The Maiden and Her Knight

by Margaret Moore

  “I know, Father.”

  “Now I am tired, and I must sleep. Good night, Allis with her mother’s eyes,” he murmured, smiling, as his eyes fluttered closed. “I hope I shall dream of Mathilde again.”

  His hand slowly slipped from her head, and his chest rose and fell with peaceful sleep. She pressed a gentle kiss upon his thin hand. How good it was to hear him speak thus! Perhaps everything was going to be all right now. Perhaps the worst was over.

  Her father would rest soundly for the rest of the night provided he was not disturbed, so she rose and bent to press another soft kiss upon his forehead before leaving his chamber.

  She hurried toward the curved stairway leading up to her bedchamber. She had no candle or rushlight, but she knew the passage well, and there was a little light from the moon.

  Before she reached the stairs, a man stepped out of the stairway, as if he had been hiding there. Shock and fear sprang to life, and she gasped and stumbled back, prepared to run.

  “It’s me. Connor.”

  At the sound of his deep, gentle voice, her shoulders slumped with relief. Now she recognized his broad-shouldered silhouette. “What are you doing here at this hour?” she asked quietly as she walked toward him, scarcely able to make out his features in the dim moonlight.

  “I was going to wait until tomorrow to try to speak to you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t rest until I apologized for upsetting you with my song.”

  “Oh, Connor,” she said with a sigh as she took his hand and led him back into the shadowed stairway. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “I didn’t mean to distress you so. If I had known—”

  “That your gentle song would touch my heart, you would not have sung it?” Moved by his concern, she caressed his cheek, his stubble rough against her palm.

  He nodded his head.

  “But touching your listener’s heart is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, the light pressure comforting as his gaze anxiously searched her face. “Then you are not angry with me?”

  “No, certainly not. In fact, right now,” she murmured, sliding her hands up his powerful chest as wondrous desire warmed her blood, “I am happier than I have been in a long time. My father seems better tonight, almost as he was before my mother died.” Or so she hoped.

  His hands slipped down her arms, gently stroking her. Her breathing quickened as the familiar, intoxicating excitement of his touch took possession of her. “For your sake as well as his, I am glad to hear it.”

  “This is not the most convenient place for us to meet.”

  “No.” His lips brushed along her cheek. “But I was not thinking of anything except the need to apologize.”

  She shivered at the delightful sensation and relaxed against him as her hands glided around his waist. “How did you get back into the castle?”

  “I told the guards I forgot something.” His mouth crept gently down her neck.

  Every tantalizing touch of his lips seemed more exhilarating than the last, and, with a moan, she arched back. “You cannot stay the night here. You must go back.”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “You had best go, Connor.”

  “I will,” he mumbled before his mouth captured hers in a fervently passionate kiss.

  Excitement, raw and primitive, fired within her. Snared by the heady feeling, she forgot where she was, and everything except him—his lips and his body—and her own burgeoning need.

  Still kissing her, he maneuvered her back against the curved wall. The stone was hard and cold against her, but in the next instant, that, too, was forgotten. He slipped his arm from the sling and laid his left hand flat against the wall beside her before leaning closer, pressing his body full against hers.

  Wrapping her arms about him, she returned his kiss, passion for passion, heat for heat. Her tongue plundered his mouth. He was her love, and she gave herself up to him and to the feelings he brought to such intense life within her.

  His hand fumbled with the lacing of her gown and the bodice loosened. The cool air touched her skin as his hand slipped inside her gown to her breasts. Her flesh burned as his strong, callused hands roved over her heated skin and an exquisite tension grew.

  She had to feel his skin and glory in the sensation of his nakedness beneath her fingers, so she slid her hands under his tunic and shirt.

  “Sweet heaven,” he gasped as her hands stole over his bare flesh and the ridges of his scars, reminding her that this was a warrior who held her, a man powerful enough to wear eighty pounds of armor as if it were linen, who knew what it was to lose people he loved. Who had dared to speak his mind to his king, and suffered the consequences. And who could surely have any woman he wanted, but who wanted her.

  He took his hand off her body and out of her gown. She vaguely wondered why, until his palm cupped her between her thighs. The pressure he exerted made her writhe and gasp for breath.

  “I want you, Allis, so much,” he murmured hoarsely. His fingers moved and new vistas of need opened. A hunger, powerful and primitive, surged hot and demanding.

  Above, in the tower, a door opened. “Who is there? Allis, is that you?” Isabelle called out.

  She wanted to groan with frustration and keep kissing him, but Connor abruptly let go and stepped back. His chest heaved as if he had run all the way from London.

  “Go back to bed, Isabelle. I’m on my way.”

  “Heaven help me, your family has a damnable habit of interrupting,” he whispered, sounding as frustrated as she felt.

  “Yes, I know.”

  Yet even though she regretted the interference as much as he, they could not stay where they were. If they were seen…!

  She reached back to do up her laces. He saw what she was doing and, putting his strong hands on her shoulders, turned her so that her back was to him and began to tie them for her.

  The light brushes of his fingers against the nape of her neck made her weaken with longing to be alone with him and damn the consequences.

  Isabelle’s voice drifted down the steps. “Are you ill? You were making a very strange noise.”

  “I stubbed my toe. I have no candle to light my way.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you, so I have a rushlight still burning. Wait there and I’ll bring it.”

  “Now you really must leave,” Allis whispered to Connor.

  “Aye, I must,” he agreed as he backed away. “But I am not wanting to.”

  Then he disappeared into the dark as if he had been a phantom lover.

  Taking deep gulps of air, she pressed her cool hands to her flushed cheeks. She was not being wise about Connor. Not wise at all. But when she was in his arms, she didn’t want to be wise. She wanted to be wild and wanton, reckless and free.

  To care for Connor was folly. She was only heading toward misery and heartbreak, and perhaps disaster.

  Yet she could not help it. She could not ignore how Connor made her feel, as if she were utterly alive. She could not stop herself from wanting him. She could not help loving him.

  But as Isabelle appeared on the stairs above, clad in her white shift and illuminated by the flickering rushlight as if she were a messenger of heaven, one thing remained clear and immutable: whatever happened, she must protect her family, and that she could never forget.

  The chapel was as dim and cool as always, yet Auberan perspired anyway. “I don’t care about your plans and schemes. I won’t take her. I won’t stay and I most certainly won’t marry Isabelle. Didn’t you hear what I said? They were laughing at me!”

  “Auberan, Auberan, Auberan, calm yourself,” Oswald soothed, laying a placating hand on the young man’s arm. “It is women’s nature to make sport of men. You take it too much to heart.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “No,” Oswald replied, moving away toward the statue of the Virgin Mary.

  As before, she looked down serenely at them, head bowed, hands piously folded, her care
s not of this world, but of the world to come. “I wouldn’t take their jests to heart if I had more important things to consider, like the woman’s dowry and social position. Besides, once she’s your wife, you can make her pay for every insult.”

  At the sight of Lord Oswald’s cold smile, Auberan swallowed hard. “Isabelle doesn’t want me. She wants that Welshman. She’s always with him, supposedly watching her brother, but I know better. I’m not a fool.”

  “So what if she finds him attractive? What better than some competition to make the game that much more enjoyable for you?”

  Auberan looked at Oswald as if he were spouting absolute nonsense.

  “Why didn’t you leave Montclair immediately, if you are that insulted?”

  “Isabelle was so distraught, I thought tomorrow would do just as well.”

  “She cried, didn’t she?”

  Auberan studied the toe of his boot. “Yes.”

  “So you see, she cares for you. It would be a mistake to leave now, and when you seduce her,” Oswald patiently explained, “your triumph will be all the greater if there is another man competing with you for the prize.”

  “Seduce her?”

  Oswald strolled over to the votive candles. He bent down and blew five out in one puff.

  “Why do you do that?” Auberan demanded peevishly.

  Oswald turned to him, and the flicker of the remaining candles gave his face a ghastly glow. “Because it pleases me to ruin someone’s heavenly petition.”

  Auberan paled. “As pleased as I am that you believe I can seduce Isabelle,” he began, stammering slightly, “I don’t think I—”

  “You will seduce her, to ensure she marries you. When you are wed, you will be united by marriage to Rennick. Between the pair of you, you will hold all the Montclair land and all the power and respect that goes with it.”

  “I do not think I’m so repulsive that—”

  “It’s not a question of whether or not you’re attractive, Auberan, and it’s not as if I’m asking you to do something repugnant, is it? We must guarantee that there will be no refusal, for any reason. If you take her maidenhead, she will not dare say no.”

  Auberan hesitated for another moment, but as Oswald’s stare turned into a stern glare, he finally nodded. “Very well. I shall do my utmost to seduce Isabelle.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ve never seduced a woman before.”

  Oswald’s thick lips pressed together in aggravation for a moment; nevertheless, his voice was calm when he replied. “It is not that difficult, if you try.”

  “Say what you will, she likes the Welshman better than me,” he muttered.

  Oswald’s brows lowered. “Are you as stupid as you sound at this moment? Have you not seen the lay of the land? Isabelle may like him, but he prefers her sister.”

  Auberan gasped. “Lady Allis?”

  “Lady Allis?” Oswald mocked. “Yes, Lady Allis. He practically salivates when he looks at her.”

  “But she—”

  “She wants him, too.”

  “What of Rennick?”

  “He will find out soon enough, if he doesn’t already suspect.”

  “He’ll be furious.” Auberan’s eyes widened. “Is that why Sir Connor’s lance—?”

  “The wood was old.”

  Auberan looked unconvinced. “If Rennick didn’t want to kill him before, he will now.”

  “We need the Welshman, and Rennick understands that.”

  “What about the betrothal? Surely he won’t want to marry Lady Allis if she’s not a virgin.”

  “Did I say she would not be a virgin when she marries Rennick?” Oswald sighed and shook his head. “Good God, Auberan, you have no understanding of women, especially women like Allis. She will yearn for him, and perhaps accept a kiss or a caress, but she will never sully her honor, not when she is betrothed to another. She would rather die.”

  “You sound very sure, my lord.”

  “I am. I have known her since childhood, and she is the epitome of dutiful women who hold their honor dear. Sir Connor may sniff about her all he wants, but he will inevitably be disappointed. However, he may not be aware of that for some time. Until he does, he will stay and that will give me a chance to enlist him in our cause.”

  “I don’t think Rennick will applaud this plan.”

  Lord Oswald drew himself up to his full height and regarded Auberan with indignant majesty. “I do not require Rennick DeFrouchette’s permission for anything.”

  Auberan humbly backed away. “Yes, my lord.”

  “As for the seduction of a fifteen-year-old girl, it isn’t so difficult. Compliment her on her beauty. Tell her she is sweet and charming. Entertain her. Treat her as if she were a grown-up, and for God’s sake, be more agreeable, Auberan. Nobody likes a man who sulks like a baby.”

  Auberan nodded like a studious disciple. “Yes, my lord.”

  “And bring her presents. All women like presents.” He strolled to the door. “One thing I suggest you do not do, Auberan, and that is try to sing. You will only suffer by comparison. Now good evening. The night is young, and Merva is waiting for me.” He glanced back at the younger man. “Pray for success, Auberan, for remember, the rewards will be great, especially when Richard is no longer on the throne.”

  Chapter 16

  The sun was still low in the morning sky as Connor made his way toward the main gate of Montclair Castle. During another restless, sleepless night, he had come to a decision. Things could not go on as they were. As much as he wanted to be with Allis in any way possible, subterfuge and secrecy made him feel soiled and sinful, and he abhorred the taint it gave their relationship. Something must be done, and soon, to clarify what was between them and what the future might hold, for good or ill.

  In one way, it was already too late. He was in love with Allis. She had become the center of his world and the person most important in his life. Her affection and good opinion were the means by which he measured himself and his worth, which was both bane and blessing: blessing, because she made him feel that his past could be overcome and overlooked; bane because if they could not be together, he would always feel an emptiness in his heart.

  Wrapped in such thoughts, he almost didn’t realize something was not right as he approached the gate. Years of warfare had honed his senses sharp, however, and a part of his mind realized something was amiss. He halted, and scanned the wall walk. Thank God, the sentries were still there, pacing the walk as they should be.

  But it was too quiet. Much too quiet. A castle always bustled with soldiers and servants, even at dawn, and so there was a constant low rumble and rustle of movement and voices. Today, he might have been standing in the vast confines of an empty cathedral all by himself, or on a battlefield, surrounded by corpses.

  He anxiously hurried on to the gate. Two guards—Bob and Harry—stood deep in discussion, their heads bowed and their expressions grim. In other parts of the courtyard, small groups of servants stood huddled together, whispering, and many of the women were crying.

  When Bob and Harry caught sight of him, they stopped talking.

  “What’s happened?” he demanded.

  “The earl is dead,” Bob mumbled.

  Oh, sweet heaven. Poor Allis!

  “Last night,” Harry continued. “In his sleep and without pain, Lady Allis said, thank God. My old mam suffered terrible, and I’m glad to think he was spared anything like that.”

  Bob sighed as he leaned on his spear. “Aye, he was a good master.”

  “And Lady Allis? How does she fare?”

  Bob and Harry exchanged sorrowful looks. “Not weepin’ and wailin’ like some,” Bob offered.

  No, she would not do that. She would bottle it up, as she did so much, and keep it to herself. She would be strong for her brother and sister, and her people, but the pain would be just as bad as if she rent her clothes and screamed to the heavens. No, it would be worse, for she would carry it alone. “Isabelle and Edmond?�
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  “She woke them and told them herself, poor thing. Merva’s with them. She was their nursemaid when they was little. That’s why they let her take the liberties she does.”

  “Aye,” Harry confirmed. “She’s right tore up, too. I ain’t never seen Merva cry, but she’s a-cryin’ now, all right.” He sighed. “She and the earl used to get teasing each other in the old days. Not that he ever touched her—never like that. He loved his wife too much, and she knew she was well off and smart enough not to risk it.”

  “Where is Lady Allis?”

  They both nodded at the hall.

  Thinking only of Allis and her sorrow, he hurried toward the hall, past the little knots of mourning servants. He threw open the door, then came awkwardly to another halt.

  Lord Oswald, Auberan and Allis stood together on the dais, speaking with a priest Connor had never seen before. To judge by the man’s majesty and the quality of his robes, he was a high-ranking member of the church. He was probably the man who stood to preside over the future cathedral.

  All three turned to look at him. Oswald cocked a curious brow, Auberan sneered, the priest looked as if he thought Connor must be a servant, and Allis…

  He hoped he would never again see in her eyes that look of unshed tears and anguish.

  She came toward him, her face pale, but her back straight, and never did he admire her more, for he knew that she was maintaining her self-control with a strength few men possessed.

  Yet they were being watched, and he was merely a guest in this hall, so he didn’t even dare to touch her fingertips. “I am very sorry about your father, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Sir Connor.”

  He glanced at the men, who were clearly waiting for her and begrudging the interruption.

  “We are planning the funeral mass and temporary interment of my father,” she explained, her voice dull and flat. “Later, when the cathedral is built, we will move him there, of course.”

  He nodded. He wanted so much to tell her how truly sorry he was, and even more to gather her into his arms and hold her close, to offer her the comfort of his embrace. “My lady—”

  She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, tears threatening to fall until she blinked them back. “I know,” she whispered, her lips trembling as she tried to smile for him. “Leave me to do what I must, and there is much. I will come to you when I can.”