The Bargain (3 page)

Confused and disturbed by the way her body tingled just watching them, Aleysia left. Making eye contact with no one, she made it to the door without notice. Once down the stairs, she raced toward the stables as fast as her feet would carry her.

Her heart hammered hard in her breast as she ducked down behind a stall. Two Normans spoke to each other nearby. "How long do you think we will stay?"

"His lordship says indefinitely. Said as much just days ago," the other said.

'"Tis a beautiful place. I do not blame him for coveting her."

"Aye, and speaking of beautiful—did you see the Saxon wench? What a beauty that one is. Shame she prefers wearing men's clothing to gowns."

Aleysia bit her bottom lip.

The other man laughed. "De Wulf does not care either way."

"Indeed, he just wants to see what is beneath those clothes."

"A sweet body to be sure."

Aleysia pressed her lips together and counted to ten.

Let the Norman take his whore to bed tonight. She would sleep with the horses and be glad for it. It would also give her the blessed time she would need to come up with a plan.

"We had best be getting to the hall before all the food is gone," one of the men said. A second later the stable door opened and closed, and soon she was alone, save for the horses, their soft nickering comforting. She recognized her brothers beloved stallion, a gift from their father when Adelstan had turned four and ten. How pleased her brother had been with his trusty stallion. Aleysia reached over the stall and ran her fingers over Galahad's nose. Her throat tightened as the reality of her situation sank in.

If she did not find a way to release her brother and flee to Scotland, then he would die, and she would have lost everyone she ever loved. "We are alone, Galahad. 'Tis just you and I for now, but soon, very soon, I will release Adelstan, and we will flee this wretched pit of merciless bastards."

A bird flew out from its nest above, nearly scaring Aleysia out of her skin. "I had best hide away before someone comes looking for me." She kissed the horse's wet nose and then scurried up the ladder.

Just in time, too.

She had no more than settled in the soft hay when the stable door opened and closed with a loud
thud.
She held her breath.

On the far wall, she could see a man's form in shadow. He appeared huge, tall, with immense shoulders. Then again, she reminded herself, even the smallest of men could appear giantlike when cast in shadow.

Mayhap those broad shoulders belonged to someone other than—

"Aleysia of Braemere."

Her heart hammered hard against her breast.

Damn! It was de Wulf, and he knew she was here. For the love of God, did the man have eyes in the back of his head? How could he know she had come here when he had been so occupied with the servant wench? Unless, of course, he had finished.

As though reading her thoughts, he said, "I followed you, little one, so you may as well show yourself now. Or mayhap you would like me to climb up the ladder and join you in the bed of hay."

She had never moved so fast in her life.

As she descended, he moved to help her, but she stopped. "Do not touch me" she said, venom dripping from her voice.

He stepped back, a smirk on his lips. "Very well."

Making the final step onto solid ground, she turned. "Why do you follow me?"

"Why did you leave the hall?"

"I wanted solitude."

He watched her intently, his gaze sliding over her in a way that made her stomach flip. "Why?"

How she yearned to slap that smirk clean off his face. "Your men are drunk, as are you. I was not enjoying the spectacle."

He reached out and plucked a piece of straw from her hair. "Were you not? The way you watched so intently made me think otherwise."

She frowned. He had to be joking. "I was merely appalled by the public display. That was the only reason I stared as I did. I could scarcely believe my eyes."

He laughed then, his white teeth flashing in a boyish smile. To her chagrin, he was even more handsome when he grinned like that. "You could scarcely believe your eyes? Now that is a compliment."

Compliment? Was the man mad? "What do you mean?" The words had scarcely left her mouth when she understood exactly what he meant. The size of his cock. God's breath, the man was incorrigible.

"Come Aleysia of Braemere," he said, extending his hand. "I have need of a surgeon and you shall assist."

"A surgeon? You seemed well enough a moment ago."

He lifted a brow. "Do I detect a note of jealousy?"

Feeling her cheeks burn once again, Aleysia lowered her gaze to just beyond his shoulder. "I most certainly am not jealous. However, I believe she would jump at the chance to attend you, my lord."

"I am sure she would, but it is you I want," he said, his voice silky soft.

She had not expected that bold statement. Nor had she expected the leap of her pulse from such a declaration.

When she did not take his hand, he reached for hers, wrapping his fingers around hers. How large his hand was, and calloused, much like her father's had been. The hand of a warrior. Nothing soft about it, and the touch sent a current through her. An odd sensation. She pulled her hand from his, but he snatched it back, frowning down at her. "You will not leave my sight, do you understand?"

"Am I a prisoner then?"

"You offered a bargain, Aleysia—and I accepted. You will abide by that bargain. For now you belong to me."

"And if I refuse?"

"I will kill your brother."

She stopped in her tracks. There had been no apology in his tone whatsoever. In fact, he made it sound as if he would enjoy killing Adelstan. She ripped her hand from his grasp. "What a horrible man you are to say such a thing!"

The moonlight had cast them in shadow, but she could still see his eyes, and she saw the surprise there. "You think me horrible? I let you live. I let your brother live. And you yourself are the one who offered your body for your brother's life. How does that make me horrible?"

Two guards who stood in the shadows laughed, and she wondered if they overheard the conversation.

Ashamed that others possibly knew of her brazen bargain, heat flooded her cheeks. "Aye, you are horrible because you kill innocent people!"

"These are times of war. I do what I must to regain peace for my king. And what of you, Aleysia of Braemere? You fought and killed Norman knights alongside your brother. How are you different than I?"

"How am I different?" she repeated, unable to believe her ears. "You are merciless. You will do whatever you must to get your way— killing, burning villages, starving innocent people. That's the difference between you and I."

He flinched as though she'd struck him. "Am I worse than de Pirou?"

De Pirou had been a terrible man, far worse than any she'd known. A man of no morals. The devil incarnate. A most unpleasant creature—but de Wulf was no better, if his reputation proved true. "Does your silence mean that you have been too harsh in your assessment?"

"I have not changed my mind, nor will I ever. What kind of a man burns the entire north to the ground? You and your men have made the northern country a barren wasteland, my lord."

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "I grow weary of such talk, and I am bleeding from the wound that you have caused. You are skilled with bow and arrow, Aleysia," he said, a smile playing at his lips.

Ignoring the compliment, she glanced at his shoulder. "Does the wound pain you?"

"Aye, it pains me greatly."

She smiled, glad she had caused him pain.

He took a step toward her, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face. "You smile, Aleysia. How beautiful you are when you put down your guard. 'Tis like you glow from within."

Her smile melted under his stare, and she looked away, flustered by her reaction to this man. What was it about him that made her thoughts fly right out of her head?

"Are you not accustomed to men commenting on your beauty?" He sounded surprised.

In truth, she was not accustomed to such praise. But she had never had a suitor before, save for Duncan, and he had never complimented her... ever. "Nay, I am not."

"Then I am glad to be the first." There it was again, that silky soft voice that made the hair on her arms stand on end.

"Come, let us not dally, little one. I am in need of a bath and some rest."

"Aye, you are," she replied, following him into the armory where men sat or lay on benches and cots, some wounded, others caring for the injured. Seeing de Wulf approach, silence filled the building. An old man with long gray hair and full beard approached Renaud. "There you are, my lord. I've been expecting you. Come." He motioned for Renaud to sit on a bench. "Let me have a look at your wound."

"Aleysia, sit here," de Wulf said, patting the bench opposite him. Aleysia took the seat and was instantly sorry when de Wulf spread his legs. To her dismay, she was caught there, her knees fit snugly between his powerful thighs. She could not move without touching either thigh, so she kept her knees firmly together.

He did not smell as bad as one would think from the days of pillaging. Rather he smelled of musk, and something else she could not decipher. A masculine scent that was not at all unpleasant.

"Remove the tunic," the old man ordered. And de Wulf complied, lifting the shirt over his head and handing it to Aleysia.

She placed it on her lap, trying hard not to look at de Wulf's body, a difficult thing when he sat so close.

"I see a Saxon arrow has found its mark," the old man said, probing at the wound.

"Aye, Henry, and you are looking at the Saxon responsible for said injury," Renaud said, nodding at Aleysia.

Henry frowned. "In truth?"

Aleysia nodded. "In truth."

The old man laughed, a cackling sound that made Aleysia smile.

"Well, we shall have to cauterize the wound. Take a deep breath, my lord, and then release it slowly."

Renaud did as the old man said, his chest rising with the effort. A second later Henry yanked. The Norman flinched, his face turning red, but he did not curse as the old man produced the arrow and blood gushed from the cut. "My goodness, 'tis quite a gash."

"Now this shall hurt a little," the old man said, a moment before he poured liquor onto the wound.

Renaud closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before letting it out slowly. The old man stepped over to a hearth and grabbed a red-hot iron.

To her surprise, de Wulf reached out and took hold of her hand. For a moment she almost pushed it away, but then the old man brought the iron down on Renaud's shoulder.

The Norman's jaw tightened, his stomach clenched, defining the rigid planes of muscle there.

Aleysia winced as the smell of burnt flesh surrounded them. Sweat poured off Renaud's forehead, and she was hard-pressed not to wipe it off with his tunic, but she refrained. Ironically, she felt a pang of remorse for having been the one to cause his pain. She ran her thumb along his and watched his color slowly return.

"My lord, how do you fare?" the surgeon asked with obvious concern.

Renaud opened his eyes and smiled, and to Aleysia's chagrin, her heart gave a fierce tug. "I shall live to see another day, Henry."

"That is welcome news," someone said from the doorway. Aleysia looked up to find one of Renaud's men who had been on the ramparts, coming toward him.

De Wulf smiled up at the younger man. "I am well, Galeran. Have no fear. I shall be in fine form on the morrow. I had thought to keep you all from drills, but I think that would only make the men grow restless."

"I agree, my lord," Galeran replied, his gaze skipping to Aleysia. He did not look very happy to see her.

"Have you grown tired of tonight's amusements already?"

"Nay, I was concerned when I did not see you in the hall, and decided I had best check on you," Galeran replied.

"I am fine, but since you are here, you can do me a favor."

"Anything, my lord." Galeran glanced at where Aleysia still held Renaud's hand. Surprisingly, the Norman did not release it.

"Take Aleysia to the lord's chambers. See that a bath is prepared, and I shall be along shortly."

Aleysia released his hand and gave him his tunic, relieved to be escaping the room... and de Wulf.

"I shall see you soon, Aleysia," Renaud said, not moving to let her out of the entrapment of his solid thighs. Rather than climb over him, she slid by him, the front of her thighs brushing against his knees.

More than happy to get away from him and the stifling armory, she followed the young soldier out of the building, feeling de Wulf s gaze on her the entire way.

Renaud watched Aleysia follow Galeran out of the armory, as did every other man being tended to. What a find she had been.

Who knew such a treasure had been tucked away in the north country? A woman dressed in men's clothing, who could best any man with bow and arrow. God knew what other skills she possessed.

He looked forward to finding out.

He smiled, remembering her expression earlier in the hall when she had watched him fondle the wench. It had been cruel to do so.

Little did Aleysia know he had no desire to be with the woman who had serviced his troops for the past eight weeks, since they had burned her small village. In truth, the wench had seemed overjoyed to leave behind an overbearing father to travel with them, spreading her legs for any who would give her coin and attention.

But Renaud had never had the woman, nor did he want her tonight. He merely wanted to see Aleysia's reaction. He had thought the Saxon would blush and look away, or mayhap even cry, regretful of her rash decision to offer her body for her brother's safety. But she did none of those things, and instead stared boldly as though to say,
Do what you will, Norman!

Even more, he thought he'd recognized curiosity in those haunting green eyes.

But then she had unexpectedly left the hall, and he had followed, much to the wench's displeasure.

Aleysia had trembled when she sat by him just now, trying everything in her power not to have her body touch his. He had trapped her between his thighs just to see how she would react, to see if she would flee as she had done earlier. But she had not fled. In fact, she had tried in her own way to soothe him—her thumb brushing along the edge of his.