Читать книгу In The King's Service - Margaret Moore - Страница 12

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.