The Warrior's Wife by Denise Domning Page A

weapon high for all to see.
    “Take heed,” Lord Haydon’s bastard called out. “You all stand witness that Sir Ralf’s weapon was sheathed throughout these last moments. He weathered Lord Humphrey’s violence without responding in kind.”
    It was testimony that, although strained, the peace of the wedding hadn’t been broken; no man’s loyalty demanded he go to war that day. So many men in the glade breathed out at this that it was almost a breeze. Whether they did so in relief or disappointment was hard to say. There were plenty of men willing to kill Godsols for Bagot, and a good number of guests would happily loan the Godsols their arms for the sheer sport of making Daubneys bleed.
    Beside Rafe, Will made a furious sound deep in his throat. Closing his fists, he took a step toward the man who’d killed their father. Rafe, still giddy from having escaped certain death by the skin of his teeth, stared at his brother in new panic. Will meant to provoke violence when any hope of owning Kate depended on keeping the peace.
    Catching his elder brother by the arm, Rafe gave him a quick shake. “Not a word, Will,” he begged in a quiet whisper to no avail.
    “You go too far with this unprovoked attack on my brother, Bagot,” Will shouted. “Our truce is broken!” The agreement of the Godsol supporters thundered in the air.
    “Bitch’s son!” Lord Humphrey threw back, again lunging for those he hated. The men who held him strained to keep him where he stood. “Hold that forked tongue of yours, or I’ll cut the thing from your mouth.”
    Will’s head snapped back as if struck. His hand dropped to his knife’s hilt. Rafe yanked on his brother’s arm, stopping him before he could pull the weapon.
    “You’ll do as Bagot says and hold your tongue, or I’ll cut it out for him,” the youngest Godsol dared in a panicked whisper to his elder.
    Shock flattened Will’s face. Eyes wide, he stared at the least member of his family. He growled but much to Rafe’s relief, he held his tongue.
    Lord Haydon took a step closer to the Godsols. Although not as tall as his only son, there was no mistaking Josce’s parentage. Baldwin of Haydon and his bastard owned the same shade of fair hair, the same jut of the chin and hooked nose.
    “Sir Ralf, I look upon you and see no blood. Are you injured?” their host asked, the question command rather than inquiry.
    “I am not, my lord,” Rafe replied.
    “Of course he’s not injured,” Lord Humphrey said, his voice suddenly calm, his tone sly. “Cowardly pig refused to fight with me.”
    The insult sliced through Rafe. His fists closed. Rage tore away all his good intentions. No man called him coward!
    Beside him, Will laughed, the sound low and wicked. “So what you thought good enough for me to bear is too much for you, eh?” the eldest Godsol whispered, even as his hand closed about the hilt of his hunting knife in preparation for an attack.
    As if conjured out of thin air Simon and Hugh appeared at Rafe’s side. Simon grabbed Rafe’s arm, his grip like iron as he held his friend in place. Meanwhile, Hugh lifted his chin and turned his face so all in the glade might see the scar upon his face.
    “Look upon me and see I wear my bravery where the world might witness,” he called to the crowd. “Of all the knights I know there’s no man I’d rather have at my side in war than Sir Ralf Godsol. Lord Bagot’s charge of cowardice is as dastardly as the nobleman’s unprovoked attack upon my friend.”
    At Hugh’s testimony more than gratitude for the restoration of his honor flowed through Rafe. Hugh had not only saved him from his own idiocy, he’d left him with a thread of a chance to own Kate.

     
    Trapped between terror and mortification, Kate let the other guests push past her as they crowded around Rafe and her father. Oh Lord help her, how long would it be before someone mentioned that Rafe had kissed her hand?
    This was nothing more than God’s punishment