Premonition or not, Alayna had no choice but to nod her acquiescence.
Chapter Two
Inside the keep, Alayna had to blink to adjust to the dimness of the hall. Other than the man pacing at the far wall, the vaulted chamber was empty. Being the social focal point of every castle, Alayna had never seen a hall without at least a dozen people about, engaged in various activities. It gave her an eerie feeling, this vast, barren place.
Or perhaps it was the way this Lucien de Montregnier moved, with a leonine grace that reminded Alayna of a caged animal, or a prowling beast searching for prey.
He stopped when he saw her, swinging around to arch an expectant brow. When she hesitated, he called, “Hurry up, then, come forward!”
She jumped at the sound of his voice echoing among the pointed cornices and hastened forward before she even realized she had obeyed. Catching herself, she slowed her steps, squared her shoulders and told herself to, above all, remain calm.
“Lady Alayna of Gastonbury,” he said. His gaze flickered over her, and Alayna was at once taken aback at his bold, assessing glance.
Up close, he was more forbidding than he had been on horseback. And more handsome. Even with the offensive proof of his day’s chores staining the black chain mail—or because of it—he was an awe-inspiring sight. The chiseled features she had first noticed in the bailey were more appealing upon closer inspection—the straight, proud nose, the planes of his face, the firm set of his broad, sensuous mouth. Blood and grime streaked his face, and his hair was matted in some places, wild in others, giving him an untamed, almost feral look.
His face was unreadable, dark and scowling, while his eyes seemed to bore into her with black regard. It was perfectly reasonable, she told herself, that her knees seemed to suddenly go weak. After all, he was the warrior victorious, and she stood before him awaiting his pleasure. Anyone would be daunted in these circumstances, yet it was not like her. Even against Edgar she had stood in contempt, but this man…it gave her some disquiet to acknowledge he affected her like no other.
Seized with a sudden self-consciousness, she smoothed a stray lock into place, an unsuccessful venture as the tendril promptly sprang back into its original position. She forced her hand to her side, not wanting him to see her discomfort.
“Aye, I am,” she answered, annoyed that her voice sounded meek. It took every ounce of courage to stand unflinching under the steady glare.
“As Edgar du Berg’s widow, I will hear your pledge of fealty first.”
A wild hope leaped to life. Was that all he wished? “Sir,” she began, her voice stronger now, “I will gladly recognize any claim you make to this castle and its lands, or call you by any title you covet. It is nothing to me.” She hesitated, gauging his reaction. He still regarded her with that uncanny calm. “I care nothing for Gastonbury, it is not my home.”
“You are mistress of the castle,” he said evenly. “How can you say that you do not belong here?”
Alayna swallowed hard. Her sharp eyes caught the whitening around the scar on his cheek, the only visible sign of his annoyance. “I was wed only two days, and I have been at Gastonbury for little over a month. My home is in London, where my mother is one of Eleanor’s ladies.”
He studied her for a moment. “And?” he rumbled.
“Since Edgar—my husband—is dead, then I wish to return to my family.” He was so hard. Did he do it apurpose, she wondered, leveling that murderous glare to make her quake?
“You are not going anywhere,” he said with finality. Again the easy mien of command took over as his irritation receded.
“But—” she began, hardly knowing what it was she would have said in objection. But his hand stayed her.
“It is not that I do not sympathize with your wish, my lady.” A sardonic smile twisted his mouth, making him appear the scoundrel for a moment. “I do, in fact, understand the wish for freedom, perhaps more than you know. It simply does not serve my purpose to let you return to your former life, not just yet. You will indulge me in this, I trust, and when matters have been settled here to my satisfaction, we shall see about you.”
He leaned against the hearth, striking an insolent pose that matched his manner. Pinned by his hard stare, she found herself wishing incongruously that she had taken the time to freshen her appearance.
Shaking off the thought, she ventured, “What matters?”
“I am most anxious that my work today has not been in vain,” he explained. A faraway look came to his eye that was chilling. “I have been waiting a long time for this day, and have come far to see it through. Defeating du Berg is only the beginning. I will take everything of his as my own.”
Though unsaid, the implication that she was to be counted among his booty made Alayna stiffen her spine. She certainly had no quarrel with the man desiring revenge against Edgar du Berg. No doubt Edgar was deserving of it. But to include her was not fair.
“I do not understand,” she said. “What does any of that have to do with me?”
“Are you unaware of your position, or merely think me daft?”
He was growing irate again, and the thought of his wrath directed at her nearly made her retreat. But Alayna was not without a temper of her own, and it rose now in her defense. “I have not called you daft. I only wish to leave.”
“And go to Henry and plead your rights as widow of this burh? No doubt you are much put out by the loss of your husband. It would be advantageous for you if you could manage to win back what you have lost.”
“I have no intentions of doing anything of the sort!” she objected. “I want nothing to do with this place. And make no mistake, my lord, I do not mourn any of my losses, least of all my husband!” With everything she had endured at Edgar’s hands, this suggestion stung most. “I hated him, perhaps more than you did, de Montregnier. He tricked me into coming here and forced marriage upon me.”
An insolent look lifted his brow in vague interest. “Trickery was du Berg’s specialty. How is it you were duped?”
Taking a deep breath, Alayna steadied herself. She would have to explain it. “He sent a message telling my mother that he was a cousin of my father’s and inviting us for a visit. My mother was anxious to get me away from court, for the intrigue and debauchery there troubled her, so she accepted. My father is dead these six years, you see, so she did not suspect Edgar’s claim to be a relation was a lie. Once here, he set a trap with that vile creature who has the audacity to call himself a bishop, claiming my reputation had been compromised.” She drew a breath, noting that he had the grace not to look bored with her explanation. “My choices were marriage or the stake.”
“Now, is that not a bit dramatic?” he asked.
“Yes, I thought so, but the suggestion was bandied about just the same. You know, they can burn an adulteress. Edgar would have done it.”
“Why did your family not intervene?”
“I was forbidden to write to my mother. She never knew.”
His eyes narrowed to slits of black. “And what was the late Lord of Gastonbury’s motivation for this great scheme?”
“My lands, you dolt!” she snapped, then immediately regretted it. This man was not someone to goad. He was not, however, perturbed by her insult; he didn’t flinch. She continued in a calmer vein. “He sought me out because I was an heiress.”
“A terrible tale,” de Montregnier tsked insincerely, “but quite irrelevant, even if it is true. You will remain. At least until I can see what is to be done.”
“You cannot do this!”
He smiled with audacious smugness, spreading his hands out before him. “Demoiselle, I have just killed your husband and defeated his army. I assure you I can do anything I wish.”
When she opened her mouth to protest again, he held up his hand, forbidding her entreaty even before it was made. “My lady, I have allowed you much freedom in expressing your displeasure. But I warn you not to try me.” Again that superior grin appeared. “I have had a difficul
t day.”
A slow burn of rage claimed her, banishing her previous fear and propelling her headlong into open rebellion. “You have no right—”
“But I do, lady, for all of Edgar’s possessions revert to me.”
“I am not a possession!”
“A modern opinion, but not one shared by our law,” he drawled, watching her reaction through hooded eyes. “You were Edgar’s property, and now you are mine. And since you will be here, where I can watch you, you can spread no mischief for me.”
Alayna was speechless. So there it was. He thought her some kind of threat to him, to his hard-won prize. Hastening to reassure him, she said, “There is nothing I want here. I give you my word that I will do nothing to interfere with you.”
The twitch of his eyes warned her of his displeasure and of a depth of rage she dared not tap. “I have no use for a woman’s promises. They are not worth the breath required to speak them.”
Her mouth worked in mute indignation as she struggled to find her argument. Then, a thought struck her suddenly, and she relaxed, returning his bitter smile.
“You have no need to worry. I am not Edgar’s widow!”
Lucien gave a long sigh. “What nonsense is this now? I am in no mood for your games. Now, will you pledge fealty to me, or will it be the dungeons?”
“You would not dare!”
“You do not know what I would dare, demoiselle,” he threatened. He stood before her, legs spread, arms crossed before him with easy arrogance. He seemed to loom gigantic, impossibly immense and threatening. “And let me further warn you that I am not tolerant of the female sport of coyness and pointless intrigue. If you have something of import to say to me, speak it outright. My patience, what little I have for your sex, is wearing thin.”
“The marriage contract is invalid,” she stated, “for there was no consummation.”
His brows shot up. “What lie is this? You say Edgar did not take you?”
Blushing deeply, Alayna forced herself to meet his incredulous stare. “That is what I said.”
“I do not believe you,” he challenged.
“’Tis true,” she countered stubbornly.
Lucien raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Who knows of this?” he demanded, “Were not the linens displayed?”
“There was no time. Indeed, all assumed the marriage fulfilled, if they gave it any thought in the midst of being besieged.”
“I returned to Gastonbury for one purpose only—to possess all which belonged to Edgar du Berg as payment for his crimes against my family. I intend to do just that. You were his beloved wife, so too shall you belong to me.”
“But I told you, I am not the lady of the castle.”
He gave no answer, but made a swift move toward her. She cringed, thinking he meant to strike her. Instead, his hand shot out and long, steellike fingers closed around her wrist.
“Wh—?” she began, but the objection was cut off by the hard jerk he gave, bringing her full against him. Stunned, she stared up at him, his face only inches from hers. For some strange reason, her gaze fastened on the clean, pale line marring his cheek, just under the eye. Unable to move, she was dimly aware of some distant part of herself urging her to protest this rough treatment. “Let go,” she said softly, but it was without conviction.
His eyes flitted over her face for a moment before he turned away and pulled her behind without a word.
“Let go!” she said, this time more emphatically, when she saw which direction he was headed. Dragging her up the stairs, he was bringing her to the corridor that led only to the master’s bedchamber.
My God, she thought with alarm, the knave meant to bed her!
Chapter Three
Lucien had no such intentions.
Hauling her along behind him, he went directly to Edgar’s chamber. His chamber now. He knew the way well. He had played in this castle in his youth. His mother and he had come here every year when his father’s service was due to his overlord.
It was here that he had made the tragic discovery, all that time ago.
Such an innocent mistake, his was. He had heard his mother’s laughter, an unaccustomed sound to his young ears, and had been unable to resist. She had always been so cool, so removed, so indifferent to him. Yet he had adored her, thinking her the most beautiful of women and he had hungered for her love.
That was why he had been drawn to the laughter. It was so rare to hear it. Curiosity it had been. Deadly curiosity.
If not for that curiosity, his father would be alive. He himself would not have spent eleven years in hell. It was a guilt he had lived with for a long time. All because of curiosity and a spurned son’s longing for a mother who was nothing but a spiteful and vain betrayer. It had taught him a painful, valuable lesson about life, and about women. That knowledge he had accepted, nay, embraced, as one of the truths that ruled his life: trust nothing which comes from a woman.
Flinging open the portal, he swept Alayna inside the chamber with him and slammed the door shut.
It did not look much different than it had that night. There was the glut of furnishings, the heavy tapestries, the lavish pile of furs on the bed…the bed, the same one in which he had seen them, entwined in a way that had shocked and embarassed him. A strange feeling constricted in his chest, but he pushed the rush of memory aside.
“Now, Lady Gastonbury,” he said tightly, “you tell me Edgar, who is well-known in these parts for his taking of other men’s wives, sadly neglected his own on the eve of their wedding? Is it possible that you did not suit? I doubt it, for though your tongue is waspish, your form is pretty enough. Pray tell, lady, how is it Edgar forgot you?”
“Hardly forgotten,” Alayna snapped bitterly. “I am quite certain Edgar had every intention of taking advantage.”
“Taking advantage? You were not wed?”
“Of course we were, but I told you it was trickery.”
“One only has to consider Edgar’s wealth to think perhaps you found your marriage advantageous, at least on some accounts.”
She shrugged, doing a bad job of trying to appear unperturbed. “If it suits you to think me the eager bride, then I cannot dissuade you of the notion.”
“Aye, I do indeed find it hard to believe Edgar did not avail himself of your…charms at his first opportunity.”
“He passed out from the wine before he could…” Her face flooded with color. A pretty effect, Lucien thought sourly, meant to dissuade him from inquiring further. Oh, yes, his mother had been an excellent tutor on the cunning ways of women. This one would find her wiles wasted on him.
“What you are telling me is completely unbelievable.”
“Do you think I care what you believe?” she flung. “You stand there and insist on what you want to be true, as if you can command it to be so because you say it. Well, you cannot command this, no matter how much it displeases you. I was not Edgar’s wife! I am no part of this place and I demand that you release me at once.”
Lucien regarded her coldly for a moment, trying to decide if she was lying. Her demands he ignored.
He went to the bed, standing between her and it so she could not see how his hand trembled as he lifted the covering of furs, throwing them aside as if scalded and forcing himself to look at the linen.
There were no signs of virginal stains there. When he turned back to her, his face was once again unreadable.
“’Tis most humorous to me that this bed, which has witnessed the taking of so many woman, goes unused on the night its master is to take the one woman to whom he has a right.”
She was watching him carefully, not able to keep the faint gleam of victory from her eyes. She was waiting for him to concede. He was all at once struck by how incredibly beautiful she was. He had noticed before, of course. Even among the crowd in the bailey, she had shone like a jewel amongst cinders. Her eyes were a strange green, as deep and mysterious as the pine forests he had seen in the Northlands. They were almost luminescent, fringed
with thick dark lashes and delicately arched brows. There was something about the shape of those eyes that made her look innocent and sensual at the same time. Her skin was flawless, smooth and the color of cream with a blush. Around the oval of her face, her hair was mussed, but the soft luster of sable was not subdued. Her mouth was pursed in anger now, but it was lovely despite her expression, full and lush, the kind that turned a man’s thoughts away from the business at hand and prompted other, less worthy thoughts.
Suddenly he thought of how odd it was for him to be noticing all of this, and he scowled. “I am not troubled by the lack of proof of your virtue,” he said softly, deliberately. “For all I know you were not a maiden on that night.” He ignored her deep flush of rage. He was certain, of course, that she was indeed still a virgin. She was too obviously embarrassed by the whole matter to be lying on that account. “It makes no difference to me what these linens show, for I say you are the widow of my defeated enemy, and your disposition is mine.”
Aghast at his words, Alayna snapped back at him, “How dare you, when you know the truth! I will tell the king’s man about this, and others will back me, for there is no proof on those linens to credit your false claim.”
Ignoring her, he drew a short dagger from his belt. She shrank away with a small cry. Good Lord, she thought he meant to threaten her with it! Deliberately he held the blade up as if to show it to her, then grasped the naked steel with his other hand and drew it across his palm. He did not flinch at the sting as the cut opened, welling up blood in a vivid crimson line. The wound was nothing. As she watched, horrified and stunned, he reached for the bedclothes and grasped them in his fist.
He waited for the moment of comprehension. With a cry she leaped forward, snatching the cloth from his hand. Lucien released it, letting her see the bright red stain.
“Learn this, lady, for it will serve you well. I have waited upon my vengeance and planned carefully for it. No one, least of all a woman, will thwart me.”
The Maiden and the Warrior Page 2
