* * * *
Bronson was making his last rounds when he noticed the ribbon of white that burst through the lighted window and flailed against the wall like a lonely vine.
He stepped into the shadows without thinking, watching in shock as the boy hung over the edge. His heart dropped to his belly. The damned fool! He’d splatter on the unmerciful ground.
The boy sat in indecision. Bronson had just recovered enough to find his voice to warn the boy of his folly when he thought better of it. He would see what the scamp was up to first.
The lad had rankled him all night--an enigma he had yet to solve and was determined he would. He watched as the boy slowly clambered down.
He certainly had no fear, an admirable trait, though one that could kill him. Bronson had been known to make grown warriors quake with his coming, and yet the child knew instinctively that Bronson would give him no hurt, despite the fact that he so richly deserved a good throttle. He hadn’t quite decided whether or not the boy would be a serious problem to Constance’s virtue, but he would keep an eye on him to prevent anything from happening, all the same.
The boy reached bottom, unhurt, and he released a breath he hadn’t known he held.
The lad paused, looking around, then grinned and dashed for the river, following it towards the copse of trees that had yet to be felled.
What was he up to?
He followed at a distance now that he’d seen where the boy headed. He kept to shadows when he could, but the land was clear much of the way and he was forced into the open most of the time.
Bronson reached the dark woods, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimmer surroundings. Splashing sounded ahead and he moved with stealthy quiet through the trees.
A small pool formed in a clearing, moonlight glimmering upon the water like flashing stars. The boy moved into the light, into the water’s edge, his hose and tunic gone.
He was merely going to take a bath--had been too shy to bathe with the others. Disgusted, Bronson was about to leave when the lad pulled off his shirt.
What the devil had he wrapped about himself? Thinking the fool had sustained some injury, to the chest no less, he paused in his steadfast approach as the boy unwrapped the bindings and revealed what was beneath.
Bronson stood stock still, blood rushing in his ears, his thoughts running chaotic through his brain. He blinked slowly, staring hard to be certain, not quite believing. The boy was a girl! And not just a girl, but a woman full grown if the rounded shape of her breasts were any indication of age. His head rushed with a mixture of lust and the furious pound of blood.
He watched in astonishment as she pulled what he now knew was a wig from her head and shook out an abundance of crushed curls. An unbidden longing to see their color gripped him.
She bent, lithe as a doe, and dipped her head in the water, rising up and flinging the soaked tresses in the air and against her back. He heard her gasp and laugh, saw her breath misted in the cold night air, her nipples hardened in the chill.
Blood pounded in his groin as he raked his gaze over her body, sleek and muscled, seductive as a siren. He licked his suddenly dry lips, a need to taste and touch near overwhelming him. How long had it been since he’d lain with a woman? Known intimacy of the flesh, or felt a woman’s lips upon his own? His coddles tightened, drawing up with need.
He clenched his fists and ignored the near pain he felt, watching her bathe in innocence. Indeed, he had been too many a night without a woman to slake his desire--and he felt the neglect with tormenting severity.
Bronson stifled a groan as she slickened her body with soap and rubbed her hands over her breasts and stomach. His hands itched to do the deed himself, and his shaft pounded with a sudden surge of blood. He rubbed his cock, muffling an anguished moan, trying to ease the pressure, but it did no good.
His breath came harsh and fast. He turned away, unable to bear the sight a moment longer, lest he ruin himself. He’d thought her comely enough for some lord’s plaything ... and those drawers--they enflamed him now at the thought of her tight bottom encased in them, sheer to transparency, garnished with lace, innocence....
He felt a thousand kinds of fool. Why had he not realized the boy was a woman? Was he so far gone that he could not see the signs now? ‘Twas because he’d been blinded by his own presumptions. Never had he heard of a woman daring such a thing--he paused in his thoughts. That was not so. Gray had encountered one before, bore the ill marks to this day.
Could she be a spy for the McPhersons? Was that why she’d failed to attack them on the raid tonight? Hidden on the ground until he and his brothers had won?
It made a deadly kind of sense. Had their games with the McPhersons turned treacherous? And if not them, who else would have cause to spy upon them?
Bronson knew of only one way to find out for certain--and that was through the woman. He would watch her now, until he could spring his trap.
A plan formulated, he cast a look back at her. She would be finished soon. The pain betwixt his legs increased once more at the sight of her, and he cursed her for his own body’s betrayal.
He slipped back through the woods the way he’d come to prepare.
* * * *
Alex cautiously found her way back to the manor, invigorated by her cleansing and the fact that she’d succeeded in at least one thing tonight.
Her ‘rope’ still hung undisturbed she saw, and she ran to it, practically skipping with excitement.
Alex grabbed a length and started hauling herself up when a dread voice spoke behind her, “Where do you think you are going?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alex froze and swallowed her heart. Putting on a calm facade, which in no way mirrored her own turbulent thoughts, she dropped back to the ground and faced him, prepared for her doom. He looked inordinately pleased with himself.
“I am going nowhere, my lord. Do you fear I would run away?” She was proud of how smooth her voice when she spoke, belying none of the anxiety she felt gazing upon him. Discreetly, she dared to glance about for an alternate route of flight should necessity warrant it.
“Now why shouldst I think that? Wherefore do you gallivant about in the night, as though you have the run of the manor?”
“I was not aware I was a prisoner, my lord. Had I but known, I would have remained in my room for my allowance of torture.”
He chuckled and stroked his chin, looking deep in thought. “You have a sharp tongue, boy. I wouldst have the truth from you, however. You are a pup, I was much the same as you at your age. Were you, perchance, seeking a bed-fellow to shine your pretty bauble?”
Alex gasped, outraged. “My lord, your mind runs most foul.”
“Aye, ‘tis the mind of a man.” He looked at her in silent speculation, his eyes revealing none of his odious imaginings. “Are you yet untouched? We shall have to remedy that.”
She didn’t dare answer him, but her throat had closed of a sudden and she couldn’t if she had wanted. He moved close, crowding her, a wolfish smile on his lips as he gazed down at her. She hadn’t realized before now the potency of his maleness. It thrilled and scared her all at once. An indefinable flutter of weakness assailed her, making her knees watery. She almost wished things could be different, that she wasn’t who she was.
Alex eased her back against the cool stone as if she could melt into it, attempting to gain a measure of distance from him, but he remained unnervingly near. If she tilted her mouth just so, she could kiss him. Somehow, the insane thought persisted, and it was all she could do not to enact her madness. Saints, she’d known the demon spawn but for a few hours, but already he weakened her resolve, distracted her from her purpose. She clenched her jaw, feigning anger. “If you must know, I was training. ‘Tis something I do to improve my strength.”
“I see.” He was close enough she could catch his scent, the smell of his clean skin tantalizing her senses, danger a seduction all its own. Alex swallowed hard, trying to clear her head of his enticing sce
nt. If she’d been a ‘woman’ in this situation, what would he do, what would be different? The fantasy of being trapped, helpless against the wall as he ravished her played out in her mind. She bit her lip, squeezing her thighs tight, embarrassed at her bold thoughts.
“If ‘tis strength you need, we shall put you through your paces in the field on the morrow.” He clamped a hand on her arm, squeezing, kneading the muscle. “From the feel of you, I can tell you’ve sorely lacked in training. You feel as puny as a girl.”
As a girl! His arrogance snapped her out of carnal fantasy. Furious, she tried to snatch her arm away, but he held tight. She was so angry she didn’t think to question his odd behavior. “I am wiry. Not all men are blessed with bulbous muscles ‘neath their shirts.”
He cocked a brow. “Have you been measuring me ... as I bathed?”
Alex felt her face flame. “Why wouldst I do that?”
“I know not. Unless, perhaps you have not set your eyes on my sister a’tall, but a lord worthy of your perversions.”
“Perversions! W-what--” She gritted her teeth, fuming in silence, sure he was referencing his catamite obsession once again. She feared dressing as a young lord may have been unwise. She was not so vain to think her femininity outshone her boyish appearance.
At her lack of response, he said, “Mayhap I have acted hasty in my negative assumptions, missed the pleasures to be found in court. One such as yourself could have something to teach me....”
She looked at him, terror in her eyes. He seriously thought her … that she would…. Saints, the prospect of fulfilling his fantasies hobbled her mind. Her mouth dropped open, forbidden thoughts assailing her.
“I have no idea what this catamite business is but I--”
He released her arm suddenly as he broke into laughter, a bad habit he had developed quickly at her expense. His shoulders shook with his mirth, his breathing harsh and broken as he guffawed.
“Y-you jest?” When he nodded, she punched him in the arm with all her might.
He stopped laughing. She smiled in triumph, then considered the repercussions as his brows drew down in anger.
“Ow!” Bronson rubbed his arm. “Mayhap there is hope for you yet, pup. Come, I apologize for my farce. Get you to bed. No more training tonight.” He looked at her meaningfully, as though he doubted her word. Alex thanked the lord matters had not turned out for the worst.
They went upstairs and he confiscated her rope, his face steadfast and serious despite her protestations of innocence. He left her then, a bemused smile on his face that puzzled her. The man delighted in her torment—it was obvious.
Alex flung herself onto the bed, thankful he had developed a sense of humor instead of being ... of wanting.... She shook her head, swearing to think of it no more. Now if she could only have him wield it in another direction....
Closing her eyes against the fire’s dim light, she went to sleep, the soft image of Bronson leaning close for a kiss teasing her mind.
* * * *
Alex was driveling happily into her pillow when her warm blanket was torn from her body.
She drew her legs up to her chest and shivered in the cold air, wondering when her fire had gone out. Mind enshrouded in the fog of sleep, she had only enough fortitude to recover her warm bedcovers. Groaning, eyes closed, she groped for the covers to pull them back on. Fingers straining, searching, she encountered the bane of her existence instead of soft, comforting cloth.
“Get up, boy. ‘Tis time for the training I promised you last even’.” He sounded decidedly cheerful. ‘Twas unnatural. She would rattle his brains for disturbing her slumber.
Alex mumbled something unintelligible, words too much a trial to speak, and buried her head in her down pillow, her arms clutched around it in protection. Her peace lasted but a moment when two massive hands encircled her ankles and pulled.
Alex came up with a godawful shriek, kicking her legs and swinging her arms in retaliation, teeth bared to strike as she growled at her assailant.
The hands released her abruptly, and she slid to the floor on her arse with a loud thump. She blinked sleep from her eyes and looked at hose covered calves, up past that disturbingly large codpiece and stomach and chest, all the way up to Bronson’s crooked grin, his face gray in the half darkness of morning.
She glared at him.
“Wildcat in the morning, are we, Lord Apple-Squire?”
“Be careful lest I show you my claws. And do not call me such names.” He chortled and she kicked at his calf, caught it with her toe, and grimaced.
“You foul belswagger. You hurt me!” she yelled and kicked him again.
He sidestepped her this time, a frown hovering on his face. “I hurt you? You have called the kettle black in your idiocy.” He rubbed the hurt she caused, chuckling.
“Why have you awakened me at this godforsaken hour? The sun has not yet arisen!” Alex gestured at the window with a limp wrist. He arched a brow, nearly smiling to incur detriment, and held a hand out to her. Alex ignored his proffered hand and stood on her own, legs weak, her fury simmering below the surface. She hated being awakened—at any hour. If she was asleep, it meant she did not want to be awake.
“I informed you why, whelp, now let’s be off to break our fast.”
Alex planted her hands on her hips, stance unyielding. “Basemecu!” The word escaped her before she’d scarce known it. When his eyes darkened, she realized she had said something she ought not to have. She clamped a hand over her mouth as if it would stop the word from ringing in the air.
“Kiss your arse? You watch your tongue, whelp, lest I show you what such language entails.”
She blanched, an image rising unbidden into her mind, one that she was certain he hadn’t meant to project. ‘Twas best she not provoke him further this morning, leastwise until she’d recovered some of her faculties. “A moment, if you please, my lord. I wish to ready myself.”
Bronson looked skeptical, hardly to blame in this instance, and ready to argue but he finally said, “I shall see you below in the dining hall.” He left then.
She swore to herself to get the key from him when first she could. This matter of bursting into her room whenever he pleased was not acceptable. She was completely vulnerable abed, and could blurt out the truth of her deception if questioned—she’d been known to speak in her sleep of things that disturbed her.
Alex checked and adjusted her wig and bindings, slipped a leather jerkin on over her shirt, and untwisted her hose. Her shoes were disgusting and she could not wear them as they were, coated in mud and other foulness. She hoped only that no misfortune befell her poor, bare feet.
Satisfied, she went downstairs, her procession quiet, and followed the dull roar of noise to the dining hall. She pushed open the door and entered, then stopped. Heavy trestle tables stretched the length of the room, filled to the brim with men eating and cavorting amongst themselves. Their loud antics would like as soon cause an ache in her head. She was tempted to walk back out again when Bronson spotted her and summoned her forth with a wave of his hand.
There would be no escaping now. The black devil had a keen eye and a wicked temper. Feet dragging, she walked up to the head table.
Alex’s place was beside Bronson for some reason, and when she reached him, he immediately noticed her bare feet. His intense eyes scorched her toes. She covered one foot with the other in embarrassment, feeling as though she’d walked out her room naked as a babe. His talent for causing her discomfiture was paramount.
“Have you mislaid your shoes?”
“They are ruined, my lord. I cannot wear them.”
He spoke to a passing servant and then pointed to her seat. “Sit, eat.” A heaping plate of food was placed before her. She pushed it away weakly and nibbled on honeyed bread, sipping watered wine between bites before finally setting it aside. Her stomach had ever been queasy in the morning.
Bronson, she saw, suffered no such drawbacks, his appetite enormous. He cleaned his pl
ate, looked at her untouched portion, then finished it off as well.
He was quenching his thirst when the servant came back and presented shoes to her. She looked at them, shocked, and turned to Bronson. “I cannot wear these, my lord. They are ... women’s shoes.”
“Aye, I know it. You have feet too small for wearing men’s. These will have to do until your own can be cleaned properly. I shall have someone see to it tonight.”
Reluctant, she slipped them on. They were near enough to her own that she’d not break her neck in them, but she felt devilishly uncomfortable wearing something so revealing of her own sex. Bronson seemed not to notice, however, so she shrugged it off as circumstance alone.
The men seemed to finish at the same time and they filed out for the courtyard, Bronson following in their wake.
By the time Alex reached out of doors, weak sunlight crept across the sky like dishwater running over muddy earth.
“Good morrow to you, young lord.” Gray sauntered up to her, looking as irritatingly refreshed as his brother. She wished she’d rested as well. Sleeping in a strange house, under watchful eyes did not agree with her. And she’d had the most disturbing dreams, dreams of soft, romantic kisses and roaming hands.... She shook her head, irritated at her illicit imagination.
“Good morrow, Gray. Where has your brother gone?” She’d lost him somehow. She couldn’t see past the throng of assembling men. Alex was not short by any means, but the men of Derwin Hall seemed bound and determined to dwarf her. She could well believe they only thought her a child.
“He is training the men this morning. Rafael has gone, so he cannot see to them for him. I know it does not look it, but we keep a full garrison of trained men here ... for any eventuality. But enough of that. I’m to see to you until Bronson can come, though ‘tis like to be half the day before he returns.”
Alex soon learned, for all his ease of manner and jests, Gray was a hardened warrior who allowed no weakness in his students, no mistakes.
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