Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion (42 page)

Behind them, the warehouse creaked and rumbled ominously, and men began to call for water to douse the flames. Clouds of smoke climbed into the night sky, eclipsing the stars with their ghastly ascent. Children clambered up on the walls of the demesne to watch their fathers battle the roaring dragon. The men were too busy fetching water and sand, shouting orders to spouses and servants, to notice the duel that transpired by the light of the holocaust.

Linet wasn’t about to interfere with the battle. She’d learned her lesson. She longed to drive a dagger into Sombra’s heart herself, but she feared she might distract the beggar or wind up a hostage again. Instead, she crawled across the damp earth to where Harold lay captive and began to loosen his bonds.

Duncan flexed his fingers on the weapons. They tingled from gripping the bare hafts of knives not meant for warfare. The blades were no match for Sombra’s steel. Duncan feared they wouldn’t last long.

No sooner had doubt crossed his mind than one of the kitchen knives snapped in two under a hard chop of Sombra’s sword. Cursing, Duncan cast it aside and held his remaining weapon before him in both hands.

Sombra cackled and came at him, slashing and thrusting. Duncan could do little more than sidestep out of the way. Once, when the Spaniard swung a little too broadly, Duncan was able to rush in and knock the dagger from his grasp, but there was no time to pick it up for himself.

With a terrible clang, Sombra’s sword crashed down upon the weakened steel of Duncan’s second knife, breaking it off blunt halfway down the blade.

Sombra’s eyes gleamed in triumph. “El Gallo is avenged,” he said. Then he lifted his sword high to split Duncan’s head.

Linet’s thin scream pierced the night, but the rage in Duncan’s blood left no room for fear. Angered by Sombra’s cruelty, appalled by the fire’s destruction, furious with sinister plots that would dare deny him the woman he loved, Duncan drew strength from his wrath.

“Nay!” he roared.

Heedless of the menacing sword, he charged. He collided hard with Sombra and held him close, almost as if wishing a fond farewell to a dear friend.

“I’m going to finish what my brother did not,” he hissed.

Sombra’s eyes widened in terrified recognition.

Then, drawing back the blunted knife, Duncan shoved it forward with all his might. The dull remains of the blade drove in between Sombra’s ribs.

The Spaniard stood dazed for a moment. He swayed with Duncan in a grisly embrace. His black glove crept up Duncan’s chest like a spider, as if he’d claw what life remained from Duncan with his bare hand if need be. But then his eyes went glassy. His hand curled shut. His sword dangled from nerveless fingers, then fell futilely to the cobblestones. And Sombra rattled out his last breath.

Duncan eased the body to the ground, shaking with the violence of what he’d done. Gradually, he grew aware of the activity around him. Women laden with heavy buckets struggled past, and men poked at the burning warehouse with long poles, trying to control its demise. Ashes floated like drab snow over everything.

Amid the maelstrom, in the soot-frosted grass, knelt Linet. She stared at him almost reverently. He swore under his breath and wiped his bloody hands on his braies. He felt awkward before her, oddly unworthy of her awe, ashamed of the grotesque act he’d committed before her.

But then she came to him, her robe billowing out in the warm draft, her figure a stark silhouette against the orange inferno. And all Duncan’s guilt vanished.

Linet gazed at her beggar in wonder. Her knight—and she now believed that no man more richly deserved that title—had risked his life for her sake. Faith, he’d even risked his life for the sake of her servant.

He’d vanquished the enemy and ended the nightmare.

She flung herself into his arms with abandon. Never had she felt so safe, so warm, so welcome. Here was her champion. Here was her noble knight. Here was her destiny.

Nestled against his chest, she wondered how she could have ever doubted it. She took a deep breath, inhaling the smoky, sweaty, masculine scent of the man in whose arms she so certainly belonged.

She was still clinging to him when Margaret came tearing out of the cottage, Lord Aucassin’s sword in hand. The maid stopped cold when she saw them. Linet cleared her throat and pushed the beggar gently from her. It was time, she decided, to set matters straight once and for all.

“Margaret,” she began.

“Are ye puttin’ out a fire or startin’ one?” Margaret asked.

Linet took one of the beggar’s large hands in her own two and clasped it defensively. “You’ll keep your nose out of it, Margaret. This is the man I love,” she declared as the fire snapped behind her. “He’s noble and good and brave and…” She raised her chin. “And he’s a commoner. But I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what my father believed. I intend to marry him…if he’ll have me,” she added hastily.

Margaret looked back and forth between the two. She blinked. “Commoner.”

“That’s right. He’s a commoner,” Linet confirmed with a stubborn set of her chin. “But he’s worthy, Margaret, the most worthy man I’ve ever met. He saved Harold from the fire, and he slew that Spaniard, the one who abducted me. He followed me on the ship to Flanders and kept me safe from the reivers and…well, he threw me into the sea, but it was all for the best, and…” Linet felt herself chattering like a squirrel, and she could tell by the puzzled frown on Margaret’s face that she was making little sense. “Say what you will, Margaret. Curse me for my father’s fool, but I will follow my heart in this. I love him.” She looked up into her beloved’s sapphire eyes. “I
love
him.”

Margaret still scowled.

Linet sighed. “I’ll discuss the changes in the household later, Margaret. At the moment, we have a fire to quell. But I warn you, no matter how you argue, I won’t change my mind.”

She pressed a quick kiss to the beggar’s cheek.

Before Duncan could frame a reply, Linet was off in a flash of linen, whirling away to help organize the battle against the fire.

“Hmph,” Margaret snorted as her mistress departed. “Well, I suppose ye won’t be needin’ this, then?”

She held out the sword. He took it from her. It was heavy but well-balanced, a nobleman’s weapon.

“Ye know, I was upstairs last night,” Margaret said, “tryin’ to get to sleep with the racket ye two were makin’, when it came to me all at once.” She tapped her temple. “Duncan de Ware. Ye’re the eldest of Lord James’s brood, I’m thinkin’.”

“Aye.”

“I thought so.” She wrinkled her nose affectionately at him. “We’d best be lendin’ a hand with the fire, don’t ye think?”

Duncan nodded and reached for an overturned bucket near his feet.

“Of course, her father wouldn’t have approved,” Margaret said.

“Nay?”

“He’d always wanted to present her at Court.” Margaret picked up another bucket and hobbled to the well. “Let her choose a husband from among the nobles there, settle into a nice, old, established family.”

“My family
is
—”

“I knew Linet was headstrong,” Margaret said with an indignant sniff, “but I never thought she’d pick a husband without my blessin’.”

Duncan hefted his bucket stop the well’s stone wall. “Actually,
I
was the one—“

“Ye
will
marry her, of course.” There was no doubt in the old woman’s voice as she tied the rope to her bucket and lowered it into the well.

Duncan raised a brow.

Margaret continued. “She’s a proper lady, no matter what the rest of her family says, and I assure ye the de Montfort lineage goes back at least as far as that of de Ware.”

“Margaret.”

“She has a fine talent and a keen mind. She’ll keep yer household in good order.”

“Margaret.”

Margaret shook her head. “I should have known she could no more govern her heart than her father could. Well, at least she’s had the wisdom to choose well. As far as the dowry—”

“Margaret.”

“What is it?” Her round eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Ye aren’t promised to another?”

“Nay, Margaret. I love Linet, and I fully intend to wed her.”

Margaret grunted in satisfaction. “Now then, what’s this nonsense about…a commoner?”

Duncan was spared having to answer that question. The warehouse suddenly collapsed with a great whoosh of flame. Every man available was needed to douse the burning tinder.

The midnight sky had paled by the time the fiery beast was at last brought to its knees. Blackened timbers lay about the yard like the smoking bones of a dragon, their heat only an impotent reminder now of the savage animal that had reared its destructive head.

Duncan leaned against the wall of the well. Linet trudged toward him, rubbing an arm across her forehead, smearing soot over her face. She looked exhausted. Her hair hung in clumps about her shoulders, her clothing and skin reeked of smoke, and there were black streaks at the bottom of the overlong velvet robe where she’d waded through the charred remains of the warehouse. But Duncan had never seen a more beautiful sight.

The way she’d organized the extinguishing of the fire to save her neighbors’ homes—putting idle children to work to watch for live cinders that might rekindle, pushing up her sleeves and climbing into the wreckage herself—she’d do the de Ware household proud.

“Will you marry me, Lady Linet de Montfort?” he called.

Linet smiled weakly and made her way to her beggar. She knew she looked like hell. Her eyes felt scraped raw. Her father’s blue velvet robe was streaked with oily black. God only knew what color her hair was. Of course, he’d have to propose to her
now
.

And yet, nothing could be more appropriate. His face, too, was grimy with soot. Blood from his gash had dried on his chest, and his hair was dull with ashes. But his was the face she wanted to dream about each night and wake up to each morning.

“If you’ll have me,” she murmured. She collapsed against him, happier than she’d ever been in her life.

“Ye’re near dead on yer feet, m’lady,” Margaret interrupted, dusting the ashes off her hands as she came up. “Will ye see her to bed, then, m’lord? I’m afraid I’ve got my hands full with Harold. That moon-eyed alewife down the lane put so much drink in the dodderin’ fool—to cut the pain, she says—I doubt he’ll be able to find his own feet.”

“Please put Harold in my chamber,” Linet said. “His burns could use a softer pallet.” She looped her arm around her intended’s waist. “As for me, I’ll curl up before the fire. From now on I’ll sleep in no better quarters than he who is to be my husband.”

Margaret harrumphed. “Oh no, ye won’t. I’ll not have ye and ‘he who is to be yer husband’ dallyin’ on the floor of the hall again and disturbin’ everyone in the house. Harold can have yer father’s bed. Ye’ll both go to yer chamber…and secure the door.”

Linet’s jaw was still hanging open when her beggar swept her off her feet and carried her up to her bedchamber. A hundred questions rattled at her brain, but she was too exhausted to seek answers. By the time he’d laid her gently on the feather pallet, all emotions save longing had deserted her.

“You need to rest, Linet.”

“Aye.” Rest was the furthest thing from her mind.

“You’ve had a long day.”

“Aye.”

He loomed over her, his black hair hanging in dirty locks, his forehead streaked with soot, his eyes red-rimmed—a guardian angel as handsome as the devil. “We’ll have to assess the damages tomorrow.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m afraid you lost…everything,” he said softly.

She gave him a sultry gaze. “Not everything.”

Duncan took a deep breath. His chest swelled with quiet joy. Linet looked beautiful, lying there on the silk coverlet, even with strings of her hair sprawling across the pillow, her eyes smoke-ringed, her cheek smudged with ashes. And if she only knew what that look of hers did to him, how he longed to kiss those sweet lips.

“It’s late,” he said hoarsely. His eyes locked with hers.

She stared back. “We should get some sleep.”

He cleared his throat. “You need your rest,” he repeated, more to himself than her.

“Aye,” she lied.

And then he bent toward her, drawn by the clear message in her eyes as irresistibly as a spiraling eddy in a stream. Hell, he’d starve if he didn’t taste those lips. He lowered his head until Linet’s trembling breath mingled with his. His mouth tentatively closed over hers, and his tongue flicked out once to sample the yielding petals of her lips before he finished the kiss.

He intended to withdraw, tell her good night, and let her rest. Foolish man. She melted into his embrace as smoothly as a hand into a well-worn glove. Her tongue gave answer of its own, licking delicately along his bottom lip. Before he could stop himself, he was deepening that kiss and beginning another. His arms curved to surround her more fully, and he tucked her securely against his chest. Her matted hair seemed silky in his fingers, her grimy skin like velvet to his touch. No woman had affected him so profoundly.

It was the moan that pushed him over the edge, the little mewling sound she made against his lips. What little control he’d mastered was gone in an instant. He covered Linet’s face with eager kisses. He slipped the velvet robe from her shoulders, fairly devouring the exposed flesh. His hands explored further, tracing the contours of her throat and bosom, seeking the ripe fruit still hidden from his view.

She gasped as his fingers closed around one vulnerable nipple, hardening it to a stiff peak. He groaned as she pressed impatient hips against his thigh.

He tugged her stained garment down past her waist. She wriggled out of it the rest of the way. The breath caught in his throat. His dark, massive hand looked almost brutal against the pale flesh of her stomach.

Her fingers scrabbled impatiently, ineffectually, at Duncan’s braies, and she frowned as if she could will them away. Duncan half-chuckled deep in his throat. The poor lass obviously had little experience undressing men. But her determination was encouragement indeed. He had his braies off in a heartbeat.