Katherine the Vixen (Welsh Hellions #1)

Prologue

“Is it done?”

At the sound of the despised voice, Katherine scrambled from the bed, feeling caught out.

Even though she had done nothing more than what she had been instructed to do, she couldn’t help but feel out of place.

Which, in truth, she was. No scullion had ever been welcome in a lady’s chamber, least of all in her bed.

“Yes, my lady. It is done,” she answered, coming to stand by the chest.

Thankfully, as she was completely naked, only the faintest moonbeam slipped into the room. It allowed her to believe her body was hidden from view.

“How was it then? Are you sore?” A rustle of silk betrayed Lady Malpas’ approach. “Was it very painful? What did he do to you?”

Katherine heard more morbid curiosity than concern in the woman’s voice.

She tried to push the humiliating thought aside and felt with her foot for the shift that should be lying on the floor not too far from her.

It wasn’t hers, but her normal clothes were in the antechamber and she refused to go back to the kitchen naked.

“It was not as painful as I thought it might be,” she answered once she had located the delicate garment.

“Oh. But surely this Jasper is a brute?”

The ploy to get her talking was blatant but Katherine ignored it. Instead, she bent down to retrieve the shift. Though not much could be seen in the dark, she was still uncomfortable in her bareness.

“I could not say whether he is a brute,” she answered, shrugging the shift on.

That the Welshman was a fierce warrior with a penchant for violence in his dealings with men was a possibility.

His new wife certainly seemed to think so.

But the way he had behaved in the bed earlier had not given Katherine cause to think he was anything other than gentle where women were concerned.

He also seemed determined to be fair despite his personal misgivings.

Siaspar ap Morgan—Jasper to the English—had taken the woman he believed to be his legally wedded bride to bed with surprising thoughtfulness, considering the lack of affection between them.

The fact that his possession had hurt was due to her being an untried virgin, rather than any unnecessary roughness on his part, that much was certain.

She could testify that he had consummated his marriage with as much care and patience as a reluctant groom could, something she had not expected, given the feelings he seemed to harbor toward the wife he had been forced to marry.

Katherine could not let Lady Malpas believe that the whole experience had been an ordeal and accuse him of being too brutal when she next saw him.

For one, it would only make Siaspar suspicious, as he would know what had really happened.

For another, she was grateful to him for making the whole thing a lot less distressing than she had dreaded.

“My lady, if I may. In order for the deception not to be discovered, you should not accuse your husband of any roughness or untoward behavior when you next see him,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

It was not her place to criticize or even issue advice, but she felt the need to take the Welshman’s defense.

Lady Malpas gave an impatient snort. “I will behave toward my husband,” she spat out the word as if it had the power to soil her, “as I see fit. If I behave harshly toward him, then it is nothing less than he deserves. And anyway, he is a savage. He will have heard much worse amongst his own people, I daresay. You can go.”

Katherine winced at the abrupt dismissal. As coarse as Siaspar ap Morgan was supposed to be, surely he could not be any more of a monster than his new wife. Sick to her soul, she made for the door, eager to leave this room—this hell.

“Wait!” Lady Malpas called, blocking her path. “Let me check something first.”

There was another rustle of silk as she exited through the door, then a sudden burst of light as the woman came back carrying the torch left burning in the staircase. She lifted the cover of the crumpled bed in search of the evidence that her marriage to the Welshman had been consummated.

There, in the middle of the bed, a faint blood-red stain on the sheet. The unavoidable proof that Katherine was now a ruined woman. Her heart fell in her chest. It was done.

There would be no recovering her innocence.

“Good,” her mistress commented with satisfaction. “Very good. You can go.”