Sword for His Lady (12 page)

That reality of marriage would be a bitter duty. She knew it well. Somehow, she had to ignore her emotions, which were willing to lead her astray.

* * *

Jacques Raeburn sat on his horse, watching Ramon de Segrave's men. They were camped in perfect position to defend themselves, but there was no sign of Ramon's tent. His banner was not flying anywhere in the camp, which meant he'd taken possession of a bedchamber.

“We are not riding up to the keep, my lord?” Jacques's lieutenant asked.

Jacques Raeburn shook his head.

A woman left alone was easy prey for a man. How irritating that the king had made it possible for Ramon to make it to Thistle Keep ahead of him.

It was his duty to marry Isabel and regain the land his brother had left her. Jacques felt his mood darkening as he thought about being saddled with a wife who had failed to give his brother an heir.

That didn't matter to him. His father had commanded him to wed her, and he had to see the duty done. He also had to keep her alive long enough to avoid suspicion when he did rid himself of her. At least he might enjoy her during their marriage.

“We will find a suitable place to occupy before I have the lady brought to me.”

“By force, my lord?”

Jacques nodded stiffly. “If necessary, but with restraint. I need to woo her into wedding me.”

His lieutenant looked unsure. “If she is brought by force, how will you achieve such a goal?”

Jacques grinned and the expression changed his face completely. He was a handsome man. It was one of the reasons he had been sent to serve Richard, instead of his brother. His father had hoped Jacques might attract an heiress in Europe with his comely features.

Instead he found himself back in England with the task of reclaiming the wife who had failed to breed a grandson for his father. He'd have to secure her and let time soften her resolve. Time was growing short, and it was apparent that Ramon de Segrave was intent on having Thistle Keep.

Jacques refused to allow that to happen and he would do whatever it took to prevent it.

“Christ's wounds!” Mildred swore loud enough to wake the dead.

The sun was just warming the horizon. Isabel opened her eyes, feeling as though she'd slept little.

Ramon sat up with a snarl. He yanked his sword from its sheath with a roar as he turned on Mildred.

“No!” Isabel threw herself down the length of the bed, stumbling onto her feet and flattening herself in front of Mildred. “'Tis only my nurse.”

Mildred froze, staring wide-eyed at the baron.

Ramon blinked to clear sleep from his mind before he grunted, “'Tis not a wise thing to surprise a man so newly returned from the Crusade.”

The door burst open, and Ambrose stood there in only his shirt with a sword in his hand.

“'Tis only her nurse,” Ramon growled.

Ambrose swept the chamber twice before he lowered his weapon. Beyond his wide shoulders, Isabel could see the chamber on the other side of the keep. Two women watched from the doorway, holding a length of bedding to cover themselves. One gasped and scurried back into the chamber.

“The service at Thistle Keep is quite unmatched,” Ambrose murmured with a satisfied grin. He aimed an amused look toward Ramon before turning and making his way back to the other chamber. They heard a pair of giggles before the door shut.

“Church is going to be crowded this morn,” Mildred muttered.

“Not on my account,” Isabel replied. “I have no special blessings to seek.”

Ramon gave her a hard look but said nothing. Soon his squire arrived and Mildred was gathering up Isabel's under robe. Isabel should have been pleased that Ramon was holding his tongue, but all it did was stir up a feeling that she had never had for Bechard. Her husband hadn't cared who was present when he berated her.

Ramon was different. The idea stuck in her thoughts as she finished dressing and headed out of the chamber.

She chuckled softly, her cheeks turning red. She gathered up a fist full of her robes and ran. She arrived out of breath at the morning service but at least no one questioned her about those red cheeks.

* * *

Her morning meal wasn't even half finished when Isabel found herself blushing again.

The hall was full of hushed whispers and quick glances toward her and Ramon.

She hurried through the last spoonfuls of her porridge and rose.

“You have a fine appetite this morning, Lady Isabel,” Ramon called from the high table, his voice deep and full, echoing off the hall's stone walls.

She bit her lip, trying to quell the urge to turn and look at Ramon. But everyone in the hall was looking at her, their eyes bright with curiosity. She turned and smiled sweetly but determinedly.

“Yes. The day holds many challenges. I intend to be fortified.”

Ramon curled his fingers around his goblet. “It does indeed. I enjoy challenges and women with the strength to meet them.”

“That is a solid truth,” Ambrose agreed with a wolfish grin. “Know you this lady. I have seen this man outlast every opponent he has chosen to pit himself against.”

Isabel raised her eyebrow. “A common enough claim from men, yet so often disputed by women.”

Ambrose's lips twitched, his chest shaking with amusement. But it was the look in Ramon's eyes that stole her breath. For a moment, she indulged in it. The look made her shiver, sensation moving down her body in response to his dark stare.

Everyone was watching her, enjoying the double meaning in their words. She wanted to lift her chin and let Ramon know that he was going to be disappointed, but the way her heart was still racing made her bite her lip. She looked back at him, locking gazes once more, and feeling her belly twist.

Challenge?

Oh
aye. It is going to be a challenge to deny the burly
knight.

Yet she was up to it.

She turned with a swirl of her robes and ended up facing the priest who stood in the arched doorway, his hands tucked into the wide openings of his sleeves. The inhabitants of Thistle Keep suddenly looked down at their bowls, their expressions becoming bland as their whispers died.

Hell on Earth.

Exactly as she'd known it would be.

* * *

Ramon chuckled.

“That must be the first time I've known you to be amused by a priest taking interest in your affairs,” Ambrose mocked.

Ramon took another swallow from his goblet. “Better mine than yours, my friend. You owe me gratitude for diverting him. He has a great amount of zeal for his calling and his flock.”

Ambrose lifted his goblet in a salute. “Many thanks.”

“Of course, once I wed, the priest will have no reason to direct his interest toward me.”

Ambrose grinned. “I will do my best to keep the man amused.” The maid serving him smothered a giggle as she tossed him a saucy look. Ambrose growled softy. “My very, very best,” he muttered.

* * *

Griffin was eager for a morning hunt.

Isabel lifted him, glaring at the sun because it was far later in the morning than usual for taking Griffin out.

But she forbade herself to linger over her discontent. The air was losing its crispness and the grass was growing high. The fields were full of sprouting crops. In the distance, she heard the geese calling to each other. She moved toward them, lifting her forearm and letting Griffin fly free. He let out a screech as he took to the air, climbing quickly. He stretched out his wings, the longer feathers at the tips flared out, and began to circle once he'd reached a good height. Isabel shaded her eyes to keep him in sight.

Isabel moved around the strings marking the nests, careful to give the mothers enough space. There were a few warning honks from birds sitting on eggs, but Isabel moved away on slow, controlled steps.

Griffin flew down and popped back up with a rat. Isabel raised her arm but he screeched at her and flew to a tree to enjoy his prize.

Griffin was too hungry to wait. It was Ramon's fault for making her late.

She frowned. Once Griffin's appetite was sated, he wouldn't be eager to hunt.

You
are
simply
cross
because
you
don't want to return to the keep.

Well, yes. The man was testing her resolve. The best way to maintain her desire to remain unwed would be to avoid contact with him. She looked out over the fields. The breeze was carrying the scent of fresh growth and turned earth. The little bits of string marking the nests filled her with happiness because spring was upon them. The first days of summer would arrive with the goslings. There would be new fruits and the sight of the fields ripening to make everyone at Thistle Keep feel content.

She was a good mistress and didn't need a master.

There was nothing to fear.

But the sound of hooves approaching made her turn with a frown. Her time was finished.

The knights bearing down on her didn't look like Ramon's. Isabel studied them for a long moment, trying to decide what it was that made her belly twist with apprehension.

It was the leers on their faces.

They were leaning low over the necks of their horses, urging the beasts faster…

They were intent on running her to the ground.

She turned and grabbed her robes.

“Too late, my lady!”

The pounding was so loud it shook the ground beneath her feet. Her heart raced but the horses were much faster. She turned and ran toward the marsh, hoping the horses would shy away from the murky water. Geese reared up, beating the air with their powerful wings to defend their nests.

The horses screeched but charged in after her.

“You are just the prize I've been seeking!”

Someone grabbed the back of her robes and her hair. He yanked her off her feet, dragging her onto the back of the horse. Pain exploded in her side as she was dropped in place in front of the knight.

“Let's claim our reward!” her captor declared to his companions.

Isabel turned her head, trying to see through the tangle of her hair. She was heaving, trying to catch her breath, as the knight wheeled his horse around and headed out of the marshes.

A gander chased them, biting at the legs of the horse. She caught a glimpse of its mate, frantically trying to salvage her nest, which was torn to pieces.

Isabel snarled, fighting her way up. “Put me—”

A hard blow sent her back down, blackness washing over her in a thick wave.

* * *

“She's rousing, milord.”

The voice was far away. Isabel's head ached and all she wanted to do was drift back into sleep. It was so tempting. There was no pain in the dark embrace of slumber.

But someone tossed cold water into her face.

When she opened her eyes, there was a dark-eyed woman leaning over her, an empty cup in her hand.

“As I said, she is roused.”

The woman turned and moved away. Isabel stared at her, wondering if she was still locked in a dream. She was in a tent and lying on a bed that was covered in soft silk and an abundance of pillows. The woman's eyes were outlined in something black. They were also slightly almond-shaped, making her look sensuous. Her skin was a warm honey color and her fingernails were long.

Isabel shook her head but the sight of the tent and the strange woman remained.

The woman had long hair that flowed down her back in a curtain of dark satin. She wore only a robe that fluttered as she moved and looked like it was made of silk.

“You never fail to satisfy me, Rauxana.”

The woman stopped near a man who was washing his hands in a bowl near the door of the tent. She lifted a pitcher and poured water over his hands. Setting it aside, she picked up a length of linen for him.

“Serving you is my reason for life.”

He smiled at her, reaching out to cup her face. Isabel pushed herself up and brushed her hair from her face as the man leaned toward the woman and kissed her deeply.

They didn't care that she was present. No shame at all. The kiss was deep and passionate. The woman pressed toward the man, moving her body against his as she boldly stroked him from chest to groin, her hand closing around his length.

“Later,” he announced as he broke away from her.

“As you wish,” she purred. “I shall prepare myself for you, master.”

She disappeared between the flaps of the tent opening, leaving Isabel facing her captor.

“Why did you send your men to abduct me?”

“I intend to wed you, Isabel of Camoys.”

Isabel stood up, the bed suddenly burning her. The man watched her, grinning.

“And this is the manner in which you choose to begin a courtship?”

He moved to where a chair rested on a beautiful Persian carpet. He sat down, settling himself in it before looking back at her.

“I am Baron Jacques Raeburn. Bechard was my brother.”

“I am sorry. The fever took him quickly,” Isabel said quietly.

“Perhaps because you did naught to save him.”

She drew in a stiff breath, a tingle of fear teasing her nape. He was a baron, the highest law in the kingdom with the king away. “There are witnesses to assure you I did everything possible.”

Jacques tilted his head to one side and contemplated her. He was far more pleasing to the eye than Ramon, but she found him repulsive.

“I don't really care if you smothered Bechard with your tits. You seem to have a nice, plump set of them.” She gaped. Jacques snickered at her horror. “But the fact that my dear brother is dead leaves me suffering my father's demands to retrieve our property.” His gaze lowered to her breasts. “He ordered me to wed you, fuck you, and plant a Raeburn babe in your belly.”

“You are being overly blunt, sir.” She squared her shoulders and glared at him.

“Because I said
fuck
?” He spread his legs apart and rubbed the bulge his tunic was covering. “Or
tits
?”

“Both.” Her tone was sharp. There was no way she'd show the brute any fear.

He smiled wide and pushed out of the chair. Fear twisted through her belly but she stood in place. Jacques slowly circled her, leering at her. When he passed behind her, it took every ounce of control she had to stay still. She would not let him see her unsettled. Couldn't. A panicked animal was very soon slain.

“I plan to enjoy…both,” he muttered next to her ear.

She jumped and turned to face him. “You shall not. Although you have kidnapped me, I will not be taking vows with you.”

But she was in his tent. She refused to ponder the thought. Refused to consider how dire her circumstances were.

He crossed his arms over his chest and pointed behind her at the opening of the tent. “Do you know what is out there?”

“Your camp.”

“And my men. Many, many men,” he confirmed with an amused expression. “They are hardened men who enjoy spoils.”

“This is England,” she interrupted. “I suggest you make your way to richer lands if you seek plunder.”

Jacques shrugged. “A country without a king is a fine place to plunder. You'll wed me and obey me or I'll let them enjoy you until you accept your place. I don't really need an heir from you. If you throw a bastard, it will be useful. I'll keep it around for a few years, inherit Thistle Keep, and bury it beside your body when it gets too old to be controlled. Perhaps I'll bury it first and let you anticipate what day will be your last.”

Horror gagged her. Sick pleasure shimmered in his eyes.

“You have until tomorrow to decide which fate you prefer. I'll have to send for a priest, since the one on your land will likely refuse to perform the ceremony under the circumstances.”

“As if any man of God would wed me to you with my body broken from your men.”

“Oh, there are men of God who will bind us in holy matrimony.” His face brightened with insane enjoyment. “Priests who see women as temptresses, descendants of Eve who must be controlled else they entice men to sin. I rode with a few of them on the Crusade. They never left a single infidel alive, be it woman or child.”