“Bitch!” he cried, evidently shocked that she might spurn his charms.
Radegunde hauled open the door to the courtyard. Before she could step through it, her attacker roared and lunged after her. She spun to face him and lifted her knife again, more than ready to mar his face for so abusing her. Instead, she was seized from behind again. Someone grabbed a fistful of her kirtle and flung her bodily into the courtyard.
It was Duncan!
Radegunde nearly shouted in her delight. There was no other man she would have been more gladdened to see. Aye, there was something about Duncan, about his level green gaze, that sent a thrill through Radegunde and doubly so in this situation.
Duncan punched the astonished offender in the face, and Radegunde was most pleased to see blood spurt from that man’s nose. He leaped toward Duncan with outrage in his eyes, but Duncan nimbly kicked the man’s feet out from beneath him. The assailant fell heavily to the ground, hitting his head hard on the stone threshold. By the time he opened his eyes, Duncan was sitting upon his chest, a blade at his throat.
He was as quick as she had believed, and as unafraid to do what had to be done.
Radegunde decided she owed Duncan a kiss for his gallantry on this night.
If not more.
“Step aside,” her attacker snarled. “The wench is mine. I saw her first.”
Duncan laughed. “You should wish it to be so. This lass has been mine these three months, since first I glimpsed her in Outremer.”
Radegunde’s lips parted in shock and her heart skipped with delight. Truly? Their thoughts were as one?
Before she could hope overmuch, Duncan cast her a quick glance that might have been conspiratorial. Aye, she saw his argument. A man like this would never believe that a woman had any right to be unmolested much less to choose her lover. He would only abandon her if he believed she was already claimed by another.
Radegunde said naught.
For the moment.
Her heart skipped a beat at just the possibility of there being truth in Duncan’s words.
“She came to meet me,” the villain insisted.
“She came to meet me,” Duncan corrected. “As arranged.”
The man’s eyes had widened at Duncan’s words, but they widened yet more when Duncan cut a fine line across his throat.
“I would advise you not to touch what is mine,” Duncan murmured as he moved the knife with infinite slowness. His blade must have been sharp. The wound was not deep yet it bled readily, leaving a line of red drops across the assailant’s flesh.
It was clear that the lout had lost all his courage for he begged incoherently for mercy.
“If you so much as look at her again, you will taste my blade truly,” Duncan vowed, danger in his tone. The other man nodded slightly, then Duncan stood. He looked down at the fallen villain, who caught his breath and glared at Radegunde.
Duncan kicked him in the groin again, then heaved him back into the kitchen and slammed the door behind him.
Radegunde wanted to cheer. That fiend would molest no other woman this night. Duncan strode to Radegunde, his eyes glinting with such satisfaction that her heart thundered. He wiped the blade of his knife upon his tabard, put it into the scabbard and offered his hand to her.
“Well met, lass,” he said in loud voice. “I am glad that you came to me this night.”
“As am I,” Radegunde agreed, though she did not speak for the benefit of the fallen man. She placed Duncan’s hand upon her waist and closed the distance between him, seeing surprise light his eyes. “I thank you for your aid,” she whispered, then stretched to her toes and kissed him full on the lips.
This night, she would have her every desire.
It would have to suffice for the rest of her days and nights.
This night, she would have Duncan MacDonald.
Radegunde tasted Duncan’s surprise and wished she possessed the skill of the courtesan Christina to entice a man. Enthusiasm would have to suffice. She locked her hands in Duncan’s hair, leaned against him and slanted her mouth over his.
When he froze, she feared that he would deny her touch and step away. She feared that he truly desired only Christina and that her charms were insufficient. But then he made a sound in his throat not unlike a growl of satisfaction, caught her close, and kissed her deeply. Radegunde’s heart thundered with pleasure.
Duncan’s kiss was fine, more splendid even than she had hoped, which was saying a great deal indeed.
* * *
Duncan had not lied to Radegunde.
Indeed, he had confessed more to her than had been his intention.
Oh, he had noted her at first sight at the Temple in Jerusalem, even when she was wan and thin. She had been ill beyond belief when their party had departed, and he had been concerned for her welfare. One so sickened should sleep abed, not ride across Palestine at full gallop. He had been skeptical that she would recover at all. But Radegunde and her lady Ysmaine had been determined not to slow the party, and Duncan had been impressed by the resilience of both.
It was clear that Radegunde was of a healthy disposition, for she had regained her color and her strength with remarkable speed. When the sparkle had reappeared in her dark eyes, he had been hard-pressed to hide his interest in the comely maid with her lively manner. She seemed a person who could find the joy in every circumstance, and he found her cheerfulness most beguiling.
It was his wont to see the shadow, after all, though he had not always been so inclined. He knew the reason for the change in his own manner well enough, and any thought of Gwyneth was sufficient reminder of how little he had to offer one such as Radegunde.
Duncan had no right to encourage any maiden’s affections, or imply that his future was other than he knew it to be. Fergus would not have cared if Duncan wed again, but Duncan knew that no woman deserved a half measure.
Certainly not Radegunde.
But now she assaulted him with a kiss that addled his wits. Desire unfurled within him, filling him with a need he had not felt in years. She was so soft and welcoming, so vital, that he could have lost himself readily in her embrace.
It did not help that Duncan was so relieved to have arrived in timely fashion.
That she felt similarly had to be the impetus behind her kiss and he knew it well, but the salute became incendiary.
Indeed, it had been long since Duncan had been impetuous yet he could not find fault with the change. Radegunde’s fingers were in his hair, her full breasts crushed against his chest and her lips were soft and sweet. He knew immediately that she had never kissed a man thus before, but she learned quickly, mimicking him with such ardor that she set his blood afire. He found himself gathering her closer, lifting her against himself, feasting upon her mouth—and wanting more than he had any right to take. It would have been far too easy to carry her to the stables and introduce her to the pleasures a man and woman could conjure together—and Duncan had no doubt that a night with Radegunde would be a marvel.
Yet at the same time, he felt protective of her innocence. She did not know the fire she kindled and he would not take advantage of that.
Duncan caught Radegunde’s shoulders in his hands and broke their kiss with reluctance, putting distance between them. Even that did not diminish his ardor, for she looked both disheveled and enticing. It was her evident pleasure that tightened all within him. Her lips were ruddy and swollen, her eyes dancing with merriment, and Duncan knew he had never seen a more irresistible woman.
“What are you doing abroad?” he demanded, speaking sternly that she might be recalled to decorum. “You should be safely abed in your lady’s chamber.”
Radegunde grimaced, her expression unrepentant. Indeed, her gaze clung to his lips, and she licked her own once quickly in a way that did little to diminish Duncan’s desire for her. “They are coupling, and nigh as noisy about it as Wulfe and Christina were in Venice. On this night, I cannot meekly retire and listen to that.”
Du
ncan fought a smile, for he could sympathize with her view. Again, though, he endeavored to speak of more practical matters than her fiery kiss. “You did well on this day,” he said. “The reliquary would not have been saved without the efforts of you and your lady.”
She smiled, then eyed him with an appreciation that made his heart skip a beat. “I enjoyed the adventure greatly.” Radegunde’s smile warmed as she surveyed him. “Though I would not mind having a similar reward as the one my lady savors this night.”
Duncan stepped back, knowing he was already tempted to offer her as much. He could not believe she had spoken so boldly, but then, he had noted before that Radegunde was forthright. Indeed, that trait was part of what he admired about her. There was no guile with this maid: she spoke as she thought and he was a man enamored of honesty.
Honesty he would have, though he was certain it would dampen his reaction to her. “And so you came to seek Bartholomew?” Duncan’s tone was dour, for it pricked his pride that this comely maiden must be seeking the affections of a man younger than himself. Her inevitable confession would aid his resolve, though.
But Radegunde laughed. “I did, but not for such a merry celebration as that. He was the sole person I could imagine might be nearby, and such was my mood that even his company would be better than naught at all.”
Duncan was surprised by her words and her tone. “You are not intrigued with him?” He would have imagined that Radegunde would have been smitten with Gaston’s squire, a handsome young man and one not even a decade her senior. It would have been natural for there to be attraction between they two, and perhaps fitting for them to make a match.
Evidently Radegunde did not see the matter the same way. “Oh, he is like my brothers,” she said with disdain. “I have no doubt that he imagines he knows what is best for all the women around him. And what has he seen of the world to so instruct me? Nay, I will have a man who is seasoned in the ways of the world, one better suited to teach me much.” Her smile was knowing and sent new heat through Duncan.
She meant him.
Radegunde flicked a glance to the stables, then leaned closer to confide in a mischievous whisper. “Plus, I am not certain that Bartholomew even likes women.”
“What is this?” Had she been older or a man, Duncan would have been certain of her meaning. As it was, he found himself wondering how much of the world Radegunde knew.
“He is always talking to Laurent.” She referred to the squire Fergus had taken on in Jerusalem. Duncan knew well enough that Laurent was truly a Saracen girl, who had sought to escape a marriage arranged by her family, but it seemed that Radegunde was unaware of that. She shook her head, her disdain clear. “Not only does he favor boys, but he likes filthy ones.”
“You cannot be certain of his taste,” Duncan countered with care.
“Nay?” She granted him a challenging glance. “Then why did Bartholomew blacken Kerr’s eye when Kerr taunted Laurent that he was as small and weak as a girl?” She shrugged, not seeing the secret in her observation. “Only twice have I seen him stirred to anger, once over Kerr’s comments and once over my lady’s suggestion that she prepare a healing salve for her lord husband.” She wrinkled her nose. “There was a silversmith with such appetites at Valeroy.”
“There are few women Bartholomew might defend,” Duncan noted. “For the Temple does not welcome women within its walls, and he has served there with Gaston for many years.”
“Then I would expect him to be fascinated with women, not to regard us with suspicion.” She shook her head. “Nay, it is boys for him.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Perhaps that silversmith is yet at Valeroy. I could introduce them.”
Duncan chose not to note that the younger man might have learned a suspicion of women at the Temple, as well. He could not begin to think of a reply to her suggestion of an introduction so spoke of Bartholomew and Gaston instead, for he was certain there was naught between the two men save respect. “I understand that Gaston has raised him as a man might raise his own son. It is a good measure of his nature that he is loyal to that knight, and such loyalty could explain his doubts as to your lady’s intentions. She did use a poison in her salve.”
“True enough.” Radegunde smiled at him. “Dare I hope that you came to this inn in search of me?” she teased, clearly enamored of the notion. Duncan found himself smiling, for it was a welcome change to flirt with a pretty maid. “I thought you intended to remain at the Temple with Fergus.”
Duncan sighed in mock forbearance, and she was clearly amused by him. “Years living under the austerity of the Rule has proven to be my fill. I thought to find a thick pallet here, and some comfort. I am glad I came to the kitchen in search of a morsel to eat.”
Radegunde delight was clear. She placed her hands on Duncan’s chest and managed to appear both sweet and coy. His heart leaped at her proximity, though he compelled himself to keep from touching her. “What if I would offer you a morsel?” she whispered and Duncan was tempted as he had never been tempted before.
Chapter Two
“You have already given too much,” Duncan said gruffly, when he would have preferred to have taken all Radegunde offered—and more. He gripped her hands, lifting them away. Though he was tempted, he knew what was his to take—and what was not. “You cannot surrender more. It is not yours to give.”
It was the wrong argument, he saw as much immediately, for her full lips tightened. “Then whose is it to give?” Radegunde flung out a hand in her frustration. “Shall I leave it to my mother to decide which oaf from the village shall take me as his own? Or is it Gaston’s right to give me to a man in his holding, as one might give a loaf of bread or a brood of chickens?”
“You know it is Gaston’s right, though assuredly he will consult with his lady wife.” Duncan spoke mildly, but Radegunde’s eyes flashed with alluring fire. He found himself fascinated by her reaction.
She caught his shirt in two fistfuls and leaned closer, her lips dangerously close to his own. He could not find it within himself to put her aside again, but simply stared down into her eyes.
“What if I do not want this fate?” she whispered. “What if I do not want to return to the life I knew before our pilgrimage?”
“You will be safe at Châmont-sur-Maine…”
“Aye, for I will never travel farther than Valeroy, where I was raised, for the rest of my life.” Radegunde’s dislike of that fact was clear. “I thought you might understand, Duncan. I do not wish to keep a home for some alemaker and bear his children, tending them and a garden and my lady until I die. I wish to see other places…”
“Lady Ysmaine may embark upon a pilgrimage again, or Gaston may need to visit other holdings.”
Radegunde’s eyes flashed. “I want to live, Duncan. I want to savor every day and feel all that can be felt, and see all of Christendom! I would even like to see the lands of the Saracens.”
“You have been to Jerusalem,” he felt compelled to note.
“I mean their lands beyond, where Prester John is said to voyage.” Her eyes lit. “Where there are dragons!” She met his gaze, her expression rueful. “But none of that will happen.”
He could not bear her disappointment, though he suspected that she was right. What power this maiden had over him, for he yearned to offer her the life she desired, though he knew that was folly.
He reminded himself that she might have been his daughter.
His niece or his cousin.
He was too old for Radegunde, and he had little to grant to her. Yet his reaction to her was far from paternal.
It had been a long time since he had wished to be younger.
It had been longer yet since he had yearned to offer more than was his to give.
“You must hope for the best, lass,” Duncan suggested with false cheer, though he did not believe the future would differ from her prediction.
“Nay.” Radegunde shook her head with resolve. “Within the week, I will be returned to the life I kn
ew before our pilgrimage, and surely I will be trapped there for all my days and nights. I cannot change that, and I know it well. But I would fill the time between here and Châmont-sur-Maine with adventure and romance, in the hope that the memories will be sufficient to sustain me.”
Duncan was intrigued by her determination to make change where she could. There was a mix of whimsy and practicality in her choice that he found enchanting. “What will you do?”
“First, I will dance,” Radegunde said with resolve. “I will celebrate our triumph this day by dancing this night.”
“Here?” Duncan gestured to the courtyard, thinking it far from a celebratory setting.
“Nay!” She turned shining eyes upon him. “We passed a fête on our way through the city.”
“A celebration of the feast days of Saint Bartholomew and Saint Ouen.” Duncan well recalled the crowd before the cathedral of Notre Dame.
“Will you take me to it? Will you dance with me, Duncan?” Without awaiting his reply, she continued in a rush. “I have no doubt that my lord and lady will linger here for a day or two, for they are most intent upon conceiving a son. I could sit outside their door and wait upon them, or I could claim this time as my own. Lady Ysmaine would understand that I need one more taste of the world before I become dull and dutiful.”
Duncan could not imagine that Radegunde could ever become dull or fully dutiful.
“Not there,” he said. “Such festivities are too dangerous.”
“Is that not part of their appeal?”
The reckless edge to her tone fed his protectiveness anew. “I will not see you saved from one assailant only to fall prey to another.”
Radegunde considered him, clearly disappointed in his response. “Perhaps I shall go and dance alone, if you will not take me.”
“You have more sense than that, lass,” Duncan chided. “In a city filled with whores, you should not walk the streets alone.”
“Perhaps you should not walk the streets alone,” she teased. He glowered at her, fighting his urge to return her smile, but his manner had no visible effect upon her mood. “I will dance this night, Duncan, and I would prefer to dance with you.”
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