by Louisa Trent
“You know, John, my father was a rough man. A warrior beyond compare. But he never once raised his hand to me, or to my half-sisters or to any of his wives.” He paused until his voice was free of emotion. “Were you beaten as a child?"
“Never. As an only child, both my parents loved me to the point of smothering."
“Then how would we know what ‘tis like?” Sage thumbed his eye. “As to your former question—by kingly decree, the borderlands are my jurisdiction. If evidence is found of Aeschine's direct guilt in the invasion that took my wife's life, I alone will see to her punishment."
“I stand at your side regardless of your decision. Whatever you need from me, I am at your service."
“There is something else."
“You have only to name it."
“Go to the castle ruins. Inside my wife's bedchamber, you will find a royal ring in a gold chest set deep into the far wall. I hid it there myself before leaving for the Crusades. The ring was a token from the King, given to me when we were both lads in Normandy. I may have need of it soon."
“Consider it found."
“My thanks. Sometimes Rufus has a tendency to forget who his friends are. That ring will serve to remind him."
Sage clapped John on the back. “Go now. I wish you God's speed and a safe return."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sage had been gone so long! Where was he?
Unable to sit idly by and do naught but pray for her captor's safe return, Aeschine made a hasty dismount and began to search the courtyard, starting at the barracks.
Mayhap the warlord had gone inside for reinforcements. Even Sage, a giant among men, would need back up for his authority in this perilous place!
The barracks were empty. Save for a maid hunched over an open hearth, scouring a large cauldron.
The pot was huge, but the woman's belly dwarfed it. Far gone with child, she waddled from fire to trestle table and back again, heaving one blackened vessel after another over for scraping.
A woman in this maid's advanced stage of confinement should never have been put to work here! Aeschine decided, rushing into the empty dining hall. Barrack work was too heavy for a woman in her condition!
Aeschine took the next kettle in need of scraping and carried it over to the fire, herself
The woman lumbered around, one hand on her lower back. “My thanks."
“What are you doing here?” a male bluster said from somewhere behind Aeschine.
Caught in yet another act of disobedience, she swiveled ‘round. “Milord! I overlooked you there. You really must stop sneaking up on a person like that! You almost gave me a fit! I thought to visit with this maid. And let me tell you, she is treated terribly! Lifting heavy pots when she is with child. I am afeared she will not hold onto her bairn if this continues. Something must be done about this situation immediately!"
“What do you suggest?” her captor asked reasonably enough.
“Why, I shall stay here and help, of course..."
The warlord of Cheviot Hills stalked across the packed dirt floor. Tunneling a hand under her cape, he found the end of her leash and pulled her away. “You will do nothing of the kind. The barracks are not safe."
“If they are not safe for me, the barracks are not safe for this maid either. And I really do think..."
Her argument was left to hang in the air while she was dragged out into the courtyard. The captor shook her until her teeth rattled in her head.
“You are never to wander this hellhole alone!” The shaking stop and a large finger pointed at her nose. “Why did you not wait for me as I ordered you to do?"
Her eyes crossed. “I was not wandering. I had a destination in mind."
“Where was this destination, pray?"
“You! You were my destination. Now if you will step out of the way, I shall return to the barracks. Allow me to help that poor maid, and in the future I promise I shall..."
Sage held up his hand. “Enough bargaining. ‘Tis enough that I must listen to you bargain endlessly for your sheep. As of the morrow, the maid is reassigned to lighter duties. How is that? Is that agreeable?"
At the end of the leash she curtseyed. “I thank you for your generosity."
“Generosity has naught to do with this. That maid is my property, and as such, she is of value to me. I would have her delivered of a fine healthy baby so that one day that child will grow up and also be of value to me. Caring for my people is a matter of simple practicality. Happy and healthy serfs make contented workers. Now answer my question!"
“What question is that?"
“My previous one, the one asked with my finger under your nose. And please do not cross your pretty blue eyes again."
“You think I have pretty blue eyes?"
“Aeschine! The question!"
“Hens lips! I have forgotten the question."
“Luckily, I am a man with a long memory, both for slights and for favors. It would serve you well to remember that particular flaw in my character."
Aeschine clucked her tongue. “There are so many flaws to remember, it grows burdensome.” She smiled at his dark look. “I was merely teasing. Am I not allowed to tease?"
His face relaxed. “I like your teasing."
“Oh, for joy! Another compliment."
He seemed disconcerted. “Wh ... what was I saying?"
“That you had a long memory, milord,” she quipped.
He frowned. “Anything else?"
“I believe you had a question for me."
“Ah! My question. Of course.” Taking her arm, though he had the leash gripped, he walked her away from the barracks. “Why did you not stay put?"
“Because I was worried. You went into the night alone. I thought a man-at-arms covering your back might come to good use."
“And that man-at-arms would be you, I suppose?"
“I am invaluable in a fight."
At her boast he came to a rest. “This I must hear. Tell me, how would you be invaluable to me in a brawl? What would you have done—bargain my assailant for my life?"
She held out her hand.
“Where did you come by that dagger, Aeschine?"
“I lifted it from the henchman's pocket. I am an excellent pickpocket, especially when the mark is otherwise occupied. The village boys taught me the skill. They were a fount of knowledge."
“You might have used that weapon against me on our ride here. You might have castrated me any number of times."
“Aye.” She shrugged. “I saw no reason to. Where is the benefit of unmanning a lover I desire in my bed?"
“Keep the dagger,” her captor said, looking bewildered. “You may yet have need of a blade."
“My thanks,” she replied, and shoved the weapon back up into her borrowed cloak. “So—are you fit?"
“No new scars and not one drop of blood spilled.” He shrugged. “These men are rough and require a strong hand, that is all."
“Will the woman survive?"
“Most likely not, but at least she will die decently, in a clean straw bed, not stretched out upon the ground. I had her carried inside the stables. The other whores will stay with her until the end."
“Is that how I am to end up too? Naked and stretched out, with a line of men waiting their turn on me?"
Her captor took her chin in hand. He forced her to look into his dark brooding eyes. “Never say that to me again! You are not like that woman."
“I am a whore. I have the bare mound to prove it. How say you that we are not alike?"
“You are not like that woman because I give you my protection."
“Your protection is a gift, rescindable at any time."
“I do not make promises I do not intend to keep."
“Men break promises to whores all the time."
“Those same men break promises to their wives."
“ ‘Tis not the same. A man might come to respect his wife, eventually; he will never respect his whore.” She pulled the fur-lined c
loak closer. “That woman on the ground more than likely started off just like me."
“Do not weave a story out of thin air, lass. You are not like that unfortunate prostitute."
“Because I service one man instead of many? Is that the distinction between me and a common whore?"
“There is nothing common about you. You are a lady of noble birth."
“Oh, I see. ‘Tis my station in life, my royal blood, which signifies the difference.” She took a deep breath. “Would you wed me, Captor? Would you take me to wife? Would you make me respectable?"
He looked away. “Impossible."
“Because I am your whore?"
“Nay. Because you are LaTourne's betrothed."
* * * *
They entered the donjon at the first floor, and stepped directly into the great hall.
When the trestle table was set, the open space would easily accommodate a banquet of five score guests.
This day, the wooden planks used as a tabletop had been disassembled and placed out of the way against the walls. The hall stood empty, save for several enormous beds which linen curtains enclosed. The lord's family members used these. Visitors, serfs and animals slept on the rush-covered stone floor next to the central hearth.
God's nose! Who would sleep on these filthy rushes? Aeschine thought grimacing at the soiled straw underfoot. Or even in those beds? She stared at the grimy bed linens.
Ever the castellan, she glanced from dirty straw to dirty linen to the hole in roof. “Something is blocking the louve. The smoke from the hearth is entering the room rather than exiting through the roof. That accounts for the large quantity of grease and soot about."
Sage, following her gaze, went to the depressingly small fire in the hearth and lit one of the torches. He raised it up to the ceiling. “The carcass of a dead bird is sealing the hole.” He looked back at her. “A man will work on cleaning the opening on the morrow."
“Mayhap a lantern might be installed too?"
“Aye. More light would help in here. Of course, then you would see more of the dirt too.” Sage chuckled at the poisoned darts she sent him. “More loopholes cut into the walls for air and light—anything else?"
“I shall draw up a list. A long list."
When a vassal entered the chamber, Sage said, “Pardon me, Aeschine,” and left to speak to the redheaded man.
Whilst the two men huddled together in hushed conversation, she toured the hall.
Some grime was to be expected in a large hall, but this place was less hospitable than the stables they had just passed. Who knew what lay hidden under the smelly rushes or in the mattresses?
She walked to one of the beds. And sniffed.
Mice.
The tick also smelled musty, and was more than likely infested with vermin. As she had no wish to pick nits from her hair, she resolved to seek another place to lay her head that night. She would dispose of the louse—ridden straw on the morrow...
At that moment, a mouse ran over her foot, a green piece of bread in its mouth, and tunneled under the flooring.
She felt bad for the rodent, pitied the hens brooding on their nests in the overhead rafters, and sympathized with a sow burrowing in a corner. They deserved better.
“Forgive the interruption,” Sage said courteously upon returning to her side. “The solar is at the top of the mural stairs. We go there directly."
“I am not tired..."
“Trust me. You are tired.” He placed his palm on her lower back. “You need to retire for the evening."
The redhead nodded at her when Sage escorted her past. “I have assigned Will to watch over you. Simply pretend he is not there."
Watch over her? Spy on her more like it!
“Thank you for your concern, Captor, but I do not need a keeper!"
“This place is unsafe. Henceforth, a guard will see to your protection at all times. Will's post is to be directly outside the bedchamber door."
Watchover Will will not watch over me! Aeschine decided as they climbed the narrow, wooden ladder to the tower, which, though cleaner and more private than the downstairs hall, came with its own set of problems.
The second floor was drafty and dark. Aeschine shivered almost uncontrollably as Sage led her down the long narrow hall, one hand holding a torch to light their way, his other hand guiding her.
Although the heavy oak portal was up ahead, but a spit away, her captor halted their progress with a gruffly whispered: “Stay, Aeschine."
“Aye?” Turning, she looked at him.
Desire flared in the warlord's eyes. Their journey to Cheviot Hills had been rough and fast, with little time given over for eating or sleeping. Consequently, her captor had not made love to her since the cave. Out of consideration for her, she suspected, as she had felt his hardness when he had gathered her close at night to snatch what little rest they might on the cold ground. But he had done naught but warm her with his body during those nights.
He gazed at her now as though he were starved. “Forgive the abruptness,” he said, and lowered his head.
He kissed her without restraint, without control. Her hands crept around his neck and held on tight, as she opened her mouth to him, danced her tongue with his, her abandonment matching his.
“Sometimes ‘tis impossible to forestall a kiss even a few feet,” he explained sheepishly after breaking their mouths apart.
Speechless over the spontaneity of the embrace, when the warlord opened the oak portal, she followed him meekly inside.
“The great chamber,” he said with a grand flourish and ensconced the torch he was carrying upon the wall.
Her footsteps brought with them the familiar crunching sound of clean straw.
So far, so good.
“Though the hall is warmer, ‘tis too loud and noisy down below for my tastes. I hope you do not mind if we keep to the tower?"
Did the warlord ask her opinion of the accommodations?
Just a courtesy, she decided. Still, she answered, “I too prefer the quiet."
“A lively lass, like you? I would have said just the opposite."
Aeschine recalled the meditative years she had spent in the solitude of cloister. She had not the temperament for the religious life, but what with tending to sheep and keeping a large garden behind the walls, she had not missed the society of the outside world overly much.
“I do not always need to stand in the thick of things. And I have never cared to gossip. I have spent much time in ... quiet contemplation.” She grinned. “Sheep do not chatter, you know."
“I would like it if you talked to me..."
“About the clans, you mean?"
“About anything. Say what you will. For example, you must miss your home in Scotland. Sometimes, it helps the sadness to talk. Anyway, you need not worry about vermin up here; in anticipation of my arrival, Will cleaned out this chamber."
She went to the bed, parted the heavy damask curtains that surrounded the four massive oak posts, and gasped her pleasure.
The bed was sumptuous! Silver fox furs and a royal-blue velvet coverlet topped a plump, goose-filled mattress. After her sparsely appointed nun's cell, this chamber was fit for a queen...
Or a powerful overlord's lady.
She was the warlord's whore. She had no right to this sumptuous bed.
“A fur on the floor will serve,” she whispered, ashamed of what she had become.
“You will sleep in the bed."
“But ... ‘tis your wife's bed.” And she was an interloper.
“Joan never slept in it. ‘Tis my bed, alone. A talented craftsman in my native Normandy built it for me."
Greatly cheered at this disclosure, when the warlord began to divest himself of his armor, she rushed to his side, just as a wife would do. “Let me help."
“I shall manage. You rest."
“Inactivity gives one the opportunity to think and I would rather not."
He grumbled under his breath, “A more stubborn wench I
have never happened upon. You are not my servant, Aeschine."
She put the armor aside, piece by piece. “There is honor in a servant's position, none in a whore's."
“You speak to the wrong man about honor."
In the cave, they had come together, man to woman. She had been as happy in that stone enclosure as she had ever been anywhere. But they were no longer in that magical place and reality intruded on passion.
Tunic removed, she saw the warlord's naked torso for the first time. His chest was muscled ... and deeply scarred. The reality of those scars said her owner was a man of war, not peace.
Aeschine followed the line of black hair that accentuated the overlord's masculinity, from ridged belly to groin. She stared at his manhood, which jutted conspicuously against the confining wrap of loincloth. A few days past, she had been ignorant of such things. Now she knew the meaning of those ever tightening wrappings.
Desire and repudiation. Lust and loathing. Responsibility and freedom. Her captor was a torn man. She was forever a link to LaTourne, ever a reminder of the loss of his beloved wife, ever a Scotswoman, and therefore, ever the enemy in his eye.
I am not your enemy, her heart screamed.
Would he ever realize that? She wondered.
They had shared that lovely, spontaneous kiss in the hall. That was a start...
Oh, God! How she loved this man who did not love her!
Sighing, she removed the borrowed fur-lined cape and put it away on a nearby chest. Apart for the leather tether that encircled her waist and encased her genitals, she was nude. Already she missed the warmth of fur against her skin...
“My turn,” her captor said. He reached for her tether.
“You free me?” she asked as his hands worked the back fastener.
“Just your openings,” he said, and removed the leather chastity belt from between her legs. “The tether must stay."
His palm went to her bald pelvis. “So smooth."
Just then, the oak portal slammed open.
“Here is the hot water you requested, milord,” the vassal, Will, said as he entered their private chamber—without giving so much as a warning knock on wood!
Conscious of her nudity, Aeschine raced behind the captor's back. Surely Sage would give the servant the set down he deserved!
