Page 18 of Gambling with the Earl
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 ofthe 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.
Chapter Six
“My lord, ridershave been sighted on the causeway. At least twenty men. They will be at the castle within minutes.” The marshal had run all the way from the gatehouse to deliver his message. He put a hand to his chest, his ribs visibly heaving beneath his grey tunic.
Guy stood up from his desk as quickly as he dared, instantly on high alert. The morning sun had already risen high in the sky, and he had been sitting in the solar alone in a kind of trance, allowing his thoughts to wander to the beautiful serving maid with an equally beautiful voice. But here was danger, or at least the scent of it, and his knight’s instincts came rushing to the fore. “Did they carry a standard of any sort? Or a coat of arms?”
“Aye, sir.” The marshal leaned back against the door jamb, still trying to recover his breath. “I saw it clearly. ’Twas a golden lion on a red standard.”
Immediately some of the tension left Guy’s shoulders. “Those are the colours of Darkmoor,” he announced with relief. “The earl is a cousin of mine, and his son Otto is a good friend.” He half smiled as he remembered a distant boyhood summer spent roaming the fields of Forbisher with young Otto, a willing accomplice in youthful mischief.
But for the marshal, the name had darker associations, and he visibly blanched. “You don’t mean Otto Sarragnac…?” His voice was disbelieving.
Guy waved his hand, half amused by the man’s reaction. “Known as theFeared One?” he finished for him. “Yes, the very same. He’ll be delighted to learn that news of his exploits has spread this far east. Though you should not believe everything you hear, my good man. Otto is a skilled warrior, no more, no less.” His fearlessness had been apparent at a young age, Guy recalled, when they had faced one another with wooden swords, mounted on willing, if diminutive, ponies.
The marshal crossed his arms, his head on one side, clearly not reassured. “Should I close the gates?”
This was evidently the correct course of action in the man’s mind. Guy held his gaze, closing his ears to the plaintive calling of the gulls outside. It was a sound eerily reminiscent of the wailing of a child. “The Darkmoors will have already overcome a great many obstacles to ride all the way here from the western shores.” As he spoke the words, one question bubbled at the forefront of his mind.Why did they come?But he kept his voice light and unconcerned. “Do you consider a closed gate to be an effective deterrent against theFeared One?”
“Then what are your orders, my lord?”
The marshal’s unease was rubbing off on Guy, despite his initial reaction to the news. He couldn’t help but weigh up his own physical strength, depleted as it was, against that of his infamous cousin. Otto Sarragnac was the mightiest of warriors. His father, Lord Ulric, had a fearsome reputation of his own. And Guy was an injured knight who could not yet ride his horse without debilitating stabs of pain. He could not hope to stand against the Darkmoors, whatever the purpose of their visit. Therefore, his only choice was to make them welcome.
“Throw open the gates and ready the men to receive their horses,” he barked. “Tell Cook we shall expect refreshments.” He grimaced, unable to stop himself adding more. “But warn the female servants to stay out of sight until I send word.” It wasthe least he could do, to keep them safe. The enigmatic maid, Kitty, amongst them. Though he would wager the Darkmoors had come with peaceful intent, that didn’t mean that the female servants were entirely out of danger of a particular sort.
He considered his cheerless great hall and weed-covered courtyard, a far cry from the comfort and style of his childhood home of Forbisher; an even further cry from the elegance of Darkmoor Castle. For the first time, Guy felt a wave of regret for not doing more to brighten up his recently inherited fortress. But it could not be helped now; he had but minutes to spare. Besides, this was his convalescent home, and he had not anticipated receiving visitors.
Burying his unease deep inside, he rang for Thomas and asked him to fetch down a heavily embroidered deep blue tunic which was a more fitting costume for an earl than the plain shirt in which he’d dressed that morning. Once appropriately attired, he strode into the courtyard to welcome his unexpected guests. The clatter of approaching horses’ hooves was like a deafening drum roll as the gleaming armour-clad soldiers poured up the causeway and through the arched entrance in the outer castle walls. Guy stood as tall as he could, wishing he had somehow found the coin to hire castle guards for Rossfarne. He could not rely on the tides as a deterrent, he realized. Not against men like Otto Sarragnac. Guy flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. If hostility was shown, he would not go down without a fight.
But his concerns were eased when a heavily armed warrior on a bright chestnut horse cantered through the ranks towards him. The man reached up to remove his helmet, revealing nut-brown curls, and smiled widely in greeting. “Guy,” he exclaimed, towering above him on his prancing horse. “So the rumours are true! You are here in Rossfarne.”
“The rumours are true,” Guy confirmed, reaching up for the reins as his boyhood friend slid off his horse. “It’s good to see you, Otto.”
He hoped that were true. Otto’s relaxed demeanour and the casual stance of the Darkmoor knights gave him no cause for immediate alarm.
“You too, my friend. It has been too long.” Otto flung an arm around Guy’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly, making him wince with pain, though he didn’t let it show.
