A Lady's Charade (Medieval Romance Novel) (6 page)

“You’ll not be having anyone hanged stranger. Tie him to one of the ash trees,” he ordered. The lousy man kicked and shouted as the knights gripped him by his limbs and dragged him to a tree. They tied him to it tightly, another strip of rope gagging him. “Spending the night in the cold and defenseless will teach you to prey on innocents.” The knight’s voice was like steel, smooth and cold.

The man protested, but his words were muffled and Chloe couldn’t make out what he said. She sunk deeper into her rescuer’s lap.

“Thank you sir, for saving me,” she whispered. She kept her face cast downward, scared and too embarrassed to have him see how dirty she was.

“Nay, my lord.” She had to come up with a story quick. It was entirely possible that this knight had found her parents and run them through with the sword at his side.

“Where are you from?” His voice took on a hard edge and his body stiffened. He seemed to be a cautious man.

“A place far from here.” Bitterness crept into her voice. Until this moment she hadn’t let any of her anger at her situation leak out. “And quite frankly, none of your affair.”

The man squeezed her tighter at her tone. “Mind your words,
peasant,
” he growled. “I’m sure even where you are from, you were taught how to speak to those superior to yourself.”

She realized she needed to be careful if she was going to keep her identity a secret. She knew it had been entirely out of her place to say such a thing to the man. Would he tie her to an old ash tree?

“My apologies, my lord. Scotland is my home.”

“Shall I assist you in finding a proper place to stay this eve, or do you have a place in mind already?” he inquired, brushing off her rebuke.

Suddenly recalling her need for a place to sleep she remembered her horse. The animal was all she had. The satchel attached to it filled with her only meager possessions.

“My horse,” she gasped looking around frantically.

“Edward, see to her horse,” the knight shouted to one of his men who nodded and went in search of the animal. “When we get your horse back, where should we escort you?”

“I have no place to go. My parents have deserted me.” She bit back a sob at the real circumstances behind her predicament.

The knight nodded, the tip of his metal chin grazed the top of her head. He didn’t appear to have too much compassion toward her situation.

“I see. Have they left you with no coin?” he asked bluntly.

“None.” She didn’t want to say more. She felt herself sink lower, her chin almost touching her chest, but refused to say more as pride took over.

“Ah,” he said as he awkwardly patted her, not realizing the heavy gauntlets bruised her tender flesh. “We have many good people in my village. I have one in mind who might take you in. You will have to work of course.”

All she could do was nod. She was pleased this man seemed to care enough to find her a decent home, where she could stay for a time. Was it too much to hope she might see him again? She bit the inside of her cheek in disgust. This was not court. She wasn’t flirting with the man. For all he knew, she was crawling with lice and just as poor as the man who’d attacked her.

“What is your name?” he asked tersely.

“Chloe,” she said faintly, and then pinched herself for giving her true name. Why hadn’t she thought of a new one?

She heard him suck in his breath, which caused her own heart to beat erratically. Did he know her? She quickly looked up, shadows everywhere. All she could see was two eyes staring intensely at her from beneath a metal helmet. An odd feeling of recognition coiled within her veins, but she knew it was impossible. She’d never been to England, let alone met this knight. Even still her body stirred with the fierceness of his gaze. He flicked his eyes away, breaking the spell.

“I know of a Scottish maid named Chloe,” he muttered.

“There are a lot of women named Chloe in Scotland,” she lied. She didn’t really have any idea how many women held the same name, and truth be told, there probably weren’t too many Scots with a French name, but the sooner she got him off the topic the better. From all outward appearances, it seemed he may have been tipped off to look for her and her family.

“I’ll take you to Maude’s and see if she will accept you on my behalf. She has been close to my family for years. You will be safe with her,” he said, his voice like ice.

As he spurred the horse forward, she noticed the man he called Edward had captured her own pathetic beast, and now followed them.

She yawned loudly, bit her lip and gazed up at the metal face to see if he’d caught her unladylike behavior. He didn’t look at her, but he did push her head back onto his chest which he’d covered with a cape to protect her skin from his chain mail.

“Sleep,” he ordered.

She had a mind to argue, but another yawn took over. Exhaustion won out.

Some time later she was jostled awake. Lifting her head she took careful note of her surroundings. Night had fallen, the skies sprinkled with stars. They’d come to another village surrounded by a looming shadow of a high thick stone wall. Its height had to be at least twenty feet. How long had she slept? At the far end of the village a vast castle peeked above the overwhelming stonework.

A lord lived here.

“My village, Hardwyck,” he said proudly. Strength emanated in his words.

This was his village? Who was he? With his reference to the village as his, she could only hope against hope this wasn’t the lord. Perhaps instead it was just an overzealous knight. She didn’t want to bring attention to herself as it was. She had a new identity now, and could never reveal who she truly was, on pain of death.

The horses followed the rutty dirt road up and over the drawbridge covering a moat, to the heavy wooden doors that formed the gate. The doors were closed and forbidding. The portcullis was already lifted—she shuddered imagining it wrenching loose and crushing them to death as they entered.

“Welcome home, my lord,” came a shout from atop the gate tower.

My lord.
Fate had dealt her another blow.

The gate doors slowly swung wide. Two men held the doors, peering out the opening at group and then beyond, perhaps making sure there were no stragglers lurking in the distance. Always cautious, always aware.

When they entered, the two men hurriedly pushed the heavy wooden doors closed, replacing the large thick beam.

She looked around at the village with its deep rutted dirt streets and the hastily put together wooden buildings. All with cracks so wide between the planks she could see men and women at their tables, eating, some singing—and every so often, the sounds of carnal pleasures wafted into the air. The sounds played with her newfound awareness, and made sitting on the lap of the most delicious man she’d ever seen, quite distracting. She imagined she was one of those women, spread out beneath him as he ran his fingers up and down her limbs.

What did he look like beneath his suit of armor? Would his skin be golden, shadowed with crisp hair? Were his limbs as sinewy to look at as they felt? His skin, rough or soft? Her face flushed hot, and if she’d had a fan she would have waved it frantically in front of her face.

She couldn’t help the horrified expression of how this man affected her, as she took in her new surroundings. She was only too glad no one looked her way to gauge her reaction. Her lips moved in silent prayer for the Lord to forgive her, her lascivious thoughts.

Soon the stench of garbage and human refuse in the village overwhelmed her, and whatever sensual thoughts she might have had dissipated. It was so different from the lifestyle she was used to. She’d been kept well guarded at the French court, and even before leaving Scotland, it was rare for her parents to let her venture out to any of the surrounding villages which housed their people.

Occasionally they would attend a fair or a tournament, but there she mingled with other nobles, and never was she as scared as she was now. No more going to court, no more fancy feasts and no more attending fairs, gazing and purchasing the goods merchants offered. No more sitting in the stands to watch the brave knights knock each other from their horses with their lances, and then bowing to her, hoping for a few stolen kisses.

They passed people who bumped into each other and cursed loudly. She imagined the stench of ale floating from their drunken foul mouths. Mouths that were missing most of their teeth, and the teeth remaining, stained dark with rot.

She was grateful the knight had a friend she could lodge with. It didn’t appear that any inn she might have found, even if it did get her off of the street, would keep her safe. And she had no means to pay anyway.

They continued to ride through the town, crossing another drawbridge and entering into the lower bailey of the keep. There he paused at a little house. Although the house was small, it was built much better than the houses she’d seen in the first parts of the village. There were no spaces for her to see into the houses. It was built of wattle and daub, not just wooden planks.

As she studied the house of the woman he called Maude, the door was yanked open roughly by a large older woman. Her hair, gray from age, looked as though it had been in a tight bun, but now remnants fell loose about her shoulders. Her ample bosom heaved and her face registered shock from seeing the knights at her doorway. The knight she rode with dismounted and then lifted Chloe to the ground. He’d removed his gauntlets and his strong hands wrapped around her waist. She shivered despite their warmth. When he lowered her, his gaze caught hers. Steel grey eyes bored into hers from behind a silver mask. His fingertips boldly brushed the sides of her breasts. She was grateful for the cloak covering her body’s shameful reaction, but was sure he’d seen the shiver of desire that passed through her. Her legs grew weak, and she gripped his arms to steady herself. Lips parted, she nearly sighed. At once she felt like he stripped her of everything—her clothes, her fortitude. She stood naked, bare, and God help her, willing.

For a moment she was shocked still, not able to lower her gaze or turn away.

“Yes, my lord?” Maude asked, breaking the spell.

Chloe winced inwardly and turned toward the woman. So much for keeping a low profile. Her hopes were dashed. She’d tried to ignore that the men at the gates referred to him as their lord as well. Indeed she’d been rescued by the Lord of Hardwyck. The name rang familiar, and this time when her skin tingled with gooseflesh it wasn’t desire.

“I found this girl getting quite a beating from a beggar. She has no place to stay. I thought perhaps you could take her in and then bring her to me in the morning to see about work.” His voice was smooth as he spoke, not as cold as before.

“Of course, my lord.” She nodded quickly and reached for Chloe’s hand. “She’ll be in good care here.”

Chloe grasped Maude’s hand, glad to have a kind person to stay with, some of her fear abated slightly, until she remembered his last words. She would be seeing him again in the morning. Maude pulled her toward the house and out of the way of the knight’s horses. She watched the lord remount his steed. He looked back one time, a roving, assessing gaze, before riding through the bailey toward the keep.

Chloe’s blood went from cold to hot and back again. She was oddly attracted to this man, more so than any of the courtiers who’d professed their love for her, and even made love to her with their words. The innermost parts of her mind wished he would whisk her away. And ravish her. She shook her head. What was the matter with her? Had the English air turned her from virtuous courtier to wanton woman? But there was something about his strength, his overwhelming raw maleness that teased her. The fact that he had saved her played with her heart. She’d never met a man with such a brute personality that had her quivering with wicked desire. She fairly ached with the need for his lips to touch hers. And yet, she didn’t even know what his lips looked like. He could be horribly scarred, have no lips at all, for he had not removed his helmet.

She gazed at the retreating knights, trying to get a handle on her reeling emotions, and it was then she caught sight of the lord’s shield.

A dragon.

****

He shook his head at the absurd thought. There was no way the beautiful Lowlander he was to marry would happen to be on the same road as he, and be in need of rescue. And even more disconcerting, this woman had a slight French accent. His wife was Scots. Had the stranger lied about being from Scotland?

To top it off, the woman wore peasant clothing. He was certain it wasn’t his bride. That would just be too fortunate for him.

The girl was not the magnificent beauty he recalled. She kept her face mostly hidden from him, but what he could tell, she was rather dirty. No noble chit would be seen like that, Scots or no.

And her body had been… He tried to get the memory of her warm plush buttocks from his mind. Their softness molded to his groin, and it was only through some maneuvering he was able to hide his throbbing erection from her the entire ride to Hardwyck. Her clothes were thin, and the curves of her body, oh so delicious. Her full firm breasts had pressed against his arm, and even though his arm was covered with a thick layer of chain mail, the warmth of her had seeped through. He’d wanted to bend her back against his horse, lick his way from her dirty little chin to the pink nipples jutting from ragged fabric. He wanted to lift her long, shapely legs around his hips and plunge from tip to hilt into her hot, wet, sheath.