Castle of the Wolf. Margaret Moore
to a friend, or a relative’s or a convent—any place of sanctuary where your uncle cannot compel you to marry against your will.”
She had to get away from him before her resolve crumbled into dust, yet she couldn’t go without some sign that she was grateful. That she appreciated and cherished his offer. That she respected and admired him for more than his looks and prowess in battle, although those were considerable.
That she wished they had met in different circumstances. That she was free, or even a maidservant, so that she could go to his bed and no one would bat an eye.
So she kissed him. Passionately. Letting loose, for just this once, all the need and longing and desire he aroused within her.
Just this once, so she would have something to remember in the long, lonely nights to come.
Just this once, since she would surely find nothing but selfish, demanding lust in Sir Blane’s bed.
Just this once, to show Rheged how she truly felt while he held her close and his lips moved over hers with slow, sure deliberation and desire.
Nevertheless this kiss must end, lest she forget who and what she was, and what she had to do to keep her cousin safe. She simply could not succumb to the need and yearning coursing through her, no matter how much she wished he would lay her on the fleece and have his pleasure of her, for loving him would surely give her pleasure, too.
She forced herself to release him. “We will forget we ever met here, Sir Rheged, and we will not speak of my marriage again. Now I give you good night, sir, and may you have a safe journey home.”
“My lady—”
“Enough, Sir Rheged!” she cried, her words a plea as much as an order. “I will marry Sir Blane and you will go back to Cwm Bron.” Her voice softened. “It must be so, my lord, so please respect my wishes.”
“Very well, my lady, and may you have more joy in your marriage than I foresee,” he replied as she opened the door and left him.
* * *
Rheged slumped back against one of the large bundles of wool. Perhaps the lady truly did want to marry a man of wealth and position, regardless of who he was, or the toll it might take upon her. If so, that was her decision, and he must abide by it.
He went to open the door, then hesitated. He was sure no one had been watching when he called out her name and that they’d been shielded from prying eyes in the doorway. Nevertheless it might be wise to wait awhile yet before leaving. It could mean trouble for them both if people knew they’d been together in the woolshed, even for a short time.
With a sigh, he climbed onto the bundles of fleece and stretched out, sinking down with a sigh. He would to stay here a little longer. After all, he’d wanted to save her from her troubles, not add to them.
* * *
Still holding the empty basket, Tamsin hurried to the small chamber she shared with Mavis. She didn’t go back to the kitchen where a host of servants would be, nor to the hall, where all the lords and ladies were still gathered. She ran like a frightened deer or a mouse that sees a cat to the servants’ stairs leading to the family chambers. Mercifully she met no one as she dashed up the steps, or in the corridor. Panting, she opened the door—to find her cousin already there, her hands clasped anxiously before her and a worried expression on her lovely face.
Mavis’s expression grew even more concerned as she looked from Tamsin’s startled visage to the empty basket in her hands.
“I was so busy thinking about all the guests leaving tomorrow, I forgot to return this,” Tamsin said, her excuse sounding weak even to herself.
“I was right—you are ill!” Mavis cried, taking the basket from Tamsin and setting it down on the nearby dressing table. “You’re flushed and out of breath and you were so quiet during the feast.”
“I’m not usually a font of merriment,” Tamsin noted with a smile only slightly forced as she picked up a taper and stuck it in the brazier warming the small chamber. “I was thinking about the cook. Armond may have to go. He struck the spit boy, and if he does it again—”
“I’ve seen you worried about household matters many times before, and this is different,” Mavis interrupted, blocking Tamsin’s way as she went to light the rushlight beside Mavis’s curtained bed. Tamsin’s smaller cot was on the other side of the room, along with the small chest that held her few gowns. Mavis’s clothes were in a much larger chest at the foot of her bed.
Mavis put her hand on Tamsin’s forehead before she could move away. “No fever, thank God, but you must go to bed and rest before you fall seriously ill. I’ll do what must be done tomorrow while you rest—and I won’t allow you to refuse!” she added, looking as stern as it was possible for cheerful, pretty Mavis to look.
Which was not nearly so stern as Sir Rheged. But Tamsin would not, must not, think of him. And it would be better if she kept busy tomorrow, away from the guests.
“I’m quite all right,” she replied, moving farther into the room.
“No, you’re not,” her cousin insisted. “Something is wrong.” She went to Tamsin and put her hands on her shoulders, turning her to face her, her anxious gaze searching Tamsin’s face. “Please, Tamsin, won’t you tell me? I come to you with all my troubles, as if you were my sister. Won’t you treat me like a sister and tell me yours?”
If she had demanded the truth, Tamsin would have resisted. But this tender, heartfelt plea, from the cousin who had been the only one to welcome her with kindness when she first came to Castle DeLac, and from whom she would soon be parted, proved irresistible. “Your father was going to wait until tomorrow to make the announcement.”
Mavis’s blond eyebrows drew together in a query as Tamsin forced another smile onto her face. Mavis must never know what her father had threatened if Tamsin refused the betrothal. Mavis was a loving, loyal soul and Tamsin didn’t doubt that she would insist on taking Tamsin’s place if she knew the truth. “I am to be married.”
“Married?” Mavis repeated, as shocked as Tamsin had been. Or Sir Rheged. And no doubt as everyone else in Castle DeLac would be, too, when the news got out. “When? To whom? Is it one of the visiting knights? Sir Jocelyn?”
“No, it’s—”
“Not young Sir Robert. He’s barely twenty.”
“It isn’t one of our guests. It’s Sir Blane of Dunborough.”
“Sir Blane of...” Mavis repeated. Then her eyes widened and a look of horror came to her face. “Not that terrible old lecher! It made my skin crawl just to look at him! Surely Father wouldn’t be so cruel!”
Tamsin drew herself and spoke as she had to Sir Rheged, with pride and resolve, so that Mavis would believe her. “He’s rich and powerful. It’s a much better match than I could have hoped for.”
“But you yourself saw the way he went after the maidservants. If you hadn’t kept them—and me—away from him—”
“Surely once he has a new, young wife he won’t want to dally with servants.”
“I don’t think marriage would ever stop a man like him from trying to take advantage of any woman. And he wouldn’t have a wife,” Mavis said. “He would have you. You would be in that disgusting old man’s bed, Tamsin.”
Better her than Mavis, Tamsin thought, her cousin’s compassionate concern making it all the more necessary that she wed Sir Blane. “I’m aware of a wife’s duties—all of them,” she said, meeting her cousin’s gaze with all the cool composure she could muster.
“It may not be pleasant, but if I’m to have children, I will do what I must, and I do want children,” she continued, trying not to imagine little boys with flashing brown eyes and dark hair, or little girls with thick lashes and long, waving black hair.
She took Mavis’s