by Karin Tabke
“I chose to ignore you.” Isabel darted past him to where Henri stood. She looked from the grinning knight back to the scowling knight. “You look to be twins.”
Rohan moved forward to obscure her from Henri’s lecherous view. But his brother acted swiftly. He took Isabel’s hand and bowed regally. “I am Henri de Monfort. Second son of the Comte de Moraine and Belleview and Lord of Moreaux. I am at your service, damsel.”
Isabel curtsied. “Lady Isabel of Alethorpe, eldest daughter of Alefric Lord of Alethorpe Wilshire, and Dunleavy. It would please me greatly if you would champion my honor.”
Rohan grabbed her from his brother’s grasp. His men came to arms. “Go, Henri.”
The noble was not to be gainsaid. “What does the lady speak of?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
Henri studied his brother closely. Rohan’s temper simmered. It would be just like the noble-born to find a noble reason to take the lady from his care. Yet he knew Henri would use her harshly, then turn her over to his men for more of the same. Isabel knew not whom she temped with her wiles.
“I should petition William on her behalf, brother. He will not take it lightly that his knights, his most trusted knights, who have sworn to protect the weak, especially a titled lady, would handle her with less then noble hands.”
“Crow to William all you wish, Henri. The maid is in good hands here.”
Henri looked at Isabel and smiled. “Do you have other kin?”
“My brother Geoff and my sire, sir.”
“Do they reside in the hall with you?”
“Nay, they have yet to return from Hastings.”
Henri’s eyes softened. He made to move toward Isabel, but Ioan blocked his way. “Irish scourge, move aside!”
Wulfson growled and lunged past Rohan, his double swords poised for attack. Rohan grabbed the younger man’s forearm and pulled him back. “He is not worth it, Wulf. Would you waste good steel on a blackguard’s heart?”
Rohan pressed his sword to Henri’s chest for the second time. “As is your way, you have created a storm in your wake. The lady is no doubt the heiress to this shire, but since it now resides under William’s standard, it is not up to us to decide what he will do with the manor or the lady. Until he makes his decision, brother, do not return here. For if you do, I will not curb my men.”
Henri stepped back, his bold gaze raking Isabel. The full breeze pressed her garment full against her body, leaving little to the imagination. Her nipples were clearly outlined against the pale blue fabric of her tunic. With her hair unbound and her bare feet peeking from beneath the hem of her garment, she made quite a fetching sight. Rohan’s blood warmed. He glanced at his brother. The look on the man’s face had the opposite effect on his mood. Rohan’s blood cooled to frigid. Henri wanted Isabel for any number of reasons, the foremost as a way to smite Rohan. And Rohan knew Henri would, as he had always done when Rohan set his sights on something, resort to whatever means were necessary to take it away from him.
Rohan grabbed Isabel’s arm and pulled her to stand beside him, making his claim official. “She is my property, Henri. Find your own wench to pass the winter nights with.”
Isabel stiffened beside him, and he clasped her arm tighter to keep her from an outburst. He held his breath, praying she would heed him this once.
Henri remounted his horse and turned to look at Isabel. He gave her every opportunity to deny Rohan’s claim on her. She must have sensed the darkness that lived in Henri’s heart, for she said nothing.
Finally, Henri returned his gaze to Rohan and spoke. “I have not forgotten, you still owe me for Eleanor, Rohan. Had you?”
Isabel trembled beside him. From the cold or from Henri’s words, he did not know. “You cry foul for an imagined misdeed. I owe you nothing,” Rohan answered.
Henri laughed as he secured his helmet. “Aye, you owe me my heir, brother, and for that I will exact a stiff price.” He saluted Isabel and smiled. “We will meet again, Lady Isabel.” He turned to his brother. “As to you, brother? I have laid claim to Dunsworth and Sealyham on behalf of Monfort. I hold the nobles as hostages for William. I have no doubt he will bestow the titles on me. I will be in need of a titled bride. And since our father has sent considerable levy to the duke to aid his cause, I am sure he will allow me my pick.” Henri’s eyes swept to the lady Isabel. “I will pick the fairest flower in all of England, brother. Keep her safe from the likes of yourself until I come for her.” He reined his horse and thundered off into the cold morning fog.
Rohan stood rigid as fury infiltrated his body. Henri had a way of making Rohan feel, for all of the achievements in his life, that he was not worthy to clean his spurs. He turned to look down at the lady Isabel. Her cheeks flushed pink. Her full pouty lips parted, her warm breath frosted in the chill of the air. He looked into her big violet eyes as she looked up at him as if gauging his brother’s lies. His blood quickened. Henri spoke in half-truths, but it mattered not. She might end up Henri’s lady, but she would see his bed first.
Angrily, Rohan clasped her by the arm and dragged her back into the hall. His men followed, keeping their distance.
Isabel tried unsuccessfully to remove Rohan’s steely grip on her arm. When they came to the lord’s table, he stared murderously down at her. She had not seen his rage reach such heights. “See to the morning meal.”
Isabel cast a quick glance at Manhku, who lay quietly for a change on his pallet, his eyes never leaving his master’s form. Isabel called for the meal to be served. The knights seemed to converge on Rohan at once, their voices high and their contempt of the noble clear. Whilst she was unnoticed, Isabel slipped from the hall to her chamber, calling Enid along the way.
The maid scampered up behind her, as did Lyn and Mari. Enid threw the heavy bolt into place and stood with her back to the door, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Isabel’s temper flashed when Lyn and Mari grabbed each other in the corner and sank wide-eyed onto a pallet. “Do not sit so pathetically like frightened mice!” Was the world bent on looking to her for guidance? Were they all dolts who could not tend to even the meagerest of actions?
“My lady, the Normans, they scare us, and the one who just left? He has the mark of the devil,” Lyn wailed. Enid bobbed her head like a chicken, and Mari sniffled in agreement.
Isabel softened. She was not angry at them. She was angry that England for the moment was lost to more than one bastard Norman. That her sire and her brother, if they had not lost their lives on Senlac Hill, were dead or so seriously maimed they were not able to send word to her. Isabel was angry that raiders had decimated the village and the villagers. She was angry that the Norman, de Monfort, thought she would drop for him like some trained bitch because he bore a title and his sire had William’s ear. And she was even more angry at his arrogant brother, who went by the name of la lame noir, for terrifying her more than any man should.
So if she were afraid, of course her servants were frightened. But as she would, they would have to rise above their fear. Isabel looked sharply at Lyn and Mari.
“Lyn, Mari? Did you not offer yourselves last eve to the Normans?”
Lyn’s big brown eyes widened. “I only pretended to like them, milady. I was afraid if I showed contempt as you did, my face would meet with a fist.”
A loud knock on the door startled them all. Isabel frowned and flung the bolt back to find Russell, of all people, standing at the threshold. “Russell! What are you doing here?” Her eyes scanned him. He stood, slightly listing, wearing a loose-fitting tunic and rough-hewn trewes.
“I am not one to lie about and cry like a woman, milady.”
Isabel smothered a smile. Despite Russell’s mask of manliness, he winced when he moved.
“Aye, you are not. What brings you here?”
“The bastard knight has summoned you to break the fast.”
Isabel’s ire rose anew. “Tell him—” She considered her words carefully. Her impulse was to throw the requ
est in his face. He had no right to ask her to join him. Yet it was her home, and she was lady of the manor. Protocol dictated she invite him. Ha, invite the invader to break bread? Never. Not after his brutal handling of her earlier. And in front of his brother and his men? Nay, she would be no chattel of his.
“I shall present myself when I am ready,” she told Russell. His color drained. Being the messenger of such news would not bode well for the bearer. Yet he insisted on acting the man. ’Twould do him good. “Go, Russ, and make as quick a turn as you can when the last word leaves your mouth.”
When the door closed behind the boy, Isabel turned to her maid. “See me to a hot bath. The stench of Normans clings too tightly to me.”
As Enid poured the last bucket of hot water into the copper tub, Isabel sank into the silky warmth, stealing a moment to luxuriate in the scented soapy water. Normally, she didn’t bathe in the morn, but these were not normal times. Indeed, these times were what nightmares were drawn from. She closed her eyes and dismissed her maid, wanting solace with herself and her thoughts before she must face the beast again. The low thud of the door told her she was left to her privacy.
Sighing deeply, Isabel sank deeper still into the calming water. Her mind swirled with the events of the morn. Henri terrified her in a way his base-born brother did not. There was something much darker that drove Henri. Something not human. His eyes held the cold, empty look of a rabid animal. She shivered despite the warmth of the water. She would never consent to being his lady. Another shiver scraped across her skin. It would not matter if she contested or not. If ’twas William’s will, then it would be served.
What of Rohan’s will? She recognized his claim in front of his men and Henri for what it was. A man’s pride at work. Pure and simple. He laid claim to something his noble-born brother coveted. He would see her ruined as well, of that she had no doubt.
The bastard! How dare he use her to bait his enemy? How dare he play with her feelings? How dare he take from her what was not his to take?
She sat upright in the tub, no longer content to relax. The minute the cool air touched her warm skin, her nipples hardened. But it wasn’t because of the chill of the air. Isabel drew in a deep breath and locked eyes with the tawny ones across the room. Rohan stood propped against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“Do not stop on my account, damsel. I am enjoying the scenery.”
“Look all you wish, Norman, for it is all you will get.”
Seven
Rohan grinned at her words. They both knew they held no truth. As his grin died, the heat in his loins flared at the sight before him. He remained motionless lest any movement make it disappear. She was enchanting. He was not a man of many words, but even if he were, the vision before him would hold him speechless.
Rosy skin flushed under his gaze. Full, ripe breasts he ached to touch trembled just below the waterline out of sight. Blood coursed hotly through him. He had seen enough to know what lay hidden beneath the translucent barrier.
The rush he encountered each time he laid eyes on the Saxon maid unnerved him as much as it excited him. The feeling was the same when he entered battle. Every sense, every instinct, every inch of his body and thoughts were open and aware, anticipation whetting his appetite to ravenous.
Then. Engagement.
And finally. The thrill of victory.
As Rohan saw himself poised and ready to plunder the maid’s willing body, Henri’s caustic laughter infiltrated the scene. William gives her to me, brother. Step aside so that I might claim what is mine.
For a moment, fury clouded Rohan’s vision. The depths of his hate for his younger brother stabbed at him with the clarity of a sword plunging into his gut. He blinked, willing the toxic emotion to recede. He focused back on the sight before him. Aye, she was far more pleasant to look upon than any vision of his jealous brother. He and his men were William’s most trusted knights. Even Henri could not say it other. Their loyalty was without question. As was William’s to his loyal subjects. He pushed Henri’s words from his head. He would have this hall, and he would have all that came with it. Including the lady Isabel.
Rohan dropped his arms to his sides and walked slowly toward her, a hunter with his prey clearly in sight.
“Halt,” she whispered.
“I am not Manhku.” Rohan stepped closer, her scent wafting in the air, tempting him more. As she sank lower into the tub, he walked around her, wanting to admire her from all sides but also to throw her off balance. It would do him no good for her to have his moves clearly in her sights. He smiled, warming to his game. She was as anything he desired but resisted him. A challenge to be had, then used until some other challenge struck his fancy.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Isabel twisted in the small tub, casting a wary eye on him. He grinned wider as he squatted beside her. Her pulse flicked furiously in the vital vein in her neck. He reached out and trailed a finger along the smooth dampness of her collarbone. Her body shivered, the sensation traveling from her body to his. His cock swelled with anticipation. His grin nearly split his face.
“Admit it, damsel, you are curious. You want me to extinguish the heat you feel for me.”
She smacked his hand away, the gesture buoying her breasts for a brief moment. Quickly, she covered herself again. Her eyes sparked fire. He would give his left arm for her to spark like that in desire for him.
“I want nothing from you but to see your backside as you sail home to your country.”
Rohan was undaunted. It had been too long since his last woman. And in the very recesses of his mind, Henri’s challenge spurred his possessive nature.
He straddled the tub with his long arms, causing the shy maiden to squirm, the movement sending water sloshing over the sides and onto his thighs and the floor. “Until I do, you are mine. Now, lie back and drop your hands. I want a taste of what I shall feast upon this eve.”
Isabel’s eyes widened. She turned her body as far away from him as she could in the confines of the tub. “I would do no such—”
Rohan slid his hands into the water and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her toward him as he stood. She shrieked and squirmed in his arms, her skin slippery from the soap. He held her tighter. Her breasts plumpened against his chest and her gyrating hips as she sought to kick away from him ignited his fire to blazing. He drew her up, no longer able to curb his hunger for her. Turning her in his arms, Rohan lifted Isabel and clamped his mouth onto an impertinent nipple.
Isabel cried out and went rigid in his arms. He tightened his grip, bringing her closer. A hot rush of desire tore through his limbs, crashing into his loins. His cock thickened to painful. As her body arched against him and her hands pushed against his shoulders, Rohan’s lips suckled her like a starving man. Desire clashed with his anger, not only at Henri for trespassing here but at Isabel for being the object of his desire. His fingers dug into her hot skin. It was so smooth and soft it rivaled the silk of the finest robe. His lips left the one turgid nipple for the other, giving it equal attention. He rubbed his face between her generous cleavage, his teeth nipping her mounds as his hands molded over her derriere, his fingers digging into the succulent flesh, pressing her hard against his erection, wanting the succor she was not willing to give but he was willing to take.
Her body heated against his, he could feel it. His right hand slid down her flat belly to the soft mound below. Isabel expelled a harsh breath and loosened in his fierce embrace. He smiled.
Surrender.
He lifted his head, to tell her he could not promise gentleness. But words lodged in his throat. Her fist smashed into his jaw, the blow stunning him in its unexpectedness and, for a woman, its strength. His arms loosened a mite, and it was all her slippery body needed to disengage from him. Like a rabbit, she hopped out of the tub and ran to the door.
“My men will enjoy the sight, damsel.”
Isabel turned at the door, more than cognizant
of her lack of clothing. The heat of her body warded off the chill of the room. She tried to cover herself, her arms and hands ineffectively shielding her from the tall warrior’s hot gaze. It raked her from head to toe, then up again, leisurely stopping at her hips and the breasts that still burned from the brand of his lips.
He smiled slowly, rubbing his jaw where she had struck him. She had no choice; it was the only action a man like him understood. And with that understanding, another realization dawned. He was a warrior, a mercenary, a man paid to kill, a man paid for his allegiance. Other than coin, he respected only courage.
Isabel drew herself up to her full height, slight though it was, and dropped her hands to her sides. Her breasts trembled as they thrust toward him, but she was determined to stand toe to toe with this knight. He may be able to overpower her by his brute strength, but he would never overpower her will or her heart.
It gave her great satisfaction to watch his expression change from enjoyment to wariness. “What ploy do you seek now, wench?”
Isabel shook her head, the damp tendrils of her hair sticking to her back. “I have no ploy, sir. You have proven to me, and your brother’s words confirm the fact, that you are the lout of your reputation. You are no noble knight but a mercenary whose loyalty is purchased. So take what you will from me, and know it will never be freely given. For you could not pay me enough to welcome your touch.”
“Were I of noble birth, would your opinion be different?”
Isabel caught herself at his question. “The measure of a man is not if his parents are wed in the eyes of God and king. The true measure of a man is drawn from his deeds.”
Rohan scowled and sauntered toward her. Her chin rose higher. And Lord help her, but a hot thrill coursed through every inch of her. That strange feeling had sprung to life between her thighs when his lips touched her breasts in the tub. When he suckled her and dug his hands into her bottom, she—Isabel squeezed her eyes closed.