A Lord for Haughmond

by K. C. Helms

  God’s bones, the lady would marry whom he commanded!

  The maid turned and spread her hands in supplication, finally meeting his eyes. “Sire, I beg you to bestow another husband upon me. A stranger is more welcome. I will gladly wed for the surety of England.” She cast a quick but longing look toward the knight. “But I pray you, sire, save me from a life of misery!” With a muffled sob, she dropped into a deep curtsy.

  Edward’s brows rose halfway up his forehead. In stunned surprise, he realized the lady played into his hand. She would accept his choice without complaint? “Lady Katherine, ’twould gladden you to accept a stranger as your husband?”

  Katherine raised her head to meet his gaze. “Yea, my lord, I could abide a stranger far better than my mother’s murderer.”

  “Tush, child. Make no false accusations or I will be unable to defend you. Arise! ’Tis not necessary to grovel at mine feet.”

  The lady stood but trembled visibly.

  “I will keep mine troth, Lady Katherine. I will find you a husband worthy of Sir Robert’s name. Henceforth, you and your castle shall be beyond the reach of mercenaries.” He paused, awaiting her reaction. “Does that not please you?” he finally prompted.

  With downcast eyes, Lady Katherine nodded.

  Edward wished he could lure the sparkle back into her eyes. Softening his tone, he murmured, “Sir Geoffrey shall seek a wife elsewhere.”

  Katherine swiped at her eyes. “My thanks, sire, for sparing me.”

  “Come, my child, look not so doleful.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “’Tis an occasion for celebration when one enters into a betrothal. Rejoice and go with God’s peace.”

  Chapter Seven

  So he had lost Haughmond.

  In the midst of Bereford’s crowded hall, with his heart beat pulsating in his ears like drums beckoning forth the infantry, Geoffrey de Borne strained to catch the titillating conversation coming from the dais betwixt King Edward and his stepdaughter. Having endured the tedious delay and the nervous chatter from those awaiting the royal ear, he had fallen into a churlish temper. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tugged at the neck of his newly tooled leather hauberk, where sweat had gathered, producing an irritating chill the length of his spine.

  ’Twas not a surprising turn of events, given the king’s nettling caprice. Plainly, Edward saw opportunity for a better alliance and sought to enlarge his base of power. ’Twasn’t an original or cunning tactic, nor did it surprise him.

  Yet he seethed with indignation. Diplomatic maneuverings were commonplace, yet this marked the first occasion wherein he had become a royal pawn. It set him on edge.

  Thereto, he took exception to the disparaging remarks young Katherine imparted to the king, albeit ones she was helpless to prove. Robert de la Motte had survived the crusade to the Holy Land, much to his annoyance, an oversight he’d promptly remedied. He snorted. What did it matter that it had taken two arrows to fell the bastard? Ambushing a lone rider in the forest proved a simple task, as Adela predicted. A lowly serf had been blamed for the deed, again as Adela predicted. ’Twas masterful, her guile.

  Haughmond fell into his lap with no trouble at all when the widow, Constance, fancied him in love with her. ’Twas her castle he relished, and the additional revenues it yielded. Year in and year out Haughmond grew his coffers. His prestige grew apace.

  Craning his neck, he realized Katherine had curtsied to the king. A most undignified display. Clumsy girl! His gaze narrowed. ’Twas good this troublesome stepdaughter had no knowledge of Adela’s plot, else Myton could, as reprisal, be seized by the crown.

  He had long admired his mistress and her cunning. He supposed Adela deserved to be the next Lady of Myton, for ’twas her schemes that had placed him so advantageously. But her knowledge of herbs made her particularly dangerous. Though she had no cause to turn her skills on him, he’d be at her mercy should they wed.

  Muttering a firm denial, he drew a glance from a nearby yeoman, whose odor contributed richly to the rankness of the chamber. He ignored the unsavory brute and gave his full attention to the dais.

  A knight had come to stand behind Katherine. Who was this man? Christ’s toes, by all appearances she had gained a champion. Aghast, he expelled a sharp breath. This, on top of the king’s interference? The knight displayed an irritating virility and self-assurance.

  Jealousy coursed through his veins, abetting a fever coming from his innermost parts. ’Twas not a question of holding his own against any blade, for he’d proven his worth. Yet did he detect a rebellious glint in the knight’s eyes and a swagger in his step, and too valiant a pose?

  The knight’s sword arm did appear powerful, resolute. With a frown of displeasure, he pursed his lips. A burning dislike for this knight settled over him, along with a chilling disdain. Had the king called this man forward to reward him with Haughmond? Was this arrogant stripling to replace him as lord of that exalted holding?

  The prospect was unbearable. Disheartened, feeling wronged and helpless with fury at the loss of Haughmond’s revenues—revenues that had allowed him leverage with his fellow barons—Geoffrey pivoted on his heel and plowed through the crowd, viewing the world through a narrow tunnel of searing rage.

  ’Twas then he spied Anne. Ah, a chance for revenge. He changed direction.

  He knew the moment Anne saw him. Her eyes widened with fear and she attempted to cut through the crowd.

  But he was too close and too quick. He seized her arm. “Be still,” he warned. “Do not vex me, else your sister will never reach Shropshire in one piece.”

  “Take your threats away from me,” she whimpered.

  “Have you no better greeting for your father than this cold regard?” His arms tightening about her as he pressed her against the wall, he found himself startled by the soft curve of her hip beneath his hand. Anne had become a woman without him realizing it. The astounding discovery stirred his male cravings. She’d be a delectable morsel, more so for being unwilling. “’Tis naught of threats, sweet Anne, but of avenging promises.”

  The chit had the sense to blanch.

  He forced a smile to his lips, for the benefit of the nobleman who stood close at hand. “Alas, your sister is occupied,” he whispered into her ear. “’Twas unwise of her to abandon you in order to bend the king’s ear.”

  Anne tried to pull free then exhaled loudly when she could not. “Faith, but she will snatch Haughmond from your greedy grasp.”

  And I’ll snatch you from beneath her interfering nose, he thought. Aloud he said, “Let us discuss this matter and how your future will be affected by such an ominous event.” He had used her furtive motions to conceal a slow but steady advance toward the kitchen door. Now he pushed her through it and into a narrow passageway leading to many chambers, one of which contained the cook and his minions in the midst of food preparation. The clanging and banging of cookware and shouted orders provided the perfect cover.

  The nearest chamber to his left was a storeroom where bunches of dried herbs dangled from the rafters and where casks and barrels overflowed with foodstuffs, and where darkened nooks and crannies abounded and where he would find success. He thrust Anne within. She broke free and whirled to face him.

  Geoffrey eyed her in growing irritation. “’Tis unnecessary, child, to be affrighted. I mean you no ill will. Your beloved mother entrusted your safety and well being to me. ’Tis a responsibility I hold dear.” He stepped after her.

  The foolish girl backed away, but the crowded chamber offered limited space for movement.

  He smiled to himself. This cat-and-mouse play had long been a favorite of his in the game of conquest. Reassuring words came easy and unfailingly made wenches more agreeable.

  “’Tis most perplexing—” he began in a light tone, settling his hand atop the large wooden barrel behind Anne while he leaned toward her.

  She stepped back and into his trap, caught betwixt his arm and a large wooden cask smelling of fish.
“’Tis most perplexing why you must needs seek my enmity and not my favor.” He bestowed her with a charming smile. “Alas, you should not wish to tread on the heels of your vexatious sister.”

  Anne gulped and her eyes widened as she stared at him in silence.

  She was so close he could make out a small mole on the outside corner of her right eyelid. ’Twas of a reddish hue. A husband would think it charming. An elderly husband could be bewitched by any defect, with so tender a bride to share his bed. Thereto, an ailing husband would never survive long—Adela would see to that—making Anne available for yet another advantageous alliance. He’d regain what he had lost in Haughmond.

  He shifted his weight and his foot touched the side of Anne’s slipper. She trembled. ’Twas no hardship to have remained aloof from this daughter, who had inspired no feeling while she was yet undeveloped. But she had grown into a fetching damsel, with curving breasts and hips sufficient to stir a response within him. The tightening in his loins rendered a new perspective of this damsel.

  “I presume you are yet a virgin?” He couldn’t resist her cheek. ’Twas downy soft beneath his fingertips.

  Anne twisted her head, leaving his hand in midair.

  His pride stinging at the rebuff, Geoffrey grasped her by her arms and swung her off her feet, planting her atop the barrel at eye level to him.

  Anne opened her mouth. He thrust a warning finger against her upper lip, felt the pressure of her teeth through her skin. “Say naught, or I swear on your mother’s grave your precious sister won’t live long enough to possess Haughmond.” He allowed another smile to ease the tension in his face.

  Anne did not appear meekened, yet she remained silent.

  “How oft have I found myself in this position?” He tried to keep his tone tempered but sensations were astir, roiling up from his loins, making the moment a delicious challenge. “Many a maid has sat thus.” He placed his hands on either side of her so that he stood nose-to-nose with her. He stopped smiling.

  Anne’s warm breath, coming in short puffs, brushed his face.

  “You have grown into a sweet morsel of womanhood,” he continued, watching with satisfaction as her trembling bottom lip disappeared betwixt her teeth. “You needs take a husband. But you cannot suppose to make a brilliant match, since you possess no great dowry. Mayhap I can secure at least one baron who will welcome you to his bed, you being young and of childbearing age. Sir Hubert will do.”

  “Nay,” Anne shrank back, her eyes filling with tears.

  He leaned closer, pressing against her knees. “Answer the question, my pet. Are you yet a virgin?”

  She stared at him with quivering lips. Tears spilled down her pallid cheeks.

  His patience snapped. Grasping the inside of her knees, he yanked her legs and stepped between them. Her gown skimmed up her thighs, revealing the creamy flesh of her slender limbs, exposing the dark curls at their juncture. ’Twas a familiar sensation, this pressure of a wench’s flesh straddling his hips. Within his chausses, his manhood sprang to life. Losing the battle against his increasingly compelling needs, he pressed his hips forward, thrusting against the soft and secret flesh that tantalized him, that beckoned to him from its wreath of curls.

  With a choking sob, Anne struggled to pull her limbs together and to shove her gown down over her legs.

  “Your answer, and right quickly,” he demanded in a low, measured tone, grabbing her wrists and bringing her up fully to his chest. He had never been this close to Anne, had never touched her soft curves, nor felt her ripe breasts, the mounds of soft flesh thrust up beneath his chin, just out of reach of his tongue and teeth. His manhood ached for release, throbbed in frustration. He envisioned sliding into that oh-so-tight niche. Warm spittle filled his mouth.

  “Yea, Father, I am a virgin,” Anne cried, her panicked gaze meeting his.

  “’Tis good.” His breath came unsteadily as he stared at the creamy flesh of her thighs, where his fingers created white indentations. Grasping hold of her buttocks, he savored the feel of her bare flesh. The pounding blood in his ears and groin all but drowned away her whimpers. “No knight worth his sword desires a woman of easy virtue.”

  All that separated him from release was the blasted flimsy cloth of his chausses. He leaned back for a better view, relishing her nakedness, moving his hand so his thumb could more easily caress her womanly nub of pleasure. His erection hardened.

  Anne went rigid beneath his hands. He yanked her, crushing her again to his chest, stanching her gathering scream. “Not a word!” he growled. Impaling this virgin would soothe his wounded pride as naught else could. Palming her buttocks with both his hands, he thrust against the linen cloth once again. Damnation!

  With a cry, Anne twisted away, but he held her one-handed, slipping his other hand betwixt them, tugging aside his leggings.

  “Let us discuss which Marcher lord shall be your husband,” he murmured as he maneuvered her legs further apart against his straining hips. “Mayhap Sir Hubert will care naught for your absent virtue.”

  * * *

  “’Twill be announced at an evening feast. I cannot abide it!”

  Katherine’s lament was far too loud for Rhys’s peace of mind. “Tush, the king must not know you are dissatisfied. His anger is easily aroused,” he admonished under his breath. With grim fortitude he led Katherine away from the dais, holding aloft his arm, enduring her fingernails digging into his flesh and hoping desperately that Edward’s hearing was not as precise as his sword arm. He could sympathize with Katherine ’til the end of time, but ’twould do little good. No one dared gainsay the king.

  They pushed their way through the multitude, those restlessly awaiting the king’s inclination, and those deft pick pockets who plied their trade and whom Rhys carefully avoided. He maneuvered himself betwixt Katherine and the hustlers offering for sale anything of value, including their noisome bodies so she would not be harassed. Finally, they approached the spot where Anne was to wait for them.

  She was nowhere to be seen.

  “Sir Geoffrey has taken her!” Katherine exclaimed, darting a look every which way.

  A nearby nobleman and his wife dressed in their velvet finery awaited their audience with Edward. The lady turned at Katherine’s frantic words. “Seek you the young damsel who tarried here?” she asked with a concerned frown.

  Katherine turned to the lady. “Yea, mistress, ’tis my sister. She was to bide here ’til my return.”

  “Alack, she was escorted away by an older knight,” the noblewoman replied. She leaned close. “I do hope she hasn’t done something amiss to incur his wrath? He seemed quite vexed.”

  Katherine threw her panic up at him.

  Instinctively, his hand moved to his sword hilt. “Where did he take her?”

  “Through that door.” The lady pointed to where a page appeared with a tray of dried fruits and cheeses for the king.

  Rhys’s heart lurched in fear as Katherine ran toward the narrow entrance of the stonewall. He caught up with her in a few strides. “You needs leave Sir Geoffrey to me. You are no match for him.”

  Katherine lifted her skirt higher and flew down the steps. “Skewer him with my blessing. All I want is to find Anne safe.”

  * * *

  “If your husband is sufficiently old, he won’t mind that you are not a virgin. ’Twill make no difference to a man with little vigor.” Geoffrey, his thoughts tumbling over the delicious prospect of the moment, watched Anne squirm within his hold. Usurping this priceless gift, knowing she would be of lesser value in the absence of her virginity, did give him pause, but only for a moment. A fine plan had formed and his vengeance would soon be complete. It made him almost gleeful.

  He arced a wad of spittle into his hand, to help him slide into her with less pain to himself. ’Twas the ultimate revenge, to ravage this stepdaughter, mayhap send her to a husband with his own babe agrowing in her belly. ’Twas gratifying thereto, that her sister, like a burr under his saddle, would
be powerless to undo his revenge.

  “Remove your hands from the lady before I cleave you in twain.”

  The sharp bite of a sword blade pressed into his neck as the harsh command rang out behind him. Christ’s Toes! He lifted his hands, allowing his clothing to slide back into place. Out of the corner of his eye he noted Katherine’s armored champion poised at the far end of a long and finely honed sword, piercing him with blue, condemning eyes.

  The burr under his saddle shouldered her way past him, jostling him, forcing him back a pace. “Vile man!” She spat, pawing at her sister’s gown while Anne scrambled off the barrel. Together, they retreated behind the knight.

  “’Tis a foolish blunder. You interfere, sir, in a family matter.” His voice was equally resolute. A blustering, untested knight was naught to him, save the sharp, menacing blade nigh piercing his flesh. If this young upstart sought to intimidate him, he did not know his man. “You trespass on a private discussion.”

  “He speaks false,” cried Anne from where she huddled against Katherine.

  “Clearly a most rare and unsettling discourse,” commented the knight, his sword tip prodding Geoffrey’s neck once more. “Naught else?”

  The ruthless voice raised Geoffrey’s hackles, but he dared not move with the sharp blade all but slicing his throat. “Your rebuke is groundless.”

  “’Tis not groundless. You would rape my sister, had we not found her.” Katherine’s sharp accusation grated on his sensibilities.

  “Tush, Katherine, Sir Geoffrey needs deal with me.” The knight’s harsh stare remained on him.

  Geoffrey knew a moment’s hesitation, but refused to give it credence. “Your name, sir,” he demanded. “Do you force my attention, I’ll have a name.”

  “Rhys of St. Quintin. Remember it well.”

  The knight stepped back a pace.

  Geoffrey turned to face him.

  “Does not the insult I’ve delivered you demand a redress?” Rhys of St. Quintin lifted a menacing brow.