Uther was not a happy man.
His lord Connor had been ousted from the solar—where that man rightfully belonged, to Uther’s mind—in favor of the barbarian Gavin. ’Twas an insult not readily endured.
This might have been onerous enough, if Gavin had not insisted upon prowling constantly while the men labored to complete the move quickly enough for his taste, interfering in every possible way with the process.
’Twas a far cry from the level of organization Uther preferred.
Gavin insisted he wanted to ensure he was not cheated, but the steward was not convinced. Uther guessed that Tullymullagh’s new lord wanted to make it so difficult to move anything from the solar that Connor simply abandoned all he held dear in that room.
Uther was not prepared to let that occur. Connor had treated him well for nigh on twenty years and his sire for thirty before that. The sweet concern of Lady Eva yet burned bright in Uther’s mind, as well. If need be, he would single-handedly ensure that Connor paid no greater price than absolutely necessary to this conquering barbarian.
’Twas the least Uther owed this family.
The arrival of Lady Ismay was a chore that Uther could have done without. And as for her spouse, Dermot was a man who had always made Uther’s flesh creep. He was too pale for a mortal man, and indeed, he had a way of disappearing like a wraith.
As he had already done.
“How dare you not offer suitable accommodations for Dermot and myself?” Lady Ismay demanded shrilly. “In all honesty, Tullymullagh long had a reputation for being an abode of fine manners and decent service.” The lady’s lip curled in scorn while Uther fought back an impolite response. “What has befallen you, Uther? You used to have exquisite taste in such matters.”
Uther tried not to glare at this most unwelcome guest. This day had already frayed his patience severely and Ismay pressed him further. He barely restrained himself from observing that the accommodations he had already offered her were far superior to whatever she knew at her home estate.
Tullymullagh, after all, was a wondrous keep. Not long ago, it had been constructed of timber and boasted but a single hall, with the lord’s solar to one side. Though Tullymullagh had the privacy of a wall separating solar and hall even before Connor’s grand vision, Uther well knew that Lady Ismay’s keep, Claremont, sported only a curtain betwixt the two.
For this woman to demand a chamber of her own on the second floor, particularly when all were making do with less rather than more, was beyond audacious. Uther would not compel Connor to share quarters with any other, and he had already conceded that the princess must share her chamber with the noblewomen in residence. There was little choice but to let the noblemen occupy the third and last second-floor room, while all others slept in the hall.
Uther did not appreciate such a quick repetition of Gavin’s insistence that all be ousted for his convenience. Gavin could not be denied.
The lady Ismay was another matter entirely.
Uther dug in his heels.
“Might I remind you, Lady Ismay,” he said coldly, “that Tullymullagh has been conquered. There is much beyond the realm of my influence in these days.”
Lady Ismay sniffed. “Then, what miserable excuse for a hovel do you mean to offer us?”
Uther looked the lady dead in the eye. “You will have to make do in the hall.”
“What?” Lady Ismay sputtered. Uther indulged himself in the guilty pleasure of enjoying her fury before he chided himself at the impropriety. “What travesty is this? How dare you expect me to sleep in the hall, like a common serving wench?”
“Is your solar at Claremont not part of the hall?” Uther asked coolly. “Or has there been great construction since last I was there?”
Ismay glared at Uther and inhaled so quickly that her nostrils pinched shut.
Before she could summon a cutting response, the lady Brianna appeared by Uther’s elbow. He barely concealed his sigh of relief. Aye, Brianna was yet young, Uther thought with pride, but already her dame’s natural grace in awkward social moments shone within her.
She would make a fine lady of this keep.
And she would know how to soothe this woman.
“Why, good morning to you, Lady Ismay,” Brianna declared smoothly, her words like balm on an angry wound. “What a delight to find you travelled to Tullymullagh, and this when winter is in the air. How are matters at Claremont?”
Lady Ismay straightened primly. “Not well,” she snapped.
Brianna’s eyes showed her concern. “But what is amiss?”
Lady Ismay swallowed. “ ’Tis lost,” she murmured, her voice low with bitterness. “We have lost Claremont and all within its walls.”
“All?” Uther was astonished into speaking when he had no place doing so.
“To whom?” Brianna asked, her quick question hiding Uther’s slip.
Lady Ismay, to her credit, held her chin high. “An English baron, allied with that cursed Strongbow. His forces overran our own and he claimed the holding two months past.”
“But we heard naught of this,” Brianna declared.
Lady Ismay slanted a glance in her direction. “I preferred to have none know my shame and hoped aid would come, especially when the barbarian rode out with most of his troops a month past. But he rode only to Cashel, where he evidently pledged the lands—” her voice trembled with anger “—my ancestral estate—to the hand of Henry II.”
Lady Ismay shuddered from head to toe and even Uther felt the tiniest twinge of sympathy for her plight. ’Twas true the woman did not show the grace one normally expected from the nobility, but she was high born, after all.
The lady Brianna laid a hand upon the older woman’s arm. “Did you fight his return?”
“We were sorely outnumbered and Dermot, Dermot is not a strategist, ’tis most clear.” Lady Ismay’s lips twisted, her anger making her look yet older than her years. “Once that invader won the keep anew, he cast Dermot and myself into the night with what was upon our backs alone.”
Lady Ismay swallowed proudly and her tone turned tart. “I believe he meant for us to die in the wind.”
“Surely your villeins took you in?”
Lady Ismay glanced up at Brianna’s anxious question. “The miller alone had the boldness to defy his new lord, but we could not endanger even him overlong. He found us some sorry excuse for steeds and we slowly made our way here upon the wretched beasts.”
Lady Ismay choked back a sob and Uther wished he were anywhere else in Christendom. Saints above, but he could not bear to see a woman weep!
“We have lost everything!” Lady Ismay wailed and her tears began to fall.
Brianna patted the noblewoman’s arm and Uther was doubly glad she had been in attendance for this confession. “Surely you have relations to aid you,” she suggested quietly.
Lady Ismay fired her a glance filled with loathing. “Nay! Everything is gone! My home, my heritage, every coin within the treasury is stolen from beneath me. I have only what I could secure hastily within my skirts. Every steed, every knight, every heart has been pledged to that usurper, while I—the true blood of Claremont—have been cast out like chattel!”
Ismay shook her fist at a somewhat startled Brianna. “I will not be treated like chattel!”
Then her face crumpled as defiance gave way to despair. “I am not chattel,” she whimpered and began to cry in earnest.
Brianna stroked Ismay’s dark hair. “I have slept in a miller’s abode!” Ismay blubbered. “I have slept in a field, I have ridden a mare bred to haul ale to market. Never have I been forced to endure such indignity in all of my days!”
“I am sorry, Ismay,” Brianna said softly.
Suddenly, Lady Ismay took a deep, uneven breath, straightened, and fixed Brianna with a glance. “I beg of you, as one noblewoman to another, do not prolong my humiliation. Do not compel me to sleep in the hall amidst laborers and mercenaries, as your steward would insist.”
Brianna met Uther’s horrified gaze with sympathy shining in her own. The sight melted some of the frost around the steward’s old heart.
Aye, she was Lady Eva’s daughter, that much was clear.
“Perhaps we could arrange for the lady Ismay to sleep in my chambers, as well,” she suggested quietly. “Lord Dermot can join the other noblemen or settle his pallet in the hall, as he chooses.”
“I suggested this alternative earlier,” Uther said stiffly, “but it did not meet with the lady’s satisfaction.”
“I must sleep with Dermot!” Lady Ismay cried. She clutched Brianna’s chemise. “I must bed with Dermot. We must have our privacy.” She turned upon Uther. “Can you not see a chamber cleared for us, with all haste?”
Uther had had enough. “As we discussed, if you must slumber together, then you will both have to sleep in the hall,” he retorted crisply. “ ’Twould be entirely inappropriate for any man—be he your spouse or not—to enter my lady Brianna’s chambers at night. And I refuse to be responsible for your own fortune should you choose to slumber in the noblemen’s chamber. Together in the hall or separately in the noble’s quarters. ’Tis your choice.”
Lady Ismay eyed him with dislike in her small eyes, then her tears welled anew. She turned back to Brianna and sniffled most pathetically. “How low we have fallen in so little time,” she moaned.
“Perhaps we should see Ismay settled upstairs quickly, Uther,” Brianna suggested, a silent plea in her eyes. “It seems she might appreciate a few moments to herself. Perhaps a hot bath might be welcome after Ismay’s journey?”
“I have not had a bath in weeks!” Ismay wailed and began once again to sob with vigor.
Aye, Uther would have guessed as much. “Indeed.” He nodded crisply to the lady Brianna and began to organize a plan within his mind even as he turned away.
’Twas then that he spied the errant Dermot.
The dispossessed lord was seated at a bench among the serving men of Tullymullagh, putting away ale at a ferocious rate. Despite his wife’s concern, Dermot seemed markedly untroubled by the prospect of being separated from her.
Uther frowned as he recalled all too well the tales that had circulated when Lady Ismay, then recently orphaned, insisted to her guardian that she must accept the suit of the mysterious and newly arrived Dermot.
Aye, there had been a rumor that Dermot was not nobly born at all, that he was no more than a man of common but foreign origins, bent on winning himself a fortune. The guardian had not been inclined to entertain the heiress’ whim. There had been whispers that Ismay forced his hand by sacrificing her chastity to Dermot.
’Twas one way for a woman to see her will done. Uther could not help but wonder whether the ploy had been devised by Ismay or by Dermot. ’Twas true enough that in those days, Claremont had been an estate of rare wealth and a prize to be coveted. Uther supposed ’twas still a prize, despite years of poor administration, for some Englishman had seen fit to besiege it.
’Twas curious how a body forgot such matters over the years, like those tales of Dermot, then they were recalled with startling clarity at the oddest moments.
A scullery lad appeared at Uther’s elbow with a question and practicalities claimed the steward’s attention, leaving him no more time to wonder the relations of neighbors.
Despite Brianna’s determiniation, ’twas the following morning before she could return to the garden again. Uther had taken to her request with a vengeance and Brianna had spent the day fast on his heels, desperately hoping she would recall half of what the steward explained to her.
’Twas interesting, though, that much she had to admit. Even if she did keep peeking to see whether Luc remained at work.
He was there every time Brianna looked.
’Twas a blessing that Ismay snored so loudly, for Brianna awakened when the chamber was yet dark. She dressed in haste, hoping she might actually secure her mother’s letters before Luc appeared.
Brianna raced down the stairs and burst from the hall into the bailey. Her heart leapt to find a familiar figure already in the orchard, even though the dawn light was just tinging the sky.
Curse the man! Luc had still beat her to the orchard.
Brianna did not like the way her heart began to pound with anticipation. She was prepared, she told herself firmly. She knew the question she must ask, she was ready to tolerate the kiss Luc would demand in return.
’Twould be better to see the matter resolved.
Brianna’s lips thinned and she strode across the cobbled bailey. She had the distinct sense that the passing of each day diminished her sire’s chance to regain Tullymullagh yet further. Gavin might hire more forces or more of his men might arrive. Time was of the essence!
But ’twas of kisses Brianna was thinking, not time, when Luc glanced up. He smiled slightly, as though he had been expecting her, and Brianna felt the oddest flutter within her belly at his acknowledgement. Luc immediately sheathed his blade to watch her approach.
Had she not known better, Brianna might have thought Luc had missed her.
“Duties done?” he asked mildly, then his eyes twinkled. “Or did it take this long to see matters arranged to the lady Ismay’s satisfaction?”
Brianna almost smiled in return. “You have met her, then?”
Luc rolled his eyes. “Her arrival would have been difficult to slumber through. She seems to be one much indulged.”
“Like me?” Brianna could not help but tease him in turn as she trudged through the undergrowth of the orchard.
The flash of Luc’s eyes was quick and he hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “Nay,” he admitted softly, his gaze assessing. “Nay, not at all like you.”
The concession sounded like a compliment. And one that Luc was surprised to find himself making.
Brianna was prepared to ask for details, when Tullymullagh’s portcullis creaked. She glanced back to the gates at the gatekeeper’s unexpectedly merry shout of welcome. Who had arrived so early in the day?
A tall knight dismounted in the bailey with a flourish, his white stallion stamping proudly. The beast, caparisoned with brilliant red that matched the hue of the knight’s tabard perfectly, stepped tall and his nostrils flared.
The knight’s mail gleamed. His squire was quick by his side to take the helmet he removed. A shout rang across the bailey and Denis the ostler scurried out to look, his expression changing from confusion to astonishment.
“Ruarke!” Brianna cried.
The knight grinned cockily, his sandy hair tousled by the wind. “Brianna! Wench of my heart!” he roared, then laughed with his characteristic merry rumble.
“ ’Tis true enough,” the knight retorted cheerfully. Denis welcomed Lightning with a murmur and the warhorse deigned to have its ears scratched. Squire and ostler led the stallion and pair of palfreys toward the stable.
Ruarke fixed Brianna with a bright glance. “Now, come, and let me have a look at you!”
But Brianna halted on the perimeter of the orchard. She propped her hands upon her hips and glared cheekily at the new arrival. “Where have you been?” she demanded with a sternness that was not completely feigned. She was very aware of Luc attending this conversation. “What manner of champion knight are you to abandon your lord’s keep in its most dire hour?”
Ruarke sobered and folded his arms across his chest. He looked most stern and forbidding when he assumed this pose. “And what, child, do you imagine I have been doing?”
Child. ’Twas how Ruarke treated her, that much was for certain. Irritation slid through Brianna even as Ruarke strode closer and she felt her color rise in indignation.
Luc did not think she was a child. Brianna could not halt the comparison that came immediately to mind.
’Twas odd, but even though Luc had awakened these new urges within Brianna, she felt no similar tingle of anticipation when Ruarke strode toward her.
“I saw you speak with Father two months past,” she charged quietly and a flame lit in the knight’s eyes.
“Then you know I did not abandon my liege lord,” Ruarke retorted in an undertone.
“He sent you for aid,” Brianna guessed.
Ruarke shook his head and frowned in clear disappointment. “And there was none to be had. All of Ireland has been beset.”
Brianna frowned. It seemed to her that it should not have taken Ruarke so long to work his way back to Tullymullagh. Indeed, if he had arrived sooner, Tullymullagh might not have fallen into Gavin’s hands.
Brianna tilted her chin. “And you returned via … France?” she challenged.
Ruarke smiled sadly and his voice dropped yet further. “Brianna,” he chided gently, as though he explained a matter of great complexity to a dimwitted child. “I had to ask at every keep. I had to knock at every door in my quest to bring aid to your sire.”
His eyes turned sad and he glanced behind himself. “To return alone was a defeat I never hoped to face. Know this, never would I willingly fail in any quest your sire did grant me.”
Brianna immediately felt guilty for judging him so harshly. How like Ruarke to exhaust every possibility before he conceded defeat! He had tried, even if his prolonged absence had not aided Tullymullagh in the least.
Ruarke could not have known precisely what transpired here.
“Now, come here and let me see you,” he suggested.
Brianna drew herself up proudly and eyed the knight with mock hauteur. “I come to you? ’Tis you who should bend your knee to me!”
Ruarke chuckled, cast aside his gauntlets, took the two steps left between them, and dropped to one knee. “Your wish, my princess, is my very command.”
Brianna caught her breath, certain she would feel something when Ruarke captured her hand within his.
But she felt naught. ’Twas true his hand was warm and just as rough as Luc’s, not to mention as tanned. His fingers were strong, and her hand looked small within his.
But Ruarke might as well have been her father for all the tingles he set in motion. He even brushed his lips across her knuckles and Brianna felt naught at all.
She did not want to think about the import of that and hauled her hand out of the knight’s grip. “Fool,” she charged, achingly aware that Luc was witnessing this.
Luc, who awakened tingles aplenty, seemingly without even making an effort to do so.
“Fool? Not I!” Ruarke lunged to his feet, caught Brianna around the waist and spun her in the air. “What is this? Why are you not garbed in one of your fine kirtles?” He frowned and fumbled, as though he would drop her to the ground. “And God’s blood, child, what have you been eating? You have gotten fat in my absence!”
The twinkle in the knight’s eye belied his words and Brianna gave him a hearty swat on the shoulder. “More likely ’tis you who have been losing your strength, playing chess instead of swinging your sword!”
At the charge, Ruarke sobered anew, his glance flicking to the alien standard that fluttered from the roof of the gatehouse. “Come,” he murmured. “I have need of a cup of ale and whatever you can tell me of matters here.”
Brianna glanced back over her shoulder before she could stop herself. Her own heart took an unruly skip when she found Luc staring directly at her, his arms folded across his chest and his expression grim.
Indeed, she could fairly see the blazing sapphire of his eyes, even at such a distance.
She hesitated at the sight of his annoyance. ’Twas unlike him to be visibly irked, Brianna knew it well, and the fact that his look was directed at her suggested she might be responsible.
If she left in this moment, she might well be missing another opportunity to drive Luc away. Luc would compose himself in her absence and Brianna would have to lay siege to his defenses anew.
On the other hand, Ruarke might be persuaded to aid her in this and he could be a formidable ally.
Brianna chewed her lip, torn between her choices.
“What is this?” Ruarke demanded. “Do you pursue a dalliance with some garden laborer?” Though his tone was yet teasing, there was a dark thread running beneath his words that startled Brianna. She looked at Ruarke to find his expression anything but jovial.
Indeed, he looked most displeased. His lips had drawn taut and his eyes were narrowed. Brianna blinked, for she had always seen Ruarke smiling and amiable.
“Does your sire know of this?” he demanded, his manner bristling with disapproval.
And Brianna was immediately reassured. How like Ruarke to think of honor and her father’s pride, to fear for her reputation! Brianna smiled and tucked her hand into his elbow.
“There is naught for him to know about. We have but talked of the trees,” she said, feeling the tension ease out of the knight’s arm. “He is going to teach me to restore the gardens as they were when Mother tended them.”
She might have introduced the pair, but Ruarke fired a hostile glance over his shoulder to the eerily still Luc. “ ’Tis inappropriate labor for you,” he said curtly. “Leave the man to his task. We shall see you garbed properly and set before the fire with your embroidery before midday.” He tapped her on the nose. “You should have naught to trouble yourself save which color of silk to ply next.”
And that apparently was that, at least to Ruarke’s mind. Brianna gaped at him, astonished that he could expect her to waste time with her embroidery when the future of Tullymullagh was at stake.
Then Ruarke winked at her playfully, his earlier manner restored. “Shall we steal a loaf of fresh bread from the kitchens?”
“Cook will have words for you,” Brianna warned, as always she did. “You know he likes to guard every single loaf until midday.”
“Ah! It shall be just as old times.” Ruarke grinned mischievously. He waggled a finger at Brianna. “Indeed, I dare you to steal a second at the same time.”
’Twas their old game all over again. Aye, Cook would bellow, Ruarke would charm and they would be chased from the kitchen by Cook wielding a wooden spoon dripping with gravy. On the threshold of the hall, Cook would abandon the chase, though not without dire warnings regarding their next visit to the kitchens.
Then, they two would collapse onto benches in the hall and devour their prize. ’Twas familiar enough and had proven a source of amusement time and again.
But why did an oft-played game suddenly seem childish beyond all?
’Twas just her concern for her sire coloring Brianna’s mood, she knew it well. She forced a smile for Ruarke and nodded assent. They turned their footsteps toward the kitchen, but, as they reached the portal, Brianna could not help looking back to the orchard one last time.
With determination, Luc was pulling weeds from around the roots of the trees quickly and efficiently, apparently oblivious to her departure. Brianna nibbled her bottom lip and wondered what he truly was thinking.
There was no doubt that the man would not tell her, even if she asked. Brianna turned back to Ruarke, certain he had not noticed her backward glance.
But Brianna was wrong.
Luc pulled undergrowth with a savagery he had not known he possessed. He told himself that he was but unnerved by the interview with his sire yester morn, but recognized the lie. His jaw still ached slightly in recollection, particularly when he gritted his teeth with vigor.
As he did in this moment.
Luc certainly had not missed the lady Brianna’s annoying presence all the day before. He had not looked for her, he had not listened for her voice, he had not replayed the intoxicating sweetness of her kiss countless times.
Not Luc. He was a man with labor to be done. And he certainly had not missed the board yesterday because he wished to avoid the lady—or her obliviousness to him. Nay, he had merely forgotten the midday meal.
The great hall of a keep like Tullymullagh was not Luc’s place, after all.
At least not anymore.
Luc was certainly not thinking about his spurs and sword safely tucked away at Llanvelyn. He refused to recall his own splendid caparisoned warhorse or the weight of a blade within his grip or to consider himself arriving much as this Ruarke had.
Nay. Luc had made a pledge and he would keep it.
Indeed, the touching reunion he had just witnessed told Luc all that he needed to know. ’Twas hardly news that he had been merely a diversion for the princess Brianna.
No doubt this knight had already sampled the princess’ kisses most thoroughly.
The very idea was infuriating.
Luc ignored the tiny voice reminding him of the innocence he had sensed in the lady’s response.
Perhaps she only toyed with him, Luc insisted to himself. Noblewomen were known to do as much for their own entertainment. And how much, truly, did he know of the workings of a woman’s mind?
Precious little.
Which had suited Luc well enough every day of his life and would suit him well enough now. Yet even that resolution did naught to alleviate Luc’s uncommonly foul mood.
He simply could not shake the memory of the knight Ruarke falling to one knee before a blushing Brianna.
’Twas like a cursed bard’s tale and Luc already knew the lady’s fondness for such whimsy. What he could not fathom was why it troubled him so. Whether she cared for Ruarke or romance had naught to do with him. Indeed, if Brianna were busy with Tullymullagh’s champion, she would cease to pester Luc.
The prospect of that was markedly flat.
And so ’twas that Luc was thoroughly relieved by the interruption when the ostler Denis came bustling across the orchard, his features lined with concern.
Brianna had barely crossed the threshold to the kitchens and taken a deep breath of the warm scent of yeast when she realized the room was unnaturally quiet. Cook fired a glance of trepidation toward the new arrivals and ’twas not an expression that suited his amiable features well.
It had naught to do with the prospect of their thieving bread.
“What …?” was all Ruarke managed to say before Brianna realized the reason for the strained atmosphere.
Gavin was standing over Uther, what looked to be a sheet of parchment clutched in his fist. The mercenary’s face was ruddy with indignation, a blue vein throbbed in his temple as he shook the list. “You all mean to cheat me!” he roared. “The ledgers are rife with errors!”
Uther cleared his throat. “Sir,”—’twas clear he believed he used the term loosely—“I can only, once more, give you my assurances that the inventory was fastidiously executed—”
“ ’Twill be you who is fastidiously executed,” Gavin retorted. Uther paled but held his ground as Gavin shook the list beneath the man’s nose. “This keep is of such a size that there cannot be such a shortage of sugar and spice. ’Tis inconceivable that the salt alone could have sunk to such minuscule levels.”
He leaned closer to the older man but Uther did not back away. Gavin’s voice dropped to a hiss. “I would suggest it would be best for your health to find the errant inventory.”
How dare he threaten Uther! Brianna made to step forward and protest this treatment of her father’s loyal servant, but the scrape of steel on steel interrupted her.
Ruarke stepped past her, swung his blade high and pointed it at Tullymullagh’s new lord. “And I would suggest it prudent to your own survival to treat this household with respect.”
The room fell as still as a tomb.
Gavin pivoted leisurely and his eyes narrowed as he assessed the new arrivals. He did not draw his own blade, his gaze almost insulting as it raked over Ruarke. He seemed to gauge the knight’s ability with his eyes alone.
Then Gavin arched a brow and his voice dropped dangerously low. “Who is this man so bold that he enters my own keep carrying a blade unpledged to my hand?”
Ruarke straightened proudly. “I am Ruarke de Rossiers, the—”
“The so-called champion of Tullymullagh,” Gavin completed with a smirk. “Your arrival is somewhat less than timely.”
From her vantage point, Brianna could see the flush of red that suffused the back of Ruarke’s neck, though his manner did not change. “I had errands abroad.”
“Aye, I know well enough of your errands,” Gavin sneered. He smiled in a most unfriendly manner. “As well as how thoroughly they failed. Make no mistake, Ruarke de Rossiers, your ride to the high king to plead his aid for Tullymullagh has been duly noted.”
Brianna inhaled sharply, but Ruarke did not seem to so much as breathe. Gavin sauntered across the kitchen toward them, the stiffness of his lamed leg seeming worse than Brianna had noted before. He paused just beyond Ruarke’s reach with the blade and cast a scornful glance at the sword.
“An heirloom blade?” he asked conversationally.
Brianna felt rather than saw Ruarke ease slightly. “My sire’s own and his before him,” he declared with evident pride. “It has been in our family these nine generations.”
With lightning speed, Gavin drew his blade and slashed at Ruarke’s own. The two swords clanged together with terrific force. ’Twas clear Gavin’s blow was ferociously strong.
And Ruarke was evidently caught by surprise, both by the blow and its savagery. He cried out as the hilt was fairly torn from his hand and Brianna caught her breath when Ruarke’s sword clattered to the ground.
Gavin spat upon it, then sheathed his own blade.
The kitchen help had collectively taken a step back. Belatedly, Brianna saw that Ruarke’s sword had been slightly bent.
“And not fine Toledo steel for all its age,” Gavin said coldly. “A man is only as good as his weaponry, chevalier, and sentiment has never served a warrior well.” He snapped his fingers and his cowed squire scurried to fetch Ruarke’s fallen blade.
Ruarke stood so straight that Brianna knew he must be mortified.
Gavin threw the parchment in Uther’s direction, then fixed the Cook with an equally quelling eye. “You might find it prudent to lend your assistance in the steward’s recalculation of the inventory.”
“Aye, my lord!” Cook bowed low, all his scullery boys and maids bowing and scraping in turn.
A fleeting smile graced Gavin’s features, then he turned back to Ruarke and sobered. “On your knees, chevalier. Your excuse for a blade will be pledged to my hand before you stand upon your feet in this keep again.”
Every eye widened in the place. Brianna’s hands went cold. Her father’s champion could not be pledged to Gavin!
“Ruarke, do not do it!” she whispered.
Gavin lifted his gaze to hers and smirked. “No knight survives within this keep without cleaving to me and me alone. And I will not suffer a potential enemy to leave alive. Make your choice, Ruarke de Rossiers.”
Brianna’s heart sank with the certainty that Gavin meant his words.
Ruarke took a deep breath, then glanced back to Brianna. “Forgive me,” he said quietly.
Brianna was shocked as Ruarke turned his back upon her and reluctantly dropped to his knees. Though she knew the knight had little choice, still she felt betrayed by his seemingly quick agreement.
Then she felt guilty for daring to judge him. Ruarke’s life hung in the balance, after all! What else could he have done?
With a lump in her throat, Brianna watched as Ruarke bowed his head and lifted his hands, palms pressed together, to the new lord of Tullymullagh, prepared to make his oath.
But Gavin did not step forward.
“Nay.” Gavin eyed the expectant knight, clearly enjoying his submission, then shook his head. “ ’Twill not be that simple for you, chevalier. I would know for certain the depths of your commitment—and would have all within Tullymullagh witness your change of allegiance.” He snapped his fingers again. “Follow me. Upon your knees, sir.”
Gavin left no time for argument, pivoting upon his heel and limping from the kitchens with surprising speed.
And Ruarke, a bold, successful, powerful knight, followed the man destined to be his new liege lord, crawling on his knees.
’Twas a far cry from the homecoming Ruarke had envisioned for himself. He was humiliated beyond all else, shuffling through the deadened herbs cast across the floor of the great hall.
’Twas no circumstance for a knight and Ruarke quietly seethed with the indignity of it all. How dare this man, this creature who was no more than an exalted mercenary, set out to embarrass the likes of Ruarke! How dare this excuse for a lord insult his betters!
Yet there was no question of leaving Tullymullagh. And remaining, alive, at least, meant submitting to Gavin Fitzgerald.
No matter how lethal the blow to Ruarke’s pride.
Everyone within the keep had come to watch his humbling, it seemed to Ruarke, and he hated Gavin Fitzgerald with a newfound and considerably more personal passion. Ruarke slanted a baleful glance to his tormentor and caught the smile playing upon Gavin’s lips.
Aye, the new lord of Tullymullagh knew well enough what he did. Ruarke gritted his teeth. He would not consider the ruin of his chausses, the scratches to the fine leather of his new boots.
Fact was, he had sorely underestimated this new foe.
And Ruarke had some recalculating to do. He could only hope that he lived long enough to have that chance.
Gavin turned his steps toward the dais. The burly Welsh ruffian propped himself up in the high chair of Tullymullagh and Ruarke shuffled to a halt before that man’s feet.
The bile rose in Ruarke’s throat at the travesty of what he was compelled to do. There was no other man in all of Christendom to whom Ruarke would like less as a liege lord.
But he had seen the gleam in Gavin’s eye when he made his threat. This was a man who had killed oft before and thought naught of repeating the deed.
And Ruarke de Rossiers had no intention of dying when he had so much for which to live. No mere pledge was going to stand in the way of all he had envisioned.
’Twas only words, yet those words would let him live.
One day, vengeance would be his own.
Ruarke bowed his head, before Gavin could see the rebellion in his eyes. He lifted his hands once more, praying the appalling deed would at least be completed quickly. Gavin’s calloused palms closed immediately around Ruarke’s own, as though he too were anxious for this pledge to be made.
Ruarke pledged himself to Gavin by the age old formula. He closed his eyes as Gavin kissed first one of his cheeks, then the other, bracing himself against the man’s powerful odor. Ruarke bit down on his certainty that he had sworn his blade to a man no better than a barbarian.
“Kiss my boot.”
Ruarke blinked, certain he could not have heard aright. He glanced up and Gavin smiled a cold smile down from his perch. “I bade you kiss my boot, oh noble knight. I would see that your heart follows your words.”
The hall fell into astonished silence. Ruarke eyed the boot in question and fought against his urge to flee this charade.
But ’twould serve him naught to irk Tullymullagh’s new lord. And he had already granted his word before dozens of witnesses. Likely this last humiliation would satisfy Gavin.
Ruarke gritted his teeth, leaned forward, and brushed his lips just barely across the toe of one heavy black leather boot.
And was stunned when Gavin kicked him right in the jaw.
Pain exploded in Ruarke’s face, the assembly gasped in unison, and the knight fell backward into the rushes, dazed.
“Nay!” Brianna cried from a distance. “Do not hurt him!”
“I shall do what I will with any enemy within my walls,” Gavin retorted as Ruarke caught his breath.
Before he could collect himself, two men seized his arms and Gavin came to stand over him. Ruarke struggled for freedom, but to no avail.
Gavin leaned close to Ruarke. “I did not care for your reluctance in this, chevalier,” he purred. “And it seems to me that your heart is not at one with your words at all.” Gavin glanced at the men holding Ruarke’s arms. “Strip him of his weaponry and cast him in the dungeons. His own company should convince him of the bounty of my hand.”
Anger flashed within Ruarke. Never had he been treated so disgustingly in all of his life! ’Twas unjust! ’Twas wrong! He would not go willingly into the dungeons, like some common criminal!
“You cannot do this!” Ruarke bellowed before he could stop himself. “I am the champion of Tullymullagh! I am a knight and not to be shamed in this way!”
Gavin’s lips twisted in a sneer as he leaned close to Ruarke’s face. “Precisely,” he whispered. “And that is why I will break you before I let you stride freely through this keep.”
Ruarke spat in the barbarian’s eye.
Gavin did not miss a beat before backhanding the knight so hard that Ruarke’s breath was stolen away. The knight sagged in his captor’s arms as another kick landed in his gut and his face was pummelled.
But Ruarke was far from defeated. The anger he already carried in his heart now burned the ferocity of a white-hot flame. Ruarke knew he would have his due—and if Gavin Fitzgerald should step into his way, so much the better.
Then Ruarke knew naught at all.