Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (9 page)

Michael nodded. “Sleeping like
the dead,” he said. “Everything else is secure.”

“Did you check Lady Chloë’s
chamber?”

“We did,” he said, eyeing Chloë
with her face buried in Keir’s neck. “Nothing to report. Is Lady Chloë well?”

Keir lifted his eyebrows. “Bad
dream,” was all he would say. “I am retiring for the night. Send hot water up
to my chamber.”

Michael and Lucan watched him go,
exchanging puzzled expressions before going along their business.  It seemed as
if Keir was retiring for the evening with the lady in his arms, but it wasn’t
up to them to make that judgment.

Up the stairs, Keir reached the
level that held the children’s chamber as well as his own.  He glanced into the
children’s chamber, seeing that it was dark and vacant. Certainly nothing to
become hysterical over.  He took Chloë into the master’s chamber and quietly
shut the door.

She had stopped sobbing by this
time, her head on his shoulder as she sniffled faintly.  Keir went to set her
down on the bed but she balked, holding tightly to his neck until he gently
coaxed her into letting go.  He set her on the big bed as he proceeded to
remove what armor he had on his body.

“When I was a wee lad growing up
in Northumberland, I used to have an imaginary big brother,” he was making idle
chatter as he pulled off his helm and mail hood. “When I was sent away to
foster, the older boys would pick on me. I told them that my big brother would
get them if they did not leave me alone.”

Chloë sat on the bed and
sniffled, looking pale and exhausted as she watched him pull off his mail coat.
“I did not imagine the girl. She was really there.”

He shrugged, not wanting to fight
with her when he was attempting to show understanding. “I am not saying you
did,” he said. “But sometimes, dreams or imaginary friends can seem very real. 
Mine was very real to me at the time.”

Chloë could see where he was
leading with this and she didn’t want to argue with him, either.  She had her
opinion and he had his, so she picked up on the next subject. “Were you an only
child?”

He shook his head. “Nay,” he told
her, placing the mail on a rack near the door so the chain could dry out. “I
have an older brother, Kurtis. In fact, Kurtis should be arriving at Pendragon
in the next few days. He is on an errand for his liege and sent word of his
impending visit. I would be pleased to introduce you to him.  We also had a
sister but she died when she was young.”

Chloë watched him fumble with his
tunic now that the mail was off. “I had a brother but he died when he was young
as well,” she replied. “It has only been Cassandra and I.  Father hopes to make
an advantageous marriage with both of us but he wants to marry Cassandra off
first.”

“Why?”

“Because she is the eldest,” she
said. “It would be humiliating for me to be married before her.”

“Does she have any prospects?”

Chloë shrugged. “None that she
approves of,” she said. “Father told her that she could approve of her husband
but, so far, she had not approved of anyone because she is smarter than most
men. She does not want a husband who cannot match her wit. Moreover, Father
wants her to marry someone of rank because of our royal bloodlines, but she
wants to marry someone she can tolerate, rank or no.  They do not agree but my
father will do a she wishes in the end.”

Keir’s eyebrows lifted. “Royal
bloodlines?”

Chloë  nodded.  “My mother is a
daughter of Henry the Third.”

Keir was shocked. “Your
grandfather was King Henry?”

Again, she nodded as if
completely unimpressed. “She is a daughter of the king from his liaison with a
woman of minor nobility.”

“And your father? Surely he must
have bloodlines in him as well.”

“He does,” she told him. “His
father was Viscount Narbonne, a title that passed to his older brother. Along
with lands in France, my father owns all of the land from Exelby east to the
Pennines, north to Langthorne and south to Ripon. Why do you think Ingilby
wants so badly to make a match? He will be an extremely influential and wealthy
landowner.”

Keir was still lingering on her
surprising royal relations that she seemed so casual about. “But Cassandra is
older and presumably the heiress,” he pointed out. “Why did he not seek her
hand?”

Chloë turned up her nose.
“Because Cassie does not like him just as I do not,” she sniffed. “Father told
her she could choose her own groom to make her happy and she will.”

Keir wriggled his eyebrows in
disapproval. “He should have never given her permission to approve her
husband.  I can already see she is a woman accustomed to speaking her mind. Not
many men will tolerate that trait.”

Chloë shrugged, only noticing at
that moment that her feet and the entire bottom of her shift were caked with
mud.  She groaned softly.

“Oh, bother,” she gingerly
touched the hem of her shift. “Look how dirty I am.”

Keir was in the process of
untying his tunic as he glanced over at her. “That is why I sent for hot
water,” he told her. “It should be here momentarily.”

Miserable, exhausted, she sat
there wrapped up in her cloak, shivering, as Keir proceeded to pull off his
tunic and toss it into a corner.  Chloë was looking at her hands, glancing up
at the man to suddenly notice that he was naked from the waist up. After she
got past the shock of seeing his magnificent nude chest, she was very
embarrassed. Startled, she bolted to her feet and scurried to the door.

Keir heard her feet hit the
ground, turning just as she reached the chamber door.  He called to her.

“Where are you going?”

Chloë paused, her hand on the
latch, turning to look at him with a guarded expression.  “You… you are
dressing, my lord,” she explained haltingly. “I should not be here.”

He looked down at himself, not
quite seeing her problem. “I am not troubled by it.  You may stay.”

Chloë dared to look at the man’s
naked chest; he was broad and muscular, with the muscles of his stomach clearly
defined.  She could see all of them, rippling across his tight belly.  His arms
were massive, his neck thick.  In all, he was a striking example of male
perfection, something that made her cheeks flush hot and her hands sweat. She
began to think that it was extremely improper for her to be here, alone with
him.  Confused, embarrassed and titillated, she lowered her gaze and opened the
door.

“I cannot,” she said as she quit
the chamber.

The only other option was the
room with the nightmare child.  She hadn’t taken two steps out of Keir’s
chamber when she came to a halt, her big brown eyes wide on the dark and
shadowed room beyond.  As she stood there and gazed into the room as if it was
going to jump out and bite her, she could feel a body behind her.  Without even
looking, she knew it was Keir. She was coming to feel like a fool.

“You must think I am a desperate
and skittish creature,” she whispered. “Since we have met, I have displayed
terrible and extreme behavior. I assure you that I am not usually the skittish
or extreme sort and for that, I do apologize.”

Keir was standing up against her,
feeling her petite warmth against his chest and belly.  His gaze was focused in
the chamber beyond.  He sighed, lifting her red hair with his breath.

“I have known times of desperate
and skittish behavior myself,” he said softly. “Sometimes circumstances are
beyond our control and our mind, our thoughts, act accordingly.”

She turned to look at him, his
magnificent naked chest right in front of her face.  It was difficult to think
on anything else, this virile and handsome man she had been attracted to since
nearly the moment they met. 

“You are kind and understanding,”
she murmured. “But I think I will make another attempt to sleep in this
chamber.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are
you sure?” he swept an arm in the direction of the master’s chamber. “You may
use mine if it will comfort you.”

She cocked her head. “Where will
you sleep?”

“On the floor.”

She shook her head. “Nay,” she
said firmly. “That would not be proper, nor would it be right. I would be a
horrible guest to allow you to sleep on the floor of your own chamber.”

Keir hated to admit it, but he
felt some disappointment at her statement. She was correct, of course, but he
was somehow looking forward to sleeping in the same room with such a glorious
creature. It was scandalous and caddish, and he knew it. As a chivalrous man,
he backed off.

“As you wish, my lady,” he told
her. “But do you not wish to wash the mud off your feet first?”

She looked down at her legs and
shift, nodding miserably. “This is the only shift I have,” she lamented. “I
will have to sleep in it wet.”

He gazed at her a moment, his
mind working.  Then he shook his head. “Nay, you will not,” he took her hand.
“Come with me.”

He pulled her back in to the bed
chamber, noticing her reluctance to follow him.  He bade her to sit on the bed,
which she did nervously, as he continued on to the massive oak wardrobe that
was stuffed over against the shadowed corner.  He paused in front of the big
doors, lifted a hand to pull them open, then dropped his hand.  His reluctance
was evident. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand again and pulled the
stubborn door open.

Chloë could see him carefully
pulling things out, setting them aside, and then delving deeper into the
wardrobe.  Curious, she watched him rummage around until he drew forth a long,
pale, silky garment and ran his hands over it, smelling it, holding hit close
to his chest as he reached in and pulled out another heavier garment. He seemed
to touch everything with the greatest of reverence and it began to occur to her
who the wardrobe belonged to. Everything inside was lovely and feminine.

As she watched him move deeper
into the wardrobe, a soldier appeared at the door with a bucket of steaming
water.  Keir caught sight of the man and beckoned him inside, telling him to
set the bucket next to the lady.  The soldier did so and fled. Chloë
immediately put both feet into the hot water, groaning softly with the comfort
of it.  She put her hands into the water and began to slough off the mud.

“Here,” Keir brought over
something in his hand, something small wrapped up in pretty cloth.  “You may be
able to use this.”

Chloë took it from him, carefully
unwrapping the item to reveal a creamy white cake of soap.  She smelled it, the
scent of roses filling her nostrils.  Suspecting who the soap had belonged to,
given the fact that Keir was so worshipful of the items in the wardrobe, she
carefully formulated her words to the man. Given what she knew of his history,
she didn’t want to upset or offend him.

“Sir Keir,” she said softly,
carefully re-wrapping the soap. “Truly, you have been most generous. I do not
need the soap.”

“Use it. It will otherwise go to
waste.”

She looked at him. “Although I
appreciate your generosity, I do not think I should. You should put this back
in the wardrobe.”

He gazed at her for a moment,
moderately confused. “Why would you say that?”

She took a deep breath, trying to
be very careful in her approach. “Because… because obviously, the items in the
wardrobe mean a good deal to you and I do not want to put my mark on them.  I
will purchase my own goods on the morrow and leave these well enough alone.
They belonged to someone very special and we should leave them as they are.”

Keir wasn’t sure how to react. 
She was holding the soap up to him and he took it, looking at it with some
confusion, before shrugging his big shoulders.

“I do not think she would mind,”
he murmured. “In fact, she would have given them to you herself had she been
here to do it.  She was a very generous woman.”

The subject of the mysterious and
murdered wife came to light.  Having heard of Keir’s reaction to his wife’s
death from her father, Chloë was extremely careful in her response.

“Of course she was,” she said
softly, with a smile. “And she has very good taste in soap.  It is very fine
quality.”

He was still staring at the soap.
Then he looked over his shoulder at the wardrobe, now open with garments
hanging from the doors.

“She liked nice things,” he
admitted. “Her tastes were rather expensive. There is an entire wardrobe of
expensive clothing and oils to attest to that.”

Chloë’s smile grew. “You were a
very generous husband to allow her such luxuries,” she said. “I am sure your
wife was very appreciative. What was her name?”

“Madeleine,” he replied without
hesitation. “The Lady Madeleine de Gare St. Hèver.”

“How did you meet her?”

He sat down beside her, still
staring at the soap in his hand.  “My father and her father served together
under the king,” he said.  “We were pledged at a young age and married quite
young.”

“And you had children?”

“Two,” he was speaking quite
casually about it, almost detached. “It took Madeleine years to become pregnant
and her first two pregnancies were not successful.  Then we had a healthy
daughter, Frances, and two years later, a healthy son, Merritt.  Frances would
have turned seven years old next week.”