Mistress of Her Fate

by Byrne, Julia

  Except that wasn’t an option.

  “What in Christendom are you talking about?” Nell demanded, finally retrieving her voice. “I don’t need a—”

  She broke off with a startled squeak when Beaudene came away from the wall with the speed of a striking adder.

  But he wasn’t focusing on her. There was a flash of movement to her right and the victim of her cousin Edmund’s attentions darted past them, making for the screen passage beyond.

  Whipping around, she saw Edmund in hot pursuit, haring across the hall and whooping as if he was on a hunt. When he was almost level with them, Beaudene took a step forward and extended his arm. Edmund hit it at full speed and rebounded as if he’d run headlong into a wall. He sprawled on his back in the middle of the dancers, cursing viciously and nearly taking two couples down with him. There was a roar of drunken laughter from the guests at a nearby table.

  Nell didn’t bother with Edmund. She glanced back at the entrance to the screen passage where the girl had halted, clutching her torn dress to her breast and staring wide-eyed at Beaudene. There were traces of tears on her cheeks and she looked pale. She was a mere twelve months younger than Nell’s own sixteen years, but suddenly Nell felt immeasurably older.

  “Go quickly, Alison,” she whispered, waving her hands for emphasis. “Sleep with Jacquette and Lucy, and stay out of Edmund’s way until after your wedding.”

  “Aye, mistress.” The girl turned and vanished.

  “A plague on you, cousin!” roared Edmund, picking himself up off the floor. He glanced quickly at Beaudene then advanced on Nell, evidently considering her the less threatening opponent. “Father said I could have the wench before she married. You think sending her to sleep with a parcel of women is going to stop me?”

  “Probably not,” Beaudene said coolly. He stepped into the boy’s path. “But you’ll find it difficult to have her, or any woman, without the proper equipment.”

  “What?” Edmund’s voice rose to a shrill note that betrayed his youth. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Someone who can do you a great deal of damage.”

  The words were uttered in a tone of such cold certainty that Nell shivered. As if he saw the small movement, Beaudene glanced down at her. “The girl’s to be wed?”

  She nodded. “Next week. To our steward.”

  “Bondman or free?”

  “Free, but—”

  He turned back to Edmund before she could finish. “If you want to function like a man when you reach the age,” he said with soft menace, “you’ll take warning, boy. There are enough easy women here more suited to your purpose than a maid already promised.”

  “We’ll see what my father has to say about that,” Edmund blustered.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Edmund,” Nell said. “Who do you think hired this…this…” She faltered, suddenly realizing she didn’t know Beaudene’s rank. His name and confident bearing hinted that he was no common man-at-arms, but whether he was a knight or a squire she had no idea.

  Temper flashed in Edmund’s eyes. “Well, if I’m forced to settle for a strumpet, I’ll start with you, cousin. You owe me for letting that puling ninny escape, so ’tis you who must pay the forfeit.”

  “By the Rood, Edmund!” Thoroughly exasperated, but too inured to her family’s ways to protest at the insult, Nell plunked her hands on her hips. “As if Thomas’s attentions aren’t bad enough. Do you have to emulate everything he does?”

  Her cousin’s hand whipped out and fastened around her arm. “’Ware your shrewish tongue, wench, or— Ow!”

  “Let her go,” Beaudene said very softly. He’d moved so swiftly to counter Edmund’s attack that Nell hadn’t seen his grip on her cousin’s shoulder until she heard Edmund’s yelp of pain. She was freed immediately.

  “And whatever favors your brother enjoyed from Lady Eleanor are at an end,” Beaudene added in the same chillingly soft tone. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Edmund nodded sullenly and was released. He sent Nell a look of dislike and stumbled off, cautiously feeling his neck and shoulder.

  “Come, Lady Eleanor, we’ve provided enough entertainment for your uncle’s guests to gape at. Let’s try something more sedate like the allemande.”

  “The allemande?” She looked him up and down in disbelief, from his mud-splashed, knee-length leather boots to his plain black hose and matching surcoat, unadorned but for the white rose. “If you think I’m going to dance wi—”

  She was hauled into the dance with startling speed.

  “Is this what you call guarding my body?” she demanded, then fell silent when Beaudene’s long fingers slid down the inside of her arm to wrap her hand in an unbreakable grasp.

  Her first few steps were executed in a daze. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the clatter of dishes, the talk and laughter of the guests, even the minstrels’ lutes above her picking out a familiar melody. But they were sounds without meaning, not real. All her senses were focused on Beaudene. For some reason, dancing with him made her feel unexpectedly small and vulnerable.

  She’d been aware of his height and size from the moment she’d walked into him, of course, but now her awareness was shockingly acute. He towered over her like a huge black shadow, his strength a threat—leashed, but there—and the way her hand was enveloped by his was utterly unnerving. It was the only physical contact between them, and yet she felt chained…captured. It was all she could do to follow the procession of dancers without faltering.

  “What? No sparkling wit? No polite conversation? You disappoint me, lady.”

  “I don’t waste my wit on a hired bodyguard,” Nell managed to retort. She winced inwardly at the breathless sound of her voice and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “You are laboring under a misapprehension, Lady Eleanor. I am not for hire. Especially not by your uncle.”

  Rafe glanced down at her as they passed a flaring sconce-light and felt his body stir in another rush of desire. The torchlight flickered over her upturned face, casting pools of shadow in those seductive hazel eyes. Eyes like a forest at sunset, green and gold, light and dark, clear and mysterious.

  Her other features held the same contradictions, he thought, frowning. Her brows and lashes were dark, but the lights captured the warm gleam of chestnut in the hair flowing free from the back of her headdress. Her face was fine-boned, almost fragile, the lines of cheeks, nose and jaw drawn with exquisite clarity, but her mouth was full and soft, a fraction too wide for the current fashion of pursed lips prevailing at court. It was a mouth made for passion, for kisses that were long and deep and utterly consuming.

  By the saints, what insanity had made him dance with her?

  Rafe forced his gaze away from that lush mouth, only to have his attention caught by the gently swaying movements of her skirts as she stepped sedately along by his side, and he realized for the first time how small she was, how delicately made. Her steeple headdress, from which floated a veil of silver tissue, gave an illusion of height but, without it, the top of her head would just reach his shoulder. Her hand felt small in his. Warm and soft, it quivered slightly, like a captured bird.

  “As I said, I am not for hire,” he repeated, and forced himself to concentrate on why he was there. “My lands lie half a day’s ride beyond your father’s. Since my return from court coincided with your own journey, he asked that I accompany you.”

  “My father?” Nell frowned. “But Tom and several men-at-arms will be escorting me. Why would my father ask such a favor of you?”

  The discomfort caused by Beaudene’s long scrutiny of her ebbed away beneath another, different, sense of unease. Her father had never visited her, never even enquired about her health during the past ten years. Why would he be concerned about a simple journey?

  Instead of answering her question, Beaudene asked one of his own. “Are you aware of the reason your father has sent for you, lady?”

  She made a small dismissive gesture with her free hand. “He intends
to arrange my marriage. What of it?”

  “You don’t appear overly interested in the prospect.”

  “Why should I be? Whoever my father has in mind will be marrying me for the wealth and lands I will inherit. Truly, I would rather be a pauper and retain my freedom.”

  “Spoken in the sure knowledge that you would not remain a pauper for long. Easy words, lady.”

  “You don’t believe me?” Stung, she glared at him. “Once I’m married my property becomes my husband’s. I will own nothing except my marriage portion, a mere third of my inheritance, if he honors the law. I will also forfeit the freedom of my own body. Tell me, sir, why would I have any use for marriage?”

  “Would you prefer the alternative? A convent? Or mayhap you’d rather be a man’s mistress.” His tone was coldly contemptuous.

  “Why not?” she flung back. “’Twould be less restricting than either marriage or the cloister.”

  A qualm shook her the moment the reckless words were out, but she was too angry to take them back. She glanced around the hall with scornful appraisal until her gaze rested on a couple half-hidden behind the back of a tall settle. The man was fondling his partner with an intimacy better suited to the bedchamber, and though the woman laughed and wriggled invitingly as his hand disappeared beneath her skirts, Nell saw her turn her head away. The expression on her face was one of bored tolerance.

  “A perfect example,” she pointed out airily, hoping that Beaudene hadn’t noticed how quickly she’d averted her gaze. “They’re not wed so at least she’ll be able to seek the privacy of her own bed once he’s finished.”

  “Not if she wants to be well rewarded. You see everything has a price, lady. But mayhap ’tis as well you don’t wish for marriage. The price your husband would pay for the pleasures of your body would be far too high.”

  “Beyond your means, that is for certain,” she shot back. And had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow.

  “I don’t recall making an offer,” he snapped.

  “Thank the saints for that, because I would have no hesitation in refusing it. And if the man my father has in mind for me is an ill-mannered lout like you, I’ll send him packing as well.”

  One black brow went up. “But you haven’t sent me packing. In truth, now I come to think about it, you don’t have the authority to send me packing.”

  Nell came to a dead stop in the middle of a turn. She had to unclench her teeth so she could speak. “I don’t have to continue with this ridiculous dance, however. If you will be so good as to cease crushing my fingers, sir, I wish to retire.”

  “That’s taking yourself off. Not nearly as satisfying as sending me packing.”

  “Ohhh!” Wrenching her hand free, she turned on her heel and, for the second time that night, abandoned her partner in the middle of a dance. Unfortunately, this time she ended the dance at the far end of the hall and was forced to make her way around several couples whose progress was erratic to say the least.

  By the time she reached the entrance to the screen passage she’d been jostled from side to side, had the long points of her new shoes trampled on, and been forced to fight off the advances of three drunken would-be partners. Fortunately, she hadn’t needed to fight very hard. She was just congratulating herself on her easy escape when the reason for it loomed up at her side.

  Angry, nervous, and feeling extremely put-upon, she turned on her would-be bodyguard. “Didn’t you hear me? I wish to go to bed.”

  “An excellent notion. Which way is your bedchamber?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry. I have no interest in doing more than accompanying you to your door and making sure none of your suitors accepts the invitation you’ve been putting out to follow you into your bed.”

  Nell clamped her lips shut and told herself that slapping Beaudene’s face, though tempting, wouldn’t help. She had to get rid of the man. There was something she needed to do before she retired for the night, and she didn’t want company while she did it. Especially his.

  A servant walked past carrying a platter of left-over food and inspiration dawned.

  “Go and have something to eat, or whatever it is bodyguards do when they’re off duty,” she commanded, waving an imperious hand. “I sleep with Margaret and my two younger cousins. Girl cousins,” she added for emphasis. “And their nurse, so you don’t need to concern yourself with my virtue.”

  Beaudene wrapped his long fingers around her arm. “A wasted effort, no doubt, but ’tis why I’m here nonetheless. Which way?”

  Furious but helpless, she gestured to the stairway at the end of the passage.

  “Do you intend to accompany me to the privy as well?” she asked with heavy sarcasm as they reached the upper gallery. “I don’t need a bodyguard for that, you know. I’ve been managing on my own for quite some time now.”

  “Obviously without being put over someone’s knee at an age when it might have done some good,” he said grimly.

  She jerked her arm out of his hold and marched on ahead. Innate, if silent, honesty compelled her to admit she probably deserved that remark, but the admission did nothing to soothe her temper.

  “This is my chamber,” she bit out when they reached a door halfway along the gallery. Several chests were stacked against the wall, ready to be loaded onto the baggage wagons in the morning.

  Beaudene stepped around them and, somewhat to her surprise, opened the door. He didn’t say anything, just glanced into the room then stood aside for her to enter.

  And suddenly, unexpectedly, a feeling of reluctance swept over her. Of regret at their unpleasant beginning. Beaudene might be an arrogant boor who had badly misjudged her, but it was obvious he took his role as bodyguard seriously. And she was so alone here. Surrounded by family and wealth and luxury, but alone. Mayhap she did need...

  She looked up.

  “Don’t try it,” he said, his gaze ice-cold.

  Heat surged into her cheeks. Without uttering a word, she turned, marched into the dimly-lit room and slammed the door behind her with as much force as she could muster.

  “Ignorant savage!” she stormed. “Brute! Oaf! Stupid—”

  A sleepy grumble came from one of the beds.

  Nell ignored it. She was too busy wondering how she was going to get through the next few days with her cousin, Tom, and that…lout…as escorts. She was sure ’twould be the worst few days of her entire life.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thin rivulets of water ran down the walls of the keep and pooled between the flagstones of the bailey. Above the looming battlements, clouds like black wraiths raced across the face of the moon as though fleeing some unseen foe.

  Nell glanced up at the midnight sky and hoped the next downpour would hold off for a while yet. She hadn’t bothered with a mantle, but the night air wasn’t too cold for comfort.

  She began to pick her way carefully around the puddles, keeping to the shadows as much as possible and skirting the perimeter of the bailey rather than going straight across the open space.

  Creeping out of the keep had been blessedly easy. She’d half expected Beaudene to be standing guard outside her door when she’d warily cracked it open a few minutes ago, but the time she’d waited must have been long enough to convince him that she was safely bundled out of the way for the night. Mayhap he’d taken her advice and gone to chase up some food. He might even drink himself into a stupor like everyone else.

  The thought of his inevitable discomfort on the morrow cheered her for a moment, before she dismissed the notion. Rafael Beaudene didn’t look the sort of man to relinquish control of his senses to anything.

  A dog whined nearby and she froze, recalled to her purpose. Once she reached the stables she’d be out of sight, but first she had to get there without drawing the attention of the guards at the gatehouse. Luckily, they were some distance away, and, judging by the slurred snatches of bawdy song wafting toward her, were in much the same state as their master.

&nb
sp; Nell gathered up her full skirts and tiptoed onward. Not that she cared if Margaret’s gown trailed in the wet and mud. ’Twould serve her cousin right for slashing to pieces the gown Nell had intended to wear that evening; a nasty piece of spite that deserved retribution. But she didn’t need the weight of a water-logged hem dragging behind her when she returned to her chamber. One had to be practical, after all.

  The stables loomed in front of her and she peered cautiously around the corner. All was quiet. Anyone not attending the banquet would be asleep by now—the guests’ servants in the lodging-hall across the bailey, the grooms and stable-boys in the loft above the wagon-room. No one would hear her.

  Her hand brushed over the big double doors. They were too heavy to open quietly. She ignored them and edged along the wall until she reached a smaller door at the end of the building. Easing it open, she slipped inside.

  Instantly the smell of horses and hay assailed her, the mingled odors familiar and comforting. Her heartbeat slowed. Her breathing steadied. She hadn’t realized how nervous she was, but when she groped on the shelf beside the door for the candle and flint she’d left there earlier in the day, her hands were trembling slightly. Taking another deep breath to still the tremors, she lit the candle and held it aloft.

  A long corridor, with stalls on either side, stretched ahead of her before disappearing into the darkness beyond her small candle flame. Tonight most of the stalls were occupied, but only the occasional shuffle or sleepy wicker disturbed the stillness as she glided quietly down the passage. She passed the big main doors and stopped at a stall a short distance further on. The little sorrel palfrey within lifted her head and blew gently in greeting.

  Nell reached into the pocket of her gown for the apple she’d brought as a farewell gift. “Here, Chevette, is this what you’re waiting for?”

  At the sound of her voice, large hooves stamped angrily at the far end of the stable, followed by a loud thud.