Samantha James (7 page)

From the back of the kitchen came a loud guffaw. “Is it Alana you speak of, lady? Sounds much more like yourself, if you ask me.”

Sybil glared at the offender with venom in her eyes. “Well, no one did,” she snapped.

Merrick raised a brow when she then proceeded to grace him with a wide, sweet smile. He contemplated the seductive sway of her hips as she brushed by him. She was every bit as comely as her sister, yet most assuredly
she did naught to stir his passions. A pity, he decided with a stab of black humor, for he suspected Sybil would have given him far less trouble than her sister.

But Alana was not in the hall or his chamber. Indeed, she was nowhere to be found.

A gnawing suspicion had begun to grow. He strode into the yard and ordered his mount saddled, then beckoned to several of his men. As he waited, his gaze again swept the yard, searching for a slender form and hair the color of pale moonlight. It was then he noticed one of his men striding toward him, along with the guard Gerard who’d been posted at the rutted track that led to the village. Gerard stepped up before him, wearing a rather sickly expression.

“My lord.” He cleared his throat. “I understand you seek the Saxon wench Alana.”

“I do,” was all he said.

Gerard shuffled his feet. “My lord, she passed by not long ago. She carried bread, cheese and ale, and said she’d been instructed to take the meal to you near the village.”

Merrick made a sound of disgust. “Have you no sense, man? If I’d issued such an order, I’d have made certain you knew it!”

The man swallowed. “My lord,” he pleaded, “I did wonder what she was about. But she claimed your wrath—and hers as well—would be great if I delayed her. And the way she looked at me…” He paled all over again. “My lord, I feared it might be the evil eye, for we all know she is a witch—”

“She is no witch,” Merrick said grimly, “but a woman far more clever than you, it would seem.” He snatched the reins of his steed from Simon. “You are relieved of your post. I’ll have no spineless cowards like you under my command.”

A moment later he and a small party of his men thundered toward the village.

Merrick did not doubt that Alana was attempting to escape him. She was no fool, either, he suspected. He was certain she would take to the forest and seek refuge rather than follow along the cliffs by the sea; she could be spotted far too easily there. But he decided to check the village first, for he didn’t worry that she might be well ahead of him. Even if she were, he had the advantage, for he was on horseback and she was on foot.

He and his men were nearly there when he spotted several farmers. “You, there,” he called out, reining his steed to an abrupt halt. “The girl Alana…where is her hut?”

One of the men pointed far afield. “There at the end of the pasture,” he shouted.

Merrick gestured one of his men forward. “The rest of you go to the old man Aubrey and see if she is there,” he instructed. “If not, search all the villagers’ huts.”

Seconds later, he leaped from his mount. Sheer determination marked every line of his body as he strode toward the tiny, thatch-roofed cottage. He flung the door wide, full of restless impatience.

Inside, Alana froze.

An eerie foreboding raised the hair on the back of her neck. She knew, even before she turned, who was there.

His massive frame completely filled the doorway, his shoulders so wide they completely blotted out the tepid sunlight. He said not a word, yet the fierceness of his expression bespoke his displeasure all too keenly. As the silence grew ever stronger, her unease sharpened.

He stepped within the cottage. Slowly he closed the door behind him.

Time stood still.

His voice, when at last it came, was almost absurdly quiet…deadly quiet, she soon realized.

“I warned you, Saxon, that I would tolerate no further attempts to escape me.”

Sheer instinct prompted her denial. “Oh, but I did not—”

“
Do not lie to me
!”

She stumbled back, as if she’d been struck. The deerskin pouch in which she’d stuffed her mother’s earthenware jars dropped to the dirt floor. It spun through her mind that he needed no weapons. With but the sound of his voice, the touch of his eyes, he could easily flay a man alive.

“I told you, Saxon, not to run from me again. I told you that you would regret it.” A step brought him closer, another closer still. “And now you will,” he added softly.

Alana blanched.

She whirled and snatched a knife from the table. But alas, though she was quick, he possessed the lightning reflexes of a warrior. She had no chance even to raise it. He was upon her in a flash, seizing it and throwing it into a cobwebbed corner.

Harsh laughter rushed past her ear. Terror clutched at her insides. In all her days, Alana had never heard a sound so terrible. “That trick did not work before, Saxon. What made you think it would work now?”

His eyes afire, he wrenched her to him with a force that ripped the breath from her lungs.

“Let me be!” she cried.

In answer he whirled her in a circle. The next thing she knew she lay sprawled on her pallet. His body followed hers down.

Fear of a kind that was unknown to her burst within her. “No!” she screamed. “Why are you doing this?”

His eyes were burning torches of fiery blue. “You violated my order.”

“And now you would violate me? No, I tell you.
No!
”

“I merely take what belongs to me.” The slash of his mouth above her was grim, so very grim. “And aye, I do believe ’tis well past time.”

She strained to be free of his weight but it was no use. In desperation she hammered her fists against his shoulders. He caught her wrists in his hand and held them fast to his chest. With his free hand he clamped the back of her head.

His kiss was raw and hungry and greedy, a kiss that tasted of bruising lust, filled with the fervor of unrestrained passion. Her lips parted helplessly before the angry demand in his. His tongue dove swift and deep…but a prelude to an invasion of a deeper kind.

She was half-numb with fright and lack of air by the time he raised his head. His expression was harsh, his eyes glittering and terrible to behold. He leaned back, tearing off his tunic. Stunned into immobility, her gaze dropped to his chest, dark and wide and awesomely masculine.

Then once again he rose over her, against her. In shock she felt her bliaud wrenched to her waist. A jagged sound of anguish wedged in her throat, for his hands were on the drawstring of his braies now.

“Nay.” She managed but a single, strangled word. “
Nay
!”

“Yes,” he said from between clenched teeth. “Yes!”

Alana squeezed her eyes shut, awash with humiliation. She could feel his manhood, hard and fiery-hot against the softness of her flesh. She sought to clamp her legs shut against him, but alas, he was there between them. With naught but the pressure of his knees he pried her thighs wide. She gave a half-sob, for now she lay naked and open and vulnerable to him.

But the onslaught she expected did not happen.

In that split second when he would have driven home, there was a flurry of movement
from behind him, like an arrow flung from aloft. Alana’s eyes flew open even as his entire body jerked. A spasm of fury twisted his lips. He was on his feet in an instant.

Stunned, Alana raised herself up on an elbow. She stared at the bloody furrows in his shoulder. Merrick appeared to have forgotten her. His head was tipped back. Even as they watched, a small, scraggly yellow body bounded to the rafters high above their heads. It was Cedric, she realized dimly…Her cat had leaped upon Merrick’s shoulders.

Scowling blackly, he bent low and grabbed his tunic, jerking it over his head. Alana remained where she was, trembling and shaken, afraid to move, for the very air around him seemed to thunder and roar. Finally she half-rose, tugging her bliaud over her nakedness.

She was not forgotten for long. With both hands he dragged her to her feet. Her lips still throbbed from his possession. His expression was dark and dangerous, his features forged into an iron-hard mask of determination. She couldn’t look away as he pulled her crudely into the vice of his thighs.

“I was prepared to give you time to accept me. But no more. We will finish what we started here, Saxon. This I promise. By God, this I vow.”

His voice was stripped free of all tolerance. Oh, but she had been a fool to think she could escape him! He would not allow her to go unpunished. And this time—sweet heaven, this time there would be no mercy.

His fingers encircled her wrist, a shackle of steel. He tugged her toward the doorway. By some miracle, Alana managed to snatch up the pouch in which she’d stuffed her mother’s herbs.

She hugged it tight to her breast while he dragged her outside. Several of his men waited there, mounted on horseback. Merrick grabbed the reins of his steed, then gestured to the cottage.

“Burn it,” he said with glacial calm. “Burn it to the ground.”

H
e didn’t allow her to walk, though Alana would gladly have welcomed the chance. Instead he lifted her before him on the saddle. High atop the great black warhorse, Alana battled a rising panic, for the creature flung his proud head around and nipped at her shin. With a gasp she shrank back, in her fear unmindful of the man behind her.

A steely forearm tightened around her waist. “Be still,” he hissed.

All the way back to Brynwald, she couldn’t decide which one she hated more, the beast beneath her or the one at her back.

Once they were back in the yard at Brynwald, he reined the horse to a halt and lightly dismounted. Without preamble he reached for her. A hard arm about her waist, he plucked her from the saddle. Yet her feet had scarcely touched the ground than he released her, so quickly she lost her footing and staggered against him. Instinctively she caught hold of the front of his tunic—a mistake, that! Her gaze immediately rushed upward to his,
only to find him regarding her with thinly veiled distaste. In horror she realized she still clutched his tunic. A hot tide of color stained her cheeks as she hurriedly righted herself.

He turned and gestured to his nephew. “Simon,” he said when the lad appeared before him. “Escort the lady to my chamber and remain with her. She is to see no one, nor will she be allowed to leave on her own. Is that understood?”

“Aye, Uncle.” The boy inclined his head. “My lady?” Knowing she had no choice, Alana followed him to the bedchamber. A cozy fire burned in the hearth, but despite its warmth, she felt chilled to the bone. She shivered, unaware that Simon had noticed. In silence she looked on as the boy stirred the fire and heaved another log onto the flames. To her surprise, he did not withdraw but turned to face her.

“I cannot think why you should be so foolish as to flee,” he stated bluntly.

Such directness caught Alana wholly off guard. Her gaze flew to his face. He regarded her every bit as severely as his uncle.

Alana blinked, for what could she say? She could hardly speak of Merrick’s plans for her. For all that Simon was almost as tall as some men, he was still a boy. “You would not understand,” she said with a faint shake of her head.

Simon studied her still. “You think he is cruel, don’t you?”

“Cruel?” She gave a short laugh. “My father is dead, and his wife as well, slain by his men. My sister has been reduced to a servant. Battle rages across the land, and no doubt countless others lie cold in their graves. You Normans take our land and our freedom. Now I would ask you, Simon, do you truly expect me to fall on my knees and give thanks to your uncle? I think not.”

There was a faint flicker in the boy’s eyes. “’Tis true that some men make great sport of killing—”

“Aye, and you would know, wouldn’t you?” Her words were heated and biting. “Isn’t that what you Normans do best?”

He stood a bit stiffly. “Aye, ’tis what we do best, for we are a fighting breed, like our Viking forebears. A knight must be prepared, for who among us knows when the next battle will come? As for the battle here, my uncle slew only those who would have slain him. And do not forget, ’twas your father who first engaged the battle, lady.”

“He defended his land. His home!”

“And Merrick but did his duty to his liege, Duke William. The English say we make war for no reason. But ’twas your own King Edward, upon his death, who promised England to William. Earl Harold was but a usurper. Duke William had no choice but to take England by sword and lance, when by all rights there should have been no need. ’Twas a matter of honor…and duty.”

Honor. Duty. It was on the tip of her tongue to snap that his countrymen knew little of either. But she was coming to realize it was but a waste of breath and spirit to argue with these Normans, even one so young as Simon.

Simon gave her a long, slow look. “My uncle is a man who values loyalty and trust above all else, lady. When he gives his word, he will not forsake it. And when another gives their word to him, he expects no less. I would remember this were I you.”

Her lips compressed. She would say no more, for what was the use? Instead she turned and moved to take the chair before the fire. She felt Simon’s watchful gaze but ignored it. Instead she tugged her fingers through the tangles in her hair, which had come loose in her struggle with Merrick. She sighed and bent her head, suddenly weary beyond measure.

The afternoon dragged. Alana was not inclined toward further speech, and neither was Simon. She ate the food that was brought later, though she had little appetite. When she’d finished, he moved to the door and waited. It was time for the evening meal in the hall.

Merrick was not yet there when she entered the cavernous room. But she knew the moment he arrived, for she felt the weight of his stare like the prick of a dagger. He walked on to the high table, and when Sybil moved to serve him, Alana breathed a sigh of relief. Yet when
she deigned to glance his way some time later, she realized he watched her still, grim and unsmiling. Her heart jolted, then set up a wild clamoring. Deliberately she turned her back, seeking desperately to put him out of mind as well as sight.

But the evening was still young. The night was yet to come. And she could not bear to think what might happen once they were alone. What surely
would
happen…

Some time later she paused to wipe her hands on a rag. Her gaze scanned the far wall where she’d seen Radburn last eve. Her brow furrowed, for there was no sign of him. And then, alas—her eyes caught Merrick’s.

An odd feeling knotted her belly. From across the hall he beckoned to her. Alana hesitated. It spun through her mind to turn aside, to pretend she hadn’t seen him. But after all that had happened today, she was not so brave as she might have wished.

Her legs felt wooden as she moved across to stand before him. He did not rise when she reached him, but remained seated. Even then, he radiated a power and presence that reminded her all too keenly of his strength. Long, dark fingers curled around a goblet of dull silver. A muscled leg stretched out before him.

His expression was granite-hard. “You search for someone, Saxon…who?”

Alana returned his gaze but said nothing.

He was undaunted. “Your lover again?”

Something sparked inside Alana. “If you mean Radburn, he is not!”

“So his name is Radburn. Well, Saxon, for your sake, I hope that you do not lie to me.”

There was no denying the challenge inherent in his tone. Alana decided it wise to ignore it, for she sensed his present mood was dangerous. Masking her unease, she peered into his goblet. “Your ale is near gone. I will fetch more—”

“Nay, Saxon.” Hard fingers caught at her hand. “Sit,” he commanded.

Alana’s heart leaped. “Sit? But I cannot think why—”

“Why else, Saxon?” His smile was maddening, his eyes pure frost. “I would have you near to gaze upon your beauty.”

“To torment me, more like!” she muttered under her breath. Yet even as she spoke, those hard fingers curled more tightly about her own, and he was drawing her down—down—to sit on her knees before him.

The hall was noisy, yet she heard nothing. Scalding shame poured through her. She was no fool. She knew what he was about. He meant for her to feel like a pawn, and so she did. His booty. His possession. Her chest ached from holding back her tears.

Soon he began to toy absently with her hair. Alana wished fervently she had taken the time to braid it; she felt absurdly bound to him, as if he held her to him like a chain. Again and again his fingers slid through the silken strands. A burning resentment simmered in
her veins, for it was somehow altogether too intimate, almost as intimate as the crush of his mouth upon hers.

Just then there was a loud crash and a sharp cry from across the hall. Sybil had fallen. The heavy platter she carried went flying. Rivers of ale seeped everywhere. Alana half-rose, her only thought to help her sister.

But Merrick’s fingers curling around her arm waylaid her. “No,” he said.

Alana turned wide, dark eyes to his. “Please,” she said very low. “Let me go to her. She is unused to such hardship.”

“She will learn,” was all he said.

Alana’s breath came in sharply. “She will learn? Is this forever to be her fate then? To attend your men? To serve ale and wine and food?”

Merrick’s lips tightened; he did not speak.

“I find it odd you say nothing, Norman.” In truth, Alana was secretly appalled at her daring. “Did you not tell Sybil when your sister arrived from Normandy she would no longer be forced to serve your men like this?” Scorn lay heavy in her tone. “Is this how you Normans keep your word?”

His gaze, cool and remote, rested upon her upturned face. “So quick to plead for your sister,” he murmured. A devilish brow rose high. “I wonder that you do not worry for your own fate instead, Saxon.”

His power was uncanny, she thought darkly. With naught but the touch of his voice, he could cut like a blade. Alana’s vision shifted
to her knees. She linked her hands together on her lap that he would not glimpse their unsteadiness. Though her lips trembled, she made no effort to conceal the bitter bite from her tone. “You promised no mercy, Norman. And so I expect none.”

All at once the air came alive with a seething tension. He wrapped her hair around his fist so that she was forced to tip her head back. And when she did, she was caught fast in a web of steely blue fire. “Were you to beseech sweetly, or implore gently, I might be inclined to prove myself a generous lord indeed.” His eyes were no longer icy cold, but heated and searing. They fell to her mouth and settled there. “Would you?” he asked softly.

She stared at him through eyes that stung painfully. Desperately she sought to still the frenzied beat of her heart. This time it was she who said nothing. She would neither beg nor bargain with this arrogant knave!

“No?” With a harsh laugh, he released her. “I thought not. So be it, then.” He leaned back. “Await me in my chamber, Saxon. I will be along soon.”

Alana needed no further urging. She picked up her skirts and ran across the hall.

But before she could mount even the first stair, her arm was caught. She was spun bodily around. Her cry of protest withered when she saw it was Sybil.

It was readily apparent her sister was in a temper. “I should have known you would find a way to be free of the toil the rest of us
must endure,” she spat. “You are a sluggard, Alana.”

Alana shook her head. “Nay, ’tis not that at all, Sybil. I know you are angry that I did not come to aid you, but Merrick…he wouldn’t allow it—”

“Merrick! Ah, I understand only too well, sister. You cast your witch’s spells on him, the way your mother did with Father. Well, best enjoy it whilst you can, Alana, for he is a devil. No doubt he will find another whore to replace you soon enough.”

“Oh!” Alana was both furious and hurt. “You cannot think I want this. I want nothing from him—nothing! And I am not his whore, Sybil. Indeed he has not yet…” She stopped and her cheeks went fiery red. All at once she was acutely embarrassed at what she’d been about to divulge.

Sybil planted her hands on her hips. Her expression was a cross between incredulous and suspicious. “Do you mean to say you haven’t lain with him yet?”

Alana’s cheeks went fiery red. “Lord, no,” she said with a shudder.

Sybil tried to disguise her sly smile. “Then you are wise to be wary,” she said suddenly. “I’ve heard some of his soldiers talking. They say his prick is enormous. As thick as a man’s wrist and half as long as his sword. Why, surely he is a monster, to be fashioned so…”

Alana was stunned, mortified and wholly taken aback at Sybil’s crudity. Lord knew Edwyna had tried to shelter her as best she
could, however living in the village, Alana had been exposed to all manner of speech by the village men. But never in her days had she heard a woman speak thusly—and Sybil a lady yet!

Sybil’s chin climbed high when at last she gleaned Alana’s horrified expression. “I only repeat what I heard.” She defended herself staunchly. “That’s what they said, I swear on the grave of our father.”

Alana was still too shocked to say a word.

Unbeknownst to her, Sybil relished a secret satisfaction. “Aye,” she said sweetly. “You are wise to be wary, Alana. But mayhap you will be lucky, eh? If you do not please him, mayhap he will turn his favors to another. Indeed, I shall pray it will be so.” She patted Alana’s shoulder before departing.

Alana climbed the stairs slowly, unable to put aside Sybil’s words.
Enormous…thick as a man’s wrist…half as long as his sword
. A sickening dread churned low in her belly. She told herself Sybil had been trying to frighten her, for what she said was simply not possible. Surely Merrick couldn’t be so very different from other men…or could he?

So preoccupied was she that she did not see the shadowy figure that stepped out before her until it was too late. She barreled nearly full tilt into a solid form. She was righted by a pair of hands that reached out and grasped her shoulders. Her breath caught as she recognized Raoul.

She tried to step back, but he would not allow it. His fingers dug into her soft flesh.
Alana battled a faint alarm. Merrick’s chamber was but a few footsteps down the passageway. If she could break free and run…

“Oh, no,” he said with a faint smirk. “You will go nowhere, Alana.”

Alana struggled for calm. “Release me,” she said evenly.

His regard was leering. “Do not be so impatient. We have much in common, you and I.”

Her back went rigid as stone. “Are you braver than your fellow soldiers? I told them I would turn them into goats, and that’s what will happen to you if you don’t let me go.”

Such bravado did little good. He merely smiled, a smile that turned her blood to ice. “Were you possessed of such power, you’d already have done so to free yourself. There would have been no need to run from Merrick. Or mayhap you should run to me instead. I would treat you far better than he.”

He caught her up hard against him, his hold ruthless. His lips drew back over his teeth in a wolfish parody of a smile. His head began to lower. Hot breath struck her cheek. Gleaming black eyes swam before her face. She turned aside to avoid the kiss he would force upon her, striking wildly at his chest.