A Lord for Haughmond

by K. C. Helms

  Slowly—plainly reluctant—Geoffrey and his men retreated to a safe distance.

  Running to one of the baggage wains, Katherine scrambled up to the seat beside a young serf lad sitting with hunched shoulders and a stricken expression. Balancing on her knees, she untied the canvas covering and flung it aside. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the amount of plate and silver and furniture tossed haphazardly within.

  Looking toward Sir Geoffrey, her eyes narrowed. “You do betray Haughmond’s trust. If I were a man, I’d skewer you right quickly for this filching. Mayhap the king will be displeased with your avidity and throw you in The Tower.”

  Geoffrey chuckled as he reined back his high-spirited mount. “Do not threaten me, Katherine, when my own son is your newly wedded lord and master.”

  Murmurs of disbelief punctuated the air, from the wallwalk to the steps of the keep. Where a cluster of servants hovered, shock strained their faces.

  Ignoring his baiting words, she levered herself back to her feet and turned to face him from the wagon. “How meet that you do thieve Haughmond’s treasures.”

  Geoffrey glared at her. “Alas, your dear mother was unable to bestow upon you any measure of civility.”

  “Civility!” Katherine snorted in disgust. “’Tis a rare commodity hereabouts, as scarce as hen’s teeth, much akin to your mode of mourning, I avow. Begone with you! Let Haughmond not be further polluted by your presence.” She jerked her head toward the entrance where soldiers gathered. Long bows poised within their powerful fists, they stood braced, ready to let loose their deadly arrows at a moment’s notice.

  “You are not rid of me so easily, young Katherine.” Geoffrey de Borne frowned his displeasure. “My influence remains in the guise of my son. Will you be the better for it?”

  He mocked her, of course. She could do naught but watch as he turned his mount toward the gate. Beneath the silent scowls and somber faces of the castle soldiers, he and his household knights disappeared into the barbican. A moment later their hooves thudded over the drawbridge.

  Katherine heaved a sigh of relief that two conundrums were so swiftly resolved. Sir Geoffrey had gone. Good riddance to him! But more importantly, her captain recognized her authority.

  Yet another vexation did sit beside her. She eyed the young serf. Within his work worn tunic, his shoulders slumped forward and one wool stocking seemed to echo his mood, for it sagged below the knee where the cross-garter had come untied. He bore the most prodigious look of dread in his hazel eyes she had ever remarked upon the lad of three years and ten.

  “Be at ease, Alwin.” She gave his shoulder a quick pat. “There is no blame attached to you.” She clambered down from the wagon. Smoothing her gown into place, she lifted her gaze and gave him a tight smile.

  The youth swiped his eyes with grimy hands, leaving streaks of dirt across his pale cheeks. “Another wagon did depart ere ye arrived, mistress.”

  “’Twas not your fault. You could not prevent the pillage,” Katherine sighed, her heart lurching at the pain etched into his thin face. “Did Sir Geoffrey misuse any of our people whilst he was herein?”

  “Nay, mistress. He were more intent in thievin’ our valuables than in doin’ harm. Thank the good Lord he did ignore the lasses.” Alwin’s voice broke. “But yer aunt’s vestments—them in the chapel, and her cross—they’re bound for Myton in an old cart.”

  More than likely the old cart that had bore her mother’s body back to Haughmond. That sad day did seem ages agone. Katherine sighed again. ’Twas likely other problems, too numerous to count, awaited her. Already her people looked to her for guidance. She must needs possess a calm demeanor. And a steady hand.

  “They can be replaced, Alwin. You cannot. Get you down from there and seek out your father. These wagons need unloading before it grows dark.”

  The leggy youth leaped to the ground. “We couldn’t do dif’rent, mistress.” He shook his head as though he were trying to rid it of all the nits in the world. His pointed felt cap slipped down over his left eye. Impatiently he shoved it back. “Sir Geoffrey spoke very stern, like he yet ruled the fief.”

  “Be not dismayed. Make haste, Alwin, while you can yet see.”

  The lad nodded and departed on a run.

  Sibyl, loyal servant, nursemaid to three generations of Katherine’s family, and Aunt Matilda’s right-hand helper, came forward. Smelling of wood smoke and onions and dressed in a homespun tunic of nut-brown, she wiped the front of her stained apron far more than was necessary, indicating her agitation.

  “Be ye home for good, mistress?” she asked in a fervent voice, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Katherine nodded.

  “Praise Saint Winifred! ’Twas certain I was, the blessed saint she’d listen,” the older woman exclaimed through a watery smile, wiping her apron afresh. Alarm twisted her face and her tone grew fearful. “But oh, deary me, yer husband don’t be Sir Geoffrey’s son, do he?”

  “Tush! Visitors require our hospitality.” Katherine spoke with calm authority, knowing the castle must avoid more panic and unrest. “Fetch our guests some victuals against their hunger, Sibyl. They’ll wish to seek their rest. See that chambers are prepared, and hot water readied.” She turned to Anne seated in her saddle next to Simon. “You can assist her, Anne. Oh— ” She whirled back and called after Sibyl, “Tell Gilbert I require him at once.”

  Leaping down from his saddle, Simon helped Anne dismount. Bestowing him with a grateful smile, she followed after Sibyl, while his eyes followed her every step.

  Katherine looked up at Rhys. He had sheathed his sword and silently contemplated her from his saddle.

  “Well, what say you?” she finally asked, when all he did was stare at her, as he had the first time they met. Her throat tightened at the bittersweet memory.

  “My compliments!” A brief smile broke his stern countenance. “You subdued all who besieged you—like a seasoned commander, like the lord of the castle. ’Tis obvious you were born to be the chatelaine of this domicile, my lady.” Dismounting, he handed his reins to Simon.

  The squire led the horses and mule toward the stables in the outer ward.

  “Your role does suit you admirably.”

  Katherine glowed warmly at the unexpected compliment. She started toward the tall square keep and Rhys fell into step beside her.

  “Would you indulge my curiosity and show me this wondrous castle, which I well-nigh possessed? I wish to examine it close.” Rhys’s voice was low, almost a whisper, like he shared a secret for her alone.

  Katherine looked at him sharply and shook her head at his bland expression. “Don’t make light of your loss. ’Tis not customary for one to appraise his lost spoils.”

  They climbed the steps that marked the entrance to the keep, where torches were lit against nightfall. Two soldiers standing guard outside pulled open the heavy doors.

  Rhys stepped through the entrance behind Katherine and looked around. “I don’t begrudge Dafydd his spoils, so long as you do show me a measure of compassion. You have chambers, no doubt, where we can be at ease?” He settled a pointed look upon Katherine. “Let us mount to your chamber where I might be allowed some comfort. ’Twas a cold and arduous journey as ever I have known.” He abruptly slapped at his arms, as though to warm them, and slid his gaze from her. Tilting his head back on his shoulders, he inspected the timbered ceiling.

  Horrified at his dastardly suggestion, Katherine exclaimed, “You would seduce me in my chamber? You do seek to set in motion events likely to wreak havoc with our lives.”

  Rhys pulled his attention away from the high ceiling and bestowed upon her a calm and steady gaze, far and away too innocent after such an infuriating suggestion.

  With her chin set imperiously, Katherine swept past him as fast as her weary legs could carry her. Spying Sibyl across the hall, she called out, “Where is Gilbert? I grow impatient for his arrival.”

  “I am come, m’lady.”

  With measured steps
, the castle steward strode from the kitchen. Tall and solidly built, he had intimidated Haughmond’s inhabitants for years, having answered to no one but Sir Geoffrey and had grown arrogant in his power. Coming to stand before her, Gilbert neglected to bestow the deferential bow befitting his rank.

  Silently collecting herself, Katherine prepared to do battle with Geoffrey’s man. Forced to look up to meet his dark and cunning eyes, she settled a grave look upon him, remembering the pain of the old man in the village stocks. “John Cooper cannot be locked in the stocks the moment my back is turned.”

  “He do scamp his work. The reeve reported the misdeed. John, he should be grateful I didn’t beat him with a birch cane.” The steward looked down his nose at her with open disdain.

  Her palms grew clammy. “John Cooper’s only crime is that he is an old man.” She spoke with a calm she was far from feeling. Gilbert’s high-handed demeanor maddened her. More worrisome, she feared she would not be able to force him to her will.

  “His leaky kegs has caused mayhem for the alewife. ’Twas her what brought forth the complaint, m’lady.”

  “And what do you, besides punish him—an old man who has seen better days? Does it replenish the alewife’s stock?” Katherine swallowed down her fears as she looked into the steward’s stern features. “I doubt me ’tis meet you should continue as steward, if you do treat my people thus.”

  The man scowled. “I look out for yer interests, m’lady.”

  “Nay, you look out for Sir Geoffrey’s interests and they are not mine. See you the difference?”

  “Aye,” the steward replied. “But there’s been no cause for complaint. If ye wish ta change how I do my job, ya only needs tell me what’s what, and I’ll do it.” His gruff tone broke, became more polite with each word he uttered. “I don’t mean ta give offence. I have a wife and three children. What becomes of them should my services not be needed?”

  “’Tis a question you must needs keep in mind for the future, Gilbert, for I will not have my people abused. Nor will I be taken advantage of by my villains. Do you mark my words?” She eyed his squarely, until his gaze shifted.

  “Yea, mistress, what’s done yester day won’t be done this day. I promise, m’lady.”

  “’Tis good.” Katherine nodded abruptly. “As John has no son of his own, you will instruct him to apprentice Alwin in his shop. When the lad has progressed to fashioning goodly barrels, John is to be brought to the hall and work is to be found for him—naught too strenuous, mind you. But he has his pride and mustn’t be insulted.”

  “Yea, mistress,” Gilbert replied, nodding his head agreeably.

  “For the moment that is all, Gilbert.”

  “Yea, mistress.” The man backed away, bobbing his head as he retreated from the hall.

  From the nearby table where he sipped a noggin of ale, Rhys commented, “Can you find no other task for him?”

  Katherine rubbed her neck, which ached from tension. She wanted naught more than a hot bath and a good night’s rest. But she turned and, placing the king’s edict on the table, sat down across from him, willing to hear him out. “You do not trust him?”

  “Nay,” he responded, setting down his mug on the table top with a loud thump. “I like not his shifting eyes. He is Geoffrey’s man. Think you he is honest?”

  Katherine shrugged with a grimace. “Mayhap. He will be given opportunity to prove himself.” She lifted the goblet of wine Sibyl had left for her. “Starving children tend to compel honesty from malefactors.”

  “What compels you, my lady? Why will you not relent? Naught would please me more but to hold you in my arms.”

  She lunged to her feet at the sudden change of topic with a blush warming her cheeks. “You have no right to speak so.”

  “I told you naught would keep me from you.” Slowly he came to his feet, ensnaring her with a steadfast gaze, much like a wolf on the hunt.

  Katherine returned his stare as though seeing the knight for the first time. ’Twas not like at Bereford, with her emotions churning inside her. Haughmond gave her strength and confidence. She could face Rhys and his demands. She could overcome his allure, for she knew her destiny.

  She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “And I told you there is no future for us.”

  She was surprised at her cold, calm tone. It seemed to surprise Rhys as well. He had opened his mouth to speak but now closed it.

  She continued with a firm nod of her head, mocking the flutter in her heart. “This is my home. You shan’t insult me before my people. I will not lose their good opinion. I can offer our hospitality.” Her hand swept the air. “And give you what time you need to heal. ’Tis all I can do. But I am a married woman. If you press me elsewise, I’ll—I’ll have you thrown into the dungeon.”

  Rhys threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, you don’t mean that!”

  When she hesitated a moment too long, his smile grew brilliant and he took a step nearer.

  She stepped behind a stool by the tall stone fireplace, feeling foolish to think the small gesture would ward off his advance. But she clamped her mouth in a determined line.

  Rhys’s smile faded. She was sorry, for ’twas so endearing. No longer were his eyes lit with hope.

  “’Twas you who should have been the victor of the tourney. Our future was decided with your loss.” Katherine pressed her point, so affrighted was she that he would force her against her will.

  “Could we not negotiate a different future?”

  She bit her trembling lip at his wistful query. How she wished the same. But returning to Haughmond had made her see her duty. Young Alwin relied on her guidance. He had wept in relief. She must not disappoint her people. Rhys, garbed so splendidly in his armor, was any demoiselle’s fantasy come to life. It took her breath away. Yet he had never looked so forbidding, standing tall and rigid and demanding his own way with a scowl and hunched shoulders.

  “Why must you press me so greatly?” she asked in the harshest tone she could muster. “Why were you not this determined when you yet had a choice in the matter?”

  His shoulders drooped. “I did not know there would be this longing.”

  Katherine could not meet his eyes. Unable to tolerate the pain, she looked away, but forced herself to continue. “I belong to Sir Dafydd. I must needs reconcile that fearsome thought within my heart.”

  “Then you will accept your husband?”

  Faith, but her wits must be sorely frayed. Did she imagine she heard hope in Rhys’s voice? She looked at him with suspicion.

  “Nay, I will not. Nor will I accept you as lover. You will not compromise my soul. You have your bounden duty to the king. I have mine to Haughmond.” Filled with heartbreak but also with determination, she clung to her desperate resolve. “You do me a dishonor to insist I become your paramour. By all that is holy, I will not.” Pointing with a shaking finger, she commanded, “Begone with you!”

  Rhys cast a dark glower at her. “As you wish, lady. The king is impatient for me. I will find a goodly welcome in Wales.”

  “But you aren’t yet healed,” she exclaimed, his implacable voice raising her fears. “You’re not ready for battle.”

  He stepped closer, drilling her with an icy-cold stare that froze her like a marble statue.

  “Nay, my lady. You cannot have it both ways. I will not abide here and not make love to you.”

  His precious words chilled her heart. “God and His holy Mother, I cannot send you into battle knowing you are not hearty. ’Twould be a death sentence,” she cried, the conflict within her raging out of control.

  “’Tis a death sentence for me to remain and not have you in my arms. God’s bones, Katherine, a man can tolerate only so much. I have tolerated aplenty.”

  “I never meant— ”

  “I guarded your secrets and aided you in your flight. I’ve even bled for you. What more do you want of me?”

  She blinked back hot tears. Yea, he had offered everything she desired, yet he offe
red naught she could freely embrace. Had he meant for her to feel so conflicted? She swallowed down the unhappy thought.

  “You romanced my heart and delighted my soul,” he whispered and offered her a tentative smile. “All I ask in return is your love.”

  “You ask too much.” Longing gripped her throat.

  Rhys dropped his hands and stepped back, made a swift bow. “Then I will not tarry. I give you good night.” With a growl, he swung toward the door.

  Nay, she wanted to shout. She yearned to call after him, to keep him beside her. His words of love yet whispered to her heart, sweet affections not easily laid aside. Her sweating hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into the yet tender scar in her palm. She fought a gale of emotion and the fear she had lost him forever. Trying to keep from being riven like a newly hewn sapling, she bit her tongue and commanded herself not to call him back.

  * * *

  By the time Katherine found the strength to drag her weary body from the wooden tub and had dried herself, the bath water was cold. Thankfully, the tension in her neck and shoulders had disappeared. But her mind was not easy, not with Rhys ensconced under the same roof. She padded barefoot to the small hearth, where a bedrobe draped over a stool was warming. Shrugging into the woolen wrap, she picked up her silver comb and began to comb her wet hair, hoping she would escape her provocative musings.

  Unbidden, the vision of what this night would be, had he been her wedded husband, drifted through her imagination—his touch, gentle and demanding by turns as he explored the length of her body, his lips claiming urgent kisses, his probing tongue caressing so enchantingly, the feel of his naked flesh settling over hers in the dark, their legs entwined, her own fingertips in delightful exploration of his brawny physique.

  She had not forgotten the feel of him, nor his touch. Each recollection created a vivid picture in her thoughts. Yet each treasured memory undermined her resolve.

  Gooseflesh erupted on her skin and she scrubbed at her arms. A flush of arousal flickered to life. Her heart skipped a beat. The sudden hot moisture betwixt her legs had naught to do with bath water. Horrified and breathing heavily, she recognized what it meant. Faith, she must subdue this mounting lust.