The rider and his mounted backed Sabina and Arthur into a corner. They were trapped in a tiny space between two enormous elder trees, with sheer rock cliffs rising up from either side. There was no escape.
Well, no escape but up, anyway. Sabina grabbed a low-lying branch from one of the elder trees and pulled herself upward. She climbed that tree like she’d never climbed anything before, and once she was about thirty feet above the ground, she finally stopped to catch her breath. She looked above her, hoping to see more branches thick enough to support her weight. There were none. She was at the end of the road, as it were. Her only hope now was that her pursuer didn’t know how to climb trees. And somehow she thought that was unlikely.
Yet instead of dismounting from his horse and following her up the elder tree, the hooded figure just settled down into his saddle, looked up into the tree’s branches, and waited.
And waited. And waited some more.
Soon almost an hour passed. The hooded figure still hadn’t budged. He gazed upwards into the elder branches, and at one point Sabina thought she might have seen the flicker of his eyes underneath his hood as they locked with her own. When that happened, Sabina felt a strange tingling in her belly, then her whole body grew warm. She’d never felt anything like it before. Then again, she’d never been this frightened before.
The thick elder branch supporting her began to creak under her weight. Her limbs were sore from unaccustomed use and three days of riding, and her back ached from being wedged in an unnatural position against the knobby tree trunk for so long.
The hooded figure seemed to notice her discomfort. “You do realize you’ll have to come down at some point, don’t you?” he called up to her in perfect English. His English might have been perfect, but he still spoke with a heavy French accent.
A Norman.
Sabina’s blood went cold. A Norman had her up a tree. He was one of Lord Reginald’s trusted vassals for sure, sent to recapture her. Or if not, he was just a random Norman nobleman roaming the countryside and harassing Saxon maidens for sport. He had to be a nobleman with that horse. Had to be. Mere soldiers and mercenaries didn’t ride such magnificent animals. Perhaps Sabina could appeal to his noble blood and sense of gentlemanly decorum to guarantee her safety. Then again, Normans weren’t generally known for their decorum—at least not where Saxons were concerned.
“I’m never coming down!” Sabina hurled down at the Norman. “I’d rather die!”
The hooded figure laughed. “Well, you will die if you stay up there too long. You’ll die of cold and exposure, or at the very least collapse, at which time you’d die from a blow to the head as you fall to the ground. Or perhaps you’ll die a slow death of starvation. None of which are particularly pleasant, I’m afraid.”
“You mock me!”
“No, milady, I merely am explaining your options. You do have another option. You can come down.”
“No! Never!”
The Norman slowly lifted up his dark hood, let it fall to his shoulders. As she looked upon his face for the first time, Sabina gave an involuntary gasp.
His hair was a deep shiny brown, almost black, and it fell to his shoulders in gentle tousled waves. He had the typical sharp cheekbones of a Norman, but he also had the hard, angled jawline, powerful broad shoulders, and high forehead of a Dane. Plus his eyes were a striking ice blue, not at all typical for the usually dark-eyed Normans. His features were fine, classical even—they reminded her of the ancient Roman statuary bust her father had once brought back from a trip to Rome.
In fact, you might say he was by far the best-looking Norman that Sabina had ever laid her eyes on. In fact, she’d go one better. He was by far the best-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on—of any race.
Sabina felt her pulse quicken, noticed she was suddenly out of breath. But why? Was it fear? Or exhaustion? Or perhaps something else?
“Are you all right, milady,” the man called up to her. “You seem a little—ahem—flushed.”
Sabina took a long, slow, deep breath, then blew it out. All that seemed to accomplish was to make her whole body heat up and speed up her pulse even further. What on earth was happening to her? What was going on?
The Norman’s ice-blue eyes locked with hers, and suddenly Sabina felt very faint. She braced herself against the tree trunk to keep from falling.
The Norman noticed her distress even from thirty feet below. He immediately dismounted his horse. “Lady Sabina of Angwyld, I am Robert de Tyre, lead cavalry officer in Lord Reginald de Guillaume’s personal garrison. I was sent to apprehend you and guarantee your safe return to your father and future husband. Since it seems that you not only refuse to come down, you are also obviously unwell, I have no choice but to climb up this infernal tree and retrieve you myself.”
With that, the Norman called Robert de Tyre threw off his cloak and draped it over his horse’s back. He wore a simple short-sleeved tunic and wool tights underneath, both of which clung to his rippled, well-formed muscles, and a light set of leather armor on his chest and forearms. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his chest as solid as a winebarrel. He looked as though he could pull the huge elder tree she’d climbed right out of the ground and sling it over his shoulder.
Sabina let out another little gasp at the sight of him. She’d never seen any man whose physique was so, well—perfect.
Sabina squeezed her eyes shut tight, shook her head back and forth rapidly. She mustn’t think such evil, carnal thoughts. She was about to become a nun, after all.
She heard him swing his strong, heavy body onto the elder’s lowest branch, then heard the rustle of his tunic and tight breeches as they scratched against the damp tree bark and leaves. She kept her eyes shut as she felt him climb nearer and nearer, in the vain hope that as long as she couldn’t see him anymore, he was no longer there.
Of course, that line of thinking was ridiculous and absurd. For in less than half a minute, the surprisingly agile Robert de Tyre stood—yes, stood—fully erect on a thick branch just below her. She heard his lilting Norman voice, a deep bass-baritone with an almost musical quality, practically in her ear. “Milady, if you would be so kind as to open your eyes, then take my hand, I shall escort you down to safety.”
Sabina opened one eye and peered down at him with suspicion. “Safety? I assume that means you intend to take me by force to my fiancé?”
“But of course, madam.”
She pressed her body back against the tree trunk. “If that truly is your intention, sir, then perhaps you should call it by its proper name.”
“Such as?”
“That you shall escort me down not to safety, but to slavery.”
He pondered this a moment. His eyes—such a pale blue that they were almost gray—penetrated her with something that looked a lot like sympathy. “I trust that means Your Ladyship is not pleased about her impending marriage?”
She scoffed. “And what would you know about it?”
“Quite a lot, I’m afraid.” He reached up, laid a firm-yet-gentle hand on her forearm. “’Twould be far easier for us to continue this conversation on the ground, madam. I promise I shall not harm or misuse you in any way. You have my word as a Norman.”
“And what good is the word of a Norman?” she snapped. “Your kind has raped and pillaged the whole of England for forty years. Filth and degeneracy, every single one of you! Your employer, especially.” She turned her head and spat into the wind.
Robert laughed. “Now that’s not something you see every day.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“A fine noble lady who isn’t afraid to spit like a man.” He cocked his head sideways at her and grinned. “I think I’m beginning to understand why you fled rather than marry my employer. Or marry anyone, for that matter.”
“I have nothing against marriage,” Sabina retorted. “Though I do have something against marriage solely for political gain.”
“Alas, madam, there is no other type of marriage
for a woman of your stature these days. A Saxon woman of your stature, most especially.”
“You certainly seem to know a good deal about me, Robert de Tyre,” Sabina said with disdain. “My fiancé didn’t spare a single detail, I trust.”
“Indeed, madam.” The branch underneath Robert’s feet creaked. “We really must get down now, milady. This old tree cannot sustain the weight of both of us for long.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I shall have no choice but to manhandle you, madam.” With that, he grabbed Sabina by the waist, flung her over his shoulder, and began to climb down the tree.
“What are you doing?” Sabina cried. “LET ME GO!” She flung her arms, kicked her legs, even bit him on the shoulder. Nothing worked.
“Milady, if you would kindly refrain from throwing a temper tantrum until we are safely on the ground, it would be most appreciated,” Robert said, not even trying to hide his sarcasm. “And I must say, I’ve never encountered a biting noblewoman before. That’s a new discovery, indeed.”
Sabina just bit into his shoulder even harder. She could taste the greasy lambswool of his tunic, could smell his masculine scent of sweat, moss, and woodsmoke. “Let me go!” she grunted through her clenched teeth.
“Indeed I shall, once we are on the ground. Though I’m afraid I won’t let you go far. I only receive my pay if I return you safely to both your masters.”
“Your pay, sir? Does that mean you are not Lord Reginald’s lawful vassal? Nor a sworn member of his noble house?”
Robert didn’t answer right away. He nimbly maneuvered his way from branch to branch until he set Sabina gently on the ground, then suddenly turned his face away from her. “Well?” Sabina prodded.
Robert kept his eyes on the ground. “Neither, my lady. I am a mercenary.”
Sabina gasped in shock. “A mercenary? You mean to tell me that my fiancé sent a common brute to fetch me? Oh, insult of insults!” She sank back against the tree trunk and slumped to the ground. “Does my fiancé really think so little of me?”
“With all due respect, your Ladyship, I am not a common brute,” Robert said. “I am of noble blood. My grandfather was the Seventh Marquis de Beaufort.”
Sabina scoffed. “And yet, you are a mercenary. Noblemen do not work as mercenaries. It is a common, coarse profession. Only course, common men rape and pillage and maraud the innocent for pay.”
“I suppose that means you think those men who rape and pillage and maraud the countryside in the name of royal conquest, such as my countryman William the Conqueror and his progeny, are perfectly civilized then.”
Sabina flushed. “No, that’s not what I meant to say at all. I hate the Normans. I hate all of them—of you. Your people have destroyed my country.”
Robert’s pale blue eyes scanned Sabina’s body up and down, then came to rest on her perfect, fair features. “And what do you know of your country before the Normans, your Ladyship? You are barely twenty. The Normans have ruled England since well before your birth.”
Sabina averted her eyes. Something about the man’s powerful gaze unsettled her. That, and the fact he spoke the truth. “You are surprisingly well-spoken for a common mercenary,” she remarked.
“You didn’t answer my question, milady.”
“I know the stories that my mother and father told. My grandmother, my wet nurse, and my servants too. I grew up in a household of people, all proud and noble Saxons, who knew what England was before the Normans overran it and turned it into yet another province of France. Couldn’t you Normans leave well enough alone?” She tasted bile in her throat.
“I didn’t conquer this land, milady. That was done by William and his armies. You needn’t blame me.”
“And yet you’re here, too. You aren’t English. You weren’t born here. Perhaps you speak my language well enough, but that doesn’t make you any less of a foreigner.”
Robert inched closer, taking care to ensure that his now-captured prey did not escape him. “The Saxons were once foreigners in this land, too, milady,” he said. “Or perhaps ‘tis too much to expect for a mere woman to know her people’s own history.”
“How dare you speak to me that way!” she cried. “I am a noblewoman and a maiden! You will address me with the appropriate respect.” She sneered at him, looked down her nose at him. “Mercenary that you are.”
“As I said madam, I am not a commoner. I am a nobleman. A very minor nobleman, ‘tis true, but a nobleman just the same.” He paused, then reached out to grab Sabina’s chin to force her to look at him. “You might say that I am your level peer, milady.”
“I don’t care if your blood runs as blue as the sea,” Sabina seethed at him. “A common mercenary is no peer of mine.”
“Perhaps it pains you to recall your position, milady, but allow me to remind you of your—or shall I say, your father’s—rather precarious situation. Your father the Duke of Angwyld is the only remaining Saxon nobleman of any major importance left in the whole of England. Our new sovereign King Henry had made it his business to wipe men like your father off the map. And your father has no sons whom he could offer as vassals in King Henry’s army as an act of fealty. The only hope for even a partial preservation of your family’s land and title is for him to link you, his eldest, in marriage to a powerful Norman. And the only Norman of any position in all of England who will have you in marriage, I’m told, is the old humpbacked marauder Lord Reginald de Guillaume. So here you are.”
“Yes, indeed, here I am, Robert de Tyre. And here you are as well. You have come to ruin my life and deliver me into a living hell.”
“I am sorry for that, madam. But as you have already pointed out, I am but a common mercenary. I do only what my employer wishes. It is not my place to ask questions or make moral judgments.”
“Robert de Tyre, you are a foul knave and a degenerate bastard.”
Robert laughed. “Foul knave and degenerate, perhaps. But not a bastard. I was born of a lawful marriage, madam.”
Sabina didn’t know what else to say. No matter what insult she hurled at this man, he responded to her verbal blows and parries with three of his own. A mercenary Robert de Tyre might be, but he was by no means a coarse or common one. It was clear she’d been overtaken in both brain and brawn. She might as well admit defeat. “I suppose you will put me in chains and throw me over your horse now, then,” she mused, staring at her muddy hands. “Or ravish me, I suppose.”
“No, madam. You are a lady, and you shall be treated accordingly. Though you of course you understand I will still have to take some measures to prevent you from escaping your marriage obligations a second time.”
“And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?”
Robert took a length of rope from his saddlebag and held it out for her to see. “With this, milady. Do not fear, I shall not bind you too tightly. Just enough to keep you close.”
Before Sabina could utter a word in protest, she was tied at hands and feet. Robert’s hands worked the knots so quickly they became a blur, and then in one swift motion she felt herself lifted up onto Robert’s massive horse, where she was made to ride sidesaddle on a rough wool blanket behind Robert’s proper leather saddle. Robert looped the ends of the rope around and around Sabina’s waist and legs, then knotted them again into another loop underneath the horse’s hindquarters. Sabina’s entire body was made motionless and lashed down onto the horse. “There, milady. I should think you shall not be going anywhere now. Anywhere I don’t say, at least.”
She struggled underneath the bindings. “Knave! Whoreson! This is no way to treat a lady!”
Robert clucked. “Whoreson, eh? A lady would never use such foul language, madam. Nor would a proper lady be covered from head to toe in mud, moss, and horse manure, as you are.” He checked the tightness of the ropes one last time, then dusted off his hands with satisfaction. “In any case, you are safe and sound now.”
“No! I am in hell! Hell! I want to die!” Sabina began to c
ry. “I was so close,” she sobbed. “If only I’d made those last few miles! If only I’d made it to Glastonbury Abbey, then I’d be safe!
Robert tied Arthur to a lead rope that he fastened to the rear of Amir’s saddle. He mounted Amir and set off, with Arthur trailing behind them. “If that’s the case, milady, you’re even safer now than you were a moment ago. For I am taking you to Glastonbury Abbey now myself.”
Chapter 5
They were a motley crew, to be sure—a minor Norman nobleman in peasant garb toting a rain-and-mud-soaked Saxon maiden lashed to a fine Arabian stallion, with Sabina’s bedraggled and exhausted mount Arthur dragging behind.“What do you mean, you’re taking me to Glastonbury Abbey?” Sabina shrieked. “I was on my way there the whole time! You mean to tell me that you captured me and lashed me to a horse just so you could take me to the very place I was headed all along?”
Robert didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Precisely, madam.”
“Well, Robert de Tyre, I must say that you make for a very poor mercenary indeed.”
“Tell me something, Your Ladyship,” Robert said as he expertly guided Amir around the edge of a ravine. “Was the abbess at Glastonbury aware you were coming?”
“Yes. I sent a messenger ahead by three days.”
“Ah, I see. And what proof do you have that your messenger arrived safely at Glastonbury?”
Sabina bit her lip. “Well, ahhh, none.”
“I see. And further to that, have you any proof that your message was received by the abbess herself? The abbess does not take kindly to strange unannounced messengers, I’m told. At least not strange unannounced messengers who aren’t prepared to offer something in exchange for receipt of their messages.”
“I sent word with my messenger that I would produce precious jewels upon my arrival at Glastonbury in exchange for my veil and cloister,” Sabina said.
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