A Lord For Haughmond Part 10

The endearment shredded the last of her composure. She burst into tears.

"'Tis true-but it can't be-it mustn't be!" she stammered and caught her lip betwixt her teeth. She sounded stupid, blubbering in this half-witted manner. What would Rhys think of her?

A pa.s.sing knight cast an interested leer in their direction. Two young squires stopped in their tracks to stare.

Rhys led her into the tent, dropping the flap in place.

"What is true, Sweetling?" His head dipped as he met her gaze with a concerned frown.

"Haughmond is to have a champion." Wringing her hands, Katherine blinked rapidly. Straining not to weep, she added, "By the king's decree, I am to have a husband."

Her voice broke as she stared at Rhys. His golden mane of hair fell about his head in abandonment, the locks having grown long and unruly. A thick brownish beard grew on his chin. How it changed him. Yet he remained the same sincere and trustworthy knight she had first met in a Shropshire wood. She pulled air into her lungs.

"I am betrothed to a man I have never met. A stranger!" She choked on the words, her throat tight and raw. "How can I endure it?"

"But 'twas your most precious desire," responded Rhys. He shoved his hair from his forehead and looked away.

"Nay!"

His attention jerked back to her. "You don't desire Haughmond?" He threw her a quizzical look. "G.o.d has heeded your prayers."

With all her frustration she shook her head. "'Tis no blessing."

"You perplex me." Rhys rocked back on his heels. "We traveled here expressly to secure the king's favor. Of a sudden you are mighty unsettled, like a cat jumping thither and yon. Do you relinquish your castle to Sir Geoffrey?" In a growl, he added, "Have our homefelt efforts been for naught?"

Katherine's heart lurched at the ruthless tone. Clasping her hands together, she whispered, "I beseech you, do not be angry with me."

Squaring his shoulders, Rhys took a deep breath. "'Tis not anger but frustration that besets me." He expelled air in a huff. "Tell me you do not suffer a change of heart. Speak your mind, Katherine, I bid you, for your response confounds me."

Never had she seen his face so twisted with turmoil. 'Twas her doing. She must put things right, she must be honest. "I will speak, though 'tis naught what I should confess." She gulped an unsteady breath. "I-I must confess my love for you. I can no longer hold it within me."

Rhys stared at her and her heart pounded at his startled look and long silence. Finally he murmured, "Dear heart-you do?"

She went very still inside, as though her heart had stopped. Had she grown horns, he looked so shocked. His clear, blue eyes bore into hers so long-too long. He was offended. He did not share her sentiments. Pain filled her breast, spread to her limbs, making her weak and wobbly, dashing her newly born hopes and dreams.

He groaned aloud and she flinched in shame at the pain flashing across his face. 'Twas clear he did not return her love.

Once again she had misspoke. Once again she had not controlled her tongue. Choking on a sob, she struggled against tears of despair.

Then suddenly Rhys leaned toward her. His mouth touched hers.

In a blinding flash of awe, hope sprang alive within her. Regret and fear vanished in a split second of understanding. The mingled scent of leather and soap became her world. Her nostrils flared as she sought to ensnare more of his essence, as she was gathered in his arms, strong arms that crushed her to him and took her breath away and yet gave her breath.

Marveling at the sudden change of events, her arms locked around his neck. "You-you needs go to-to the king-" She spoke against Rhys's mouth, unwilling to break the wondrous kiss. "-to ask for my hand."

"Nay, Sweetling." With his lips pressed unerringly to hers, Rhys's murmured answer filled her mouth.

From rapture to agony, cold dread stole into her bones. She jerked her head back and stared at Rhys with horror.

"You must ask the king for my hand!"

The glazed expression on Rhys's face disappeared, replaced with a hardening determination.

"Nay, Katherine." His voice was low, firm. "The king will disallow it."

Her hands slid down his shoulders, gripped the rock-hewed muscles of his arms. "You must pet.i.tion him."

"I am unlanded." His words were quiet but frustratingly resolute.

"You wouldn't be once we wed." She drew a quick breath. "The king needs a strong knight at Haughmond."

"'Tis costly to garrison an army." Rhys stepped back with a shake of his head. A golden curl fell onto his forehead. "I have no wealth, Katherine. 'Tis a hopeless prospect."

A gathering storm forged across his countenance, but Katherine chose to ignore it. "For my sake, could you not try? I love you." She fought tears, but lost the unnerving battle. Her eyes brimmed to overflowing.

Rhys's gaze shifted away.

The sliver of hope disappeared, replaced with a hollow emptiness. "Do you not love me?" She was not able to halt the pained question, nor could she quell the cascade of tears wetting her cheeks.

"Love you!" Rhys's gaze darted back. His expression softened. He gathered her to him once again. "Dear heart, I have loved you since we unearthed you from that filthy log." He held her to him as though he were grasping at life itself. "But 'tis futile. The king sees me as a soldier of fortune. He will not entertain my plea."

Katherine flung her arms about his neck once more. "'Tis better to never have loved you than to lose you!" she cried.

"Nay, Sweetling." Rhys kissed her hair and cradled the back of her head in the palm of his hand. His strength flowed to her, even as her own wilted.

A bevy of emotions swirled through her-joy, relief, frustration, anger. Should she laugh at the irony or weep at the pain? She did not know how to feel. Rhys loved her-yet he rejected her. "How do I live without you?" Agony tore through her as she clung to him.

The steady beating of his heart drummed against her ear while he placed one kiss after another atop her head. A long, low groan sounding more akin to a growl rumbled from his chest. He caught her chin and lifted her face to his, planting another kiss on her quivering lips.

Within her, a burning ache sprang to life. His thigh nudged her hip. Her flesh p.r.i.c.kled. His hauberk rubbed against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tormenting her, making her feel-urging her to- What? What was this extraordinary sensation attacking her, filling her with hot, savage flames?

Rhys lifted her off her feet, molded her body to his. His desperate longing plumbed her depths, seared her to her core. She shivered, but she was not cold, and wrapped her arms about his neck once more. His lips were exquisite torture. Joyfully she tasted him through her salty tears. His tongue boldly probed the depths of her mouth, filled her with wonder, with sharp longing.

"Rhys!" Simon burst into the tent and skidded to a halt. "The devil," he exclaimed in disgust, dancing past them. Diving into the nearest chest, tossing out weapons, he bellowed, "To arms!"

Rhys's hold loosened. Sliding down his hauberk, Katherine all but fell on legs turned molten while he lunged for his sword.

"'Tis Sir Geoffrey! He attacks the king!" Simon clasped his sword to his hips and hefted up a long ugly looking knife, stuffing it into his belt.

Rhys swept up his scabbard and drew out his sword. He threw Katherine a grim look. "Might it be a ruse to distract us? Mayhap he seeks to seize our lady."

She gasped in dismay at the terrifying thought.

"We needs secure Katherine before we attend the king," he continued in a rush, catching in mid-air the knife Simon tossed to him. Not taking the time to strap it on properly, he shoved it into his boot, then flung his chain mail coif over his head. He caught Katherine's arm. Propelling her along, he tore out of the tent and toward the castle hill.

"Sir Geoffrey has allies, else he would not dare attack," he threw at Simon, racing along beside him. "We could be charging into a hornet's nest."

"'Twould seem so!" Simon leaped ahead of them. "Sir Geoffrey demanded the king's ear following Lady Katherine's audience."

"G.o.d's bones!" Rhys hissed in air through clenched teeth. "Mayhap Edward inadvertently provoked this attack."

"'Tis common knowledge the king denied him Haughmond in favor of Sir Dafydd."

Scowling at Simon, Rhys hefted his sword higher. "Don't brew trouble, pup."

"Don't be so p.r.i.c.kly." The squire panted, dropping behind them with a sulky grimace.

They pa.s.sed through the unguarded gate of the bailey. To their right, Bereford's soldiers, with weapons in hand, poured out of the armory. Shouted commands rose above the clash of metal swords at the entrance to the stone keep on the far side of the bailey.

The pitch grew louder the closer they drew to the hall. Up the circular stone stairs they forged, heading for the upper most floor, with Rhys's arm encircling Katherine's waist, giving aid to her flight.

"Bolt your door securely," commanded Rhys. "I don't trust de Borne."

"Aye!" came Simon's fierce reply from behind. "Destruction makes a wide swathe behind that villain. Lady Katherine, you must see to your safety, and Lady Anne's. If I could-"

Rhys vented an angry oath. "Cease your prattle."

"But I'm as concerned for the ladies' welfare."

"Then see to the king!"

The squire stumbled to a halt while Rhys and she continued onward with flying feet, Rhys's hand pressed firmly into her back.

Finally, they reached the top floor and burst into the wardrobe. Anne and another lady, standing on tiptoes to watch the fighting below, turned with startled cries.

Rhys took a moment to draw breath. "Hold fast within, Katherine. Keep the door barred at all costs. I'll not have you at de Borne's mercy."

"Rhys!" She reached toward him before he dashed through the door. "I love you."

His gaze locked with hers, he shook his head. "Would that I need not leave you here alone."

"I am never alone if I have your love."

With a bound, he was through the door, his shout filling the corridor. "You have it, my lady!"

Chapter Ten.

"G.o.d wills it!"

Rhys's battle cry echoed up the stairwell, rising above the sounds of the fighting in the great hall. At the bottom of the circular stairs, he skidded to a halt, sliding on blood-soaked rushes. A man lay sprawled across the narrow corridor, his lifeblood gushing from a wound that had all but severed his arm. Vaulting past the dying man, Rhys dashed into the hall and into the din of battle.

The chamber, crammed with knights and soldiers and all manner of fighting men, boasted no banners or colors. In alarm, he realized 'twas impossible to determine friend from foe.

Who should he defend?

Who should he run through?

Where was the king?

A swift survey of the room and the numbered dead, he could only hope Geoffrey de Borne was among them. 'Twould relieve his avenging fervor and give his mother blessed relief from this undertaking she couldn't abide.

The chamber itself pulsed with the steady ring of metal. Swords clashed and howls of rage migrated from one corner to another. The rushing crescendo rolled in waves, resounding off the stonewalls. Familiar sounds, oft repeated in past warfare. Even the bellows of pain punctuating the air with regularity did not disturb him.

Advancing into the hall, searching for the king, the number of fighters without swords surprised Rhys. 'Twas more a brawl than chivalrous combat, thugs engaged in bashing heads with any weaponry at hand. Sticks, wooden stools, even horn tankards crashed down ingloriously on unsuspecting heads.

From out of the flood of fighters, a sword drove toward him. With a hurried backhanded cut, he thrust it aside.

Sir Geoffrey struck again, armed with hard steel and cold hate. "b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you'll not get Haughmond!"

Rhys ducked, raising his sword to fend off the descending blade, retreating, he stomped on a large, s.h.a.ggy paw. Zeus let out a whine. G.o.d's bones, in his concern for Katherine, he'd forgotten Zeus.

"Back, Zeus!"

Sir Geoffrey's lips twisted in a snarl. He slashed again, his formidable skill abetted by a fierce and determined expression.

The blow smashed against Rhys's sword arm. G.o.d be thanked, he yet wore his armor. But with a sinking heart, he realized Geoffrey's intent, saw it in the knight's eyes. 'Twas a fight to the death.

Raw anger boiled up within him. Too long this villain had caused mayhem. 'Twas well past the time he paid for his evil.

But Geoffrey de Borne had seized the advantage. A p.r.i.c.kle of foreboding swept over Rhys. Where was Simon to guard his back? This attack, too vicious and resolute, was anything but happenstance. Had Sir Geoffrey discovered his plot for vengeance? Had he lost the advantage of surprise?

With all his might, Rhys slashed harder. He'd run Geoffrey de Borne through, would satisfy his blood l.u.s.t. He'd banish this viper to h.e.l.l. He wouldn't waste this opportunity, he'd have his revenge.

Geoffrey sprang back with a snarl, his sword slicing the air, then lunged again with increasing fury.

Rhys met each barrage, parrying effortlessly, sidestepping nimbly. The strikes grew less forceful. He pressed his own attack, stalwart thrusts connecting hard and swift, his sword arm rising and falling with relentless regularity, determined to slay this beast.

Thrusting, Geoffrey missed and grimaced at the blunder.

Rhys swung again but Geoffrey deflected it. They collided, shoulder-to-shoulder, as the weapons drove against each other above their heads. A fist smashed into Rhys's cheekbone. Rearing back from the blow and the sharp sting of split flesh, he shoved at his attacker, but Geoffrey caught hold of his chain mail hood, twisting it, yanking him off balance.

From close at hand came a savage snarl and Sir Geoffrey's stranglehold loosened.

He stumbled free in time to see Sir Geoffrey's sword flash in a downward arc.

Rhys's howl of helplessness could not hide the brief but pitiful yelp from Zeus.

The sword slashed again. Entrails poured out, b.l.o.o.d.y and hot, steaming in the cold air. Without another sound, Zeus fell to the rushes.

His war cry rang out again, even as potent rage surged through Rhys, even as his stomach heaved. With heart pounding in his head, he leaped at Geoffrey, slashing and striking, thrusting and slicing as though he were the last knight defending the king. Hammering mindlessly with his sword, so stunned was he by the loss he barely noticed the subtle change in his opponent.

Sir Geoffrey stumbled past two knights bent on killing each other. Death, and its scent, drifted on the smoke-tinged air.