Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  “Angus.” Chloe tried to remember the man, and then there he was, melting from the woodwork it seemed as he suddenly appeared at the table.

  He was old, nearly her father’s age. Still built like a warrior, but old none the less. His face was cruel. Lines etched into the corners of his eyes and brow. But no lines around his mouth. He didn’t smile much.

  When she met his eyes—cold watery brown eyes—he nodded.

  “Angus, you remember my daughter, Lady Chloe?” her father asked, without even so much as looking at Angus or herself.

  Angus didn’t say a word, just nodded again.

  The man sat down, and the meal began. She watched as he stabbed at a piece of meat, the movement almost like he was stabbing at her heart. There was no talk of wedding plans or even a date, and for that, Chloe was relieved. Mayhap she could push it far enough off, that the man might perish. What a perfectly horrid thing to think! She berated herself and immediately said a prayer for the man’s health.

  After that, Chloe tuned out the conversation, and no one made any comments to her either. When the meal was complete, she snuck out the buttery door and headed for the family chapel. No one deigned to stop her, and even if they did, she would have pushed past them. Her father was going to force her to marry the cruel, old, Angus. From the look of him, he would be rough with her, unkind. Not a match she would have chosen for herself if they were the two last people on earth, and humankind’s survival depended on it.

  Calais, France

  Mid-October, 1415

  The air was crisp and ripe with the scents of battle. The metallic odor of blood wafted in the morning fog. The smell of the dead and the living intermingled to create an aroma that can only come after fierce warfare. Whoops and hollers echoed across the fields from the victorious men. Groans of pain drifted in the wind.

  There are some days that remain the same, and some days that change the entire path of your life. Today would be one of those days.

  Lord Alexander Drake, Baron of Hardwyck, walked briskly to the ornately decorated tents upon the hill. His heart beat erratically in his chest. The rush from such a fierce fight and jubilation at victory raced through his veins. The guards nodded and stepped aside. King Henry V sat in his high-backed wooden chair, a serene expression on his face.

  “Your majesty, I came as soon as I received your message.” Alexander bowed low to his sovereign. He made sure to drop his gaze, as the good king did not like his vassals to look him in the eyes.

  Discreetly Alexander sniffed himself. The stench was not as strong as he feared. At least he wouldn’t offend his leader too much.

  “Lord Hardwyck. Stand. I am pleased you came so quickly.”

  “It is my pleasure to serve you, majesty.” As he stood, Alexander attempted to wipe some of the blood from his hands.

  “By the faith I owe to God and Saint George, you Lord Hardwyck, have made your king proud. However, before I can let you return to your holdings in England, I have one last conquest for you, which you will find benefits you greatly.”

  “I am humbly at your service, majesty.” From the corner of his eye, Alexander could see his own father, the Earl of Northumberland, enter the tent and nod in approval to the king’s words.

  Inwardly he groaned. Although the idea of another conquest excited him, he was disappointed he would not be returning home. His men were tired, he hadn’t seen his lands in months and he was in dire need of a warm, soft and willing wench. How long would this next conquest last?

  It had to be nearly four months, since they left England to assist the king in regaining his lands and titles in France. Alexander was only too happy for the king they’d done well. They’d just won the battle of Agincourt. It was a bloody affair, one they weren’t sure at first they’d be able to win, having been outnumbered nearly three to one. Alexander was lucky to have only lost twenty of his men, and only too glad the dysentery epidemic seemed to pass right by his regiment.

  “Baron Fergusson crossed the borders from the insufferable Scotland Lowlands and laid claim to South Hearth Castle,” King Henry claimed.

  Alexander’s gaze shot to his father. South Hearth was one of his father’s holdings in the north of England, just on the border, and often a seat of great controversy between the Scots and themselves—the former believing the holding was on Scottish lands. He was also aware that Fergusson was the last Scottish chief to rule over South Hearth and its lands.

  “Even with our latest treaty, the damnable Scots will act like savages. I have heard on good authority, he is planning a siege against several of our other holdings on the border of Scotland. He is a difficult man, a most treacherous man. I feel he will attempt an attack soon. That cannot happen. We must attack first. You will besiege South Hearth and return it to English rule.” King Henry took a deep breath. The king’s eyes bored into Alexander, causing him to shift with unease. “I wish to further foolproof the deed.”

  “Aye, my liege?” Alexander’s stomach twisted into knots. He wasn’t against battle, he wasn’t against killing an enemy, but the look in his leader’s eyes said there was something much different about this mission. What could the king mean? What further could he do, besides regaining control, to ensure it was indeed theirs to keep?

  “You will marry the Baron’s daughter, Lady Chloe Fergusson.”

  Alexander’s eyes shot up, his mouth dropped open and his ears began to ring. Had he heard correctly? For certes he wanted to slide between the sheets with a woman, but a wife? That was not part of his plan.

  King Henry narrowed his gaze, and Alexander lowered his eyes. This couldn’t be. He couldn’t marry. A painful burning knotted his stomach, and he swallowed the bile threatening to rise in his throat. Marry a Scot? The thought of marrying an Englishwoman was bad enough. Scotswomen were ill bred, bloated fishwives.

  “Once you have besieged South Hearth, Baron Fergusson and his followers are to be imprisoned. Anyone who attempts to go against you should be executed. Marry the girl as soon as possible. South Hearth Castle, the lands and a new title will be yours. I am happy to offer them to you knowing they will be in English hands.”

  Alexander blinked. The lands would have gone to him in any case upon his father’s death. In essence, he was inheriting early—and inheriting a wife along with it. “Majesty, there must be another way besides marriage to secure our position.”

  “Nay, Dragon, there is not. I want Fergusson to know he’s crossed the line for the last time.” Calling Alexander by his warrior name and giving him a piercing stare, made it all too clear King Henry would not change his position. “I suspect the baron has much support in Scotland and France. There are many that do not believe in my just rights and inheritances.” The king began to sputter. “By all the saints, I only do what God has ordained me to do!”

  “Aye, your grace. We shall leave at once.” There was no use in arguing further with the king. He’d made a decision and this was the way it would be. There was no other choice but for Alexander to follow his rule.

  He made his bows to the king, and left the tent. Being a knight and lord under the king was a trying position. He certainly loved what he did. He enjoyed training his soldiers, loved to see them do well in battle, felt blessed he’d made it thus far to eight and twenty years with nary a serious wound. But marry?

  “My son,” the Earl of Northumberland clasped his arm outside the tent, his bony fingers pressing hard against Alexander’s chinked armor. “You have done a most glorious duty for the king if he believes you are to be honored in such a way.”

  Alexander snorted. “A Scots woman? They’re all barbarians.” He ground his heel into the dirt, letting his latest duties sink in. “God’s teeth!” he said under his breath. “‘Tis a great honor to gain the notice and love of my king. However, the wife I may not cherish so much.”

  A bitter laugh escaped his father’s lips. “No need to worry so much about your wife. There are many ways to handle a woman. Just remember she is merely that. A woman
. She is to do your bidding. Show her the strong side of your fist. You may well enjoy having someone to rub your feet at night, and bed when you please. Your cock will thank you for it.”

  “Ah, Father, I can have any woman any time,” Alexander boasted. “’Tis not that which I am concerned about. ‘Tis a knife slitting my throat while I sleep.”

  His father laughed a brittle old laugh. He was wraith thin, his cheekbones jutting from his face. “Not to worry, my son. She will most likely be too busy cowering in the corner.”

  The image was distasteful. No matter how much of an ugly, flatulent shrew she would most likely be, Alexander hoped she wouldn’t spend her time cowering in the corner. He’d never beat a woman either. Although he wanted his wife to be obedient, he certainly didn’t want her to be a simpering fool. He’d heard tell despite their boorishness, Scotswomen were feisty, lusty and inventive. But that was only a rumor. If he was lucky, perhaps the fact that he had to marry wasn’t so bad, knowing that the bedding would be eventful.

  “’Twill be an easy task for you. The bloody Scots savages are no match for your seasoned knights.” His father fluttered his hands in an exaggerated motion.

  Alexander knew taking siege of the castle would not be difficult. He and his knights were the best. Once he was in control he’d imprison the worthless lot of them.

  “Yes, father. Will you join me?” He prayed the man would say no.

  “No, my son. I have much to do at home. I am leaving for England in the morning. I will come to Hardwyck when you return.”

  Just the mention of his village and keep brought an ache to his heart. He’d been on campaign so long he wasn’t sure what a down-filled mattress felt like anymore. Camp followers filled his more baser needs, but laying with a wench on the ground who’d just been with another knight moments before wasn’t his style. How he wished to sleep in his own bed, pull a willing maid between the sheets. He even longed to hold court just to see his town’s people and how things faired.

  They reached Alexander’s tents. “I will see you soon,” he said to his father. “From what I understand, it shall not take me long to conquer South Hearth and Fergusson.”

  “Aye. Goodbye, my son.” His father did not embrace him. He never did. A simple nod was all the affection Alexander ever expected or received. Except for the daily beatings he’d received as a child. But he supposed the rigid, violent way his father reared him had made him who he was today. He returned the cold gesture and turned to his waiting men. They stood ready, awaiting their new orders.

  “Men, we’ve gained a great honor today.” Alexander explained their latest charge by the king, and smiled as his men shouted their approval. Their enthusiasm sparked his blood and he hollered with them. As they pumped themselves up to move out, he became aware that he was truly ebullient. He would be gaining more land, giving him more wealth and more power. However, Alexander couldn’t keep his mind from reeling. He would be married in a few days time. Most likely a father within the year.

  Would it change him much? First and foremost he was a knight to the king, a man of valor. He would make sure to do his duty for England first. He would have to make his new wife understand her position. Perhaps he would leave her at South Hearth after he was sure she conceived and then return to Hardwyck with the son she would bare him. The two holdings weren’t so far apart that he couldn’t keep an eye on her and her traitorous tendencies, for weren’t all Scots traitors and women weak?

  His mother died when he was young and the subsequent three different women his father married were frail and panic-stricken. Fear filled their eyes when his father entered the room.

  Would Lady Chloe be that way?

  “Let’s move out!”

  Thoughts of marriage were making him churlish. He needed a good fight. Hopefully the exercise of riding would abate some of his frustration at the situation.

  “My lord, we are ready.” Edward his loyal vassal stood by his side.

  Alexander nodded in his direction.

  “May I speak freely, my lord?”

  “Edward, you know I am always open to hear what you have to say. You’ve kept me sane these last years.”

  “I simply do my duty to the mighty Dragon.” He paused in his words. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready?”

  “Ready for the fate the king has destined for you.”

  Alexander turned to his loyal friend. Concern was etched on Edward’s face. Alexander sought to ease his concern.

  “I shall be fine, Edward. It is only lands and a wife I gain. I have not been sentenced to death. It is a great reward.”

  “Aye, marriage is a great reward.” A nostalgic look crossed his face.

  “You miss Lady Anne?”

  “Aye.”

  “I can only pray my new wife is as sweet and beautiful as yours. But I suppose sweetness is too much to ask from a Scotswoman.”

  Edward laughed. “Aye, and let us hope she is a beauty for your sake and ours. Should you be stuck with an ugly shrew for a wife, your line may die with you.”

  Alexander slapped Edward on the back, a loud guffaw escaping him. “Let us ride my friend. I am in need to see sooner than later what this Lady Chloe looks like.”

  The men and horses felt Alexander’s need to ride fast and complied without complaint. Although outwardly he was in control leading his men, inwardly his thoughts were in turmoil.

  Would it be then, he should die murdered in his bed rather than on the field of battle? Or perhaps the marriage bed would be a field of battle. Steamy thoughts passed through his mind. Long silky legs wrapped around his waist. A warm velvet woman to lay with morning, noon and night. Braies now tight in the middle, he was thankful no one could see his desire. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman.

  Alexander shook his head. He was the Dragon. A fierce and mighty warrior. His woman would do his bidding or suffer his wrath. If his new wife wanted a war, wanted to battle against him, so be it. He would take on this woman whatever she brought upon him. He would be her lord and master. He would tame her combative spirit. Train her.

  Yes, that is what he’d do. He would teach her the ways a wife, his wife, should respond to him. She would obey. She would acquiesce to his demands. No one ever dared to counteract his orders. She would be no different.

  Yes, she would do more than just be a dutiful wife. She would be grateful to him.

  After all, she should be so lucky he wouldn’t lock her away with the rest of her family.

  South Hearth Castle, English and Scottish Border

  November, 1415

  A full night’s sleep and a cup of her mother’s specially made herbal tea did nothing to heal Chloe’s aching head and heart.

  She’d refused to break her fast with her father. Still overwhelmed and even angry that he’d decided her fate without so much as asking her how she felt.

  “Mademoiselle.” Nicola entered the room and crossed quickly to where Chloe sat in a window seat, gazing out at the horizon, an untouched embroidery hoop in her lap. “Would you care to take a walk in the gardens? Your maman, is requesting your presence.”

  “There are no flowers in bloom, Nicola.”

  “This is true, but your mother has a pretty pond with fish swimming in it. And a lovely maze made of shrubs.”

  “Hmm…” Perhaps the exercise and fresh air would do her some good. She couldn’t sit inside and mourn the passing of her youth and freedom forever. Might as well enjoy what little time she had left before she was shackled to Angus. A date had still not been set, and she sincerely hoped it was because her parents were looking for another match.

  “Let us put on your mantel, so you don’t catch a chill, d’accord?”

  Chloe nodded, and stood, her embroidery slipping from her lap, forgotten.

  When she reached the gardens her mother was standing by the pond, which housed a marble statue of a stag in its center. Chloe felt a little like the stag. Hunted.

  “Chloe. Come look.”
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  She did her mother’s bidding and stared into the pond. The fish looked rather ugly, browns, blues, greens. Nothing too exotic or exciting. She looked away, wishing she were back in France.

  “Mother, must I marry?”

  Her mother didn’t ask what she was referring, her mind probably consumed with the idea as well. “Oui.”

  “I am fearful of it.”

  The baroness nodded. “Marriage is a weighty duty.”

  Had he mother no other words of comfort? She tore some bread from a chunk in her hands and tossed small pieces into the water.

  “If your brother was here, you would not have to do this.” Her mother’s voice held no emotion. No blame, no cynicism, or sadness. Nothing.

  Chloe couldn’t take it anymore. “Am I always to be blamed for his death?”

  “No one blames you, my child, ‘tis simply a fact.”

  Tears burned her eyes, but she gritted her teeth against letting her emotions take away her control. “If father wasn’t always so bent on conquering clans and the English, Jon would still be alive. It’s his fault, not mine! The men never would have attacked if father hadn’t provoked them! Jon was trying to save me, he was a hero! That man—” Chloe pointed toward the keep. “He is the only one to blame for my brother’s death!”

  The baroness gasped, and struck Chloe on the cheek. Chloe hadn’t seen the blow coming, felt the sting of it all the way to her toes.

  “Do not ever speak of your father and your brother in the same breath again.”

  Her mother pivoted on her heel and headed inside the keep. Chloe stayed put, unable to move. When had her mother turned against her?

  Alexander sat atop his horse, Hero, just beyond the village walls of South Hearth. Concealed by the dense forest for the moment, a field separated him from the gates and entry to the holding. Surprise filled him—the place was not as heavily armed as he would have suspected. The walls that surrounded the village had a few archers walking their paths on top, but that appeared to be it. Either Fergusson was a bloody fool or a damn site too cocky.