Knight Defender (Knight Chronicles) Read online

  He subsided, but he didn’t like it.

  Margery ignored him, a novel experience for Raeb and one he wasn’t certain he liked.

  “These folk have not insulted me directly, my lady. ’Tis the cold, the damp, the constant comments from all about how weak the English are. I’ve just discovered that when you journey from here with your husband, I will be expected to ride. You know I cannot abide horses, and I refuse to be forced to sit upon one of the vile creatures.”

  “Be at ease, Margery. We will find you the gentlest of mounts.”

  “I do not want any mount,” the maid shouted. “I want to go home. Where Maytide is warm and people can ride in a cart or walk.”

  “Be reasonable, Margery.”

  The maid pursed her lips, drew herself up to her full, if inconsiderable, height, and snorted.

  “’Tis you, Lady Jessamyn, who is being unreasonable, since you wish me to remain in this dismal place simply to serve you. I had not thought you to be so selfish.”

  The folk in the room gasped as one.

  Jessamyn lifted her chin. “Very well. I dismiss you from my service. Take your wages and sufficient coin for your passage on the ship from my dowry and be gone.”

  She turned her back on the maid and waited.

  “Hmph.” Margery’s footsteps echoed all the way from the great hall to the top of the stairs before whispered murmurs broke the silence.

  “Will you escort me to my chamber, Raeb? I cannot bear to remain among these murmurs, nor can I bear to encounter Margery if she happens to leave by the main stair.”

  “Of course.” He wrapped one arm about her shoulders and took her hand in his. She was pale and trembling. He kept her close, worried that she might collapse. He should have known better.

  By the time he seated her in the chamber they would soon share, her color had returned, and her trembling ceased. Fortunately, Margery had remained out of sight.

  “I’ll send one of my sisters to sit with you.”

  “No.” Jessamyn shook her head. “I will be fine if I can have time alone to decide how I want to proceed without Margery.”

  “You’ll have a Scottish maid, of course.”

  “Of course, but for now I can do without. Tomorrow will be time enough to solve the problem of my tirewoman.”

  “Very well. You are certain you dinna wish company?”

  She nodded. “Please. I’ve lost a dear friend and must mourn that loss before I can face anything else.”

  In view of that comment, he’d not ask her what had happened with Artis. He’d seek out his sister for that.

  He kissed the top of Jess’s head and left in search of Artis. If Margery was still within the keep walls, he would tear the skin from her body for her thoughtless treatment of Jessamyn. Only the idea of his betrothed’s reaction stopped him.

  Hours later, Raeb headed for the stairs to the upper chambers. He was heartily tired of women and their whims. Convincing a tearful Artis to confide in him had taken much longer than he expected. Once he heard how she’d wanted Jessamyn to ride with her two days hence to see some new marvel, Raeb could understand why Jessamyn declined. What he couldn’t understand was the brusqueness with which Jessamyn had refused. Yes, Artis could pester the life from a person, but despite eighteen summers, she was so very young. There was no malice in her, and she would soon learn better manners.

  So what was behind Jessamyn’s brusque dismissal? Mourning the loss of her maid or not, Jessamyn Du Grace would explain her unkindness. He despised playing the middleman, but he couldn’t stand seeing anyone he loved suffer. His jaw clenched, and he paused in mid-stride as he climbed the stairs then started up again. Every torch in the stairwell was out. He’d save any harsh words for his servants. Such carelessness was not to be tolerated. Anyone who knew the upper levels of the keep less well than Raeb would be in danger of injury from stumbling in the dark.

  He placed a foot on the top step, annoyed to find the passageway between chambers dark as well. Maybe he should demand that Jessamyn deal with the servants and give her a better direction for her frowns than Artis.

  He’d just turned the corner into the darkened passage when a small cry sounded behind him.

  “Who’s there?”

  Silence answered him, and in the dark he could not see who might have followed.

  “Artis, I said I would speak with Lady Jessamyn, and I’ll brook no interference until I do.”

  Nearby a small sound like choked off laughter floated through the dark. Then a scuffle of footsteps fled, but they progressed down the passage, not toward the stairs.

  The footfalls stopped. How far their owner had gone, Raeb couldn’t say without more light. Darkness and stone distorted sound. He waited a while for more sounds. None came. The one thing he could say was that the person stalking the passage wasn’t Artis. Whoever it was, they had no good intent or they would have identified themselves.

  He drew his blade. With extreme care to be quiet, he placed his back to the wall and sidled along the passage. He’d gone only seven paces when a door’s leather hinges creaked. He watched as the portal to the crenellated curtain wall opened and the dim light of pre-dawn fell on a blue-cloaked figure easing through the doorway and out to the battlement walk.

  Jessamyn! Why was she sneaking about? Did this odd behavior have anything to do with her nervous avoidance of him all evening or her callous treatment of Artis, or had the English maid’s departure upset his betrothed enough to drive her from the keep? Patience with female megrims at an end, he pursued her. She’d explain all, or he’d know the reason why.

  • • •

  Jessamyn sobered as she slipped through the doorway and walked silently across the battlement. For a brief moment, fooling Raeb had been fun, but the truth was that her actions this night troubled her greatly. It was necessary, she reminded herself. Else I’ll spend my life shackled to an enemy. Worse, an enemy I fear I could love. The nuns of St. Bartholomew’s needed her skills. All Raeb MacKai needed was her royal connections so he could steal Edward’s ships and her dowry. Pacing quickly along the curtain wall to one of the towers flanking the great gate, she gnawed at her lower lip. Should she have left some of her dowry behind? That might mollify Raeb’s resentment when he discovered her gone.

  She entered the gate tower and descended the stairs to the bailey. No, without that whole dowry the nuns might not be able to guarantee her safety. Once her location was discovered, Raeb, her father, or Edward—perhaps all three—would try to retrieve her. Much as she might like to leave coins to soothe a rejected man and ease the plight of the MacKai clan, she could not.

  At the bottom of the stairs she paused to look about. A guard walked his post not fifteen paces away. She waited for him to turn his back then darted to the small door set in the lowered portcullis.

  Soundlessly lifting the bar that locked the door, she eased it open. She gave thanks that whoever tended the portal kept the hinges well greased. Once outside she fled toward the docks. She had no time to be careful closing the portcullis door. Dawn was breaking, and she must be on that ship before it set sail. She could only hope that the guard thought he’d forgotten to secure the door. She could ill afford pursuit.

  At the dock she slowed to wind carefully between crates yet to be removed to the village. It would not do to cause a clatter that raised an alarm. The ship was still tied to the dock. Time enough remained for her to board.

  As Jessamyn approached the gangway, Margery appeared at the point where the planks met the ship.

  “Praise the good Lord, you made it.”

  “Is all in readiness?” Jessamyn stepped onto the boards.

  “The captain is below with his men. Hurry, you’ve only a moment to board before ... ” Margery was nodding then shouting. “’Ware, Lady Jessamyn, behind you.”

  Before Jessamyn could look she was jerked off her feet and a blade was pressed to her neck.

  She froze.

  “Are you running away, Jessamyn?”


  Fear prickled along her spine at the menace in Raeb’s whisper. His free arm locked around her.

  “Yes,” she replied in a smaller whisper, not wishing to risk his blade cutting her throat.

  “Why?”

  “Who goes there?” The call came from the ship.

  The blade disappeared, and Raeb whirled her round. All in one motion she found herself pressed against his chest, her hands manacled in his steely grip, and his lips demanding her response.

  A light illuminated them. The calling voice chuckled. “’Tis naught but a Scots lad kissing his wench, Captain.”

  Jessamyn wriggled her arms but could get no room to push against Raeb.

  “Then leave him to it and ready the ship. I’ll not miss the morning tide simply to watch a pair of Scots rut.”

  The kiss became insistent. Jessamyn would not yield, but neither could she break free.

  “But, Captain … ” Distress colored Margery’s plea.

  “Whatever it is, Mistress Margery, must wait until we are at sea.”

  The thud of loosed lines against the deck rang the death knell to Jessamyn’s hopes and dreams.

  And still Raeb kissed her.

  The ship’s boards creaked. The sails slapped loudly in the wind.

  And she was freed, so suddenly she crumpled to the hard boards of the dock.

  The brightening dawn lit the angry face of the man who loomed above her. “Why?”

  She shook her head and stared at the boards beneath her. “I’ve no wish to marry.”

  “Do you hate me so much?”

  She started, sitting upright, looking him in the eye. “I don’t hate you.” Though she did hate what he intended to do, and thanked heaven he had no clue she’d sent word to King Edward.

  “Then why sneak away in the night? We made love. I trusted you. My sisters trusted you. My clan welcomed you despite your English background.”

  His jaw clenched and his words grated, but did she see a spark of anguish and hurt hiding in the eyes that glared at her?

  His feelings couldn’t matter to her. If he discovered she’d sent word to Edward, she was a dead woman. Regardless of his affections, he would not allow a traitor to live, and as much as he betrayed her, she was now betraying him. She held out her hands palms up. “I have no other explanation. I’d not planned to wed. I dreamed all my life of living with nuns, women who would understand how much it meant to me to raise and train horses.”

  “And you thought I wouldna understand, that I’d no allow my wife to lead the kind of life she wished?” By the end he was close to shouting.

  “No Englishman would want his wife to take up such an endeavor. Why should I imagine a Scot would be any better?”

  “Because we’re Scots,” he yelled. “Before she died, we had a woman, a child still, yes, but a woman notheless as our sovereign. I let my sister wed a man whose father most likely murdered my parents, because she asked it of me. I trust her to ken her mind. You should have trusted me. Now I have little choice. I must treat you as a liar, as someone whom I could never trust.”

  He bent, reaching for her.

  She cowered back on one arm, raising the other to ward off his blow.

  “I’ll no strike you.” Disgust filled his voice. But he grabbed her by the shoulders nonetheless, then swung her up and over his shoulder, just as he had that first day.

  What would he do with her? Would he do anything, or would he leave her to molder and die, her heart and dreams broken with nothing to live for?

  She hung limp, unresisting as he hauled her back through the bailey, into the castle, up the stairs and into her chamber where he dumped her on the bed. She pressed her face into the coverlet, forcing back tears.

  “You may consider yourself my prisoner, and this your prison. I willna allow anyone I canna trust to have free rein of my home. Someone will bring you food before night.”

  The door slammed when he left, and she heard the knell of the bar being lowered outside. The sound reminded her that though she’d begun to consider the chamber hers, it belonged to Raeb. She shivered despite the braziers lit in every corner. Did he intend to rape her? He could. She was his betrothed and a very long way from any who might wish to stop him. Could she bear it if he, who’d just the afternoon before made love to her with such tender care, took her in violence? The thought loosed the flood of tears she’d held back since Raeb found her on the dock.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Yielding to exhaustion and worry, Jessamyn slept, until a clatter and cursing woke her. She rose to stand beside the bed.

  “D … do no think t’ try t’ leave.’ A tankard in one hand, Raeb reached with the other to right the stool he’d stumbled over and ended by falling on his buttocks, sloshing mead across the front of his tunic.

  “You’re drunk.” In all the weeks she’d been here, Raeb had never imbibed to excess. Had she caused this? No, she was guilty of much, but Raeb MacKai must take the blame for his own sins.

  “Aye.” He laughed without any warmth or humor. “I’m cursed with need for a lying Englishwoman whom I never wanted.”

  “What?”

  He took a long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then fixed her with a sodden stare.

  “I’m sure you can see the irony. Artis told me that you dinna wish to wed me. Well, I’d nae desire for you as a bride either, until you seduced me into taking your maidenhead.”

  Her brows shot upward. “I seduced you?”

  He hiccupped and nodded. “Aye, you practically begged me to do it. You had me so randy with need that I couldna deny you, though I gave you plenty of oppurtinnity ... offerpunity ... op-por-tun-i-ty.” He bit off the word as if wanting to be certain he’d finish it correctly. “To change your mind. I want you, you said all innocence and curiosity. I thought ’twas charming, but ’twas really the path to damnation.”

  “You make no sense.”

  “Aye, the path to damnation for both of us.” His shoulders slumped, and his head lolled. His hands dropped to his sides, and the tankard spilled onto the floor.

  She strode to him and knelt by his side with no care for the spilled drink. “What do you mean? How are we damned?”

  Bleary-eyed, he looked up at her. “D’you no see? I canna send ye back when ye may carry my bairn. We must still wed.”

  Shock fisted in her stomach. She’d considered and accepted the possibility of a child when she’d decided to lay with Raeb. But marriage? Never. She’d give up her hope of heaven first. “No. You cannot force me.”

  “The priest will say the words and witness the deed, so I can. To keep my child safe, I will.” He sounded almost mournful, as if he’d no wish to force their marriage.

  “But there is no child.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. It is too soon.”

  “Aye.” He stared at her, his heavy-lidded eyes filled with liquid that, unlike the tankard, refused to spill. He said nothing more. He just shrugged and slowly toppled over.

  His snore told her that he’d passed out. She couldn’t marry him, not now. Not when she’d discovered his treachery. Thank the sweet Lord, she did not love him. But she was locked into this chamber with a guard posted at the door day and night. What else could she do but bow to her fate?

  She didn’t know, but she wouldn’t let a dog sleep on cold bare stones. She retrieved the coverlet from the bed, spread the fur on the floor next to Raeb, and by dint of much pushing and tugging managed to roll him atop it.

  She thumped down beside him, bent an arm over her raised knees, and cradled her head on her elbow. She wanted to weep but had no tears left. Weariness conquered her, and she stretched out beside Raeb.

  • • •

  Several days later, Raeb entered his chamber to see Jessamyn seated near the window, sewing by the sunlight streaming through. She looked so innocent, her hair glowing in the light, her face bent to her tambour as if she’d nae a trouble in the world.

  “Where
did you get that?” he snapped, unreasonably angry that she could find peace when he couldn’t. He’d been restless and irritable since the day he’d locked her in here. He’d fled the morning he’d woken on the floor to find her sleeping in his arms, hoping to find solace in the companionship of his men. All he’d found were sly looks and knowing winks.

  If his people chose to believe that he spent hours on end bedding Jessamyn, let them. ’Twould be better when the wedding happened, if the clan believed him in love with her. They’d not tolerate his marriage to an English lady otherwise. But making the clan believe such nonsense required that he spend most of his days and nights locked in this chamber with a woman he must wed but couldn’t trust.

  “Three days you’ve refused to speak to me, and the first words you have for me are to question where I got my sewing?” She sighed. “I asked for it from your sisters.”

  He clenched his fists and stalked to loom over her. “You spoke with them after I forbade it?”

  “No, I sent a message through the servant who brought my morning meal. The servant brought everything to me. I never saw your sisters, although they sent a note.” She spoke as if his orders and his irritableness were of no moment.

  He wanted to shake her, to see passionate fire in her eyes, even if it was anger directed at him. “Let me see the note.”

  She reached into a basket at her side and withdrew a scrap of vellum.

  Dearest Jessamyn,

  Raeb says you are indisposed, but we know better. He shows everyone his ill temper, so despite all other appearances we suspect that you and he are having a disagreement. Do not despair. Raeb’s temper doesn’t usually last long. ’Twas good that you requested this embroidery basket. You’ll be well occupied as you wait for Raeb to come to his senses.

  Every one of his sisters had signed the note.

  “Am I to assume that since you are now speaking with me that your temper has exhausted itself?” Jessamyn held his gaze and waited for his answer.

  He couldn’t. He was still furious with her deceptions and attempt to run away. But neither could he continue as he had been. He turned and walked to the chest where his clothing was stored.