To the Lady Born (6 page)

Amalie wasn’t inclined to refuse him simply because the longer she looked at him, the more brutally handsome he became. It was a struggle to resist. More than that, there was something in his manner that amused her.

“You are most insistent,” she said after a moment.

“I am.”

“I would wager to say that young ladies do not often reject you.”

His smile broadened. “I do not let them.”

The corners of Amalie’s mouth twitched and she bit her lip to keep from smiling at him; he was quite devilish about it. “Then you do not intend to allow me to refuse, either.”

“That is correct, my lady.”

He was still grinning broadly at her; as much as she didn’t want to trust him, she found that she could not resist the charm he was intent to heap upon her. It seemed to come easily to him, as did the broad grin that spread effortlessly across his face.  Without recourse, she finally shrugged.

“Very well,” she told him. “You should know that I can walk for hours. I hope you can be derelict from your duties for as long.”

He nodded, sweeping his arm gallantly towards the roof hatch. “As long as you require, my lady.”

“I intend to walk into the town.”

“Then I intend to go with you.”

Her eyes lingered on him as she walked past him, as did his gaze on her.  As she studied his strong, handsome face, he was studying the arch of her lovely eyebrows and the little dimple in her chin. She seemed to be in better spirits, which both pleased and relieved him. Weston was coming to hope that the dark night he had arrived had been an isolated incident, although something that dark and that horrific told him that it was not. Whatever she was feeling was still just below the surface.

In silence, they made their way out of the keep and down into the muddy, snow-piled lower bailey.  As soon as they entered the bailey, Amalie saw the state of it and came to a stop, lifting her skirts and her cloak so the hem wouldn’t become muddied.  Weston sent a soldier to collect his mail and weapons, commanding the man to meet him at the gate house. Swiftly, he bent over and scooped petite Amalie up into his arms. 

She was light, warm and soft, but Amalie’s first reaction was one of panic; Weston could see it in her face, remembering the same look that fateful night in the vault. He hastened to reassure her.

“I am sure you do not want to soil your shoes or your garments, my lady,” he told her quickly. “Please allow me to aid you through this mess.”

Hesitantly, Amalie nodded, gripping his big shoulder for support as he trekked across the muck.  She couldn’t help but notice how powerful the man was and how strong and warm he felt against her.  The sheer size of his neck, shoulders and biceps were astonishing, now heated and firm beneath her hands as he carried her across the bailey.  

Amalie didn’t want to like him or anything about him but in the brief contact she’d had with him, it was clear that whatever charm or magic he held worked against her. Two sides of her brain, the self-protection side and the female, giddy side were colliding violently.

Weston held her until they reached the gatehouse.  The entire time, he hadn’t said a word and neither had she.  Amalie kept her face averted, not wanting to look at the man who was so close to her. She could feel his warm breath on the side of her face, gentle and sweet.

Once at the gatehouse entry, which had been moderately protected against the snow, he carefully set her down on the moist earth. Still, they didn’t look at each other; they pretended to find interest in everything else.  Weston averted his gaze because he was afraid to set her off again while Amalie averted her gaze because she was confused at her reaction to his charisma.  It was an odd, but not uncomfortable, mood.

But that mood was offset by the appearance of Weston’s armor. The soldier that met them at the gatehouse with the man’s protection was none other than Owyn.  Young, completely smitten with Lady Amalie, he was tall, lanky and blond, and he smiled broadly at Amalie as he approached. 

Weston couldn’t help but notice that she smiled back and he felt a surprising stab of jealousy, which manifested itself into brusque movements as he took the armor from the young soldier.  He resisted the urge to smash him right in his face.

“Good morn to you, Owyn,” Amalie greeted him.

“Good morn to you, my lady,” the young soldier greeted, hardly keeping a rein on his thrill. “’Tis a fine day today.”

“Aye, it is,” Amalie spoke to him as two other soldiers, gate house sentries, began to help Weston with his mail coat. “I thought I might walk to town today. I asked if you could escort me but Sir Weston said you had other pressing duties.”

Owyn looked to the big knight as the man straightened out the mail coat on his big frame. “My lord,” he said with veiled eagerness. “I am scheduled for sentry duty on the north wall today but I am sure another can easily take my place. There is no need for you to disrupt your day escorting the lady to town.”

Weston looked at the young man; he was moderately handsome and strong, obviously a brave man for what he had done to protect the lady from Sorrell.  It was based on the respect he had for the young soldier’s courage that he didn’t bite the man’s head off in his reply.

“You will not shirk your duties to another,” he told him. “I will take the lady in to town. You will return to your post.”

Owyn’s young face fell somewhat but he didn’t argue the point; one did not resist the commands of de Royans and live to tell the tale.  Everyone knew that; tales of de Royans’s military prowess were legendary within military circles.  The man was extremely likeable and extremely congenial given the proper circumstances, but once provoked or in battle mode, he was deadly. For a man his size, there was little else he could be; tales of de Royans tearing men’s heads from their bodies with his bare hands were pervasive in knightly circles.  Owyn therefore had a healthy respect for his new commander and would not dream of questioning an order.

“Of course, my lord,” he replied, eyeing Amalie. “I only meant to offer should you have more important duties to attend to.”

Weston pulled on his tunic. “Your offer is noted,” he said as he straightened the tunic and reached for his sword. “Return to your post.”

Disappointed, Owyn tried not to show it. He bowed respectfully to Amalie as he turned and retraced his steps back to the outer bailey.  Amity watched him go before turning to Weston.

“You lied to me,” she said flatly.

Weston looked up from securing his scabbard, surprised. “When did I do this disgraceful thing, my lady?”

She faced him fully. “You told me that Owyn had other duties to attend to, which is why he could not escort me to town.” She put her hands on his hips. “Clearly, he does not. Why did you lie to me?”

Weston stared at her, running a big hand through his cropped blond hair as he thought on his reply. “I did not lie to you, my lady,” he said evenly. “Perhaps Owyn does not consider his scheduled duties important. I, in fact, do.  He does indeed have duties to attend to. The moment he believes he does not is the moment I boot him from my service.”

Her features turned hard. “You will not boot him from your service,” she said firmly. “Owyn is a fine man.”

“He is a soldier.”

“He saved my life!”

“And for that, he will always have my respect,” Weston realized he was close to having a battle on his hands and labored to ease the rising tide. “But you must understand that Owyn has his own duties to attend to and one of them does not include constant companion to the Lady of the Keep.  What he did for you was strong and courageous, no doubt, and I intend to reward him in time. But the moment I arrived, you became my responsibility. Do you understand?”

“Why would you reward him for protecting me?” she wanted to know. “I am theoretically your enemy, de Royans. Why would you reward a man for siding with the enemy?”

He just stared at her, the dark blue eyes glimmering intensely. “Do I really have to answer that?”

“You do.”

“Enemy or ally, what he did was remarkably brave and I reward bravery to the men under my command.”

Amalie gazed steadily at him, a myriad of emotions running across her delicate features.  She wasn’t happy that Owyn was not allowed to accompany her; that was clear. But she also seemed pleased that de Royans intended to reward him.  After a small eternity of uncomfortable silence, she finally averted her gaze and looked off towards the snowy countryside beyond.

“Come on, then,” she grumbled, pulling her cloak more tightly around her. “Let us get on with it. “

Weston’s gaze lingered on her as she proceeded from the gatehouse and onto the frozen road beyond.  It was muddy in patches, icy in others, and Amalie found herself dodging those areas as she moved down the road. Weston trudged on beside her, stomping through the mud and ice in his enormous knee-high boots. 

He kept looking at her from the corner of his eye, wondering if he had been too harsh with her on the subject of Owyn.  When he shouldn’t have cared about her beyond his normal duties as commander of Hedingham, he realized he was concerned about building some manner of acquaintance with the woman and he would never be able to do that with Owyn always around. 

She was already attached to the soldier, for good reason, and Weston found that threatening somehow. He had seen her face light up when she had seen Owyn, a smile so radiant that it outshined the sun.  It was utterly beautiful. He was aware that he wanted to see that smile as well when she looked at him.  He had no idea why, but he did. 

Weston and Amalie had no more than a few exchanges between them and those exchanges had been unpleasant more than pleasant.  It wasn’t as if Weston knew her personally or deeply, so explaining his attraction to her was more of an instinct than anything else. He couldn’t explain it any more than that.

“With the ground so saturated, perhaps it would be better if we returned to Hedingham for your palfrey,” he suggested. 

She leapt over a muddy puddle, took a couple of steps, and leapt over another. “No need,” she said steadily. “I would rather walk.”

He watched her dodge yet another puddle. “You are not walking,” he pointed out. “You are leaping like a deer.”

Skirts and cloak gathered up in both hands, she looked at him as he made leaping motions with his hand.  He wriggled his eyebrows to punctuate it. She looked away, repressing the urge to grin at his expression. As irritated as she was with him, it didn’t dull the man’s charm as he wielded it like a sword against her.  The more he would thrust, the weaker her parry.

“I am not leaping,” she said as she skipped over a patch of snow.

“Aye, you are. It would be better to return for the horses.”

She shook her head, gesturing on ahead. “We are nearly at the town as it is,” she pointed out the obvious with a series of poorly constructed buildings about fifty feet away.  Then she looked at him. “Did you bring money?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Money?” he repeated. “What for?”

“Because I want to buy things,” she bit her lip, thinking now that she was going to punish him for being so insistent on escorting her. She would spend all of his money, which would assure that he would never insist on escorting her into town again. “As my escort, it is your duty to bring money. Surely you did not expect me to bring money.”

He puckered his lips thoughtfully as he scratched his cheek. “I thought we were going to go walking in the meadows. I did not think I would need my purse for the deer and birds.”

“You are a poor planner.”

“How is that?”

“You should be prepared for anything.”

He eyed her. “I am coming to see that is the truth with you around.”

She couldn’t help the grin that creased her lips as she leapt over another puddle.  Weston saw it and he was enchanted. He wanted to keep the momentum going.

“What monumental purchase do you intend to make that I need to bring about an entire treasury?” he asked.

She shrugged coyly, eyes still on the road. “I am not sure yet.”

“Diamond? Rubies?”

“I would not let you off so easily,” she shot back. “Perhaps I wish to buy a small country. What will you do then since you are so poorly prepared?”

He was thrilled that she was responding to his attempts at humor.  Rolling his eyes, he muttered as he looked away. “Sell you off to the highest bidder and let some other fool take his chances with your unreasonable demands.”

She snorted. “You had the opportunity to pass me off to Owyn.”

He grinned, meeting her eye.  It was the first time they had openly smiled at one another, a bright moment in a week that had been full of desolation and darkness. He was having difficulty believing this was the same woman who had tried to take her life just a few days ago.

“I am sure Owyn would not refuse you,” he said. “But whether or not he has the means to buy you anything you wish is another matter.”

She lifted her eyebrows at him. “And you do?”

He shrugged. “Most knights are not poor, lady,” he said. “It costs a great deal of money to maintain this profession.”

Given that her brother was an earl as well as a knight, she knew that. “Then your family is wealthy?”