The Recruit Read online

  Beneath the steel helm, Kenneth saw Felton’s face explode in anger. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  “A sword is not a toy. I was merely showing the lads that you should not hold it as such. You might remind yourself of that when you go pick it up.”

  “How dare you interfere—”

  “Perhaps your men might like to see you practice your techniques on someone your own size.”

  Felton didn’t miss the slur and his face burned hotter than before. One of his men had retrieved his sword and stepped forward to hand it to him.

  Felton’s eyes gleamed with anticipation as he took it. “I thought your arm was still healing?”

  “It is. I will use my left.” He wasn’t as good with the left, but he’d be good enough. He was going to humiliate the bastard. Pay him back for everything he’d done to the lad tenfold. And he was going to enjoy every bloody minute of it.

  “Wait!”

  Kenneth turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Mary rushing toward them. Something lurched in his chest, but he refused to acknowledge it. She wore a hooded cloak that swallowed her up in its heavy folds, as much to hide her pregnancy, he suspected, as for the cool weather.

  “There you are,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Her words might have had a different effect on him if he didn’t see the worry behind the overly bright smile.

  His jaw clenched, guessing what this was about. Her next words confirmed it.

  She feigned as if she had just become aware of the crowd around them. Her eyes widened, and a delicate blush rose to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”

  She knew perfectly well what she’d interrupted. She’d done it on purpose. She didn’t want him to fight Felton because she thought he would lose.

  Suddenly, she noticed David, still on the ground covered in dirt. Kenneth anticipated her instinctive move forward, and before she could embarrass the lad further by showering him with motherly distress, he caught her by the arm to stop her. He shot her a warning glance. “Nothing that can’t be resumed later. Was there something you needed?”

  She glanced over at David again. She may have picked up on his warning, but it was clear she didn’t want to heed it. “Uh, yes.” She forced her gaze from her son and turned a beaming smile to Felton. “I hope you don’t mind, Sir John. But there is a matter with one of my dower estates that needs to be attended to as soon as possible.”

  Felton gave her a gallant bow. “Of course, my lady.” But it was clear from the taunting look that he directed toward Kenneth that he, too, had guessed the cause for the interruption. They both knew that his wife thought Felton the better knight. “I can finish this anytime.”

  Kenneth gritted his teeth at the boast, fighting a fresh surge of heat through his blood. He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, but he wanted to, damn it. His muscles clenched.

  “Kenneth,” Mary said, putting her hand on his arm.

  The soft entreaty broke through the haze. No matter how tempting, he couldn’t do this. The personal satisfaction he would get in besting Felton wasn’t worth the risk. His wife was right—albeit for the wrong reasons—but antagonizing Felton wasn’t wise. It had been a mistake to make an enemy of Felton, and she’d saved him from making an even bigger one. Kenneth would have humiliated the other knight, and Felton would have made it his sole purpose to discredit him. Felton was already watching him too closely. But although Kenneth might appreciate her interruption later, right now it stung. He never wanted to be second best in her eyes.

  With a look that told Felton this wasn’t over, Kenneth led his wife away from the fray.

  They walked in silence back to the tower chamber that they’d shared since their wedding. Once in the room, she untied her cloak and tossed it on the trunk before the bed. He could tell that she was nervous by the way her hands shook and how she fluttered around the room for a few minutes rather than meet his gaze.

  He stood stone-still by the door, waiting.

  She filled a goblet of wine from the pitcher at the side table. “Would you like some?”

  “No.”

  She turned to the side, and he could just make out the soft swell of her stomach beneath the wool folds of her gown. She’d changed in only a week. She wouldn’t be able to hide the pregnancy for much longer beneath heavy gowns and cloaks. He should send her away …

  He cleared his throat. “The babe … You are well?”

  She glanced up at him, surprised. “I’m fine.”

  There was another uncomfortable silence, in sharp contrast to how it had been between them before. The walls of the small chamber seemed to be closing in on him. She was too close. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to take her in his arms and make love to her until she admitted that she cared for him.

  He had to get out of here. “I believe you mentioned an estate matter.”

  She flushed, biting her lip. “There isn’t an estate matter. I was on my way to the Hall when I saw you and Sir John. The way he was looking at you …” She shivered. “Whatever is between you, I wish you would put it aside.”

  He gave her a long look. “That isn’t possible.”

  She was what was between them. But she didn’t see it.

  “Why not?” Her face fell. “Sweet mercy, I thought he was going to kill you.”

  “You should have more faith in me.”

  She frowned, picking up on something in his voice. “I do, but …” She looked away. “Your arm is still injured.”

  But. They both knew it wasn’t just his arm. He stiffened.

  “You’ve nothing to worry about. I have no intention of locking swords with Felton.”

  She looked at him quizzically. “You don’t?”

  He forced a smile to his face that he didn’t feel. “I’ll not make you a widow so easily.”

  She frowned. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Isn’t it?” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him, although it did. Very much. He was surprised how much he wanted her to believe in him. He didn’t know when it had become important, but it had. Damn it, he thought he was done with this. He’d been proving himself his whole life; he’d just never thought he’d have to do so with his own wife.

  “Did your argument have something to do with Davey? I’ve wanted to speak with you, I’ve been worried—”

  “Leave the boy alone, Mary. He needs to work this out himself.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Work what out? I knew something was wrong. He’s been so quiet lately. Even more quiet than normal. Is it Sir John? One of the other boys? You must tell me if you know something.”

  She was fierce in her defense of her son, if only she could feel the same intensity of emotion about him. She would be a good mother to their child, but mothering wasn’t what Davey needed from her. Not now at least. “He’s too old for coddling, Mary.”

  Her eyes shimmered with dampness. “I know that.”

  “He will need you again. Just give him time.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Wait, where are you going? Are you leaving again?”

  “I’m afraid not. Percy is waiting for my report.” He held her gaze. “Was there something more you needed?”

  She flushed and looked away. “No.”

  He held her gaze. What had he thought? “I may be back late. Don’t wait up for me.”

  “Oh,” she said, a strange look on her face. Disappointment? He didn’t know. He was too full of his own emotions to try to decipher hers.

  As Kenneth escaped from the room that was beginning to feel like a torture chamber to him, he knew he was going to have to do something. He wasn’t going to last another four days, let alone the thirty-three that remained of Lent, if he didn’t find a way to rid himself of the frustration teeming inside him.

  Twenty-one

  Mary had made a mistake, and she knew it. The stiff, awkward