Authors: Johanna Lindsey
And then she saw three more just like him—and he was leading her toward them.
I
t occurred to Roseleen, albeit a bit too late, that although she was wearing the clothes of a lady, her hair was an absolute disaster after she had slept on it wet. She hadn’t given it a thought before she’d rushed out of the tent. And medieval ladies rarely went out in public with such untidy hair, let alone uncovered hair.
So unfortunately, anyone who happened to see her might assume that she had just come from bed. And her walking through an army camp without an escort would lead to the worst conclusion, that she’d probably had a secret rendezvous last night with one of the soldiers, and if she could consort with one of them, why not a few more?
She hoped that the men now gathering around her hadn’t drawn that particular conclusion, but from all the grins coming her way, she was afraid it was a slim hope. And these weren’t twentieth century men who
might back off with an apology, once she explained their mistake.
These were coarse, rustic peasants, who had been pulled from their homes to further their duke’s ambitions, men greedy for whatever few pleasures came their way in their otherwise dismal lives. And these particular men had to know they would soon be facing death. The Normans might have won the Battle of Hastings, but not without losses.
She would have felt sorry for them if they weren’t planning on making her one of those few pleasures they got out of life. And their expressions told her that was exactly what they were planning. In broad daylight no less, with others all about. This bunch had to be pretty desperate—or just uncaring of any consequences.
She should have started yelling her head off, come what may, instead of trying for a calm approach and merely warning them, “I shall scream, gentlemen, and draw you quite an audience, if you do not immediately desist and let me be on my way.”
One of them laughed at that threat. Another one reached for a lock of her long hair and began rubbing it between his dirty fingers. The one with his arm still around her shoulders squeezed her to his side. The stench of his unwashed body nearly made her gag.
But the words of the one who plastered his hand to her breast turned her blood cold. “If ye want more’n just us riding ye, wench, then
commence yer screaming. We mind not the sharing of ye.”
Raped by the masses? Roseleen thought, horrified. No, thank you, and he was probably right. She hadn’t noticed enough nobles around to hope for some heroic interference, and odds were that any lords who were around could be just as crude as their underlings, and would simply take their turn with the rest of the men.
After all, Vikings didn’t have a monopoly on raping and pillaging at the end of a well-fought battle. These men were preparing for war, and rape was an anticipated part of medieval warfare, a sort of bonus for the winners, a further blow to the losers.
It was to Duke William’s credit, as well as an indication of his deep coffers, that for all the months that he had maintained this army, waiting to cross the Channel, he had kept them from pillaging the surrounding neighborhood. But pillage and rape his army did once it reached England.
The fellow still holding her knocked the other man’s hand away from her breast before she got a chance to try it. Thanks weren’t called for, however, since he wasn’t helping her, merely asserting the pecking order.
“I found her,” he growled at his friend. “I taste her first.”
She really wished the friend would have objected. A fight between them might have given her an opportunity to slip away. But the friend simply laughed and shrugged. He
hadn’t been kidding about his not minding sharing her.
She realized it was time for her to lie and drop some names, and pray that they weren’t so ignorant that they didn’t know who the top dogs were around here. “I am a guest of Duke William’s, here to meet with him. His half-brother, Odo, the Bishop of Bayeaux, was escorting me, but we became separated. If one of you would be good enough to take me to the duke, I’ll see that you are rewarded.”
“I will take ye wherever ye like, wench—after I have my reward,” said the man who was holding her. He turned her toward him, his mouth moving in to start claiming his reward.
She was going to puke if he kissed her, she knew she was, and thank God for that, because she couldn’t think of anything else that might stop him. Violence wasn’t a feasible option. Not because she’d never inflicted any on anyone in her life, but because fighting them would just draw more of their kind to participate in their assault on her, and she was already outnumbered.
Nonetheless, the moment the man’s wet mouth covered her clamped-together lips, she went for his groin with her knee. She missed, but something else didn’t. Something else knocked the man off his feet, and she nearly fell with him, or would have, if someone hadn’t grabbed her arm, nearly wrenching it from its socket, and pulled her back.
Roseleen’s would-be rapist was groaning
and thrashing about on the ground, his hand pressed against his ear, which was bleeding so badly the blood seeped through his fingers. He’d been clouted with a mail-gauntleted fist. She saw that fist now as she turned, and the fresh blood that was on it. But she saw also that it belonged to a quite splendid knight in steel armor, the chain links so shiny in the morning sunlight that she longed for a pair of sunglasses.
He was tall and broad of chest, his blond hair cut short in the Norman fashion. Emerald green eyes were fixed on her, rather than on her attacker, who was now trying to crawl away unnoticed, and not very successfully, since she noticed. The fellow’s friends had already disappeared, having scattered in different directions, leaving her standing there alone with the knight—and Guy of Anjou.
It took her a moment to even see the boy behind the broad-shouldered knight. When she did, and she noted the anxious expression on his face, she realized that he’d undoubtedly brought the knight to her rescue, since he would have had no better luck at dispersing those burly soldiers than she had. He’d been closer behind her than she’d figured, had apparently seen what was happening, and had taken care of it the only way he could, by fetching someone who
could
rescue her.
She was immensely grateful. She was also pretty shaken, or else she might have noticed sooner the admiring way the tall knight was staring at her. She did notice now, and also
that he was damn good-looking, his shining armor adding to his overall magnificence.
She almost laughed, but that would have been so inappropriate, she managed to contain the urge. It wasn’t easy though. An actual
real
knight in shining armor to the rescue, and a handsome one at that?
This was an age-old fantasy, but one that twentieth-century women didn’t have a hope of ever realizing outside of their dreams—unless, of course, they were transported to the past as Roseleen had been. And she didn’t imagine there was all that much time traveling going on for that to happen, not unless there were others out there like Thorn, with supernaturally cursed swords.
She should ask him about that. She had also been meaning to ask him what he’d done to get himself cursed by Gunnhilda the witch in the first place. But right now he wasn’t here, and she wanted to express her gratitude. She started with the knight.
“Thank you,” she told him, even managing a smile to add to her sincerity. “Your intervention was most timely and very much appreciated. And thank you also, Guy, if you’re responsible for this good knight’s presence.”
“Aye, but an unnecessary doing,” the boy grumbled. “Had you stayed where you were—”
“I know, I know,” she interrupted, before he started chastising her. “And believe me, I won’t make such a mistake again. I just
hadn’t realized there were so many common soldiers here…”
Roseleen let that trail away, so they wouldn’t think she was a complete dolt, but also wouldn’t suspect she wasn’t from their century. Women
did
know their limitations in this time period, and rarely bucked the system. And one of the things they all probably took for granted was what would happen if they walked about unescorted in an army camp.
“They are a churlish lot, yet do they know better than to accost a lady,” the knight said.
She could have remarked, and quite dryly,
Oh sure, that bunch knew exactly what they weren’t supposed to be doing. I can vouch for that
. However, under normal circumstances, what he’d said was probably quite true. But how long had these men been waiting here without their wives handy to satisfy their basic urges, and without coin in their pockets to pay for a little time with the camp followers? A lady, of course, wouldn’t mention such things, so she didn’t either.
He had, however, practically dismissed any real harm from the situation with his confident remark, so she replied, “Whatever they were up to, I’m just glad you interrupted it when you did.”
“’Twas my pleasure, demoiselle,” he offered gallantly. “If you need further assistance—”
“She is under Thorn Blooddrinker’s protection,” Guy cut in at that point.
“Verily, she needs no more protection than that,” the knight said, a sigh in his tone when he added, “A pity.”
For some reason, Roseleen blushed. The knight’s eyes were assessing her too frankly now, as if he had just changed his opinion of her and was contemplating taking over where those soldiers had left off. But she reminded herself that he couldn’t be thinking that. Knights to the rescue didn’t cause damsels to need further rescuing.
But Guy possibly sensed a problem brewing, because he quickly came around to take her arm, probably hoping he could get her out of there without further incident. And in fact, he started pulling her back around the knight, who stood in their path.
“My thanks, my lord,” was all he said in parting.
Roseleen felt like clouting the boy for his rudeness. She didn’t, but she did resist the pull on her arm, long enough to say, “Farewell, sir knight, and again, thank you. Perhaps someday I can return the favor.”
He threw back his head and laughed at that, causing her to blush all the more.
“W
hat did he find so amusing in my parting remark?” Roseleen asked Guy as he hurried her along the narrow path between the tents.
He didn’t pause as he replied, “You as much as hoped some women would attack him so that you could chase them off.”
“I did no such thing,” she said indignantly.
“Aye, you did,” he insisted. “How else could you return the favor he had done you, unless—?”
He didn’t finish, and when she saw that he was blushing, she realized that his “unless” would have been of the unsavory sort, and then she was blushing right alongside him. At least the knight hadn’t thought of “unless”—or had he? Was
that
why he’d laughed?
She went from pink to scarlet in seconds, feeling annoyed that she was blushing at all. She was a sophisticated woman, after all, thor
oughly experienced in
all
aspects of life, now that Thorn had disposed of her virginity. Actually, considering the time period she was in, she was probably the most well-educated person in the entire world right now.
What an incredibly satisfying thought that was, after all the long hours of studying and sacrificing of her social life she’d done year after year, to get those above-average grades. It was also amusing. What, after all, could she do with that fine education here?
But the thought served to temper her annoyance at the moment, as well as her embarrassment, enough so she could inquire of her young escort, “Who was that knight you fetched? Anyone important?”
“Important?” he repeated, his tone now thoroughly condescending. “Anyone who has the duke’s ear is important, my lady, and Reinard de Morville is a very good friend of Robert of Mortain.”
That Guy didn’t elaborate on who Robert of Mortain was, told her that he was someone everyone should know, and in fact she did know who he was. He was another of Duke William’s half-brothers, who was as deeply involved in this campaign as Odo was.
If Sir Reinard was a good friend of Robert, then he was certainly on his way up in the world. If he wasn’t important in his own right yet, he definitely would be when England was carved up and distributed to William’s supporters—unless he died in one of the upcoming battles.
That thought wasn’t a pleasant one. She wished she recognized his name, so she would know already what had happened to him. But she didn’t, and actually, so many of William’s barons had changed their names after they’d settled in England, that their original names hadn’t been documented.
Finally, they reached the tent, but Guy didn’t let go of her arm until she was inside it. “You will stay here now until our lord returns.”
Our Lord? Thorn wasn’t
her
lord. Now she wondered just who Guy thought she was, in relation to Thorn, or what he’d been told about her. She wasn’t going to ask him, however. She might not like the answer, and she’d undergone enough embarrassment for one day.
But his commanding tone did raise her hackles, if for no other reason than he was a fourteen-year-old boy taking it upon himself to order about a woman of twenty-nine. Teenage boys might carry more weight than adult women here, but
she
wasn’t going to abide by that social convention too, on top of all the other restrictions that were apparently going to be imposed on her during her short time here.
So she told him in a tone that she assumed would brook no contradiction, “I’ll stay here, Guy, but only because I choose to now. But I don’t need a baby-sitter, so why don’t you run along and try to get Thorn back here pronto—that is, at the soonest.”
His cheeks flushed with color again, but he looked angry now. The tone she had taken with him had probably reminded him of his mother, and it was a sure bet that no other woman besides that lady had ever before dared to tell him what to do. Medieval boys were under their father’s governance, and those of rank like this one were fostered off to other households at young ages to be trained by other knights.
He didn’t reply to her own directive; he merely turned on his heel and departed. Roseleen sighed. She supposed that it hadn’t been very smart of her to alienate one of the few people she was acquainted with here. That incident with the soldiers must have upset her more than she’d realized, for her to be so touchy. Still, she had no business getting all bent out of shape just because a teenager was acting
normal
—for his time. After all, as a teacher, she’d been trained to handle young people.
Annoyed with herself now as much as with Thorn and Guy, she paced while she waited for her Viking to appear. It wasn’t easy with her long skirts, as she continually had to kick them out of the way.
An hour passed, then another. She was beginning to suspect that Guy hadn’t gone to fetch Thorn as she’d suggested. In his anger, he might have decided to let her stew all morning.
Bake
was more apropos, with the sun slowly turning the tent into an airless oven.
She was sweating profusely by midday, and her stomach was assuring her that she was starving. And the two discomforts combined soured her mood further, which was probably why she blasted Thorn the second he joined her.
She didn’t even give him a chance to straighten up fully after he ducked to get inside through the tent flap, before she was snapping at him with a fulsome glare, “It’s about damn time! How dare you bring me here and then desert me? If I didn’t know my history so well, I could have gotten into serious trouble this morn—”
He was lifting her off the ground by her upper arms, which was why she abruptly stopped her tirade in mid-sentence. The several hard shakes he proceeded to give her made her forget entirely what she’d been upbraiding him about. But he was quick to remind her.
“How dare
you
leave this tent when you were expressly told not to, woman? Have you no care for your own safety? Can you not imagine what would have happened—?”
“You can hold it right there,” she cut in. “I know exactly what would have happened if that nice Sir Reinard hadn’t come along when he did. But I wouldn’t have been caught in an unpleasant situation like that if you had been here when I woke up this morning. We’re here together, Thorn, remember? We’re not here so you can go off and do your own thing while I sit around twiddling my
thumbs. And that little twerp squealed on me, didn’t he?”
“Twerp?”
“The boy. Guy.” And then she said even more dryly, “You didn’t
really
expect me to follow the dictates of a teenager, did you?”
He gave her another shake at that point, probably because she wasn’t sounding very contrite after the first ones. Still dangling off the ground, she responded by frowning darkly right into his face. He was actually making her feel like a kid, because he was so much bigger than she was and people—at least the people of her time—just didn’t treat an adult woman the way he was treating her.
Although
teenager
wasn’t a word he knew, he must have assumed she was still talking about Guy.
“I expected you to have the sense to do just that,” he informed her. “Guy was given explicit directions concerning your welfare. Did he not warn you to remain in this tent?”
“Actually, he only said something about keeping me safe here until your return.”
His dark frown was much more effective than hers had been, making her feel distinctly uneasy, making her wish she hadn’t used the excuse that she’d translated the kid’s warning too literally. They both knew she had understood she wasn’t to leave the tent, but had done so anyway.
He didn’t even bother to point that out, saying simply but emphatically, “You will never again go against my express orders, no
matter
who
informs you of them. Because of your willfulness, I am now indebted to a man I had no wish to be indebted to.”
Was that why he was so angry, rather than because she had nearly gotten seriously injured? Roseleen wondered. The thought hurt, and she said derisively, “Well, isn’t that too bad.”
That got her yet another hard shake. She realized then she ought to wait until he put her down before she laid on the sarcasm quite so thickly. And it definitely was time for him to put her down. She was about to say so, but he wasn’t finished with his chastisement.
“Aye, it will be too bad, for you, when he finds out you are my leman rather than my lady.”
She knew the word well enough, the medieval equivalent of
mistress
, a kind of woman who had been treated with no more respect in the past than she was in the twentieth century. Which was why she screeched, “What?! How dare—!”
“He may now be bold enough to ask for payment in the form of…you.”
“He—he wouldn’t—dare!” she sputtered, outraged, but in the next breath added, “And I suppose you would just give me to him if he does?”
“Nay. Does he ask, I will kill him.”
That upset her even more. “Oh, sure, the man does a good deed and you lop off his head for it. What kind of thanks is that, when
a simple no-you-can’t-have-her would suffice?”
“The insult will have been given—”
“I don’t want to hear any of that macho male garbage, Thorn. Why the hell did you say I was your leman in the first place?”
“’Tis what I was forced to tell Lord William, in order for you to be presented to him, since he had previously asked and had been told, that I have no lady.”
“Why didn’t you tell him I’m a damsel in distress that you just happened upon? Or a sister who’s come to visit? Or simply a friend—”
“When he will see the way I look at you?”
She made a loud sound of exasperation and struggled to get her feet back on the ground. It was a vain attempt that had her snapping, “Put me down!”
He did, with a sigh and the complaint, “What am I to do with you?”
That really rubbed her the wrong way, as if she were a bothersome chore he had to deal with. “Not a damn thing,” she informed him. “I’m not your responsibility.”
“Here you are just that, or have you so little knowledge of this time that you are not aware that women are under the care and direction of either their father, their husband, or their liege lord? They are never left to their own devices. Those without a man’s protection do not survive long.”
She did know that, and it infuriated her that she could say nothing to contradict it.
That’s the way it was, no matter that it was rotten, chauvinistic, and unfair. And that equality of the sexes hadn’t come about until her lifetime showed just how long that medieval system had survived. They called it protecting. She called it a nice name for slavery.
Unable to refute his last statement, she attacked on another front instead, one she had a legitimate grievance over. “The next time you decide to sweep us back in time, Thorn, kindly inform me about it beforehand. Waking up in strange places has a way of putting me in a really rotten mood.”
“So I have noticed.”
“No you haven’t,” she corrected him. “You didn’t get to see that mood, because you weren’t here when I woke up. The mood you’re seeing now is a result of your not having been here to see the other. ‘He is conferring with the duke,’ I was told. Why the hell couldn’t you have waited for me?”
“Because ’twas not even dawn when I left, and you needed your rest—after last night.”
She gave him another glare, because he’d managed to make her blush with that pointed reminder of what had passed between them last night. What a rotten tactic, she thought, to stir up soft, mellow, sensual memories in the middle of an argument. She wasn’t going to let it work, and pushed those warm feelings away, telling her awakening body to
cut it out
. Quickly, she turned around to march away from Thorn.
Unfortunately, she forgot to kick her long
skirts out of the way. Stepping on them sent her toppling to the floor, facedown, in a heap of skirts and acute embarrassment. How
could
she be so clumsy when she’d been doing so well at getting her complaints on record? She wasn’t going to move, ever—at least not until he left.
Thorn had other ideas. With one hand, he turned her over. His other hand took hers and was about to pull her up when he must have changed his mind. His knees hit the floor beside her. His chest was suddenly pressing against hers. And his mouth, well, his mouth was reminding her that she really did love the way he kissed.
So much for complaints and high tempers, she thought. That easily, he made her forget what they’d been scolding each other about. And it was quite some time before Roseleen was capable of any coherent thoughts. By then, she really didn’t care.