At the Warrior's Mercy

by Denise Lynn

  He wondered idly what women saw when they looked at him before they realised who he was—when they gazed upon him as if he were just a man instead of a treacherous beast. Did they see that his once coal-black hair had started turning silver too early, making him look far older than his twenty-eight years? Or did the strand of silvery-white hair hanging across his forehead make them think of the wolves that populated his ancestor’s demesne lands in Normandy, giving them the name Roul?

  Did they notice that his nose was crooked from one too many fights? Or the jagged scar that ran the length of his jawbone, accentuated now by the stubble from not shaving these last three days on the road. Did these imperfections make him appear a warrior to be pitied, or one to be feared?

  He knew the very second she realised who she might be serving. Men would instinctively reach for their weapon and willingly choose avoidance if possible. But as happened more often than not with women, her smile vanished and the tell-tale shimmer of fear brightened her widening eyes and enlarged her pupils.

  ‘Will you be needing anything else?’ Her previous warmth cooled, leaving her tone curt and distracted as if she couldn’t get away quickly enough.

  Gregor sighed. Had he been anyone else, she’d have followed her query with a saucy wink and lingering touch on his shoulder to let him know that if he was so tempted, she’d be more than willing to keep him company this night.

  She was a fine-looking young woman, with blond hair that tumbled in loose waves down her back and a gown laced so snugly that nothing of her curvaceous form was left to his imagination.

  But it wasn’t a blonde serving wench who filled his thoughts at the moment. Instead a dark-haired, headstrong, wayward lady flitted around in his mind. One with the take-charge spirit of a warrior, flashing green eyes full of curiosity, an impertinent mouth that begged to be kissed and a lack of fear that both fascinated and intrigued him.

  He’d been intrigued from the moment she’d grasped his hand. Had she felt the same shocking spark of warmth flow through her at the contact as he’d experienced? Or during that brief moment when she’d rested against his chest, had she been struck by the rightness of it, as if that was where she belonged?

  Even though it would make no difference, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when she discovered who had come to her rescue. A small part of him wished that, just for a moment perhaps, her impertinence could be far stronger than any fear.

  He blinked. What was he thinking? The last thing he needed was a woman, especially one who had caught his interest, distracting him from the task at hand. It was bad enough that when he’d seen her tumble down the hill, then slip into the water he’d felt strangely compelled to lend assistance. It had gone from bad to worse when he’d grasped her hand to pull her from the water and had looked into her eyes—something inside him had sparked to life—something that was best left alone. He didn’t need to make things impossible by imagining things that could never be.

  Forcing his attention back to the waiting maid, he added a couple of pennies to the charge for the ale, something extra for her, and shook his head. ‘No, there’s nothing else I require.’

  She reached down with a trembling hand, scooped up the coins quickly and nearly ran from his table.

  ‘Please, someone, help me.’

  Ah, he recognised that voice. She’d chosen to accept his protection after all. Not that she’d really had a choice as his intention had been to let her stew for a short time, then go and find her.

  He shouldered his way through the now-gathering throng of men surrounding her and grasped her elbow. ‘Come with me.’

  She followed him without hesitation, until he paused before his table and waved her to take a seat on the bench.

  ‘No. I cannot. There is no time.’ She paused to cast a furtive glance towards the door, adding, ‘I need to hide.’

  Gregor adjusted his cloak that was still about her shoulders and pulled up the hood to conceal her features. He waved the maid over again to ask, ‘Is there an available room above?’ At her nod, he placed more than enough coins in her palm and said, ‘You’ve not seen either of us.’

  Her eyes bulged at the amount in her hand, but finally she replied, ‘I’ll let the others know.’

  Thankful for that bit of assistance from one so reluctant, he added more coins to what he’d already given her. ‘I thank you. See to it that everyone has a full cup.’ He paused for a quick glance down at the woman he sought to hide, then handed the maid even more coins, saying, ‘If you have any dry clothing available, it would be more than welcome.’

  The woman’s eyes once again grew wide, but this time with shock instead of fear. She closed her fingers tightly over what must seem to her riches in her palm and nodded.

  Gregor turned his focus back on the woman shivering at his side and placed a hand on the small of her back. ‘Come. You can hide above.’

  She hesitated. He read the uncertainty in her piercing green gaze. He understood her indecision—even though they’d spoken by the stream, she truly didn’t know him and couldn’t be certain that he didn’t pose an even greater threat than those she wanted so desperately to avoid.

  The door to the inn opened once again, letting a cold gust of wind enter and whip through to swirl around his ankles. Her stare jumped towards the door. Gregor leaned slightly closer to ask, ‘The wolves at the door, or the one at your side who has yet to have offered you harm?’

  And her gaze darted once again, this time, as he knew it would, to the shock of silver now hanging low over his forehead. For whatever reason, she hadn’t been afraid of him before, but now he saw the flicker of fear in her eyes. He caught her uncertain stare with his own and held it, promising, ‘You can trust me, my lady.’

  As three men entered the inn, she bolted for the stairs. Not wanting her to draw attention, Gregor draped an arm across her shoulders. ‘Slowly, as if we’re simply two lovers headed above.’

  She stiffened momentarily at the insinuation, but slowed her steps.

  Once they reached the upper landing, he lowered his arm and pushed open the first door. Ushering her inside, he closed the door behind them and then dropped the thick locking bar in place.

  Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat at the sound of the timber falling securely into the iron holders. What had she done? While it was true that for this moment she was safe from Charles and his companions, she was now locked into a bedchamber with a man she did not know.

  Outside of this inn he’d been oddly easy to talk to, but now the fear she’d not felt then welled to life.

  He had jumped to her aid so quickly. Too willingly, perhaps? Had he done so out of chivalry? Had he done so for his own nefarious reasons? Reasons that would leave her in greater peril than she’d faced from Charles?

  It mattered little now. Her fate was sealed. Whatever was going to happen was out of her hands as she had no way to escape. The only window in this room was nothing more than an un-shuttered narrow slit that she’d never be able to fit through and the timber bar across the door was thicker than her forearm. It would prove far too heavy for her to remove alone.

  After once again mentally cursing her rashness in leaving Montreau, she took a breath and watched the man closely.

  He walked around the edge of the room, keeping as far away from her as space would permit in this small bedchamber.

  For that she was grateful, but she knew that it would take no more than a quick lunge from him to reach her.

  He picked up the pitcher from the small table against the wall on the other side of the bed and poured water into the ready cup. After taking a swallow, he extended the cup, asking, ‘Thirsty?’

  Even though her body was wet and cold, she was parched. While the water would quench her thirst, she worried that by accepting his offer she would put herself too close, enabling him to grab her.
Beatrice shook her head, eyeing the water with longing. ‘No, thank you.’

  He raised a dark eyebrow and set the drinking vessel back down on the table. ‘It is here if you want it later.’ And then walked back along the walls to take a seat on the small bench next to the door.

  Beatrice’s glance returned to the water. Her mouth was so dry that she wondered if her tongue would stick to the roof of it permanently.

  ‘By the sound of it, your pursuer seems to be in no hurry to leave, so we’re going to be here a while. Drink the water. Remove that heavy cloak and sit near the brazier to dry before you catch your death of cold.’

  Beatrice moved to the other side of the bed and raised the cup to her lips. The cool water quenched the dryness of her mouth. She shot the man a glance. He’d leaned the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes. She let the cloak slip from her shoulders, trying not to sigh aloud at the absence of its over-warm weight and spread it out on the end of the bed where she could feel the heat of the coals. Careful to keep her soiled gown wrapped close about her, she sat on top of the cloak and stared down at her lap.

  In the still quiet of the room even her breathing seemed loud to her. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck rose. That prickly sensation of someone staring at her, watching her, studying her, stalking her like prey chased warning shivers down her spine.

  Beatrice hazarded a quick glance over her shoulder and met his intent blue-grey stare.

  ‘So now your fear has caught up with you.’

  He hadn’t phrased it as a question, but she felt compelled to answer. ‘It seems that way, yes.’

  ‘Earlier outside with nothing but the moon as a witness you were not afraid. But here, with an inn full of people who would hear any scream for help, you are suddenly overcome with fear? Where is the sense in that?’

  Beatrice shrugged a shoulder. How was she supposed to make enough sense of her emotions to be able to explain them to him when she could barely understand them herself? So much had happened this day that her thoughts and senses were all awhirl with confusion.

  Finally, knowing he waited for an answer, she nodded towards the barred door. ‘Outside I had somewhere to run if needed. In here I am trapped by solid walls and a door I could not unbar no matter how hard I tried.’

  She then patted the lumpy mattress beneath her. ‘And it is obvious that the place to do the deed if you chose is at hand.’

  His bark of laughter surprised her. To her relief he remained seated on the small bench.

  ‘You truly are an innocent. Trust me when I tell you that while a bed might be more comfortable for you, I could just as easily make do with the ground.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Or press your back against a tree, lift your gown and do the deed, as you call it, standing up.’

  His eyes shimmered and a crooked half-smile curved his lips as if the thought of doing just what he’d described pleased him.

  Unable to swallow or catch her breath, Beatrice tore her gaze from his and again stared down at her lap. The tremors racing along her spine now had nothing to do with fear or cold and her imaginative thoughts were making her much warmer than had the heavy cloak.

  His deep, soft chuckle before he fell blessedly silent didn’t help at all. It only made her bite her lower lip to hold back a gasp at the heat now burning her cheeks.

  It took more than a few moments, but finally her breathing returned to normal and she noticed the voices below filtering up through the floor. Charles was still below, his voice was loud enough to be heard clearly as he demanded she come out of hiding. A demand that would go unmet.

  ‘Why is he so intent on finding you?’

  She jumped at the sudden break in the quiet of this room. Uncertain how to respond, she remained silent.

  ‘You didn’t lie to me, did you? You aren’t a runaway wife?’

  ‘No, I did not lie. Thankfully, I am not his wife. But I could have been.’

  Beatrice frowned. Why had she added that last bit? Maybe the gentleness of the stranger’s gravelly voice had lulled her into giving away information best left unspoken.

  ‘Perhaps now is the time to discover your story. How is it you could have been, but aren’t? Is he your betrothed?’

  She shifted on the bed, so she could look at him, then shook her head. ‘My parents wouldn’t permit it.’

  ‘Mayhap they had their reasons?’

  ‘I am certain now that they did.’ She wished that they had shared their reasons with her, instead of just insisting he was not suitable.

  ‘Ah, but yet here you are without any chaperon at hand, being chased by him. Did he kidnap you and somehow you escaped?’

  ‘It was no kidnapping.’

  ‘So you went with him willingly and when he tried to take what was not his, you ran.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Obviously you’d known this man for a while.’

  ‘Nearly three years.’

  ‘I suppose you thought that having conversed with him in the company of others made you believe you could trust him in private.’

  She felt the flush rush up her neck to cover her face.

  His soft laugh drew her attention, prompting her to ask, ‘What do you find so amusing?’

  ‘You,’ he answered simply.

  ‘Why me?’ As far as Beatrice was aware, she’d done nothing anyone could consider amusing in the least. Nothing about this day had been amusing.

  ‘I trust you do not gamble, for if you did, your face would give you away.’

  What an odd thing to say. ‘How so?’

  ‘Your flushed cheeks tell me plainly that you and your would-be suitor were not always chaperoned.’

  To her horror, her cheeks flamed again. ‘That is none of your concern.’

  ‘Concern is not my intent. I thought only to point out your inability to lie.’

  ‘Since I was not raised to do so, then perhaps my lack of skill is a good thing.’

  ‘Certainly. At least until you find the need to do so.’

  ‘Hopefully, I will never find myself in dire enough straits where I need to lie.’

  He nodded, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch in what she assumed would be another laugh at her expense.

  However, he didn’t laugh, or even smile, instead he said, ‘I would guess it is now your intention to return to the safety of your family.’

  Since he was basically stating the obvious, she only nodded in reply.

  ‘And when they ask where you’ve been without the oversight and guidance of your lady’s maid or at the very least a guard, you’ll tell them what? That you slipped away under the cover of darkness with your lover?’

  Beatrice closed her eyes. He had a point. Since everything had gone awry so suddenly, leaving her more worried about her safety, she’d given no thought to tomorrow or the days after, let alone the day she’d arrive at Warehaven.

  She most certainly wasn’t going to tell her parents that she’d run away from Montreau with Charles. With her luck they would force the two of them to wed just to save her reputation. She’d rather die than become Charles’s wife.

  When she didn’t respond, he suggested, ‘You will lie to save face.’

  She twisted the edges of her once-fine sleeve in her hand. ‘Yes, you are correct. I will lie to them. But not to save face.’

  ‘Oh? Then why? Surely not to save the man who so obviously caused you such distress that you ran away in the middle of the night.’

  ‘No!’ she nearly shouted. She swallowed, hoping to soften her tone before adding, ‘He can rot in Hades for all I care.’

  At that comment, the man did laugh and, to her amazement, Beatrice found that she rather liked the sound of his mirth. It was deep and full, an honest laugh that seemed unforced.

  ‘Well, at least
you hold no misguided hope that he’ll change his underhanded ways.’

  ‘That is not likely to happen.’

  The man frowned and leaned forward to slowly study her before asking, ‘Did he harm you? Is there any reason I should go below and show him the error of his ways?’

  ‘You sound like my brother.’

  ‘I doubt that. I’m sure your family would go down there and soundly trounce the fiend long before they thought to ask your blessing.’

  That much was true. She shook her head. ‘No, he did not harm me. I knocked him out with a water pitcher before he could do more than pull me into his tent and threaten me.’ Thankfully the rounded metal bottom of the ewer had made just the right contact with his head.

  ‘Ah, so he does need to learn the benefit of manners.’

  When he rose, Beatrice frowned. What was he up to?

  He headed towards the door and she gasped, guessing his intent. ‘No. Do not. He is accompanied by two other companions who are just as vile if not more so and I wish them not to know for certain that I am here.’

  ‘I heard him just as plainly as you did.’ He rolled his eyes before removing the timber bar from the door. ‘He already knows you are here. Either he saw you enter, or someone below told him about a woman seeking help. He and his companions aren’t going to leave without you in tow.’ He turned back to face her, adding, ‘I am not about to let that happen. Besides, three men who see fit to terrorise a defenceless woman will prove little threat to my well-being. Once I have finished with them they’ll think twice about not keeping their distance from you.’

  His words only served to increase her confusion. ‘Why would you do that for me? I am not a member of your family. You know me not.’

  ‘You are a lady alone in need of help. Should I turn my back and leave you to your fate when I know how unpleasant that fate will prove? No. I have enough stains upon my soul without adding another that I could have easily prevented.’

  Beatrice sprang from the bed and rushed to grab his arm. ‘No. Please. Do nothing. I’ve caused you enough trouble already.’