Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03]

by All My Desire

  “She was afraid to climb down by herself,” Isabelle explained, unable to take her eyes from them even though she feared she would see disaster.

  If he lost his grip, if his foot slipped, if she let go.... A host of catastrophes ran through Isabelle’s anxious mind until Alexander’s feet finally touched the ground. Then she could breathe again, and her whole body relaxed.

  Denis ran over to help Kiera, whose face was white in the moonlight. With a grimace, Alexander ran his finger around the neck of his cloak and tunic to loosen them.

  Isabelle wanted to ask him if he was all right and praise him for the effort. She wanted to look at his hands, to check their state for herself, although she had no salve or medicine to offer.

  But she did not. He was helping her for his own ends, as always, and she must not forget that.

  Denis put his arm around Kiera’s shoulder, and they started toward the steps leading to the beach.

  Alexander came beside her, tall and powerful, and he held out his hand. “Come.”

  She looked down at his palm. It was raw and red, but not bleeding.

  She should have realized his palms would not be the soft and tender flesh of a nobleman who spent his days at leisure. He had the callused hands of a soldier, or a common laborer.

  He snatched back his hand, as if just as suddenly ashamed.

  “Follow me,” he barked, his voice quiet, but as fierce as a general on a battlefield ordering his men to advance.

  Chapter 18

  Alexander led them swiftly to the steps leading to the beach below. “Denis, you go first. Then Kiera, then you, my lady.”

  Although Kiera was still weeping, she didn’t protest when Denis started down, then reached back to take her hand. Isabelle went as quickly as she could after them, with Alexander close behind.

  They reached the beach, panting, and it seemed they had succeeded in escaping without being seen—until a cry of alarm shattered the night. Glancing over her shoulder, Isabelle saw torches appear above the walls, along with the heads of many Brabancons.

  Kiera screamed.

  Alexander drew his sword. “Denis, take the women and run for the ship.”

  “Alexander!” Denis cried, aghast. “You’re not going to stand and try to hold them off alone?”

  “Not unless I must. Now run!”

  As long as Alexander didn’t intend to stay behind and hold off their pursuers, which would surely mean death, Isabelle needed no more urging. She lifted up her skirts and sprinted for the ship, Denis and Kiera right behind.

  Breathing hard, Isabelle could hear the heavier tread of Alexander’s feet pounding across the pebbles behind them. Then she heard another sound, one that gave her new energy: the Brabancons were howling like wolves, and the sound was getting closer.

  “Oh, God,” Kiera moaned, stumbling. She would have fallen if Denis hadn’t been supporting her.

  “Keep going! We’ll make the ship,” Isabelle cried. She wouldn’t care now if the devil himself owned the vessel. All that mattered was getting away from the horde of men chasing them.

  They made it through the Norsemen’s camp, or what was left of it. Several of the tents were missing. Looking ahead, Isabelle saw the Norsemen seated at their oars, save for the one man standing on the wharf with the rope holding the ship in place, and Ingar at the tiller.

  Would they wait, or would the sight of the Brabancons bearing down upon them make them go without them?

  Please, God, make them wait, she prayed over and over again as she ran. She, too, stumbled and nearly fell, but Alexander grabbed her arm and steadied her.

  She was grateful for his help, and even more grateful to see the flash of his sword blade in the moonlight.

  They clattered across the wharf.

  “Kiera, go!” Denis ordered, handing her across the plank to one of the Norsemen in the ship, who reached out to help her.

  “Now you, my lady,” Alexander commanded, and she obeyed, hurrying across to join Kiera, who stood in the center of the ship. Then Denis ran across the plank as nimbly as a cat.

  The Brabancons reached the camp, and their angry cries echoed across the beach.

  Sheathing his sword, Alexander dashed across the plank and helped the Norsemen swiftly haul it in as the man still on the wharf slipped off the rope, then leapt into the ship. At a barked order from Ingar, the men on the side closest to the wharf put the tips of the oars against the wharf to push off. By the time the first of the Brabancons reached the wharf, the ship was far enough out to allow all the Norsemen to have their oars in the water. They pulled swiftly for the mouth of the bay, leaving the Brabancons uselessly shouting curses from the shore.

  Isabelle collapsed in the center of the ship and tried to catch her breath. Looking as shocked as if they’d been spirited to the ship by magic, Kiera, too, sat heavily. Denis joined them, too tired to speak.

  Alexander did not. He went to the stern and stood at the gunwale, looking back at the Brabancons and the fortress on the bluffs.

  Kiera began to cry. Denis put his arm about her shoulder and whispered to her, the tone gentle and soothing.

  Kiera gave a shocked little gasp, then leaned against him, sobbing in earnest. As Denis put his arms around her, Isabelle didn’t doubt that he had just told her that Osburn was dead.

  Isabelle sighed and looked away, her gaze drifting back toward Alexander DeFrouchette, who stood so still, so silent, and so very alone.

  As the noise from the shore faded, to be replaced by the grunts of the rapidly rowing Norsemen and the quiet sobbing of Kiera, Isabelle felt free to consider Alexander DeFrouchette, and all that had happened to her. He had abducted her; he had rescued her. He was her enemy; he was her savior. He deserved punishment; he deserved mercy.

  She hated him. She did not.

  She would be glad to see the last of him.

  No, she would not. After all that he had done, the good as well as the bad, this was the one thing that shone clear and certain in her jumbled thoughts.

  Alexander never went near her that night, or the next day. He only joined them to eat the food the Norsemen offered—salted fish and bread and cheese—but he sat as far away from them as it was possible to be in the small space. Otherwise he was either in the stern talking with Ingar or in the bow gazing at the sea.

  Ingar had ordered the sail raised in the night, and now most of his crew slumbered or talked among themselves. The day was a fine one, with a good wind and no rain.

  Denis and Kiera sat together closely, and it was all too plain that whatever Kiera had felt for Osburn, Denis was helping her to forget him with his jokes and banter. He even juggled for her and got her to laugh.

  Isabelle wanted to share that laughter, but she couldn’t. She still didn’t feel completely safe; she wouldn’t until she was at Bellevoire. Then, she hoped, all that had happened would fade from her mind. She would forget Alexander and her tumultuous, confused feelings. She would be as she was before.

  No, you will not, her mind chided. You will never be the same. You left Bellevoire a girl. You go back a woman, and a woman whose heart has been awakened to desire.

  But how could she desire a man who had put her in such danger, even if he had also rescued her? Could she trust anything she felt since that day in the market of Bellevoire? Surely once she was back with her family, she would see things differently.

  Such thoughts were not the only ones to trouble her. She would be safe, she would be free, but her family would be poor because of the ransom.

  Her legs were aching after sitting all morning, and Isabelle rose stiffly and stretched. Denis and Kiera glanced at her, then went back to talking. She looked at Alexander who stood in the bow, leaning against the dragon’s prow, his hair and cloak blowing in the wind.

  Needing to walk, she made her way to the stern. Surely Ingar would be too busy guiding his ship to pay much attention to her.

  Unfortunately, when Ingar noticed her, he called another man to take the tiller and cam
e to stand beside her—far too close beside her. She inched away.

  He realized what she was doing, and laughed. “Have no fear, my lady. I won’t kiss you again. I want to keep my head, and DeFrouchette will probably cut it off if I so much as touch you.”

  She slid him a skeptical glance.

  “What, you don’t believe me?” Ingar’s beard moved as he smiled. “I could try it and then you would have the proof you need.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Grinning, Ingar leaned back against the gunwale. “Still the bold woman, whoever you are. Tell me, did he kill Osburn for trying to wed and bed you, or does that fool still breathe?”

  “Osburn’s dead.”

  Ingar sighed with satisfaction. “The Norman killed him over you. I thought he would.”

  “Osburn fell on his knife after I pushed him away.”

  “He died as he lived, then—a fool.” He shook his head. “I would wager my sword that DeFrouchette is sorry he didn’t get to run the man through. I think he’s wanted to do that from the first time he saw the way that little rat looked at you.”

  “Then you’d lose your sword.”

  Ingar’s demeanor changed to one unexpectedly serious. “I thought you were clever, my lady. Can you not see how the Norman cares for you? Why, his feelings are as plain as the sail of my ship.”

  Not wanting to hear about Alexander’s feelings—even supposing she believed Ingar—she turned away. “Only for the ransom.”

  “But there will be none. He is going to set you free without it.”

  Dumbfounded, Isabelle faced Ingar again. “What?” Then her eyes narrowed with suspicion, for she certainly wasn’t about to trust a Norseman’s words. “I assumed he was going to share the ransom with you, the price for our passage.”

  Ingar chortled. “It is what I would have done, but he has some odd notions of honor.”

  “Then why are you helping us? You aren’t doing it out of the goodness of your heart, I’m sure.”

  “You’re right,” Ingar answered without offense, his gray eyes twinkling. “He has offered to sail with me for the rest of his life. Men like him are hard to find, so naturally, I agreed. He makes many sacrifices for you, my lady, and apparently for nothing in return except knowing you are safe.”

  She was not willing to accept that Alexander DeFrouchette did anything solely for her. “He will also get whatever he can pillaging with you.”

  “Yes, there is that,” Ingar conceded.

  “If he cares for me in any way other than as a thing to be bargained for, it is lust and nothing more.”

  “Is it? Well, you may think so if it is easier for you.”

  She briskly stepped away. “Easy? Nothing has been easy for me since the day DeFrouchette abducted me.” She put her hands on her hips. “And since when has a Norseman concerned himself with anybody’s feelings?”

  Ingar didn’t look upset by her question. “A captain has to know his crew, and a good captain learns to read men the way he reads the stars in the sky. Alexander DeFrouchette cares for you the way few men ever do for a woman. He is willing to risk his life for you, and he is willing to give you up. He says it is for honor, but there is another reason. He does it because he thinks that is what you want. Is it?”

  She flushed beneath Ingar’s steady gaze, then looked away. “Of course!”

  “Good. He has given his word to return to my ship after he takes you back to your family, yet if there is anything on this earth that could make him break that vow, it would be his love for you. But if you do not want his love, then he will keep his word, and I will have a fine fighter in my crew.”

  She stared at the planks beneath her feet. Love? He thought Alexander loved her?

  A word that was obviously a curse flew from Ingar’s lips, startling her. “Olaf!” he shouted at the man holding the steering board. “What are you doing? You are going too far to the west!”

  With that, he crossed the deck, clouted the unfortunate Olaf on his head and resumed his position at the steering board, leaving Isabelle looking unseeing at the waves rolling past the ship, thinking about all that Ingar had said and all that Alexander DeFrouchette had done.

  Ingar guided his ship into the small, secluded bay. The water was calm, and there was no sign of any habitation. Indeed, it looked as if nobody had set foot there from time immemorial. The ground sloped up from the shore, and nothing could be seen beyond the grassy ridge.

  Ingar ordered his men to hold their oars steady in the water, so that the ship was barely moving.

  Isabelle, Kiera, Denis and Alexander stood near the mastfish, Alexander a little apart. He held a small bundle containing his extra tunic, some bread and cheese, a wineskin, and a flint and steel. Denis had a slightly larger bundle, and of course, Isabelle had brought nothing.

  “You will have to jump, for I can’t get closer to shore,” Ingar declared as he left the tiller to Olaf and strode toward them. “You should be safe enough here. No one lives nearby.”

  “You seem very familiar with this part of the country,” Isabelle noted.

  Ingar chuckled. “I have been here before, as you guess. But have no fear, my lady. After we return for Alexander, we will not venture this way again. I have no wish to encounter your brother-in-law. Alexander tells me he rode with King Richard on the Crusade, and then was a champion of tournaments. A good warrior learns to avoid another.”

  Isabelle darted a look at Alexander. She had wondered what they had been talking about, deciding it must be strategy or some such business.

  Ingar grinned again. “And do not think to tell this Sir Connor where we will be, for this is not where we will return for Alexander. I doubt Sir Connor has enough men to watch miles of coast.”

  He didn’t, but she wasn’t about to admit that.

  “So, farewell, my lady.” Ingar reached out and pulled her to him. Fearing another kiss, she turned her head. He didn’t. Instead, his beard tickled her cheek as he whispered, “Remember what this has cost him, my lady, and be kind.”

  He let her go. “A little kiss, DeFrouchette,” he called out to Alexander, whose dark brows had lowered like the clouds gathering on the horizon. “Her payment for the voyage.”

  Taken aback by Ingar’s actions and words, Isabelle rubbed her cheek and watched as Ingar bussed Kiera heartily. Denis didn’t look any happier than Alexander at this particular form of farewell, or payment, but both said nothing.

  “To the steering board side!” Ingar shouted, and suddenly all his men went to that side of the ship, making it heel so that the gunwale was mere inches above the water.

  Denis looked back at the Norseman. “My thanks, and may you always have a fine breeze,” he said before he lowered himself into the shallow water.

  Kiera eagerly leapt from the ship into his arms.

  As Isabelle prepared to go over the side, she looked back at Ingar. The breeze gently brushed her hair across her pink cheeks, which were ruddy from the voyage. In the simple blue gown she wore, and despite her short hair, she looked like a nymph risen from the sea.

  For a moment, Alexander thought she was going to curse Ingar, but she didn’t. Instead, she regarded him with a studious mien. “You’ve made a better bargain than you know, Ingar, and gotten far more than you ever would have if you had sold me.” Then she smiled, a bold, brazen smile that made Ingar and every man on that ship stare at her. “It isn’t only a captain who learns to read men, Ingar. If you had tried to take me against my will I would have lain there like a dead fish, and you would have been even limper.”

  As those in the crew who could understand laughed with glee and began translating for those who could not, Ingar stared at her, openmouthed. Then she jumped into the water.

  “By Thor’s hammer, what a woman,” Ingar muttered as he turned to Alexander. “Enjoy your time alone with her, DeFrouchette, and I hope she will be generous in her gratitude.”

  Alexander flushed. “That’s not—”

  “As if you would f
ear an English patrol!” Ingar scoffed, grinning.

  Alexander scowled as he went to the gunwale. “I will be at the rendezvous in two nights, Ingar, or I’ll be dead.”

  Ingar nodded. “Two days, Norman, and then for as long as you live, your sword is mine to command.” His eyes twinkled with merriment. “And may your night with her be worth it.”

  Ingar would reduce everything to a bargain or payment for services rendered, Alexander thought as he went over the side and began wading toward the shore.

  Behind him, he could hear Ingar shouting orders and the splash of oars in the water as the ship turned and headed back out to sea. Ahead, Denis, Kiera and Isabelle waited for him on the sandy beach.

  “Well, my friend,” Denis said as he shook the hem of his tunic as if that would help it dry. “Here we are, alone in some desolate spot.”

  “And here we must part.”

  Denis stopped shaking his tunic and stared at him. “Here? Now?”

  Alexander nodded.

  “Well, of course I knew that we must go our separate ways,” Denis said, his face as mournful as the statue of a dead saint. “But I did not think it had to be today.”

  “The sooner we part, the safer it will be for you.” He stole a glance at Isabelle. “I’m sure Lady Isabelle’s brother-in-law has as many patrols out as he can mount. We have shown him how vulnerable he was. You and Kiera must not be found with us.”

  “Alexander.” Denis took him by the arm and led him a little way from the women, so that they couldn’t hear him. “You are going to go with Ingar, aren’t you? You aren’t planning on letting yourself get caught out of some notion of justice, are you? Because if you are, I won’t leave you.”

  Resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, Alexander gave his friend a weary smile. “No, I do not plan on getting caught. I promised Ingar I would return, so I will. Nor do I wish to die or spend my days rotting in a cell. I struggled too long to live to give up easily now. So have no fear, Denis, and leave me with a happy heart.”

  Denis looked appalled. “A happy heart? Mon Dieu, non! I leave you because I must, but I do it with a heart as heavy as a lead ball. Happy? How can you even say such a thing? I am devastated … horrified … shocked…”