Lost Love

by Maryse Dawson

  So she had decided to try her luck in the local village. She hadn't told anyone where she was going. John would never allow her to exit the confines of the castle without an escort, and for the task she intended today, she needed no hindrance.

  She had mingled at the portcullis with some maids who had errands to run in the market. Disguised in Esme's long hooded cloak, the guards hadn't said a word when she walked by with the other girls.

  She had taken the cloak from Esme without her knowledge, which in itself was a crime, but she was certain Esme wouldn't mind. After all, it would be returned in the same state she found it.

  When the group reached the edge of the village, Arabella separated from them and walked over to the crowded marketplace. She had planned this over the last week, but now she was here; her courage was beginning to desert her.

  She licked her lips nervously. She'd never stolen anything in her life, well, not on this scale. Mayhap the odd little bun or pie when the cook wasn't watching, when she was a little girl, but never money. Her parents had driven it into her from a very young age that thieving was abhorrent. She swallowed hard. Sometimes though, circumstances made it the only choice!

  She eyed the customers in the market, looking for the cut of expensive cloth that meant the owner would have a fair coin or two tucked away. Before long, she spotted a rotund man, dressed in green velvet, his hands bedecked with gold rings. Her eyes sparkled. This was the one. Warily, she looked round to see if anyone was with him, but he seemed to be on his own. Slowly, she began to wend her way towards him, pretending to look at the stalls as she passed them by, all the while keeping one eye fixed on his position. Soon he would pay coin for something, and she would be able to see where he stored his pouch of money.

  Finally, she moved beside him and pretended interest in the brooches on the stall. He had just purchased two bracelets, and she watched furtively, as he reached inside the left side of his jacket to pull out a hefty looking purse of money.

  Taking out a coin, he paid for his goods before concealing the purse back where it came from. When he was a few steps away from the stall, Arabella made her move.

  Stumbling forward, she pretended to fall into him, clutching onto his jacket as he, too, became unbalanced and nearly fell. His carefully wrapped purchase flew from his hands as he steadied her.

  "God's bones! Art thou blind?" He exclaimed, his jowls wobbling with indignation.

  "My most humble apologies, milord. I didst not see thee. Me thinks thou hast dropped something."

  "My gift!" He looked round to see where it had gone and in those few precious moments, Arabella leant forward and slipping her hand into his jacket, pulled out the purse. Within seconds, she had it hidden under her cloak. The man, with his parcel back in his hands, righted himself and was none the wiser.

  "Take heed, young woman, and in future, watch where thou goest!"

  "Aye, milord." With a small nod of her head, she began to walk briskly away. She couldn't believe it. She'd done it! Her heart was thumping in her chest from the adrenalin rush, and she could feel her hands trembling. Under her cloak she weighed the purse. It was heavy. Now John had no hold over her. She had enough coin to get Esme's brother to take her father a letter. In fact, she had enough coin to escape Terryn completely and hire her own cart! With a broad smile on her face, she headed towards the castle, but just as she thought her actions triumphant so she was brought down to earth with a bump by a firm grip on her elbow.

  "Stop right there, milady!" Her heart leapt into her mouth, and she turned a terrified face, fully expecting the man she'd robbed to be behind her, but instead she found John's chief guardsman, Fendrel, at her side. She tried to shrug him off, but his grip tightened.

  "I saw what thou did, milady. Give the purse to me–I would hand it back to the rightful owner."

  "I didst naught! I know not of what thee speak!" Oh lord. How the devil had he seen what she'd done?

  Fendrel raised his eyes to the heavens. "We can do this two ways, milady. The easy way is for thee to hand over the purse thou stole, so I can hand it back to the poor man you stole it from, or the hard way is for me to march thee back to thy victim, whereupon I will tell him of thy actions, and thee will bring shame upon the castle and thy husband. Which wouldst thou prefer?"

  "Thou cannot do such a thing! I am lady of the castle and should be treated with respect!" Despite her initial fear, she found herself angry at her plans being thwarted.

  "Didst thou treat thy victim with respect, milady? Me thinks not!" Fendrel's face was full of anger and accusation.

  Arabella tried one last stance. "I shall inform Lord Terryn of thy insolence! He will see thee punished!"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Rest assured, milady, that Lord Terryn will be informed of this occurrence, but thee and I knowest who will be punished!"

  She paled at his words, knowing he spoke the truth. She slumped her shoulders. It was so unfair. Just when she thought she was so close to escape only to have it taken away. Mutinously, she withdrew the purse and thrust it into Fendrel's waiting hand.

  He led her over to a grassy slope and sat her down on the ground. "Remain here until I return. I shall do thee the honour of failing to tell the victim thee stole it, I shall simply say I saw him drop it."

  She regarded him with heavy lids. How big of him! Knave. She placed her head in her hands and huffed indignantly. Oh, why had he seen her? Slowly, she lowered her hands. Come to think of it, what had he been doing in the market place–was he following her? Had John taken it upon himself to have her watched at every turn? She snorted. Should she be surprised? He had made it clear how he felt about her, his distrust obvious. She had thought her disguise a good one, but it was clear it hadn't worked. Oh, fie on him!

  She sighed heavily, picking absently at the grass with her slender fingers. She could, of course, just run off, but without coin to buy food and passage, it would be a fool's errand. She knew not how to survive off the land. No, she would have to accompany Fendrel back to the castle and for now, endure her husband's wrath until she could come up with a better, more foolproof plan.

  * * *

  Back at the castle, standing in the great hall, Arabella stood sullenly by Fendrel's side as he explained the events to her husband who was sitting at the dais looking more than a little displeased. She shifted uncomfortably when John fixed his dark gaze on her.

  "I thank thee, Fendrel, for thy vigilance. Take thy leave; I would speak with my wife."

  In his absence, the hall fell silent apart from the occasional crackle emanating from the hearth. Arabella's breathing grew shallow whilst she waited for John's wrath to be unleashed. Her bottom quivered with anticipation.

  "I did not take thee for a thief, milady."

  "Thou gave me no choice. Thou took all that was mine! If I am a thief, milord then we art equal, for didst thee not take my coins?" she spat.

  He stood up, easing his large frame from the chair and stepped down from the dais to approach her. Placing a finger and thumb on her chin, he raised her face to his. "All that thee possess is mine, by law. If thou had wanted coin, all thee had to do was ask, and within reason, I will give them to thee. I will not hath my wife steal like a common vagabond!"

  He released her chin and began to pace back and forth. "Added to which, thou didst leave these castle walls without my permission."

  "Wherefore dost I hath to ask thee every time I wish to leave?" She paused, remembering her earlier thoughts on Fendrel. "Didst thou ask Fendrel to follow me?"

  "Aye, milady. He hath been thy shadow since thee arrived. 'Tis for thy own protection."

  "I need no such protection."

  He gave her a hard stare. "I seek no argument in this, milady. Fendrel is under orders to follow thee and follow thee he shall."

  She stared at him, futilely realizing he would not be persuaded otherwise, and then stomped her foot. "Well then—a pox upon thee, milord!" She lifted up her skirts and made for the door. She knew her words were f
oolish under the circumstances, but her temper had overtaken reasonable thought.

  She heard his deep voice command the guards to block the exit. Furious, she spun on her heel and glared at him. "I demand thou release me! I will not be treated so!"

  "Thou demand, milady? Me thinks not. Thee and I hath unfinished business." He grabbed her hand and began leading her towards a small room off the great hall. She dug her heels in, but his strength was far greater than hers. He drew her inside the room and closed the door.

  She wrenched free of his grip and ran towards the hearth. "Thee cannot treat me like this! Wherefore if my father knew…"

  He interrupted her. "I care not. Thou art my wife, and I can and will treat thee how I see fit. Now come hither."

  She shook her head mutinously and protectively placed her hands on her bottom. "I will not!"

  "So be it."

  Oh, lord, nothing she said seemed to make any difference. He was intent on punishing her, and nothing she could say would sway him. A sudden thought entered her mind. Mayhap she could divert his attention with a kiss. She'd often heard her maids talking about how men could be wrapped around their little fingers at even the hope of a kiss.

  She placed a hand on his chest just as he reached her. "Milord." She gulped, hardly believing she was daring to utter the words. "Thou declare us to be man and wife, yet thee hath only kissed me once." She licked her lips and looked deep into his eyes. "Wouldst thou not prefer to kiss me now rather than chastise me?"

  His gaze dropped to her lips. She could smell his scent, he was so close: leather and wood smoke. A sudden rush of desire swept though her when his arms slipped around her slender waist. Her hands fell upon his strong forearms, revelling in the rippling muscles she could feel beneath her fingertips.

  "Oh, Arabella, how innocent thou art yet how conniving as ever." He breathed, his lips close to hers. "Thou dost think that I will be swayed with a kiss."

  Her heart skipped a beat when his hand moved to the nape of her neck. She felt his fingers entwine in her hair. "Milord, I do not think…"

  She found her words halted by the firm touch of his lips on hers, demanding yet gentle. She responded fervently. This was the Ulric she wanted, not the fictitious Lord John of Terryn. Her mouth opened, and his tongue entwined with hers, sending shivers of desire straight to her nether regions. Breathless, she ran her hands up his arms to lay them against his broad shoulders and pull him even nearer. She knew not what lovemaking entailed, but she did know that she wanted him—more than anything in the world.

  His lips broke away from hers and moved lower to kiss her neck. She arched her back welcoming his touch. "Ulric!"

  His name uttered from her lips seemed to break the spell, for suddenly he froze. "I am not Ulric! Speak not his name!"

  "But…" she began to protest.

  "Nay, Arabella." His hands moved to her hips, tightening their grip as he pushed her backwards. His eyes were as dark as night, his lips thinned with anger. "I told thee never to mention that name again."

  She tried to step away, but with one swift move he had her positioned over his raised knee, her skirts thrown over her back.

  "Prithee, hath mercy," she begged, knowing full well what was coming. Her kiss hadn't dissuaded him enough it would seem.

  She felt his hand settle against her bottom as he scolded her. "I hath no mercy for a scheming thief, milady. Thou art lucky Fendrel discovered thy actions afore the victim!" She closed her eyes and waited for the first stinging swat to land.

  His hand left her backside for a moment before coming crashing down on her tender flesh. She yelped and tried to wiggle off his knee, but he held her fast, his hand swinging down lustily on both cheeks.

  "I will not hath a disobedient wife, dost thou understand, Arabella?"

  "Then release me! I hath no desire to remain here…Aow!" She shrieked as another smack brought tears to her eyes. "I want to go home!"

  "Home? Wherefore this is thy home now, sweet Arabella, and obeying me is compulsory."

  He spanked her sit spots, drawing a shriek from her parted lips. His hand was heavy, and the smacks fell hard against her soft bottom. She kicked her legs, but his rhythm didn't falter.

  "Aie! Aow! It hurts!"

  "This could all be avoided if thou wouldst learn to obey my command." His palm landed squarely on both cheeks again and again. Arabella's backside was burning hot by the time he had finished. He let her up, and she stood miserably before him, running her hands over her tender buttocks. She wondered how much more she could take from him and his brutish behavior.

  "Why do you treat me so? Didst thee not like me once?"

  "Aye, but thee betrayed that trust, Arabella. I will never forgive thee."

  With a look that spoke volumes, he turned his back and thrust open the door leaving her staring after him with a heavy heart. She would never accept this harsh man he had become. How could he believe that she would hurt him so much? If only he would accept how Mirabelle had played him, then he would cease to lay the blame at her feet, for it was only through love that she had acted so rashly.

  A single tear dripped down her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. Somehow, she was going to escape from the castle and make her way back home. She was finished lamenting the loss of Ulric Griffin. He had been replaced with the cold hearted John of Terryn, and it would seem he was lost to her forever. Raising her chin she drew in a breath, and balling her fists, decided then and there that he may be her husband, but he would never be her keeper. When it grew dark she was going to seek a means of escape, only this time, she wouldn't get caught.

  * * *

  John strode into the bailey and demanded two of his most competent knights, Owain and Bayard, sword fight with him. He was angry and needed to take it out on someone or something, and the best way he knew how was to train and train hard.

  Arabella was getting under his skin. He wanted to hate her, to despise her for what she did to him all those years ago, but just then when he'd tasted her sweet lips, all he'd wanted to do was take her to bed—to thrust himself into her soft body and hear her sweet moans of ecstasy when he made her his. For she was his. No other would have her. The very thought gave him a bad taste in his mouth.

  His jaw tightened, and he swung his sword down at Owain slightly harder than he had intended. Owain jumped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Milord, is this just practice, or dost thou intend to wound me?"

  "I beg thy pardon, Owain. My thoughts were elsewhere. I will be more careful," John apologized.

  "Prithee, milord, he dost wish to keep all his limbs this day." Bayard laughed, watching them both.

  Owain glanced at him. "Mayhap thee should take over as it amuses thee so?"

  Bayard waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Nay, carry on.'Tis most entertaining. Besides, thou need the practice."

  Owain emitted a low growl and suddenly swung his sword at the unsuspecting Bayard, narrowly missing his abdomen.

  Bayard's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. "God's bones man! I was only joking!" he declared.

  John rolled his eyes and stepped between them, his sword pointed at one, his outstretched hand to the other. "Desist! I wanted to practice swordplay, not listen to thee two arguing akin to two old crones. Now take thy position and we willst practice together."

  He pushed all thoughts of Arabella from his mind and concentrated purely on his moves, swinging his sword through the air and relishing the clash of steel on steel.

  * * *

  It was midday and Arabella, sitting at the dais, stared down at the food in front of her and pulled a face.

  "Is something amiss, milady?" she heard John ask, sitting next to her. She turned to face him and narrowed her eyes.

  "This is tripe!"

  "Aye, I asked for it to be prepared especially."

  She blinked quickly. "Thou knowest I detest this dish!"

  He looked up to the ceiling and pondered before staring back at her. "Nay, I know no
such thing."

  But she knew he remembered. She could see it in his eyes. She could feel the anger rise like a bubbling cauldron. He'd done it on purpose to provoke her. She watched, as he raised his fork to his lips and chewed on a piece of the odious innards. Her father had made her eat some once, and she clearly remembered John finding it very amusing. Well, perhaps he would find this just as amusing. She lifted the trencher up and tipped the contents straight over his head. The liquid dripped down his face, and pieces of tripe sat atop his head, others sliding down his long hair to become entwined in the strands.

  For a moment he didn't move, but then his hand shot out, and he captured her wrist. "Very foolish, milady." His eyes had turned as dark as coal.

  "It was well deserved." She tried to pull her wrist away, but his grip was strong and made movement impossible. "Let me go!"

  "Nay. Thou will come with me." Within his vice like grip, Arabella had no choice but to do as he bid. Several of the knights watched them leave, some with smirks on their faces, others disapproval. Arabella felt her face flush with embarrassment, but it worried John not.

  He strode out of the main hall, into the inner bailey and then straight towards the main gate. The guards opened the gates at his bidding, whilst Arabella stumbled to keep up with his long gait.

  "Whither thou goest?" she asked.

  "Thee will find out in a moment."

  He finally came to a halt in front of the river. It took Arabella only seconds to work out what he had planned.

  "No! Do not dare….argh!"

  Without a word he jumped straight into the deep water, taking her with him. She held her breath as she went under and came up spluttering and floundering on the surface. "Thou lout!" she spat between mouthfuls of water.

  He trod water next to her and then disappeared beneath the surface, flicking his long, tripe-free hair off his face when he came back up. Even though she was fuming, she couldn't help but admire how handsome he looked. Annoyed with herself, she turned her back on him and swam to the river bank, which was extremely hard going, because her water logged skirts weighed a ton. Hoisting herself up she pulled herself out of the water and onto dry land. She lay on her back, panting from the exertion.