In The King's Service. Margaret Moore

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      “What, you’ll order him not to seduce the maidservants?” she demanded skeptically.

      “That’s exactly what I mean,” he said firmly.

      She could well believe that would be enough to nip any such behavior in the bud. Nevertheless, the servants here were her responsibility and she would ensure they weren’t taken advantage of. “Be that as it may, that doesn’t mean he’ll obey your warning. He’s young and so’s Meg, and neither one of them may consider the consequences,” Becca said as she yanked open the door.

      She was about to step into the courtyard when she saw Meg exit the kitchen. Alone.

      Hopeful that the maid had enough sense to ignore whatever honeyed flattery a handsome young squire offered, Becca drew back into the chapel and peered out the door. As she watched Meg continue toward the maidservants’ quarters, Sir Blaidd came to stand behind her. Close behind her. His powerfully masculine body couldn’t be more than a few inches away from hers.

      “What is it?” he whispered, his hot breath stirring the wisps of hair on the back of her neck.

      “There’s Meg,” Becca murmured, nodding toward the girl and trying to ignore the unfamiliar sensation of having a virile male so near her—and failing utterly.

      Without so much as a backward glance, Meg hurried up the outer steps toward the maidservants’ quarters and disappeared inside.

      Sir Blaidd’s sigh of relief echoed Becca’s feeling and seemed to come all the way up from his toes. “That’s the one he was talking to, I’m sure of it. He’s probably gone to bed already. It was a long day’s ride.”

      The words had no sooner left Sir Blaidd’s lips than the same door opened and his squire stepped into the courtyard. He hesitated, obviously looking for something.

      Or someone.

      The lad surveyed the courtyard for a few more moments, then, his shoulders slumped with disappointment, turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen.

      Sir Blaidd muttered something that sounded like a Welsh curse. “I’ll certainly be speaking to Trev about how I expect him to behave while we’re your father’s guests.”

      “Good,” Becca said, closing the door and facing him.

      “I give you my word as a knight of the realm that I’ll tell Trevelyan that if he doesn’t conduct himself honorably, I’ll send him home to his father in disgrace.”

      “That may not seem like much of a punishment to a boy that age,” she noted.

      “You don’t know his father. Have you heard of Sir Urien Fitzroy?”

      “Doesn’t he train men in the arts of war?”

      “Yes, he does. He trained me, and believe me, my lady, if he thinks his son has behaved unchivalrously, the punishment will be severe.”

      Becca suddenly regretted getting so annoyed. “I hope it doesn’t come to that, and your warning will be enough. I’ll speak to Meg, too.” She hesitated, then decided to explain her reaction. She didn’t want him to think she was completely hotheaded, about everything. “We had a serving girl here a few years ago, Sir Blaidd, named Hester. She was as pretty as Meg, and just as coquettish—well, perhaps a little more brazen than Meg.

      “A young knight arrived, supposedly to court Laelia. One day, he left without so much as a farewell. At first we thought it was because my father hadn’t seemed inclined to consider his suit. A few weeks later, though, we discovered that Hester was carrying his child. He’d made all sorts of extravagant promises to the poor girl. He’d even said he’d marry her. We’d seen enough of the man to guess that he would have said whatever it took to get Hester into his bed. But Hester wouldn’t give up hope that he’d return, so I asked my father to send a messenger to the knight to tell him about the baby. I tried to believe he’d at least send her a word, some money, something, but the lout’s response was that he should be thanked for ‘breaking her in’ and teaching her how to please a man.”

      Becca shivered with revulsion. “That man’s callousness destroyed Hester.” She sighed, saddened as always when she recalled those terrible days. “If her baby had lived, things might have been different, but she lost it, and with it, every gentle part of her.”

      Becca looked away, unable to meet Sir Blaidd’s concerned, steadfast gaze. “She’s a whore now, in the village. I see her sometimes, and when I do, it breaks my heart.” She raised her eyes, defiant and commanding once more. “I won’t have that happen to Meg.”

      Sir Blaidd caressed her chin with his strong, callused palm. “I see it isn’t only your sister and the gates of this castle that you guard, my lady,” he said softly. “I trust your care is appreciated.”

      She moved back, away from him and his touch and his deep, sympathetic voice. “Of course it is.”

      “I give you my most solemn vow that I will ensure that Trevelyan doesn’t do anything so disgraceful.”

      “Thank you,” she murmured, her breathing fast and shallow as she told herself she should get away from the knight.

      He reached out and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. She opened her mouth to tell him to let go, but the words wouldn’t come. No one had ever touched her like this, as if she was fragile and precious.

      She didn’t make a sound as he pulled her close. She not only couldn’t find the voice to protest, she couldn’t find the will. She slid her arms around his waist, silently agreeing to what was coming.

      So he kissed her. His lips brushed hers, a gentle, tentative whisper of soft flesh to soft flesh. Her embrace tightening, she leaned into him, permitting him to kiss her more deeply, as she was kissing him.

      Oh, how wondrous, after all these years in Laelia’s shadow, to think a man might desire her! He made her believe that she was a normal woman, and an attractive one at that. She felt whole and unbroken and wanted. His desire inflamed her own until she couldn’t think.

      His hand meandered down her back, cupping her buttocks and pressing her close to him, while the other held her steady. She needed that support, for her body softened and throbbed with yearning as she ran her hands over his shoulders and back, feeling the taut muscles through his tunic.

      His body. His strength. His desire, matching her own.

      A call rang out, signaling the changing of the watch. Reminding her of where she was, and who she was. Becca wasn’t the beautiful Laelia; she was plain, crippled Rebecca, and this handsome, seductive man was here to court her sister.

      So why was he kissing her? What did he hope to accomplish? Seduction? Power? Control? She would let no man use her for his own purpose, whatever that might be.

      She shoved him back. “Is this your idea of honorable conduct, sir knight?” she demanded. “Do you think that because I’m crippled and homely I must be desperate and so easily, willingly, seduced?”

      “God’s wounds, no!” he said as he regained his balance. “I swear to you, my lady—”

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