Authors: Carolyne Cathey
He stilled as if uncertain how to answer.
"Surely not in Cotentin, for only the cowardly
English knights were present, striking at the innocent. July 14, the
celebration of my eleventh birthday. The day the English taught me
hatred."
Becket hissed a breath. "You were there?"
"I was more than
there
, knight. I fought,
I feared, I screamed, I ran. I survived. The horrors I witnessed on the
defenseless brewed a hatred so deep I vowed if I ever again saw an English
knight, I would do all within my power to take his life in retribution for
those who were massacred."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "And yet, you
escaped."
"By swallowing bile, biting my tongue, and
slipping from shadow to shadow. I know you have fought in war, but you can't
imagine the desecration of one of these raids. The entire village where we had
stopped for the night went up in flames, every house looted, then torched.
They burned mills and barns, fields and orchards, leaving behind a blackened
land unable to support life for years afterward. Not even the abbeys,
churches, or hospitals were spared. Anyone caught was killed---even children,
nuns and priests. Men were tortured to reveal hidden valuables, then their
throats were cut along with the throats of their livestock. Women suffered
multiple rapes, sexual mutilation, and those pregnant . . . " She
shuddered with violent memories, unable to speak the unspeakable.
"I regret you had to experience such atrocity,
Lady Rochelle, but terror is an indispensable accompaniment to every
chèvauchèe
and King Edward wreaked the maximum
'dampnum"
---the total war which
strikes at an enemy king through his subjects. The English use the tactic in
hopes of making the French sick of war, and thus, surrender."
"Your loyalties seem not to lie with France,
knight, but England. Whose cause do you fight?"
Becket turned from her scrutiny. "I fight my own
cause. In the deepest part of me I am Languedoc, the nationality that existed
before the French crushed this Southern region by lies and inquisitions. But
enough of battles long past."
He faced her, and the revenge in his moon-bathed eyes
chilled her blood to ice.
"Another war claims my interest, Lady Rochelle.
Ours."
She backed for protection between two large boulders
into her favorite hiding place, then realized her error. The two stone-like walls
angled outward to the bluff creating what once she had imagined as her
triangular tower room, and now had become her prison, with Becket guarding the
narrowed entrance.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic grin.
"How apropos. As a child this was my castle. All I needed was a fair
lady in distress"
He leaned against the boulder at his back, propping one
foot on the stone that angled behind her, entrapping her between him and a leap
to her death. Or a shove. Not ready to die, she pressed her hand against the
wall, fighting panic.
He glanced toward the cave entrance beyond her view as
if to make certain they were alone, then shifted his hypnotic gaze to her.
"Now, as to punishment for your betrayal."
She stiffened with dread, not daring to breathe lest
she might shatter.
"You hate me, Lady Rochelle, yet know that if you
have any hope of staying at DuBois, you must seduce me, your enemy. I hate
you, but am challenged to prove to you, my enemy, that I will be as much a
winner of this lustful battle as I am of DuBois."
"Surely you but make sport of me."
"'Tis your goal, and has been since my revelation
upon the parapet, has it not? I but give you the opportunity before you are
forever banished. The moon wanes along with your time, so I suggest you make
haste."
"But . . . but how can I seduce you when you are
aware?"
"A woman is born knowing such tricks. And 'tis
part of the game; ‘tis how a man knows she wants him."
"I fear the gods omitted me in their beneficence
of such gifts. Perhaps 'twas a jest they played, planned for this very
moment."
"Do you think me a fool? You attempt enticement
with every tempting breath that lifts your moon-sculpted breasts."
Embarrassed by her carelessness, she clutched her cloak
tighter across her chest.
"The way you look, Lady Rochelle. The way you
behave, move, the way you kiss me in return until I . . . " He paused as
if to squelch an admission. "The way you pretend surrender when I taste
your appetizing body, all in hopes I will forgo my hatred." As he
lowered his foot to the ground and pushed to a stand, the moon ran her hands
over the gloss of his midnight hair, over the silk of his pourpoint. His sword
flashed as if with excitement. "But in the end, Lady Rochelle, 'tis I who
will inflame you without being scorched."
Fear ripped through her body. "You mean to burn
me in revenge for your father?"
"The flames of passion, my temporary bride. And
as much as you'll want to escape the ecstatic torment, your own sensualities
with entrap you more than these stone walls. The brilliance of the punishment
is that, after this awakening, arousal will continue to taunt you during your
nun-like existence. A fitting revenge, is it not? The woman who wants no man,
will ache for any man."
She spun to stare at the valley, the peace so at odds
with her torment. She had already felt a stirring from his devilish behavior.
"You really have no alternative. Unless you
choose to accept your fate now and return to your chamber to ready for your
departure."
The moth to his spider.
"Where is your mettle, Lady Rochelle? Think of
DuBois. Think of Pierre. Think nunnery." She could hear the humor in
his tone as if he enjoyed her discomfort. "Seduce me."
She had no choice. But she didn't know how. Heaven
help her. He would laugh at her, humiliate her . . . as punishment . . . his
intention. And yet, she had borne worse. She surrendered to the urge to
rankle.
"While at the convent, knight, perhaps a passing
peddler shall ease my discomfort, or mayhap a visiting male."
"My armorer already beats the metal to form my new
armor. He can as easily construct a chastity belt, and as I claimed before,
only my key will fit the lock."
Determination stiffened her spine. Prayer bolstered
her courage. A flicker enlightened her memory of when she had overheard
Angelique tempt a knight into her chamber. No, she just couldn't! But the
besotted man had practically tripped over his tongue in his haste to lunge past
Angelique's doorway.
Feeling like an incurable fool, Rochelle concentrated
on
sultry
. She parted her lips in a pout and turned toward the
enigmatic Becket, one hand on her cocked hip, the other fluttering at her
cloaked breast. She released a breathy sigh.
"Bed me, you incredible man."
Becket's explosive laughter spread across the valley to
tell the world of her failure. Actual tears flowed from his eyes he laughed so
hard. She wanted to strangle him, then die herself. She would stomp past him
but he barred her way. He wiped his hands across his wet eyes, still laughing.
"Do you hope to imitate Angelique? Methinks you'd
best try another form of enticement."
Anger flared in her chest. "I'm pleased at least
one of us enjoys your insane form of punishment. I would think you'd be bored
with this entertainment by now. Have you no other to play court jester for
you?"
He grinned. "But you fit the part so well."
She closed the distance and flung the cloak at his
boots. "Pretend this is a handkerchief and kneel at my feet. Or perhaps
I but use the wrong woman for example." She yanked her sleeve down to
expose one shoulder. "Perhaps I should drape myself over your side like a
cat in heat, run my bare foot up your shin." She grabbed, then clasped
his hand to her chest and faked a dismayed sulk.
"Mais, mon chere
.
. ."
Becket's smirk faded, his attention on their entwined
fingers pressed against her breast, his gaze as hot as his touch. She followed
his focus, and her knees almost gave way. His knuckles pressed into the
softness of one breast partially revealed by her bodice.
He jerked away as if scorched. "Come, Lady Rochelle.
I'll escort you to your chamber." He leaned down to retrieve the dropped
cloak.
She had ruined her last chance! Rochelle darted past
him and pressed her hands against the boulders to cease his exit. "You
gave me until dawn."
Becket's attention locked on her bosom as he shook his
head. "You have not the talent for this. And I have not the heart."
"'Tis not your heart that is lacking, knight, but
another male part."
He lifted his affronted gaze to her face. "You
question my manhood?"
"You set the terms, knight. I have until
dawn."
"Lady Rochelle---"
"You never intended for me to accept your dare.
You expected me to quail with maidenly fears and run from you like a frightened
rabbit as I have thrice this day. But you know me not." She sauntered
toward him, running her fingers over the rough stone until the wall widened
past her reach. "Quitting is for failures. I intend to win."
"Your efforts will be of no avail."
She stopped in front of him and tilted her head back to
study his brooding face. She knew her bodice gaped, that he stared like a man
starved, but she would leap off the cliff before she covered herself.
He lifted his heated attention to her face. His eyes
sparked confidence, anticipation. "I warn you, my untried virgin. There
are many ways I can take satisfaction from your tempting body and leave your
virtue intact."
"I accept your challenge, knight." She slid
her hands around his stubborn neck and pulled up to her toes. "I'll start
with a kiss."
C
HAPTER
N
INE
B
elieve in yourself.
Believe you will succeed.
Rochelle held her breath and lifted her chin to press
her mouth to Becket's, but he didn't lower his head and she couldn't reach him.
He grinned his superiority.
Well, hex on the man. But she hadn't survived by being
irresolute. What might be his weaknesses? She almost laughed. Arrogance.
Pride. Love of a challenge. She traced a finger around the shell of his ear,
determined not to enjoy the feel of him even though his lush hair caressed her
flesh.
"Frightened of me, knight?"
"You're the one who trembles."
"But 'twas you who backed away from the kiss while
upon the parapet. Mayhap my nearness affects you more than you admit."
"With your inexperience? Not so, my enemy."
His rich-timbered avowal wavered her confidence. No,
she must not doubt, or she would defeat herself. She drew her fingertip over
his smooth cheek to the corner of his mouth, amazed that the simple action sent
tingles along her spine. He didn't retreat, but stood tall and invincible,
heat like melted stars within his eyes.
"You speak true about my inexperience, knight. I
never realized the pressing of one mouth upon another could arouse such
enjoyable sensations. Would I feel thus with any man, or only with you?"
The corner of his mouth twitched beneath her touch; the
stars in his eyes flashed a brighter glow. "Some blendings are more
pleasant than others."
"Then Henri's kiss might affect me the
same?" She smiled at his surprised scowl. "He is wickedly
attractive, and I so desire another such pleasantry. Will he be my escort to
the convent?"
"Henri would not dare touch that which is
mine."
She released a heavy sigh and stepped back, oddly
thrilled by his possessiveness. No, not possessiveness. Only determination to
keep her a virgin and without child, blast his dark soul. The fact that her
goal had been the same but hours ago flitted through her mind. But the
situation had changed her goals. Even so, he deserved another bruise to his
pride.
"Then one of the other knights perhaps, although I
would prefer Henri. But since I would like to experience one more kiss before
I am secluded, and you have not the courage, I have no choice but to choose
another."
"For a woman who claimed to want no man, you now
play the hussy? Besides, 'tis not a lack of courage on my part, but of
interest."
He leaned against the boulder in semi-dishabille, the
image of boredom---except for his eyes. He had the feral gleam of an animal on
the prowl, and she knew that he lied. She realized in that enlightening moment
he preferred pursuit, not being pursued, control, not reaction. She would
surely fail unless she seduced him into seducing her.
Rochelle ambled toward the bluff, praying he didn't
give her a shove and save himself the bother. She gazed toward the fog
enshrouded Garonne River so as to see his reactions in her peripheral vision.
"Your kiss would most likely be a disappointment
anyway, knight. You merely surprised me the first time, 'twas all." She
shrugged. "After Marcel, I would have reacted the same to anyone who
didn't bite."
"'Twould not be a disappointment." He pushed
away from the boulder and strolled toward her with animalistic grace, but
distanced, to the far end of the drop-off.
She stepped back from the edge. She felt as if they
were bull and matador, each sizing up the opponent, circling, studying.
Cloud-cast shadows caressed them in passing, giving an other-worldly feeling of
dark amorphous shapes and intermittent moonlight.
Rochelle pressed her shaky hand on the boulder so like
her opponent, rock-hard, and yet magnificent, then trailed her fingers along
the rough surface as she ambled toward the narrow entrance.
"In truth, knight, you are probably not even very
good at the task."
"Your reaction proved otherwise."
"As you say, I'm inexperienced so I wouldn't know
the difference. I need a comparison." She picked up the wool mantle, the
warmth welcome against her breeze-chilled flesh, and continued her pace toward
where the two boulders almost touched, much like the stubborn distance between
her and Becket.
"I'm surprised at your cowardice, Lady Rochelle.
You forfeit?"
"I but go in search of a mentor. I remember in
the hallway when Henri offered to bed me in your stead. Perhaps he would agree
to tutor me in the rules and techniques of this sensuous battle so that I will
be more interesting to you, less virginal. After an hour or two of . . .
experience . . . I might seek you out again to---"
"Enough about Henri. This duel is between
us." Becket slipped past her in lithe motion and placed his arm across
the opening, his unbuttoned sleeve revealing his muscular strength, his jaw as
tensed as her nerves.
"I begin to think you're more anxious to mete out
my punishment than you pretend, knight. You could have let me travel the
distance to the keep and claimed victory, but you bar my exit. Why?"
"If you are insistent upon tutelage, my foolish
falcon, I will be your trainer." He pushed away from the stone and
sauntered her direction. As he moved, forbidden glimpses of his chest taunted
from beyond the opening of his pourpoint. "I will teach you to fly, but
only as high as my tether will allow."
The increased wind skimmed the cloud-shadows across
them at a faster pace. His eyes glinted with each flash of the moonlight. She
had baited the devil. He stole toward her, Satan ravenous for a human
sacrifice. Rochelle took a step back, clutching her bodice together from the
wind, from him.
He followed. "You will soon hate my controlling
leash, for you will ache to soar beyond the limits, but just when you think to
break free, I will pull you back, time and again, until you will perform any
feat for a mere moment's release."
She retreated another step but bumped into the
boulder.
He came closer. "I'll teach you to use your
claws, to trill with pleasure, to scream. And between flights I'll give you
tidbits of the flesh, a taste, and then a juicier morsel, sensuous rewards to
lure you to embrace my mastery. But I warn you, for each reward, I will exact
a price."
"Payment for services rendered, knight? Now
you
play the part of whore." She could barely breathe within the power of his
nearness. And she dare not stare at his semi-bared chest, so she concentrated
on his eyes, equally as sinful.
He quirked an anticipatory grin. "Only women are
whores. Men merely astute with finances."
"And in return for a kiss?"
"I would see your hair."
She instinctively clutched her head-covering. He
lifted his hand and she flinched, hating her tell-tale reflexes.
"How peculiar." He drew a callused finger
along where the wimple met her face, and she shuddered. "I've tasted your
breasts, and yet you are appalled about exposing your tresses."
He towered so close she felt his heat, felt his unseen
force that overwhelmed her and left her dazed. Scrambling to re-gather her
scattered composure, she shifted her attention to the mist-strewn valley.
He leaned closer, his breath warming her temple,
increasing her heartbeat. "And yet, Lady Rochelle, before I am finished,
you will expose all."
Shaken at what she had started, she glanced up at his
too-near face sculpted by light and shadow, his lower lip licked by moonbeams,
full, mouth parted, as if to devour her. Then he hesitated, inhaled.
"I detect a fragrance other than death, smoke and
the cedar from my belongings." Becket drew in another breath.
"Mountain Laurel." He picked something from her wimple before she
could protest, and held out a leaf. "You landed in a Laurel shrub on your
flight up the hillside? He chuckled with amused sarcasm. "You
are
like a young falcon, brash and brave, and yet at times, unsteady in
travel."
"Only since you arrived, knight."
"Do I daunt you, Lady Rochelle?"
"I'm unused to fleeing from the devil."
"You stumbled in my presence before you even knew
of my purpose." He touched her wimple.
Panic seized her as hard as her sudden grasp of his
wrist. "Like any astute
woman
of finance, I do not give payment
until service is rendered. I will first have the kiss."
"What do you hide, Lady Rochelle?" He
brushed the tip of the leaf over her mouth and she felt a strange tingle.
"Is your hair unsightly? Are you bald? My curiosity is beyond
bearing." He ignored her tugs on his arm as if she were of no more
substance than fog, and fisted one hand upon her head-covering.
"I do not give you permission, Sire. You trespass
upon my person. First I will have your mouth upon mine."
"Are you certain 'tis what you want? I see your
war of emotions whether to flee or seduce---tensed to run, teetering to sink
into my embrace, one hand ready to slap, your expression a steamy curiosity to
further explore a sensuality you didn't know you could feel, the fear of where
that exploration will take you."
The truth brought an uneasy laugh from her throat.
"Too much of a challenge, knight?"
The wind moaned, breathing against her flesh. The moon
hid, shrouding them in darkness. A warning? Shivers tingled her nape.
"You know not what you begin, Lady Rochelle.
Run. Now. Before you become enmeshed in a battle neither of us can finish to
our satisfaction."
An odd tangle of excitement and fear churned within her
chest. Whatever had possessed her to try this insanity?
DuBois.
Pierre
.
"I will see this through, knight. Cease this
delay. Kiss me."
"Then the battle begins."
He lowered his face and she felt the warmth of his
breath against her cold mouth. She stiffened and willed her pulse to slow.
She must remain unaffected.
"Even ordinary things can be an enjoyment to the
flesh, Lady Rochelle." He swept the leaf tip across her lips, then
followed with his tongue. Pleasure fired through her body. He plunged his
tongue past her gasp, claimed her mouth with his, claimed her strength. How
could a mere kiss make her weak, and warm . . . no, hot? He caressed her
tongue with his, strong, rhythmic, like the strong steady beat of her heart.
He tasted of honeyed wine and spice, smelled of cedar. She slid her arms
around his neck and entangled her fingers in his wind-tossed hair.
"You must have imbibed much this day, Lady
Rochelle. Twice have I kissed you and both times you tasted of DuBois
wine." His whispered discovery into her mouth, singed through her veins
like the heat of his kiss.
"I have had no wine." She opened her mouth
in encouragement. He delved his tongue again and drank.
"Sweet fire."
She inhaled his heady words, drank the taste of him and
felt the intoxication soak into her very core. She would surely lose all
unless she gained control of her reactions and inflamed his.
He slipped his hand under the edge of her wimple. She
tensed with the unfamiliar intimacy, feeling as if he stole beneath her
skirts.
"You behave as if I trespass where no man has
before."
She couldn't answer, her head spun so from his kiss.
He fondled the hairs at her nape, rubbing the softness against her flesh, and
she heard his stifled groan. Or perhaps, 'twas hers.
"Like silk. Soft as the delicate hairs on a
moth's wings."
Moth to his spider.
She whimpered and sank against his body.
He reached further. "Satin braids. Coiled as
tightly as your arms around my neck." He ran his tongue around her wet
lips. "How long since a man has seen your hair, Lady Rochelle?"
She felt a steady tug. The fastener under her chin
released, then the wimple slid from her head in slow surrender. Her feelings
sank again to earth. She fought the urge to shove his hands aside. The fabric
slid past her ears, then cool air swirled upon her nape, and she felt naked.
He captured her gaze. "How long, Lady
Rochelle?"
She swallowed. "Three."
"Days? Weeks?"
"Years old. Since the age of three."
His eyes widened in shock. "Why?"
"'Tis wicked.
Père
Bertrand says 'twould
tempt the gods from the heavens."
"Tempt
me
, Lady Rochelle. Show me what no
man has seen. Let down your hair." He stepped back, and her body chilled
where once he had pressed. "'Tis your price for the kiss. I will have
payment."
Thankful for the darkness, she unpinned her braids,
then pulled them over her shoulders and combed her trembling fingers through to
untangle the strands.