A Lord For Haughmond Part 20

He grew angry once more. "Katherine, yield to me!" came his command against her lips.

"Ah, what good fortune I found you, Rhys of St. Quintin."

Rhys's eyes flew open at the female voice dripping with contempt. He whirled with his hand to the hilt of his sword. Sister Mary Margaret stood before them wearing a severe frown.

The blood rushed from Katherine's face. Without a doubt Sir Dafydd would hear of this indiscretion from his kinswoman.

"You are overlong in attending the queen, sir. She does express her displeasure most patently. If it pleases you, you are to go to her at once." The woman's reproach was obvious in her glower. "When you say your prayers, sir knight, thank G.o.d and all the saints 'twas myself and not one of Eleanor's ladies-in-waiting who found you thus ensnared."

Finally free, Katherine ducked past Rhys and fled down the corridor.

A contingency of Bereford's household knights enlarged Katherine's entourage on the two-day journey into Shropshire. Deployed to Chester, they would provide protection as far as Shrewsbury. As they rode north on the Worcester road, where stands of trees cast dark shadows across the rutted roadway, she was glad for the additional soldiers, for they traveled near to the border of Wales.

Yet their presence did naught to appease the conflict raging within her. Nor did the day's long and weary ride quell her conflicting emotions, nor lessen her roiling thoughts. No wedding ma.s.s had been spoken and no wedding feast had been celebrated. Though she was grateful for not having to endure the customary disrobing by the female guests, or the bedding ceremony, her lifetime dreams of her wedding day did not cease in an instant. This day lacked all the joy and delight she had antic.i.p.ated as a girl.

'Twas not her only regret.

The bed linens-the ones that would have displayed no virgin's blood-would not be paraded through the hall. Her vengeance against Sir Dafydd had been for naught. That knight had been spared his disgrace.

Of all the bridal traditions cast aside, she had natheless, received a wedding kiss. True, it had been forced upon her in the dark corridor outside the chapel. The taste of Rhys remained so vivid, as did the soapy scent of his skin. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled in remembrance, her heart thumping erratically within her breast.

But his kiss was not a kiss of peace. Watching Rhys and his proud bearing, where he rode at the vanguard of the procession, Katherine grew breathless with desire. His shoulders were too broad for her peace of mind. His movements, lithe and a.s.sured as he kept a lookout for danger, mesmerized her and reminded her of the warmth and security when his arms encircled her and held her close. The tilt of his head when he turned in the saddle to apprise himself of the travelers' welfare, especially when he cast frequent gazes upon her, did naught to diminish her agitation. She remembered that same angle of his face as he bestowed his kisses.

She was as doomed this day as yester day, with her longings of the flesh. Another sin to heap upon those hitherto acc.u.mulating. One more cause for torment. One more reason for prayer.

Thereto, a new reason to argue with her sister.

Anne had remarked on Katherine's delay in returning to their chamber following the brief ceremony, pressing her for the reason.

"What were you thinking to allow Rhys such liberties?" Anne cried in horror when the truth reluctantly came out.

"Sir Rhys," corrected Katherine automatically as she slipped out of the sumptuous silk bliaud and folded it carefully within the leather satchel Simon had lent them. "'Twas naught of my doing." She s.n.a.t.c.hed up her serviceable woolen gown and donned it. "'Tis not possible to prevent a knight from having his way, sister, should he be determined. 'Tis a lesson worthy of our attention."

That truth plagued Katherine the whole of the morning, kept her on edge. How easily Rhys had forced his kiss upon her. Pray, how was she to thwart Sir Dafydd's demands, when she was his chattel? The law allowed him full liberty. It allowed her naught. She gripped her cloak with an iron fist, angry at the disquieting thought.

A cold gust of wind sent her skirts billowing above the tops of her muddy boots. Shivering, she hastily shoved the cloak more securely betwixt herself and the saddle and wished, not for the first time, that she could again dress the part of serf. The sidesaddle was uncomfortable and 'twas a lengthy journey.

The wind whipped again, blowing her wimple across her face. In irritation she shoved it away. Anne had insisted she wear the headrail-the horrid badge of matrimony! Katherine's hands had trembled when she tied the chinstrap in place and had secured the delicate cloth upon her head.

In the wake of their angry words, Anne had refused to ride beside her, choosing to stay nearer to Simon and his baggage mule at the rear of the retinue. With no distraction to break her nettled thoughts, she began a stream of plots against her husband and his rights. But each idea to thwart Sir Dafydd was met with failure. She felt more and more hopeless.

A pox on the king and his edicts!

They arrived at Worcester and paid toll to cross the bridge. 'Twas a crowded stretch of the city, with boats tied up at the quays on either side of the crossing, their stacks of goods awaiting the carter's attention. Beyond stood a small tavern where Rhys chose to break their journey.

'Twas of short duration. Her fingers had only just thawed when they were once again on the road, following the Severn River, carefully avoiding the more westerly Ludlow Road and its dangerous proximity to Wales. At dusk, they chanced upon a small Augustinian priory, well endowed from the looks of its prosperity, with many farm buildings and land. The guest-master graciously received them and provided against their needs.

Though their coins would add to the priory's coffers, Katherine doubted she was the warmer for it. The old stone walls, built in another era, exuded a cold dampness as great as the outdoors. Wind howled betwixt the slats of the shutters and into the small spa.r.s.e chamber allotted to Anne and herself. Throughout the night they huddled together on the narrow lumpy mattress and tried to keep warm beneath the thin blanket.

Toward the end of their second day's journey, the Wrekin, with its bracken-covered slopes, came into view, startling Katherine. She had concentrated so arduously on everything that was not Rhys, she scarce thought of anything else. She had not been aware how far into Shropshire they had traveled.

She reigned in her horse, calling out to Rhys, frantically gesturing toward the right. "Halt, Haughmond is this way!" The short cut she knew avoided both the toll at the city gate and the heavy traffic of the abbey bridge.

Their small party took their leave of the Bereford knights and turned onto the narrow track by the Severn River. Two knights continued the journey with them. Through the trees, where finches flitted noisily from branch to branch, Katherine eyed the rushing, swollen water. The spring runoff from the mountains of Wales had begun early this year. A damp chill filled the air, along with the scent of thawing loam. Shivering, she pulled her cloak tighter around her neck and burrowed her chin into the protective cowl. From the high gra.s.s beside the river came the sharp complaint of a water rail. From the far bank, a long-legged heron, startled from its fishing, took off in silent flight.

In the wild woodland to their right, oak and beech trees crowded the meager trail. The enormous trees bent in protest, their fretwork of bare branches swaying in the heightening wind. At the rear, the pack mule tethered to Simon's saddle complained and shied away from a willow, whose branches whipped at them like a vengeful monster.

But soon the forest gave way to open fields. And in the distance stood Haughmond Castle.

Set into a craggy rock precipice on the westward slope of a hill, its thick gray limestone walls rose defiantly above a gra.s.sy plain stretching toward the setting sun. Filled with joy at the wondrous sight, Katherine blinked back hot tears.

At the head of the line, Rhys pulled rein, forcing the riders to a halt. Simon's mount whinnied at the crowding and kicked out at the smaller pack mule.

Ignoring the commotion behind him, Rhys leaned on the high pommel of his saddle and made a slow perusal of the fortification and its surroundings. Katherine could not help but be pleased with his amazed expression and the smile that sprang unbidden to his lips.

Swinging around in his saddle, he demanded, "Is that Haughmond?"

Taken aback at his surly tone, Katherine nodded warily. What burr was under his skin?

"Come hither!" He beckoned to her. "Tell me of your holding."

Ignoring his harsh tone, she nudged her horse up beside him.

From across the fields, its magnificence obvious, Haughmond dominated the countryside. 'Twas understandable Rhys's brusque tone, and no strain to imagine his bitterness, for a covetous gleam filled his eyes. 'Twould be a glorious homecoming, were he the lord of Haughmond.

Her throat constricted at the painful reality.

Aunt Matilda had tutored her in the history of the fortification. She yet heard the old voice, cracking with age, but vibrant with adoration. Clearing her throat, Katherine began her aunt's familiar litany. "Sir Henri built with no effort spared, to hold fast what he was accorded from King William."

"Did he choose this site or did William?" interrupted Rhys, not looking at her but continuing to stare at the distant fortification.

"Sir Henri chose the site. When he rode into Shropshire, he found evidence of an ancient people on Haughmond Hill. Deeming it a worthy location, he built a wooden motte and bailey structure to command views of the river and Wales beyond."

"Did he not find it necessary to subdue the locals?'" he asked, eyeing her with a skeptical brow. "His goodness and mercy had the conquered Saxons falling on their knees and welcoming him with open arms?"

At the unexpected sarcasm, Katherine threw him a sidelong frown. "Nay, but they as lief accepted him as fight him. Once his stout palisade of stakes was in place, it protected all the peoples of the vicinity."

"Or mayhap, it protected the ill.u.s.trious Sir Henri from those who took exception to their new overlord?" the knight suggested sharply.

Trying to maintain a calm composure in the face of his unpleasant att.i.tude, she replied, "Wales has always filched what it could not provide for itself. Sir Henri proved himself a fair overlord. His new va.s.sals were grateful."

Rhys made a sound of disgust. "Most conquerors think unto themselves." When she did not respond, he flicked his hand impatiently. "But proceed with your tale. 'Tis most entertaining."

With stoic patience she continued. "According to Aunt Matilda, the original timber buildings were replaced by Henri's son. See you how he built the keep into the curtain wall?" She pointed toward the western rim of the hill where the square structure of limestone pierced the gray horizon. "Set upon the steep slope, it creates an impenetrable obstacle from the valley below."

She paused, cautious of his reaction.

"An excellent strategy," he commented, breaking the silence. "And did your worthy forebears have the presence of mind to make other improvements?"

Another deliberate insult. White-knuckled, she gripped her reins, realizing she must show compa.s.sion for his anger and disappointment. Allowing her pride to mask a growing irritation, she quoted Aunt Matilda as best she could remember. "The keep and its curtain wall were the first. A barbican and its drawbridge replaced the simple gatehouse, making our garrisoned fortress easier to defend at its weakest point." She turned to look at the knight and spoke curtly. "Defenses were not neglected, Rhys."

"Well, pray tell me of their wonders," he replied, finally deigning to look at her. "Exactly how secure is the castle? How safe is it from attack, I would know."

She did not wish to continue, did not wish to share the n.o.ble history of her castle when Rhys belittled it so baldly. Once again he had trotted out that th.o.r.n.y expression and lowering brow, a common occurrence of late. She recognized his displeasure was not with Haughmond, but with the loss of it. His disappointment was glaringly plain.

Taking a cleansing breath, Katherine plied as much patience to her voice as her rising agitation would allow. "Flanking towers were added in the last century, to amend the strength of the fortification." She could not meet Rhys's unremitting stare, and looked away. Licking her dry lips, she added, "In the days of his first marriage, my father thought the chasm beneath the approach ramp should be enlarged."

"He could not expect a full moat at that elevation, could he?" Rhys asked in an incredulous tone, swinging his attention back to the castle.

"Nay, only during storms does water flow within the channel. But when the drawbridge is raised, it provides sufficient protection."

"Did anyone have the foresight to clear the gateway?"

Katherine sat straighter in her saddle and chose to ignore his petulance. 'Twas general practice to eliminate anything that could aid an a.s.sault-brush, trees, large boulders. "The approach gives no protection to an attacker." She smiled, trying to ease the tension flashing betwixt them. "My grandsire thought to improve the comfort within the castle. Embellishments of gla.s.s windows were added when Aunt Matilda was a child. She spoke of the noise of the workmen and how delighted she was with the panes of leaded gla.s.s that allowed warm sunshine into the keep."

Rhys snorted. "A costly frivolity for the ladies of the castle and a convenient access point for invaders, I don't mis...o...b..."

"What disturbs you?" she exclaimed, her disgust finally getting the better of her. Haughmond was a fine holding and much cherished by her family. p.r.i.c.ked by his insolence, her pride made it difficult to keep in mind his pain when he so clearly taunted her.

"'Tis no wonder the king gifted your holding to Dafydd," he commented in a clipped tone.

"'Twas no gift, do you recall. He won it fairly. It could be yours, had you been the victor." Realizing how cruel her words must sound, she bit her lip and lapsed into silence.

Rhys drilled her with a dark scowl. "You are much occupied with truth this day. What profit is there to pour contempt on my pride?"

'Twas not Rhys's fault he had lost the joust, yet she had made it sound otherwise. She hastened to make amends. "My apologies, Rhys. 'Twas not unkindly meant."

He gave a diffident shrug. "Ah,'tis the truth all the same. Don't vex yourself on my account, lady."

Katherine could no longer suffer his churlish behavior. "Your temper is unbecoming. Are you not well?" He must be suffering from his injuries. "Has the journey tired you? You look weary." She reached toward him, but he pulled away with a grumbled denial. She sat back in her saddle. "A measure of piety would not come amiss."

Rhys met her eyes with a remorseful look. "See you Haughmond?" He swept his hand in invitation toward the far castle. "'Tis the most magnificent holding I have ever beheld. It makes me feel the fool!"

Baffled by his odd conversation, Katherine asked, "Do you suffer from fever?" The journey had been swift and hard on them all. Mayhap Rhys had taken ill.

"Ah, we never know what manner of spirit we are 'til we are tested by trouble. Yea, I suffer from a fever," he admitted and leaned toward her with a low murmur, "A fever for you."

"For the love of the saints, I pray not," she exclaimed, her father's favorite profanity spilling from her lips before she realized it.

Rhys turned away. "You scorn a lowly knight yet again."

"Your station has naught to do with it and well you know it!" she snapped. "This could have been the happiest of- " She gave a forlorn shake of her head and looked wistfully toward home. "Must we tarry longer? Can you not contemplate the castle from the warmth of the keep? A cup of ale will soothe you and take away your sharp tongue."

"See to your castle." He uttered the words as though in rebuke. "I'll amuse myself with Wales." His glower turned on her again. "Let us to your husband's domain, my lady."

"Be glad 'tis no longer Sir Geoffrey's domain or you would not find succor hereabouts." Katherine urged her mount forward. "Leastwise, we no longer needs suffer his harsh hand."

"That I will allow." Rhys moved along behind her and soon crowded her horse on the narrow path. "But what of your husband? Will he, thereto, rule with a heavy hand? He may well follow his sire's example."

"That he shall not!" Fierce pride washed over Katherine, astounding her, even as she sent the retort over her shoulder. "Haughmond is in my hands. 'Tis my responsibility to preserve it and its people and its livelihood," she declared. "I will not see it wronged ever again. I will serve Haughmond and hand it over to my descendants in better condition than in the wake of Sir Geoffrey's lordship."

His sharp guffaw behind her made her blanch, realizing what she had said. If descendants were to exist, children must be born, children conceived betwixt husband and wife.

The narrow track met the wider road from Shrewsbury. Rhys came up beside her with the most fascinated and quizzical stare she had ever beheld. She wanted no more of his disturbing remarks. Feeling the weight of his nettlesome interest, she gave her horse a swift kick. It sprang forward. She did not wait for the others to follow, but lit down the road toward Haughmond.

Her gaze took in the familiar landscape. Overhead, dark swallows with their forked tails swooped and twisted across the sky. Ahead of them lay pasture land and cultivated fields, where black crows scavenged the cut wheat stubble amid muddy furrows and where an elusive cuckoo winged past, flashing its striped underbelly.

She knew every bend of the river where it coursed through their lands and every rocky formation that b.u.t.tressed the castle. Every corner of every chamber in the castle was familiar to her. She had committed to memory the inventory of the larder, no matter the steward thought otherwise. She knew how many dependents entrusted their lives to the largess of Haughmond, knew one and all by name. She knew no other life, save Haughmond.

Kicking her horse harder, she swept past the fields and pastures, where the air smelled of warming loam, and on past the fishpond.

A break in the trees on the eastern slope grew wider, where the roadway approached the base of the castle, where the village had grown and prospered beneath its protection.

Katherine shifted her gaze to Rhys, where he kept pace beside her. They were on the outskirts of town. A windmill, with its hemp sails, turned in the breeze. He slowed his horse to a walk. She, too, pulled rein and observed him watching the mill's noisy sails, his head moving in the same steady rotation. Further on, he lifted his face with an eager smile, catching the scent of freshly baked bread from the bake house. Hounds on the hunt acted much the same.

An ache filled her breast. His interest was so keen, 'twas obvious he would have made a good lord for Haughmond and its people. He would have made a good husband. New tears threatened to p.r.i.c.k her composure. Struggling to ignore the hollowness within her chest, she blinked rapidly and opened her eyes wide to let the cold wind dry their building moisture. A month past, Haughmond had meant everything to her.

Did it yet?

She peered up at the tall stone walls, with the archers poised upon the parapets and the de la Motte banner waving in the breeze high above their heads. The gray rocky structure did appear more a prison than a sanctuary. Dropping her gaze, she plodded on with a heavy heart.

Village dogs barked. Peter's hammer went silent in the smithy. Pausing at his anvil to observe them, the sweating giant touched his forelock when he spied Katherine.

Timber frame buildings, with their straw-thatched roofs, clung to the narrow street. 'Twas not market day, else their pa.s.sage would have been delayed more, for every villager seemed eager to inspect the travelers. Katherine did not doubt their arrival stirred up a diversion. Haughmond Castle was situated off the main route to the market town of Shrewsbury. Strangers were infrequent and a point of keen interest.

The inhabitants began to recognize Katherine amidst the troupe and soon friendly greetings carried on the brisk springtime breeze.

They pa.s.sed the church, with its square bell tower built of the same gray stone as the castle. Beside it stood the priest's house and the large t.i.the barn.

They rode past the village well. Opposite stood the green, where cows did graze in the summertime. Shutters at the tradesmen's homes had been thrown open for business. Drawn by the sight of travelers, Henry the butcher and Edric the spicer came to their counters for a closer look.

Beside the village green stood the pillory. Katherine recognized Old John locked within the stocks. She started at the disturbing sight of his b.l.o.o.d.y-hued face, then realized 'twas likely stained with beet juice from those who taunted him. His hands, old and gnarled, were not as strong as they once were. Frequently his barrels did leak. He sat with bowed head, looking up at her out of the corner of his eye, as though he should be denied the right to look at all.

Her mouth thinned into a grim line. She had not been here to defend him from Gilbert, Sir Geoffrey's steward. 'Twould be her first order of business.

The bells in the church tower began to peal, and more inhabitants converged on the roadway.

"Bless you, Lady Katherine!" sang out one woman.

"Welladay, mistress!" called the shoemaker, waving, a bit of leather clutched in his fist.

Katherine was no less grateful. Watching Rhys the whole day had been a strain on her nerves. 'Twas good to be distracted. She breathed deeply. 'Twas time to set aside childish dreams.

The road wound around the eastern slope and turned up the hill, taking advantage of the more gradual approach for carts and wagons and weary travelers. From high atop the gatehouse, the wardcorne's trumpet announced their arrival. At the sharp sound, a handful of linnets scattered into the air, their flashes of scarlet bright against the overcast sky, their flight mingling with the smoke from the chimneys of the castle community.

A cold blast of air blew Katherine's hood from her head. Accustomed to the winds that commonly whipped around Haughmond, she tugged it back in place. Bending her head into the gale, she urged her horse across the drawbridge and into the barbican.