Blood Sword Legacy 01 - Master of Surrender

by Karin Tabke

  Rohan whirled on his heels, almost knocking Enid over. Damn them all to hell! What did it matter who had had her? She was just a woman.

  Rohan found himself not wanting to go near the manor. And with that decision, he found more than a few chores to keep him busy in the stable. As he gave a last brush to Mordred’s ebony flank, Rohan glanced down at the straw next to the horse, thinking it would be far more comfortable sleeping next to the furry beast than lying beside the soft and smooth damsel. Aye, he’d take his meals out here as well. He wanted no more distractions. He must focus on what he was to accomplish for William. He expected to be called any day to his liege. And though he tried to push the next thought away, the one about Isabel and leaving her behind, he could not help it. It bothered him greatly that he had concern for her. What if Henri decided to visit again?

  While Rohan had complete faith in all of his men, he knew Henri held a deeper fear of Rohan than any of his knights. Rohan tossed the brush into a bucket, then grabbed up a hoof pick. Holding the great hoof between his knees, Rohan began to dig the muck from his horse’s foot. The great black turned a head to Rohan and nibbled at his back as if to assure him the woman was not worth his worry.

  “Aye, Mordred, you are lucky to be a simple beast. Women are no great mystery to you. Count your blessings.” The horse snorted as if in agreement.

  “So, you find the maid a mystery, do you, Rohan?” Thorin asked from the aisle outside the large stall.

  “I did not invite you into my conversation,” Rohan said tersely.

  “I could not help but overhear. Thorvald and I were having a similar talk.”

  Rohan set the great hoof gently down and stood up. Casually, he tossed the pick into the bucket next to the brush. “Oh? And what advice does your horse have for you?”

  “He is as confused as we, Rohan. I have no inkling what makes the females of this world think or act. I suspect I never will. And because it only causes me great frustration, I have decided not to try.”

  Rohan wiped his hands on the leather tunic he had put on over his undershirt. “Good advice.”

  “Rohan!” Wulfson called from the far end of the stable. “I have come to announce the evening meal awaits your pleasure. Hurry your arse. I am withering away to nothing!”

  “Since when do you do the job of a page?” Thorin called.

  “Since they are scarce and fear the moody Norman. Come, let us sup together.”

  “Nay,” Rohan said. “I have no hunger for food this eve. Go and dine without me.”

  Wulfson strode down the aisle and stopped to look at his comrades in arms and in friendship. His green eyes danced in mischief. “I must admit, Rohan, Henri’s words today gave me cause to pause.” He held his hand up to halt Rohan’s forthcoming denial. “Let me speak. As I said, Henri made a good case, but did you not see it for the ploy it was?”

  Rohan frowned.

  Wulfson smiled. “Come now, my friend, you cannot be so blind to your brother. His accusations were a poor attempt to cover his dastardly deed. He turned the blame to the maid to keep it from himself, where it should have been placed.”

  “I—” Rohan started.

  “Nay, let me finish. In the end, it matters not if the maid is no longer a virgin, or even if she is barren. She is but a stepping stone here. Is she not? A necessary pawn in our game. Take her if you will, and be done with it. I cannot abide your morose moods.”

  “I gave my oath, Wulf,” Rohan said.

  “Aye, you gave it, but on the condition that she was a virgin. How else to prove it than to see the bloodstains yourself?” Wulfson countered.

  Thorin clapped Rohan on the shoulder. “Wulfson has something, Rohan. Your oath was based on the belief that the girl was a virgin. If she is not, then all oaths are forfeit. Besides, she is but one of ten score more women you will have. Take her, get her out of your blood, and mayhap we can all get along more peacefully.”

  Thorin winked at Wulfson and said to no one in particular, “Aye, take your fill of her, Rohan, so that we may have a taste ourselves. From what I saw today, you are selfish not to share.”

  “Hah!” Wulfson shouted, and slapped Rohan on the back. “We have always shared. What makes you think to keep this one to yourself?”

  A hard shard of jealousy slashed through Rohan’s gut. ’Twas true, if the damsel was obliging, they had on more than one occasion passed the cup, so to speak. It was never a problem. Why was it now?

  “She is just another woman, Rohan, and she means naught to you,” Thorin goaded.

  “Aye, and she is leman to the Saxon,” Wulfson added.

  “Enough!” Rohan roared. “Do not question her virtue. There is no evidence she is other than virgin. The day I believe any lie my brother spews is the day you can bury me with my sword.”

  Thorin clasped Rohan’s shoulder and leaned toward the younger man. “Aye, and now, listen to your own words, my friend, and give the maid the benefit of your doubt.”

  “Aye, I am weary of your hostility, Rohan. Mayhap you need to ease yourself somewhere else,” Wulfson suggested.

  Thorin slapped Rohan on the back. “Or take matters into your own hands.”

  Wulfson chortled and slapped Rohan as well. He held up his right hand and said, “Aye, ’tis a good way to build calluses.” Wulfson turned and strode for the wide double door opening to the stable, “Let us sup, men! I have a great hunger this eve. Mayhap I will search out the fair Sarah or the temptress Lyn.” Wulfson threw his head back and laughed louder. “By God, I will seek them both for the evening!”

  When Rohan, Thorin, and a grinning Wulfson entered the hall, their hair damp from washing and their spirits high, Isabel let out a bit of the breath she had been holding. She was not the only one in the hall bracing for more storms. Each of Rohan’s men looked from him to her, then back to him again. Rohan acted as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He did not seek her out. And while that should have made her very happy, it angered her. He obviously believed his brother.

  Isabel chose not to go near the lord’s table or the hall. Instead, she hid in the kitchen. Until she heard a woman’s shriek followed by uproarious male laughter. Isabel hurried to the hall. She stopped in her tracks and watched in horror as Wulfson and Ioan fought over the maid Sarah. Isabel rushed to reprimand them when Sarah turned to face her. Her eyes smiled as she teased the men. Lyn made the mistake of setting a large platter of roasted fowl on the table near Ioan, who ripped a juicy leg from one of the birds, then grabbed the buxom flame-haired maid to his chest. He kissed her full on the mouth. When Lyn bit a hunk of Ioan’s drumstick and half chewed it before she kissed him back, Isabel knew they were not in need of her help.

  Her gaze rose to where Rohan sat. Her blood warmed. He watched her intently. She quickly turned from him and back to the kitchen, where she found a small bit of solace. As she busied herself with chores, Isabel could not help the wild flutter of her heart, or as the shrill laughter of the village girls mingled with the deep voices of the knights, she could not still the way her blood coursed hotly through her limbs.

  The night held the full promise to end in wanton debauchery. Isabel slipped out of the hot kitchen to catch her breath and cool down. She also did not want to listen to the maids giggle and the men chortle. She stepped back against the hard, cold stone of the wall outside the kitchen and watched Wulfson stride with Lyn over one shoulder and Sarah over the other toward the stable. Ioan and Rhys followed, calling out to the selfish knight to share. Isabel shook her head, and despite her morose mood, she could not help a small smile. Mayhap it was good for Rohan’s men and her people to ease some of their tension. Henri’s appearance today had left a dark, tense pall over Rossmoor. An eruption was imminent. ’Twas good that the men and the women could find pleasure.

  Isabel sighed. No doubt, as the summer grew hot and humid, the shire would swell in population. Just as Isabel was about to move back into the kitchen, she heard Rohan’s deep voice call to one of his men, “For what I
have in mind, ’twill only take a moment of my time, and I am willing to share this piece!” A female giggle followed.

  Isabel’s stomach lurched. Why Rohan’s announcement caused her such pain she could not fathom. Had she not told him to slake his lust elsewhere? She peeked around the corner and saw the recent widow Gwyneth tossed over his shoulder like a sack of turnips, her laughter giving away her excitement. Rohan looked up and caught Isabel’s stare in the darkness. The torches burned bright around her, and she had no doubt he saw her. The fire in his eyes faded. Yet he continued his bold stride to the stable. He slapped his hand down on Gwyneth’s bottom, and she squealed in delight.

  Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Isabel hurried back into the kitchen. She didn’t stop her retreat. She moved through the great room and into the hall, where the rest of Rohan’s men drank and sang like squires having their first cup of ale. Keeping her head down, she hurried up the great stairway to the lord’s chamber, where she quickly gathered her few possessions. Isabel kept her composure until she returned to her solar. She was glad to find it empty. Save for Enid, there were no other ladies to find rest here.

  Isabel paced the floor, wondering at herself and the man who had completely turned her life inside out and upside down. He was a boor, a lout, a knave. He was ill-mannered and brash. He was bold, and he was a Norman! Why, then, did she feel as if he at this moment had betrayed her? She was nothing to him. He was nothing to her. Then why her anger? Jealousy ripped through her like a wounded boar after a hunter.

  Dear Lord, he believed she had lain with her betrothed and mayhap carried his child! Then he turned around and insinuated in front of his men and her people that she may be barren! How could she care for such a man?

  Isabel cried out. Nay! She did not care for him. He was not worth it! He would be gone soon. Or mayhap not, but either way, what could he offer her? And she him? She shook her head and paced anew. Nay, she could not, would not, consider any form of attachment to him. ’Twas only a girl’s fantasy. He had awakened the woman in her, and she was drawn to him only for that reason. She crossed herself. ’Twas not holy for a maid to crave a man’s hands and lips on her body…or more. Most especially if that man was not her husband.

  Isabel flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the embroidered canopy. She wondered what Rohan did at that very moment. Did he touch Gwyneth as he had touched her? Did he whisper sweet words of love to her? Would the summer solstice find Gwyneth heavy with Rohan’s child? Isabel fisted her hands and punched the mattress. “Jesu!” Jealousy was a bitter balm to swallow. She popped up from the bed and began to pace again. Fury, longing, and sadness warred in her heart, and try as she might to say it nay, it affected her more deeply than any emotion she had ever experienced. She did not like it. And worst of all, she knew there was not a single thing she could do to stop it.

  Isabel flung open the door and strode downstairs. She scanned the hall for Rohan, but he was not there amongst his men and several of the village girls. Her stomach roiled. Aye, she knew where he was and what he was about. If she had no pride, she’d march straight down to the stable and yank Gwyneth’s blond hair out of her head strand by strand, then geld the Norman she lay with!

  Guided by a demon she had no name for, Isabel moved through the hall, and past the giggling women and smiling men, and shoved open the front doors to the manor. Hard chilled air filled her chest, and she welcomed the pain of it.

  Fifteen

  Rohan stood at a trough outside the stall he’d just stepped from. His loins burned hot. The sounds of heavy panting and women’s cries of pleasure crashed around him, like a tight hand around his cock. He clenched his jaw and dunked his head into the icy water a second time. The shock of the cold chased his lusty thoughts of the woman in the manor away for a brief moment or two. He welcomed it. He held his head below the water until he could not breathe. He pulled his head out of the frigid water and shook it, sending icy water everywhere.

  The wench he had taken from the hall giggled in the stall next to where he stood. Rohan wiped his arm across his face, drying it some. He hiked up his garters, stepping away from the stall where Thorin enjoyed the spoils of Rohan’s hunt. Not that it was much of a pursuit. The wench had fallen into his lap, and when she felt his throbbing cock, she manipulated him to hewn stone. However, he had not been able to find release with the wench. Her scent, her breath, her rough skin did not appeal to him. He had handed her over to Thorin, who had more ale than he and was not nearly as particular this night. He left them to their robust coupling and strode back to the manor.

  As he crossed the courtyard, a small, dark body darting toward the bailey caught his attention. He looked up to find the guards, while alert, looking past the bailey to the village. Rohan’s blood surged anew. He knew the small form well. He followed.

  Isabel met a man near the opening of a large hut. Rohan’s blood boiled. Was it the Saxon? She ducked in. He hurried to the doorway and listened.

  “How fare they, Ralph?” Isabel asked.

  “Most are better, milady, but several rage with the fever. Blythe works hard to cool them with water, but it does not help.”

  “Milady, the damage is so terrible!” the girl cried.

  “Do not stop, Blythe. Sometimes it takes days to break the fever. Come, fetch more water, and show me to those who need us most. I will stay with you,” Isabel comforted.

  Rohan stepped back as the girl hurried from the hut. He debated whether to demand that Isabel return to him. Yet he knew she would fight him tooth and nail. Especially now that she suspected his romp with Gwyneth. ’Twas his right as a man, and had she not demanded he slake his lust between another’s thighs? Rohan growled low. The maid had poisoned him! He no longer found what most men would consider fine fare acceptable. And the flaxen-haired wench was comely. Her teeth were good, and she had a full figure a man could lose himself in for many a night. Yet he wanted another. His desire was so great he could not savor the dish before him. Jesu!

  Rohan swiped his hand across his face. He was acting like a milksop of a boy! He turned on his heel and whistled to a guard who patrolled the bailey wall. “See that the lady Isabel is escorted back to the manor when she is done with her work here.”

  “Aye,” the guard said, and moved toward the hut.

  Rohan grabbed the man hard by the shoulder. “Do not let her out of your sight, Robert, or you will pay with my sword buried in your gullet.”

  The younger man swallowed hard. “You may consider her returned safely to the hall, Rohan.”

  Rohan debated staying and waiting, but he would be damned if he would let the wench know he followed her.

  The hall had quieted considerably since he left it. The torches were dimmed, and sated bodies lay sprawled on the floor and strewn pallets. A likely lot of knights they were. Yet Rohan knew his men had to release their tension. They had fought too long and too hard with no respite. Aye, let them have this night. For tomorrow would find them back on their horses in search of the cowardly louts who destroyed for the sheer love of the kill.

  Rohan glanced over at the hearth where Manhku watched him. He nodded to his man, in no mood for conversation, and jogged up the stairs to what he knew would be a torture chamber.

  As he lay back on the linens and furs of the great bed, Isabel’s heather scent swirled around him like a living thing. He closed his eyes, and instead of fighting it, he opened his senses to her. His cock throbbed with his need for her body. Rohan growled like a wounded animal and took his shaft into his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut at the pressure and cursed Isabel for the witch she was.

  Rohan woke long before the first crow of the cock. He cleaned and dressed. As he stepped down the stairway, he grinned. His men snored happily, no doubt reliving their conquests of the night before. “Rouse yourselves, men!” Rohan called. Muffled groans and pained moans filled the hall.

  He kicked several of them in the feet. “Clothe yourselves, and break the fast. We have work to do!” Just as Roh
an was about to open the heavy doors, they opened from the outside. He scowled. They had not been bolted?

  A weary Isabel slipped through. With her head bent, she moved straight toward him. When she bumped into his chest, Rohan’s blood quickened. His release last night had done nothing to temper his want of her.

  Isabel cried out, and as she moved away from him, he grasped her by the arm to keep her from falling backward. “What brings you into the hall, Isabel?”

  Despite the fatigue that marred her features, she yanked her arm from his grasp. “It is of no concern to you!”

  He grinned. So the maid had her dander up, did she? “Aye, ’tis my concern. Why were you not abed?” he asked, knowing full well where she had spent the night.

  Isabel stiffened and notched her chin to look up at him. Her violet eyes sparked furiously. “Mayhap I had my own rendezvous.”

  Although he knew she taunted him with her insinuation, the implication soured his mood. The vision of Isabel hot and panting beneath a faceless man as he pumped into her infuriated him. He yanked her close to him. “Should proof positive be given to me, Isabel, you will feel the lash on that silk-skinned back of yours.”

  Instead of pulling away from him, Isabel moved toward him. Her soft scent wafted up to his nostrils. His grip tightened around her arm. “What is good for the gander is not good for the goose?”

  His jaw tightened. “Do not jest with me, Isabel.”

  She moved closer still, so that now the ripeness of her left breast pressed against his hauberk. She slid her hand down the arm clasping hers and moved it to her right breast. Rohan hiked in a sharp breath. Then she moved it up to her neck and pressed his fingers there. “Once I heal from my lover’s rough play, I will tutor you in how it is done.” She leaned closer toward him, and Rohan thought his body would come apart at every seam. Fury mangled heatedly with his fierce desire for her. He flung her hand away and stepped away from her.