Already looking uncomfortable at holding their better against his will, both Gerard and Sir Josce took his defeated stance to mean the end of any threat from him. Releasing him, they shifted to stand guard about their friend, should Bagot’s lord consider another attack.
For an instant Kate toyed with the idea of crossing the room to join them, then discarded it. Her father’s behavior was too unnerving. Better that she kept her distance, just in case.
At the far table one of the men who’d entered the hall as a detractor laughed. There was no amusement in the sound. “Take heart, Bagot. You’ve no need to strike another blow against the Godsol if you want him destroyed. He’s just dealt himself a heart wound by taking on half your debt. Why, in no time our greedy king will suck Glevering dry of every coin, leaving him as impoverished and broken as the rest of us.”
Gasps and groans filled the air as every man looked toward the speaker. Eyes flashing, the bishop whirled on the man. “No more of that, my lord,” he chided harshly. “Not here, not now.”
In that instant of inattention her sire exploded into motion. Teeth bared and eyes wild, he raced past the bishop and the countess’s knight, barreling toward his daughter. Even as Kate started to cry out, it was too late. Her father’s hands closed about her throat, choking off all sound. It wasn’t hatred that filled his gaze but pain and jealousy, which leaked from the corners of his eyes, burning hot streaks down the harsh line of his cheeks.
Fighting for breath, Kate dug her nails into his steel-sewn gloves. She kicked at his legs, her shoes bouncing off his knitted metal leggings. Rafe’s shout was afire with rage and worry. Men bellowed in protest.
She needed more help than that and right quickly, too. Blackness began to edge her vision.
“Betraying whore,” her father whispered, his words searing her cheek. He gave her a shake. “I married you, lifting you above the Godsol when I made you my lady, and still you pined for him. Why?” he hissed in breathless demand. Madness and heartache tangled in the word.
The blackness circled in on Kate. Her hands fell away from his gloves. Her eyes shut. God help her, but he was mad. He thought he was talking to her long-dead dam.
“I loved you,” he went on, the words reaching her now as from a distance, “and still you lusted after my pretty enemy. Well, you died once for loving the man who killed our sons. Now die again.”
Horror was the last thing Kate knew as the darkness claimed her.
Never had it occurred to Rafe that Bagot would try to kill his own daughter. Roaring in terror for Kate, he launched himself across the room to save his wife, all the while grabbing for a weapon he didn’t wear. At his back came Josce and Gerard. Bishop Robert was there before them, as was the countess’s man. As the churchman grappled with Bagot, trying to break the nobleman’s hold on his daughter, the knight drew back a fist for a stunning blow.
Kate hung like a child’s cloth poppet in her father’s grasp. Not his Kate. He wouldn’t lose her now.
Hands joined, Rafe raised his arms over his head to deliver Kate’s sire another blow. Bagot made a gurgling sound. His eyes widened. His hands opened. Like a stringed puppet without a hand to guide it, Kate collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Clutching at his chest, Bagot’s mouth opened and closed like that of a beached fish. He staggered to the side and dropped to his knees. An instant later he crumpled. Life drained from his eyes until they were but soulless stones, once more becoming the dust from which they’d been created.
“Kate!” Rafe shouted, squatting to scoop up the woman who owned his heart. His friends crowded around him as concerned as he. When she was cradled in his arms Rafe lay his hand against Kate’s breast and felt nothing.
A horrified breath left him. Tears stung at his eyes. His heart tore in twain. “Nay,” he cried, but the word lacked volume.
“Rafe, be easy,” Josce said gently, grabbing his friend’s hand to place Rafe’s trembling fingers against Kate’s throat and what Rafe most needed to feel. “You see? She yet lives.”
As the strong and steady thud of Kate’s heart battered at Rafe’s fingertips every muscle in his body weakened in relief. He stumbled backward until he met a table behind him. Leaning against it, he cradled his wife close to his heart. With his forehead resting against hers, he gloried in the ragged puff of her continuing breath against his cheek.
“You were right,” he told her, the joy that now filled him almost more overwhelming than the terror of the last moments, “it was God’s will that you should be mine, for He took your sire to make certain that I kept you.”
* * *
Something startled Kate out of the darkness that held her prisoner. She drew in a deep breath. It was like swallowing sharp stones. The agony beyond bearing, she twisted and fought, gagging as she tried to escape it. Tears blinded her.
“Nay, Kate,” Rafe said, his voice gentle and filled with care for her, “it’s me.”
The sound of Rafe’s voice was all it took. Kate relaxed against what tortured her, only to find the next breath more tolerable if not easier. Blinking back the pain, she looked around her.
No longer were they in the hall, but in Glevering’s bedchamber. She lay in her husband’s arms as he sat upon the bed. Concern twisted his handsome features and darkened his eyes until they were nigh on black.
That he ached over what hurt her only fed the care Kate knew for him. With that came the need to soothe. She lifted a hand to trace her fingers down the line of his jaw, ruffling the short hairs of his beard as she went.
His smile was that slow curl of his lips she so loved, bringing with it the need to feel his mouth on hers, no matter what it cost her. As if he read her thoughts his head lowered until he touched his lips to her. Her arms lifted to encircle his neck. Kate savored the sweetness of his kiss.
God and all his saints be praised. She was alive and in Rafe’s arms, where she belonged.
Even as the new value she placed on her life came rushing home to her, a thread of caution woke. This moment was worthless if her sire yet breathed. Having discovered his madness, she knew for certain his hatred and harassment would last to his life’s end, or theirs.
Freeing her mouth from Rafe’s, Kate leaned back in his arms. “My sire?” she said, then gasped. Speaking was like spitting up daggers.
“Bagot is no more,” said Bishop Robert from the bed’s far corner.
With a jangle of metal he stepped into Kate’s field of vision. The sliver of day’s light that shot through the narrow window burnished the churchman’s armor and found threads of gold in his thatch of gray. There was a sad twist to his mouth. “Your lord sire has gone unshriven to meet his maker with only hatred to fill his heart. May God have mercy on his soul.”
Relief and gratitude rushed through Kate, only to be followed by a new sort of caution. It was a sin to wish ill on the dead. Releasing her hold on Rafe, she crossed herself, praying fervently that her father’s thrice-damned soul, denied a heavenly home, wandered far from Glevering.
The churchman nodded in approval of Kate’s gesture. “Aye my lady, his death is a terrible reminder to us all that we must make peace with our Lord at every opportunity,” the bishop said, misinterpreting her reaction. “The only boon in all this is that no man here bears the stain of his death on his soul,” he went on. “It was God Himself who stopped your sire’s attack and prevented your destruction.”
As if he intended to protect her from that now past threat, Rafe’s arms tightened around her. A tangled bolt of rage and pain danced through his gaze then was gone. It was enough to tell Kate that her husband wouldn’t have minded bearing the stain of her sire’s death, not for the sake of the feud but because of the hurt Bagot’s lord had done to one he cherished.
Once again the wonder of Rafe’s love washed over Kate. To think he was her husband and she would keep him for all time. Or would she?
“Their decision,” she demanded of Rafe at a whisper in the mistaken hope that a low voice would mean
less pain. It didn’t.
Nodding, Rafe shifted on the bed so that they both faced the prelate. “My lord, given the chaos of the past quarter-hour, you’ll forgive me if I need it confirmed. Tell me now. Is Bagot’s daughter truly my wife?”
Annoyance washed over the churchman’s narrow face, then died into testy acquiescence. “When I left Haydon I’d have staked my life that nothing could convince me to accept this marriage as legal no matter how many witnesses you paraded before me.”
“We do have witnesses and a priest, my lord,” Rafe offered, only to have the bishop wave him into silence.
“Of course you do, but it no longer matters, does it?” the churchman retorted. “Bagot’s dead, and by royal decree the lady was free to marry where she pleased. And regardless of the devious way you came to own her, this marriage is best for her, for the shire and it would have been for Bagot if he could but have seen that.”
That said, the bishop’s mouth took a bitter twist. “And now what do we do with Bagot’s foul steward? I’d intended to give the man back to Bagot once this was resolved for whatever justice his master might have meted out. Now, Mary forgive me, but I find myself wishing the man would have the courtesy to drop dead like his noble master. If he won’t, we’ll have to present him to the sheriff where he can tell his tale to all who listen.”
Once again Bishop Robert pressed a hand to his temple as if to rub away an ache. Kate chewed her lip, recognizing the threat Warin still represented to the shire’s peace and to her own happiness. Could what Warin knew force the bishop to change his mind about their marriage?
Only Rafe remained easy, a touch of a smile claiming his mouth. “My lord, with Bagot dead what does prosecuting his steward serve save to further blacken a dead man’s name? Were I you, I’d go to de Dapifer and warn him that word of his treachery will be spread from house to house. Within a month’s time there’ll be no man in all England willing to offer him employment. Suggest to him that with his skills he’d be better bound for the wars in Poitou and Normandy, where”--it was hard amusement that came to life in Rafe’s eyes--“he’ll either die or make himself a living. Either way, your situation is resolved.”
The annoyed expression on Bishop Robert’s face melted from his features. No sour twist of the lips this time. Nay, it was a wide grin that claimed his mouth, displaying a goodly set of teeth for a man his age. “By God lad, but you’re good at this. I can’t imagine why you haven’t advanced further in our king’s appreciation.”
Kate watched her husband fight his own amusement, even as he shrugged away the backhanded compliment. “I fear I’m a rustic at heart, my lord. A home and loving wife to bear me sons was all I ever wanted. And that,” he said, once more looking at the woman in his arms, “is what I have.”
“Lady Godsol, that was a fine meal, indeed.” Stephen de St. Valery’s words rang in Glevering’s hall.
So deeply had Kate been concentrating on scraping her own trencher clean that she started. Setting down her spoon, she looked at the knight. Sir Stephen had a thatch of dark brown hair and eyes as green as grass.
Almost all of Rafe’s closest companions had come to bide with them that week. Seated beside Sir Stephen was Sir Simon de Kenifer, a slender man with pale brown hair and blue eyes. At the opposite table were Sir Josce, the scarred Sir Hugh d’Aincourt, and the quiet, polite Sir Alan FitzOsbert. Kate found herself wishing that Gerard and Emma had come as well; she could have used another female as an ally against all these males. But Emma was battling the same temporary sickness that Kate had just surmounted and Gerard was unwilling to leave her side.
“My thanks, Sir Stephen,” she said with a smile.
“Aye, my wife is an excellent housekeeper,” Rafe said from his seat beside her at the high table, his voice warm with pride.
Kate shot him a happy but narrow sidelong look. “Fortunate for you that I am since you never thought to ask after my housewifely skills when you took me for your own.”
That made her husband laugh, naught but happiness in the sound of his amusement. Rafe caught her hand, his fingers twining with hers in a caress that Kate had come to know these past month as a reflection of the pride he felt for her. Kate couldn’t help but smile. Mary save her, but she loved him so. That he still respected and cherished her despite the wrong they’d done before their vows were said still amazed her.
As he read her affection for him in her gaze, Rafe’s dark eyes fair glowed with pleasure. Lifting her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips to touch a kiss to her knuckles. Although the caress was but brief, there was more than a hint of the desire they both still shared for each other in the touch, enough to wake that flame at Kate’s core.
Rafe’s expression softened with the reflection of her own passion for him. Kate drew a sharp, pleased breath. There were times when she swore the heat they made between them would consume them both, but it never did.
Indeed, she had chosen well in her husband--if it had been her choice at all. More than once these past three months she’d told herself that the Lord must have planned their marriage, for there was no doubting the rightness of their union.
Keeping Kate’s hand in his, Rafe turned his gaze out into Glevering’s hall and eyed his friends. “Enough chitchat, Stephen, until my wife is finished with her meal,” he warned the knight. “This last week I’ve learned it’s dangerous to come between her and her meat. I vow that child of mine gnaws a hole in her gullet.”
“Rafe!” Kate cried, both amused and piqued by his comment. It was true. Who could have guessed that a babe in her womb could make her so hungry, especially after the sick misery of those first weeks?
Stephen sent his host a cheeky grin as his eyes glowed with mischief. “I cannot speak for the rest of us,” the lift of his hands indicated the other men in the room, “but I’m not surprised that any child of yours, Rafe, born or unborn, might have fierce appetites.”
Beside Stephen, Sir Simon choked as he sipped his wine, his face reddening as he fought to laugh and breathe in the same instant. At the opposite table Sir Josce, Sir Hugh and Sir Alan all howled.
Kate shot a glance at her mate. Rafe was watching her, a touch of concern in his gaze. She nearly snorted. As if she cared a fig for what he might have done prior to their union. Nay, she knew well enough that she owned him now, body and soul, and that was all that mattered.
It was her three months as Rafe’s wife that gave Kate the confidence to speak as she would. “I see you all know my husband very well, indeed,” she called out then screwed her face into an expression of innocence. “What say you? Shall we fill these evening hours trading tales of my husband’s past? Perhaps you’ll tell me of those appetites of his.”
Beside her Rafe blanched. His eyes were round as he considered the wisdom of inviting his past into his present. Taking pity on him, Kate tightened her fingers around his hand then brought their joined hands to her lips. In the presence of his friends, she staked her claim of ownership by pressing a kiss to his fingers.
“And I,” she went on, stifling her urge to laugh, “will tell you how I’ve tamed whatever wild urges he might once have harbored to turn a young lion into a toothless married beast.”
A moment’s breathless silence held in the room. Rafe’s astonishment at this tweak was so complete that his jaw dropped. Reaching out, Kate placed gentle fingers beneath his chin and urged his mouth to close.
“Poor dear. See how he suffers,” she called to the men in the hall. “Be warned, all of you. This is what happens to a man when he loses the taste for all but one dish.”
Her brows lifted. Her mouth quivered, so hard did she fight her smile. Even as laughter brightened Rafe’s eyes, they narrowed. No warning of his could have stopped her.
“Oh, but Lord, how he craves that dish,” she said, her words breaking with laughter.
Sir Josce roared at his friend’s expense. Sir Alan pounded the table in approval while Sir Hugh held his sides. At the other table Kate’s words had so ast
ounded Sir Stephen that he came straight up off his bench, knocking it and Sir Simon into the rushes as he did so. Poor Simon could do nothing but lie on his back and laugh.
Beside her, Rafe growled. Kate shrieked and pretended to resist as her husband snatched her into his lap. All thought of avoiding him ended as Rafe’s mouth came to rest against hers, even as he still laughed.
“Shall I show them with this kiss just how much I crave you?” he murmured against her lips, taunting.
It didn’t matter that his friends watched. Kate’s arms slipped up until she joined her hands at her husband’s nape. Rather than reply Kate caught his lips with hers and showed him what he already knew. Rafe’s arms tightened around her. Against her hip, Kate could feel his shaft’s reaction.
His friends hooted and whistled. Rafe’s mouth smiled against hers. Giggles overtook Kate. Bracing his brow against hers, Rafe looked down into her face.
“They approve of you, but then I never doubted that they would since you are the only wife for me,” he whispered, happiness shining from his face. “God help me, but how I love you.”
Just as always happened when he told her this, her heart melted. “As I do you, husband,” Kate replied, touching a tiny kiss to his lips, then slipping off his lap.
With Rafe’s friends still hooting and throwing comments at their newly wedded comrade, Kate stood to shake out her skirts. As she prepared to sit again her glance caught on Dame Joan standing near the hall door. Both Ernulf and Joan had found life at Glevering under its new master too pleasant to resist. Since then Kate had taken Joan into her heart. It would be the bailiff’s wife and no one else in her birthing chamber some six months hence.
Behind Joan stood a single travel-stained man. Kate frowned her question. Joan’s hand lifted. That’s all it took to convey the message. Whatever word that man carried, it was important.
The Warrior's Wife Page 27
