He would lay a trap of his own.
“It is a malady that comes and goes,” he said in a calculated move, settling back in his chair as she brushed off the last of her dirt. “I am feeling better than I was.”
Elizaveta stopped brushing and looked at him. “Oh?” she said with feigned interest. “What malady is it? Mayhap there is a cure.”
Drake propped a big, booted foot up on the bed beside her, a foot that was as long as her forearm. “I am not entirely sure what it is,” he said.
“Have you seen a physic?”
He nodded, pretending to be coy about it. It was a great bit of acting on his part. “I have,” he said. “The physic has seen it before but… well, you will understand that it is difficult for me to speak of, especially in the presence of a lady. It is not a malady for delicate, female ears.”
Elizaveta frowned. “I do not understand,” she said. “I have never heard of a man having in indelicate malady. What terrible illness would have kept you from your own wedding?”
Drake shrugged, eyeing her, seeing that she was interested in his troubles or, at least, seemed to be. He thought to push her a bit to see how far he could go without sending her running.
“I lied to my mother about it,” he whispered loudly, as if it were a great secret. “I do not want her to know where I contracted this illness.”
“Where in the world did you contract it?”
He pretended to be ashamed. “The brothels in Paris,” he said, still whispering loudly. “My mother does not know I have frequented them. She believes me to be grand and virtuous, but the truth is that I caught something the last time I was in Paris. It causes… well, it is rather terrible to describe… something green and… it runs. It is most foul. It smells of cheese.”
Elizaveta’s eyes widened and she resisted the urge to slap a hand over her mouth in disgust and shock. “God’s Bones,” she hissed. “You are correct, Sir. It is indelicate to tell a lady such things.”
Drake shrugged carelessly. “You asked,” he pointed out. “If you did not want to know, why did you ask?”
Elizaveta was quickly becoming outraged. “You did not have to tell me all of it,” she said. “I do not need to know… those things.”
Drake slouched back in the chair. Truth be told, he was rather enjoying her revulsion. It was difficult not to smile in the face of her indignation.
“Then you should not have asked,” he told her. “You will not tell my mother, will you?”
Elizaveta shook her head and stood up. “I will not,” she said firmly. “And I will not discuss this with you any further.”
Drake stood up, too. Standing next to her, he could see what a petite, little thing she was, barely coming to his sternum in height. More than that, her cloak had billowed out when she stood up and he caught a glimpse of a full bosom and slender waist. He liked it a great deal.
“Do not go,” he begged, seeing just how much he could taunt her before she burst into tears. “I will not speak of the green, cheese-smelling slime again. Would you rather discuss the brothels where I caught it? The women there are actually quite fascinating. Some of them have great talents that you might appreciate.”
Elizaveta was aghast. “I would not want to speak of those women,” she seethed. “What kind of a fool are you to speak to a woman that way? Do you honestly believe I wish to discuss the whores you have known?”
He pretended to be quite baffled by her anger. “I was simply making conversation, my lady,” he said, completely fake in his innocence. “I will not discuss whores if you do not want me to. What else shall we discuss?”
Elizaveta was at the end of her patience. She turned for the door. “Nothing,” she said flatly. “Good day to you, Sir Drake. I hope you recover from your… illness.”
Drake could no longer hold off the smile as he watched her storm to the door. “Speaking of illnesses, you seem to have recovered quite swiftly from yours.”
Elizaveta came to a halt, turning to look at him. There was something in his tone now, something different that hadn’t been there before. There was a knowing hint, something that suggested he might be more intuitive and sharp than she had given him credit for. As she looked at the man, that impish glimmer in his eye had turned into something deeper, something more humorous and perhaps even more wicked. He’s toying with me, she thought. He is trying to upset me. Aye, it was all quite clear to her. Drake de Winter was toying with her. Was it possible that he suspected her identity even though she’d not told him? Was it possible that he was more astute than she had surmised? All of these things were quite possible but rather than allow him to chase her from the room with talk of a whore’s disease, she wasn’t going to leave. Perhaps she could be the one to force him from the room. If he thought he could rid himself of her so easily, he was grossly mistaken.
The game was on.
“Not entirely,” she said, putting her hand to her forehead and moving back into the room, towards the bed. “My illness, too, comes and goes. It is a female affliction, something unseemly to discuss with men.”
Drake watched as she sat upon the bed, seemingly exhausted whereas moments before, she had seemed quite strong and irate. He eyed her with some suspicion. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “Have you seen a physic?”
It was the same question Elizaveta had asked him but she was prepared. Knowing the man was on to her identity, at least assuming he was, she would taunt him just as he had taunted her. She would send him crying from the room before he could do it to her.
“I have,” she said. “Much like your malady, he is unsure what it is, either.”
Drake was rather enjoying the anticipation of her answer. He was fairly certain she was on to his game just as he was on to hers. The battle of wills, and taunts, was escalating.
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said with mock regret. “Where did you contract this malady?”
She batted her eyelashes at him quite exaggeratedly, so much so that he almost smiled. It was an effort not to.
“Well,” she said reluctantly. “I… I suppose I can tell you since you were so open in sharing your affliction with me. I did not contract my malady in a brothel, as you did. I contracted it in the house of a great lord.”
Drake pretended to be very interested; he folded his enormous arms over his chest in a thoughtful gesture. “I see,” he said. “What happened, if I may ask?”
Elizaveta had been waiting for that question. I’ll show him, the arrogant fool! “It was in France,” she said. “You know they are much different in France, at times. Much different.”
“Different how?”
“In the way they treat women.”
“How did they treat you?”
“I was used for entertainment.”
His eyebrows lifted. “What kind of entertainment?”
She averted her gaze, too dramatic a gesture to be a real one with real feeling. “For other lords,” she said. “One time I was to act like a dog and men were permitted to pet me. One time, I was ordered to be a horse and men were actually allowed to ride me. And if a man desired to whip me, he was permitted to. I have scars all over my… well, suffice it to say that none but my husband will see them. By looking at me, you would think that I am young and quite perfect, but I promise you the opposite is true. That is why my parents have had such a difficult time finding a husband for me.”
Drake eyed her; he was fairly certain that she was jesting with him because she suspected he had been jesting with her, but he couldn’t be entirely certain. He didn’t know the woman, after all. What if there was some measure of truth in what she said?
“How old are you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I have seen nineteen years,” she said. “But it is not my age that has been troubling. It is my sordid past. Men do not want a wife who has permitted men to ride her like a horse, pet her like a dog, or spank her like a naughty child. My flesh is covered with whip marks and big handprints from men slapping at me. No on
e wants a wife who has been used in such a terrible fashion.”
Drake’s eyebrows lifted. He kept telling himself that she was only taunting him, that she was getting back at him for the teasing he dealt her about the green slime, but even so, he didn’t like to hear it. What if some, or all, of it was true? He didn’t want a wife who had been used like a common strumpet even if she was the daughter of the Earl of East Anglia. But for as much as she was going to push him, he was going to push her back.
“Let me see your marks,” he said. “I will tell you whether or not a husband will want you.”
Elizaveta’s head jerked to him, her eyes wide with surprise at his request. “I will not let you see them,” she said. “It is not your right.”
“It is my right, Lady Elizaveta du Reims,” he said, watching the astonishment in her expression. “Aye, I know who you are now. I am to be your husband, so I am told, so let me see your marks.”
Elizaveta’s outrage cooled dramatically as the obvious, the entire reason for their meeting, was acknowledge. The secret was out in the open, now spoken for both of them to hear. She stared down Drake just as he was staring her down. There was tension in the air, one waiting for the other to break. But Elizaveta refused to break.
“Show me your green slime,” she said in a crafty gesture, “and I will show you my marks.”
“You first.”
She shook her head. “You told me of your malady first,” she said. “A true knight will never deny a lady’s request. You show me first.”
She was right. Damnation! Drake thought. She is right! He drew in a long, contemplative breath, all the while scrutinizing the woman he was supposed to marry. The truth was that he liked the fact that she was quite sharp and cunning. She was more than an intellectual match for him. She was also lovely to watch, well spoken, and beautiful. But she had one hell of a stubborn streak in her… and so did he.
“A true lady would not ask to see such things,” he countered.
Elizaveta’s lips twitched with the beginnings of a grin. “And a true knight would not have discussed a disease picked up in a brothel.”
He nodded his head, conceding the point. “Mayhap,” he said. “But you said yourself that you have a sordid past, so I was not divulging information to a true lady.”
“You did not know that at the time.”
“It is true, I did not,” he said. “But I would venture to say that you fabricated that entire tale to dissuade me, which makes you just as much a liar as I am.”
He had her on that point, sort of. Elizaveta cocked her head, realizing they had come to the end of their tit-for-tat. It was time for total truth between them now that each knew who the other was. Identities had been confirmed. If they did not move past the charade, the situation might become much worse between them. Bitterness and resentment were right around the corner if she did not change direction. Elizaveta wasn’t willing to let it go that far, not if she was to be married to the man for the rest of her life.
She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in hell.
“Total truth between us, Sir Drake,” she finally said. “Do you really have an affliction of green slime?”
Drake didn’t hesitate; he shook his head. “I do not,” he replied. “Have you really been petted like a dog and ridden like a horse?”
“I have not.”
“Do you really have whip marks or handprints on your body?”
“I do not.”
“I will find out soon enough, you know. It would behoove you to be completely honest with me.”
“I am being completely honest.”
Drake believed her. He didn’t know why he should, given that this woman colluded with his own mother, but he believed her. More than that, he realized that in their short exchange, he had come to like her somewhat. She had a sense of humor, which he greatly appreciated, and for some strange reason, he could see her verbally sparring with his brothers, which pleased him immensely. She was not a woman to back down. He dipped his head to her in a gallant gesture.
“Then I will be completely honest as well,” he said. “I am not ill. I did not come to the church today because I do not wish to be married. It is nothing personal against you, Lady Elizaveta. It is simply that I am not pleased that I’ve been pushed into a marriage I cannot refuse.”
Elizaveta suspected that had been the reasons behind his failed appearance at the church all along. She couldn’t fault the man his honesty.
“Nor I,” she said. “I am here because I was forced to be here and being greeted by a sword and not a groom did not help my opinion of this marriage. Since we are both being forced into this, do you think it possible that you could be kind enough to take the time to come to the church in person? I have come in person for you, in fact. I would ask to be shown the same respect.”
It was not an unreasonable request and Drake saw no reason to refuse her. In fact, he realized that he didn’t want to. Lady Elizaveta du Reims had proven herself worthy of him in just the short time he’d known her. Perhaps it was utterly arrogant to think that way, but he did nonetheless. He rather liked her fire.
“Since you have asked so politely, I will be more than happy to escort you to the church,” he said. “Shall we walk or ride?”
“If we walk, we can tell each other more terrible stories about our pasts.”
He couldn’t help it; he laughed. Before he could respond, however, he could hear his mother’s voice as she was coming up the stairs. He could hear his brothers, too. The troops were returning and a mischievous twinkle came to his eye.
“Since you colluded with my mother to play a joke on me,” he said, “I wonder if you will collude with your future husband to play a joke on his mother?”
Elizaveta grinned. “She will probably become quite angry,” she said. “She is a very strong-willed woman.”
Drake nodded patiently. “Indeed she is,” he said. “Will you do it?”
“What shall I do?”
He told her and she fell back on the bed, eyes closed and deathly still. Drake stood over her. By the time Devereux opened the door and stuck her head inside the chamber, it was much the way she had left it – the lady on the bed and Drake standing over her. Her brow furrowed with concern.
“Has she not awoken, Drake?” Devereux asked.
Drake nodded. “She did, indeed,” he said, looking at his mother rather casually. “She told me who she was. So I throttled her. She is quite dead now.”
One could hear Devereux’s scream all the way into town.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brae Castle (Pele Tower), 11 Miles northwest of Caerlaverock
Outpost for the Clan Douglas
“We had heard that Caerlaverock fell tae the Sassenach,” a man with dark, dirty hair and a bushy beard spoke. “We could have been no help tae ye, Maxwell. We were told that Edward brought thousands tae the siege. We didna have the numbers tae fight them.”
On the bottom floor of Brae’s small tower, several large and dirty clansmen crowded into the low-ceilinged room. It smelled of dirt and smoke, and of old meat that had been left to burn. The room was incredibly close and moist and a few of the men moved towards the single tiny window in the room simply to gain some air.
Such were the cramped conditions of what were known as pele towers, outposts mostly along the Scots border that were meant to watch for, and occasionally launch an attack against, the English. The Sassenach. The mere word brought the embers of hatred into the room, threatening to spark at any moment.
“Their numbers were overwhelming,” another man said. He had short, red hair and a surprisingly hairless face. He was younger, not un-handsome, but it was clear that he was undernourished and exhausted. His hands and knuckles were bloodied and raw. “We held Caerlaverock as long as we could before we surrendered tae Edward. It belongs tae him now. Ye have Sassenach less than a day’s ride from here.”
That wasn’t a pleasing thought and the men in the room grunted and muttered, eyeing
the two refugees from the fall of Caerlaverock as if they’d permitted something completely terrible to happen. Along with exhausted red-haired man stood another man with dirty blond hair that stuck up like a haystack.
“We fought as best we could,” he said to the group as if defending himself. “Edward had thousands of men. We had sixty!”
The young man was becoming agitated and the dark-haired man with the dirty beard put up his hands to prevent the agitation from spreading. When discussing Edward among Scots, vitriol was quick to spread.
“No one is blaming ye, young Robert Maxwell,” he said. “We dunna blame ye or yer brother. But ye’ve come here tae tell me that the Sassenach are nearby and that is not something we are eager tae hear.”
Robert looked at his brother, John. The eldest son of their father, also John Maxwell, who was the brother to the Lord of Caerlaverock Eustace Maxwell, John was as overwhelmed with the defeat of Caerlaverock as Robert was. Even though they were young men, they had seen many battles, but what Edward brought to Caerlaverock had been truly something to behold. They were still reeling. When Robert looked at him, expectantly, John didn’t hesitate to speak his mind. He was feeling scrutinized, even condemned, for what had happened at Caerlaverock. The Douglas’ could be a judgmental group and he was unhappy that his uncle, Eustace, had sent him to deliver the message of both defeat and hope to the Douglas.
“Ye wouldna been able tae hold it any better than we did had ye been there,” John said, speaking directly to Arn Douglas, son of one of the Black Douglases who filled the Galloway lands this far south. Arn had a dirty beard and dirty hair but a surprisingly reasonable mind. It was that aspect John focused on. “There were too many of them, I tell ye. It would have taken a great army tae hold them off. But the fall of Caerlaverock is not all I came tae tell ye; we have a bit of hope tae give.”
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 42
