by Maura Seger
Colin looked down at her with grim satisfaction. In their struggle, her clothes had been pushed up, baring her long, slim legs to mid-thigh. With the thin fabric twisted around her, the ripe swell of her breasts and
the narrow span of her waist were all the more evident Her veil had come off, lost somewhere back where he had caught her, and her glorious hair tumbled free in the sunlight
Towering over her, he laughed softly as he took in the enraged glare of her golden eyes. She reminded him of a magnificent high-spirited falcon ready to leap back into the sky at the slightest opportunity. But there would be no such chance for freedom. He had already made up his mind what he meant to do with her, and he was not about to let a mere woman interfere with his plans.
Gesturing to his men to bring the horses, he lifted her easily. Roanna's further efforts at resistance were futile. The slight strength she had recovered since her illness was almost exhausted, and her bonds made it impossible to move. Helplessly, she had to suffer Colin's touch as he carried her to his stallion.
Alaric held her as he mounted, but all too quickly she was laid across the saddle in front of her captor, her body pulled tight against his massive chest One corded arm wrapped round her back while the other lay insolently across her abdomen near the cleft of her thighs. Lean, brown hands grasped the reins as he gave the signal to move out.
As stealthily as they had come, the band of raiders vanished back into the thick forest Following paths only the most experienced woodsmen could make out they put swift distance between themselves and the D'Arcy lands.
It was anyone's guess when Roanna's disappearance would be realized. But once the alarm was given, there was no doubt her brother would act swiftly. Colin intended to be well within the walls of his own fortress before that happened.
Roanna remembered very little of the ride. She was too conscious of the man holding her to notice more than the slightest details of their journey. Her heart beat painfully against her ribs as she grappled with fear surpassed only by rage.
Too late she realized how foolish she had been to leave the safety of the compound. The nearness of the guards had not helped her when confronted by an enemy who moved so swiftly and silently as to be all but invisible. Blinking back tears, she thought of her brother and sister-in-law remorsefully. It was all too easy to imagine how anxious they would be. Her impulsiveness would harm far more than just herself.
As to her own fate, she had little doubt that it would be grim. The dress and manner of the man who held her proclaimed him an Anglo-Saxon lord, one of the few to survive the debacle at Hastings. Dimly she remembered something about an ancient English family still holding lands to the north of Guyon's near the Welsh border. If her captor was of that clan, the chances of getting her back unharmed were dim indeed.
Sorrow filled her as she considered that her lack of prudence would be the cause of yet more violence in this blood-soaked country. Though she would most likely not live to see it Guyon would not rest until he had exacted the full measure of vengeance from those who harmed her. His hopes of being able to rude peacefully would be shattered as he and his men plunged yet again into war.
A low murmur of contrition broke from Roanna, inadvertently catching Colin's attention. He glanced down in time to see the sheen of tears in the amber eyes that were quickly averted from him.
Unable to guess the train of her self-condemnatory thoughts, he presumed she was simply afraid. But the satisfaction he would have expected to find in her dread eluded him. Almost without his being aware of it, his arm tightened around her in a gesture that was oddly comforting.
Long before they reached the Algerson stronghold, Roanna's bound limbs were numb and her back ached mercilessly. What color had been in her cheeks was gone. Despite the balmy summer day, she shivered. But not for the world would she let Colin see her discomfort. When he lifted her from the horse, her eyes were as flat and hard as any determined warrior. Curious onlookers kept a respectful distance as she was carried into the great hall
Placed at the center of the stronghold where it was surrounded by open fields and a double protective wall, the timber-frame structure was at least two stories high and large enough to hold several hundred people comfortably. Above wood plank walls covered with daub and wattle plaster, the slanted roof was finished with carefully fitted slate tiles and bracketed on either side with stone chimneys.
Around the hall, smaller, separate buildings of similar design housed the kitchens, laundry, latrines, bakery, and brew house. Close to a nearby stream stood a mill, drying kiln, and a large granary. The vegetable and herb gardens and the orchards lent fragrant scents to the soft summer air. From the stables the whinnying of horses, the lowing of oxen and cows, and the baaing of sheep and goats could be heard mingling with the raucous cluck of ducks, geese, and chickens housed in adjacent coops.
All the many functions essential to a large, prosperous community that was almost completely self-sufficient were well represented. Ample room was set aside for the workshops of blacksmiths, armorers, tanners, fullers, wheelwrights, weavers, and seamstresses. A little distance away stood private sleeping quarters for the family and high-ranking guests. Everyone else slept outside under the stars or, during a good part of the year, within the hall itself.
Inside the massive structure Roanna blinked to adjust to the dimmer light The air was fragrant with the scents of drying herbs hung from the rafters. She could make out a vast expanse of packed-down dirt strewn with clean rushes. Tables and benches were set up in preparation for the evening meal. Against the walls, sleeping pallets and personal belongings were rolled out of the way.
Unlike most of me victorious Normans, Roanna had no contempt for the conquered English. Even without her deep affection for her Anglo-Saxon sister-in-law, she was far too intelligent to nurture prejudice against any people. But she was nevertheless surprised by the ordered luxury of her surroundings.
More than ever she was convinced she must be in the stronghold of the Algersons, since they were the only surviving family in the area wealthy and powerful enough to maintain such standards despite the new regime.
Several men-at-arms had followed her captor into the hall. Set on her feet in their midst, her bonds at last released, Roanna glanced round warily. The warriors eyed her avidly, making no effort to hide either their appreciation or their curiosity. Only the copper-haired giant frowned as he surveyed her expressionlessly.
Under his scrutiny, Roanna had to fight down the urge to smooth her clothes and hair. Her dishev-element would have troubled her more had she realized the wanton edge it gave to her beauty. Colin found it difficult to hide his response to her, a fact which only worsened his mood.
Scowling, he demanded, "Am I correct in presuming that you are D'Arcy's sister?"
Roanna hesitated. Sheer cussedness made her want to refuse to tell him anything, but she realized her identity might offer the only protection she could find. Surely not even the formidable man before her would be anxious to incur her brother's wrath.
"I am Lady Roanna D'Arcy," she admitted reluctantly. "Who are you?"
Instead of answering at once, the battle-hardened warrior poured himself a mug of ale and drank most of it before looking at her again.
Roanna's brow furled at what she regarded as discourtesy. After the long ride on the warm summer day, she was easily as thirsty. A Norman, she thought stiffly, would have offered a lady refreshment before partaking of anything himself. But not, honesty forced her to admit, if he regarded that woman as an enemy.
In fact, the ale was being drunk more for the pause it offered than for itself. Colin needed a moment to get his contrary thoughts back under control. He had felt a definite twinge of disappointment when the girl confirmed his guess about her identity.
If she had been anyone else, he would not have hesitated to satisfy the urges she provoked. Always presuming, of course, that she could be coaxed into sharing his desire. Colin had no taste for unwilling women, but his consid
erable expertise had long ago convinced him that there were very few such creatures.
D'Arcy's sister, however, required frustratingly different treatment Scowling, he turned back to her.
"I am Colin Algerson, Lord of Hereford." A slight, mirthless smile curved his mouth. "And you, my lady, are hostage for the safe return of my cousin, who languishes in your brother's prison."
Long years of self-discipline enabled Roanna to hide her surprise, and her relief. Hostage. That was far better than what she had feared. To be seized for revenge would have subjected her to all manner of horrors. But the taking of hostages by both Anglo-Saxons and Normans was a time-honored ploy well regulated by secular and religious law. The details of her treatment were clearly understood by both sides. Instinct told her that Colin was not a man to ignore the proprieties. For the moment, at least, she was safe.
With the realization that she had less to fear than she had thought came a resurgence of anger. It was all very well for this savage to announce she was a hostage. That didn't mean she would accept her captivity docilely. How dare he so upset her fife just when she was once again beginning to enjoy it? She longed to let the arrogant cur know what she thought of him and his plans. If only she were a man. . . .
Roanna's gold-flecked eyes sparked mutinously. Her back stiffened as she drew herself up to her full height, a rather wasted gesture since though she was taller than most women she came barely to Colin's shoulders. For just a moment, the broad sweep of his chest tapering to a taut waist, lean hips, and long, sinewy legs revealed by his short tunic made her forget what she meant to say.
Annoyed as much by her own weakness as by him, she sneered, "I should have known one of your kind would not dare to challenge my brother openly. How much better for you to hide behind a woman's skirts and try to get your way by treachery."
The deliberate insult wrung shocked gasps from the men-at-arms. Their lord was a proud man who did not take any slur to his honor lightly. Hardly breathing, they waited for his response.
Beneath his rugged tan, Colin paled in fury. He took a step forward before reminding himself that she was only a woman and he could not avenge the affront as he normally would. The blow he would have struck any man who so dared to anger him would have snapped Roanna's slender neck.
Unbidden he felt a spark of admiration for her courage. He had expected a Norman wench to be tearfully cowering. Instead he found himself confronted with a gloriously beautiful she-devil who stared at him scornfully and did not hesitate to speak her mind.
So struck was he by the extraordinary combination of loveliness and bravery that, had no one else been present, he might have been tempted to forgive her insolence. But half a dozen of his men had heard the insult He had no choice but to punish her immediately.
A flick of his hand was sufficient to summon two of the guards. Already regretting her hasty words, Roanna's throat tightened painfully as he said, "You appear determined to make things hard on yourself, my lady. So be it" Turning to the men, he ordered, "Take her to the confinement cell"
Hard hands grasped her arms, puffing Roanna in the direction of the door. She had only a glimpse of Colin's rigid expression, his eyes cold and his manner implacable, before she was yanked from the hall.
Chapter 2
The cell was not as bad as Rqanna had feared. Set some little distance from the hall near the barracks of the men-at-arms, it was a small wooden hut sturdily constructed and entered only by an iron-studded door secured by a heavy bar. A tiny window, also barred, admitted some light along with the busy sounds of men and women at work in the bailey.
The walls were dry, their daub and wattle plaster keeping out any dampness. The floor was strewn with straw, which she inspected gingerly before determining that it was in fact clean. A blanket lay folded in one corner, but she ignored that for the moment After depositing her in the cell, the guards returned with a pitcher of water, men left for good after slamming the bolt into place behind them.
For a while Roanna paced the narrow space aimlessly. She was irritated with herself and uneasy at being confined. The long days of her illness through which she had been restricted to her room in her brother's keep had been bad enough. To such a vigorous girl, imprisonment in the tiny cell was almost intolerable.
Drawing a deep breath, she told herself she should be glad it was no worse. The cell that held Colin's cousin was not likely to be as comfortable. Guyon was a just and merciful man, but he was so angered by the poacher's intransigence that he would give no more thought to his well-being than was absolutely necessary. In all likelihood, the prisoner shared his lodgings with rats and various other vermin. Whereas here, no matter how acutely she listened, she could make out no presence but her own.
Toward dusk, her solitude was interrupted by an old woman escorted by the guards who brought her a bowl of stew and bread. The food was hot and smelled enticing. Roanna accepted it gratefully, though her smile was returned only by a grudging nod.
With her stomach filled, some of her anxiety eased. Settling back against a wall of the hut, she smoothed her clothes as best she could and combed through the worst tangles in her hair with her fingers. That done, her eyes began to close. It had, to put it mildly, been an eventful day. With her small store of strength long gone, she slipped easily into sleep.
For several hours the summer night remained balmy. But after the moon set, a chill wind blew up. A current of air pushing out of the northern lands that remained perpetually encased in ice mocked the time of year with its sudden, frigid blast. Roanna stirred restlessly. Without waking, she groped for the blanket and wrapped it around her.
As the temperature continued to drop, peasants in their huts woke grumbling to light fires. Animals in the forests burrowed deeper into their lairs. Such abrupt changes in the weather were not uncommon, but coming after so many weeks of blissful breezes and bright sunshine the sharp cold was a shock.
In the cell, Roanna was losing the struggle to keep warm. Her clothes were thin, and the blanket, which should have been more than sufficient, was instead proving inadequate. Lost in her dreams, she imagined herself back at the keep, ill with the fever that had so weakened her. Tossing on the straw, she wondered faintly why Brenna did not come to help.
In his own quarters, slightly apart from the great hall where most of his retainers lay, Colin slept fitfully. He had retired later than usual, after gently refusing the company of a comely serving girl who had shared bis bed several times before to their mutual enjoyment and who made it clear she would like to do so again.
Lying with his arms behind his head on the large bed carved from the trunk of an ancient oak tree, he had hoped to sleep deeply. But the memory of mocking amber eyes, honey-spun hair, and a slender, ripe body kept him from rest Cursing softly, he tried without success to put his enticing captive out of his mind. But when he finally did manage to sleep, thoughts of Roanna followed him into his dreams.
Deep in the night, he came abruptly awake. His hand reached automatically for the longsword lying beside the bed as he tried to determine what had disturbed him. Moments passed before he realized the cause.
It was cold. Inured to physical discomfort, Colin could not imagine why the sudden change of weather should bother him. Until he remembered the girl in the confinement cell.
A low curse broke from him. Springing from the bed, he crossed the room in rapid strides, pausing only long enough to pull on a runic. The thegns keeping guard on the palisade grinned at each other as they observed their lord's hasty progress. But their smiles vanished when they heard the angry oath he uttered upon thrusting open the barred door.
Roanna lay crumbled on the hard floor. Her legs were drawn up and her arms wrapped around herself in a futile effort to keep warm. At Colin's order, a guard came running with a torch. By its flickering light, he could see that her skin was ashen and her brow damp with perspiration. She moaned softly when he touched her but showed no awareness of his presence.
Dread stabbed throu
gh Colin. The prison he had meant to be no more than a brief, salutory lesson had turned into a deadly menace. Silently he castigated himself for being misled by the girl's brave spirit into thinking her less delicate than she must be. Remorse made him exceptionally tender as he lifted her slight weight and carried her swiftly from the cell.
The private quarters next to his own were kept cleaned and aired for honored guests. By the time he deposited Roanna in the center of the large, soft bed, serving women had scurried to light the braziers and bring fur throws. An old grandmother revered for her healing skills was summoned and set quickly to work brewing herbs to cast off fever and ease breathing.
Colin, who had considerable experience himself in helping die sick and wounded during war campaigns, had no illusions about the seriousness of Roanna's condition. His lean, skilled fingers found signs of swelling beneath her throat A hand placed below her left breast determined that her heart was beating unusually fast Since reaching the bower, her color had faded even more and her soft, ripe mouth was already cracked and dry.
Fighting down the foreboding that threatened to paralyze him, he moved swiftly. In any illness of this sort, time was of the essence. Without waiting for the servants who had hurried off to fetch more blankets and extra peat for the braziers, he stripped Roanna's sweat-soaked clothes from her.
The slender, perfectly proportioned body that was thus revealed to him shook even his determined detachment He had beheld many beautiful women over the years, but never one who so effortlessly moved him.
A wry smile softened his harsh expression as he considered that his heart was now beating at least as fast as Roanna's. His hands trembled slightly as he drew the covers over high, firm breasts whose velvety nipples beckoned his mouth, a tiny waist he was certain he could easily span, and gently rounded hips tapering into slender thighs separated by a cluster of golden curls.
