Kate gaped at her sire. Just as Warin had predicted, he was sending her away from him. So great was her surprise that the words sprang from her lips, “By myself?”
Peter came upright from his task, his brows raised in surprise. “My lord, Sir Warin has gone to the river to bathe. Shall I escort Lady de Fraisney to the hall in his place?”
Lord Humphrey gave a curt shake of his head. “You have your own tasks to perform. Besides, it’s not necessary. What harm can come to her between here and the hall or garden door? With the joust only two hours away, even those snake-eating Godsols will be too busy arming themselves to bother her. Go,” her sire commanded, again motioning Kate out of the tent, “seek out Lady Haydon, who no doubt will happily take you under her wing once more calling me abuser as she does so.”
Kate didn’t wait for him to change his mind. Turning, she stepped outside the tent, only to find herself in the midst of unexpected traffic. A page pushed past her, his lord’s helmet cradled under one arm. Two servingmen swerved to avoid her, buckets of steaming water suspended from the yokes that crossed their shoulders.
Kate stepped out of the stream of servants and paused. For one foolish instant she considered seeking out Rafe instead of Warin. Even as the thought formed, she dismissed it. She could never approach a Godsol without drawing comments that would wend their way to her father’s ears. Nay, if she wanted a champion in the joust it had to be Warin, who was waiting for her right now. Besides, she owed Warin the honor, having promised it to him first.
Kate strode off through a rainbow of tents, their pennants snapping in the breeze. Up she climbed Haydon’s hill until she reached the massive inner gateway leading to the castle’s heart. Once through that tunnel-like opening, she stopped to catch her breath in the inner courtyard.
Unlike the bailey, which occupied a broad swath of land between Haydon’s outer and inner walls, the area within the second of these thick stone defenses was tight and cramped. The scents of baking bread and roasting meat wafted from the kitchen which lay to the right of the gate. In the corner directly across from the gateway, the square keep tower rose a full four storeys above the courtyard floor. A conical roof, its slate tiles gleaming in the new day’s light, perched atop the keep’s uppermost storey and made the tower seem taller still.
Haydon’s hall, its roof made of the far less permanent thatch, sprang from the keep’s side, using the length of the castle’s defensive wall as its back. At the hall’s end nestled the garden, a wealth of summer roses tumbling over its low enclosing wall.
The postern gate, the exit outside of which Warin waited, cut through the thick wall at the garden’s end. Just now its arched oaken door was thrown wide, the customary porter gone for the time being. This allowed any knight who needed it easy access to the river, just as it gave Kate access to Warin.
A cunning smile took possession of Kate’s lips. Would Warin’s kiss make her throb with joy as Rafe’s had? The sinful thought carried her all the way from where she’d stopped in the larger of Haydon’s inner gates to the postern, only to abandon her before she exited through that smaller opening.
From deep within her came Adele’s disapproval, along with her former mother-by-marriage’s many warnings of rape and debauchery for any woman who left the protection of her menfolk and her walls. It was wicked to seek out Warin for the sole purpose of encouraging an intimate interlude, especially when she was no longer certain that she truly loved him. If she did this, how could she ever again call herself a virtuous woman? Better that she retreat to Haydon’s chapel and pray that sense be restored to her.
In the next moment shouts and laughter echoed in through the open gateway. A group of youths appeared, their downy jaws proclaiming them squires while their shining faces and wet hair pronounced them well bathed. They made their entrance into Haydon’s inner yard dressed in naught but their shirts, which left their legs bare from knee to toes. As they passed Kate, they offered her good morrows.
Kate smiled at her own foolishness. This wasn’t yesterday, when she and Rafe enjoyed the privacy of the woodlands. There were no trees or bushes outside the postern, and, more to the point, guards always stood atop the walls at either side of the gateway. She and Warin would never be out of someone’s sight. It simply wasn’t possible to kiss Warin without someone to see them.
With her virtue firmly in place, Kate straightened her gown and veil, then left the protection of the inner yard. Haydon’s original builder had set his fortress on the crest of a tall hill. For defense’s sake, that long-dead man had left only ten feet between the back wall and the hill’s steepest drop. Over time the need for more water than the kitchen well provided had carved a narrow path down the hillside to the stream below it. Common sense and a desire to protect the walls had dictated that none of Haydon’s succeeding lords allow the path to become wider than a single man could use at one time.
Kate glanced to either side of the gateway. Warin wasn’t waiting for her. Frowning, she went to the path’s head and looked down toward the gurgling water. No one was on the track. Where was he?
Turning, she scanned the wall behind her. From its farthest corner, deep in the keep’s shadow, Warin lifted his hand to her. A touch of concern rose in Kate. The spot he’d chosen was far enough from the gate that those coming and going might not notice him at all. Indeed from where he stood not even the guards on the walls could see him.
Virtue screamed that joining him there would make it too easy to give way to temptation and invite a kiss. She should wave Warin nearer to the postern. Instead, curiosity powered Kate’s feet as they took her directly to Warin’s side. Her beleaguered conscience managed to bring her to a stop arm’s length from him.
Still wet from his dunk in the river Warin’s usually golden hair was the color of honey. His cheeks gleamed, all hint of whiskers scraped from them. His mustache was neatly trimmed. The smile he sent her was meant solely for her.
“Lord, but your beauty fair takes my breath, my lady,” he said, bowing like the courtly knight he was, even though he wore naught but his shirt, shoes and chausses.
The thrill of love’s game rushed through Kate. Lord, how she enjoyed being adored. “Why thank you, good sir,” she replied with a deep curtsy. As she rose she smiled up at him. “I am a lady in search of a champion,” she said. “See here.”
She pulled the ribbon from her sleeve. In idle play she twisted its length between her fingers to show it to him. “I carry with me this token, but only the knight sworn to win the day’s prize in my honor might wear it next to his heart. Are you that man?”
“My lady, I’d walk upon hell’s coals for you,” Warin replied, his voice lowering a little as he stretched out a hand to wrap the tail of the ribbon around his fingers.
Kate knew this was the moment to release it to him, especially since she’d forgotten her gloves and her hands were bare. Propriety’s dictates died beneath her now all-consuming need to know just what sort of sensation his touch would wake. She held her end and waited.
Surprise danced across Warin’s face. In the next instant, the corners of his mouth lifted. As if he knew exactly what she wanted, he claimed the ribbon as his own then raised his hand to place his palm against hers. His skin was still cool after his bath in the river. Hard calluses marked his palm, testimony to his skill as a knight.
Kate waited. Nothing. Where was the breathtaking rush of heat and the thrilling tingles?
Warin’s smile widened just a bit. He slid his fingers along Kate’s hand until they reached the hem of her undergown’s close-fitting sleeve. There he traced the line of fabric against her skin.
Senses straining, Kate sought any hint of reaction to his touch. There simply wasn’t anything. How could that be, when yesterday the barest brush of Rafe’s fingers against her arm had weakened her knees?
An instant later and Warin’s head lowered. Kate almost sighed in relief. Aye, a kiss was what she needed. After all, Rafe had kissed her before he’d really touched he
r. Perhaps where love was concerned, a man’s kiss paved the way for other sensations.
Warin’s mouth came to rest against hers. Kate closed her eyes, wanting nothing to distract her. Unlike Rafe, whose mouth had been gentle on hers, Warin pressed his lips so hard on hers that it was almost uncomfortable. His mouth moved a little, as had Rafe’s.
There wasn’t even the mildest of quivers inside her. Then Warin’s tongue swept across her closed lips. Startled and a little disgusted, Kate shoved back from him.
“Warin,” she cried in protest.
A flash of impatience shot through his blue eyes, then was gone. “Kate, my Kate. You say you love me, but offer me no proof of your affections beyond mere words,” he said gently enough.
Lifting a hand, he traced his fingertips along the curve of her cheek. Again and much to Kate’s surprise, his touch stirred nothing in her. “At last this morning, you come to me as a lover should, promising sweetness and softness. Don’t retreat now, when I need you so.”
All his pretty words woke in Kate was the memory of Warin’s loosened clothing at the picnic. Lord help her. Rafe had been right. Warin had expected a tryst that day. Disgust drove Kate back a step from him.
Reaching out, Warin wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close once more. Shocked by his unexpected boldness, Kate didn’t even think to strain against his embrace. Warin’s mouth once more lowered toward hers. Not wanting to again experience his kiss, Kate turned her head to deny him access to her lips.
“Warin, I am a virtuous woman. I cannot give you the proof you desire,” she protested.
“Just a little kiss,” he said, releasing an arm from around her to catch her chin and turn her face to his. “Only a kiss, Kate,” he crooned, “that’s all I want.”
“Here it comes!” shouted a man from around the corner of Haydon’s enclosing wall, his voice alive with joy.
Warin nearly dropped Kate so quickly did he release her. As she stumbled back in surprise, he whirled toward the echoing sound.
“I’ve got it, Stephen,” another man yelled and Kate recognized Josce FitzBaldwin’s voice. There was something in the way his words echoed that said he was yet a goodly distance from the corner. “Now to you, Priest!”
Three or four men hooted, some in triumph, one in disappointment. “It’s mine,” Rafe Godsol shouted.
Guilt shot like a bolt through Kate’s heart. God save her, but she didn’t want Rafe to see her with Warin. For some reason it made her feel as if she’d wronged him.
Lifting her skirts, she turned and raced like a hoyden for the postern, not even sparing a glance to see if Warin noticed her abandoning him. Once safely concealed inside the arch of the small gate, she stopped to peer around its corner. Warin yet stood where he’d been, staring at the wall’s corner from whence came the voices. A moment later, Rafe, Sir Josce and their four companions raced full tilt around that same bend of stone. Dressed only in their knee-length shirts, they all had linen toweling draped about their necks. As they ran they tossed an inflated pig’s bladder from one to the other. The one with the curling golden hair and a merry smile stopped as they passed Warin and bowed low.
“We beg your pardon, sir,” this courteous knight said, “but the sport we planned for our bath in the river started a little before time.” His apology given, he lifted his heels and raced on to catch his companions.
Once they were past Warin turned, only now looking for his vanished lover. Shuddering, Kate retreated even farther into the postern’s shadow until she stood well inside Haydon’s courtyard. God forbid that Warin see her and think she wanted him to rejoin her.
Turning, she dashed toward the exterior stairway that crawled up the hall’s side to its guarded second-storey doorway. By the time she set her hand to the railing, confusion had Kate’s head reeling. What was she doing, running from Warin when he was supposed to be the man she loved? A lady was supposed to count the hours until she might again meet with her courtly lover, not hope she would never again be close enough to him to risk another of his kisses.
Understanding hit with so much force that Kate gasped and dropped to sit upon the stair, ignoring a servant who climbed up past her. At last, all Adele’s lectures made sense. With every tale she told Adele warned that a lady had to battle with all her soul to resist the temptation of her lover’s touch. Only now did Kate see that what she’d thought virtue was in truth merely absence of temptation. Not once had Kate ever craved Warin’s touch. It followed that if she didn’t long for Warin, she couldn’t be in love with him. In fact, she’d never been in love with him. Given that, it made sense that she’d feel nothing when he kissed her.
She couldn’t say the same of Rafe and his touch. A smile crept across Kate’s lips. Oh, nay, she couldn’t say that about Rafe at all. There wasn’t a moment when she didn’t long to feel his arms around her.
Why, it was as plain as the nose on her face. It was Rafe she loved, not Warin.
As she accepted this, the memory of Rafe’s kisses yesterday returned. Kate’s eyes closed. The throbbing heat he woke in her stirred at the core of her being. Oh aye, there was no doubting her temptation when it came to Rafe Godsol.
Kate gasped. Here she was once more lusting after her sire’s dearest enemy! This was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong. What sort of lady was she, if she couldn’t control herself, tame these untoward desires and leash sin? No lady at all, that’s what sort.
Resentment warmed in Kate’s gullet. Rules, always rules. It should be wrong that something so pleasant had to be denied.
“Lady de Fraisney?”
Warin’s call echoed against Haydon’s inner walls, ringing out over the subdued hubbub of busy servants in the courtyard. Guilt twinged. Lifting her head just high enough to peer over the stair rail, Kate watched the man she was now absolutely certain she didn’t love step into Haydon’s garden.
She should go to him this instant and confess that she’d been mistaken about her affection for him. Aye, at the same time she’d ask for her ribbon’s return. A wave of cowardice hit her. As angry as Warin had been after the picnic, he wasn’t going to be any happier to learn she no longer cared for him. Lord, but she dared never tell him that it was Rafe who’d replaced him in her heart. The last thing she wanted was for Warin’s bad mood to ruin what promised to be a wondrous day. Nay, until she was ready to tell Warin about her change of heart, she’d need a place to hide, a place well out of his reach. Someplace like Lady Haydon’s women’s quarters where Ami slept.
Leaping to her feet, Kate fled up the stairs to the hall’s exterior door. There was no gauging the depth of her relief when she escaped into the hall without Warin calling after her. Through that big room she went toward the area curtained off for the women.
Aye, she needed Ami, a woman who wasn’t afraid to face any man. If only she could find a way to tell Ami what had happened--without mentioning names, of course. Perhaps her new friend would have some advice. At least, Kate hoped some of Ami’s boldness might rub off on her.
Although the day was cool enough with occasional cloud, a harbinger of rain this evening, Rafe’s sun-warmed helmet made him sweat. Moisture trickled out from under the leather coif he wore beneath his mail hood. One pesky droplet made its way down his brow and into his eye. Rafe blinked away the sting, having learned as a squire just how dangerous it was to rub his face while he wore gloves sewn with tiny metal plates.
To distract himself he fidgeted in his saddle and juggled his shield. Beneath him, Gateschales chuffed and shifted. His horse seemed as eager as he to claim victory in the Godsol division of the joust so they might face the Daubney winner to take both purse and honor. There was but one man left for them to best before they did so: Josce FitzBaldwin.
What surprised Rafe about facing Josce now was that Josce was no Godsol. As he promised at the picnic Lord Haydon had made good use of the Daubney-Godsol feud; he’d divided the jousters between the shire’s warring families. To escape any hint that he favored one side
over the other, unaligned families were apportioned to both sides. Josce had been apportioned to the Godsol side.
Since none of Rafe’s companions were yet landed or wealthy enough to take on a squire for this day they served each other. Simon appeared at Rafe’s side, a fresh lance in hand; Rafe’s previous weapon had shattered in his first run against Josce. Because Lord Haydon wanted no fatalities to mar his celebration, the potentially lethal lance wore a blunting tip at its end.
Fewtering his weapon, Rafe looked across the field’s width at his friend as Josce took a new lance from Hugh, hefting it as if testing for balance. A moment later, Josce shook his head and returned it to Hugh. Rafe grinned. The Godsol championship had just fallen neatly into the cup of his hand. The only time Josce ever refused his first lance was when he believed he’d lose the match. Now Josce would sort through the available spears, seeking the one that would lend him the confidence he should have had in his heart. All this because Rafe had twice lifted Josce from his saddle when they practiced two weeks past.
With Haydon’s bailey cluttered by tents, Lord Baldwin staged the day’s contest in a meadow not far from his home. Long and flat, its grasses scythed close to the ground, this wee plain was situated between two low hills and ringed by fields of wheat. There was even a small stream, which offered water enough to sate an overheated horse or man. Today’s event had drawn every serf and peasant for miles around, or so it seemed. All of them wore their best homespun clothing, dyed the rich hues of onion skin and nut husk. So many folk sitting behind the lists, dining on bread and cheese while their children played, gave the day a fair-like feel. Why, a few enterprising souls even hawked ale among their ranks.
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