The Warrior's Wife (13 page)

Stephen laughed and clapped Alan on the back. “Don’t look so glum, Priest,” he said. “Your time to join Gerard in the marital estate hasn’t yet come. Until then, lift your spirits far enough to help me sort through the lances they’ve brought Rafe.”

As the two of them turned to inspect the weapons for these final runs, Rafe dared reach inside his left glove. With a finger he rearranged Kate’s stolen ribbon into the cup of his palm. He hadn’t intended to bring it with him this morning but there’d been something about keeping it on his person he couldn’t resist. It was like a promise to himself. Now that he owned this much of Kate, the rest of her would soon follow. It felt like a talisman, a guarantee that he’d take the purse and her heart along with it.

Stephen and Priest reappeared, Stephen holding the weapon they’d settled on for the first run. Rafe took the lance.

“Come what may,” he said to them, “I promise you this will be a match to remember. Inform the herald that I’m ready when my opponent is.”

 

It was all so thrilling Kate could hardly catch her breath. She watched Rafe ride past her. Her two champions, one acknowledged and no longer wanted, the other unacknowledged and definitely desired, were going to vie for the day’s prize! She might as well be one of the ladies in Lady Adele’s tales.

Almost better, her sire had been so busy that he hadn’t had time to thrust suitors at her. For the whole of this glorious morning she’d enjoyed Ami’s uninterrupted company. The only mar, slight as it was, was that she and Ami hadn’t been alone from the moment Kate entered the women’s quarters. Once at the field, Lady Haydon had sat Kate and Ami near Emma, now joined by her new husband. Kate hadn’t dared even the most innocent of questions regarding how to gracefully--or rather, painlessly--detach herself from a man she no longer loved.

“Poor Sir Josce. I hope he’s not injured,” Ami said, her gaze yet aimed at her hero as he was helped from the field by his friends and sire. Then she smiled and reached over to catch Kate’s hand. “Well, if my Sir Josce must be defeated by someone, it’s just as well it’s Rafe Godsol who does it. They are the best of friends.”

“Are they?” Kate asked, stunned that Ami would know something so intimate about Rafe. “How is it you know that?” she demanded.

Amusement sparked in Ami’s green eyes. “About Sir Josce?” she teased, knowing full well that wasn’t who Kate meant. “Why, I learned it at court. You might say Sir Josce and his life are of interest to me.”

From her place at Kate’s right Emma giggled and shifted to look at the women beside her. Now that Kate knew Emma better, she saw that all the bride had from her lady mother was her red hair. Just as with Sir Josce, it was Lord Haydon’s stamp Emma wore upon her face, with her high cheekbones and the slight hook to her nose.

“What’s this, Ami?” Emma asked, her tone taunting. “Are you still pining for my half-brother, even though you know full well he’s too cautious to return your affection the way you wish?”

Ami laughed, not in the least embarrassed by Emma’s pronouncement. “Cautious he may be and with good cause, but this only presents me with a challenge I cannot resist. I will have his heart as my own, will he, nill he.”

Gerard’s laugh was a quiet huff as he sat beside Emma. Wearing naught but his shirt and chausses like the other defeated knights, his brown hair flattened by his helmet, he looked out of place next to his new wife in her pretty green and yellow gowns. “Don’t think to play the matchmaker between our Josce and Lady Amicia, my love,” he warned his wife. “There’s no hope for them, especially not while Lady Amicia thinks all men are but mountains to be climbed and conquered,” he said, his statement forthright and with such a hint of lewdness that it was just this side of good manners.

Ami had the grace to blush. Emma giggled again. Leaning near to her new husband, she touched her lips to his ear.

“Are you content to know I want to climb but one mountain?” she murmured loudly enough for the two ladies beside her to hear.

Gerard shuddered and groaned softly. “Is that so?” he replied, catching his wife by the waist. Much to Kate’s surprise Emma squealed with pleasure as her husband lifted her into his lap. Yet laughing, the new bride wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and rested her chin upon his shoulder to lay kisses upon his cheek.

That Emma could be so obviously pleased by Gerard’s pawing given her newly wedded state truly astonished Kate. Lady Adele had been very clear that all a woman could expect from marriage were the twin aches of consummation and birth. It was womankind’s doom, the price they all paid for Eve’s sin in the Garden.

God knew Kate had more than paid her price in her union with Richard, although only in consummation pain. At least Richard had never beaten her; he wouldn’t have dared, as his illness kept him smaller than her. Lady Adele hadn’t had that much comfort in her marriage. Twice Adele’s age, Sir Guy de Fraisney had been a crude man, who beat his wife when it suited him. Beyond that, he had no interests save his sword, his horse and his hawks.

Fanning herself with a hand to hide the fact that her cheeks had reddened with Gerard’s comment, Ami vented a mummer’s great breath of disgust. “Lord preserve us from the newly wed,” she said, although her tone was fond rather than chiding. She came to her feet. “Come Kate, let’s wander. I’ve had enough of these two and their lovemaking.”

Kate gaped at Ami. Lovemaking was done with chaste words, never touches, and only happened between a lady and her courtly lover. Everything else was lewdness or marital duty. Kate shot a shocked glance at Gerard and Emma. There was nothing chaste about what they were doing and there was nothing pleasurable about marital duty, so it certainly wasn’t lovemaking. Ami must have misspoken.

“Can I help it that I desire my wife?” Gerard muttered, turning his face as he tried to catch Emma’s lips with his own.

“Don’t apologize to her,” Emma laughed, managing to avoid her husband’s kiss. “It’s not our fault that we happen to find joy in our duty.”

Coming to her feet, Kate blinked away a second wave of shock. Emma couldn’t be serious. She enjoyed the awful intrusion of Gerard’s shaft into her most private part?

Ami gave a snort. “All I can say is that if a babe doesn’t come from this union nine months hence it won’t be for lack of trying. Come, Kate,” she said, taking Kate’s arm.

Together they left the awning’s shade for the day’s bright sun and strolled in silence for a moment. It was no surprise to Kate that the direction of their steps led them ever closer to Sir Josce. The bastard knight now knelt on the ground not far from them, his friends helping him to creep out of his mail shirt.

As they walked Kate stewed over the idea of anyone finding pleasure in the marriage bed. Try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile what she knew to be true about the act of procreating with Emma’s comment. She gave it up when her head began to pound. The day was too fine to be wasted on such a morbid subject, especially when she could be watching her love.

Her gaze leaped to Rafe. Oh, but mounted on his massive warhorse he looked every inch a hero. The Godsol colors on his shield and surcoat were jewel-bright while the sun made his mail gleam silver where his surcoat didn’t cover it. Better still, he was watching her in return.

Kate’s heart turned a circle in her chest as he smiled at her. All on their own, her cheeks took fire. The sinful temptation against which Lady Adele had so strictly warned rose like a wave to engulf her. It didn’t matter that Kate knew it was wrong or that feeling this way made her a lightskirt. There was no stopping it. She longed to feel Rafe’s arms around her and his mouth on hers once more.

Agony followed. If her need to touch him was so strong now, it would be horribly hard to resist him when next they met, especially when she knew their time together would soon end. Once the wedding celebration was done she’d never again see Rafe. Oh, this was most definitely love, tragic, deep and never to be requited love.

Beside her, Ami laughed. “Best you stop staring at him before your father notices.”

“You needn’t worry on that account,” Kate replied with a small smile. “My father has eyes for no one but Sir Warin, God be praised.” As she spoke, her gaze shifted from Rafe to the other end of the field. Her sire stood near Warin, his pride in his steward measured by the sheer width of his grin.

“Ladies,” Sir Josce’s scarred friend called to them, motioning them closer still as they drew near. “We’d be honored if you’d join us to watch these final runs.”

“Why, we’d be delighted,” Ami replied so swiftly that it was clear she’d hungered for the invitation.

She dragged Kate with her as she closed the distance between her and her love. “Sir Josce, how do you? I was sorely disappointed to see you fall.”

Kneeling, his head and shoulders still caught in his chain mail tunic, the big man fought his way out of it. Gasping as he dropped back to sit on his heels, he yanked off his leather coif then raised his head to look at Ami. His blond hair stood up in spikes around his face. Chagrin twisted his face.

“Would that you hadn’t witnessed that. This is the third time I’ve let Rafe pry me from the saddle. I fear it’s become a habit.

“Lady de Fraisney,” Josce said, acknowledging Kate. “Do you know my companions, Sir Simon de Kenifer and Sir Hugh d’Aincourt?” The two men aiding in his disarming offered Kate brief bows. Kate nodded to Sir Simon and smiled at the scarred Sir Hugh, recognizing him as her dancing partner from the previous evening.

“I, for one,” Ami said, drawing Sir Josce’s attention back to her, “was certain you’d take the purse for your half-sister’s honor.”

“Against Rafe?” Sir Simon scoffed. “I think not.”

Leaving the acquaintances to argue over whether Sir Josce’s fall was mere chance or due to Rafe’s superior skill, Kate went to stand next to the temporary fencing that surrounded the field. At the Daubney end of the grassy expanse Warin had remounted. Her father stepped away from Warin’s horse. A page, a lad Lord Haydon had loaned to her sire for the day, the same lad that Ami had pointed out as a potential husband on the wedding’s first night, lifted up a long spear to Warin. Once Warin had it in hand, he signaled the herald.

“They’re ready to run,” Kate called to the others without looking away from the combatants. Excitement shot through her. It was Rafe, not Warin, she wanted to take the day. Aye, he was her sire’s enemy and it was wrong to want what her sire despised, but she couldn’t help it.

Ami came to stand beside her while Sir Josce, yet wearing his mail leggings, stopped behind her. As the other two men joined them, the crowd hushed until the only sound was the odd horse’s snort and the chuckle of water in the stream. Riding to the center of the field, the herald held up his hand in an unnecessary grab for attention.

“For the Daubneys, Sir Warin de Dapifer. For the Godsols, Sir Ralf Godsol. Ride with God,” the old man shouted, then gave the sign.

The two horses sprang into motion, moving so swiftly that their tails flew straight out behind them. Every muscle in Kate’s body tensed. Her fingers dug into the soft, green wood of the fencing.

Wood met metal in a thundering retort. In that split second Rafe rocked back in his saddle. With a resounding bass snap, Warin’s lance broke. He teetered atop his horse but didn’t fall.

“Only a draw for the first run,” Sir Josce cried in disappointment over his friend’s failure to score. His words were nearly drowned out as around them the crowd roared out its appreciation for such a show.

“Lord, but they’re evenly matched. Did you see the Daubney steward shake our Rafe in his saddle?” Sir Hugh shouted out.

“No matter. Rafe will take the day,” Sir Simon said, his voice filled with complete confidence. He turned to look at Josce. “I think there’ll be time enough to remove your chausses before they’re ready for the second run.”

“I’ll undo your cross garters,” Ami said, speaking of the leather strips that kept Sir Josce’s loose steel stockings from sagging about the knight’s calves. The group of them backed up a few steps to do their chores.

On the field Warin continued riding down the alley, his course taking him directly toward Kate. When he was but a few yards away he drew his big black warhorse to a stop. He laid a hand against his heart, a reminder of where he carried her hidden ribbon.

Guilt seared Kate. Why, oh, why couldn’t she have realized she didn’t love Warin before she’d given him her token? The very idea of having to confess to him that she loved him no more when she retrieved her ribbon made her stomach knot.

Despite the shadows Warin’s helmet cast on his eyes, Kate saw them narrow. His jaw tensed beneath his beard. She started. Oh, heavens, but she’d been so lost in her own quandary that she hadn’t given him the sign he’d expected in return.

Powered by guilt her hand flew to her breast, only to have shame at pretending something she didn’t feel bring it back down just as swiftly. Every line in Warin’s body tightened until anger screamed from him. Jerking his horse’s head around, he kicked the beast into motion.

Kate cringed as she watched him go. He knew. Somehow Warin knew she loved him no more. Just as she feared, he wasn’t taking it well.

Like a tiny breath of relief a single thought tumbled through her. A true knight, a man like Lancelot, would never be angry with his lady if her love for him ended. Nay, his heart had no room for such emotions. Instead, he remained constant even if his lady rebuffed him all his years. That Warin could glare at her so only proved he wasn’t that sort of knight, despite his similarity in appearance to Lancelot. Given that, perhaps a single ribbon wasn’t so great a price to pay to be quit of him.

* * *

Gateschales walked on toward the Daubney end of the field as Rafe dropped his lance and shook his head. It didn’t help. His ears still rang. Worse, somewhere back behind him lay the shattered remains of his confidence.

Saints above, but running his lance into Sir Warin’s shield had been like hitting a stone wall. Never mind the purse. Another meeting like that, and they’d both die, blunted lance tips or not. Since death wasn’t what Rafe had in mind for his future, especially when he hadn’t yet bedded Kate, he needed to find a way not only to survive this contest but also to best his opponent. At that very instant the ribbon hidden in his palm shifted, as if to call his attention to it.