Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

by Jill Elaine Hughes

  “Fine,” Cuthbert sighed. He pulled the dagger out of his doublet, then the stiletto from his boot, and dropped both to the ground. “Only you forgot to mention this.” He reached into one of the hidden pockets in Amir’s saddle and pulled out a small throwing axe. “Never leave home without it, lad,” he said with a chuckle, then dropped it to the ground along with the rest of the weapons.

  “All right,” Robert said. “You can get down from the horse now. Only keep your hands where I can see them.” He kept his sword pointed straight at him.

  Cuthbert obeyed, but rolled his one good eye. “Isn’t this a bit o’ overkill, Robert?”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned. There’s also the little matter of the two hundred fifty gold crowns I gave you. I need that back, please.”

  “But Robert! Ye hired me to keep you and the lady safe, and I did. I earned that fair and square.”

  “The lady’s not safe anymore,” Robert said curtly. “And as far as I’m concerned, that’s mostly your fault.”

  “Said Lord Pot to Lord Kettle,” Cuthbert shot back. “Methinks that perhaps ye aren’t willing to look too closely at yourself if you believe that, lad.” He jerked his head in Mfanwy’s direction. “What d’ye propose we do with our friendly neighborhood Welshwoman? Mfanwy’s her name. And a very crafty bitch she is.” At the mention of her name, Mfanwy grunted through her gag and pulled hard against her restraints.

  “I already know who she is,” Robert said. “She belongs to Tostig of York, not Lord Reginald, though it’s likely she was serving more than one master. My lady was kind enough to fill me in.”

  “And now yer lady’s gone, eh? Quite a predicament.”

  “Yes. And Tostig of York has her.”

  Cuthbert blanched white as snow. “Say you rightly?”

  “Yes. I watched the capture take place. My lady thought she was surrendering to Lord Reginald’s men. So did I. I didn’t figure out the truth until it was too late.”

  “Good God, man. No wonder ye came looking for me.” He jerked his head in Mfanwy’s direction yet again. “I was planning to kill her at first, but I thought she might be useful as a hostage,” he said. “Seems to me I was right.” He glanced at Robert’s sword point again. “D’ye trust me yet? I’d really appreciate it if ye’d stop tryin’ to kill me.”

  Robert finally let his guard down, and replaced his sword into his belt. “I trust you,” he said. “But only as far as I can throw you.”

  Cuthbert scoffed. “Ye can’t throw me very far, lad. I’m twice your size.”

  “Exactly. Now that we both know where we stand, how are we going to rescue Sabina?”

  “Well, that depends. How many men d’ye figure Tostig has?”

  “He’s got quite an encampment, laid out in the Norse fashion. I estimate he’s got at least five thousand, maybe more.”

  Cuthbert choked. “Five thousand? The only able-bodied fighters we’ve got is you an’ me. You an’ me ‘gainst five thousand?”

  “Unless you have a better idea, yes.”

  Cuthbert reached inside his doublet, and pulled out the black velvet pouch containing the two hundred fifty crowns. He tossed it at Robert’s feet. “Well, ye can have that back, lad. Bein’ as it’s gonna be next to impossible for me to do anything to help ye.”

  “Come on, Cuthbert. We went it alone against plenty of big armies when we were in Sir Walter’s employ.”

  “Aye, an’ that was more’n ten years ago, lad. I’m a mite bit older now. An’ rather outa practice in the fighting department, I’m afraid. I came to the Cock and Robin to retire from the mercenary life, y’know.”

  “Retired, eh? Is that why you carry at least five different weapons on your body at once?”

  “Ye can never be too careful, Robert. I’ve made quite a few enemies in my life.”

  “You’re going to make another one in a hurry if you don’t agree to help me.”

  Cuthbert sighed and shook his head. “All right, fine. ‘Tho I don’t think we stand a heathen’s chance in Heaven of accomplishing anything ‘sides getting ourselves killed, lad.”

  “Well, I’ve never known you to be afraid of death, Cuthbert. And what better way to get killed than defending a lady’s honor?”

  Cuthbert thought about that for a moment. Then in a wild gesture that Robert remembered from their time together under Sir Walter the Penniless, the huge old Yorkshireman pounded his chest, stomped his feet, and roared like a lion. “Aggghhhhh! Bring on the enemy! For Master Cuthbert of the Four Winds has a sword that’s thirsty for blood and gold!”

  “That’s more like it,” Robert said, clapping his old friend on the back. All was mended between them from then on. “Now all we need is a plan.”

  “We need a sight more than that, lad. We need a bloody miracle.”

  ****

  Sabina stared up into Tostig of York’s glacierlike eyes, her whole body quaking with fear. There was evil in those eyes the likes of which she’d never seen—not even from Lord Reginald. There was desire in them too—and exactly the wrong kind. “W-who are you?” she stammered.

  “I, milady, am Tostig of York, son of Tostig Godwinson, who was brother to King Harald and his only heir. Therefore, I am rightful King of England. I am here to take back what is mine.” His gaze passed up and down Sabina’s body, paralyzing her. “Starting with you.”

  “I am not yours to take,” she snarled. “I belong to—someone else.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” Tostig sneered. “But I’ve never been one to pay much attention to chattel claims, whether they apply to lands, cattle, or women. On the contrary, I subscribe to the ‘finders keepers’ philosophy. I’ve found you, and I intend to keep you. At least until you begin to bore me. Or maybe not even for that long.”

  Sabina pulled herself to her feet, and somehow found the courage to look her captor straight in the face. “Just what do you intend to do with me?” she snapped, startled by her own audacity.

  Tostig fingered his pointed blonde beard for a moment, then spoke. “Well, I’m not entirely sure. You are a spectacular specimen of womanhood, and I would like nothing more than to sample the full platter of your tasty charms. Though I think you may be of far more use to me should I keep your chastity pure. Surely Lord Reginald will not be very willing to negotiate for you if he knows you have already been spoiled, least of all by me.”

  Sabina flushed. She wondered if it would be at all prudent to confess that Robert de Tyre had already had the privilege of spoiling her virtue, but she decided against it. Surely that information would do little to help her case at this point. She decided the best course of action was to keep silent.

  That only seemed to please Tostig even more. “Ah, truly you are a maiden of unspoiled virtue, milady,” he oozed. “At the mere mention of the possibility, you flush and go quiet as a mouse. Small wonder Lord Reginald is so taken with you.” He took a step closer to her, placed an index finger underneath her chin. “Though I would guess that the feelings are hardly mutual.”

  Rather than answer, Sabina looked away.

  “I see I have touched a nerve. I wonder why you ran away at all, milady. Perchance has another man captured your heart? A pity, if that’s so. For a lady of your station doesn’t have the luxury of falling in love. Love is a potion for the lower classes, milady. People of power, of position are above it. Kings are not born and bred of love, but of carefully planned and managed breeding.”

  Tostig was a perceptive one, all right. Perceptive and powerful. Whatever he said cut right to the bone. Small wonder he’d been able to mass such an army, and stood as good a chance as anyone to overthrow the Normans once and for all. What chance did Sabina really stand against such a man? None. What were the chances that anyone—even Robert de Tyre—would dare attempt to rescue her from his clutches? Again, none.

  Sabina had no more time to contemplate such matters. Before she could flutter an eyelash, Tostig grabbed her by both arms and forcibly dragged her inside his tent. She
screamed, cursed, kicked, and bit, all to no avail. He tossed her into a wooden chair, then proceeded to tie her to it. She tried to fight, but he was far bigger and stronger. In moments her arms and legs were splayed outward, tied to the chair’s armrests and legs. Sabina felt horribly exposed—if Tostig wanted to have his way with her, she would have no way to stop him. She grit her teeth and braced herself for what was surely to come. “Please, get it over with quickly,” she pleaded, wrenching her eyes shut tight.

  “Milady, you misunderstand me. I have absolutely no intention of abusing you in such a manner. At least, not yet. You are of far more use to me as a pure maiden.” He paused to lightly caress her cheek. “Though if you fail to prove useful to me as a bargaining chip, all bets are off.”

  Sabina bit her lip. That didn’t exactly make her feel safe. She had less and less faith that Lord Reginald would do anything to protect her now. She hadn’t exactly been a good fiancée, after all. And she could forget about Robert doing anything to save her, too. She’d abandoned her beloved in the forest, and he had done nothing whatsoever to keep her from going.

  What a fine mess this was. Sabina had thought that by running away to Glastonbury, she’d solve all her problems. Instead she just created more problems (not to mention danger and heartache) than she’d ever thought possible. Her life would have been so much simpler if she’d just quietly accepted her fate and married Lord Reginald in the first place.

  Sabina choked down a sob. She shut her eyes tight, but that did little to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks—or the sinister laughter erupting from Tostig of York’s mouth.

  ****

  Lord Reginald de Guillaume paced up and down in front of his battle pavilion with such ferocity that he threatened to dig a trench in the ground with his steel-booted feet. He swore in a mixture of Latin, French, and Arabic, shocking his servants and lackeys.

  “What’s the matter, Sire?” Pierre asked in French. “Did your evening meal not agree with you, perhaps?”

  By way of answering, Lord Reginald planted a fist on Pierre’s chest and knocked him to the ground.

  “Sire!” Pierre cried in a plaintive voice. “How have I offended thee? “

  “We are betrayed,” Lord Reginald growled. “Our position is known, our battle plan is known, and my lady is now in the hands of the enemy. Only someone working within my own ranks could have leaked this information, and I intend to stop at nothing to find out who is responsible. Mark me, heads will roll.”

  Pierre cowered at his lord and master’s feet. “I pray you, Sire, to believe that I am your most humble and loyal servant!”

  “You are my most annoying and useless servant!” Lord Reginald retorted. “Begone from my sight, lest I run you through!”

  Pierre went white as cream and crabwalked his way backwards until he was out of his master’s line of vision—only to be tripped over by the Duke of Angwyld.

  “Ack! Knave!” the Duke shouted at him, shaking his fist. “Watch where you step—ahem, crawl!”

  Pierre stumbled to his feet and skittered away, doubled over with embarrassed bows. “A thousand apologies, Your Grace! A hundred thousand.”

  Lord Reginald shook his head and sneered. “Useless drivel. I’d bet my Tuscan farm he’s the one let slip the information that betrayed our cause.”

  The Duke gave him a blank look. “Betrayed, Sire? What do you mean?”

  Lord Reginald reached into his pocket, pulled out a message written on a scrap of vellum. “I just received this from one of my scouts,” he said. “Tostig of York and his army awaits us on the other side of yonder forest. My mercenary employee Cuthbert of Northumbria has double-crossed me and captured one of my best covert spies, and may even be in cahoots with Robert de Tyre, my mercenary who has become besotted with your daughter. And adding injury to insult, Master Robert apparently has allowed Tostig to capture Sabina.”

  The Duke nearly had an apoplexy. “Are you sure, my lord?”

  “Positive,” Lord Reginald said, handing the note to the Duke to read. “The note is written in Tostig’s own hand. I know it well, having corresponded with him for many years. We were allies once, then merely indifferent colleagues. Today we surely are enemies, for not only has he captured your daughter and my beloved, he has amassed an army the likes of which hasn’t been seen since Hastings. I believe he intends to make a play for the Crown.”

  The Duke tried to feign horror, but Lord Reginald couldn’t help but notice that the Saxon’s gray eyes twinkled just a bit. Of course the Duke would welcome any attempt by a Saxon man to overthrow the Normans—even if he’d never admit it to his future son-in-law. All the more reason for Lord Reginald to rid the world of him just as soon as he and Sabina were married. “We must mount a rescue for your daughter at once,” he declared. “Unfortunately, however, the only way to accomplish that now is to engage with Tostig’s army. I’m ordering a full-on assault of both infantry and cavalry this afternoon. Please ready your men.”

  “But Sire!” protested the Duke. “Surely we cannot attempt such an assault without a proper battle plan! And mounting a battle with my daughter still under Tostig’s fist will endanger her even more! Surely we must try to negotiate first!”

  “It’s a risk we’ll have to take, I’m afraid,” the misshaped old Norman growled. “Every moment we delay diminishes our advantage. Tostig fully expects us to attempt a negotiation for her release. Attacking him full-on instead will catch him off guard, and therein will lie our advantage.”

  The Duke’s forehead had broken out in a cold sweat, and his chainmail shirt rattled as his whole body shook. “My lord! I beg of you to reconsider!”

  “You will ready your men, Your Grace,” Lord Reginald seethed. “We attack at three o’clock.A full-frontal assault, and be prepared to fight to the last man. ”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I shall have you taken out and shot by my team of archers.” Lord Reginald slithered up to him, poked a gnarled finger in his face. “Remember that you are a Saxon, Your Grace, and your very existence upon this world depends upon your favor with Normans like me. Lose my favor, and lose your life. Are we in agreement?”

  The Duke’s shoulders slumped and he looked at the ground. “Yes, my lord. I shall go and ready my men.”

  The Duke shuffled away, ruing the day he ever threw in his lot with the most notorious, bloodthirsty Norman in all of England.

  Chapter 18

  Robert and Cuthbert had climbed to the top of a large oak tree in the middle of the forest so they could have a birds-eye view of the armies that had gathered on either side of it. Both of the assembled fighting forces were vast and well-equipped, but it definitely seemed that Tostig of York’s forces had the advantage. Tostig’s army was by far the larger one, and it also occupied the high ground. Tostig’s men also controlled the main route to the sea, where several speedy Danish warships awaited him in case he and his men needed to make a speedy departure.

  It seemed Lord Reginald had the advantage of surprise, however. While Tostig’s troops languished over campfires and field rations, Reginald’s were preparing for an attack.

  “Looks like it could go either way,” Cuthbert observed.

  Robert agreed. “We need to prepare for both outcomes, then. I think our only chance to get Sabina out of there is to descend in the midst of the battle confusion.”

  “Good thinking, lad. Perhaps we should each disguise ourselves as fighting for one side or the other. I never confessed it to ye before, but I was working for Lord Reginald on the sly til you showed up, and I still have some battle tabards o’ his in my cellar at the Cock and Robin.”

  Robert rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised? So much for you being retired, eh?”

  “Once a mercenary, always a mercenary. ‘Tis the golden rule of our profession, lad. Something ye should always remember if ye ever try to quit the business.”

  Robert turned to Cuthbert and grinned. “I take it you say that because you tried to
quit the business yourself?”

  “Aye, lad. And I’m afraid I couldn’t stay away for long. I’ve got some tunics in my cellar that will pass for Danish, too. So take your pick, lad. Do you want to pretend to fight for Lord Reginald or Tostig?”

  “Oh, Tostig for sure. I’ve left Lord Reginald’s employment far too recently to get away with posing as one of his own. Likely he’s ordered all his officers to have me run through on sight.”

  “So be it then. Though I left Lord Reginald’s employment a lot more recently than you did. Like this afternoon.”

  “True, but you could rip him in two with your bare hands,” Robert remarked. “I might be a good swordsman, but I’m not a wild Yorkshireman. Some things are just in the blood, my friend.”

  “Too true, too true.” Cuthbert began to descend the tree, and Robert followed. “I think we might make use of my cows,” Cuthbert remarked as he jumped from the lowest branch to the ground.

  “Cows? How?”

  “Well, I haven’t had much luck with my dairy business o’ late, lad. Been looking for a way to dispose o’ the cows for a while now. I think perhaps if we lead my herd into the middle o’ the melee, that’ll create enough confusion for us to steal into Tostig’s camp and get the girl. What d’ye think?”

  “Only you could come up with a battle idea that outrageous, Cuthbert,” Robert said. “And you know what? I think it just might work.”

  ****

  Sabina dozed where she sat, still tied down to Tostig’s carved battle throne. He’d left her alone in the tent while he went off to do some errand or other, but he’d made sure to post guards at both tent entrances, and had even parked a guard in the chair opposite her for added security. But that guard was fast asleep, and wasn’t likely to offer much protection.

  Sabina’s eyes were closed and her mind wandered, yet she was not totally asleep. She was drifting in a misty, gray place somewhere between sleeping and waking, dreaming and not dreaming. Images flew past her, sometimes even touched her lightly on the shoulder or elbow, like the fluttering of a moth’s wing. Her father’s face. The rolling mossy hills of Angwyld. The kitten she’d found and raised as a child, her Welsh governess, snippets of stories, songs and poems she’d heard from the bards. Through it all, she heard Robert de Tyre’s soft baritone ringing through the mist, saying soft words of endearment that she could never quite make out. She saw his face, his body floating in the mist just out of her reach. She leaned forward, reached her hand out to touch him, and his image dissolved, becoming one with the mystical fog. It was a metaphor for their time together—just as Sabina had gotten close to Robert, she’d lost him, and now it seemed she would never get him back.