He was a handsome man, very very handsome, with dark gray eyes under heavy, arched brows, a thin nose with slightly flaring nostrils and a full sensual mouth.
Danger! was Elizabeth’s first thought. This man was dangerous to women as well as men.
She broke eye contact with him and in seconds she stood, grabbing a pelt from one of the cots near her and a war ax from the top of the table. “I will kill the first man who comes near me,” she said, holding the ax with one hand while she tossed the pelt over one shoulder, leaving the other bare, one leg exposed from waist to bare foot.
The giant took a step toward her and she raised the ax, both hands on the handle.
“I know how to use this,” she warned, looking up at the man with absolutely no fear.
The two knights took a step closer toward her and Elizabeth backed away, looking from one to the other. The back of her knees hit the edge of the cot and she could go no farther. One of the knights smiled at her and she snarled at him in return.
“Leave us.”
The words were quiet, uttered in a low voice, but it held command and all of them looked at Montgomery.
The giant of a man gave Elizabeth one last look, then nodded at the two knights and the three of them left the tent.
Elizabeth tightened her grip on the ax, her knuckles already white, as she glared across the space toward Miles Montgomery. “I will kill you,” she said through her teeth. “Do not think that because I’m a woman I won’t enjoy hacking a man to pieces. I would love to see the blood of a Montgomery spilled upon the earth.”
Miles didn’t move from his place by the table, but kept watching. After a moment he lifted his sword and Elizabeth drew in her breath, preparing for the battle to come. Very slowly, he placed his sword on the table and turned away from her, presenting his profile. Again slowly, he removed the jeweled dagger he wore at his side and placed it on the table beside the sword.
He turned back to her, his face expressionless, his eyes giving nothing away, and took a step toward her.
Elizabeth lifted the heavy ax and held it in readiness. She would fight to the death, for death was preferable to the beating and rape she knew this devil-man planned.
Miles sat down on a stool, several feet in front of her; he did not speak, but only watched her.
So! he did not think a woman a worthy opponent, but disarmed himself and sat down while she held a weapon of death over his head. With one lunge, she leaped forward and swung the ax at his neck.
Effortlessly, he caught the handle in his right hand, easily held it and looked into her eyes as she stood close to him. For a moment she was paralyzed, hypnotized by his eyes. He seemed to be searching her face for something, as if he asked silent questions of her.
She jerked the ax away from his grip and nearly fell when she found he released it freely. She caught herself at the edge of the table. “Damn you!” she said under her breath. “May the Lord and all His angels curse the day a Montgomery was born. May you and all your descendants writhe in the fires of hell forever.”
Her voice had risen almost to a shout and outside she could hear movement.
Miles still sat there, watching her silently, and Elizabeth could feel her blood beginning to boil. When she saw her hands starting to shake, she knew she must calm herself. Where was the cool detachment she’d cultivated over the years?
If this man could remain calm, so could she. She listened and if her guess were correct, the sounds she heard outside were the men moving away. Perhaps if she could get past this one man, she could escape and get home to her brother.
With her eyes on Miles, she began to walk backward, circling him as she made her way toward the tent flap. Slowly, he turned on the stool and watched her. Outside she heard the whinny of a horse and she prayed that if she could just make it outside she’d be free.
Even though her eyes never left Miles’s, she still never saw him move. One moment he was sitting, relaxed, on the stool and the next, just as her hand touched the tent flap, he was beside her, his hand around her wrist. She brought the ax straight down toward his shoulder but he caught her other wrist and held her.
She stood still, imprisoned lightly, painlessly, by his grip, and glared up at him. He was so close she could feel his breath on her forehead. As he looked down at her, he seemed to be waiting for something and then he looked puzzled.
With eyes as hard as the emeralds they resembled, she glared up at him. “And now what comes next?” she asked, hatred in her voice. “Do you beat me first or rape me? Or perhaps you like them both at the same time. I am a virgin and I’ve heard it hurts most the first time. No doubt my added pain will give you much pleasure.”
For just a second, his eyes widened as if in astonishment and it was the first unguarded expression Elizabeth had seen on his face. His gray eyes locked into hers so hard that she looked away.
“I can endure what you deal out,” she said quietly, “and if your wish is to see me beg, you will fail.”
His hand released her wrist holding the tent flap and he cupped the left side of her cheek, gently turning her back to look at him.
She stiffened at his touch, hating his hands on her.
“Who are you?” he half whispered.
She straightened her spine even more and hatred flamed in her eyes. “I am your enemy. I am Elizabeth Chatworth.”
Something passed quickly across his face and then was gone. After a long moment, he removed his hand from her cheek and, after a backward step, he released her other wrist. “You may keep the ax if it makes you feel safer but I cannot let you leave.”
As if dismissing her, he turned his back and walked toward the center of the tent.
Immediately, Elizabeth was through the tent flap and out of the tent and, just as quickly, Miles was beside her, his hand once again encircling her wrist.
“I cannot let you leave,” he repeated, this time more firmly. His eyes traveled downward to her bare legs and up again. “You aren’t dressed for running away. Come inside and I’ll send my man to purchase clothes.”
She jerked away from him. The sun was setting and in the twilight he looked even darker. “I want no clothes from you. I want nothing from any Montgomery. My brother will—”
She broke off at his look.
“Do not mention the name of your brother to me. He killed my sister.”
Miles recaptured her wrist and gave a light tug. “Now I must insist that you come inside. My men will be returning soon and I don’t think they should see you dressed like this.”
She held her ground. “What does it matter? Isn’t it the custom of men like you to throw female captives to their knights when they’ve finished with them?”
She wasn’t sure but she thought she saw just a flicker of a smile on Miles’s lips. “Elizabeth,” he began, then paused. “Come inside and we’ll talk there.” He turned toward the dark trees near them. “Guy!” he bellowed, making Elizabeth jump.
Immediately, the giant stepped into the clearing. After only a cursory glance at Elizabeth, he looked at Miles.
“Send someone into the village and find some suitable women’s clothes. Spend what you need.” The voice Miles used to his man was quite different from the one he used with her.
“Send me with him,” Elizabeth said quickly. “I will talk to my brother and he will be so grateful that you’ve released me unharmed that it will end this feud between the Chatworths and Montgomerys.”
Miles turned back to her and his eyes were hard. “Don’t beg, Elizabeth.”
Without thought but with a cry of rage, she lifted the ax again and aimed for his head. In one seemingly practiced motion, he pulled the ax from her hand, flung it away and swung her into his arms.
She wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of struggling against him and instead she stiffened, hating the feel of his clothes against her skin. The fox pelt hung to one side, baring the leg against his body.
He carried her inside the tent and gently laid her on on
e of the cots.
“Why do you bother with clothes for me?” she hissed. “Perhaps you should do your coupling in the fields like the animal you are.”
He walked away, his back to her, and poured two goblets of wine from a silver vessel on the table. “Elizabeth,” he said, “if you keep asking me to make love to you, I will eventually succumb to your temptations.” He turned, walked toward her and sat on a stool a few feet away. “You’ve had a long day and you must be tired and hungry.” He held out a full wine goblet to her.
Elizabeth swept it away, the wine spilling, staining one of the luxurious carpets that comprised the floor of the tent.
Miles glanced at it, unconcerned, and drank his wine. “And now, Elizabeth, what am I to do with you?”
Chapter 2
ELIZABETH SAT UPON THE COT, HER LEGS WELL COVERED, only her head and one shoulder bare, and refused to look at Miles Montgomery. She would not lower herself to try and reason with him as he seemed to consider her ideas begging.
After a time of silence, Miles rose and stepped outside the tent, his hand holding the flap doorway open. She heard him order a basin of hot water.
Elizabeth didn’t respond to his momentary absence but thought that he had to sleep sometime and when he did, she would escape. Perhaps it would be better to wait until she had some proper clothes.
Miles didn’t let his man enter with the water, but carried it in himself and set it at the side of the cot. “The water is for you, Elizabeth. I thought perhaps you’d like to wash.”
She kept her arms folded across her chest and her head turned away from him. “I want nothing from you.”
“Elizabeth,” he said and there was exasperation in his voice. He sat down beside her, took her hands in his. He waited patiently until she turned her angry glare toward him. “I am not going to hurt you,” he said gently. “I have never beat a woman in my life and I don’t plan to start now. I cannot allow you to jump on a horse wearing practically nothing and ride across the countryside. You wouldn’t last an hour before you’d be attacked by hordes of highway-men.”
“Am I to believe you’re any better?” Her hands clasped his for a moment and her eyes softened. “Will you return me to my brother?”
Miles’s eyes looked into hers with an almost frightening intensity. “I…will consider it.”
She thrust his hands from hers and looked away. “What could I expect from a Montgomery? Get away from me!”
Miles rose. “The water grows cold.”
She looked up at him with a slight smile. “Why should I wash? For you? Do you like your women clean and fresh smelling? If so, then I’ll never wash! I will grow so dirty I will look like a Nubian slave and my hair will crawl with lice and other vermin that will soil your pretty clothes.”
Miles looked at her a moment before speaking. “The tent is surrounded by men and I will be outside. If you try to leave, you will be returned to me.” With that, he left her alone.
As Miles knew he would be, Sir Guy was waiting for him outside the tent. Miles nodded once and the giant followed him into the trees.
“I sent two men for the clothes,” Sir Guy said. When Miles’s father died, Miles was nine and the elder Montgomery’s dying wish was that Sir Guy take care of the young boy who was sometimes like a stranger even in his own family. Miles talked as much to Sir Guy as he did to anyone.
“Who is she?” Sir Guy asked, his hand on the bark of an enormous old oak tree.
“Elizabeth Chatworth.”
Sir Guy nodded once. The moonlight cast eerie shadows on the scar across his face. “I thought as much. Lord Pagnell’s sense of humor would run to delivering a Chatworth to a Montgomery.” He paused, watching Miles for a long moment. “Do we return her to her brother on the morrow?”
Miles walked away from his man. “What do you know of her brother, Edmund Chatworth?”
Sir Guy spit lustily before answering. “Compared to Chatworth, Pagnell is a saint. Chatworth loved to torture women. He used to tie them up and rape them. On the night he was killed—and bless the man who did the killing—a young woman cut her wrists in his chamber.”
Sir Guy watched as Miles clenched and unclenched his fists, and Guy regretted his words. More than anything else in the world, Miles loved women. Hundreds of times Guy had had to pull Miles off a man who’d dared to wrong a woman. As a boy he’d attacked grown men and when his temper was aroused it was all Guy could do to hold him. Last year, Guy had not succeeded in keeping Miles from killing a man who’d slapped his sharp-tongued wife. The king’d almost refused to pardon Miles for that fracas.
“Her brother Roger isn’t like Edmund,” Sir Guy said.
Miles whirled on him, his eyes black. “Roger Chatworth raped my sister and caused her suicide! Do you forget that?”
Guy knew that the best way to handle Miles’s temper was to remain silent on the subject that angered him. “What do you plan to do with the girl?”
Miles turned away, ran his hand down the trunk of a tree. “Do you know that she hates the Montgomery name? We have been innocent in all the hatred between the Montgomerys and Chatworths yet still she hates us.” He turned to face Sir Guy. “And she seems to hate me in particular. When I touch her she is repulsed. She wipes where I have touched her with a cloth, as if I’d defiled her.”
As soon as Sir Guy closed his open mouth, he almost laughed. If possible, women loved Miles more than he loved them. As a child, he’d spent most of his time surrounded by girls, which is one reason why Miles was put in Sir Guy’s charge—to make sure he turned into a man. But Guy had known from the first that there was no doubt of young Miles’s masculinity. He just liked women. It was a quirk, rather like the love of a good horse or a sharp sword. At times, Miles’s absurdly gentle treatment of women was a brother, such as his lethally enforced rule of no raping after a battle, but on the whole, Sir Guy’d learned to live with the boy’s affliction—he was all right otherwise.
But Sir Guy had never, never heard of a woman who wasn’t willing to lay down her life for Miles. Young, old, in between, even newborn girls clung to him. And Elizabeth Chatworth wiped away his touch!
Sir Guy tried to put this information into perspective. Perhaps it was like losing your first battle. He reached out and put a big hand on Miles’s shoulder. “We all lose now and then. It doesn’t make you less of a man. Perhaps the girl hates all men. With her brother for an example—”
Miles shrugged the hand away. “She’s been hurt! Badly hurt! Not just her body that’s covered with bruises and scratches, but she’s built a wall around her of anger and hatred.”
Sir Guy felt that he was standing on the edge of a deep ravine. “This girl is a highborn lady,” he said quietly. “You can’t keep her prisoner. The king has already outlawed your brother. You don’t need to provoke him anymore. You must return Lady Elizabeth to her brother.”
“Return her to a place where women are tortured? That’s where she learned to hate. And if I return her now, what will she think of the Montgomerys? Will she have learned that we aren’t evil as her brother was?”
“You can’t think to keep her!” Sir Guy was aghast.
Miles seemed to be considering this. “It will be days before anyone learns where she is. Perhaps in that time I can show her—”
“And what of your brothers?” Sir Guy demanded. “They’re expecting you home. It won’t take Gavin long to find that you hold Elizabeth Chatworth prisoner.” He paused, lowering his voice. “The girl will have only good to say about the Montgomerys if you return her unharmed.”
Miles’s eyes sparkled. “I believe Elizabeth would say she used an ax to force me to return her.” He gave a slight smile. “My mind is made up. I will keep her for just a little while, long enough to show her that a Montgomery isn’t like her dead brother. Now! I must return and”—he smiled more broadly—“give my dirty little captive a bath. Come on, Guy, don’t look like that. It’s just for a few days.”
Sir Guy kept quiet as he f
ollowed his young master back to camp, but he wondered if Elizabeth Chatworth could be conquered in just a few days.
The moment Elizabeth was sure Miles was gone, she ran to the far side of the tent and, lifting the heavy fabric, saw men’s feet just outside. She checked the entire perimeter of the tent and there was practically no space between the guards’ feet, almost as if they were holding hands to protect themselves against one small woman.
She was scratching her dirty scalp when Miles returned carrying two buckets of steaming water. Instantly, she stiffened her spine, folded her arms across her chest. Even when he sat beside her on the cot she didn’t look at him.
Not until he took her hand and began to bathe it with a warm, soapy cloth did she look at him. After a moment’s astonishment, she jerked away from him.
He caught her chin in his hand and began to wash her face.
“You’ll feel much better when you’re clean,” he said gently.
She knocked his hand away. “I don’t like to be touched. Get away from me!”
Patiently, he recaptured her chin and resumed washing. “You are a lovely woman, Elizabeth, and you should be proud of your looks.”
Elizabeth looked at him and decided at that moment that if she didn’t already hate Miles Montgomery, she would now. Obviously, he was a man used to women falling over their feet for him. He thought all he had to do was touch a woman’s cheek and she would be panting with desire. He was handsome, true, and his voice was sweet, but many men were more handsome and had years of experience behind them—and several of these men had tried unsuccessfully to seduce Elizabeth.
She gazed into his eyes, let hers go liquid and when she saw the little gleam of satisfaction creep into his eyes, she smiled—and then sunk her teeth into the side of his hand.
Miles was so astonished that it took him a moment to react. He grabbed her jaw and buried his fingers into the muscles, forcing her to open her mouth. Obviously still astonished, he flexed his hand, studied the deep teeth marks in his skin. When he looked back at Elizabeth, there was triumph in her eyes.
Velvet Angel Page 2
