Lord of the Blade (5 page)

“Leahla, tell me. Don’t you tire of
succumbing to Lord Malcomn’s needs?”

“I am his servant. He has chosen me
personally.”

“To warm his bed.”

Leahla’s face blushed but she smiled.

“Leahla! Do not tell me you enjoy coupling
on command?”

“You will learn to do it and like it as
well. Lord Corbett is very handsome.”

Devon jumped to her feet. “I have no
intention of coupling with Lord Corbett.”

“Oh, but you must. I’ve seen the way Lord
Corbett looks at you. He has feelings for you, just as Lord Malcomn
does for me. You are special to him.”

Devon fantasized that thought for a moment,
wondering what it would feel like to be in Lord Corbett’s embrace -
naked. Then she shook the thought from her head, knowing she would
never be anything to him but his servant.

“No, Leahla. You are wrong. No lord can ever
have feelings for a mere servant.”

Leahla’s despair was noticeable, Devon knew
the girl was in love with Macolmn.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, patting the
girl’s hand. “I didn’t mean - ”

Leahla held her hand up. “Don’t. You will
see soon enough, dreams are all we have.”

“I can’t live this way,” Devon replied. “I
refuse to live as a servant any longer.”

“Then you must leave, but not by the
corridor. I hear the baroness coming. Go through the wardrobe
instead.” Leahla pulled Devon toward the attached room, and pushed
her inside. “Hurry, before the baroness sees you, or you’ll have no
chance for escape.”

Devon had no time to thank her new friend.
The door to the adjoining room opened, and she heard the baroness
enter. She looked for the exit, but to her horror there were two
doors. With no time to choose, she opened the closest one and
slipped through unnoticed.

The room was cool and dark, and Devon knew
immediately this was not the corridor. She touched her lucky
amulet, wondering what to do next, when a man’s voice startled
her.

“Who goes there?”

One nighttime candle burned beside a bed, a
seasoned man lay atop the bed, gaunt and pale and looking directly
at her!

“Yetta, my love. Is that you?”

Curiosity urged her to boldly move forward.
His soothing voice made her feel comfortable and she took another
step forward, eyeing the confused look on his face. Noticing the
salt and pepper hair and beard, she suddenly realized who this man
was. In her haste to escape she had accidentally walked into the
room of the ailing baron.

She gasped and held a hand to her mouth,
determined to run. He motioned her forward.

“You are not my Yetta.”

“No, my lord. And neither do I pretend to
be. My name is Devon.”

He studied her curiously, and coughed, his
breathing turning into a wheeze. She stiffened, remembering talk he
may have the plague.

“I must say ’tis nice to have a visitor.
Please bring me a coverlet, Devon.”

Devon stood motionless, and as if the baron
knew her thoughts, he chuckled slightly, taking most of his energy
to do so.

“I have not the plague. My wife weaves her
tales to save my reputation. Alas, I am an ill man, and think I
have gone mad.”

“Cannot this madness be remedied with
herbs?” Devon retrieved the coverlet from the back of a chair. It
bore the man’s crest of a gold and red dragon stretched across a
field of purple. So fierce a dragon, so gentle a man. She placed it
over him, his pale blue eyes giving silent thanks.

“Gilda, my wife, is skilled in healing. She
is trying to cure my madness with an herbal drink, but it helps
not.”

Devon noticed his sword hanging against the
stone wall. The jeweled hilt was beautiful, but an empty hole in
the pommel led her to believe something was missing. The sword was
dusty and needed a polishing. Just like the broken man on the bed,
the empty space in the sword signified a throne without its
ruler.

“You seem to be a servant,” he surveyed.
“Why are you in my chamber?”

She couldn’t lie to the baron. He’d been so
kind. And he was so ill.

“I was escaping from Lord Malcomn’s chamber,
my lord.”

“Ah, so you were to be part of his little
brothel?”
“Nay. I was to warm Lord Corbett’s bed. But I’ll not do it.”

“You don’t speak with the respect of a
servant.”

“I mean no disrespect,” she assured him.
“But I have come from the monastery where

I’ve lived my entire life in seclusion. I am
not accustomed to the ways required of me here.”

“You amuse me,” he said with a slight
sparkle to his eye. Almost as much as my sorcerer, Orrick once
did.”

Devon’s interest peaked at the mention of
Orrick’s name. If the baron knew him, then he may also have known
her parents. But before she had a chance to ask, the door burst
open.

Torchlight from the corridor filtered into
the semi-darkened room. The baroness stood in the doorway, her
tall, dark frame illuminated from behind. She held an ornamental
goblet in her hand as she strode forward.

“Who are you?” she snapped. “And why are you
in the baron’s chamber when I forbade anyone to enter?”

Devon could see the woman’s features better
as she stepped into candle light. The flames

flickered, making her dark eyes more
threatening than they already were. She wore a white kirtle covered
by a striking green taffeta smock with folds that fell from under
her bustline to the floor. Her hair was neatly braided and coiled
around her ears, covered by a transparent, finely woven veil. She
was the vision of wealth, superiority and power. Devon was the
vision of poverty and helplessness.

Devon slipped her hand into her pocket,
clutching her round, metal amulet for courage. While the baron
emanated a feeling of comfort, the baroness truly scared her.

“This is Devon,” the baroness answered for
her. “I am enjoying her presence here.”

“Devon?” Gilda squinted her eyes, raising
her nose in the air. “Are you one of Lord Corbett’s servants?”

“No!” she said, defiantly. Then, seeing the
raised brow of the baroness, she changed her answer. “I mean, yes.
I am new to Blake Castle.”

“New?” Gilda set the goblet on the table,
clicking her long nails in thought. “Then you would report to my
son, Malcomn at once.”

“Nay!” the baron interrupted, trying to
bring himself to a sitting position. Devon rushed to his side to
help him. “Devon will be my personal servant from this day on.”

“What?” The baroness’s eyes opened wide, her
mouth turning into a stiff, straight line. “My lord husband, I
alone tend to your needs.”

“You’ll not need to any longer. Devon will
administer to my health.”

Devon stood still, waiting for the baroness
to erupt with emotion. It was obvious she didn’t like being told
what to do. The silence lay thick between them, and finally, the
baroness forced a smile and nodded slowly.

“Devon, you are to give the baron my healing
herbal drink three times a day. You must make certain he swallows
every drop if he is to recover from his illness.” She picked up the
goblet and handed it to Devon. “Understand?”

“Yes, m’lady.” Devon’s hands shook slightly
as she retrieved the medicine. The goblet was more of an ornamental
chalice, made from gold. She was surprised at how heavy it felt.
Never had she held such a luxury in her hands.

“You will curtsy to me in respect.”

Devon did as asked, keeping her eyes on the
liquid which threatened to spill over the rim.

“My Lady,” called a familiar voice from the
open door. “Your presence is requested in the great hall by Lord
Boltoff.”

Devon was surprised to see Lord Corbett
standing in the doorway. She wanted to hide, since she’d defied his
order.

“Why wasn’t I informed prior to Lord
Boltoff’s arrival?” The baroness picked up her skirts and hurried
to the door.

“He arrived unannounced, my lady, along with
a dozen of his men.” Corbett spoke to the baroness, but looked at
Devon.

The baroness brushed past Corbett and
disappeared down the hall. Devon waited for his reprimand, but it
never came. Instead he stood before her looking like Adonis
himself. He held an unspoken power about him that excited her, yet
frightened her too.

His long, dark hair framed his wind-tanned
face, and though he wore a tunic tied at the waist, she swore she
could see the muscles of his chest beneath it. His legs were clad
in tight hose, his clothing again entirely black. The dark lord,
she told herself. Obviously very dangerous. Most lords had dogs by
their sides, but he had a raven.

His ice blue eyes bore into her, first
seeming angry, then turning to something quite different which she
couldn’t decipher. But when his eyes settled on the low-cut bodice
of her cotehardie, she knew it was the look of lust. Her body
responded in a heat of passion, but her head told her he was only
looking for a randy woman for the night. Her upbringing didn’t
condone coupling for lust. She believed in loving a man before
giving away her virginity. But his look heated her womanly desires,
and a dark side of her couldn’t help but wonder how a night in his
bed would feel.

Shamed by her own thoughts, her grip
slackened on the heavy goblet. It dropped to the floor with a
crash, spilling healing potion around her feet. The echo of the
goblet hitting the floor rang out in her head. Her breath left her
body as she watched in horror.

She closed her eyes and waited for Corbett’s
bellow. He didn’t think her capable of serving wine, and now he
would think her incompetent of serving healing potions as well.

“Devon.” His voice was low and firm. “You
were supposed to wait for me in the adjoining chamber. Why are you
here?”

Devon looked to the man on the bed for help,
but his eyes were closed and he’d fallen into a noiseless slumber.
She would have no help this time.

“I am chambermaid to the baron now at his
request.”

Corbett frowned.

“My lord,” she added as an afterthought.

He looked bothered by her proclamation.
“Clean up this mess at once.”

“Aye, my lord.” She turned away, slipping
her hand into her pocket and retrieving her old, worn amulet. She
touched it to her lips quickly and replaced it. Dropping to her
knees, she picked up the goblet. With nothing to wipe the spill
with, she tried to use the ragged hem of her cotehardie the way
she’d seen Leahla do.

A strong hand covered hers. Bending next to
her was Corbett. He reached up with his idle hand and took a cloth
napkin from the bedside table and handed it to her. “Use this.”

She accepted the cloth used only by the
nobles, well aware his other hand still covered hers. Was it her
imagination, or did his hand linger? His fingers slipped away as he
stood. She cleaned up the spill, and when she looked up again, she
noticed Corbett leaning against the bedpost. He was watching the
sleeping man with admiration, but a flicker of painful despair
crossed his face. Then the admiration hardened as he glanced her
way.

“A servant never turns away from her lord
before he exits the room. Don’t forget it.”

“Of course not, my lord.” Quickly finishing
her task, the pungent odor of the healing potion filled her
nostrils. Where had she smelled it before? He took the goblet from
her, placed it on the table, and with one hand under her elbow, he
guided her to the door.

“I’m not at all sure the baron’s chamber is
a healthy place for you.”

“But the baron asked me to assist him, and
he needs his medicine.”

“He is sleeping and will not miss you or the
medicine for the remainder of the night. You’ll stay in the great
hall tonight as do all my servants.”

Devon’s chance for escape had diminished, as
she knew Lord Corbett did not plan on letting her stray too
far.

Chapter 5

Corbett made his way down the stairs to the
great hall in somewhat of a daze. Damnation, that girl was getting
around faster than the plague. He'd told her to stay in Malcomn's
chamber if nothing else for her own safety. A good looking wench
such as herself was fair game to any of his men, not to mention all
the servants that slept by her side. With her innocence and
monastery upbringing, she stuck out like an aroused man in tight
hose in the midst of lightskirts.

He should have thought of this situation
before he left on his three day wasted trip to the earl of
Sutherland's lands. The man said his daughter was available for
marriage, a comely girl and with a sizable dowry and a good amount
of land. She was definitely worthy of marrying him, but by the time
he'd gotten there the girl was already married to another. Why in
the name of Saint Ermingild had the earl changed his mind just
hours before he'd entered the castle? Something didn't ring right
with the whole thing. But with Devon taking his concern, he hadn’t
time to ponder the situation. Now that she'd been in contact with
the ailing baron he had no assurance she wouldn't die of the plague
tomorrow.

Gilda was standing just inside the entrance
to the great hall when he descended the stairs. Corbett motioned
for Devon to join the other servants in the great hall As a gesture
of chivalry, he extended his arm to his foster mother and escorted
her to the trestle table where Lord Boltoff had already made
himself comfortable with a half dozen of his men and a couple jugs
of ale.

"And how is my dear brother feeling?" asked
Lord Boltoff smoothing down his thick, dark mustache as he
spoke.

"He's no better." Gilda let go of Corbett
and crossed her arms. She played with her talon fingernails
refusing to look at him.

Corbett thought the whole situation
interesting and sat atop the table, grabbing a tankard of ale from
a passing serving wench. He noticed Malcomn by the hearth
pretending to warm his hands while keeping one ear turned toward
their conversation. Malcomn spotted Devon, but when she realized
he’d seen her she headed for the opposite side of the hall. A low
mumble of voices from drinking men and flirtatious wenches drifted
through the air. Many of the castle's inhabitants were already
spread out near the fire either sleeping or just exhausted, slowly
drifting off to sleep. A minstrel struck up an enchanting lull on
his lyre and a small group determined to enjoy themselves beyond
capacity encircled the musician as if he were giving out alms and
they were the beggars.