Mistress of Her Fate

by Byrne, Julia

  She shook her head. “One man may yet die,” she warned, sinking to the ground. She edged closer to the flames, keeping her gaze on Richard as he and Beaudene seated themselves on either side of her.

  Beaudene picked up the wineskin next to him and handed it to her. “Have some of this. ’Twill put some color in your cheeks.”

  “No fancy goblets, I fear,” Richard said, apparently feeling the need to excuse the rough amenities of the camp. He grinned. “But the wine is good, and there’s roast suckling pig for our supper.”

  “Roast suckling pig,” she repeated valiantly, while her stomach flipped over. She took a cautious sip of wine and placed the skin on the ground. “Where did you get it?”

  “Better not ask,” Beaudene said dryly.

  He was still watching her. Was there something in her face? Some lingering hint of the terrible crime she had almost committed? And how was she to get rid of the herb without his knowledge? It was too dangerous to be left in inexperienced hands. Though useful in the treatment of chest ailments, too much could kill.

  She should destroy the powder. But how? Burn it? Impossible to do that without being seen. Bury it, mayhap? Aye, that was it. Bury it where no one would find it, and eventually ’twould lose its potency. She could slip away from the camp and—

  “Rafe tells me you have to leave in the morning.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, staring at Richard until his words made sense. “Aye. If my lord says so.”

  Beaudene’s brows rose. “Saints above! You must be tired. Such compliance.”

  “Don’t tease the poor girl, Rafe. ’Tis an uneven match at the moment. Do you need me to watch your back tomorrow?”

  “Nay. If fortune favors us, Nell’s cousin and his men will be ahead of us by now. Besides—” He glanced at her. “We’re going to Wells first.”

  She jerked her head up. “What?”

  He smiled faintly. “You’re forgetting your own strategy, princess. A detour to Wells will keep us from over-running your family’s heels, or meeting them on their way back.”

  “Aye, a fond family you have there,” Richard remarked, before she could wrap her mind around Beaudene’s change of heart. “Hiring an assassin, by God.”

  “He was assisted by a certain party who made a habit of frequenting the stable at midnight,” Beaudene growled.

  She summoned up the energy to scowl at him. “I went out there to say goodbye to my horse, if you recall.”

  “An innocent excuse,” he conceded. “On that occasion.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” From the corner of her eye she saw Richard’s gaze moving back and forth between her and Beaudene like a spectator at a tournament.

  “It means, princess, that your relatives were certain of your whereabouts. Clearly, you frequented the stable at that hour more than once.”

  “Someone could have noticed me leaving a candle there earlier and assumed I would slip out to see Chevette. They knew I was fond of her, and that I couldn’t take her home.”

  “Why not?” asked Richard.

  They both turned to stare at him.

  “Just an idle thought,” he offered meekly, but his lips twitched.

  Nell flushed and fought back her rising temper. It was useless trying to justify her actions to Beaudene, but at least she felt a little better. She wondered suddenly if that had been his intention in baiting her.

  “My uncle said ’twas too long and hard a journey for a small horse,” she told Richard. “But—” She shrugged and dared a glance at Beaudene. “It hasn’t been so bad.”

  “More likely she was too steady a mount if they were planning something during the trip,” he said cynically.

  She shook her head. “I cannot see Tom planning anything. He’s a dolt and usually has his face in an ale-cup. Edmund, now, he’s sharp, and he’s vicious enough, but—”

  “He’s too young,” Beaudene finished for her. “I think you’ll find ’tis your lady aunt who is the brains behind their ambition, princess. But don’t worry, I’ll get you home safely. You have my word on it.”

  “Better beware,” Richard warned her with a grin. “Every time he said that when we were boys I got into trouble.”

  “Boys. Aye, you know each other!” She glared at Beaudene, her temper simmering again. “You know each other well. That was why you weren’t overly concerned about our capture yesterday.”

  He merely shrugged. Just as if she hadn’t been worried sick that he might have been involved.

  “We were opposite numbers in the late, uh, royal squabble,” Richard confided. “Scouts sent out to locate the other army. Remember the day we came face to face when we discovered that bolt-hole at the same time, Rafe?” He laughed. “We hadn’t seen each other for years. I don’t know who received the greater shock.”

  “But you didn’t betray each other,” she said, with great certainty.

  She sat back, content to let the conversation flow around her as she focused properly on Richard for the first time. Apart from his grey eyes, his outward resemblance to Beaudene was striking—both were tall, with the lean, powerful build that owed more to sheer muscular strength than bulk, and both were dark. But, as the two men began to talk of war and their experiences in battle, she saw that the likeness arose more from the hard-edged ruthlessness that characterized them, than any similarity of physical feature. A ruthlessness, she mused, that was born of a close acquaintance with hardship and danger, and a way of life that forged a personal code as inflexible as it was honorable.

  Mayhap Bess would be safe with Richard after all, she thought. If nothing else he would protect her, as Rafe had sworn to do for herself.

  She cast a glance at him from under her lashes, her gaze tracing the scar at his temple as she recalled what he’d told her earlier. As though sensing her regard, he reached out without breaking off his conversation with Richard, and took her hand in his, enveloping it in a strong clasp.

  Warmth spread through her, a sweet tide of sensation that momentarily enthralled her. She struggled free of it, unwilling to yield again to something she didn’t yet understand; something she needed to understand if she was not to lose herself to the hidden danger she sensed awaited her.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand free. His touch was too necessary, too compelling. She needed to feel that strong, vital link to him.

  Did he know? Did he sense how cold and alone she felt?

  She looked away, gazing blindly into the fire as confusion assailed her. Every time they talked, nearly everything Rafe said confirmed what he thought of her, but at the same time he could be so…

  She couldn’t think of the right word. Kind was too tame. Nice was ridiculous. Gentle, mayhap? Tender? But didn’t tenderness imply a kind of caring?

  She frowned as she struggled to make sense of her thoughts. It was almost as if Rafe sometimes forgot her supposed wantonness and treated her as if he actually liked her. Or, mayhap…mayhap the reverse was true. Mayhap Rafe was being gentler with her, despite his contemptuous opinion, because he wanted something from her.

  An icy chill tingled through her, even as she fought against acknowledging what it was she feared so greatly. Nor could she think clearly this close to him. She needed to get away, needed a few minutes alone. And not only to think.

  Snatching her hand from his, she scrambled to her feet.

  “I need to walk the stiffness out of my legs,” she said abruptly. And bury a deadly herb.

  The men broke off their talk and stared at her.

  “I’ll come with you,” Rafe said.

  “Nay! That is…I will not go far. I just…”

  She was rescued by Richard. “Hell’s fiends, Rafe. Let Mistress Nell have some privacy. There’s a stream through those trees,” he told her, waving a hand toward the eastern side of the camp. “Go on. We’ll eat when you return.”

  “Thank you.” Nell nodded in Richard’s direction and fled. Nor did she stop until she was well away from the camp
, and surrounded by the quiet sentinels of the forest. Then she paused to catch her breath. In the waning light she saw a small animal flit through the bracken and vanish. A bird twittered once and fell silent. Leaves drifted down in front of her, spiraling slowly toward the earth.

  “’Tis as good a place as any,” she muttered, as she watched a leaf land at her feet. Glancing quickly about to be sure she was alone, she knelt and brushed away other leaves. Their dark gold hue reminded her of Rafe’s eyes.

  Rafe. When had she started calling him that in her mind? Why did he blow cold then hot? What could he want from her, if anything? So many questions. And only one answer she was sure of. He still believed her to be wanton, to be no better than her family. That was probably why he hadn’t presented her properly to Sir Richard.

  Nell sat back on her heels, staring at the small hole she’d made in the ground. The realization that Rafe hadn’t told his friend her full name struck her with painful force. Richard addressed her as Mistress Nell not Lady. Although he clearly knew of the danger from her family. What was she to make of that?

  Only the obvious, she concluded grimly. Rafe still disapproved of her, so if he was being gentler, ’twas because he wanted something. And all she possessed was herself.

  Ice slid through her veins, as clear and cold as the knowledge she could no longer deny. The knowledge that if Rafe wanted what every other man had wanted from her, it would destroy something in her—because he was different. As different to those other men as the swift, hunting hawk is from the self-important, strutting bantam. She had known that from the start—instinctively then, with utter certainty now.

  And just the thought of being alone with him again made her heart tremble.

  With a half-strangled sound of impatience, Nell began to attack the hole like a small, ferocious harrier. This was what came of too much thinking. Hearts did not tremble. Nerves, aye. And no wonder. She had nearly been dragged ignominiously before the local sheriff, she was bone-weary from nursing people all day, she felt torn by her inability to help the poor abused child back at the camp, and she still had to face the task of informing her father that she could not marry the man he’d chosen for her because…because…

  Well, just because!

  Several more frantic seconds of digging ensued. Determined to keep her wayward thoughts on one problem at a time, she brushed dirt from her hands, stood, and lifted her skirts to untie the pouch.

  The light was fading rapidly. She dropped her skirts and began to grope in the pouch for the herb. She needed to hurry. If she tarried here much longer, someone would come looking for her.

  And on that thought the hair at her nape lifted and she went utterly still.

  He was coming. There was no sound, no warning, but she knew he was close.

  The opened pouch, her crucifix still within, fell unheeded to the ground. She turned, her heart in her throat, the little bag of herbs clutched in one hand, and watched Rafe come through the trees toward her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  There was nowhere to run. ’Twas too late to hide. She could only stand there, shivering inside, as he drew closer and his hawk-like gaze swept over her face before lowering to the bag in her hand and thence to the hole at her feet.

  “You were gone a long time.”

  The words were very soft, very gentle, but when his gaze lifted to her face she felt the impact of the questions in his eyes all the way to her soul.

  She struggled free of the panicked urge to turn and flee into the forest. Fleeing was useless. She had to think. Rafe might be starting to trust her word, but his trust was fragile. If he even suspected the truth, she would be damned forever in his eyes.

  A half-truth? Men knew little of physics and potions unless they were monks or apothecaries trained to the work.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had to…I thought I would need this herb, but as it happens I don’t, and ’tis not safe, so…I thought to bury it.”

  His gaze never wavered from her face. In the heavy silence that followed, the trees themselves seemed to wait for his answer. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but his expression gave nothing away.

  “What is it, this herb that is unsafe rather than healing?”

  “Oh, it can heal.” Ignoring his question, she rushed into speech. “’Tis most useful for ailments of the chest, but the dose must be measured with great care, and I do not have time to explain all to Bess, so…”

  “I see. Its preparation must be learned over time.”

  She nodded quickly.

  “And since no one here is suffering from aught but burns and the wounds of battle, you decided to forego a lesson that must needs be hasty, though you purchased the herb?”

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  Rafe held out his hand. “May I see it?”

  Her own hand shook as indecision gripped her. But ’twas just a powder, she assured herself. A powder like any other. He would not know it.

  She offered him the bag, praying that the waning light hid the tremor in her fingers.

  He came closer and took it, pulling the laces free so he could look inside. He lowered his head and took an experimental sniff.

  Then his gaze lifted to hers and Nell felt the first knife-thrust of fear.

  “What name has this herb?” he asked.

  He won’t know it. He’s a warrior. He might have a rough knowledge of the treatment of battle wounds, but he won’t know of internal cures.

  “Nell?”

  “Hyssop.” The name passed her lips like the sigh of the wind.

  And immediately she saw it. Her mistake. His knowledge—leaping to life in his eyes in an explosion of rage so violent it made his former anger look like mild annoyance.

  “Hyssop!” The word hissed between his teeth. “By the fiend, it slides off your tongue as easily as the dose would slide down your throat. You don’t even seek to lie.”

  “Nay—”

  “How often have you used it, lady?” He swept over her faint protest, his voice flaying her, stripping flesh scorched by his fury from nerves stretched beyond endurance. “How many times have you used the knowledge learned in your aunt’s household? Once? Twice? Why throw such a useful herb aside because you were mistaken in your reckoning? Save it for—”

  “Stop! Stop it!” She flung up her hands, as though trying to ward off the relentless onslaught. “You’re wrong! ’Twas not for myself. I didn’t need…I’ve never…”

  “God’s teeth! Do you mean you bought it for someone else? That you were going to use your whore’s tricks on one of those sick women back there? Does she know of your kindness, lady? Or did she refuse to have her soul blackened for so foul a sin against the laws of God and man and—”

  “The laws of man?” Her voice was low and shaking, but it cut through Rafe’s tirade like a sword cleaving mist. His eyes were slitted, his body rigid with barely contained rage, but she didn’t care, no longer saw; felt only her own fury rising in a flood that swept over fear and guilt until she felt nothing else.

  “Aye, you men! You men who make the laws, who stand so righteously before your women and point accusing fingers, who would condemn without hearing. Tell me what you would do when you look at a child—a child—who has been taken and used until she would rather perish where the vile creatures left her than return to her people. What good is your male honor then, my lord? Does it remove her hurt, her shame, her despair?”

  “Another sin will not remove those things, either,” he yelled, throwing the herb aside. “God damn it, Nell, I don’t care what you learned in that accursed household, you must have known that at least.”

  In the wild storm of her emotions, she only distantly noticed the sudden pain in Rafe’s voice. “Another sin?” she cried, anguished. “My sin? Is that all you can think of? Do you spare a thought for the terrible sin committed by men who do not have to live with the consequences? Do they suffer? Nay! Their lives continue without let or hindrance. They continue, sinning again and a
gain, and women have no defense, no safety, no protection.”

  Despair lanced through her and she turned away, stumbling, blind to her surroundings, her arms held across her body as if she had received a mortal blow.

  “And I couldn’t do it,” she whispered. “Oh, God save her, even knowing all that, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t—” Her voice broke.

  For a moment there was nothing but the tortured echo of her words in the silence, then strong hands cupped her shoulders from behind, holding her.

  “Easy,” he said. “Be easy, Nell. I didn’t—”

  “Nay!”

  His gentleness was too much. Crying out in anger and despair, she wrenched herself free, fighting him even as she whirled, striking out blindly, as frantic as a wild creature caught in a trap.

  Rafe rode the glancing blow she landed on his face, and, in a lightning-swift move, grabbed her wrists, pinned her hands behind her back with one of his and pivoted. Before she realized what was happening she was immobilized between the trunk of a giant beech and the weight of his body. His free hand pressed her head against his shoulder and he lowered his head to brush his lips across her hair.

  “Shhh,” he murmured, as a small frantic sound escaped her. She was still trying to struggle and he tightened his hold, but carefully, so as not to hurt her. “Be still. Be still, Nell. Let me hold you.”

  Rafe kept his voice low, almost crooning the words, but renewed fury lashed him. God send a pox on that vicious family of hers. And on her father, who had sent her to a place where innocence was undefended, and knowledge learned that would have destroyed what was left of goodness in anyone less strong than the girl in his arms.

  She was quiet now, no longer fighting him, but her inner conflict still held her in its grip. The tension in her delicate frame was so great he wondered that she simply didn’t shatter like brittle glass between his hands. He fought back his own anger. There would be time enough to deal with her family when he had her safe beyond their reach.

  His head bent lower. “I’ll protect you, Nell. I’ll keep you safe.”

  He heard the words with a vague sense of surprise. How did she arouse such feelings within him? This tenderness, this need to protect. He did not understand it, but knew beyond all doubt that he was making a vow that would never be forsworn, no matter who or what she had been in the past. It no longer mattered. He wanted her too much. Wanted her with an urgency that had nothing to do with his intent to use her deliberately. He scarcely recalled that cold, measured decision to sate his physical need within her body until he was free of her. This was fierce and hot, the force of it so beyond his control that as Nell abruptly softened against him, yielding to his strength with a shuddering little sigh, his body hardened in a rush that drew a harsh breath from him.