A Lord for Haughmond

by K. C. Helms

  The knight’s booming voice caught his comrades’ attention. Though they glanced in his direction, they seemed little dismayed and went on foraging for trophies.

  Katherine started. Looking around at the multitude of dead, she was horrified by his ominous expression and mistaken implication.

  “They are no companions of ours. My sister and I sought to avoid those thieves, sir knight. Praise be to Saint Winifred, we happened upon this tree trunk and hid ourselves from them.”

  “A likely tale.” The knight snorted. “Mayhap you do incite these wretches to plunder.”

  “Nay,” cried Anne, raising her face from where she’d buried it against Katherine’s shoulder. “’Tis not soothfast!”

  “Your miserable garments bear the grime of the forest, as do those who dared raise their mean weapons against us.” The knight wrinkled his nose. “And your stench is as foul.” He stared hard at Katherine. “What measure of wrong-doing do you own, that your eyes must dart about so? Though you would be a starving waif, your speech does dispose you to a higher order. Did you steal those finely wrought boots and gloves, or are you a runaway lady’s maid?”

  Katherine stood silent, her eyes shifting once again as she tried to control her terror. The knight’s accusatory tone did not bode well.

  An irritated sound escaped the warrior’s lips and his eyes became narrow slits of suspicion. “My experience along the border is of mistrust, where mankind is most adept in the practice of humiliation and pain. Yea, you damsels do look innocent. But time does unmask false tales.”

  “’Tis a tale of woe, sir knight,” Katherine responded, daring to meet his unremitting gaze.

  His probing eyes were startling. Set beneath fair brows and balanced by a sturdy, straight nose, they were clear and intelligent, and penetrated her thoughts.

  They threatened her confidence.

  She glanced away. It was the familiar guise of Sir Geoffrey. Did not most men display an unrestrained choler? With a mental shrug, she chided herself for the fleeting hope this stranger would champion them, yet doubted it, not with his arrogance. ’Twas obvious Sir Geoffrey had sent him.

  She cleared her throat to gather a measure of confidence. “We are not in the habit of practicing deceit, sir.”

  “That being soothfast, ’twould seem fashion has made a dramatic transformation this season.” The knight drilled her with a dark scowl, while his eyes roamed up and down her half-clad frame. “’Tis unseemly you should be dressed in this mode.”

  Katherine flushed scarlet beneath his sarcasm. “Yea, sir knight. ’Tis most unseemly.” Her eyes met and held his piercing glare.

  “God’s bones, but you are provoking! Were you a man—”

  “We would not be sparring with words, sir knight. I would be armed and chasing you out of this forest.”

  His chuckle held no humor. “Brave and defiant words, madame, afore an armed warrior. But they cannot diminish the fear I do perceive within your confident, brown eyes. You wear your defiance with false bravado.”

  Katherine’s jaw dropped then slammed shut as quickly. She mustn’t appear faint of heart.

  “But I shall be chivalrous this day,” continued the knight in a more pleasant vein, his scowl disappearing. “Fear not, madame.” He leaned down and gave Katherine a close inspection. “I will not dismay you further, but if you are a runagate and your guardian is of a magnanimous bent, verily, the extra coin in my purse will be welcome.”

  Tugging the reins, he backed his warhorse away from the log.

  Katherine’s mind raced as she sought to decipher the knight’s extraordinary comments. In sooth, he was not acquainted with Sir Geoffrey?

  The knight dismounted and handed his sword to the young man who had bandaged her hand. His squire, no doubt. The youth scooped up a handful of leaves and wiped away the blood and mire from the steel while his master hunkered down to examine a body.

  She stepped after the knight. “Pray, are you my stepfather’s man?”

  “I wear no man’s colors,” came his curt reply.

  He was not a hired mercenary? God be praised, they could yet make London and the king.

  A sigh of relief escaped her. “Sir knight, we are at your mercy. I do thank you for your kind attentions. If you would but show us the direction of London, we’ll continue our journey and will not inconvenience you the more.”

  “Nay!” The knight jerked his gaze up toward her then surged to his full height. “You will do no such thing,” he declared. “Many vagabonds are abroad these days. You’ll not travel far before your journey’s compromised anew. Hereinafter, I cannot promise you so easy a rescue.”

  “This, a rescue?” Katherine’s bandaged limb swept the bloody glade and hacked bodies. “Some would christen it otherwise.”

  “Ah, another willful female with a waspish tongue.” Plucking a small twig from an overhanging branch the knight chomped down on it and leveled her a dark scowl. “I would know your name, lady, that I might know who is indebted to me.”

  The cutting tone wasn’t lost on Katherine. She darted a glance toward the young squire and felt relief that his expression bore no similar animosity. She returned to the impudent knight, knowing it was impossible to continue the deceit. Unable to tell who these warriors were or where their loyalties lay, it was fortunate she had not spoke of Sir Geoffrey, with this knight so willing to be bribed. But they were in as much danger as before.

  Forcing a pleasant expression onto her face she attempted to return a polite rejoinder. “I am Katherine, daughter of Sir Robert de la Motte of Haughmond Castle.” Slowly she dropped into the most dignified curtsy she had ever executed.

  The twig between the knight's teeth snapped in two. Choking, he spit out the offending bits and coughed until his eyes watered and his face grew flushed.

  Katherine rose with a frown.

  At last the knight cleared his throat. “And the other?” He flung an unsteady hand toward Anne.

  “My younger sister, Anne, late of Haughmond Castle.”

  Katherine yanked Anne down into a most ungracious curtsy and almost missed the startled exchange between the other knights. They stood and stared, their looting seemingly forgotten.

  She rose with panic besetting her. What had she said to draw such interest?

  Tamping down her alarm, she squared her shoulders and thrust as much hauteur into her expression as Aunt Matilda did when chastising a wayward serf. “And you, sir knight? I would know your identity, that I might sing your praises to the king when I arrive at court.”

  The knight glared at her. Behind him, a loud guffaw burst from his young squire.

  Katherine dared not smirk, but she did stand straighter, heartened that she may have discomposed the man.

  A long pause elapsed before he deigned to answer. “I am called Sir Rhys.” He turned to his squire. “Simon, see to their comfort. I’ll retrieve the baggage mule before the stupid beast gets lost.”

  “Yer duty is ta these helpless ladies,” countered the young man with an arched brow. “I’ll fetch the baggage.”

  Katherine held her breath that the squire dared disagree with his master. Such a comment, ofttimes, brought the biting swing of the cat.

  But this knight ignored the brash affront. With naught more than a shake of his head, he swung himself up into his high-backed saddle. He reined his horse about and set spurs to his steed. With the large hound loping beside him, they disappeared into the thick underbrush.

  Simon’s smile danced in his blue eyes as he turned toward Katherine.

  “Well, lady, ye know how ta ingratiate yerself.” The young squire crossed his arms. “Sir-um, me master is usually good natured. Ye’ve put him in ill favor ’cause of yer attack on his favorite hound.”

  Katherine raised her chin. “His favorite hound should not attack innocent women.”

  “How was he ta know?” Simon’s eyes twinkled in merriment. “He usually finds conies in hollow trees. But fear not, ladies. Me master will return sh
ortly an’ see ta yer safety.”

  “And I thought we were well-rid of the arrogant man,” commented Katherine, examining her bandaged hand with a nonchalance she was far from feeling.

  The two knights, having returned to gathering what few items of value were to be found, chuckled at her disgusted tone.

  Simon guffawed once more and eyed Anne. “Me master’s not by nature inclined ta disparage ladies. He’s most chivalrous.”

  “So he takes his vows seriously?” Katherine stared down the dark silent glade and saw only a trail of dust motes drifting in the wake of the departed knight. She felt abandoned, which she found astonishing. Sir Rhys was a stranger and one she wasn’t at all sure she could trust.

  “Steadfast and true is Sir—me master.” Simon nodded emphatically. “He was ta the Holy Land on crusade. An’ he did escort nuns on pilgrimage ta Canterbury. He’ll not leave ye in distress.”

  “His presence will prove more the distress.” Put out at the youth’s loyalty and confounded by her own unsettled reaction to the knight, her voice was sharp. Why did a stranger unsettle her so completely?

  The squire smiled. “Ye misjudge me master, lady. He’s usually quite amiable.”

  “No doubt he prefers a greater appreciation than I can bestow upon him.”

  “Katherine!” Anne threw her a startled look. “We needs be grateful to Sir Rhys, do we not?”

  “Indeed.” At once Katherine was outwardly contrite as she began stuffing her hair back into the foul-smelling hood. She turned and hid her sister’s thick curls likewise. “Your intercession on our behalf, Simon, is appreciated.”

  She dropped to her knees beside the tree cavity and fetched out their meager bundle. Coming to her feet, she carefully examined what sky could be seen through the bare limbs overhead. “Mayhap Sir Rhys is not to our taste, as he is more accustomed to the ways of warfare and warriors.” She gave a brief smile. “Now if you will excuse us—” Hiking up her sagging tunic she took hold of Anne’s arm and propelled the younger girl along beside her and set out toward the east.

  Simon stared at them, but a snicker from one of the knights remounting his charger brought his slack jaw shut.

  “Ye can’t leave!” He bolted after them.

  Behind him the two knights exchanged glances and nudged their mounts forward.

  Katherine forged into the tangled vegetation. “Why not? Sir Rhys has deserted us. We can manage on our own.”

  Simon stepped lively to keep apace. “Me master hasn’t deserted ye. He only returns for the baggage we left behind when we stumbled on the Welsh encampment.”

  “More reason we should not inconvenience him in his endeavors. If it appeases his conscience tell him we’ve deserted him.” Katherine marched on, prodding her sister with an urgent hand. “At any rate, we cannot be far from the London road.”

  * * *

  “Where are your charges?” Rhys kept his tone polite, knowing the answer before Simon jerked his thumb toward the underbrush.

  He frowned. “Fool, you told them the direction of London?”

  “Nay!” Simon was quick to defend himself. “The Lady Katherine seemed ta know her way.”

  “You told them I would champion their cause?”

  “Aye, but ’twould appear the lady doesn’t fancy a champion.” Simon shoved his newfound dirk into his worn leather belt.

  Remembering the disparate attitudes of the two young women, Rhys bit back a smile. “Did you not try to detain them, for the sake of the younger sister? For the sake of her trusting eyes?”

  The squire scowled darkly.

  “Poor Simon.” Rhys looked toward the direction of London. In his mind’s eye, he yet saw her frantically grab for Katherine. Though she’d broken her sister’s fall, she’d lost her own balance in the process. Together, they’d toppled to the ground. Both were long-limbed and trim of figure, a stirring sight to a man long without a woman. If Lady Katherine weren’t so angry he would have relished the view of her face, for she possessed lovely features, with finely arched brows and expressive eyes, and the thickest brown curls a woman ever possessed. Perhaps ’twas her dissatisfied mouth that had forestalled his intercession. For shame, he had sat like a statue, enjoying the view of tangled arms and dark sweeping tresses, intrigued by her stormy face gone suddenly soft and sweet in repose.

  Returning to reality, Rhys cleared his throat. “Helpless?” Never before in his travels had he come across so intriguing a damsel. “I think not.” He nodded toward the hillock. “Settle camp on yonder ridge. A wager says I’ll be back before you’ve reached it.”

  With a firm shake of his head, Simon climbed on his stocky cob.

  “Not willing to be drawn into another bet, my cowardly friend?” Rhys chuckled. “Forsooth, your coins grow too precious.”

  “’Twould spare me bones if I could get me a better steed than this ancient nag.” Simon shifted his seat with a grimace. “An’ ’twas a warmin’ fire at Much Wenlock’s priory last eventide.” He shot a sulky glance at Rhys. “I’d be grateful for another night’s ease instead of pursuin’ this reckless vengeance.”

  “So you keep reminding me.” Rhys’s irritation seeped into his sharp reply.

  “Think ye’ll wrest Myton Castle from Sir Geoffrey’s clutches?”

  Rhys punched the air with his fist. “Do you doubt it?”

  “Well—his reputation in the lists—”

  “Silence your maw!” His squire took liberties with his good nature. “I won’t forego my vengeance. Just because I plucked you out of a miserable existence and gave you a future doesn’t endow you with the right to beset me with your opinions.” He vented an exasperated sigh and tried to rein in his growing ire. “And you’d best remember to speak the King’s English, if you expect to become a knight.”

  Simon sliced him a sidelong glance at the rebuke. “’Tis a holy portent ta have stumbled upon Sir Robert’s daughters.” An unbidden smile tugged at his lips.

  Rhys arched a speculative brow. “The younger sister has a charming face, do you not agree?”

  His squire ducked his head in embarrassment.

  “One to inspire a new adventure, methinks.”

  Simon’s chin jutted out in defiance.

  He laughed aloud. Yea, his squire was indeed smitten.

  Simon spied the loitering knights. “What are ye two buggers gapin’ at?”

  His surliness prompted them to set off to search the miserable Welsh camp while trying, without success, to contain their mirth.

  Rhys swung about and set spurs to his horse. But abruptly he reined in the destrier with an angry oath. The heavy hooves dug into the frozen turf as the stallion jerked to a halt.

  “Stay, Zeus!” His arm slashed the air in a commanding arc. Beside him, the dog stopped in his tracks, his broad, shaggy head lowering. He gave the hound a rueful look. “You’ve suffered ample abuse for one day. ’Tis unnecessary to purchase more.”

  A lop-sided grin played on Simon’s face. “Come on, ye beggar.” He withdrew a piece of dried venison from the leather pouch strapped across his shoulder and tossed it to the alan, who snapped up the offering. “Yer beloved master will have powerful trouble without ye addin’ ta the fray.” The dog’s long, pink tongue lolled out at the side of his mouth. His lips drawn back gave the appearance of a smile.

  Simon chuckled. “Ye agree ’tis a fool’s errand.” He threw Rhys a provocative glance. “Which is more wearisome, Zeus, the long days in the cold or challengin’ Sir Geoffrey to the death?”

  Clenching his teeth to prevent further comment, Rhys tapped his destrier’s ribs and galloped off into the glooming forest.

  * * *

  “God’s bones!” Sir Rhys’s angry expletive echoed through the trees.

  Hidden in a thicket of hemlocks, wanting naught to do with the ill-tempered knight, Katherine held her breath and prayed they had not left tracks.

  The knight passed them, examining the ground as he went, and disappeared from view. But presently
he returned, his eyes yet on the ground as he leaned over his mount’s withers.

  Anne bolted from Katherine’s grip. “Have pity, Sir Rhys!” Stumbling from behind the trees, she prostrated herself upon the frozen ground. “I beseech you, be merciful.”

  The knight flinched.

  Katherine did likewise, self-condemnation welling up within her at the sight of her sister’s anguish. Verily, she had muddled their escape. Filled with shame, she hurried to Anne.

  But Sir Rhys brushed past her. Having dismounted, he lifted the weeping Anne in his arms and carefully deposited her into the high-backed saddle.

  “By God’s grace, we’ll recover your lost courage,” he said with a strained smile. Turning, he beckoned to Katherine and offered his interlaced fingers. “I have no pillion, but mayhap we can fit, if we sit tight.”

  Reluctantly she set a boot in his hands and gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder for balance. A jolt of heat surged through her at the contact. He was strong and young, with muscles developed for war. Gladdened when his boost settled her astride the horse, when she could remove her hand from the rugged shoulder that strained beneath his chain mail, she dared not venture a look in his direction.

  Faith, when had the mere touch of a man been so nettling?

  “’Tis not my wont to aggrieve fair maidens,” Sir Rhys commented in a disgusted tone, cocking a frown up at her. “Natheless, I seem to have succeeded this day.”

  Katherine felt the heat rise in her cheeks. He had noticed her discomposure. She darted an embarrassed glance in the opposite direction.

  The knight swung up behind her, jostling her within his arms as he wrapped the leather straps around his gauntlets.

  But as the steed was nudged toward the hillock, Katherine found the hard, chain-clad frame at her back not unsettling, but reassuring. In truth, the knight’s presence gave succor to her flagging spirits. For the first time in days she was not burdened with fear of the morrow. The mighty dread overwhelming her and the body-splitting weariness that was her constant companion since Aunt Matilda died in her arms, faded away. With a heavy sigh she relaxed against the stalwart chest.