Templeton, Julia

by The Bargain

  "I will see he gets it the moment you leave, dear." The healer placed a small pouch in Aleysia's hand and closed her fingers around it. "A pinch in a drink will put them out for the better part of the night. You must be very careful and stir it well, for there is a bitter taste to it."

  "Thank you," Aleysia murmured, and kissed the healer's wrinkled cheek before stuffing the draught into the pocket of her gown. She hurried back toward the orchard, where thankfully the guard still slumbered, his snores loud.

  Renaud had given her some freedom these past two days, allowing her out of the castle and the stuffy chamber that had made the days far too long. Glad to have the chance to wander at her leisure, she had not balked when he sent a guard with her. Now she picked the berries hurriedly, aware that if she were caught by Renaud or his men, it could mean disaster for her plans to escape.

  She quickly filled her basket with berries, and not too soon, for the guard opened his eyes. He blinked several times, then guiltily scrambled to his feet. "Are you ready, my lady?" he called, and Aleysia nodded.

  On their way back to the castle, they passed by Renaud and his men, practicing in a meadow of wildflowers. Bare to the waist, the Norman shouted encouragement as two of his men battled with swords. Each clash of metal made a ringing sound, one that was nearly drowned out by the soldiers' yells.

  Obviously frustrated by what he saw, Renaud shook his head, and taking up his sword, approached Galeran, who drew his blade. The vassal brushed back his golden hair with a swipe of his hand and grinned mischievously at Renaud. What followed was a display of physical agility the likes she had never before seen.

  Aleysia found herself entranced by the sight as Renaud cast blow after blow, his muscles bunching beneath his dark skin with the effort it took to hold off Galeran's answering parry and thrusts. Sweat beaded on his skin, a sheen that emphasized the thick, hard planes.

  As she watched, desire rippled throughout her, swooping low into her belly, causing a deep throbbing ache between her legs. Her body's reaction disturbed her greatly. Why did she desire him so much—this man who was the cause of all her grief?

  But Renaud truly was a magnificent-looking man, his powerful frame impressive. His dark, long hair was held back by a band, drawing emphasis to the chiseled features of his face. Her nipples hardened remembering the feel of those shoulders beneath her fingertips, as she held on while he had filled her with his rock-hard cock.

  Renaud whipped his wrist and unarmed Galeran, sending the sword flying through the air, toward Aleysia. She ducked out of the way just in the knick of time.

  Heart pounding, she stared at the sword just a few feet from her, in the exact spot where she'd been standing. Thank God she had regained her wits and stepped aside in time, or the blade would have impaled her.

  She looked up to find Renaud rushing toward her, concern and something that resembled anger flashing in his silver eyes.

  Dropping the basket, she stepped toward the sword and using both hands, pulled it from the earth. She rotated it, feeling its weight. It was far heavier than her sword, and Galeran had swung it as though it were as light as a bag of feathers.

  The guard who had been watching her, held his hand out for the sword, expecting her to hand it over. She shook her head and was amused to see the wariness in his eyes. Did he actually fear she would use the sword and hurt him, or even kill him? The thought amused her almost as much as it disturbed her.

  Renaud, having motioned the guard away, ran a hand through his hair. "God's breath, woman, you could have been killed."

  She lifted a brow. "And would that be so terrible?"

  He frowned. "Aye, it would."

  Surprised by the declaration, for it looked like he meant it, Aleysia shifted on her feet. "Would you like to fight, my lord?"

  "With you?"

  "Are you afraid?"

  His lips curved slightly. "I fear no man, but I refuse to fight a woman."

  She swung the sword up and around, catching him off guard, and he faltered back a few steps. His brows furrowed. "Aleysia, I am in no mood for games."

  "This is no game, my lord," she replied, taking a step forward and swinging again, this time with all her might.

  He held her off, not swinging back, but using his sword to block each blow. Her hands shook with the power it took to hold the heavy sword, the muscles in her upper arms burning with the strain. She was well used to handling weapons, though never one this large.

  Seeing the irritation in his eyes, she almost smiled, but refrained, knowing it would only anger him. Meanwhile, Galeran laughed loudly, watching with fascination—as did the rest of Renaud's men who had gathered around.

  "Aleysia..." There was a warning in Renaud's voice, one she ignored as she swung yet again.

  But this time he did more than block the blow. He used force, then brought his sword around to unarm her, so fast she did not have time to blink.

  She rushed for the sword, but he grabbed her arm and brought her up against him, trapping both her hands behind her back with one of his own. "Aleysia, stop this."

  "Why—are you afraid to be bested by a woman?"

  He grinned then, his white teeth flashing, and to her horror her stomach coiled tightly. "You would not win."

  "Then why will you not let me try?"

  "Because you are a lady, and ladies do not wield swords." Gray eyes flashed with humor, but Aleysia found no humor in his words. It was a slight against her, and though she knew she should not take the words to heart, she did. No doubt his betrothed would never have worn men's clothing, nor would she use weapons as Aleysia had her entire life. She knew that aside from embroidery, which her mother had insisted she learn, she would always prefer the sports of men. She loved the feeling of holding a bow taut, notching an arrow—the pride in hitting a mark, in bringing down an animal. She had always enjoyed wearing men's clothing over pretty gowns, and that would never change. Even now she yearned for her breeches and loose-fitting tunic.

  Her father had often said he felt like he had two sons, rather than a son and a daughter, and that had never bothered her—until today. She suddenly felt foolish and unfeminine, and for whatever reason, she wondered again where Renaud had spent last night. Visions of him wrapped in a buxom woman's embrace came unheeded and she pushed them away with a shake of her head.

  Why should she care where and with whom he slept? In truth, she should be relieved he had already grown weary of her and slated his lust with another. Furious at herself and de Wulf, she tried to pull away, but he held firm.

  Unable to keep his intense stare for fear he would read the jealousy in her eyes, she let her gaze fall to eye level. A huge mistake, for the golden skin that covered his defined chest made her remember him as he'd been the first time they'd made love. His chest heaving as he fought for control to keep from climaxing before she found her release. The sweat that glistened there now—that had glistened then, in the light of the fire.

  Her body throbbed, remembering the feel of his long, thick shaft within her. To her chagrin, her cheeks warmed from the memory. "If I am so unladylike, then you will not care if I find other quarters in which to sleep, my lord. Or perhaps you would like to make things easier and return to the very place you spent last night?"

  She glanced up at him to find his lips slightly quirked. Why had she voiced her thoughts aloud? She sounded like a jealous wife and now he knew how hurt she was. Damn him!

  Renaud's grip on her tightened, and she could feel every hard inch of him pressed against her stomach. To her horror her body responded to him, her nipples hardening into sensitive buds. His masculine scent surrounded her, making her lightheaded. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Did you miss me last night, Aleysia?"

  His breath was hot against her ear, stirring her hair. She tried to jerk away from his iron grip, but failed. "I most certainly did not!"

  Still holding her wrists with one hand, he tipped her chin up with the other, his fingers gentle. "Aleysia, look at me."<
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  The others had left them, returning to their drills, and she was glad. She was relieved they could not see her flushed cheeks, her fury—or her body's obvious response to this man who both infuriated her and excited her at the same time.

  His eyes softened as he looked at her. "I was not with another woman, Aleysia."

  Despite the immense relief she felt at those words, she replied, "I do not care where and with whom you sleep."

  He lifted a brow. "Is that so? Then you do not mind if I sleep with another tonight?"

  How she yearned to lift her knee and injure him where it would hurt most. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Nay, I do not care. Just as I am certain you do not care with whom I spend the night. In fact, do not expect me in your bedchamber tonight, my lord." She managed a coy smile. "I have other plans."

  All humor left his eyes and his hand tightened about her wrists. "You will not be sleeping anywhere other than my bed, Aleysia. You belong to me. Is that understood?"

  The possessiveness in his tone shocked her, and surprisingly pleased her, too. She lifted her chin high. "I belong to no man."

  "Not even Laird MacMillan?" The words were little more than a whisper, but she could hear the fury in his tone.

  Though part of her wanted to say that she did belong to the Scottish laird, she remembered her plan to release Adelstan and escape, and in order for the plan to work, she must gain Renaud's trust. Angering him would not help her cause. "Nay, not even Duncan."

  He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze searching hers before shifting to her lips. Her pulse skittered, for she knew he meant to kiss her.

  Worse than the horror of him kissing her within sight of his men and anyone else who cared to see was the simple fact that she wanted to kiss him. To feel his touch on her again. The softness of his lips, the taste of him as he possessed her completely. She craved it. How she had missed him this past week.

  Furious with her response, she quipped, "Will you be taking a bath this evening, my lord?"

  He dragged his top teeth against his bottom fuller lip, a gesture that would make most men appear vulnerable, but all she could think of was how incredibly sensual he looked and how she'd like to bite that lip herself. "Why do you ask, Aleysia?"

  Ripping her gaze from his moist lower lip, back to his, she wrinkled her nose. "You are dirty and sweaty, my lord."

  "Do you not like me dirty and sweaty?" he asked, his voice low and husky, making her believe that his words held another meaning altogether.

  An image of him standing before her naked, his body sleek with sweat, his large cock rising above his navel, came to her, leaving her breathless and her body aching. For a moment she could not even remember the question. The sides of his mouth lifted a little as he awaited an answer. It was as though he knew how much he flustered her. "Nay, I do not like you dirty and sweaty, my lord," she blurted, grateful that the question had come back to her in a rush.

  A clash of swords reverberated throughout the glen, reminding Aleysia where they were, and that they were far from alone. Renaud must have been jarred as well, for he abruptly released her, and took a step back, but not before brushing a stray hair out of her face, and over her ear. "Even your hair will not be tamed," he said, a soft smile on his lips.

  The touch surprised Aleysia, and she felt it all the way to her toes. Oh, how she desired him.

  "I shall see you tonight then." He grinned boyishly and to her horror, her heart gave a hard tug.

  "Tonight," she said, and grabbing up her basket, she rushed toward the castle.

  CHAPTER 8

  Aleysia reached for the pouch of herbs in her pocket, her thumb brushing over the soft velvet bag. Already the great hall filled with men, women, and children, their voices rising to the wooden rafters. The smell of venison en frumenty and elderberry wine permeated the space, making her stomach rumble and her mouth water. If only she wasn't so nervous; but how could she not be? Tonight she would escape!

  She had arrived early for dinner, freshly bathed and wearing a gown made of fine linen and dyed a light green that flattered her coloring, or so the maid had said. She wondered if Renaud would notice.

  She did not want to do anything that would warrant suspicion. So much depended on the coming hours. She must, without fail, drug Renaud and his men. The best way to distract him from Adelstan and the journey to York was to show him that she had accepted her place in his bed. Since he had not touched her for days, she thought perhaps she could entice him tonight. They would make love, drink wine, and God willing, he would sleep like the dead.

  Once he fell asleep she would escape into the night. She had watched closely the routine of the past few nights, and knew that a servant made her way up the tower stairs to bring the guards a glass of warm wine shortly after supper. Tonight, Aleysia would make sure she would be passing the servant, and offer to take the wine herself.

  And she would pour the draught into the drink, stirring it so the bitterness would be hidden, before delivering it to the guards. She would wear a cloak, hoping to hide her identity. If the healer was true to her word, then the guards would soon be fast asleep. And shortly after, Aleysia would give the wine to Renaud in his bedchamber. God willing, they would all sleep soundly for hours.

  At least that was the plan.

  The voices quieted, and Aleysia looked up to find Renaud entering the hall. His hair was damp, no doubt from the bath she had requested he take. Aleysia's heart skipped a beat and she shifted on the bench. His gray tunic matched his eyes but conflicted fiercely with his dark hair and skin, and the black braies clung to his powerful thighs.

  With a start, Aleysia noticed the woman on Renaud's arm, and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  The woman, a statuesque brunette with large breasts and womanly curves smiled up at Renaud. Her gown, made of exquisite blue silk and covered by a lighter blue gauze, floated as she walked, the material not at all disguising her long, slender legs. Wide sleeves embroidered in silver matched the silver in the girdle that rode low on her curvaceous hips.

  Aleysia, though dressed in her finest gown, complete with leather girdle, felt quite plain in comparison to the other woman's cool beauty. Then a horrible thought struck her, making her even more ill at ease. Dear God, was the woman Renaud's betrothed? The familiarity between the two was obvious. Even now Renaud laughed at something she said, and the woman actually went so far as to playfully rest her head against Renaud's shoulder.

  Something resembling jealousy rushed through Aleysia, and she sat up straighter. What in the world was wrong with her? Why should she care if this woman was Renaud's betrothed? If anything, she should feel relieved.

  Because you desire him, Aleysia—and you resent any other woman who would share his bed.

  Renaud pulled out a chair for the woman, who sat down and looked directly at Aleysia with a charming smile. To Aleysia's dismay the woman was even more beautiful up close. Her eyes, an amazing blue-gray were large and framed by long, thick lashes as dark as her hair. The woman glanced at Renaud and smiled, exposing small, white teeth. "You're right. She is lovely."

  Aleysia did not know how to take that statement. How odd for a man's betrothed to offer sentiments about his mistress. Or did she know the truth? Mayhap Renaud had told her Aleysia was someone else's woman.

  A servant poured a pitcher of warm water into the bowl where Renaud and his guests washed their hands before drying them on a cloth.

  The woman dried off her dainty hands, then her gaze shifted past Aleysia. "Galeran, is that you?"

  Aleysia turned to Galeran, who sat to her right. "Indeed, Lady

  Elena. What a pleasure it is to see you again." And it was obvious he meant what he said. Galeran grinned from ear to ear, raking a hand nervously through his golden locks. She had never seen the soldier so lively.

  Lady Elena? Was that the name of Renaud's betrothed? Her mind raced, trying to remember, but she could not recall. But the woman was French, her accent t
hick, despite her command of the English language.

  "You have grown into a man. The last I saw you, you were but a boy." Her gaze shifted over Galeran in a way that suggested more than words could ever say. Aleysia watched Renaud closely, gauging his reaction, but he seemed not at all bothered by the exchange. In truth, the slight smile on his lips made her think him amused by the banter going on between the pair.

  Lady Elena laughed under her breath. "Indeed, you were my brother's page when last we met. You were rather small back then."

  Her brother's page? Then realization came to Aleysia in a flash. This woman was not Renaud's betrothed, but his sister. She ignored the exhilaration rushing throughout her. Aleysia glanced at de Wulf to find him watching her closely. Did he guess at her uneasiness, and could he sense the vast relief she felt knowing this beautiful woman was not his betrothed? To her dismay, she could not help the smile that came to her lips.

  Renaud smiled, too, and Aleysia's pulse quickened.

  "I am no longer small, nor am I a boy," Galeran said, his tone intent. His fingers curled around his goblet as he brought it to his lips, watching Lady Elena over the rim.

  Elena pursed her lips. "No, you are much larger. Every inch a man."

  Galeran choked on his wine, his cheeks blazing crimson. Renaud laughed, and Aleysia smiled, pleased at the deep, rumbling sound.

  Aleysia reached for her goblet, knowing she could use the wine's effect to calm her.

  But it seemed Galeran was not finished. "Are you at Braemere for an extended stay, Lady Elena?" There was no mistaking the hope in his voice. Though the young knight could not be much older than herself, it was clear to Aleysia by the fine lines around the woman's eyes that Elena was at least ten years his senior, perhaps more. However, those lines did nothing to diminish Elena's beauty.

  "Aye, I am." Elena's eyes twinkled with an inner fire, and Aleysia wondered if perhaps she was not witnessing the beginning of a liaison. Would she one day wear her emotions openly like this woman did, and flirt outrageously while in the company of others? She doubted she could ever be like this strong woman, who seemed not to care who heard or saw the exchange.