Samantha James (6 page)

“Aubrey presented no danger to your men. Yet no doubt they took great pleasure in beating him, too.” To her horror, there was a betraying wobble in her voice. She despised the tears that threatened yet she could not help it. With an effort she blinked them back.

“Aubrey was sent back to his hut, Saxon. Alive
and
unharmed.” Merrick was furious that she thought him so callous. Yet she was not the only one, for indeed, every Saxon he’d thus encountered was convinced he was a monster!

“You, Saxon,” he went on, “are as much a warrior as any of your father’s men. You would fight me, though you carry no sword or armor. Indeed, ’twould appear you never tire of battle. Only you do battle with your tongue. Tell me, is that why they call you witch?”

Oh, but she longed to screech at him for all she was worth. Instead she struggled for a calm she was far from feeling. “Aye,” she stated daringly. “Mayhap you should be wary, Norman. Mayhap I will put a curse on
you
.”

He smiled, his eyes locked upon hers. “It would seem you are many things, Saxon. A great huntress. A dreaded witch. At times you possess an air about you, such as a great lady of the keep. Well, you may have fooled my men with your foolish tales, wench. But you do not strike fear into my heart.”

“And you do not strike fear into mine, Norman!”

His smile was maddening; it continued to dally about his lips. “No? Fear can be a powerful ally, Saxon. You’ve learned that, I think. You threatened to turn my men into goats. You used their fear against them. ’Twould seem to me we are far more alike than you are wont to believe.”

As he spoke, he came close…ever closer.
Alana’s heart began to pound. Her pulse began to flutter. He did not stop until her feet lay squarely between his own. She could not stifle the sensation of being trapped…trapped and wholly helpless.

She could not tear her gaze from his face. His jaw was hewn in stone. His eyes were pure ice, yet within was a fiery glitter. It struck her then…his mood was dangerous.
He
was dangerous. If he wanted, he could snap her in two like the brittlest twig.

Oh, but she regretted the taunts she had flung so carelessly! “You are still angry,” she said jerkily. “Wh—what else could I do? Aubrey is an old man. He did not come to seek trouble. He came to see if I was alive and well. And I—I could not allow your soldiers to hurt a harmless old man.”

For a moment Merrick said nothing. He wondered what she would say if she were aware he secretly admired her bravery. In his mind’s eye he saw her, standing there in her bare feet, so proudly defiant. Yet he could not countenance her behavior, for he suspected she would but test him further.

His hands came up to cup her shoulders. She jumped at his touch, as if to tear herself away, but he held her fast. She was acutely aware of the power in his grip.

“I can feel you trembling, Saxon. You are defiant, yet you are not without fear. So tell me. Just what is it you expect me to do?”

“I know what you will do,” she stated baldly. “You will punish me.”

“Ah.” A wickedly arched brow arose. “And how do you think I will punish you?”

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “You know,” she whispered.

“I do not. What do you think I will do?”

“You will…take me.” It came out in a frenzied rush.

“Take you?”

She closed her eyes and shuddered. “Aye,” she said faintly. “You will—take me to your bed.”

For the space of a heartbeat, Merrick stared. Were he not so insulted, he might have been vastly amused. The women he took to his bed found pleasure, not pain. But here was one who clearly thought his possession an act to be endured—and with the utmost horror, from the look of her. But when next her eyes opened, they were full of blistering hatred.

Nor, it seemed, would she come willingly.

He was suddenly filled with a black rage. She thought him such a beast; mayhap it was time he acted one.

He flicked a hand at the shoulder of her bliaud. “These clothes offend me, Saxon. Remove them.”

The delicate line of her jaw fell open, then it closed with a snap. “I-I cannot! I will not!”

“And I say you will, lady.” He was as grim as she was stubborn.

“And if I do not? Will you beat me the way your men beat Radburn?”

Merrick gritted his teeth. “By God, wench, you tempt me sorely. And you
will
do as I say. Because I ask it. Nay, because I command it.”

“Nay—”

“You deny me the pleasure of your body—” Ruthlessly he squelched the denial that sprang to her lips. “Aye, you did. You do, and well you know. ‘Please’, you said. ‘Please do not.’ Well, you may withhold your body but you will not withhold the sight of it from me.”

Her lips trembled. She had to force the words around the knot in her throat. “God will judge you, Norman.”

“God? Ah, coming from you, that is rich. My men think you a witch, and you Saxons think me the devil himself. Quite a match, is it not? But for now, Saxon, your clothing—and be quick about it, lady.”

There was that in his tone that demanded she heed him. Slowly, stiffly, she bent, pulling the garters from her knees, and then her hose. Her bliaud came next, and all too soon her threadbare chemise. Her hands were shaking as she threw aside that final barrier, until at last she stood naked before him. Naked…and ashamed.

There was no escaping the touch of those crystalline eyes. For timeless seconds he looked his fill, a scalding exploration that left no part of her untouched. In all her days, none but her mother had ever seen her so exposed. She closed her eyes, shamed beyond anything she had ever known.

He smiled.

“What would you say, Saxon, were I to ask that you do the same to me?”

Her eyes flew open. “What!” she gasped out. “Undress you?”

“Aye.”

Some sound escaped her, she knew not what. The thought of stripping the clothes from his warrior’s body, skimming her hands along his muscled flesh…Her stomach clenched oddly. She shivered, unaware that her hands came up to shield the softly rounded curves of her breasts.

“No? Another time, then.” She was shocked to feel his knuckles against the fiery heat of her cheeks. “You will bend to me, Saxon,” he said softly. “For now I would demand a kiss only.”

“A kiss? You do not fool me,” she cried softly. “You will do what you will—”

“Ah, but if I were to take you now, you would but martyr yourself. You would be the wounded one, and I the great despoiler.”

“Is that not what you are?” It was her turn to quote him. “’We are the conquerors, and you the conquered.’ Those were your words, Norman. And I—I
hate
you for them.”

He ignored this last. “And I am pleased you remember, sweet witch. But for now, I would claim the kiss we’ve yet to share.”

There was no time to protest, no time to even
think
. Strong arms locked hard around her back. His mouth captured hers. She was caught full and tight against him, so close her legs were caught tight between the iron
length of his. Struggle was impossible. Her breasts were crushed against the soft wool of his tunic. Her hands were fisted against his chest, trapped between their bodies. She did not fight him, for she knew she could not win.

Sheer panic kept her frozen in place, and then something else, something she had never expected. But one thought scattered through her brain as his lips claimed bold, blatant possession of hers.

She had thought the feel of his mouth upon hers would be abhorrent, as he was abhorrent. His lips were not cold and hard, as he was cold and hard. His kiss was not brutal and harsh, as he was brutal and harsh. Yet even as there was nothing soft about the man, there was something soft about his kiss.

Lean fingers plunged through the tumbled waves of her hair, tilting her face to his. His lips were like a scorching brand against hers. He commanded, aye, even as he demanded. He guided, even as he sought, his lips warm and firm, irresistibly compelling.

Alana could not help it. All at once she was caught up in the moment, caught up in
him
.

Warm breath filled her mouth—
his
breath. She should have been shocked; indeed, some small part of her was struck dumb by this, her first kiss. Yet indeed, she cared not, for there was a part of her that longed for it to go on and on…

Time was meaningless. She lost all sense of where she was, of who
he
was. Over and over
again he kissed her, darkly passionate, impossibly sweet. She could feel the slight roughness of his cheek against her tender skin, yet it was not at all displeasing. His scent swirled all about her, woodsy and oddly pleasant.

A jolt tore through her as his tongue touched hers; she felt it like a dart of purest flame, and then he was exploring the honeyed interior of her mouth with a breath-stealing thoroughness that pushed all rational thought from her mind.

There was a strange pounding in her ears—the wayward beat of her heart, she realized vaguely. It was as if she were melting, her limbs like hot wax. Her head began to spin. She could do naught but cling to him weakly.

The pressure of his arms about her back loosened subtly. Slowly he lifted his mouth from hers. It took an instant before Alana was able to focus clearly. When she did, it was to find him staring down at her.

His gaze had dropped to her mouth, damp and moist from his kiss. With his thumb he traced the pouting fullness of her lower lip. “And do you detest me now, sweet witch?”

She turned her face aside. “Aye,” she said quickly. But it was a feeble sound, a token denial, and they both knew it.

Her eyes slid away. She hated the triumph etched on his dark features. Her response to his kiss had pleased him, pleased him mightily, and she despised herself for her weakness. She shivered, crossing her arms over her breasts;
she had completely forgotten her nakedness until now.

His grip tightened on her shoulders, but only for an instant. So it was that she did not see the frown that lined his brow.

“You are cold, Saxon. ’Tis time to seek your bed.”

Cold? Alana was suddenly awash in amazement. How could she be cold, when the heat of shame stained the whole of her body from the inside out?

She made as if to resume the previous night’s berth near the hearth, but again his voice rapped out sharply. “Nay, Saxon, not there.” She was bodily turned and shoved gently toward his bed.

Oh, but she longed to screech at him that she would not share his bed. Yet she did not dare, for she had no wish to provoke him further. Her pride was sorely stung already, and she knew it would not end here. Her movements quick and jerky, she pushed back the furs and slid within, her face the color of the dawn.

Merrick had just tugged his tunic over his head. Tossing his clothing aside, he gave an impatient oath and climbed in beside her, now as naked as she.

“What nonsense is this, Saxon? I would save you from another night on the cold stone floor. Yet you would act as though I wound your very soul, when in truth I but think of your pleasure.”

Her fingers clutched the furs to her breast. “I
will find no pleasure in this bed,” she choked out.

An odd smile crept across his lips. “Just as you found no pleasure in my kiss?”

In that instant she hated him, hated him with a scorching passion that blinded her to all caution. “I felt nothing,” she stated heatedly. “Do you hear me, Norman? I felt nothing, for you
are
nothing!”

His arrogant smile did not waver. “Were I you, lady, I would be wary, for you tempt me. You tempt me sorely to prove that you lie, which I would do, I’m sure, with a great deal of pleasure—on my part
and
yours. And I do not think you want that, do you, Saxon?”

She glared at him. “God rot your soul,” she said fervently. “If that is what you intend, I would rather you just…just take me and be done with it!”

“Would you now?” He gave a husky laugh. “In time, sweet witch. In time. Perhaps on the morrow, eh? Perhaps not. Oh, you need not worry,” he added when her eyes flew wide, “for I will spare you this night. But hear me, Saxon, and hear me well, for it seems you are a stubborn wench indeed.”

Alana shrank back as he leaned close, but there was no escaping him. He reached her easily, running a single fingertip across the fragile span of her collarbone. His expression had gone utterly unyielding, utterly intent.

“Aye, I will take you,” he went on, and alas, the seduction was wiped clean from his voice. “You will not know when. You will not
know where. But you will be mine—indeed you are already mine. Were I you, I’d not forget it.”

It was both a warning—and a promise.

With that he rolled over and turned his back to her. Her mouth dry with an ashen dread, Alana stared at the width of his bare shoulders gleaming in the firelight. He spoke no more, and indeed, there was no need.

You will be mine, Saxon—indeed you are already mine
.

She knew then, she knew what he intended…He did not spare her out of mercy or kindness. Only now did she begin to truly understand him.

He’d said he would possess her, and so he would. Alana did not doubt it. But he would make her wait. Wondering what the night might bring. Not knowing when…Oh, but he was cruel as the devil from whom ’twas said he was sprung!

Her fingers twined in the sheet. She stared blindly at the shadows flickering on the ceiling. Bitterness forged a burning ache in her breast.

Aye, he had come. He had conquered. The battles he fought were over.

But hers had just begun.

F
or Alana it was the longest night of her life.

The taste of fear was like ashes in her mouth. At first she was convinced that Merrick was merely out to trick her by pretending to sleep. She was certain he would reach for her at any moment, that he would do as he promised and take her, willing or no. Even when she came to realize he did indeed sleep, she lay stiffly, afraid to move, certain that the slightest movement might wake him and stir his anger—even worse, his desire.

The moon had begun to fall and the night nearly spent before she finally slipped into a restless sleep.

It seemed she had just closed her eyes when she felt him leave the bed. She had lain huddled on her side the night through, as far from him as she could get. Now, though her eyes were closed, her every sense was quiveringly alert. She could hear him moving about the chamber, stirring the fire and coaxing it to life, the rustle of clothes and weapons.

Then all was silent.

“Saxon.”

Alana froze. The voice was soft as swansdown…and came from directly above her.

He gave a low, husky laugh. Warm fingertips traced the slope of one bare shoulder. “You do not fool me, Saxon. I know you do not sleep.”

Alana did not share his good humor. She screwed her eyes shut and directed a most fervent prayer heavenward that he would leave. But alas, God was otherwise engaged, for the next thing she knew, the mattress dipped low.

“Come to me, Saxon,” came his whisper.

Alana flounced to her back, her eyes open now and glaring at him with blistering intent. “I will not—” she began furiously.

He bent low and smiled, that arrogant smile she was coming to despise. “Ah, but you will. Have you not learned that yet?”

With a cry she shoved at his chest. But alas, his arms slid around her and brought her close—so very close she could feel the rise and fall of his chest. What protest she would have made was never to be. With the pressure of his body full upon hers, he held her in place. Alana could not move; she could scarcely even breathe. Though that harshly carved mouth still curved in a smile, his eyes held an oddly hungry light. She had one burning glimpse of his features before his head came down.

But he did not plunder her mouth, as she thought he might. A strangled cry caught deep in her chest. His mouth brushed past the
delicate curve of her jaw. Hot lips traveled down the arch of her throat and lingered there, where her pulse had begun to beat the driving rhythm of a drum.

He released her hands, yet she scarcely noticed. The furs were brushed aside, baring her to his gaze…and aye, his hands. She stiffened when the heel of his hand brushed the peak of one nipple. Once. Twice. Again. Her heart was pounding so that she feared it might burst clear from its berth within her chest. Her eyes flew wide when he proceeded to kiss the rounded swell of each breast.

And then his mouth was on hers again. Leisurely he tasted her, as if he possessed all the time in the world. Her breath came in jagged spurts when at last he raised his head.

He was no longer smiling. He bestowed on her a long, slow look, one that was far beyond her experience to decipher.

And so were his words. “You make it difficult to leave this bed, Saxon.”

With that he climbed from the bed. Alana snatched the furs up over her nakedness and hurriedly averted her gaze as he strode unashamedly before her. He left the chamber soon after, but not before he’d wrung from her another kiss…and another unwilling response.

She shivered, for now that he had gone, the bed seemed absurdly cold though the fire he had stoked now roared in the hearth. Unbidden, her fingers crept up to her lips. The feel of him was still with her. The smell of him was still strong about her.

With a weary sigh she arose and dressed, determined to put all thoughts of Merrick of Normandy from her mind. Sybil was already in the kitchens when she arrived. There was a fresh catch of fish from the sea, and she quickly joined the task at hand. Beside her, Sybil was sullen and had little to say. Alana’s heart bled for Sybil’s plight, for she had not been born to a life of such work. Yet she knew of no way to change all that had happened…Mayhap Radburn had been right, she acknowledged tiredly. The Normans could not be beaten, and so they must accept them.

She did not see Merrick again until nightfall.

And alas, once they were alone in his chamber, the events that followed were but a repeat of the night before. Thinking he did not see, she slipped into bed, still clad in her chemise. Oh, but a foolish notion was that, for it seemed he saw everything! The line of his mouth tight with displeasure, he tugged the garment from her body and flung it aside. “Now you know better,” was all he said.

Soon a sennight had passed. Yet when darkness crept over the earth, he made no move to claim her, to possess her as he’d promised he would.

Alana was not fooled. Aye, she knew what he was about. He would torture her, torment her with this wretched waiting and wondering! She had dared to challenge him, to defy him, and now he would tame her. He would teach her that he was master, that she was subject to his every whim and will.

He allowed her no privacy. He allowed her no shame.

For he touched her where he pleased. Whenever he pleased. Time and again his eyes dwelled upon her as she served the evening meal, dark and gleaming. Time and again his vow echoed through her brain, though she willed it not, though she wanted it not.

You will be mine, Saxon—indeed you are already mine
.

Only last eve he had pulled her close, the furred darkness of his chest flush against her spine, a muscled thigh thrust between her own. They lay together like lovers, though lovers they were not; his arm was tight about her waist, his hand warm and familiar upon her belly.

Then, to her everlasting embarrassment, she awoke to find her nose buried in the bristly dark hairs on his chest. Even worse, to find him regarding her with lazy amusement.

He ran his finger down the tip of her nose. “Tonight, sweet witch,” he had whispered. “Tonight.”

An awful dread seized hold of her. In the cold light of the dawn, she realized…She could never accept the Normans—she could never accept
him
. Most certainly not in the way he intended! It came to her then, an idea sown in desperation.

She must flee, before it was too late.

She did not pray for an answer, for salvation. Indeed, her prayers had done little these
past days. Nay, she dare not bow to a heavenly force. If she was to escape from Merrick, she could rely on no one but herself. And—oh! but God might strike her dead, she dared not trust in Sybil. She bit her lip, recalling that first night when she had thought to escape. Sybil had been only too eager to point an accusing finger. Sister or not, Alana sensed Sybil would go to any length to protect herself, no matter the cost to another.

It was a sobering thought. Yet Alana knew that Sybil was far from helpless. She was well able to fend for herself. And indeed, it was not Sybil he had threatened to bed.

The opportunity to flee came far sooner than Alana expected. That very day, in fact. She overheard one of the pantler’s assistants say that Merrick had gone out on horseback this morn and was not expected back until nightfall—the mighty lord out surveying all he had wrested from another, she reflected scathingly.

But then her mind began to race. She could scarcely contain her excitement. For the first time a frail hope flared brightly in her chest.

Shortly after noontide, the servants took a short rest in order to eat. Alana did not seek an empty corner like the others; when no one was looking she slipped a loaf of wheaten bread and a large hunk of cheese into a linen cloth. Her hands weren’t entirely steady as she tied the ends together, then grabbed a horn of ale. No one said a word as she slipped out a kitchen door.

Her head held high, she crossed the yard and marched toward the open pasture that led to the village, as if she had nothing to hide. The day was overcast, yet here and there a watery sunshine crept through the clouds. She shivered a little against the damp chill, for she had no mantle to warm her. But she continued on, for she would not allow a little discomfort to sway her from her course. And indeed, she was almost free…

“Hold there!” A Norman whose girth nearly exceeded his width blocked her way. He wasted no time looking her up and down. “I know who you are, lady. And my lord Merrick gave no instructions that I should let you leave.”

“No doubt he didn’t tell you
not
to let me leave either,” she challenged boldly. Her breath tumbled to a standstill. She prayed she was right. But when the soldier said nothing, she tossed her head and held up her pouch, “The cook told me I was to take his meal to him near the village.”

It appeared the guard was not ready to take her at her word. He took the pouch and poked through one of the folds with a grimy finger. Though he seemed satisfied with what he saw, he remained unconvinced.

“It seems odd my lord did not tell me.” Beneath his noseguard, he peered down at her.

“That I do not know,” Alana answered. “But I do know he will be most displeased that I am delayed. Aye, I’d say his wrath will be great indeed should he learn you kept me from my task. As will mine,” she added pointedly.

She regarded him unblinkingly. The guard paled and thrust the pouch back into her hands. “Go then,” he muttered. “And be quick about it.”

Alana could have shouted her joy. Instead she hurried away as fast as she was able. It was indeed the village where she directed her steps. As she walked, she glanced from side to side, searching for any sign of horses and Norman soldiers.

She passed a few herdsmen along the rutted path to the village, but they paid her no heed. She planned to stop at her mother’s cottage as well to gather up her mother’s herbs and remedies; if nothing else, perhaps she might sell them for the coin they would bring. But first she must see to Aubrey.

Once in the village, she veered straight toward the old man’s hut.

Aubrey sat near the fire, his gnarled hands stretched toward the flames. His head swung in startled surprise as she rushed through the doorway.

“Alana!”

She fell to her knees beside him. “Oh, praise God you are safe!” she cried. “We must leave, Aubrey. We must leave now before it is too late!”

“Leave?” Bleary eyes searched her face. “For where, child?”

She tugged at his arm. “It does not matter where. London perhaps, for I can stay at Brynwald no longer…nay, I
will
not! I must leave, and you must come with me!”

He shook his head. “Alana,” he said gently, “I have spent my life here. Do what you must, but I cannot leave.”

“Aubrey, you must!”

“Nay, Alana. I cannot.”

“Aubrey, you do not understand! I must flee. I must flee
him
.”

“Merrick of Normandy?”

“Aye!”

He stroked his wizened cheeks. “Why? He has not harmed you, has he?”

“Not in the way that you think.” Oh, how could she explain? She could hardly confess what he would inevitably do, not to Aubrey! The shame was simply too much to bear. She wrung her hands, and added, “But he will be the death of me yet!”

Aubrey smiled slightly. “Death will be at my door far sooner than yours, Alana.”

She shook her head wildly. Her breath came jerkily. “If I stay, something terrible will happen. I know it!”

The old man pursed his lips. “How? How can you know this?”

“Because I dreamed of him, that’s why! I dreamed of him, and never have my dreams led me astray, Aubrey. You know this better than any other. I dreamed of death and darkness and blood.” She was half-crying now. “And he was there, Aubrey,
he was there
!”

Aubrey sighed. “Alana, at first I, too, was convinced Merrick of Normandy was the monster all claimed him to be. But he has sent food from the keep for me daily. Only yesterday he
delivered it into mine own hands. He asked if there was aught else that I needed. And when I asked after you, he said you possessed a most hearty dislike of all things Norman, most especially him. But he told me you were well.” He laid a hand on her shining head. “And you are, child. I can see it. So calm yourself. There are storms to be weathered, but your fears are for naught. I know it, Alana. I
feel
it.”

Alana stared at him, her stomach churning. Could it be his mind was no longer clear? Yet one thing was very clear—Aubrey would not listen.

And he would not be coming with her.

Her heart wrenched as she watched him struggle to rise. “I must rest,” he murmured. “Come back when I am not so very weary.”

Springing to her feet, she helped him to his pallet against the wall. Never had he seemed so—so very old! So frail and weak.

In that instant, her heart was surely breaking. How could she stay at Brynwald? Aubrey might believe Merrick of Normandy posed no threat to her, but she knew better. She’d heard the deed threatened from his own lips yet! And then there was her dream, that horrible dream…

The ache in her chest was nearly unbearable. She seized Aubrey’s hand where it lay upon his sunken chest. Tears stood out in her eyes as she brought it to her lips. “You will be in my prayers with every breath I take,” she whispered. “God keep you, Aubrey…God keep you.”

Even as Alana ran south toward the village, Merrick rode in to Brynwald from the north. He tossed his reins to Simon, vastly irritated that of late his attention was oft not on his duties, but on the blond, beauteous Saxon wench who even now laid claim to his thoughts. Mayhap, he thought darkly, she was Satan’s handmaiden after all. For in truth, she was a temptation no sane man could resist.

The servants in the kitchen flung their heads up and stared wide-eyed as he entered their midst moments later. He did not see Alana, and all shook their heads when he asked where she was. It was Sybil who finally answered. She stood behind him just outside the doorway.

“I’ve not seen her since before the noonday meal, my lord.” She smiled slyly. “No doubt she’s off hiding somewhere and won’t come out until her share of work has already been done. A beating might make her less inclined toward laziness.”