by K. C. Helms
Nay, ’twas a vile notion.
“Lie upon yonder bed as you did for your lover, Katherine,” urged his cajoling voice.
“Could we not strike a bargain?”
“What have you to parlay that I do not already possess?”
“My heart.”
“Nay, Katherine, I am not so smitten that I will fall prey to that ruse.” Sir Dafydd’s sigh floated across the chamber. “But your honesty and tenacious loyalty are to be respected. Admirable traits for a man—or a wife.”
Verily, his velvet words were meant to distract. She reached out a beseeching hand. “If you would but give me time to become accustomed to this marriage, to have time to learn— ”
He snorted. “Does that not seem a hopeless gesture after your declarations? You only put off the inevitable.”
Tears blinded her. “Yea,” she murmured hollowly, swiping at her eyes. “But other causes have been as hopeless and the day was won.”
“’Tis not likely we both shall be satisfied with this day. As the king decreed this alliance, we must needs see our duty accomplished.”
“’Tis easy for you, a knight gifted with a castle and lands.”
“But ’tis the beauteous wife, to ease my troubles, that is the more precious.”
Casting aside the suggestion, Katherine glanced away. Her gaze fell upon the bed and a despairing moan escaped her.
“’Twould not be so difficult, should you know me better,” Sir Dafydd murmured, seeming to understand her thoughts. He took a step forward. Then suddenly he shouted, his clenched fist pounding the air, “I am not a monster! I am not my father!”
Katherine flinched.
“’Tis plain on your face, lady, you can not separate me from Sir Geoffrey. You— ” A knock on the door halted his outburst. “Cover yourself!” He grabbed a garment hanging on a peg behind him and tossed it at her.
She clutched it to her ruined gown and backed away.
“Put on a browbeaten expression. Spare me the shame of not having beaten you.”
When the door opened, his squire stood in the hallway wearing a troubled frown. “A thousand pardons, my lord.” He hurriedly presented a sealed parchment. “’Tis a message from De Grey, else I would never have disturbed you.” The young man tried not to look at Katherine, but she caught his struggle and his curiosity before he could pull his gaze away.
Sir Dafydd’s shaggy brows knitted together as he broke the seal and scanned the contents.
Clutching the flimsy garment to her, she hung her head and let loose a mournful sigh.
The squire eyed her with renewed interest.
Frightened by the dark scowl Sir Dafydd flung at her, sure she displeased him further, she tried for a more sorrowful expression and slumped against the bedstead.
“We are called to Shrewsbury, lad. Make haste to ready our mounts.” Sir Dafydd motioned the squire away. “God’s eyes, what ill timing.” Swinging around, he leveled a vexed look at Katherine.
“You shall await my return within this chamber, lady. My father needs not be troubled by your nettlesome presence.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“I am most displeased with my lady wife!”
Standing by the high, stone hearth of Haughmond’s keep, Dafydd made sure his announcement was loud—and angry. Verily, ’twas sufficient to waken the dead. But it served its purpose, instantly gaining the attention of the two knights seated nearby in great hall.
His life-long friend, Sir William la Napier, threw him a quizzical look, his fair brows rising above his startled blue eyes. Will, far from deaf, likely wondered at the booming elocution.
Plying extravagant measures to silence Katherine’s slack tongue had provided sufficient reason for Dafydd’s dudgeon. ’Twas naught what he envisioned as a newly wed husband.
’Twas equally troubling that he could not entertain Will properly.
He glanced at his father sitting in the seat opposite and forced the distaste from his mouth. Sir Geoffrey scraped marrow from a joint of venison with the point of a dagger while he cast sharp attention on their conversation.
This day had been most vexing. Dafydd gave himself a mental shake to dispel his weariness. The journey from Shrewsbury, in knee-deep mud from so much official traffic heading toward Wales, had slowed them considerably. Thereto, Sir Geoffrey’s hostility preyed on his mind. As did Katherine’s resistance.
Betwixt the two of them, he found little peace in his new abode. A wolf, in the guise of his father—thinking himself wronged, and hungering for power and honor—did not bode well for Katherine’s safekeeping. ’Twas telling that his father’s anger did exceed his own.
For years he’d yearned for a home and a wife. For years his love had been bound up within him, with no one to bestow it upon. He intended to cherish Katherine and their life together.
Anger welled up within him, that his father disallowed any happiness to reign on the day of his homecoming. ’Twas evident he could not elicit a fain compliance from his wife, but he had not expected such a tempest from his father.
Sighing, he tried for a pleasant expression. Will did not appear concerned by the lack of amenities. He was as talkative as ever and laughed with easy grace. Though eight years separated their ages, ’twas the reason a friendship had forged betwixt them—their dispositions suited each other remarkably well.
Impatient to inspect Dafydd’s new holding, Will had begged leave of the king. He had ridden down from Chester, claiming himself eager to remark on this fine inheritance. ’Twas more likely his friend did elicit sympathy for his own misfortune in remaining landless. The man found humor in everything.
“To be sure, ’tis a sorry state in which you find yourself, my friend,” Will said. “Your lady is not as biddable as other wives, I have observed.”
Will’s tone was sympathetic, but Dafydd knew better. He frowned at the sparkling look that accosted him. Worry plagued him afresh. The situation was too dangerous for Will to dispense his usual wretched humor.
“My lady wife will be kept locked up until my return.” Dafydd made his voice deliberately harsh, to counter his friend’s breezy reply. “No one shall enter. Nor is she to set foot outside the chamber. I depend on you. You shall see to it, Will?”
“I am to remain behind?” Will’s brows lowered. He sprang to his feet and closed the short distance to the hearth with quick strides, the firelight showing his concern. Tall, he stood at eye level to Dafydd. “’Tis not safe with only your squire, and him so new to the task. ’Tis a dangerous journey in these times, Dafydd.” Swiping at a shock of blond hair dangling over his eyes, he shoved the strands beneath his chain mail coif, reminding Dafydd how very similar they were.
Will spoke the truth—he unfailingly spoke the truth. But naught could be done to improve the circumstances. Not with Sir Geoffrey hanging on every word. Dafydd scowled in growing frustration. Will had agreed to the task. Why was he suddenly being irksome?
“It needs be, Will, for I will not allow my lady wife freedom until she acknowledges my authority.”
“I am willing to help you toward that end,” offered Sir Geoffrey, speaking around the bits of marrow he had slid into his mouth on the slender blade.
A quiver of unease coursed down Dafydd’s spine. “My thanks, Sir Geoffrey. ’Tis kind that you do offer, but I cannot countenance the inconvenience to you.” He turned so he was no longer facing his father directly and threw Will a hard glare, the best hint he could offer.
Sir Geoffrey was not so easily dissuaded. “’Tis no inconvenience, my son. I am here to lend a hand in your time of travail.” Uncoiling himself from his seat, he flipped the bone to one of the castle hounds. Impaling the arm of his chair with a quick thrust of his dagger, he stalked toward the two knights.
Dafydd shifted his position again and bestowed on Will all the panic he could muster.
Sir William’s eyes widened. He cocked a brow, then squinted, his usual reaction when confused.
“’Tis not the t
ask for a young knight,” admonished Sir Geoffrey as he came to stand beside them. “You needs be occupied with the business of war, if you are to gain lands. Certes, not guarding a woman!”
“Yea, Sir Geoffrey, you speak true.” Will turned his back to Dafydd and engaged the older knight.
Beads of perspiration formed on Dafydd’s forehead and he felt the prickle of sweat gathering on his scalp beneath his chain mail coif. He jabbed Will in the back, but the knight ignored him, the half-wit!
“You will miss the opportunity for spoils,” suggested Sir Geoffrey. “Mayhap as fine a castle as this. You needs avail yourself of the king, and bend his ear.”
“’Tis true,” came Will’s eager response. “Forsooth, Edward does reward loyalty.”
Dafydd’s mouth went dry. He seized his friend’s shoulder and gave it a hard shake, wishing he had his mace. He would strike some sense into William’s addled brain. “Mind you, Will, you have no squire to watch your back.”
“I have an understanding of young Katherine,” Sir Geoffrey persisted with a nod of his head. “’Twould be easy to bring her to heel. I have done so ofttimes.”
Grasping the hilt of his sword, Dafydd glared at the back of Will’s head with all the force of his roiling fears. He could do naught else. Except sweat. Beneath his armor, a rivulet dripped down his spine.
Will chuckled suddenly. “Ah, but Sir Geoffrey, you do not know the whole of it.”
Dafydd could barely breathe. Betwixt his vexation at Will’s feeble-mindedness and the unwelcome heat of the fire, he was baking within his armor. What would that blackguard spew? God’s thigh, did Will not grasp his warning?
“I am most eager for Dafydd’s task.” Will shifted his position, turning to include Dafydd in his remarks. “Anne de la Motte is a lady I wish to become acquainted with.” He bestowed a lively grin upon Sir Geoffrey, whose face had grown dark and stormy. “Think what a boon it would be to make of the lady a conquest. I could take her favor into battle.” His wink encompassed both knights.
Dafydd scowled in relief and considered running Will through with his sword. The bastard played him apurpose. ’Twas no time for jests. But it made no difference to his friend. Making sport of others was a greater part of Will’s daily existence. Rarely was the man serious. Revenge would be sweet, when next the two of them met in the tiltyard. He would give Will the pounding he so richly deserved.
Dafydd stared pointedly into his friend’s sudden bland expression, then bowed swiftly to his father. “Pray, excuse us, Sir Geoffrey. I needs show Sir William his duties.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the staircase that led to the upper chambers. At the moment his ire was sufficient to carry him into battle and to slay the whole enemy throng.
Will was as irksome as his father and Katherine.
“With me, William!” he called over his shoulder.
’Twas many moments before Will’s lagging footsteps caught up with his.
“I cannot stomach your abominable caprice,” he muttered when he had reached the upper corridor near Katherine’s locked chamber.
“Clearly.” Sir William gave him a sidelong smirk.
“You vexed me apurpose, you son of Satan.”
“’Twas aimed at Sir Geoffrey. He deserved to have his hopes dashed and I relished the torment. Be easy, Dafydd. Your judgment is befuddled.”
“Do not throw my own words back on me, Will. ’Tis the very reason I have need of your good offices.” He shook his head. “I am mired so deep, the quicksand of my lies will bury me alive.”
“If there is justice in this world.”
Dafydd shot a dark scowl at Will and received an innocent shrug for his trouble.
“When Lady Katherine is finished with you, I can only hope you will wish you had been drawn and quartered.” Will snorted. “My sword is at the lady’s command, does she require it.”
Dafydd rolled his eyes. “Do not make light of this. Truly, you will not be distracted by Lady Anne?”
Sir William sobered and clamped a sturdy hand upon his shoulder. “She is a child. My taunting is unkind, my friend, though you do deserve the insults. I am ever steadfast to your friendship—and your entreaties.”
Dafydd expelled a loud sigh of relief. His heartbeat began to slow to a steady beat. “’Tis good, for your task is far more important to me than the one I am about. If truth be known and we could trade places, ’twould please us both mightily. You would seek adventure at Shrewsbury Castle, while I— ”
Sir William’s cunning laugh gave Dafydd pause. “Your lady wife has a rare beauty. ’Tis no wonder you prefer to abide at Haughmond. Had I such a wife I should never leave her.”
“Were I you, she would have no cause to hate her husband.” Dafydd regretted having to share the painful truth. “She speaks plainly, does she not, for the entire castle to hear? I will have no secrets in this marriage. Herein lies a lesson, eh?” He sighed again. “Hold here, Will. Matthew Squire shall do his duty. Forsooth, if he is unable, ’twould resolve all manner of vexations.”
“Nay, ’twill not help the king’s cause, with you butchered and left to rot on a Shropshire highway.”
“Fear not, my friend. All I desire abides within this castle. I shall return— ”
“—with all haste.” William finished the sentence, his lips quirking in merriment.
“You know me too well. What secrets have I ever kept from you?”
* * *
The sound of thudding hooves on the drawbridge brought a sigh of relief from Katherine, knowing her husband departed Haughmond. But ’twas well she could not see the gate from her window. A fond adieu was beyond her capabilities.
Natheless, Sir Dafydd had surprised her in his understanding of his father and in his forbearance of her infidelity. ’Twas another marvel that he accepted it with such rare grace, that he had not punished her. His chivalry was impressive.
But as the afternoon became dusk and night lengthened, and neither nourishment nor drink was brought to the chamber, her charitable thoughts of her husband collapsed in proportion to her growing distress.
And in the depths of night, when an empty, rumbling stomach mirrored a passing thunderstorm, the bold lightning splitting the black sky could not match her fomenting ire and overwhelming fears. Sir Dafydd dared to be so heartless? ’Twas proof of his despicable nature. Clearly he sought to starve her into submission. A cold dread coiled around her stomach. Was this how he planned to rid her of Rhys’s babe?
’Twas a woesome existence she did face. She would be made to pay for her husband’s wounded pride.
Alas, ’twas a similar trait in Sir Geoffrey, for that knight marked every wrong, soothfast or imagined.
She tried not to weep, tried not to retch. Yet dry heaves did come. In the night, bitterness from an empty stomach soured her tongue and burned her throat. A throbbing head and watery limbs rendered her helpless. Her legs nigh buckled beneath her when she tried to stand. And the dank chamber, without so much as a small brazier to offer relief, waves of chills could not be dispelled.
The chamber rang with her tirade of rebukes and denouncements and accusations. But finally, she found it needful to lie still with eyes closed. She must guard her strength.
Would her babe survive this ordeal? Helpless terror seized her. “Saint Winifred, hear my prayer. Spare Rhys’s child. Let not an innocent pay the price for my sins.”
In the cold light of dawn, her laments grew quieter. The tears on her cheeks dried. Mayhap death would be a blessing, if such torture were her destiny.
When the castle trumpet blared, unaccountably faint and distant, she barely heard it.
But the crashing of the chamber door bursting open was neither faint nor far away.
Hearing the approach of footfalls, she tried to subdue the blinding pain stabbing through her head. She tried desperately to force open her weary eyelids.
“Ah, good fortune is upon me. My earnest prayers are answered in a biddable wife.”
Through he
r lethargy, she recognized her husband’s deep and eager voice. Her eyes flew open. With a cry, she twisted away from the hand reaching toward her.
Clawing at the coverlet, edging herself across the bed, she rolled, and dropped into black darkness.
* * *
“Katherine!”
Dafydd vaulted overtop the bed, shouting for help as he scooped his unconscious wife off the hard floor. Frantic though he was that she had fallen, never had his arms felt so alive, so responsive, so fulfilled. Holding fast to Katherine! Catching her to his breast, he breathed in the scent of—
Onions?
’Twas not surprising. A worthy chatelaine toiled alongside her servants. Peering closer, he scowled at the blood oozing from a cut on her forehead.
Will skidded through the doorway with drawn sword. “Dafydd?”
“My lady’s hurt! Fetch a servant!”
Settling her upon the bed, her wimple broke free from its pinnings and fell to the floor. But her linen chin-band remained in place on her head, absorbing the trickle of blood. He groaned at the sight, then bellowed with rage. ’Twas far easier to bear his own injuries than to endure this wound of hers. Settling on the mattress, he leaned close, tucking his arm beneath her shoulders.
Caressing her face, tracing the contour of her lips, his fingers moved deliberately, absorbing every delicacy of her flesh. Such sweet torture! Leaning forward, he kissed the growing bruise, smearing blood on his whiskers, praying she would remain unconscious. Did she waken her rejection would pierce him to the heart.
Yet his heart was pierced. Did he conjure up so much hatred and fear that his sweet wife would faint at the sight of him?
“Oh, lady!” Sibyl rushed into the chamber.
“See to your mistress!” Dafydd levered himself off the mattress. “Do you know how to mend a bleeding wound, woman?”
Keeping her face averted, she sidled past him and peered at her mistress. Then she eyed him as though he were the devil himself. “Yea, my lord. I’ve stitched up many a soldier. And more than one fool.”
