Dreamspell Read online

  When he lifted her onto the horse, Kennedy untangled a leg from her skirt and swung it over the opposite side. Wynland didn’t oppose her refusal to ride sidesaddle, but mounted behind and settled his hard thighs alongside hers.

  Kennedy looked over her shoulder. “You won’t. . .kill Sir Malcolm, will you?”

  Dry laughter rumbled from him. “You are hardly precious to me, Lady Lark.”

  It was the wake-up call she needed. Likely, his anger with the knight stemmed from her not having broken her neck.

  Gripping her securely around the waist, Wynland spurred his horse into the night.

  He liked her best in sleep. And what man would not? Unless, of course, the accusations in her eyes was replaced with passion, those on her lips captured by a meeting of mouths.

  She drew a deep breath where she had curled against his chest when hours of discomfort and fatigue made her surrender to riding sidesaddle, and opened her eyes. They stared at each other.

  Fulke felt it, was sure she felt it too, searched to put a name to the awareness that strained between them. Thirst, he decided, and not the kind eased with drink.

  In the murk of dawn, a smile touched her mouth, but she blinked and it was gone. Once more, she looked at him as if he were the basest of men. Though she was but one among several who believed him responsible for his brother’s death, she had gone further in not only accusing him of the attack on her baggage train but of intending to harm John and Harold.

  Curse her! He wanted her gone from Sinwell. As soon as Sir Arthur and the boys were found, he would ride to London to speak with Edward on the matter.

  Lark straightened. “Where are we?”

  “We have stopped to take food and water the horses.”

  She looked to the others who remained mounted while their animals drank from the stream. “I’d like to stretch my legs.”

  “You need to relieve yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Then you shall remain astride.”

  Her chin came around. “In that case, I do need to relieve myself.”

  “Then you will have to wait until we stop again.” As she sputtered, he reached behind, retrieved a bundle from one of his packs, and turned back the folded cloth. “Here.”

  She stared at the hard biscuits and dried meat. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

  “As you will.” He bit into a biscuit.

  “While you enjoy your meal, surely I can take a little walk?”

  “Nay.”

  She glared.

  He reached for another biscuit. “Do not sulk. I abhor sullen women.”

  “All the more reason I should sulk.”

  Fulke was surprised to feel a smile at his mouth. “Methinks if you slept more, my lady, I might grow fond of you.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Naught.” He offered the bundle again. “’Tis all there will be to eat until we arrive at Castle Cirque.”

  “When will that be?”

  “When we are done searching the neighboring villages.”

  She muttered something beneath her breath.

  “Do you not eat it, I shall,” he warned.

  She snatched a piece of meat and a biscuit and turned her back to him.

  Fulke smiled.

  A sunrise and three villages later, Kennedy lifted her face from the huddle of her hood and peered at the looming castle. It was smaller than Brynwood Spire. As she watched, the drawbridge descended with a creak of timber and a clatter of chains. “Castle Cirque?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  The drawbridge touched down, the metal grate over the entrance rose, and a half dozen riders sprang from beneath it. Most conspicuous was the one who rode before the others—a woman, her blue dress and white veil fluttering. And she rode sidesaddle. As she and her escort neared, Kennedy saw she guided her horse with one hand, while the other supported what looked like a bird.

  When the woman reined in before Wynland and his men, it was indeed a bird she held, but not of the garden variety. Its head was hidden beneath a hood topped with bright feathers, it wore bells on its legs, and was strapped to the woman’s gloved wrist.

  “Welcome to Castle Cirque, Lord Wynland.”

  Kennedy eyed the woman. A vision of blonde hair and twinkling brown eyes, full breasts and a teeny waist, she looked like a fairy tale princess—until she smiled, revealing yellowed teeth and receding gums. Did these people know nothing about oral hygiene?

  The woman laid a hand on Wynland’s arm. “Pray, why did you not send word of your arrival that I might prepare for you?”

  “’Twas not planned, Lady Jaspar.”

  Was this woman mentioned in Mac’s book?

  “I come with ill fortune upon my house,” Wynland said.

  “What has happened, Fulke?”

  How quickly she dispensed with formality, and how strange to hear Wynland called by something other than his surname, which in Kennedy’s mind better served his villainous character.

  “John and Harold have been taken.”

  “Taken?” Shrill disbelief caused the bird to turn its hooded head toward the woman. “By whom?”

  “By the man Edward sent to protect them, Sir Arthur Crosley.”

  A movement beyond the lady drew Kennedy’s gaze to a young man who sat tall in his saddle. As handsome as Lady Jaspar was beautiful, the marked resemblance was surely no coincidence—golden hair cut to his jaw, bright brown eyes, good cheekbones. A prince to Jaspar’s princess. But he did his sister one better when he smiled at Kennedy, revealing strong white teeth.

  At last, a friendly face. She returned the smile.

  “Why would Sir Arthur do such a thing?’ Lady Jaspar asked. “What gain for him?”

  Kennedy returned her attention to the woman and saw she only had eyes for Wynland. Resisting the urge to pat herself to make sure she hadn’t turned invisible, Kennedy pushed the hood off her head.

  “According to Lady Lark,” Wynland said, “he took the boys to protect them from me.”

  Lady Jaspar broadened her horizons to include Kennedy. “You are Lady Lark?”

  “I am.”

  The self-assured woman of moments earlier twitched. “Excuse me if I am. . .surprised. Though I heard you were to be sent to care for John and Harold, I did not know you had arrived.”

  “I almost didn’t.”

  “Pray, tell.”

  “My. . .” Once again, Kennedy’s gaze was drawn to the young man. As if he also awaited an explanation, he leaned forward, gaze intent. “My baggage train was attacked.”

  Lady Jaspar’s eyes widened. “’Tis true, Lord Wynland?”

  “It is. Have you word of a knight traveling with two small boys?”

  “I fear not.”

  “Then I shall need all the men you can spare.”

  “They are yours to command.”

  This place was under his rule? It seemed so. Until, of course, Sinwell’s heir came of age. Not that either boy would.

  “Come to my hall,” Lady Jaspar said, “While you and your men refresh yourselves, I will send garrison to the village to inquire if any have heard or seen anything unusual.”

  “My thanks, Lady Jaspar, but we have already inquired.”

  Her lids fluttered. “Still you will come inside, will you not?”

  “Aye, though only long enough to rest ourselves and our mounts that we might set out again.”

  There was no mistaking her disappointment. “As you will, my lord.” She looked beyond him and inclined her head. “Lord Cardell.”

  “My lady.”

  Lady Jaspar turned her horse and the young man fell in beside his sister. Together, they led the way to the castle.

  When Wynland lifted Kennedy down from his horse, she was tempted to kiss the ground. And might have if not that she was so sore. Slowly, she followed Wynland and Lady Jaspar up a dozen steps and into a room that resembled Brynwood’s great hall, complete with hay on the floor.

  Using her study of the
room as an opportunity to rest her legs, she stepped to the side. Wynland’s men filed past, eager to accept the drink offered to them. As for the beauteous Lady Jaspar and Wynland, the two stood center, deep in conversation.

  “Lady Lark.” The young man, whose looks were testament to the shared blood between him and his sister, halted alongside Kennedy.

  “Yes?”

  He gave a curt bow. “I am Sir Leonel Aimery, cousin to Lady Jaspar.”

  Cousin. . . “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” How old was he? Twenty-five?

  “May I?” he offered his arm.

  “Certainly.”

  “You are surely blessed to have survived the attack,” he said as he led her forward.

  “I am. It was. . .” Memories of the carnage flashed before her. “It was horrid.”

  “There were no survivors?”

  “None.”

  Regret shone in his warm brown eyes. “I am sorry.”

  As they passed a cavernous fireplace, Kennedy was struck by its heat. It had to be eighty-five degrees in here. Of course, it didn’t help that, before leaving Brynwood, she had pulled the red dress on over the green. She reached to the brooch that held her cape closed, but the clasp Marion had secured resisted her efforts.

  “Mayhap I can assist?” Leonel offered.

  “I can manage.” But she was still struggling with it when they halted before Wynland and Lady Jaspar.

  In spite of the other woman’s hand on Wynland’s arm, it was obvious he had been watching Kennedy—and that she had done something to displease him. Abandoning the brooch, she lowered her arms. It was then she saw the gryphon on the sleeveless shirt Wynland wore over his armor, the same as that worn by his squire. As his cape had covered it during the ride, the lapels of which were now thrown over his shoulders, it was the first she had seen of it.

  “Lord Wynland, you remember my cousin, Sir Leonel Aimery.”

  Wynland lowered the goblet he had tipped to his lips and inclined his head. “Sir Leonel.”

  “My lord.”

  The bird on Lady Jaspar’s wrist ruffled its feathers.

  She stroked it. “Leonel received knighthood this past spring, a year early due to an act of bravery that saved the life of his lord, Baron Brom. To show his appreciation, the baron awarded my cousin—”

  “’Twas naught,” Sir Leonel said.

  Wynland considered the knight for some moments as if to determine if he was worthy of his new title, then said, “What do you at Castle Cirque, Sir Leonel?”

  “I have no lands of my own. Thus, I have given myself into the service of my cousin.”

  “What of Baron Brom?”

  “He gave me leave to do so, my lord.”

  Wynland opened his mouth to say something more, but closed it when his regard was captured by the armed soldier who strode into the hall.

  “’Tis the captain of the guard,” Lady Jaspar said. “I shall not be long.” She turned to her cousin. “Leonel.”

  He looked to Kennedy and bowed again. “My lady.” Led by the captain of the guard, he and his cousin withdrew from the hall.

  “I wager you are sore,” Wynland said.

  “What makes you think that?”

  He swept his gaze over Kennedy. “You are not quite as tall as you were ere we rode from Brynwood.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever considered a career in stand-up comedy?”

  He frowned.

  “Never mind.” She lifted the brooch and searched the underside for the clasp.

  “Do not remove your mantle.”

  Context telling her it was the cape he referred to, she said, “It’s hot in here.” An instant later, the clasp revealed its secret.

  He gripped her hand. “Do as I say.”

  “I will not.”

  “Lest you forget, you are more out of your clothes than in them.”

  So they were on the tight side. She wasn’t the first to squeeze into clothes a size or three too small.

  “I have warned you about your wanton displays.” He leaned near. “Though I cannot say my own men would turn from whatever temptation you place before them, those of Cirque are to be trusted even less.” His gaze intensified. “Have you ever been ravished, Lady Lark?”

  As in raped? When he put it that way. . . But was it her well-being he was concerned about, or was he just giving her a hard time?

  “Of course, mayhap a man would not have to resort to force to have you.”

  Taking the dream to heart as if it was Kennedy Plain he smeared and not a woman whose reputation preceded her, she said, “How dare you!”

  He put his head to the side. “Such outrage, Lady Lark. Surely you do not think to convince me you are untouched?”

  “Of course not!” Immediately, she regretted the denial. It was none of his business that she and Graham had tumbled around the bed—on the rare occasion they were under the same roof. Hating the glint in Wynland’s eyes, she said, “Think what you will.”

  “I do. Hence, the mantle stays.”

  And if she defied him?

  His grip tightened. “It stays.”

  Grudgingly, she nodded.

  He released her and carried the goblet to his lips.

  A servant handed Kennedy a goblet. Too thirsty to reject the purplish-red contents, she took a long drink and nearly gagged. Not only was the wine watered down, but it was warm.

  She blew hair up off her brow and affected a high wavering voice, “I’m melting.”

  Her impersonation of the Wicked Witch earned her Wynland’s frowning regard.

  She shrugged. “Never heard of the land of Oz?”

  “That is where you are from? Oz?”

  Why not? “Yes.”

  His lids narrowed. “I have not heard of it. It is on the continent?”

  “Uh. . .yes.”

  “Where?”

  Thankfully, a young woman dressed in a rough wool dress appeared. “My lord, they say you are looking for two small boys and a knight.”

  Wynland turned to her. “What have you to tell me?”

  “Methinks I saw them this morn on my way to the castle.”

  “Continue.”

  “I heard laughter and followed it to the river. There I saw two boys and a man clothed not as a knight, but who had a horse worthy of one—a black stallion fit with a fine saddle.”

  Kennedy sensed Wynland’s agitation, was certain it was all he could do to keep his feet rooted to the floor.

  “How old were the boys?”

  “Four and. . .seven?”

  “What of the knight?”

  “He was of an age, my lord. Tall.”

  “What color his hair?”

  “Red, my lord.”

  It sounded like Mac. The thought forced Kennedy to regroup. This was a dream. Of her own making. Thus, she shouldn’t be surprised if MacArthur Crosley played a part.

  Wynland stepped nearer the girl. “Were you seen?”

  She had to look so far up that her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. “Nay, my lord. I hid. All know the wood is traveled by men of ill repute.”

  “You will take me to where you saw them.”

  “But what of my lady? Forsooth, she will not like—”

  “What is your name?”

  “Joan, my lord.”

  “Worry not, Joan. Lady Jaspar will understand.” He took her arm and called to his men.

  The thought of getting back on a horse causing her aches to multiply, Kennedy started to follow.

  “You shall remain, Lady Lark,” Wynland said. “I will not have you slowing me.”

  Then he was abandoning her. Not a bad thing. She smiled. “Drive safe.”

  Questioning came and went on his face, then he was striding from the hall with the serving girl in tow.

  All that remained were those of Lady Jaspar’s household—predominantly men. And they were watching Kennedy. She shrugged, lifted the goblet, and sipped its wretched contents.

  CHAPTER SEVEN
>
  As the only remaining occupant of the hall, Kennedy turned her attention to the skin-and-bone dogs that snuffled amid the hay in search of fallen morsels. Poor things. They looked ready to lie down and give it all up.

  “Lady Lark.” Jaspar had returned with her bird. “I trust you fared well in my absence.”

  “I have.” Kennedy noted the woman’s flushed cheeks and the tic at a corner of her mouth as she advanced. “I suppose you know Wynland has taken Joan and gone in search of his nephews?”

  Jaspar’s disposition soured further. “Though I warned him the wench lies with the tongue of a snake, he would not be turned from his course.”

  Wench. . . Kennedy didn’t like that word.

  Jaspar sighed. “I will have to deal with the trollop when she comes skulking back.”

  From wench to trollop. “What makes you think she’s lying?”

  The woman stroked her bird. “Likely, she fancies Lord Wynland, as does many a woman.”

  Not this one.

  “’Tis curious that he attracts them so.” Jaspar slid her gaze to Kennedy. “He is hardly handsome, is he? I wonder that any woman would welcome his embrace.”

  Looks aren’t everything, Kennedy silently defended him, surprising herself.

  Watchful, Jaspar said, “I pity the woman who must take him to husband.”

  A lie if ever Kennedy had heard one. From the body language that fairly shouted from this woman, she would not only welcome Wynland’s embrace but pity herself if another were to “take him to husband.”

  The lady puffed her chest with new breath. “Enough, though. Let us speak of you, Lady Lark.”

  Not a good topic. “After that horrendous ride, I’d like to clean up and rest.”

  Jaspar put a hand on her arm. “Once your chamber has been made ready, you may do so.”

  “No need to put yourself out for me. Whatever you have will work fine.”

  “Nay, Lady Lark, ‘twould be remiss of me to not provide for a friend of the king.”

  She was as suspicious of Kennedy as Lady Aveline had been. “Really, I don’t mind—”

  “Surely you can spare me a few minutes?”

  Kennedy swallowed her sigh. “All right.”