Sword for His Lady (14 page)

“Go, and do not betray me if you are captured.” Rauxana pressed the knife into Isabel's hand.

“I swear I will not.”

Rauxana moved back toward the bed. She shrugged from her robe and climbed silently onto the bed. There was only one groan from the bed ropes as she resumed her place beside Jacques.

Her master.

Yours
as
well, if you do not make good use of this opportunity…

Isabel watched the tent walls for a moment, deciding where men were talking. There were two men in front. Every now and then, there was a clinking of rolling dice. She headed toward the darker back of the tent and plunged the knife into the canvas. It popped and she froze, listening for any change around her. Jacques continued to snore and the men talking in front of the flaps kept rolling their dice.

Easing the knife down through the fabric felt as though it took too long. It also sounded loud. But the fabric parted, granting her freedom.

Isabel forced herself to be still. She had only one chance and mustn't waste it. She watched the camp for a few moments, all the time listening to Jacques snore behind her. There were tents all over and more men sleeping on the ground. A pair of people walked through the sleeping men. One of them wore longer garments and smothered a giggle with her hand. A man sleeping on the ground sat up.

“A whore…just what I was dreaming of.”

The woman went to him and held out her hand. He dug in his tunic and brought something out that pleased her. She gathered up her robes and joined him on the ground.

Isabel looked at her robes. She stood and they settled around her ankles.

One chance…naught but a single opportunity to escape.

She slashed at the fabric of her robes, cringing at the waste. But she had to look like a man. Or at least a youth. She gathered the bottom of her robes and draped it over her head like a woodsman's hood. In the dark, no one would see it for what it was.

She kept the knife grasped in her hand and eased through the slit. She didn't dare make it any wider for fear it would be noticed. The canvas parted enough for her to pass and she crouched low next to the tent for a moment. The couple was busy when she stood up and started walking toward the woods. A couple of men rolled toward her and watched her in the dark. Most of them were taking the opportunity to sleep. But those posted on watch saw her.

Demons
roam
the
woods
at
night…

She shook her head and kept her pace steady.

They
roam
the
darkness, seeking souls to feast on…

She resisted the pull of fireside tales. They were just tales. Superstitions. Naught else.

But her heart was still pounding in her chest when she reached the border between the camp and the shadows of the forest. No one went out in the dark of night.

Well, you must, or suffer being Jacques's chattel.

She was sure to like being Jacques's wife less than a demon's meal.

She moved into the forest, forcing herself to take another step and another and another.

Every step felt like an eternity. Each breath seemed like it was surely going to be her last, because her lungs were freezing. Even her hearing was playing tricks on her. She jerked toward sounds, unable to identify them. Her skin crawled as though there were spiders on her, but when she brushed them aside, there was naught.

Don't be a child.

Exactly. She was a woman and one who ran her own estate. She could walk through the forest, walk to freedom.

Indeed, she would.

“Cry out and it will be the last sound you ever make, lad.”

A sword slashed out in front of her, stopping just shy of her throat. She gasped, but flattened her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. There was a hard grunt in response.

“Who's your master, boy? What man commands that army?”

She heard a whistle, one that might be mistaken for an owl, if one didn't know raptors well. Isabel did. She turned her face toward the sound as the men next to her chuckled.

“Know your way around the forest, do you?”

“I know birds,” she muttered. “And I am no lad.”

Whoever had been approaching pushed the sword away from her. Even in the dark, she knew Ramon.

“Isabel?”

She nodded, her powers of speech suddenly rendered unusable. Her lips were moving but no sound came out. Every muscle she had suddenly shook, her knees knocking and weakening.

“I-I—” she stammered, trying to force the lump in her throat down. Everything was fine now. There was no reason for her to be trembling.

Yet she was. Greatly so.

Ramon reached out and cupped her chin. “Isabel?”

She nodded and held up the knife. “I used this…to cut the back of Jacques's tent…”

“Jacques Raeburn?” Ramon demanded softly, his tone deadly.

She nodded. “He was Bechard's brother.”

“So he planned to steal an heiress.”

He whistled, and shapes moved in the night. Ambrose appeared, his normally easygoing expression gone. In its place was a hard, cold look that indicated war. Ramon looked back toward the camp.

“Since we have the lady, we may rid this world of pestilence,” Ramon said firmly.

She felt sick with dread. No one had ever spilled blood on her behalf, but what truly horrified her was Ramon facing Jacques. Ramon had honor, where Jacques would likely use that trait against him.

She ignored her horror so she could speak. “He is a baron. You cannot challenge him. You'll face judgment from the other barons if you do.”

Her announcement was met with smothered words of profanity. Ramon reached for her wrist but stopped when he felt the rabbit skin still tied around it.

“Baron or not, he deserves death, and I can challenge him for setting his men on you. Yet I need to make sure you are away from here first.”

He wanted blood. She heard it in his tone. Felt it radiating from him.

Maybe that was what she craved. Vengeance. Retribution. She had to resist the urge to long for those things, for that was how bitter family feuds began. So close to the Welsh border, she had seen the suffering such blood feuds brought.

It could bring Ramon death. Even the most valiant knight fell in battle.

She could not bear such.

She walked and tried to make her steps light. At the edge of the woods, she smelled the horses. Ramon mounted and reached down for her. Ambrose was already lifting her up before she realized their intent.

She craved his embrace and it brought her more solace, more comfort than she had ever believed possible.

So she'd be content and not seek vengeance. She'd find a way to make him see the sense in leaving Jacques be.

* * *

“Thanks be to Christ and all his angels!” Mildred was fluttering around them when they made it back to Thistle Keep. The hall was still lit; those who should have been sleeping on its floor were wide awake. They muttered their thanks but Ramon kept her moving toward the stairs and up to her chamber.

“You disobeyed me, lady.”

She turned and faced him as he sent the door closed and propped his hands on his hips.

“It was not my intention. Truly, I took Griffin to hunt as I always do. If I do not, the rats will…will take the goose eggs.”

Ramon pulled his gauntlets off and tossed them on the table. But he nodded once and fought to rein in his temper. “You should have taken an escort.”

He was right. She knew it but still felt as though her life was crumbling. Ramon snorted at the look on her face.

“Do you dare to tell me I am wrong?” he demanded softly. “That my words have no merit?”

He pointed at the polished tin on the wall. “Look at the way your face is darkened and the bindings still on your wrists. Dare to tell me there was not valid reason for me to tell you to stay near the keep or travel with an escort.”

“I do not mean to say…” Her teeth were chattering as though she was freezing, but the chamber was pleasantly warm. She tried to tug the rabbit skin strips from one wrist, but her fingers were shaking too badly to grasp them.

Ramon muttered something and swept her off her feet. His body was warm and his scent teased her senses again, bringing her peace. He carried her to the bed and settled her there. He pulled the bedding up to her chin and smoothed it in place before pulling his hand back and hooking it onto his belt. The look on his face was sculpted from stone, but what shamed her was the concern in his eyes.

“You were right,” she admitted softly. “Honestly, I meant no rebellion against you by taking Griffin out this morning. 'Tis my habit to do so every day. To protect the nests. The feathers are how we pay the taxes. We'd not have enough food without them.”

He drew in a deep breath, fighting his temper, and settled for working the rabbit skin strips loose from one wrist and then the other.

“I have never lived in a world where I must fear walking on my own land,” she offered. “I am not sure I wish to.”

“You have simply blinded yourself to the dangers.”

She stiffened. “Even if I am guilty of such, is it not better than living like a frightened mouse? I had to step up and run Thistle Keep.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Aye, and you rose to the challenge well. Yet it is time for both of us to change.” The bed ropes groaned as he sat beside her. “I cannot recall living anywhere but by my king's side on the Crusade. Yet I am here, in a place where I might consider having a family instead of only a king's demands to serve.”

For a moment, he almost looked as uncertain as she felt. It was there in his dark eyes, a flicker of need, a need for understanding. A need to not be alone.

She knew that feeling well.

“I am glad you are here, and I do not want you to go seeking vengeance.”

His expression tightened. “As a baron, I am the only one who can challenge Jacques.”

“And yet, as a baron, you are duty bound to take your grievance to the barons' council for judgment,” she reminded him. “Or risk breaking the law you are sworn to uphold.”

“The barons do not meet until next spring.” He smoothed the hair away from her bruised face. “Far too much mercy for that dog.”

“And yet, if you go after him, you lower yourself to his level.”

“That is harsh of you to say, Isabel.” His tone was sharp and his eyes hardening. She could see him tightening his resolve, making his decision.

“I will not be the only one saying it,” she argued. “You know I am correct. There are barons who are friends of the Raeburn family. They will try to discredit you in the hope a baron's title will become vacant for another of their kin. You must wait until the council meets. Besides, he did not gain what he sought. Is that not the most important fact?”

His eyes narrowed, warning her that he was going to shred her argument.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. It was a tender touch, innocent but seeking. Hooking her hands onto his shoulders, she pulled him closer and opened her mouth as he tried to pull away.

She held him, kissing him with all the desperation brewing inside her to keep him from his destruction.

There was a soft pressure and the slide of his mouth against hers as he gave in. She tilted her head so that their lips fit together more perfectly. He cradled her head, taking control of the kiss.

It wasn't the hot, searing kiss he had pressed on her the night before. This was something else entirely. It was sanctuary. A safe haven from the evil trying to tear at her. He closed his arms around her, taking command of the kiss but not changing the tone. It continued as a seeking touch, an exploration, a tasting.

She slid down into his embrace, content to be pressed against his chest as she surrendered to the darkness. The sound of his heart was more comforting than anything she had ever heard.

* * *

Ambrose was waiting up.

Ramon knew that he as well as his men would be. The hall was silent for so many filling it. They watched him as he climbed to the high table and turned to look at them.

“Seek your beds. Our duty is finished for the night.”

There were frowns but also nods of obedience. The hall filled with the echoes of footsteps as his men departed.

Ambrose was not so easily dismissed. “You plan to allow that cur to see dawn?”

“The lady is recovered.”

“You are no more satisfied with that than I am,” Ambrose said curtly.

Ramon nodded. “Yet Richard warned me that it would be a greater challenge not to draw my sword. I see what he meant now. I will bring the matter before the barons' council.”

“Piss on that,” Ambrose declared.

“Yet it is the law, and what are men without law but beasts?”

Ambrose closed his mouth, defiance flickering in his eyes. Ramon felt the same but forced himself to climb back up to the chamber Isabel was sleeping in.

Solace came in the form of her sweet scent in the air, the soft sound of her breath, and the warmth from her body as he slid back into the bed with her.

It was solace, and yet his thirst for vengeance raged.

But his need for her was greater. He would be content that she was correct. Jacques had a powerful family. They would do everything they could to unseat Ramon if he gave them even a bit of incentive. The law was clear. Barons ruled over barons. To fight another baron was to risk losing his title and right to his army.

But most importantly, he would lose his ability to protect Thistle Keep.

So he would wait.

* * *

Jacques roared and his men jumped. They knew from bitter experience that he would happily make someone pay for his displeasure if possible.

His squire was the unfortunate one today. He backhanded the youth, sending him rolling. The boy gained his feet quickly, wiping away a trickle of blood with his sleeve.