Knights Page 10

  Kenbrook’s chuckle was like a caress, and her lips seemed to swell beneath it. “Very well,” he said. “I promise I shall not kiss another man.” In the next instant, he was taking her mouth, gently at first, and then with a thoroughness that weakened her knees. Her heart was like imprisoned thunder in her bosom, her groin ached, and her breasts grew full and heavy.

  And still he mastered her, with his lips and his tongue, burning his image into her very soul.

  Gloriana sagged against the courtyard gate when it was over, struggling to breathe.

  Kenbrook stared down at her in apparent consternation and traced the outline of her flushed face with the tip of one finger. “God help me,” he said, in a hoarse undertone, “for I am surely cursed.”

  Chapter 6

  Throughout that long and eventful afternoon of games and mock battles—during which all who were present sweated, spectators and knights ranged upon the tilting field alike—Gareth’s glance did oft find his prodigal brother, Dane, and the beauty ever at his side. Gloriana seemed changed, as though she were only now her true self and had held her splendor in check throughout preceding years, awaiting Kenbrook’s triumphal return.

  They seemed to be in uncommon accord, these two, now absorbed in the many and varied contests of the field, now talking earnestly as though there were no one else but they two in all of Creation. It was Gareth’s fondest hope that they would reconcile and go forward with their marriage—indeed, it was vital.

  Alas, Hadleigh was a pragmatic man, and he was certain the armistice was a temporary one, inspired by the grandeur and high emotion of the day. Once they had all gone back to their ordinary lives, with the French girl Mariette there to complicate matters, Gloriana and Dane would surely find themselves once again at odds.

  After the last trumpet had signaled the end of the afternoon’s final game, Gareth plucked his kerchief from inside his tunic and blotted his wet, gritty face. For all the vast affection he bore them both, his reasons for wanting peace between Gloriana and Dane were not altogether sentimental. If Kenbrook denied the marriage, the hefty percentage of profits from Gloriana’s father’s still-thriving trade company would be forfeit. Lands and estates and cargo-bearing ships would revert to Gloriana’s sole control, with the guidance of her managers and agents, of course, and the holdings of both Hadleigh and Kenbrook would then perish.

  Gareth swabbed the back of his neck and murmured a mild curse. He could not allow such a thing to happen. He must take drastic action, however much he hated to interfere between his much-beloved ward, Gloriana, and his brother.

  With a gesture, Gareth summoned the most trusted of his men-at-arms and, in a low voice, gave the necessary orders.

  The knights had raised clouds of dust in their valiant displays of skill upon the field, and Gloriana’s person, like that of everyone else’s, was covered with the grit. Before evening prayers, when Edward and the others would dedicate their shiny new swords to the service of God, before the supper and merriments to follow, she meant to slip into her chamber to wash and change her gown.

  Dane, who had been attentive throughout the afternoon and made the whole thing bearable with his commentary, escorted her as far as the great hall. Things had altered between them since that kiss against the courtyard gate, but Gloriana was afraid to put too much store by a few hours of happiness. There was still Mariette, after all, and the looming prospect of a lifetime spent behind cloister walls.

  Kenbrook waylaid Gloriana when she would have parted from him and cupped her grimy face in his hand. “Your hair,” he said. “You won’t cover it, once the chapel service has ended?”

  Gloriana felt warm color oil her cheeks, while something else pooled in her heart, and shook her head. “No, my lord,” she answered, without mockery.

  Satisfied, he released her, and she turned and hurried away.

  Judith had brought a hip bath to her room, and Gloriana stepped gratefully into the now-tepid water, washing herself from head to foot before climbing out again. She was seated on her bench in the little courtyard, brushing the dust from her hair, when the servingwoman dragged the tub out and emptied it near the wall.

  The summer’s eve proved balmy, and the merry notes of the minstrels rode light upon the breeze.

  “I was that proud of Master Edward,” Judith confessed. She herself was filthy with the dust of the field, for all except the kitchen servants, who were busy preparing that night’s grand supper, had been permitted to watch the games. “He’s found an admirer, you know, in that French girl your husband brought home.”

  Gloriana felt a twinge of guilt because she had not missed Mariette during the day’s festivities. “However would you know such a thing, Judith? The poor girl has kept to her room practically since she arrived at Hadleigh Castle.”

  Judith nodded, eager to impart her bit of privileged information. “Aye, milady, you speak true. But there is a balcony off the lady’s chamber, and she saw all she could of the dubbing from there.”

  Despite her liking for Mariette, which was sincere, Gloriana was nonetheless irritated. “Mademoiselle was probably watching Kenbrook, not his brother,” she scoffed, rising to go back into her chamber and put on a becoming green kirtle.

  For all the weight of the hip bath, even empty, Judith hurried after her. “Oh, no, milady. Her eyes were on Sir Edward and no other. My own sister Mag was kept in to help look after the girl, for that annoying Fabrienne had a headache. Mag was there through it all.”

  It was quite true that Edward cut a dashing figure, especially now that he was a knight, and it should not have surprised Gloriana to learn that Mariette found him attractive—such fancies ofttimes struck suddenly.

  Still, the news did surprise her.

  Kenbrook, Gloriana reminded herself, was not the only handsome and desirable man in the world. She smiled, humming softly, as she dressed. Now, if only Edward would take notice of the delicate French flower …

  “Might I take my leave now, milady?” Judith chimed, shattering Gloriana’s pleasant speculations. “We’re to have a fete of our own, this night, the servants are.”

  “Go,” Gloriana commanded, with another smile.

  Alone, she wound her hair into a tidy plait, woven through with green and gold ribbons purchased at the summer fair. After coiling the braid at the nape of her neck, she added a mantle of apple green. The bells summoning all and sundry to the eventide prayers began to peal as she was inspecting her countenance in the silver mirror.

  The chapel was of course filled, with Edward and his chivalrous companions lining a special bench at the foot of the altar, resplendent in their new livery of scarlet and gold. In the first pew sat Gareth, with the lady Elaina at his side, and Dane, who was alone and watchful. Servants jammed the rear of the church, where Gloriana hesitated until Kenbrook’s gaze, sweeping the congregation, found her at last.

  His sudden smile was all the invitation Gloriana required. She walked up the rush-covered aisle to take her place beside her husband. Dane, too, had had a washing and exchanged his dusty garments for a shirt, tunic, and drawers of modest gray and brown woolens.

  Before seating herself, Gloriana bent to kiss the Lady Elaina’s papery cheek. Gareth seemed preoccupied and greeted his ward with a quick nod before looking away. Edward turned upon his seat of honor and favored Gloriana with a blazing smile.

  She felt Dane stiffen slightly as she took her place beside him.

  “Brazen pup,” he muttered.

  Gloriana suppressed a smile. “Be kind,” she admonished her bristling husband. “This is, after all, the house of God.” She assessed the plain but commodious chapel with new eyes. “Our marriage took place here, did it not?”

  “I suppose so,” Kenbrook answered, with benign disinterest. “I was halfway to Italy when my proxy uttered the fateful vows, and you, I believe, were a mere snippet, far away in London Town.”

  She remembered, suddenly, coming to this chapel with Edwenna for the first time, praying no one wo
uld ever learn the secret they shared with Lady Elaina—that Gloriana had once been called Megan. She had come from another world, the neglected daughter of wealthy, spoiled parents, one American, one English.

  “Gloriana?” Dane’s voice, roughened by worry, snatched her from the current of recollections that had threatened to drown her. “Are you all right? God’s breath, you look as though you haven’t a drop of blood in you!”

  Gloriana felt warm and light-headed, as though she might swoon. She who had never fainted in all her life, even after falling out of a tree one summer afternoon and breaking her arm. Had that happened here, in England, or in that country, as yet uncharted, that lay far beyond the sea?

  “Gloriana,” Dane insisted.

  She’d been in the Saunderses’ spacious backyard, had heard wind chimes, soft on the breeze, just before tumbling out of the apple tree …

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, shaken, as Friar Cradoc took his place behind the altar for the beginning of vespers. Despite her protestations, memories buffeted her without mercy, memories she had managed to evade, stifle, and smother for most of her life.

  She had broken her arm in America.

  She had come to London, not by ship, but aboard a great, noisy craft called an airplane. They’d had seats in the first-class section, and her parents had gulped down cocktails the whole way and argued in hushed voices. They’d been planning to divorce, and the source of their contention had been Megan herself. Each wanted the other to raise “the kid,” but they could not agree, and so they were taking her to England, where she would be put into a special school and forgotten.

  Gloriana closed her eyes as a wave of sorrow swept over her.

  Dane put his arm around her waist and spoke quietly, while the good friar prayed one of his eloquent, booming prayers. “What is it?” Kenbrook asked.

  If only she could tell him, Gloriana thought, recovering her composure by valiant effort. That was the worst part of remembering, worse even than knowing that her own mother and father hadn’t wanted her. She dared not confide in Dane or anyone else, for fear of being pronounced mad.

  Perhaps she was.

  But no, she had the clothes, the little shoes, the doll, all tucked away in the trunk in the attic of her house in the village. They were solid proof that that other world had existed, though she could not risk showing the items to anyone. Even Cyrus, her adoptive father, had never been told the full story. He’d believed Gloriana to be a foundling, as Edwenna had claimed she was, raised until the age of five inside a convent. An indulgent husband, for all his rumored exploits of romance on the Continent, Cyrus had accepted Gloriana as his own simply because Edwenna had desired it so.

  To Gloriana’s recollection, the merchant had never asked questions, and he had treated her with a cool but steady affection her real father had never even pretended to feel. A dowry had been set aside, plans and agreements had been made, documents had been signed. Gloriana had become Cyrus’s sole heir, and Edwenna had raised her to know naught but love and warmth, joy and safety.

  She would be eternally grateful, she thought now, seated beside Dane, that fate had intervened, and brought her to her rightful place.

  Tears stood in Gloriana’s eyes as the priest recited the mass in Latin and then offered yet another prayer. One by one, the fledgling knights rose, as bidden, to lay their swords upon the altar and swear their fealty to the cause of Christ.

  Edward was the last to do so, and colored light from St. George’s window streamed down upon him as he knelt like the others and offered his vows. Then, rising, he did not sheath his blade and sit, as the others had, but instead stepped down from the altar dais and stood facing Gloriana.

  His gaze straying neither to left nor right, he lowered himself to one knee and laid the gleaming sword at Gloriana’s feet. “You I shall serve and defend,” he said gravely, “putting none before you but the Savior Himself.”

  There was a thrumming silence, followed by a burst of excited chatter. Beside Gloriana, Dane was ominously quiet, and neither Gareth nor Elaina offered comment.

  Gloriana leaned forward, cupping Edward’s translucent face between her hands, and kissed his forehead. Flushed, he took up his sword, having sworn a public oath by his actions, slipped the sleek blade into its scabbard, and returned to his place among the other knights.

  The service ended, and Gareth was the first to rise, as always, and take his leave. The lady Elaina, beautiful in a blue gown and veil, was on his arm. After them went Friar Cradoc, and then the eight knights in their splendid, unbloodied livery. Edward hesitated, as if to speak, then thought better of the idea and left the church.

  Dane put Gloriana’s arm through his own and squired her down the aisle and out into the main courtyard. Torches burned brightly all around, and there were mummers and acrobats and jesters plying their trades, eager to make merry. The delicious smells of roasting venison, eel pies, and other delicacies teased the noses and stomachs of the hungry celebrants. Supper was to be taken outdoors, from booths and tables, as at a fair.

  Tonight there would be dancing in the courtyard, along with games and gifts and entertainments on a scale generally reserved for Easter and the twelve days of Christmas. Gloriana had, with Edward, looked forward to the fun for many months. Now her emotions were in turmoil, and she did not know whether to go or stay, speak or hold her peace.

  Kenbrook, who had not spoken a word since Edward’s declaration in the chapel, seated Gloriana on the rim of the central fountain and left her, returning a few minutes later with an eel pie and a tankard of wine. She took them gratefully, and ate with as much delicacy as she could manage, under the circumstances, while Kenbrook sat beside her.

  “He is quite a showman, my young brother,” Dane said, and Gloriana could discern no rancor in his tone or manner.

  Gloriana was beginning to feel stronger, now that she’d had a few bites of the delicious pie and a steadying sip or two of the wine. “I pray you, do not lose patience with him,” she said quietly. Merrymaking was all around, affording them an odd sort of privacy. “Edward is young, and newly knighted, and his head is full of tales of damsels and dragons, kings and wizards. He will tire, one day, of the game.”

  “Perhaps,” Dane agreed hoarsely, watching Gloriana, his own food untouched and apparently forgotten in his hand. “But it is not uncommon for a man to love one woman all his days. It may be so for Edward, in his obvious regard for you.”

  “I truly hope not,” Gloriana said, her heart aching as she recalled Edward’s magnificent gesture in the chapel and the look on his face as he made his vow to her.

  “Can you never return his affection?”

  At another time, the question might have made Gloriana impatient or even angry. As it was, however, she felt only a certain poignant sorrow. “I have told you the truth of the matter,” she said. “I cannot love Edward in the way he wishes, though I would if I had the choice.”

  The Viking-blue eyes, softer now, searched hers. Torchlight gilded the fair hair. “Because you love another,” he said.

  “Unwisely so,” Gloriana replied, and knew she had said too much and been too frank.

  Kenbrook touched her lower lip with one finger, sending shivers of desire through her with even that innocent contact. “Tonight,” he decreed, with a smile, “we shall dance and make merry, and speak only of things that do not matter. We have the morrow to make war.”

  Gloriana laughed, although she felt uncommonly weary and broken inside. The thought haunted her that, if she had once been wrenched from the world of airplanes and cocktails and easy divorces, she might be taken from this one, in the same way.

  “We shall have peace,” she said to Dane, “at least until the morrow.”

  Lady Elaina, standing beside her husband and already tiring, longing for the solace of her small, spare cell at the nunnery, watched as Dane and Gloriana danced, in the midst of many others, beneath the flickering glow of the torches. “You are right,” she said quietly, to Ga
reth, who had just confided his plan. “The night seems magical, with the music and the mummers capering everywhere, but they are proud, stubborn people, Dane and Gloriana, and it won’t be long before they’re arguing again.”

  “It seems rash, what I am about to do,” Gareth confided. “Even desperate.”

  Elaina patted his arm. “The situation calls for uncommon measures, my husband. And the results, should your efforts fail, will be dire indeed.” She sighed and let her temple rest a moment against the outer bulge of his shoulder. Once she had delighted in Gareth’s steely muscles and eager lust, but since the dark sickness had come upon her, bringing melancholy in its wake, she’d been content to leave such matters to his Irish mistress. “I am weary,” she said. “Perhaps one or two of your men-at-arms would see me home to the abbey?”

  Gareth flung her a look laden with pain and unflagging affection. “ ’Home,’ Elaina?” he asked. “What of Hadleigh Castle? Will you never return?”

  Elaina regarded him in silence for several moments, her heart breaking. She could not begin to explain the things she had learned by virtue of her sufferings and the brief periods of elation that punctuated them. She could not say what she knew of Gloriana and the world beyond a certain gate in the abbey, and of the singular fates that awaited all of them.

  “No, my beloved,” she said softly. “I am lost to you. Do not mourn me.”

  Tears glistened in his eyes. “You ask the impossible,” Gareth replied, but he did not press her further. He never did. Later, when the night’s bitter work was done, he would undoubtedly turn to the Irish woman, Annabel, seeking the solace she herself could not give. Elaina conferred a private blessing upon them both.

  Gareth carried her on his own horse to the abbey gates, which opened at their approach. Once, she thought sadly, she and her husband had ridden just this way, but for very different reasons. In those long-ago days, Gareth would have taken her to some private place in the woods and made love to her, on a bed of soft grass, until they were both spent from their sweet exertions.