by Alexa Aston
Carac wondered where he might go. Nothing bound him to England. He hated the French with a passion. Scotland would be too cold for his bones. The Welsh were too damned crazy.
Italy might be the place. He’d heard tales of its wine, women, and warm weather. He would definitely have the money to travel there and stay if he liked it.
He rode another hour and reached the small hovel that had become home to Fendrel. The man had gambled away most of his money at court. Then his lands grew barren—as barren as his wife. More peasants left the great estates each year, coming to London and other growing cities throughout the kingdom. Fendrel’s tenants had run from the estate like foxes being chased in the hunt. Soon, hardly any remained, and the lord fell on hard times.
Carac thought the man deserved everything he got. The nobleman had been careless with his money and too hard on his soldiers for no reason. Fendrel drank more than he should and cared about no one but himself. Carac almost wished he could watch while Fendrel waited for his return. And waited. And waited.
He arrived at the cottage and tied his horse in the barn. The friendly little goat bleated a greeting to him. On a lark, he untied the animal and shooed it away. It went scampering into the forest. Just another nail in Sir Fendrel’s coffin. Carac smiled.
The place had a deserted air about it with none of his men present. Carac strode to the door and rapped hard. He insisted that the nobleman keep the door barred. Even if pretty, little Alys de Montfort made it to the door, her restrained hands would have trouble with the bar. Fendrel could reach her easily in case she tried to escape.
He waited. When no one came, he pounded his fist several times and kicked the door for good measure. It swung open. Fendrel’s greasy hair clung to one side of his face. His reddened eyes told Carac he’d been drinking a good part of the day. The last thing he had warned the nobleman about was not to touch a drop until he returned.
Carac pushed past him. His eyes perused the cottage.
“God’s teeth!” He turned on the nobleman, but he already knew the answer. “Where have you put Lady Alys?”
Fendrel looked around sleepily as if he hadn’t a clue as to who Lady Alys was. He scratched his chin. “She was here.”
“You fool!” Carac unsheathed his sword. With both hands around the hilt and anger in his heart, he struck a mighty blow. Fendrel’s head flew through the air. The nobleman’s body seemed to hesitate before it crumpled to the ground.
Carac overturned the table. Threw a rickety wooden chair against the wall. Screamed obscenities. Kicked Fendrel’s lifeless body—then kicked his head across the room. None of it brought back Alys de Montfort.
How long had she been gone?
She wouldn’t have left moments after he did. Fendrel would have still been awake and sober. Carac saw the wine stains spilt upon the nobleman’s cotehardie. The very smart Alys would have waited for the man to be deep into his cups. Fendrel had a high tolerance for wine. It would have been hours before he was so drunk that he slept through Alys slipping by him and unbarring the door.
No horse had been available to her, so she would be on foot. Surely, a delicate flower of the nobility could not have gotten far.
But this was Alys de Montfort.
Carac knew her to be clever and feisty. The beauty probably had the strength of ten men when angry, and she would have been plenty mad at being taken and held hostage.
He went through the pockets of the dead man and found a few coins. He also knew of the hidden place behind the cottage. He’d seen Fendrel digging one day and had waited for the nobleman to finish. In the dead of night, Carac had dug in the same spot and unearthed a small casket that held Lady Fendrel’s few remaining jewels and some gold and silver coins. He replaced the chest and covered it with dirt and knew he would remember the location when the time came to end his partnership with the sloppy nobleman.
Carac went to the barn and couldn’t find a shovel or any other farm tool. He returned to the cottage and took the poker from the fireplace. Between that and his hands, he recovered the casket after laboring in the dirt some minutes. There were fewer jewels than when he’d last seen the contents, but he found more coins inside. He would use some of them to buy a cart to carry his ransom. Nay. He had a better idea. He would order de Montfort from the wagon he brought with the gold inside. Let the man walk back to his castle.
But Carac knew the earl would never give him a single coin if he didn’t produce Lady Alys. He must find her before the arranged meeting tomorrow.
He returned inside the cottage and found an extra gypon of Fendrel’s. He dumped the contents of the chest inside it and tied up the ends. He attached the bundle to his saddle. Carac returned to the cottage and took some of the hay that Fendrel slept on. He placed it halfway into the fire and set the pallet next to it. He dragged the dead body and left it beside the pallet. Before he reached the cottage door, the fire had spilled out.
Carac left the burning abode and mounted his horse.
“Which way would she have gone?” he mused.
Chapter 21
Alys awoke disoriented. She reached to brush a stray lock from her face and found her hands facing each other, rope binding her wrists together. Then she remembered where she was and what had happened.
She looked out from the hollow trunk she hid within. Darkness had fallen. The sounds of the night came. A hooting owl in the distance. Crickets chirping softly. A gentle breeze. She couldn’t travel at night because she couldn’t see. The best decision was to stay put. Her stomach rumbled fiercely. It had been a long time since she’d eaten the small crust of bread Fendrel gave her. It angered her that she’d slept for so long, but the last two nights she’d gotten little sleep. The first had been when Carac’s cutthroats attacked the Brentwood soldiers as they camped, then last night she had lain awake for several hours at Fendrel’s cottage. Alys forgave herself for sleeping as long as she had. Obviously, she’d needed it.
Wondering how long until dawn broke, she decided to work on freeing her hands. She removed the knife she’d taken from the cottage and braced it between her knees. Squeezing it tightly in order to steady the blade, she laid the rope that bound her wrists against its edge. Alys rubbed back and forth, over and over, in a sawing motion. She stopped several times to rest. Finally, the rope began to give way. It renewed her strength. She moved her arms in and out over the blade until she had freed herself.
Immediately, she pulled the thick rope from her wrists and began bending and twisting her hands. As she expected, the pain shot through her quickly. It danced up her arms and into the center of her palms as the blood began to flow once again. Alys buried her mouth against her bent knees to muffle her moans. She couldn’t afford for anyone to hear her.
Gradually, the feeling returned. She could, once more, wiggle her fingers and bend her wrists. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself. It had grown cool overnight. The sweat from her exertions chilled her and she shivered.
Alys sensed that morning approached. She watched as light began to peek through the thick trees in the forest. She listened carefully, fearful that Carac would discover her. Yet she couldn’t let fear keep her hidden. She had to continue. Crawling from her hiding place, she decided to return to the nearby stream. She found it and drank her fill.
Her legs were sore and tired as she attempted to run, barely making it a dozen steps before she stopped. She decided to take her time and not rush. Locating a road became her priority. Once she found it, she could discover where she was and pick up her pace. It surprised her how in tune she was with every noise around her. She moved with caution for an hour or longer. Finally, she did find a road.
Alys left the forest and saw the sun now climbed in the sky. Based on the direction that the Brentwood escort party had ridden, Kinwick was to the south and east. She shielded her eyes as she glanced up at the sun and decided to head east on this road. She hoped to pass some landmark she recognized—another castle, a village—anyt
hing that looked familiar and that would help her establish her whereabouts.
More than anything, she must be wary. Not just because Carac would be pursuing her, but because of what had happened to Kit in this very area. England had groups of men who roamed the countryside, robbing travelers. She was a woman on her own and needed to exercise extreme caution.
Because of that, Alys decided to keep to the edge of the road. If she saw anyone coming in the distance, she could scramble into the woods. She could either wait until the other person passed, or she could skirt the woods and come out on the other side without being seen.
Alys tried to run and then decided she was too weary. She would press on by walking at a brisk pace. Despite trying to keep her mind a blank, her thoughts turned to Kit. How desperately she loved him. If only they had left Brentwood a day earlier, they would be at Kinwick now, making preparations for their wedding.
Or would they?
Lord Godwin had arrived with Lady Thea and a betrothal contract in hand. Alys knew a betrothal was as legally binding as the marriage ceremony. If they had missed Lord Godwin, he most likely would have come to Kinwick to put a halt to their wedding. And if she and Kit had married by that time, it would have been annulled since legally Kit was tied to Lady Thea.
Alys couldn’t stop the tears that began to fall. She had to face the truth. She had lost Kit—forever. She fisted her hands and swung her arms angrily as she walked. Though she may have lost the man she loved, she refused to lose this battle with Carac. She would outsmart the thief and find her way home.
She only hoped her father would let her come with him when he searched for the bandit. Alys planned to bring justice to both Carac and Sir Fendrel.
*
Carac couldn’t rush. It was too important to find Alys de Montfort. He climbed from his horse and tried to think as Alys might have. She would need two things—to free her hands and find a horse to ride. That meant she would have gone to barn first. When she discovered neither, she would have left.
He entered the structure again and walked around. This time he noticed small indentations that had to be her boots. He remembered watching her strip. Alys de Montfort had not worn feminine shoes but had on boots more like a man would wear. That meant she did plenty of walking. He went outside the barn and saw she had taken the path into the woods. Now he was getting somewhere.
Carac retrieved his horse and mounted it. He would go slowly and study the ground carefully, as well as the brush, anything the noblewoman might have touched in her haste to escape. He traced her path for hours, occasionally relying on instinct when he lost sight of the mark of her boot heel. Twice, he spotted a strand of chestnut hair floating on a low branch of a tree.
Darkness came. He could go no further. He tied up his horse and removed the saddle, using it to brace against as he dozed off and on throughout the night. When enough light peered through the trees, he resumed his search. Definite tracks led him to a stream. Carac paused and closed his eyes. He could almost smell her as he stood by the water. He could picture her bending and drinking.
She was close.
He knew it. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He listened. Studied the ground. Then climbed on his horse again and headed for the road that he knew was ahead. He would no longer look for any sign of her. If she’d made it this far, he knew that she’d found the road. Ironically, it was on this very road where he’d arranged to meet Geoffrey de Montfort. The earl was already on his way to rendezvous at the assigned point.
And Carac had to find Alys before her father did.
He pushed his horse now and quickly covered a lot of ground. He arrived at the edge of the road and forced his horse to halt. A bent branch told him this is where she had crossed out of the forest and taken to the road. Carac hoped Alys had chosen to travel east. If so, he could find and detain her and still be close to where he would meet de Montfort.
He galloped down the road, passing no one. This was close to the stretch where his band of men had waylaid a single knight recently.
That was it.
Carac knew he had recognized the rider outside the gates of Kinwick. ’Twas that same knight they had attacked. He was sure of it. The man’s horse had been injured and lost to them, which angered him. It was a magnificent beast and would have fetched an excellent price. They’d beaten the knight to a bloody pulp and left him for dead, taking his armor and coin purse and clothing. Someone must have come across him and nursed him back to health.
Instinct told Carac that the de Montforts had been involved in that. Lady Merryn had a reputation far and wide as a healer. He’d heard one of her daughters also excelled in the healing arts and had even surpassed her mother’s skill. He’d bet all the coins in his pocket that daughter was the beauty he now searched for.
Carac continued down the lane, his horse’s hooves thundering along. When he thought he’d ridden close enough to have caught up with Alys, he reined in his horse. The de Montfort woman was shrewd. She would be looking for him. Alys would never walk down the center of the road. Instead, she would cling to its side. Mayhap even travel parallel to the road and stick to the woods. It was what he would have done if someone pursued him with a vengeance.
He did the same now, clinging to the edge of the road. He’d taken to his feet and led his horse behind him. Carac kept his eyes peeled ahead, darting from side to side. She might have stayed on the left side for a bit and then switched to the right to confuse anyone who pursued her. He wore hunter green and would blend in with the foliage. He remembered Alys had changed from the bloodied yellow gown to one of sky blue. That would stand out—and give him an advantage.
He walked another half-league and then spotted a flash of blue in the distance. His heart jumped into his throat. He froze and watched the blue move forward toward the horizon.
“Oh, I’ve found you now, Alys,” Carac said to himself. “You clever girl.”
He pulled his horse into the woods and mounted it. He could reach her faster by riding. He trotted along until he came within her hearing distance and then stopped and tied the horse to a bush. It would be easier to creep up on her if he was on foot.
Carac slipped quickly through the woods. He sighted the sky blue again and slinked closer. Her burnished red hair had come loose from its braid and now hung to her waist. Between the red on the blue, following her proved easy. Yet he didn’t know how much time he had left. He needed to reach her before her father did, so he increased his speed.
As he drew near Alys, he saw she moved with caution. He stepped on a twig and cringed when it snapped. Carac jumped behind a tree and waited. He was close enough to hear her footsteps. She paused a long moment and then kept on.
Carac sprang from his hiding place and narrowed the gap between them in seconds. Alys must have sensed him behind her. She started to turn as he was upon her. Carac clamped a hand over her mouth and threw his arm around her waist. She bit his hand immediately, but he left it in place, pressing it tightly against her mouth and over her nose. Alys bucked in his arms trying to win her release. He held on even tighter, determined to rein her in. Her struggles lessened, and he knew she’d run out of breath when she gasped for air behind his hand.
He needed to take advantage of her weakened state. Carac threw her to the ground. He slammed a hand into the small of her back and then straddled her, facing her feet. Pinned to the ground, Alys flailed her limbs. He pulled up her skirts and found her already-torn chemise. He yanked hard on it, and the material ripped. He kept tearing until he had a huge chunk of it. While continuing to sit on her, he tore the material into several strips.
Alys realized what he was doing and she bucked even harder, slamming her fists into his sides. His weight held her down, though. Carac slipped a long strip under her ankles and then encircled the ends in opposite directions. He knotted it when he’d looped it around several times. He grabbed another strip from the chemise and crouched to face the other direction. It took him longer to gain control of
her arms. He yanked them back and used one hand to hold her hands while he wrapped the linen around her wrists several times. He tied it off, using several knots to ensure the linen would hold her fast.
She hadn’t screamed before now, but Carac knew that was coming. He captured her chin and lifted her head back. She whipped her head from side to side to prevent him from silencing her.
“Be still, Alys,” he commanded.
She screamed. Carac rolled her on her back and clamped a hand over her mouth as he straddled her again. Her sapphire eyes flashed in anger as his hand stifled her shouts.
“I haven’t hurt you up till now. I don’t intend to. Unless you force me,” he warned.
Alys quieted, but he kept his hand in place, forcing her head to remain against the ground.
Carac took his free hand and brushed his fingers lightly against her breast. Her eyes widened. Muffled protests erupted from her. He flattened his palm and rolled it slowly over her nipple. Then he tightened his hand, squeezing hard. His fingers pinched and twisted the nipple. Her eyes squeezed shut. He stopped as quickly as he started. The blue eyes opened and searched his.
“I can bring you pain, Alys. I can rob you of your dignity. Strip you of your virginity. I don’t want to do that. I want to return the spirited girl I’ve come to know to her father. But you must cooperate. Do you understand?”
“Aye,” she grunted beneath his hand.
“I will place a gag around your mouth. You will not utter a sound. If you do, I will punish you. Nod if you understand.”
Alys did.
Carac removed his hand. His saw that beautiful rosebud mouth trembling. For a moment, he did want to take her, then and there. Plunge into her sweet, tender folds. Suck on those full breasts. But a few minutes of pleasure did not equal a lifetime of wealth. He would remain focused on his task.
He got off her and brought her to her feet. Carac gagged her with the remaining bit of her torn chemise. He made sure the knots were firm. He couldn’t afford to have Alys call out a warning.
