His eyes bulged, jerking from her face down to where she held the blade against his manhood. “Get ’er off me!”
“Touch me and he loses what he values most,” she swore. “And do not make the mistake of thinking I do not know how to use this blade. All I want is safe passage to the forest. Now.”
For a moment she thought they would agree, for they hesitated and did not respond. But then someone new entered the fray.
“You cannot escape me so easily as this, Josselyn.”
Rand! Josselyn fought back an overwhelming urge to look at him, for she sensed that to break eye contact with
her hostage would be her downfall. God’s bones, would this nightmare never cease? She pressed the blade higher, until the man began to blubber with fear. “Release me or he dies,” she vowed.
“Kill him, then,” Rand replied from much nearer, behind her and to the left. “He’s not one of my men so I’ll not mourn his loss. Besides, he’s not likely to die from losing so useless an appendage.”
“Here, milord. That ain’t—”
“Silence!” Josselyn ordered the terrified man. “If I cut him, you can be sure he will bleed to death from the wound. Now back away, all of you. And you too,” she told her captive, pricking his manhood with the point of her blade.
He was quick to comply and they made three steps together, like dancers locked in an obscene sort of embrace. Three steps away from the kitchen, down the incline toward the forest and freedom. Three steps, with the first drops of blood seeping onto her hand.
“Ow! Ow! She’s cuttin’ me somethin’ fierce!”
“’Tis only good English meat,” Josselyn sneered. Then as abruptly as it began, her escape ended. An arm shoved her aside. The Englishman screamed, and she landed hard on the ground, pinned there by none other than Randulf Fitz Hugh.
It was hard to remember that only hours before he’d pinned her in a sexual embrace. For he was no gentle captor now, no considerate lover bringing her to pleasure before he found his own release. He was an enemy knight, sworn to defeat her and her people.
And she’d just shamed him before his own countrymen.
“Bloody hell,” he swore, for her ears only. “That was a stupid move.”
She swung her fist but caught him only a glancing blow on his thick English skull. Before she could rally, he yanked her upright, twisting one of her arms behind her back. It hurt her shoulder, but not as much as it hurt her
pride to be held so helplessly amidst her enemies. How dare these English asses laugh at her!
“I believe your orders were to keep her safe,” Rand bit out. His voice was as cutting as cold steel, and Josselyn saw the guard who stood just beyond the English soldiers swallow hard, then nervously bob his head.
“Yes, milord.”
“You blasted fool!” The Englishman Josselyn had cut swore at Rand’s guard. “You let a slip of a girl get past you—”
“She got the best of you as well.”
That was said by yet another stranger. He was well dressed and well ornamented, with a huge gold buckle on his cloak, and an ornate girdle. Simon Lamonthe, Josselyn deduced at once. And she’d just threatened one of his men. He was of only average height and build, and no match physically for his men, but she feared him just the same. There was power in his manner, a cruel power she instinctively recognized. His eyes, a pale silvery color, moved over her with an avidity far more frightening than his men’s.
Without realizing it, she leaned back against Rand. His hand curved over her shoulder and though she resented the possessive gesture and everything it implied, she did not fight him. Not while this other man stripped her naked with his eyes.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Rand muttered to her. He gestured for his humiliated guard. “Take her back to the kitchen.”
But the silver-eyed Lamonthe intercepted him. “I can think of far better uses for her than as a kitchen drudge. I’ve found Welshwomen to be a spirited lot. Most certainly this one is no tame kitten.”
His eyes lowered to her breasts and Josselyn trembled with outrage and disgust. And fear. God help any woman who fell into that man’s power! Surely Rand would protect her from him.
Rand’s fingers tightened around her shoulder in what she
took to be a reassuring gesture. His words, however, were not so comforting. “When I tire of her, I’ll send her to you. For now, however, I’m not inclined to share her.”
Lamonthe smiled, though without any trace of warmth. His men laughed coarsely—at least two of them did. The man she’d cut only glared at her as he crudely rubbed his crotch. A threat, she knew, and once again she leaned into Rand.
But he thrust her toward his guard, and with a warning slap on her derriere, he released her.
Josselyn was wise enough not to react to that last patronizing gesture, but oh, how she wanted to snatch the long pele from Odo and crown Rand with it. Instead she followed Odo, trying without success to jerk her arm from the guard’s unforgiving grasp.
“Stupid bitch!” the guard snapped once they were in the kitchen.
“’Tis you who appeared stupid,” she countered, jerking free of him at last.
“You made Lord Randulf look the fool,” Odo hissed. “D’ye think he’ll forget that?”
Josselyn glared at him. “Why should he care what that other man thinks?”
“Simon Lamonthe, Lord of Bailwynn, is not a man to trifle with, nor one to appear weak and foolish before.”
“He’s a powerful lord,” the guard added. “He’s got the king’s ear and ’tis said he rules the hills south of here like a king himself.”
“So?” Josselyn turned away from them, but though she appeared unimpressed, it was pure affectation. For she recognized the name Simon Lamonthe now. His cruelty to the Welsh was legend. The fortress he’d built to the south, almost to Radnor Forest, was said to be impregnable. And now he was here. But for what purpose?
“There’s work to be done,” Odo pointed out. But Josselyn ignored him. She’d cooked her last meal for Englishmen. She’d kneaded her last bowl of dough for their
consumption. What could Rand do to her that he hadn’t already done?
He could give you to Simon Lamonthe.
Her heart began to race. He could. But he wouldn’t.
But what if that man requested the use of her body? Could Rand deny the demands of the powerful Lamonthe if he forced the issue? Would he even try?
She sat in the farthest corner of the kitchen, stiff and unrelenting, while Odo and his haphazard assistant prepared an unappetizing fish stew. The loaves came from the oven, small, hard, and only half-risen. But they were not burned. Indeed, in the confusion of the hasty preparations, the loaves were barely cooked.
A just God would see them all choked on the sticky mess, Josselyn decided. It was very likely a sin of grave proportion to instruct God in the handling of His affairs. Still, she did not believe a just God would begrudge her this tiny irreverence.
As time grew shorter, Odo cast her many an angry look. But his beseeching ones had not moved her, and neither would his irritated ones. Josselyn had far more serious matters to consider than the rising of dough and how hot the oven was.
In the span of one day her life had been turned upside down. Worst of all, however, she did not know what to do about it. Even should she escape, she would be caught in another trap. For the pattern of her life pointed in one direction, but it was a direction in which she did not wish to go: marriage to Owain. Complicating things further still, Owain’s efforts on her behalf could not be ignored.
And yet were her wishes of no moment?
More importantly, what
were
her wishes?
The low rumble of thunder rattled the sky and rain began abruptly to fall. Outside men swore while inside she tried to rejoice. They could not work in the rain, could they? They could not raise their cursed wall.
She stood, stretching her stiff limbs, trying not to recall
the activities that had made her so sore. “I need a moment’s privacy,” she told the guard.
The man scowled at her. “I’ve learnt my lesson. You’ll not be trickin’ Horace again.”
“This is no trick but a plain fact of life.” She planted her fists on her hips. “I’m surprised you don’t have a similar need by now.”
He shifted from one foot to the other, then glanced uncertainly at Odo. “What d’ye think?”
Odo was sweating, with flour dusting his arms and a big greasy stain on his apron. He sent Josselyn a desperate look. “Can we come to an agreement?”
Her first instinct was to say no. The English could starve for all she cared. But reason had cooled her anger somewhat. She gave him a curt nod. “We can.”
His eyes widened. “You’ll take over the baking?”
“Wot’s this got to do with anything?” Horace demanded.
When she nodded at Odo, he turned to the guard. “I can’t have people pissin’ in me pots. Take her outside somewhere. But watch her closely and bring her back immediately. And keep her away from any of Lamonthe’s men.”
She had only a few minutes, but Josselyn made the most of them. Simon Lamonthe’s men clustered near Rand’s quarters. No doubt the two lords plotted inside. The rain fell but lightly now, a drizzle that did not slow labor on the walls after all. The building meant to eventually house the soldiers, but which now was to serve the masons and laborers as well, was nearly head high. By day’s end it would be ready to receive the roof timbers.
The work was progressing much swifter than she could believe. Had Rhonwen delivered the message to Clyde about Rand’s brother? Would they intercept him? And would Owain try another ploy to free her?
As she trudged back to the kitchen she asked, “How fares Alan?”
“Don’t tell me you’re feelin’ guilty for the poor lad’s miseries.”
“It’s a simple enough question. Will you answer it?”
“He lives,” the man grunted. He yanked open the kitchen door and gestured her in. “That’s all I know.”
Josselyn was silent as she approached the baking table. Alan was little more than a boy. It pained her that he had been so grievously wounded in Owain’s attack. But many more Englishmen would suffer, she reminded herself, and Welshmen as well, before this struggle was ended. She could not fret over these English warriors who’d invaded her lands.
She stirred the embers in the oven and added more oak to even out the heat. Warriors fought, they were wounded, and often they died. It was the way of the world, just as women married to benefit their families.
The difference was, it was your enemy whom you expected to hurt you, not your ally. In her case, however, she was certain Owain would hurt her more than Rand ever would, even considering his curt behavior today.
Rand, however, was not one of the choices given to her. His brother was.
As she worked, shaping the loaves, using the pele once more to ferry hot loaves out of the oven and freshly risen ones in, she tried not to think of this Jasper Fitz Hugh, nor of Owain. Nor, especially, of Rand. Instead she thought of her conversation with Newlin not so long ago—and yet it seemed an age: winter’s end was nigh. The end of her old life. The beginning of a new season for her, and mayhap her people too.
The rain outside washed the winter away and brought the new softness of spring. The walls rose as did the reborn fields and forests.
Would the wild roses of the cliffs one day clamber up the stone walls the English built? And if they did, who would be there to pluck the fragrant blooms, English women or Welsh?
She was heartily afraid to learn the answer to that.
T
he meal was only a little better than palatable. Half the bread was a waste of flour, even coarse barley flour, and the poor quality of the other half would not encourage the visitors to stay.
But that was for the best, Josselyn decided later, as the sun retreated behind a heavy layer of clouds. It was clear to her that Simon Lamonthe and his men were not welcome at Rosecliffe. They should have been, for they were English, and Josselyn would have expected Rand’s welcome to be sincere. But instead it was strained; she sensed that even though she’d not seen either of the men since her futile attempt at escape. There was a caution among Rand’s men and a watchfulness among Lamonthe’s that spoke of suspicion rather than mutual support.
How interesting. She’d always supposed the English to be a united front of mighty lords, determined to make Welsh lands their own. Were it not for the rough terrain of the northern Welsh lands, her country’s fragmented families, who were suspicious and always warring among themselves, would have no chance against the full force of English might. But the English were not so united as they seemed, despite their king and his claim to the contrary.
Why did Rand mistrust this man? she wondered. And why had Lamonthe come to Rosecliffe?
The answer was obvious: to spy. He’d come as she’d initially come, to see what Rand planned. To consider how he might be thwarted.
Did that mean Lamonthe might be an ally for the Welsh?
Her fingers stilled in their restless combing of her tangled hair. Lamonthe was not a man to be anyone’s ally for long. She knew that instinctively.
She watched through the window as outside a bonfire flared to life, silhouetting several clusters of men in its orange glow. Ale flowed freely now that it was too dark to work. The masons and carpenters and diggers drank and talked, growing more and more boisterous. But no soldiers drank, she saw. At least not to excess. Neither Rand’s men nor Lamonthe’s.
Her curiosity piqued, she crept quietly from her corner. Odo had deserted the kitchen as soon as the supper had been offered up. Horace still watched over her, but for the past hour he’d been fighting to keep his eyes open. As she watched, his head nodded forward and he began to snore.
Did she dare creep outside? And if she did, should she try to escape or, rather, try to determine the source of the tension between Rand and Simon Lamonthe?
In the end the choice was not hers to make. For as she opened the door, it creaked. Horace awoke with a start, and she was caught. Though she did not run, his fury was unabated.
“I merely needed fresh air,” Josselyn protested as she tried to evade him.
“Save your lies for Lord Randulf. As for meself, I’ll not be made a fool of twice.”
“You were born a fool,” she muttered. “Keep your hands off me!”
But he caught her and rudely bound her wrists behind her despite her struggles. Then he looped the rope through one of the pot hooks embedded in the new fire box, leaving her to fume and heap curses upon him in Welsh, English, and French. She remained in that ignoble position when
Rand strode in and her fury turned at once from the guard to the man who gave him his hateful orders.
“You will rue the day you treated me thus!”
“Simon Lamonthe seeks an audience with you.”
Her angry invective died in her throat. Hot rage turned to cold fear, and her heart began to thud.
He glanced at Horace. “Go.” He waited until the muttering Horace shut the door before continuing. “He wants a woman for tonight and you are the only woman here.”
Josselyn could not believe what he was saying to her. He could not mean to simply give her to this man! And yet when he crossed to her and began to loosen her bindings, it seemed he meant to do precisely that.
“I will not go!” She tried to twist away from him, unwilling to be untied if it meant being handed over to Simon Lamonthe. “I won’t do it. I’ll fight him—”
“He’d like that, Josselyn. He would relish your every struggle, then take you just the same.”
Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. Bad enough the fate that awaited her. But how could he so easily hand her over to that man? She shook her head, paralyzed by unaccustomed fear.
Only then did his implacable expression alter. His eyes searched her face, as if he sought to delve into the deepest corners of her mind. “I told him you are my woman,” he finally said. “But he believes he can woo you to his bed with coin.”
Josselyn shuddered. “There is not enough coin in the entire British realm.”
Rand cocked his head. “You enjoyed our bed sport. Why would you avoid it with him?”
Suddenly she sensed a trap. She tried to compose herself, to weigh her words. To decipher his. “I am no whore to leap from one man’s bed to another’s—nor to accept coin for the use of my body.”
“Then what of last night?”
Josselyn turned away from him. She had no answer for
that, at least none she could share with him. “’Tis not last night which concerns me now, but tonight. Will you turn me over to him?”
She felt rather than heard him move up behind her. She waited for his touch, hating herself for wanting it. Hating him for making her feel this traitorous longing.
“I will turn you over to no one.”
She trembled at the husky possessiveness in his voice. “Not even to your brother?”
He did not answer and though she knew it should not matter, for his brother would be captured by her uncle and Owain long before he arrived at Rosecliffe, she nonetheless needed to know. “Will you wed me to him?”
“If I must.”
She shifted farther away from him, though her wrists were still tethered to the pot hook. “Who’s to say you must, save for yourself?”
“I want peace here, Josselyn, between your people and mine. If your union to Jasper is the only way to achieve that end, then I have no other choice.”
She glared at him. “So. You will not make a whore of me with Lamonthe, but you would do so with your brother.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “No more so than your uncle would. Come,” he added. “You’ll sleep in my quarters.”
“I will not lie with you again.”
His eyes narrowed. “We shall see.”
“I’d rather lie with Lamonthe!” she swore.
His jaw clenched again in irritation. “We both know that is a lie. But do not force my temper, woman, else I may decide the pleasure you afford not worth the aggravation.” Then unmindful of her wishes, he turned her around, unknotted her bindings, and gave her a curt shove toward the door.
She rubbed her wrists as they headed across the loose sort of enclosure created by the kitchen, his quarters, and
the new wood shed. Daily the Englishmen progressed in their frenzied building program. Already the cluster of buildings at Rosecliffe felt more like a village than merely an encampment. Once the walls were raised the English would be nearly impossible to rout.
As if to confirm her dark thoughts, Rand’s hand moved to the small of her back, a reminder that she was his hostage. A reminder also of the perverse power his simple touch had over her. She moved faster to avoid that distressing touch. “Where is Lamonthe?”
“He has a pavilion.”
“So you do not take me to him.”
“I told him you were mine and not available no matter the price.”
They reached his quarters and halted outside the door. She looked up at him accusingly. “You had no intention of giving me to him. You said that only to frighten me.”
He paused before responding. The glow from the distant bonfire limned his face with the faintest gold, but it cast no light on his expression. “You came here to spy on us. You agreed to teach me Welsh only to give yourself the opportunity to learn my plans. You deceived me about who you were and conspired against me. I would be a fool not to wonder why you took me to your bed—”
“You can hardly call it that!
You
seduced
me!”
“Perhaps. Nevertheless, I wondered if you would try the same ploy with Lamonthe.”
“The same ploy? ’Twas no ploy. Oh!” Enraged that he could think so little of her, Josselyn backed away from him. “I will not share a chamber with you again. Most certainly I will never share your bed!”
“Even if I seduce you?”
Like a caress, the sensual promise in his low-pitched voice washed warm and revealing over her. Her skin prickled and she wrapped her arms across her stomach. “I am not so foolish as to fall into that trap again.”
“Indeed. I’d wager that you are more susceptible than ever.”
A coarse laugh and the tramp of approaching steps saved her from responding to that provocative remark. When the shadow of three men loomed near, Rand shoved her protectively behind him.
“So, Fitz Hugh. Have you reconsidered my offer?” Simon Lamonthe asked. Josselyn would have recognized that cold, amused voice anywhere. “Or mayhap you have not relayed it to the wench. Three gold coins,” he said to Josselyn. “Three gold coins and a night you will never forget.”
“Her wishes are immaterial, Lamonthe. She is my hostage. You will have to wait until I release her before you solicit for her pleasures.”
Josselyn could have kissed Rand for that. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss his broad back and thank him for protecting her from Lamonthe’s revolting offer. By rights she should be angry at Rand’s reminder that she was nothing more than a hostage to him, and the implication that her favors could be bought. But at that moment she did not care about such details. He kept her safe from Lamonthe and for now that was all that mattered.
“So be it,” the other man said, after a long tense silence. “I’ll be waiting when he sets you free,” he said to Josselyn, jiggling his purse. But the clink of coin on coin sounded ugly in her ears. Ugly and threatening.
“And Fitz Hugh,” he added before he left. “Beware you do not fall into the same trap that has ruined so many an Englishman. She is a warm body, no more. A hot quim to serve your needs. Do not be fool enough to engage your heart else you will find that she has cut it out and served it up to her bloodthirsty brethren.” Then laughing, he turned and strolled off into the darkness, his hulking soldiers laughing along with him.
Without speaking, Rand opened the door and thrust Josselyn inside. The bolt came down, an abrupt scraping of
wood on metal. Then they were alone. Even more than before, Josselyn was grateful to have escaped the repugnant Simon Lamonthe. But his reference to her as no more than a convenient object for sex left her feeling dirty and defiled. She knew it was no less than Rand already thought of her, yet hearing the ugly truth out loud depressed her anew.
“I will not share your bed,” she muttered as she watched him divest himself of his weapons and tunic.
“As you wish. I am too weary to argue the matter.”
That surprised her, but she knew better than to trust him. “I do not speak lightly. If you intend me for your brother, I cannot lie with you again.”
As she watched for his response he pulled his boots off, then with one smooth movement tugged his chainse over his head and flung it aside. He was barefoot and bare-chested and when he looked over at her, unsmiling, she swallowed hard. What a sight he made in the meager light of one candle. What a powerful, virile sight. Her mouth went dry; her pulse went wild.
“It has been a long day, Josselyn, following on the heels of a night when I slept but little. I plan to sleep now though, as, I trust, will you.”
He meant what he said. A modicum of relief washed over her. Then he added, “But you
will
share my bed.”
“What?”
“It’s that or be bound to my chair. I cannot risk you making another bid for freedom.”
“Then I prefer the chair. I’d rather be tied in a chair all night than share a bed with you.”
“So you say. But I will not sleep well if I know you are uncomfortable. My bed is soft and big enough for two.”
“No.”
“Yes.” He started toward her, stalking her. “You need not fear my intentions, for I plan only to bind you to me.” He held up a length of chain. “That way you cannot hope to escape without rousing me.”
Josselyn shook her head. No matter what he said, she
knew where this was leading. “What if I promise not to escape?”
“I am to believe that? Tell me, I have promised not to touch you in a provocative manner. Do
you
believe
me?”
Her heart sank. She was trapped.
She waited as he crossed the room to her. Her back pressed against the rough stone wall. Her palms grew damp. The chain swung from his hand. Pretty. Ominous. It was curious in design, with a narrow cuff at one end. He clicked it closed over her left wrist, then using a small lock, fastened the other end of the chain around his wrist. She twisted the cuff but could find no lock. When she looked up at him in frustration, he gave her a half-smile.