Page 52

As Ral had predicted, word of Beltar the Fierce arrived within the next three hours. A fair-sized army of knights and men-at-arms traveled the road toward Braxston Keep. Ral sent a messenger to welcome them and advise Beltar of the feast they planned in his honor.

Meanwhile Ral continued to lay his plans. With the bulk of Beltar’s forces remaining outside the walls, Ral and his knights could defend the keep. Unfortunately, should a siege begin, they would desperately need more men.

With that possibility in mind, Ral sent messengers to lords he could count on for support, and knights who owed him service, asking them to stand at the ready. Still, he remained uneasy.

Beltar arrived just before dusk, a stout, thick-limbed, beetle-browed man with greasy black hair and several days’ growth of beard. Behind him, an entourage of advisors, knights, and men-at-arms stirred up dust on the road then came to a halt in the field across from the drawbridge.

With his own knights armed and ready, Ral invited Beltar and his closest advisors inside the wall surrounding the keep, then greeted him out in the bailey. Within the tower itself, archers stood at the long narrow windows and ringed the topmost parapet, ready to rain down arrows from above.

“Greetings, Lord Beltar,” Ral called out to him, forcing himself to smile even as he braced his feet apart in a wary stance. “Welcome to Braxston Keep.”

“I am surprised to be so well received.” Beltar made no move to dismount. He rode a huge blood bay destrier, its nostrils flaring as it tested the wind. “You know why I have come?”

“We received your message. ’Tis clear there has been some mistake.”

“How so?” Beltar asked. “The girl is not here?”

“I would have you come inside so that we may discuss it. There is wine and ale, and even now my servants prepare a feast in your honor.”

“I asked if the girl is here.”

“Lady Ambra resides at Braxston, but I was not the man who brought her. In truth, she came on her own. ’Twas unknown who she was until your messenger arrived. By that time, ’twas too late.”

Beltar stiffened in his saddle. Wind ruffled the hem of his short black tunic while the sun glinted fiercely off his armor. “Too late? The girl then is gone?”

“Wed to another, I fear. By the priest here in the castle. The deed is done, my friend. The girl is married to my seneschal, Richard of Pembroke.”

“I do not believe you.” He nudged the great beast forward until the mail on his leg pressed into Ral’s chest. “You’ve installed the girl in your bed and you mean to see she remains there.”

Ral didn’t move, just leaned his considerable weight into the horse, forcing it to take a step backward. He started to reply but a murmur rose behind him as Richard stepped from the entry and stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the bailey.

“’Tis truth Lord Ral speaks, Lord Beltar. The girl is wife to me, Richard of Pembroke. ’Tis also a fact she was never Lord Ral’s leman. She was virgin when I took her. And I have done so well and often. Even now she may carry my babe.”

Beltar raised a leather-gloved fist and shook it into the air. “All knew of my search for her,” he said to Ral. “Why did you allow the wedding?”

“’Twas not then known who the girl was, since she traveled with a band of troubadours. She was ripe and willing and my steward desired her. The marriage seemed harmless at the time.”

“Ripe she was,” he grumbled, leaning over to spit into the dirt. “A rare fruit I meant to pluck for myself.”, He shifted his gaze toward the door of the keep and Ral caught a glimpse of rich dark-auburn hair.

Caryn stood just inside the entry next to Ambra. By Christ, he had told her to stay inside out of danger. She moved a little and her high full bosom came into view. God, but she was a lush little wench. No wonder he never seemed to get enough of her.

He glanced at Beltar, who was staring in her direction with such a lascivious smile it made him want to smash a fist into the man’s harsh face.

“Who is the wench with the fire-touched hair?”

“She is my wife,” Ral said easily, but it was unease he felt inside. He didn’t like Beltar’s lecherous expression as he eyed her feminine curves, or the way his hard gaze shifted from Caryn to the archers atop the parapet, as if he sized up Braxston’s defenses.

Beltar’s gaze swung back to his. “I would see the girl and the priest. I would know for certain you speak the truth.”

From atop the wooden stairs, Ambra eased her way toward Richard, who tensed at her appearance, but finally let her pass. The priest stepped out of the shadows along the wall.

“The two are well and truly wedded,” Father Burton said. “As deceitful as she is, you should count yourself lucky.”

Some of Beltar’s anger swung to the woman with the pale blond hair who faced him across the bailey.

“It appears you have duped us all. Mayhap as the priest says, I am fortunate you are wedded to another.” He fixed a hard look on Richard.

“I advise you take a stick to her, firmly and often. A good sound beating is the only thing a girl of her like understands.”

Some of the tension eased from Richard’s shoulders.

“I will heed your words, my lord. Please accept my humble apologies for any trouble she may have caused. You’ve my promise the girl will not leave her chamber during the hours of your visit.

” The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Ambra, you will await me upstairs.”

As Ambra hurried to do her husband’s bidding, Ral felt a twinge of amusement. Richard had neglected to mention he would remain in the room along with her. It appeared his role as husband had not been so hard to accept as he had believed.

Ral watched his steward disappear back through the entry. Richard had played his part well and though Beltar still looked disgruntled, the blame for his loss no longer fell on the Lord of Braxston Keep.

“I hope you’ve a willing wench to take that one’s place,” Beltar said as he dismounted. “I’ve imagined driving myself between the girl’s sweet thighs for nigh on six months. Just to think of her spreading her legs for your man leaves me hard as a bloody stone.”

“We’ve a comely wench or two inside,” Ral said.

“They have heard of your prowess and even now await your pleasure.” The problem had been expected and Ral had seen it solved.

“I will send one of them up to help you bathe. You can enjoy the wench, along with a goblet of wine, then we can proceed with the feast.”

Beltar merely grumbled.

They were safe for the moment, at least. Ral glanced back to where Caryn still stood by the open door. He had told her to wait inside, and by the mere span of inches, she had obeyed him. Sweet Christ, the wench was a handful.

And all the more tantalizing for her stubborn independence.

He saw her scramble away from the entry as he started in that direction and made a mental note to see that she paid dearly for her transgression—tonight in his bed. He could think of at least a dozen ways.

Ral smiled and then frowned. He would have to make certain his powerful guest remained occupied and under close watch in much the same manner.

***

With his former betrothed out of sight, Beltar seemed to relax, and the tension in the keep began to ease.

He drank what seemed barrels of wine and insatiably ordered wench after wench to his bed.

Fortunately, there seemed an endless number willing to please him, since he filled their purses with coin enough to ease his rough handling and sooth his savage thrusts between their legs.

Still, his eyes often drifted to Caryn. That he wanted her in his bed fired Ral’s temper.

It took a will of iron to keep from grabbing the man by the throat and squeezing until his lecherous eyes slid closed.

Finally after a long night of wenching, Beltar’s thoughts began to turn in another direction.

“I’ve had my fill of women,” he said the afternoon of the following day. “’Tis the boar sport you promised that intrigues me.” Even with his hair freshly scrubbed and his face scraped clean of whiskers, his smile looked slightly vicious. “I will bloody my lance at Braxston, one way or another.”

Ral worked to hide a twinge of anger. Take care, Beltar, or ’twill be the blood pumping through your veins that darkens the earth at Braxston Keep .

They set off at daybreak the following morn, Ral and ten men, Beltar and his ten. The rest remained at the castle, keeping the uneasy truce.

With the hounds forging ahead, they spotted feral pig spoor several hours into the hills and the dogs picked up the scent. Both grey- and deerhound bayed into the watery blue, early morning sky, then feverishly raced forward, leading the hunters deeper into the forest.

“’The beast is good-sized,” said Beltar, studying the animal’s tracks in the mud.

“Aye, and then some,” Ral agreed.

“’Twill be sport fit for a king.”

Ral did not answer. His gaze had moved up ahead, following the hounds disappearing in the distance. At the edge of a cluster of oaks they stopped, and the sound of their frantic baying increased, echoing eerily off their surroundings.

“They’ve cornered him at last!” Beltar’s voice rang out. “The great beast has at last turned to fight!”

“Aye… so ’twould seem.”

They rode in that direction, the men behind them armed and ready should their lords’ arrows fail to stop the savage boar.

“The beast is even bigger than I imagined.” As Beltar topped the rise, he saw the animal silhouetted against the thick girth of a tree.

“That he is, and by the look of him, far tougher. Already he has killed three of Braxston’s best hounds.”