by Lynn Kurland
Margaret felt the glow dim just the slightest bit, but she ignored it. Perhaps he was also so caught up in the emotions of the moment that he wasn't thinking clearly. Surely he meant to go on more about how much he wanted her.
"Go on," he said, making shooing motions with his hand. "I need that lance now, not yesterday."
Ah, the glow was definitely dimming. Margaret frowned at him.
"Lance?" she repeated.
"Yes," he said, looking more annoyed than amorous, "it's still what I need. I needed it five minutes ago."
"I can fight for myself—"
"No."
"I'm more than skilled—"
"Forget it. Go get me a lance."
The glow was gone now. Margaret looked at the frighteningly handsome man before her and wondered what temporary madness had caused her to think having him want her was a good thing.
"I will not go fetch you a lance."
"Yes, you will, then you'll go back inside and stop distracting me. I can't work when you're around."
She would have had a scathing retort for that if he hadn't reached out and run his hand over her head and down her braid.
"A beautiful distraction," he said shortly, "but a distraction nonetheless."
Damn the man if he didn't say the damnedest things at the worst possible time. She shoved aside those hints of pleasure that crept back up on her.
"You'll not move me from my purpose with those sweet—" She cleared her throat and grasped for her wits, "I mean those ridiculous words. You'll have no need of a lance because I plan to do this deed myself. I have bested Ralf in the past. I will best him again and put an end to this foolishness."
"No, you won't," Alex repeated, looking more stubborn than anyone she'd ever seen.
She had to admire the trait because she considered it one of her best, but the display of it in him did little to aid her at present. She pointed her sword at him. "I will fight him."
He drew his own sword. "No, I will." "We will see who has the pleasure," she said, sending him her most intimidating frown and plopping her helm back atop her head. She took up a fighting stance. "I'll best you here and show you facing Ralf would be pointless."
"Pointless?" Alex gasped. "Why thank you so very much for the vote of confidence!" "Vote of what—"
The answer didn't come, but Alex's assault did. Margaret fell back instinctively. It was her favorite ploy, one she'd used again and again. It was the perfect way to have a man show her what his intentions were. She'd bested more than one hotheaded lout thusly. They generally revealed all of themselves within minutes and then 'twas but a small matter to take advantage of the weaknesses they'd shown.
Without warning, Alex regained control of himself. He circled her, testing her own limitations. She could feel him doing it, and it was almost infuriating enough to cause her to lose her temper. To find her own ploy used against her was almost more than she could take.
And then he began to taunt her. She saw the idea pop into his head for it showed readily enough in his blasted eyes. Soon a small smile graced his mouth. Margaret was tempted to wipe it off, but she knew he would be expecting the like, so she refrained from giving in.
He slashed at her viciously, likely seeking to take her off guard. She slammed her sword against his, feeling the meeting of blades ring completely through her body. She held him off, her blade locked with his. His smile deepened.
"Not bad for a woman."
"For a woman?'' she gasped. "You arrogant cur!"
"Arrogant and good. Admit it."
"I'll admit nothing," she said, giving him a mighty shove backward.
Distressingly, it hardly moved him, and she was forced to fall back to evade him.
And it was then that she realized just how he intended truly to best her. He didn't come at her hacking like an uncivilized barbarian. Here was no brutal mercenary who ran roughshod over his enemy and crushed with sheer power instead of finesse. Here was a man who wielded his blade with skill and grace, who used his wits to anticipate her moves, to draw her out, to make her reveal more of her strategies than she ever intended.
It was then that a warmth that had nothing to do with exertion began to spread through her.
Every time their blades met, she felt a jolt go through her that had nothing to do with metal upon metal. Each time he either eluded her thrusts or slipped just a bit under her guard, she felt a dizzy pleasure deepen inside her.
She had misjudged the man. He was her equal—in wit and cleverness. And he wanted her.
By the saints, it was almost enough to bring her to her knees.
Their blades came together with a mighty crash. Before she knew what he planned, he had grasped her sword arm. He tossed aside his blade, then removed hers from her unresisting fingers. He ripped off his helm and shoved back the mail coif. Margaret found herself doing the same with identical urgency.
His pale eyes were flashing with an almost savage intensity. Margaret felt her knees become unsteady beneath her. Alex reached out and hauled her against him. Margaret clutched his mail-covered shoulders to keep herself from falling to the earth. "Alex—"
"I want no one but you," he growled, then he captured her mouth with his own.
Nay, she thought, but the thought was gone before it could have made it to her lips.
She wasn't ready to trust him with her fate, and she surely wasn't ready to believe his foolish tales of faery rings, but saints above, she was more than ready for this! He ravaged her mouth mercilessly, leaving her no choice but to cling to him or risk falling to the ground. Her head spun. Her body trembled. She felt as if she'd been set afire. Then he lifted his head and looked down at her fiercely. "I will fight him."
She was too befuddled to spar with him further. She would argue later, when she could breathe again.
But there were other things besides breathing she needed to see to immediately.
"The missive to Tickhill," she reminded him. "Later," he said, kissing her again. "Edward,'' she managed when he lifted his head to drag in a huge breath.
"He'll keep," Alex said, "but I won't. Come back here."
Well, those were only the start of the details she would have to see to soon enough. They would have to make preparations for the journey to Lord Odo. George would have to set in motion his plan to liberate Edward from Brackwald's dungeon. Having Edward at Tickhill to bear witness would surely convince the king of Ralf's treachery.
She would also have to choose men to stay behind and watch the keep, as well as see to keepers for Amery and Baldric. Amery was too young to travel with them. Heaven help Lord Odo's wall hangings if Baldric came along to the tourney.
Alex's hand tightened in her hair, and he tilted her head to more fully invade her mouth.
"Pay attention to me," he commanded, just before he mounted a renewed assault.
Margaret put her concerns and her doubts aside. They were all things that could keep a moment or two longer. She'd been hungering for Alex for days. Not even the king would distract her from having her fill of him.
Merciful saints above, but the man could kiss!
Eighteen
His buns had disappeared. Well, maybe they were still there, but they had lingered through On Fire, slipped slowly and with a great amount of tingling through Numb, and now had come to rest very softly on Not There At All. Alex didn't dare rub to see if his suspicions were true. He'd probably lose his grip on the reins and plunge headfirst from his horse into the rutted trail. The only appealing part of that scenario was then he wouldn't care anymore about his missing backside because his face would be broken and setting up a howl in a different region of his anatomy.
He was just seriously considering the merits of a free fall when Margaret reined in.
"Stop, Beast," Alex begged as his horse clomped to an ungraceful halt next to hers. "Oh, I wish your name was Range Rover," he moaned.
"Just over that rise," Margaret said, pointing ahead. "We've made good time, in spite of everything."
Everything included Amery, Frances, Joel, and Baldric. Alex had wanted to leave them at home, but the protests had been deafening. Baldric had turned out to be a terrific horseman, and Frances and Amery seemed to have no trouble clinging to various bits of the same saddle as they bumped along at Margaret's furious pace. Joel was strapped to the back of a horse along with all of Alex and Margaret's gear. Margaret had graciously offered her lance and a shield as extras, should Alex have need of them.
Alex had been immediately suspicious. Though she had promised to sit meekly in the stands, he had the feeling he shouldn't believe her.
They were surrounded by as many of Margaret's knights as they'd thought feasible. Alex was sure Ralf wouldn't stay home when he heard they intended to rat on him to the king. Alex also suspected Ralf wasn't above a little petty thievery on his way south. He could only hope they wouldn't be ambushed as they traveled. Margaret had set a grueling pace, and Alex imagined Ralf wouldn't catch them anyway.
Next to him Margaret pulled the mail coif up around her face, then looked at him and smiled grimly. "You must take the lead now, much as it galls me to let you do so."
"If you ever compliment me, I'll probably fall over dead from shock," he said dryly. "So don't ever do it. Really. I don't think I could take it."
She scowled at him. "I cannot ride in as Margaret, else they will stick me in some pitiful solar with all Tickhill's ladies and I will go mad."
"Then just how," he asked carefully, "is it you intend to reveal who you are? Will you pose as my squire?"
She shrugged. "I'll mill about the lists."
"Absolutely not. You promised you'd watch from the stands. In a dress, so I know you aren't up to something." He reached over and pulled back the coif. "You swore, Margaret, on your father's sword."
"The promise was exacted from me when I wasn't feeling completely myself."
He knew that well enough. It had taken a good hour of kissing to even get her to agree to his conditions. But agree she had, and he wasn't about to let her weasel out of it. He fully intended to take care of Ralf himself.
He pulled her braid from her cloak and let it flip down her back. "A promise is a promise."
"Oh, damn you," she said, but only sighed. "As you will, Alex."
Red flags went up all over the place. She'd given in way too easily, and he had the feeling she had something sneaky planned. Well, he'd just have to deal with it when the time came. Now what he had to worry about was getting himself into the joust when he had no spurs, no money, and a borrowed sword.
It didn't look pretty from where he sat.
"Let us be off, then," she said. "I may as well resign myself to several days of misery. Odo's wife is particularly unpleasant."
"Then let's try to make it as quick a stay as possible."
It took another hour to reach the castle at Tickhill. The keep was bigger than Margaret's and boasted both an inner and an outer bailey. Even from a distance, he could see that the castle was crawling with busy little workers. Alex felt himself relax, only then realizing just how tense he had been. If the flurry of activity was any indication, Lord Odo had indeed succeeded in getting Richard to take a little jaunt north.
And why not? Richard had just exercised his kingly powers by crushing a minor rebellion at Nottingham. He was probably in a fabulous mood and thought a little sport over the weekend to be a perfect way to wrap up his northern victories. Margaret had said Lord Odo was a staunch supporter of the king. What with all the trouble John had been stirring up, Richard probably wouldn't have passed up a chance to renew a few old ties while he was in the area.
As happy as Alex was for the king's recent liberation, he was happier for himself that Richard had taken the time to come to Tickhill. He would have chased the Lionheart all the way back to London if he'd had to, but he and his backside hadn't exactly been looking forward to that trip.
The courtyard was a veritable hive of activity. They negotiated their way through scurrying workers and came to a halt in front of the great hall. Alex dismounted, groaning as he did so. He'd be lucky even to get to the tournament field after this kind of traveling punishment. Well, at least there was enough confusion in the area that he might actually be able to get himself entered into the tournament. Hopefully Lord Odo would be so busy worrying about the king that he wouldn't overly scrutinize his tournament entrants. Alex suspected his lack of spurs might be a very big problem.
Margaret tugged on his arm. "Look over there."
Alex followed the nod of her head. Leaning against one of the outbuildings was none other than Sir Walter. Walter lifted his hand in a mocking salute.
"Great," Alex muttered. "Somehow I doubt Walter is traveling with Edward. Ralf is probably inside already, griping to anyone who'll listen."
"No doubt," she agreed. "Perhaps we'd best repair the damage while we can."
Alex answered Walter's wave with a warning look, then followed Margaret into the hall.
"Her knights murdered my people!" Ralf was bellowing. He paced angrily in front of the hearth. "Destruction of crops, looting, slaughter of animals! The woman will stop at—" He caught sight of Margaret and shut his mouth with a snap. "The bold wench," he snarled.
Margaret strode across the rushes. Alex had to trot to keep up with her. She stopped in front of a man who reclined in a chair next to the fire. His clothes were definitely nicer than Ralf's, and there was a noticeable lack of food spills on his tunic. Alex immediately had warm feelings for Odo of Tickhill.
"My lord Tickhill," Margaret said, inclining her head. "My gratitude for the invitation to your tourney."
Ralf choked. "You can't mean to let her—"
Margaret turned a very cool look on her neighbor. "Sir Alexander will ride for me, of course. Why would you think otherwise, my lord?"
Ralf spluttered with rage. "Look how she's dressed." He whirled on Tickhill. "Look at her! Dressed like a man in full battle gear!"
"One never knows what mishaps might befall a body while traveling—or at home," Margaret said pointedly. "I think it most prudent to protect myself this way."
Lord Odo laughed. Alex looked at the man to find him smiling fondly at Margaret. ' 'Well done, my girl. You put him in his place."
"She did no such thing!" Ralf thundered. He advanced on Margaret, his face a very unattractive shade of red. "You manly bitch—"
Alex found, quite suddenly, that his fist had made contact with Ralf's nose. There was a very satisfying crunch, and the rather fragrant lord of Brackwald landed in an undignified heap before the hearth.
"You can have more if you like," Alex offered politely. "Maybe we should go outside so we don't disturb Lord Tickhill's peace and quiet."
Ralf lurched to his feet, holding his nose. "I'll see you repaid, Seattle," he snarled, the blood dripping through his fingers. "See if I don't!"
"Let's plan on it, shall we?" Alex said. "I'll see you on the field."
"Done." Ralf threw him a murderous glance then stormed from the great hall.
"Well, well," Lord Odo chuckled, "I see you've found a champion, my girl. Who is this brave soul?"
"Alexander of Seattle," Margaret said grudgingly. "He's decided to be my keeper."
"There's a brave lad," Lord Odo said. "You've taken on quite a task, friend. I told her father when she was born that she'd be twice the trouble of any of his lads. Saints, at the moment of her birth you could hear her wailing from the lists!"
Alex was ready to hear more, but he was even more ready to hear it sitting down. He took in his surroundings as he looked surreptitiously for another chair. There was polishing and sweeping and straightening going on all around the hall, but Lord Odo seemed oblivious to it. He was sprawled comfortably in his chair, an island of calm in the midst of a raging sea of preparations. Alex sincerely hoped Tickhill was as relaxed about his tourney rules as he was about the impending arrival of royalty.
"I'd love to hear the whole story," Alex said, wondering if he dared borrow a cha
ir or two from the high table.
Odo waved a hand and seats were immediately brought. Margaret sat down with a scowl. Alex settled into his chair with a heartfelt sigh.
"Oh, that's very nice," he said, certain he'd never felt anything so good.
"Don't think I know where Seattle is," Odo said, handing Alex a cup of wine. "On the continent?"
"That's right."
"On the coast," Margaret put in, "where they speak French very poorly and train their men to be overbearing louts."
Alex frowned at her. ' 'I just defended your honor, thank you very much."
"I could have done it my—"
"Aye, no doubt," Odo interrupted, handing Margaret a cup. ''Thank the lad, Margaret, and be done with it. Now, what is this foolishness Brackwald came and spewed at my feet?"
While Margaret recounted in glorious detail all Ralf's crimes, Alex took the opportunity to savor a very pleasant wine. He suspected he wouldn't have much chance to relax for the next few days, thanks to Richard's visit and Ralf's upcoming humiliation in the lists, so he knew he'd best rest up while he could.
Without warning, the front door burst open and a woman came flying inside trailed by half a dozen other frazzled-looking women. The first word that came to Alex's mind was Chihuahua. Alex watched in amazement as the woman trotted over to Odo's chair and began yip-ping at him. Literally.
"You're drinking the fine wine!" she screeched. "We've too few eggs, the eels won't be trapped, the oxen have escaped their pens, the wheat is full of sand, and I cannot find any fool willing to take his life in his hands to change the rushes!"
Odo drank deeply of his wine.
"I threatened the servants with the whip, yet no one wants to catch their death!"
"Leave the rushes, Lydia," Odo said, rolling the wine on his tongue and closing his eyes to savor it. ,
"Leave them? Leave them? This is the king, you fool!"
"Aye, and he'll come long enough to deplete my larder and my coffers, then be on his merry way. The bottom of his boots can bear the filth of my floors for a pair of days."