Warriors Of Legend (19 page)

The healer laughed again. “You think to bluster your way past Marjorie? You shall not, young steed.”

Micah’s anger boiled dangerously below the surface. Viciously, he reined it in. It would do no good to kill the sorry wench. “Does she breed?”

Marjorie shook her head. “Nay, lord.”

He blinked at her. “But MacLeary abused her.”

“He beat and terrified her, aye.” Marjorie turned away from him and attended a pot over the fire in the hearth. “She has not been touched. The laird’s son, Stephan MacLeary, could not take her until he broke her spirit. During her year of captivity, Stephan was not able to accomplish either of those goals.”

Micah’s gaze returned to the sleeping Kate. “A year?” he whispered. “She has been like this for an entire year?”

Marjorie faced him, her eyes narrowing. “Aye,” she returned softly. “Could you still have a soul left to understand her horror?”

His anger flared white hot again. “What care you, witch? My soul is my concern.” He stepped out and slammed the door shut, stalking back to his room.

John hesitated a moment then followed him. “Micah?”

Micah ignored him and called for a page to fetch Sir Evan. He pushed John into the solar, and kicked the door closed.

“I should order the healer beaten for her insolence,” Micah muttered, pacing in fury.

“What are you going to do?”

He thought for a moment. “I will have Evan take a letter to Henry.”

John flinched. “You are skirting dangerous ground. What will you say?”

Micah rubbed his eyes. “Damnation, I have no idea.” He stared at the parchment and quill on his desk. His mind went completely blank, clouded with anger and frustration. “Now that Kate has been found, my claim to Appleby has vanished like a puddle of water on a hot summer day.”

“I don’t know, Micah. Do you think the healer speaks the truth? I do not mean to sound harsh but I have a hard time believe a girl that beautiful has not been dishonored.”

“Aye,” Micah said slowly. “If Kate Liulf carries a child from the unholy union then a convent would be the best place for her.”

“You would still gain Appleby.”

Surprisingly, that thought gave Micah little comfort. He truly pitied the poor girl and what she must have suffered. What was he going to do?

He stared again at the blank parchment. Micah’s talents lay best in the issuance of military orders and commands to subordinates. He would write a letter to a king…one who held the honor of his name under his boot. One false step, one supposed insult, would destroy everything he had sought.

Micah sat at his desk and jammed the quill into the inkwell. “I will report this as efficiently as a scout would relay his findings to a liege lord, John. No insults, no emotions, just a report.”

John arched an eyebrow and nodded.

***

Kate Liulf bolted upright, screaming, terror possessing her thoughts. She had to escape. She dimly sensed someone beside her and struck. The person grunted and fell away with a flash of long brown hair. Kate leaped from her bed and threw open the door, realizing she wore only a thin chemise.

Kate staggered against the wall, her legs threatening to rebel.
Nay! Run now! They will kill you.
She charged down the corridor, hearing a woman screaming for her to stop.

Fear gave strength to her legs. She saw a door open. Once her father’s solar, the room now housed Laird MacLeary. A huge specter of a man stepped out, Kate dove past him. He moved with an uncompromising agility for such a large man. To her dismay, he snagged her arm, and hauled her back.

She turned to flay his eyes but suddenly stopped as his gaze locked on hers. His eyes were dark blue, not the hateful brown of MacLeary’s. Kate’s lungs ripped a deep breath through her throat. The man’s hair was black, not blond. It tumbled over his corded shoulders in blue–black waves. He had sharp cheekbones and a definitive cleft in his chin. She dimly remembered an armored man standing at the door of her prison. He was not MacLeary. Had this giant warrior taken her from that terrible place?

As he held her tightly to him, his body hard against hers, Kate became aware the warrior wore only Celtic style braes of soft doeskin. His chest was massive, cut in perfectly defined muscle, like some god of an old legend, not a speck of hair to mar his perfection. She felt the strength of his arms around her. Was this warrior a pawn of MacLeary? A hired sword?

“MacLeary will not harm you,” the warrior whispered with a soft Norman accent. His voice resonated through her bones. Kate’s head spun as he slowly lowered her to her feet.

“Who…?” Her voice cracked in an effort to speak, something she had not done in months.

“I am Sir Micah de Montfort,” he replied. A massive hand brushed her hair away from her face.

Kate’s skin prickled with a strange heat, her limbs suddenly felt weak. “Let me go, Sir,” but her voice faded. This was all some cruel MacLeary trick.

The warrior lowered his head and she stiffened. “You have been injured,
chére
,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek. “No one will hurt you again.” His arms pressed her body even closer.

“Let me go, please,” her plea was barely audible.

“Nay, lady, you are safe now.”

“My lord,” a sharp voice jerked Kate from her fog. Marjorie settled a blanket over her shoulders.

Surprise assailed Kate and she blinked at her dear friend. “Marjorie?” She saw a red mark on her cheek and recoiled. “Did I strike you?”

“Worry not, child,” Marjorie said with a smile. “You did not know you were safe.”

Kate looked back to the warrior. She put her hands on his mammoth chest and pushed herself away, trying to ignore the warm skin and the granite muscle under her fingers. The warrior slowly released her, his deliberate hesitation making it obvious he did so only because he wished.

“My…my…apologies.” Kate fought to recover herself, pulling the blanket tight around her.

“As the healer says, worry not,
chére
. I have taken this keep and driven out MacLeary. He will not hurt you again.”

Kate’s heart lurched and her head spun. The memory of her black prison tortured her. She closed her eyes, wished it all a terrible nightmare, and that she would awaken to find her family alive and well. The grief in her heart threatened to drive her into the ground. Kate wanted to hide, to find a place where no one would ever look upon her again. But she couldn’t run. The strength seeped out of her and her legs folded. Dimly, she was aware of the warrior’s strong arms pulling her to him, then darkness claimed her.

***

Micah quickly caught the girl and carried her back to her room.

Marjorie pushed the door open for him. “I am sorry she disturbed you, my lord.”

“‘Tis no matter,” he said then marveled at himself. If it had been anyone else he would have been infuriated.

“I thank you for bringing her back. Please rest her on her side so I can repair her bandages.”

Micah carefully eased Kate on the bed but in spite of his caution she groaned softly. He frowned and pushed the hair from her face. “Is she awakening?”

“Nay,” Marjorie replied wearily and turned to her bandages and salves. “She is in great pain even when unconscious. That’s why she was not thinking clearly when she ran.”

Sadness squeezed Micah’s heart. His fingers traveled over the soft skin of Kate’s bruised face. How did she survive a year of hell? At least the abuse had not quelled her spirit. She had tried to attack him in the dungeon and then tried to escape today. Kate was definitely full of fight.

Guilt nagged at him. Micah’s honor said he should help her, but what could he do? If he sent Kate to a convent he would be taking her home away from her – just as his had been taken away for something that was none of his doing. And, like Micah, Kate no longer had any family to turn to. Hers was dead and Micah’s uncle, although alive, was dead to him as well. How could Micah live with himself if he tossed Kate out of her home – the only thing she had left after a year of torture?

Although his honor lunged within him, he shrugged the thoughts away. Micah could not worry about Kate or himself. He had to do what was best for the barony of Westmorland. If it meant sending Kate to a convent, he would. If it meant giving up his claim, he would do that as well. Once again, only Henry could decide Micah’s fate.

Micah pulled the blankets over Kate but his heart still badgered him.
How could anyone try to destroy such a beautiful creature?

“I do not know, my lord,” Marjorie said.

He flinched, startled, then glared at the healer. “Do you know my thoughts, witch?”

She had the audacity to wink at him. “Anyone could read the expression on your face, my lord, it takes not the gift of the Sight to know that.”

Fury boiled again in his veins. Micah’s hands clenched into fists.
Damn this wench!
She read him like a battle plan. He could not allow anyone to understand him that well. He did not dare give people insight to himself lest they count it a weakness and find a way to use it against him. Micah carefully schooled his features into cruel neutrality, which only caused Marjorie to grin openly.

“Watch your step, witch. You remain alive only by my good humor, which I am not known to have for very long.” Abruptly, he stood and stalked from the room.

Chapter Two

“Marjorie,” Kate sighed as she brushed her hair. “I’ve been cooped in here a fortnight.”

“I know,” Marjorie replied. “But if you tax yourself too greatly you will be in here longer.”

Kate ducked her head. She had been locked in one room for so long she should have endless patience to handle being locked in another for a few more days.

“Ach, child, don’t do that to old Marjorie.”

Kate frowned. “Do what?”

“Look like I’ve nearly crushed your spirit.” Marjorie sighed and tugged the chemise away from Kate’s back. “Your wounds are healing well. I guess it wouldn’t hurt for you to join Sir Montfort at dinner tonight.”

Kate barely contained her squeal of delight. She did not care if she ate with the devil as long as she got out of this infernal room. “Oh could I?”

Marjorie chuckled. “Aye but I warn you, that young steed is as unruly as any war horse. Watch yourself with him.”

“What are you talking about?” Since he had stopped her flight in the hall, Kate had not seen even a glimpse of Sir Montfort.

Marjorie sighed. “I sense the man has worked hard to bury the past but it refuses to stay behind him. Now, let me see what you shall wear. I think some of your old gowns are still in here.”

Kate turned back to the mirror and continued to brush her hair. Two years before MacLeary attacked Appleby, Kate’s father had told her of a challenge to King Henry. She scowled. “Marjorie, do you remember the revolt in Normandy?”

The old healer paused frowning. “I remember your father saying two knights rose against King Henry, objecting to his wresting of the Norman throne from his brother.”

Kate nodded. “I could be wrong, but I’m almost certain my father said the two knights were Waleran of Meulan and Amaury of Montfort.”

Marjorie’s eyebrows flew up her forehead. “Now I know why the lord’s name sounded familiar.”

“But Henry’s knights defeated the rebellion and the Montfort house is censured in the royal court.”

“Weren’t Waleran and Amaury jailed and their lands confiscated?”

Kate nodded again. “I think so. Yet Micah de Montfort wears the gold spurs of a knight. Do you think he had a role in the battle of Bourgthéroude?”

“I have no idea, child. Surely, the king would not send him if there was something amiss.”

The blurred vision of a giant armored man standing at the door of her prison intruded on Kate’s vision. One fact she could not deny, Sir Montfort had ousted MacLeary from her home and freed her from the terrible dungeon. For that, Kate would be eternally grateful.

“Aye,” she said softly.

“Here we are,” Marjorie declared, holding up a dark green velvet gown with gold embroidery.

Kate’s eyes widened. “Marjorie, this isn’t a royal affair.”

Marjorie winked at her. “Trust me, child, this is exactly what’s called for.”

***

Micah changed into a clean tunic and brushed his long black hair to fall loose around his shoulders. He made his way down to the great hall and John joined him on the stairs.

“It was a long day,” John said.

Micah nodded. “I’m cold, tired, and hungry,” he muttered. Micah had spent the day supervising the rebuilding of the keep’s defenses that had been damaged when he wrested it out of MacLeary hands.

“As am I. Those repairs will take forever.”

“Aye. But with winter fast approaching we need them done before the first snow. Damaged defenses open an invitation for counter attack even in winter.”

John nodded. “Since MacLeary has not been captured, we should be prepared. I just wish it wasn’t so blasted cold.”

Micah chuckled softly. “I think I will never be warm again. All I want to do is eat and crawl in bed.”

John returned his smile as they entered the great hall and he moved to speak with a group of knights. Micah’s gaze swept the room. The repairs had been completed within the hall and one could barely see the blood stains on the stone. Fresh reeds littered the floor and a warm fire burned in the large hearth. A table and benches graced the center hall, and Micah’s banners hung on the walls. It was not home yet but it would be soon.

His knights gathered, talking and boasting, well in their cups. Micah moved to his place at the high table and a servant poured him a warm glass of mulled wine. He took a long drink, savoring the feeling as the wine unclenched the chill grip in his belly.

Silence descended in the hall like an axe falling on a piece of wood. Micah jerked his head up, frowning. His knights stared at something he could not see, a few shot him nervous glances. He slowly stood, wondering what the problem might be. Movement caught his eye.

Kate was simply stunning.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her beauty of the highest perfection. Noble and radiant, royal in bearing. Fashioned high on her head, her rich amber hair fell in delicate tendrils down her back, with curls softly brushing her face. Her pale skin fired by a blush on her cheeks ignited Micah’s blood. Nervousness and a hint of fear glittered in her wide gray eyes. His gaze swept across her body, garbed in a rich green dress. The cut framed the curve of her breasts perfectly, tapering to a waist so narrow he could span it with his hands, and flaring around shapely hips. Her delicate hands trembled and she clenched them together.