Chapter Ten

F our ornate coin chests were positioned on the floor next to his bed. Coin chests which were large, heavy and full to bursting. Such riches he had never seen the like of, not even while travelling with the king. Guy could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes. Why had his uncle lived such a meagre, joyless existence when he could have purchased anything he wanted?

Guy suppressed a shudder as his mind found the answer to his unspoken question. With his heavily bolted tower room and infamous reputation, the old Earl of Rossfarne had openly enjoyed a life of base, indolent pleasures. To most people, the cold state rooms, shabby furnishings and sparse household hinted at poverty, but his uncle had found his thrills elsewhere.

"There's rubies and pearls in this next one." Thomas all but licked his lips in anticipation.

Guy looked coldly at his manservant, small and dark against the thin shafts of light shining through his unopened shutters. "How do you know that?"

Thomas blanched. The chests were closed. His indiscretion was apparent.

"I wanted to check that I had brought up the right chests, my lord."

Guy bit back an enquiry as to how many chests could be hidden inside one narrow well. There was nothing to be gained as Thomas would never acknowledge any lapse on his part. But equally, Guy would not forget this. He filed the incident away in his mind.

Still, he had no wish to explore the chests under Thomas's watchful gaze. Not now the spark of distrust had been lighted between them.

"My horse is unsettled," he addressed him levelly. "Kindly go to the stables and enquire after him."

Thomas rose to his feet. His face showed displeasure.

"Ensure the stableboys are feeding him well," Guy added. "They are accustomed only to cart horses."

He suspected this faint praise would bring Thomas back on side. Although he was growing to dislike the man and his mean ways, Guy knew the benefits of having a long-standing servant here at Rossfarne. Without Thomas, he would be surrounded by strangers.

Thomas nodded, colour returning to his cheeks. "I'll see to it now, my lord."

"If you could reassure me that he has had his fill of oats, I would go easier about my morning," Guy added for good measure. He wanted Thomas out of his way so that he could properly document the contents of the chests.

Thomas left the chamber, his footsteps heavy as he descended the stone steps, and Guy sighed with relief. He had not expected his manservant to be so hasty in carrying out last night's instructions. Thomas had laboriously carried up the coin chests before Guy had even woken. Now he juggled his desires to explore them with a rumbling stomach, for he had not yet broken his fast.

But food would have to wait. He had never anticipated finding wealth such as this. Wealth which would not only finance repairs to the castle and pay his tithes but wealth which could transform life in Rossfarne Castle.

But he did not intend to stay, he reminded himself. What use were extra servants and welcoming fires if the master of the house was sleeping elsewhere, beneath the flag of the king?

He must arrange better security, that was apparent. None but Thomas had seen the riches in the well, but still, they could not remain there. And he must hire guards, right away.

Alight with purpose, for the first time in months, Guy stepped lightly over the nearest chest and reached down to heave open another. At once, a sharp stabbing pain overtook him. He must take things slowly. Now was not the time to set back his recovery.

He straightened up, taking a step backwards and falling clumsily over the open chest. A new wave of throbbing agony clutched his left side as he landed awkwardly, banging his head on the floor.

"Damnation," he cursed, curling himself up into a ball and waiting for the pain to lessen its cruel grip. But his movement didn't aid him, instead a ripping sensation unfurled along his ribs, bringing fresh, stinging pain and a sensation of wetness.

Had his wound reopened?

Guy could curse his stupidity. He could shout and wail and beat his hands upon the floor, but none of this would help. He needed to get upright and assess the scale of the damage. But his strength had drained away from him. And the positioning of the coin chests meant he couldn't roll over and push himself onto his good arm. He would have to shout for help.

How long was it since he sent Thomas to the stables? Mayhap his servant had dallied on the stairs. He might still be within hearing distance.

Guy closed his eyes, hating this moment of weakness. What wouldn't he give to be healed and well again? But his recklessness in throwing himself in front of an opponent's blade had saved the life of a friend's young squire, and he couldn't regret that.

"Thomas," he croaked, aware even as he said the name that he would have to shout louder than that. His choices were clear. He could broadcast his current position, or else stay here, perhaps for hours, until Thomas returned.

His good hand gripped the edge of his tunic. "Help me," he roared.

A scurry of light footsteps announced his plea had been heard. Who would enter his chamber and see him so enfeebled? He grimaced as he realised this person would also spy the heavy coin chests. Another would witness the extent of his newfound wealth. Who could he trust with such knowledge?

It was not in his gift to decide. He was in the hands of fate.

A knock sounded on his chamber door. He winced with the inevitability of summoning them inside and all that would mean. Still, he had no choice.

"Enter," he commanded. His voice at least still carried authority.

"I heard shouting, my lord," came a voice, high and musical. A voice that had permeated his dreams.

Would he have wished for her to come? No . She was the last person he would want to see him like this.

"Oh." With one short exclamation, she communicated all her surprise.

"Help me up," he ordered.

"Are you hurt?" She was beside him in an instant, bringing with her a faint and surprising scent of lavender. His eyes opened to rest upon an unexpected expanse of creamy flesh. Had she come to his aid before she had a chance to finish dressing?

"I'm not," he lied, hating to be so enfeebled. "But I cannot stand without assistance. These trunks are in my way."

She turned her attention to the wooden chests and leaned down to try and shunt one away from him, delivering him a wondrous view of the sloping rise of her bosom. His throat dried up and his heart beat hollowly against his ribs, but he couldn't force himself to tear his gaze away.

She was an innocent. She knew not how she was affecting him.

"It's too heavy," she panted. "I can't move it."

"No matter." He closed his eyes, although not through pain. "If you can allow me to put my weight against you, I will be able to stand."

Would she bear his weight? She was but a slender young girl.

But Kitty nodded without a second thought and bent beside him, placing her scarcely concealed breasts inches away from his face. "Put your arm around my shoulder," she instructed.

Were it not for the searing pain in his side, Guy would have ordered her from the room. Her dishevelled presence threatened to usurp the thin veil of self-control he had managed to assert last night in the solar. It took an iron will to clamp down on his unworthy thoughts, but the nagging ache he felt all across his body claimed precedence over his baser desires, and when Kitty levelled herself against him to better distribute his weight, all he could think of was the need to protect his wound.

"You're bleeding," she exclaimed, as they staggered together towards his bed.

He gritted his teeth. His worst fears were realised. "I will be better once I am laying down."

She manoeuvred him onto the bed and then lifted his legs onto the covers. He opened his mouth to stop her and then closed it again. He may hate to admit it, but right now he needed her help.

"Let me see." Without waiting for permission, she leaned over him and lifted his shirt, biting her lip in concern when she saw his angry, snaking wound.

A wound not seen by anyone but himself, the doctor and Thomas.

Guy fixed his eyes on the faded tapestry hanging above his bed. Now that Kitty had helped him into bed and seen the extent of his injuries, there was nothing to be gained by sending her away.

"How bad is it?" He forced out the question.

Her gaze was focussed on his bare chest, and he could not read her expression. "I need to see more." Again, without asking for his leave, Kitty unbuttoned his shirt with slim, dextrous fingers and then pulled it to one side. He was naked from the waist up, exposed to her gaze.

He exhaled sharply. Despite his pain and her innocence, he was unable to ignore the frisson he felt.

She swallowed, and he wondered if she too sensed the magnetic pull between them. Her fingers dropped to his chest, and he flinched at her featherlight touch, torn between pleasure and agony.

"It is not as bad as I feared, though I must bathe away the blood." Her voice was calm and practical, shaming him for his wandering thoughts.

"There is water in the basin," he said.

He felt her absence when she stood to fetch the basin and relaxed when she returned. Her touch was soft and welcome, even though the water was cold. She bathed his wound with the tender care of an experienced nurse, and he remembered how she had told him about tending to another, long ago.

His flash of envy for the unknown man was shockingly strong.

"That's better," she said at last.

He opened his eyes to find her perched above him. She sat on the side of his bed, yet had angled her body towards him to better reach his left side. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing. Breathing that was surely faster than usual? Breathing that matched his own.

Her bodice was unbuttoned, not indecently so, but enough for the call of her exposed flesh to be impossible to ignore. His eyes were drawn relentlessly towards the soft swell of her breasts. At first, he tried to avert his gaze, but when Kitty stayed still and silent, he allowed himself to glance once more at the creamy softness of her neck.

How he longed to reach up and trace a hand over the hollow of her clavicle.

Wanton thoughts. But the maid didn't attempt to cover herself, despite the intensity of his admiration. She must be aware of it, for a red flush had swamped her usually pale cheeks.

A new thought invaded his mind. Could she want him, despite his disfigurement? Just like he wanted her? The answer to one of those questions was quite obvious. His want was real and solid, beginning to strain at the part of him that was still clothed.

Her want was harder to gauge. But he took some encouragement from the fact that she had come to his chamber with her dress unfastened, like an offering.

An offering he should deny, but he was but flesh and blood. A mere man filled with urges and desires he'd repressed for too long.

Hardly daring to breathe, Guy raised his right hand and placed it gently against the curve of her cheek. She leaned into it, surprising him again with her willingness.

She was beautiful.

He'd noticed before, of course, but now with her loose hair billowing around and her breathing grown deep and tremulous, her loveliness floored him. He wanted to touch more of her. His hand moved to the softness of her hair and he coiled it up behind her head before letting it spill out, like a breeze of autumn leaves.

"Kitty," he breathed, just to say her name out loud.

She jolted, as if the sound of it had woken her from a slumber. She looked down at her unbuttoned bodice and back up again, uncertainty clouding her green eyes. The spell between them was broken.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered.

"For what?" He shifted his position, gathering his composure.

"I shouldn't have sat…" She paused and swallowed awkwardly. "I was bathing your wound." Her eyes darted down to his chest and then sideways to the floor.

"For which, I thank you."

She got to her feet, fastening the top of her dress with shaking fingers.

"I offer further thanks for coming to my aid so quickly," he offered, wanting to ease her discomfort. Wanting her to stay. Wanting her.

She lowered her head meekly. "I shall leave you now, my lord."

Damnation. He didn't want her to go. He wouldn't allow it.

"You told me once that you had nursed a man who was cut by an axe," he said, his mind racing with the effort of remembering her tale.

She paused, indecision flickering across her face. "I did."

"What say you to nursing me back to full health?" He smiled, pretending he cared little for her response.

A beat passed. She would refuse him. He had shocked her with his impropriety. What madness had caused him to caress her cheek?

"I should be pleased to do so." Her answer, when it came, made his flesh tingle with relief.

"I must return to the service of the king," he continued, wanting to remind himself of this fact in the face of his sudden, overwhelming desire for Kitty. "As soon as possible."

Her face was impassive, but her voice showed concern. "You must rest, a while at least." She pushed her hair back behind her ears as if suddenly keen to hide it.

"Yes." He twisted impatiently. "But once strength and ease of movement return to my left hand, arrangements will be made."

She hovered closer, her traitorous hair fanning out like a waterfall. "May I see?"

The damage to his hand was on the inside but he still held it out towards her.

Kitty frowned. "It is too dark in here."

"I like it that way."

"If I am to nurse you, I must be able to see my patient." She folded her arms across the plain wool of her dress.

Her calm reasoning made him feel like a petulant child. "I prefer the shadows."

Kitty regarded him steadily for a moment. "I do not believe your place is in the shadows, my lord. No knight of the realm should linger there for long."

His breath caught in his throat. Had she any idea how poignant those words were?

Kitty walked regally over to his high arched windows and threw open the heavy shutters. He blinked as light streamed into the room, illuminating all he had plunged into darkness.

He readied himself to accuse her of impudence. To demand she return the room to his preferred state. But a shaft of golden light hit the granite wall over the fireplace and he found himself mesmerised by it. Kitty herself was haloed with light, like an angel. She took a step closer to the window and looked out.

"It's a beautiful morning," she said lightly.

"And you have brought some of that beauty in here." His throat was dry.

She turned to face him. "The light won't come in unless you let it."

She could see him properly now. The extent of his ruined body would be visible, even the childhood scar on his clavicle. She would see all he was, on the outside at least.

He shifted his gaze away from her, not ready to see the flash of pity in her eyes.

In a moment she was beside him again, her light fingers probing his wrist and hand.

"Can you make a fist?"

"Not one that would serve me in battle," he quipped.

Why had he asked this maid to nurse him? He should have known that in doing so, he would be obliged to demonstrate his physical frailties. It had been desire, pure and simple, and he cursed his baser instincts for bringing him here.

Though it hadn't been lust that prompted his request. More a desire for Kitty's presence. An urge to spend more time with her. He had not sunk to his uncle's depths of depravity.

"Why have you not asked for help before?" she asked, puzzled. "Surely that would have aided your recovery."

He couldn't deny the truth of it.

"I don't like to ask for help," he answered, through gritted teeth.

He expected a soft reprimand, but Kitty's face showed sudden comprehension.

"Nor I."

She smiled and he returned it. The tension between them had been replaced by something deeper. An understanding that surpassed sensual desire.

"You do not think me foolish then?" he asked lightly. "To suffer alone rather than communicate my needs?"

She paused in her exploration of his ruined hand. "I would do almost anything rather than ask for help from another."

There it was again. That flash of intrigue. What was her background? Her true background? No servant would know how to sing with such measured control. Nor were they likely to be familiar with the haunting words of the final ballad she had sung for him.

Perhaps she was the daughter of a minstrel? For all her efficiency as a servant, Guy did not believe this was the life she had been born to. But she had not asked him about the knotted scar on his clavicle. She hadn't pried into the presence of the coin chests. He would respect her privacy, just as she had his.

"I would like to try something, if I may?" Her questioning expression broke into his thoughts.

"Go ahead."

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

His instinct was to refuse. To lay in pain was one thing. But to remove one of his senses, quite another. Especially when they were surrounded by coin and jewels.

This enigmatic maid, who had lied to him at least once, could lift a handful of silver and be gone down the stairs before he realised. She could do almost anything, and in his current weakened state, he couldn't hope to stop her.

He gazed into her face and saw the calm kindness he had first identified down on the causeway. The sincerity and patience that had quietened his frightened horse.

He closed his eyes.

Her quick footsteps crossed his chamber. He heard rustlings, as if she reached for something, and then she returned and fell quiet.

His remaining senses flinched with suspense. He could hear nothing save the ever-present roar of the sea. Feel nothing, bar an unfamiliar warmth stealing over his legs as the morning sun rose higher in the sky. Then there was the lightest touch on his left hand. Less than a touch. A feather stroke. His fingers flickered in response.

Kitty spoke up. "Did you feel that?"

"I did."

It came again. A feathery sensation which was almost unbearably light ran down his arm from his elbow to his wrist. His weakened muscles pulsated in response, but the resulting pain stemmed from the ache of healing.

His lips curled into a smile. "What are you doing?"

"An experiment."

The feathery sensation ran over his knuckles and for the first time since his accident, Guy's hand clenched into an instinctive fist.

Kitty laughed in delight. "An experiment which seems to be working."

He opened his eyes to see her kneeling beside his bed, brandishing the feather quill from his writing desk. Morning sunlight danced across her beautiful hair.

"Clever idea," he acknowledged, unable to dampen down his rush of excitement at this new development.

She nodded thoughtfully. "If we can start to rebuild your muscles, your recovery will be all the quicker."

It was all he had wanted since taking up residence in Rossfarne Castle. "Thank you."

She stood up, suddenly a dutiful servant once again. "Shall I come again tomorrow?"

"No." He resisted the urge to reach up and touch her arm. "Tonight. Come and sing for me, tonight."

She dipped her head. "Very good."

He watched her walk carefully around the scattered coin chests. She hadn't so much as mentioned their presence, even though one was evidently bursting with silver. Was this the act of a circumspect servant, or a refined lady?

Would her gaze have been drawn by the jewels which Thomas proclaimed rested in the second chest?

He remembered now the decision he'd made late last night.

"Kitty," he called.

She paused at his doorway and turned with a smile. "Yes, my lord?"

"When you came here, did you pass through the village of Rossfarne?"

Had her expression hardened? It was difficult to tell in the haze of light surrounding her.

"I believe so."

He struggled upright. "Tell me, did you find any commotion in the village? Any gossip?"

She looked away from him and down to the floor. "I came straight to the castle."

"I see." He slumped back onto his bed. Never mind. He would have to ask someone else.

"May I ask why, my lord?" Her voice was more tremulous than he'd ever heard it.

He rubbed at his temples, weary now with pain. "Because I am seeking the daughter of a man named Owain."