In The King's Service. Margaret MooreЧитать онлайн книгу.
speak to Meg, too.” She hesitated, then decided to explain her reaction. She didn’t want him to think she was completely hotheaded, about everything. “We had a serving girl here a few years ago, Sir Blaidd, named Hester. She was as pretty as Meg, and just as coquettish—well, perhaps a little more brazen than Meg.
“A young knight arrived, supposedly to court Laelia. One day, he left without so much as a farewell. At first we thought it was because my father hadn’t seemed inclined to consider his suit. A few weeks later, though, we discovered that Hester was carrying his child. He’d made all sorts of extravagant promises to the poor girl. He’d even said he’d marry her. We’d seen enough of the man to guess that he would have said whatever it took to get Hester into his bed. But Hester wouldn’t give up hope that he’d return, so I asked my father to send a messenger to the knight to tell him about the baby. I tried to believe he’d at least send her a word, some money, something, but the lout’s response was that he should be thanked for ‘breaking her in’ and teaching her how to please a man.”
Becca shivered with revulsion. “That man’s callousness destroyed Hester.” She sighed, saddened as always when she recalled those terrible days. “If her baby had lived, things might have been different, but she lost it, and with it, every gentle part of her.”
Becca looked away, unable to meet Sir Blaidd’s concerned, steadfast gaze. “She’s a whore now, in the village. I see her sometimes, and when I do, it breaks my heart.” She raised her eyes, defiant and commanding once more. “I won’t have that happen to Meg.”
Sir Blaidd caressed her chin with his strong, callused palm. “I see it isn’t only your sister and the gates of this castle that you guard, my lady,” he said softly. “I trust your care is appreciated.”
She moved back, away from him and his touch and his deep, sympathetic voice. “Of course it is.”
“I give you my most solemn vow that I will ensure that Trevelyan doesn’t do anything so disgraceful.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, her breathing fast and shallow as she told herself she should get away from the knight.
He reached out and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. She opened her mouth to tell him to let go, but the words wouldn’t come. No one had ever touched her like this, as if she was fragile and precious.
She didn’t make a sound as he pulled her close. She not only couldn’t find the voice to protest, she couldn’t find the will. She slid her arms around his waist, silently agreeing to what was coming.
So he kissed her. His lips brushed hers, a gentle, tentative whisper of soft flesh to soft flesh. Her embrace tightening, she leaned into him, permitting him to kiss her more deeply, as she was kissing him.
Oh, how wondrous, after all these years in Laelia’s shadow, to think a man might desire her! He made her believe that she was a normal woman, and an attractive one at that. She felt whole and unbroken and wanted. His desire inflamed her own until she couldn’t think.
His hand meandered down her back, cupping her buttocks and pressing her close to him, while the other held her steady. She needed that support, for her body softened and throbbed with yearning as she ran her hands over his shoulders and back, feeling the taut muscles through his tunic.
His body. His strength. His desire, matching her own.
A call rang out, signaling the changing of the watch. Reminding her of where she was, and who she was. Becca wasn’t the beautiful Laelia; she was plain, crippled Rebecca, and this handsome, seductive man was here to court her sister.
So why was he kissing her? What did he hope to accomplish? Seduction? Power? Control? She would let no man use her for his own purpose, whatever that might be.
She shoved him back. “Is this your idea of honorable conduct, sir knight?” she demanded. “Do you think that because I’m crippled and homely I must be desperate and so easily, willingly, seduced?”
“God’s wounds, no!” he said as he regained his balance. “I swear to you, my lady—”
“Swear all you want, but kissing me seems an odd way to woo Laelia. Or am I a means to practice your technique?”
Sir Blaidd stiffened, his back as rigid as a lance. “I had no intention of kissing you when I came here, and I’m not in the habit of seducing my host’s daughters, however tempting they may be.”
“Then what was that kiss about?”
“If you don’t know, then it was a stupid mistake, and one I won’t make again,” he retorted, his deep voice fiercely angry.
Good. Angry men she was used to and could handle. Men who tried to seduce her, however… “I wouldn’t try seducing Laelia, either,” she warned. “First, I’m onto your game. Second, Laelia may look and sound a bit dim, but I assure you, when it comes to men and their tricks, she’s seen them all.”
Sir Blaidd sidled closer, seeming taller, more menacing, every inch the fierce warrior and champion of tournaments. “If it’s impossible for me to seduce either of you—supposing that was my despicable plan—then your warnings are quite unnecessary, aren’t they? And I must say that kiss was rather amazing for a modest young maiden of limited experience, which leads me to wonder what exactly you were doing here at this time of night. You don’t strike me as devout, so a sudden urge to pray seems unlikely.” He ran a haughty, impertinent gaze over her body. “Did I interrupt something? Were you waiting for somebody else?”
“How dare you suggest such a thing!”
“How dare you suggest that my motives are dishonorable?”
“You kissed me!”
“You kissed me back!”
“I had no choice.”
“Of course you did. You could have stopped me at any time. But you didn’t, and what’s more, you enjoyed it.”
“Oh, you are an expert on women’s feelings, are you?”
“Expert or not, I know when a woman’s desire matches or exceeds my own.”
“Exceeds? Of all the arrogant, pompous, self-righteous—”
“Yes, you certainly are.”
“You…you base, loathsome blackguard!” she cried, wrenching open the door, determined to get away from him. “Don’t you ever come near me again!”
She limped off into the night.
“Trust me, I won’t!” Blaidd muttered as the chapel door creaked to a close.
Every Welsh curse he knew tumbled out of his mouth in a low rumble of frustration and anger. How dare she call his honor into question? Granted, kissing her had been a little…well, a lot…
Well, he shouldn’t have.
He let out his breath slowly. God save him, he’d been an idiot. An idiot totally overwhelmed with desire. An idiot so overwhelmed with desire that he’d forgotten that he was here because King Henry himself had sent him to verify if Lord Throckton was plotting treason or not.
He wouldn’t be able to do that if Lord Throckton sent him packing the day after he’d arrived because he’d presumed to kiss the man’s daughter. He should have been able to control himself, no matter what the circumstances or how tempting the lady. After all, he was no youth anxious to experience love, like Trevelyan.
“Fool,” Blaidd mumbled under his breath as he left the chapel and headed toward the apartments.
He reached the chamber he and Trev were sharing and cautiously opened the door, which didn’t squeak like the one in the chapel. He quietly crept into the comfortable room with its two beds. A brazier stood nearby, along with a chest for their baggage, and a small table bearing a ewer and basin for washing. There were no tapestries or carpet, or even a stool to sit on, but Blaidd had slept in worse places.
Someone