Velvet Angel

by Jude Deveraux

  Elizabeth lay sleeping, her head in her husband’s lap. Roger sat apart, turning something over and over in his hand. Miles was not a person to directly ask after something that wasn’t his concern, but Roger felt the younger man’s interest.

  “Women!” Roger finally said with great disgust and pocketed the amethyst. But as he stretched out on the cold forest floor, his hand sought the jewel and held it all night.

  The morning dawned bright and clear and Elizabeth, as usual, was extraordinarily happy. Another day and they’d reach the French Montgomerys. Then they could go back to England and their son and, like a fairy tale, live happily ever after.

  “You seem especially happy.” Miles smiled down at her. “I think you like this peasant life.”

  “For a while,” she said smugly, “but don’t get the idea I’ll always wear rags. I’m an expensive woman.” She rolled her eyes at him flirtatiously.

  “You will have to earn your keep,” he said arrogantly, looking her up and down.

  “I do that well enough. I—”

  She stopped as the clatter of many horses and many men forced them to the side of the road. It was obviously a rich group of men, their horses draped in silks, their armor painted and well tended. There were about a hundred men and baggage wagons, and in the middle was a young girl, her hands tied behind her back, her face bruised, but she held her head high.

  Elizabeth shivered as she remembered all too well how it felt to be a captive, but this girl looked as if she’d been beaten.

  “Chris,” Roger whispered from beside her and it was a heartfelt sound.

  Miles was watching Roger intently and when Roger made a move forward, Miles caught his arm. “Not now,” Miles said quietly.

  Elizabeth turned back toward the passing procession. So many men for such a small girl, she thought sadly. Her head turned with a snap. “No!” she gasped up at Miles. “You can’t possibly be considering rescuing the girl.”

  Miles looked back at the knights and didn’t answer Elizabeth. When she spoke again he turned such hot eyes on her that she became silent.

  The trio stood for some time after the knights went past. Elizabeth’s mind kept screaming no, no, no! Miles couldn’t risk his life for a woman he didn’t know.

  As they started walking again, Elizabeth began her plea as calmly and rationally as she could. “We’ll be at your relatives’ soon and they’ll know who the girl is, who holds her prisoner—and why. Perhaps she killed a hundred people. Perhaps she deserves her punishment.”

  Both Miles and Roger looked straight ahead.

  Elizabeth clutched Miles’s arm. “I was held prisoner once and it hasn’t worked out badly. Perhaps—”

  “Be quiet, Elizabeth!” Miles commanded. “I can’t think.”

  Elizabeth felt herself begin to shiver. How could he, weaponless, rescue a girl guarded by a hundred armored knights?

  Miles turned to Roger. “Should we volunteer our services as wood gatherers? At least we’ll gain entrance to their camp.”

  Roger gave Miles a calculating look. “This isn’t your fight, Montgomery. The girl was beaten because of me and I’ll get her out alone.”

  Miles kept looking at Roger, his eyes blazing, and after a moment, Roger gave in.

  After one curt nod, Roger looked away. “I don’t know who she is except that her name is Christiana. She gave me a jewel, cut it from her dress, and no doubt that’s why she’s been beaten. She has a husband and she is terrified of him.”

  “A husband!” Elizabeth gasped. “Roger, please, both of you, listen to reason. You can’t risk your lives for a married woman. How long have you known her? What does she mean to you?”

  “I never saw her before yesterday,” Roger half whispered. “And she means nothing to me—or perhaps she does. But I cannot let her be beaten because of me.”

  Elizabeth began to realize there was no sense in arguing further. She’d never seen Roger do something so foolhardy but she was sure Miles would risk his life for a scullery maid. She took a deep breath. “Once, on the road, a peasant offered me a bouquet of flowers and she was allowed past the guard to give them to me.”

  “You will remain behind,” Miles said in dismissal.

  Elizabeth didn’t answer but set her jaw. The odds were better if three people attacked a hundred than if there were just two.

  Chapter 18

  THEY FOLLOWED THE GUARD UNTIL NEARLY SUNSET, when the men made camp, and quite easily Miles and Roger, forsaking their usual shoulders-back stance, slipped among the knights, their arms loaded with wood. In the shadows of the trees, Elizabeth watched. Her early offer of help seemed to be hollow, the words of a braggart. Now, watching all those men, it was as if she’d never left her brother’s house. Even as she stood hidden, she glanced behind her to make sure none of the men was there, ready and waiting to touch her.

  Both Miles and Roger had given her strict orders that under no circumstances was she to leave her hiding place. They’d made it clear that they had enough to do without worrying about her also. Roger’d given her the girl’s amethyst and Miles’d told her how to get to his relatives—in case anything happened to either of them. Elizabeth’d felt a hint of panic at the pronouncement but she’d kept her fears to herself. The men wanted her to wait far away but she’d stubbornly insisted on a place where she could watch. They’d refused to tell her their plan and Elizabeth began to suspect they had no real plan at all. No doubt Miles intended to hold the men at swordpoint while Roger fled with the girl.

  Watching, she saw a scuffling, awkward old man, who she couldn’t quite believe was her proud brother, move slowly toward where the girl was tied. She sat, leaning against a tree, hands and feet bound, head lowered.

  When Roger awkwardly dropped the entire load of wood on the girl’s feet, Elizabeth held her breath. She didn’t know how much contact Roger’d had with the girl and she looked too young to have much sense. Would she give Roger away?

  There was a brief flicker across the girl’s face—but that could have been from pain—and then her face calmed. Elizabeth almost smiled. The girl was certainly not stupid. There wasn’t another movement or expression from her as Roger began to clear the fallen wood away. A knight, cursing Roger, kicked him in the leg, and as Roger rolled, kicked him again in the ribs. And even as Roger took the blows, Elizabeth saw the flash of a knife as he cut the bindings from the girl’s feet under the cover of the wood.

  But Elizabeth saw something Roger couldn’t: Behind him an older man, richly dressed, hung with jewels, his garments interwoven with gold wire, had never taken his sunken little eyes off the bound girl. The dying sunlight caught just a bit of a flash of Roger’s knife.

  On the far side of the camp, Miles kicked a burning log out of the fire, setting some grasses on fire. He slipped away before he could receive punishment for his actions and several knights began to fight the fire.

  But the diversion wasn’t enough. The men guarding the girl didn’t glance at the fire—and the old man continued to glare at her with hatred.

  The dark seemed to be coming quickly but there was enough light for Elizabeth to see a shadowy Miles slip a sword from a scabbard.

  He did plan to fight! she thought. He planned to create some commotion so Roger could get the girl away. If fire had failed, perhaps a little clashing steel would work.

  Elizabeth rose from her safe ditch, made a quick prayer for forgiveness for sinning and began unbuttoning her coarse woolen gown all the way to her waist. Perhaps she could get the men’s attention—and especially the attention of the old man.

  Her entrance was quick and dramatic. She ran into the clearing, leaped the last few feet, so close to one of the fires that she almost straddled it. Hands on her thighs, legs spread, she bent forward, the open bodice gaping, and practically touched the old man’s head with her breasts. Slowly, seductively, she began to sway her shoulders, back and forth, from side to side, one raised, the next one higher, always working back until she was leaning ba
ckwards over the fire. With one hand she pulled the cotton cap from her head and let her hair cascade down to her knees. It hung over the fire, turning almost red in the light and looking as if it were part of the flames.

  When she straightened, her hands insolently on her hips, she gave a laugh—a loud, arrogant, challenging laugh—and she had everyone’s attention. The old man looked at her with interest and at last his eyes weren’t on the girl not two feet from Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth had never danced before but she’d seen enough lascivious entertainments at her brother’s house to know what could be done. One of the knights began to play a lute and another a drum. Elizabeth began to undulate slowly—not just her hips, but her entire body moving every inch from fingertips to toes. And she used her magnificent hair to advantage, swirling it about, slapping men across the face with it. When one knight came too close, Elizabeth swept downward, grabbed a rock and plowed her fist into the man’s stomach.

  Everyone laughed uproariously at the knight’s pain and from then on it was more a chase than a dance. For Elizabeth it was a nightmare come true. She was back in her brother’s house and his men were pursuing her. She forgot about the last months of freedom but regressed to a time when she had to survive.

  On her toes, she whirled about a knight and lifted his sword from his belt. With garments flying, hair tangling about her body, she dodged at the men trying to catch her. She didn’t hurt any of them but she managed to draw blood now and again. Forcing herself to laugh and keep up the charade of dancing, she jumped atop a table set with food, kicking plates and goblets everywhere. When a knight’s hand touched her ankle, she moved away, her heel “accidentally” coming down on his fingers. He went away with a cry of pain.

  Elizabeth’s nerves were at the breaking point as the men began to clap in rhythm. Bending, she turned her hair around and around in time to their applause. Hoping that by now Roger and Miles had had time to release their captive, she threw her skirts high, the men cheering at the sight of her legs, and leaped to the ground directly in front of the old man.

  She landed in a low bow before him, head low, hair a curtain about her. Panting, sides heaving, she waited.

  With great ceremony, the man rose and put one bony hand under Elizabeth’s chin, lifting her face to meet his.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth could see that the girl was gone and now it would be only moments before someone noticed.

  Elizabeth rose and, praying for more time, hoping to distract the men, shrugged her shoulders and let the top of her dress fall away to her waist.

  There was a great hush among the people, almost all of whom were behind her. The old man’s eyes greedily roamed over her exquisite, high, firm breasts. Then, with a smile showing blackened teeth, he removed his own heavy cloak and put it about Elizabeth’s shoulders.

  Holding onto the ties in a degrading manner, he began to pull Elizabeth into the darkness of the forest.

  Concealed in her hand was a knife she’d taken from one of the knights. As the old man turned, he saw that the bound girl was gone, but before he could call out, Elizabeth moved forward, caught his earlobe between her teeth, pressed the knife to his ribs and growled, “Walk!”

  They were enveloped in the darkness before the cry was given that the prisoner had escaped.

  “Run!” Elizabeth commanded the old man, pushing on the knife.

  Quickly, he turned and backhanded Elizabeth across the face.

  But before he could move, Roger leaped from the trees, his big hands around the old man’s throat. Perhaps it was the surprise or the excitement of Elizabeth’s dance, but Roger barely touched him and the ugly old man fell dead at their feet.

  Roger lost no time but caught Elizabeth’s waist and shoved her up into a tree.

  Knights swarmed across the ground under them, their drawn swords glinting in the moonlight. Roger put his arms around Elizabeth and held her close, her head buried in his shoulder. She was trembling over her entire body and even now, in the safety of her brother’s arms, she could still feel the men’s hands clutching at her.

  “Miles,” she whispered to Roger.

  “Safe,” was all Roger’d say as he pressed her even closer.

  They waited for some time, through all the hue and cry of finding the old man dead. Finally, two knights carried the body back to the camp and the search for the girl seemed to be ended as the men saddled horses and began to ride out.

  Roger held Elizabeth a while after the forest was quiet.

  “Come,” he commanded. “Montgomery waits for us.”

  Roger climbed down first, then caught Elizabeth, who still wore the old man’s cloak. The velvet swirling about her, she ran after Roger through the cold, damp forest.

  Elizabeth hadn’t realized how worried she’d been about Miles’s safety until she saw him again. He emerged from a stagnant pond, holding the hand of the girl. Both of them were wet, slimy, and the girl’s teeth were chattering.

  After one grateful look at Miles for his safety, Elizabeth removed the old man’s cloak and put it around the girl’s shoulders.

  “It is his!” Christiana said, stepping away from the cloak as if it were evil.

  Roger caught the cloak, tossed it back to Elizabeth and removed his own doublet, wrapping the girl in it. She melted into Roger’s arms as if she were part of his skin.

  “We must go,” Miles said, taking Elizabeth’s hand. “They’ll be back for her soon.”

  They traveled all night. Elizabeth knew she was past exhaustion but she kept going, sometimes stealing looks at the girl who’d caused this flight. Wearing Roger’s doublet, which dwarfed her, she looked even younger and more fragile than she first appeared. She was never more than an inch or two from Roger’s side even though sometimes branches hit her face. As for Roger, he didn’t seem to want her any farther away.

  Elizabeth hardly looked at Miles because his eyes blazed with anger and a few times he threatened to crush her hand in his. Once, she tried to talk to him and explain why she’d had to disobey his orders and enter the rescue, but Miles looked at her with eyes blackened with rage, and Elizabeth practically crawled back inside the concealing cloak.

  Toward morning, Miles said, “We’ll join the travelers on the road and we must get her some clothes.”

  Christiana still wore her bejeweled dress, the pearls about her neck. It somehow emphasized her fallen status—she still wore her riches but now her fine dress was torn, her hair matted, her cheek bruised and the slime from the pond was dried and still clinging to her.

  When at last they stopped beside the road, near a large group of travelers just waking, Elizabeth nearly fell in an exhausted heap. Miles caught her to him, pulled her across his lap. “If you ever do anything like that again, wife—” he began but stopped when he kissed her so hard her mouth was bruised.

  Tears came to her eyes, tears of joy that he was safe. There’d been a time, when she saw Miles draw a sword, that she was sure she’d never see him alive again. “I would risk all for you,” she whispered and fell asleep in his arms.

  It seemed like only moments before Elizabeth was wakened again and they began walking just a short distance behind the other travelers. The girl, Christiana, now wore a coarse woolen dress with a large concealing hood.

  At midday they stopped and the men left the women alone while they went to the travelers to negotiate for bread and cheese, using the hated cloak.

  Elizabeth leaned against a tree, her body trying to relax, but Christiana’s nearness prevented rest. She couldn’t help resenting the girl who’d nearly caused their deaths.

  “Will you hate me for long, Elizabeth?” Christiana asked softly.

  Elizabeth gave her one startled look before turning away. “I do not…hate you.”

  “You are not accustomed to lying,” the girl said.

  Elizabeth turned on her. “My husband could have been killed rescuing you!” she said fiercely. “As well as my brother! What hold do you have on Roger? Ha
ve you bewitched him?”

  Christiana did not smile nor did she frown. Her big eyes blazed with intensity. “I have always dreamed of a man like Roger. I have always known he’d come for me. Last year my uncle gave me in marriage to a cruel man but still I knew Roger would come. Three nights ago I dreamed and I saw his face. He was traveling in coarse clothes and with a woman related to him. I knew that he’d finally come.”

  Elizabeth looked at the girl as if she were a witch.

  Chris continued, “You curse me for putting the man you love in danger, but what would you risk to be with your man? Perhaps if I were braver I could have gone to the torture and death my husband planned for me, but instead I sat in camp tied to the tree and prayed with all my might for my Roger to come.”

  She looked away, down the road to where Miles and Roger were approaching, and an inner light appeared in her eyes. “God has given me Roger to repay me for what has happened to me before. Tonight I will lie with Roger and after that I am ready to forsake all life, if need be. I have risked his life, yours and your kind husband’s for this one night with my beloved.”

  She put her hand over Elizabeth’s and her eyes were pleading. “Forgive me if I have asked too much of all of you.”

  Elizabeth’s anger evaporated. Her hand took Christiana’s. “Don’t talk of death. Roger needs love perhaps more than you do. Stay beside him.”

  For the first time, Chris gave a bit of a smile and a single dimple showed in her left cheek. “Only force will take me away from him.”

  Elizabeth glanced upward, saw Roger standing over them, his face showing puzzlement. He’s bewildered by all this, Elizabeth thought. Chris confuses him as much as she does us.