Warriors Of Legend (20 page)

Micah jerked his gaze back to her face when he realized he’d stared just like his men. Kate bit her lower lip and a dull ache settled in his loins. He dragged a breath into his starved lungs. Abruptly, he shook himself free of her spell, and with measured steps, walked toward her.

“Lady Kate, I had no idea you would be gracing us with your presence this eve.” Micah offered his arm to escort her and saw Marjorie standing back a pace, her expression hard. Micah did not miss the meaning of her glare. If he caused Kate any distress Marjorie would surely cast some vile spell upon him. In spite of himself, his lips tugged upward. Micah did not believe in such superstitious nonsense, yet if a curse could be laid, Marjorie would be the person to do it.

Kate lightly rested her hand upon his arm. Her touch blazed through the fabric of his sleeve. Micah’s blood quickened and he fought not to pull her closer. Instantly, a desire to protect her at all costs overwhelmed him. An instinct that, until now, had been completely foreign to him.

But Micah couldn’t accept that responsibility. He had to do what was best for the barony. Nevertheless, he renewed his vow that MacLeary would not touch Kate again. Not while he still had breath in his body.

“My apologies,” Kate whispered. “I did not mean to cause a disruption.”

“Not at all,” Micah replied, and tried to loosen his jaw a bit. He had no desire to terrify the poor girl. Micah shot a glare at his men that would have melted stone. They hastily bowed and turned away. He guided Kate toward the table.

***

Kate had watched Montfort approach her feeling like a deer being stalked by a wolf. But she summoned her courage and accepted his arm, amazed at the power in the hard muscle beneath her hand and grateful for the support since her knees seriously considered mutiny.

Montfort guided her to the chair on his right and Kate graciously acknowledged the honor. “Would you like some wine, lady?”

Her heart lurched as Montfort bent near, his hair falling softly around his chiseled features. She suddenly had no doubt that his body was carved of granite not of flesh. His tunic could barely stretch across his great chest and shoulders, his belt slung low over slim hips.

“Please,” she squeaked then cleared her throat.

“Lady,” Marjorie said quickly. “You may have but one.” She glanced warningly at Montfort. “Kate must eat only the stew I have prepared for her. She is healing well and I do not desire a setback.”

Montfort’s eyes narrowed. “Of course,” he said tightly and Kate stiffened her spine. Montfort obviously did not enjoy counsel he did not seek. He motioned to a servant who quickly filled her cup. Kate clenched the goblet tightly praying her hands did not shake any harder.

Montfort returned to his seat, his indigo eyes snaring hers. She nearly choked on her wine and set it down quickly. But he looked away, a tiny smile on his lips. Was he laughing at her?

“I am glad to see that you are feeling better.”

“Your graciousness is most appreciated,” she replied and concentrated on the wood grain of the table.

Montfort chuckled softly, deep in his chest. Kate glanced at him. Never before had she met a man whose very presence seemed to fill the room. His strength and size bordered on intimidating but Kate discovered herself intrigued instead of fearful. Montfort had freed her and Appleby from MacLeary. Since she knew well the laird’s military strength, that miracle was a testament to Montfort’s prowess and leadership skills.

A sharp bark of laughter from a group of Montfort’s knights made her jump. Kate stared at the knot of soldiers who were drinking and jesting. A sudden pressure drove the air from her lungs and her heart pounded futilely in her chest. A tremor rocked through her and she struggled to suck in a breath.

A vague memory blurred the edges of Kate’s vision, a memory of soldiers laughing and drinking, a memory that gripped her spirit with indefinable terror.

Kate fought to control her shaking limbs. What was wrong with her? But the invisible pressure bearing down on her only increased in weight. It was as if the roof of the great hall would collapse on top of her, the walls seemed to close in, threatening to crush the life out of her.

Montfort’s hand gently covered hers and Kate flinched. “My lady?” he asked softly, his expression concerned.

Kate swallowed and tried to speak, but her voice wouldn’t work. As she took another drink of wine, her hand trembled so badly she almost spilled it.

Montfort wrapped his fingers a little tighter around hers and Kate discovered herself taking comfort in his strength. She dragged in another breath. “I…I shouldn’t have come down here. Forgive me, my lord.” She stood.

Montfort rose with her, still watching her closely. Kate struggled not to fidget under his gaze. She only wanted to determine what was wrong with her. Why was she suddenly so terrified of the great hall?

Montfort stepped closer and offered her his arm. “Perhaps this is too much for you but you still need to eat. My lady, I humbly request the honor of your presence at dinner in the solar.”

Kate’s heart staggered and she almost sank back into her chair. She stared at Montfort in confusion. But his presence was like a solid rock in the raging sea of her unnamable fear. Without conscious thought she accepted his arm. His strength seeped into her bones and stilled her quaking limbs. She forced her thoughts away from the mind numbing fear and to Montfort’s offer. Dinner in the solar would allow them to speak about the status of the barony. As the heir, it was Kate’s responsibility and Montfort, as Appleby’s liberator, was owed that much respect at least.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said.

Montfort’s lips quirked in a lopsided smile that Kate found absolutely endearing. He spoke to the servants and escorted her upstairs. As Kate left the great hall, the terrible weight on her chest eased considerably and so did her nerves.

At the door to the solar Kate paused, surprised that Montfort’s furniture filled it. But she quickly regained her equilibrium. Of course he would have furnishings brought in, MacLeary had destroyed almost all of the Liulf’s items. She could not expect Montfort to sleep on the floor.

The servants quickly set a table before the hearth and then hovered outside the open door in case they were needed. Montfort escorted Kate to a chair, refilled her wine cup, then once again sat.

“A much more pleasant place to discuss business,” he said.

“Aye,” she replied and smiled at him.

Silence reigned as they adjusted to the quiet of the solar and Kate took the opportunity to gather herself. “I never had a chance to properly thank you for freeing me and my people from MacLeary.”

Montfort looked at her a long moment, his expression guarded. “It was the least I could do, lady,” he said softly.

Kate took another drink of wine, trying to sound casual with her next question. “So, how long do you and your men plan on staying? Not that you aren’t welcome, mind you.”

He blinked at her but quickly covered his surprise by lifting his cup to his lips. “I have already started my men on repairing the battlements. The walls and the gates were damaged heavily as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Kate nodded. “It will be nice if you can stay to oversee the repairs.”

Again she saw his startled expression. “Lady,” Montfort murmured, examining the craftsmanship of his cup. “I’ve also noticed that you no longer have a household garrison. How do you plan on defending this place if I leave with my men?”

Kate’s face burned with embarrassment. She should have thought of that. Even though she was a lady, she was expected to be the chatelaine. Her father had drilled her well in various military strategies. For when she was married, perhaps to a knight like Montfort, it might fall to her to command the defense of her home should her husband be away in military service owed to the king.

Kate scrambled after her shattered pride. A servant rapped on the open door then entered with some bread and cheese. Montfort broke the loaf and sat a chunk on her plate. He next offered her some cheese which she accepted.

“I had hoped,” Kate said quietly. “King Henry would hear of my plight and take action. But after a year, I almost gave up.”

Montfort sat back and folded his arms across his chest. His expression remained impassive but a muscle in his jaw twitched. “My lady, I must be honest with you. It appears we have something of a quandary.”

“How so?”

“King Henry has granted me Appleby Castle and the barony of Westmorland.”

Anger, shocking in its intensity, flooded through her and tunneled her vision. Kate rubbed her eyes. How could the king do this? How could Montfort do this? Didn’t they understand that Appleby Castle was all she had left of her family? Henry’s own law of inheritance granted it to her.

She wanted to order Montfort out forthwith. Kate would not allow this knight to steal her heritage. But she seized control of her rampant anger. Montfort correctly pointed out that the castle had no standing garrison. If he didn’t laugh in her face but obeyed her wishes, Montfort would leave Appleby Castle undefended and damaged. Nothing would stand in MacLeary’s way of returning. Kate swallowed her frustration but it threatened to burn a hole in her stomach.

“Lady, please understand this is not malicious,” Montfort said with surprising gentleness. “Henry did hear of your plight but it seems he heard incorrectly. He thought all of the Liulfs dead. Neither one of us knew you’d been spared.”

Kate blinked at him, startled. An emptiness settled in her soul. She had a sudden feeling that Montfort vehemently wished MacLeary had killed her along with her family.

Montfort grimaced as if he knew her thoughts. “My goal was simply to retake the castle. Imagine my surprise when I found you alive.” He paused and sighed. “I have already written the king about the situation. Hopefully we shall receive an answer soon.”

Kate almost crumbled. With savage resolve she forced herself to eat. She had to believe once Henry found out she lived, he would uphold her right to inherit. Appleby was all she had left.

***

The next morning dawned cold and gray. The sound of men training in the courtyard drew Kate to the window. She opened the shutters and watched. Montfort drilled the men almost mercilessly.

“You’re off balance!” Montfort bellowed, and to prove his point, shoved the hapless soldier, sending him sprawling. Kate stared, feeling sorry for the poor man. But Montfort was not finished.

“That will get you killed faster than anything,” he said and pulled the soldier up. “Always mind where you put your feet.” Montfort paused and demonstrated a balanced stance. “Now, try to push me over.”

Kate watched in complete amazement as the soldier shoved Montfort hard. His body recoiled slightly but he did not stagger. He grinned wolfishly. “See what I mean?”

“Aye, sir,” the soldier said and tried to copy his stance.

Montfort gave him a tentative push, the soldier swayed but his balance proved much better than before. “Very good,” he said and nodded. “Now, I want you to practice centering yourself every waking moment. When you walk or stand, concentrate on keeping balanced. Pretty soon it will become natural and you won’t have to think about it.”

Her brow creased in a tiny frown. So that was it. Montfort’s bearing, even his walk, bespoke sheer grace. She nodded to herself. It made a lot of sense now.

She continued to watch the practice session, surprised at Montfort’s harshness one moment, his laughter the next. One thing was certain, his men respected and admired him. Montfort knew how far he could push them, then softened it with a wry sense of humor. She could have watched them all morning but the weather decided to be belligerent and the clouds started their downpour. The men hurried into the keep.

Kate dressed in a comfortable, plain woolen gown. Marjorie had not given her leave to do much but she grew tired of being cooped up in her room. She paused at the door, remembering the terrible feeling she had experienced last night in the great hall. Her skin crawled. Did she dare go downstairs and possibly invite trouble again?

She stared at her room. While it wasn’t her prison, she could not tolerate being confined to one room for so long. Had she traded one jail for another? Kate took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She would sit before the hearth in the great hall and work on some embroidery. That always eased her nerves.

Descending the stairs, she stopped when she saw Montfort’s soldiers already occupying tactile positions around the hearth. They shed their wet cloaks and armor, the servants scrambling to pick up after them. Ale flowed and they were boisterous after their mock fighting.

Kate blinked. The smell of ale and sweat assailed her. An invisible weight settled on her shoulders again, driving the air from her lungs and threatening to crush her into the floor. The memory hazed around her vision but this time it broke free. The voices that roared in laughter over a practice well done became the roar of Scottish victory…

…Scotsmen shouted MacLeary’s name in praise and lifted cups, saluting his military might. Stephan, Laird MacLeary’s son, dragged Kate, her dress torn to ribbons, before the assembled horde. Her hands bound, he displayed her as the spoils of war.

Kate tried to gather the remnants of her tattered pride and stood silently. But then her gaze fell on MacLeary’s new decorations in the hall.

Her father, brother, and mother hung by their necks from the rafters. Their faces swollen, tongues blackened, and their eyes glazed in death. Anguish slashed her heart. Kate couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to see the horror but she couldn’t look away. Darkness tunneled her vision and she almost fainted. But instead of fainting, her terror brought a strange removal.

She did not really feel those who groped her body trying to get a response from her. Unfocused, she watched everything from a distance. Kate screamed, although no sound passed her lips. The drunken roar of laughter and hurled taunts did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered but the desolation in her soul.

Someone struck her. Kate’s body folded and hit the stone hard. Pain cut through her fog. She looked up at the dais while Laird MacLeary laughed, her gaze was unwillingly drawn to him.