Three Nights With the Princess

by Betina Krahn

  * * *

  Thera clung to her horse’s mane, praying with everything in her that Saxxe Rouen and Gasquar LeBruit would still be there. And as they spotted the craggy wall of rock and raced straight for it, her prayers were answered. A huge, dark figure loomed up from the top of the rock face . . . shaggy, broad-shouldered, standing with his long legs spread and his huge fists propped on his hips. The archangel Michael couldn’t have been a more welcome sight at that moment. Saxxe Rouen . . . all she could think was that they were saved.

  “Soldiers!” she called, reining up beneath the cliff.

  “So I see,” Saxxe shouted down, leaning back on one leg.

  “Like the ones yesterday!” she panted out, glancing back over her shoulder. She could see that some of them now brandished weapons.

  “So they are,” he declared, scrutinizing the men bearing down on them. “You do have a way of attracting trouble, demoiselle.” His infuriatingly casual reaction to her peril made it clear that he would not volunteer help this time; she would have to ask for it.

  “Well?” Thera’s pride flamed. Seeing him in his full, arrogant glory once more, her relief wilted. Perhaps they could still outride . . . She tossed a glance over her shoulder and made out the shapes of the soldiers’ helmets and the beards on their faces. She whipped back with a groan. “Will you help us?”

  “Yea, demoiselle—for a price.”

  “Curse you, Rouen—I don’t have time to haggle!” Nor did they have time to ride around the hill; the riders were already rumbling onto the broad slope leading to the cliff.

  “Then you will have to pay my price, eh, demoiselle?”

  “Ohhh—wretch!”

  Their only chance was to go straight up the craggy rock itself, she realized, and she slid to the ground, pulling Lillith down with her. “Climb!” The snarls on the soldiers’ faces were now clearly visible, and she searched frantically for footholds and handholds in the rock.

  “What is it—what do you want?”

  “Another night,” he demanded, kneeling on one knee near the edge of the cliff, watching her desperate climb. “But this time, a night of pleasure.”

  “Horses! Take our horses inste—Aghhh!” Her foot slipped and she grabbed at the rock, dislodging a trickle of loose stone down the craggy cliff. She glanced down at both the rocks below and the grizzled black-clad forms dismounting. Sweet Mother of—she could see the whites of their eyes! “Clothes. You can have my clothes—every stitch!”

  “Pleasure, demoiselle—a whole night of it!” His voice rolled down over her, unhurried and seemingly unswayed by her peril. “You may spend this night in pleasure with me . . . or in terror with the lot of them. Which will it be?”

  The soldiers’ grunts and growls roiled up from below, and she could feel the men reaching. brushing her ankles . . . could almost feel their vile hands binding her limbs and pawing beneath her skirts.

  “You!” she cried, stretching toward him.

  In a flash, Saxxe dropped down onto the edge of the cliff and reached to clasp her wrists. He put his back into it, pulled, and gradually hauled her up and over the rocky ledge. She scrambled back from the edge, her heart pounding wildly, and found herself caught in his arms, staring up into his fierce, glowing eyes.

  “A wise choice, demoiselle,” he declared with a lusty grin, shoving to his feet and bearing her back to the safety of the nearby boulders. When she looked for Lillith, she found Gasquar LeBruit carrying her to the rocks as well, and she stretched out her hands to clasp Lillith tightly.

  Saxxe wheeled and ripped his blade from the scabbard across his back, setting the blue steel ringing. He glanced at the soldiers dragging themselves over the edge of the cliff, then looked back at his friend with a fierce smile.

  “Gasquar—we fight!”

  They met the soldiers full out, with a roar that made the blood stand still in Thera’s veins. The attackers rushed Saxxe by twos, then threes, and he stopped their charge with an expression that could almost have been called pleasure. He wielded his massive blade with both hands, swinging freely, slashing with mighty strokes that originated in the depths of his broad back. Each angle of his blade, each shift of his massive shoulders, was calculated for deadly impact. With her heart in her throat, she saw him fall back under a blow, then, when his opponent lunged inside the deadly arc of his blade, he reversed and darted in like a striking hawk.

  The clang of metal striking metal tolled across the hilltop and reverberated in Thera’s head and heart. She squeezed Lillith’s hands and flinched and gasped with each hit he took . . . until suddenly his body wrenched violently and there was a gurgling cry. Her heart stopped until one of his opponents crumpled and fell to the ground with a thud.

  Slowly, relentlessly, he took his other opponents down, one by one. But Thera hardly saw the strokes that felled them; she was transfixed by the savage grace of his movements, the raw, elemental power coiled within his body, and the chilling aura of control about him. She had never imagined a human form moving like his, had never suffered such wild, nerve-searing excitement in her life. It was both terrifying and fascinating, and together those seductive feelings eclipsed her horror at witnessing a blade battle at close range. For a few moments her personal peril was forgotten in the hypnotic fury of his fighting.

  When his own opponents lay in heaps at his feet, Saxxe stood for a moment with his chest heaving, then charged in to help Gasquar. There was another cry, and she came to her senses in time to see one soldier flailing backward off the cliff ’s edge . . . and another going down onto his knees, then falling over, clutching his belly.

  Suddenly all was eerily still, and Saxxe and Gasquar were the only two combatants left standing. They staggered toward each other, panting, scarcely able to keep their feet. The sound of horse hooves drifting up from the slope below sent them stumbling to the cliff’s edge. A lone soldier on horseback was racing down the slope away from them. They clapped hands on each other’s shoulders, bracing each other up.

  “Let us hope he does not have more friends nearby,” Gasquar said, drawing a nod of agreement from Saxxe.

  Then, remembering, Saxxe released Gasquar and staggered back to Thera, still clutching his red-stained blade. His body was slick with sweat and his face glowed like fired bronze. He planted himself before her, staring down at her with eyes that burned darkly with unspent passions.

  “Now you are safe, demoiselle.” His hot-eyed grin sent a shiver down her spine. “From everyone but me.”

  * * *

  “Not a bad fight, eh?” Gasquar declared with a broad gesture as they rode purposefully toward the village through rolling hills and vales of trees edged with the delicate spring-green of new leaves. Lillith made a point of lifting her chin and ignoring him . . . which deterred him none at all. “Not the worst odds we have faced, Saxxe and me. In Damascus, once, we stood for two days and nights, defending the tower of the garrison against scores of Turks.”

  “A likely story,” Lillith muttered, rolling her eyes and glancing at Thera, who looked straight ahead, trying not to listen.

  “Alors, there was the time in Alexandria when we fought with Louis the Pious against the Saracens . . . scores of them to each one of us. And another time, in Algiers, when fighting for the Caliph of Shalizar, we each took on a hundred of the sea-raiding infidels.”

  “I could swear I feel the khamsin once again,” Saxxe muttered, wetting a finger and lifting it into the breeze. Gasquar laughed.

  “You fought with King Louis? In his Crusade?” Thera turned, pinning the boastful Frenchman with a skeptical gaze.

  “But of course. Some years ago. It was the start of our travels. To Syria first, with good Louis, then to Damietta and on to Alexandria we went.” He sighed at the remembrance. “Our hearts were set on freeing Jerusalem.”

  “And our heads on making a fortune . . . like the brave and stalwart knights of the cross before us,” Saxxe added wryly. Thera glared at him, then looked back to Gasquar, shocked by
something he had said.

  “You fought for an Arab lord? A Muslim?”

  “A caliph, oui,” Gasquar corrected with a grin. “And it was also there that we encountered the most memorable odds of our lives.” He leaned toward her in his saddle and lowered his voice to a lusty rasp. “In the fat caliph’s harem . . . there were two hundred women to each of us. We were trapped for days, Saxxe and I, valiantly wielding our blades.” His dark Gascon eyes twinkled and he chuckled wickedly. “But try as we might, we were unable to vanquish them all.”

  Thera sat straighter in the saddle, reddening and suppressing the urge to look at Saxxe. But it was no use; in her mind’s eye she could still see him as he had been in the early morning sunlight . . . his body strung taut one instant and moving with fluid ease the next. Then for one breathtaking moment she suffered a vision of him in a sea of women . . . grappling, writhing, his body hot and quivering, his eyes burning as they had in the darkness last night. Merciful Catherine! Did he conquer women with the same force with which he fought men?

  Shocked by the thought, she refocused her eyes outward and caught him looking at her from beneath lowered brows . . . his eyes dark and oddly penetrating, as if he had read her thoughts. The twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth annoyed her. “So . . . you have fought for infidel Muslims as well as Christian lords,” she said, covering her embarrassment with disdain. “Well, that certainly accounts for the nobility of your bearing and the delicacy of your manners.”

  “Yea, I have adopted a number of Muslim ways,” he said irritably. “I speak the truth, I take only what is mine, and I always fight to win.” After a moment, his ire somewhat spent, he continued: “And of course . . . like all good infidel Muslims, I also eat babies and am growing a sixth finger on each hand.” When her eyes widened and flew to his hands, he gave a harsh laugh which drew a chuckle from Gasquar.

  Her face flamed and she kicked her mount to urge it forward, to ride ahead several paces. Six fingers—like Old Scratch himself was reported to have! It wouldn’t have surprised her if it were true. Yet her pride would not burn hot enough to purge the lingering image of his hungry, knowing eyes. And that taunting vision weighed on her mind, reminding her that she was in his debt once again. Another night. Her eyes narrowed. She’d sooner spend the night being pickled at the bottom of a tanner’s vat than in his moldy old furs and blankets.

  But she wouldn’t be just in his blankets this time, she realized. She had pledged him a night of pleasure. Frantically, she thought ahead to the village of LeBeau and Thomas Rennet’s tavern and stable. Once they arrived at good Thomas’s house, she would have to find something to substitute. Silver, perhaps . . . he had mentioned silver.

  With her mind so occupied, she hadn’t noticed the sun sliding behind a veil of haze. When Lillith called her name, she glanced up and noticed wisps of gray in the sky ahead. On the breeze she caught a faint smell of smoke. The ring of blade metal sounded behind her, and she started as Saxxe and Gasquar thundered past her with their swords drawn. They rode hard for the top of the next hill, then reined up sharply at the sight of whatever lay beyond it. She and Lillith urged their mounts faster to join them, then stared in disbelief at the village below.

  It was indeed LeBeau. But most of the modest houses, cottages, and byres now lay in ruins, their stone hearths and timbers jutting like picked bones from among heaps of smoking cinders. Here and there lay crumpled human forms, and around the two or three structures left unburned, a number of armed men garbed in chillingly familiar black brandished their weapons and bullied a group of villagers.

  As they watched, the soldiers entered one of the remaining dwellings, rousting the householders and sending them sprawling into the dust outside. Sounds of women wailing and wood crashing wafted up on the low, disturbing drone of flames as the mercenaries reappeared, carrying out sacks of plunder . . . then set a torch to the house.

  “We have to stop them!” Thera choked out, kneeing her mount. But before she had gone two paces, Saxxe wheeled his horse across her path and seized her reins. “Out of the way! Thomas Rennet is down there and I have to help him!”

  “Who is this Thomas Rennet?” he demanded, glowering.

  “He is one of my—”

  “Please, my lady!” Lillith cried, straining to catch Thera’s sleeve and keep her from revealing that Thomas was one of her royal subjects. When Thera turned a furious look on her, she answered with a wordless plea that reminded Thera of her own precarious position.

  “One of your what?” Saxxe demanded, watching unspoken words passing between them. After a moment, Thera looked back at him, her eyes clear and earnest in a way he had never seen them before. Whether it was because of this “Thomas” or not, she was genuinely distraught over the fate of the village.

  “One of my father’s agents. He is one of our people,” she answered with an urgency that struck a chord of truth in him. “I have to help them.”

  Saxxe glanced over his shoulder, and his jaw flexed as he studied the grim sights of the ransacked village and motionless forms. His gaze fixed on the soldiers who had wreaked that havoc. “Black again. No colors and no banner. They look to be part of the same force that invaded Nantes. Perhaps an outriding party.” He turned a questioning look on Gasquar.

  “Or forerunners. They could be on the move,” Gasquar offered with a wary frown. “That bull Spaniard said they had battles ahead.”

  “Who do they ride for?” Saxxe wondered aloud. “Who has loosed this dark scourge on the countryside? Black mail . . .” He glanced at Gasquar. “Do you recall any noble who bestows such armor?” Gasquar shrugged and Saxxe scowled. “And no escutcheons on their shields . . .”

  “Stand out of the way.” Thera tried to jerk her reins from him, but he refused to release them. Instead, he searched the terrain and pulled her horse into motion, heading for the cover of a stand of trees which was just down the back of the hill, out of sight of the village. “Let me go—”

  “And just what will you do, demoiselle?” Saxxe demanded, leaning across the pommel of his saddle. “Ride in and give the score of them a stout lashing with your tongue? You’d find yourself flat on your back in a trice . . . suffering the same fate you narrowly escaped two nights ago.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said with a frantic edge. “Thomas has a wife and children. It is my duty to see that his household is—”

  “You can do nothing, demoiselle,” Gasquar added, shaking his head grimly.

  “They speak truly, my lady,” Lillith said, pleading with Thera through tear-filled eyes. “There is naught we can do now. Once you are safely home . . . you can get your family to send back help for Thomas and the village.”

  Once you are safely home. Lillith’s pleas finally took hold of Thera’s reeling thoughts. By herself, without escort and resources, she could no more defend good Thomas Rennet and his family against violence than she could defend herself. And there was the much larger problem to consider—safeguarding her isolated kingdom.

  Thoughts of home produced another devastating realization, the enormity of which swamped her. How would she get home now, without Thomas’s help?

  Saxxe beheld unguarded feelings in her face for the first time. He watched her transforming with each blink of an eye; from haughty, self-contained noble to passionate young woman to vulnerable maid. Her unexpected softening produced a strange sinking in his chest, and to counter that alarming slide, he straightened in his saddle and scowled.

  “Who are you, demoiselle?” he demanded. “The truth. Who is your father, and where are his lands?”

  Thera’s eyes were as dark as an evening sky, and he could see with startling clarity that she was struggling to raise her defenses. “My father is a . . . baron . . . who holds a castellany in the west for the Duc de Brittany.”

  “The barony of Aric, then.” He rocked back on his saddle and narrowed his gaze on her. There was no such castle or holding in what he knew of Brittany, but he gave a contemplative no
d and tilted his head to study her from a slightly different angle. It was probably futile to ask more, knowing she would only lie, but he couldn’t help voicing his questions aloud. “And what were you doing alone in Nantes with only your lady companion?”

  “I was not alone.... I had an escort.” Her pride flared briefly. “But yesterday, as we tried to leave the city for home, we were set upon by those devils in black, and my escort—” She looked down at her whitened fingers as they gripped the pommel. “I did not see them again . . . my father’s men.”

  Saxxe shifted on his seat, considering the enigmatic young beauty. What a strange creature she was, this arrogant and infuriating demoiselle who issued orders like a military commander, kissed like the greenest of virgins, and kept her word to sleep in a man’s arms, even though it meant holding him at knife point all night long.

  There was a great deal he didn’t know about her. But he knew enough not to let her slip through his fingers again.

  “Then it appears you are without protection, without food and supplies, and without guide or escort,” he said, watching her reassembling her self-possession. “And by your own word, you are still several days from home. I repeat my offer, demoiselle.” He flicked a questioning look at Gasquar, who merely raised an eyebrow in agreement. “Gasquar and I, we could escort you home . . . for a price.”

  “A price?” Thera looked up into his dark, bearded countenance and found an acquisitive gleam in his eye. He not only looked and smelled like a mangy wolf, he had the predatory instinct of one as well!

  “Another night of pleasure, demoiselle,” he announced, cutting into her irritable thoughts. When she reddened and glanced at Lillith, he leaned an elbow on the pommel of his saddle with a half smile that proclaimed his advantage. “You owe me one night already. Give me another and I will see you safely home.”