Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  A shudder tore through her. She pushed the sword away to work her way down to the bottom of the chest. Blank parchment. A pot of ink. A quill. Woolen hose. A sheathed hunting knife. A bag containing coins and jewels.

  Her fingers brushed an item hidden under the hose: a rolled parchment.

  Her mouth went as dry as stale bread.

  Had she found the missive?

  Holding a ring of keys and a torch, Fane strode toward the dungeon cell. Kester followed close behind. Smug satisfaction blazed inside Fane, as hot as the sputtering torch flame. This time, he would extract answers from Villeaux.

  The lad slumped on the ground against the far wall of the cell, his back pressed against the stones, his knees bent and his scruffy head resting on his arms. Misgiving, as sharp as a spiny lizard’s tail, flicked through Fane. He squashed the emotion. He wouldn’t think of the days he’d sat huddled that way, mentally withdrawn from his smelly prison, while he’d forced his desperate, fevered mind to focus on survival.

  And, above all, duty.

  As light broached the cell’s darkness, Villeaux looked up. “Back again, Linford?”

  Despite the sense of victory sluicing through him, Fane ground his teeth. Still, the lad refused to address him by his proper title, and thereby show him a measure of respect.

  “I am, boy,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

  Rudd snorted, a sound of utter repugnance. He stretched out his legs and brushed dirt from his filthy hose. The rattle of chains competed with his arrogant chuckle. “You will get no more from me than you did in the last interrogation.”

  Fane smiled. The iron keys jangled in his palm. He fitted the correct one into the door’s lock, and it opened with a click. With his foot, Fane shoved the door open.

  Rudd’s gaze slid to Kester. “The captain has come to hold your hand?”

  “Nay,” Fane said lightly. “He will torture you.”

  Panic flashed in the boy’s eyes, before he shook his head and laughed. “With wax tablets? I quake with fear.”

  “You should.” Fane stepped into the cell. “He brings proof of your guilt.”

  His back to the bars, keeping well out of the boy’s reach, Fane stepped to one side to let Kester enter. The smells of mildew and sweat filled Fane’s nostrils. He fought to keep his memories submerged. The past had no bearing on here and now. None.

  Pushing hair from his grubby cheek, Villeaux rose to standing. Stubbornness tightened his jaw. Fane resisted the urge to grin. At times, Rexana’s face held exactly the same determined expression.

  As though he could read minds, the lad said, “How is Rexana? Why do you not let me see her?” Anger rumbled in his voice. “If you are ill treating her—”

  “She is well,” Fane said. “She enjoys all the privileges of a High Sheriff’s wife. She does not visit because I do not permit it.”

  “Why?”

  “You do not confess.”

  Rudd’s throat moved with a swallow. “I will not.”

  Fane shrugged. He quelled the roar that burned inside him. “Whether you admit to your conspiracy or not may not matter to the King’s Court. Kester has eyewitness accounts of your tavern meetings. And”—he paused for effect—“a signed statement from Thomas Newland.”

  The boy’s face paled. “Newland? What did he say?”

  Fane took the tablet from Kester. “He made many interesting comments. A barn you paid him to lease. A meeting you planned to hold there.” He ran a thoughtful hand over his mouth. “I did not realize Newland’s brother is a goldsmith.”

  A harsh sigh flew from Rudd. His wrist chains clinked. The tension in the cell thickened.

  “Newland’s brother made Rexana’s brooch. Aye?”

  Words rushed from Rudd as though he could no longer restrain them. “The brooch was a gift, no more. She has no part in the rebellion. Do you hear me? She is guilty only of a tender heart.”

  Fane arched a brow. What did the lad mean? Mayhap his words foreshadowed his willingness to speak of his treachery. “Is that so?”

  Villeaux’s eyes blazed. “She knows naught. I was careful to keep my affairs from her.”

  Crossing his arms, Fane leaned his shoulder against the cell’s bars. “I must be certain of Rexana’s innocence. She is, after all, my wife. The future mother of my children.”

  Rudd swore.

  Fane pushed away from the bars. “You will tell me of your connection to Newland. You will tell me all I wish to know. Your future depends upon your answers.”

  Rexana withdrew the worn sheepskin from Fane’s linen chest. A frisson of foreboding shot through her. If this was the missive she and Henry had sought, she must burn it.

  Casting a nervous glance at the closed doors, she untied the strip of leather binding the parchment. As she unfurled the document, her hand shook.

  Her gaze skimmed the awkwardly penned lines. She hadn’t found the list of lords sworn to betray the crown, but a letter.

  My dear son,

  My stiff hands fail me so I will speak plainly. Your father quit this earth two nights past. A painful sickness of the belly took him, and I thank God he did not suffer long.

  Rexana gnawed her lip. She shouldn’t go on. She shouldn’t pry into Fane’s past. Yet, she couldn’t resist reading more.

  I, too, am unwell. My body pains me, thus I have little strength to write. Yet, I must. I pray, my son, that you are hale. I pray that wherever you may be, you will know I never ceased loving you. I pray that you will one day receive this and know, with all my heart, how I regret how your father and I wronged you.

  I should have been stronger. I should never have allowed his cruel tongue to wound you or banish you from this keep. For that, I am eternally sorry.

  The signature blurred before Rexana’s eyes. She blinked away tears. Of all the things she’d thought to find, ’twas not this.

  She had heard rumors that in a fit of rage, Fane’s father had disowned him. What had happened between Fane and his sire? What had Fane done? How could a man banish his own blood son? She’d known Fane’s emotional scars ran deep, but she hadn’t imagined finding proof of how pitiless his father had been.

  She wondered if Fane had ever known love. Genuine affection, as she’d shared with her parents and Rudd. His mother had loved him. Had he known? Had he loved her in return, or had he always yearned for acceptance?

  Mayhap that was why he’d succumbed to an eastern courtesan’s charms.

  Rexana sighed. Such musings accomplished naught, and spun a dangerous web of emotions. She couldn’t grow to care deeply for Fane. She wanted an annulment.

  Of course she wanted her marriage to end. She’d wed Fane for one purpose only: to help her exonerate Rudd.

  She wouldn’t fall in love.

  After retying the parchment, Rexana set it beside her on the floorboards. She, too, would reject Fane. Just like his family. Was that not cruel?

  Steeling herself against that thought, she searched the rest of the chest. Frowning, she sat back on her heels. Either he carried the missive with him, or he’d hidden it elsewhere.

  Rexana stared down at his mussed garments. He didn’t trust her. He expected her to search the solar, and so he’d put the document where she could never find it. No doubt he could claim ’twas his crown duty to keep it from her.

  Well, he wouldn’t thwart her, for she would find where he’d hidden it. She would not fail Rudd.

  After replacing the items in Fane’s chest, she shut the lid and stood. Hugging her arms to her bodice, she strolled to the solar window. Dusk had fallen like a gray blanket. Stars twinkled, tiny winking pinpoints of light. Sparks of hope in the vast stretch of blackness.

  Rexana closed and latched the shutters, curtailing the cold breeze. She’d sought to save her brother’s young life. She’d found proof of the bitterness in Fane’s.

  How foolish, that she wished she could share some of her love with Fane.

  Fane raked his hand through his hair as he started up
the landing’s stairs. Below, in the shadowed hall, castle folk slumbered. Weariness made his steps heavy, and he willed away the fatigue. He wouldn’t allow it to impair his judgment, or allow Rexana to glean answers from him that she would no doubt demand. Answers his duty forbade him to reveal.

  He had no wish to do battle with her. ’Twas well past midnight, yet he hadn’t obtained all the answers he’d sought from Villeaux. The lad had refused to tell all he knew about the traitors or outright confess his guilt, but the link between Rexana, Newland, and Rudd was clear.

  Fair Rexana had acted with rare courage the day she’d risked her own life to save Newland’s. If the events had transpired as Rudd had said, she’d selflessly accepted responsibility for the life of a man well below her station, whose death few would have noticed.

  Yet, Fane had to wonder . . . Why had she fought through the driving snow to save Newland? Why had she risked her life? What bound her to the humble farmer, whom, Rudd claimed, she hadn’t met until the day she’d seen him floundering in the snowdrifts, wounded by his own arrow which had bounced off a rock and buried deep in his leg?

  “She is guilty only of a tender heart,” Villeaux had said. He’d repeated this several times during the questioning. A grudging smile touched Fane’s mouth. Mayhap, indeed, she hadn’t wished to see the man die.

  He strode into the passage and hailed the guards on duty. When he looked at the solar doors, his gut clenched. She’d accepted a similar responsibility for saving her brother. Yet, the evidence Kester had collected and Rudd’s own words proved ’twould be nigh impossible for her—or even a High Sheriff—to prove him guiltless.

  Unless Villeaux withheld information that would illuminate his innocence, and explain why his signature came to be on the list of traitors.

  Fane frowned. Why would the lad refuse to talk? He knew he faced the King’s Courts and grave punishment. Even death.

  Unless he had a very good reason to remain silent.

  A draft skimming through the passage set the wall torches flickering. Fane rubbed his brow, which pounded with the beginnings of a bad headache. His big, comfortable bed, behind the doors, beckoned.

  He hesitated outside the solar. As soon as he stepped in, Rexana would cross to him, demanding to know what his men had discovered about Rudd. Fane knew his wife well enough now to predict the tight pursing of her lips and her narrowed eyes.

  He didn’t want to discuss Rudd. He didn’t want to argue. He wanted to crawl between the sheets, draw her into his arms, and thoroughly woo her. Make her his. Though the way his eyelids drooped, he doubted he had the stamina to make love to her with any kind of finesse, as she deserved.

  A wretched, embarrassing thought.

  He depressed the door’s handle. The panel didn’t swing inward. With a tired grunt, he pushed harder. Inside the dark room, an object scraped across the floorboards.

  Astonishment slammed through him. Rexana had blocked the doorway. Did she intend to keep him out? Was she still miffed by their earlier disagreement in the bailey?

  He shoved harder. Stepped forward. His calf knocked against solid wood, and he yelped.

  Across the chamber, the bed ropes creaked. Sheets rustled.

  Squinting down, he spied a stool. “Hellfire!”

  One of the guards strode to him. “All is well, milord?”

  “Aye,” Fane snapped. The man’s footfalls receded.

  As Fane kicked aside the wooden stool, Rexana hurried to his side, her shift flapping about her legs. Eyes wide, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

  “I . . . Oh, I am sorry. Are you hurt?”

  He scowled down at her. Did she blush, or did the fire lit shadows play tricks on his weary gaze?

  He shoved the door closed. “You set this stool here?”

  She gave a sheepish nod.

  “Why? Did you intended to send me sprawling to the floor? Or even unman me?”

  “Of course not. I planned to return it to the hearth after I had disrobed, but—”

  “You forgot.”

  She crossed her arms. “Aye, I forgot.”

  He closed the space between them. Stood close enough that her arms brushed against his tunic. Her tousled hair tempted him. So did her unique scent. He longed to take her in his arms, to pleasure her . . . yet, God help him, even his loins were too exhausted to manage more than a feeble stir.

  He brushed past her. Strode to the side of the bed. Sat and began to unlace his boots.

  Clasping her hands together, she padded to his side. “We must speak, milord. I must know of Rudd and—”

  “Not now.” As Fane yanked off his tunic and shirt, he prayed his gruff voice was enough to dissuade her. He reached for the points of his hose.

  She swallowed. Yet, she didn’t avert her gaze. In fact, she stared at his loins with undisguised hunger.

  Ah, God, ’twas his own fault. Had he not promised, as he left her standing in the bailey, that he would see her later in their bed? Had he not implied that he would couple with her?

  He groaned. To his shame, he sounded like a camel with a rotten bellyache. “Rexana.”

  “I have not uttered one more word. You will not let me.”

  He sighed. “’Tis late. I am weary.”

  “Please. Rudd is all I have.”

  “You have me.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip. To his surprise, she didn’t challenge his statement, but nodded. “I have you.”

  He rose, the points of his hose gaping. His pulse thumped. Had he finally won her? Had she accepted him?

  Had she realized that they were destined to be together?

  His loins warmed. As he reached out to touch her cheek, his hand trembled.

  Pressing her lips together, she turned away. He listened to her walk around the bed. The bed shifted and squeaked. She lay still.

  Running his tongue around his suddenly dry mouth, he stripped off his hose and tossed them on the carpet. He climbed between the sheets to lie staring up at the beams overhead.

  The dryness spread to his throat. He felt parched, like desert sands after months of no rain. Rexana was like cooling, soothing water. He would perish without her.

  He must find a way to win her heart. He must make her believe, with all the fire in his own soul, that no matter what happened to her brother, she would forever be Lady Rexana Linford.

  Rexana awoke with a start. Her cheek pressed to the pillow, she blinked in the watery light filtering in through the open window. The smoky tang of the blacksmith’s fire carried on the breeze, borne up from the bailey.

  She hadn’t intended to sleep so late. Last eve, as she’d yielded to a restless slumber, she had vowed to rise with Fane, to demand to know what he had discovered.

  A knock sounded on the door. The same noise, she realized muzzily, that had interrupted her sleep. She pushed up to sitting. The sheets on Fane’s side of the bed were cold. She inhaled his scent clinging to the rumpled linens and scowled. He’d managed to rise, wash, and dress without her hearing. He had clearly made an effort not to rouse her.

  Anger surged inside her. He’d slunk away like a slick fingered thief, before they could discuss what he had learned from his men. Mayhap he never had any intentions of revealing what he’d learned about Rudd.

  Yet, she had every right to know.

  The knock came again. Rexana glared at the door. Fane, being chivalrous? Nay. He wouldn’t bother to rap, but would stalk in. She shoved aside the bedding and set her feet on the floor. Well, whoever stood on the other side of the door would not prevent her from doing what she must to free Rudd.

  She would begin this morn, by visiting him in the dungeon.

  She opened the door to see Tansy, Nelda, and Celeste. They carried cloths, along with water for washing, and a trencher of bread and cheese accompanied by an eating dagger.

  With a polite smile, Rexana ushered them in. The sooner she ate and dressed, the sooner she could see Rudd.

  Celeste and Nelda hurried to the bed and began t
o straighten the sheets. Humming a familiar love song, Tansy set the trencher, water, and cloths on the nearby table. Then, she eased a rolled parchment from her bodice. “For you, milady.”

  All trace of sleep vanished from Rexana’s mind. A message? From whom? Dear Henry? Rudd? Had her brother managed to acquire parchment and ink? She smiled. Her brother had always been resourceful.

  She snatched the parchment from Tansy’s fingers. “Who gave this to you?”

  “Winton.” Tansy turned back to the cloths. Humming again, she dropped one into the water.

  Rexana ignored Celeste and Nelda’s inquisitive whispers. A frown tugged at her brow. Rudd wouldn’t have given a message to the steward, who was loyal to Fane. Yet, the efficient little man did get to all parts of the keep in his daily duties. Mayhap one of the other servants had handed it to Winton, and asked that it be delivered.

  The missive was sealed with wax, but didn’t bear the imprint of a crested ring or other identifying marks. Of course not. Rudd wouldn’t be so foolish as to announce he had penned the note. How remarkable, though, that he’d obtained wax.

  She broke the seal and unfurled the parchment.

  I am the randy bee. I cannot wait to suck your nectar.

  Rexana gasped. She quickly rolled the document closed.

  Tansy looked up. “Milady?”

  Heat flooded Rexana’s face. Her most secret of places tingled with a shocking, thrilling tension. Fane had written those bawdy words. She recognized his bold, elegant script from his signature on the marriage contract.

  Nelda and Celeste hurried to her side. “Milady? Are you all right?”

  Tansy elbowed the girls out of the way. She caught Rexana’s arm, then steered her toward the made bed. “Here. Sit. Ye look flushed. Do ye feel queasy?”

  Rexana sat. She clutched the parchment between her damp fingers. Her every nerve buzzed. Her pulse thumped at a dizzying pace. How did he affect her so, with only a few words?