Defending His Lady (Norfolk Knights Book 4) Read online

  Rufus looked at him askance. “And despite your so-called diplomacy, your manners are unchanged.”

  “I reserve my silky tongue and compliments for where it matters. You”—he looked at Rufus with a critical eye—“require honesty.”

  “Honesty? A rare commodity.”

  “Indeed. Especially at court. It’s worth more than gold, and that is my gift to you,” Savari said wryly.

  “Well, thank you for your insults, then.”

  “Nay, they are no insults,” Savari said. “Our family has need of what you can do here. And for that, you need to know the truth and to whom you can speak it.”

  “And who is that?”

  “Only me, brother. Only me. For you must act with care here, not your usual impetuous performance like the one just given. You must be on your guard, like never before.”

  Rufus scoffed. “I’ve spent these past ten years in battle. You don’t need to tell me about keeping up my guard.”

  His brother leaned closer to him. “That was straightforward combat. This”— he indicated the court—“is not. Ready?”

  “I’m ready, but for what?” he asked, entering the great hall. No one looked up upon their entrance. The food had just been served, and the wine was flowing freely. The shouts and laughter of men, enjoying the comforts of the castle after their day’s hunt, competed with the drums and pipes of the musicians.

  Savari led them to a table close to the king’s empty table and wine was poured into cups. Rufus took a sip and grimaced.

  “You surely cannot find fault with the wine, brother?”

  “Indeed not. I simply wish it could be drunk as freely outside the king’s court. The only time I tasted anything as good was during the last smuggler’s moon—a haul from France.” He continued to eat and drink sparingly—he needed his wits about him, even if no one else did. “So this is the company you now keep.” He glanced at his brother. “I know not how you stand it.”

  “That’s because you’re a heathen who thinks one thing and says one thing only. I, brother, play a subtler game.”

  Rufus searched his brother’s face for information which he knew was being withheld. Savari had been raised in France and Rufus had his suspicions about where Savari’s loyalties lay. Savari was not saying, and Rufus knew better than to ask.

  “A more dangerous game, mayhap. Whatever. It is well one in our family is subtle. Because all this”—he indicated with a sweeping glance of the room—“defeats me.”

  “Aye,” said his brother with his usual austere grimness. He positioned his mouth behind his fists. “Our lord king does the same to the country as he does to the beautiful women at court.” He took a sip of wine. “Rapes it if it’s not willing and helps himself to its finest if it is.”

  “I would not have put it so nicely.”

  “You must learn to, if our mother and sisters are to have any kind of future at all.”

  “So, brother, where’s the lovely Maud who’s lured me here?”

  “She’s around,” Savari said evasively.

  Rufus looked at his brother carefully. “You’re hiding something. That’s not like you.”

  Savari met his gaze with an uncharacteristically grim look. “All is not as it seems, Rufus.”

  At that moment the door behind the dais opened, and the king entered the room. He was immaculately dressed, his beard trimmed short, and his sharp, clever eyes roved the room, before settling on Rufus, his lips curving into a smile. He pulled someone whose hand he was holding, and the woman entered Rufus’s field of vision. Lady Maud de Montmorency. The woman to whom he was betrothed. The woman who was to be the salvation of his family’s fortunes.

  Her headdress was in disarray. The king sat and pulled Maud into the seat beside him, the seat which should, by rights, have been where his queen sat. But Queen Isabella was nowhere to be seen. John called over a servant who immediately filled their silver goblets. He brought Maud’s goblet to her lips and she drank from it.

  Rufus looked away. “He’s bedding her,” he said blankly.

  Savari nodded grimly but didn’t meet Rufus’s eyes.

  “He’s bedding the woman I’ve come here to marry,” Rufus repeated. He gripped Savari’s shoulder and forced him to meet his gaze. “And you and my mother still wish me to wed her?”

  Savari sighed grimly and turned to face him. “You have no choice, brother; we have no choice. It is Lady Maud de Montmorency as your wife or our family faces ruin. We have become vulnerable since Father died. The Montmorencys have taken the de Courcy’s castle, and now eye our lands. They are claiming their ancestors held the area a century or more ago and they deserve to hold it again. We must unite with them, or be beaten by them.”

  “Aye, it is why I returned.” Rufus looked across at his future wife and felt… nothing. After years of fighting the Saracen armies, he’d returned home alive, but dead inside.

  “You will do it, Rufus?” asked Savari. “You will marry her as you promised Mother?”

  “Aye, I’ll do it.”

  He’d promised his mother and he’d keep that promise because the only thing that now touched his heart, hardened by so much warfare, was the thought of his vulnerable younger sisters. He’d do anything to keep them safe, even marry a woman whom he despised.

  Chapter 2

  Four days’ ride across a turbulent country filled with cutthroats, resentful nobles and angry clergy, all suffering at the hands of the king, all for what? Rufus asked himself grimly. He’d been cuckolded even before he was married.

  He cast his eyes around the great hall, filled with the best tapestries upon the walls—plundered from God knows where—and the most scheming of men, all vying for power. He could smell the greed and ambition above the aromatic spices which flavored the rich sauces and sweet, strong wine which flowed liberally.

  He’d thought eight years of fighting in France and the Crusades had inured him to man’s excesses. It seemed he was wrong. His eyes strayed back to the woman he’d been sent to marry.

  “And the Lady Maud…” Rufus had met her once before and had not been impressed then either. She was beautiful, charming and ambitious. And he’d seen enough of those attributes on his travels to distrust them. “Is she a willing bedfellow of John’s?”

  “Apparently. Though it makes little difference. He takes whatever women he wants—married or unmarried. He bedded the Earl of Suffolk’s daughter and sister. Suffolk at least had the foresight to send his wife away, though how long he’ll get away with that, no one knows. It’s madness, Rufus.”

  Rufus shook his head. “Maud’s father should never have allowed her to come here.”

  Savari grunted. “Sir Gilbert encouraged it! He’s been wanting this ever since she came of age.” He glanced across the hall to a huge man whose head lolled as he snored. Rufus groaned as he recognized him.

  “What is it?” Savari asked.

  “Sir Gilbert is the man I pulled off the wench earlier.”

  Savari closed his eyes and grimaced. “Please, God, don’t tell me you hurt him.” He opened one eye cautiously.

  Rufus swilled the fine Rhenish wine around his goblet and tossed it down his throat, relishing the heat as it traveled down his gullet. “Not much,” he said. “He might not remember it was me who threw iced water over him.”

  Savari groaned. “But then he might.”

  “Aye, he might,” said Rufus, setting his goblet firmly on the table.

  “We must hope he does not. It would not take much to break the agreement between our families. He has loftier ambitions for Maud and his family.”

  Rufus grunted. “It is lofty to whore his daughter?”

  Savari ignored him. “It is your job to bring her to Norfolk and marry her, as our families have arranged.” His lips tightened. “He’s looking your way,” he muttered under his breath. “The king is watching you.”

  Rufus looked up to meet King John’s intelligent gaze. He went to grip his sword only to remember that he’d sur
rendered it as a sign of goodwill. He gritted his teeth. This battle he’d have to fight on wits alone. The thought wasn’t reassuring.

  “Lord Winterton!” The king straightened in his chair and beckoned Rufus to him.

  “Go, brother, and claim your prize.”

  Rufus had never wanted a prize less. He walked up to the dais and bowed before the king. Maud’s knowing eyes watching him as he came before them. “Your Majesty, I am honored that you invited me here.”

  “I’m sure you are, Rufus. Are you not going to greet your betrothed?”

  Rufus’s gaze rested briefly on the king’s hand which slid up Maud’s leg and squeezed it. He looked up into Maud’s wide blue eyes.

  “Lord Winterton,” she said. “I trust you are in good health.” Her speech was slurred.

  “I am. And yourself? You look…well.”

  “Oh.” She glanced slyly at the king. “I am very well looked after here.”

  “Yes, so it would seem.” He looked from one to the other.

  “So you see how things are, then?” said the king. “And you accept these terms? The lovely Maud will be your wife when I’ve finished with her, and you will gain the security for your lands that such a match will bestow, and which your family needs to survive.” The king grinned slyly.

  Rufus gritted his teeth. He’d seen much to dislike over the years but none so slimy and despicable as this man. No doubt he would tire of Maud after she was carrying his bastard. Only then would he discard her and send her to be married. He opened his mouth to tell his king exactly what he thought of him but, before he could, a hand was clapped on his shoulder. “My brother is at a loss for words at your generosity, sire,” said Savari.

  “Is he?” the king asked, his eyes never leaving Rufus, as he sipped the blood-red wine.

  Savari’s grip tightened on his shoulder, his nails digging through the thick woolen cloth of his mantle. “He is. Isn’t that right, Rufus?”

  Rufus nodded, his brother’s desperate grip urging only one response. “Of course.”

  The king’s slight tension melted away. “Good.” He waved them off. “Then return to your seat, enjoy the”—he glanced at Maud, whose thigh he still gripped—“sight of such luxuries, such as your own castle is unable to sustain, so I hear. Isn’t that right, my lady?”

  Maud’s lips curled into a sly smile. “They live like peasants, sire.”

  The king threw his head back and laughed. “Is that any way for you to talk about your future home?”

  “No, it is not,” she replied.

  And in that moment Rufus understood that Maud had no intention of ever becoming his wife. Her transformation into the king’s mistress had ended any such ambition. He suddenly felt sorry for her. She had no idea that her hold on the king was so tenuous and that, looking around the room, there was unlikely to be a maid who hadn’t been shafted by the king.

  “But, my dear”—the king lifted her chin—“you mustn’t forget yourself. You will be the wife of this man, and you will leave with him a week, or maybe a month, hence. We’ll see.”

  “A year, mayhap?” she murmured.

  The murmur was met by the king’s finger on her lips. With his other hand, the king waved Rufus and Savari away, confident that they now knew where they stood.

  Rufus had seen enough, but as he turned away in disgust, his gaze was caught by a servant with eyes like a cat. The tangle of gazes was momentary, and the servant swiftly looked away. His gaze lingered, however. It was her—the wench he’d saved from rape in the yard. How could he forget those two fierce cat’s eyes, shooting him angry glares, as she hissed at him from between closed teeth? He watched her disappear, merging into the shadows like a specter.

  He smiled. She’d learned to move like a phantom. He’d only noticed her because he knew danger was more usually found in the shadows than in the full light of the sun.

  Rufus and Savari returned to their seats. Rufus pushed a drunk’s head from the table, to give himself room and began eating.

  “I am glad you are not disturbed by this turn of events,” said Savari.

  “I am not disturbed because I shall not stay.”

  “You must!”

  “Why?” He gestured to Maud with his knife. “The lady has no intention of ever marrying me. The only reason to stay is for the king to make sport of me. No, I will leave after a night’s rest.”

  “The lady’s intention is of no import. Only the king’s, and I tell you he will tire of her more quickly than she expects. I doubt she’ll last the month. She has not the wit the king enjoys. No, you leave when the king allows you to take home your prize. ”

  “Prize?” Rufus scoffed. “Maud? She is no prize, brother, and she has no place in my life.”

  Savari’s eyes narrowed and not for the first time did Rufus think that his brother was more ferocious than a marauding Saracen army. He was fiercely intelligent and as cold and calculating as the North Sea beside which they’d been raised. “But think, brother, of the power and security the match will bring. Lady Maud’s dowry and the lands she’ll bring with her will ensure our family’s future. We will no longer have to suffer the threat of the de Montmorencys taking our lands and castle, like they did the de Courcys.”

  “We will stand firm and defend our lands—we will fight, Savari. That is what we will do.”

  “You are but one man. We have not the men to fight, nor the money,” added Savari bitterly.

  “Aye, since Father lost it all.”

  “It is no use talking of it. Father is dead. It is down to you and me now. You must marry her.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why? You claim that you’re not seeking love and affection in a marriage, so what does it matter who you marry? It is purely an alliance.”

  Rufus could think of no answer to that. He’d long since hardened his heart and was no longer certain he could feel anything anymore. So maybe it was best he was wed to someone who was equally unfeeling.

  “She is also fair to the eye,” added Savari, pressing the advantage he detected in Rufus’s lack of reply.

  “Not to me! Her eyes are sly and shifting, her lips slack, and her figure? It bursts out of her clothes like an over-ripe peach.”

  “Some would not see that as a problem.”

  “Some people are easily duped. I would see the edges in people—both in the flesh, and in heart and mind—because only then can you be sure of them. Only then can you know them. I do not want this woman. Nay, I will leave as soon as the skies are clear again.”

  Savari opened his mouth to speak but obviously thought better of it after seeing Rufus’s expression. Savari might be ferocious in his own way, but he was no match for Rufus.

  Rufus glanced through an open window at the thick snowflakes which fell harder now. Even the seasons were conspiring against him. He couldn’t remember such a heavy snowfall so late in spring. He was stuck—unable to escape from a cruel, capricious king and an ally who, it appeared, had switched sides.

  Rufus drank deeply of his wine. It was going to be a long few days.

  “Girl!” The old man who ran the kitchen barked out the word as he took the bung out of a barrel of ale and filled a mazer before plugging the barrel once more. He sipped the ale and narrowed his eyes before nodding and bending to his task.

  Kezia lowered her head and stepped forward.

  “You’re still here, then,” said the old man.

  Kezia nodded.

  “And still saying nowt. Well,” he said, filling two jugs with foaming ale, “can’t say I’m surprised. A warm bed by the fire beats the forest any day. But you’re to make yourself useful, mind. All the other lads are busy. Take these out, and clear as you go.”

  Kezia adjusted the cloth around her head and took the jugs. The old man held on to them for a second as he searched Kezia’s face. “At least I can rely on you not to draw attention to yourself. You do that, girl, and you’ll be lost.”

  Kezia nodded and slipped unnoticed into t
he great hall.

  “He’ll be dead before the week is out, mark my words.”

  Kezia’s ears pricked up as she passed two men huddled in conversation. She wondered who the unfortunate person could be this time. It seemed the king’s castle was the place to come if you wanted to die before your time. She placed a jug of ale on the lower tables and moved closer to the person who spoke, clearing away the leftovers and tossing them to the dogs who ran for them, fighting over the bones. She lowered her head and continued to tidy, moving ever closer to the man who’d spoken. She knew him to be Sir Gilbert’s squire, one of the party who’d accompanied Sir Gilbert’s daughter, Lady Maud, to court and appeared content to see her debauched and plied with enough wine to make her barely aware of what was going on.

  If he’d mentioned the name of the unfortunate person, Kezia had missed it. She moved closer, filling cups with ale as she went.

  “Aye,” continued the naive lad who had more swagger than sense. “My lord is to be given riches and land for Maud’s work in the king’s bed. There’s no doubt Gilbert de Montmorency is in favor and the de Veres are out.”

  “It’ll hit Lady Winterton hard,” replied his companion, who indicated Lord Winterton and his brother, Savari, seated some distance away, “to lose her lands and all plans of advancement for her children. Her hopes were pinned on Rufus and his marriage to our lord’s daughter.”

  The squire sat back, confidently shaking his head. “It won’t happen. Sir Gilbert might have thought to join his lands with the de Veres through marriage, but now that Maud is favored by the king, he won’t interfere when we take the de Vere land for our own. Not with the gold Sir Gilbert has promised him. Our king needs as much coin as he can get to fight to regain Normandy.” He smacked his lips and indicated his need for more ale. Kezia willingly poured him some, taking her time. “And if Lord Winterton dies, then it’ll be all the easier to take their lands.”

  “Why should he die?”