She tipped the skin back for Colin, helping him to drink. Their eyes met, and she felt once again that curious alliance, the feeling that they could read each other’s minds, that they had known each other forever. But she couldn’t afford to be seduced this time by his fellowship. Her success tonight depended on a great deal of deceit, and she dared not let Colin’s perceptiveness stand in her way. So she averted her eyes before he could steal her thoughts from her.
When he was finished drinking, she returned the skin to Otis. She intentionally let her fingers brush those of the Englishman, resisting the urge to shudder as she contacted his grimy calluses. While the others occupied themselves, building a fire, she engaged him in private conversation, hoping their intimacy might disarm him and make him forget to tie her up again.
“So how much were you planning on asking for the Norman?” she murmured.
Otis shrugged. It was clear he hadn’t thought about it.
“He’s Rivenloch’s best knight,” she confided.
“Fifty pounds?” he guessed.
“Fifty?” She chuckled softly. “Oh, he’s worth far more than that, I assure you. Rivenloch’s coffers can afford a much higher ransom.”
He narrowed his eyes conspiratorially. “Ye do want to cripple the Lord of Rivenloch, don’t ye?”
She let murder infest her gaze. “More than anything.”
He leered at her then, as if he understood her motives all too well, and she leered back.
“Huh,” he said, studying her face for signs of deceit. She was careful to show none. “And how much would ye have asked for him?”
“A hundred and fifty.”
“A hundred and…” he barked. Then he lowered his voice. “Ye could get that much?”
“Aye.” Lord, she hoped he believed her. The Scotsmen she knew wouldn’t pay a shilling for a Norman knight.
He rubbed at his stubbled chin, digesting this information.
She wanted to give him time to think, so she rubbed her palms together, and asked, “Do you have something a little more potent to quaff, Otis?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “I might.”
“I could use a strong drink after having to play nurse to that despicable Norman.” She shuddered.
But Otis wasn’t as stupid as he appeared. “Ye fought beside him earlier. He didn’t seem so despicable then.”
She dipped her eyes in a demure imitation of her youngest sister, the only one of the three who came by her feminine wiles honestly. “At the time, Otis, I thought you meant to kill me.” She pressed one hand to her bosom, as if the thought left her breathless even now. “I mean, when I saw your broad shoulders and grim face and…and the length of your sword…”
Otis straightened, obviously pleased with her flattering impressions.
“What else could I do,” she continued, “but call upon a knight sworn to defend me?”
She let her fingers stroke subtly along the edge of her neckline, willing him to look there.
He did, and she saw a gleam of lust enter his eyes.
“Well, ye needn’t fret, m’lady,” he purred. “I don’t think I’ll have to kill ye.”
“Indeed?” She allowed her gaze to roam over his chest, pretending interest where she felt revulsion. “I’d be ever so…grateful…if you did not.”
With a one-sided smile that bared a patch of naked gums, he hunkered down to pull a leather bottle from his pack. She could have kicked him in the face while he was down, but she stifled the urge. He uncorked the top and, wiping it with his sleeve, offered her a drink. She took it with a coy smile, trying not to grimace as she brought the filthy bottle to her lips.
Colin scowled, twisting his wrists against his bonds. What the devil was that vixen up to now? He couldn’t hear what she said to the Englishman, but it was clear they were forming some sort of alliance.
This was bad. Very bad.
Helena of Rivenloch was surely the most foolish wench in all of Scotland. Not only was she throwing in with a bunch of dishonorable mercenaries, but it appeared she was attempting to seduce their leader.
He ground his teeth. He knew better than to believe the lass was honestly attracted to the grizzled, toothless oaf. Nevertheless disappointment clouded his vision as he watched her sidle up to the drooling Englishman, her breasts all but toppling out of her gown.
And then she made the worst mistake of all. She began drinking.
He’d already seen what drink could do to her. If she drank herself senseless tonight, there was no telling what might happen.
But he was helpless to intervene. Tied to the tree, he could only watch as she imbibed more and more with each passing hour. By the time the sky grew dark and the stars emerged, she was exchanging bawdy tales with the mercenaries around the fire. Before long, they were singing together, raising their cups in drunken salutes to their favorite harlots and, in Helena’s case, stable lads.
Colin chewed at the inside of his cheek, wondering if she’d really bedded the dozen or so lads she mentioned by name. He scowled. To think she’d had the gall to call him a philanderer.
Eventually, their revelry took an all-too-predictable turn. As Helena twirled unsteadily in a spontaneous dance, accompanied by the men’s clapping, Otis took the liberty of giving her buttocks an overly familiar squeeze.
Colin smiled grimly, knowing the lass would wheel about now and flatten the man with a hefty punch. After all, that had been her reaction when Colin had mistakenly clutched at her breast. But to his displeasure, the cursed wench only giggled and swatted playfully at Otis’s offending hand.
Instant rage simmered Colin’s blood. What was wrong with the maid? She’d shown nothing but contempt for him, a Norman, her ally. And now she caroused, nay, consorted with the English, her enemy. No wonder the King had wanted Pagan to take command of Rivenloch. This Scotswoman, at least, had no concept of loyalty.
He watched in sickened silence as she weaved in and out among the mercenaries, swinging her hips close to their groping paws, bending forward to give them taunting glimpses of her bosom. Colin clenched his jaw. He only hoped she’d be prepared for what would inevitably come of her seduction. And he hoped he wouldn’t have to witness the ensuing debauchery.
“Wait!” she cried, chuckling and skipping out of hand’s reach of one of the knaves seated on a log beside the fire. She tucked the half-flattened wineskin between her breasts and held her hands up for silence. The men complied as best they could, reduced to drunken grunts and lusty panting. “Before we get too…” she said with a lascivious grin, “d’stracted…”
The men sent up a vulgar cheer, and Dob rubbed suggestively at his groin.
She sidled up to where Otis sat, uncorked the wineskin nestled in her bosom, and leaned forward, letting the wine pour into his open mouth. His palms came up to cup her breasts, and she gave a coy little squeak, cutting off his wine and dancing out of his grasp.
Colin didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d played such games himself, games of seduction and withdrawal that piqued desire to a fever pitch. But it was different watching Helena play them. It made his skin burn, and he wasn’t sure if it was from desire or disgust, from envy or rage, from lust or disappointment or shame. But all of those baffling emotions coursed through him as he fought to tear his gaze away.
“’Tis too late, m’lady,” Otis slurred. “’M’already distracted.”
She dipped down to brazenly pat his braies. “I c’n see that.”
Otis growled.
She grinned. “But firs’ we nee’ to make sure our li’l dove won’t fly the coop.” She rose, swayed for a moment, and then started toward Colin. “I’ll jus’ check the knots.”
Colin lowered his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at her as she staggered up. His emotions had congealed into one now. All he felt was disgust. He had nothing to say to her. Nothing.
Yet he couldn’t help himself. “I hope you realize what you’re doing,” he muttered.
He
smelled the wine on her breath, but she didn’t seem all that drunk as she whispered, “Oh, aye,” then circled behind him.
“Because they won’t be gentle with you,” he warned. “Their kind never are.”
She chuckled as she labored over his bonds. “I wasn’t expecting them to be gentle.”
He frowned. Maybe she was one of those odd creatures who liked to be handled roughly.
She gave his hand a patronizing pat. “But I think I can handle them.”
He growled in distaste. Never had his judgment been so flawed. He’d truly believed Helena was a respectable lady, that she possessed scruples and honor and virtue. It was obvious now that she was not at all the woman he’d imagined.
“’ey, wench!” Otis bellowed. “Methinks ye tarry too long wi’ the pris’ner. Ye aren’t swivin’ ’im, are ye?”
The rest of the company chortled.
“What? An’ mix Norm’n blancmange with good Scots pottage?” she called back, making them laugh uproariously. “Nay, love. I’m savin’ m’self for you.”
Colin stared coldly at the ground. Faith, the maid had a tongue more vile than a dockside harlot’s. Now he knew he didn’t want to witness the vulgarities to come.
As if she read his thoughts, she murmured to him, “Keep your eyes open.”
Not for a shipload of silver, he thought as she left his side to saunter toward the fire. And yet he couldn’t help an occasional glance as the wench began to work her wiles on the willing targets of her seduction.
“Otis, m’lad,” she purred, “where’ve you put tha’ long steel dagger o’ yours?”
“’S’right here, wench,” he replied, loosening the ties of his braies.
“Oh, my, but I didn’t mean that dagger, love. I meant this one.”
In a flash, she reached past his gaping braies toward his sword belt and whipped his dagger out of its sheath. While Otis blinked in confusion, she reared back her foot and kicked him squarely between the legs. Colin, momentarily stunned, now cringed. But as Helena, suddenly completely sober, spun toward another mercenary, Colin straightened in amazement. And when he did, he discovered something astonishing. The ropes around his wrists were loose.
Chapter 10
“Run!” Helena shouted at Colin. “Run!” God’s eyes, what was taking him so long? Aye, he was injured, but she’d given him plenty of time to prepare. She’d spent well over an hour getting the men drunk. And now one of them was off in the woods, pissing. It was an ideal opportunity for her to make a stand and for Colin to make his escape. God’s hooks! Hadn’t she told him to keep his eyes open?
She shoved Hick from his log seat with her left hand, sending him sprawling into the pine needles. Then she leaped over the fire, narrowly missing igniting her skirts, to face Dob with the dagger.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Colin had finally made it to his feet, though he was moving at a hobble.
Her thirst for revenge fueled by the pathetic sight, she raised her dagger high, then stabbed it hard into the top of Dob’s thigh. “That,” she bit out, “is for wounding my hostage.”
He screamed and scrabbled at the wound, but she felt no remorse as she yanked the blade free. The man had shown her no mercy, after all. He’d blackened her eye and ruined Colin’s leg, likely crippling the noble knight forever.
She glanced up, hoping to see Colin limping off to safety, but instead he staggered into the fray.
“Go! Go!” she cried.
He ignored her and began to engage the fourth Englishman, armed with only his bare hands. He threw a powerful punch that caught the man’s jaw, followed by a blow to the belly that folded him in half.
Meanwhile, Hick had scrambled up from the other side of the log. He drew his dagger and came toward her with a leer. “So ye want to play rough, do ye?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, aye,” she assured him.
She took a step backward to brace herself, not realizing that Otis had recovered enough to reach out and wrench her ankle out from under her. She lost her balance and fell backward, nearly into the fire. Worse, the weapon shot out of her grip when her wrist hit the ground.
Hick was still advancing, and as she caught her breath, Otis hunched over her with murder in his eyes. She swung her fist around with all the force she could muster, catching Otis’s nose with a sickening crack. The blow made her knuckles throb with pain, though likely not as much as Otis’s face did.
When she whipped her head around, Hick was already there, brandishing The Shadow’s confiscated knife. It gleamed as it made its descent toward her chest. She twisted aside enough so that the blade just missed the back of her ribs before it lodged in the dirt. Then she scooped up a handful of hot coals and flung them toward his face.
Hick shrieked and leaped backward, scrubbing madly at his eyes. In the chaos, Helena rolled to her hands and knees to see if Colin had fled yet.
She had to admit, for a crippled nobleman, he was putting up an impressive battle. Instead of fighting like a proper knight, he was doing the clever thing. He was using his fists and feet and even spittle to badger his opponent.
But he wouldn’t last long. Already she saw fresh blood seeping through the bandages. And if his foe took even one swipe at that vulnerable spot…
She wrenched The Shadow’s knife from the earth and closed in on the battling men. But there was no need for her intervention. Just as she stood poised to use the knife, Colin threw a hard punch that rocked the man’s head backward and sent him to temporary oblivion.
Whether she was alerted first by the quiet scrape behind her or the widening of Colin’s eyes, she didn’t know, but she suddenly realized they were outnumbered. The fifth man had returned.
There was no time to defend herself, no time to turn, no time to even look. The best she could do was to stab blindly backward and pray she hit something vital.
But when she thrust the knife behind her, it whisked through empty air.
“Down!” Colin yelled.
Without thinking, she dropped to the ground, thank God. For in the same instant, Colin’s hand shot forward, firing a dagger that missed her by mere inches. Behind her, she heard a grunt, then staggering footfalls, and she knew the knife had met its mark.
Without a backward glance, stealing a mislaid dagger and a full wineskin left near the fire, she clambered to her feet and ran toward Colin. “Let’s go!”
They bolted from the battlefield into the forest, shuffling through the darkness as best they could. Helena helped him, slinging his arm across her shoulders and taking some of his weight. Maybe the Englishmen followed them. Maybe not. But after a mile or two, they lost whatever pursuit there was, nearly losing their own way as well.
Her lungs burning, Helena was finally forced to halt. She sagged forward, bracing her hand on her knee, drawing in huge gulps of air. Colin, winded as well, leaned against a tree. Their mingled gasps grated against the quiet of the woods.
As they caught their breath, Colin said, “Make me an oath.”
“Aye?”
“Never do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Take such a foolish risk. Challenge foes that outnumber and outweigh you. Pit yourself against unscrupulous mercenaries.”
She frowned. “You’re welcome.”
“Plan an escape,” he added pointedly, “without consulting your ally.”
“I did consult you. You were just too thickheaded to understand.”
“Run, you said? Run?” He shook his head.
She shrugged. “You’re a Norman.”
He scowled. “I’m a knight.”
“Besides,” she said, as they set out again at a more leisurely pace through a familiar grove of oaks, “everything turned out for the best.”
“But what if it hadn’t? What if you’d lost the battle? And what if one of them…or all of them…had decided to take you up on your offer?”
Helena stopped in her tracks. “Sweet Mary, do you truly believe me so helpless? Every
woman knows a man is most vulnerable when his trews are about his ankles.” God’s eyes, that was the reason she’d spent half the evening seducing the mercenaries.
Colin furrowed his brows and sighed.
Still, he was right about one thing. She hadn’t really considered the consequences of losing. She seldom did. But then, if she thought too much about the possible outcome, she’d never draw her sword.
Colin’s braies weren’t about his ankles, not yet anyway, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel every bit as vulnerable as the English mercenaries. He’d watched the same temptress they had, after all, and he was hardly immune to her charms.
With her arm around his waist and her breast nestled far too cozily against his chest, Helena helped him limp back to the cottage. It was a miracle they found it, considering how much she’d drunk over the course of the evening, but she seemed surefooted and aware of her bearings. Once inside the shelter, she took great pains to make sure he was comfortable, insisting he take the pallet.
“The floor is fine,” he argued.
“Nonsense.” She pushed him back onto the bed, and then leaned close to tuck the coverlet around his shoulders, forgetting her gown was loose about the neck. Her breasts swelled above the cloth and, by the flickering light of the fire, looked as golden and delectable as loaves of honey bread.
Fighting nature, he forced his gaze away. Still, his voice cracked, as he said, “I insist.”
She crossed her arms under her bosom, which only made the problem worse. “And just how are you going to insist when you can scarcely stand upright?”
He might not be able to stand upright, but another part of him was having no trouble at all. Despite the painful throbbing of his wound, a more pressing ache clamored for his attention.
“Nay,” she continued. “You’ll take the pallet. I won’t have that wretched captain of yours saying I didn’t care for you properly.”
That jarred some of the desire out of him. For a moment, he’d forgotten Helena’s motives. Aye, she wanted him to heal, but only because it would better serve her purposes. The woman was as greedy as the mercenaries.
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