“Far be it from me to disappoint a lady—in anything.”

He strode toward her, reached out, took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, then raised his eyes to regard her. “You, my lady, are the most surprising young woman I have ever met.”

Her cheeks flushing, she tugged her hand away. “Hardly a compliment, sir knight. I’m not impressed.”

He lifted the corners of his mouth in the sort of lazy smile he gave a woman after they had made love. “I assure you, a man likes to be surprised by a woman, and a truly surprising woman is a very rare creature.”

For the briefest of moments her eyes widened with shock, and he wanted to shout with triumph.

But then her eyes flashed with scornful fire. “Creatures?” she demanded. “Is that what women are to you?”

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Margaret Moore

‘Fans who adore Moore’s high sexual tension and realistic action will revel in Mavis and Roland’s journey from lust to love.’

—RT Book Reviews on Bride for a Knight

‘Moore. Moore. Moore. Fans will love her newest medieval romance about a knight in tarnished armour and a damsel in distress. Readers can count on the author for realistic settings, authentic dialogue, lots of action and hot sexual tension.’

—RT Book Reviews on Castle of the Wolf

‘Moore taps in to the culture and mores of Scotland to create a colourful Highland love story.’

—RT Book Reviews on Highland Heiress

‘The talented Moore has penned another exciting Regency.’

—RT Book Reviews on Highland Rogue, London Miss

‘The story is fresh, fun, fast-paced, engaging and passionate, with an added touch of adventure.’

—The Romance Readers’ Connection on The Notorious Knight

Award-winning author MARGARET MOORE has written over fifty romance novels and novellas for Harlequin Mills & Boon, Avon Books and HarperCollins Children’s Books. Her stories have been set in the Dark Ages and medieval Britain, Restoration, Regency and Victorian England and pre–Civil War Massachusetts. Margaret lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and two cats.

She can be found online at margaretmoore.com, margaretmoore.blogspot.com and @MargMooreAuthor on Twitter.

In the King’s Service

Margaret Moore

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With many thanks to the astute and delightful Melissa Endlich.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Praise

About the Author

Title Page

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Copyright

Chapter One

Sir Blaidd Morgan, knight of the realm, trusted friend of Henry III, champion of tournaments and reputedly able to whisper a woman into his bed, drew his horse to a halt and wiped his nose with the back of his gloved hand. Water dripped from the soaked hood of his woolen cloak, and his boots were spattered with mud. The scent of damp leaves arose from the wood on his left; on his right, some cows stood in a meadow beneath the shelter of an oak, looking as miserable as he felt. At least now, through the teeming downpour, he could make out a village and a castle just beyond.

“That has to be Throckton Castle, thank God,” he said to his equally drenched squire. “I was beginning to fear that we’d taken the wrong fork a few miles back and would have to bed down in the forest for the night.”

His squire pulled the hood of his cloak farther over his head. “I thought you Welsh were used to the rain.”

“Used to it, aye, Trev, I am, and because of your father’s ideas about training, too. But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

Blaidd and Trevelyan Fitzroy’s fathers were old friends, and Trev’s father, Sir Urien, had trained Blaidd in the arts of war, which included drilling in all kinds of weather.

Sixteen-year-old Trev nodded at the fortress looming in the distance. “I thought Lord Throckton wasn’t an important man, but that’s quite a castle.”

“It’s more impressive than I thought it would be, too,” Blaidd confessed.

On closer inspection—or as close as one could get from this vantage point through the rain—it seemed a massive creation, with inner and outer walls, an impressive gatehouse and a large keep in the center. Blaidd hadn’t seen many castles to rival it, and he wondered if King Henry would be equally as surprised to learn the extent of Lord Throckton’s fortifications, or if he already knew. That might explain the king’s suspicions.

“Not every important man goes to court,” Blaidd noted as he nudged his black gelding, Aderyn Du, to a walk. “Our fathers don’t. It’s likely to have some comfortable accommodation, though, thank God.”

“Do you think Lady Laelia will be as beautiful as they say?” Trev asked.

Blaidd gave his companion a brotherly grin. “Probably not, but there’s no harm in looking.”

“We’ve come all this way because you only want to look?” Trev asked, incredulous.

Blaidd wasn’t about to share the real reason Henry had sent him, so he grinned wider. “What else should a chivalrous knight do but look? I’ve heard enough tales of Lady Laelia’s beauty that I decided it was worth a journey to see if they were true. My mother is truly starting to despair that I’ll never find a wife and settle down.”

“So if Lady Laelia’s as beautiful as they say, you’ll marry her?”

Blaidd’s deep bass laughter sounded above the rain and the squelching of the mud beneath their horses’ hooves. “Beauty’s not the only thing a man should think about when it comes to marriage.”

“I suppose not,” Trev replied dubiously.

“Definitely not.”

“So you’ve thought about it before, then?”

Aderyn Du skirted a large puddle in the middle of the rutted road. “Aye, of course,” Blaidd said. “But I’ve never found the right woman.”

“Is that why you’ve been with so many?”

Blaidd slid the youth a wry look. “I haven’t been with that many. I’ll not deny I like women’s company, but I’m not quite the amazing lover gossip paints me.”

“But Gervais says—”

“Your brother has no more knowledge of what I do with my nights than you do.”

A more subdued Trev remained silent as they rode across a stone bridge leading into the village. Blaidd was rather glad of that. He didn’t enjoy discussing his relationships with women with anyone, let alone a sixteen-year-old.

Because of the rain and the spring runoff, the river was high, the water frothing and splashing as it hit the bridge’s foundations. This bridge was a finer piece of engineering than Blaidd had expected to find in a place this far to the north and west of London, too.

Mercifully, the rain began to abate and he could better note the state of the village. It was comprised of several cottages of wattle and daub and thatch. Shops and stalls, many with living quarters above, lined the green.

He’d seen villages in worse repair, but he’d seen plenty better, too. The village church wasn’t much, either, leading him to suspect that little of Lord Throckton’s income from his tenants’ tithes was given away in charity. More likely it was spent on stones and mortar and master masons for his castle.

The green was deserted, but Blaidd felt he was being watched nonetheless. No doubt the unseen villagers were speculating about who they were and why they had come.

From Blaidd’s mount and his accoutrements, his bearing from years of training as well as the broadsword slapping his thigh, they would surely guess he was a soldier, at the very least. The presence of a squire and the device on his shield would reveal that he was a knight. Anything else would be pure speculation.

The rain stopped completely as they neared a larger building that looked to be an inn. Blaidd was thinking he wasn’t sure he’d fancy spending a night there any more than on the open road, when a blowzy, dark-haired, unkempt woman appeared in one of the un-shuttered windows on the second level. She leaned so far out of the window that her ample breasts, barely covered by her loose shift, seemed likely to be completely exposed at any moment.

She brazenly grinned at Blaidd, then whistled. In the next moment, several other women, equally slatternly, appeared at the other windows.

“Ain’t he a fine, bold one now?” the black-haired one said in a loud voice. “I bet he’s bold in bed, too.”

The women cackled like chickens, and another declared, “Lovely weapon you’ve got, m’lord, I’m sure. I’d love to see it up close.”

“I like the pretty young one,” another called out.

Blaidd glanced over his shoulder. His face red as holly berries, Trev stared straight ahead. Blaidd stifled a smile that was both amused and sympathetic as they drew abreast of the building.

“I’m sorry, my dears,” Blaidd said, as if he were addressing the queen of England, “but my squire and I must decline your charming and generous offers.”

“Ooh, listen to him, will ya?” the black-haired harlot cried. “Ain’t that the loveliest voice you ever heard! Welsh, too. I’ve heard good things about them.” She made a gesture that demonstrated what exactly she had heard. “Come here, my buck, and whisper something naughty in my ear. It’s the least you can do if you ain’t gonna stay.”

Blaidd put his hand on his heart and bowed. “Alas, I fear I cannot. I have business at the castle and must not tarry any longer.”

He again nudged Aderyn Du into a walk, but before they had gone, a young woman—probably not much older than Trev—came to stand in the doorway. Her blond hair was a tousled mess, her relatively clean gown clung to her shapely body and her eyes were a startling shade of green. But while she had the face of an angel, the way she leaned against the frame of the door and the leering smile she gave Blaidd told him that she was an old hand at this game. As he rode forward, he sighed for the loss of innocence, even if he understood that poverty offered many women few choices in life but this one.

He realized he didn’t hear Trev’s horse behind him, and twisted to look over his shoulder. Trev’s horse hadn’t moved, and the squire was staring at the young woman like a man bewitched.

Blaidd swore under his breath, then barked, “Fitzroy!”

Jolted by the explosive summons, Trev kicked his horse’s sides and was soon riding beside him toward the castle’s gatehouse.

“She’s a whore, like the others,” Blaidd said.

“I know that. I’m not a baby,” Trev muttered, not looking at him. “And I’ve got ears. I heard what they said.”

“Then you know you must forget about that girl.”

Trev flushed. “I’ve got money.”

“Whether you can afford it or not is beside the point. That’s not a fit place for you to go. Aside from fleas and bedbugs, a lot of women in such places will gladly rob you blind, and it is a sad fact that most of them are probably diseased. A wise man stays out of stews.”

“You sound just like my father.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Blaidd replied, keeping his voice light, “and I am responsible for you while you’re in my service. If your father found out I’d let you go to a brothel, he’d probably have a fit—but he’d still be able to break my head before he succumbed. I’m not about to risk that.”

“Have you ever been to a brothel?”

Blaidd was glad that he could answer honestly. “Never wanted to, never had to.”

Fortunately, they reached the gatehouse of Throckton Castle, effectively ending the conversation. He had a job to do here—one that had nothing to do with courting Lady Laelia—and he didn’t want to have to play tutor to Trevelyan in matters such as these, as well.

Blaidd studied the raised portcullis, a huge wooden grille with pointed ends. Sentries patrolled the wall walk above. At the other end of the gatehouse was a closed second gate that led to the outer ward. It was made of solid oak, inches thick and studded with brass.

Lowering his hood, Blaidd rode beneath the portcullis and into the gatehouse, passing under the murder hole. If enemies got trapped between the wooden grille of the portcullis and the solid inner gate, defenders could pour boiling oil or throw rocks through that hole. He shivered, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was wet with rain. He had seen a child accidentally burned by hot sheep’s tallow once, and the thought of a great vat raining such a doom from above was the stuff of nightmares.

Arriving at the inner gate, he pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. Trev followed suit, and Blaidd handed him Aderyn Du’s reins.

Before Blaidd could call out a greeting, though, a panel in the right half of the door slid swiftly back. No doubt the sentries on the wall walk had notified the guards below that they had visitors.

A thin face wreathed in a rough, dark brown woolen hood appeared. The guard’s brilliant blue eyes regarded Blaidd as if he wanted to accuse him of cheating. “Who are you and what do you want?” a slightly husky voice demanded.

“It’s a woman!” Trev cried in what was meant to be a whisper, although it was loud enough to be heard twenty feet away.

After the first moment of astonishment had passed, Blaidd did what he always did when he met a woman. He smiled. “I wasn’t aware Lord Throckton had Amazons in his garrison.”

With an expression that looked suspiciously like scorn, the blue eyes surveyed him slowly, from the top of his soaked head, over his woolen cloak and leather jerkin, past his sword belt and breeches to the soles of his black boots. Then her expression changed to one of approval—because she’d caught sight of Aderyn Du.

Blaidd stiffened. Aderyn Du was an undeniably fine animal, but he wasn’t used to having his horse meet with more favor than he did.

Turning her attention back to Blaidd, the woman said, “I asked you who you were and what you want here.”

“He’s Sir Blaidd Morgan,” Trev declared incredulously, as if the whole world must know that.

Blaidd, however, knew that the whole world did not know of him, and it was very possible that his fame, such as it was, hadn’t traveled this far north of London and east of Wales.

“As my squire has said, I am Sir Blaidd Morgan,” he replied, once more his calm, genial self. “I’ve come to pay a friendly visit to Lord Throckton, provided you’ll let us through the gate.”

The woman sniffed. “You’ve come to court the Lady Laelia, like so many men before you. Well, good luck.”

“I do hope I have good luck, if Lady Laelia proves to be worth courting.”

“Well, well, no false modesty in you, sir knight, is there?” the woman replied. “It should be interesting to see how a Welshman fares. You are a Welshman, aren’t you?”

By now, Trev was fairly hopping with indignation. “Are you going to let her talk to you like that? Do we have to stand here like a couple of peddlers asking to come in?”

Blaidd continued to smile, and while he ostensibly replied to Trev, he didn’t take his steadfast gaze from what he could see of the woman’s face. “As a matter of fact, since she is keeper of the gate, I am going to let her talk to me like that, and keep us waiting, if she likes.”

The woman laughed, a low and rather cynical chortle. “I’ll give you credit for your manners, Sir Welshman,” she said. “Enter, then, and be welcome.”

She slammed the grille closed, and they heard the sound of the heavy bolt being drawn back.

“And about time, too!” Trev muttered. “God’s blood, Blaidd, that’s the rudest—”

“Never mind, Trev. We’re here without a specific invitation, so we can hardly be offended if the welcome is less than warm.”

“I hope Lord Throckton is more polite.”

“I’m sure he will be. It’s a nobleman’s duty to extend hospitality to a fellow nobleman.”

His squire didn’t respond; nonetheless, Blaidd could fairly feel the annoyance shooting out of him.

In truth, he was a little annoyed by the woman’s brazen manner, too, but he had had more experience with disrespect. His father was not nobly born, and it had taken winning several tournaments, as well as the friendship of the king, before Blaidd was truly accepted at court.

So while this was far from his usual reception both at castles and with women, he wasn’t as quick to take offense as Trev. As for the woman, he was very curious to see the whole of her face. If it was half so fascinating as those vibrant blue eyes, his time here might be more interesting than he had anticipated.

Although he mustn’t lose sight of his true, and important, purpose.

The gates slowly swung open, and he and Trev proceeded through, entering a wide, grassy outer ward. Beyond was the inner curtain wall of the castle, with towers at the corners.

Several armed guards—all men—stood at attention beside the gatehouse. The blue-eyed woman shrouded in a long brown cloak waited closest to the gate, as if she had personally drawn back the bolt. Her face was thin, her skin pale, and her blue eyes seemed rather too large for her face. But her features themselves weren’t too bad, and when he considered her lips, the first thought that came to mind was kissing.

“I hope you’ll forgive my questions, sir,” she said as she bowed low. “We so seldom have any visits from the king’s minions that naturally I was suspicious.”

Minion? Blaidd was no longer moved to excuse her insolence, vibrant blue eyes or not, and as for kissing her, he’d sooner kiss Aderyn Du.

“He’s not a minion!” Trev cried, echoing his thoughts. “He’s a friend of King Henry’s.”

“Trev, please, allow me to deal with this underling,” Blaidd said as he slowly ambled toward the woman until they were less than a foot apart.

She stiffened as Blaidd perused her in a leisurely manner.

“What’s your name, wench?” he asked with deceptive tranquillity before he gave her a smile that his opponents in armed combat had learned to dread.

Her chin jutted out with defiance. “Becca.”

“Tell me, Becca, do you always speak this way to your superiors?”

“Usually I don’t speak to anybody who considers himself my superior.”

She was, without doubt, the most insolent wench he’d ever encountered. “If this is the welcome nobles can expect at Throckton Castle, it’s no wonder to me that your lord is not held in high esteem at the king’s court.”

The woman’s steadfast gaze finally faltered—but only for the briefest of moments. “If he isn’t, that merely confirms what I think of the English court.”

“What do you know of the English court?”

Her eyes widened with what he recognized as a completely fraudulent innocent bafflement. “I never said I knew anything about the English court, sir. I said it confirms what I think about it.”

She bowed again, with an unexpected grace. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Sir Blaidd.”

He tilted his head as he studied her, not at all taken in by her change of manner. “Are you?”

“If what I’ve said causes trouble for Lord Throckton, I am.”

Then she smiled, with so merry an expression, it was like finding a flower blooming in the dead of winter. “But if my honesty means you think I’m an insolent wretch who ought to be punished, I’m not sorry a bit.”

Under the force of that smile, Blaidd’s anger melted away. “Perhaps I’ll be merciful and not tell Lord Throckton about his impertinent gatekeeper.”

“Perhaps he won’t be surprised.” Her smile dimmed, but she didn’t sound worried.

Then she wrapped her cloak more tightly about her slender frame. “Aren’t you in a hurry to meet the lovely Lady Laelia?” She gave him another smile. “I think you might actually stand a chance.”

“Well, then, since I’ve apparently won your good opinion, I’ll consider myself nearly betrothed.”

The look in her sparkling eyes shifted again, becoming serious. “You may not have had much competition in anything before, Sir Blaidd Morgan of Wales, but you will now. I wish you luck, if you think Laelia and her dowry will make you happy.”

He asked the next question without thought. “Will I be seeing you in the castle?”

“I hope not,” she replied, in a way that left no doubt that she meant it.

The guards nearby stifled smiles and tried not to laugh.

Sir Blaidd Morgan enjoyed having people laugh with him, and women most of all. But he hated being laughed at, and it had been years upon years since anybody had dared.

He turned on his heel, marched back to Aderyn Du and threw himself into the saddle. “Let’s go, Trev,” he snapped.

His squire immediately obeyed. “Do you suppose she really is a gatekeeper?” he asked as they rode into the ward.

“Whoever she is,” Blaidd answered grimly, “I don’t think she’s right in the head, and I hope I never see her again.”

As Sir Blaidd Morgan rode away, Becca glanced at the castle guards, and the tall, gray-haired man in mail at the head of them. “Poor man. I don’t think he expected my reception.”

They burst out laughing.

“That’s enough, lads,” the commander of the garrison ordered, although Dobbin was having trouble keeping a straight face himself. “Back to your duties.”

Exchanging muffled words and snickers, the men returned to their posts, while Dobbin joined Becca in the room in the gatehouse where the guards spent their time while not on patrol or sleeping. The plain stone walls were as stark as the battered trestle table upon which, over the years, men off duty had scratched their signs or initials. A couple of stools provided the only seating. A single shelf held materials for cleaning metal and leather, a task often performed here. The scent of the polish lingered, and helped add to the cozy feeling of the room, which was warmed by a fire.

Becca and Dobbin hung up their drenched cloaks on pegs near the door and returned to their stools by the small hearth.

Dobbin stretched out his legs and sighed. “I’m getting too old to stand in the rain,” he muttered, his words betraying his childhood spent in the dales of Yorkshire.

“You could have stayed inside.”

“Too risky.”

“They were hardly on the attack.”

Dobbin gave her a shrewd look. “But what might you have said if I wasn’t there?”

She smiled, for he was quite right. She might have been even more impertinent toward yet another knight who’d arrived to see if the beauty of Throckton lived up to that name, and to court her if she did.

“Big fellow, he was, for a Welshman,” Dobbin noted. “Sits his horse well. A man with shoulders and legs like that would probably be some fighter.”

“I daresay he probably is a champion of tournaments,” Becca agreed as she spread her damp skirts to enable them to dry more quickly. The ring of keys at her belt jingled with the movement.

“He’s a handsome one, too, even with that hair. I’ve never seen a nobleman with hair to his shoulders like some kind of savage.”

“Maybe all Welshmen wear it that way.”

“I’ve never seen ’em do it,” Dobbin replied, “and I’ve met a fair few at tournaments and such.”

Becca clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll ask him, shall I?”

Dobbin nearly fell off his stool. “You’d better not. He looked angry enough to strangle you before. I thought he was going to, the way he got so close to you.”

Becca tried not to remember how her heart had pounded when the handsome knight with the incredible physique had strolled toward her, a look on his face as if…as if…

Well, she’d never had a man walk up to her with that look on his face. “Very well, I won’t ask.” She gave Dobbin a grin. “Judging by that smile of his, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sir Blaidd expects to win Laelia with nothing more than a wink and a grin.”

“I just hope his lordship ain’t going to be angry when he hears what you said to a knight from King Henry’s court.”

“I expect he will be.” Becca hunched her shoulders, lowered her chin and gruffly spoke in imitation of the overlord of Throckton Castle. “Ignore her, Sir Blaidd. She’s flighty and foolish—a woman, that’s all.”

Dobbin shook his head. “You’d better take care, my lady, or one of these days you might push your father too far, and then where will you be?”

Chapter Two

While Trev finished taking their baggage to the chamber they would share, Blaidd waited for Lord Throckton in the great hall. He stood with his back to the massive hearth, and the heat felt so good, he barely managed not to squirm like a pig in mud.

His mood continued to improve as he surveyed the chamber, which, like the rest of the fortress, was larger and more indicative of personal wealth than he had expected. After entering the cobbled courtyard, he’d taken note of the huge building that had to be the hall, and the chapel beside it, judging by the windows. The rooms on the second level of the half-timbered stables were surely barracks for the garrison and living quarters for grooms and stable boys. Blaidd guessed the two-story building on this side of the yard, adjoining the hall, contained the apartments where the family and the other servants slept, as well as the lord’s solar. The other buildings he could readily identify were the kitchen, attached to the hall and with a large chimney louvered so that rain couldn’t put out the fire below, and the blacksmith’s shop. The keep, a huge circular building to the left of the entrance, probably doubled as the armory, and would serve as a last redoubt should the walls be breached.

The keep was decades old, and the inner walls, too. Blaidd estimated that the hall, the chapel, the outer wall and the formidable gatehouse were new, built within the last five years. The second floors—the apartments and barracks—were likewise of recent construction.

As for the interior of the hall, the only place Blaidd had seen to rival it belonged to the king. Heavy and finely wrought tapestries covered the walls, depicting battles and hunts, their bright green, scarlet and gold threads catching the light. The benches and tables were relatively new, free of scars, scratches and gouges, and polished to a high sheen. Clean rushes covered the floor, and the light scents of rosemary and fleabane reached his nostrils.

Huge oak beams supported the ceiling, and banners of knights who owed allegiance to Lord Throckton moved in the shifting air like lazy maidens dancing. It was quite a collection—far more than Blaidd would have expected for a lord of Throckton’s apparent standing—and most of them were unfamiliar. Should the king’s suspicions about Throckton’s possible disloyalty prove well founded, he would have to remember them.

One of the hounds slumbering near the fire twitched, drawing his attention. They had stood growling and quivering at him when he had first entered, until one of the male servants had commanded them to sit and be quiet.

That wench at the gate had practically snapped and growled at him, too. What would she look like asleep, her bright blue eyes closed and her breasts rising and falling in gentle rhythm? He recalled hints of the form beneath that damp cloak she held so tightly about her, and realized she was quite shapely.

His body warmed more, and not from the fire, as he imagined the spirited Becca in his bed. She wouldn’t lie there unmoving, he was sure. If she decided to give herself to a man, she would—with zest. He would be free to tease and suggest and play, and she would probably respond in kind.

He began to harden, and forcibly reminded himself he had important business here that had nothing to do with women, even if he was supposed to be interested in Lady Laelia. And he should no more dally with a maidservant than Trev should go to that brothel, no matter how interesting or challenging the maidservant might be.

“Welcome to Throckton Castle, Sir Blaidd!” a deep voice called out.

Blaidd swiveled toward a curving stairway at the far end of the hall. A robust man with thick gray hair and broad shoulders strode toward him. He was well-dressed, wearing a long tunic of indigo blue belted with gilded leather. By his manner and confidence Blaidd assumed he was the lord of the castle.

When Lord Throckton reached the dais, he came to a halt and smiled pleasantly, revealing fine teeth.

Blaidd, however, had spent years among hypocritical courtiers so he quickly realized that the friendly smile did not reach the man’s hazel eyes. They were as wary as the girl’s at the gate.

The hairs on the back of Blaidd’s neck tickled, as if he was trying to pick his way across swampy land, yet he betrayed nothing of his foreboding. After all, what man wouldn’t be suspicious of a knight who arrived without warning? And it could be that his own disinclination for subterfuge was making him more suspicious than he should be. “Greetings, Lord Throckton,” he said as he bowed.

“Nasty weather for traveling,” the nobleman noted.

“Which is why I’m thankful for your hospitality.”

“Think nothing of it, man! It’s my pleasure.” Lord Throckton’s smile grew, but his eyes did not lose their shrewd wariness. “Still, I doubt it’s merely chance that brings you so far from the main road.”

“No, it isn’t,” Blaidd replied with his friendliest smile. “However, my reason for coming here is one that I would prefer to speak of in private, if we may.”

“Of course! We can discuss what brings you here in my solar.”

Lord Throckton led Blaidd toward the staircase he had just descended, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that he was following.

They reached a landing, and Lord Throckton opened the door leading off it. He gestured for Blaidd to enter the chamber first, and when he did, he found himself in a very comfortable room that provided more evidence that Lord Throckton was rich and liked his creature comforts. More colorful tapestries covered the walls, and the chairs, of pale new oak, sported silken cushions in bright, jewel-like colors. A trestle table was covered with parchments, vessels of ink, several quills and a silver candleholder. An open chest painted blue and green revealed parchment scrolls, likely the records of tithes and other estate business. A bronze brazier glowed with coals and a carpet covered much of the stone floor. Linen shutters over the tall, narrow windows shut out the chill spring breeze.

It was like being in a warm, comfortable, Oriental cocoon, and a far cry from many a nobleman’s plain, chilly solar.

With a sigh of pleasure, Lord Throckton sank onto the scarlet silk cushion on the ornately carved chair decorated with vines, leaves and grapes behind the table. He gestured for Blaidd to sit in a slightly less intricately carved chair opposite.

“Are you related to Sir Hu Morgan, by any chance?” Lord Throckton asked when Blaidd had done so.

Blaidd didn’t hide his surprise that the man knew who his father was. “I’m his son. Have you met him?”

Lord Throckton’s eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “No. As I’m sure you’re aware, I don’t go to court. Westminster and London are too noisy and crowded for my taste. But I’ve heard of him nonetheless. He has many important friends.”

“My father rarely goes to court, either,” Blaidd replied, electing to say nothing of his father’s friends, some of whom were very powerful indeed. “He shares your dislike of cities, and he prefers to stay at home.”

“With your mother, who was reputed to be the most beautiful lady of her time,” Lord Throckton added with a chuckle. “A wise and happy man.”

Blaidd inclined his head and didn’t disagree.

“I recall many people were shocked that Lady Liliana married a man who had been born a shepherd.”

He didn’t speak with obvious disrespect or malice, but Blaidd’s jaw clenched regardless. He didn’t reply until he’d mastered the flash of anger such statements about his parents’ marriage always elicited. “My father was a knight when she wed him.”

“And a very handsome fellow himself, like his son. So I suppose that you’ve come to woo my beautiful daughter?”

“Word of the lady’s qualities have reached the court, and I am unwed. I hope you won’t hold my father’s birth against me, but will allow me the privilege of meeting her, at least.”

“Indeed, I shall. I have a great respect for men who have risen above their station,” Lord Throckton replied with every vestige of sincerity. “So does my daughter.”

“Then may I also have your permission to woo her if she’s willing, my lord?”

Lord Throckton toyed with the thick gold ring on his left hand and ran a measuring glance over Blaidd’s clothes. The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. “You haven’t asked about her dowry, Sir Blaidd.”

“From all that I’ve heard about your daughter, Lady Laelia herself will be the true prize.”

Lord Throckton looked pleased. “Naturally, I agree, but I don’t think it’ll trouble you to know her dowry won’t be small. Nor will it be the largest you’ve ever heard of. But I’ve had many offers from many men for Laelia, from the time she was twelve years old, and not a one of them complained about her dowry.”

Blaidd bestowed a smile on his host. “Despite my attire, I’m not a poor man who seeks only wealth when it comes to a bride, my lord. I’m dressed thus because it’s prudent when on the road, to avoid tempting outlaws.”

“I should warn you, Sir Blaidd, it’s not Laelia’s heart you have to win over. It’s my head. Be you knight or commoner, comely or not, and friend of the king or no, it’s me you have to impress, not her. I have refused every man who asked for her. Are you still willing to try to woo and win her?”

Blaidd nodded. “If you are willing to allow me the opportunity, my lord.”

“I am, and you are welcome to stay for as long as you like.” Lord Throckton put his hands on the arms of his chair and hoisted himself to his feet. “Now that we’ve reached an agreement, Sir Blaidd, the evening meal should be ready, and I am near to starving. Shall we?”

Blaidd rose and followed the man back down to the hall, which was now crowded with tables, benches, servants and soldiers. Trev was waiting near one of the tables, and after a nod to Blaidd, the lad continued his survey of the impressive hall and bevy of servants.

The hounds, now roused and hungry, prowled among the tables, noses aloft. Several of the men didn’t look much different, and Blaidd couldn’t blame them, for the aromas wafting out of the corridor that led to the kitchen smelled heavenly. His stomach growled in response, for his last meal had been half a loaf of bread that morning, accompanied by a drink from a stream.

“Here is my lovely Laelia already waiting,” Lord Throckton said.

Blaidd’s gaze followed the man’s gesture toward the dais, and then his breath caught in his throat. He had met many a beautiful woman, especially since more than one went out of their way to be introduced to him. But he had never, ever seen a woman who was as truly, absolutely beautiful as this one was. Dressed in pale blue velvet raiment, Lady Laelia was like an angelic vision, with perfect features, a graceful swanlike neck and shining blond hair cascading in curling waves over her slender shoulders. The picture was made perfect by her attitude of modesty, her head lowered as she stared at the rush-covered floor.

“Is she not a beauty?”

“Indeed, my lord, words fail me.”

Lord Throckton chuckled with pride and continued through the assembly like a horse through high grass.

Blaidd looked at the dais again—and got a second, even stronger jolt of shock that made him check his step.

What the devil was that wench doing seated at the high table? Wasn’t she a servant? This meant she couldn’t be, and if she wasn’t, what the devil was she? What had she been doing at the gate?

Perhaps she was a friend of Lady Laelia’s, and her interrogation of him had been her idea of a joke.

But then why would she be seated while Lord Throckton still stood?

The woman’s blue-eyed gaze locked on to him, and even from this distance, he could tell that she was amused by his surprise. As she continued to regard him with that mocking merriment, energy and determination fairly hummed in Blaidd’s veins. Whoever she was, and whatever she thought she was doing, she was going to rue the day she’d made Sir Blaidd Morgan feel like a fool.

Lord Throckton reached the dais ahead of him and took the blond beauty’s hand, leading her a little forward. “This is my daughter, Lady Laelia. Laelia, this is Sir Blaidd Morgan, from the king’s court.”

The lady didn’t raise her head or her eyes—a blessed change from being looked at as if he were a trained bear sent solely for someone’s amusement, Blaidd decided.

He bowed low and took her right hand, as limp and cool as a fish in a basket, and brought it to his lips to kiss. “My lady, reports of your beauty don’t begin to do you justice,” he said as he straightened.

It was an easy, unoriginal compliment. Usually he enjoyed exerting himself for a lady’s good regard, especially a beautiful one, but it must be the presence of that insolent wench that made his mind incapable of coming up with better flattery.

“You’re most welcome to our hall,” Lady Laelia replied, raising grass-green eyes to look at him, her tone high-pitched and breathless, like a little girl’s. Or a woman trying to sound younger than she was.

He couldn’t remember anybody ever saying how old Lady Laelia was.

The brown-haired young woman loudly—and rudely—cleared her throat. Was she some sort of mad relative? That would explain her place, and her bizarre behavior.

Lord Throckton’s thick gray brows lowered and he frowned as he looked at her. “Sir Blaidd, this is Rebecca. My other daughter.”

Daughter?

No one had ever mentioned that Lord Throckton had another daughter, perhaps because she wasn’t as beautiful as her sister, and was decidedly insolent.

Her lack of beauty might explain her rudeness, though. Envy may have twisted her into a bitter shrew.

“What, no compliment for me, Sir Blaidd?” Lady Rebecca asked as she tilted her head and gave him a merry smile. “Granted, I’m no match for Laelia, but aren’t all you courtiers trained in flattery? Surely you won’t disappoint me.”

Rising to the challenge, Blaidd laid his hand over his heart and let his voice drop to the low, sultry tone he usually reserved for a clandestine rendezvous. “Far be it from me to disappoint a lady, in anything.”

He strode toward her, reached out, took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles, then raised his eyes to regard her. “You, my lady, are the most surprising young woman I have ever met.”

Her cheeks flushing, she tugged her hand away. “Hardly a compliment, sir knight. I’m not impressed.”

He lifted the corners of his mouth in the sort of lazy smile he gave a woman after they had made love. “I assure you, a man likes to be surprised by a woman, and a truly surprising woman is a very rare creature.”

For the briefest of moments, her eyes widened in shock, and he wanted to shout with triumph.

Then her eyes flashed with that scornful fire that was becoming familiar. “Creature?” she demanded. “Is that what women are to you—creatures?”

He tensed and became the knight who had won many tournaments. “Women who would make a mockery of a stranger and a guest are creatures to me, yes.”

“Becca, I think we’re heard quite enough from you at the moment,” Lord Throckton declared. He strode past her and sat in his thronelike chair. “This man is our guest and should be treated accordingly.”

She turned away from Blaidd to address her father. “I’m treating him as I treat all the men who come to see Laelia.”

The way Lady Laelia’s lips turned down seemed to confirm that.

“Damn it, Becca, that’s the trouble! When will you learn to behave? Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

“Because I am not my sister?”

“You know what I mean!” Throckton gestured at the seat to his right. “Sit down, Sir Blaidd, sit down. Don’t mind Rebecca. Where’s the damn priest? Let’s have grace.”

Wondering if this sort of exchange occurred frequently, and deciding that it probably did, if they would speak that way in front of a stranger, Blaidd did as he was told, taking the place accorded to honored guests. That also put him between Lord Throckton and Lady Laelia. Lady Rebecca was to her father’s left and, miraculously, once the grace was said, she seemed content to be silent.

Or maybe it was the fact that the conversation, such as it was, consisted of her father’s descriptions of the vast array of suitors who had sought Lady Laelia’s hand. Whenever there was a lull in the recitation, Laelia stayed silent or answered Blaidd’s questions as briefly as possible, no matter how he exerted himself to be charming.

If somebody were to tell him this place was bewitched and everything he did had the opposite effect than usual—repelling rather than attracting a woman—he could believe it. On the other hand, he had to stay at Throckton Castle for some time, so if courting the lady was an uphill climb, it would give him a good excuse to linger.

He looked around the hall for Trev and found him engaged in conversation with a serving maid who looked a little younger than the squire. She had a jug of wine balanced on her hip and swayed while winding a lock of ruddy-brown hair around her finger.

Ah, the universal sign of feminine interest. Perhaps a reminder of their duties as guests wouldn’t be amiss. And perhaps it would have been better if he’d come here alone, Blaidd thought.

“Then I sent that young buck packing,” Lord Throckton declared, interrupting his musings. The man’s voice was slurred from the copious amount of wine that seemed necessary to keep his throat lubricated for the long enumeration. “That was the last of them till you.”

That meant his recitation must be at an end, thank God, Blaidd realized as he turned to his host with a smile pasted on his face.

Lord Throckton put his broad hands on the table and heaved himself to his feet. Blaidd started to rise, too, but Lord Throckton waved him back down. “Just off to the garderobe. That French wine goes right through my English guts.” He gave Blaidd a rather sodden wink. “But it tastes too good not to drink it.”

With that, he made his way out of the hall, leaving only an empty chair between Blaidd and Lady Rebecca.

He couldn’t resist the temptation. “So, my lady,” he said to her, “do you often play castle guard?”

She regarded him steadily, obviously not the least embarrassed by his question. “No, sir knight.”

“But today you thought to amuse yourself at my expense?”

“Not only myself. The garrison enjoyed it, too. I’m sorry you didn’t see the humor in it.”

He didn’t believe she was sorry at all. “Nobody likes to be made a fool of.”

“No, and handsome young knights with all the world at their feet most of all. But humility is good for the soul, is it not, sir?”

“Yes, it is. It’s a pity you don’t possess that quality yourself.”

She reared back slightly. “How can you say that? Of course I’m humble. How could I not be, when I must compare myself to my sister every day?”

“What else could it be but arrogance to think you have the right to make a knight play the fool?”

“If I am arrogant, what are you—a man who smiles at every woman he meets as if she must be fairly salivating with desire for him?”

“Becca!” Lady Laelia gasped.

Blaidd had forgotten she was there. “It’s all right, my lady,” he assured her. “I take no offense.”

Nevertheless, Lady Laelia’s expression hardened and her lips thinned. No soft and gentle maiden was she now; she was at war. He had seen women at such battles often enough to recognize the signs.

“If you’re so disposed to talk, sister,” she said through clenched teeth, “why don’t you tell him about the time you fell out of the apple tree?”

Lady Rebecca flushed as her eyes flashed with anger. Blaidd suddenly had the sensation that he was caught between two enemy lines, without even a dagger to fight with.

“Would you like to hear that story, Sir Blaidd?” Lady Rebecca asked with a serenity distinctly at odds with the look in her eyes. “It’s really terribly amusing.”

Blaidd was quite sure it was anything but. “I think I have listened to enough stories for tonight. May we have some music instead?”

Lady Rebecca continued to regard him with her steadfast and bold gaze. “I’ve heard that Welshmen are excellent singers. Perhaps you would prove the point, sir knight?”

“He’s a noble guest, not some troubadour,” Lady Laelia protested.

Blaidd gave them both a friendly smile to show he took no offense. “It’s true that most Welshman can sing, something we are justly proud of. If you wish to hear my humble attempt at a ballad, I’ll be happy to oblige you.”

Lord Throckton came staggering back and threw himself into his chair. He looked from one daughter to the other, and his eyes narrowed. “What’s been going on?”

“Becca has—”

“Been my usual annoying self,” she interrupted. “Sir Blaidd has just offered to sing us a Welsh ballad.”

“Has he now?” Lord Throckton cried, ignoring the first part of her comments. “Wonderful! I’ve always wanted to hear a Welshman sing. But before that, what do you say to some dancing?” He shouted at the young serving woman Trev had been talking to. “Meg, fetch Rebecca’s harp! Bran, Tom, take down the tables!”

It became too noisy for conversation as Meg disappeared up the stairs leading to the household apartments. The two male servants the lord had addressed quickly marshaled some others to help them take down the tables. The high table they would leave for last.

“Your daughter plays the harp?” Blaidd asked when the worst of the noise abated.

“Aye, and well, too.” Lord Throckton leaned toward Laelia, forcing Blaidd back in his chair. “But not so well as my Laelia dances!”

That explained the urgency to have dancing. The man wanted his daughter’s talents on display.

Meg reappeared, bearing a small stringed instrument. The reverent way she gave it to Lady Rebecca suggested that she was particular in its handling, as if it were very valuable. Yet the harp was plain, and although the wood had been polished to a bright sheen, it did not look to be worth much in itself. It must be the value its possessor placed on it that made the servant treat it with so much care.

While Lady Rebecca tuned the instrument, Blaidd rose and held out his hand to Laelia. She limply placed hers in his and allowed him to lead her to the cleared space.

Then Lady Rebecca began to play.

How she played! Her fingers flew along the strings, coaxing out marvelous sounds and quick rhythms perfect for a round dance. As she played, she bent over the instrument, swaying, lost in the music with the true joy of the naturally gifted.

If she were in Wales, she would be far more valued than Lady Laelia for her talent. As for Lady Laelia’s dancing, it was excellent, but she moved with all the joy of a soldier on a long forced march.

The dance came to an end and, applauding enthusiastically, Blaidd left Lady Laelia and approached her sister. “That was wonderful, my lady. You play very well indeed. If you dance as well as you play, you would astonish even the court. I hope you will dance next with me.”

Instead of being pleased, Lady Rebecca looked as if she’d like to strike him dead on the spot. She slowly got to her feet, clutching her harp so tightly her knuckles whitened. “If you will excuse me, Sir Blaidd, I’m going to retire.”

Then she limped out of the hall.

Chapter Three

Slipping into the cool darkness of the chapel was like diving into the river at night, Becca reflected as she closed the heavy door behind her. Before her accident, during the warm summer months, she would sometimes sneak out of the castle for a night dip in the pond below the mill.

That sort of risky escapade had ended with the tumble out of the tree.

Putting those happier, carefree days from her mind, Becca moved forward slowly, one hand against the cold stone wall to guide her steps, the hem of her garments slapping against her booted ankles and making small sounds in the stillness.

The air smelled of damp and incense, and a single votive candle burned in a niche holding a statue of the Blessed Virgin. Weak shafts of moonlight penetrated the narrow windows, and one feeble beam illuminated the altar.

Becca knelt before it, the stones hard and cold and unyielding, and pressed her hands together.

“Dear Father in Heaven,” she prayed, “let it be a fine day tomorrow, so that I may ride out. Let me leave the castle for a little while.”

Her voice turned grim. “If I can’t, grant me the grace to guard my tongue and not say hateful things I regret the moment they leave my lips. Help me not to be jealous of Laelia, Father. She can’t help it if she is beautiful and I’m not. Help me to overcome my anger and bitterness because I can’t hope to have a suitor like…”

She drew a deep breath and her knuckles whitened. “To have any man want me,” she corrected. “I don’t want to make people hate me but to have yet another knight ride up to our gate seeking Laelia and to know that it will never be thus for me is getting so hard to bear!” Her voice began to rise again with her rancor. “And when such a man smiles so, and has a voice that makes me feel like I’m wrapped in a velvet cloak and cradled in his arms… When the merest touch of his lips to my hand heats my blood near to boiling—”

Her breath caught and, ashamed, she bowed her head. “Oh, God, take away these lustful thoughts and feelings! Please, God, let me accept my fate and be quiet.”

In the silence following her fervent plea, she heard the chapel door creak open. Then the dull thud as it closed.

Startled, she tried to stand quickly despite her twisted and shortened leg, which had not healed properly and never would. A spasm of pain racked her at the sudden motion, but she pressed her lips together to make no sound as she cautiously continued to rise. Turning, she swiftly searched the small building.

A man stood silhouetted against the window to her left. There could be no mistaking who it was; no one else in Throckton Castle wore his hair to his shoulders.

Was this God’s idea of a joke, to send her the very man who roused such lust and remorse and bitter jealousy in her while she was at prayer?

It crossed her mind to flee, but her pride simply wouldn’t permit her to hobble from the chapel like a crippled coward. “What do you want, Sir Blaidd?” she demanded, her voice loud in the quiet.

“How did you know who it was?” he inquired as he walked toward her.

She squared her shoulders. “Your hair is very distinctive, in a savage sort of way. And everyone who has ever stayed here and attended chapel knows how that door creaks, and would take care to prevent it if they wanted to enter in secret.”

He came to a halt a few feet away. “I have no need to be secretive. I was looking for my squire and saw you slip in here. I thought it might be a good time to apologize for any offense I’ve caused you.”

He sounded absolutely, completely sincere. Yet he didn’t have to apologize at all, and she couldn’t think of any other knight who’d stoop to express regret to anyone, let alone her.

“You didn’t know I was crippled,” she said. She decided she could be a little magnanimous, too. “I’m sorry if I upset a guest in my father’s house. In hindsight, it wasn’t the behavior of a lady.”

“What say we begin anew, my lady?”

She made her away around the simple wooden altar that bore a carved wooden crucifix until it was between them, like a defensive wall. “Very well, Sir Blaidd, I agree. We’ll forget my insolence at the gate and your request to dance, and begin again.”

“Excellent!”

He sounded as if he was truly pleased, which would mean he would have been disappointed if she’d refused. That was unexpected. And rather delightful.

Perhaps she was making too much of his apology and enthusiastic tone. Maybe he simply wanted to avoid conflict of any kind while he was a guest of her father’s, which would be wise. “Now that we’ve come to an understanding, Sir Blaidd, you should leave. It isn’t seemly for us to be here alone together.”

“I suppose not. But first, will you answer one question?”

She didn’t see any harm in that, since she could always refuse when she heard what it was. She nodded in agreement.

“Do you play the gatekeeper often, or was that a special welcome?”

“No, not often.” She wasn’t going to admit that she’d watched the knight and his squire riding up to the gatehouse through a loophole after the sentry called out that someone was approaching. She wouldn’t confess that she’d turned to Dobbin and wryly said, “Here comes another one. Let me see if he’s as arrogant as the rest.”

Dobbin had started to protest, but she’d given him a devilish grin and he’d thrown up his hands in surrender.

Sir Blaidd bowed. “Then I’m honored I had at least that much to single me out from the vast horde who’ve come to see your sister.”

“Yes, sir knight, you’re one of many.”

“So you wanted to confront me and take my measure first, before your younger sister. I hope I passed muster, for no doubt your opinion means a great deal to Lady Laelia.”

Becca crossed her arms. “I’m not the eldest. Laelia is.”

“Forgive me,” he said, obviously taken aback. “She seems less…mature.”

Becca didn’t know if she should take that as a compliment or not.

“That explains the necessity of getting her married, though, so that you’ll be free to accept offers for your own hand.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Nobody had ever suggested that she hadn’t married because of Laelia’s spinster state. “There have never been any offers for my hand.”

“What, not a one?”

He sounded genuinely shocked.

She struggled to regain her usual self-possession and changed the subject. “You said you were looking for your squire.”

“Yes. I want to make sure he’s not getting into any mischief.”

An honest answer. “Are you expecting him to?”

“I’m hoping he’s got more sense, but he’s young and high-spirited, and this is his first time away from the care of his parents or older brothers—his first taste of freedom, so to speak. Like many young men in such circumstances, he may be tempted to act without considering all the consequences.”

“He’s not likely to steal anything, is he?”

“Oh, no, he’d never do that.”

“Then what…?” She fell silent as she considered the comely youth in the hall who’d been talking to the young and pretty Meg.

Becca bit back a curse and started toward the door. “You’re right to be concerned, Sir Blaidd, for if there’s the slightest implication he’s been bothering any of the female servants, I’ll ask my father to order you both to leave at once. I’ve seen the trouble a handsome young nobleman can cause—”

Sir Blaidd put his hand on her arm to halt her, his grip warm and strong and irresistible. “I don’t think you need be overly upset. Trev’s a good lad, and when I find him I’ll give him a stern warning about—”

“What, you’ll order him not to seduce the maidservants?” she demanded skeptically.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he said firmly.

She could well believe that would be enough to nip any such behavior in the bud. Nevertheless, the servants here were her responsibility and she would ensure they weren’t taken advantage of. “Be that as it may, that doesn’t mean he’ll obey your warning. He’s young and so’s Meg, and neither one of them may consider the consequences,” Becca said as she yanked open the door.

She was about to step into the courtyard when she saw Meg exit the kitchen. Alone.

Hopeful that the maid had enough sense to ignore whatever honeyed flattery a handsome young squire offered, Becca drew back into the chapel and peered out the door. As she watched Meg continue toward the maidservants’ quarters, Sir Blaidd came to stand behind her. Close behind her. His powerfully masculine body couldn’t be more than a few inches away from hers.

“What is it?” he whispered, his hot breath stirring the wisps of hair on the back of her neck.

“There’s Meg,” Becca murmured, nodding toward the girl and trying to ignore the unfamiliar sensation of having a virile male so near her—and failing utterly.

Without so much as a backward glance, Meg hurried up the outer steps toward the maidservants’ quarters and disappeared inside.

Sir Blaidd’s sigh of relief echoed Becca’s feeling and seemed to come all the way up from his toes. “That’s the one he was talking to, I’m sure of it. He’s probably gone to bed already. It was a long day’s ride.”

The words had no sooner left Sir Blaidd’s lips than the same door opened and his squire stepped into the courtyard. He hesitated, obviously looking for something.

Or someone.

The lad surveyed the courtyard for a few more moments, then, his shoulders slumped with disappointment, turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen.

Sir Blaidd muttered something that sounded like a Welsh curse. “I’ll certainly be speaking to Trev about how I expect him to behave while we’re your father’s guests.”

“Good,” Becca said, closing the door and facing him.

“I give you my word as a knight of the realm that I’ll tell Trevelyan that if he doesn’t conduct himself honorably, I’ll send him home to his father in disgrace.”

“That may not seem like much of a punishment to a boy that age,” she noted.

“You don’t know his father. Have you heard of Sir Urien Fitzroy?”

“Doesn’t he train men in the arts of war?”

“Yes, he does. He trained me, and believe me, my lady, if he thinks his son has behaved unchivalrously, the punishment will be severe.”

Becca suddenly regretted getting so annoyed. “I hope it doesn’t come to that, and your warning will be enough. I’ll speak to Meg, too.” She hesitated, then decided to explain her reaction. She didn’t want him to think she was completely hotheaded, about everything. “We had a serving girl here a few years ago, Sir Blaidd, named Hester. She was as pretty as Meg, and just as coquettish—well, perhaps a little more brazen than Meg.

“A young knight arrived, supposedly to court Laelia. One day, he left without so much as a farewell. At first we thought it was because my father hadn’t seemed inclined to consider his suit. A few weeks later, though, we discovered that Hester was carrying his child. He’d made all sorts of extravagant promises to the poor girl. He’d even said he’d marry her. We’d seen enough of the man to guess that he would have said whatever it took to get Hester into his bed. But Hester wouldn’t give up hope that he’d return, so I asked my father to send a messenger to the knight to tell him about the baby. I tried to believe he’d at least send her a word, some money, something, but the lout’s response was that he should be thanked for ‘breaking her in’ and teaching her how to please a man.”

Becca shivered with revulsion. “That man’s callousness destroyed Hester.” She sighed, saddened as always when she recalled those terrible days. “If her baby had lived, things might have been different, but she lost it, and with it, every gentle part of her.”

Becca looked away, unable to meet Sir Blaidd’s concerned, steadfast gaze. “She’s a whore now, in the village. I see her sometimes, and when I do, it breaks my heart.” She raised her eyes, defiant and commanding once more. “I won’t have that happen to Meg.”

Sir Blaidd caressed her chin with his strong, callused palm. “I see it isn’t only your sister and the gates of this castle that you guard, my lady,” he said softly. “I trust your care is appreciated.”

She moved back, away from him and his touch and his deep, sympathetic voice. “Of course it is.”

“I give you my most solemn vow that I will ensure that Trevelyan doesn’t do anything so disgraceful.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her breathing fast and shallow as she told herself she should get away from the knight.

He reached out and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. She opened her mouth to tell him to let go, but the words wouldn’t come. No one had ever touched her like this, as if she was fragile and precious.

She didn’t make a sound as he pulled her close. She not only couldn’t find the voice to protest, she couldn’t find the will. She slid her arms around his waist, silently agreeing to what was coming.

So he kissed her. His lips brushed hers, a gentle, tentative whisper of soft flesh to soft flesh. Her embrace tightening, she leaned into him, permitting him to kiss her more deeply, as she was kissing him.

Oh, how wondrous, after all these years in Laelia’s shadow, to think a man might desire her! He made her believe that she was a normal woman, and an attractive one at that. She felt whole and unbroken and wanted. His desire inflamed her own until she couldn’t think.

His hand meandered down her back, cupping her buttocks and pressing her close to him, while the other held her steady. She needed that support, for her body softened and throbbed with yearning as she ran her hands over his shoulders and back, feeling the taut muscles through his tunic.

His body. His strength. His desire, matching her own.

A call rang out, signaling the changing of the watch. Reminding her of where she was, and who she was. Becca wasn’t the beautiful Laelia; she was plain, crippled Rebecca, and this handsome, seductive man was here to court her sister.

So why was he kissing her? What did he hope to accomplish? Seduction? Power? Control? She would let no man use her for his own purpose, whatever that might be.

She shoved him back. “Is this your idea of honorable conduct, sir knight?” she demanded. “Do you think that because I’m crippled and homely I must be desperate and so easily, willingly, seduced?”

“God’s wounds, no!” he said as he regained his balance. “I swear to you, my lady—”

“Swear all you want, but kissing me seems an odd way to woo Laelia. Or am I a means to practice your technique?”

Sir Blaidd stiffened, his back as rigid as a lance. “I had no intention of kissing you when I came here, and I’m not in the habit of seducing my host’s daughters, however tempting they may be.”

“Then what was that kiss about?”

“If you don’t know, then it was a stupid mistake, and one I won’t make again,” he retorted, his deep voice fiercely angry.

Good. Angry men she was used to and could handle. Men who tried to seduce her, however… “I wouldn’t try seducing Laelia, either,” she warned. “First, I’m onto your game. Second, Laelia may look and sound a bit dim, but I assure you, when it comes to men and their tricks, she’s seen them all.”

Sir Blaidd sidled closer, seeming taller, more menacing, every inch the fierce warrior and champion of tournaments. “If it’s impossible for me to seduce either of you—supposing that was my despicable plan—then your warnings are quite unnecessary, aren’t they? And I must say that kiss was rather amazing for a modest young maiden of limited experience, which leads me to wonder what exactly you were doing here at this time of night. You don’t strike me as devout, so a sudden urge to pray seems unlikely.” He ran a haughty, impertinent gaze over her body. “Did I interrupt something? Were you waiting for somebody else?”

“How dare you suggest such a thing!”

“How dare you suggest that my motives are dishonorable?”

“You kissed me!”

“You kissed me back!”

“I had no choice.”

“Of course you did. You could have stopped me at any time. But you didn’t, and what’s more, you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, you are an expert on women’s feelings, are you?”

“Expert or not, I know when a woman’s desire matches or exceeds my own.”

“Exceeds? Of all the arrogant, pompous, self-righteous—”

“Yes, you certainly are.”

“You…you base, loathsome blackguard!” she cried, wrenching open the door, determined to get away from him. “Don’t you ever come near me again!”

She limped off into the night.

“Trust me, I won’t!” Blaidd muttered as the chapel door creaked to a close.

Every Welsh curse he knew tumbled out of his mouth in a low rumble of frustration and anger. How dare she call his honor into question? Granted, kissing her had been a little…well, a lot…

Well, he shouldn’t have.

He let out his breath slowly. God save him, he’d been an idiot. An idiot totally overwhelmed with desire. An idiot so overwhelmed with desire that he’d forgotten that he was here because King Henry himself had sent him to verify if Lord Throckton was plotting treason or not.

He wouldn’t be able to do that if Lord Throckton sent him packing the day after he’d arrived because he’d presumed to kiss the man’s daughter. He should have been able to control himself, no matter what the circumstances or how tempting the lady. After all, he was no youth anxious to experience love, like Trevelyan.

“Fool,” Blaidd mumbled under his breath as he left the chapel and headed toward the apartments.

He reached the chamber he and Trev were sharing and cautiously opened the door, which didn’t squeak like the one in the chapel. He quietly crept into the comfortable room with its two beds. A brazier stood nearby, along with a chest for their baggage, and a small table bearing a ewer and basin for washing. There were no tapestries or carpet, or even a stool to sit on, but Blaidd had slept in worse places.

Someone was in one of the beds—Trev, to judge by the tousled hair. Blaidd hoped the lad had already fallen asleep, thereby sparing him the need to explain anything.

Trev was not asleep. He sat up abruptly and said, “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

“I was looking for you,” Blaidd truthfully replied.

Trev hugged his knees and regarded him quizzically. “I’ve been right here for a long time.”

Blaidd sat on the end of his bed. He might as well make a point, and incidentally turn the conversation away from his own whereabouts. “And before that, you were looking for that maidservant, Meg.”

Trev blushed. “How do you know?” Then his eyes widened. “Were you spying on me?”

Blaidd was in no mood for more indignation, especially from a stripling youth. “I happened to see you looking for her in the courtyard, as anybody could have.”

“How did you know I was looking for her? Maybe I was searching for you.”

“I saw her leave the kitchen, and you came hot on her heels. If you were looking for me, I don’t think you would have been so disappointed when you didn’t find me.”

Trev stared at his toes and shrugged his shoulders. “All right. I wasn’t looking for you.”

“She’s a servant, Trev,” Blaidd said not unkindly. “You’re a young nobleman who’s a guest in her master’s household. She wouldn’t want to risk offending you.”

He saw dismay flash in Trev’s eyes, and took pity on the boy. “Look, Trev, I’m not saying that’s the only reason she talked to you. It could be she really likes you. But you’re not equals. You have power and rank, and she has none. And we are guests here. It would be an abuse of your host’s hospitality to dally with his maidservants.”

“What if a woman…you know…what if she’s interested?”

Blaidd recalled what his father had said to him about such situations. “With such things come responsibilities, provided the man is honorable and not some lustful lout. What if the woman got with child?”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Have you enough silver to give her a tidy sum to raise it? Would you be ready for a young man to show up at your gate one day claiming to be your son? Would you be willing to acknowledge a bastard?”

“I hadn’t thought of all that.”

“No, I didn’t think you had.”

“But with a whore, there wouldn’t be—”

“You’re not going to go with any whore while you’re my squire. Do you understand me?”

Blaidd didn’t often use that tone of command, but when he did, it always got results, and this time was no different. Trev swallowed hard and nodded.

A twinge of guilt assailed Blaidd. He’d hardly acted as an honorable knight himself tonight. And given the possible repercussions, it might be wise to prepare Trevelyan for a likely departure, as well as give him as much of an explanation as necessary. “We might have to leave tomorrow.”

Trev’s mouth fell open. “Why? Because I was looking for Meg?”

“No. Because I quarreled with Lady Rebecca.”

A devilish gleam lit Trev’s eyes. “After all your warnings and admonitions to me about the proper behavior of a guest?”

Blaidd bent down and pulled off his boots. “Yes.” He glanced up. “And no, you don’t have to gloat. I know that was a stupid thing to do.”

Trev didn’t gloat. “She seems a very quarrelsome woman,” he said comfortingly, “and it didn’t look to me as if her father or sister like that about her. Perhaps they’ll take your side.” He grinned. “Especially Lady Laelia.”

Blaidd hadn’t expected to find solace in the observations of a youth, but he did. “Well, we’ll find out come the morning,” he said as he rose to finish disrobing. “Go to sleep, Trev.” He gave the lad a wry smile. “We may have a long journey tomorrow.”

Trev made a face. “I hope not. I don’t want to go home yet. I’ve had enough training.”

“A knight can never have enough.”

“You say that only because you don’t have to do it anymore,” the lad said as he snuggled beneath the covers.

When Trev’s eyes closed, the rueful smile left Blaidd’s face. If they did have to leave in the morning, how was he going to explain his failure to the king?

Chapter Four

In their bedchamber the next morning, it was obvious that Laelia was in a foul mood. Becca had long ago learned that the best way to dissipate a conflict with her sister was to keep quiet until Laelia deigned to speak. It went against the grain, but she stayed silent while Meg helped Laelia put on a beautiful gown of emerald-green velvet trimmed with golden bands of embroidery, and a gilded girdle about her slender hips. Laelia then sat on a stool before her dressing table, which was covered with little pots of perfumes and unguents, a silver-handled brush and a small cedar box holding ribbons to adorn her hair. Another wooden box, inlaid with ebony, held her jewelry.

Becca had no ribbons or baubles, and her jewelry, worn much less frequently, was in the bottom of her embossed chest on the other side of her bed. Laelia’s bed was made up with fine linen sheets, a thick feather bed and large pillows, and curtains of scarlet damask kept out the chill night air. Becca’s bed was just as sumptuous. She didn’t feel the need to dress richly, but she wasn’t about to turn up her nose at being warm and comfortable.

When they were children, she and Laelia had shared the bed that was now hers alone. They’d had many a whispered conversation together after the curtain had closed, punctuated with giggles. That had changed when Becca fell from the tree. Laelia couldn’t share her bed for some weeks after that, and her father had purchased a new one for her.

Becca could easily guess why Laelia was upset this morning. She was furious that Becca had stormed out of the hall—well, stormed out as dramatically as a woman who limped could—coupled with her greeting of Sir Blaidd at the gate. Laelia had heard about that meeting before the evening meal, and her verbal jousting with Sir Blaidd in the hall would have raised her ire even more. Fortunately, Laelia had been asleep when Becca had returned from the chapel, or at least she’d pretended to be, sparing a quarrel last night, but letting her annoyance fester all the more, probably even as she slept.

Becca had been tempted to wake her sister and tell her that Sir Blaidd had kissed her, to warn Laelia that the man was up to no good. Becca had considered speaking to her father in the morning, too, and telling him to send Sir Blaidd away. Surely he shouldn’t be courting Laelia.

But now, in the light of day, and considering how rarely her father ever paid heed to her concerns, she decided that the less said about what had happened last night, the better. There was no reason yet to believe that Sir Blaidd would be deemed any more worthy of Laelia’s hand than any of the other myriad suitors who had come to Throckton Castle.

She hadn’t exactly been a model of ladylike behavior herself. She should have left the chapel the moment Sir Blaidd arrived. Regardless of his manner and his voice and his apology, she should have fled.

Therefore, rather than risk unnecessary conflict, she decided to say nothing of her nocturnal encounter with Sir Blaidd Morgan, unless and until it seemed he was in contention for Laelia’s hand.

“You were very rude to Sir Blaidd yesterday,” Laelia suddenly declared as she regarded Becca’s reflection in her mirror. “And as for that business at the gate—I suppose Dobbin put you up to it?”

“Of course he didn’t. It was my idea,” Becca replied firmly as she tied the side lacings of her over-tunic. She wore a gown of plain brown wool beneath it, and a linen shift under that, and rarely required assistance to dress.

“That makes it even worse. And then to march out of the hall like a…like…I don’t know what! If Sir Blaidd decides to leave today, it’ll be all your fault!”

Becca didn’t appreciate being scolded like an errant child. “You sound quite taken with the Welshman. I didn’t think you could be so easily impressed.”

“Easily impressed?” Laelia repeated indignantly as Meg finished brushing her hair and began to braid it as quickly as she could, clearly wanting to finish her duties and be gone. “I’m not easily impressed—but he’s handsome, he’s charming and he’s a courtier. Even you must admit that it’s rare we get a man from court coming here, given Father’s opinion of Queen Eleanor.”

It sounded as if Sir Blaidd had already found favor with Laelia. “Ah, yes, for a moment I forgot how much you yearn to be presented at court.”

“While you would rather stay here in this…this wilderness, consorting with the peasants,” Laelia replied.

“I enjoy consorting with the peasants,” Becca said evenly as she began to make her bed.

Laelia pulled a face. “Will you never have any regard for your rank and title?”

“I do, as well as for the responsibilities that go with it. But I have no wish to marry a man just so I can be presented at court.”

“That isn’t the only thing I like about Sir Blaidd. I daresay the only thing that you’ve noticed about him is that he’s a man, and you hate men.”

“I don’t hate men.”

“You certainly do!” Laelia exclaimed as Meg tied the first braid with an emerald-green ribbon. “No man who’s come here has ever found favor with you.”

“That’s because they’ve all been vain, spoiled and arrogant.”

“Even you can’t think Sir Blaidd is vain. His clothes are plain, his accoutrements, too, and he didn’t seem very arrogant to me.”

He had been very simply dressed when Becca had first seen him at the gate, the sodden cloak clinging to his broad shoulders, his damp breeches to his muscular thighs. Later, he’d changed into a simple tunic with a narrow trimming of embroidery about the hem and a plain white shirt beneath. “Maybe he dresses that way because he’s poor,” she said, which would mean he would certainly not be considered a fit husband for Laelia.

“He’s not. Father says so.”

It was on the tip of Becca’s tongue to point out that their father had been known to make a few mistakes. His vocal condemnation of the king’s wife at feast times and other public gatherings was hardly wise. However, Becca didn’t think it was time to bring him into this argument. “What about that hair of his? That hardly seems a fitting style for the king’s court.”

Laelia considered, as if the question were of national importance. “It looks well on him, so perhaps it is. If not, should we marry, I’ll ask him to cut it.”

“What if he won’t?”

Laelia gave Becca a superior little smile that never failed to annoy her, for it hinted at a vast and secret feminine knowledge she would never possess. “I’m sure he’ll do it if his wife asks him.” That thought seemed to put her in a forgiving mood. “To be sure, he’s a bit rough around the edges, but I can fix that.”

Becca imagined Sir Blaidd with his “rough edges” smoothed out until he was like every other bland and smooth-talking nobleman she had ever met. She didn’t think that would be an improvement.

Perhaps she should at least give some hint that he might not be as wonderful as her sister seemed to think he was. “If I’m not in favor of him as a husband for you, Laelia, it’s precisely because he is so charming and good-looking. He’s probably had scores of lovers, and likely keeps a mistress—maybe more than one. He’ll probably never be faithful.”

Laelia regarded her reflection without a hint of distress. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has lovers now. But once he’s married to me, he won’t be tempted.”

“I don’t think marriage to anybody would make much of a difference. If he’s a lascivious scoundrel, chances are he’ll be one after marriage, too, no matter who his wife is, or how much he claims to love her.”

Her coiffure now complete, Laelia gave a long-suffering sigh as she rose. “You would think an archangel would make a terrible husband.”

Before Becca could point out that archangels didn’t marry, Laelia gave her a pointed look, silently reminding her it was time to be on their way to the chapel for morning Mass.

“You go ahead,” Becca said. “I need to talk with Meg for a moment.”

“Very well, but don’t be late.”

Again, Laelia spoke as if Becca were a child. Her jaw clenched as Laelia sailed out the door and closed it firmly behind her.

“I ain’t done nothing wrong, I hope, my lady,” Meg said, a frown darkening her usually cheerful face. “Or forgot something.”

“I’m not going to scold you,” Becca said kindly. She gestured toward the stool and Meg perched on it, as tentatively as if she expected it to disappear at any second. “I wanted to speak to you about Trevelyan Fitzroy.”

With an expression of dismay, Meg sat up even straighter. “I ain’t done nothing unseemly!”

“I don’t believe you have, but I wanted to warn you to take care. I’m sure he’s a very persuasive and fascinating young man, but you’re a servant, and he’s not. He may want to take liberties because of that. If he does, you have my permission to refuse him as forcefully as necessary, and if he continues to bother you, I want you to tell me right away. We won’t countenance any young man treating our servants with disrespect. I don’t want you to share Hester’s fate.”

And she herself should remember the fearsome consequences of seduction.

“Of course I’d come to you, my lady, if he was bein’…like that. No honey-tongued squire who looks like the devil’s own temptation is going to get far with me. Why, he’d just be after a quick tickle and tumble and—” She colored. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady.”

“However you say it, you’re right, and I’m relieved you’re on your guard.” As she should be, Becca reflected. “Now we’d best get below. If I’m late for chapel, my father won’t be pleased.”

Meg rose. “I’m grateful to you, my lady, for carin’ enough to warn me.”

Becca nodded as she headed for the door.

“My lady?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

Meg looked even more nervous than she had when Laelia was in high dudgeon. “I’ve been wondering…that is, you’ve got some pretty dresses. Why don’t you ever wear ’em?”

Becca glanced down at her plain garments and simple leather girdle, which held her ring of keys to all the locks in the castle save her father’s chest in his solar. “My woolen gowns are comfortable and I don’t have to worry about getting them dirty. When I’m wearing an expensive dress, I always feel that if I move too much, I’ll ruin it.”

“I’d wager that if you wore such clothes more often, you wouldn’t,” Meg replied. “You’d soon be used to them and stop thinking about it so much.”

“I don’t think they suit me, either.” Becca shrugged. “Besides, what does it matter how I look? I realized long ago I’d never be a beauty.”

“But you’re not homely, neither,” Meg said eagerly. “You don’t want to be a maiden all your life, do you? In a pretty dress and with your hair done like your sister’s, I think you’d look very nice indeed.”

Becca bristled. “I’m not about to hamstring myself trying to please some man. If someone wants me, he’ll have to take me as I am, and if that’s not good enough, I won’t have him.”

Meg blushed. “Yes, my lady. Sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean no disrespect.”

Becca let out her breath. “No, I’m sorry, Meg, for losing my temper. I know you meant well.” She managed a grin. “Everybody who wants to see me married means well, I suppose.”

“I do see what you’re getting at,” the maid replied. “About a man wanting you as you are. Maybe that’ll happen sooner than you think.”

“And one day, men will walk on the moon,” Becca replied skeptically. “Now we had best be on our way. I’ve been chastised enough already today.”

Although secretly fearing an indignant command to leave at once, Blaidd strode toward the chapel as if all were well in the world. He didn’t want anybody watching—the servants, the soldiers, even Trev—to realize just how important it was that he stay. Last night he should have remembered his purpose and the ruse to support it, even if he chafed at the dishonesty.

In spite of his impetuous, foolhardy behavior, he couldn’t help harboring the hope that Lady Rebecca would admit, if only to herself, that he hadn’t forced his kiss upon her. Then he could also hope that her own guilty conscience would ensure that she keep what had happened between them a secret.

He shoved open the chapel door and saw both the lord of Throckton Castle and his beautiful daughter turn and smile at him. They also shifted aside, making room beside them. Obviously, he was not in disfavor.

He couldn’t be completely relieved, however. Perhaps Lady Rebecca hadn’t yet had the opportunity to tell her father what had happened.

He swiftly surveyed the rest of the people assembled for Mass and caught sight of that lady, half hidden by the gray-haired, but still robust, soldier Blaidd had seen at the head of the guards at the gate. This man had watched with interest, and with something else in his eyes, when the lady spoke. With…affection.

Judging by his position, he was probably the garrison commander, and it wasn’t inconceivable, based on his age, that he’d known Lady Rebecca all her life. Perhaps he had that devotion some servants developed for the children of their masters.

Then Lady Rebecca realized Blaidd was looking at them. Her expression grew as scornful as if he carried a particularly loathsome, communicable disease.

Once more fearing his stay at Throckton Castle was almost over, Blaidd made his way to the front of the chapel.

“Good morning, Sir Blaidd!” Lord Throckton cried with jovial geniality as Blaidd joined the nobleman and his beautiful daughter. “I’m delighted to discover that you aren’t like so many young men nowadays who have so little respect for our faith, unless a Crusade be attached to it.”

His friendly manner made Blaidd regret his actions last night even more. “There are plenty of young men more devout than I,” he replied.

Somebody behind him sniffed with audible disdain, and he wasn’t hard-pressed to guess who it was.

The priest arrived to begin the Mass, sparing Blaidd any further conversation. He paid little heed to the words of the service, however. He kept envisioning Lady Rebecca going to her father afterward and telling him that Blaidd was an immoral, disgusting lout who should be sent packing without further delay.

By the time Mass concluded, this image was so vivid he wouldn’t have been surprised if she walked up to the altar, faced the entire assembly and denounced him for a blackguard right then and there.

Steeling himself for that eventually, he turned around to look for her—and realized she’d already gone.

That was a relief in some ways, yet in another, he feared it was only delaying the inevitable. If he had to leave in disgrace, he’d rather get it over with at once.

Perhaps this was her idea of retribution, to drag out the wait and torment him with uncertainty. If so, she was going to learn the folly of that plan, for Sir Blaidd Morgan allowed himself to be played by no man, and no woman, either, he thought as he followed Lord Throckton and Lady Laelia from the chapel. He spotted Lady Rebecca talking with some soldiers outside the barracks, and decided to find out if he was in trouble or not. He told Lord Throckton and Laelia that he wanted to ask Lady Rebecca something about his baggage, then excused himself and headed toward her.

She looked only mildly surprised to see him. “If you’ll pardon me, Dobbin,” she said to the older soldier, “I believe our guest wishes to speak to me.”

The man nodded and, after giving Blaidd the once-over, meandered away, his men with him, leaving them alone near the barracks door.

“I do wish to talk to you, my lady,” Blaidd agreed as he came to a halt. He struggled not to sound impatient, although his nerves were taut as a ship’s rigging in a gale. “Is there somewhere more private we can speak?”

She raised one brow in query. “Do you think I’ll risk being alone with you again?” she asked quietly. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can do so here.”

He subdued a scowl. “I’d like to know if you intend to tell your father about…” Rather than be specific, he gave her a look that she had to comprehend.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked evenly, regarding him as steadily as Sir Urien Fitzroy on the training field after Blaidd had blundered.

“Because I give you my word that I won’t do it again.”

“It shouldn’t have happened the first time.”

She must like watching him twist in the wind, he decided, but she had the upper hand, and they both knew it. “I agree, and I’m sorry. Sometimes desire overrules the head.”

She snorted in a most unladylike manner. Her glance darted below his belt before returning to his face. “Something overrules your rational mind, Sir Blaidd. In that, you are like many men. However, since you’ve apologized again, I’ll be lenient.” Her gaze hardened. “But don’t take that as a sign that you may do as you please, with me or anyone else here. And might I suggest that, in future, you avoid situations that later require apologies.”

He bowed and tried to make light of the situation. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better do more than try, or you won’t get far in your wooing of my sister. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the day’s meals.”

With that, she walked past him, her head high and her bearing as regal as a queen’s.

Even if she limped.

Chapter Five

Several days of rainy weather passed, during which Blaidd did his best to avoid Lady Rebecca while everyone was more or less confined to the castle. It was rather obvious she was of the same mind about him, for although they were often in the hall at the same time during the day, they spoke only during meals, and only when it was necessary. She dutifully played her harp for dancing when her father made the request, and Blaidd dutifully danced.

He spent most of his time with Lady Laelia, as a man courting a woman should. Despite her outward beauty, however, this felt more and more like imprisonment. She asked very little about him personally, and didn’t seem to want to talk about anything to do with her family or her home. If he tried to ask questions, she appeared bored and listless.

Finally, after several fruitless attempts to find a subject to spark her interest, he’d finally found one when he began to speak of the court. Then she grew more animated, asking questions about the king and queen, the lords and ladies, the entertainments, the royal apartments.

When he wasn’t being interrogated by Laelia, he attempted to engage Lord Throckton in games of chess or draughts, hoping to sound the man out about his politics, to see if he could find any hint that Throckton was discontented enough with Henry’s rule to foment actual rebellion. Unfortunately, Lord Throckton usually insisted Blaidd stay with Laelia, as if this was a great favor, and spoke only vague generalities when he did not.

In spite of these impediments and distractions, Blaidd kept an eye on the man as well as he could and discovered Throckton didn’t appear to do anything remotely suspicious. If he was planning rebellion, he was being very careful about it.

Still, there were things that made it difficult for Blaidd to dismiss talk of traitorous plots completely. There was the man’s astonishing fortress, for one thing, constructed with as much expense and care as if he was expecting a war any day. The garrison had to number a hundred at least, and they were well trained and well armed. Blaidd had spent years with fighting men, and these were some of the finest soldiers he’d ever seen. Men that skilled and well trained didn’t come cheap.

A lord could, of course, plead the necessity of guarding his land, but few put so much of their resources into it. Where was the man getting the money to pay for his soldiers, their weapons, and this castle? To be sure, the estate looked moderately prosperous, but even so, it didn’t seem possible that Throckton could afford such a fortress and provide for so many soldiers unless he had another source of income.

Yet the man himself was so friendly, so pleasant….

His father would tell him to utterly disregard that; nevertheless, Blaidd found it hard to accept that a man could be so hospitable and encouraging to a courtier of a king he despised and hoped to ruin.

The other thing Blaidd had come to realize, although it had nothing to do with his mission, was the unusual position of Lady Rebecca in the household. By rights, and as the eldest, Lady Laelia should be the chatelaine, overseeing the food and linen and everything else in and about the hall and apartments. However, those tasks seemed to fall solely to Lady Rebecca. Keys jingling as she moved, she went from the kitchen to the storeroom to the buttery with seemingly tireless energy. She gave orders to the servants and spoke with the merchants who came to sell their goods. She apparently organized everything.

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