His Lady's Ransom

“No more than I am,” Ian responded easily, but his eyes were hard as he followed Will from the chamber.

They made slow progress across Kenilworth’s vast hall, as many acquaintances called greetings to Ian. All the great barons owing homage to King Henry were summoned thrice yearly for these state occasions, held in conjunction with church feast days. It was an opportunity for the king to consult with his barons, and for the lords themselves to share news and gossip. Those who had not provided knight’s service in the latest war were anxious to hear Ian’s account of the action. Will lingered by Ian’s side for a while, then spotted a small knot of courtiers at the far side of the hall. He nudged his brother in the side with an elbow.

“’Tis her, Ian. The Lady Madeline. I would go and speak with her. Join me when you can.”

From a corner of his eye, Ian watched his brother’s passage across the hall. His lips tightened at the fatuous expression that settled on Will’s face as he bent over the hand of a slight figure in a flowing crimson gown.

Seeing her from across the hall, Ian’s first impression of the Lady Madeline was that she hadn’t changed much from the mousy young maid he half remembered. Surrounded by a ring of richly dressed men and elegant women, her slight figure was barely visible. He could just make out her profile, with a nose more short and pert than aquiline, and a chin more distinguished by its firmness than by soft, rounded feminine beauty. From the little Ian could see of her braided hair, caught up in two gold cauls over her ears and covered with a silken veil, it appeared more brown than the bright chestnut Will had rhapsodized over. Some of the tension in Ian’s body eased. Whatever the rumors about the Lady Madeline’s charms, she did not appear to be the sultry beauty Ian had feared. It shouldn’t be all that difficult to detach Will from her circle.

At that moment the lady looked over her shoulder in response to a remark made by the elderly knight at her side. Flaring torches set in iron holders high above illuminated her face as she made some teasing reply.

A slow, provocative smile transformed her nondescript features. Green eyes, so bright and luminescent a man could lose himself in them, glowed with mischievous, tantalizing, stunningly sensual laughter.

Ian drew in a sharp breath, feeling the impact of those incredible eyes like a mailed fist to his stomach.

Chapter Two

Madeline’s low, merry laugh rippled through the crowd of courtiers surrounding her.

“Nay, Sir Percy,” she told the grizzled knight who hovered at her shoulder, “you may not have my garter. Imagine what people would think if you were to wear such an intimate item in the tourney.”

“They would think what is my fondest desire, lady.”

“Oh, so?” she said teasingly. “And just moments ago I heard you say you desired above all else to win a certain war-horse, if you could but unseat its owner. ‘Tis the trouble with you fearsome knights. You know not whether you want first your horse or your lady.”

The courtiers around her burst into laughter as the older knight began a gallant repartee, trying to convince her that she owned his heart. Madeline turned aside his flowery phrases with practiced ease, enjoying the lively give-and-take. Her eyes sparkled as Sir Percy effusively professed his devotion. When the older knight paused at last, William edged him aside with more boyish eagerness than polished address.

“Lady, may I take you in to supper?”

“Nay, Sir William, I am promised.” Madeline hid a smile at his crestfallen face. “But I’ll save a dance for you later. The rondeau, perhaps? ‘Twill do my image no end of good to be partnered by the handsomest young knight at the king’s court.”

Will nodded eagerly and bent over her hand, his bright curls shining against the crimson of her sleeve. Madeline’s gaze softened at his reverent salute. In truth, he was a comely lad, with a friendly, open disposition to match his well-proportioned frame. That he’d already made a name for himself on the tourney field and in several battles didn’t detract from the air of youthful exuberance that she found so refreshing.

“Will you at least allow me to bring my brother to meet you before the boards are laid?” he asked, retaining her hand until she slipped it from his grasp.

“What, has he arrived at last? The earl of Margill? The same glorious knight and fearless warrior I’ve heard so much about these last weeks?”

“Don’t tell him I described him thus,” Will begged, grinning down at her. “In his presence, I refer to him as the biggest churl in Christendom! Give me leave, and I’ll deliver him to your side this instant.”

Madeline nodded her assent, curious to meet the man whose sayings and accomplishments peppered William’s conversation with unconscious frequency. In the weeks since the youth had drifted into her circle—nay, blundered into her circle, for with those huge feet, the lad would never drift—she’d heard much of this esteemed older brother. She had a vague memory of meeting him once, long ago, when she’d wed her first lord. She’d been too young and too nervous to remember much of the crowd of knights and ladies who attended the festivities. But if she could not recall Ian de Burgh in any detail, there were many women here at Kenilworth who could. Since her return to court, Madeline had heard more than one lady sighing over the earl’s beguiling blue eyes and lazy smile. From their tittering, giggling comments about his person, Madeline had formed a mental image of a peacock on the strut.

At length Will elbowed his way back into the circle surrounding her. Madeline looked up, and her gaze locked with a pair of midnight blue eyes, startling in a face so tanned by sun and wind. A shock of sheer awareness darted down her spine.

This was no puffed-up courtier, impressed by the power and authority of his huge estates.

This was a man in his prime, a knight honed to a muscled leanness by vigorous activity, and tougher by far than his tawny-haired, chiseled handsomeness would suggest.

Madeline swallowed. Having twice been wed, she was yet a stranger to the feeling that suddenly coursed through her at the sight of this tall, broad-shouldered man.

“I would present my brother, Lord Ian,” Will said eagerly. “He’s professed himself most anxious to meet you.”

“Indeed, my lady, after hearing Will’s flowing verses, I could scarce wait to meet the object of his poetry.”

Recovering her poise, Madeline threw the youth a look of mock dismay. “Oh, no, Sir William! You’ve not subjected your brother to those verses!”

“Indeed he has,” de Burgh drawled. “All of them. Several times over.”

To her surprise, Madeline felt a flush rising above the square cut bodice of her gown. By the holy Virgin, she hadn’t blushed in years. But for some reason the thought of the earl reading those outrageous descriptions of her face and form disconcerted her.

Undaunted by their disparagement of his compositions, Will gave a cheerful grin. “My verses will improve with practice.”

“I hope so,” his brother interjected smoothly, “else the lady will not allow you to continue to pay homage at her skirts.”

Madeline’s eyes flashed up to meet the earl’s. Was she the only one who heard the soft warning in his words? Or sensed intimidation in the way his hand closed over her upper arm, to ease her away from the rest of the group?

Apparently so. When he suggested casually that he wished to further her acquaintance where there was less noise, Will nodded in acquiescence, and the rest of her circle stood aside. The conversation behind her picked up with barely a pause as Madeline found herself heading toward a nearby alcove.

She fought a ripple of annoyance at the way the man detached her from her friends with such effortless skill. She wasn’t used to being led away without being consulted as to her own wishes in the matter. She wasn’t used to being led at all. Tugging her arm from his firm hold, she turned to face Ian. Madeline allowed no trace of her irritation at his high-handed manners to show in her voice, or in the half smile she sent him.

“I gather you wish to speak with me privately because you’re concerned about your brother’s choice of an objet d’amour.”

His sun-bleached brows rose. She’d taken him aback, Madeline saw with some satisfaction. She suspected it wasn’t often that anyone did so.

“You believe in plain speaking, I see,” he commented after a moment.

“Yes, I do. It saves much time and misunderstanding. And spares me unsubtle warnings such as you issued just now.”

After a brief hesitation, he made a slight bow. “My pardon, Lady Madeline. I hadn’t realized I was being so clumsy in my address.”

He leaned back against the stone wall, his arms folded, and ran his eyes slowly over her face. At his appraising look, Madeline fought the flush that threatened to stain her bosom once again.

“’Tis one of the things I like most in your brother,” she said with faint challenge. “He is refreshingly open and honest.”

“Aye, he is that. And as yet untainted by the ways of the court.”

“You fear I will be the one to taint him?”

“This is plain speaking indeed,” the earl murmured, straightening.

“I’m neither stupid nor a timid maiden, my lord. I know well what is said of me. And I know, as well, that Will’s family is concerned for him. Or so I’ve been advised by half a dozen of the older tabbies at court,” she finished dryly.

To Madeline’s surprise, his blue eyes lightened with rueful laughter. For the first time, she witnessed the beguiling charm the other ladies of the courts had tittered about whenever Ian de Burgh’s name was mentioned.

“’Twould appear my lady mother is most industrious in her correspondence.”

Madeline’s own lips curved in instinctive response to the smile creasing his lean cheeks. “And you, my lord? Do you share your mother’s concerns?”

“I? I begin to share my brother’s interest.”