Lords of Conquest Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  A thought occurred to him. Perhaps she hadn’t surrendered to him at all. Perhaps she’d been taken against her will. Alex felt a brief surge of hope that this was so—she didn’t mean for it to happen, he overpowered her, I was to have been her first—but promptly stamped it down, disgusted with himself. Would he rather she’d been raped than taken a lover? What manner of low, selfish cur was he?

  He shook his head, deeply ashamed.

  “Is something wrong?” Nicki turned to face him, a beam of sunlight playing across her eyes, kindling a hot green fire in their depths. Alex could scarcely breathe. His hand quivered with the need to touch her.

  Win her with subtlety. You must seduce her heart before you can seduce her body. He had until Christmastide to get her with child. He could afford the luxury of taking his time. And he hardly had any choice in the matter at present, with her sleeping in great hall. It wasn’t as if he could seduce her on a pallet next to her husband’s bed—that is, if she kept to the pallet, rather than joining Milo, as she had last night.

  Alex frowned, recalling his shock at seeing them in an attitude of such intimacy. His long, exhausting ride had helped somewhat to subdue the idiotic jealousy simmering in his belly. He shouldn’t care; Milo was incapable of claiming his husbandly rights. He’d ceded them to Alex, for God’s sake! Was it the fact that she still cared enough for Milo to want to comfort him that was so upsetting?

  Christ, it was. Alex sank his head in his hand, dismayed to be coveting the little bit of affection she still harbored for her invalid husband.

  Nicki sat up, studying him. “What’s the matter, Alex?”

  He laughed humorlessly. “One hardly knows where to begin.”

  She lifted the tablet and examined his efforts. “You’re doing very well. You shouldn’t feel frustrated.”

  There was frustration, he thought, his gaze traveling from the tablet to Nicki, and then there was frustration. Setting down the stylus, he reached over and fingered her heavy linen veil. “Aren’t you hot in this?”

  Alarm flickered in her eyes. “I thought you said you wouldn’t—”

  “I’m not touching you,” he pointed out. “Just your veil. It’s so hot today, and I can tell you’re suffering.” He trailed a finger over the sweat-dampened linen at her hairline. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable if you took this off.” He shrugged and picked up the stylus. “Do as you will.”

  She seemed to contemplate that for a few moments, and then she removed the veil, folded it neatly and set it next to her. Her hair was woven into a single braid down her back; moist tendrils clung to her forehead and nape. There was a damp patch on the pack of her ivory tunic as well, he noticed, where it laced up with a golden cord.

  Digging into her saddlebags, she said, “Would you like a peach?”

  “I couldn’t eat another bite.” He’d stuffed himself on the meat pie and cheese wafer she’d been thoughtful enough to bring him, since he’d missed dinner.

  She pulled out a peach and lay on her stomach next to him, propped up on her elbows. Riffling one-handed through the primer, she pressed it open and pushed it toward him. “Try to copy those words,” she instructed as she brought the peach to her mouth.

  Alex watched, transfixed, as she bit into it. Juice spilled from it, trailing over her chin and onto the blanket. “My word.” Laughing, she lifted the edge of the blanket to blot her chin.

  Her laughter was so rare, and enhanced her appeal so magically, that all he could do was gape, like some driveling dunce. This was the Nicki he’d fallen in love with nine summers ago, the golden girl with the enchanting laugh.

  The peach’s ripe perfume mingled with her intoxicating fragrance and the sweet, earthy scent of the enveloping woods, challenging Alex’s resolve to maintain a chivalric distance from her. Today.

  Her tongue darted between her lips to lick the juice from them, triggering a heaviness in Alex’s loins. He was glad to be lying on his stomach.

  Just today. He’d vowed to keep his hands to himself, but only for this afternoon. After that, if he happened to brush up against her, or take her hand in a moment of tenderness, or get swept away and kiss her, ...

  “Aren’t you going to copy the words?”

  “Words?”

  “Those words.” She nodded toward the primer, then raised her astonishing, incandescent eyes to his. “Are you sure you want this?”

  “Absolutely.” Alex shifted to adjust himself on the blanket. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything quite as much.”

  Chapter 14

  Nicki saw Alex as she passed the athletic field while riding through the outer bailey on her way to the drawbridge. He was teaching swordplay to a loose circle of men, something he’d done every morning for the past week.

  She reined in Marjolaina, taking advantage of this opportunity to watch Alex openly without attracting notice, since she’d be but one of many doing so. Alex, with his back to her, didn’t even know she was there.

  Shirtless, like most of the rest of the men, he swung his big broadsword two-handed, whipping it across, up, down, around. His muscles gleamed beneath a film of sweat in the early morning sun. His hair, which he’d tried to tie back into a stubby queue, had mostly sprung loose; wet tendrils flew as he sliced the huge blade through the air.

  Gaspar stood on the sidelines, observing him with crossed arms and that studiously blank expression he sometimes adopted. Those churls who did his bidding, Vicq and Leone, stood next to him, whispering and snickering together. One of them cocked his head toward Alex and muttered something to Gaspar, who smiled.

  The smile dissolved when Gaspar noticed her. He quickly scanned the length of her body as she sat astride her mount, and then glanced away as if he hadn’t seen her.

  It had been getting harder of late to ignore her uneasiness when he looked at her that way. In the past, she’d paid no heed. Men looked at her; they always had. And Gaspar had been subtle about it, never embarrassing her or overstepping himself. Given his importance to Peverell, she’d never thought to have Milo speak to him about it. But lately a hint of lewd menace had begun creeping into his expression. Moreover, she didn’t care for the increasingly eerie reserve with which he accepted orders from her.

  Alex was right; Gaspar had changed. She’d tried to ignore it, to deny it, but now that Alex had voiced his apprehensions, her own rose inexorably to the surface.

  Pausing, Alex called for a volunteer to help him, and Gaspar instantly stepped forth. A young page with a pile of weapons—both real and wooden—retrieved a broadsword, but Gaspar waved it aside and pointed to a long-handled mallet with a spiked head forged of lead. He hefted the awful thing in his beefy hands, laughing at Alex’s nonplussed expression.

  It had been a weapon like this, Nicki knew, that had torn the flesh from Alex’s hip. Gaspar knew this, too. Several nights ago, Milo had coaxed Alex into telling the story of the Cambridgeshire ambush during dinner. Gaspar had listened intently. The next morning, he was seen practicing with a mallet, and he’d even taken to carrying one around in lieu of the club he’d favored for so many years.

  “This is a demonstration of swordplay,” Alex said as Gaspar swaggered toward him, the mallet resting on a gigantic shoulder. “Not a tavern brawl.”

  Gaspar, alone among his men, did not laugh. “Might one’s enemy not attack with something other than a sword? Come on—prove your stuff. Defend yourself with a sword against this, if you can.”

  Alex eyed the evil thing grimly. Nicki felt his dread as he regarded the instrument of his mutilation—not to mention the length of Gaspar’s arms and his brutish strength—and wished desperately that she could say something that would put a stop to this encounter. But it was, after all, merely a demonstration, with the parties presumably intending no harm to each other. And for her to come to Alex’s aid would subject him to the men’s scorn. She had no desire to reawaken his hatred for her, when things between them had been fairly amicable lately.

  Seven days
had passed since their first lesson together in the woods. Alex, having a sharp mind, had made remarkable progress in reading and writing. His desire to learn was obvious.

  Just as evident was his desire for her. He hadn’t attempted any more liberties—not overtly—but often she caught him looking at her when he should have had his mind on his studies. He’d seize on any little excuse to touch her—brushing a leaf off her sleeve, hair off her cheek...

  Perhaps it wasn’t wise spending so much time alone with Alex, but she was loath to put an end to their afternoons together. If nothing else, it got her out of that dismal castle. And, in truth, she relished his little attentions, evidence of the attraction that quivered between them. She felt it every waking hour. It droned in her veins, infusing all her thoughts and actions with a kind of heady awareness.

  In her case, the attraction had its basis in a hopelessly incorrigible love that she’d be just as happy to be rid of. Alex’s attraction to her, on the other hand, was no more lofty or meaningful than what he had felt for hundreds of other women over the years. Although she yearned for him with every breath she took, she’d be damned if she’d add her name to the long list of women who’d spread their legs for Alex the Conqueror. Adultery was far too grievous a sin to waste on a man who didn’t care for her.

  Gaspar gripped the mallet in both fists and leapt at Alex, swinging it hard. Alex leapt back. A collective murmur rose from the men watching. Nicki knew what they were saying—that it would take a miracle for a lone swordsman to best a giant wielding such a barbarous weapon so enthusiastically.

  Gaspar advanced, slashing the mallet through the air with quick, powerful strokes. Alex lunged and parried, sweat pouring into his eyes as he searched for an opening, a weak spot. Sometimes he’d use his sword to deflect a blow, steel clanking against lead; sometimes he’d jump aside, or duck. Gaspar did not appear to be holding back. That the men noticed this as well became clear when some of them began urging Gaspar to back off the beleaguered Alex, lest he do some damage. Nicki bit her lip so hard it hurt. Might it not be worth Alex’s wrath to order an end to this brutal spectacle?

  Alex blocked a blow, slamming his sword against the upraised shaft of the mallet. At that moment, Gaspar looked toward Nicki, still on horseback, nodding as if he had only just now noticed her. Smiling in a way that struck her as almost sly, he called out, “Good morning, milady.”

  Alex turned to look at her. Nicki screamed along with the others as Gaspar swung his mallet sharply downward, ramming it into Alex’s hip.

  Alex dropped his sword and crumpled, roaring in pain. It was his left hip, she saw as he grabbed it, his body curling in the dirt. Gaspar had deliberately attacked the hip already mangled years before by the same weapon.

  She dismounted and ran to him, yanking aside the men gathering around him. “Let me through!”

  Just as she made her way to Alex, he bellowed a blistering oath, something she’d never think to hear in her presence. The men looked from Alex to her, wide-eyed.

  “Shit,” Alex rasped when he saw her. “Oh, damn. Forgive me, Nick— my lady.” He struggled to sit up.

  “Stay where you are,” she told him, kneeling at his side. She wanted so much to touch him—to take him in her arms and comfort him—but everyone was watching; it would be scandalous.

  “Where is he?” Alex managed through clenched teeth. “Gaspar, you son of a bitch. Sorry, my lady.” He groaned as he clambered unsteadily to his feet, heedless of her advice to stay put.

  “Here I am,” Gaspar said mildly, stepping out of the crowd with the mallet balanced on his shoulder.

  Nicki leapt to her feet. “What were you thinking?” she demanded, wheeling on Gaspar. “How could you—”

  “I’ll handle this,” Alex said quietly as he eased her aside.

  “But he—”

  “I said I’ll handle it.” He leaned over his hip, rubbing it, but his gaze connected sharply with hers. His fleeting, almost imperceptible glance toward the men made it clear: he needed to fight this battle himself, or risk losing their respect.

  Conscious of the many pairs of eyes trained on her, Nicki returned to her mare and saddled back up, but walked her close to the cluster of men, so that she could hear what was said.

  Gaspar clicked his tongue. “You should know better than to let your attention wander in a fight, Sir Alex—especially one you’re losing. If you’d like,” he added, his eyes sparking with malicious humor as he glanced toward Nicki, “I’ll teach you some proper fighting skills, help you out a bit.” Vicq and Leone laughed uproariously.

  So that was it. Gaspar was trying to take Alex down a notch, belittle him in front of her. Why should he care what she thought of her husband’s cousin?

  As Alex bent over to retrieve his sword, he looked toward Nicki, and her heart ached for him. She could see it in his eyes—the disgrace of having been defeated, and so soundly, in her presence. “Curious,” he said. “I don’t seem to have had any trouble defending myself in the past. Of course, my opponents have generally been men of honor. Such men don’t tend to stoop to your tactics.”

  Gaspar glared at the handful of men who had the temerity to laugh at that. “I don’t see anything dishonorable in taking advantage of your opponent’s weaknesses,” he protested. “My only difficulty in fighting with you is deciding which of your many shortcomings to exploit.” His two brutish underlings guffawed. “I did use the blunt end,” he said, displaying the mallet’s head, strong enough to crush armor. “My point was merely to demonstrate the risks of inattention. If I were the shameless cur you make me out to be, I’d have used the spike.”

  “Next time,” Alex said softly as he sheathed the sword on his belt, “perhaps you should. Aim for my head, though, and make damn sure you kill me. Because” —he closed his hand over the relic in the hilt of his sword, a gesture lost on no one, and nodded toward the mallet— “if you ever take that thing to me again, I swear to Almighty God you’ll pay with your life.”

  Silence settled over the throng. Everyone looked to Gaspar for his reaction to this extraordinary vow.

  Gaspar’s returned Alex’s fixed stare, his eyes dull and flat and black. They looked like the eyes of a dead man Nicki had come upon once in the woods. She remembered standing over the poor fellow, who had been mauled by a boar from the looks of him, and wondering how eyes that had reflected light during life could absorb it so utterly upon the soul’s departure.

  Presently Gaspar executed one of those little bows of his; had they always set her teeth on edge this way? “I regret that the difference in our fighting styles has caused you distress...young sir.”

  Alex stiffened at the condescending term of address, but made no response.

  “In the future,” Gaspar continued, “perhaps we’d do better to practice our skills with other partners.”

  “I should bloody well think so.” Turning away from Gaspar, Alex announced to the men that he was going to rest his hip for a short while, then demonstrate some finer points of strategy. The men drifted away to await the next stage in the morning’s lessons, and Gaspar tossed his mallet back onto the heap of weapons.

  Nicki walked her mount a few steps closer to Alex. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll limp for a bit,” he said, taking a few halting steps toward her to rub Marjolaina on the nose. “Won’t be the first time.” His sodden hair hung over his forehead. Nicki quelled an absurd urge to lean over in her saddle and tidy it.

  “Perhaps you should have Maître Guyot look at that hip,” she suggested. “Or at least lie down in your chamber for a while.”

  “There’s no need for that,” he said, sliding a quick glance toward Gaspar as he walked toward them. “Nothing’s broken. And I’d much rather be out here in this sunshine than in that tomb of a castle.”

  Knowing he was trying to minimize the injury in order to salvage his pride, Nicki dropped the subject. They lapsed into silence, exchanging a look when Gaspar joined them. Why he thought he’d be wel
come after his display of savagery was quite beyond Nicki.

  “Where are you off to this fine morn, milady?” Gaspar asked.

  Nicki bought a moment by fiddling with her reins. Seeing as she couldn’t very well disclose the true purpose of her trip, she’d best keep mum about her destination—especially since Gaspar’s watchfulness was gradually giving way to out-and-out prying. “I’m on my way to St. Clair,” she said, keeping her gaze trained on Gaspar lest Alex look into her eyes and know her lie for what it was. “To do some marketing,” she elaborated, pleased to have thought up such credible subterfuge on such short notice.

  “You’re riding all the way to St. Clair unescorted?” Alex asked.

  “Aye.” In point of fact, she was riding well beyond St. Clair unescorted. She just hoped she’d get back in time for the noon meal, so as not to raise suspicions. And, blast it, she’d have to stop in St. Clair and buy something, so she’d have it to show for the trip. Lying got everything all tangled up in knots. Alex had always said so, back in Périgeaux, and it was true.

  “I’ll go with you,” Alex said.

  “Nay. It’s...it’s not necessary.”

  “But I don’t mind. I’d like to. I’ll cancel the rest of the lesson—”

  “Nay! I’ll be perfectly all right. And my marketing will bore you.”

  “I don’t mind marketing,” Gaspar said. “You shouldn’t be alone, and I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  “I want to be alone,” she said resolutely. “I...I like being alone. If either of you insists on accompanying me, then I simply won’t go.”

  Alex sighed. “Very well, my lady.”

  Gaspar fixed his dead eyes on her in a way that made her shiver. “Your lord husband must be better today, for you to travel so far from the castle.”

  “He is, thank the saints. He’s still dreadfully weak, of course, and I don’t know when he’ll get out of bed, but he’s sitting up for longer stretches. And yesterday I got him to eat a few bites of sausage.” She raised her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn.