Claire Delacroix (61 page)

Burke smiled with an equal measure of frost. “ ’Twas part of my knightly pledge to ensure the welfare of those who cannot defend themselves.”

Cedric caught his breath tellingly at those words and Burke straightened in alarm.

Had Alys been in need of defense?

Cedric frowned at the board, but Deirdre shrugged as if naught was unusual. “I have told you that the girl does not come when she is summoned, and a search would only appeal to her vanity.”

The serving lad looked up from his task. His gaze flicked to meet Burke’s, then averted quickly. When the boy’s footsteps faded, ominous silence again flooded the hall. ’Twas as if all knew something he did not, and Burke did not care for the sensation in the least.

“Nonetheless, I will fetch her,” he said firmly. “Where might I find the lady?”

“You cannot!” Deirdre declared.

“You should not!” Cedric insisted, half rising from his seat.

“You must leave her to her labor,” Deirdre insisted. They were too intent on changing his course, their response only setting Burke more determinedly upon it.

“Where is she?”

All four of them stared back at him mutely.

“Where is Alys?” Burke demanded again. “Is it such a puzzle to know where your ward might be within your own keep?”

They eyed him uneasily.

Burke rose from the board and cast his napkin upon it. “Surely there is some corner she favors?”

But still the family said naught. Burke snorted in disgust at their indifference and strode from the hall, heading for the kitchen. ’Twas, after all, where Alys had been headed when last he saw her.

And ’twas likely to be where the servants congregated and slept. Indeed, he would not be surprised if this lot dispatched Alys to the very stables. He and Alys could not be away from this wretched place soon enough!

“NAY!” Deirdre cried from behind him, but Burke cared naught for what she thought of his actions.

Burke’s lips set grimly. If he had to tear this keep apart stone by stone, he would find Alys before he sat at the board again.

Cook was just easing an ill-gotten log onto the fire when the door to the kitchen was abruptly shoved open. He jumped, dropped the log on his toe, and spun guiltily to face certain retribution.

But ’twas the visiting knight who stood on the threshold, not the lady of the keep. Indeed, that knight’s broad shoulders fairly filled the portal, and his expression was dangerous enough to make Cook fear for his considerable hide.

“Where is Alys?” he demanded, much to Cook’s astonishment.

With the great worktable in front, Cook realized that the knight could not see the niche where Alys slept. Then he wondered what this fierce man wanted with Alys, especially after she had argued so heatedly with him the day before.

Cook was not prepared to see Alys abused twice in quick
succession. He took a deep breath and stepped forward with all the boldness he could muster. “You will not learn from me!” he declared. “I will not let another lay a hand upon her this day.”

“Another?” The knight’s eyes narrowed and his voice dropped dangerously low. “Alys has been harmed?”

Cook folded his arms across his chest. “Aye. ’Tis hardly news.”

The knight’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Burke, come back to the board!” Her ladyship’s honeyed tones echoed down the corridor. The knight winced in precisely the same manner as most of the servants when they heard their mistress’s sharp voice, then slammed the door behind himself with a vengeance.

Cook decided that he could like this man.

“Where is Alys?” the knight demanded. He stepped forward, his gaze steady. “I swear to you that I have no intent to harm her.”

Cook knew concern when he heard it. He gestured to the niche and noted the shock that crossed the knight’s features at first glimpse of Alys.

Her cheeks were marked with the streaks of her tears, strands of her golden hair had worked free of her braid and hung loose over her shoulders. Her skin was still stained with soot from the night before.

The knight stepped forward as Cook watched, knelt beside Alys, his hand hovering just above her shoulder as if he could not comprehend what he saw.

“She has just fallen asleep,” Cook confessed, coming to stand behind the knight. He wondered whether this man saw the sweet vulnerability of Isibeal’s daughter, whether his gut clenched as Cook’s did to see this woman abused.

Or whether he noted the telltale bloodstain on the threadbare blanket cast over Alys’s slender shoulders.

“What happened?” the knight asked softly.

Cook lifted the blanket, his heart swelling when the knight caught his breath. The gashes left by the willow switch were marked in thin lines of blood across Alys’s back. The wounds were visible even through her torn kirtle, and they had already swollen. Alys would be sore on the morrow, but Cook knew that she would not reveal that to any.

If naught else, a solid slumber would aid her healing.

“Who is responsible for this abomination?” the knight demanded.

Cook shook his head, torn between his responsibility to the lord who held him in thrall and his desire to see justice served. His dismay must have shown in his expression, for the knight landed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“You do not have to say it,” he murmured, his piercing gaze filled with understanding. “I realize your position.” He looked back to Alys. “Her family does her a great disservice.”

Cook heaved a sigh. “I cannot agree more.”

The knight’s gaze ran over the accommodations Cook had made, then he bent and swept Alys gently into his arms. She did not awaken, thanks to Cook’s concoction, but settled against the knight’s shoulder with a sigh.

“I thank you for your compassion.” The knight’s voice was low with approval when he turned to face Cook anew, Alys safely nestled against his chest. “I do not mean insult, but she needs a proper bed.”

“You speak aright, sir, but I had only the pallet.”

“Burke! Here you are!” Lady Deirdre burst into the kitchen, Malvina and Lord Cedric close on her heels. The false smiles on their faces turned to shock when they saw Alys in Burke’s arms.

“It seems that Alys has been hurt,” Burke said coldly, accusation evident in the hard glance he turned upon the family.

Lady Deirdre lifted her chin and was bold enough to feign
ignorance. “Indeed? How very sad. Cook can see to her welfare. Come, Burke, our repast grows cold.”

“My apologies, but my appetite has waned,” the knight retorted. He crossed the room with long steps, holding Alys with such care that Cook had a distinct sense that the tide had finally turned in this keep.

And for the better.

“But where are you going?” the lord demanded. “Surely you do not intend to leave Kiltorren?”

“Say ’tis not so!” Malvina implored.

“Where,” Lady Deirdre asked icily, “do you intend to take my niece?”

“She has need of comfort.” The knight did not smile when Malvina giggled, his stern glance silencing the girl. “I should see her sleep in a bed more fitting of her birthright.”

Lady Deirdre sniffed. “We have not a spare mattress in all of the keep.”

“Then she shall have the one granted to me,” the knight countered smoothly. “If you might excuse me?” He shouldered his way through the door.

“But, Burke, you cannot do this!” Lady Deirdre finally cried.

The knight did not halt, his footsteps echoing in the corridor.

Lady Deirdre nudged Lord Cedric hard and that man jumped. “Nay! I cannot permit it!”

When they trotted after the knight, Cook crept to the door on silent feet and peered after the party.

“Halt!” Lord Cedric cried.

The knight pivoted to face them anew, his expression no less stony. “Do you spurn my concern for this noblewoman’s welfare?” he demanded. “Do you dare to suggest I discard my sworn pledge to protect all those unable to protect themselves? A man’s word is the measure of his worth, is it not, Lord Cedric?”

The lord scuffed his boot against the floor, looking to his spouse for the right answer before he nodded. “Aye, that it is.”

“Then I shall see this noblewoman cared for in fitting circumstance.”

“You cannot keep my niece in your chamber!” Lady Deirdre huffed.

The knight arched a brow. “But I could have bedded her in the bathing room without complaint? Your concern for your niece seems less than consistent, Lady Deirdre.”

The lady of Kiltorren sputtered, and Cook covered his smile with his hand. Indeed, this knight reminded him of the old Lord of Kiltorren, a great lord and father of both Lady Deirdre and Lady Isibeal. There had been a man worthy of service! It could be no small thing that this knight resembled the old lord, no less that he championed Alys, babe of that man’s favored daughter.

“Have you a maid to send to her side?” the knight asked, clearly expecting to be granted his request. “The lady needs care.”

Cook dared to raise his voice in the silence that met the knight’s question. “Fear not, sir, I shall send Edana when she returns to the hall.”

“And I shall remain with the lady until that time.” The knight smiled, solely for Cook. “I must thank you again for your assistance. What is your name?”

Cook, despite his years, felt his cheeks heat to be the center of attention. But there could be no fault found in answering a simple question from a guest. “Beauregard, sir.”

The knight’s smile broadened. “And rightly named you are, good man, for your sight is clear.”

“But, Burke, wherever shall you sleep this night?” Malvina demanded.

“I shall join my steed in the stables.”

And with that the knight spun to carry his burden toward the stairs, apparently oblivious to the outcry behind him. Lady Deirdre muttered something beneath her breath, then lunged after him, her voice high with appeal.

And Cook turned back to his kitchen, more delighted with affairs at Kiltorren than he had been in quite some time.

Alys was surrounded by softness, enfolded in a warmth alien to her. ’Twas luxurious even to dream of such comfort, and she fought against the persistent ray of sunshine that heated her cheek as though ’twould urge her to abandon sleep.

Nay, she was safely ensnared in her wondrous dream, and Alys would not surrender that pleasure readily. She nestled deeper beneath a thick coverlet, wiggled her hips against the fullness of a feather mattress, and sighed contentment. ’Twas a perfect dream. She envisioned herself wrapped in her dream lover’s secure embrace and smiled as her memory conjured a familiar masculine scent. ’Twas one that unfurled a heat in Alys’s belly and sent her toe sliding across the linens in search of Burke’s warmth.

At least, ’twas but a dream, and that already confident knight of Montvieux would never know how Alys secretly longed for his touch. She buried her nose against the fine linen of her chemise and tried to drift deeper into sleep.

But Burke’s scent was so strong there that Alys’s eyes flew open.

And she realized suddenly that this was no dream. Her back ached from the twitch of Aunt’s wicked willow switch, yet still she reposed in a fine bed.

What was this?

Alys noted the angle of the sunlight, frowning as that made even less sense. ’Twas late morning. Belatedly, she recalled downing Cook’s brew. Had she slept a few hours or an entire
night and day? Alys could not understand that she had been left to sleep for so long.

Let alone that she had done so
here.

What trick did Aunt play on her now?

Alys scanned the room suspiciously. The bed was broad, the mattress plump, the coverlet thick and warm. She was alone, alone but for that errant ray of sunlight that eased its way through the shutters and fell across the pillows.

Alys rolled to her back, frowned at the canopy overhead, the four great bedposts, the heavy draperies, and suddenly realized where she lay. ’Twas the guest chamber so rarely used, the one that overlooked the bailey and stables.

’Twas the bed she had made ready for Burke.

Alys sat up with a start, her hair falling unbound over her shoulders. Her heart skipped a beat when she noted saddlebags propped against one wall. Alys knew well enough who had ridden through Kiltorren’s gates with such fine leather bags. They could not be mistaken for those of anyone else, given their remarkable workmanship—the mark of a distant Italian city—and their insignia.