by Karin Tabke
His muscles tightened, and his cock flinched against his thigh as he envisioned her naked and hungry for him in this very bed. A man could lose himself for a fortnight in her lush body. He’d never touched skin so soft. Or a temper so sharp. Rohan smiled despite his discomfort. Yea, she was a bold wench, all right, but his boldness surpassed hers by far. He sat up in the big bed and nearly rubbed his hands together in anticipation of her yielding that ripe body of hers to him. He grinned and moved from the bed, limping to the fire to throw more logs onto the glowing embers. Yea, she would share this bed for more than a night. Mayhap through the winter.
Rohan moved to the tapestry covering the shutters to the window. He pushed it back, opened the wooden closure, and peered out into the night. Stars rose bright and clear in the sky, the full moon lighting the way. His gaze traveled over the distant forests and down to the courtyard and bailey beyond. His sentries moved back and forth, their dark shadows larger then life under the moonlight.
A slight movement from the stable caught his eye. A small figure moving along the courtyard wall to the manor. His blood quickened. Isabel.
As she assured the guard near the kitchen door that she had seen to her chore of retrieving leeches from the bog, he allowed her to pass. It had been a hard-won battle to have the man agree to leave her alone. But when she reminded him that his master, Sir Rohan, slept and would not like to be bothered by a mere girl searching for leeches to save a favored knight, he allowed her to pass. As she came into the hall, she moved to where Manhku tossed and turned on his pallet. His leg swelled, and his only hope was the leeches to bleed the poison from his wound.
Her gaze slipped across the score or more of men bedded down for the night near the far hearth that burned bright and warm. More filled the stable. The enemy. Could Arlys drive these men from her home?
Isabel set the bucket of leeches down next to Manhku, unwrapped the bandage, and slowly applied the slimy creatures to the swollen leg. As she did, she wondered at her own fate. Would that devil sleeping in her father’s bed be her undoing? Would he break his oath and force her to spread her legs for him?
She closed her eyes. Nay, he would not! She would hold him to his vow. She opened her eyes and was glad to see the leeches attached. They should be filled by morn.
Isabel sat back on her heels and wiped her hands clean on a wetted linen towel. Aye, not only would she see to it that Sir Rohan kept his oath to her, she would see she kept hers to him. And despite the fear that oath inspired, her body warmed as she wondered what else he would do to her. Would it be more intense than what she experienced in the kitchen? Her hand moved to touch her neck where his lips had pressed. Her breasts swelled, and a tingling sensation taunted her nipples.
Her gaze traveled up the stairway toward the lord’s chamber, and she cried out. Rohan stood at the landing, his eyes locked on her.
Slowly, he walked down the wide berth, his gaze not wavering from hers. Isabel’s skin heated to rival the flames that she was sure cast an eerie glow about her. Rohan stood naked at the bottom of the stairway save for the braies he wore. The low firelight flickered off the planes and edges of his body, illuminating his old battle scars and those fresh from Hastings. The cloth around his hips stirred, and she flinched, stepping back, her heel brushing the embers from the hearth.
“Damsel, you avoid my bed.” His eyes continued to hold her captive. Had they not, she still would have not been able to drag her eyes from him. His long black hair hung wildly around him in the fashion of the Vikings. His wide, muscular chest rose and fell to a quick beat. Power and danger swirled around him. In his presence, while she was terrified, she knew that if she ever required a champion, this would be the man she’d pick. His prowess was legendary.
The cloth around his hips rose as if a serpent squirmed beneath it. Now, instead of fear, something deep and primal moved within her. She didn’t question it. Instead, unabashed, she continued to regard him.
“You cannot hide from destiny, damsel,” Rohan softly said, approaching her as stealthily as a wolf stalking a deer.
With nowhere to go but into the fire, Isabel held her ground, her chin high and proud. “You are not my destiny.”
“This eve I am.” Rohan laughed low, the sound husky, provocative, and terrifying.
She sidestepped away from him, her gaze never wavering. “I will not succumb to you.”
“’Tis not necessary.”
His muscles rippled as he flexed his long arms. Isabel shook her head, terrified of what he could do to her, knowing that if he pressed her regularly, despite her will, he would become as addictive to her as wine had become to her father after her mother’s death. Her pride would suffer greatly for becoming his willing leman. Not to mention that should her heart ever become involved, this man would leave it in pieces in the dirt as he rode off to his next conquest.
As if the gesture would stop him, Isabel put her hand out to halt him. “Sir knight, I beg you, do not trespass against my person. It is all I have left to give freely.”
Rohan scowled but continued toward her. Taking her hand into his, he brought it to his lips, though he did not press them to her skin. She warmed to his touch even though she feared him. The sensations he wrought so unnerved her she wanted to shriek and run as far into the forest as she could.
“’Tis not a trespass when struck as an oath. Would your dignity support breaking your word?’
She shook her head, angry that he should turn the table around. She was a woman of her word, and if she swore an oath, she would do everything in her power to uphold it. It did not mean she had to embrace it.
“I see we are agreed at least on this one matter.” He pressed his lips to her fingertips. Their warmth, and yes, their softness surprised her. Yet the hot look in his eyes stripped her of her dignity.
Isabel stiffened. “I wish to retain my innocence, sir.” Her tone left no room for banter. It was a statement as well as a heartfelt request.
Rohan smiled, and she knew she had lost. And in the next minutes, she would lose more. “My Lady Isabel, you jest if you are to believe I think you innocent.”
“Lout!” she hissed, and pulled her hand from his grasp. It was not to be so. He tightened his hand around hers and pulled her toward him, his lips returned to her skin. His tongue slid across the palm of her hand, and she nearly swooned. When he sank his teeth into the fleshy part of her hand, she cried out. But not in pain.
His gaze burned molten, and his nostrils flared with the increase of his breath. “What say you about the way you pressed that wanton body of yours against me earlier?”
Isabel opened her mouth to retort but found nothing to say. How could she argue against the truth?
He laved her palm again and suddenly released her. “As I suspected. You crave me.”
Humiliated to her core, Isabel did what any innocent maid would do to an arrogant boor. She slapped him. In a flash, he grabbed her to him, his cock poking her in the belly as he pulled her against the hardness of his chest. He groaned at the contact and surged against her, then pressed harder into her hips.
“Remember how that feels, Isabel. You will beg me for it one day soon.”
She raised her free hand to slap him again for his crudity, but he caught it and thrust her away from him. He pointed to Manhku. “Thank him for your reprieve this eve. As it is, I tire of your prickly temper, and the night grows longer. I need my sleep to tend to you warring Saxons on the morrow.”
As he walked away from her, Isabel called, “Indeed, sir, we shall see in the end who wins the day!”
Rohan turned full to face her. “Rue the day I find a traitor in my midst. He shall die a traitor’s death. By my own hand.”
Isabel silently chided herself for her outburst. She held her tongue, not wanting to thwart this man or give him further reason to suspect an uprising. She had said too much already.
“Pray, Isabel, you do not fall into that trap. I would hate to mar such beauty as yours. But fear not. I w
ould.” He slid his hand around her neck and pulled her to him, the force of his movement nearly lifting her from her feet. His lips hovered just above hers. “But be sure, first I would take what you so churlishly cling to.”
Isabel’s lips parted as she struggled for breath, and his mouth dipped closer to hers, almost touching. Her blood quickened, and her body went limp in his hold. Her breasts ached with a now familiar feel. She licked her lips, the tip of her tongue touching his bottom lip. She felt his arm tremble and his body stiffen.
“Jesu,” Rohan cursed, thrusting her so hard away from him she nearly fell into the fire. He grabbed her wrist, preventing the fall, but his features gathered like storm clouds on his face. “Be gone with you, witch, before I take you here and now!”
Isabel didn’t ask where she should be gone to, she just ran past him up the stairs to the solar, flinging the door closed and bolting the heavy oak door.
Six
Isabel woke to the sound of thunder. “Open this portal, wench!”
Wiping sleep from her eyes, she threw a tunic over her shift, then pulled back the heavy bolt. The door was flung open from the outside. Rohan’s stormy face boded bad for all. “My man is awake and screaming for God knows what. Tend him.”
Guttural bellows from the hall reached her ears. Other voices attempted to calm him. The more they tried, the angrier the giant’s foreign words became. Rohan grabbed her arm and hauled her from the chamber. “Hurry before he destroys the hall.”
A snide smile played along her lips as she was pulled along the hallway and down the stairway. It amused her to see this bold and terrible knight so far out of his controlled ways. She almost laughed when she saw the others standing helplessly about like nervous brides.
Isabel’s mien changed to serious as she came nearer to the giant. He had pulled off most of the dressings and all of the leeches. The poultice lay in a hunk on the rushes. Anger spurred her forward.
As the African moved to stand, she called out in a sure and steady voice. “Halt!” She spoke in French, doubting he understood English.
Scores of eyes followed her voice, watching her and then the giant for his reaction. Her mood was sorely prickled by her rude awakening and then by this man who would disrupt her healing efforts.
The giant’s black eyes widened, then narrowed to dangerous slits. His lips drew back from teeth as sharp as a wolf’s, obviously honed to an unnatural point. He growled low and menacing. Undeterred by his posturing, Isabel’s temper flared.
She moved toward him and slapped his hand away from the dressing he had nearly removed. “Foolish man! Sit back!” When he did not move, she pressed her verbal attack. “I gave up one of my finest shifts to save your leg, I went to the bog in the middle of the night for leeches, and I lost much sleep last night and this morn.” She unwound the tattered dressing, her movements quick and jerky. His damage was thorough. She would need all new linens and to pack a fresh poultice. She raised her gaze to his. “And you reward me this way?”
If she were not so angry, she would have laughed at the shocked expression on his tattooed face. He was not used to being treated thus, she was sure. Isabel looked over her shoulder at Rohan, who stood in equal shock. Her eyes moved from him to his surrounding men. Each of them stood in stunned silence. Ignoring them all, Isabel turned her attention back to the giant and frowned at the gathering storm on his face.
Hands on her hips, she asked, “Do you wish to walk without a tree stump to assist you?” Dark purple lips pulled back from the sharpened teeth. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest. “I will take that as a nay. Now, lie back so that I may repair what you have destroyed.”
When he made no move to follow her direction, Isabel expelled a long breath, hiked her skirt, and moved toward him. Placing both of her hands on his chest, she heaved him backward. He resisted. She shoved him harder, nearly sitting on him to have her way. Soft snickers floated around her ears. She glanced up at Rohan, who stood rooted to the floor, his face solemn, his eyes amused. She turned to face his knights, who stood now in eager anticipation of what they assumed was her impending defeat.
Her rancor rose. “You are not honorable men, and I for one look forward to the day you ride off never to return!”
She turned back to the grumbling giant and dug her elbows into his chest. “Give me your word you will not interfere with my work.”
His eyes narrowed. A lesser woman or perhaps a fool would have backed off. But Isabel was neither of those women. She was in a most unladylike position on a known slayer of Saxons, amongst battle-hardened knights. When he refused to answer, Isabel changed her tactic. Nodding, she moved off him. “Very well.” Once completely off the brute, she extended her hand to Rohan. He raised a brow. “Your ax, sir.”
The men behind her chortled, and the giant growled. “What plans have you for it?” Rohan asked, amusement twisting his tone.
“I wish to sever the leg from this most ungracious body. The cause is lost, and I have my own people to attend to. I have no time for an unwilling patient.”
Rohan had the good grace to scowl. He looked down at his man, and the giant growled again, attempting to sit up.
“Milady?” Thorin said, stepping forward. His deep hazel eye glittered in the morning firelight. Her gaze traced his scarred face. She wondered what other scars lay beneath the leather patch. She thought of the pain he must have endured as recipient of such a wound. She looked past Thorin to the others, wondering again what horrible experience bound them.
“Sir knight?” she asked.
“Shall I hold the brute whilst you chop?” he asked with the straight face of a man bent on serious business.
Manhku shot upright and called out to Thorin in rapid, strangely accented French. “Viking scourge!”
The knights doubled over in laughter, breaking the thick tension. Isabel stood, calm, not understanding the camaraderie of men. “You jest with this man’s leg.” She wiped her hands on her dress. “And so I will leave you to tend him yourselves. I am done with it.”
“Riders approach!” the tower lookout called.
Excitement lurched in her chest. Was it her sire come home?
As they were already mailed and belted, Rohan and his men instantly scrambled to attention. Isabel wondered if they slept thus. She warmed as she remembered Rohan’s barely clad body last night. Mayhap they did not. As Isabel moved to follow the knights, to see who came to Rossmoor at such an ungodly hour, Rohan turned to her. “Stay in the hall, and see to Manhku.”
Frustration strangled her. How dare he command her?
What if it were kin come for refuge? Isabel turned back to look at the abandoned Manhku. “Mayhap I will give you a second chance.” She glanced back to the half-open portal. “But first I will see who approaches.”
Flanked by his men, Rohan stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword as the score of Norman knights approached. The crimson and black standard bearing the image of the boar flapped arrogantly in the chill of the English winter wind. The same coat of arms caught the morning sunlight on the lead rider’s shield.
An anger he had thought long buried rose from deep inside Rohan’s belly. He gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly he could no longer feel his fingertips.
“Your brother rides as if he is due the crown,” Thorin said from beside Rohan.
“Aye, and if there is a way, leave it to Henri to find it.” Rohan stepped down into the courtyard, as one, his men followed.
Henri’s big bay destrier skidded to a halt inches from Rohan. He remained motionless. In an arrogant show of confidence, Henri pulled his red plumed helmet from his head. A face much like Rohan’s stared back. The one defining difference, at least on the surface, was that Henri bore no scars. His face was clean, and Rohan knew how he would appear had he been the one born to a couple wed in God’s eyes.
Henri’s contemptuous gaze swept past Rohan to each of his men alongside him before coming back to rest on his brother. In another great show of confide
nce, Henri dismounted. As his feet landed on the cobblestone, he sneered. “Whores’ sons, all of you.”
“Take care who you call a whore, Henri. While I have no great love for the woman who bore me, William dotes on his aunt.”
Henri scoffed and looked past Rohan to Rossmoor. His eyes scanned for a good long time the impressive edifice. “So, as the bastard’s henchman, ye think ye have the right to land?”
“I do my liege’s bidding,” Rohan answered.
Henri sneered, the twist of his lips so much like Rohan’s turning the angled planes of his face into jagged ridges.
“Your liege will see his way to delivering lands and titles in this sodden piece of turf to his nobles, not by blow who have only a sword and horse to call upon.”
Rohan pulled his sword and held it high. Sunlight danced off the honed edges. “My Blood Sword has seen well to my needs thus far, Henri.” Rohan gestured with his sword to the dark knights flanking him. “While I have grown immune to your insults, my brethren have not. Tread lightly lest you find your tongue a tempting morsel for the hounds.”
“Would you threaten me, bastard?”
Rohan stepped closer, the point of his sword pointed directly at Henri’s heart. “I never threaten, brother. You of all people know that small fact about me.”
Henri slapped at the blade and made as if to move past. Yet the blade barely moved in Rohan’s steady hand. His men closed ranks. Henri’s men shifted nervously in their saddles.
“It would not sorrow me if you pressed the point.”
Henri retreated a step. “I would not argue with you, brother. Besides, this manor is a hovel. There are more worthy lands of a more worthy noble. One whose blood runs true in his sire’s line. I’ll leave you to pretend, brother, but mark my words. You will not find yourself lord here or—”
Henri’s eyes widened, and he looked past Rohan. In that instant, Rohan knew what captivated his brother so. Not trusting the noble-born son, Rohan stepped back and moved toward the open door where Isabel stood. Anger flared in his belly. “I told you to stay in the hall.”