Montague - The Warlord Part 5

Bored by her own company, she gave up all pretense of disinterest and listened avidly to Kenric's conversation, discovering some intriguing details about her husband's past. Most curious was the fact that, until recently, Kenric had not set foot on Montague land since his departure for the Crusades, nine years earlier. Being far away in the Holy Lands was excuse enough to stay away from home, but in the five years of war with Wales, Kenric hadn't found or made the time to visit his family. Not even when his father died three years earlier and Kenric a.s.sumed the t.i.tle.

Kenric's va.s.sals droned on and on while Tess struggled to remain alert. The excitement of their arrival was wearing off and the conversation had turned to mundane matters that didn't interest her. Nearly an hour pa.s.sed before the meal was served, if the slops laid before them could be called such. Every dish was either undercooked, overcooked, or unrecognizable. All were awful. If she were of a mind to stay married to Kenric, a trip to the kitchens would have topped her list of tasks to accomplish, right after a tour of the castle. Not that she'd be staying at Montague long enough to concern herself with those wifely duties. She was leaving at the first opportunity.

No one lingered over the tasteless meal. Kenric rose immediately after eating what he could to join a group gathered near one of the fireplaces. Tess remained seated, unsure what she was expected to do. She tried to keep herself occupied by thinking over the ch.o.r.es that would be necessary to right the place. Habit, she told herself. She'd been trained from birth to run an estate the size of Montague. Helen's training must have been lacking, indeed. The conditions at Montague were disgusting. The rushes were filthy, the hounds showed no signs of being housebroken, and the remainders of the meal still lay upon the table. G.o.d only knew what the rest of the fortress looked like. Thank goodness she wouldn't be staying long.

Tess stretched from one side to the other, trying to relieve the cramped pain in her back and ignore the thought of how wonderful a bed would feel. There was the slight worry over Kenric's promise to make her a wife in more than name, but she doubted he meant that night. He'd been in a saddle for at least four days, with little enough rest the last two. Surely the man wasn't up to such vigorous activity.

A moment later Tess snapped her head up in alarm, shocked to realize she'd actually nodded off at the table. Right in front of Kenric and all his men! She didn't relax until a quick glance around the hall satisfied her that none had witnessed the slip.

Relaxing was a mistake.

Her eyelids seemed weighted with lead. She desperately searched the hall for something that would hold her interest enough to stay awake. Kenric was extremely interesting to look at, but staring at her husband would surely be considered rude. Her attention turned instead to the vast array of weapons that hung on one wall. She began to study the diverse designs. She was concentrating on keeping the wall in focus when true panic set in. No matter how hard she fought the urge, her eyes were determined to close. She propped her elbows on the table, chin in hand, and reserved every bit of strength for the mighty effort of keeping her eyes open. A moment later they slid shut.

Why did I fight this? she asked herself. Just a few more minutes and she'd open her eyes feeling good as new.

On the other side of the hall, one of the servants dropped a tray and the loud clatter brought Tess awake with a start. Disoriented, she lifted her head then raised one hand to her forehead, wis.h.i.+ng the room would stop tilting back and forth. Kenric was at her side in an instant.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. He took the stool next to Tess and put a steadying arm around her shoulders. A hand placed against her forehead made him swear foully under his breath. "You burn with fever, Tess. Why didn't you tell me you were ill?"

"Ill?" Tess tried to shake her head but the sudden movement made her dizzy. She put one hand on Kenric's knee to steady herself. "Am I ill?" Realizing the truth of his observation, she said, "Doubtless 'tis just a slight fever, milord. I am sure it shall pa.s.s by morn."

Kenric didn't reply. He lifted Tess in his arms, unaware that she winced in pain, and walked toward the steps leading to the upper chambers. He stopped long enough to give orders to Fitz Alan.

"Tell the men my wife is exhausted from her journey and bid them enjoy my hospitality. She has a fever," he went on, lowering his voice. "Send someone for the old healing woman in the village. She can administer her foul brews if this does not pa.s.s by morning."

Tess tried to protest the order, but Kenric's glare was fierce enough to keep her silent until they reached his chamber. She still didn't say a word as he walked into the room and laid her on the bed. It wasn't the aches and pains of her fever that kept Tess silent. She was simply too awed by her surroundings to speak.

Kenric's bedchamber was a study in exotic luxury. Handsomely wrought candlesticks, plates, and foreign-looking objects crammed the mantel above the fireplace, and most were made of gold. Two chalices were so encrusted with jewels that the metal beneath was difficult to determine. There were no dirty rushes to litter the floor in this room. Plush Persian rugs covered the cold stones, probably brought back from the Crusades. The bed was covered with a heavy blue brocade and the canopy draped with s.h.i.+mmering midnight-blue silk shot through with gold thread to form the bed curtains.

"You are rich!" she exclaimed, brus.h.i.+ng away the lingering effects of her short sleep to examine the room. "This chamber is finer than the king's!"

"My efforts have their rewards," Kenric acknowledged dryly. He pushed her against the pillows, then turned away to lay more logs on the fire. "And what would you know of the king's bedchamber?"

"Nothing," she admitted. "But I am sure it could not be so nice."

"I am glad you are pleased." He returned to stand by the bed, arms crossed, feet braced as if ready for battle. "Now you will please me by staying in this bed until your fever pa.s.ses." He pointed to the linen bundles near the foot of the bed. "Thomas brought your bags up earlier. I will help you out of those clothes and into your night-s.h.i.+ft."

"I... I would sleep in my gown, milord."

"You need to rest. That heavy gown cannot possibly be comfortable."

"You will not look while I change?"

"I am your husband," he told her arrogantly. "You may be too ill to fulfill your wifely duties this eve, but there is no reason why I should not see what I cannot have." His look was determined. "Yet."

"I am quite comfortable in my gown," she a.s.sured him, folding her hands across her chest as she closed her eyes. "Truly, I find myself too fatigued for such a ch.o.r.e. Please allow me to rest now, milord."

She waited for Kenric's argument. When he remained silent, she peeked under her lashes. Her eyes widened when he began undressing.

"Unlike you, I prefer comfort over modesty when I sleep."

He was only going to sleep beside her. Tess caught herself before she sighed her relief aloud. She'd grown accustomed to his solid warmth the last two days in the saddle and actually found herself looking forward to sharing his heat through the night. After all, there was no sin in enjoying the comfort of her husband's arms.

Kenric ignored her completely as he undressed, and she couldn't resist stealing brave glances. Tess soon stared boldly at her husband's body. The wonder of it nearly took her breath away. The power and strength she'd only guessed at were displayed in all their male glory as the trappings of civilization fell away, revealing the primitive warrior lurking beneath the surface. This was the dangerous man of the tales, she decided, watching the way his muscles flexed and rippled at this simple task. She could only imagine what those muscles would look like when he wielded a weapon, calling forth the incredible power of his body.

There was that feeling again, the strange fluttering that began in her stomach and spread quickly through her limbs. She now recognized it for what it was. Desire. Carnal desire. She wanted to touch him, to know what that strength felt like.

Kenric turned to shed his breeches and Tess snapped her eyes shut. They popped wide open when she felt him slide into bed next to her.

"Go to sleep, Tess. I am too exhausted to argue with you."

Sleep? Not likely, Tess thought. Sleeping next to him in a tent, fully clothed, was one thing. This was quite another, sleeping in bed next to a naked man. Next to her husband! The thought sent a s.h.i.+ver of excitement through her body. Yet there was a more pressing worry to keep her occupied. She knew Kenric well enough already to know he'd agreed too easily with her request to remain in her gown. What was his game? She was too tired for this trial, too ill to think clearly. Her teeth worried at her lip until she decided to close her eyes and pretend to sleep, just to see what he would do. Moments later, she was asleep in truth.

Kenric waited until his bride was resting soundly before he began undressing her. Talking Tess into undressing on her own was a waste of time and he'd been in too many battles to pursue a useless tactic. This was a much quicker way to accomplish the same task. Kenric was so pleased with himself that he felt like whistling. He gave up all pretense of stealth when she slept through the gown being tugged over her head.

"Sleeps like the dead," he muttered.

She moaned in her sleep as he removed the garment, the small cry of pain reminding him that he could look but not touch. And he looked his fill. The fire provided just enough light to view her perfection, turning her skin to liquid gold. His gaze lingered on full, luscious b.r.e.a.s.t.s before traveling lower, across a trim waist and flat belly to a thick triangle of dark blond curls. A long, l.u.s.ty moment pa.s.sed before his eyes were finally able to leave that tempting sight to take in the sleek beauty of the longest, shapeliest legs he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Beautiful."

He breathed the word reverently, his gaze traveling the length of her again. She was small, yes, but there was nothing childlike about her body. Her womanly curves were made for a man's hands. His hands. He ached to touch her, but the even greater ache in his loins told him one touch would be impossible. He'd never lain with such a beautiful woman, never thought he'd be gifted with such perfection given his brutish size and scarred body.

One more night, he promised himself, startled to realize the depths of his own disappointment. He'd set out to teach Tess a lesson, but was learning one of his own: do not start what cannot be finished. He was tired, she was fevered, and now was not the time. He growled in frustration, lying down stiffly beside his virgin bride. He yanked the covers up to hide the temptation and locked his hands behind his head. Fully aroused, he had to concentrate hard to ignore his needs. He decided he must be insane, torturing himself this way.

"You had best be healthy as my horse come morn," he ordered his sleeping bride.

"Ummm," Tess sighed. She rolled onto her stomach, her head nearly buried beneath the covers, unconcerned and unaware of her husband's discomfort.

G.o.d was testing his endurance, Kenric decided, turning to his side to watch her sleep. He got a wife he didn't want, then wanted a wife he couldn't have. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

Tess stirred in her sleep, and the cover slipped lower on her shoulders. Kenric gave up the fight, unable to resist tracing his fingers along the soft curve of one shoulder, then lower to stroke...

His hand stopped. He moved his fingertips slowly over the strange ridges covering his bride's shoulderblade. His brows drew together in confusion. He slipped out of bed and went to the mantel for a candle, wanting more than dim firelight to examine this strange discovery.

Holding the candle with one hand, he pulled the covers off her shoulders with the other, unable to believe what was revealed. Kenric stared at the maze of welts and angry red stripes in stunned silence. Someone had taken a whip to his tiny wife and beat her like an animal.

Tess awoke with her heart in her throat, the roar of some wild beast still ringing in her ears. It took a few frightening moments to get her bearings. The sudden realization that she was in Kenric's bed, naked, didn't ease her fears a bit. Her eyes widened in panic when she heard his question.

"Who did this?" His voice was a low whisper, almost emotionless.

"It doesn't hurt much anymore," she said quickly, knowing exactly what he was talking about. She tried to meet her husband's gaze, but she'd forgotten he was naked. Her gaze dropped quickly to the pillow. " 'Tis ugly now, but tally not as bad as it looks. Why, it hardly bothers me. Even Mag, the baker's wife, said I won't have any scars this time."

"This time?" He spoke slowly, carefully p.r.o.nouncing each word. "Give me the name."

"Gordon MacLeith," she murmured, not even pretending to misunderstand the question. She waited in dread for him to ask why, knowing she'd have to tell the truth. She was simply too shaken to think up a good lie.

Kenric remained silent, his face emotionless as he stared at her back. There were bruises from her neck to her waist, most yellowed enough to tell him many days had pa.s.sed since she'd suffered this savagery. Looking at the results, Kenric knew she was lucky to be alive. But Gordon MacLeith was a dead man. The sickening realization that the son wouldn't do anything the father hadn't sanctioned wrenched at his gut, honing his rage. Never, Kenric vowed, would he underestimate his new enemies. Such animals were too unpredictable. This was not a punishment meted out to a girl with a quick temper. This was hatred in the form of a whip.

At last he left the bed and walked to the chamber door, opening it so quietly that Tess nearly leaped from the bed when he bellowed into the hall.

"Fitz Alan!"

He waited a moment, listening to the answering silence, then swore under his breath. He stepped back into the room long enough to don a pair of breeches, then he was gone.

Tess turned over on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. The knot of shame in her belly quickly turned into something more sickening. Fear. That Kenric was angry there was little doubt. But why didn't he ask more questions? And what could he want with Fitz Alan?

Kenric appeared again in the doorway, followed almost immediately by Fitz Alan and two other men. Their drawn swords said Kenric hadn't explained the summons. They skidded to a halt just inside the room, silently turning their eyes toward the baron, waiting for him to explain the situation. Kenric looked at Tess. His icy gaze made her s.h.i.+ver.

"Get on your stomach."

The words sent a knife of dread down her spine. She knew his intent then. A man could reject a flawed wife. She shook her head vigorously, not trusting herself to speak. Kenric flatly rejected her refusal.

"Now!"

His roar had the desired effect. Tess dove under the covers, but she was on her stomach. He took hold of the bedding and easily pried her fingers away before carefully pulling the covers down to her waist. Drawing her elbows tighter against her sides, she covered her face as tears of humiliation trickled silently through her fingers.

"Tell me again who did this," Kenric demanded. She remained silent until he pulled one of her hands away from her face.

"Gordon MacLeith!" Tess wailed. She buried her face in the pillow, hoping she would be lucky enough to suffocate.

"The king will take an interest in this marriage at some point," he told his men, his voice cold and exact. "You will each bear witness that she came to me this way. Gather your weapons and wait for me in the hall. I feel the need to work off some of this..."

"Aye, milord," Fitz Alan said quietly. "We will await you in the hall."

Kenric nodded and the men departed. He gently pulled the covers over his wife's trembling shoulders, then dressed quickly.

"Do not torment yourself, Tess," he said as he gently stroked her hair. She was still sobbing into the pillow. "This is not your fault."

Tess tried to nod, but how could she agree with such a lie? It was her fault. She had provoked Gordon deliberately. But this was the crudest, meanest punishment of all, to let her believe she'd escaped her tormentors, only to be sent back to them, found lacking because of what they'd done to her in the first place. She cried harder into the pillow, unaware that Kenric had left the room until she finally lifted her head. She sat up slowly, trying to calm down enough to think clearly.

"What to do," she whispered, hugging her knees. Mag had told her a story once, about a bride rejected by her husband because she stuttered. The girl and her betrothed had not met before the wedding and she was instructed to remain silent until after the ceremony. A full day pa.s.sed before her husband discovered the flaw, but she was returned to her family, the marriage annulled.

Tess knew she should be happy. She'd wanted an annulment from the moment she married. That Kenric wanted it as well would only make the formalities that much simpler. But to be returned to the MacLeiths after spiting them with an escape? She would not live through that punishment. Knowing Gordon, he would make sure she suffered long and hard for her folly.

Tess let her forehead drop to her knees. Suddenly she believed every story she'd ever heard of her husband. He truly was the Butcher of Wales, a man unburdened by any feelings or conscience. He had to know as well as she did what her fate would be at the hands of the MacLeiths. He'd sentenced her to death as surely as if he'd taken his sword and done the deed himself.

Her chin trembled and fresh tears formed in her eyes. She angrily swiped them away. Crying wasn't going to change anything. She slid from the bed and found her clothes, wondering why Kenric had bothered undressing her in the first place. Had he guessed she was hiding something? Aye, she decided, Kenric barely knew her, yet he could spot her lies and deceits already.

A plan began to take shape as she dressed. Whatever happened, she would not willingly return to the MacLeiths. She had to reach the king.

Getting out of Montague was the first and biggest problem. Even if she managed to get through the gates of the castle, she had no food or horse. Her gaze was drawn to the chalices on the mantel. Just one would see to her needs for at least a year. She stared at the gems a long time before shaking her head.

There was a small bow and quiver of arrows in one of her bundles. She was good at hunting small game and she would rather rob the king's forests than rob her husband. The king would never miss an occasional rabbit, but Kenric would surely miss one of his beautiful chalices. Nay, she would not have him think any less of her, if such were possible.

Tess finished dressing, then strapped on the cloth bundles and donned her cloak. At the door she paused for one last look at the beautiful chamber, memorizing each detail so she could always savor the thought that she once belonged in such a fine room.

5.

The great hall was strangely silent. Only a handful of soldiers were gathered near one ma.s.sive fireplace. No one noticed when the new baroness made her way down the stairs at their back, the sound of the outer door being opened dismissed as a servant returning from some duty.

Tess drew her hood low against the brisk wind, trying to remember the direction of the main gates. The place looked so much different from when they'd ridden in amidst Kenric's men. The courtyard was deserted now and she hurried across the empty yard, staying close to the shadows. Montague's main gates appeared on the other side of the stables but Tess nearly cried at the sight that greeted her.

The drawbridge was up.

How could she have overlooked this problem? There wasn't a gatekeeper in all of England foolish enough to lower a bridge at this time of night, not for any reason. Even if she managed to talk the guards into lowering this bridge, Montague had a second drawbridge at the outer bailey's gatehouse. She would never succeed.

Tess leaned against the stable wall in defeat. She couldn't wait for dawn when the bridges would be lowered for the villagers. Her escape must be made in darkness when she would have a chance of getting far enough away to hide in the woods, just in case Kenric sent out a search party.

There had to be another way out. Tess closed her eyes and thought back to the days spent at Remmington Castle. Though laid out differently, her childhood home was about the same size as Montague. How would she get out of Remmington if the gates were closed? The answer came in a flash.

The postern! Almost every large fortress had a postern gate cut high into the castle wall. The small gates were built to prevent enemy soldiers or spies from entering the castle in wagonloads of supplies. Goods were unloaded at the bottom of the wall and hauled up a wooden ramp. A ramp that led directly through the outside walls! Surely Montague Castle possessed such a gate, but could she find it by dawn?

Tess inched her way along the wall, careful to avoid being spotted by guards on the battlements above her. Luck was on her side and her search was rewarded less than an hour later. She hid in the shadows and took stock of the gate before venturing forward.

Montague's postern was a simple affair of a large door barricaded with two crossbars; one high overhead near the top, the other at chest height toward the bottom. The gatekeeper stood watch over the ramp from his post on the battlements. A flickering rush torch outlined his axe, kept at the ready to sever the main supports and collapse the ramp should the castle come under attack.

Gathering her courage, Tess called up to the gatekeep, startling him from his watch. Leaning over the wall, he squinted against the dim torchlight as if trying to decide her ident.i.ty.

"What ye be wantin, Mary?"

"To leave," Tess replied, wondering who Mary was.

"To leave," he repeated with a snort. "Not at this time o' night."

"My... my husband has rejected me." It was a poor excuse, yet the only one she could think up.

"Find a bed with the kitchen wenches, then go in the morn," he ordered. "Cook will be sober by then and like as not take you back. You should know better than to listen to anything that man says when he's in his cups."

"My husband insists I leave the fortress tonight," Tess argued, beginning to understand her mistaken ident.i.ty. The gatekeep's confusion might be used to her advantage. "I must abide by his wishes."

"Thinks he's master of Montague," he muttered. "Ye be going to yer family in the village then?"

"Aye." Tess held her breath.

The gatekeeper cursed all troublesome females then poked a foot against a boy sleeping at his feet. "Climb down and see to the lower bar."

"Someone is bringing supplies?" the boy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. " 'Tis dark. Why would-"

"Cook's wife needs to go to her family in the village." The gatekeep ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "See to the lower bar then go on home to yer warm bed, son. I'll not be needin' yer help the rest o' this night."

Tess released her breath as the bars were pushed aside. She couldn't believe she was actually being allowed to leave until the gates swung open. What a good liar she was becoming! She did allow that being mistaken for the cook's wife certainly helped.