Sword for His Lady Page 11

  “Where is your mistress?” the priest hissed at him. Ramon lifted his hand and the man fell silent.

  Ramon glared at Mildred. The old woman’s eyes widened with alarm. “I’ve naught seen her since this morn. I thought she was hunting…in the marshes… She is never this late.” Horror edged her words and she looked around again, frantic to catch sight of Isabel.

  “My apologies, Father, but your mistress is missing. The ungodly have no respect for the evening mass, so I must beg your forgiveness,” Ramon said.

  There was a hush in the church, as everyone waited to see what the priest would make of Ramon interrupting the Lord’s supper.

  “Go with God,” the priest said as he made the sign of the cross in the air over Ramon.

  Ramon took a moment to acknowledge the priest by bending to one knee before he rose and headed out of the sanctuary. His men followed him, their boots stamping against the stone floor and echoing through the church.

  “We’ve precious time to track her before the light is gone,” Ambrose observed.

  A hawk cried out and swooped low across the yard before perching on the roof of the mews. It let out another cry before fluffing its feathers. The ends of leather securing its band trailed below it in the fading light.

  Ramon growled. His men knew the sound well. But this time, he felt something deeper. Something unfamiliar in his rage.

  This time, it was far more…personal.

  * * *

  Rauxana reappeared near sunset.

  She wore a different robe now, one that was buttoned up the front and slit up the sides to her hips. When she moved, her bare legs flashed.

  She laughed, low and sultry. “You should see your face. Scandalized by the sight of my legs. Christian women are so boring, so timid. Yet my master must obey his father and take you for his wife.” She glided over to a small table and poured what looked like water into a goblet.

  “You cannot drink that,” Isabel warned, but the other woman paid her no mind. She took a long sip from her goblet before glancing at Isabel with a satisfied look on her face.

  “Water is what the body needs.” She set the goblet down and looked around her. “Only the ignorant do not know such a thing. In the desert, the body dies without water. Give a man wine and he will still perish beneath the sun. Only water gives life. But I will admit that in this place, it is hard to find pure water.”

  “Drinking water brings fever. My husband died of such.”

  Rauxana shrugged. “Fermented drink is forbidden. Besides, your wells are too close to your privies. Your women empty their household pots into the streets. Your people do not bathe. Never have I smelled such a stench in this land. Little wonder there is fever. At least you do not stink.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’d have to scrub you if you did. You’ll not bring fleas into the master’s bed.”

  “I do not have fleas,” Isabel scoffed.

  Rauxana peered at her intently for a long moment, clearly judging the matter for herself. For all her submissive behavior when Jacques was present, she was not meek. She finally gave a graceful shrug before making a slow path across the tent, as though making sure Isabel had time to admire her. Her hips swayed in a slow, sultry motion. Isabel sat on the far side of the tent. Rauxana smiled at her before she crawled up onto the bed and lay across the foot of it. She opened her robe, letting Isabel see several inches of her body. She stretched her arms above her head and then laid her head back while she watched the door.

  “The master will be here soon,” she purred.

  It had to be a sin, the way Rauxana was so eagerly anticipating sharing intimacies.

  But…Isabel was fascinated.

  Rauxana wasn’t preparing for her duties with prayer and courage. Her lips were set into a contented little smile and her expression was full of expectation.

  Not of a duty that must be shouldered.

  But in anticipation of pleasure.

  Isabel blinked, not sure if she was seeing this correctly.

  Rauxana suddenly laughed, shifting and rolling up to look at Isabel. “Why are you Christian women so brittle?” She shook her head. “You are no virgin, yet you are shocked by the welcome I would give my master.”

  “Why do you call him your master?”

  Rauxana looked surprised. “Because he owns me,” she said without hesitation. “If he had not bought me, I might have ended up in a brothel or an overcrowded harem where I would have to worry about being poisoned by the master’s older wives as I fought my way to his bed and a position as his favorite.” She suddenly sat up, her hand closing around the bedding like a claw and narrowed her eyes. “Do not think to take my place in his bed. I am his favorite. You are a duty.” Rauxana glared at her. “Cross me and I will poison you.”

  She would, too. Rauxana’s eyes were bright with determination.

  “There are no slaves in England,” Isabel said. “Such is against the law.”

  Rauxana slowly shook her head. “I saw the master buy me. Nothing you can say will undo this. I must live the life fate has given me. Or else I am a shameless creature. There is no place in paradise for such.”

  Isabel softened her tone. “Just as you did not wish to be one more among many, I do not wish to be a duty. Help me escape and there will be no need to worry about me taking your place.”

  Rauxana’s eyes brightened for a moment before she shook her head. “I would never displease the master. He must obey his father.”

  Isabel fought the urge to jerk on her bindings again. She couldn’t panic. She needed her wits. “You could be his wife if I were gone.”

  Rauxana slowly smiled. “I will be. When I please him enough, he will grant me permission to have his child.” Determination edged her tone. “When I give him a son, I will be his wife.”

  She lay back down, stretching herself out like an offering.

  For a long moment, Isabel battled self-pity again. Outside the tent wall, the men were getting drunk. She could hear their voices rising. Cracks of laughter split the darkness as the camp followers came out to earn their keep. Horror gagged her. She fought it but there was no way to defeat it. She looked around, her attention settling on a knife.

  Maybe…with the cover of darkness, she might slip away.

  The tent flaps opened, letting a gust of night air inside. The wooden poles creaked slightly as the flaps settled back into place.

  “My pet,” he drawled as he took a moment to acknowledge Rauxana. She moved her legs and thrust her chest forward so that the robe slid down to bare one of her breasts. It was crowned with a dark nipple.

  “And my duty.” Jacques turned to look at Isabel. “The priest will not be here until tomorrow. Perhaps you can learn something tonight about pleasing me.”

  He reached out and grabbed her wrist. She jumped but his hand was so big his fingers closed around her fragile limb. He tugged her toward the large chair and quickly tied her to the frame of it with a length of rabbit skin. He secured her wrists behind her, leaving her leaning against the side of the chair.

  When he stood back up, he smirked, satisfied. “Tomorrow…I’m going to fuck you. With or without the church’s blessing.”

  He turned and moved toward the bed. “I certainly don’t have a blessing for you, my pet…”

  Isabel should have looked away.

  But she couldn’t.

  It was her shame that made her look at the couple on the bed. The shame of knowing that when her husband took his last breath, she had felt relieved. It was by far the most horrible thing she’d ever done.

  Rauxana rose to her knees and let her robe slip down her arms to puddle around her like liquid fire.

  Something else drove Isabel to keep watching—the dark memories that haunted her sleep. Those intensely clear recollections of being beneath her husband. The pain, the helplessness.

  There was no
such horror on Rauxana’s face. She smiled invitingly as she undid Jacques’s belt. She moved slowly, sliding her fingers along his body. Baring him little by little until they were both in naught but skin.

  Then she kissed him. Not on the lips, but everywhere else. She trailed her lips across his chest, looking like she was savoring the taste of him.

  “Suckle me…”

  Jacques sounded pained. He pressed her head toward his member and she trailed kisses down its length as well.

  “Suckle me!” he demanded.

  Rauxana looked past him to where Isabel was watching. Power and triumph glittered in her eyes. For a moment, all of her true feelings were displayed on her face. She stroked his member with a single hand before sending Isabel a hard, promising glare.

  Isabel couldn’t have looked away if a priest was standing in front of her. Surely this was something that Mildred had told her ladies didn’t need to know about.

  Why?

  It surely looked more pleasurable than what she’d experienced as a wife.

  Or what Ramon made you feel with his touch?

  Aye. There was no other way to answer but to admit the truth.

  “That’s it…more…” Jacques was working his member in and out of Rauxana’s mouth, his backside flexing as he labored. “I’m going to let you suckle me before I fuck my wife…” His breathing was labored. “And when my seed is ready…I’ll pump it deep inside her…and have you suck me hard again…”

  He gasped, grunting before pulling free of her mouth.

  “But tonight…you’ll ride me to the finish.”

  Jacques climbed onto the bed. For a moment, Rauxana faced her. Hate simmered in her eyes before Jacques flopped onto his back and demanded, “Mount me! Show my wife how to ride a man.”

  Isabel looked away at last, unable to bear the controlling nature that she recalled so well in her husband. The bed was rocking, groaning as the couple on it fucked. Isabel didn’t cringe over the harsh word. It was appropriate.

  “You’ll be my pet…and my wife can swell with child…yes…YES…”

  Jacques was yelling, his voice strained before he gave one final yell and the bed ropes stopped groaning.

  Not long after, the soft sound of his snoring filled the tent. There was a creak from the bed ropes and a soft sound of fabric rustling. Isabel looked up to see Rauxana closing her robe. She moved across the tent on silent feet. She pinched out one candle and then another, until there was nothing but darkness.

  And then she came toward Isabel.

  There was only a hint of light coming from the fires burning on the other side of the tent walls. A touch of crimson and yellow that flickered and danced off the blade of a knife. Isabel was happy to see the blade, for it promised her something other than what Jacques had.

  “I will be his wife,” Rauxana whispered.

  She knelt in front of Isabel and lifted her hand with the knife in it. Isabel wasn’t afraid, only regretful for the night she’d refused Ramon. It was an opportunity lost now. Just as her life was about to be snuffed out. Life was suddenly such a precious thing. Something she hadn’t truly appreciated.

  She had never enjoyed being a woman.

  Rauxana slipped the blade between the chair and the strip of rabbit skin, jerking it up and snapping the binding. Isabel fell away from the chair. Rauxana grasped her arm and cut through the length that held Isabel’s wrists together. Isabel was half sprawled on the ground but all she could do was look at the severed bindings in shock.

  “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 we
re 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.