Lady Squire Read online

  Merin forced a smile. He deserved no less, when he was being so kind. Though she could see his encouragement for what it was, the soothing she'd give to a distraught child, reflection of a generous spirit rather than an honest acknowledgement of her incompetence. She would rather have the latter, but she was grateful all the same.

  "If you can't mount yet," Valentin said quietly. "I'm at your service. Seen you struggle with it. Shame to miss out on your practice time because of that."

  Merin flushed, and shook her head. "Thank you. But I'm done." She couldn't endure any more embarrassment.

  "Well, if you're sure."

  Merin surrendered the horse to one of the pages. Then glanced at the youths, who were not yet done jeering. She would have to pass them to get back to the tents.

  She strode on a little faster. They were bound to ridicule her as she passed, and she couldn't bear to have Valentin there listening.

  But she couldn't shake him off. He walked alongside her, not too close, and turned a long cold look at the youths when they began to shout insults at her.

  "Excuse me." Valentin offered her a slight bow, then turned aside to have a quiet word. She couldn't hear what he said, but she saw their eyes widen and their sneers fade. Saw the uneasy glances up towards the tents, where Guillaume's and Matilda's colours hung bright in the pallid morning air.

  Merin walked on, hoping to make good her escape. But then she felt the rudeness of it, paused and waited for Valentin to catch up.

  "Sorry about that," he said as he reached her. The youths had turned away, subdued, to watch the rest of the practice session. "Ignore them. I know them from before. They're pretty rotten."

  "It was silly to think I could do this," Merin admitted. Better to say so and have done. "All those boys have practised for years. Whereas I'm just a girl, and was never taught. I should have stuck to hunting."

  "Not that many years," Valentin said. "Most of them are kids are just starting out. Simple little run. You shouldn't have any trouble with it. Didn't, either, that I saw."

  Merin cringed. Now he was lying, and badly too. "I didn't even get close."

  "No trouble except with the ring," Valentin amended. "But you went nice and smooth through the poles, and came out with a good straight aim. Then you started thinking too much and confused yourself."

  "Did I?"

  "That's what it looked like to me. Seriously, don't feel bad. You're doing fine, considering."

  "Oh," Merin said. "Considering."

  "Be fair. Why do you expect to learn in seven days what the rest of us spend seven years on?"

  There was that. "I suppose I'm being arrogant," Merin admitted, shamefaced. "But I do so much want to do this."

  "I know. It's to your credit."

  He seemed in earnest, dark eyes intent on her face. Merin blushed. She loved being near him like this. Yet he must think her foolish, absurd.

  She couldn't match him in any respect. Had neither knowledge nor skill to impress him with.

  Didn't have anything interesting to say, either. She cast around for an innocuous topic of conversation.

  "Does your family not travel at all?" Valentin asked. "I'm surprised no one has taken you on the circuit before, even in a small way. This meet's not five days' ride from your door."

  "Mother's happy being settled. Caroline, too, and Alan won't go beyond a day's ride from her. I suppose Father might have considered it, he talks a lot about tourneys with Alan, but Mother says it would be so difficult with the little ones."

  "Why, how many siblings do you have?"

  "Seven." Merin went on to describe the daily adventures of life as one among eight sisters. Valentin balked at that, she was much amused by the way his eyes widened in disbelief. But he politely said nothing, and she was relieved at getting not a single comment about how hard it must be to arrange marriages for them all.

  "I couldn't do what you've done, though," she finished. "Go off alone to live among strangers. I mean, I'm loving this now. But when I was little, it would have been awful." And even now, her heart ached with longing. Not to be home, exactly. She'd enjoyed her stay with Alan and Caroline very much. But to be in a friendly and familiar place, where she mattered. Here, she felt on the brink of disappearing among so many people.

  "To be honest, I wasn't very happy about it myself at the time," Valentin confessed. "It helped that plenty of other boys were in the same boat. And of course quite a few of the men in the retinue started out that way. They were friendly enough. Helped me settle in. Told me not to mind Guillaume's temper, which frankly I needed to hear." Valentin grimaced. "Took me a while to get used to it."

  "I bet," Merin said with feeling. "He threw a water-flask at me."

  Valentin stared. "At a lady? That's a bit much, even for him. When?"

  "Um." Merin realised she probably shouldn't mention the fact that she'd gone alone to Guillaume's room. "He mistook me for a squire."

  "Ah." Valentin breathed out, as if in relief. "That explains it. Yes, we all learn to duck. Fast."

  Merin stifled a laugh. "I wish I'd been born a boy," she said wistfully. "Father always wanted one. Then I'd have learned to ride and fight, just like you."

  Valentin gave her an odd look. "We might have trained together. I would have liked that."

  "So would I." And it was truth. She'd have loved to work alongside him, share the daily adventures of ordinary life.

  "But," Valentin said hesitantly, "I'm glad you're a girl."

  They drifted to a halt in the shadow of Matilda's tent, while the bustle of the camp whirled around them. Merin looked up at him, tall and strong-shouldered, with an expression in his eyes that made her shiver.

  "I'm glad too," she said.

  He stood so close that it was easy to touch him, reach out and caress his arm. Just because she wanted to, with no thought beyond. But his eyes darkened with emotion, and he leaned forward, so near that a faint wisp of breath touched her face. Merin rose on tiptoe, rested her lips lightly against his, and they fitted so perfectly that she remained there, even as he slipped his arms around her body and held her to him.

  It wasn't the fervent passion she'd imagined, when she'd dreamed of love. But it sent a tingle clear through her body, a glitter of sensation that scurried along her nerves and buried itself in her palms and the soles of her feet.

  "Oh," Merin whispered, and held his shoulders as she settled back onto the ground, and followed his mouth with his as he eased away.

  "I can't," Valentin whispered back. "Really. I want to, I swear. But my lord would kill me."

  "You're not afraid of Guillaume, are you?" Merin teased. But her smile faded when she saw the fear in Valentin's eyes.

  "God, yes," Valentin said. "He gave Alan his word not to beat you, I heard him myself. But me he can flay alive if he likes. Or turn off from his service with nothing."

  She didn't want that, of course. "Well, can't you just tell him..." Merin broke off. The word 'marriage' loomed before her, stern and inevitable. But she didn't want to take that step, not yet. Just wanted the freedom to be with Valentin, and touch him, and kiss.

  "I can try," Valentin said. "For you, I would. But you may never see this face again. Or if you do, you won't recognise it." He tried to smile, a shaky effort that tore at her heart.

  Merin stepped back. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise." She felt embarrassed now, awkward and silly.

  "Matilda told me not to speak with you," Valentin added with a guilty glance at the tent. "So I probably shouldn't." But he made no motion to leave.

  "Thank you for helping me," Merin said sincerely. "You know, at the practice-ground. And for walking me back."

  "Pleasure," Valentin said. "Any time. Listen, if you do want to ask about anything..." He trailed off. "Matilda is highly skilled, and has good knights in her pay. Her squires are pretty competent too. They should be able to set you straight. Just ask someone. And keep practising. It will all start coming together eventually."

  He flinched of
a sudden, as if he'd spotted danger. Merin turned to find Guillaume looming behind her.

  "Excuse me." Valentin gave her a hasty bow and strode off.

  Guillaume transferred the stare to Merin, who also flinched. And cursed herself for it. But something in Guillaume's expression shrivelled any thought of protest.

  "Where's Matilda?" Guillaume asked, with an edge to his voice.

  "I'm not sure."

  "And where are you supposed to be?"

  Merin sought for words. "I was at practice down in the yard. It didn't go terribly well. Matilda wasn't there, so Valentin walked me back. For safety." She raised her chin. "I asked him to."

  "That's a lie," Guillaume said in a level tone. "You do not lie to me, girl."

  Merin faltered. "He won't get into trouble, will he?"

  "Is that your concern?"

  She couldn't answer.

  "No," Guillaume said. "It is not your concern. If you are unattended, you remain within." He pointed to Matilda's tent, significantly.

  Seething, Merin stalked towards the entrance. "You're a thug and a brute." She swung around abruptly to face him, and realised she was staring at his chest. Tipped her head back far enough to meet his eyes, and then wished she hadn't.

  Guillaume crossed his arms slowly, giving her plenty of time to observe the shifting mass of muscle under the light woollen tunic that he wore. "Did you want a beating?"

  "You're not allowed," Merin shot back defiantly. "You gave Alan your word."

  "And how would you happen to know that?"

  Merin flushed. "Alan told me."

  Guillaume raised his eyebrows, and waited.

  "Fine," Merin raged. "He didn't. Someone else did. What does it matter?"

  "Get inside."

  Merin swung around and stalked into Matilda's tent, furious. Guillaume followed her, checked that no one else was there, and then turned to face her. For the first time since meeting him, she felt genuinely afraid.

  "I don't hit women," Guillaume said quietly. "Unless they're knighted and ranged against me on the field, in which case I'll break their bones and laugh over it. And I don't beat children too young to know any sense. But I am minded to set aside my principles just for you. If you lie to me again, you will regret it."

  Merin swallowed. She really didn't want him coming at her with force. The man was huge.

  "You gave me and Matilda your word to behave impeccably," Guillaume said. "Abide by that or I will have you trussed up and sent home within the hour. Do not flirt with my men. Or any other men, either."

  "I wasn't flirting," Merin argued, stung. "I was only - "

  "Kissing," Guillaume said. "Care to deny it?"

  She ought to. Really. But she'd lied to him twice, and he'd known right away. "It was my fault, truly it was. Please don't blame Valentin."

  Guillaume raised his eyebrows again. She wished he wouldn't do that. It made her nervous.

  "Fine," she said. "It's not my concern. But."

  "You ridiculous child," Guillaume said, "if you ever kiss so much as a wine-cup while you're in my keeping, no sworn oath in the world is going to stop me ripping the skin from your backside. Now stay here in nunnish seclusion and await your mistress's return. Or I will beat you. That is a promise. Clear?"

  Merin sulked. "You're a horrible man."

  "Thriving on it."

  But he'd brought her, when she asked. And for all his threats, he hadn't actually hit her yet. "Please will you not be angry with Valentin?" Merin begged. "It was all my doing, and I know I was wrong. I let you and Matilda down. I'm truly sorry for that. But it wasn't his fault. He really did just walk me back to keep me safe. I made a shambles of the training session, and some men watching were pretty mean about it. Valentin spoke to them and made them stop."

  "So you kissed him. There's gratitude."

  Merin fought against the heat that spread through her skin. "It's not what you think. He doesn't - that is, I'm sure he wouldn't - "

  "Girl, I am a man myself. You let me work out what the score is on his side."

  That made a cold weight settle in her stomach. Because she simply hadn't thought of things in those terms. Though she could see how it might appear to others - sneaking into a lord's room alone, hiding in the shadows with a knighted man, kissing him.

  "You imagine yourself in love with Valentin?" Guillaume fixed her with a stare that frightened her.

  She'd never been beaten. Slapped, at times. But never punched or kicked, the way she'd seen Guillaume do in practice. Never whipped.

  Lies hadn't worked. Maybe honesty was the best option. Embarrassment notwithstanding.

  "I do like him very much," Merin confessed.

  "Enough to marry?"

  Merin squirmed. "I don't know. Anyway my parents wouldn't let me. They want a man of means and patronage."

  "So you thought you'd take a short cut? Present them with a done deed, complete with messy consequences, and leave me to explain matters to Alan and your father."

  "No." Merin flushed hot as the full implications became clear to her. "Of course not. I'd never do that."

  Guillaume held the stare a moment longer. Then relaxed. "Innocence. I'd forgotten what it's like. Now listen to me. You have no idea of the situation you are in. I do. As does Matilda. Show us the courtesy of respecting our wishes while you are in our care."

  "Yes, but - "

  "Do not disgrace your family, yourself, and us by attempting to imitate the sort of liaison every man and woman on the circuit is quick to engage in or suspect. As for Valentin, he's a sound lad, but as yet he has nothing to offer beyond the obvious. Give him a few years to prove his worth, and I'll speak to Charles about him if you wish."

  The anger seeped away. Merin felt deflated now, and rather foolish. "I do like him. And I didn't think about disgracing my family. Or Matilda." She wilted under Guillaume's meaningful look. "Or you."

  "Dare say my reputation can handle it. While you are here, conduct yourself as if you were under your father's eye. Else I will send you home. Immediately. Without giving you the chance to pack."

  Merin curtsied, reluctantly. "There really wasn't more. And hasn't been. And I wouldn't. Honestly. I hadn't even thought about anything like that."

  "Good."

  "Please don't harm him," Merin begged. "He said you could flay him alive if you chose."

  "And I ought to," Guillaume said. "But I'll hold that threat over you instead. From now on, if I disapprove in the least of your behaviour, I'll flog him and force you to watch."

  "You wouldn't," Merin said uncertainly.

  "Care to gamble on it?"

  Merin bit her lip. "Why did someone as nice as Matilda ever marry you?"

  "That," Guillaume said, "you will never discover from me." He flashed her a gleaming smile that would have weakened her knees if she didn't know him, and strode out of the tent.

  ***

  Valentin had made every show of being busy, but he wasn't remotely surprised when Guillaume emerged alone from Matilda's tent, spoke a sharp word to the man on guard, then strode past Valentin with a curt: "Attend me."

  Cold with foreboding, Valentin trailed behind his lord all the way to the back of the stables. Where Guillaume swung around so fast there was no chance to react, and punched Valentin in the face. The blow slammed Valentin against the thin plank wall, which rattled under the impact.

  "You know exactly what that was for," Guillaume growled. "Do not pretend to me that you don't."

  "My lord." Valentin scrounged for his scattered senses. "I have wronged you, and I am sorry. With your permission, I would like to offer for the lady Merin. To her father."

  "He'll leap at the chance," Guillaume spat. "With all the land and fees and titles you hold, eh? Fucking vermin. That girl is in my care. You are my own sworn man. She ought to be sacred in your eyes."

  Valentin fought against tears - unmanly, disgraceful, but insistent. Because this was his life, all the life he'd ever known since he'd first arrived as
a confused and lonely child. And this the man who'd guided him through it, stood always as mentor and protector to him, a true friend under all the snarls.

  "My lord, I've betrayed your trust in me. I'm - " not sorry, that wasn't nearly word enough - "I'm mortified. Please believe that I respect her entirely, and you, and that I had - have - only the most honourable intentions."

  "So I could tell."

  "I love her," Valentin said. And felt new warmth in his heart as he heard the word, because it was truth.

  "In a manner you'd do well to seek out other women for," Guillaume shot back. "If you're too bloodless to find them, I can point one or two your way. But you do not approach girls who are unattached and unattended. As for the calculated insult to me - "

  Valentin wilted where he stood. "There was no such consideration," he said. "None. Ever. I would not repay your kindness over so many years in such a despicable manner."

  "You already did."

  There was nothing to urge against that. Nothing. Valentin lowered his head. "You wish me to pack, my lord?"

  Guillaume considered, for a long moment that drew out into eternity. "Not as yet. You may remain in my service for the present. One more false step from you - just one, mark that - and you are gone without name or recommendation. Understand?"

  "Perfectly, my lord. Thank you, from my soul." Valentin wavered. He didn't dare risk changing Guillaume's mind by alluding to what had occurred. But he owed the man some measure of assurance. "I can guarantee that nothing like what you saw will ever happen again."

  "I didn't see it," Guillaume said. "I knew it from the way you two stood next to each other. And the only reason you are still alive is because I know damned well the feeling wasn't all on your side. Don't imagine that will provide any further excuse. She's poison to you, boy. Touch her and you die."

  Valentin raised his head. "My lord, with deep respect... I beg that you will not speak of her in that manner."

  "Did you want a flogging?"

  Valentin met Guillaume's death stare for a count of six, which was longer than he'd ever managed to hold out against it. "No, my lord. Forgive me."

  "Get out of my sight."

  Valentin retreated, praising God for the fact that he still could. Headed into the stable, where he was at liberty to dream.