Chapter Eleven

H is words sickened her, literally. Her stomach heaved and her vision blurred. It took all her strength to remain standing in the doorway of that cursed room. She blinked rapidly to disperse her nausea and recover her wits.

"Owain?" she repeated, to give herself time.

"He lives in a manor just outside Rossfarne."

The earl shrugged his muscular shoulders. She had sat on his bed and allowed him to caress her. Nay, she had enjoyed his touch and yearned for more. And all the time he had been playing with her.

But if he intended to claim her, would he not have done so by now? Despite his injuries, he could have overpowered her at any moment. Instead, he had shown restraint. His touch had been gentle. He had confessed his own weakness.

That could only mean one thing. He had not worked out who she really was.

The realisation made her heart pound afresh, for at any moment he could place her. Her hair, which she had intended to keep covered, was loose around her shoulders. Moments earlier he had run his fingers through it. And her hair was the distinctive feature that linked her to her father.

He lifted his head from the pillow to see her better, a question flashing through dark eyes which she had seen grow luminous with feeling. She had believed their time together meant something. She had started to believe in him, the wounded knight who wanted only to hear her sing. Trust had knocked at her door and she had stood back to let him in.

And all the time, the earl searched for Owain's daughter.

"Kitty?" He frowned. "Are you well?"

He pushed himself up on his right elbow as if he would come over to her. She raised her hands to ward him off.

"Just thinking, my lord," she answered. "I know of no one with that name."

"I see." He relaxed back onto the pillows. "I shall enquire elsewhere."

His words were a punching blow to her stomach. Of course, he would do so. It was only a matter of time before her true identity was discovered.

But how galling to leave now, when she had secured admittance not only to the earl's solar but also his bedchamber. This new opportunity had fallen into her lap, though she would not now be able to exploit it.

The coin chests she had seen Thomas haul from the well were all around the room. She cared not for their contents, however lavish and sparkling they may be. She was no thief. She wanted only what was hers. The bag of jewels which must be secreted somewhere in the room.

Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating every corner. Why had she wasted her time ministering to the earl when she should have been searching for her family's fortune?

Kitty bit down on her lower lip to control her trembling. The chance to look for the jewels was still within her reach. She must stay in the room, even though her instincts screamed at her to run.

"You are lost in thought," he observed. A smile transformed his face as he watched her.

She wanted to shake her head and accuse him of treachery. How could he lay there and smile at her, looking for all the world like an honourable man? A man she had wanted to know better? He was as cunning as a fox—sleek and beautiful on the outside, yet selfish and manipulative on the inside.

And she was the foolish maid who had fallen into his trap. Well, she wouldn't stay there for long.

Kitty drew deeply on her strength. "I am thinking anew," she lied. "The name, Owain, it is familiar although I struggle to place it. What business do you have with him?"

Her question was forward for a servant. Yet she was a servant who sang to order, bathed his wounds and allowed him to cup a hand to her cheek. A blush warmed her face and neck as she recalled how his fingers had brushed against her flesh. Tension twisted deep inside her at the memory, and she walked quickly to the window to appease it.

Their relationship had already strayed beyond what convention allowed. Why shouldn't she try to discover his plans?

Outside, the morning sunshine dappled the rough grass and brought a rosy hue to the unforgiving castle walls. Just minutes earlier, she had thought herself almost happy, content at least. She should have known better.

He hadn't answered her question. And every second she spent in his presence increased the likelihood that he would realise her true identity.

She twisted around to face him, expecting confrontation of some kind. She would run if she had to. How quickly she had been brought to fear, when earlier she had known a willing surrender to his touch.

The earl's eyes were closed, and a pulse jumped in his cheek. At once her emotions turned again to sympathy. He was a brave knight who had fallen in battle and wanted only to return to the service of his king.

Nay. He was a cruel overlord who had entered into a wager with a drunkard, with a living soul as the stake.

She put her hands to her face in distress. If only she could find the jewels and be gone, put all this confusion behind her.

The earl cleared his throat and Kitty straightened up. Had he witnessed her moment of weakness?

"My business with Owain is unfinished," he said, his voice expressionless.

She took a deep breath. "And with his daughter?"

Now his surprise showed on his face. "I have had no dealings with his daughter. I know nothing of her, save the unfortunate fact of her parentage."

It was not what she had been expecting. She turned again to the window so he shouldn't see the bewilderment in her eyes. The gate to the inner courtyard banged shut, and the unmistakable figure of Thomas strode into view. She gripped her hands into fists with frustration. He would be on his way here, which meant she had only minutes at her disposal.

She whirled around, her eyes frantically scanning the room. It was furnished sparsely with merely a canopied bed, a lone closet and a colourless tapestry on the wall. The coin chests, she ignored. She'd witnessed them being hauled from the well that day and knew they were unlikely to conceal what she sought.

Beside her was the washstand, from where she had fetched the basin. Her gaze flickered down and confirmed what she already knew. The only other items it contained were a rather jagged comb and a chipped jug.

What parsimony from a man as rich as he.

"What ails you, Kitty?" he asked her directly.

"I am thinking that these chests should be moved, my lord. Else you may fall once more."

It was the wrong thing to say. A look of great irritation passed over his handsome face.

"I am not in the habit of tripping. Do you think me a child who has not yet learned to walk?"

She thought quickly. "No, my lord. Merely that they are positioned so inconveniently."

"I will have Thomas see to it."

That was her cue to leave. Her time was up. Her gaze raked once more over the room and landed on the small writing desk. It was in the far corner of the room, too distant to warrant a casual stroll towards it, but she had plucked the feather quill from its stand on the desk earlier. She knew it was bare save a sheaf of papers and an abandoned saddlebag.

Her heart rate picked up. The saddlebag. She'd thought at the time that it was an odd shape. Something bulged within it. Something that could so easily be her cloth bag of jewels.

What pretence could she have for striding across his chamber once more? The feather quill she had laid carefully on a small bedside chest, and it would be most strange for her to return to it. Her mind went blank under his watchful gaze. Did he know what thoughts were racing around her head? Was he even now wondering where he had previously seen such a blaze of colourful hair?

"May I get you anything further, before I leave?"

He swung his legs off the bed and stood up slowly. She had forgotten about his height and obvious strength. Bare-chested as he was, she could see each clearly-defined muscle rippling beneath his bronzed skin. Even the angry, snaking scar could do nothing to diminish his physicality.

The delicious tension she'd felt earlier pulsed once again, deep inside her.

"You can fetch me a fresh shirt."

She walked quickly over to his closet, glad of the clearly defined task. Hope jumped inside her that her jewels may be somewhere inside, but one quick look confirmed otherwise.

The saddlebag on the writing desk. They were hidden there. She knew it in her bones.

She pulled out a clean shirt and tentatively held it out towards him. Would he expect her to put it on him? She had never dressed a man. Her arms shook at the idea of once again coming close to him.

But he merely took the shirt from her and nodded his thanks.

She must leave. There was no good reason to extend her stay, and at any moment Thomas would appear. All was not lost, not when the earl wanted her to sing for him in his solar and tend further to his injuries tomorrow.

She thought quickly. "I will find herbs to better aid your recovery, my lord."

He looked pleased. "Good. You can bring them for me tomorrow."

"Of course." That was her plan.

With the shirt still dangling from his fingers and the sunlight dancing across his chest, the earl lowered his eyes to meet hers. "Don't forget to come for me, this evening," he paused. "To sing."

She inclined her head. How could she forget?

*

The weather was unseasonably hot. Not a cloud could be seen in the deep blue sky and the relentless afternoon sun, combined with the steam and heat of the kitchen, made them all irritable. Not even Cook had a kind word to say as she bandied around orders for the evening meal.

The earl, it seemed, was in a mood for celebration. On a whim he had demanded a new menu for tonight. One that required roasted pheasant and a platter of sweet pastries. Agnes made barbed comments about the earl's impending bankruptcy, and Kitty kept her lips pressed closed together. Sweat trickled down the back of her woollen dress and she longed to escape outside. To pull off her stockings, walk on the beach and let the waves run over her feet. Her longing for a breeze eclipsed even her thoughts of recovering the jewels.

At last, her kitchen duties were complete, and she could wearily climb the stairs to her room, not to rest but to prepare to meet the earl.

A smell of cooking meat and stale perspiration hung about her. She couldn't meet him like this. Again, the lure of the sea came upon her. She could walk into the waves and lower her hot, aching body into the sparkling water. It would be bliss.

It was but a pipe dream. Children were encouraged to play in the waves on a hot day. Servants were not. Even as Miss Katherine of Shoreston, Kitty hadn't enjoyed the sensation of floating in the shallows for many years. Only when Alfred had cut his arm and the village healer had advised saltwater bathing, had she come anywhere close. But even then, she had stood back from the waves and watched enviously.

She gripped the hem of her dress and yanked it up over her head, pulling the heavy material where it clung to her damp skin. The relief of evening air against her body was recompense for the struggle. She allowed herself a moment of rest, standing in her chamber clad in nothing but her thin chemise.

A chemise which also carried a whiff of the kitchen. With a surge of irritation, Kitty wriggled her shoulders out of the straps, stepped out of it and kicked it into a corner. She had a half day coming up and would—by necessity, it seemed—spend it in the laundry.

Naked from top to toe, she sponged herself down with cold water from the basin, then made herself decent again in a fresh chemise and her one remaining servant's dress. She resented the restrictive weight of it. Such clothing was not designed for a climate like this. She'd be better off wearing the scanty, fanciful fabrics hidden in the earl's solar.

No sooner had the thought entered her head than her body flushed with tingling shame at the memory of her dream.

A dream which she had all but re-enacted in his lordship's bedchamber.

She bade herself to be calm as she fastened her hair securely beneath her cap. She was ready to descend to the solar.

She knocked on the closed wooden door and tentatively pushed it open. The first thing she noticed was the shock of the light. She had grown accustomed to gloom and shadows at Rossfarne Castle, but the earl had opened the shutters in here too.

"Come in, come in," he beckoned. His voice was relaxed and jovial, so unlike his usual fierceness and caution.

"My lord." She lowered her head in greeting.

The earl swivelled around on the armchair to look at her properly. A flagon of wine sat beside him.

"Let us dispense with all of that, shall we?" He smiled up at her. "No titles. No bowing. For tonight, you shall be Kitty and I shall be Guy."

Guy. She turned the name around in her head and found she liked it. But nevertheless, she wouldn't dare address the earl by his first name. She swallowed hard. What other intimacies did he have in mind?

"You sing to me like one of the king's own musicians," he added softly, as if alert to her worries. "And the king's musicians know me by my true name."

He had been drinking, she knew the signs. His words were not slurred, but they ran together freely. He would not address her this way if he were sober. Her instinct was to recoil, knowing all too well what dangers wine and mead could bring upon her. She shifted uncomfortably, forcing down haunting memories of her father's drunken behaviour; the nights she had spent with her body shielding Rosalind behind a flimsy locked door, covering her sister's ears so she should not hear his ribald cursing and threats of violence. And then there was the final, harshest indignity. Her father had gambled her away whilst under the influence of drink, and if she lived for a hundred years, she would never escape the shame of it.

But the earl, Guy, was not her father. His goblets of wine had made him relaxed and at ease, not foolish and aggressive.

She ventured closer. "Are you celebrating?" She bit back ‘my lord.'

She expected a denial, but he nodded without pause. "Today, I discovered myself to be a wealthy man, Kitty." His eyes met hers and she knew him to be sensible and alert despite the liquor. "As you know, from seeing the coin chests in my chamber."

She couldn't deny it. "My concern was with your injury."

"Nonetheless." He raised his eyebrows. "You are a woman of intelligence. You know what you saw."

"I saw enough silver for you to hire musicians of your own," she quipped, unable to resist.

"Indeed. And to employ a great number of servants."

"To bring comfort and cheer to the castle," she dared to venture.

He raised his goblet in a toast. "Exactly that." He drank deeply. "My uncle chose to spend his days in the gloom, but now I see different options before me."

He had never referenced his uncle's reputation before. A reputation which had tarnished her view of the current earl before she had even spoken to him. "Many tales were told about the old Earl of Rossfarne," she almost whispered.

Guy leaned his head back against his chair. "I know the unsavoury dealings he had with the folk of the town of Rossfarne, yet I had not realised his infamy stretched as far as Belford."

She bit down on her lip at her stupidity. Had he caught her out in her deception?

"Shall I sing for you?" She walked in readiness over to the empty fireplace, eager to change the subject.

He looked across at her, not as an earl to his servant but as a man to a woman. The sincerity in his face made her pulse pound.

"I believe I would prefer to talk," he said, surprising her. "Pray, come and sit beside me." He patted the chair which was pulled alongside his own.

Kitty swallowed down her fears and did as she was bid, resettling her skirts around her ankles.

"Would you care for some wine?"

"No thank you, my lord." She shook her head quickly.

He tutted. "Guy, my name is Guy. I do not hear it often enough, these days. Please, do me the favour of using it."

Her heart was beating like a hollow drum on a battlefield. "Very well."

"Say it," he insisted, pouring himself another goblet of wine.

"Guy," she said. The word brought a new flush to her hot cheeks.

"Thank you." His finely carved lips curled upwards into a contagious smile and Kitty felt some of her anxieties lifting away from her.

"It is a fine name," she ventured.

His expression grew colder. "My mother chose it." He gazed into the empty grate for a moment and then turned towards her again. "I try not to think of my family. Not my parents, nor my uncle. Indeed, I had not seen my cousin Otto for many years before his last visit here.

She would rather not remember the lecherous old man, Otto's father, who'd had such clear designs on her virtue. But her curiosity was piqued. "Do you have no other relatives?"

"Very little," he declared, running his right hand through his thick, dark hair. "I had a brother," he allowed, "but he is dead."

For a moment the pain this caused him showed in his face, and Kitty looked away out of respect. "My mother is dead," she found herself admitting.

"And was she a kind woman?"

"The kindest."

"Then you know something of loss."

They sat in silence for a moment. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her sister, but Kitty stayed quiet. It was best if he knew nothing more about her real life.

"Tell me," he said, visibly rousing himself. "What tales have you heard about my uncle?"

The question startled her. "It is difficult to say." Her tongue wetted her dry lips.

"Come now, don't be shy. I know what kind of a man he was." He looked at her consideringly. "Did word spread about the tower room?"

Her toes wriggled with discomfort. "Yes."

"Ah." He took another long drink of wine. "And what was said about that cursed place?"

She couldn't bring herself to say what she knew. "I did not understand the stories, sir."

"Not ‘sir.'" He wagged a finger in her face.

A new thought occurred to her. The tower room would be the perfect place to hide something away from prying eyes. No one ever went in there. She had been convinced her jewels were in Guy's bedchamber, but was she na?ve to dismiss this option so quickly?

"Guy," she tried again. "What happened in there?"

"In the tower room?" He pursed his lips as if reluctant to say.

"I should like to know," she bravely went on, despite a trembling in her knees. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms.

"Well now, I hardly know how to answer." A laugh bubbled up inside him. "I didn't expect that sort of question from you, Kitty."

She was blushing furiously now. "Do you ever go in there?"

"I have been inside once," he confessed. "And what I saw made my cheeks almost as red as your own."

Horrified, she placed her head in her hands, but he gently pulled them away.

"I'm sorry for teasing you," he whispered, his breath warm against the top of her head. "I believe that you know not what you ask."

"The ways of men such as the old earl are entirely unknown to me," she stated boldly.

"I expected nothing else."

He was so close. She could smell his masculine scent of leather and sea salt. He hadn't let go of her wrist and the warmth of his encircling fingers travelled up her arm. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he traced a small circle over her pulse point with his thumb.

"I am not like those women," she said weakly, to herself as much as to him.

He sighed and released her hand, making her immediately bereft.

"Forgive me. I am drawn to you Kitty, not only to your voice, but to you. Believe me though, I mean you no harm." He swallowed. "I am not like my uncle."

"I know that," she blurted back, reaching over for his hands in her haste to reassure him. He linked his fingers with hers, looking at her with open surprise. "I'm drawn to you, too," she said. The admission was unplanned, but it was the truth. A truth she had barely even acknowledged to herself. She fixed her eyes on her hands. Hands which she'd always thought of as large and ungainly, but now they appeared small, swamped as they were inside his. How had she dared to touch him?

What should she do now?

Even if she wanted to pull her hands away, she couldn't. It was as if they belonged to someone else. Her body yearned to move closer to him.

"Kitty," he paused. "My intentions towards you are honourable. I invited you to my solar only to hear you sing. But you should know, your presence and your proximity risk making me forget myself."

She wanted him to forget himself. But at the same time, she trembled with uncertainty.

He squeezed her fingers gently, released them and placed his hands softly upon her forearms, his strong fingers bunching the cheap fabric of her sleeves.

"You should leave now," he said hoarsely.

"I don't want to leave."

The sultry heat and strangeness of the day had placed her under some sort of spell. Rational thought deserted her. She wanted only to feel his touch and prolong this wondrous time. She didn't even care about recovering her family jewels, not at this moment.

"Then I must kiss you," he stated, his eyes boring straight down to her soul.

Her heart pounded against her ribs and that coil of tension once again flickered in her core. She had never been kissed, not properly. She had never desired it, but now it was all she could think of. His lips on hers. The rasp of stubble against her cheeks. But would a kiss lead to something more? Strength and vigour radiated from him. She recalled the rippling muscles in his chest and shoulders. Once he took hold of her, she would never be able to escape.

No matter. He had offered his kiss and she wanted it.

He stood up suddenly. "I will say goodnight." His voice was harsh and abrupt.

"No," she protested. "I want you to kiss me."

In less than a heartbeat his strong arms had encircled her and lifted her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. His good hand stroked the length of her spine, coming to rest at the small of her back.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." She tilted her face up towards his, unable to wait any longer.

His lips settled upon hers, gently at first, in a kiss so sweet and gentle it unfurled something inside her. Kitty reached up and cupped each side of his face, delighting in the raspy feel of his stubble and the warmth of his body against her. He inched his face away and his eyes gazed down at her. Dark eyes, full of feeling, which she could get lost in.

His hand caressed her spine, sending jolts of anticipation through her. He kissed her again, more firmly this time. She arched into him, parting her lips in surprise at the wave of pleasure he was unleashing. Guy moaned slightly and pulled her towards him, claiming her mouth with his own. She gasped at the magnetic thrill of his tongue touching hers. Such intimacy she had never imagined. She could taste him, and he could taste her. The coil of tension deep inside her clenched with wanting.

He pulled away from their kiss. Breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers.

"That did nothing to satiate my longing for you," he said, his left hand roaming her back and making her press herself more firmly against him.

"I didn't want you to stop."

He gave a low chuckle. "Nor I, believe me."

But he had stopped, all the same. Did something about her displease him?

Had she done it wrong?

All the fire and certainty of the previous moment deserted her. Kitty felt only flushed and embarrassed.

"I want you, Kitty," he said, easing her fears. "But I shall not permit myself to have you. I am not the type of man to bed a servant."

His words were a slap in the face. Of course, she was nothing to him but a servant. If he knew the truth of her birth, would he want her more?

Her mother was Isabella of Answick. But her father was a drunkard who had gambled her away. How had Kitty ever imagined that a man like this would choose a woman like her?

Keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, Kitty backed away from the warmth of his arms.

"I will leave you, my lord."

He put a hand to her chin and lifted it. "I am sorry for my lapse of control," he said, a range of emotions flickering across his face.

At once, she longed again to move into his strong embrace. But there was no comfort for her there. Not when she was living a lie.

If she revealed who she was and why she had come to the castle, would he understand her deception? Return her family heirlooms?

Every day under his roof she had feared him finding out. Feared that he might claim her, ravish her. But now that she had kissed him, she knew she would always be safe in his arms. The Earl of Rossfarne had no streak of cruelty to him. He was an honourable man. A knight.

So how could she admit to him that she was the unfortunate daughter of Owain?

"You have no need to apologise," she said firmly. "The lapse was my own."

She bobbed her head politely and left the room, before he should see the tears prickling at the corner of her eyes.