Samantha James (15 page)

She got no further. A meaty hand closed around her upper arm and spun her around. Alana straightened only to suffer a similar fate—a hard hand at her back thrust her forward so that she almost knocked into Genevieve.

A guttural laugh rushed past her ear. “One is as fetching as the other, eh, Etienne?”

Alana’s blood froze.
Etienne
. Normans, she realized in dread. By now three of them surrounded her and Genevieve, huge and burly. They stank of sweat and ale. She glanced
around frantically. Sweet heaven, where was Radburn? Surely he had not deserted them! It flitted through her mind that perhaps Merrick had been right after all. Perhaps he had seen this as an opportunity to flee…

“A pity there is not another.” The burliest of the three grinned, displaying dingy, yellowed teeth with a wide gap in the front. “But no matter.” He gestured at Genevieve. “I’ll jump the wench and thump her and then one of you can have a turn while I take the other.” He leered at Alana, who blanched visibly.

Genevieve went pale as well. “Leave us be,” she ordered, yet even she could not keep the quaver from her voice. “If you do not, you shall regret it, for my brother is Merrick—”

“What I regret,” interrupted another, “is that we did not see the pair of you earlier. But let us not waste any more time, eh—”

He got no further. A dark form leaped out from behind them, knocking the one nearest Genevieve to the ground. Genevieve screamed and grabbed at Alana, pulling her out of harm’s way. Only then did Alana recognize their rescuer as Radburn.

She uttered a stricken cry. “Dear God! He is unarmed. And there are three of them!”

And indeed, the remaining two had whirled on Radburn. One grinned as if he relished the prospect of slaying yet another Saxon. The sound of steel being whisked from a scabbard filled the air, even as his companion tugged
a long, wicked looking dagger from a sheath at his waist.

Though the Normans’ actions were slowed by drink, they were nonetheless deadly. Slowly they began to circle Radburn. Both women gasped as Radburn leaped aside to evade a vicious slice of the dagger; he did not escape unscathed, for the blade rent diagonally through his tunic. Alana’s stomach plunged as a thin line of blood welled swift and sure.

But Radburn was not beaten by any means. One foot flashed high and outward; the sword clattered to the ground. Radburn’s fists shot out, landing a fierce blow to Norman’s jaw. Were the circumstances not so very dire, Alana might have laughed at the Norman’s dumbstruck expression before he slumped to the ground.

But the instant when Radburn had turned away from the remaining Norman cost him dearly. This time it was Alana who screamed when the burly Norman plunged his dagger deep into Radburn’s back. Radburn arched in pain but recovered swiftly. He gouged his elbow deep into the Norman’s belly. The Norman doubled over then straightened with a snarl of rage.

Suddenly the pair was rolling and twisting over the ground, over and over in a flurry of motion. Someone was screaming, her or Genevieve, she knew not. Terror clogged her throat as she glimpsed the flash of a dagger arcing downward. Once. Twice…Thrice.

The Norman slumped over Radburn. Then all was quiet.

Beside her Genevieve was sobbing. Alana’s knees sagged. Through a haze she saw Radburn stagger to his feet and start toward them. She hugged Genevieve, then rushed forward.

But Radburn advanced no more than a single step. He was alive…but he was far from unhurt.

Once they were back in the yard at Brynwald, Genevieve clapped her hands swiftly. “You there! And you and you! Carry this man up to the chamber next to mine…nay, gently, now, and heed his wounds, man, else you’ll start him bleeding again!”

Radburn was carried away, barely conscious. Abovestairs, Genevieve peeled away his bloody tunic while Alana ran for her mother’s herbs and medicines. She inhaled sharply when the extent of his injuries was revealed. Besides the puncture near his shoulderblade, there was a gaping tear in the front of the opposite shoulder, and a ragged gash near his ribs. Quickly she mixed a potion to help him sleep, for two of the three were deep and she knew they would require stitching to close the jagged flesh. The prospect made her insides tighten, for though she’d seen her mother perform the very same task countless times before, she had never done it herself.

Perspiration beaded on her forehead as she worked as quickly as possible. Her stomach was knotted in two by the time she finished.
She snipped and tied the last thread, then released a long pent-up breath.

Genevieve glanced at the neat rows of stitches. “A fine job,” she praised.

Alana dipped a cloth in clean water, then swiped at Radburn’s brow. Frowning, she laid the back of her fingers over his forehead. “He is not feverish, but he is pale as linen,” she said with a shake of her head. She bit her lip. Now that the ordeal was over, the magnitude of all that had nearly happened—and
did
happen—seemed suddenly overwhelming.

“This is all my fault. I—I only said what I did so that he might come, for I knew Merrick did not wish him to.” Dread clutched at her heart. “Dear God, what if he should die?” She swayed dizzily.

Genevieve shoved a stool behind her knees. A hand at Alana’s shoulder, she pressed her down. “Alana! My knowledge is not nearly so vast as yours, but look! Even now he rests easier.”

Alana stared down at the man before her. He lay so still, it was almost as if he…Nay, she thought.
Nay
! She dare not even think such a thing.

“The wound must be tended properly,” she said, her voice very low. “Especially these first days. He must rest, and the wounds must be bound with clean cloth at least once a day lest poisons set in.”

“He will not die,” Genevieve said firmly. “You have the knowledge to heal him should he sicken.”

Alana tipped her head to the side. “You are so trusting,” she said slowly. “Why? The others are not. Even my own people…”

Neither woman was aware that Merrick lurked near the door. Some strange emotion blustered and raged inside him, an emotion he could not control. Of a certainty he did not begrudge this man his life; he begrudged no man the chance to test his fate. Radburn’s wounds were grave, but he was strong and would no doubt prevail. Indeed, Merrick reflected, he himself had suffered worse and survived. But there was a part of him that resented Radburn’s success in claiming Alana’s attention so very thoroughly…and, aye, as
he
had not.

He was vastly irritated with himself—and with Alana.

In his heart he was appalled at himself, for such pettiness was unlike him. He scoffed at the thought he might be jealous of this handsome Saxon. Yet he could hardly deny the obvious. He heartily disliked seeing Alana with this man, her hand so small and white against his brow, her expression anxious and distressed as it had never been with him—in truth, he admitted blackly, it would never be so, for he was well aware she despised him as no other.

He crossed the floor to the two women. Standing beside Alana, he stared down at Radburn, his expression impassive. “He will not die?”

He didn’t miss the way Alana’s shoulders
stiffened abruptly the very instant he came near. It was Genevieve who answered. “The prospect seems unlikely, praise God. And he is resting comfortably, thanks to Alana.”

“Then her presence is no longer required here.” He retreated once more to the doorway. “Come, Saxon.”

Alana’s spine had gone rigid. She continued to bathe Radburn’s face, as though she’d heard not a single word.

“Saxon!”

Alana made no answer. Her features were as mutinous as Merrick’s were incensed.

Genevieve stole a backward glance at her brother—one look at his stony jaw was all she needed. She laid a reassuring hand on Alana’s shoulder.

“’Tis all right. I will stay with Radburn through the night. If I should need your assistance, I will come for you, I promise.”

Alana did not even blink. “There is no need to trouble yourself, Genevieve. I will stay with him.”

“Saxon, I’ll not tell you again!”

Genevieve grew desperate. She bent low. “Alana, I beg of you, please go!” she whispered. “My brother tolerates much from me, and even I would not dare cross him right now.”

Alana pressed her lips together, then gave a tiny, reluctant nod. She would honor Genevieve’s wishes, but, by God, Merrick could rot in hell for all she cared. Her chin high, she
rose and swept by him with nary a glance nor a word.

Merrick was but a breath behind her the entire length of the corridor. As soon as the door to his chamber clicked shut, she whirled on him and let loose her fury.

“Have you no compassion? No kindness or mercy?”

Merrick’s eyes glinted. “Were I you, Saxon, I would tread with care. My mood is not easy this night.”

Her glare was blistering. “Nor is mine, Norman!”

He ignored her. Instead he discarded his sword belt and pulled off his tunic. At the sight of his broad, hair-matted chest, Alana’s stomach seemed to tip precariously. Bared from the waist up, he seemed more dangerous than ever. She swallowed. Her gaze swung from his naked torso to the bed and back again.

A dangerous smile lurked on his lips.

Alana dug her nails into her palms. The pain gave her sorely needed courage. “You are selfish,” she charged, her tone very low. “A man lies injured, and you think only of your own pleasure!”

“And you are foolish if you think to win this battle, Saxon. Had you not defied me, I might have let you be. But not now. Nay, you bring this on yourself. And so I would know, Saxon…what is it to be? Will you lie with me willingly?”

Her gaze was blistering. “Never,” she vowed. “Never will I lie with you willingly.”

He was before her in an instant. His smile had vanished. “A pity then,” he said tightly. “For you
will
lie with me.”

With his eyes he damned her. With his hands he stripped the clothes from her body. Alana was left gasping, her mind reeling. Even as a protest hovered in her throat, he tumbled her back on the bed.

His mouth was fiercely devouring, his kiss but a stamp of unyielding dominion. His tongue stabbed into her mouth again and again, even as his body would stab into hers. His body lay heavy and hard over hers.

Panic erupted within her, panic and an anger beyond any she had ever known. Somehow she managed to tear her mouth away. Furious beyond words, she was all at once beyond caution, beyond reason.

“Nay,” she cried. “
Nay
! I will not let you do this! I hate you, do you hear? I hate you!”

Above her, Merrick swore. She was made for a man’s hands.
His
hands. She was made for pleasure.
His
pleasure.

Their eyes clashed, fiery green with steely blue. “So this is how it is to be,” he said fiercely. “Well, curse you, Saxon. You would have me take by force what can be otherwise won. Ah, but you tempt me, you tempt me mightily! But methinks I would find more enjoyment in a horn of ale than with you this night.”

He climbed off her, then stood staring down at her, tight-lipped and stony. “You had best remember, Saxon, for next time you’ll not be
so lucky. You will serve me. In any way. In every way. Your duty is to please me. You would do well to remember it.”

Once again, he stormed from the chamber.

W
hile Radburn’s condition was no better the next day, neither was it any worse. Nor did he show any signs of fever. Alana cautiously interpreted all this as a good sign, though she warned Genevieve it was too early to predict what course his recovery might take.

In the morning she showed Genevieve how to clean the wounds and apply a healing poultice. It was while they worked that Genevieve discreetly inquired as to her fate last eve.

Alana hesitated. “He was angry,” she admitted, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Where he slept I—I do not know.”

A faint smile appeared on Genevieve’s lips. “He is jealous, Alana. Faith, he is jealous!”

Why Genevieve should sound so pleased, she did not know. Though she said nothing, Alana was hardly convinced. Indeed, she decided bitterly, Merrick considered her naught but a possession—a pawn—and no doubt ’twas only that which had precipitated his anger.

Later she peered in to check on both Radburn and Genevieve. Radburn was sleeping—and so was Genevieve. Seated on a stool beside the bed, her head was tilted at an angle that looked most uncomfortable.

Gently Alana jostled her shoulder. Genevieve blinked sleepily up at her. Alana shook her head and scolded her gently. “You’ve had no sleep at all, have you?”

Genevieve’s sheepish smile was answer enough.

Alana pointed her toward the door. “Go to your own chamber and rest,” she said firmly. “I’ll stay with Radburn until you return.”

Genevieve rose, then impulsively slipped an arm around Alana’s shoulders. “You have the heart of an angel,” she said softly.

Genevieve departed, and Alana took the stool near the head of the bed. It was inevitable, perhaps, that her mind should stray to Merrick…She’d not seen him since he left last eve. What if Merrick should find her here? The thought had no more than vaulted through her mind than he was there in the room, so tall his dark head nearly touched the crosstimber. Alana scrambled to her feet, despairing of the guilty flush that immediately heated her cheeks.

“Genevieve had no rest at all,” she said quickly. “I bade her sleep for a time.”

Their eyes locked. Whatever he might have said, she would never know, for all at once Simon was there as well. The boy’s features were both harried and grave.

“Uncle, there is a knight called Gervase belowstairs. The knight slain in Fenwald was one of his own. He knows the Saxon Radburn still lives, and he demands we give him over that justice may be done.”

Alana inhaled sharply.

Merrick paid her no heed. “See that he is brought food and wine, Simon. I will greet him shortly.” Simon nodded and hurried away.

Merrick betrayed no hint of his intentions. His expression was just as unreadable. Lean fingers stroked the squareness of his jaw. Alana had the sensation he had forgotten her. With nary a glance her way, he spun around and departed.

Alana ran after him. Halfway down the corridor, she caught at his sleeve.

Merrick whirled on her. “Leave me be, Saxon.”

“Nay! Merrick, please! You can’t give Radburn over to them! He is sick!”

Merrick’s eyes narrowed. “You said last eve his life would likely be in no danger.”

“And it is not—not at this moment! But that might easily change were he thrown in some filthy prison!”

“Prison?” He gave a biting laugh. “If they take him, Saxon, he will not last that long.”

She blanched. “What?” she inquired faintly. “You mean he will be slain?”

“Executed,” Merrick clarified curtly. “I thought this might happen, for he is a Saxon, a Saxon who killed a Norman soldier.”

Alana’s breath dammed in her throat. “You cannot let that happen!”

“This is not your affair, Saxon.”

“It is! Radburn did nothing wrong! You told him to let no harm come to us, to Genevieve and me. Those men…they would have raped us, both of us. Radburn merely protected us and did your bidding!”

“Do not interfere, Saxon.”

She gave a half-sob of anguish. “Sweet Mother Mary, what manner of man are you? Would you give him over only to—to spite me?”

Merrick was suddenly furious. “Does he mean so much to you then, this love of yours?”

“Oh, stop! He is not my love, and you know better than any he has never been my lover!”

“Would you plead for him, Saxon?”

“Aye,” she cried desperately. “If that’s what it takes to save him, aye!”

“If I do this, Saxon, I would expect much in return. What would you give then?”

“’Tis not what I would give but what I owe. He saved my life. I must do what I must to save his.” She spoke with the fervency of a prayer. “And so I would give you anything—anything you wish.”

Merrick caught her against him, his arm hard about her waist. Both his words and his stare were brutally frank. “You know what I would have, Saxon. You. You in my bed. I would have you come to me and not turn away from my hand, for you make me feel the lowliest beast for daring to touch you. I would have
you give yourself to me and not fight me at every turn.”

The very thought made her feel all hot and strange inside. For all that he was commanding and arrogant, he was not cruel. Her pride had been stung, for she deeply resented her helplessness. But in truth, laying with him had not been the ordeal she feared. He had not hurt her, beyond that initial tearing pain; indeed, he had taken every care with her. Now, she had no choice, she realized. No choice but to cast aside her pride for the sake of another’s life.

With quavering heart and trembling limbs, she forced herself to meet his challenge straight-on. “I—I am yours, Norman.” She faltered, her voice but a thread of sound. “Yours to command. Yours to—to do with what you will.”

There was no mistaking the triumph that flashed across his features. For an instant Alana almost hated herself for giving in.

“So be it then, Saxon. I accept your bargain.” He put her from him and strode away.

Alana’s gaze trailed him until he disappeared from sight. She returned to Radburn, who still slept peacefully. But she was too nervous to sit, and before she knew it, she’d crept down the tower stair. She sat upon the last step, her ears straining, her pulse pounding madly. From here she caught just a glimpse of a knight she didn’t recognize, no doubt the Norman Gervase.

Fat and balding, he sat across the table from Merrick. His cheeks were red with fury and his eyes were snapping.

“…the wretch killed one of my men-at-arms!” he was saying. “I demand you turn him over to me!”

Though she could not see Merrick’s face, she saw him lift one broad shoulder. “Were you not aware your men attacked two women?”

Gervase scoffed. “One was a Saxon wench! Surely you would not protect her!”

Merrick’s voice went cold. “She is a Saxon I hold dearly.”

Dearly
. If he held her dear, ’twas only for the pleasure her body brought to him!

“The other,” Merrick went on in tones of steel, “was my sister. And I will not stand for any man—Norman or otherwise—who attempts to defile those near to me. And do not pretend to misunderstand your men’s intentions, Gervase, for they were hardly honorable. In my mind, the Saxon Radburn merely protected what is mine. I will not turn him over to you, now or ever. Indeed, those two men who escaped should consider themselves fortunate, for had I been there, they would lie as dead as their friend. But I am prepared to be fair, and so I will offer you a reasonable compensation for the loss of a knight.”

She saw him extend a pouch fat with coin. Gervase did not hesitate, but grasped it at once. They spoke further, but Alana did not wait to hear. Her heart was pounding so she
could scarcely think. Merrick had done what he’d promised.

And now…now it was up to her to fulfill
hers
.

Alana stayed with Genevieve and Radburn for the remainder of the day. Unfortunately, as night fell, Radburn’s temperature began to rise. But when it came time for the evening meal, Genevieve shooed her away, assuring her that she had nursed the sick before and was fully capable of tending his fever. Alana did not doubt her, for she knew Radburn was in good hands.

Belowstairs in the hall, there was no sign of Merrick, thought she scoured the assemblage searching for him. Still, she had no doubt it would not be long before he appeared, a prospect that had her insides tied in knots. So it was that she started at the touch of a hand on her shoulder.

But it was only Simon. In his hand he held a tray heaped full with food and drink. “I have food and wine for you and my lord,” he said softly. “He asks that you accompany me.”

Alana gave a terse nod. If Simon noted her plodding steps as they ascended the stairs, he said nothing. Dread climbed its way up her spine even as her feet climbed the stairs.

Simon opened the door and stepped back that she might precede him. Alana stepped past him, feeling as though she were on her way to the hangman’s noose. Simon deposited the tray atop the table and quietly withdrew.

Merrick had apparently just finished his bath. Naked from the waist up, he wore naught but his braies. His hair was still damp, slicked back from his broad forehead. Amid the dark fur on his chest, droplets of water glistened like tiny diamonds. His shoulders were sleek and bronzed, like oiled wood. All at once she felt curiously deprived of breath.

He gestured her forward. “Come and sit, Saxon.”

Alana obliged, her gaze lowered, praying he’d not glimpse her distress. He heaped a trencher full of food. Their fingers brushed as she accepted it; the contact went through her like a blaze of lightning. He paid her no heed as he ate and drank, his appetite as keen as hers was frail. Her stomach was roiling so she could eat no more than a few bites of the richly spiced herring. Unbidden, her gaze strayed to his face again and again. But alas, she could discern naught of either his mood or his thoughts.

At last he leaned back, one strong hand curled lazily around his chalice. The gaze he bestowed on her was openly appraising. Alana wished frantically that she were as composed as he. Why must he always make her feel as though she were at a disadvantage? Oh, foolish thought, that! Mayhap because he ever saw to it that she was!

She hid her fingers in her skirts, seeking to match his even stare and failing miserably.
“Must you look at me so?” She was unable to bridle her irritation.

He smiled, a smile that did not echo in his eyes. “I merely ponder your sacrifice, Saxon. Indeed, I hope your young swain is appreciative.” He watched her closely. “You must care about him greatly.”

Her lips parted. “Not in the way that you think—”

“How then, Saxon? Do you love him?”

In truth, Alana was stunned at his vehemence. Could it be that Genevieve was right—that he was jealous? She bit her lip, unaware that her uncertainty lay vivid in her eyes. “Mayhap I did once,” she said faintly. “But I was young, and he was a man full grown. I-I knew nothing of the ways of men and women.”

She bowed her head. “He is the son of a lord in the southern climes of England,” she said, her voice very low. “I soon came to realize such a knight would never woo the daughter of a peasant, lest he wished to pursue a dalliance alone. His—his future would have been ruined. I knew that he must bind himself to a lady—and not to a bastard.”

As she spoke, he traced the rim of his chalice with a roughened fingertip. Merrick was pleased that she was not given to wantonness. Aye, he was mightily pleased. Radburn had been a fool to overlook such beauty as hers, but he could not stop the turn of his mind…Did she secretly long for him still?

He rose, moving to stand before the fire. At length he turned back to her.

“I would know, Saxon. Did you dream of him when you lay with me?”

Alana gasped. “Nay!” Too late she realized had she answered differently, she might have been spared this night and many others…

His relentless regard was disconcerting. “You paid a heavy price for his freedom, Saxon. You stand to gain nothing from it.”

“I would see no man harmed because of me. Indeed, I would have the same concern over any man sick and wounded.”

“Then you swear Radburn means nothing to you?”

She flushed but did not flinch from either his question or his gaze. “Aye.”

“And you will come to me willingly?”

To her horror she found she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. She nodded, unable to do more.

“Then come to me now.”

Alana’s heart began to pound. His eyes were all aglitter, burning torches of silver. He waited, his legs spread wide apart, the tilt of his head supremely arrogant.

Her throat grew dry as tinder. On trembling legs she arose. She had made a bargain, and now she must abide by it. Her legs carried her forward slowly, until at last she stood before him.

An odd little tremor seized her. She was torn inside as never before. So near to him, he seemed bigger than ever. She was resigned to her fate, yet inside she wondered why he affected her so—and he a man she despised
with all her being! He had only to look at her and she felt as if a tempest roiled within her. And when he touched her…

His hand slipped beneath the fall of her hair. Shivers raced all through her as pleasantly rough fingertips brushed across her nape.

“You tremble, Saxon. Do you find me so repulsive then?”

“Nay,” she said quickly. “’Tis just that I—I know not what you would have me do.”

Merrick’s imagination ran wild, along with his senses. Her nearness never failed to stir him to a painful state of arousal. He wanted to feel her small hands on his body, stroking and discovering, her mouth hot on his naked skin.

His fingers weaved into the unbound glory of her hair, then tightened slightly, slowly tilting her face to his.

His gaze impaled her. His voice was low and taut. “I would ask that you not deny me this night—or yourself, Saxon. I would have you share my bed, and all the pleasures therein, with no thoughts of refusal. With no thoughts of regret. If you cannot do this—if you
will
not, then mayhap you should leave now, Saxon.”

Her eyes clung to his. Never had she been so shaken, so confused! She had entered this chamber so very certain that he truly did not want her, that he merely sought to tame her to his hand. Yet she could detect no trace of either mockery or triumph in his features, only a brooding heat that set her pulse to thrumming madly.