by K. C. Helms
With a sigh of relief, she hurried along in his wake, nestling her throbbing hand against her breast. ’Twas impossible to keep pace with his long strides down the corridor and only after the knight was within his cramped chamber and she’d secured the door, was she able to approach him to heap her gratitude upon him.
Tossing the satchel of jerkins upon the thin mattress, Rhys waved her aside. “Alas, Lady Katherine, we have yet to see your mission happily concluded.”
Instantly he regretted his comment, for the winsome smile tugging at her parted lips disappeared. Her eyes, huge in her small face, made him feel certain he could drown in their depths—dark pools of trust that inspired a sense of worthiness and duty. Startled, he frowned in sudden consternation. Those eyes didn’t belong to a lad. Nor did those lush, red lips.
“On Saint Michael’s soul,” he burst out, fear whetting his voice. “Wipe that expression from your face, else any one-eyed lackwit will know your secret.”
Lady Katherine’s sparkling gaze lost its luster. She gaped at him in bewilderment.
Damnation, he hadn’t intended to frighten the lass. He stepped closer. She stepped back. He grasped her chin, turning her head first one way and then another.
“What ails you?” she demanded, trying to pull away.
His frown deepened. “Lady, with those beckoning lips, I’ll never be able to avouch for your safety.”
Her gaze took flight as her cheeks flushed a bright red.
He swung away and began emptying the garments onto the bed. “Verily, you will remain in this chamber, far from prying eyes.”
“’Twas not done apurpose!” Her resentment filled the chamber. “Why must you speak harsh?”
Why, indeed! Did she not realize the danger? Did she not comprehend how desirable she was? How afrightened it made him that he would not be able to protect her. What would become of her?
She’d be at Sir Geoffrey’s mercy.
A pain shot through his head. That knave wouldn’t be merciful! Did she not know that fear made him harsh and senseless when he’d rather be kind and gentle? Her vulnerability should have made him strong. But when he thought of her stepfather and his capabilities at villainy, he went weak with dread. He was no coward, yet experience had taught him that ofttimes, the wicked unfairly inherited the earth. Nothing untoward must happen to sweet Katherine.
Frustration boiled up from within. “Most women don’t do things apurpose.” He flung the sharp retort over his shoulder to hide his rising ardor. “But trouble oft follows them.”
Katherine crossed her arms. “Seems to me ’twas a man, in the guise of Sir Geoffrey, who begat our troubles, not I.”
Rhys threw her a dark look. “And ’twill require a man to see it to conclusion.” He backhanded the uppermost jerkin, sending it sailing across the chamber.
Katherine pursed her lips and returned his scowl.
He froze. God’s bones, but did she not know what a vision she was? His jaw clenched as he stared at the enticing picture. Her short tunic swelled provocatively around the contours of her breasts, forced up above her crossed arms. Her long, shapely legs in the knitted hose and her boot tapping on the floorboard merely enhanced the depiction of a beautiful and tempting woman.
It rendered him utterly helpless.
Pained confusion swept over Katherine’s countenance. “Why must you be disagreeable?” she asked in a tight voice. “We cannot be so great an inconvenience. You were kind and chivalrous to the religious sisters. Can you not be so with us?”
Disappointment sent a hollow ache through his breast. Katherine merely desired the protection of his sword arm. Certes, she had no concept of him as a man.
“You try my patience, woman,” he muttered, finally discovering the strength to turn away, angry at her bewilderment, angry with himself for causing it.
“I did naught to—”
“Here ye be!” A booming voice from the corridor and a boot kicking the door announced the arrival of the bath water.
Rhys pushed Katherine toward the corner where his belongings were stacked. “Hide your face,” he growled, pausing to make certain she complied. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and snatched up a leather jerkin, bending over it as though it required mending. Only then did he throw open the door.
Two hearty servants swept into the chamber with buckets of hot steaming water suspended from wooden yokes balanced across their broad shoulders. Setting the heavy buckets down, they dragged out a small metal tub from the corner and emptied the water into it.
With a bob of their heads, they retreated, but not so fast that they didn’t settle an appreciative leer on the comely maidservant who arrived in their wake. Carrying a pile of linen towels, she turned her nose up at the brutes and swept into the chamber. She paused when she caught sight of Rhys and assessed his virtues with a practiced eye.
“D’ye want I should assist ye with yer bath?” She threw him a sly smile and didn’t await his answer but crossed the chamber, sashaying past him with an enticing swing of her hips and began to line the tub with the linens. “My talents are known to relax a weary traveler,” she added breathlessly, turning a bold stare upon him.
Behind him came a squeak of protest. Certain Katherine would give herself away, Rhys grabbed the towels from the eager servant and propelled her toward the doorway. “My page will assist me.” None too gently, he shoved the girl from the chamber.
She stumbled out, throwing him an angry glower before the door slammed in her face.
Across the chamber, Katherine came to her feet with a frown and an indignant gasp.
Rhys ignored her discomfort and turned his attention to securing the door, hefting the stout bar into the metal brackets set in the wooden frame. With her beguiling looks, he wished he could forget she was a protected and innocent daughter. Unlike the servant, Katherine’s eyes and her mouth—ruby-red and sweet and inviting—were turning him inside out with desire. Exasperated by what he deemed to be the unfairness of The Almighty, he snatched up the towels and flung them in her direction.
“Put these away,” he commanded.
She lunged for the cascading towels, missing most of them. They landed in a heap at her feet. The precious sliver of soap atop the pile tumbled to the floor and broke into two pieces. With a smothered plaint, she fell to her knees and began pulling the pile to her.
Rhys rolled his eyes in annoyance, yet paused to view the trim form of her backside. Her tunic revealed more than it hid. Her legs, wrapped within the cross garters, were long and slender and alluring. Heat smoldered his body. The throbbing in his head descended to his loins. He wondered how he was supposed to bathe. Had Lady Katherine ever seen a naked man? A naked man aroused and obviously wanting her?
Katherine cast a frown up at him. “Is it your usual wont to encourage such brazen invitations?”
Rhys shrugged and turned away. “’Twas unavoidable, a desirable weal from an ambitious wench bent on improving her lot.” He glanced at Katherine and instantly regretted doing so. A hurt expression blighted the beauty of her eyes.
He flung out an impatient hand. “Plainly, ’tis impossible to redeem myself in your sight.”
He didn’t feel an explanation was warranted, for he had done nothing to encourage the servant’s attention. But such was his usual experience with wenches. Katherine would blush all the way to her toes if he told her how they treated him, what they freely offered. They appreciated his physique and what he bestowed upon them in return. Many a damsel had avowed that truth with inviting eyes and whispered words and eager bodies. He knew how to be a laudable lover, for he’d enjoyed many tutors. Forsooth, she’d faint dead away if she knew the entirety of his experience.
But though he’d been intimate with many damsels, he hadn’t been intimate with their lives. He’d lived a warrior’s existence and possessed little knowledge of the fairer sex, except in bed. He’d never considered how they might struggle to survive the grind of daily living. Lately, after recent conversatio
ns that illuminated the plight of women, he’d come to realize that females ofttimes sought advantages due to their disparate status in society. A greater forbearance had grown in view of that stark and sobering knowledge.
Katherine’s resentful glare while she folded the towels made it obvious that patience would needs include this damsel, thereto.
Turning, he shed his chausses and linen breeches and climbed into the low tub, deliberately positioning his back to the room, hiding his ardor from her sight. Scrubbing vigorously, he managed to remove the filth of travel, as well as his lustful desires.
Slouching down in the tub, soothed and fully relaxed, he closed his eyes. He shoved from his mind the vision of long shapely legs in stockinet and became aware of nothing except the soothing water.
’Twas a long while before he stirred from the cooling bath, standing and reaching for a dry towel. None was at hand and he peered about. It took him a moment to realize Katherine watched him. With a bold stare, her gaze raked the length of his nakedness.
Rhys could feel himself responding. On another occasion he’d have enjoyed the attention. Instead, he felt embarrassment, not for himself, but for Katherine, whose face had gone deathly white.
“A towel would ease your discomfort, lass,” he suggested and watched her gulp.
She snatched up a linen and flung it at him, then whirled around and covered her face with her hands.
Stepping from the tub and drying himself, Rhys kept his eyes fastened on her shaking shoulders and listened to the unsteady gasps coming from betwixt her fingers. Virgins were not so laudable as the bards did claim.
Tucking the cloth about his waist, he thought to soothe her distress. Padding soundlessly across the chamber, he touched her quaking shoulder.
“Katherine—”
Her shriek nigh deafened him. She spun away, crashing against the solid wall of stone at her back.
“On Saint Michael’s thigh, what makes you act thus?” He stared at her as though she had lost her senses, yet in the same instant he realized what prompted her outburst. “Did you never assist guests at Haughmond?”
She shook her head.
“A wise choice, I posit, given your beauty,” he said with a nod. “’Tis best not to tempt.”
Katherine gaped at him in silence, her eyes so wide he was certain they’d burst from her head. The longer she stared, the brighter her cheeks flamed.
And the more his body responded.
A hunger seized him, coursed through his veins, no matter he sought to suppress it. Her close inspection ignited his imagination and memories of other trysts and the pleasures they had wrought.
Such ill timing for a virgin to be standing within reach.
Katherine’s gaze slowly climbed back up his frame. Her eyes met his, and held. Within their dark depths, panic, confusion and a measure of longing treaded on the heels of each other.
With a will of iron, Rhys fought down his building desires. He was no lecher. Turning his back, he began to don his garments. “One day ’twill not be so frightening, damsel, when you are married,” he advised in an unsteady voice. “Would that your lover responds to you as readily, then ’tis a flattering circumstance, especially when one fancies herself in love.”
Katherine whirled with a hearty gasp, giving him her back.
He watched her from the corner of his eye while he yanked up his wool chausses and found himself transfixed by the lovely sight. Her hair, falling like a dark waterfall down her back, shimmered in the lamplight. Though the miserable tunic did hide her waist, he knew it to be as slender as her limbs were long. ’Twas not likely he’d forget the feel of her.
His hands trembled. He swallowed hard, forced himself to relax. “’Twould be no hardship to gaze upon you as nature endowed you,” he murmured. “’Tis most untroubling to view a well-pleasing damsel.” He gazed at her tense back another long moment before drawing on his linen shirt. Roughly shoving the long hem into his chausses, he tugged on a dark blue brocaded tunic, then padded over to a leather satchel and withdrew a pair of soft leather shoes and slipped them on his feet. “Peace be with you, Lady Katherine. Anne shall be sent to you, that you might be comforted. The two of you will be safe herein, if you keep the bolt secure.” He stepped to the door.
“I—I thought you to stay. I beseech you, Sir Rhys do not abandon me. I know I am foolish.” Katherine looked over her shoulder but did not meet his eyes. “You must needs have greater patience, I pray.” Gradually she pivoted to face the chamber, though her gaze now remained downcast. “I am not worldly. I have seen little beyond the walls of Haughmond. Alas, my only counsel was my late aunt and she was never married.”
Rhys paused, his hand on the wooden bolt. “So I needs become your wet nurse when I become your champion?” His voice held more surliness than he intended. Such loveliness so close at hand made it impossible to get a grip on his roiling emotions. She was so fetching and yet so very frustrating.
Katherine flushed scarlet. “I—I—”
“—am ignorant in the ways of the world,” he supplied. “’Tis so?”
She nodded and looked miserable. “Perchance, ’tis not too late for me to make amends?”
Rhys thought of his gallant vows, of his courageous duty to the crown, of his unflinching ambition to avenge lost honor. Indeed, he was chivalrous. Indeed, he could aptly afford to exercise patience. Mayhap he could exhort Lady Katherine to champion his cause. They could join forces, so to speak.
Considering, he moved across the chamber to her. “Pray, trust in me, Lady Katherine. I have done my utmost to insure your safety.” He lifted a brow. “Have I not suspended my own mission to escort you to the king?”
Finally meeting his gaze, Katherine’s dark eyes widened in alarm. “We have induced you from your own destination? I thought you journeyed the same direction as we.”
“Nay, lady, we were bound elsewhere.”
“Faith!” She looked away with the deflated exclamation.
He placed his hands on her sagging shoulders. At the contact, his lust melted into a need to protect this damsel, the switch so lightning-quick, it stunned him.
He had set a quest of vengeance. Though some would turn him from it, he intended to see justice done. But could he shoulder the mantle of Lady Katherine’s quest, thereto?
Could he win the day? He must!
“Rest assured, I’ll abide as your champion.” With gentle fingers, he lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Have I not given you my troth?”
Katherine nodded and bit her lip. “Yea, my sister and I are sore indebted to you. We—”
“—will speak of this no more. Tush!” He placed a finger against her lips and wished he had not. Their warm trembling set him aflame. He dropped his hand.
Katherine’s eyelids flickered.
He shouldn’t have touched her. He’d given offense.
“You will abide with us? You will champion us?” she whispered, not seemingly vexed.
“Aye, I’ve given my troth.” Would that she’d ask for more, he’d bestow it gladly.
She gazed at him with gratitude shining in her eyes, then presented him with a perfect curtsy.
He’d rather have had a kiss, but he must needs remember he was merely a champion—naught more. “By all that is holy, I will sustain you,” he murmured unsteadily, inclining his head.
“Thanks be to the Blessed Mother for your succor,” she whispered and settled a hesitant hand on his shoulder.
How he wished the magical spell could last forever, that her feather light touch would be a daily occurrence, that they’d share a multitude of moments such as this. Desire, and the need for something other than his life presently held, brought the reality of his empty existence crashing over him. The heavy pounding of his heart filled his ears and made him short of breath. Was it in response to Katherine, or was his heart simply breaking in twain, that he could not possess the joy of a lovely damsel like other men?
Chapter Five
&nb
sp; “I have accepted Simon’s protection,” Anne announced, arriving at Sir Rhys’s chamber long after a servant had been sent to fetch her.
Katherine’s nettled concern must have been apparent, for her sister would not meet her gaze, kept her focus locked on the silent squire standing just inside the entry and looking supremely ill at ease.
“I feel safe with him,” she added, as though that made it proper. It didn’t.
“You will lodge, unaccompanied, in a squire’s tent?” Katherine threw out the harsh censure, hoping Anne would feel chagrined enough to alter her outrageous plan. “’Tis unseemly—”
“No worse than you, sister, locked up with a knight. Who will be your nursemaid?” Anne interrupted with a defiant look. “As for me, the whole garrison will hear my every sneeze. Goodness, Simon can be naught but chivalrous.” With a determined set to her lips, she swept from the chamber. The squire made haste to follow.
Katherine scowled at the empty doorway. “Simon’s kind intercession appropriates Anne’s good sense.”
“He’s an honorable lad.” Sir Rhys stepped to the door and bolted it. “No harm shall befall her.”
“Oh, would that we could cease our dependency upon your good offices!” Katherine’s frustration boiled up, nigh choked her.
“’Tis an abrupt shift of purpose, lady,” the knight commented with a look of surprise. “Whereon does your gratitude depend? It bodes ill should it shift with the wind.”
“Alack, cannot you see?” Katherine clasped her hands, unable to contain her frustration. “My sister is blinded by your squire’s velvet tongue. I had not anticipated this wrinkle. What do you to protect her?”
* * *
Rhys sighed into the darkness, sorry he and Lady Katherine remained at odds. Lying within the narrow wooden bedstead he had shoved against the far wall to make room for the pallet on the floor, his thoughts raced, making sleep nigh impossible. He regretted the argument over his squire’s supposed shortcomings. Absently he stroked the newly sprouted stubble of hair on his chin. He had found it necessary to defend the squire’s integrity, as his observations of Simon were far different from the lady’s.
