The Warrior's Maiden (The Warriors Series Book 2)

by Denise Domning

  Even with the fabric of her gowns between his flesh and hers, Elianne’s skin crawled where her father touched her. Aye, but no more than her heart recoiled as she understood what he now sought from her. This chore of his would see to it he escaped all blame for his actions.

  Aye, but onto whose shoulders would that blame shift? Horror tore through Elianne. Jesus save her, but either her father wanted to make a scapegoat of his daughter so she was hanged in his stead, or once she did this task for him he’d finish her himself to hide what he had done!

  Terrified, Elianne planted her hands on his chest and shoved with all her might. He yelped in surprise and stumbled back, his hands opening. She whirled for the door and freedom.

  “Nay!” her father roared, grabbing her hand where it lay upon the latch.

  With a wordless shout, Elianne drove her elbow into his chest. Gagging, he slammed against the wall behind the door. She threw open that panel.

  On the other side of the portal, Sir Gilbert whirled to face his employer’s office. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape. Elianne careened through the opening, sending the smaller man tumbling.

  “I need you,” her father screamed from right behind her.

  Aye, he needed her to die for him. She lifted her hems. Her sire’s hand lit upon her shoulder. Elianne shrieked and sprang into those crowded around this door.

  Men shouted as she tore blindly through their midst. They scattered and fell before her. Leaping over a portly burger, she glanced over her shoulder.

  Her father bulled his way into the disordered crowd. His fists flew as he tried to carve a path. Despite that, the petitioners closed in on him from every side, each one crying out that the sheriff should hear him.

  Trapped, Reiner du Hommet bellowed his frustration to the rafters. “You’ll not abandon me, you stupid bitch!” His words rang against the hall’s stone walls. “Come back, or I vow I’ll kill you.”

  The threat followed Elianne out the door as she passed a startled Thomas. Her father meant it. He’d kill her for abandoning him to the fate he’d justly earned, just as he’d kill her if she aided him. Either way, her father planned that she would die.

  Tears stung at her eyes. She streaked down the stairs and across the castle’s inner yard. Perhaps she should let him kill her. There was nothing left of her life, not now that she was the daughter of a murderer and the lover of a man doomed to hate her for the blood that coursed in her veins.

  Outside the outer of Knabwell castle’s two defensive walls, Josce paid the lad who’d held his horse, then swung into his saddle. He turned the big mare, intent on making his way back to the smith’s house where his friends now prepared for their departure from Knabwell. As the horse moved Josce caught sight of a tall woman dressed in pretty green as she raced through the castle gate. The woman deftly dodged and darted through the lane’s heavy foot traffic, her neat golden brown plaits swinging beneath the edge of her prim white head covering. Despite her dress he knew her. It was Elianne in a proper headcloth.

  Damn him, but if that was Elianne. then she must have been in her father’s office a moment ago. That meant she’d heard his threat. A part of him screamed that he couldn’t afford to care what she’d heard; he had to let her go. To chase her down and explain meant encouraging her affection when there was no hope for an honest relationship between them. All she could ever be to him was his mistress, and Elianne deserved better.

  Unfortunately, the rest of his body paid no heed to this logic. His hands moved on the reins. His heels struck his mount’s sides. The horse leapt into its stride, moving far more swiftly than was safe in so crowded a lane. Men cursed and women cried out. Aye, but they fell back and let him pass.

  Ahead of Elianne a lumbering ox-drawn wagon blocked the lane, the vehicle nearly as wide as the street itself. Josce watched her shift to the left, only to find no passage in that direction. It was the opportunity he needed. As Elianne wheeled to the right, he urged his horse forward to stand between her and the wagon’s side.

  She nearly collided with his mount before she saw it. Crying out, she staggered back from the beast. Josce vaulted from the saddle to grab her by the arm before she had a chance to catch her stride.

  “‘Lianne,” he said, catching her other arm in case she thought to fight him.

  “Josce?” She stared at him in tearful surprise. Beneath the fine embroidery that edged her headcloth, the pain filling her pretty green eyes said it all. She’d heard his threat and it had destroyed her.

  Everything in Josce demanded he convince her that his need to destroy her sire was righteous. Impossible, when her father’s death meant her own ruin. At just that moment, a group of rowdy apprentices came out of the alley behind them, the lads all dancing and jabbing at each other in mock attack. One of them bounced into Josce’s shoulder only to rebound into his mates with a shouted “Pardon.” It was a reminder of just how public this meeting of theirs was. Too public.

  “Come,” Josce commanded Elianne, retaining his grip on one arm in case she decided to escape him.

  Instead, she followed almost meekly as he led her and his horse a few steps farther down the lane. At the end of a cloth merchant’s establishment, he put her back against the shop’s wall so the drape of the merchant’s wares concealed her from one side. Positioning his horse so the bulk of the beast’s body stood between them and the street, he shifted, using his own body to block glances coming from the final direction. Now that he had the privacy he craved, Josce didn’t know what to say. She watched him, her lower lip quivering. Fresh tears started from her eyes.

  “Ach, ‘Lianne.” Hopeless as it was, he wanted her to understand how his vow of vengeance bound him. It wasn’t as if he capriciously chose to destroy her sire and her life. His father’s death demanded retribution.

  “Help me, Josce,” she murmured softly. With a shaken breath, she scrubbed the back of her free hand across a cheek to wipe away the wetness. “I pray you kill me now.”

  Horror tore through Josce at the thought of Elianne dead. “What?! I will not,” he cried. “Why would you even ask such a thing of me?”

  More tears tracked down her cheeks. She turned her head to the side as if to hide them from him. “I cannot bear to live on, knowing the foul blood that flows in my veins. Or that you will soon despise me for who I am.” This was a bare whisper.

  Josce frowned at her. “What care I for whose blood you own? I could never despise you.”

  It was true. He didn’t care that Reiner du Hommet had begotten her, or that she was the daughter of the man responsible for his sire’s death. Not since the pool had Elianne belonged to her father. Hadn’t Josce made her well and truly his own last night?

  Elianne pressed a hand to her lips. “You’ll regret those words when you learn the truth,” she whispered through her fingers. The pain in her gaze overflowed again. “Oh Josce, I think my father knows who the thieves are. Worse, I think he protects them for his own profit.”

  A warmth not unlike that he’d known in the presence of his friends flooded Josce. Another woman would have done her best to camouflage the truth until she could weave a web of words to shield herself from harm. Not his honest Elianne. She spilled all without hesitation, then begged to die because her father’s actions caused her lover pain.

  Reaching out, he brushed a tear from her cheek. “I know that,” he said softly. “I knew it, or at least suspected it, from the moment I encountered your sire at the priory.”

  Shock widened her eyes. She leaned back from him. “You did? But, if you thought that, how could you not have hated me as well?”

  Pretty pink color came to life in her cheeks. It wasn’t fear of hatred that put that sort of color into a woman’s face, but the memory of lovemaking. That Elianne might think about the joy they made together pleased Josce well indeed.

  Dear God, but she was lovely, even in distress. Reaching out, he traced his fingers down the curve of her cheek. As she’d done before, she leaned her head toward hi
s hand so he might cup his palm to her face. The gesture said she yet trusted and cared for him despite the threat he’d made against her sire.

  “I told you from the first that it was never you I meant to harm,” he said. “Whatever your father has done, I know you had no part in it. Your innocence fair glows from you.”

  “You don’t hate me,” she whispered in trembling awe, then fell against him, her arms wrapped about his waist. Josce swallowed. Lord, but it was heaven to feel her head upon his shoulder. Then she began to shake, a sure sign that she cried once more.

  “Nay, now. No more tears,” Josce murmured, stroking a hand down her back. “It wouldn’t do to have you spoil your pretty face when you look quite the fine lady this day.”

  Still sniffling, she straightened. If crying had reddened her nose a little, tears clung to her eyelashes to make her eyes sparkle. “You think me fine looking?”

  Josce bit back a pleased laugh. No ploys or subtlety for his ‘Lianne. “I do, indeed. I like it all the more because only I know what you look like when your hair is loose about you and you’ve naught but a blanket to shield you from the night.”

  It didn’t matter that they stood upon one of Knabwell’s lanes. His craving for her from last night flickered back to life in no way abated by his previous satisfaction. In an instant banked desire blazed into an inferno. God help him, but he needed to feel her mouth on his this very moment. His head lowered.

  Elianne shied back from him, touching her fingers to his lips to forestall his kiss. “We cannot,” she whispered, then shot a worried glance about them. She sighed in open relief when she found no one could see her. “We dare not.”

  It took great effort for Josce to release his need for her, even as he gave thanks that Elianne had sense enough for both of them. “Would that you weren’t right,” he murmured, his hand coming to rest upon the curve of her waist. “Just know that I want more than anything to feel your mouth on mine right now.”

  A tiny pleased smile touched her lips, then was gone, leaving her expression far too sober for Josce’s tastes. “But I do know how much you want it,” she said, “for I want it no less. It’s because we cannot control what happens between us that I planned to go to the priory today. I mean to beg Mother Gertha to reconsider her ban upon my family and the sanctuary her folk have so often asked her to offer me.

  “Nay!” The word came from his lips with such violence that Elianne stared at him in surprise.

  Josce was no less startled. What did he think he was doing, commanding her? Only fathers and brothers had that right. Or, husbands. This rationale did nothing to change the way he felt.

  “Nay,” he repeated, more quietly this time, “not yet.”

  “You would have me wait?” she asked, hopelessness and confusion tangling in her gaze. “To what end, save that of my own destruction?”

  Josce caught her free hand in his, twining his fingers with hers, then laid their joined hands against his chest. “What if the prioress accepts your plea this very day? Once you’re within the convent’s walls, we’ll never again see each other.” The ache that rose with this idea was intolerable. “I’m not yet ready to let you go,” he finished.

  The pain and hopelessness drained from Elianne’s face. Her expression softened until her beauty fair ate up Josce’s breath. “You care for me,” she whispered.

  “I do,” he agreed, then sighed. “And more deeply than is proper or even sensible, considering how long we’ve known each other and who we are.” A part of him screamed that admitting this only bound them all the more tightly one to the other, when what he needed to do was destroy that connection.

  “Wait but a little,” he went on, the words coming from his heart rather than his common sense. “Do so knowing that we’ll have no more opportunity for”—his tongue knotted, refusing to spill the word ‘sin’ in describing their lovemaking. “I leave Knabwell and Coneytrop this morn and will be gone for a time. Wait until I return, so I might offer you a proper farewell.”

  Who did he think he fooled? There was no farewell he couldn’t offer her on this street right now, save one. Josce swallowed. That one included grassy gardens, bared flesh and moonlight.

  Sorrow filled Elianne’s eyes. Was it over their parting, both this temporary one and the more permanent one that they both knew must follow? That she should miss him even before he left her sent a strange wave of pleasure through Josce.

  Oh, to have a wife who would count the hours between his departure and his return. Such was not usually the case, at least in most of the marriages he knew. Nay, most unions were the sort of armed and often icy truce that Beatrice and his sire had shared. Nor could he expect anything else. It was the price of marrying for the sake of property and wealth, rather than the liking of the individuals involved.

  “How long will you be gone?” she asked, a forlorn quaver in her voice.

  “I cannot say,” Josce replied. “Perhaps four or five days.” Absolutely no longer than ten days, since he meant to slay her father on the eleventh.

  Elianne’s face clouded with fear. “What am I thinking? I cannot wait even a few days for you, Josce. May God take me and my tongue! You cannot know the things I said to my sire. Against that, the only place I’ll be safe is in the priory, and under Mother Gertha’s protection. Oh, Josce!” She pressed a hand to her brow. “What if Mother Gertha won’t have me? I’ve nowhere else to go that my father cannot reach me.”

  Worry for Elianne exploded in Josce. He had no doubt that du Hommet would kill his daughter, especially if Elianne’s death could in any way shield the sheriff from harm. Rage followed, roaring over Josce. Elianne was his. No man threatened his woman, not unless he wanted to be torn limb from limb. He started to turn, ready to rush back to the castle and confront du Hommet once again, this time with more deadly consequences.

  Logic screamed so loudly that it drowned out all else. If he confronted du Hommet now, without the rules of a duel to guide their meeting, the sheriff’s deputies would surely interrupt. That would leave Elianne vulnerable. She didn’t need a champion, but solid sanctuary. Aye, but it must be one where she remained within his reach. That, he could provide.

  “If you want safety ‘Lianne, go home,” Josce told her. “At Coneytrop, Lady Haydon and my lord’s men will stand between you and your sire.”

  “Hardly so,” Elianne protested. “Lady Haydon cannot bear my presence now. If my father comes demanding me she’ll happily throw me out the gate and slam the doors behind me.”

  It was a harsh laugh that escaped Josce’s lips. “Hear me now. Save for when Lady Beatrice was mad with grief, I’ve never known her to let her emotions get the better of her, not when she has a goal in mind. If you want her protection you need only convince her that you’ll aid her in achieving her vengeance.”

  “You’re not listening,” Elianne cried, her expression somewhere between disbelief and hopelessness. “How can I convince her of anything when she won’t let me near enough to even speak?”

  Josce pressed a finger to her lips to stop her complaint. “Approach her humbly. Tell her what you told me about your sire.”

  Elianne blanched at his words. Josce smiled a little and lifted his finger from her mouth. “It’s what she wants to hear, I promise you,” he told his lover. “You may sweeten your plea by offering to open Coneytrop to her, allowing her to search for proof of a connection between your sire and the thieves. Trust that she’ll keep you safe until my return.”

  As Josce fell silent, he congratulated himself upon devising the perfect task for his stepmother. It would keep Beatrice occupied and under Nick’s protective eye. Moreover, Josce was certain there was nothing at Coneytrop for his stepmother to discover that might point to du Hommet’s guilt. That meant there was no chance Beatrice might force a confrontation with the sheriff prior to his own return.

  “God help me,” Elianne cried softly, shame’s bright color filling her face. “I cannot bear to confess to anyone the sort of sire I have.”<
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  “You told me,” Josce reminded her.

  She dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “That’s different.”

  Josce heart warmed in the most wondrous of ways at this. “How so?” he asked. Even though he knew very well what her answer would be, he wanted to hear her speak the words aloud.

  It was a startled look she sent his way. He saw the instant she understood herself. As the awareness filled her gaze, her cheeks took fire.

  “I told you because I knew, despite my fear and doubts, that you wouldn’t hate me for what I said. Shame on me for ever thinking you would. How could I do so when you care for me the way I care for you?” she whispered.

  Here it was, spoken where the world might witness. She trusted him above all others. It was bittersweet knowledge, for it left Josce longing to be the only man who ever held this place in her heart, and not the one doomed to abandon her.

  Again his vow of vengeance and its consequences loomed before him. The possibility that he might die and leave ‘Lianne without a protector didn’t sit well on him. It was as much for his own sake as for hers that he needed to be certain she would be safe forever after.

  “Tell me that you’ll do as I say. Remember that in aiding Lady Haydon you may well win the sanctuary you so covet. A word from her to the prioress and the convent’s doors will open without hesitation for you.”

  Josce choked on his words. Somehow, he had to accept that Elianne would be a nun. After all, she had to live somewhere, and no matter how much he wanted it, it wouldn’t be in his arms.

  She sighed none too happily. All resistance drained from her. “Because you ask it of m,e I will try,” she promised him, then shook her head. “I fear you underestimate how deeply your lady stepmother despises me.”