“Excuse me,” she whispered as she swept past Miles on her way back to Roger.
Miles caught her in his arms, pulling her close to him.
When Elizabeth saw that he was smiling at her with such a knowing little grin, she brought her elbow down hard into his ribs and was rewarded with his whoosh of pain. “I hate you, Montgomery!” she yelled into his face. “You’ve made me beg and cry and taken all my pride.” She tried to hit him again but he pinned her arms to her side and she couldn’t move.
“No, Montgomery,” he said, moving his lips near hers. “You love me. You love me so much you’re willing to beggar yourself for me. I’ve made you cry in passion and I’ve made you cry tears of love.”
“You’ve humiliated me.”
“As you’ve done to me.” He held her as she struggled against him. “Every woman has come to me easily but only you have made me work. Only with you have I been angry, jealous, possessive. You were given to me and you are mine, Elizabeth, and never again will you be allowed to forget it.”
“I never did—” she began but he cut her off by kissing her. Once his lips touched hers, she was lost. She could no more argue with him than she could have run away.
His arms loosened their grip on her just long enough for her to slide her arms about his neck and pull him even closer.
“Never, never forget it again, Montgomery,” he whispered by her ear. “You will belong to me always—in this century and in the next. Forever!”
Elizabeth barely heard him as she stood on tiptoe and raised her mouth to his.
She had no idea how much she had missed him physically. He was the only man on earth she could be with so trustingly, the only man she wasn’t wary of. All the years of holding herself in reserve were showing themselves in her eagerness, her ferocity. She put her hands in his hair, feeling it curl about her fingers, and pulled his head closer.
A low, throaty laugh came from Miles. “A tree you said? Take the woman against a tree?” he said.
Miles knew what she wanted—not a sweet, gentle lovemaking but one of all the fury she felt. His hands began tearing at her clothes, one hand on the ties of her linen underwear, the other on his own trunk hose. Elizabeth kept kissing him, her mouth wrapped around his, tongues entangled.
When her back slammed into a tree, she merely blinked and applied her teeth to Miles’s neck, tearing at his skin as if she meant to flay him.
Miles lifted her, put her legs about his waist, her skirt bunched between them. Neither of them cared for the niceties of removing their clothes. His hands on her bottom, he lifted her, set her down on his shaft with the force of a falling anchor.
Elizabeth gasped, buried her face in Miles’s neck and held on for dear life as his strong arms lifted her up and down. Her head went back as she felt a scream building inside her. Sweat began to drip off Miles and he rubbed the salty stuff on her, plastering her hair to the both of them.
With one last, fierce thrust that sent Elizabeth into an ecstasy, Miles pulled her to him, shuddering, his hot body erupting again and again.
Elizabeth, her body tight, convulsing in waves of pleasure, felt quick tears in her eyes. Slowly she came back to earth, her legs feeling weak, aching from clasping Miles with every ounce of her strength.
He leaned away to look at her, caressed her wet hair, kissed her temple. “I love you,” he said tenderly, then smiled roguishly. “And besides that you’re the best…”
“I understand.” She laughed. “Now are you going to let me down or are you going to kill me against this tree?”
With one more kiss, Miles set her feet on the ground and gave an ungentlemanly, prideful laugh when Elizabeth’s legs collapsed under her and he had to hold her to keep her from falling.
“Braggart!” she hissed, clutching him, but she gave him a smile and kissed the hand holding her arm. “Am I really the best?” she asked as if it meant nothing to her. “You still find me attractive even after I’ve borne a child?”
“Tolerably so,” Miles said seriously.
Elizabeth laughed, smoothed her skirts and tried to regain her composure as they walked back to where Roger waited.
Chapter 17
THE THREE OF THEM WALKED TOGETHER FOR TWO DAYS and they were blissful ones for Elizabeth. There were nights of lovemaking and days of love. Miles gave her his complete attention. They held hands and talked softly or laughed uproariously at the silliest things. They made love beside a stream and later bathed in its icy water.
Roger watched them with an air of aloofness, and sometimes Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt for the pain she knew she was causing him. A few times he made remarks about Miles’s unknightly behavior but Miles said that until he reached his relatives, he was a carefree peasant.
Their progress was slow and the four-day journey on horseback was stretching into several more days on foot.
On the fourth day, the trio left the roadside just before noon to rest and refresh themselves. Roger, after directing an unnoticed look of contempt toward his sister and Miles, walked away from them, deeper into the forest. When he’d first heard his sister had been taken prisoner, his pain had been great—but now he could see that he’d lost her much more completely than if she were a prisoner.
Reminiscing over his problems, he walked past the earth-torn edge of the little gully without paying the least attention. He was several feet past the obvious signs of a struggle before he recognized them. Turning back, he examined the earth.
He’d been walking along the edge of a steep-sided bank that fell away to a stream of rushing water and, clearly, on the edge were the signs of someone falling. Often, after a battle, Roger’d had to search for his men who were wounded and lost, and now his knight’s instincts rose like the hairs on his neck. Immediately, he started down the side, skidding in his haste.
What he saw at the bottom was not what he expected. Sitting on a rotten piece of log, her feet hidden under a jumble of large rocks, was a pretty young woman, richly dressed in burgundy velvet trimmed about the neckline with large golden amethysts. Her dark eyes, almost too big for her face, looked up at Roger with pleasure.
“I knew you’d come,” she said in English that was pleasantly and softly accented.
Roger blinked once in confusion but ignored her remark. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”
She smiled at him, making her eyes turn liquid. She looked to be quite young, a child really, wearing a dress much too old for her. Dark hair peeped from under a pearl-embroidered hood. More pearls draped down the front of her dress.
“My foot is caught and I cannot move it.”
Women! Roger thought, moving to examine the rocks that pinned her feet. “You must have heard me above. Why didn’t you call out to me?”
“Because I knew you’d come for me.”
Insane, Roger thought. The poor girl was possessed by spirits. “When I lift this rock I want you to move your foot. Do you understand me?” he said as if talking to an idiot.
She merely smiled in answer and when the rock was moved, she pulled her foot from under it.
Her right foot was pinned differently and Roger saw that if he moved one stone, another would fall and perhaps break her ankle. She was a little thing and he doubted her fragile bones could stand much.
“Do not be afraid to tell me,” she whispered. “I’m not a stranger to pain.”
Roger turned to look at her, at her big eyes looking at him with so much trust, and that trust both frightened him and made him feel powerful.
“What is your name?” he asked, studying and considering the rocks around her little foot.
“Christiana, my lord.”
Roger’s head came up sharply. His dirty peasant’s clothes had not fooled her, so perhaps she wasn’t stupid after all. “Chris then.” He smiled. “May I borrow your eating dagger? I’ll put together something to hold those rocks while I move these.” He pointed.
She handed him the knife quickly and he bit his lips to keep from cautioning her
about handing knives to strangers. The jewels on her dress were worth a fortune and the pearl necklace she wore was without equal.
He moved but a few feet from her to cut several tree branches. Removing his doublet, he pulled out his shirt and cut strips of cloth from the tail to use in building a platform to fit under the rocks.
“Why is no one searching for you?” he asked as he worked.
“Perhaps they are; I don’t know. I dreamed of you last night.”
He gave her a sharp look but said nothing. Girls everywhere seemed to be full of romantic ideas of being rescued. It was hard for a man to live up to.
“I dreamed,” she continued, “of this forest and this place. I saw you in my dream and I knew you’d come.”
“Perhaps the man in your dream was merely fair-skinned and resembled me,” Roger said patronizingly.
“I saw many things. The scar by your eye—you received it from your brother when you were only a boy.”
Involuntarily, Roger’s hand went to the curved scar by his left eye. He’d come close to losing his eye that day and very few people who knew how he got the scar were still alive. He doubted if even Elizabeth knew.
Christiana merely smiled at his look of surprise. “I have waited all my life for you.”
Roger shook his head to clear it. “That was a lucky guess,” he said. “About the scar I mean. Now hold very still while I prop these rocks up.” There was no need to tell her to be still as she’d hardly moved since he’d arrived.
The rocks were not small and Roger had to sweat some before he could move the largest one. And even as it rolled away, more came crashing down onto the weak, makeshift platform he’d created. With lightning speed he jumped onto Christiana, knocking her backward and rolling her away from the crushing boulders. Even as he moved her, he heard her intake of breath as the rocks scraped away some of her skin.
The sound of the rocks filled the air and Roger covered Christiana’s body with his own, protecting her from dust and fragments. When it was safe, he started to pull away from her but she put her hands on the sides of his head and pulled his lips to hers.
For a long time Roger’d been concerned only with bringing his brother and sister back to him and he’d had no time for women. He’d had no idea his desires were so pent-up inside him. Once, years ago, he’d been almost carefree, laughing with pretty young girls, tumbling about with them in clandestine meetings, but his anger at the Montgomerys had changed all that.
At the first touch of the girl’s lips, Roger’s first thought was: serious. She may look to be little more than a child, but she was a woman and her purpose was one of seriousness. She kissed him with such intensity that he drew back from her.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“I love you and I have waited always to meet you.”
Roger, lying on top of her, looked deeply into her dark eyes, eyes that seemed to be trying to pull his soul out of his body, and he was frightened. He moved off her. “We’d better get you back to your parents.”
“I have no parents,” she said, sitting up.
Roger looked away from her eyes that seemed to be accusing him of deserting her. Part of him wanted to run away from this strange woman and another part wanted to fight to the death to keep her near him.
“Let me see your ankle,” he said at last.
Obediently, she turned and held out her foot to him.
He frowned when he saw it, cut and bruised, blood running freely. “Why didn’t you show this to me?” he snapped. “Here”—he handed her back her knife—“cut off some of your underskirt. I can’t afford to lose more of my shirt. It’s the only one I have at the moment.”
She smiled at that and began slicing away at a fine lawn petticoat. “Why are you here in France and dressed like that? Where are your men?”
“You tell me,” he said nastily, taking the strips from her. “Perhaps tonight you’ll dream the rest of my life.”
As soon as he turned away toward the stream, he regretted his words, but damn! the woman gave him chills. He could still feel her kiss—an odd combination of a woman who wanted to jump into his bed and a witch who wanted his soul.
At that thought he smiled. He was getting fanciful. She was a young girl who needed his help, nothing more or less. The best thing he could do would be to dress her ankle and return her to her guardians.
When he returned to her with dampened cloths, he could see tears glistening on her lashes, and he was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, Chris,” he said as if he’d known her always. “Damn! Give me your ankle.”
A small smile came through her tears and he couldn’t help returning it, and she smiled broadly as she put her foot in his hand.
“Let me have your knife again and I’ll cut away your hose,” he said, after he’d gently removed her embroidered slipper.
Without a word, Christiana slowly raised her dress on one side to the top of her thigh and unfastened her hose. Her eyes on Roger, and his on her slim curvy leg, she inched the hose downward toward her bloody ankle. When she reached her calf she held up her leg. “You may remove the rest.”
Roger suddenly felt sweat breaking out on his body and a flame of desire so hot shot through him that his veins seemed to be on fire. With shaking hands, he removed her stocking, one hand on fabric, the other on the back of her bare knee.
The sight of blood on her ankle soothed him somewhat and he began to calm. “You are toying with things you don’t understand,” he said tightly, wetting her ankle to get the torn stocking off.
“I do not play children’s games,” she said softly.
Roger tried to concentrate on the task before him as he carefully cleaned her ankle, then bound it. “Now we must return you,” he said as if he were her father, but his left hand was still on her ankle and began to caress her leg as his hand moved upward. He replaced her dagger in the sheath at her side.
Her eyes locked with his. She didn’t move away but seemed to welcome him.
Roger came to his senses abruptly. No matter how appealing this urchin was, she wasn’t worth his life. Someone would be looking for her soon and if he, looking to be a peasant, were found making love to her, obviously a noblewoman, no one would ask questions before they put a sword through his heart. And besides, he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being intimate with this strange young woman. What if she were a witch and she did mean to take his soul?
“Why did you stop, my lord?” she whispered in a throaty voice.
Primly, he pulled her skirt down. “Because you’re a child and I’m—Do you always offer yourself to strangers?”
She didn’t respond to the question but the answer was in her eyes. “I have loved you always and will love you always. I am yours to command.”
Roger felt himself getting angry. “Now see here, young woman! I don’t know who you think I am nor who you are, but I think it’s best that you get back to your people and I to mine. And I hope you pray to God—if you believe in Him—for forgiveness for your actions.”
With that he bent, tossed her small body over his shoulder and began to climb the steep bank.
By the time he reached the top of the bank, both his anger and his passion had calmed. He was too old and too sensible to allow a romantic bit of a girl to bother him.
He stood her before him, holding her shoulders to steady her, and smiled. “Now where may I take you? Do you remember which way you came from?”
She looked confused for a moment. “Of course I remember the way. Why are you sending me away? Would you kiss me again? Would you kiss me as if you loved me in return?”
Roger held her at arms’ length. “You are too forward and no, I will not kiss you again. You must tell me where you belong.”
“I belong with you but—” She stopped as a blast from a stag’s horn sounded. Her eyes changed to wild, frightened. “I must go. My husband calls. He must not find you. Here!”
Before he could speak, she’d taken her little dagger from her side
and crudely cut the largest amethyst from the front of her dress. An ugly, irreparable hole was left in the expensive velvet.
“Take this,” she offered urgently.
Roger’s back stiffened. “I do not take tribute from women.”
The horn sounded again and Christiana’s fright increased. “I must go!” She stood on tiptoe, quickly kissed his tightened lips. “I have a beautiful body,” she said, “and lovely soft hair. I will show you sometime.”
When the horn sounded a third time, she gathered her skirts and began to run awkwardly, her ankle bending every few steps. She’d not gone far when she turned and tossed the amethyst toward him. He made no move to catch it. “Give it to the woman who travels with you. Is she your sister or your mother?”
The last words were called over her shoulder as she disappeared from his sight.
Roger stood still, rooted into place for a very long time, his eyes staring sightlessly toward the place where she’d disappeared. His head felt strange, light, as if he’d just been through some experience that wasn’t real. Had the girl really existed or had he fallen asleep and dreamed her?
“Roger!” came Elizabeth’s voice from behind him. “We’ve been looking for you for an hour. Are you ready to travel? There are a few hours before night-fall.”
Slowly, he turned toward her.
“Roger, are you all right?”
Miles had left his wife’s side and was looking about the area. Sometimes men who’d been wounded had Roger’s look—just before they fell down. Miles saw the amethyst on the ground, but before he could touch it, Roger swept it into his hand, fingers closing tightly around it.
“Yes, I’m ready to go,” he said tersely. Before he left he gave one last look about the forest, his thumb rubbing the jewel in his hand. “Her husband!” he muttered angrily. “So much for love.” He thought about throwing the amethyst away, but he couldn’t do it.
It was Miles who was truly aware of Roger’s distant moodiness that night. Miles had snared a rabbit—illegally—and it was turning over a spit as the three of them sat around the fire. He didn’t want to worry Elizabeth, telling her there was no danger—and indeed the life of the French peasant seemed carefree compared to life at her brother’s house—but Miles was always on guard, always aware of potential danger. At night he slept lightly and he gained respect for Roger as he saw that the knight was also wary.
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