A warm flush of embarrassment crept up Mark’s neck. Belle knew him far too well for comfort. “I never thought—” he began.
“Ha!” she cut him off. “Of course not! Tis why men like you fill this poor world with ill-favored children!”
Mark counted to ten before he trusted himself to reply. “Let us forget my past sins for the moment, Belle. Instead, let us attend to the matter at hand before daylight takes us by surprise. If you refuse to leave here because Bodiam is your home, then exactly how do you expect me to rescue you?”
For once she allowed her defenses to drop. “Papa was supposed to come with an army,” she replied in a voice filled with despair.
She took his hand in hers and held it close to her heart. Her gentle touch sent hot blood rushing through his veins. Mark took several deep breaths to steady himself. His nose tickled.
“You have no idea what it is like to be a bastard, even one that is as well-loved as Papa loves me,” she said softly. “There is nothing in this world that is mine by right—not my name, nor a title, nor acceptance in society, not even the motley rags I wear. I have nothing—except Bodiam. My sweet stepmother deeded her castle to me for my lifetime.” She lifted her chin a notch. “And I will never relinquish it, especially not to that double-dealing sot of a brother-in-law who seeks to wrest it from me.”
She leaned closer to Mark. “If I steal out of my own home like a thief in the night, Mortimer will claim that I abandoned my property and that he, as the brother of my late husband, could take possession according to the law. By God in His heaven, Mark, I swear I will never leave Bodiam.”
He squeezed her hand. “Even if you die for it, chou-chou?” he asked in a gentle voice.
“Aye,” she answered.
Mark put his arm around her and drew her against his side. Again he was struck by how thin she had become. He could feel each one of her ribs. His anger at Mortimer increased a hundredfold. Killing was too good for the scullion.
“Methinks you are going to cause me a heap of trouble—again,” he remarked in a rueful voice.
She snorted. “You once told me that I excel in trouble-making.”
Mark chose to ignore that jibe. “Then if you will not leave the castle, we must find a way to make Mortimer go,” he reasoned aloud though he did not know how he could effect this miracle before Belle died from the cur’s maltreatment.
Instead of pushing him away, she snuggled inside the crook of his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. “How many men did you say accompanied you?”
He swallowed. “Only one—though he fights like ten…and my squire,” Mark added as an afterthought. Belle would kill him if she knew that Kitt slept within Bodiam’s unhappy walls.
Her lips curled into a weak smile. “Is your squire’s name Bertrum by any chance?”
He blinked at her. “How the devil did you—?” He rubbed his itching nose.
For the first time, Belle actually laughed. The music of her mirth filled his ears like a summer’s song.
“Don’t tell me you are Griselda’s unfortunate suitor?”
Mark shrugged. “Twas not a bad idea for gaining entry into the castle though I must confess I was not prepared for the woman herself. Zounds! Mother Nature did not fashion Mistress Fletcher well. And may the good Lord amend her voice or render it silent altogether. She squeals like a stuck pig!”
Belle gave him an arch look. “My spy tells me that you sang to her, paid her loving compliments and kissed her hand.”
“Twas all in counterfeit, chuck. I swear!” Why did he feel like an impaled worm on a fish hook? “Trust me, sweet Belle. Twas all for you.”
Belle rapped him on the chest with her knuckle. “Ha! I have heard you whisper that watery vow in a trusting maiden’s ear too many times.”
Mark rubbed his nose again. “Do you think I enjoy playing Griselda’s swain?”
A mischievous smile curled her lovely lips. “After all these years of chasing skirts, methinks tis a just punishment for you, Marcus.”
He pulled his handkerchief out of his sleeve and blew his nose before giving her an answer to her cruel observation. “I had only intended to enact the role one day before I carried you out of this den. The mere thought of Griselda’s company is enough to curdle any man’s ardor—even mine.”
Belle chuckled. “Poor Marcus! I fear you must continue to act the love-struck fool for a while longer.”
He swore into the depths of his handkerchief. Either the dust or the moldy straw made his nose run and his eyes water. “Until when?” he asked groaning inwardly.
“Until I can devise a plan to send Mortimer and his ill-favored sister fleeing from Bodiam forever.”
Mark sneezed. “Forsooth, you are a wicked lass to wish this fate on me, Belle. By the book, what plagues my nose?”
In answer, Belle lifted a corner of her blanket. An overweight feline regarded Mark with large amber eyes. “I had forgotten that you cannot endure the company of a cat. Tis Dexter, my best friend.”
Mark sneezed again by way of salutation. “Does he reside with you here?”
She nodded. Then she lifted the great hairy brute out of his nest and plopped him on her lap. “Aye, he keeps me warm at night and brings me bits of food now and then—also the occasional rat, quite dead, of course.” The creature purred in a loud, bragging manner.
Mark shuddered. “How delightful!” He regarded the cat with open disgust. “Belle, forget this foolish whim. You should not sleep another night in this hole with a rat-bearing cat!” I would make you a far better bedfellow if I could. Taken aback by this thought, Mark hurried on. “Once in the safety of Wolf Hall we will plot against Mortimer and his ungodly sister.”
Belle hugged the cat closer to her. “Never! You may as well go home, Mark, and leave me in mine.”
With a muttered oath, he stood and brushed bits of straw from his dark blue hose. As a child, Belle had been as stubborn as a jackass. Why did he think she had changed now? “Very well! I am a fool of all fools but I will do what you ask of me, though the cost is high. That shameless jade tried to lead me to her bedchamber after supper this evening. Aye, and we had only met a few hours earlier!”
Belle whispered into one of the cat’s pointed black ears. “Poor Griselda must be very desperate indeed!”
“She breaks looking glasses with her toothy smiles,” Mark muttered.
Belle waved him away. “Begone, Marcus. Get your beauty sleep so that you may be even more enticing to the fair Griselda on the morrow.”
“This is not what I had bargained for,” he grumbled. He sneezed again.
Belle peeled off his cloak and held it up to him.
He shook his head. “Keep it. The night is cold. Twill warm you better than that ball of fur.”
“Nay, I cannot,” she insisted. “Mortimer visits me daily. He would spy it at once and guess your true intentions. The knave may look like a toad, but he has a quick mind. Be warned. He hides a thousand daggers in his thoughts.”
Mark retrieved his cloak with great reluctance. “Sleep well, chou-chou,” he said with forced cheer. “I will come again tomorrow night.”
“May your angel protect you till then,” she replied.
He put his hand to the latch, then paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. In spite of her miserable condition, she tossed him a challenging look, the