The Warrior's Wife (6 page)

He followed, easily keeping pace. With each step he took he veered a little more toward her, subtly and surely driving her farther from the edge of the woods.

With an impatient breath, she stopped to glare at him. “What are you doing?”

He grinned in the patronizing way that folk save for idiots and young children. “What every line of your body and face begs of me. I’m stopping you from meeting in private with your father’s steward.”

Kate froze, shock and guilt like living things within her. She stared up at Rafe. Certainty glinted in his dark eyes and the casual bend of his lips. He knew about her meeting with Warin. A wave of confusion followed. How could he possibly know anything? Only she and Warin knew.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice thready.

“I’m talking about you and Sir Warin de Dapifer,” Rafe replied, his tone that of a tutor to a slow-witted student. “I thought I should warn you. No matter what you think he wants or what he may have told you, it’s a tryst he expects from you.”

“A tryst?” she gasped, once again awash in shock.

This morning’s misgivings over Warin’s intentions stirred. God help her, but she’d known better from the start. Then, even as a part of her sighed in relief and gave thanks to Rafe for stopping her, the guilty need to shield her reputation from wrongdoing woke.

“You’re wrong,” she protested, her voice squeaking a little against the lie.

“I think not,” Rafe replied, his tone conversational, as if it were the weather they discussed and not the blackening of her repute. “But then, neither do you. It’s written all over your face. Never has there been a woman so unhappy at the prospect of meeting a man than you.”

Another wave of shock hit Kate, this one filled with Lady Adele’s strident warnings about straying from propriety’s path. Oh Lord, if Rafe had noticed that much, had anyone else? God help her! It didn’t matter that her meeting with Warin hadn’t yet taken place. All it took for her reputation to be ruined was for others to believe her capable of such misbehavior.

Hiding her worry by crossing her arms, Kate glanced around her. Lady Haydon and the aged countess sat on a nearby blanket but a few yards distant. The bride’s mother watched them from beneath the wide brim of her straw hat. Her brows were high upon her forehead, her expression alive with concern.

“Lady de Fraisney, is all well?” Lady Haydon called as their gazes met.

Before Kate could answer the dowager countess beside their hostess threw off her own hat, baring her thinning hair to the sun’s light. The old woman eyed the two members of the shire’s feuding families then let loose a lewd chuckle and looked at her companion.

“What trouble could there be, Beatrice, a handsome lad and a pretty lass like that? ‘Tis naught but courtship games they play. Leave them be,” she continued, laying her wrinkled hand on Lady Haydon’s green sleeve. “Too bad they can’t succeed. Think of the peace this shire might have if they were to unite their warring families.”

Lady Haydon yet looked dubious. Despite the countess’s confidence the old noblewoman’s escort came to their feet, their expressions guarded. They’d come to Kate’s aid if she asked for it.

Aye, but to ask for their help was like unto begging Rafe to spew his accusation of trysting for all to hear. Rafe was her father’s enemy. It wouldn’t trouble him that what he said ruined Kate’s life.

With that new understanding, Kate’s concern for her reputation fell before new cynicism. Her eyes narrowed. Rafe knew nothing about Warin. Only happenstance and misfortune made his guess correct. This was but a ploy by a Godsol to ruin a Daubney and a Daubney servant.

“All is well,” she lied to the ladies.

From her seat on the blanket the countess grinned. “See, it’s as I told you,” she told the others. Lady Haydon shrugged and smiled as the men behind them relaxed, once again returning to their places.

Turning her gaze back to Rafe, Kate’s jaw firmed. For shame! She’d let her father’s lecherous, ill-behaved enemy make her doubt her good and true Warin.

The worst of it was that she was now well and truly trapped. With his course set on destroying her, this mannerless ape would surely follow if she tried to enter the woods. Should he catch sight of Warin, the Godsol would immediately trumpet his lie for all to hear. She’d have to retreat.

Disappointment nibbled at her heart. When she didn’t meet Warin, would he believe she wanted him no longer? That meant no champion for her in the joust. As if Rafe read her thoughts on her face, a slow and triumphant grin stretched his mouth. It was enough to make irritation run away with Kate’s tongue.

“Lecher!” she scolded. “I’ve had enough of you and your sordid behavior. But why should I expect anything else from a man who takes advantage of the unwary by forcing touches and kisses? Well, I may have earned your ill opinion through my lapse last even but my father’s steward deserves no such blackening. Sir Warin is too true a knight to ever do as you suggest, and I’ll not have you dirtying his name with your false accusations. If you must know why I was entering yon wood, my reason is private, a need for a moment in the bushes.”

Amusement flashed in Rafe’s dark eyes. “Ah, outrage to bind your wounded pride. Apologies, my lady, for exposing your sire’s steward as a wretch and ruining your day.” It was a brief and mocking bow he gave to punctuate his words. When he straightened, he set a fist upon his hip and cocked a brow. “Apology given and received, now retreat to your sire where it’s safe.”

Kate gaped at him. Of all the men in the world here was the one she was absolutely certain had no right to tell her where she could or couldn’t go. All sense died against her need to put this impossible Godsol in his place.

“You dare try to bend me to your will? I will not retreat. Now, you stand aside and let me pass.”

New light glowed in his brown eyes until they smoldered. “You’ll retreat,” he repeated, “even knowing how very frustrated Sir Warin will be when you don’t meet him as planned. God knows I’d be frustrated, were I in his place.”

Kate loosed a searing breath. “Meet you in private when I know the sort of advantage you take? Never as long as I live, sir knight.”

His face softened. Without moving a muscle he seemed to shift nearer to her. “You have no idea how deeply I pray you eat those words, Kate,” he said, his voice suddenly husky and deep.

His forward use of her pet name should have shocked Kate. Propriety and sense should have screamed that she turn and run. Instead his nearness sparked the memory of their kiss and Kate’s body came to sharp life. Every fiber of her being longed to once more feel his mouth on hers.

Before she knew what he was about he captured one of her hands, his fingers twining with hers. Kate stared at their joined hands. As it was the dinner hour they’d both removed their gloves. The feel of his bare fingers against hers made Kate’s pulse do the strangest thing. Heat woke in the depths of her body then surged through her with each beat of her heart until she felt ablaze.

Her gaze lifted to his face. Rafe’s eyes darkened until they seemed black. His mouth was soft. The longing for the same kiss Kate needed clung to the curl of his lips. Her breath caught in her throat as that realization fed the terrible, awesome heat in her.

“You mustn’t.” Her words were but a breath, half because his touch so intoxicated her that she couldn’t breathe and half because she now craved his kiss with every inch of her being.

Deep within her Adele scolded. Even if Rafe weren’t her sire’s enemy to crave a kiss was immoral. For heaven’s sake, folk watched!

Despite that, Kate sighed in disappointment when rather than touch his lips to hers Rafe brought her hand to his mouth. Rather than press a courtier’s kiss to her fingers, he turned her hand in his to touch his lips to her naked palm. Kate caught her breath. His lips were warm, the hair of his beard felt both rough and soft in one glorious instant.

His mouth moved in her hand, turning the simple press of flesh to flesh into a sweet nuzzling. Kate gasped as her spine dissolved.

His mouth moved from her palm to the delicate skin at her wrist. Kate’s knees weakened. She shifted nearer to him.

Rather than embrace her as she so craved, he released her hand and stepped a full pace back from her. “Nay, Kate,” he whispered in warning. “We can’t.”

Embarrassment scourged Kate. Where were her morals that she should need a Godsol to tell her what was appropriate behavior? Panic followed. What was she doing?! She’d let her father’s enemy kiss her hand right there in the center of everything where anyone might witness!

“Oh, help,” she muttered to herself, not a little unnerved. She whirled, more than ready to retreat now, only to stumble back as someone barreled past her.

With a wordless, raging shout, her father launched himself at Rafe.

 

Damning himself for letting his longing to touch Kate blind him, Rafe sprang back from Bagot’s lord. He wasn’t fast enough to completely escape the thrust of the nobleman’s hunting knife. The tip of Lord Humphrey’s weapon gouged his leather vest at waist level.

Rafe stumbled under the assault. The old man pursued, his teeth bared. Bagot’s next blow was low and fast but not fast enough. Catching Lord Humphrey’s wrist, Rafe gave the smaller nobleman, a man thirty years older and two stones lighter, a goodly shove.

Hissing in frustration, Bagot fell back, grabbing a handful of Rafe’s clothing as he went. It was a strange, panting dance they did, one attacking, the other retreating, while both fought for footing. A woman screamed. Kate? From all across the glade, men shouted. Relief shot through Rafe. Their voices were the sound of aid coming his way.

Again Lord Humphrey tried to drive his knife into his enemy’s gut. Rafe’s fingers tightened on the old man’s wrist to hold him at bay. It was all the defense he dared. Thief or not, Bagot was still his better. Only a man with a death wish struck his better.

Breath by breath, Rafe’s world shrank until it encompassed only him and the old man. Sweat beaded on Kate’s sire’s brow, slipping down the grimy lines that tracked his weathered face. Hatred seethed in Bagot’s pale eyes. His front tooth was chipped. A bit of pasty clung to the wiry strands of his ruddy beard.

Lord Humphrey’s breath wheezed from his lips. The old man’s arm trembled. It was the edge Rafe needed.

Another sharp shove sent Lord Bagot spinning back from him. In the same instant Rafe wheeled in the opposite direction, his hands lifted to show any who watched that he held no weapon. He careered into Will.

His brother caught him by the shoulders to steady him. Panting more from tension than exertion, Rafe let his world once more expand. Men crowded around him and Bagot.

Howling, Lord Humphrey lunged for Rafe only to come up short as Lord Haydon and three other men grabbed him. The old man writhed against his captors. “Godsol scum!” Lord Humphrey shouted, intent only on the man he hated. “You’ll die for what you’ve done!”

Rafe, his arms yet held clear of his sides, didn’t bother replying. He but waited as Josce pushed past his noble sire to join him. His friend reached around Rafe to snatch his hunting knife from its short scabbard. Only when Rafe was thus disarmed did he lower his hands. Turning, Josce held the weapon high for all to see.

“Take heed,” Lord Haydon’s bastard called out. “You all stand witness that Sir Ralf’s weapon was sheathed throughout these last moments. He weathered Lord Humphrey’s violence without responding in kind.”

It was testimony that, although strained, the peace of the wedding hadn’t been broken; no man’s loyalty demanded he go to war that day. So many men in the glade breathed out at this that it was almost a breeze. Whether they did so in relief or disappointment was hard to say. There were plenty of men willing to kill Godsols for Bagot, and a good number of guests would happily loan the Godsols their arms for the sheer sport of making Daubneys bleed.

Beside Rafe, Will made a furious sound deep in his throat. Closing his fists, he took a step toward the man who’d killed their father. Rafe, still giddy from having escaped certain death by the skin of his teeth, stared at his brother in new panic. Will meant to provoke violence when any hope of owning Kate depended on keeping the peace.

Catching his elder brother by the arm, Rafe gave him a quick shake. “Not a word, Will,” he begged in a quiet whisper to no avail.

“You go too far with this unprovoked attack on my brother, Bagot,” Will shouted. “Our truce is broken!” The agreement of the Godsol supporters thundered in the air.

“Bitch’s son!” Lord Humphrey threw back, again lunging for those he hated. The men who held him strained to keep him where he stood. “Hold that forked tongue of yours, or I’ll cut the thing from your mouth.”

Will’s head snapped back as if struck. His hand dropped to his knife’s hilt. Rafe yanked on his brother’s arm, stopping him before he could pull the weapon.

“You’ll do as Bagot says and hold your tongue, or I’ll cut it out for him,” the youngest Godsol dared in a panicked whisper to his elder.

Shock flattened Will’s face. Eyes wide, he stared at the least member of his family. He growled but much to Rafe’s relief, he held his tongue.

Lord Haydon took a step closer to the Godsols. Although not as tall as his only son, there was no mistaking Josce’s parentage. Baldwin of Haydon and his bastard owned the same shade of fair hair, the same jut of the chin and hooked nose.

“Sir Ralf, I look upon you and see no blood. Are you injured?” their host asked, the question command rather than inquiry.

“I am not, my lord,” Rafe replied.

“Of course he’s not injured,” Lord Humphrey said, his voice suddenly calm, his tone sly. “Cowardly pig refused to fight with me.”

The insult sliced through Rafe. His fists closed. Rage tore away all his good intentions. No man called him coward!

Beside him, Will laughed, the sound low and wicked. “So what you thought good enough for me to bear is too much for you, eh?” the eldest Godsol whispered, even as his hand closed about the hilt of his hunting knife in preparation for an attack.

As if conjured out of thin air Simon and Hugh appeared at Rafe’s side. Simon grabbed Rafe’s arm, his grip like iron as he held his friend in place. Meanwhile, Hugh lifted his chin and turned his face so all in the glade might see the scar upon his face.

“Look upon me and see I wear my bravery where the world might witness,” he called to the crowd. “Of all the knights I know there’s no man I’d rather have at my side in war than Sir Ralf Godsol. Lord Bagot’s charge of cowardice is as dastardly as the nobleman’s unprovoked attack upon my friend.”

At Hugh’s testimony more than gratitude for the restoration of his honor flowed through Rafe. Hugh had not only saved him from his own idiocy, he’d left him with a thread of a chance to own Kate.

Trapped between terror and mortification, Kate let the other guests push past her as they crowded around Rafe and her father. Oh Lord help her, how long would it be before someone mentioned that Rafe had kissed her hand?

This was nothing more than God’s punishment for daring to breach propriety’s bounds. She should never have let Rafe near to her again, knowing as she did the sort of spell his touch laid on her. If it had been possible, Kate would have raced all the way back to her father’s tent at Haydon, climbed into her cot and pulled the blankets over her head. Since there was no such hope of escape, she put her hand to her heart. Never again, she swore, would she come within arm’s reach of Rafe Godsol.

Someone laid a hand on her shoulder. With a startled cry, Kate whirled. It was Warin.

Guilt shot through her. She’d forgotten about him waiting in the woods for her. Her surprise soured. Warin’s leather vest lay open over his chest and he’d loosened the ties at his tunic’s neck.

Others might see naught but an attempt to escape the day’s heat. Suspicion shot through Kate. Was Rafe right about Warin’s intentions? Feeling as innocent as Ami proclaimed her, Kate prayed there was some other explanation. To protect herself from her own foolishness, she amended her vow. Never again would she consider meeting a man in private, not even if Warin begged her on bended knee.

“What happens here, my lady?” Warin demanded, his face tense, his narrowed eyes aimed at her captive sire in the crowd’s center.

Kate’s mouth opened. Nothing came out, mostly because no combination of words could adequately explain how this situation had come about without making it seem as if she’d done something wrong when she hadn’t. At last she settled for a very bare version of the truth. “My lord father attacked one of the Godsols.”

Her dear love’s jaw tightened. “May God take all Godsols,” he muttered. Grabbing her by the arm, he started into the crowd. “Come.”

Panic shot through Kate. Lord help her, but she didn’t want to be anywhere near Rafe. When he saw Warin’s dress would he repeat his unfortunate conjecture about her destination? The present disarray of Warin’s attire was damning, no matter his true intent.

“We can’t,” she whispered, tugging on her trapped arm. Warin made no reply, only tightened his grip until it almost hurt. Kate gasped, too startled by this to do anything other than be pulled alongside him.

Even though she told herself she mustn’t, as they made their way toward the crowd’s center Kate’s gaze slipped to Rafe. He stood proudly before their host, day’s golden light gilding every handsome line and plane of his face. A hint of gratitude and relief shot through her. He looked no worse for her sire’s attack.

Rafe wasn’t watching her but Warin. At the sight of Warin’s loosened tunic his eyes narrowed and his fine mouth twisted. Kate cringed. Just as she’d feared, he believed he’d confirmed his dreadful and wrongheaded suspicions.

Defeat washed over Kate. It was going to happen. Rafe would spew his belief that Warin planned a tryst, thereby ruining her. Her father’s enemy couldn’t afford to miss so wondrous an opportunity to destroy that man’s daughter.

She and Warin halted but arm’s length from her trapped sire. “What is the meaning of this, my Lord Haydon, that you would hold Lord Bagot like some common captive?” Warin demanded, speaking as Bagot’s steward. “Release him this minute!”

“I cannot, Sir Warin,” their host replied, his voice lifted so that it filled the glade, “at least not until your noble master calms himself. He’s attacked Sir Ralf Godsol.”

“If there’s any fault over what happened here, you can rest assured it lies with the Godsol,” Warin dared to retort. The Bagot supporters in the crowd muttered their approval of his claim, the sound rumbling up into the vast and vaultless blue of the sky, while the Godsols’ backers shouted in protest. The noise was enough to set those hunting dogs accompanying their masters this day to belling.

“Sir Warin, I saw you as you came from the woods after the fact,” Sir Josce FitzBaldwin called from his stance next to Rafe. His deep voice cut like a sword through the noise. “If you were in the trees, how can you know who’s at fault for what happened here?” Those who favored the Godsols roared at this.

“No more, I pray you,” Lord Haydon called out, holding up his hands to punctuate his plea. “No one is injured, and the peace of my daughter’s wedding continues. Let us all retreat and leave this incident behind us without notice.”

“What of my honor?” Lord Humphrey spat out.

Kate watched her father draw himself up to his tallest even as he remained a prisoner. With each inch he straightened he released rage and reclaimed his noble arrogance. One by one, those who held him stood back.

When he was free, Lord Humphrey yanked his leather vest back in place then stooped to retrieve his hunting knife, which lay at his feet. Sheathing it in his belt, he looked at his host. “I warn you now, Baldwin,” he said, using Lord Haydon’s Christian name without his title to make a point of their equality. “Wedding or not, I’ll kill that piece of Godsol offal for assaulting my daughter.”

The silence in the glade was instant and complete. Kate’s senses reeled. The air left her lungs. Her father’s words left Rafe no choice save to spill some sort of excuse to protect himself. Aye, and she knew just what he would say.

At the center of the crowd, Lord Haydon whirled on Rafe. “Did you assault Lady de Fraisney?” His question was sharp, promising swift retribution if offered the wrong answer.

Kate’s life crumbled as she waited for what would surely come. Rafe shot her a swift look. Hot color crept up her cheeks as she read the message in his gaze. He wanted to know if the kiss he’d placed in her hand qualified as an assault.

A moment later his gaze shifted back to their host. “My lord, ask the lady if you must but I did in no way assault her this day,” he said, that and no more.

So deep was Kate’s relief that stars swam before her eyes. Something akin to joy stirred in her as she chided herself for misjudging Rafe. Despite his bad manners, Rafe Godsol was an honorable and good man. Not even to honor his father’s hatred for the Daubneys would he destroy her.