by K. C. Helms
Their difference of opinion had ended when Katherine gave him her back, then had flung herself down upon the straw pallet—which was to have been his bed—and buried herself beneath the coverlet. Zeus had curled up beside her on the drafty floor.
He couldn’t blame her for her sensitivity. Sir Geoffrey was reputed to be a licentious tup. He scratched at his new and profoundly irritating moustache. Only God knew what the de la Motte women had endured under that parental guise. Thankful he had been spared a similar horror, he recognized he must needs own a greater breadth of patience with Katherine.
With that in mind, he levered himself on an elbow and peered down at the straw pallet. “Did you come across a unicorn whilst in the forest?” In the flickering firelight, he could barely glimpse the outline of her slender back. The only sound within the small chamber was the steady rhythm of Zeus’ loud breathing. Mayhap Katherine’s displeasure was greater than he had surmised. Faced with her slight, he was surprised by the extent of his disappointment.
He began to lower himself down to his mattress, but a stirring of straw gave him pause. Katherine turned onto her back and slanted up a glance. “A unicorn?” she inquired in a small voice.
Rhys swallowed his relief as he hurried an answer. “Aye, do you not recall the ancient tale of the white horned beast that only a beautiful maiden can capture?”
Katherine offered him a tight smile. “It passed me by, thinking me a lowly page.”
Rhys chuckled and settled himself on his mattress. “A pity.” He scrubbed his prickly beard with his knuckles. “Its protection would be useful against the Basilisk.”
“Who is that, pray?”
“You never heard of the Basilisk?”
“Troubadours weren’t encouraged by Sir Geoffrey. Who is this person?"
“Monster!” He corrected.
“Mon Dieu!” A nervous giggle bubbled up from below, along with another rustle of straw.
Encouraged by her amusement, he folded his hands behind his head and watching the flickering shadows of the dying fire dance across the blackened ceiling beams, told the story of the great and deadly snake that had been passed down to him in his youth from a friendly squire.
Katherine clucked her tongue. “I beseech you to set aside such a tale. Have you none happier?”
Rhys grinned at the ceiling. “I’ve saved a damsel or two from fierce dragons.”
“’Twould be more pleasant to hear those accounts.” Katherine’s relief flowed through her reply.
“Breathing fire or one of the winged variety?” Delighted by her interest, his pulse raced with excited pleasure. Katherine was as ticklish as a newborn colt, yet ’twas not so difficult to ply his patience, he decided.
Indeed, ’twas most agreeable.
“’Twould be excellent, methinks, did it spew fire.” She sent another giggle in his direction. “Perchance the beast did hoard a cask of gold, to make it worth your while?”
“Ah, bloodthirsty wench! ’Tis meet I face so dangerous an adversary. Aye, a treasure trove needs be part of every great tale, to appease the eager listener.” Rhys chuckled, gratified his stratagem showed success. He settled his shoulders more comfortably into the feather mattress, his mind racing in the creation of the tale.
“Once upon a time there was a lovely princess with long flowing brown locks, who was kidnapped and held hostage by a ferocious dragon. All who lived nearby were sore afraid, for this huge beast breathed flames that scorched the land and dispatched any noble knight who attempted to slay him."
“My pardon, sir knight, but I thought ’twould be a happy tale.”
“Oh, aye,” exclaimed Rhys, coming up on his elbow and fixing Katherine with a credible expression. She’d turned onto her side and her hair drifted across the straw pallet behind her in a sensuous rippling wave. She lay curled beneath the thick coverlet, a small frown furrowing her brow, the ticking bunched beneath her head for support.
Distracted by her enticing and vulnerable appearance, he stumbled to a halt. Occupied by such tender beauty, his train of thought retreated into confusion. She was captivating. He forced aside the titillating thought, remembering he was merely her champion. He must needs maintain his present course. Katherine, with her luminous and trusting eyes, was one entanglement he’d be unlikely to forebear. ’Twas meet he did possess a will of iron.
He cleared his throat and continued. “I survived the ordeal, madame. I slew the dragon and saved the damsel in distress.”
“Pray, how is it you survived, where others failed?”
“Ah, the audience wishes to descry my secrets,” he murmured, pondering her frown of consternation. “If truth be told, I masqueraded as a lowly page. The dragon was unable to sense the danger before my arrows did find their mark in his scaly hide.”
Katherine’s frown disappeared and she laughed aloud. “That is your tale? Forsooth, ’tis rather brief by any measure, would you not agree?”
“Mayhap,” he responded, thinking him chastised, yet fascinated by her shifting expressions. At the moment ’twas obvious she was trying to suspend her disbelief. Her eyes, full of suspicion, glittered like moonbeams in the dim light. Absolutely charming! “Know you the consequence of your complaint is that you needs tell a better tale,” he admonished with a good-natured chuckle.
Katherine’s countenance changed yet again. Her incredulity transformed into alarm. “I know none,” she exclaimed.
Regretting that he’d aggrieved her, Rhys responded gently. “Fair lady, ’tis the penalty for fault-finding, do you know.”
“Faith!” She let loose a groan. ’Twas a long moment before she spoke. “Once—once upon a time there was a princess—”
“It must needs be a lovely princess, with long flowing dark locks,” he interrupted, flopping onto his side and grinning down at her, supporting his head on the heel of his hand.
“Yea, if you wish it,” Katherine replied with a slow smile. “—who fell asleep in the forest. While she slept a magnificent unicorn, with a long white mane and a beautiful swirled horn upon its forehead, came and laid its head upon her breast—”
He could well imagine the scene, with Katherine reclined upon a carpet of green moss and a dreamy look within the depths of her dark, trusting eyes. Clothed in her tresses alone, that flowed over her shoulders and curled about her naked breasts, she offered up a sweet and gentle smile, much like her present expression.
A tremor shivered through him at the scintillating image.
“Fortunate animal!” His breathy comment came out with a vengeance.
She gave him a sharp look and hastily corrected herself, “—lay its head upon her gown.”
The picture shattered in his imagination. Disheartened, he conjured up a gown. ’Twas sewn of sheer linen and very scant and very short and displaying her long limbs to advantage. He knew precisely how they should appear. Long and slender, with the smallest curve beneath her knee that tapered to a delicate ankle, so dainty and refined he marveled at their sturdiness.
Yea, he knew precisely the shape of her limbs, and their length. ’Twas not an image he’d likely forget, for he’d been driven to distraction the entire day.
Katherine’s low voice continued and he strove to pay attention. “The lovely princess with the long, flowing, brown locks awakened and spied the unicorn. She threw her arms about its neck. And—and so they lived happily thereafter.”
Through the silence that followed, Rhys continued to stare at Katherine on her straw pallet, with her hair swirling about her. ’Twas easy, indeed, to imagine she lay naked upon forest mosses.
God’s bones, she was more enchanting than he’d realized. How had it been possible he’d thought her a shrew? The fading firelight danced shadows across her small face, making her soft and desirable and bewitching.
His gaze shifted to the shadows dancing across the wall, looking much like nuns on their way to prayer. That gave him pause. Out of necessity he should have resisted the urge to shoulder more responsibility
.
“Must a scowl be permanently affixed to your brow?”
Katherine’s sharp query jolted him from his thoughts. “Was it?” He schooled his features. “I dare say I was not aware of it.”
Her sad, hollow sigh filled the chamber. “Mayhap my storytelling was unworthy.”
“’Twas a fine beginning, as was mine,” he hastened to reassure. “With greater thought, you can enlarge upon it. Practice on Anne. The two of you shall remain within this chamber. Entertain me when we retire on the morrow.” He laughed, quick and easy. “Though I must admit, betwixt storyteller and page, I prefer you in the latter role.”
Katherine bestowed upon him a brilliant smile. “Then I shall endeavor to compose a better tale.”
“Um-m," he replied, enjoying the tantalizing arrangement of her tresses, how they drifted over her shoulder and dipped low to follow the line of her waist, then flared again at the curve of her hip. ’Twas as fine a form as he’d ever beheld. “Truth to tell, ’tis my consideration you are already in possession of a very fine ‘tail.’”
His waggling eyebrows must have given her the hint of his jest, though it took some moments for her disapproving frown to follow.
Amused once more by her transformation, Rhys chuckled. “I’ll leave you to your disgust, Lady Katherine. Good eventide.” Rubbing at his scratchy chin, he rolled over and pulled the coverlet up around his shoulders. He tried to sleep, but a lively and very precise imagination of limbs and tresses wrecked that ambition and plagued him far into the night.
* * *
Sequestered within the small chamber, the hours dragged. Yet ’twas welcome respite after fear and flight, and far easier on Katherine’s hand than hefting unwieldy baggage. Her wound did not smart as greatly as yester day. She found the creation of a newly fledged tale less problematic than she’d supposed, and ’twas easy to charm Anne with her version of a crusading knight returned home to find his castle occupied by a neighboring knight. But he’d brought with him a magical elixir that, when drunk, turned him into a ferocious dragon. She made sure this was one story wherein the poor dragon won the fight. And so her assigned task was accomplished before the castle residents had been dismissed from morning mass, leaving the remainder of the day. Anne and she sought to entertain themselves, but even singing songs they recalled and humming those they’d forgot could not diminish the monotony. She was grateful when dusk drew nigh.
With lamp lit and fire stoked against the evening chill, they snuggled together beneath the thick coverlet on Rhys’s narrow bed and listened longingly to the music and singing and loud merrymaking drifting up from the evening feast in the great hall below. Would Rhys never return?
Finally, his pounding fist and command to open brought blessed relief to their weary day.
Katherine flung aside the coverlet and hurried to the stout door, lifting away the bar. But the moment he and Simon entered, she knew something was amiss. Worry etched both men’s features.
Rhys carefully closed the door and bolted it before turning and speaking to them. “The king is delayed. He broke his journey at Amesbury, to pray with the queen dowager during Eastertide,” he explained in a low voice. “Now he is postponed by a fortnight, as the Earl of Bereford claims his time.”
Dread rose within her. “’Tis naught the whole of it!” she exclaimed, spying the wary glance the two men exchanged, sensing their tension.
Rhys shifted his gaze to her. “Sir Geoffrey has arrived at Warwick,” he said.
“Oh, sweet Jesu, protect us,” Anne gasped, clasping her cheeks.
“He took longer to arrive than I reckoned.”
Katherine frowned at Rhys’s offhand comment.
The knight tilted his head and threw her a meaningful look seeming surprised she didn’t understand. “He searches for you, else he’d be long past this shire.”
“He’s found us,” cried Anne, tears sprouting in her eyes.
“Nay, but he does use his journey to Edward as a pretext to conceal his search,” the knight replied before stomping to the warmth of the fire. He threw more coals into the grate. “The cagey devil, he says naught on the matter, merely that he’s bound for the king’s court.”
“To petition the king for Haughmond!” Katherine drilled the knight’s back with all her fear.
He turned to face her. “’Tis likely. Thus we remain at Warwick ’til he departs.”
“Nay, we must gain King Edward’s audience first, else the king does grant that evil man’s request!"
Rhys shook his head. “We cannot be abroad, Katherine, and have Sir Geoffrey overtake us on the road. ’Tis safer to remain hereat.”
Simon stepped closer. “Think you he’ll attempt an ambush if he travels in advance of us?”
“Methinks he’ll try to reach the king with all haste, hoping to be the first to bend his ear.”
“’Tis so," groaned Katherine, her despair threatening to undo her. She clasped her arms about herself. What became of Anne should Sir Geoffrey succeed? A chill coursed down her spine. What became of them both? Would they yet remain beneath Sir Geoffrey’s clutches? Fear slammed into her stomach. Everything Aunt Matilda had predicted was coming to pass. She caught her trembling lip betwixt chattering teeth.
“Brace your heart, Katherine. We will bide our time within these walls before we venture to the king and plead your case.”
She opened her mouth, but Rhys’s raised hand silenced her. “Keep troth. The king is a fair man. He will deal with Haughmond without bias.”
“’Tis easy for you to say,” she managed. “’Tis not your life or future.”
“Would that it could be. Ill luck can cast its miserable shadow on any of us at any moment.” Rhys stepped to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I would not see you so strained, my lady. You must contain your fears.” His fingers lifting her chin gave Katherine no choice but to meet his gaze. “I have declared I will own your cause. Have I not already proven that troth sufficiently to ease your worries?”
Though she stared into the depths of the knight’s intense gaze, she could not find the surety to make a reply.
Rhys tipped his head and looked closer into her face. “I know the king, Katherine. He will listen to our plea and treat you with fairness. You must bear this setback with patience and fortitude. Pray, depend on me.”
Could she? Should she? ’Twas frightful how truly she and Anne depended upon the charity of this knight. And upon the might of his sword arm. Rhys exhibited a youth that could well portend their ruination, should he not vanquish Sir Geoffrey. Had he been tested in battle? Verily, she knew not this knight’s worth, had only his brave words for comfort. But she knew Sir Geoffrey’s worth, knew he had never lost a joust, knew he took advantage of others’ weaknesses.
Was Rhys worthy? Her palms broke into a sweat and her mouth went dry. What if he were not? But what choice had she?
She sighed, a broken sound that lay bare her vulnerability. “I have no one else to trust,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his hard chest.
The knight’s arms, strong and reassuring, gathered her close. His scent of spiced soap and leather jolted her senses, made her uneasy. Yet when he pressed her cheek to his chest, his warm hand resting gently against her skin, she felt comforted, her wilting courage fortified by a new hope and a renewed strength.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
Anne sidled close and Rhys included her within his embrace. “Should the king not arrive in good time, we will journey to Bereford. Fear not, Simon and I will protect you both,” he murmured against Katherine’s hair.
Simon shook his head. “Or die in the attempt!”
Chapter Six
Had the Earl of Bereford not boasted there was no better hunting forest in all of England than his own, the king wouldn’t have tarried to indulge his whim for hawking when the boast, indeed, proved accurate. He was late for Warwick, but Warwick would await his pleasure.
’Twas an added boon that his queen foun
d, in the countess, a kindred connoisseur of tapestries. The two women spent many hours examining the castle’s collection and discussing weaving techniques. In turn, Queen Eleanor displayed her own textiles from Castile, the bright and cheerful hues which enlivened a dismal English winter, and which accompanied her everywhere she traveled.
The population of the Gloucestershire town swelled with royal retainers and those seeking the king’s attention. Tents too numerous to count, of every festive shade and stripe, surrounded the indomitable red sandstone curtain wall beside the rushing tributary of the Thames River. Carts littered the castle grounds, providing cover for the menial servants and the horde of men-at-arms who arrived late.
Within the walls of Bereford Castle utter chaos reigned. Knights and their squires, grooms, butlers, cooks, a legion of pages—even washer women—crowded into the outer ward, jostling each other and getting in each other’s way as they went about their tasks of ministering to the royal court. The court itself, with its chamberlains and treasurers, stewards and clerks, was in daily touch with London. Couriers, accompanied by parties of knights for protection, created a steady stream of traffic on the highway, as did the endless procession of subjects within the hall, who petitioned the king on one complaint or another.
’Twas Edward’s daily course in the ten years since he had inherited the throne from his father, and he thrived on it. Attending to matters of state came after morning prayers, while he reserved the hours following midday for hunting or hawking, depending on the queen’s whim.
At the moment, he was buried beneath royal duties.
“Letters, sire, for your immediate attention. Gascony awaits a reply,” murmured the royal chamberlain hovering at his elbow.
Seated on the dais at one end of the great hall, in the grandest chair the earl possessed, Edward scarcely contained his boundless energy. A new hawk awaited him in the mews and he was impatient to test its skills.
