Margaret Moore - Castle of the Wolf

A commotion outside jerked her back to the present. It seemed to be coming from the yard, near the gates. They weren’t expecting any visitors today, at least none that she...

Surely it couldn’t be Sir Blane! Her uncle had said he would arrive within the fortnight, not today—unless her betrothed had traveled more swiftly than expected, anxious for the alliance. Or the marriage.

Although that thought was enough to make her queasy, Tamsin put down the list, gathered up her skirts and hurried to the yard.

To see Sir Rheged of Cwm Bron standing near the gates, feet planted, his hands on his hips and obviously angry.

That explained why the guards were watching him so closely, even though he wasn’t dressed for battle. He wore a white shirt open at the neck beneath a boiled leather tunic, the attire of common men-at-arms. Despite the autumn chill in the air, the long sleeves of his shirt were rolled back to reveal skin bronzed brown by the sun. His breeches were of wool, his boots splattered with mud and he stood beside a foam-flecked gray gelding, not the powerful destrier he’d ridden in the melee. He did, however, carry a sword, the scabbard resting against his muscular thigh.

Despite her determination to keep certain memories locked away forever, she vividly recalled the thrill of being in his arms and the sensation of his lips on hers, especially when his gaze swept the yard and settled upon her.

Then he started toward her, as if his business was with her alone.

That must not be. That could not be. She must marry Blane, regardless of what this man said. Or did.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked forward resolutely, determined to send him on his way. “Greetings, Sir Rheged,” she said, managing to sound calm.

“I wish to see your uncle.”

So he hadn’t returned to offer her aid again, or sanctuary. Or so she thought, until she saw something deep in his eyes that revived her hope of rescue.

Her useless, wistful hope that must be nipped in the bud. “He rode out this morning, sir knight,” she said with cool detachment.

The Welshman skeptically raised a dark eyebrow. “He went riding?”

She, too, had been surprised to hear her uncle’s plan, until it had occurred to her that he might wish to avoid his niece as much as she wanted to be far away from him. “You’re welcome to wait in his solar, or you may tell me your business and I will see—”

Sir Rheged turned on his heel, went to his horse and took a leather pouch from the saddle. He opened it and, like a conjurer at a fair, held up his prize. “This is not gold, but painted metal and the jewels are false, too. Your uncle lied to every knight who fought here, and I demand a proper prize.”

Oh, she was a fool to harbor such romantic notions of rescue by a knight she barely knew!

Whatever her uncle had done, this was no place to discuss it, where so many could see and hear. Not only were the guards within hearing distance, but a quick glance around the yard confirmed that several servants and not a few curious guests were watching from doors and windows, including Mavis. “Please come to the solar, Sir Rheged. I will send a man to find my uncle. I’m sure he can—”

“Explain?” Rheged scornfully interrupted. “What explanation can there be? He played me, and every other knight who came to his tournament, for a fool.” He leaned toward her, close enough to kiss, except that wasn’t desire burning in his eyes. “And I assure you, my lady, I do not take kindly to being made to look a fool.”

“Nor do I,” she snapped, her own ire rising. If he could speak so to her, and in public, too, she’d been right to suspect that his motive for complimenting and kissing her had been seduction all along. “I had nothing to do with the prize, yet you stand here and upbraid me as if I were a naughty child. Now either follow me to the solar or get back on your horse and go!”

For an instant, she thought he was going to leave, until her uncle came strolling out from behind the chapel. He was clad in his thick cloak with the ermine collar and lined with fox fur, his silver broach glittering in the September sunlight, his hair sleek and smooth as his voice.

“Greetings, Sir Rheged,” he said genially, although his eyes were far from friendly. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Have you forgotten something?”

“Not I, but apparently you forgot you are supposed to be an honorable man. You played me false, DeLac, and all who fought in your tournament. This box is no more made of gold than I am, and the jewels are just as false. If you have a drop of honor in you, you’ll give me a more worthy prize.”

With a shrug of his beefy shoulders, her uncle answered as if he were innocence itself. “You received the prize that was offered. I never said it was real gold, or that the jewels were gemstones. It was on display in the hall the night before the melee, and you were quite welcome to examine it then. If you did not...” Her uncle spread his hands wide, as if to say, “What fault is it of mine?”

“And why such anger?” he continued. “Have you not won another victory? Will that not add to your fame and fierce reputation? Surely that was worth the effort.”

Rheged regarded the man with undisguised disdain and answered in Welsh. Whatever he said, it was obviously no compliment.

“Leave my castle, Sir Rheged,” her uncle ordered, all vestige of amiability replaced by indignant anger, “or I’ll order my guards to—”

“What?” Rheged demanded, his voice low and hard. “Try to make me go? If that’s your notion, think again, my lord. I have my sword.”

“And I have twenty archers with arrows nocked and aimed right at your head,” her uncle returned.

A quick glance at the wall walk confirmed the truth of what he said.

Rheged threw the box onto the ground with such force the lid flew off and it skittered to a halt inches from her uncle’s toe. “Twenty men to one. Why am I not surprised?”

He gestured at the windows surrounding the yard, proving that he, too, was aware that they were being watched by more than the men and servants in the yard. “Soon all will know what kind of honorable nobleman you are. Then we shall see how many friends you have at court.”

“More than you, at least,” her uncle retorted. “More than some peasant of a Welshman will ever have, no matter how well he fights or how many walls he climbs. Indeed, a monkey could have done what you did to earn your knighthood, so don’t think to threaten me. Now get out, Sir Rheged, before I have you shot.”

He would do it, too, Tamsin knew. Leave, Rheged, she silently urged, instinctively stepping forward.

The Welshman glanced at her, his expression unreadable, before he turned his attention back to her uncle. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have expected better from a man who’ll give his niece to a greedy, lecherous lout like Blane.”

“My niece’s marriage is no business of yours!” DeLac cried as Tamsin stood frozen where she was, rooted to the ground, afraid to move a muscle lest she make things worse. “And you’ve got the only prize you deserve. Now go, before I order my men to kill you where you stand!”

“Very well, my lord, who has given a prize worthy of the giver—false and cheap, good for show, but lacking any true value,” Rheged replied as he threw himself into the saddle. “Keep your prize and be damned!”

“Get out and never return, you stupid, stinking Welshman!” her uncle shouted.

Rheged lifted his horse’s reins, but instead of heading for the gate, he rode right at Tamsin, turning his horse at the last moment.

In that same moment, he reached down and grabbed the back of her gown. Gasping with shock and dismay, she kicked and struggled as he hauled her over his lap.