Chapter Five

G uy dampened his washcloth in a bowl of warm water and rubbed vigorously at his torso. His scar was puckered and dark, a sharp contrast to the smooth, bronzed skin on his right side. But it was healing; that was all that mattered.

Naked from the waist up, Guy crossed his bedchamber to the high, latticed window. His gaze travelled out over the sparkling sea and then returned back to the castle grounds. If he listened carefully, beyond the crashing of the waves he could make out raised voices coming from the outer courtyard. Guy grimaced. The stable master was unused to spirited horses and his favourite charger, though usually a kind animal, was increasingly restless. At first, Guy had assumed that like his master, his horse was struggling to adjust to life away from the battlefield. But this morning's ride had planted a new fear in his mind—that the horse was responding to Guy's own inner turbulence.

He clenched his left fist tightly and swore in frustration. His grip was still feeble. Too feeble. He needed to recover fully, for his horse's sake as well as his own.

The stark walls of his bedchamber mocked his plight. Guy was used to a knight's transient lifestyle and had picked up few possessions of his own. Those he had, now graced the solar downstairs. But this room was unchanged. His pitiless uncle had slept beneath the dark canopy of the bed and picked out the sole cheerless tapestry hanging by the door. Today's brightness only served to highlight the lack of warmth and colour inside. Dust danced in the sunlight streaming through the window and the rushes on the floor were beginning to smell stale He should have let the maid put the room to rights, but he had sworn to allow no one in here but his manservant. Thomas was a dour soul, but he had served Guy faithfully for many years. After the theft of his coin, Thomas was the only person Guy could trust.

With a roar of frustration, he slammed the wooden shutters closed, casting the room into shadow. That was better. He could hide in the gloom, safe from the phantoms which the familiar granite walls were raising from their slumber.

He rummaged in his closet and found a long tunic that would suffice for the day. Pulling it roughly over his head, his fingers encountered a familiar knot of scarring across his clavicle. There it was. The tangible proof that he must return to the battlefield with all possible haste. This old injury had not threatened his life in the same way as his newest scar, but it was the one that he spent his days running away from.

He remembered the flash of cruelty in his father's grief-stricken face when he'd released the dagger.

"Never again lower your guard," the older man had growled, his pink lips curling back in satisfaction as deep red blood pooled in his son's clavicle.

For all his brutality, his father had been right. Guy had found kinship on the battlefield and over the years, he had begun to let down his guard. And this new trust in humanity had led to the loss of his silver.

Guy had learned his lesson now. All locks would be fastened. All shutters barred. He would never again forget the cruel lesson his father had imparted in the aftermath of his younger brother's death. A death he'd carried the burden of since his miserable youth.

A hammering on the door jolted him from his reverie.

"Come," he shouted, lifting his chin to straighten the tunic.

Thomas stalked into the room. He was unshaven and carried a faint whiff of polish from the armoury. Guy beheld him with displeasure. It was true that they did not expect visitors to the castle, but certain standards should still be maintained. Thomas's grey hair needed combing and his shirt was missing a button.

"What is it?" he asked.

Thomas nodded behind him. "I found her lurking in your solar, my lord."

Guy raised his gaze over the servant's balding head and encountered the flashing green eyes of the serving girl from the causeway. Kitty. The one so keen to enter his bedchamber. Well, she had finally gotten her wish.

"I see." Surprise stole his capacity for any further comment.

"I told her she should be flogged for insolence." Thomas sniffed, his beady eyes lighting up at the prospect.

Did the man have a streak of cruelty running through him?

Kitty opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it again. He could see a tumult of emotion crossing her face. Denial, frustration and most intriguingly of all, a faint sparkle of authority. She would like to put Thomas in his place. He could see it as plain as day. Although she would do so calmly. Guy couldn't imagine Kitty ever losing control. She radiated a quiet certitude.

Instead of offering an explanation, Guy simply pursed his lips. "And what do you have to say for yourself, girl?"

For the briefest moment her eyes clashed with his, steel on steel, before her expression dropped demurely to the floor.

"I was merely carrying out your orders, my lord."

"Orders," spluttered Thomas, but Guy held up a hand to stop him.

"My orders," he confirmed. "That's quite right. No harm has been done." He cleared his throat. "No one shall be flogged today."

Again he caught a flash of green. A surge of watchful, determined patience.

"But she wasn't working, she was just standing there," Thomas protested.

This time the serving girl couldn't help herself. Her gaze shifted warily, and her lips tightened. If he hadn't been watching her closely, he would have missed it.

What was her story, Guy wondered. How had she come by such inner poise and confidence? Again he puzzled over what had brought her to these shores, to the infamous castle of the Earl of Rossfarne.

It was a puzzle he would like to solve.

"I begin to think I have tasked you too severely, Thomas," he said. "We will permit Kitty entrance to the solar. She will be responsible for it, from now on." He waved his hand in the air, not completely sure what was involved in a chambermaid's duties.

Thomas looked displeased but knew better than to question his master. "Very good, my lord." He ducked his head and ushered Kitty from the room.

Guy turned towards the window. "I would like you to stay, just for a moment."

"Me, my lord?" his manservant queried.

"You may go, Thomas."

He kept his back turned until Thomas's shuffling footsteps had left the room and the chamber door was closed once again. Silence stretched between them, but he waited patiently. Who would break it first? As a servant, this wench should know not to speak before he did.

"How may I assist you, my lord?"

Not a trained servant then. She had given herself away. Guy whirled around, ready to confront her, but the sight of her downturned head and neatly folded hands made him pause.

"I wish to know more about you, Kitty." He took a step forward and was struck by her lemony scent. He breathed it in. It was a fragrance he could lose himself in, if circumstances were different.

"More about me, my lord?" Her voice rose with alarm.

"Yes." He stopped a few feet away from her and folded his arms. "Where did you say you were from?"

She swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. The skin of her cheek was smooth with a faint clustering of freckles around her upturned nose. An auburn curl had sprung loose from her cap to sit upon her slender shoulder.

"Not far from here."

"But you said you had travelled for many days," he countered quickly.

"I did." She straightened up and met his gaze levelly. He thought again that he had never beheld such beautiful sea-green eyes. "But I did not come directly to Rossfarne. I asked elsewhere for work first."

That made sense. He was almost convinced. But an air of mystery still surrounded her. Surely no serving girl would stand so tall and speak with such refinement?

"Where else did you enquire?"

At this her eyes darted to the side and a faint flush brought colour to her sculpted cheeks, but she answered readily enough. "With the Duke of Answick."

Again, the reply was reasonable. The duke lived some miles distant, but a healthy young woman could walk there and back in a matter of days.

"It is a blessing for us that you were turned away," he said drily.

"Thank you, my lord."

He should dismiss her, but this conversation was the most interesting one he'd had for several days now. With no company bar the cheerless Thomas and his uncle's former servants, Guy was increasingly alone with his troubled thoughts. Thoughts which he desired respite from.

"And are you happy in your work?"

"Very happy, my lord." Her voice was uneven, piquing his curiosity further.

"The other servants treat you well?"

"Extremely well," she paused, seemingly searching for words. "Like family."

This he could not believe. His uncle's servants seemed to have been hand-picked for their morose ways. Or maybe it was the gloom of Rossfarne Castle which could quell the sparks of the most buoyant soul.

"I am pleased to hear it." He let his arms fall to his sides, wincing at a jolt of pain from his injured wrist. Their conversation was at an end. He must release her back to her chores and her fellow servants, those who treated her like family.

Family. He had never known the joys of it, except briefly with his younger brother. But that happiness had quickly turned to grief and then to a hardened wretchedness from which he could never escape.

"I must let you return to your work," he said stiffly.

Relief washed over her wide-set eyes. "Thank you, my lord." She bobbed her head and turned to leave.

He didn't want to let her go. "Just a moment," he called.

She halted immediately. Did a faint tremor pass over her? "What is it?"

"I think you have forgotten something." He walked with measured footsteps until he stood in front of the door. Kitty's gaze was fixed on the floor, but she worried at her lower lip, betraying her anxieties. Her hands fluttered to her apron pockets. "I am no expert, but I believe you will require a broom to sweep my solar."

"Of course." She looked up at him and almost smiled. He found he wanted to see her smile and watch those beautiful eyes light up with something other than determination. "I will fetch it now."

"No need." He didn't want this innocent young woman further exposed to the darkness of his uncle's tower room. "I shall recover the broom for you."

Her pale hands fluttered upwards as if to stop him, but he marched from the chamber and up the narrow stairway before common sense could intervene and demand to know why he was extending the hand of chivalry to a serving wench.

Too fast. He had moved too quickly and underestimated the tight turns of the spiral staircase. His left side clenched with warning, and he gritted his teeth in frustration. Damnation. Could he not even ascend a flight of stairs now?

The broom was laying on the floor, just out of reach. He had no wish to punish himself further by leaning downwards, but he could draw it closer to him with his foot.

Alas, he again moved too sharply, and the handle of the broom flew towards him. He ducked to the side and a hot flash of pain traversed the length of his scar. Breathing hard, Guy leaned against the cold stone wall and waited for the agony to pass.

Footsteps behind him increased his discomfort. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, especially not a young woman with entrancing eyes.

"Are you well, my lord?" Her voice was hesitant.

"Clearly not," he shot back.

She had come to a halt just behind him, and he cursed her for it. Now they must cross paths on the impossibly small landing. Pain seared through him, blurring his vision and stealing his breath.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You should have waited downstairs."

It was too late now. There was nothing for it but to stagger sideways and allow her to see how he clung to the castle wall.

Perspiration sprang out on his forehead as his heel teetered dangerously on the top step. He was accustomed to physical fitness, not this debilitating weakness, but the hard ride this morning intended to steady his horse had pushed his tentative recovery too far.

"You are ill." She ducked down until he could see the concern in her face.

"I am injured," he corrected her with a growl. "But I shall be fine in just a moment."

She bent to pick up the broom with enviable ease. "I didn't know," she faltered.

Of course she didn't know. No one here knew, bar Thomas. It was better that way. If news of his fragility spread further, all manner of scoundrels may descend upon them, and he had not yet fully secured the castle. His uncle's staff barely managed the household. There were no guards except the marshal who kept watch at the gatehouse.

He shot out his good arm and gripped her wrist. "You must tell no one of this."

He heard her swallow, though his vision swam before him. "I won't." Her voice was steady, and he implicitly believed her. "Will you allow me to help you back to your chamber?"

No. He wouldn't accept help from anyone.

"Return to your work," he told her, dropping her wrist.

"But I can't leave you here."

"Leave me," he barked.

She didn't leave. He could sense her, even as the world dissolved into a swarm of hazy colours. Damn her defiance. He should have her flogged after all.

"I once nursed a man back to full strength after he was cut with an axe." She paused. "I could help you, my lord, if only you would let me."

Guy forced himself to stand upright and lift his gaze from the floor.

"I don't need help," he enunciated slowly and clearly. "I haven't asked for it and I don't want it." His hand grasped for purchase on the rough stone behind him. "Now get back to your work."

*

Night fell slowly this far north. Guy had been drawn to the window seat of his solar by the luminous colours of the sunrise, and there he had stayed. It was surprisingly comfortable on the padded cushions and as the shadows lengthened around the battlements, he had discerned a further benefit to his locale.

With the heavy drapes closed behind him, no one could see where he was.

A plan had sprung into his mind, perfectly formed and impossible to resist. He would wait on the window seat until the servants divined he had retired for the evening. When the maid came in to clear the room, he would emerge from his hiding place and insist upon an audience. He could have saved himself all of this trouble and simply sent for her, but then there would be questions asked in the kitchen and he couldn't risk even the scent of gossip.

He twisted his signet ring around his thick-set knuckles, angry and frustrated in equal measure. That he should sink to such depths to speak to a servant appalled him. But he must ensure her silence. Earlier on, debilitated by pain, he had not been able to impress upon her the importance of it. But by God, she must understand, and she must submit.

That was the crux of it. Not his desire to spend more time in her company, to look into her bewitching green eyes and enjoy her quick-witted conversation. He cared for none of this. Only her promise of silence.

The remaining embers of the log fire glowed faintly, the only light in the room. He'd watched the tallow candles flicker their last some time previous. His legs ached from their cramped position and his scar throbbed, reminding him of the doctor's advice to remain in bed, but still Guy waited.

At last, a faint click announced the door latch being raised. Guy struggled to his feet, ready to stride out and take Kitty unawares. A cramp had taken hold of his left arm, but he had another. His hand twitched the drape aside and in the light of a newly arrived candle he made out the outline of the maid he was waiting for.

Kitty walked lightly into the solar, as graceful as a noble lady entering a ballroom. She had removed her cap and apron, convinced no doubt that her quick evening rounds would not be disturbed. Her abundant red-gold curls cascaded down the back of her plain grey servant's dress and her slim hips sashayed as she crossed from the desk to the fireplace, straightening cushions and replacing candles ready for the morning. All at once, it was as if Kitty was the mistress here. He was the interloper, hiding behind a drape, intent on mischief.

He swallowed, unable to resist the lure of her feminine curves. Curves that were usually hidden beneath an apron and were still partially obscured by her modest dress. But curves that were undeniably present. Guy couldn't take his eyes off her. He moved backwards to ensure the drapes concealed him and watched.

Kitty reached for the tall wooden candlesticks atop the fireplace and audibly tutted. Her dextrous fingers explored the wax that had dropped down them and she began to rub one against her dress. Guy's breath caught in his throat as he felt a flicker of unbidden desire.

Desire that must be quashed. He was not his uncle. He would not bed the servants, nor any other maid from common stock hereabouts.

Get a grip on yourself , he thought. Go out there and tell her what she needs to know.

But then Kitty began to sing.

Quietly at first, her surprisingly beautiful voice grew stronger until it soared around the vaulted chamber. Guy didn't recognise the words or the melody, but it didn't matter. Her singing was his undoing.

All at once, his remaining strength deserted him. He sat back heavily on the window seat, feeling as if Kitty had reached her slender hand into his very soul and pulled it out. He was drained, but at the same time he was replete. A calmness descended over him and the tight knot of tension he carried in his gut unclenched.

Kitty dropped to her knees to position the fireguard and her singing quietened. Guy strained to hear more, but she sat back on her heels as she gazed at the glowing embers, apparently lost in thought.

Sing again , he wanted to beg her. Don't stop. But all he could do was sit as still as a mouse and wait.

Finally she sighed, straightened up and smoothed down her dress. Guy held his breath, hoping for more, and his patience was rewarded when she picked up the tune once again. This time she hummed, but the soothing magic of her voice was just as potent even without words. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the granite wall, luxuriating in the rise and fall of the melody. A heaviness came over him as Kitty's voice washed his worries far away.

He could rest. He could even sleep. Her singing had brought him peace.

She walked to the door, lifted the latch and closed it behind her. The melody stopped, and Guy was momentarily bereft.

He remembered their first encounter on the causeway and his thoughts as she magically calmed his frenzied horse.

Witchcraft.

Was she a witch come to charm him? He'd never before entertained such superstitious notions. But with a voice like that, she could do with him whatever she wanted.

Guy's lips twitched into a smile. He had discovered one secret of his enigmatic serving maid and he already wanted more. Before long, he would unpick the rest.