Wildewood Revenge

by B. A. Morton

  “I know nothing,” she replied.

  He sighed with weary acceptance of her duplicity and Grace glanced away, avoiding his gaze. Reaching out an impatient hand he caught her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “Try again, Mademoiselle.”

  “I know the name...I must have read about him somewhere,” she stammered.

  “You read about him?” He raised a brow. Yet another falsehood. The only women he knew who could decipher the written word were nuns and high born ladies, and she’d already denied being either.

  “Miles, why don’t you just tell me what you think I’ve done.” She batted his hand away, stepped towards him and he took a sudden step back. He was not about to fall into that trap. He knew his current state of mind was undisciplined and wasn’t totally convinced he wouldn’t fall beneath her spell. Wary of doing something he would later regret, he shrugged away thoughts of witches, took a breath and circled her menacingly.

  “I have it on very good authority that Gerard believes you to be a spy in the employ of the king. He considers you a significant enough threat to necessitate your removal. He is currently planning to remove you by force from Wildewood. I passed a number of his men at arms in the forest on my return this morning. If he succeeds in gaining access to Wildewood, you can rest assured you will not last the night. He will have no qualms about slitting your throat, nor will he baulk at slaughtering the household or putting a sword through Linus.”

  Grace stared at him wide-eyed. He doubted she’d ever been speechless before, but he’d certainly shocked any response right out of her. He conceded his appearance along with his words might have caused the reaction. He was unshaven, dishevelled and still carrying the effects of a night spent drinking and a long morning in the saddle. He leaned in with a snarl, pushing his advantage, awaiting her response. When it eventually came, it was not as expected.

  “Get out of my room,” she hissed, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed. Miles drew back in surprise. He’d anticipated denial or more lies, not defiance. Did she really consider herself a match for him?

  “Get out,” she repeated, attempting to step past him toward the door. He moved quickly to prevent her and she pushed angrily at his chest. Catching hold of her arms in a firm grip, she wriggled in vain to break free, kicking wildly with her feet. “Let me go. Just leave me alone. You’re nothing but a bully,” she panted.

  Forcing her back against the barred door, he did just that, releasing his grip and slamming his hands flat on the door either side of her. She flinched and he leaned into her. Despite the anger sparking in her eyes and the reckless show of defiance, he could almost smell the fear leaching out of her pores, and for the first time in a very long time, he had the urge to do something bad.

  “Did you hear a word I said?” he growled, suppressing with considerable effort the self-loathing rising from his gut which threatened to overwhelm him. He had been so close, a mere heartbeat away from resurrecting his inglorious past. Resting his forehead wearily against the door alongside her, he closed his eyes dragged in a ragged breath and slowly gathered his composure.

  “I shall spell it out for you. Gerard, a very unpleasant man, is on his way here to take you by force. He will have the manpower to succeed and the arrogance to suppose he can do as he pleases with you. He believes you will bring about his downfall, so naturally he will wish to exact some revenge.”

  He pressed close against her, drawn like a moth to the very flame that threatened to ignite him. He could feel her heart pounding through her clothes, matching the erratic beat of his own. She was soft, warm and fragrant and he was filled with the scent of her. He tried to ignore it, to steer his thoughts away as his breath burned a trail against her neck. His lips almost touched her ear as he continued in a hoarse whisper.

  “He will kill you, but not before he has enjoyed some sport.” He pulled back slightly so he could see the moment when she finally realised he was deadly serious. When he saw her pupils flare, he continued.

  “And when he has satisfied his extremely distasteful appetites, he will offer you to his men and then punish everyone at Wildewood who provided you with hospitality. He will slaughter the children in front of their parents, and he and his cohorts will take pleasure in every moment.” He watched as Grace’s eyes registered horror and her complexion paled. For the first time he saw real terror and was uncertain whether her fear was caused by his own behaviour or the threat of Gerard’s.

  “Have you nothing you wish to tell me?”

  His eyes fixed upon her soft mouth as she gasped, tried to speak but seemed unable to get the words past her lips. He shifted his gaze, fascinated as her eyes pooled with unshed tears. She gave an ineffectual struggle but he held her fast and waited. Finally the bravado began to crumble.

  “I...I am not this person...this spy...,” she stammered. “I...don’t know anyone here...least of all the king or this Gerard. I don’t belong here. I just want to go home.” She shook her head desperately. “If you really believe I’ll bring danger to your home, then let me go now before he arrives so the children will remain safe. You choose to disbelieve everything I say and yet I’ve never deliberately lied to you. I didn’t ask to come here, you forced me. This is none of my doing.” She held his gaze determinedly, despite the tremor in her lower lip, “This is your doing,” she added softly. The tears spilled over and slipped softly down her cheeks.

  He heard the break in her voice as she fought for control and his gut twisted with shame. He witnessed her inner struggle, saw the way her chest heaved with the task of keeping her sobs in, felt how her whole body trembled against him with the effort of restraining herself and he was filled with self-loathing. He was a fool. What had he become? He’d set out to scare her, indeed had taken some measure of satisfaction from it, and succeeded in terrifying her. She was correct, he was a bully. He was worse than Gerard.

  Whatever the truth, and he was certain it would remain a mystery, he did not believe her a spy. She might possess guile, she might have feminine wiles to ensnare the unwitting, but under real pressure she buckled easily. There was no way he could allow Gerard near her. She was no match for such evil. How he would achieve that was yet to be determined. He’d no men to speak of, very few weapons, and from experience, he knew Gerard to be a ruthless foe. But he himself was trained in warfare and the killing of men, he just needed a plan.

  He closed the gap and drew her away from the door. Her resistance quickly dissolved as he placed his hand against her back and pressed her gently against him. He let her cry until her fists unclenched and she had worn herself out, and when her tears were finally exhausted, he led her to the bed, sat down next to her on its edge and sought to undo the hurt.

  “Mademoiselle, please forgive me. I did not intend for this. I fear we find ourselves at the mercy of events beyond our control. Please do not alarm yourself further. Gerard will not gain entry to Wildewood.”

  He gently brushed her fringe from her eyes and his hand lingered, absently stroking her hair, soothing her. She leaned into his hand.

  “Gerard and I have a shared history, perhaps this has allowed a confusion to grow and flourish.” He faltered, “Like you, I am tired of it all, and today I am especially weary.” He lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye and see for himself the damage he’d caused, the trust he’d destroyed. “I am truly sorry, Mademoiselle. I beg your forgiveness.” His heart sank when he recognised her disappointment.

  He should have stayed where he belonged, amongst the dead and dying on the battlefield. Perhaps it was too late for him to make amends.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The fiery blush had long since left her cheeks. In its place, her skin carried the pallor of resignation and quiet determination. He watched as she reached out an unsteady hand and placed her palm against his cheek. He held his breath enjoying the touch as her hand slid hesitantly across his unshaven jaw and hovered over his scar. She’d no reason to fear him now, but perhaps it was too late. She’d witnessed
the strength of his emotions when he feared for those close to him. Pity then, that she did not realise she was closest of them all.

  “I forgive you,” she whispered softly, her tears spent.

  His heart lurched with hope. “Why?”

  She shrugged gently. “Because, if I don’t, if I believe instead the glimpse of hell I saw in your eyes when you held me, then I may as well accept the fact that you’re as evil as Gerard.” She inhaled softly and raised her head to look at him. “I don’t believe you’re an evil man, but I suspect you’ve experienced evil in the past. In that respect we are alike.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment and he saw his own indecision mirrored in her eyes. Her hand gently cupped his chin and she drew him closer. Miles hesitated and while he considered this surprising turn of events she reached up and hesitantly brushed her lips across his. They were warm and moist.

  He closed his eyes briefly. Was she playing the game again? He wasn’t sure, wasn’t certain about anything to do with her anymore. He had bullied her, terrified her, hurt her beyond forgiveness and yet here she was playing with fire, with no concept of how badly she could be burned. She considered them alike, yet she couldn’t be further from the truth. He lowered his mouth and gently took her lower lip between his teeth, tugging. He covered her lips with his and she obliged, parting hers to allow his tongue entry. Miles growled as the kiss deepened. If this was a game, then it was a good game and he was happy to play. But if it was merely a reaction to his appalling behaviour, then he wanted none of it.

  He paused, the effort in doing so caused his muscles to knot, his hand to shake. She had initiated this, but still, he was uncertain. He took a steadying breath and lifted his head to look at her. Her face was flushed and her eyes clouded with confusion. Did she think this was all she had to offer in exchange for her safety or did she imagine she could manipulate him to her own tune?

  Of course she wanted him, he reasoned. Who wouldn’t, he thought derisively. Wasn’t he every woman’s dream, the un-chivalrous knight with dubious morals who thought nothing of bullying girls half his size, the soldier of fortune who thought more of revenge than forgiveness, and of lust rather than love? He watched her, seeing through the shell of confusion and indignation to the passion which simmered beneath the surface. She was a mass of contradiction and secrets.

  He needed a reason to change, to put his past behind him once and for all. Perhaps that was why fate had brought her to him, to test his resolve and prove his worth.

  He drew a breath and smiled slowly at her. It was time to start a new game where he would make the rules and ensure that he won.

  “Mademoiselle, I am a scoundrel, with the manners of a rabid dog. You must excuse me.” He pulled away and stood, putting much needed space between them.

  She frowned at him, puzzled perhaps by his withdrawal. He took some pleasure from the obvious flicker of disappointment which accompanied her furrowed brow.

  He was not an animal, even if she caused him to behave as one. She was a lady, whether she realised it or not, and he should treat her as such. He’d spent all morning in the saddle, he reeked of horse, sweat and fatigue, and she deserved more. More importantly he had no wish to discover that her acquiescence was merely a reaction to his behaviour and her fear.

  “Be assured, I will never hurt you.”

  “You flatter yourself, Miles,” she murmured. “No man could ever hurt me.” Her strained voice was at odds with her words. Her hand strayed to her hair, the nervous gesture revealing far more than she could have guessed.

  “I assure you, I could,” he replied silently.

  Her earlier confidence, though frustrating and amusing in equal measures, was suddenly revealed as a fragile shell and he had no wish to shatter it. He stepped away, keen to put some space between them. His self-discipline had limits.

  “I have things I must do now, but later we might discuss the subject in more detail.”

  He resisted the urge for a further kiss and crossed to the door, drew back the bolt and took a steadying breath. He was halfway out of the door when he remembered the pony.

  “I almost forgot. I have a surprise for you.”

  “You do?” Grace smiled tentatively. “What kind of surprise?”

  “A big one.”

  Grace raised one brow.

  Miles shook his head slowly, almost gave in and re-bolted the door, but held onto his resolve. “Your surprise awaits you in the stables, my lady.”

  “The stables?” She crossed to the chest, climbed clumsily onto it and looked out through the window.

  Miles followed and steadied her around the waist. He resisted the urge to run a hand beneath her skirt, to feel the smooth skin of her thigh. His heart rate increased and his stomach knotted with anticipation. He resisted them both.

  “How is your leg?” he asked hoarsely.

  “It only hurts when someone decides to manhandle me.”

  “Mm, then I’d best desist.”

  * * *

  He escorted her to the stables and was surprised by the look of genuine pleasure on her face when he led out the palfrey. He had to admit the filly was stunning, a little taller than Edmunds pony but much finer in proportion with a sweet Arabian head.

  “You got this for me?” she asked, bewildered. “Why would you do that, I ...I don’t know what to say.”

  Miles handed her the lead rein and winked. “You can thank me later.”

  Grace smiled at him. “Is that where you’ve been for the past two days, getting this pony?”

  “Amongst other things,” he replied carefully. He didn’t think it prudent now, to let her know he’d been trying to make arrangements to sell her hide to the bishop.

  She allowed the pony to nuzzle its velvet nose against her cheek; closed her eyes and breathed in its scent like a mother with her new child. Miles was captivated. Everything she did made him want her more. He shifted his gaze and thoughts to the hay loft and abandoned them just as quickly in favour of a soft mattress and the privacy of a locked chamber. He could wait.

  “Aren’t you worried I’ll use her to make my escape?” she asked.

  “Should I be concerned?” He wouldn’t put it past her to head off into the wilderness.

  Grace laughed. “No, at least not until after you give me my next big surprise.”

  Miles cupped the back of her neck and pulled her to him. “Now there’s a challenge.” He lowered his head and kissed her. He intended it to be a fleeting taste but her husky response was his undoing and he angled his mouth and crushed her lips with his own. “In that case, I shall ensure I make myself a little less resistible.”

  “Edmund was right. You really are bad, aren’t you?”

  Miles held his hands out in mock surrender. She had no idea how bad he could be. The thought chilled him but he was determined not to spoil the moment with unbidden memories. “Guilty as charged, my lady,” he replied softly. “Now, I must go and wash. I see your nose wrinkling ever so slightly. You may return to whatever it was you were doing before I scared you in to my arms.”

  “I was painting,” she said, “with Linus.”

  Miles studied her, caught the change in her tone, and felt what she’d said was significant in some way but wasn’t sure why. “Good, you may show me later, but in the meantime stay indoors. Edmund will see to the pony and if the weather holds you may ride her later.” He led the pony back in to the stables and Grace watched as he bolted the door and turned to leave.

  “Miles…” she called after him softly and he turned. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “Should I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I believe you.” He turned back and started across the courtyard.

  “Miles…” He stopped and turned again. “Nothing.”

  He smiled at her as she gathered her skirts and walked away. Later couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Grace returned to the kitchen and Martha’s
questioning look. The woman was agog with curiosity. Grace had, after all, been dragged to her chamber by Miles.

  “He’s a fine figure of a man, is he not?” stated Martha shrewdly.

  Grace rolled her eyes. That was definitely an understatement.

  “I barely know him,” she replied cautiously as she gathered up the crude colours she’d managed to create from the available raw materials. Linus had made hand prints on the scrap of white linen she’d left him with. He was curled up now, asleep on a basket of rags in front of the cooking range, a mud-coloured thumb stuck in his little cherub mouth. She dipped a finger in the paint and carefully scrawled his name beneath his artwork.

  “But I’d wager you’d like to know him a little better, Mistress,” pressed Martha.

  Grace recognised a born gossip when she saw one and reckoned if there was a tale to be had Martha wouldn’t be above using any means necessary to ensure she had the full story. Two could play at that game.

  Apart from the undeniable physical attraction they shared, she wasn’t really sure of her feelings for Miles, or of his feelings for her. He had an air of danger about him, which might well be necessary in this hostile place but it scared her nevertheless. There were obvious additional complications to their relationship which she certainly didn’t want to discuss with Martha.

  She smoothed a large square of linen and taking a piece of charcoal from the fireside she began to sketch the sleeping child.

  “He’s not had an easy life, yer understand, what with his ma bein’ so tragically taken from him.”

  Grace glanced at Martha. “What happened to his mother?”

  Martha settled her mammoth bulk in a fireside chair. Grace realised she’d swallowed the bait and sat back to allow Martha to tell her tale.

  “Well, I’ll start at the very beginnin’.”