Sword for His Lady

by Mary Wine

  * * *

  “Damned bastards have fled to the high ground.” Ambrose gestured with his sword. The light of the fires shimmered off the blood on the blade.

  Ramon looked up, but the night hid Jacques.

  “The bastard won’t even face you.” Ambrose spat on the ground.

  “He craves only the prize.” Ramon looked around the village. A dozen homes were smoldering ruins now, the hen houses emptied, and milk cows missing from their pens. “Which he has for the moment.”

  Ramon dismounted and walked over to a fallen man. He kicked the body, turning it over, but he kept his sword ready, in case this was an ambush.

  The body flopped over, revealing a slit throat. Ramon noticed the Raeburn crest on the man’s tunic. “Raeburn is usually not satisfied with livestock.”

  He didn’t care for the sense of foreboding brewing inside him. It churned and grew as he turned and looked toward the high ground that was still shrouded in darkness.

  “It’s trickery,” he decided. “Mount up! We ride for the keep!”

  His men responded instantly. Horses snorted and armor shifted as they regained the saddle and turned their horses toward Thistle Keep. Only a dozen men were left behind to guard the village and help put out the fires.

  Ramon kept his errant thoughts at bay as he covered the ground back to Thistle Keep. He couldn’t lose his sense of command.

  But he worried that Isabel had been headstrong and not barred the keep. He admired her spirit, but she was too naive to understand the sort of man Raeburn was. Trickery came easily to him, as did riding through a village with swords slashing to ensure that Isabel would have reason to open the doors of her keep to the wounded.

  He prayed that he wouldn’t be too late. Jacques wouldn’t make the mistake of allowing her the opportunity to escape a second time.

  Thistle Keep was set on the high ground, and the cleared yard around it allowed the moonlight to illuminate it. A man hobbled up to the steps, dragging one limp leg up the steps as he groaned with the effort. He fell against the door and pounded on it with his fist.

  “Shelter…mercy, lady!”

  His cries were pitiful, the moonlight shimmering off a wet patch in his tunic. The metallic scent of blood drifted on the night air.

  The tiny window opened, giving the man hope.

  “Mercy!”

  There was a groan as the bar moved. Ramon urged his stallion faster as he raised his sword.

  “Hold the door! Hold the door!” Ramon yelled.

  Flattened against the sides of the keep, Jacques’s men waited to push in the doors. The man looked back, surprised as Ramon and his knight bore down on him. He turned his head and let out a terrified sound as he realized he was surrounded.

  The men cried out, raising their swords to meet the oncoming charge. Ramon veered off, riding behind the storerooms, and found what he sought.

  “Jacques Raeburn!” he roared as he raised his sword high in challenge.

  Jacques was with his captains, his helmet adorned with a gold baron’s coronet. There was no honorable way to refuse the challenge, and his captains were guiding their mounts away as Ramon leaned into the charge.

  Their swords met with a loud clang. Ramon used his knees to control his horse as he lifted his sword high and swung it around toward his enemy.

  “Preying on peasants again?” he demanded as Jacques ducked and avoided the slice of the blade. “Dismount and face me!”

  “Play the chivalrous fool if you like, Segrave!” Jacques replied. “Make an easy target of yourself and I’ll present your head to my bride as a wedding gift!”

  “Isabel will not be yours!”

  Ramon guided his horse around for another pass but Jacques was retreating, his stallion gaining ground as it was allowed to run.

  There was a thunder of hooves as Ramon gave chase and his men followed. But Jacques made the forest, the trees swallowing him and his men. The ample leaves blocked out the moonlight.

  Ramon pulled up with a vicious curse.

  “Agreed,” Ambrose said next to him. “That bastard has planned his game well.”

  “Not well enough to claim victory.”

  The knowledge brought little comfort. Ramon knew that the man would be back. He turned his mount around and swept the yard before dismounting.

  “Rest while you can,” he advised his men. “You may be certain this fight is not finished. Post a watch and keep your eyes open! Or risk waking with your throats slit.”

  He climbed the steps, reaching down to hook the peasant man’s arm and haul him to his feet. The man shivered, barely able to stay on his feet.

  Ramon pounded on the door. “Open the doors. We have vanquished the raiders for now.”

  The small window opened. Ramon pushed his visor up and there was a muffled cry of joy from within. He heard the groan of the bar being lifted away by thick chains. The doors creaked as they were opened.

  Relief didn’t sweep through him until he spied Isabel.

  When it did, it nearly buckled his knees.

  * * *

  Her insides quivered.

  It had naught to do with the blood surrounding her. But everything to do with the knight returning to her.

  And Ramon was coming back to her.

  It was there in his dark gaze, the fierce light of determination as he swept the hall until he found her. She stared back, drinking in the sight of him. She straightened, rising from the patient she tended, drawn to Ramon.

  Her champion.

  His captains crowded around him, drawing his attention. She looked back to the man she tended but felt relief surging through her.

  And gratitude.

  Without Ramon, they’d have been lost.

  God help them. The sun rose, but her belly was knotted as she looked out at the burned shells of homes lost to the raid. She walked toward the cemetery with the rest of the people of Thistle Keep to bury those who hadn’t been spared. The newly turned earth nauseated her. Father Gabriel intoned prayers in Latin. Widows wept and orphaned children stood looking bewildered beside the graves of their parents.

  Isabel tended to the duty of finding them homes, finally taking one boy to the church, because with so many men recently departed for the Crusade, there was no home that could take another mouth to feed. Even though service to the church was honorable, her heart ached for the choices she was depriving the boy of. He sucked on his thumb, looking to her with hopeful brown eyes. One young monk offered him a hand.

  Isabel nodded and stood outside the doors of the church. The little boy looked at the monk and finally reached up to grasp his hand. The monk’s sackcloth barely fluttered as he led the boy through the church toward the corridors only those devoted to the holy order walked.

  It was the only way to ensure he did not starve. But her heart was heavy as she walked back to Thistle Keep. The lack of sleep was wearing on everyone. No stone was being hauled today, as the men needed to preserve their strength in case of another raid.

  Ramon appeared on the steps, still in his armor with his sword hanging from his waist. It was late afternoon, the sun beginning to set.

  But night did not offer the restful respite everyone needed. It was full of threats, and a shiver went down her back as she looked at Ramon and saw his determination.

  “Isabel.” His tone was grave. His expression tightened in distaste before he moved down the steps, with his captains and men following him. He stopped in front of her and hooked his hands into his belt. Sensation prickled on her nape as she faced him.

  “Jacques sees you as a prize.”

  She swallowed the lump trying to form in her throat. She’d be damned if she was going to let Jacques frighten her. He was to be detested.

  “I know it.”

  Ramon eyed her. “You will accept escort from my men.”


  Two of them left their lord and walked to stand behind her.

  She shook her head but Ramon continued without mercy. “From the moment you leave your chamber, lady, until you retire for the night.”

  Ambrose was watching her from beneath hooded eyes, his carefree expression gone. In fact, it felt as though they were all different people than they had been just the night before. Playfulness seemed as lost as childhood to them all.

  “Do not be difficult, Isabel,” Ramon implored her. “I do not wish to be unkind, but Jacques Raeburn will not stop until there is no longer a prize to be had.”

  Ramon’s gaze was hard. It sickened her to see it, but what horrified her was the grim resignation in his face. The same resignation was lodged in her chest.

  “We will track him down,” Ramon promised in a deadly tone.

  He didn’t have to.

  That knowledge flared through her. Ramon owed her naught. If he departed for his own land with his knights, she could not label him a blackguard. But he took care of his people, and he was building a keep on her land even though she had refused to wed him.

  What scared her was the certainty in his eyes that he would find and fight Jacques.

  She couldn’t bear his death.

  “Do not engage him,” she pleaded. “I will stay with the escort. Raeburn will tire of waiting and seek a new prize. A simpler one to claim.”

  “I know him, Isabel.” Ramon spoke gravely. “He will not tire easily. There will be more blood spilled before he accepts defeat. I will not allow him to do this to your people, Isabel. It is my duty and that of my knights. But he knows such of my character and is likely counting on it.”

  “Yet this is not your fight—”

  He made a slashing motion with his hand. “I know Raeburn. He will not stop unless he is forced to. He will raze every field before giving up on his quest. You think I can turn my back?”

  “No. That is not your nature.”

  Every field.

  It was too horrifying to consider and yet she had to face reality. She looked past Ramon, to where the smoke lingered in the air, darkening the summer sky. She recalled too clearly the newly filled graves and the faces of those who lost their loved ones.

  She’d failed them. Failed them by indulging herself in a game of flirtation. Girls might enjoy such things, but she was the lady of the keep. She had her duty to think of. Her people to safeguard through her alliances.

  “Then let us deny Raeburn his prize.” Isabel drew herself up. “I will wed you.”

  Ramon’s lips twitched just a fraction. There was a glitter of appreciation in his dark eyes that she drank in. He offered her his hand and she took it to the soft sound of his men’s approval.

  “To the church.”

  She expected Ramon to sound victorious, but instead she heard happiness.

  And it was a very sweet sound.

  * * *

  Father Gabriel was a man sworn to dedication and piety, but he smiled brightly as he performed the wedding. There was also a very arrogant lift of his chin that Isabel admitted the man was allowed. Or at least it was in keeping with his holy vows because she was at last bending to his demands that she wed.

  You are more interested in Ramon’s demands…

  It was a solid truth but one that didn’t shame her. Someone had woven her a crown of greens, and the people of Thistle Keep were crowded around them with hastily scrubbed faces shining in the evening sun.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever lived a day so full of extremes.

  She prayed never to do so again, but she did not lament. The priest raised his hand and made the sign of the cross.

  “You are married,” he pronounced in a clear, unfaltering voice. “You may bestow the kiss of peace upon your bride.”

  Ramon tightened his grip on her hands and leaned forward. She squeezed his fingers back. Doubt tried to quell her happy mood, but she ignored it.

  There was no certainty in life except death.

  His kiss was light and quick. Her people let out a cheer as his men roared with approval and banged on their mail shirts with their swords.

  At last her return to the keep was a journey of hope. Their supper was simple, but Ramon led her to the high table where more greens were laid out in celebration. In spite of their exhaustion, there was a festive air in the hall. A few musicians lent their skill to the moment, playing tunes that had the younger women dancing once they had eaten. Children laughed, making the most of the unexpected festivities.

  In jest, they pulled and tugged on her robes, leaving Ramon watching over the rim of his drinking bowl. He lifted it in a toast as the women laughed at him. The children chanted as they circled Isabel, but their mothers broke in and dragged her toward the stairs before the dance was finished, intent on taking her to her bedchamber.

  She giggled and slapped a hand over her mouth as she heard herself.

  “Well, ’tis right good it is to hear you happy,” Mildred remarked as she unlaced Isabel’s over robe. There were still four other women in the room and they happily pulled the loosened garment up and over her head. They were witnesses, there to testify that she was healthy and not marked by either disease or Satan.

  “Aye. Glad I am.”

  “A blessing,” one woman remarked.

  “We’ll certainly sleep sounder this night,” another added.

  Isabel was wide awake. Excitement was prickling along her limbs, warming her as two of the women raised the bedding for her. She crawled into the bed and found it odd to lie on her back. Her cheeks turned scarlet as the women all sent her amused, knowing looks.

  “A fine bridegroom you have to look forward to,” someone stated boldly. “I hear he’s built well beneath his tunic…”

  Isabel gasped, but the line between peasant and lady seemed to be missing tonight. There was no polite phrasing, no modest flutters of eyelashes as the experienced women held their tongues in her presence. They were taking delight in their teasing. Yet they were not the only ones.

  There was a crashing sound on the stairs and a snarl before the door was pushed in and Ambrose shoved Ramon forward as the two fought like two bears. More of Ramon’s captains joined the fray as the women lined up in front of the bed.

  “We’re getting him ready for you, lady!” Ambrose informed her with a wolfish grin. “Just one more tunic…”

  “The risk is yours, Ambrose…” Ramon growled and rotated his arms in huge circles to loosen up his shoulders. “Try me if you dare.”

  Ambrose squared off with his master, the rules missing between them as well.

  “That will suffice. Have done with your games.” Mildred’s tone was full of authority. Her age allowed her to take command of the scene. She’d propped her hands on her hips and stood facing the men. They offered her only a few more snickers before they straightened in deference to her and lowered themselves.

  She pointed Ramon’s men toward the open door. They wickedly grinned at Ramon on their way out. Isabel felt her heart accelerating. Anticipation rippled through her, awakening every yearning Ramon had ever inspired in her. Her skin became ultrasensitive, her breasts heavy beneath the thin fabric of her chemise. She craved to be bare and pressed against Ramon.

  What she craved would be hers. She smiled shyly at him. He straightened and his lips curved as he caught sight of her between the women.

  “Good night, goodwives,” he dismissed them.

  There was a soft scoff from one that drew a suspicious look from Isabel.

  “Good night to you, my lord,” Mildred answered. She lowered herself modestly before she pointed at the door. “You will sleep with your captains.”

  “The hell I will,” Ramon bit back. He snapped his mouth shut when he heard how harsh his words were. “Forgive me. Yet I intend to pass the night with my bride.”

 
He gave her a hard look that made her shake her head. “I know not what this is about.”

  Mildred smiled gently, the way she might if she were addressing a child. Isabel cringed, for she knew that smile well. She was certain she was not going to like what Mildred was about to say.

  Not at all.

  “My lady has not bled since her abduction.”

  Ramon drew back, obviously surprised. “Does she bleed now?”

  Isabel shook her head, mortified. She had forgotten how little privacy a wife enjoyed.

  Ramon’s eyes narrowed, his body drawing tense. “Then what is the issue you raise, good nurse?”

  “There will be doubt cast upon your issue if you do not wait to consummate this union until she has bled.”

  Ramon’s complexion darkened and he sent a hard look toward Isabel, his fists tightening. “Did Raeburn—”

  “Nay,” Isabel protested. She shook her head, shuddering at the idea of Jacques’s touch. “He did not.”

  Ramon relaxed.

  “There will still be rumors,” Mildred insisted. The other women nodded. “So you will wait until there is no longer any reason to cast doubt.”

  Another woman entered the room, carrying several lengths of wool that the women standing in front of her took. They shook out the wool and bedded down along the edges of the chamber.

  “Mildred,” Isabel implored.

  But Mildred shook her head and came around the bed. She climbed right into it and settled back against the pillows.

  Ramon was fighting to maintain his temper. He looked at the women and Mildred before stepping over one and scooping Isabel up. She gasped as he settled her against his chest with a satisfied grunt.

  “We shall only follow you, my lord.” Ramon was halfway to the chamber door when Mildred issued her warning. Isabel cringed, her fingers tightening on the neckline of his tunic. “You know my thinking is sound, even if you have no liking for it.”