He looked down at the servant girl, her violet eyes wide and focused intently on him. Her head tilted back, revealing the sensuous column of her neck and he found himself longing to lay his mouth against her skin. When his gaze settled on her alluring lips, the lips he had imagined kissing only moments ago, the desire rose quicker than he was ready. With a barely concealed groan, he looked away, lest his cock start to do his thinking for him.
At the sound of a voice from the keep's entrance, movement in his vision's periphery gave him pause.
"Lady Gillian, you are needed."
He turned. A growing sense of astonishment and relief accompanied realization. His intended was the servant girl! He shook his head when Lady Gillian strode proudly toward the door. He couldn't tear his gaze away. Drab though her dress may be, she held herself as if she wore a gown of rich velvet.
She paused in the doorway and turned. A slight smile curved her lips. Had she read his thoughts? He grinned. Perhaps this marriage would not be so bad after all.
"That girl is naught but trouble."
The words cut rudely into his thoughts. His fury onceagain returned, stronger this time, and mingled with a fierce protectiveness. This woman had dared slap his betrothed! How he contained his need to strike her in retaliation he'd never know.
"Who are you to strike the mistress of this castle?" He forced the words through clenched teeth.
"She is not mistress." The woman's eyes narrowed, focused on the keep doors. With a slender finger, she tapped her chest. "I am mistress. I am the Baron's widow. She is merely his daughter, who will soon be out of my hair when she weds."
Jesu, did the woman have no idea to whom she spoke? He remained silent as he studied her. Many might call her beautiful, but the hatred in her eyes turned her into a crone, to his thinking. She turned once more to face him, her scowl softening into a smile.
"I have worked hard to prepare the keep for the earl's arrival," she said. "I will not allow Lady Gillian's abhorrent behavior to ruin everything."
Clearly, the baroness remained oblivious to his identity. Royce chose not to reveal himself just yet. "Have you?"
"Aye. She is forever wandering the hills and forests while there is work to be done. Glad I will be when the wedding is over and the earl returns to Montchester."
"Are you sure he will not remain here?"
"Why would he remain? This place is so far from London. And as small as it is, certainly not worth much effort."
"You forget, my lady, the Welsh threat. With your husband dead, shouldn't you be worried for your safety?"
Royce had received the message of the baron's death the day before their departure. The news had lent an urgency to the journey, raising questions that needed answers. He tried to ignore the fact his wedding would also now occur much sooner than he'd planned. On the morrow at the latest.
"Nay. We've not been bothered for years. Many of theservants and villagers are of Welsh blood. And Lyndon has a fine garrison. I have no fear."
Her arrogant tone bordered on boastful. She didn't appear to be troubled by her husband's death. Combined with her lack of concern, he wondered if she was simply a fool. He would find out soon enough. Burke, the captain of his troops, approached. The baroness' gaze now settled on the other man. Clear appreciation grew in her green eyes, as well as a hint of excitement. She would bear watching.
Burke paid her no notice as he neared. "My lord? Is aught amiss?"
A gasp escaped the baroness. It seemed she now realized his identity. She immediately bowed her head. Never once taking his angry gaze from her, Royce issued instructions to his captain.
"Naught I can't handle. Find the stableman and have the horses seen to. Have the men set up camp in the bailey. Our hostess will see me inside. Meet me there."
He turned back to the woman, who nodded, her eyes once more veiled in wariness as she turned to the steps. Some unknown warning poked at him. This woman required close scrutiny. Putting his suspicions aside for the moment, Royce followed, glad to get out of the wind. Once inside, he ignored her and went to the fire burning in the hearth. He warmed his hands. Between the gathering at Shrewsbury, the preparation for his nuptials and the trip here, he'd had no chance to pause. Now, he allowed himself to relax his tired body in a comfortable chair. All around him, the keep was alive with activity, no doubt in preparation for the king's impending arrival. And Royce's own wedding.
The order to leave Shrewsbury, with Parliament about to convene to decide the matter of the Welsh prince's punishment, had not been received well. Especially since the order also included a decree he wed the baron's daughter. With the baron now dead, under suspicious circumstances, there was not enough time to have the girl brought to Shrewsbury.
The excursion to Wickshire and Lyndon Castle had been disastrous from the moment they set out, and the journey, which should have lasted a day at most, had turned into three. All he wanted now as a tall mug of ale, a hearty meal and a soft bed. Thoughts of sharing it with his intended took him on an imaginary journey that again had his cock hardening like an untrained squire.
"My lord, forgive my earlier words. I meant no disrespect."
Royce looked up at his hostess, who stood before him, her expression a picture of humility and chagrin. His anger had faded a little and he had no wish to stir more turmoil at the moment. "What is your name?"
"I am Anne, Baroness of Lyndon, my lord. With my husband dead, I am in charge, should you require anything."
Royce nodded. He didn't tell her the truth, preferring instead to watch her. He'd announce that he already owned Lyndon, wed or not, during the meal. Anne moved away and he heaved a deep breath. Something about her set off a multitude of warnings. The simple annoyance he'd first thought her to be could prove dangerously wrong. He would discuss strategy for handling her with Burke.
He stood, folding his arms behind his back and took some time to survey his surroundings. He needed to be as familiar with Lyndon as with Montchester, as much of his time in the coming months, mayhap years, would be spent here. With the Welsh situation still unresolved, rumors of a small band of rebels not far from Lyndon worried him.
