Keir gazed into her lovely face and all he could think to do was kiss her soft, white cheek to comfort her. It was an impulsive gesture but one he did not regret. The feel of her warm skin against his lips stirred something within him, something he thought was long dead.
“It was a dream,” he reiterated softly, hugging her against him as he neared the keep. “Sometimes dreams can seem very real. I have had a few of those myself.”
Chloë gazed at him, her mind becoming more lucid and wondering if he wasn’t correct, when she noticed how close they were to the keep. The terror quickly returned and she began to struggle.
“Nay,” she tried to push herself from his arms. “I am not going back to that chamber. I am not going in there ever again.”
He came to a halt. “Easy, lady,” he admonished softly. “Do you want to sleep with your sister, then? Perhaps she can chase your fears away.”
She shook her head emphatically. Then she burst into tears and lay her head on his shoulder, weeping pitifully. With a heavy sigh, Keir continued on into the keep, feeling her arms tighten around him as they entered the dark, musty entry hall. As he mounted the steep spiral stairs, they came upon Michael and Lucan descending. The knights backed up so that Keir could come up to the third level.
“How is Lady Cassandra?” Keir asked.
Michael nodded. “Sleeping like the dead,” he said. “Everything else is secure.”
“Did you check Lady Chloë’s chamber?”
“We did,” he said, eyeing Chloë with her face buried in Keir’s neck. “Nothing to report. Is Lady Chloë well?”
Keir lifted his eyebrows. “Bad dream,” was all he would say. “I am retiring for the night. Send hot water up to my chamber.”
Michael and Lucan watched him go, exchanging puzzled expressions before going about their business. It seemed as if Keir was retiring for the evening with the lady in his arms, but it wasn’t up to them to make that judgment.
Up the stairs, Keir reached the level that held the children’s chamber as well as his own. He glanced into the children’s chamber, seeing that it was dark and vacant. Certainly nothing to become hysterical over. He took Chloë into the master’s chamber and quietly shut the door.
She had stopped sobbing by this time, her head on his shoulder as she sniffled faintly. Keir went to set her down on the bed but she balked, holding tightly to his neck until he gently coaxed her into letting go. He set her on the big bed as he proceeded to remove what armor he had on his body.
“When I was a wee lad growing up in Northumberland, I used to have an imaginary big brother,” he was making idle chatter as he pulled off his helm and mail hood. “When I was sent away to foster, the older boys would pick on me. I told them that my big brother would get them if they did not leave me alone.”
Chloë sat on the bed and sniffled, looking pale and exhausted as she watched him pull off his mail coat. “I did not imagine the girl. She was really there.”
He shrugged, not wanting to fight with her when he was attempting to show understanding. “I am not saying you did,” he said. “But sometimes, dreams or imaginary friends can seem very real. Mine was very real to me at the time.”
Chloë could see where he was leading with this and she didn’t want to argue with him, either. She had her opinion and he had his, so she picked up on the next subject. “Were you an only child?”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he told her, placing the mail on a rack near the door so the chain could dry out. “I have an older brother, Kurtis. In fact, Kurtis should be arriving at Pendragon in the next few days. He is on an errand for his liege and sent word of his impending visit. I would be pleased to introduce you to him. We also had a sister but she died when she was young.”
Chloë watched him fumble with his tunic now that the mail was off. “I had a brother but he died when he was young as well,” she replied. “It has only been Cassandra and I. Father hopes to make an advantageous marriage with both of us but he wants to marry Cassandra off first.”
“Why?”
“Because she is the eldest,” she said. “It would be humiliating for me to be married before her.”
“Does she have any prospects?”
Chloë shrugged. “None that she approves of,” she said. “Father told her that she could approve of her husband but, so far, she had not approved of anyone because she is smarter than most men. She does not want a husband who cannot match her wit. Moreover, Father wants her to marry someone of rank because of our royal bloodlines, but she wants to marry someone she can tolerate, rank or no. They do not agree but my father will do as she wishes in the end.”
Keir’s eyebrows lifted. “Royal bloodlines?”
Chloë nodded. “My mother is a daughter of Henry the Third.”
Keir was shocked. “Your grandfather was King Henry?”
Again, she nodded as if completely unimpressed. “She is a daughter of the king from his liaison with a woman of minor nobility.”
“And your father? Surely he must have bloodlines in him as well.”
“He does,” she told him. “His father was Viscount Narbonne, a title that passed to his older brother. Along with lands in France, my father owns all of the land from Exelby east to the Pennines, north to Langthorne and south to Ripon. Why do you think Ingilby wants so badly to make a match? He will be an extremely influential and wealthy landowner.”
Keir was still lingering on her surprising royal relations that she seemed so casual about. “But Cassandra is older and presumably the heiress,” he pointed out. “Why did he not seek her hand?”
Chloë turned up her nose. “Because Cassie does not like him just as I do not,” she sniffed. “Father told her she could choose her own groom to make her happy and she will.”
Keir wriggled his eyebrows in disapproval. “He should have never given her permission to approve her husband. I can already see she is a woman accustomed to speaking her mind. Not many men will tolerate that trait.”
Chloë shrugged, only noticing at that moment that her feet and the entire bottom of her shift were caked with mud. She groaned softly.
“Oh, bother,” she gingerly touched the hem of her shift. “Look how dirty I am.”
Keir was in the process of untying his tunic as he glanced over at her. “That is why I sent for hot water,” he told her. “It should be here momentarily.”
Miserable, exhausted, she sat there wrapped up in her cloak, shivering, as Keir proceeded to pull off his tunic and toss it into a corner. Chloë was looking at her hands, glancing up at the man to suddenly notice that he was naked from the waist up. After she got past the shock of seeing his magnificent nude chest, she was very embarrassed. Startled, she bolted to her feet and scurried to the door.
Keir heard her feet hit the ground, turning just as she reached the chamber door. He called to her.
“Where are you going?”
Chloë paused, her hand on the latch, turning to look at him with a guarded expression. “You… you are dressing, my lord,” she explained haltingly. “I should not be here.”
He looked down at himself, not quite seeing her problem. “I am not troubled by it. You may stay.”
Chloë dared to look at the man’s naked chest. He was broad and muscular, with the muscles of his stomach clearly defined. She could see all of them, rippling across his tight belly. His arms were massive, his neck thick. In all, he was a striking example of male perfection, something that made her cheeks flush hot and her hands sweat. She began to think that it was extremely improper for her to be here, alone with him. Confused, embarrassed and titillated, she lowered her gaze and opened the door.
“I cannot,” she said as she quit the chamber.
The only other option was the room with the nightmare child. She hadn’t taken two steps out of Keir’s chamber when she came to a halt, her big brown eyes wide on the dark and shadowed room beyond. As she stood there and gazed into the room as if it were going to jump out and bite her, she could feel a bod
y behind her. Without even looking, she knew it was Keir. She was coming to feel like a fool.
“You must think I am a desperate and skittish creature,” she whispered. “Since we have met, I have displayed terrible and extreme behavior. I assure you that I am not usually the skittish or extreme sort and for that, I do apologize.”
Keir was standing up against her, feeling her petite warmth against his chest and belly. His gaze was focused in the chamber beyond. He sighed, lifting her red hair with his breath.
“I have known times of desperate and skittish behavior myself,” he said softly. “Sometimes circumstances are beyond our control and our mind, our thoughts, act accordingly.”
She turned to look at him, his magnificent naked chest right in front of her face. It was difficult to think on anything else, this virile and handsome man she had been attracted to since nearly the moment they met.
“You are kind and understanding,” she murmured. “But I think I will make another attempt to sleep in this chamber.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure?” he swept an arm in the direction of the master’s chamber. “You may use mine if it will comfort you.”
She cocked her head. “Where will you sleep?”
“On the floor.”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she said firmly. “That would not be proper, nor would it be right. I would be a horrible guest to allow you to sleep on the floor of your own chamber.”
Keir hated to admit it, but he felt some disappointment at her statement. She was correct, of course, but he was somehow looking forward to sleeping in the same room with such a glorious creature. It was scandalous and caddish, and he knew it. As a chivalrous man, he backed off.
“As you wish, my lady,” he told her. “But do you not wish to wash the mud off your feet first?”
She looked down at her legs and shift, nodding miserably. “This is the only shift I have,” she lamented. “I will have to sleep in it wet.”
He gazed at her a moment, his mind working. Then he shook his head. “Nay, you will not,” he took her hand. “Come with me.”
He pulled her back into the bedchamber, noticing her reluctance to follow him. He bade her to sit on the bed, which she did nervously, as he continued on to the massive oak wardrobe that was stuffed over against the shadowed corner. He paused in front of the big doors, lifted a hand to pull them open, and then dropped his hand. His reluctance was evident. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand again and pulled the stubborn door open.
Chloë could see him carefully pulling things out, setting them aside, and then delving deeper into the wardrobe. Curious, she watched him rummage around until he drew forth a long, pale, silky garment and ran his hands over it, smelling it, holding hit close to his chest as he reached in and pulled out another heavier garment. He seemed to touch everything with the greatest of reverence and it began to occur to her who the wardrobe belonged to. Everything inside was lovely and feminine.
As she watched him move deeper into the wardrobe, a soldier appeared at the door with a bucket of steaming water. Keir caught sight of the man and beckoned him inside, telling him to set the bucket next to the lady. The soldier did so and fled. Chloë immediately put both feet into the hot water, groaning softly with the comfort of it. She put her hands into the water and began to slough off the mud.
“Here,” Keir brought over something in his hand, something small wrapped up in pretty cloth. “You may be able to use this.”
Chloë took it from him, carefully unwrapping the item to reveal a creamy white cake of soap. She smelled it, the scent of roses filling her nostrils. Suspecting who the soap had belonged to, given the fact that Keir was so worshipful of the items in the wardrobe, she carefully formulated her words to the man. Given what she knew of his history, she didn’t want to upset or offend him.
“Sir Keir,” she said softly, carefully re-wrapping the soap. “Truly, you have been most generous. I do not need the soap.”
“Use it. It will otherwise go to waste.”
She looked at him. “Although I appreciate your generosity, I do not think I should. You should put this back in the wardrobe.”
He gazed at her for a moment, moderately confused. “Why would you say that?”
She took a deep breath, trying to be very careful in her approach. “Because… because obviously, the items in the wardrobe mean a good deal to you and I do not want to put my mark on them. I will purchase my own goods on the morrow and leave these well enough alone. They belonged to someone very special and we should leave them as they are.”
Keir wasn’t sure how to react. She was holding the soap up to him and he took it, looking at it with some confusion, before shrugging his big shoulders.
“I do not think she would mind,” he murmured. “In fact, she would have given them to you herself had she been here to do it. She was a very generous woman.”
The subject of the mysterious and murdered wife came to light. Having heard of Keir’s reaction to his wife’s death from her father, Chloë was extremely careful in her response.
“Of course she was,” she said softly, with a smile. “And she has very good taste in soap. It is very fine quality.”
He was still staring at the soap. Then he looked over his shoulder at the wardrobe, now open with garments hanging from the doors.
“She liked nice things,” he admitted. “Her tastes were rather expensive. There is an entire wardrobe of expensive clothing and oils to attest to that.”
Chloë’s smile grew. “You were a very generous husband to allow her such luxuries,” she said. “I am sure your wife was very appreciative. What was her name?”
“Madeleine,” he replied without hesitation. “The Lady Madeleine de Gare St. Héver.”
“How did you meet her?”
He sat down beside her, still staring at the soap in his hand. “My father and her father served together under the king,” he said. “We were pledged at a young age and married quite young.”
“And you had children?”
“Two,” he was speaking quite casually about it, almost detached. “It took Madeleine years to become pregnant and her first two pregnancies were not successful. Then we had a healthy daughter, Frances, and two years later, a healthy son, Merritt. Frances would have turned seven years old next week.”
Chloë could feel his sadness even though he was trying hard to fight it. She felt so sad for the man but she struggled against her emotions, wanting his recollection of his family to be a joyful one and not those wrought with pain. She wondered if he could remember them any other way.
“When I was seven years old, all I wanted was a pony for my birthday,” she said with a bit of mischief in her eye. “My father would not get me one because he was afraid I would fall off and injure myself. I would suspect that if Frances wanted a pony, you might give her one. You do not seem to be the type that would deny your child her fondest wish.”
He looked at her, seeing the twinkle in her eye, and it eased the grief that was seeping into his veins as he thought of his daughter and her impending birthday. Smiling weakly, he shook his head.
“Nay,” he muttered. “She had everything her little heart desired. She was spoiled and sweet.”
Chloë laughed softly. “I am sure she was,” she said. “And she was very fortunate to have a little brother to keep her company. She must have loved him a great deal.”
Keir’s grin broadened when he thought of Frances and how Merritt used to follow her around, bringing screams of ire from his sister.
“Merritt would follow her everywhere, never giving her a moment’s peace,” he admitted. “Frances would try to hide from him but he always found her. Then she would cry because he would not leave her alone. Sometimes he would throw rocks at her to get her attention or pull her hair. It was affectionately done but Frances wanted no part of it. Many times I would have to take Merritt with me on my duties so he would leave his sister alone.”
Chloë giggled. “Still,
I am positive she could not live without him.”
“She could not,” he nodded in agreement. “In spite of screaming every time he would come around her, she loved her brother and would call him Me-Me because she could not pronounce Merritt when she was very young. We started calling him that also.”
The smile vanished from Chloë’s face. Me-Me. That was what the little girl had said to her, the pale girl with the long hair that Keir had insisted she dreamt. She suddenly felt very shaken, startled, and unsure how to react. Keir was still sitting there looking at the soap and she removed her feet from the warm water and began drying them off with her cloak, trying to mask her shock. Keir saw what she was doing and he quickly stood up, moving for the wardrobe.
“Here,” he pulled two garments off of the wardrobe door and extended them to her. “You will wear these. They are clean and very fine. I paid a good deal of money for them and I am sure Madeleine would not mind if you wore them.”
Chloë looked up at him with refusal on her lips but when she saw the soft, clean and fine garments, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. With shaking hands, she reached up to take them.
“My thanks,” she murmured.
Her quaking hands had not escaped his notice. His ice blue eyes lingered on her. “What is the matter?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your hands are shaking. Why?”
She couldn’t tell him. She was afraid to, afraid he might think she was mad. She made up an excuse, the first thing that came to mind.
“I am… cold,” she said, rising on wet feet. “I will retire to my chamber now. Thank you again for your kindness and hospitality. My thanks to Madeleine, too.”
He smiled faintly. “Are you sure you are well enough to sleep in that room?”
She nodded, not wanting to delve back into the alternative. As attractive as she found the man, she would not compromise herself in such a fashion, especially with Cassandra around. Her sister would murder her.
“I am,” she replied, moving to the door with the precious garments in her hands. “I will take very good care of these.”
“I know you will.”
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