A Lord for Haughmond (2 page)

     Suddenly, a menacing growl filled the hollow log and Anne’s frightened scream split the air.

     Katherine thrust aside the pine bough and scrambled over the dead Welshman. She swiped up a stout branch and was at the other end of the log in two leaps. With all her might she cracked the hound over its head.

     The dry wood shattered into bits.

     With its bared teeth coming well past her waist, the huge beast turned in her direction and took a menacing step toward her. She balled her fists and gulped down her fears. It was too late for them, at any rate.      

     Anne shimmied forward on her stomach. She grabbed a shaggy hind leg and yanked for all she was worth.

     The animal swung its head in her direction, giving Katherine time to catch up another branch. She whacked the hound’s ribcage once, twice. With a whine, it backed away.

     But in the next instant she found herself sprawled on the ground, her breath jolted from her by the destrier’s broad chest crashing against her back. Once again, her hood tumbled over her face. She shoved it aside. With the huge, deadly hooves prancing far too close for comfort, she scrambled up and flung herself over the log. Her hair spilled free, sweeping across her face, blinding her yet again.

     “God’s bones, ’tis a woman!”

     At the startled exclamation a wave of despair washed over her.

     Though she had failed, her courage had not. She heaved a breath and pulled a small dirk from the leather cord at her waist. Shoving the blinding mane from her eyes, she lunged to her feet.

     A scornful snort from overhead should have warned her of the danger of sharp and thrusting swords. A hot, searing pain smote her hand. The knife fell from her grasp. She stopped short and stared at the sudden blood pulsating from her split leather glove. In disbelief she lifted her eyes to the knight who stood poised in his stirrups, ready to swing his broadsword.    

     Was this how her life would end, with Sir Geoffrey’s ferocious knight facing her down the length of a crimsoned blade?      

     Katherine’s gaze returned to her bloodied hand, the hand that had clutched her only protection. 

     “Holy Mother have mercy,” she cried, condemning herself for not better protecting her sister. Sir Geoffrey’s fearsome face wavered within her imagination. Catching sight of another branch she swept it up and swung at the knight. “May you rot in hell!”

Chapter Two

     The knight flicked his sword and the tree limb Katherine wielded lay useless on the ground.

     “Another Welsh spy, no doubt.”

     The severe voice came to her from a great distance, echoing as voices often did in Haughmond’s corridors. Did fear do that to a body, she wondered? And what, precisely, had the knight said? She shook her head in confusion and tried to focus her eyes.

     What ailed her?  

     “Do you champion my—my stepfather? Pray, I—I have coins if you will allow us our freedom.” She inhaled raggedly and squinted up toward the knight, but only managed to place his spurs within her sight. “Does he skulk back yonder, far from the killing?”

     The knight scowled down at her.

     Raising her chin, Katherine put all her strength into her impassioned pronouncement. “We are for King Edward and his mercy. He will not countenance the delay of innocent subjects.”

     Snorting with disdain, the knight threatened her nose with the tip of his sword. “Are these brigands your escort?” His large, calloused hand swept the glade.

     With her mind whirling, she struggled to gather her wits and blinked rapidly to keep aright. These mercenaries were unknown to her, yet Sir Geoffrey employed many hirelings. Her gaze darted to the other knights, both of whom had dismounted and were searching the scattered bodies for booty. These men must not be allowed the truth.

     “Sir knight, I beseech you—” She shifted her weight to keep the trees from reeling, yet they spun faster.

     Then, suddenly, she felt herself falling.

*  *  *

     Katherine awoke to a relieved smile brightening her sister’s tearful face. “Never have I been so joyed to see you awake,” Anne cried, leaning down to bestow a kiss on her cheek.    

     Her sister’s movement gave Katherine a clear view of the knight. He stared down at her from atop his destrier, his distaste obvious in an unremitting scowl.

     A young man held her hand captive while he bound a strip of linen around her palm. Though his touch was gentle and his expression sympathetic, she snatched her hand free and clambered to her feet in outraged dismay.

     Had she fainted? She’d never fainted in her life!

     Without thinking, she smoothed down her rumpled clothing, swiping at a nonexistent gown, belatedly realizing the oversight. She bit her lip and mustered a haughty glare at the knight.

     Anne lunged to her feet and clung to her arm.

     “Tell me of your companions.”

     The knight’s harsh command was daunting. Katherine squinted up at him and struggled to summon her scattered thoughts. It was the first clear view she had of him. His armor was nondescript and stained with rust and blood. He bore no colors of allegiance. Though the chain mail coif obscured much of his head and face, his eyes were unmistakable. An intense blue—cold, observant, and boring straight into her.

     She shivered. “I have but my sister, sir knight,” she replied, dragging forth the words with a sluggish tongue.

     The mounted warrior scowled all the more, his mouth a grim line of dissatisfaction.

     “Those!” With a stabbing forefinger he indicated the littered glade. “What of those men?”

     The knight’s booming voice caught his comrades’ attention. Though they glanced in his direction, they seemed little dismayed and went on foraging for trophies.

     Katherine started. Looking around at the multitude of dead, she was horrified by his ominous expression and mistaken implication.

      “They are no companions of ours. My sister and I sought to avoid those thieves, sir knight. Praise be to Saint Winifred, we happened upon this tree trunk and hid ourselves from them.”    

     “A likely tale.” The knight snorted. “Mayhap you do incite these wretches to plunder.”

     “Nay,” cried Anne, raising her face from where she’d buried it against Katherine’s shoulder. “’Tis not soothfast!” 

     “Your miserable garments bear the grime of the forest, as do those who dared raise their mean weapons against us.” The knight wrinkled his nose. “And your stench is as foul.” He stared hard at Katherine. “What measure of wrong-doing do you own, that your eyes must dart about so? Though you would be a starving waif, your speech does dispose you to a higher order. Did you steal those finely wrought boots and gloves, or are you a runaway lady’s maid?”

     Katherine stood silent, her eyes shifting once again as she tried to control her terror. The knight’s accusatory tone did not bode well.

     An irritated sound escaped the warrior’s lips and his eyes became narrow slits of suspicion. “My experience along the border is of mistrust, where mankind is most adept in the practice of humiliation and pain. Yea, you damsels do look innocent. But time does unmask false tales.”

     “’Tis a tale of woe, sir knight,” Katherine responded, daring to meet his unremitting gaze.

     His probing eyes were startling. Set beneath fair brows and balanced by a sturdy, straight nose, they were clear and intelligent, and penetrated her thoughts.

     They threatened her confidence.

     She glanced away. It was the familiar guise of Sir Geoffrey. Did not most men display an unrestrained choler? With a mental shrug, she chided herself for the fleeting hope this stranger would champion them, yet doubted it, not with his arrogance. ’Twas obvious Sir Geoffrey had sent him.

     She cleared her throat to gather a measure of confidence. “We are not in the habit of practicing deceit, sir.”   

     “That being soothfast, ’twould seem fashion has made a dramatic transformation this season.” The knight drilled her with a dark scowl, while his eyes roamed up and down her half-clad frame. “’Tis unseemly you should be dressed in this mode.” 

     Katherine flushed scarlet beneath his sarcasm. “Yea, sir knight. ’Tis most unseemly.” Her eyes met and held his piercing glare.

     “God’s bones, but you are provoking! Were you a man—”

     “We would not be sparring with words, sir knight. I would be armed and chasing you out of this forest.”

     His chuckle held no humor. “Brave and defiant words, madame, afore an armed warrior. But they cannot diminish the fear I do perceive within your
confident
, brown eyes. You wear your defiance with false bravado.”

     Katherine’s jaw dropped then slammed shut as quickly. She mustn’t appear faint of heart.       

     “But I shall be chivalrous this day,” continued the knight in a more pleasant vein, his scowl disappearing. “Fear not, madame.” He leaned down and gave Katherine a close inspection. “I will not dismay you further, but if you are a runagate and your guardian is of a magnanimous bent, verily, the extra coin in my purse will be welcome.”     

     Tugging the reins, he backed his warhorse away from the log.

     Katherine’s mind raced as she sought to decipher the knight’s extraordinary comments. In sooth, he was not acquainted with Sir Geoffrey? 

     The knight dismounted and handed his sword to the young man who had bandaged her hand. His squire, no doubt. The youth scooped up a handful of leaves and wiped away the blood and mire from the steel while his master hunkered down to examine a body.

     She stepped after the knight. “Pray, are you my stepfather’s man?” 

     “I wear no man’s colors,” came his curt reply.      

     He was not a hired mercenary? God be praised, they could yet make London and the king.     

     A sigh of relief escaped her. “Sir knight, we are at your mercy. I do thank you for your kind attentions. If you would but show us the direction of London, we’ll continue our journey and will not inconvenience you the more.”

     “Nay!” The knight jerked his gaze up toward her then surged to his full height. “You will do no such thing,” he declared. “Many vagabonds are abroad these days. You’ll not travel far before your journey’s compromised anew. Hereinafter, I cannot promise you so easy a rescue.”      

     “This, a rescue?” Katherine’s bandaged limb swept the bloody glade and hacked bodies. “Some would christen it otherwise.”

     “Ah, another willful female with a waspish tongue.” Plucking a small twig from an overhanging branch the knight chomped down on it and leveled her a dark scowl. “I would know your name, lady, that I might know who is indebted to me.”

     The cutting tone wasn’t lost on Katherine. She darted a glance toward the young squire and felt relief that his expression bore no similar animosity. She returned to the impudent knight, knowing it was impossible to continue the deceit. Unable to tell who these warriors were or where their loyalties lay, it was fortunate she had not spoke of Sir Geoffrey, with this knight so willing to be bribed. But they were in as much danger as before.

     Forcing a pleasant expression onto her face she attempted to return a polite rejoinder. “I am Katherine, daughter of Sir Robert de la Motte of Haughmond Castle.” Slowly she dropped into the most dignified curtsy she had ever executed.

     The twig between the knight's teeth snapped in two. Choking, he spit out the offending bits and coughed until his eyes watered and his face grew flushed.

     Katherine rose with a frown. 

     At last the knight cleared his throat. “And the other?” He flung an unsteady hand toward Anne.

     “My younger sister, Anne, late of Haughmond Castle.”

     Katherine yanked Anne down into a most ungracious curtsy and almost missed the startled exchange between the other knights. They stood and stared, their looting seemingly forgotten. 

     She rose with panic besetting her. What had she said to draw such interest?

     Tamping down her alarm, she squared her shoulders and thrust as much hauteur into her expression as Aunt Matilda did when chastising a wayward serf. “And you, sir knight? I would know your identity, that I might sing your praises to the king when I arrive at court.”

     The knight glared at her. Behind him, a loud guffaw burst from his young squire.

     Katherine dared not smirk, but she did stand straighter, heartened that she may have discomposed the man.

     A long pause elapsed before he deigned to answer. “I am called Sir Rhys.” He turned to his squire. “Simon, see to their comfort. I’ll retrieve the baggage mule before the stupid beast gets lost.”

     “Yer duty is ta these helpless ladies,” countered the young man with an arched brow. “I’ll fetch the baggage.”

     Katherine held her breath that the squire dared disagree with his master. Such a comment, ofttimes, brought the biting swing of the cat.

     But this knight ignored the brash affront. With naught more than a shake of his head, he swung himself up into his high-backed saddle. He reined his horse about and set spurs to his steed. With the large hound loping beside him, they disappeared into the thick underbrush.

     Simon’s smile danced in his blue eyes as he turned toward Katherine. 

     “Well, lady, ye know how ta ingratiate yerself.” The young squire crossed his arms. “Sir-um, me master is usually good natured. Ye’ve put him in ill favor ’cause of yer attack on his favorite hound.”

     Katherine raised her chin. “His favorite hound should not attack innocent women.”

     “How was he ta know?” Simon’s eyes twinkled in merriment. “He usually finds conies in hollow trees. But fear not, ladies. Me master will return shortly an’ see ta yer safety.”

     “And I thought we were well-rid of the arrogant man,” commented Katherine, examining her bandaged hand with a nonchalance she was far from feeling.