None were those he would face, but he enjoyed watching the techniques of skilled fighters. He preferred the sword and staff, as the two closest to him used, so he spent some time observing their moves. He recognized one man, having seen him at the king’s castle during Thomas’s own stay there—Sir Giric, a nephew, he thought, of the queen. He appeared to be the more skillful, but his opponent held his ground and fought back with enthusiasm. When they finished, Thomas asked Giric to practice with him and spent the next few hours regretting that. And yet not, for working strenuously brought his mind to the task ahead, and his body gained more strength from it.
’Twas not his choice to fight at less than his best condition. Previous tournaments had seen him at his peak—stronger, younger, ready to take on any and all challengers. But the last few years, and especially the last half-year, had worn heavy on him. Regaining weight and strength after the months of deprivation of the king’s dungeon had not been easy to accomplish. Lifting his arms over his head, Thomas stretched out the soreness in his back and shoulders.
On the morrow, he would practice with his horse. The king’s gift to his champion, this one was strong and full of heart, and Thomas was excited to be riding the huge destrier in the coming challenges. Whether or not he would be permitted to keep the beautiful beast was another matter and rested on the whims of the king...and the outcome of the coming battle.
Though the sun set very late near midsummer, and so the fighting and merriment would continue long into the short night, Thomas sought his tent. Martel had better have food and drink ready for him. Passing the last lane before the one where his tent sat, Thomas wondered about his other request or, rather, demand. Now, loosened up from practice, he would appreciate the attentions of a woman to ease him into rest.
As he reached the tent, a flash of regret passed through him. Even before seeing if a woman did indeed wait for him within, disappointment that it would not be her filled him.
So much for working Annora out of his thoughts.
Thomas lifted the flap out of his way and entered.
Chapter Eight
Her luck had held out, and Annora offered up a silent prayer to the Almighty in thanks for that. With it being one of the longest days of the year, she had plenty of time to visit the camp and find out more about Sir Thomas Brisbois of Kelso, who challenged on behalf of the Scottish king.
The first thing she learned was that he was not a boastful man with toadies around him to feed his vanity. Not about his prowess on the field nor about his handsome appearance nor, as it turned out, the number of women he’d entertained since his arrival here in Gracious Hill.
Of those things, the last one irritated her. As she continued on her way, having learned the location of his tent, she considered the reason for that botheration and did not like the possibilities. When she’d asked a small gathering of serving women what they knew of him while they stood watching him work in the practice yard with another tall knight, she lost track of the sighs and fluttering eyelashes at the mention of his name and his every movement on the field. The comments offered then caused a blush she could feel to the tips of her ears. Yet, even with her limited experience in the pleasures of the flesh, Annora understood some of it. Her body reacted to the description of his kisses, and she could almost feel his mouth on her.
When he finished his bout, and both men left the field, she rushed away with hurried thanks and walked in the direction they’d given her, choosing a path different from the one he’d chosen. “’Tis the biggest tent there in that lane. Biggest,” they’d said laughing. “Like him.”
What did it matter if he sought the delights of the flesh with so many? She had no claim on him or his affections. Even if he won the challenge, she could not bring him to task for such behavior. Even if they married, she would have no say in his pursuits of pleasure.
Her feet stopped at that thought. Annora glanced around at the busy pathway and moved to the side. Married? Was that his plan? Never once had he mentioned that. She had no idea if he had a wife hidden somewhere in Scotland, waiting on his return.
Oh, le Govic had not hesitated to make his need for a fourth wife clear. She would face a life of serving his needs until he tired of her or killed her, as the servants gossiped that he had the first three. She wondered what those wives’ sins had been to earn such grim punishments and offered up a quick prayer for their souls before whispering one for her own. A woman had few choices, and she had little in this bargain, this arrangement that her father had made. There was no doubt from the rumors that she would lose everything—her dignity, her body and soul. Her heart hurt when she thought of her father’s complete disregard for her.
’Twas then that the thought struck her—mayhap she could make an arrangement with Sir Thomas. Mayhap, in exchange for gold or something else he wanted or needed, or some aid she could offer, he would allow her to be free of him? If he fought only for the return of his tarnished name, mayhap he had other plans for a woman to take as his wife? If he had one, mayhap she could convince him somehow to let her go?
Before she could offer him anything in exchange for his agreement to her plan, Annora truly needed to know what drove him to stand for the king. A king who had, she’d heard while listening in on her father’s rantings, charged him with treason and tossed him a dungeon to die while waiting to be executed.
What would make a man in that situation change his loyalties and fight for that king’s claim?
Raucous laughter drew her attention, and she turned to find le Govic, her father and some of his cronies just yards away from her, in a gathering of men...and a few of the sordid women who flocked to events like this to earn some coin. They came from the direction opposite of the tourney stands where the last jousts were finishing. She tugged the hood of her cloak lower to cover her face and stepped into the shadows as they passed.
From the way le Govic shoved his hand down a voluptuous woman’s gown, cupping her breasts while she rubbed her hand against his...his...flesh as they walked, she doubted he would make it to his tent. A moment later, the woman squealed loudly as her father’s champion pulled her into the shadows near one tent, threw her to the ground there and tossed up her skirts. Annora looked away as the man unlaced his breeches and fell on the woman. Her father walked on with the others and left le Govic to his pleasure.
Like a pig rutting in the mud, he was.
And if he won, she would be the one beneath him, willing or not. To lie beneath him until she died from childbearing or from his brutal fists. Tremors shook her body as fear raced through her—the shudders tensed all her muscles and made it difficult to breathe. She looked at the path ahead of her and saw the large, well-appointed tent sponsored by Scotland’s king, and walked faster then.
She must find a way to bargain with Thomas and must do what she could to make certain he won.
Slowing as she grew closer, Annora approached from the back and then the side of the large tent. Seeing a lamp’s light escaping near the place where the tent’s sides joined, she moved there as quietly as she could before peeking in.
At first, she could see little but the table and chair nearest the opening, the pallet in the corner and a collection of weapons near the back of the tent. Then, the soft moans caught her attention, and she leaned closer to see Thomas sitting on another chair nearer to the front of the tent. Until he lounged back in it, leaning his head against its cushioned back, she did not see the woman there, kneeling between his legs.
She was beautiful, fair of face with delicate features and, from the costliness of her gown and the jewels she yet wore, this was a wealthy woman. Whether a noble or the wife or daughter of a wealthy merchant or such, she could not tell, but Annora was glad that they only seemed to be talking.
The deep, rich rumble of laughter from him made her body catch fire. It was an echo of the sounds he’d made when he—when they—kissed in the alley. But instead of continuing to talk to the woman, he nodded his head a
nd closed his eyes. Damn, but she was too far away to hear the words exchanged. She moved along the panel of canvas to the next opening, praying that her form threw no shadows that would reveal her. Pausing for a moment, Annora peered once more inside the tent.
Nothing could have prepared her for the sight before her eyes now. ’Twas not simply Thomas, sitting with a woman before him. ’Twas not simply Thomas, relaxing after a hard practice. Nay, he sat there, his laces untied, breeches open as the woman held his cock in her hands.
Annora swallowed once and then again and could not loosen the tightness in her throat and chest.
She’d felt him, that part of him, pressed against the most intimate part of her when he’d lifted her from her feet and held her to him. Now though, she saw that part of him—exposed, bold, erect, large—being caressed by this woman. Even the woman’s two hands along it did not cover it from view. Close enough to hear their words, Annora now wished she’d not moved from the other place. The woman slid one hand down to touch and rub his ballocks, and he moaned through clenched teeth at her ministrations.
Annora could neither take a breath nor look away from the sight within. Every sound, every grunt or moan made the place between her legs grow wet, and caused a deepening ache within her. Then, when the woman leaned up and moved closer to him, Annora thought she might faint.
“May I, Sir Thomas?” the woman whispered as she licked her lower lip.
“Since you ask so prettily, Mistress,” he said. He lifted his head to meet the woman’s gaze and slid his hand into her lustrous blonde hair, loosening more of it from its braid. “Aye, Corliss. Take me.”
Annora had witnessed many things that happened between men and women. Little could be hidden while living in a castle with a large number of servants and freemen. She’d seen couplings. She’d seen men taking women from behind like a stallion would take a mare. But never had she seen this kind of pleasuring. How would such a thing feel? To wrap her hands around the length and girth of his flesh and stroke it? To touch her tongue to it and lick it as he had licked the honey from her fingers? Something deep within her tightened as her breasts swelled, and she found herself aching to do just that.
At the first touch of the woman’s tongue to his flesh, Annora stumbled back, not wanting to watch this intimate moment. She grabbed out for a handhold to keep herself from falling, and when she regained her balance, she looked up to meet the gaze—the angry and somehow amused gaze—of the knight within.
Thomas had heard someone passing by outside his tent, but when no interruption came, he ignored it. The lovely Corliss diverted his attentions well enough. The very young wife to one of the town’s elderly cloth merchants, Corliss sought out the company of the male persuasion as she wished with the blessing, or benign inattention, of her husband.
She was lovely, truly lovely. When she knelt before him, her intentions clear, he tried to let his interest and flesh rise under her gentle touches and skilled techniques. And truth be told, for he would not lie even to himself, the interest was not there. After the innocent passion of Annora earlier, the experienced kisses of this long-ignored wife did not call to him.
Oh, she had finally been able to encourage his cock to rise and ready, but he’d closed his eyes and tried to imagine that it was Annora’s heated breath on his flesh. That it was Annora’s curling blonde hair that his fingers laced through as she approached. That it was Annora, and not Corliss, there seeking pleasure with him.
So, when he heard that soft gasp through the opening in the tent’s panels, a gasp he recognized from this morn’s encounter, Thomas knew she was the one watching. The thought of her seeing his cock erect and naked there, being handled right in front of her, excited him. Would she watch? Was she scandalized by seeing such a thing? Were her innocent sensibilities shocked?
Or, was she excited by what she saw? Did her body soften and weep with arousal as she watched his flesh grow with each caress? Did she wonder how he would feel as much as he prayed she would touch him so?
When Corliss leaned forward, her pretty mouth open and ready to take him within and suckle him within an inch of his life, Thomas heard Annora stumble. Easing Corliss away, he strode to the opening between the flaps of the tent to see if she was still there, still watching.
And he met her shocked turquoise gaze there. A moment passed that seemed to last forever with their gazes locked, and he could read the desire there. She was a bold one, and there was not a shred of embarrassment or regret to be seen. Then, she was gone, and he heard her steps gathering speed alongside the tent.
Fuck me.
Whispering a few words of apology and dismissal to the draper’s wife and tucking himself back in his breeches, Thomas followed Annora as she ran through the lanes of tents. He nearly lost her path several times, and then he did. Thomas turned down one and then another, seeking her without success. He slowed down and traced his path back to the last place he’d seen her. Then he stood and listened.
The sound floated to him from the dark shadows of a small hut there. Used by the baron’s men to store needed supplies, it should be empty of people, and the door closed and locked. Instead, the door had been opened, and the noises from within told him it was in use. The sight of the silken veil caught on the edge of the doorway told him all he needed to know.
Without waiting, he tucked the fabric inside his tunic and then used all of his weight against the door, barging in quickly and with little sound. As he’d hoped, he interrupted without warning the people inside.
Le Govic had shoved Annora down over some of the crates and was doing his best to control her while getting her skirts out of his way. The edge of the door caught the man and knocked him to one side, allowing Annora to escape le Govic’s grasp. As he reached out to grab her hair and pull her back, Thomas landed several blows on the man’s jaw and then, aiming for his ribs, in his side. Annora managed to get nearer the door while Thomas blocked le Govic’s path.
“You have no right to interfere here!” le Govic growled at Thomas. “She is mine!”
“Until the challenge is called and met, she is not,” Thomas answered quietly. Though he could see Annora shivering there, he would not take his attention off le Govic. He knew better.
“Lord Robert gave me permission, you Scots bastard.” Le Govic swiped the back of his hand across his face. “Said I could have her now since defeating you is a given. I am the only man to lay you low, and we both know it.”
Thomas blew out heavy breaths, trying to ignore the insult and the temptation to finish the man here and now.
“Did the lady give you her permission?”
Le Govic just laughed at his question and did not reply. With her father’s leave, le Govic could do as he wanted. Her virtue would matter not when this was all over, and one king or another triumphed. The man moved towards Annora. Thomas grabbed hold of his belt and used his opponent’s own motion and Thomas’s weight against him, managing to shove him out of the hut and into the lane. Blocking the door and her, he waited for the attack. He knew that le Govic would not give up so easily. Just as the knave clenched his hands into fists to strike out, a group of mounted knights rode down the lane there.
“The curfew is called! The gates are closing for the night!” the commander of the troop called out. Loud blasts from horns could be heard all across the fields.
The baron had made it known that order would be kept on his lands during this tournament, and the appearance of these guards and the earlier quick response to the brawl in the marketplace spoke of his intention to see to that.
Though le Govic looked as if he would remain, the last man slowed as they passed and called out to him, “Lord de Umfraville seeks you, sir. At his tent.”
Like a bitch brought to heel, le Govic turned and walked away without hesitation. So, ’twould seem that theirs was also an unholy alliance of some sort, with le Govic in thrall to the Lord of Prudhoe.
Once the area was cleared, Thomas walk
ed to the hut and pushed the door open. Annora stood where and as he’d left her, in the dark corner of the shack, shivering. Now that the curfew was called, the gates would also be closing, and no one would enter or leave the castle until the morn. Annora was caught outside.
“Come, lass,” he whispered. He tugged her cloak back into place and pulled the hood of it over her head and then down low to cover most of her face. “You must seek shelter for the night, and we will get you back inside as soon as the gates open in the morn.”
“But, my father—” she began, even while allowing him to tie her cloak tightly. “He will...”
“No one will rouse early on the morrow. Far too much ale and wine has been imbibed this night. Unless le Govic reveals his own misdeed, your father will know nothing of this.”
“But you—” she said. “Why are you not yelling at me?”
He had yelled at her the last time he found her in a dangerous situation, but he could see the fear in her gaze and feel it in her. He had not been in time to stop all his opponent’s attentions. The lass had been terrified and nearly savaged by her father’s man.
“I wish not to be detained by the baron’s guards for breaking the peace, sweet. Come,” he said, gathering her close. “My tent is over on the next lane.”
Though she stiffened for a moment, she relented and allowed him to guide her. But he understood at least one of the reasons for her hesitation.
“Worry not. She is gone. And I give you my word that you will be safe there.”
Soon, he held the flap open and allowed her to walk inside before tying the cords that would keep the flaps down. Now that he had her here, what in bloody hell was he to do with her? She stood still just where he left her at the entry while he sought a blanket and a cup of something stronger than ale to soothe her.
An Outlaw's Honor Page 6