The Warrior's Wife by Denise Domning Page B

for daring to breach propriety’s bounds. She should never have let Rafe near to her again, knowing as she did the sort of spell his touch laid on her. If it had been possible, Kate would have raced all the way back to her father’s tent at Haydon, climbed into her cot and pulled the blankets over her head. Since there was no such hope of escape, she put her hand to her heart. Never again, she swore, would she come within arm’s reach of Rafe Godsol.
    Someone laid a hand on her shoulder. With a startled cry, Kate whirled. It was Warin.
    Guilt shot through her. She’d forgotten about him waiting in the woods for her. Her surprise soured. Warin’s leather vest lay open over his chest and he’d loosened the ties at his tunic’s neck.
    Others might see naught but an attempt to escape the day’s heat. Suspicion shot through Kate. Was Rafe right about Warin’s intentions? Feeling as innocent as Ami proclaimed her, Kate prayed there was some other explanation. To protect herself from her own foolishness, she amended her vow. Never again would she consider meeting a man in private, not even if Warin begged her on bended knee.
    “What happens here, my lady?” Warin demanded, his face tense, his narrowed eyes aimed at her captive sire in the crowd’s center.
    Kate’s mouth opened. Nothing came out, mostly because no combination of words could adequately explain how this situation had come about without making it seem as if she’d done something wrong when she hadn’t. At last she settled for a very bare version of the truth. “My lord father attacked one of the Godsols.”
    Her dear love’s jaw tightened. “May God take all Godsols,” he muttered. Grabbing her by the arm, he started into the crowd. “Come.”
    Panic shot through Kate. Lord help her, but she didn’t want to be anywhere near Rafe. When he saw Warin’s dress would he repeat his unfortunate conjecture about her destination? The present disarray of Warin’s attire was damning, no matter his true intent.
    “We can’t,” she whispered, tugging on her trapped arm. Warin made no reply, only tightened his grip until it almost hurt. Kate gasped, too startled by this to do anything other than be pulled alongside him.
    Even though she told herself she mustn’t, as they made their way toward the crowd’s center Kate’s gaze slipped to Rafe. He stood proudly before their host, day’s golden light gilding every handsome line and plane of his face. A hint of gratitude and relief shot through her. He looked no worse for her sire’s attack.
    Rafe wasn’t watching her but Warin. At the sight of Warin’s loosened tunic his eyes narrowed and his fine mouth twisted. Kate cringed. Just as she’d feared, he believed he’d confirmed his dreadful and wrongheaded suspicions.
    Defeat washed over Kate. It was going to happen. Rafe would spew his belief that Warin planned a tryst, thereby ruining her. Her father’s enemy couldn’t afford to miss so wondrous an opportunity to destroy that man’s daughter.
    She and Warin halted but arm’s length from her trapped sire. “What is the meaning of this, my Lord Haydon, that you would hold Lord Bagot like some common captive?” Warin demanded, speaking as Bagot’s steward. “Release him this minute!”
    “I cannot, Sir Warin,” their host replied, his voice lifted so that it filled the glade, “at least not until your noble master calms himself. He’s attacked Sir Ralf Godsol.”
    “If there’s any fault over what happened here, you can rest assured it lies with the Godsol,” Warin dared to retort. The Bagot supporters in the crowd muttered their approval of his claim, the sound rumbling up into the vast and vaultless blue of the sky, while the Godsols’ backers shouted in protest. The noise was enough to set those hunting dogs accompanying their masters this day to belling.
    “Sir Warin, I saw you as you came from the woods after the fact,” Sir Josce FitzBaldwin called from his stance next to Rafe. His