“Ouch,” she whispered behind the cloth that gagged her mouth, laying there stunned for a moment in the darkness of her burlap prison. Then the pain hit her, followed swiftly by panic. She did not do well in closed spaces and she began to struggle in earnest against the ties binding her wrists. She released a relieved sigh when she regained the use of her hands, then proceeded to reach up through the hole in the top of the bag in a frantic attempt to free herself.
True panic set in when she realized the rope binding the sack closed was much thicker and secured a lot tighter than the restraint on her hands. She knew it would be more helpful for her to remain calm, but she couldn’t seem to stop her breaths from coming more and more quickly between her parted lips until she recognized she was in danger of losing consciousness.
“Stop wriggling and I will free you.”
The insistent command issued in an impatient, and somewhat amused male voice, froze her in place. Tears stung her eyes. How could they have found her so quickly? She hadn’t heard any indication of their approach down the steep incline. Probably because she was so busy with her frantic attempt to escape from her cloth prison.
In an instant, the stranger cut through the rope and freed her. A deep breath calmed her panicked struggle for air, and then she turned a fearful glance in the direction of her rescuer, praying she would not recognize him as one of Raulf’s men. The stranger’s booted feet were not reminiscent of the heavy boots the soldiers of Calei wore. Nor were the leather breeches that clung to his muscular legs. Hope growing in her breast, Elena slowly ran her gaze up the stranger’s long, lithe form, passed his broad chest to his young and handsome face, until she finally met the amusement in his stunning blue eyes. Her lips curved in a relieved smile. He was not one of Raulf’s men. She was certain of that. In fact, she was quite certain she’d never seen him before in her life. Despite her youth and inexperience, she instinctively grasped that no woman could ever forget the stranger’s face or his incredible eyes.
Michel was having his own struggles recovering from his astonishment at the turn his morning scouting ride had taken. He drew in a sharp breath at the hesitant expression in the feminine eyes raised to his. They belonged to the unexpected bounty that rolled down the hill and literally landed at his feet. At first he assumed the squirming sack contained the stolen prey of some unlucky poacher. When he drew closer to investigate, he heard the furious, oddly smothered muttering of its feminine captive and quickly moved to free her.
When she burst free of her confinement his initial impression was that of a young girl with a tangled mass of dark, sable-colored hair streaming down her back. Then she raised her frightened, soft brown eyes to his and sat at his feet regarding him with dawning, impossible hope filling her gaze, as if he was some god sent to rescue her from the evil pursuing her, and he recognized immediately his plans for the day were completely overset.
Cursing himself for his inability to walk away from the situation he frowned down upon this latest source of distraction to his carefully thought out plans, none of which he was quite certain, included a doe-eyed innocent looking to him to rescue her from whoever tied her up in a burlap sack.
That the child was in need of rescuing was increasingly clear. She was clad in nothing but a thin sleeping gown. Seeing her shiver in the cold air of a new dawn, Michel quickly removed his rich, fur-lined cloak to wrap her in it and then assisted her to her feet. He noted her ankles were bound together and he swiftly bent to free them, and then released her mouth from the gag meant to ensure her silence.
“Thank you.”
He nodded in response to the girl’s shy offering of gratitude even as he wondered what in the name of all that was holy he was going to do with her. “You’re safe now. I won’t hurt you.”
“Who are you? I can see you are not one of Baron’s Raulf’s minions.”
By the cultured, educated tones of her voice, and the rather arrogant way she referred to the offending baron, Michel concluded she was no servant. Another uncomfortable conclusion followed fast on the heels of the first. The girl might be young, but from the way the fullness of her feminine breasts pressed against the thin material of her night gown, visible beneath the opening where his cloak rested around her shoulders, he realized she was no child.
The situation was growing more complicated by the moment. With a single, discerning glance, he took in her refined features, the rather haughty tilt of her chin, and the directness of her gaze and decided she was likely a daughter of one of the city’s noble families. How in the world she managed to get herself tied up in a sack on the back of a galloping horse was probably not an answer he really wished her to share with him.
No it would be better for the success of his plans to extricate himself from the maid’s misfortune at the earliest opportunity, before she discovered any more about him, and about the army of men waiting to attack her home hidden in the woods atop the mountain. But before he made a decision about how to go about extricating himself he needed to know what exactly, or who more likely, he was up against. “Who is Baron Raulf?”
Her eyes widened in astonished wonder at his query. “You do not know Baron Raulf? You must be a stranger to the city then.”
“Yes, we have only just arrived. We are visitors to your fair kingdom,” he replied, nodding to where Amele observed their exchange from a few feet away.
“I suggest you turn around then,” she immediately instructed him, after nodding politely in Amele’s direction, then added in a hopeful voice, “And if it would not be too much trouble, perhaps you would take me with you.”
“And why would we do that?” Surprisingly, Michel found himself not indisposed to prolonging their conversation. He justified the obvious sign of weakness on his part by reminding himself that the long days and nights he’d spent in the company of his men these past months made him more susceptible than usual to her shy femininity and soft voice.
“Because you would be rescuing me from a fate worse than death.”
Michel’s lips curved at her dramatic announcement and he queried curiously, “Might I assume Baron Raulf is somehow involved in this dreadful fate you speak of?”
“Yes, he intends to marry me.”
Michel turned in the direction of his silent, equally amused, companion. “Ah, Amele we have captured a runaway bride.”
“I am not a bride and I have no intention of becoming one.”
Michel grinned outright at the maid’s assured declaration, thinking how often he’d been the recipient of the same dramatic vow uttered from between his twin’s lips. In the end Melissa had been unable to avoid her Norman husband, despite her not inconsiderable efforts to do so. “Well, you appear a bit young to wed. Perhaps you can convince your father to change his mind about this betrothal to Baron Raulf.”
“My father is dead and there is no betrothal. He kidnapped me and thought to…”
“Thought to?” Michel couldn’t resist his teasing when words failed the maid and a fierce blush stained her cheeks. He immediately regretted his banter because the girl’s blush only deepened and she bowed her head in shame.
When she continued it was in a hushed voice he had to strain to hear, “He was going to force me…you know…then I would have no choice but to marry him. But I wouldn’t have…even if he…” she couldn’t bring herself to utter the foul word.
“Even if he raped you?” Michel supplied for her, his jaw clenching at the foul picture the girl drew for him. Despite the evidence her appealing, feminine curves presented to the contrary it was obvious the maid was still a child and certainly much too young to know about such obscenities let alone be forced to confront her very real fear of falling victim to them.
She nodded, her soft eyes filling with unshed tears. “Yes. I won’t marry him. I’m not going back. I’m never going back.”
“Is there someone you can stay with who would protect you from this Baron Raulf?” He asked, concerned enough at the fate she outlined to bestir himself on her
behalf.
“No,” she admitted forlornly, and then raised a hopeful, expectant glance to his face. “Do you know anyone I can stay with?”
Michel evaded her question with one of his own. “If your father is dead, who do you live with?”
“My uncle.”
“Surely he would not force you to marry the baron against your wishes.”
“No, but he won’t be able to stop the baron from taking what he wants after he’s dead.”
“Your uncle is dying, too?”
“Too?”
“You said your father was dead,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “My parents died when I was a little girl. I was sent to live with my uncle.”
“The uncle who is dying?”
“Yes, he’s the only uncle I have.”
Michel suppressed the urge to smile at the girl’s desolate confession. “What about your uncle’s wife?”
She shook her head and Michel was forced to conclude either her uncle didn’t have a wife, or she would not be able to provide assistance to defend the girl against the baron’s foul intentions. “Another family member perhaps?”
“I don’t have any other family. When Uncle Barnabas dies I will be quite alone in the world.”
“Uncle Barnabas?” Michel echoed stunned. He should have seen this coming, he realized. Then, as if in a belated warning, Michel felt a prickle of unease slither up his spine as he recalled the dying king’s request of him. ‘All I ask is that you not wed another until you have at least met my Elena.’ Well the deed was done, Michel concluded bitterly. He had met Barnabas’ beloved Elena.
Michel was no believer in coincidences, but since he very much doubted Barnabas would put his niece in deadly danger on the off chance Michel might be around to rescue her; he was forced to conclude that fate elected to involve itself in his affairs and had taken matters into its own unpredictable hands. His mind still boggled at the consequences of the king’s niece literally dropping out of the sky to land at his feet. Michel was distracted away from his musings by Elena’s impudent response to his earlier question.
“Yes, my uncle is the king. Don’t you know anything?”
Despite his unease at becoming further entangled in the untenable situation, Michel couldn’t help but be amused by her autocratic tone. “Apparently not. So let me guess. Your name is Elena?”
“Yes. How did you know my name? Who are you?”
“My name is Michel and this is Amele. The king lives?”
“Yes, as of last night when I retired to my rooms, but I can no longer be certain. He is very ill. I think he will not live much longer. I suppose the baron grew tired of waiting for him to die. He must have instructed his men to kidnap me from my chamber while I slept. They drugged me and tied me in that dreadful sack.”
The sound of approaching horses interrupted their discussion, this time coming from the opposite direction of their initial pass. It didn’t take any great powers of reasoning to deduct the girl’s abductors must have realized they lost their captive and were returning to look for her.
Elena turned tearful, terrified eyes in Michel’s direction. “You won’t let them take me, will you?”
Her fear was his undoing. Both cursing the restlessness that drove him out of the camp to scout the surrounding area that morning, and the dying king’s premonition he would be unable to turn his back on his defenseless niece, Michel reached out and grabbed his soon-to-be ward’s small hand and began pulling her behind him to where the horses waited at a break in the trees.
A brilliant smile bloomed on his companion’s lovely young face when Michel led her to where Arden grazed. She stood quite willingly in his grasp as he lifted her up and settled her on Arden’s back, then mounted behind her, wrapping one arm loosely around her slender form to keep her from falling. The fact she did not pester him with questions as to where he was taking her forced him to acknowledge Elena concluded accompanying a stranger to an unknown destination was preferable to the one she feared Raulf would lead her to.
The realization brought home to Michel just how much Elena feared the mysterious Baron Raulf. Michel decided he would have to do something about the baron. He could not have one of his nobleman kidnapping young ladies from their beds. His mood lightened in anticipation of doing so. The coming war for control of Calei would no doubt provide him with ample opportunity to carve the traitorous baron’s heart from his chest.
Though Elena maintained her wary silence, he could feel her tension in the way she held herself stiffly in the saddle in front of him, as if not entirely certain the direction he would take would be away from the men who sought her. It wasn’t until he turned Arden in the opposite direction, back towards the cover of the trees, that he heard Elena’s relieved sigh and felt her relax against him. As Arden’s swift and sure gait increased the distance between them and her would-be pursuers, Elena turned into his arms, wrapped her own around his waist and rested her head against his chest in a gesture of innocent faith he found unnerving. Within moments, she was sound asleep.
Sighing with annoyance at the way his body was reacting to having her softness cuddled close against him, and reminding himself the maid was little more than the child he had at first assumed she was, he adjusted his cloak more closely around her back to protect her from the cold, and then directed Arden back to the camp where his men awaited their return.
Dawn was giving way to early morning when they rode into camp. Barnabas’ precious treasure slept blissfully in the warmth of Michel’s arms until the sudden halt to the rocking motion of Arden’s even steps woke her. Elena could not suppress her gasp of surprise when she took in the number of men and horses in their midst. Their tents covered half the mountain. Michel raised an inquiring brow when she stared up at him with wide, curious eyes, but she only shook her head in response, obviously concluding it was best for her chances to remain among them if she refrained from giving voice to the questions he could see swirling in her gaze.
His squire hurried to take charge of Arden, and Michel waited while Amele dismounted, then helped Elena to find her feet. Michel dropped down beside her and motioned for one of his men to join them. “Take care of our guest. I imagine she would appreciate breakfast.” Elena raised fearful eyes to his when she realized he meant to leave her. “It’s all right. You’re safe here. No one will hurt you.”
Nodding uncertainly, she allowed the soldier to lead her away from his side, but Michel noticed she kept glancing back over her shoulder in his direction as if to assure herself he wasn’t going to disappear on her. Sensing her anxiety, Michel sent an encouraging nod in her direction, and then he and Amele set off together across the camp towards his tent.
While the two men waited for the others to join them Michel enjoyed the food prepared for his return. The leaders from Calei still loyal to the blood of the true king, as well as Michel’s own commanders, soon gathered in the tent, filling the confined space with excited, masculine voices. Michel waited in silence, allowing their comments and exchanges to roll over him as he ate.
Between them, they debated the unexpected bounty of having the king’s niece in their midst and what use her presence could best be put to in order to further their aims. After he took the measure of each man’s stance on the subject, he effectively called a halt to their fleeting proposals about Elena’s use to them with his blunt pronouncement.
“We’re sending her back to her uncle.”
“But, my prince, the maid could prove a valuable bargaining chip for our cause,” one of the Caleinians pointed out.
“A child is not a bargaining chip,” he rebuked sharply.
The man accepted Michel’s reprimand without affront, but that did not stop him from pointing out the obvious. “As you command, my prince, but even if we do send the child back there is no way for us to prevent the culprit from simply spiriting her off a second time. If the king’s guard has been penetrated there is no guarantee Lady Elena will be safe in the palace.”
His lips curved in an amused smile at her disheveled appearance, still wrapped in his overly large cloak, and with her tangled hair trailing behind her. There was an indignant expression on her face as her gaze hurriedly searched the tent for his presence. Her indignation didn’t lessen any when their glances met, but Michel sensed her relief at seeing him again.
An astonished silence fell over the gathering as everyone turned to see the identity of the intruder who would dare to interrupt their conference without invitation. Michel’s glance met Elena’s suddenly uncertain one, but he couldn’t help but be impressed by the way she stood her ground beneath so much disapproving, male scrutiny. “You’re not sending me back to the city.”
Michel suppressed his amusement at her command and raised his brows in response to her fierce declaration. “We’re not?”
Elena’s lovely face flooded with color at his mild reply and she quickly dropped her gaze from the challenge in his, becoming belatedly aware of their interested audience. Her response to his challenge was offered in an embarrassed voice in the direction of her feet. Michel missed her muttered response. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
A fresh blush stained her cheeks when she raised her glance to his. “I said I’m not a child.”
He let his eyes roam over her as if testing the truth of her assertion. He was more comfortable with his need to protect her when he could safely tuck her away into the category of a child in need of rescuing. But reminded of her uncle’s wish that he marry his precious Elena, Michel reluctantly acknowledged there was more to her effect on him than the uncomplicated excuse he previously thought to employ that his honor demanded he keep his vow to her dying uncle to protect his niece.
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