by Evie North
He stared down at her, breathing heavily. “What you ask is the right of a husband,” he said. “It is for your husband to take your maidenhead, Melina. And as you often remind me, I am not to have that privilege.”
And then he was gone, the door closing behind him, leaving her aching with need and furious with herself and with him.
***
By the time Melinda left her chamber she was again herself. Her blond hair was coiled and braided upon her head beneath the veil she wore, and her gown, with its low waist band and pleated skirt, was the colour of the roses in the walled garden, and suited her fair complexion. On soft slippers she pattered onto the small landing outside her door, and came to a hasty stop.
Grendell had appeared out of the shadows, rising up to his full intimidating size.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “I don’t want you near me ever again.”
“I am your bodyguard, my lady. I am always at your side.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh no, Grendell. As you reminded me, I am to have a husband and it will be he who chooses who we have by us. You will have to find another job.”
He let his gaze slide over her, taunting her with memories of their passionate encounter, but she held herself rigid, pretending it meant nothing. He meant nothing. “Lord Saunders may wish to employ me in the same capacity,” he said evenly.
“He must not!” I could not trust myself!
Too late she saw the glint of amusement in his eye, now that he had the reaction from her that he wanted. She swallowed back more hasty words and shrugged her shoulders instead. “Perhaps he needs a pig herd,” she said. “Or a muck raker.”
His sensual mouth tightened; she had stung his pride, but he said nothing in reply, only turning and following her down the stone stairs that twisted around and around. Uncomfortably, she could feel him at her back, but she was trying not to panic in her need to get away from him. A maid had fallen here once and broken her neck.
“I could be a groom,” she heard him speak at last. “I’m good with horses. And mares. I’m very good with mares. Especially the ones who need a soothing hand. I know just where to stroke them to calm them down.”
Melina clenched her hands and refused to rise to his bait. Let Grendell have his little joke; soon he would be laughing alone.
“Lady, I will never leave you.”
His voice was tender but she said nothing, refusing to trust him. And then she felt the warm caress of his fingers against her nape. Startled, Melina turned to confront him but as she’d feared she stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her about the waist, hauling her up against him. He stood, gazing down into her face, the expression in his eyes intent and possessive. For a moment she could say nothing, only aware of his heat, his strength, and her own frantic longing for him.
“Your tunic is new,” she whispered, enveloped in his spicy scent, “and very fine.” It was emerald green with embroidery about the neckline and the belt was sewn with coloured stones that could not possibly be jewels. Could they? Only lords and wealthy men could afford jewels and Grendell was a mere bodyguard.
He smiled without warmth, a mere twitch of his lips. “I had a need to be very fine tonight, lady.”
Melina shook her head and pulled away, clinging to the wall so as not to fall. “We will be late,” was all she said as she hurried ahead, eager to get away from him and the ever present temptation he held for her.
The great hall was awash with noise and candlelight and delicious smells. A troupe of minstrels had been hired for the occasion and a couple of them were tumbling before the dais where her father sat with Lord Saunders.
Melina shuddered.
As the lady of the castle it had been her task to make Saunders welcome and tend to him in his bath. Seated now, so richly dressed, he appeared every inch a wealthy lord, but in her head she could picture the unpleasant old man whose back she had soaped. Grey hairs had sprouted from his shoulders and his skin was wrinkled with age and he glared at her irritably when she dropped the ball of soap. Melina had been so nervous, longing for some kind word—after all, this was her future husband—but apart from muttering about her clumsiness he’d barely acknowledged her.
How different from Grendell!
Melina forced a smile to her lips, curtseying to Lord Saunders and her father, and then seating herself upon the sumptuously carved chair. They were too deep in conversation to notice her, and it made her sad when she remembered how much her father once loved her. Was he really only interested in her as the price to pay to keep hold of his lands? She clenched her hands in her lap, wondering how she was going to swallow a mouthful of the succulent feast before her.
Suddenly, intensely, she was aware of Grendell.
He was close behind her and as she went to turn, to ask him what he thought he was doing, he leaned over her shoulder and reached for one of the platters. His hands were tanned and scarred with the many injuries he had received since boyhood—his orphaned boyhood—when he must have first learned to be a warrior. And yet there was a delicacy to his long fingers, a gentleness in the manner in which he carefully placed the best pieces of meat before her. He took his time, acting as if it was all part of his job as bodyguard to feed her.
Melina bit her lip. Strangely she felt again as if she might cry. Confused and anxious, at the same time she longed to reach out and cling to his hand.
“Lady, you do not have to wed him.”
The warm brush of his breath on her skin made her jump. A tingle went all the way down to the place between her legs, where it turned into an ache.
“What are you saying?” she hissed, feeling cross and out of sorts. She did not have time for her body’s betrayal right now.
“I’m saying you do not have to wed that old man.”
She flicked him a sideways glance. His jaw was shaven and smooth, his dark eyes fixed on the food he was lifting from the platters to set before her. Melina knew she should set him aright, tell him that it was none of his business. He was nothing to her but a bodyguard. And yet the words stuck in her throat and she shook her head instead.
“Marrying him will not change who wins this war.”
“What are you saying?” Her breasts were rising and falling heavily beneath her bodice, as if begging for his touch, and she felt the colour flush her cheeks. Now she did turn to him and saw that he was watching her from the dark pools of his eyes, and although his mouth was curved politely, as if they were having a conversation about the feast, there was a seriousness to him that frightened her.
Surely he was not going to ask her to run off with him? Marry him? Surely he could see how impossible that would be? But at the same time Melina felt the quickened beat of her heart and knew that, crazy as it was, she was sorely tempted to say yes.
“Stephen may not be the perfect king, my lady. I know he can be too accommodating, too generous, and some consider that a weakness. But Matilda is hated by the people. If she were Queen there would be endless wars. Do not choose the wrong side.”
Her blue eyes went wide. “Is that what you meant by uniting England?” she breathed. “You speak treason, Grendell. I dare not listen to you.”
“Melina?” It was her father and she turned, knowing she looked shaken and hoping he would not notice. “Perhaps you should be paying more attention to our guest than your servant.” His gaze swept over Grendell, cold and hard.
Melina managed a brief smile in Lord Saunders’ direction, but her words were for her father. “Grendell noticed I was feeling unwell, father, and is trying to tempt me with the best of the meats.”
Once again her father narrowed his gaze on Grendell and then on her. Melina felt her pulse begin to thump in fright and hurried to play her part as the soon-to-be-bride.
“Lord Saunders, I pray you are enjoying the repast,” she leaned closer to the old man. “You do not find my housekeeping skills lacking?”
Saunders frowned. “I am enjoying the feast, lady.” By the grea
se coating his lips and smeared on his rich tunic she could see he was indeed. He spoke again, grudgingly complimenting her, and then he turned back to her father. Melina’s depression grew. She glanced about for Grendell and saw that he had moved back into his usual position, leaning against one of the pillars to the side of the dais.
He’d spoken treason. Hadn’t he? And why had he said such things to her, knowing her position? Did he think she wouldn’t tell her father?
Melina glanced at the two old men deep in conversation, and knew she wouldn’t tell. She didn’t want Grendell arrested or hurt or taken away. She wanted to keep him. How else could she bear to marry Lord Saunders?
If only he was the man she was going to marry. If only it was Grendell who would come to her bed and make her his forever more. She wanted him. She admitted it to herself. Her body warmed and ached whenever he was near her, and the feel of his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin, was with her still. But it was more than a desire for his flesh. She admired him as a man, she was drawn to his strength and yet he had a gentleness . . .
Again she glanced to where Grendell had been standing only a moment ago and found him gone. Startled, she looked about for him but he was nowhere to be seen. And then she saw him, or at least part of his emerald green tunic, as he stepped through the curtained doorway that led from the hall.
For a moment Melina hesitated but something about his furtive exit seemed odd to her. With another glance at her father and future husband—they were deep in their plotting and wouldn’t notice if she was there or not—she hurried after Grendell.
Slipping through the curtained doorway she stood a moment in the cold shadows of the corridor. From below she could hear the staff in the kitchen, but here it was quiet. A narrow slit of a window looked down onto the countryside surrounding the castle and she went to look out, standing on tiptoes, her hands resting flat against the stone wall.
The night was lit by bright moonlight, and she could see the dark shapes of the woods beyond the moat and the crops in the fields. For a moment her thoughts drifted to her bodyguard and her longing for a future so different from the one ahead of her. And then suddenly her gaze sharpened. There was movement! Dark shapes left the shelter of the trees and began to move toward the castle. Men on foot and knights on horseback. Soldiers. An army.
Their stealth made it clear to her that this was no friendly force. They must be King Stephen’s men, coming to attack the castle. She must warn her father at once!
Melina spun about and crashed straight into a big hard body standing behind her. Arms like iron bars encircled her and her nose was pressed against a soft tunic camouflaging strong muscles, and her head was full of a spicy scent she recognised well.
“Melina,” he sighed, his voice a rumble in his chest.
There was regret in his tone but she didn’t hear it immediately, so eager was she to tell him what she had seen so that they could warn the castle garrison.
“There are armed men outside, Grendell! They are going to attack. We must go and tell my father.”
His face remained grim.
“Grendell?”
That was when she realised the truth. Grendell, her bodyguard, was a traitor. His talk of choosing the wrong side. His listening ears at the table. Grendell was King Stephen’s man and because of her affection for him he had slipped under her guard and they were all now in terrible danger.
Melina tried to pull away but he was far too strong. She opened her mouth to scream but barely a sound escaped before his mouth closed on hers. He was kissing her to silence her, she knew it, and yet the heat of his lips made a traitor of her body just as he’d proven himself one. She gasped, twisting her head away, but he followed, lips clamped to hers, hot tongue delving into her mouth. Her head was spinning.
She heard the swish of skirts as one of the maids hurried past them, and then a giggle. Dear God, what must the girl think of her? But she knew very well what she thought, because all the servants were enamoured of Grendell. Big handsome Grendell with his gentle hands and smile that promised so much.
Grendell the treacherous cur who was plotting to destroy her father and her home!
Tears stung her eyes.
As if he knew the fight had left her, for the moment at least, Grendell set her away from him, but he kept a firm grip on her arms.
“How could you?” she said, her voice faltering.
His expression darkened and he seemed almost a stranger. “This was my land, or should have been. My father and brothers died when your father stole it.”
Shocked and shamed she could only stare at him.
“I am King Stephen’s man,” he went on with pride. “He will bring peace to the country as Matilda never could, and I want peace, Melina. My father and my brothers all died in this cursed war. I want it over. I want men like your father and Lord Saunders to stop their plotting and accept defeat, and if they will not then we must make them.”
“My father . . .” she began, trying to pull from his grip and run back to the great hall. But Grendell read her well, and catching her hand in his own, began to drag her unwillingly behind him, down the steps toward the door to the bailey.
“Where are we going?” she cried out. “Grendell, what are you doing?”
“We are going to let down the drawbridge and open the gate,” he said matter-of-factly, “so that the king can come in. I am going to take back what is mine by right.”
She took a breath to scream but again he read her intention, because his hand came over her mouth, turning her shrill screech into a muffled moan. Hoisting her into his arms, he carried her the last steps into the bailey and with long strides made his way toward the portcullis and the drawbridge.
There was hardly anyone about. Melina realised then that they had chosen their time well. The guards were at the feast, and the man standing watching them approach looked no older than a boy.
“Step aside,” Grendell said quietly, peering into the lad’s eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The boy hesitated, frightened gaze going to Melina, captive in her bodyguard’s arms. He straightened his back, preparing to fight, but Grendell shot out a fist and knocked him down.
She gave a shocked gasp, but at the same time she could appreciate the boy was safer unconscious. By knocking him out Grendell had saved his life.
He began to turn the wheel that drew up the portcullis and then a moment later the drawbridge went down with a whoosh. Suddenly there were horsemen galloping across it with a noise like thunder. Melina shrank back against Grendell and he slid a protective arm about her. A moment later a man encased in chain mail on a huge warhorse drew up before them. He lifted his helmet from his head, and she saw fair hair, blue eyes, and a drawn and tired but still handsome face.
“Your Highness.” Grendell bowed his head, but the king smiled and put a hand out to touch his dark locks.
“Lord Grendell, you have done well.” The blue eyes slid to the woman held at his side and Melina refused to lower her own angry gaze. To her astonishment the king chuckled pleasantly. “You have a firebrand there, my friend. Is this the one you spoke of? The Lady Melina?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The king nodded. “And you wish to marry her? I do not think you will have a peaceful life with this one.”
Grendell grinned. “I do not look for a peaceful life, Sir.”
Melina’s legs were trembling. As the king rode on, she wrenched herself free of Grendell’s grip on her. “Marry me?” she burst out in astonished fury. “What do you mean by that?”
Grendell fixed her with an intent look. “Listen to me, Melina. What better way to unite this castle and its lands under the king? I will have back that which is rightfully mine, and I will also keep you safe from any retribution.”
“You are very practical,” she said scornfully.
And all the while a disappointed voice in her head was asking, Is that why? Is that all he wants? To have his land back again? Grendell was a lord, he was
the king’s man, he had been playing a part all this time and she had fallen for it.
Armed men were filling the bailey now and she could hear cries and the clash of steel from the great hall. Lord Saunders would be fighting for his life in there but she was secretly relieved she would never marry him now.
“What of my father?” she burst out. “I know he took your land, I know you must hate him for what he did to your father and brothers, but he is my father.”
Grendell was grim faced.
Melina knew she wouldn’t blame him if he wanted revenge, in fact she’d understand it. Shakily she tried to think of some alternative that would see Grendell by her side, and her father still lord of his lands.
His stolen lands. Grendell’s lands.
She took a deep breath. “You say you want to marry me,” she said. “I will do that. I will marry you. But you must save my father.”
“You ask a great deal, lady.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. I know he has done a terrible thing but he is still my father. His blood must not stain any happiness we seek together.”
“Melina! My daughter, where is my daughter? What have I done!”
Her father was being bundled out of the keep, arms held behind him by a knight with blond hair and piercing blue eyes.
“Father!”
But Grendell was there first. “Let him go, Alric.”
The knight looked at Grendell and then his gaze slid to Melina. A smirk twisted his mouth. He released his prisoner and bowed to her.
“Lady Melina, I presume. I’ve heard a great deal about you from Lord Grendell here. I’ve never seen my friend so enamoured.”
“Alric.” Grendell’s growl was a warning, but his friend took no notice.
Melina’s gaze went to her bodyguard, full of hope that it was so, but then her father was before her, holding her hands and peering anxiously into her face.
“Melina, are you harmed? I have been a fool. I should never have agreed to Lord Saunders’ proposal.”
