“Get back to work, ye loafer!” he bellowed.
Startled, swallowing the bile in her throat, she went back to scrubbing the wood. With every stroke, her stomach lurched further. She finally ended up hanging over the rail, watching the bits of brown bread she had eaten disappear into the churning water below. The coughing also returned, completing her miserable situation. She coughed and gagged over miles of ocean.
This was the way Teague found her.
“No sea legs yet?” he asked softly.
She looked up to see him leaning casually over the rail next to her. She wiped her mouth, trying not to appear too disheveled.
“Not yet,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. “But I am sure I will be fine soon.”
His brown eyes glittered at her. She had expected him to be furious with her at their second meeting aboard ship. Instead, he was inordinately gentle. It was the Teague she knew, the man she loved with all her being.
“Mayhap,” he said quietly. “Let us go down below and get you out of this sun.”
He went to take her hand but remembered where they were. She was dressed like a peasant boy and he was acutely aware of the situation at hand. Instead, he clamped a hand on her shoulder and directed her towards the hold.
It was dark and smelly on the second level. It was also crowded, full of bodies and sweat. Tresta felt the bile rise in her throat again and she put a hand to her mouth, holding back the dry heaves that threatened. Teague’s grip lessened, became reassuring, as they moved forward in the hold. They were just approaching amidships when they came across the men from Snow Hill.
It was a cozy area they had staked out, sectioned off with coarse, heavy linen drapes. The material drifted with the sway of the ship as Teague pulled back the curtain and ushered his wife into the cramped section. Hallam, Gilbert, Tarran, William, and Sheen were in various positions about the space, glancing at the newest arrival without much surprise.
Hallam leapt up to greet his sister, kissing both of her hands. She smiled wanly at him as Teague made sure to pull the drapes together to allow some privacy.
“Meet my new squire,” he said to his men in a tone that suggested they understand him clearly. “Master Johnny, at least until we get to France.”
Hallam continued to hold his sister’s hands. “She looks ill, Teague,” he said with concern. “Where did you find her?”
“Hanging over the rail, losing what was left of my meal,” Tresta answered for her husband, pulling off her cap and allowing her copper-colored hair to tumble to her waist. “When will we reach land?”
Teague lifted an eyebrow at her in an expression that implied she would not like the answer. “By tomorrow.”
Tresta thought of the hours she would have to spend at sea, ill. But still, never did she think that following her husband had been a bad idea.
“And then where do we go?” she asked.
Teague looked at her. He was about to explain the logistics of things, that they would continue on and she would return to England, but he thought better of it. It would only create a massive argument and it would not do to have a hysterical female on board a ship that was only supposed to be filled with men.
“Later,” he said as he motioned to her. He was standing next to the hammock his men had strung for him. “Come over here and rest for now.”
She made her way over to him, intentionally stepping on Tarran as she did so. The knight came away with a pinched finger but didn’t utter a sound. Teague lifted her up and plopped her onto the swinging hammock.
“Be still and rest,” he said.
Tresta was not yet ready to lie still. “Where are Simon and Channing?”
“With the squires.”
“Where is that?”
“Outside, against the bulkhead.”
“Bring them in here,” she told him. “They’re just boys. They should not be out in the midst of men and knights that we do not know. There is no telling what may happen to them.”
As always, the protective mother, even when the children were not here own. Teague gestured with an impatient nod of his head to William, who lifted his big, hairy body off the floor and went in search of the younger boys.
“William will check on their welfare,” he said. “Have no worries. Close your eyes and rest.”
“Teague?”
“Aye, sweet?”
“Are you angry with me?”
He pecked her on the end of the nose. “I am not going to have a discussion with you right now. Rest and we shall speak later.”
Amazingly, she did as she was told and closed her eyes. Teague stood there, watching his wife’s lovely face as her features relaxed. When he was sure she was asleep, he motioned for Hallam, Gilbert and Sheen to follow him. Leaving Tarran with his resting wife, he took his men up on deck.
The waves were rolling as the sun set. Whitecaps burst upon the crests of the waves and kicked spray up on the deck. Overhead, the seagulls sailed upon the wind, following the ship on its journey out to sea. Teague leaned back against the rail, turning to his men. He had much on his mind.
“Obviously, I did not anticipate my charming wife attending me on this voyage,” he said, watching Gilbert and Sheen struggle with the grins that threatened. “Be that as it may, she is here. When we land at Calais, it is my intention to send her home with one of you as escort to make sure that she does not try to follow me again. This man will stay with her for the duration of my absence.”
The grins faded from Gilbert and Sheen’s faces. Hallam looked around nervously, fearing it would be him. His will was weaker than his sister’s and feared what would become of her should he be charged with her welfare.
“Hallam,” Teague said.
Startled, Hallam nearly shouted. “Aye?”
The corners of Teague’s mouth twitched. He knew what the man was thinking. “Not you, lad,” he said. “I prefer you with me. Besides, your sister would find a way to tie you up, leave you to rot, and come after me.”
Hallam visibly relaxed. As he did so, Gilbert and Sheen stiffened, knowing it could be either one of them next. Teague turned to them.
“Sheen, you shall also stay with me, as shall Gilbert,” he said. “I do not want to lose William for his sheer size and strength, which leaves Tarran to take the duty.”
Gilbert and Sheen exchanged glances. They all knew that Tarran had had an eye for Lady Tresta years ago, but he’d kept it well hidden. He’d never acted upon it. Tresta, however, had always shown an unusual dislike for the knight. Any feelings had clearly never been reciprocated and, over the years, the animosity between them had been obvious. Putting those two together would be like putting two wet cats in a bag.
“Teague,” Sheen began. “Let me take her back. I’m probably the only man who can handle her properly, next to you. She would just end up fighting with Tarran the entire time and exhaust them both. That would not be a pleasant match in the least.”
Teague put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Though I appreciate your suggestion, you will understand when I say that I would rather you stay with me.”
“Why?”
Teague’s expression changed to one of irritation that his brother would question him. “Because I would. These are my wishes.”
Sheen’s dark eyes flashed. “So you do not trust me to protect your wife?”
“I would trust her life to you without question and you are well aware of that,” he said. “Your skill as a warrior is without question. But leaving you in charge of Snow Hill, without my watchful eye, would be like placing the fox in charge of the henhouse. You would run through my food, my alcohol, and my money without thought and I would return to a barren home and a starving family.”
Sheen’s jaw ticked dangerously but he said nothing. Teague had always been inordinately fair with him, even when had stolen from his brother to pay a tavern bill. Teague should have disowned him many a time, but still, his brother remained loyal to him.
Seeing Sheen defeated, Gilbe
rt spoke up. “My lord, then allow me to escort Lady Tresta home,” he said. “I will guard her with my life until your return.”
Teague shook his head. “I would miss your sword too much, Gilbert. For this endeavor, I would have you by my left hand.”
Gilbert eyed him. “But if you will pardon me, my lord, Tarran is a better warrior than all of us combined,” he said. “Will you not need him for this quest over any of us?”
Teague’s mouth formed a weak smile. “Tarran du Reims is a magnificent warrior, the very finest England has to offer,” he said. “And do not think that I am not aware of what you are all thinking. Tarran realized many years ago that he could never have Tresta. Whatever he thought he felt for her years ago… it was nothing more than a fascination. He has never given me any reason to mistrust him when it comes to my wife. Because he is the best warrior of all of us, I trust him to take my wife back home and to ensure that she does not attempt to follow me again. And given the fact that she has a particular dislike for Tarran, and he for her, she would not try to use her feminine wiles to sway him as she would with the rest of you.”
It made sense as Teague explained it. The knights looked at him, at each other, and silently agreed with him. There was no other course unless they wanted a woman tagging along all the way to The Levant.
“As you say, my lord,” Hallam said. “But who is to tell him?”
Teague lifted an eyebrow. “Never mind him. Who is to tell her?”
CHAPTER FOUR
His orders were to stay with the lady every minute, of every day, up to and including when they reached Snow Hill Castle. Tarran du Reims had been a warrior since knighted at nineteen years of age, nearly sixteen years ago. He had fought the bloodiest of battles and had accomplished the most difficult of orders flawlessly. But he knew for a fact that his most recent assignment would be the most difficult challenge he had ever faced.
Lady Tresta had been the nightmare he had anticipated from the outset. No matter what her husband said, she resisted both him and his attempts to send her home. Tarran had stood by silently while Teague quietly reasoned with her, then quietly threatened her, then finally held her as she wept. The two of them disappeared into the town of Calais for a few hours and when they returned, Tresta had some lovely garments that Teague had bought at a seamstress stall along with beautiful pieces of jewelry. It had been a bribe, they all knew, but she wasn’t interested in the bribe.
It did not lessen her determination to follow her husband.
Before they had departed Calais, Teague had taken Tarran aside. Tarran had permission, he said, to do whatever necessary to promote Tresta’s safety and ensure that she remained at Snow Hill until such time as Teague returned. Anything necessary. Tarran had asked his lord, quite frankly, what he meant by anything. Teague had left it at that. Anything.
It was wide open to interpretation.
Which left Tarran in a bit of a quandary when Teague departed for Vézelay, leaving behind a hysterical wife, two young pages, ten men-at-arms that he was loath to part with, and a stoic, though somewhat disappointed, knight. When Tresta tried to fight her way through Tarran in order to follow her husband, he interpreted anything as meaning exactly what he did – he tied her up.
And he left her that way for six straight days, until he was positive that Teague and the party from Snow Hill were well out of her range so that she had no chance of following. Tresta had run a range of emotions during those days – hysterics, anger, sadness, and back again until Tarran was exhausted simply from watching her. They sat in their rented room overlooking the bay in Calais, mostly in silence when Tresta wasn’t weeping and coughing.
Tarran kept her bound to prevent her from escaping, but it also created some logistical problems when it came to sleeping or relieving herself. For the former, he simply let her sleep in the chair, but for the latter, he would untie her legs and have one of the tavern maids help her. Yet, he remained right by the door, back turned, in case she tried to run. He wasn’t keen in treating her like a criminal but, in his opinion, she gave him little choice.
Her behavior dictated his actions.
It had been a draining experience for both of them. Tarran honestly wasn’t sure who was more exhausted – him or her. It was beginning to wear on his nerves of steel. Worse still, a nasty storm rolled in on the second day and their rented room developed a leak in the roof, one that went down the wall and onto the floor, which had her feet wet and, like a martyr, she refused to lift them up or let them dry. To Tarran, it seemed as if she wanted to suffer. Feeling all of the pain she could feel.
And punishing him for it.
On the eve of the sixth day, however, change was on the wind. Literally. As the storm finally began to wane a little, Simon stoked the fire in the hearth while Channing brought his lady and the knight some food. Tarran kicked the boys out of the room because mealtime with Lady d’Mearc had been a volatile event. He didn’t think it was something the young squires needed to be party to so, as usual, he had them take their meal on the landing just outside the chamber so they would be close if he needed them.
Anticipating another brawl, Tarran set the trencher down on the ragged, worn table near Tresta. She sat like stone, staring into the blaze, her features pale and tight as he found himself looking at her. Six days of being bound. Six days of limited food and water. Tarran knew that she couldn’t keep it up and now that her husband was long gone, perhaps there was no longer a need to keep her tied to the chair.
“If I untie you, will you promise not to run?” he asked quietly.
Her answer was to close her eyes, briefly, in fury. “I hate you, Tarran du Reims,” she hissed. “I’ll hate you ’til I die.”
“Be that as it may, if I untie you, will you promise not to run?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I shall have to feed you. Again.”
Her head snapped in his direction, venom in her eyes. “You will do no such thing. I would rather starve than take food from your hand.”
Tarran gazed steadily at her. “I doubt your husband would appreciate that. It is his wish that you stay strong, safe and healthy, and it is my task to ensure that.”
“Stay away from me.”
Tarran paused. “You know that your husband is long gone,” he said. “He left six days ago and all of the growling and clawing will not change that. Starving yourself will not change this. His ship is long away by now and there is no way to follow him. Do you understand that? Be a martyr if you wish with your behavior, but it will not change things.”
Her answer was to turn her head away and ignore him.
Tarran didn’t push her. She was unsteady now, but with time and a growling stomach, he hoped that she would calm and come to accept things as they were. He ate his knuckle of beef and half a loaf of brown bread, trying not to think on the adventure the lady was causing him to miss. He had been looking forward to the trip to The Levant more than any of them, and now, he was forced to abandon his hopes. He could have very easily hated the lady for changing his fortune, but as much as he would have liked to, he found he could not. In fact, he felt pity and envy at the same time – pity that she would miss her husband so, and envy that Teague had such loyalty and devotion from her.
It was an odd combination.
The night deepened and the storm, so violent over the past couple of days, had faded. Tarran was feeling his fatigue, but the lady remained unmoving, staring into the fire. Eventually, her eyes closed and her chin dipped to her chest. Tarran watched her sleep in the same position she’d slept in for five nights, and thought that perhaps on this night he should do the chivalrous thing and move her to the bed. Quietly, he rose from his chair and gently lifted her into his arms. She was light, no resistance to his strength, and he deposited her very carefully onto the bed. She stirred slightly, hindered by the ropes, and he began to feel guilty for having her tied up so long.
Against his better judgment, he pulled the ropes off and she settled in he
r sleep, her arms wrapping around the pillow and a great sigh escaping from her lips. Tarran turned his back on her with the intent to remove his boots and was met with the sound of feet hitting the floor. By the time he turned around, she was halfway across the floor. He caught her before she could open the door and wrapped his massive arms around her, effectively trapping her.
“Let me go!” She struggled as he hauled her back over to the bed.
“My lady.” Tarran grunted as her foot caught him in the knee. “You must rest now. Now that the storm has passed, we have a long journey back tomorrow.”
She was as out of control as two cocks in a fight. Tarran was having a hard time holding on to her, purely for the fact that he didn’t want to hurt her. He could have effectively and easily stopped her struggles, but he did not want to break her finger or an arm in doing so. As they reached the bed, she managed to trip him and they both fell heavily onto the lumpy mattress.
Tarran would have found the position enticing had any number of factors not been rolling through his mind, primarily the fact that this was his liege’s wife. She was a stubborn, spoiled lady and he did not like her manner one bit. No matter that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and, certainly, she had her moments of brilliance. He had seen them over the years. But she was also far too disobedient for his taste. Grabbing an arm, he flipped her onto her side, wedged himself in behind her, and trapped her in a vise-like bear hug.
“Now,” he growled in her ear. “Go to sleep and I’ll not hear another word from you until morning.”
She grunted and groaned. “Let me go, du Reims. You’re not my master.”
“According to your husband, I am. You will obey me until his return.”
“Never!”
“Then prepare yourself for sleeping in the same bed with me, eating every meal with me, and spending all of your days with me from now until Teague returns.” She tried to pinch him, but he caught her hand and smothered it. “Listen to me well, my lady. I have known you for many years. ’Tis true we have never gotten on well. I am not entirely sure why you dislike me so, but I can tell you that my distaste stems from moments like this. You are spoiled, mulish and defiant, and this I cannot abide in a woman. Had I been your husband, I would have beaten some sense into you long ago. Do not think for one minute that your tantrums or your tears will sway me, because they will not. ’Twill only make it harder for the both of us.”
Age of Gods and Mortals Page 5