The Warrior's Maiden (The Warriors Series Book 2)

by Denise Domning

  Seated on a stool at the room’s center, Josce shifted a little in her direction. Gone was his tunic and shirt. His bare skin gleamed, the blood of battle washed from it. Sister Ada stood at his left her needle poised above the top of his shoulder. She was closing the gash that crossed the top of his shoulder.

  “Sit still,” the healer nun warned him, her tone chiding.

  Rather than heed her, Josce lifted his right arm in invitation. Elianne accepted with alacrity, rounding the stool to stand in the circle of his embrace. Although Josce but rested his arm about her waist, there was no doubting that he claimed ownership of her by his touch. It was a promise that he had no intention of letting the churchwoman bully her into leaving him for these nuns.

  Mother Gertha’s eyes narrowed. “Remove your arm from her, sir. You’ve already ruined Mistress du Hommet, seducing her with the sins of the flesh. I’ll not allow you to ruin her further.”

  “You cannot allow or disallow,” Josce retorted. “I have asked Elianne to wed with me, and she has accepted. That makes me her nearest male relative and gives me the right to make decisions for her. Unless she says now that she no longer wants me, I say that my child prefers I marry his mother. God knows that’s what I prefer.”

  Across the room, Gertha stiffened as the child that may or may not exist in Elianne’s womb was again mentioned. Elianne smiled as she understood. Josce intended to use their potential babe as a tool, a way to bludgeon the prioress into releasing any and all claim to her.

  Now Josce cocked his head to look up at her. “Have you come to regret your agreement to wed with me? Would you prefer that our child be raised as an oblate here, if it be a lass, or be given to monks if it is a lad?” The utter certainty of her response filled his blue eyes.

  Still, it was the memory of the pain Adelm refused to speak of in his own upbringing with the monks that brought words rushing to Elianne’s lips. “Nay. I want my child. I choose to be a wife and mother,” she said, shifting closer to him.

  With a huff of annoyance Gertha turned to look upon Beatrice. “Do something,” she demanded. “Speak to him. Tell him that it’s madness for him to wed a woman whose father has left her without dowry.”

  “He’s no kin of mine,” Beatrice said hoarsely without lifting her head. “I have no sway over him.”

  Confounded, the prioress swung back toward Josce. “For shame, sir! I would have thought you’d hold your father’s legacy in higher esteem than this.” Her tone was harsh. “To wed a penniless woman denigrates what Lady Haydon says your noble sire left to you.”

  “Oh, leave be, Gertha,” Beatrice said with a sigh, her hands dropping into her lap. She straightened in the chair. “Can’t you see his honor leaves him no choice in this matter?” Shame flickered across her face. “What can I do but support him in this? It’s all my fault. I’m the one who told him to bed her.”

  “What?!” Gertha stared at her noble patroness.

  Folding her hands, Beatrice looked across the room at Elianne. Pain filled her gaze. “I’m so sorry. I vow I was mad with grief. I ached so deeply over the idea of my sweet babes laid in the cold ground that I needed to hurt others as I hurt. When Sir Josce came to me after he arranged for their burial, I told him to do anything and everything he could to turn you against your sire. I even commanded him to bed you.”

  Startled, Elianne looked at Josce. Beatrice had commanded him to bed her? But how could that be, when Josce had made their first lovemaking her choice?

  The answer was in the slow way he smiled at her. Only then did she recall that the day he’d arranged for his sire and sisters’ burial had been the day after he’d found her hiding at the pool.

  “Beatrice, you cannot want this marriage.” There was a trace of desperation in Mother Gertha’s voice now.

  “What else can I do?” Beatrice asked in a small voice with a shake of her head. “It’s the only way to make right what I set wrong.”

  Nothing but regret filled the lady’s round face as she once again looked upon Elianne. “You are a sweet lass, who deserved better than a wild woman raging at you day and night. You’ve shown me great kindness and all I did was abuse you. You should have stopped me sooner.”

  Compassion and gratitude tangled in Elianne. “How could I stop you when I knew how deeply you ached for your daughters? Would that I had been so deeply loved”—her voice trailed off into silence.

  Her mouth quivering, Beatrice smiled, then her gaze shifted to her stepson. “Josce, I think me you must marry this woman so I can make her part of my family. I’ve come to be fond of her and would miss her dearly were she to be denied to me.”

  Josce jerked. Astonishment filled his face. “Madam?”

  Sister Ada made a frustrated sound. “For God’s sake and mine, lad, hold still. That is, unless you prefer a thick scar and lack of mobility in your shield arm.”

  Josce went very still. Lady Beatrice’s expression twisted into something mingled—both sour and amused. “Well, if you’re to be my warden, I think it’s high time we came to know one another a little better.”

  “I cannot believe this!” Mother Gertha cried, sounding fair frantic.

  Then, as if startled at the strength of emotion she’d revealed, she whirled to stride toward the wall behind the table. Her wide sleeve swung with her movement, catching the parchment on the table. The folded skin shot across the tabletop to drop onto the floor at the front of the table.

  Elianne stepped forward to retrieve it for her, only to frown. Although it was naught but a blob of unmarked wax closing the sheepskin, her own name was clearly printed across its face. “This is mine?”

  Mother Gertha pivoted with a gasp. “Nay,” she protested.

  “But it clearly bears my name,” Elianne retorted in confusion.

  The prioress’s shoulders sagged. “Aye, it’s yours. It was dictated to me by your natural half-brother. At the same time he created this, he also gave me his instructions for you. His desire was that you join our family.”

  “It’s a will?” Beatrice asked in surprise.

  Her hands shaking, Elianne pried up the wax, then opened the parchment. Elianne read the first line. To my sweet sister. Grief again tore at her heart. The words blurred.

  Josce released her to hold up his right hand. “Shall I read it for you?” he offered quietly.

  With a grateful nod, Elianne handed it to him. His brow creased, Josce read only to smile. “It’s a will, ‘Lianne. He leaves you, his only heir, ten virgates of farm land and a mill with a total income of ten pounds a year. It seems you’re not penniless after all.”

  Horrified, Elianne took a backward step. Adelm hadn’t the means to purchase any lands, not unless he’d used what he’d stolen to do it. “I won’t take it,” she cried.

  Josce shook his head. “It’s not what you think, ‘Lianne,” he said quietly. “See here?”

  With only one hand to use, he had to fold the parchment to the place he meant. Taking it from him, Elianne studied the area, using all she’d learned of Latin at the convent to pry the meaning of the words from the skin.

  Know that what I pass to you through this vehicle is without taint of the wrong I have done in my life, having come to me through my dam’s family, who it seems has known of me for all my life, while I have known nothing of them, much to the detriment of my soul.

  Scanning now, she read the description of property that followed, then her gaze shifted to the bottom of the document. Rather than a mark, Adelm had signed his name. So, he’d learned more than pain from the monks.

  Next to his signature were the marks of the witnesses. One of them had been Mother Gertha. Elianne lowered the skin to look at the prioress. “You witnessed this, yet a moment ago you told Josce I was penniless.”

  The line of churchwoman’s jaw was tight. Her arms were tightly folded over her chest. “I said your father left you penniless.” Then her face softened. She stretched out a hand, imploring.

  “When Sir Adelm came to me earli
er begging me to make him a will, he did so saying that he intended for you to take a position with us. Elianne, you cannot breed. Think on it. Both father and brother were thieves and murderers. Our Lord promises that the sins of the father are passed to his heirs. Come to us,” she pleaded. “In our house you will find the peace that you need to save your soul.”

  “While you get the use of her inheritance?” Josce shot back. “Which is this? An attempt to save Elianne from her sire’s blood, or a chance to further enrich your house?”

  Mother Gertha ignored him to start around the table toward Elianne, yet beseeching. “I’ve seen what miracles you’ve worked at Coneytrop, even as your sire spent all the profit you eked from it. Come to us and you’ll take the position of cellaress. Think on it. Only Sister Nilda and I will be your betters.”

  Elianne frowned at her. “Where has Sister Amabella gone?”

  Gertha’s expression flattened. Her hand dropped to her side. “Sister Cellaress has chosen to become an anchorite for the good of her soul.”

  The horror of such a fate drove Elianne back a step. Mary save her, but Amabella wanted to be forever after bricked into a cell with only a slot through which food and wastes were transferred?! The thought of never again running, swimming, not even to feel the sun upon her face or the breeze in her hair would be beyond all toleration. Aye, but such were the things that nuns did.

  Elianne turned to Josce. Again he extended his arm to her. She accepted, leaning gently against his side. “How soon can we be wed?” she asked him.

  His smile was alive with love for her. Desire sparked in his blue eyes. “The morrow cannot be soon enough.”

  LIKE MEDIEVALS AND MYSTERIES?

  READ LOST INNOCENTS, BOOK 3 OF DENISE'S NEW SERVANT OF THE CROWN MYSTERY SERIES

  So, here I am again, writing about a Medieval sheriff. Only this time he isn't the upstanding play-by-the-rules guy that Geoffrey FitzHenry was in my Graistan series. This is definitely the same sort of sheriff that Robin of Locksley confronted. In all honesty, it's likely my Reiner du Hommet is closer to reality than Geoffrey. The complaints against sheriffs are legion in this time period. Why? Because King John had an accountant's mind. Unlike his older brother Richard, who hated England and his English nobles, John was first an English king, and second, an efficient administrator. He insisted on collecting what was due him. This wasn't something his people, even his sheriffs, who were suddenly keeping less of what had once been their profit, particularly appreciated, especially not after Richard had spent years shaking down his nobles for this ransom and that personal war.

  As for Elianne and her fate as her father's servant, this was also common in an era when it was necessary to have more children than you could support. Nor was it uncommon for the lower gentry to marry their children down to commoners, merchant or farm-based, in trade for coins. The practice is much lamented as befouling the ruling Norman bloodlines. It's far less common for couples to make a love match, but every once in a while the system of marriage for profit allows for a happy ending.

  Medieval Mysteries

  Season of the Raven

  Season of the Fox

  Lost Innocents

  The Seasons Series

  Winter's Heat

  Summer's Storm

  Spring's Fury

  Autumn's Flame

  A Love for All Seasons

  Or, if you want you can buy all five books at once a box set: The Seasons Series

  The Children of Graistan

  I've started a new series of stories based on the children of my characters in the Seasons Series

  Perfect Poison, a novella

  The Lady Series, although two doesn't quite a series make. There were supposed to be more. Hmm, I wonder... .

  Lady in Waiting

  Lady in White

  The Warrior Series

  The Warrior's Wife (previously The Warrior's Damsel)

  The Warrior's Maiden (previously My Lady's Temptation)

  The Warrior's Game

  Or, if you want you can buy all three books at once a box set: The Warrior Series

  My only Regency era book and my only Western.

  I'm afraid these are one-offs. These periods are just too modern for me. I'm better off back when guys just bashed each other with hunks of steel.

  Almost Perfect

  An Impetuous Season, a novella

  Monica Sarli's Memoir Men-ipulation

  And then there's Monica Sarli's memoir which I co-wrote. Men-ipulation is a memoir of addiction and recovery. After fifteen years abusing Cocaine, Crack and (her personal favorite) Heroin, Monica chose on August 4, 1986 to clean up and hasn't looked back-even though cleaning up cost her everything she valued in life. For anyone struggling with addiction or who loves someone suffering with addiction, this is a book you won't want to miss. (And, yes she really talks like that all the time.)

  The Warrior's Maiden

  copyright(©) Denise Domning 2002, 2011

  This is a work of fiction; everyone in the book is created out of whole cloth (although I did my best to portray them and their times as accurately as possible). All right reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any way.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the publisher’s permission is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. To use material from the book (other than for review purposes), obtain the publisher’s prior written permission at denisedomning@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Edited by Martha Stites

  Original cover art by ADKDesigns.biz; Cover by Denise Domning, some stock photos by istockphotos.com.

  Originally published by Avon Books as My Lady’s Temptation; Reissued by Denise Domning