a grim smile. “I am well aware that I lack sufficient power to risk the man’s enmity, my lord, but I must try to get a more proper prize, or I will have deserved to be cheated.”
Sir Algar nodded. “Farewell, then, and good luck—but be careful.”
“I will, my lord.”
His mouth a grim, hard line, his knuckles white as he gripped the pouch, Rheged left the hall and marched across the yard to the stable. Gareth, standing near the well talking to one of the maidservants—the quiet one whose name was Evie or some such thing—saw him and immediately hurried to meet him at the entrance. “What’s wrong?” he asked gravely, clearly realizing this was no time for jesting.
“I’m going back to Castle DeLac,” Rheged replied. He went into the stable and called for Dan, whose head appeared over the wall of Jevan’s stall, surprise on every feature.
“Saddle Myr,” Rheged ordered. Jevan was for fighting; Myr, his gelding, was for speed.
“Forgot something, did you?” Gareth asked.
“Not me,” Rheged grimly replied. “Lord DeLac.” He glanced at his puzzled friend. “He forgot his honor, and what is due a knight.”
“Want some company?”
Rheged shook his head. “I need you here.” He put his hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “The man will either do what’s right or he won’t, and if he won’t, I’ll come back and fetch you.”
Gareth grinned and nodded. “As you will, my lord.”
* * *
Tamsin shivered, pulled her cloak more tightly about her and checked the figure for the total number of baskets of neeps in the kitchen storeroom against the list in her hand. On other shelves were apples drying on racks, baskets of peas and leeks and clay jars of honey. Sawdust covered the floor and scented the air along with the vegetables and fruit. A few dust motes danced, and one or two must have gotten into her eyes, to make them water.
Thankfully the total of all the stores here was correct, so she could be sure she was leaving a good count for Mavis. She wanted to be certain all was in good order before Sir Blane arrived and she was taken away to the north, where it would be even colder.
Unfortunately what should have been a simple task was taking far too long. Her thoughts kept drifting to what she might encounter in her future, and what she would be leaving behind. She wouldn’t be sorry to see the last of her uncle, but she would sorely miss Mavis, and the servants. Even Armond. And she knew how to manage this household. What would Sir Blane’s be like? she asked herself as she wiped at her eyes. Because of the dust, of course.
A commotion outside jerked her back to the present. It seemed to be coming from the yard, near the gates. They weren’t expecting any visitors today, at least none that she...
Surely it couldn’t be Sir Blane! Her uncle had said he would arrive within the fortnight, not today—unless her betrothed had traveled more swiftly than expected, anxious for the alliance. Or the marriage.
Although that thought was enough to make her queasy, Tamsin put down the list, gathered up her skirts and hurried to the yard.
To see Sir Rheged of Cwm Bron standing near the gates, feet planted, his hands on his hips and obviously angry.
That explained why the guards were watching him so closely, even though he wasn’t dressed for battle. He wore a white shirt open at the neck beneath a boiled leather tunic, the attire of common men-at-arms. Despite the autumn chill in the air, the long sleeves of his shirt were rolled back to reveal skin bronzed brown by the sun. His breeches were of wool, his boots splattered with mud and he stood beside a foam-flecked gray gelding, not the powerful destrier he’d ridden in the melee. He did, however, carry a sword, the scabbard resting against his muscular thigh.
Despite her determination to keep certain memories locked away forever, she vividly recalled the thrill of being in his arms and the sensation of his lips on hers, especially when his gaze swept the yard and settled upon her.
Then he started toward her, as if his business was with her alone.
That must not be. That could not be. She must marry Blane, regardless of what this man said. Or did.
Straightening her shoulders, she walked forward resolutely, determined to send him on his way. “Greetings, Sir Rheged,” she said, managing to sound calm.
“I wish to see your uncle.”
So he hadn’t returned to offer her aid again, or sanctuary. Or so she thought, until she saw something deep in his eyes that revived her hope of rescue.
Her useless, wistful hope that must be nipped in the bud. “He rode out this morning, sir knight,” she said with cool detachment.
The Welshman skeptically raised a dark eyebrow. “He went riding?”
She, too, had been surprised to hear her uncle’s plan, until it had occurred to her that he might wish to avoid his niece as much as she wanted to be far away from him. “You’re welcome to wait in his solar, or you may tell me your business and I will see—”
Sir Rheged turned on his heel, went to his horse and took a leather pouch from the saddle. He opened it and, like a conjurer at a fair, held up his prize. “This is not gold, but painted metal and the jewels are false, too. Your uncle lied to every knight who fought here, and I demand a proper prize.”
Oh, she was a fool to harbor such romantic notions of rescue by a knight she barely knew!
Whatever her uncle had done, this was no place to discuss it, where so many could see and hear. Not only were the guards within hearing distance, but a quick glance around the yard confirmed that several servants and not a few curious guests were watching from doors and windows, including Mavis. “Please come to the solar, Sir Rheged. I will send a man to find my uncle. I’m sure he can—”
“Explain?” Rheged scornfully interrupted. “What explanation can there be? He played me, and every other knight who came to his tournament, for a fool.” He leaned toward her, close enough to kiss, except that wasn’t desire burning in his eyes. “And I assure you, my lady, I do not take kindly to being made to look a fool.”
“Nor do I,” she snapped, her own ire rising. If he could speak so to her, and in public, too, she’d been right to suspect that his motive for complimenting and kissing her had been seduction all along. “I had nothing to do with the prize, yet you stand here and upbraid me as if I were a naughty child. Now either follow me to the solar or get back on your horse and go!”
For an instant, she thought he was going to leave, until her uncle came strolling out from behind the chapel. He was clad in his thick cloak with the ermine collar and lined with fox fur, his silver broach glittering in the September sunlight, his hair sleek and smooth as his voice.
“Greetings, Sir Rheged,” he said genially, although his eyes were far from friendly. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Have you forgotten something?”
“Not I, but apparently you forgot you are supposed to be an honorable man. You played me false, DeLac, and all who fought in your tournament. This box is no more made of gold than I am, and the jewels are just as false. If you have a drop of honor in you, you’ll give me a more worthy prize.”
With a shrug of his beefy shoulders, her uncle answered as if he were innocence itself. “You received the prize that was offered. I never said it was real gold, or that the jewels were gemstones. It was on display in the hall the night before the melee, and you were quite welcome to examine it then. If you did not...” Her uncle spread his hands wide, as if to say, “What fault is it of mine?”
“And why such anger?” he continued. “Have you not won another victory? Will that not add to your fame and fierce reputation? Surely that was worth the effort.”
Rheged regarded the man with undisguised disdain and answered in Welsh. Whatever he said, it was obviously no compliment.
“Leave