Maids with Blades

by Glynnis Campbell

  It was partly his fault, as well. He’d made a practice of visiting Lucy to direct her in cooking his favorite Norman dishes, foods he knew would remind Helena of him. It was only natural that the woolly-headed maid would come to see those visits as something more. And now she’d chosen the worst possible moment to take liberties.

  Of course, he’d immediately extracted her hand, gently but firmly, but by then the damage had been done. He heard the door to the great hall swing open, and he glimpsed the angry swish of Helena’s tawny braid before it slammed shut.

  He’d suspected Helena would go to the lists. For days she’d paced the castle, as edgy as a caged lion. He knew just how she felt. Perhaps she had no name for her restlessness, but he knew it well. It was unrequited lust.

  There were only two cures for such a malady. One, the preferred remedy, was requited lust. The other was fierce, blood-searing, bone-jarring combat. And given that she’d just found the man who’d offered her marriage in the embrace of another woman, he was reasonably sure she’d opt for the lists. Which vexed him sorely.

  Curse the Fates, he’d hoped to have her in his bed soon.

  He’d expected that by now she’d have given up on the idea of wedding Pagan, that she’d have come to terms with the fact that her sister was happily married. For the love of Mary, Deirdre had just this morn announced she was with child. Surely Helena didn’t believe she could usurp her sister’s place now.

  The instant he saw her on the practice field, his heart plummeted. Helena’s face was wreathed in a delighted grin as she cuffed Pagan on the shoulder. Pagan feigned great injury from her punch, staggering about, and Helena laughed at his antics. They looked as cheerful and familiar as old lovers. Then Helena engaged his blade, and they began to spar in earnest.

  She leaped and rolled and dove and ducked, as entertaining as any acrobat. And Pagan seemed enthralled by her unique style, watching her in fascination even as he countered her every move.

  Almost every move, Colin amended, as Pagan went down in a great puff of dirt.

  In the clearing dust, Pagan laughed heartily as Helena planted a foot on his chest in triumph. Then she reached her arm down to help him up. For one awful moment, Colin wondered if Pagan would pull her down on top of him.

  Colin would have. A damsel as beautiful and lusty and spirited as Helena would be impossible to resist.

  It was painful to watch. He tried to tear his eyes away, but he couldn’t.

  He suspected it was more than just a friendly skirmish. Pagan himself had confided in Colin, telling him how battle heated his wife’s blood, how it had proved a more effective tool of seduction than wine or kissing or honeyed words. And it seemed that Helena had stumbled upon the right combination of charm and innocence to effectively beguile Pagan as well.

  In the end, Pagan resisted temptation. Still, when he came to his feet, he gave Helena’s cheek a playful pat.

  Colin’s heart thumped woodenly in his chest. He turned his back and trod heavily away, unable to watch any longer. He’d known Helena had intended to seduce Pagan. And he’d known if she set her mind to it, she’d be able to. But he hadn’t anticipated the pain of watching her succeed.

  He clenched his jaw and walked purposefully toward the keep. He should be content. After all, Helena obviously didn’t wish to wed him. Which meant he was no longer bound to do the honorable thing. He was at liberty to bed whomever he desired.

  The sooner he began, he told himself, the sooner his heartache would disappear. He intended to swive as many maids as there were hours in the day, to bed so many wenches that Helena’s cherished features would disappear in the sea of feminine faces.

  He’d start with Lucy.

  Helena beat the dust from her tabard as she took long strides across the courtyard toward the keep. Her senses were awakened, and her heart pounded as joyfully as a minstrel’s timbrel. By the Saints, she hadn’t felt so gloriously alive since…

  Since she’d bedded Colin. The memory brought a fresh flush to her cheeks.

  Indeed, engaging in combat had done much to dispel her anger with Colin for his…indiscretion. Now that her blood was flowing and her mind was clear, she could look at things from a more rational point of view.

  She hadn’t so much as touched Colin for nearly a month now. Not that she hadn’t longed to. Lord, sometimes she so yearned for his kiss that she licked her lips when he was nigh. And spying upon him on the practice field, where he sometimes wore only a thin linen shirt over his chest, she ached to put her hands all over those damp bulges of muscle.

  But she swore she’d not end up like Deirdre, tamed by a man. As for Colin, he’d refused to tryst with her while she yet claimed she might become Pagan’s wife. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t inclined to bed other maids while he waited. And what right did Helena have to prevent him? She didn’t own his body.

  If Colin chose to swive that addlepated, fat-bosomed Lucy, he was welcome to her.

  She frowned, stopping suddenly by the dovecote and slapping her gauntlets against her thigh.

  Bloody hell, who was she fooling? She couldn’t abide the idea of Colin sharing his magnificent body with another woman. Especially not a woman who could never appreciate his other fine qualities—his intellect, his wit, his kindness, his honor.

  With a decisive sigh, she resumed her path across the courtyard, past the workshops and the chapel. By the time she reached the keep, she’d made up her mind. Just because she was determined not to marry Colin didn’t mean she couldn’t bed him. She only hoped she wasn’t too late.

  “Lucy!” she yelled as soon as she swung open the doors. The few servants tidying the great hall looked up, as did the hounds in the corner, but Lucy was nowhere in sight. “Lucy!” she snapped. “Come here at once!”

  As Helena could have predicted, Lucy came stumbling from the buttery, her hair disheveled, her eyes dazzled, and her surcoat drooping off one shoulder.

  “Aye, my lady?” she said breathlessly.

  “Go clean out the dovecote.”

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed to sullen slits, and she muttered something under her breath, but she dared not show insolence to the lady of the castle. “Aye, my lady,” she said tightly, casting a surreptitious glance toward the buttery before she picked up her skirts and marched to the keep doors.

  Helena watched the buttery entrance with her arms crossed, waiting for Colin to emerge. But to her surprise, the lad who staggered out a moment later was one of Pagan’s servants.

  “Do you want me to clean the dovecote as well, my lady?” he asked hopefully, tying up his trews.

  “Hardly.” She scowled as she glanced about the hall. “Tell me, have you seen Colin du Lac?”

  “Nay, my lady.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “But I’ve been…er…busy.”

  Helena gave him a dismissive frown and glanced about the great hall. Where would he go?

  She eyed the stairs leading down to the storage rooms. After the sparring this morn, she was famished. Maybe she would pilfer a piece of cheese before she left to look for him.

  As she started down the steps, she heard a scrape from the landing below. It was probably Miriel. She spent a good deal of time in her work chamber, going over the accounts. Still, Helena rested a wary hand on her hilt as she crept down the stairs.

  It was dark. The brands along the wall were unlit. Miriel would have lit them.

  A second scrape made her draw her sword. Who was below? Surely no one up to any good would linger here in the dark.

  As stealthy as a cat, she descended the last three steps into shadow.

  Suddenly she was seized about the waist. Her heart slammed up against her ribs. She raised her sword, but in the close quarters could do no more than bring the pommel down hard on her assailant’s shoulder.

  He groaned in pain, releasing her instantly. “Shite!”

  Helena frowned. “Colin?”

  “Helena?” he wheezed.

  “What the devil—”

  “Ball
ocks, wench. Why did you do that?”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t run you through. What are you doing down here, all alone in the dark?”

  There was a bitter edge to his voice. “Who said I was alone?”

  “I…” She scowled. Perhaps he wasn’t alone. Perhaps one of his mistresses was here with him in the shadows even now.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. She had something to say, and she intended to say it. She was a Warrior Maid of Rivenloch, by God, and she wasn’t about to flee from some tittering maidservant just because she’d intruded on her tryst.

  Besides, she was fairly certain Colin was bluffing.

  “Listen. I’ve come to tell you I’ve…” She put away her sword. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to marry Pagan.”

  She heard him smirk. “Indeed?”

  She was taken aback by his cool tone. “Aye, indeed. I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “Pleased?”

  He’d drawn closer now. She still couldn’t see him, but the smell of cinnamon lingered on his skin—dark, masculine, and exotic.

  “Aye,” she said, breathing in the pleasant scent.

  “And why should I be pleased?”

  She felt the heat of his breath upon her neck. “You said you wouldn’t bed another man’s wife.” She closed her eyes. God, she’d forgotten how alluring he was…his voice, his smell, his warmth. “But ’tis all right now. I don’t intend to be Pagan’s wife.”

  “Wife? Mistress? What’s the difference?” he murmured, inhaling deeply against her hair. “The smell of Pagan is upon you.”

  A wave of lust washed over her, dizzying her, and she leaned toward him. “’Tis the scent of swordplay, no more.” She turned her head, trying to kiss him, but he pulled back.

  “Swordplay or love play?”

  She ignored his question, telling him softly, “Ah, Colin, I’ve missed you. Do you not remember the taste of my lips?” She reached up to cup his jaw, murmuring, “Here. Let me remind you.”

  He stiffened at her touch. “I won’t share you with another.”

  The way her skin tingled and her mouth hungered for his, she wasn’t about to take nay for an answer. “By the Rood,” she gasped, “did you not hear me? There is no other.” She seized him by the back of the neck, claiming him with a deceptively gentle kiss.

  For a good three heartbeats, Colin refused to fall prey to Helena’s seductive manipulations. But once he tasted the honey of her tongue, smelled the curiously alluring tang of sweat and chain mail upon her, felt the sultry heat of her desire, he was a lost man.

  He groaned, answering her kiss. His senses whirled about him like leaves at harvest, blown at her whim, as she pressed insistent lips to his.

  Suddenly it didn’t matter that he’d sworn off her love, that he’d been waiting here for Lucy. All his rational intentions fled as he was swept away in a cloud of lusty memory. Oh, aye, he remembered the taste of her lips. He remembered the taste of all of her.

  “There’s only you,” she murmured.

  God help him, he did believe her. Her words sounded sweet and pure, like a pledge of the heart.

  Abstinence sharpened his craving, and her soft moans as her fingers clawed through his hair sent his desires wheeling out of control. He took her head between his hands and slanted his mouth across hers to deepen the kiss, delving his tongue within to sample her sweet nectar.

  Her hands lowered then to grapple with his belt, and he growled his approval. Within a moment, the leather slid from his hips. Then, without prelude, she brushed her hand over his belly and lower, pressing her palm brazenly against him. He sucked in an astonished breath, and Helena, her desire fueled by the manifestation of his need for her, groaned in pleasure. Her kisses became urgent, then feverish, then frantic, until she carelessly chanced to bite his lip.

  He recoiled, and she murmured an apology. But his appetite for her didn’t diminish in the least.

  Catching her by the shoulders, he pressed her up against the cool cellar wall. Holding her there with his forearm across her collarbone, he used his free hand to unbuckle her sword belt.

  “Take me!” she insisted.

  He chuckled. “Patience,” he breathed, though he wondered how much longer he could wait. Her lust was driving him mad.

  “But I want you now,” she insisted.

  He shivered with need. “Your armor…”

  “Oh, ballocks!”

  His lips curved into a weak grin. If he hadn’t been so desperate himself, her impatience would have been amusing. But it would take considerable time to get her out of her chain mail. Longer to find a suitable place to couple. Unless…

  “Take off your hose,” he murmured.

  Before he even finished the suggestion, she was rummaging beneath her coat of armor.

  He stepped back to quickly untie his braies, letting them drop about his ankles. He’d never coupled with a woman in chain mail before, but he’d taken maids against a wall when time was short and the need pressing.

  “Hold on to me,” he told her when she’d rid herself of her undergarments.

  She willingly wound her arms about his neck, and he braced her against the wall. Then he hooked one arm beneath her leg and hoisted it up about his bare waist. The chain mail slithered up her raised thigh. He lifted her other leg, and she gasped as she realized his intent, eagerly wrapping her limbs around him. The mail slid easily out of the way, enough to allow him access to that part of her that desired him most.

  And then he eased forward, plunging into her welcoming softness. She cried out in surprised wonder, then tightened her heels upon his buttocks, sheathing him deeply, completely.

  They danced with savage grace, accompanied by the jangle of chain mail, faster and faster, until Colin felt a steady heat infuse his veins, as if the friction sparked a slow-burning fire within him.

  Helena clung to him like moss to a rock as her armor ground against the stone wall. Her gasps and moans filled the air, sweet music to his ears, as she dug her fingertips into the flesh of his shoulders. She buried her face against his neck, nuzzling his throat like a wolf with its kill. And once or twice he felt the nip of her teeth, as if she fought a primitive urge to feed upon him.

  How much longer he could suppress his need, he didn’t know. His legs trembled with the effort, and he blew out forceful breaths, trying to stem the tide of desire. At last, Helena emitted a sharp cry and stiffened as she found her release, and Colin followed her over the crest of the wave. He shuddered as they knocked against the cellar wall again and again. Finally, she wilted against him, and he, too, surrendered, drained of strength and seed.

  As they floated in the aftermath of passion, he inclined his head and kissed her brow. “Now I remember,” he murmured.

  Then, as abruptly as lightning on a calm summer’s eve, the shadows shifted on the wall. Someone was coming down the steps with a candle. Bloody hell!

  “Psst! Sir Colin,” came a whisper down the stairs.

  Helena tensed against him.

  “Shite!” he hissed. It was Lucy. “I’m…occupied,” he called up.

  But Lucy, her jealousy roused by the prospect of competition, was already halfway down the steps. By the time he gently disengaged from Helena, lowering her to the ground, it was all he could do to haul up his braies before she arrived.

  Lucy emerged in the passageway, a scornful scowl upon her face. She narrowed her eyes. “Occupied? Are you now?” She thrust the candle forward. “And who’s the—” Her mouth formed a perfect circle of surprise as she spied her mistress. Then she began jabbering away like a nervous squirrel while the candle’s flame fluttered in empathy. “Begging your pardon, my lady, my lord. I only came to tell you, Colin…Sir Colin, that I’ll be unable to meet you for…for that…that…task you asked me about, ’cause…’cause I’m busy now, cleaning out the dovecote…like my lady commanded.”

  She bobbed a few times, and then fled up the stairs, taking the light with her.

  Co
lin could already envision the blab wagging her tongue to every soul she passed, blathering about lusty Lady Helena and her tryst in the cellar.

  “I’m sorry,” Colin said, lacing up his braies. “I’ll go after her, make certain she spreads no gossip.”

  But Helena’s hands closed over his, stopping him at his task. “She won’t. She knows I’ll have her clean the dovecote every day for a year.” Then, to his amazement, she peeled his hands away and loosened the ties he’d just tightened. “Now are any other wenches arriving,” she murmured, “or do we have the cellar all to ourselves?”

  He grinned.

  Her need was not so urgent now, and so he took his time with her, removing her chain mail, kissing her tenderly, stretching out upon the stone floor of the passageway so she could lie in comfort atop him. Blinded by the darkness, he found his other senses heightened. His skin roused to her touch, his ears stirred at her whispers and cries, his nose quivered at the scent of her. And when they rose together like bright angels escaping an inferno of desire, high into the heavens, he swore he could taste her very soul.

  Chapter 20

  Helena felt as if she danced on air. Indeed, every time she and Colin made love, she was left with that heady, vibrant, exhilarating sensation. It was hard to believe it had been nearly three months since they’d first trysted in the cottage in the wood. Since then they’d coupled everywhere—in the dovecote, the stables, the pond, her chamber, his chamber, the woods, and once even in a garderobe. On this brisk September morn, the rising sun greeted them at the top of the new west tower, where they’d made love in soft pelts spread upon the fragrant timbers of the restored floor.

  While Colin lounged lazily among the furs, Helena gave him a coy smile, and then rose to dress. She never tired of his attentions, even when they came at the most inopportune times and places. And Colin seemed willing to oblige her every whim when it came to lovemaking.

  She vowed that if she ever spotted him emerging from the shadows with Lucy Campbell, she’d ignore her jealous heart. After all, she knew she had no right to be selfish, to claim him for her own, since she still had no plans to marry him. But in the deepest, most secret place in her soul, she prayed he found no joy in other women, and she dreamed he saved himself for her alone.