Page 72 of My Warrior
“I fear so, aye, Majesty,” he glibly replied, “for the fires at home need tending.”
Cambria bristled frostily at his frank remark, but held her tongue. She was clever enough not to taint the progress she’d made with the king by a display of temper.
Edward smiled winningly. “Well, my dear, your Wolf awaits impatiently. Take care he doesn’t devour you.”
The folk around the dying embers chuckled politely at the king’s wit. Cambria coyly lowered her gaze as she rose and curtseyed to Edward. But when she turned toward Holden, a hundred unspoken threats smoldered in her eyes.
The tension was like a stifled scream as they walked in stony silence through the shifting shadows of the firelit pines. He guided her with an iron fist around her elbow. She railed against the contact, but at least she was wise enough not to raise her voice while they were yet within hearing.
He pushed her through the opening of his pavilion. She sputtered as the material flapped about her face, and as soon as he released her arm, she spun around, facing him with all the fight of a spitting kitten.
“What do you mean by this?” she demanded, placing her hands squarely on her hips.
“What doI…?” he began incredulously. “Madam, you have played your last game of intrigue.”
“Intrigue? I befriendyourking, and you call it intrigue?”
“You’re a novice,” he told her, his voice dripping with scorn. “Your ploys are so transparent, I wonder that the king didn’t tire of them sooner.”
Her lips formed a silent, mortified “oh.”
“I’m returning you to Blackhaugh tomorrow,” he informed her, dipping his hands into the basin of water by the entrance.
“You can’t command me—“
“I can and I do!” he thundered, his anger descending like a storm cloud. “Pack what you like tonight, for you leave at first light.”
“Nay. I have influence over the king and—“
“The only influence you have over the king, my lady, is concerning his opinion about the loyalty of de Ware!” His voice had risen to a shout, but he’d effectively silenced her. He continued in controlled tones, drying his hands on a linen towel. “Now, pack your things, and don’t think to defy me in this. I won’t allow you to put the name of de Ware at risk. My king and my country are my foremost concerns.”
He felt a twinge of guilt at that confession. It wasn’t at all true. As any wise lord, he put his family and vassals foremost, knowing that king and country often bent under the thumb of ridicule and public opinion. He naturally played the game of confidant, but a part of him was always guarded, ready to set sail with the change of the political winds.
Wedding Cambria, Holden had assumed responsibility for her and her clan—they were now part of his circle of protection—but, damn the wench, she was jeopardizing his ability to provide that protection. If she proved dangerous to the fragile threads of the de Ware reputation, she endangered his family and her own. Maybe if he tried to explain…
Damn! He owed her no explanation for his actions. He was her lord, her master. Tomorrow he’d send her away with two of his best men, and that would be that.
“I suggest you be about your labors,” he said coolly, undressing and stretching out across the pallet, “and then get what rest you can.”
Despite his properly admonished wife’s pacing and flouncing and the hurling of her possessions into a pile, it wasn’t long before he was taking in the deep, relieved breaths of slumber.
Cambria slammed her boots onto the floor in rage. How dare he dismiss her so easily! So king and country came first to him, did they? Well, two could play at that game, and she planned to let him know in no uncertain terms that for her, her clan came first. In fact, with the great responsibilities her clan entailed, she doubted she would have much time, if any, left over for wifely duties once he returned to Blackhaugh.
Raising her chin defiantly, she shuffled out of her kirtle and under the covers, facing the future with new determination. She was careful not to let any part of her body touch the Englishman as they slept side by side through a very long night.
The sun took no mercy on Cambria’s gritty eyes. She blinked them several times as she plodded along on the palfrey, but they still stung from lack of sleep and the dirt of the road.
One knight rode before her, one behind, and from their silence, she could tell they resented being sent upon this nursemaid’s mission.
Sir Guy led the way, still wallowing in the shame of having lost Owen. He likely felt suitably punished, riding solemnly before her, wearing his duty like an ascetic’s hair shift. Close behind her was Sir Myles, as sullen as a summer squall. This had been his first campaign. She’d doubtless ruined it, forcing him to abandon his place of glory to accompany her home.
There was little conversation between the three as they rode down the dusty road, which suited Cambria perfectly. She had no desire to defend her actions, actions she felt were completely justified.
She was glad she’d spoken with the king. It was important to convey the thoughts of her people to this English monarch. In that, she felt she’d succeeded.
She couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Even as she rode proudly off across the countryside, Holden was attempting to repair the damage she’d done. He smiled as winningly as he could at Edward, considering the embarrassing circumstances.
