want you to share Hester’s fate.”
And she herself should remember the fearsome consequences of seduction.
“Of course I’d come to you, my lady, if he was bein’…like that. No honey-tongued squire who looks like the devil’s own temptation is going to get far with me. Why, he’d just be after a quick tickle and tumble and—” She colored. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady.”
“However you say it, you’re right, and I’m relieved you’re on your guard.” As she should be, Becca reflected. “Now we’d best get below. If I’m late for chapel, my father won’t be pleased.”
Meg rose. “I’m grateful to you, my lady, for carin’ enough to warn me.”
Becca nodded as she headed for the door.
“My lady?”
She turned back. “Yes?”
Meg looked even more nervous than she had when Laelia was in high dudgeon. “I’ve been wondering…that is, you’ve got some pretty dresses. Why don’t you ever wear ’em?”
Becca glanced down at her plain garments and simple leather girdle, which held her ring of keys to all the locks in the castle save her father’s chest in his solar. “My woolen gowns are comfortable and I don’t have to worry about getting them dirty. When I’m wearing an expensive dress, I always feel that if I move too much, I’ll ruin it.”
“I’d wager that if you wore such clothes more often, you wouldn’t,” Meg replied. “You’d soon be used to them and stop thinking about it so much.”
“I don’t think they suit me, either.” Becca shrugged. “Besides, what does it matter how I look? I realized long ago I’d never be a beauty.”
“But you’re not homely, neither,” Meg said eagerly. “You don’t want to be a maiden all your life, do you? In a pretty dress and with your hair done like your sister’s, I think you’d look very nice indeed.”
Becca bristled. “I’m not about to hamstring myself trying to please some man. If someone wants me, he’ll have to take me as I am, and if that’s not good enough, I won’t have him.”
Meg blushed. “Yes, my lady. Sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean no disrespect.”
Becca let out her breath. “No, I’m sorry, Meg, for losing my temper. I know you meant well.” She managed a grin. “Everybody who wants to see me married means well, I suppose.”
“I do see what you’re getting at,” the maid replied. “About a man wanting you as you are. Maybe that’ll happen sooner than you think.”
“And one day, men will walk on the moon,” Becca replied skeptically. “Now we had best be on our way. I’ve been chastised enough already today.”
Although secretly fearing an indignant command to leave at once, Blaidd strode toward the chapel as if all were well in the world. He didn’t want anybody watching—the servants, the soldiers, even Trev—to realize just how important it was that he stay. Last night he should have remembered his purpose and the ruse to support it, even if he chafed at the dishonesty.
In spite of his impetuous, foolhardy behavior, he couldn’t help harboring the hope that Lady Rebecca would admit, if only to herself, that he hadn’t forced his kiss upon her. Then he could also hope that her own guilty conscience would ensure that she keep what had happened between them a secret.
He shoved open the chapel door and saw both the lord of Throckton Castle and his beautiful daughter turn and smile at him. They also shifted aside, making room beside them. Obviously, he was not in disfavor.
He couldn’t be completely relieved, however. Perhaps Lady Rebecca hadn’t yet had the opportunity to tell her father what had happened.
He swiftly surveyed the rest of the people assembled for Mass and caught sight of that lady, half hidden by the gray-haired, but still robust, soldier Blaidd had seen at the head of the guards at the gate. This man had watched with interest, and with something else in his eyes, when the lady spoke. With…affection.
Judging by his position, he was probably the garrison commander, and it wasn’t inconceivable, based on his age, that he’d known Lady Rebecca all her life. Perhaps he had that devotion some servants developed for the children of their masters.
Then Lady Rebecca realized Blaidd was looking at them. Her expression grew as scornful as if he carried a particularly loathsome, communicable disease.
Once more fearing his stay at Throckton Castle was almost over, Blaidd made his way to the front of the chapel.
“Good morning, Sir Blaidd!” Lord Throckton cried with jovial geniality as Blaidd joined the nobleman and his beautiful daughter. “I’m delighted to discover that you aren’t like so many young men nowadays who have so little respect for our faith, unless a Crusade be attached to it.”
His friendly manner made Blaidd regret his actions last night even more. “There are plenty of young men more devout than I,” he replied.
Somebody behind him sniffed with audible disdain, and he wasn’t hard-pressed to guess who it was.
The priest arrived to begin the Mass, sparing Blaidd any further conversation. He paid little heed to the words of the service, however. He kept envisioning Lady Rebecca going to her father afterward and telling him that Blaidd was an immoral, disgusting lout who should be sent packing without further delay.
By the time Mass concluded, this image was so vivid he wouldn’t have been surprised if she walked up to the altar, faced the entire assembly and denounced him for a blackguard right then and there.
Steeling himself for that eventually, he turned around to look for her—and realized she’d already gone.
That was a relief in some ways, yet in another, he feared it was only delaying the inevitable. If he had to leave in disgrace, he’d rather get it over with at once.
Perhaps this was her idea of retribution, to drag out the wait and torment him with uncertainty. If so, she was going to learn the folly of that plan, for Sir Blaidd Morgan allowed himself to be played by no man, and no woman, either, he thought as he followed Lord Throckton and Lady Laelia from the chapel. He spotted Lady Rebecca talking with some soldiers outside the barracks, and decided to find out if he was in trouble or not. He told Lord Throckton and Laelia that he wanted to ask Lady Rebecca something about his baggage, then excused himself and headed toward her.
She looked only mildly surprised to see him. “If you’ll pardon me, Dobbin,” she said to the older soldier, “I believe our guest wishes to speak to me.”
The man nodded and, after giving Blaidd the once-over, meandered away, his men with him, leaving them alone near the barracks door.
“I do wish to talk to you, my lady,” Blaidd agreed as he came to a halt. He struggled not to sound impatient, although his nerves were taut as a ship’s rigging in a gale. “Is there somewhere more private we can speak?”
She raised one brow in query. “Do you think I’ll risk being alone with you again?” she asked quietly. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can do so here.”
He
