The Defiant Bride (15 page)

“Oh, William, he is so much more than just a horse. He has been my friend and companion. Horses have more brains than you think.”

“Sometimes you are a romantic wench, your head given to flights of fancy and fairy tales.”

“Someday you will eat your words.”

The horses whinnied in warning. Every sinew in his body was alert. Another sound permeated the air. One of William’s hands was poised on his dagger, the other ready with his drawn sword. He moved in front of Dariana, pressing her back against a large oak.

“What—” William barely heard her as a flash of blackness flew by them. William sidestepped the attack. The huge, enraged boar turned back, its hot breath wheezing heavily through wide nostrils, the tiny black eyes points of hate.

It came at them again, but this time it was faster. William pushed Dariana out of the line of attack. She fell as he was tossed to the side. He leaped to his feet, but the terrifying beast was now threatening her, sensing his advantage with the more helpless one.

Before it could lunge, William attacked with his dagger, stabbing once, twice, thrice, blood spurting like a geyser from the wound.

The wild boar regrouped. It thundered in for another assault, the fury of it making it seem otherworldly, a demon come to earth to ravage and kill.

Head down, it raced at William, its sworn enemy now. The monster’s lethal tusks caught his clothing. He was flung into the air. Dariana’s scream made every hair on William’s head stand on end. Or maybe it was the fact that he was hurtling through space that did it. He crashed to the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm. He was pure instinct, warrior. He must kill or be killed. It was not a conscious thought; it was reaction. He recovered just as the thing spun yet again. He shot to his feet, stepped to the right, and flung himself on the beast’s back as it passed.

His dagger found its mark in the monster’s spine, causing the animal to stagger. William was cast of as the thing fell to its knees. A split second later, it collapsed in a crash to the ground, panting in its death throes.

A weeping Dariana ran to him. Assured of her safety, he tried not to move, assessing the damage to his body. His arm felt as if it had been ripped from the socket, but he otherwise felt intact. Every part of his body ached.

Suddenly blind with rage and grief, Dariana grabbed the dagger from his limp hand. He opened his eyes in time to see her lunge at the beast, stabbing, gouging. “Demon, devil from hell, die, suffer for what you have done to my love.” One last slash and it lay still. He smiled when she turned back to him. He had lifted on one elbow and watched her display, almost amused.

“You are not dead?” This was said with undisguised relief.

“Nay. Not yet.”

She tore strips of cloth from her petticoat, ran to the water and soaked some of the material in the cool stream, then washed the wounds and cleaned the blood away. After that, she wrapped his arm and tied the ends of the cloth together. He bore this silently, the pain manageable. She was caring for him, yet again. He basked in it.

Suddenly, he burst out laughing. Dariana was puzzled by this. “Are you delirious, my lord?”

“Aye, lady. Delirious with gratitude that I never bore the full force of your anger, as did that poor beast.” He indicated the lifeless boar.

Dariana was clearly embarrassed that he had witnessed her fury at the thing that had attacked them. “I lost my wits for a moment.” She pouted. “It angered me that he should hurt you.”

“So I noticed. Pray, let me never anger you so.” He smiled up into her red-cheeked face. He tried to rise, but could not contain a groan as the pain in his arm shot a million bolts of fire through his body. “I have suffered worse wounds, but never for a better cause. Saving a damsel in distress is what a knight lives to do.”

Dariana gasped. “You are badly hurt. Your arm is still bleeding. The flesh is torn. Pray, let me get help.”

“I am fine, my lady. A little damaged, true, but nothing I cannot abide. I am a knight, after all.”

“Then come, my brave knight, and see to mounting your horse. You would not appear quite so gallant should you have to be flung across his saddle and carried home.” With that, she turned and went to gather the horses.

“Aye, mounting is my favorite pastime,” he called to her back.

She returned a few moments later with the horses, shaking her head at him. “Can you think of naught else but coupling, even now?”

“I have other thoughts. I simply cannot seem to recall them.”

Dariana helped him mount Thunder. He was uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to his joy. His wife had just found love in her heart and he was not about to die today. They had met because he was wounded. He hoped it would not continue to be the pattern of their lives.

They regained the group slowly, Dariana inquiring often as to his pain. William assured her it was not as serious as she feared and he would have only a small scar as a reminder. He also declared he would tell all at court she had slain the monster and they should recover it, roast it, and serve it at a feast in her honor.

“’Tis untrue, William. I did not kill the thing. You did that.”

“No, love, I but injured it. ‘Twas you who struck the killing blow.”

“Truly? Then, are you not dishonored to be saved by a woman?”

“Dishonored? Nay! I shall even change my horse’s name to Darius to honor your courage.”

“Hah! If you change his name it would be because you have a wee brain and cannot remember too many names at one time.”

“And I believe you to be a cruel and heartless chit who is ungrateful for the sacrifices of her loving knight.”

“And I believe I love you.”

“You see how cruel you are? You arrange it so I have no response.”

“You could say you love me as well.”

“I do. And I will say it until the stars disappear forever from the heavens and the sun shines no more and—”

“You
are
delirious, my lord. But stay so.”

Dariana awoke to the sun streaming into the chamber from the large bay window. Birds sang from their hearts to welcome the day. A cool breeze blew through the casement and carried voices from the courtyard. The castle was awakening to a day full of sweet promise. She looked over at her sleeping husband and her face lit with inner warmth.

She eased the covers back to expose his bandaged arm. She checked the healing and was relieved to see the flesh was pink—closing nicely. There would be a scar, but a knight regarded that as a badge of honor. Silly knights and their arrogance.

She remembered the day before. After the creature had so viciously attacked them, they had returned to the edge of the forest to rejoin the hunting party. As William’s wound was tended, he embroidered the story of the boar with relish, making Dariana appear as Diana, the Greek goddess of the hunt. To hear William tell it, Dariana had slain the beast in its tracks. He had been cut as an afterthought by the creature in its last desperate struggles against death. Dariana knew she had blushed furiously at this embellishment of the truth, but her protests were regarded merely as false modesty from the woman who was already being recounted as a legend.

The king had returned to the group a few moments later, followed by several of his men carrying a huge deer. The king, proud of his kill, patiently listened to William recount the tale of the boar. All the knights and their ladies present held their breaths, fearing that the king, known for his competitive nature, would be angered and offended. A mere woman had made a greater kill in the hunt. But after several moments of strained silence, the king threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. Then, shaking his head in admiration, he ordered a party back to retrieve the fallen beast. He ordered it cooked along with his deer for the feast.

Dariana hissed to William that he should correct his lie. He had merely nuzzled her neck. “My lady, is it not true you attacked the thing and killed it?” he had asked with innocence in his tone.

“After you had crippled it and it lay dying.”

“That is not my memory of the event. Perhaps the shock of battle has affected your recollections.”

“There is no arguing with you.” She turned up her nose in mock disgust.

He smiled benignly. “See you remember that in future.”

The boar retrieved and the feast prepared, the king toasted the bravest lady in his realm. The story was set now. It would only grow larger as time passed, which is the way of stories as they are passed along.

Now Dariana smiled at William lying beside her. His eyes opened. He turned to kiss her full on the mouth, then wrapped her in his strong arms. They held each other for a while, content, before the contact of their entwined limbs fired the passion that was inevitable. His hands were everywhere, his lips following their lead. She thrilled as her fingers stroked the smooth strength of him, the utter manliness of sinew and muscle.

He entered her slowly, obviously teasing her. Her hips arched to increase his ardor, but it did not seem to help. With what she imagined was agonizing control, he slid in and out, now deeply inside her, now barely touching, until she begged for release.

Without warning, he plunged inside her, his need clearly built to a fever pitch, taking her to previously unknown heights until the room exploded in white light and stars and took her breath with it.

They lay together, bound by their love, their damp skin melding together until a knock at the chamber door roused them.

“What is it?” William called, making it clear to whoever dared that he was disturbed by the intrusion.

“All is ready, my lord,” returned Brian, his voice muted by the heavy door.

“Thank you, Brian,” William said, dismissing the lad.

Dariana turned to William. She was excited, convinced some happy new adventure awaited. “Ready, William? Ready for what?”

“A surprise, my love.”

“Tell me!”

“Say please, Dariana.”

She pouted at him. “Please.”

“You do not sound sincere.” He smiled at her.

“Please again, then.” She grinned, showing him her white teeth in a mock threat.

“No. Get dressed, wench, or you shall never know what lies in store.” William was enjoying this immensely.

“Tell me, please, William. I am sincere in my plea.” She angled her head and bated her eyelashes at him. She hoped he could not resist her charms. He hesitated a moment, opened his mouth, but shut it again.

“Get dressed. Then perhaps then you shall know.”

“You are cruel,” she complained.

“True, but effective.” He seemed a bit triumphant for her taste.

“Effective, my lord? Toy with me and you will know you were in a battle.”

“Is that what you call that last? A battle? Then, indeed, I came out on top.”

She felt her face redden with frustration. She tried to lunge at him, but he swept her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. Then he shook his head and grinned at her. “Clothe yourself, hellion. You will like what awaits.” He put her back on her feet, swatting her on the bottom.

Anxious for her surprise, Dariana was dressed in moments. She stood tapping a foot as William put on each article of his clothing with great care. After several minutes, Dariana was ready to shriek at him. Finally, he was ready. He took her hand, leading her downstairs. He grabbed some bread and cheese from a table in the main hall as he continued out into the courtyard.

Moonshadow and Darius pranced in their impatience to be of. Three knights with William’s two squires waited, mounted and ready to escort their lord and his lady. As they trotted into the countryside, Dariana marveled at the beauty of this early May morn. Had the grass always been so green, stretched like a velvet carpet as far as the eye could see? Had the air been so sweetly scented yesterday or last year? She breathed deeply of it, a new quiet in her soul. They rode in companionable silence for a while, their guard a discreet distance behind, all enjoying the day, thinking private thoughts.

When they stopped to eat, she noticed the cold meat pies and fruit tarts they had brought along tasted better than she remembered. When they spoke, it was of times past. Dariana told of how she had watched Moonshadow’s birth and immediately claimed the lovely, wobbly-legged colt as her own. She had exercised him and trained him and groomed him until he was strong enough to carry her across the land. They had been friends, each trusting the other; her heart ached for him while she had lived in the forest.

William spoke of his time as a squire, when he fostered with the earl of Moorvane. He told how the earl was a cold and loveless man, much like King Henry’s father, Henry VII, had become after the death of his son, Arthur, and his own wife. William had realized early that the earl was biter because his dreams would never be fulfilled. It did not soften the beatings, but William never allowed the man to see into his heart. If the earl had even guessed at the pity for him there, William would have forfeited more than the loss of some flesh on his back. He related how William the squire had grown into William, knight and earl. He had worked to become strong.

“I have seen the results of your determination,” Dariana said.