Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion (31 page)

She loved him. God help her, she
loved
him.

He was gallant and clever and intelligent and brave, all the things she’d ever imagined a nobleman to be. He could enflame her desires with a glance and stop her breath with a word. For as long as she lived, no voice would ever sound as pure as his. No arms would feel as secure. No smile would light up her heart the way his could. She’d fallen wholly, desperately in love with the beggar.

For one sweet moment, she rejoiced in the confession, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks. Never would she deny him again, she promised, clutching her hands to her breast as if to enclose him within her heart. Never.

Yet, even as her tears dried, she realized it was too late for absolution. There was nothing to be done. She’d made her choice. She’d chosen her father’s dictates over her own heart. She’d denied true love in the name of honor. Now she’d have to live with that choice.

She raised her trembling chin and gazed solemnly at the early rising moon. She was a lady now. There would be no more trafficking with peasants. Hers was a world of refined airs, civilized manners, tamed passions. She must forget what had passed in that bittersweet entanglement as thoroughly as if it had never been. And let her heart be damned.

Perched high atop the wall walk, her figure a graceful silhouette against the low-slung moon, Linet resembled an archangel haloed by the orb of golden light. But Duncan knew better. He spit the dregs of his ale onto the straw of the stables. Linet de Montfort was no angel.

She’d readily discarded her past life and dismissed him with nary a backward glance. It didn’t matter that for days now she’d wandered the castle like a lost soul, her face drawn by some wistful yearning. It didn’t matter that the smiles she offered her newfound kin never quite reached her eyes or that her step seemed heavy upon the wide stone steps of the keep. Whatever misery she suffered, he told himself, she deserved no less. If she believed that untold riches would ease her suffering conscience, she was mistaken. And if she was lonely…

She turned gracefully on the parapet, appearing to float down the steps on a wave of green velvet. Her hair was arrayed in a fantastic tangle of braids and ribbons that tumbled artistically over her bare shoulders. She was the very picture of nobility—her skin paled with powder, her lips stained a dark shade of crimson, the rich verdant fabric of her gown making her skin an even more delicate shade of cream.

But he could see by her shadowed eyes that she’d been crying. Pity welled in him like leavening in bread, and he cursed his own weak will. Never had he been able to endure a woman’s tears.

Surely she’d bewitched him. For days now he’d been able to think of little else. He remembered too well the silkiness of her skin and the weight of her in his arms. His lips hungered for the soft flesh of her neck. His eyes craved the sight of her pale bosom, her narrow waist, the gentle flare of her hips. When she chanced to pass near, her clean, sweet scent intoxicated him like no wine could.

But it went far deeper than that. He felt incomplete, as if a part of him had been severed. His heart thumped hollowly in his chest. For days, he’d found pleasure in nothing, but only flailed along like a falcon with a bent wing, anchored miserably to the earth for want of her.

It was madness. And he was a fool to torment himself by remaining here. Tonight he’d finish it, he decided, clenching his fists within the concealing sleeves of his cassock. Tonight he’d confront her with her crime and break her hold over him. Tonight he’d end his suffering.

Linet sipped at the spiced wine in her heavy silver chalice, peering over its lip. The tables groaned with their succulent burden—steaks of venison, galentyne sauce, cold shrimp in vinegar, pandemayne bread so light that it melted in the mouth, a colorful salad of parsley and fennel, watercress and mint, tossed with petals of primrose and violet, and dried and sugared figs.

She lost what little appetite she had, however, when she looked beyond the high table. There the smoky candles guttered, and the stench of unwashed bodies competed with the aromas of peppered meat and thick ale. The peasants supped on the meager leavings of the nobility—the stale, stew-soggy trenchers, the tough ends of the meat, the coarse ale, the food to which
he
was accustomed. She lowered her gaze. She couldn’t eat.

She only toyed with the sumptuous fare all through supper. Even her appetite for entertainment was curtailed when Lord Guillaume presented a long list of diversions to catch her fancy. Nothing would lift her melancholy.

A consort of viols played, then a harpist, and a lutist. Finally a quartet of dancers demonstrated the latest steps from Italy. She feigned interest, nodding at her uncle’s remark that the circling and twining of the dance seemed like the intricacies of weaving cloth. She politely applauded the completion of a particularly complex dance pattern and repressed a sigh as the musicians played a seemingly endless roundelay.

Linet glanced at her silver chalice. A servant had filled it yet again with wine. She pushed it away. If she drank any more on her empty stomach, she’d never be able to keep her eyes open for the remainder of the entertainment.

A shrouded monk hobbled up to the dais, a harp clutched to his chest. The hall quieted. Linet stifled a yawn. He struck a single soft chord. Then his fingers caressed the strings one by one. There were murmurs of awe about the hall as he played with sweet delicacy at first, then embraced the music with the fervency of an impassioned lover.

Linet studied him intently. His playing
was
beautiful, but there was something…

A prickling began at the back of her neck, as if she’d backed into a spider’s web. Those hands, those broad shoulders, that music… It couldn’t be.

When the monk raised his voice at last in song, Linet’s heart leaped unbidden, and she sucked in a quick breath of recognition. Lord Guillaume looked sharply over at her, and she forced a reassuring smile to her lips. But it took all her resolve to keep from throwing herself at the beggar’s feet to plead for forgiveness.

The song was a melancholy ballad, his voice ragged and compelling. But as the words of love and treachery spun outward, the relief Linet had felt upon seeing him slowly curdled into fear. She knew for whom he sang.

The blood drained from her face. The beggar had come after her—not for a sweet reunion, but for vengeance. Sorely wounded by her betrayal, he’d come to ruin her, to expose her. The song was a message for her ears alone, but soon, he’d tell the tale of how this de Montfort
lady
had lifted her skirts for a commoner. Her father’s dream would be shattered, and she’d relive his nightmare.

Everyone stood and cheered for the shrouded monk with the heavenly voice as the song came to a close. Linet groped for her chalice, accidentally sloshing its contents over the rim onto her precious surcoat. She gasped, using her cloth napkin to mop up the nasty stain before it could set. By the time she looked up again, he’d disappeared.

She had to flee. That was all she could think about. She must excuse herself, go to her chamber, and bolt the door. She didn’t even want a servant with her tonight. She must be alone to think, to plan. Dear God, she couldn’t let him corner her here. He could destroy her with one word whispered in the wrong ear.

She shuddered. She mumbled to Lord Guillaume that her head ached, that she wished to retire. Alone. He shrugged a concerned consent and bid her good night.

Once out of sight, she dashed up the steps with her skirts in her fists, running as if ghosts pursued her. She pushed open the heavy door of her chamber and slammed it behind her. Her heart pounded painfully in her breast. Only when she shoved the bolt home did she turn and lean back against the door in relief.

Too late, she saw him.

He was only a black silhouette against the fire on the hearth, standing motionless, but she recognized him at once. With a panicked gasp, she turned and began scrabbling at the bolt with suddenly clumsy fingers. In a moment he was behind her, his breath hot upon the back of her neck.

She took a gulp of air to scream. But before she could even turn to face him, he clapped a hand over her mouth and shoved her against the door. For an endless time he held her there, immobile, as her panicked breath moistened his palm. When he finally spoke, it was in a harsh whisper.

“Why?”

Her eyes darted about nervously, cataloguing the whorls of wood grain on the door. His scalding breath at the back of her neck sent shivers along her spine. What did he want from her?

Duncan wanted just one thing from the woman quivering like a trapped bird.

“Why?” he repeated. He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, still pressing her against the door.

“What do you want?” she asked breathlessly. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just please don’t tell them—”

“Don’t tell them what?” he rasped. “That I trusted you and you betrayed me?”

“Nay, I—”

“How long did you plan it all?” he snarled, anguish rising in him like a boil. “From the very first? Keep me as long as you have to, let me risk my worthless neck, use me as a plaything, then desert me when my services are no longer required?”

Linet’s gasp tore at his heart. But now was not the time to weaken.

“And now your greatest fear,” he continued, “is that I might humiliate you by telling your precious newfound loved ones about us. Am I right?” Her lack of a reply was answer enough. “I trusted you,” he growled. “Damn you, I
trusted
you!” There was a long silence as he battled the hurt that threatened to unman him.

“I meant you no harm,” she murmured feebly.

His chuckle came out hard and bitter. It would be a wintry day in hell before he’d believe that. He was no fool. Despite the innocence in those wide emerald eyes, he wasn’t going to leave himself vulnerable this time. As bad as the beating had been, it was nothing compared to the suffering she’d caused him. “No harm?”

The fire popped on the hearth. Linet flinched.

His voice turned deathly quiet. “You left me naked and unarmed, bound to the bed. Do you know what happened to me after you left?”

He wheeled her around to face him. It was time she saw what she’d wrought. He slammed her back against the door and flung off his hood.

“Jesu!” Linet covered her mouth, stricken with horror. She staggered. Her eyes darted wildly as she surveyed his injuries—swollen eyes, purpled jaw, split lip, a long gash healing on one cheek, a lump rising from his forehead. His beautiful face had been…ravaged. She braced herself against the door for balance, hardly able to speak. “How…who did this?”

“El Gallo’s reivers,” he said flatly. “They followed us. They found it great sport to have their victim trussed up for their pleasure.”

“Oh, God,” she breathed. She felt sick to her stomach. “They did this to you?” She shook her head. “You must believe me,” she said weakly. “I had no idea. I wouldn’t wish this…on my worst foe.” She reached out a hand to brush a bruise on his collarbone. He recoiled, but she sensed it was not so much from pain as it was from her touch. “Your wounds need tending,” she murmured. “Please allow me to make amends.”

“You can’t make amends for the damage you’ve done.”

Linet’s chin quivered. She forced it to still. As much as his attack hurt, she deserved it. She’d injured him profoundly, more profoundly than just his superficial cuts and bruises evidenced. His eyes were bleak with a deeper pain, like once lustrous gems clouded by neglect.

Driving the lightheadedness from her brain by sheer will, Linet met his gaze. Somehow, she vowed, she would make things right. Somehow, she would heal him. Even if it broke her heart in two, she’d render him whole again.

“I have no excuse for what I did,” she said, “but I tell you this.” Her voice quavered. She had to look away. “Never have I…and never shall I…love another as I have you.”

Duncan’s heart leaped into his throat. For a long moment, he didn’t breathe. Surely he’d heard amiss. She had wronged him, logic argued, turned her back on him, abandoned him, left him as reivers’ carrion. “Nay!” The word was wrenched from his throat.

“Aye,” she whispered. And it was there, within the anguished depths of her eyes—she spoke the truth.

The memories of their sweet coupling—how he’d felt beside her, inside her, possessing her—came rushing over him like the quenching sea over parched sand. And yet he knew he had to stem that tide for the sake of his sanity. “You think your words absolve you?” he asked quietly.

“Nay,” she hollowly admitted. “I’ll never be absolved, neither by you nor by my father. But I owe you the reason, at least.”

He remained silent as she drew a deep, shuddering breath and began to explain.

“On his deathbed, my father made me swear him an oath. I didn’t question him. He was dying, and I…I thought the vow an easy one to keep. I was wrong.” She swallowed hard. “You see, I promised my father I would never…never fall in love with a commoner.”

She hazarded a glance at him, but his expression was unreadable. “Had I known how impossible that vow would prove…” she murmured, her eyes blurry with moisture. “Ah God, I can’t imagine what hell it will be to live without you, knowing the heaven I’ve found in your arms.”

Duncan squeezed his eyes shut, battling control of his senses. Part of him wanted to soar at her words. Part of him wanted to curse her. “I offered you that heaven, for all eternity. You cast it aside.”

“Because I had to. Because I must,” she sobbed. “Because of my promise.”

Duncan swore and seized her by the shoulders. “What kind of promise makes you cast aside the greatest love you’ll ever know? Or makes you betray the man who threw his heart at your feet? What kind of promise makes you sentence yourself to a life without this?”

He dragged her to him, arching her backward over one arm and burying the other hand deep in her tresses, loosing half the pins. He pressed his mouth to hers, savagely, as if to brand her his own. Her lips were as warm as flame, and she tasted of honey mead. He crushed her to him, oblivious to the pain, kissing her with the desperation of a condemned man.