“He’s attempting to intimidate his opponent,” someone said.
“I told you, they’re heathens,” said another.
As comments swirled around them, Juliette had eyes only for the man who had put himself in jeopardy simply to please her. She didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or throttle him.
Mayhap both.
Fortunately, there was no reason for the rapid beating of her heart and the sweatiness of her palms. Toren used his considerable skills to ensure the match ended quickly, and it did. With nary more than a few clangs of metal, and one thrust from his opponent that convinced her Blackburn was there to kill, not for sport, the match was over.
Toren had won.
Blackburn lost his sword to Toren, and when he attempted to reach for the dagger at his side, a trick that could see him hung as a cheater, Toren moved surprisingly quickly for a man his size and kicked the cad’s legs out from under him.
Lying on the ground, completely disarmed, Blackburn finally laid his head down in defeat. A horn sounded, and attendants rushed onto the field as the crowd cheered their champion. True to tradition, even though he hailed from north of the border, Toren was celebrated. He bowed before the earl and his wife, who led the rest of the guests in a deafening round of applause.
Finally, it was over.
Toren spun toward her, and as Juliette and her companions stood, she realized he was coming her way. Spectators watched with bated breath as he halted beneath her. She looked toward Lord Hedford, who nodded, although she would have gone to Toren even if he had not given permission. At least he’d allowed her the appearance of acquiescing to her chaperone’s judgment.
Toren was looking at Hedford as well, and the men seemed to communicate silently. When she arrived at the bottom of the wooden stands, she reached for Toren’s hand, for all to see, and allowed him to lead her away from the lists.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She had played a dangerous game meeting with him each night. But this was different. Physical contact, in public. Her father would no doubt hear of it. But what did it matter? She had given the man her virginity last eve, and the nuns would surely take her anyway. That was, of course, unless she could convince Toren otherwise.
“You are mine,” she proclaimed.
“Aye,” he said. She glanced at him, her heart racing.
People cheered and slapped him on the back as they walked past him.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He’d released her hand, and she deliberately walked slightly behind him. Not in deference, but in awe. She rather liked looking at the muscles on his back.
He did not speak but rather led beyond the lists toward the outer edge of the tents where the Scots made camp, though it was still quite a ways from his own. “Here,” he said, indicating a tent near the edge of the field. It was more decorative than his own, and they slipped inside without notice.
“It’s a friend’s,” he said simply, as if there wasn’t time to say more. The moment the flap closed, he pulled her toward him.
“Oh!”
She wrapped her arms around his bare back, disregarding the sweat and dirt that covered his flesh, and Toren lowered his head and kissed her. She opened for him, her tongue gladly dueling with his as they melded into each other.
Her champion.
When he finally released her, she murmured, “Congratulations. But if you ever attempt such a stupid, idiotic. . . what’s so funny?”
“You.”
“I didn’t say anything funny! I was chastising you, if you had not noticed.”
He ran his thumb across her lips, parting them and staring in a way that made her insides tingle.
“I noticed.”
His hand roamed downward until it reached her breast.
“This is much too low,” he said, looking at the neckline of her gown.
“Too low?” she repeated.
He dipped his thumb beneath the cloth, teasing her.
“Aye, lass. Others may get ideas.”
“What ideas?’
His hand stilled. And pulled away.
“The same ideas I’ve had all morning since I spied your hair glittering from across the lists.” He reached up and touched one of the crystals in her hair. “Interesting.”
“Mayhap they are the same thoughts I had when you so brazenly decided to engage in a swordfight without armor.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I keep my promises whenever possible.”
She could lecture him, tell him his actions had been foolish and dangerous, but he likely already knew that.
“I didn’t bring you here to seduce you. Again.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
“I must leave, Jules.”
Knowing what he’d planned to say and hearing the words were not the same. She suddenly felt a bone-deep chill despite the day’s heat. Her chest constricted, and Juliette knew not what to say. She’d prepared a pretty speech, but none of the words came to her now.
“I am the worst sort of man for having done what I—”
“Stop.” She wanted to reach out, to touch him. Make him hold her the way he’d done last night. As if he cherished her. But this was a different man who stood before her.
This was the chief of Clan Kerr. The champion of one of England’s greatest tournaments.
“You insult me by claiming it as your decision alone.”
He looked surprised, but truly he had no reason to be. Juliette had never claimed to be ruled by conventional wisdom. Sometimes, she wished her thoughts were more akin to other ladies, but courtesy of the nuns and their learning, she would always be different.
He looked as if there were more he would like to say, but he did not. She vowed that morn not to let him just simply leave. Should she tell him how she felt? That she wished him to fight for her? That she’d decided to fight for him?
Her earlier conviction fled as quickly as it had taken hold. To what end? He had decided he was leaving, and the burden of her love would not change that.
“Where will you go?” It wasn’t the question she wanted to ask, but she was curious nonetheless.
“To Bristol Manor,” he said. And she knew he spoke the truth.
She forged ahead. “I just wish I understood why you need to leave so suddenly. What you need from my father.”
Why we can’t be together . . .
He stared at her so intently, for so long, Juliette thought perhaps he was finally going to explain everything.
“Toren,” a male voice called from outside the tent.
Neither of them moved.
“I must go,” he said. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her so gently on the lips she could hardly feel it.
And then he was gone.
Juliette stood there for a long time. She could feel the air grow warmer. She didn’t know whose tent she stood in, but she was afraid to look outside for she knew he would be gone.
Why had they left so much unsaid?
Juliette lifted the flap and startled when a man she didn’t recognize bowed to her.
“My lady.”
She looked around, confirming what she already knew. There was nary a sign of him.
“This is yours, I presume?” She stepped into the sunlight.
“Aye, my lady.” He offered his arm. “Gregory Campbell at your service. I am a friend of Toren’s and am to escort you back to the keep.”
Though she already knew he was gone, she found herself asking, “And he is?”
“Gone, my lady. Regretfully.”
Gone. To his sister and brother-in-law. Juliette stood there, immobile, until she finally noticed the man’s elbow extended to her.
She took it and allowed him to lead her away. Had this morning really happened? Had last eve? It all felt like a dream, and yet it was more real than the sunny day around her. How was she to act as if everything were normal? It was unthinkable to return to the revelry. Unthinkable to go home a
nd fall in with her father’s commands or join the nuns.
And yet what choice did she really have? She was the daughter of a border baron, a woman with few skills save the ones she read about in books. A dreamer, as her parents said.
You’re as smart as our priest at Brockburg, as resourceful as my sister, and more caring than I deserve.
She was smart. And resourceful.
And she was not ready to accept her fate just yet.
Toren had ridden hard for nearly two days and was finally rewarded with a view of Bristol Manor. Alfred had kept pace quite nicely. He could have arrived a half day earlier if not for the pack horse that carried his equipment.
Built on a river basin two days’ ride from the border, Bristol Manor was a solid structure. Though its main keep could have fit into one of Condren Castle’s outer buildings, it was quite well appointed. Surrounded by not one but two curtain walls, the second added just recently, it was also well-defended.
Which was just as well since his sister now lived there with her new husband.
To think, just a few months before, Bristol had been his.
Riding through the gates, Toren should have felt awkward as the ousted master who was now nothing more than the manor’s former lord. And brother to the lady of the manor.
Instead, he was quite relieved. Brockburg was his home, and though he had come to appreciate the people of Bristol, it had never felt quite right.
“What in God’s bones are you. . . Toren Kerr, get down from that horse immediately.” Dressed in a fashionable dark green kirtle with a cream tunic peeking out from underneath, Catrina was a little slip of a thing, and yet she had a way of talking that made her seem much larger.
He’d expected such a greeting, as the guards who’d allowed them entry would have sent word to Catrina.
He complied. Taking orders from this red-headed harridan was not unusual for him. Nor for any other man in her acquaintance, including her husband. As he dismounted, Toren found himself thinking again of Jules. How different it would have been if he could have brought her with him and introduced her to his sister as his intended.
Pushing the thought away, he embraced Catrina. “You rode directly past us on the way to the tournament, and you didn’t think to stop and visit with your sister?” she scolded.
Toren tousled her hair as he’d done his entire life. She swatted his hand and smoothed the long, wild tresses.
“And then you fail to introduce me to your guest?”
She pointed at Alfred, who seemed wary of her, already leading the horses away. “Wait,” she called to him.
The boy, ever shy, peeked up at her from beneath the strange cap he wore night and day.
“Why is he so dirty?” she whispered, her voice full of concern.
Toren shrugged. “He always seems to be so.” He waved the lad over.
“Greetings, lad. What’s your name?”
Without looking up, he answered quietly, “Alfred, my lady.”
He could tell Catrina was a mite confused. “Alfred proved indispensable at the tournament. I’ve asked him home with me to train with Alex. I was lucky that he agreed.”
“Alfred—” his sister moved closer to the squire, “—welcome to Bristol Manor. If it pleases you to lead the horses to the stable, Arthur will assist you. And please make yourself comfortable here.”
Toren thought he saw the boy smile before he turned back toward the stables.
“He’s quite unusual, is he not?” Catrina asked as they watched him walk away.
“He is certainly small for a squire. And aye, so painfully shy that he refuses to look me in the eye. But the lad is quick and competent.”
“And in need,” Catrina finished, quickly assessing the real reason he was here.
“Indeed,” he turned to face his sister. “Catrina, I need a messenger. One who is trustworthy. And swift.”
She took his hand and they walked together toward the manor.
“Something is wrong.” It was not a question. Catrina already knew.
“Aye.”
She stopped him steps away from the entrance to the main tower. The great hall was housed on the first floor here, something that was unusual in manors of this size.
It was getting dark, and Toren suddenly realized he was ravenous. For two days they’d eaten only bread and cheese, save the hare he’d cooked over the modest fire last eve. He looked forward to a proper meal. But this was more important than food.
“I’ve much to tell you. But I must get a message to Douglas. Quickly. Tonight.”
He looked into the bright hazel eyes the exact shade as his own. Pulling her aside, he told her what he had not been able to share with Juliette. Or even Gregory.
“Douglas, on orders from the king, sent me to Condren to kill the English warden.”
Her eyes widened.
“You’re being punished. For me.”
To ease her mind, he chucked her under the chin and said, “I believe it has more to do with my legendary sword-fighting skills.”
At least she smiled.
“But he is still vexed about Bristol. Douglas mentioned it specifically.” And the broken betrothal, but he’d keep that information to himself. Catrina should not be made to feel guilty for her happiness.
“However, Hallington never arrived at the tourney. When I learned he definitely would not be coming, I left immediately.”
“To await further instructions,” she finished.
“Nay, not exactly.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Nay?”
He planned to tell her everything but couldn’t find the words.
“What is it? Toren, what are you not telling me?”
A man approached them from the side of the manor. He was not smiling, but that was no great surprise. Bryce Waryn hardly ever smiled.
“My lord.” He inclined his head, not unlike when they’d met for the first time, prepared to end each other’s life in a judicial combat to settle the matter of Bristol Manor and its lordship. If it weren’t for his sister, one of them would not be standing here right now.
Waryn slipped his hand behind Catrina’s back, and the smile she bestowed on him was full of such pure happiness, he felt a begrudging appreciation for the English lord.
After a long awkward silence, Catrina finally pulled him toward the manor, linking one arm through his own and another through her husband’s. “You need to eat. We’ll speak more later.”
This could not wait.
“The messenger?”
Catrina tugged him along. “Aye, we’ll arrange it. Come.” She then turned to her husband on her other side. “And quit glaring at my brother.”
He would have laughed, but he was certain his brother-in-law wouldn’t appreciate it. A small smile must have escaped, though, for as they walked through the entranceway, he was similarly chastised. “And you, stop taunting my husband.”
He did laugh then and thought he spied a very slight upturn in the corners of his brother-in-law’s mouth.
Leave it to Catrina to lighten his mood. If only for a short time.
15
Three days after arriving at Bristol, Toren had finished practicing in the lists and was watching a match between Bryce and his steward, Thomas, when he spied his sister running toward him. Lifting her kirtle as she ran, Catrina looked exactly as she had when they were children. She’d never quite embraced the idea of decorum, and he loved her for it.
When she got closer, he could see she kept glancing back to the manor. The confused look in her eyes alerted him that something was wrong.
“Clean yourself, Toren. And follow me.”
“Clean myself?”
“Catrina?” Bryce said, having stopped his match. “What is this about?”
“Hurry, brother.” She tugged on his hand. “’Tis fine, Bryce. We have visitors.”
“Visitors?” both men said in unison.
“Toren!” Catrina continued to tug his hand, offering nothing mo
re by way of an explanation.
He handed his sword to a squire—Alfred was nowhere to be found—and acquiesced. Fighting Catrina was a useless endeavor. But he could not imagine why he needed to ‘clean himself’ for her guests, let alone what visitors could possibly require his attention.
He stopped and let go of his sister’s hand.
It wasn’t possible.
Waryn caught up with them. “Catrina, I will know immediately what—”
“Juliette,” she said simply. It was all she needed to say. Waryn looked at him with an expression akin to pity in his eyes.
So Catrina had told him everything. Of course she had. There should be no secrets between a husband and wife, and though he didn’t like Bryce, Toren knew he could be trusted. He had given her leave to tell Waryn everything after explaining the hopeless situation to her.
His sister had burst into tears upon learning about his ill-fated love.
Toren had not known Catrina to cry often, so her reaction had surprised him.
And now Jules was here? How had this happened?
He allowed his sister to lead him into the manor house where a young maid attended him in the bedchamber that had been his sister’s when Bristol was in the hands of Clan Kerr.
“My lady says you’ll be needing to wash?”
He’d already changed, although he could hear his sister chastising him for rolling up the sleeves on his loose cream tunic. Yet she was the one who’d occasionally been mistaken for a servant. It was only their mother who’d cared for pageantry and appearances, and after she left, he and his siblings had rebelled against the stringent English rules she favored.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Toren said to the maid.
She bobbed a curtsy. “Elise, if it pleases you.”
So timid. It was a wonder Catrina didn’t scare the poor girl away.
“Many thanks, Elise.” He washed, drying himself on the cloth she offered, and then followed her down the circular staircase and into the great hall below.
Her back was to him, but he would have recognized her anywhere. She was dressed in a simple dark green riding gown, her hair pulled back into a single, long blonde braid.
The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3) Page 15
