“You will be the victor, Thomas.”
“Can you read my thoughts now?” She faced away from him, so she could not see a sign of his lack of confidence revealed on his face.
“I felt you stiffen just then. I suspected that the morrow had infringed on this evening.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she examined him in a brisk look from head to his toes. “How am I to apply the liniment if you are garbed? Take it off, Thomas.” His body reacted as it should to a command such as that one—his flesh rose, awaiting what it hoped would come next.
“Does...it always do that?”
“When you look at it or speak of it, aye, it does,” he said. With one glance at her face then, Thomas knew he was falling in love with this extraordinary woman. But he could not think about that now. “So, turn your gaze away, woman!” he teased.
“Thomas, I am not leaving until you allow me to help you,” she said, retrieving the bowl and removing the tight-fitting lid. The obnoxious scent of it filled the tent. “By all the saints, this smells just like...”
“Shite?” he answered. “I am certain there is manure in it for it to smell as it does. I was trying to spare your sensibilities.”
“Too late,” she said. Her face tightened in an expression of revulsion as she dipped her fingers in the unguent and held it up. “I truly hope this is helpful. To suffer such a smell for nothing would be pitiful.” He tugged off the tunic and turned his back to her first. “You said your mother would be horrified but never explained why. Now I know.”
She worked in companionable silence then, scooping, spreading and working the mixture into the skin on the worst of the bruising. He would appreciate it on the morrow, he knew. She moved around to put it on his ribs, and every few moments, she would chuckle, and he knew she was watching his randy flesh throb against his breeches.
“I will win,” he whispered to her.
“I expect you to live up to your part of our bargain, Sir Thomas,” she said, wiping the last of the medicament off her hands with a cloth he held out. “I do not wish to suffer the attentions of that man again for even a moment.”
“Very well, my lady,” he said, lowering his head in a curt bow.
“Do you know how you will defeat him?” Leave it to her to cut through the flowery promise to its core—an oath with no plan.
“Fight like the devil and take advantage of a weakness?” He lifted her cloak, shook it out and tossed it around her shoulders. She tucked her braid under the collar and pulled the hood up around her head.
“And that weakness is?” She met his gaze, and hers narrowed. “I am inexperienced at such matters, but he did not seem to reveal such a weakness in his battles yesterday.”
“Nay, he did not.” Thomas thought on what he’d witnessed and the changes in both of them over the years since he’d fought the man last. “He tended to rely on his size to intimidate. On a horse, with a lance aimed at your chest, size like his, and mine, can be a disadvantage.”
“What else?” she asked. “You are both rather big men. Does that balance out the threat of being large in breadth and height?”
He shook his head and blinked to clear his vision. Thomas had underestimated Annora and she’d shown him the folly of such an act as she demonstrated her ability to dissect a problem or situation. Which made him realize there were ways to use both his size and le Govic’s against him in their fight.
“Aye, it could. Or I could use it, knowing how well matched we are in that. The only good thing about today’s challenges is that he did not see my best to judge me by. He saw me at my worst, so he will not expect much in the fight tomorrow. Take him unawares.”
He gathered her in his arms and spun them around in circles, holding her up until he could kiss her. And he did—again and again until he grew dizzy, and she grew breathless.
“I will fight for you,” he said when he placed her before him. “I want you, Annora. I want my lands and title back, but I want you for...”
He stopped before he could utter the words. She stared at his mouth, waiting for the rest of it. Did she know that his original plan was changing with every moment spent with her? With every new facet he saw of her person and the woman she was...and the wife she could be?
Thomas was not certain of anything at all. So many depended on his restoration that throwing any part of that away or discounting the importance of each part—including needing a well-connected noble Scots wife—seemed foolhardy. Now was not the time to announce his feelings to her, other than the one she was well aware of, or to proclaim he wanted to wed her. All of that must wait until he carried out the first crucial step—beat le Govic.
“Come, ’tis time to go,” he said, holding out his hand to her.
She took his hand but tugged on him to stop. “There is something else,” she said, shaking her head and shrugging as she spoke.
“Are you well? Is there discomfort? Tell me true, Annora—did I hurt you?” He had not inquired enough about her condition after their encounter.
“’Tis not about that, and aye, I am well,” she said. Did she notice that she slid her hand in his as she spoke? “There is something about him. Something strange. He seems to favor his right side.”
“He is right-handed, Annora, as are most,” he said.
“Nay, ’tis something else I noticed. Not on the lists. Before. Outside of fighting. I cannot sort it out, but I will.”
“Before the battle on the morrow?” he asked. She looked ready to slap him, so he leaned in for a kiss instead.
“I will send word when I make sense of it.”
Thomas gathered her hand back in his and began to lead her out of the tent when she stopped yet another time. She searched within her cloak for something, and the smile that lit her face spoke of success.
“I cannot give you this on the morrow,” she said, holding out her hand that curled in a fist. “I wanted you to know that you have my favor, and I will be praying for your success.”
She relaxed her fingers, and a cloud of silk dropped into his palm, waiting beneath her hand. He did as he had with each one that he’d stolen without her knowledge—he gathered it together and inhaled the scent of her that remained in the delicate swath of silk.
“I thank you for this, Annora.”
Tears filled her eyes, and she ducked her head lower to keep him from seeing them. This time she led the way out, and they skirted around the tents, keeping to the shadows until they were closer to her father’s. He released her hand and waited for her to cross the last short distance alone, stepping back into the darkness to cover his presence. Just before she turned to enter, she crossed back towards him. He saw the tears streaming down her cheeks now and wanted to take her away, steal her, keep her safe. Keep her as his own.
“I just want you to know, Thomas. I wanted it to be you. I so wanted it to be you.”
And then she disappeared, running to the tent and entering quietly.
Chapter Sixteen
As she opened her eyes in the morning, Annora was glad that this morn was as bright as yesterday’s had been gloomy. She did not rise immediately; instead, she allowed herself to adjust to her new condition of being.
A woman, no longer a child.
A woman, no longer chaste.
A woman, in love with a man.
She sensed that her life might be easier if none of those things were true, but they were, and she would live with the choices she’d made. Except for falling in love—that had happened without her even trying. But if she never spoke of it and did not admit to it, it could all be well.
When Annora shifted under the thick layers of bedclothes, her body reminded her of what had changed. She had allowed, nay opened herself and invited, a man into her body. She had touched him and kissed him, and he had filled her in a place she’d not known was empty. His consideration and attention and care of her tore down her defenses, leaving her raw in spirit and heart. Her body he had cherished, and othe
r than a twinge in a few deep places, she felt alive and filled with vigor and ready for more.
When she told him that she’d wanted it to be him, it was the true reason she’d sought him out. At first, he was the lesser of the two terrible possibilities before her. She hated her father for putting her in the middle of this devil’s bargain, one that she would lose no matter who won.
That was before Thomas began his planned attack on her.
Not one meant to harm her, but one meant to make her think and feel and question. And to use her for his purposes. Oh, she was not so naïve and stupid that she did not see his aims when they met. Beguile, frighten, tempt, test and tease.
And he’d done all of those things, making her curious and eager and willing to place herself within his sphere of influence. To present him with the opportunities to continue his seduction of her until she was ready to begin hers of him. In his need to work his wiles on her, he’d given her the freedom and power to try hers out on him.
And somewhere in all that dancing, feinting and probing, she’d seen the true man beneath his devilish façade. Under the traitor’s edifice was a man of honor, one willing to allow her to believe she could take hold of her future when she was least in control. When a man of lesser honor would have taken everything from her, he’d held back until certain it was her choice. He’d let her sleep in his bed unaccosted when he could have taken her. Now, all of the preparations would conclude, and all the games would be over.
Or would they?
Something much bigger than their tiny noble but insignificant lives was at stake here. Kingdoms and loyalties were in play. Lands and titles and past wrongs waited to be restored and vindicated. Lives saved and destroyed. All lay in the balance as they awaited the outcome of a battle between two men. Puppets both. Warriors both.
As Margaret entered quietly and began gathering the garments she would wear to watch the battle that would determine the rest of her life, Annora realized she was no closer to aiding Thomas than before. She pushed back the blankets and rose to wash. Margaret’s gasp at the mark on the sheet and then knowing blush told Annora her maid suspected, nay knew, the truth of where she’d gone and what she’d done.
“Do you wish a bath, my lady? I could call for the tub and hot water,” she offered. But before the maid could do that, Annora’s father called out her name from outside.
“I am here, Father,” she said, accepting the robe Margaret offered and walking to the tent’s opening. Margaret tossed the blankets back in place before her father entered.
“This is the day, Annora. The day my champion will defend our honor, and defeat an enemy of longstanding,” he said, clearly pleased with himself and the proceedings.
“I did not know you were acquainted with Thomas of Kelso,” she said. This was the first time her father had spoken of anything involving the cause of this, and she would discover what she could.
“Not him, stupid child,” he said. “This is more important than some traitor William thinks to send my way. He did not even have the respect to send someone worthy.”
“But Thomas is undefeated—” She never finished the rest, for her father struck her across the mouth and sent her stumbling back.
“Do not speak of what you do not know. None of this concerns you. You will play your part and be given to Laurence for having agreed to help me.”
Annora warned Margaret off with the slightest movement of her head. The girl was usually wise but fiercely loyal and would be in danger if she attempted to protect Annora now.
“Get her dressed now,” he ordered, shouting and motioning at Margaret to heed him. “Clean up her mouth. Bring her to le Govic’s tent when she is readied.”
“Father?” Annora shrank back when he raised his hand, now a fist.
“You will come and watch your champion prepare for the battle. He wishes you there.”
“’Tis unseemly.” The words slipped out before she thought about the wisdom of speaking at all.
“Unseemly? ’Tis only unseemly if I say so and I do not. You will come and watch and be glad that you will be taken care of by such a capable man.”
He was gone then, but his voice echoed back as he called out orders to his servants and le Govic’s attendants. Annora looked at Margaret and recognized the dread there in her eyes.
“Oh, my lady,” Margaret cried as she brought cloths and cool water to Annora’s side. “Sit here and let me tend this before it swells more.”
Annora fell more than sat on the chair her maid dragged over. Luckily, the bleeding was more inside her mouth than on her skin, and Margaret’s skillful care had it cleaned up and her dressed in a short time. Though her legs felt as though they would not support her, Annora made her way over to le Govic’s and was pulled in roughly when the tent flap was opened. Whatever she thought, she would see, ’twas not this.
Never this.
Le Govic stood surrounded by his squires, two, and other servants, three, and her father as they dressed and readied him for battle. Thankfully, they’d not waited on her arrival to begin, and he already wore chausses and a tunic. Then, the hauberk of chainmail was lifted over his head, though with his height that rivalled Thomas’s, his squires had to climb on stools and benches to manage it.
Layer upon layer, cloth and mail and then armor was placed and secured and tested to make certain it would remain where needed during the coming fights. Annora ignored most of it, lost in her thoughts as she tried to find what she was missing about him—the one weakness that would bring about his defeat this day. And, in spite of hearing stories from gathered ladies, knights or even visitors and villagers about Thomas’s skills, she thought he might need something more.
Then, one of the servants whispered something to the other that drew her attention. ’Twas clear to her, they exchanged some jibe about their master, but he did not hear them. Yet, when they moved to his left side to make an adjustment in the length of the straps attached to his belt and whispered something more, he tensed and then slammed his fist into both their stomachs. They fell onto the floor and were moved aside by the others without a word.
He’d not heard them when they whispered while standing to his right side.
Could he be deaf on one side?
Good fortune was with her then, for her father went over to speak to him in low tones so that no one else would hear. Whether it was about what had just happened or some other matter, she knew not. As she watched closely, her father, who was closer and could position himself more easily on le Govic’s right, moved around the massive man until he stood on his left.
Le Govic was deaf on his right side!
Since neither of his previous challenges had made it very far past the lances, she’d not seen him fight on the ground where movement was freer, and attacks could come from anywhere, enough to notice this. And an opponent who knew that could use it against him.
She needed to get word to Thomas before the match began. It might not help him on the list when they charged on their mounts, but on the ground, it could be useful. As she was considering how to get that knowledge to him, her father beckoned her to his side, unfortunate for it brought her to le Govic as well.
“’Tis only fitting you wish our champion well, Annora.” Confused about what was expected, she waited. “A favor to give him?”
“Pray, forgive me, I left it in my trunk.” Her father’s eyes flashed in anger, but she called to Margaret. “Let me tell her where it is. ’Tis not one of my veils, Sir Laurence, but something special,” she lied.
When her father gave her leave, she leaned close to Margaret and told her to seek out Thomas and tell him what she’d found. She sent her off running, though not on the errand the others thought.
“Annora! While we are waiting, give your champion your personal wishes.” She must have shaken her head, for her father grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the knight. “Wish your champion well. Now.”
“Sir Laurence,” she
began, struggling to pay heed to her words when the pain from her father’s harsh grasp made her sick to her stomach. She did not want to go near this brutal man, yet she could not escape. “I wish you well.”
“Come closer, Annora and say the words once more.” Le Govic’s voice was softer and more dangerous.
Her father shoved her against le Govic, who now grabbed her head and pulled her mouth up towards his. Stretching on her toes, she fought against his grip. Keeping her in position with one hand now under her jaw, he tugged the circlet and veil free and tossed them aside. She tried to peel his fingers away, but they were clamped onto her tightly, and she had not the strength to loosen them. He dragged her mouth against hers and thrust his tongue deep inside. When she gagged, he let her go for a moment as he tore off her wimple and wrapped his arms around her to keep her still.
His mail and armor dug into her skin where it touched, and his iron hold kept her chest from pulling in air. Was she to die here? Now? He laughed at her efforts and then mauled her mouth again until she could not breathe.
“Blood? I taste blood?” he said, before shoving his tongue back in again. He maneuvered within her mouth until he could grasp her tongue with his teeth and bite it. She pushed away with all her might.
“Father?” she pleaded. When she saw that the others had gone and her father stood staring at the opening of the tent, drinking wine, she knew the knight would do as he wished to her.
“She was disrespectful, Laurence. Even today.”
“Worry not, my lord,” he said as he forced her face back to his. “I do not mind the taste of it on my women.”
Annora realized that he relished the fight, the blood, and her resistance that was giving him. This would be her life if Thomas lost. And in that moment, as she prayed her maid would find him, Annora stopped fighting him. It took great effort, but in a very short time, the enjoyment he got from tormenting those weaker than him seeped away, and he released her.
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