Читать книгу At The Warrior's Mercy - Denise Lynn, Denise Lynn - Страница 12
ОглавлениеGregor wasn’t at all certain how to react, so he rubbed his temples in an attempt to gain enough time to respond.
If this wasn’t some sort of jest devised by Satan himself, he didn’t know what was. The complete irony of this situation would make his two younger brothers hoot like drunken fools. His older brother Elrik would shake his head and claim that it was Roul’s curse coming to life once again.
He and Elrik had both lost wives in horrific manners, but his brother had also lost a child along with his wife. So when Sarah had chosen to end her life rather than be his wife, Elrik had claimed they were cursed never to have wives or families.
Gregor didn’t know if he believed they were cursed or not—he’d chosen not to believe. What he did know was that no one could ever accuse him of relying on luck, since it had never run to his favour. Because he was on his way to take possession of Warehaven Keep and its remaining heiress, of course luck would ensure that he would run into the heiress along the way.
To make matters worse, the fiery lass didn’t appear to fear him in the least. For the first time since the disastrous event that passed as his marriage, he feared that he could eventually come to care for a woman.
Not just any woman, but this woman.
She was too easy to be near. Far too easy to look at and talking to her was quickly becoming something he could get used to doing—especially when they could make each other laugh.
More than that, he’d seen her nervous tension around him. The lady was far too innocent yet to realise it, but that tension had nothing to do with fear, but with interest. He’d recognised it because he felt it, too. And knowing that within a matter of days her world would come crashing down around her, ending with her marriage to him, did nothing to quell the budding desire—in fact, it only made it worse.
This was not good—for either of them.
If he was only going to Warehaven to force her hand in marriage, she might somehow be willing to eventually forgive his actions. But that wasn’t at all the case. He was going to intentionally harm this young woman’s family, perhaps bring about the death of someone she loved. At the very least he would take everything her family had worked for, steal her future and break her heart.
There was no way of knowing what she would do—no way for him to tell if she would resort to the same actions as Sarah had. He couldn’t afford to care about her. More importantly, she could not be given the chance to care about him.
It would do neither of them any good.
The one mission where his ability to feel nothing would be his strongest armour was in jeopardy. No, he corrected that thought. The success of the mission was not in any danger, it would just be harder to complete. His focus would need to be more well defined.
It would have to be more finely honed than his sharpest blade, all because this slip of a woman wasn’t afraid of him, but found him desirable, and because he was oddly attracted to the sound of her laughter—even when it was directed at him. It had raced across his heart warm and inviting. The sound had soothed him while at the same time left him wanting more.
More was something he couldn’t have—not from her. The only thing he would gain from her was hatred.
‘Gregor?’
He took a deep breath and rose on suddenly shaking legs.
She tipped her head and studied him with obvious concern, causing him to clench his teeth at the sharp prick to his heart.
A soft knock on the chamber door stopped him from having to say anything. ‘My lord? I am putting the things you requested right outside the door.’
He opened the door to find the waiting pile. Gregor picked up the stack and after quickly sorting through what seemed serviceable enough clothing, he tossed them on to the bed. ‘Not as fine as you are used to, but they’ll be dry. I’ll step out while you put them on.’
Before she could once again question his obvious change in mood, he grabbed his boots, walked out of the chamber, slamming the door closed behind him, and headed below. It was doubtful any amount of ale would make tomorrow bearable, but a throbbing head would provide a good excuse to avoid her, or to be surly enough in her presence that she’d wish to avoid any conversation.
For now, that seemed the best course of action.
* * *
Beatrice flinched at the coldness in his tone which he’d punctuated by slamming the door closed on his hasty exit.
What was wrong with the man?
She frowned, mentally going over everything they had said since coming back up to this bedchamber. And yet, rehashing their conversation repeatedly provided her with no answer.
True, she’d laughed at his display of aggression, but he’d not seemed angered by her lack of composure, a little surprised perhaps, just as he had when she hadn’t quivered in terror at knowing his identity. Neither of those things had brought about a change in his demeanour.
That hadn’t happened until she’d told him her name.
Why?
Somehow she was going to have to reason this out on her own, because it was doubtful he was going to tell her.
She pulled the pile of clothing closer to her and shook her head. The wool gown and serviceable shift were every bit as fine as what she wore at Warehaven. Did he think she always dressed in fine-spun linen and silk bedecked with embroidery and gems?
If so, then he obviously didn’t know the workings of a large keep, or the women who saw to its day-to-day operation. If she’d shown up in the kitchens dressed in such finery, Cook would have sent for her lady mother long before Beatrice could stir a pot or knead a loaf of bread.
To her great relief, she found a large towel mixed in with the garments. She stripped off her ruined slippers and stockings, then glanced at the door. It was doubtful that Gregor would barge in on her, but there were others about. Knowing she’d never be able to fit the bar into place, she dragged the bench in front of the door. It wouldn’t stop anyone from entering, but the noise it would make as the door shoved it across the wooden floor would warn her of the intruder’s presence.
Anxious to once again be dry and warm, Beatrice struggled with the laces of her gown. The wet knots refused to give and she knew she’d never be able to gather the skirt and pull it over her head.
She cursed through gritted teeth, then spied the small dagger. With no one to help her, there wasn’t any choice in the matter of removing her wet clothes.
And it wasn’t as if she was ever going to wear this gown again—she wanted nothing that would remind her of Charles. Perhaps, once it was washed and dried, there would be enough decent fabric left for someone to use. If nothing else, they could pick the gems free from the embroidery. Surely that would be payment enough for the clothing the maid had brought.
Beatrice stuck the tip of the blade through the neck edge of the gown and cringed. She’d spent a goodly amount of time on not just the sewing of the gown, but on the trim work, too. With a determined stroke, she sliced the gown down to her waist.
It took some doing, but after slitting the shoulders and tops of the sleeves, she managed to pull her arms free of the wet, clingy fabric and let the gown fall to the floor at her feet.
However, she wasn’t as willing to destroy the fine pleated chemise. It was her best one and she wasn’t leaving it behind for someone to salvage. Gathering the long skirt in her hands, she leaned over and peeled it from her body. It was thin enough that it would dry quickly by the brazier.
While drying herself off, she kept glancing towards the door. Other than her name she’d said nothing that could account for the swift change of Gregor’s mood. What was it about her name that had put him off so quickly?
As one of King David’s men, he had to recognise the name Warehaven, since King David and her grandfather King Henry were brothers by marriage and King Henry had never hidden her father’s identity as one of his natural-born sons.
King David was also Matilda’s uncle and the Empress, her father’s half-sister, had recently been demanding more ships from Warehaven. Demands that Beatrice knew her father had ignored. It was highly likely that David thought to defend his niece by sending his own demands to Warehaven, using Gregor as the messenger.
Perhaps once King David learned the reason for her father’s refusal he would understand Warehaven’s reluctance. Matilda and her husband Geoffrey’s ill use of the ships and men had resulted in the loss of three vessels along with the souls of all the men aboard. A horrible blunder that her father hadn’t taken lightly, one he refused to chance repeating. Those men had had families. Wives and children for whom he now felt responsible. Besides, he had worked too hard for what he had and wasn’t about to hand it all over to Matilda for her ongoing fight to wrest the throne from King Stephen.
If Gregor was acting as a messenger for King David, it would explain why he was travelling without an armed escort, since he would travel faster on his own.
Beatrice slipped into the dry clothing and then sat down on the bed with a soft gasp of exasperation. All of this was only speculation on her part, but if he was headed to Warehaven it was going to be difficult to slip away from him. She was not going to risk showing up at Warehaven’s gate in the company of a man not related to her.
He might consider that a minor obstacle easily overcome with words, but she knew better. Her parents wouldn’t care who he was, or why he was there. They wouldn’t listen to his explanation. The only thing they would see was that their daughter had been alone with him, unprotected, unguarded for days.
By the time her father finished blustering and her mother ceased harping, she and Gregor would find themselves together in their marriage bed trying to determine how they got there.
A flush warmed her cheeks. Just the thought of being in any bed with Gregor made her dizzy. She couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d do if it were to ever happen.
Beatrice patted the mattress beneath her. It was soft, not too lumpy and the covers appeared to be clean. She glanced out of the narrow window. The sun wouldn’t rise for a couple of hours yet and she had no desire to head off in the dark again.
She slid further back on the bed to stretch out and froze. King David wouldn’t squander his Wolf on simply delivering a message. If Gregor was headed to Warehaven, and from his reaction upon hearing her name she was convinced that was his destination, it was to deliver more than a message.
Perhaps his presence was meant to ensure that whatever request, or demand, made was met.
And what would happen if it wasn’t?
Her stomach knotted. She knew how badly her aunt the Empress wanted those ships. How far would King David go to ensure their delivery?
If her father once again declined to supply them, would Gregor simply try to take them?
Her father would see him dead first.
An icy finger of dread skipped down her spine. That was a fight she didn’t want to happen. She didn’t want to witness her father risk his life to defy his half-sister. This war between King Stephen and Matilda had been going on for nearly ten years without an end in sight. Her father would rather set sail to parts unknown before taking sides. He’d come of age with Stephen at Henry’s court and Matilda was family. As the old King’s son, even a natural-born one, he was able to make such a choice that another lord would not be permitted.
She loved her father dearly, but she didn’t want to see anything happen to Gregor either. He had been kind and he’d stood up to Charles for her when he didn’t have to do so. Outside of her family, Gregor had been the only man who’d ever shown her the meaning of honour. He was honourable—to a fault. He’d sworn to see her safely home whether she wanted him to or not.
She needed to make haste for home—preferably arriving before Gregor. Beatrice swung her legs around to sit on the side of the bed. How was she going to accomplish that feat?
According to the last missive her father had sent to Jared at Montreau her parents weren’t back at Warehaven yet—but they would be soon. She needed to warn them about the possible visit from King David’s Wolf.
Sneaking away from her unwanted escort wouldn’t be easy. Nor would it be wise. As much as she hated to admit it, he was correct. Travelling by herself was dangerous, not to mention foolhardy, especially since she wasn’t certain what Charles’s next move might be.
Earlier she’d told Gregor that she could hire an escort. Could she find someone else willing to escort her to Warehaven? There might be someone below she could bribe. Beatrice glanced down at her gown and smiled. While flawed, surely the numerous gems sewn on to her gown still had some value. There were enough to leave some for the maid and hopefully to pay a willing escort.
She picked up the gown from the floor, rose to get her knife from the table and then took a seat near the brazier. By the time she finished slicing through the thread work on the edges of the neck, sleeves and hem, she had enough stones to fill both of her hands, but nothing to carry them in safely. With a sigh of regret, she cut a square from the bottom of her chemise large enough to hold the gems securely. Now, to find someone who appeared trustworthy enough to act as her guard for the journey, but with Gregor below it would be impossible to do so.
She rose to look out of the narrow window opening. The moon was high in the night sky. The sight made her yawn as she realised she’d had no sleep yet this night—a lack that would leave her dull-witted on the morrow.
A glance towards the bed was enough to convince her to head in that direction. She lay upon the bed and stared up at the ceiling, wishing she’d never left Montreau in the first place.
* * *
Gregor pushed his half-full cup across the table and waved the owner of this establishment away when the man thought to bring him more ale. His earlier idea of drinking until he could stand no more had quickly evaporated at the thought of riding with an aching head.
There were only a couple of men left in the inn besides him and he kept them at bay with a hard scowl. The last thing he wanted was company of any sort. He’d taken a seat at the far table to be away from those still gathered so he could reason out what to do.
Another draught of cool, damp night air raced across him and he turned to look at the newcomer who’d just entered. He groaned. Of course Simon would find him. The man was like a dog on the trail of a hare. A nod in Simon’s direction brought him to his table.
‘This is the last place I expected to find you.’
Gregor glanced up at his captain. ‘The role of nursemaid doesn’t suit you.’
‘I think I would make quite a handy nursemaid.’ Simon took a seat across the table. ‘Especially for charges who think to slip away unnoticed.’
‘If this is the last place you thought to find me, why are you here?’ Gregor motioned the owner to pour another cup of ale that Simon retrieved, then brought back to the table.
‘Because it was the only place we hadn’t looked.’
‘We?’
Simon took a long drink of the ale, before explaining, ‘I have two of the men out scouring the countryside for word of their lord.’
‘Ah, well, here I am, safe and sound. You can gather the others and go back to camp now.’
‘Safe and sound for now, perhaps. But I hear tell from the three battered men who passed through our camp earlier you are breathing your last.’
Gregor snorted. ‘You believed them?’
‘No, but I couldn’t wait to hear this tale so I came looking for you.’
That made more sense since Simon, like the rest of his guard, loved nothing more than a good tale. Especially one they could embellish and then share with others. Gregor’s reputation was partly owed to their retelling of tales. A fact he’d discovered too late to do anything about.
‘There isn’t much to tell. I rescued the woman those three men had thought to abuse.’
Simon’s eyebrows rose. ‘Do tell.’
‘I just did.’
His man looked around the inn. ‘Where is she?’
‘Above, in a chamber.’
‘And you are down here?’ Simon leaned forward, to ask in a near whisper, ‘Did you let the Wolf frighten her so quickly?’
‘Quite the opposite. The maiden above is Beatrice of Warehaven.’
Simon’s cup hit the table. It teetered, then fell, letting the remaining contents spill across the wooden plank. ‘You are jesting.’
Gregor waited until the owner finished cleaning up the mess Simon had made. Once he replaced his man’s drink with another and left, Gregor said, ‘I wish I were.’
‘Which Warehaven lass would this be?’
‘The young, as yet unmarried one.’
‘Dear Lord above. How did this happen?’ Before Gregor could respond, Simon raised his hand. ‘Never mind. Only you could have such ill-fated luck.’
Not able to disagree with the obvious, Gregor shrugged. ‘I know. Sometimes it is truly amazing.’
‘Does she know?’
‘Well, of course upon discovering who she was the first thing I did was to tell her that right after I kill her father and take command of his keep and ships, she is going to become my wife.’
‘So, you left the chamber without saying anything?’
‘Yes.’ There was no need to lie about it, not to Simon. The older man had been his father’s captain-at-arms and his older brother’s captain until Elrik decided he could no longer deal with the man’s tendency to play nursemaid. The man might be old, he might also be a frightening-looking nursemaid, but he had been with the Roul family since before Gregor could walk and there was no one more worthy of his trust.
‘This one is going to make a fine retelling.’
‘The only retelling that is going to happen is that you are going to go back to camp and tell the men to keep their mouths shut about this entire mission. I am escorting her to Warehaven and I don’t want her to discover what is going to happen ahead of time.’
‘And how are you going to handle that?’
‘I don’t know as yet. But I have until the sun rises to make a plan.’
‘Well, then, you’d best hurry, because—’
‘Yes, I know.’ Gregor cut him off. ‘The night is half over.’
Simon stared down into his ale. His forehead creased, his eyebrows pulled together making a long grey caterpillar above his eyes.
Gregor sighed. ‘I recognise that look well. What are you wondering about?’
‘What is she like, this Beatrice of Warehaven?’
The memory of her laughter ran through Gregor, leaving him warm and wanting. Finally, he admitted, ‘Someone who would probably make a fine wife for someone in want of one.’
‘Ah. So she didn’t cringe and cower at discovering your name?’
‘No. She bluntly told me that I wasn’t who she expected to be David’s Wolf.’ Before he could stop himself, he added, ‘And she laughed at me.’
Simon frowned for a long few moments, then asked, ‘My lord, is it necessary to kill Warehaven?’
‘Do you think he’s going to let me take his keep and ships from him without a fight?’
‘No.’
‘Then, no, I see no way around it. Given the order came from his family, it would be a waste to take him hostage as I doubt they would pay ransom.’
He didn’t add the simple fact that he had no choice in completing this mission. His future and that of his brothers depended on him doing precisely as King David and the Empress wanted.
‘She will hate you, lad.’
‘Tell me something I don’t already know. But there is nothing I can do about it except to sleep with one eye open the short time I’ll be at Warehaven.’
Simon frowned, then asked, ‘The short time?’
‘King David ordered me to take Warehaven and marry the heiress. He said nothing about living there with her. Once the island is under my control it shouldn’t take long to install enough of my men to keep order, marry the woman and get her with child.’
‘And then what? You’ll just leave?’
Gregor shrugged. ‘I can either take up residence at the shipyard on Warehaven, or at the one back home. It doesn’t matter to me.’
‘Are you sure it will be that easy?’
Easy? No, he wasn’t sure, but it was the only plan he could devise. ‘The only thing I am sure about is that the night is wasting. You need to gather the men back at camp and give them the order to keep their mouths closed. The first one who so much as whispers a word about our mission will find himself lacking a tongue.’
Simon rose. ‘And you?’
‘Need to devise some lie to cover why I bolted upon learning her name.’
After his man left the inn, Gregor talked the owner into supplying him with some lukewarm stew, bread, cheese and a pitcher of water for a price. He then headed back up to the bedchamber with the food.
He pushed against the door with his shoulder, only to find it blocked by something weighty from the other side. Apparently she’d already found reason to mistrust him and had used the bench, since it was the only thing in the chamber with any weight besides the bed to keep him from entering.
Setting down the food, he shoved the door open, hearing the sound of wooden legs scraping against wood floor. Once the opening was wide enough, he slipped through, moved the bench back to its original spot alongside the wall, retrieved the food and came back into the chamber.
Gregor placed the food on the bench and then secured the door. He turned to glance at the woman on the bed. She must have been exhausted, because she still slept even after he’d made so much noise getting into the chamber.
He walked further into the room. She’d been busy during his absence. Her wet gown was a lump on the floor near the brazier and he noticed a hastily made pouch on the small table near the bed that hadn’t been there before.
Reaching out, he touched the chemise she’d hung over the bedpost nearest the brazier. He removed the now dry garment, noting the square hole cut from the hem, folded it and placed it on the foot of the bed. Retrieving his still-damp cloak from a peg by the door, he hung that from the bedpost. She would need something to keep her warm and dry during their journey over the next two or three days and his cloak would have to do.
Warehaven’s maiden mumbled something he could barely make out. A step brought him to the side of the bed. She still slept, but her shivers would soon have her awake. He leaned over her, reaching across to pull the free side of the covers she slept upon over to cover her body.
She turned in her sleep. The warmth of her breath brushed lightly across his cheek, sending a tremor of nearly forgotten longing racing down his spine. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and hold her close until he chased the cold away.
Gregor tucked the edge of the cover beneath her shoulder and quickly stepped away, silently cursing his stupidity. What was he thinking? Had one missed night of sleep left him so dull-witted that he believed things best left alone could come true on a whim? What made him think just because this woman was interested that she would allow him such liberties?
He needed to face the facts. He was never going to have the marriage or future he’d long desired. Especially not with Warehaven’s heiress. Once all was said and done, not only would she never permit him such closeness, he’d be surprised if she sought anything other than his death.
While he didn’t know her well, he was fairly certain that she would devise some slow and painful way to send him to his grave.
