Alex removed his sword and handed it to Simon, who along with Stephen, stepped to the side to give him room.
"I’m tempted to run you through and feed your carcass to stray dogs." He stood within arm’s length of Dankworth, offering himself as a target. Dankworth shrank back. "Death by sword is both too swift, and too honorable, for such as you. Craven bastard, too afraid to fight another man, you brutalize a defenseless woman instead."
"You would kill me?" Dankworth shamelessly pled his case, "Over a worthless whore? Why? She is nothing..." he whimpered to a silent and still Alex.
A sound like the wet smack of clay landing on the floor bounced off the plastered walls. Dankworth staggered backwards. He wiped a sleeve across his lips and smeared the blood over his jaw. Alex hit him again. Dankworth stumbled trying to escape the blows. Alex seized him by the tunic front and struck again. Dankworth’s head snapped to the side and new blood spewed from his nose and mouth. Alex let go as Dankworth recoiled and one arm whipped the air. More blood dripped from a cut on his eyebrow, while a steady stream of pinkish mucous bubbled and oozed from his nose.
Dankworth took a feeble roundhouse swing as Alex shook his right hand where the knuckles had already begun to swell from connecting with teeth and bone. He sidestepped the pathetic effort. With his full weight behind him, he buried his fist in Dankworth's stomach and brought his elbow down on the doubled over man, crushing Dankworth’s cheekbone with the blow.
Alex grabbed a handful of hair and yanked, then backhanded him with a clenched fist. Dankworth careened into the same chair he knocked Shakira into the first time he hit her.
Alex lifted him by the tunic front again, and one-handed, held him in place. He drove his fist hard into Dankworth’s mouth who coughed more blood, spitting out a piece of tooth as he fell onto his knees.
Simon laid a restraining hand on Alex’s shoulder when he reached down and jerked Dankworth up again. "Enough, Guy. Enough. Leave something for the king."
Alex didn’t move. Seconds passed before he finally released Dankworth, who slid down the wall.
"Simon, you and Stephen tie his hands to the pommel of his horse's saddle," Alex said, taking Shakira from Basil's arms.
"The devil will likely topple over, tied or no," Simon said with a grunt as he and Stephen dragged the crumpled Dankworth to the door.
Alex shrugged. "Then we’ll take the Thames Road. Let the fish have him if he falls."
"Put me down for a minute." Shakira wiggled and tried to free herself of his hold.
"No, you are too weak."
She squirmed and wiggled more. "Please, just for a minute."
Against his better judgment, Alex eased her to her feet. He watched her square off in front of Cybill. The older woman’s screeching stopped.
Shakira swayed a few degrees side-to-side before steadying. Alex couldn't imagine what mischief she planned. His jaw dropped when she punched Cybill in the nose. The woman’s feet shot out and even he cringed as the hag landed hard on her tailbone.
He turned to a gaping Basil. "Did she or did she not tell me not to take revenge?"
"Aye, I heard her say Dankworth was not worth the trouble. It seems your display inspired her." Basil patted Alex on the back. "She is a handful, your lady."
Alex thought he heard a note of sympathy in Basil’s light-hearted comment.
"Where are the rest of my clothes you bitch?" Shakira asked through gritted teeth. She resembled a down-on-her-luck pirate with her messy dark hair, one good eye, and clenched jaw.
Cybill used the edge of a chair to haul herself up. She tapped gingerly at her nose. "How dare you strike me, you--you—“
"Shut up. Give me my clothes." Shakira swayed again, but waved Alex away as he tried to take her arm. "That’s mine as well," she pointed to the dress Cybill wore, "take it off."
"I’m no whore. I will not disrobe in front of these men."
"Don’t make me laugh, it hurts too much. Whore indeed. Men don’t pay women like you. They go to war to get away from women like you. As to disrobing, let's ask." Shakira twisted around, staggering a step as she did. "Gentlemen, how do you feel about seeing Cybill naked?"
"I'd rather pluck out my eyes," Basil said.
"If there is a choice, I say forget the dress. I fear the vision of the crone's nakedness will be burned in my memory until the grave." Alex faked a dramatic shiver for effect. "I say we go."
She shot him a pointed glance. "The dress may be of use later." She confronted Cybill again. "I want your son’s riding crop too."
"Good idea," Alex said, immediately understanding. "You heard milady, remove the dress and be quick." He helped to speed the process, cutting the buttons off with his dagger.
Cybill stepped out of the gown and shoved it into Shakira’s outstretched arms.
She clutched the dress to her chest, swayed, and then collapsed as her legs buckled.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alex removed what remained of the rough chemise and tossed it into the fire and wrapped Shakira in the velvet robe. While she huddled by the fire, he stripped off his bloody tunic. Basil had ridden ahead and instructed the servants to deliver fresh water and linens to the chamber.
Alex had her sit on the foot of the bed. He moved the side table with the linens and water and sat on a stool opposite her.
"I ordered broth and brandy," he said and dipped a cloth in a basin of warm water. With gentle strokes, he swabbed the blood and dirt from her face.
"I want to clean my teeth," she said in a hoarse whisper.
He handed her a clean square of linen, brought the salt from the dressing table, and set a bowl of water within her reach. She ran the salted cloth over the inside of her mouth, wincing and groaning at the cut area. No fresh blood appeared in the water when she rinsed, which he took as a good sign.
"I fought him. That's why he beat me."
"I know."
"You say you do; only I don't think you realize how hard I fought. He didn't rape me." Alex started to clean her face again. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and stopped him. "It's important you know the truth. I kicked him hard in the balls before he had the chance."
Her eyes beseeched him to believe her. The brutal evidence on her face and body proved how much she resisted. But a woman’s strength doesn’t compare to a man’s, especially an animal like Dankworth. Her denial wasn’t necessary. He'd never think less of Shakira or any woman who was the victim of sexual assault. He’d tell her later, when her emotions weren't so raw.
"I fought,” she said with heat in her voice. “Damn it, I—”
"Shh, I believe you." He sat next to her on the bed and hugged her close. "Let it out. It's all right to cry."
She rested her head on his shoulder and trembled, but she didn’t cry. “No. I won’t cry. He’d like that.”
“He’s not here.”
“He’s not absent either.”
Alex rubbed her back. She needed words of solace beyond the superficial phrases the majority of men, men like himself, relied upon. What can you say to a woman who’s just gone through the most horrific experience of her life? Every reassurance seemed inadequate by comparison. He searched his memory for the comforting words his mother used when he and his sister were young. Few came to him. After he repeated himself several times, his words of consolation were reduced to mere soft sounds.
Someone knocked. "That’ll be our food." He answered the door bare-chested. Mousey Enid stayed in the corridor and handed him the tray. She acted the same as when he questioned her, jittery, avoiding eye contact. He back kicked the door shut and laid the tray on the table.
Shakira moved from the bed to the table no longer trembling. “I’d like a bath,” she said with a queen’s superior dignity.
"Not until you've eaten. Personally, I’m ravenous. I’ll order the tub filled while we have the broth."
"How can you stand to eat at the same table with me? I stink like a billy goat."
"You don't stink like
a goat." Alex's lips pursed and his brows slashed downward in feigned contemplation. "Well, maybe a small goat," he said, laughing as he dodged the chunk of bread she lobbed at his head. "You don't smell, you only think you do. I've eaten amongst overripe bodies in the company of men who hadn't had a proper wash for weeks. Now, that was smelly." #
Shakira ran her fingertips over the surface of the bath water and untied her robe.
"Wait, don’t get in yet. The hot water might shock your system," Alex cautioned. "Give me a moment to finish undressing and I’ll join you."
"It's a bath, nothing to worry about. I feel a thousand-"
He folded his arms and cleared his throat.
"All right, fifty per cent better," she conceded and tossed her robe onto a chair. "I'll climb in nice and easy.” She swung a leg over, tested the temperature with her foot, and then brought her other leg over. See," she said, lowering herself till the water reached her ribs.
The color drained from her face. She clamped onto the side of the tub. Knuckles white, she bent so her forehead rested on the edge of the bath. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow pants.
"Damn it, Rocky." Alex jumped into the tub. "Relax, take deep breaths."
"I got a little dizzy, but I’m fine now."
"No, you’re not, you’re ashen. I was afraid something like this would happen." He stretched and snagged a pillow from one of the chairs and slipped it under her head. "Keep taking deep breaths while I remove these wet hose."
The soggy material clung to him, but he managed to get them off and threw them across the room. Let the annoying Enid clean it up the puddly mess in the morning.
He eased Shakira away from the edge and settled her between his knees. "Use my chest as support."
She leaned back, tilted her head and looked up at him. “Will you wash my hair?”
"Of course. I think I should wash you everywhere and rid you of that barnyard scent," he said, sniffing her neck.
He lost count of the tangles and tried to finger comb them out as he rinsed. The knots only got worse. The more he picked at them the tighter they seemed to get.
“My comb is by the mirror,” Shakira said.
He hopped out, grabbed it, and stopped to add another bucket of hot water to the bath then rejoined her. He worked with painstaking patience to comb out each snarl. His efforts were rewarded with a glossy sheet of inky hair that hung arrow straight. Just like it did the day he saw her in Ian's driveway, eight weeks ago. Eight weeks and centuries ago.
He told Shakira to stand and face him. His soapy fingers worked their way into the crevices between her toes, up her calves to her thighs. With a slight adjustment, he was auspiciously positioned to her nest of silky curls. She held onto his shoulders for balance as he washed her nether regions.
"Make love to me Alex."
"No. What sort of barbarian do you take me for?" He stood and poured a bucket of fresh rinse water over her. "You need rest. You need to heal. You need-"
"You," she said, sliding her hand down. She teased him until he grew erect. "Besides, the part I want you to make love to isn't sore."
“Everything else on you is bruised and battered. I’d never forgive myself if I caused you more pain.” He assisted her from the tub conscientious of not banging any of the injured areas. The thin length of linen was a poor excuse for a towel compared the fluffy cotton ones of their modern life. It would do, and he patted, rather than rubbed her dry.
"You don't understand,” Shakira said. “He’s still with me. I still smell the stink of vinegary wine on his breath." She stared down at Alex wide-eyed. "I still feel his rough fingers with their sharp nails hurting me." New emotions swelled. "He stuck them inside me."
Alex hugged her as tight as he dared. "It’s over. He'll never harm you again. What you think you smell and feel is your imagination playing a cruel trick on you." He reached for another towel to cover her shoulders as goose bumps dotted her skin.
"Please make love to me. I want yours to be the touch I fall asleep on, to be the scent on my skin. Please." Her breath teased his ear. "Don’t look at my damaged body. Let me lose myself in you."
He led her to bed, making love to her with the caution reserved for fragile crystal. She protested his gentleness in places she insisted it wasn’t required. In the end, she finessed the lead from him and climbed on top.
With surprising energy, she had her way with him and then dozed off fast. She slept with the blankets drawn to her waist. She lay on her right side to avoid putting pressure on the worst bruises. Alex relaxed in a chair and propped his feet up on the seat of another. He watched her while he sipped a brandy and replayed his mistakes in his mind. He should’ve found a reason not to go on the hunt. He should’ve left her at Elysian Fields like she wanted and if it irritated the king, so what?
She rolled onto her left side, moaned when her swollen cheek touched the pillow, and rolled back. The blanket slid off. He went over and started to cover her again but paused to stare at the weals from the riding crop. The angry red stripes ran the length of her spine and across her thighs. Pinpricks of dried blood trailed the same path. Rage flared. This must never happen to her again. To protect her, he had no choice. He’d marry her.
The events of the day had caught up. Exhausted, he dropped into his chair and put his feet up again. He yawned and rested his head against the back of the chair. Tomorrow he'd tell her his plan and take care of the details. His eyes watered with the second, bigger yawn. He couldn't go to bed yet, not until he worked out what to tell the king. He closed his eyes intent on getting his second wind after a little catnap. A few minutes rest was all he needed.
Bodies litter the fallen ramparts and the field where the gates of his family home once stood. Blood’s iron odor mixes with the putrid air of eviscerated men and stamps itself on his senses. All battles smell the same.
Deep within the holding, children run from pen to pen and servants run from stall to stall in the barns freeing livestock as the wooden structures ignite. Bleating sheep crowd the narrow rear gates, separated lambs stand rooted, crying in hopes their mothers will find them and lead them to safety. Stable boys struggle with the knight’s destriers. Even the highly trained mounts revert to instinctive animal fear of fire.
He glances over his shoulder at the deafening noise from behind him. The archway housing the portcullis has fallen.
Time has come. He makes his way to the Keep to confirm his family made their escape. He passes the barn closest to the round tower and sees her, one of his Guiscard descendents generations removed. She presses a finger to her lips, "shh," she whispers to a little girl and races inside with the child. The young mother has draped her brown cloak over her daughter and moves from one shadowed space to the next until she reaches the ladder. She bends and lifts the child, speaking instructions in her ear. Blonde ringlets bounce against dimpled cheeks as the little girl smiles, excited by the adventure.
The mother makes herself small as possible, wedging her body into the far corner of the hayloft. The wide-eyed toddler squirms, suddenly frightened by the new round of shrieks from people and animals from the bailey.
He steps from the shadows to warn her. “Run...they’ll burn this building too.” She doesn’t see or hear him. No one does.
Two enemy soldiers saw the mother creep into the barn and order her out. She ignores their commands and shields the child beneath her. She frantically pulls clumps of hay over them as fast as she can.
The smirking soldiers torch the barn turning it into an inferno within minutes. Mother and child climb down, crawling along the dirt floor through the rear door.
He can do nothing.
The back of his hand banged the table as he struck out. Alex jerked awake, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. Sharp pain radiated into his wrist where he hit the table's edge. He sat up and alternately flexed and shook his left hand until the pain dissipated.
The misery the nightmare always brought hovered on the perimeter of his consci
ousness as he joined Shakira in bed. Propped on his elbow, he smoothed the hair from her battered face. The fate of a mother and child from centuries gone couldn't sway him from a path he never thought to take.
But, what if?
He refused to give in to the grim emotions. The fate of the woman next to him was all that mattered.
Chapter Thirty
Shakira shook off the shock of the unusual decision and started a mental laundry list of facts to present.
"I just heard," Alex said, closing the chamber door. "The king’s consented to let you, a woman," he jiggled his brows, "question Dankworth in front of the whole court."
“I know. John Holland came by after you left and told me to prepare. The case goes before the king in three days. He said the prince suggested I be allowed to question Dankworth.”
“Ah,” Alex said, connecting the dots, “knowing Edward, he finds the idea amusing.”
“I suppose princes must get their laughs where they can,” she said, a little less impressed with the decision now.
Alex poured two goblets of wine and handed her one. "Here's to you, darling. You're about to give the Middle Ages a taste of enlightenment.” He raised his cup in toast.
“I welcome the decision for a public trial. At last, I’ll be in an arena where I have expertise. I’m not following you around like a puppy.” She sipped her wine and for clarification added, “You realize I’m not interested in altering the medieval mindset. It isn’t about bringing enlightenment to the fourteenth century.”
“I was teasing. I know you’re not. You’re not the crusader type. That said maybe one mind will be expanded.”
“I am a little nervous about putting a foot wrong, not being familiar with the nuances of the Plantagenet legal system.”
“I’ve every confidence you’ll do great.”
He drank another mouthful and said in a more serious tone, "The bruises on your ribs are worse this morning. You should’ve told me how badly he kicked you."
Journey in Time (Knights in Time) Page 15
