty lavished on Anne by Hugh, they’d rarely spoken, and Anne was saddened by their rift.

  She’d like to repair it, but didn’t know how. Nor did she suppose she ought. Blodwin and Rosamunde had no good intentions toward Hugh, and in any quarrel between them, Anne’s loyalties were with Hugh.

  Always and forever with Hugh.

  She’d been married in the church, before God and witnesses, and she would never imperil her soul by shirking her duty as a wife. And she had to admit that her duty wasn’t turning out to be awful as she’d expected.

  Their antics in the dark of night were enthralling beyond measure.

  While she still grieved that she would never go to the convent, she couldn’t be sorry that Hugh had shown her another path. Especially when that path was so exhilarating.

  “Were you aware of this?” Rosamunde asked before Anne could greet her.

  “Of what?”

  Rosamunde thrust a piece of parchment into Anne’s hand.

  “Your husband”—she pronounced the word husband like an epithet—“has decided I must wed.”

  “He has?”

  “Don’t pretend surprise,” Rosamunde accused. “I’ll never believe you, for I’m certain it was all your idea.”

  “My idea? I’ve known the man for fourteen days. If you think I have some authority over him, you’re mad.”

  “He’s written to London, to the king’s clerks, seeking names of appropriate candidates. Then he’ll contact various fathers and solicit offers for me. He’s treating me as if I am a sow to be sold at a fair.”

  Anne took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The process Hugh had set in motion was the way a marriage always happened. The only difference was that Ranulf should have arranged it. He hadn’t bothered, and Blodwin had been content to keep Rosamunde with her. Rosamunde was being silly to assume that she could continue on as she had been.

  A girl of her rank and family wasn’t allowed to pick her husband. She did as her parents bid her, as her king bid her. She had no choice, and Anne was amazed that Hugh had wasted any energy on the matter. Not that she would say so aloud.

  Rosamunde should wed. It was her sole option. She couldn’t remain at Morven forever. What would become of her?

  She should have already been a wife and managing her own household. That was the role for which she’d been groomed. She was eighteen and nearly past her prime. If she didn’t marry soon, she likely never would, and she couldn’t rely on her mother to handle it.

  Anne had previously thought Blodwin so smart, so masterful in her administration of Castle Morven. Yet the more Anne studied and learned, the more she recognized that Blodwin had often been quite careless on the most significant of issues—such as locating a husband for her daughter.

  “Wouldn’t you like to marry, Rosamunde?” Anne asked. “Just imagine: You’ll leave Morven and move to your own home. You’ll have a handsome husband to spoil you.”


  “Lord Hugh is a blind idiot. He’ll select a decrepit buffoon merely to spite me.”

  “But you hate it here. Wouldn’t you like to get away?”

  “I’m in love with Geoffrey. He’ll return for me any day now.”

  “Rose,” Anne gently chided, “your wish to wed Geoffrey is a fantasy.”

  Rosamunde scoffed. “You’ll be glad to be rid of me, I dare say.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. Why would I want to be rid of you?”

  “Hugh should have been my husband, but no. You pushed yourself in front of him. You made sure he met you first.”

  Anne’s temper flared. “You’ve said many outlandish things to me in your life, but that has to be the most preposterous.”

  “You want me gone, so he doesn’t have time to regret, so he doesn’t have time to realize he picked the wrong girl.”

  A huge argument might have ensued, but shouting and rough laughter rang out down in the yard. Anne whipped away and peered down to see what was occurring.

  A group of knights was standing in a circle, with Cadel and Hugh in the middle. They faced each other like combatants, but only Cadel looked as if he was eager to fight. Hugh simply looked bored.

  “Murderer!” Cadel hissed. “Father killer! Thief!”

  “I admit to being a murderer and father killer,” Hugh calmly said. “But thief? No. I’ve never stolen anything.”

  “You stole this castle. You stole my birthright.”

  “Your father forfeited it with his treachery. Don’t blame me for his being a traitor to the Crown.”

  “You will not speak to me of my father!” Cadel raged, and he rushed at Hugh.

  As if Cadel was a pesky insect, Hugh knocked him to the ground. He glared down at the smaller, younger man as if he was more of a fool than Ranulf had been.

  Cadel groaned and thrust himself to his feet.

  “I hate you,” he hurled. “I hate your knights and your horses and your wretched training. I hate all that you are. I hate all that you ever will be.”

  Hugh shrugged. “What will you do about it?”

  Cadel bellowed with fury and rushed Hugh again. Hugh knocked him down again.

  An excruciating dance began, with Cadel staggering up, then charging Hugh, and Hugh fending him off with barely a flick of the wrist.

  It was a comical mismatch, like a farce a troupe of actors might have staged. Hugh was bigger, older, experienced at brawls, while Cadel was reckless and stupid and in no physical condition to spar with Hugh or anyone else. His attacks were pathetic, but Anne had to give him credit. He was completely overpowered and had no chance with Hugh, but he kept on and on and on.

  Anne should have turned away, but the spectacle was too riveting.

  “Stop them,” Rosamunde hissed.

  “I can’t.”

  “You could if you wanted to.”

  “Lord Hugh would never listen to me.”

  “Do it, Anne. Go down and stop him.”

  “Perhaps a thrashing will be good for Cadel,” Anne said. “His temper has always gotten the best of him. Perhaps he’ll learn a lesson from it.”

  “What lesson? That Hugh can murder him with impunity?”

  “For pity’s sake, Rosamunde. Hugh is merely shoving him to the ground. Cadel will grow weary. He’ll desist on his own.”

  At least, Anne hoped that he would. She couldn’t envision marching into the midst of the crowd, couldn’t envision interfering with Hugh. If she tried, she couldn’t predict how he would respond, and she didn’t care to find out.

  Cadel’s assaults were slowing, his ferocity waning. Like a wounded bull, he dragged himself forward, wildly swinging his arms.

  Instead of shoving him away again, Hugh hit him with the back of his hand. Blood flew from Cadel’s nose. He wailed and crumpled to the dirt.

  “Are we finished, Master Cadel?” Hugh asked, his exasperation clear.

  “We’ll never be finished,” Cadel spat as he hauled himself to his feet.

  “Oh no,” Rosamunde breathed with dismay.

  “Give quarter, Cadel,” Hugh urged. “You’re beaten. Accept your fate like a man and get back to work. The seven-year-old pages are in better condition than you.”

  Cadel glared, oozing malice. “I wish my poison had killed you.”

  Hugh didn’t react by so much as the twitch of a muscle, but his knights growled and stiffened with affront.

  Henry stepped forward and grabbed Cadel.

  “Are you admitting that you tried to murder Lord Hugh, you little worm?”

  “Yes,” Cadel bragged, “and I’ll try again and again and again. Someday when you least expect it, I’ll succeed.”

  Dozens of spectators heard his boast. They gasped with varying degrees of outrage, shock, and alarm.

  Henry punched Cadel in the face, not with the slight sort of push Hugh had used, but a vicious, fierce blow that buckled his knees and collapsed him in a defeated heap. More blood flowed from his nose, but his mouth was bleeding, too, as well as a cut on his cheek.

  “You pathetic dog,” Henry sneered, leaning over Cadel. “You threaten my Lord Hugh? In my presence? You would dare such infamy?”

  Cadel’s speech was garbled, but it sounded as if he said, “Bugger your Lord Hugh.”

  Henry peered over at Hugh. “Shall I kill him now, Hugh?”

  “No,” Hugh said. “Take him to the dungeon. We’ll hang him in the morning.”

  “What?” Anne called without realizing she would. “No, no, no, you will not!”

  Every person in the bailey stared up at the battlements to see who had interrupted the tense scene.

  Anne whirled away, racing to the stairs and down. The crowd split, opening a path to Hugh, and she ran to him.

  He frowned, studying her as if she was a stranger.

  “Go inside, Lady Anne,” he quietly stated. “This is none of your affair.”

  “Please, my lord Hugh.” She fell to her knees, her head bowed in submission, her hands pressed together as if in prayer. “May I speak?”

  “Go inside, Anne!” he repeated more sternly.

  But she couldn’t be silent. What purpose would be served by murdering Cadel? While her father’s execution had happened over a year earlier, in a far away land and for lawful reasons, this was so real, so imminent. She simply couldn’t imagine Cadel dead. Not at Hugh’s command.

  She’d grown up with Cadel. He was her brother. Hugh couldn’t kill him!

  She’d forgiven Hugh for slaying Ranulf, a man she’d scarcely known and who’d committed treason against the king, but this was…was…

  She couldn’t describe the horror of it. She couldn’t let it transpire.

  “Cadel is a fool,” Anne insisted. “He’s vain and proud and can be stupid. He didn’t mean what he said.”

  Henry tossed out, “His intent seemed quite clear to me, Lady Anne.”

  “My lord Hugh, please!” she begged again.

  Hugh didn’t reply, but nodded to Dorag. She was in the horde of onlookers, watching the entire, awful display.

  She came over, leaned down, and clasped Anne’s arm. There was a warning in her gaze.

  “Let me help you inside,” the older woman said.

  “Not until my husband answers me,” Anne responded. “Not until he swears that he won’t kill my brother.”

  The observers shifted uncomfortably, stunned that she would openly defy Hugh, and Anne, herself, couldn’t believe she had. When still on the battlements, she’d worried over what he might do if she intervened, and she was about to find out.

  “This is men’s business,” Dorag counseled. “Not ours. Let’s go.”

  Dorag tried to tug her to her feet, but with no success, so one of Hugh’s knights assisted her. Between the two of them, they lifted Anne and walked her away. Anne didn’t fight them, and she didn’t glance back. She couldn’t bear to see Hugh’s expression, to see him or others glowering with condemnation.

  By the time they’d stepped thr
ough the wide doors into the keep, she could hear the clang of metal on metal as swords clashed and the training session recommenced.

  Dorag and the knight led her up the stairs to her room and ushered her in.

  The knight marched off as Dorag murmured, “You’d best wait here, child.”

  “What do you suppose he’ll do to me?”

  “I don’t know. Stay out of his sight, and his temper will cool. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

  It was sound advice, from a more sensible, experienced woman. Anne agreed, and Dorag left her alone with her thoughts and her fury. She felt like a chastened toddler who was about to have her bottom paddled.

  She was livid and embarrassed and outraged. Outraged at Cadel. Outraged at Hugh. Outraged at herself for interceding, but also for not being tougher and stronger. If she had been, she’d have stormed into the middle of the fracas and banged their stubborn heads together.

  Cadel was a fool to taunt Hugh, to threaten him. And Hugh was a fool to let Cadel needle him. Hugh was lord of the castle, while Cadel was barely more than a boy, and he often still acted like one. Why spar with him? Why give him the chance to cause so much trouble?

  It was all male pride and recklessness, and Hugh had let his arrogance rule him.

  Bitter feelings boiled beneath the surface at Morven. Most people accepted Hugh as their lord and master, but Cadel had not. Blodwin and Rosamunde had not. Their malice had to end, and Anne could have helped Hugh resolve the situation.

  But no. She was a female, so her opinion was irrelevant. A man like Hugh didn’t have to listen, didn’t need to listen.

  What was the point of being Hugh’s wife if her word held no sway? Shouldn’t she have a voice? If Hugh decided to hang her half-brother, surely it was her right to protest without being punished for saying he shouldn’t.

  She paced and fumed, paced and fumed. Every once in a while, she’d hear footsteps outside her door, and she’d peek out. It was always a maid on an errand.

  The time dragged by. To make it pass more quickly, she ran through a litany of her grievances, rehearsing the remarks she would offer in her own defense.

  The afternoon waned, and evening arrived. A maid visited to light the fire, to bring Anne a tray of food. Anne quizzed her as to what was happening down below, but the girl didn’t know where Hugh was or what he was doing.