Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  The thud of approaching hoofbeats underscored Fane’s last words. Sucking in a painful breath, Rexana dared a glance. Lord Darwell drew his horse up beside the guards and tossed aside the reins. With a loud grunt, he dismounted.

  Hope flooded through her. Darwell was one of the few people who had influence on Garmonn. Mayhap he would be able to prevent bloodshed.

  Mopping his forehead with the edge of his mantle, Darwell hurried down the bank. He slipped and skidded on the stones before halting beside Fane.

  “Garmonn, what are you doing? Lower that sword before you cause injury.”

  “Lord Darwell,” Fane muttered. “I did not expect to see you this day.”

  Darwell’s gray head bobbed. “Good day, milord. Milady. We are on our way home.”

  Fane’s brow arched. “Ah.”

  “I met up with Garmonn at a tavern last eve. We decided to stay the night, as my son was . . . ah . . . unfit to ride.” Darwell cleared his throat, then glared at Garmonn. “Put the sword away. You are making an idiot of yourself.”

  Garmonn’s mouth flattened, but he didn’t move. “Linford assaulted Rexana.”

  “Neither you nor I can be certain of what we saw.” Darwell adjusted the belt at his waist. “I am sure there is a reasonable explanation, if his lordship desires to tell us. Which, of course, he may not.”

  Fane shrugged. “Rexana fell into the water. I offered her comfort. I did what any civilized, warm blooded, newly wedded husband would do.”

  Darwell wiggled his eyebrows. “I see.”

  “Do not believe him, Father. He lies like a slippery tongued Saracen.” Garmonn raised the tip of the sword. His gaze darkened with menace.

  Rexana’s belly roiled. She ignored Fane’s earlier words, forced aside the warning cries within her, and stepped onto the next rock. “Fane did not harm me. I swear, he did not. There is no reason to draw blood on my behalf. None!”

  “You speak true, Rexana?” Garmonn muttered. “Or do you try and protect his miserable life?”

  “I speak true.”

  Fane’s fingers closed over the pebbles. “I have told you twice to sheathe your weapon, Garmonn. Do it. If you refuse, my men will arrest you.”

  “Arrest my son?” For a moment, desperation gleamed in Darwell’s gaze. Stretching his arm up in a plea, he strode closer to Garmonn’s mount. “Do as Sheriff Linford commands, Son. We do not want more trouble, do we?”

  Garmonn’s jaw tightened. He swore, lowered the sword, and rammed it back into its scabbard.

  Catching his horse’s reins, Garmonn looked at Rexana. Her pulse suspended for a painful beat. His stare reminded her of that winter day, and warned her anew of the threat he’d made if she ever told what had happened. She’d told Rudd that poor Thomas was wounded in an accident. Rudd didn’t know the whole truth. He couldn’t, or his life would be in terrible danger.

  Garmonn’s gaze slid to Fane. Brutal promise shone in Garmonn’s eyes. “We will meet again, Sheriff.”

  After wheeling his horse around, he spurred it back toward the road.

  Rexana’s legs threatened to buckle. Before she collapsed upon the rock like a spent flower, she wobbled across the remaining stones and stepped down to the muddy bank.

  Darwell shook his head. His mouth pursed in disapproval. “I apologize for Garmonn’s behavior. Since his return from Crusade, he has been . . . unmanageable.”

  As though he noticed she had left the rocks without his permission, Fane drew himself up to his full height. “He and I have crossed twice. I respect he is your son, but I will not tolerate his rudeness or his threats. Next time, I shall have him arrested.”

  “I will tell him.” Darwell’s smile held sadness. “Thank you, milord, for your generous warning. He will not bother you again.”

  Fane signaled his guards to ride with Darwell back to the road, where Darwell’s men-at-arms waited. As the men cantered through the meadow, Fane glanced at Rexana. She walked the flattened grass path back to the blanket. With each step, her drying skirts hugged her body and reminded him, with potent urgency, of all he had touched, tasted, and almost had.

  Lust swiftly melted into the anger still burning in his blood. She’d disobeyed his order to stay upon the rock. Why? Didn’t she realize he wanted her out of the fray? Didn’t she realize he tried to protect her from harm? Her safety meant more to him than his own.

  His gaze narrowed on the set of her shoulders and her rigid back. Her movements were stiff, deliberate, not at all carefree, as they had been when she’d strolled to the water.

  An unwelcome sting flared in his gut. She moved like a woman plagued by her conscience. What could weigh upon her that she would react so, after Garmonn’s insolent bravado?

  Fane’s brow furrowed into a frown, and he shifted the pebbles in his fingers. His mind shot back to the feast at Tangston, to his conversation with Darwell before Rexana’s dance. Darwell had practically begged for approval of Garmonn’s marriage to her.

  He wondered what Rexana had thought of wedding Garmonn. Women of her station often had little say in marriage, but had she pined for him? When she’d listened to the minstrels’ chansons, had she dreamed of Garmonn’s kiss? Of his embrace? Of his making slow, sweet, sweaty love to her?

  Jealousy lashed through Fane. Her fear for him moments ago had seemed very real. Yet, mayhap she hadn’t worried so much for his well-being, but for what he might do to hot-headed Garmonn.

  Fane’s throat tightened, as though a snake had somehow coiled around his neck and begun to constrict. He had thought, after her disagreement with Garmonn before the wedding, that she disliked him. Had she acted her disdain?

  Mayhap, at last, he’d found the reason why she hesitated to consummate their marriage.

  Ah, God. Nay.

  His fingers curled so tightly around the pebbles, his knuckles snapped. He forced himself to loosen his grip. Turning, he swore and hurled the rocks into the pond. They landed with a hollow plonk, plonk, plonk.

  He spun back, to find her watching him. Her face shuttered with an odd blend of longing and wariness, before she resumed clearing away the fare.

  Frustration ran hot in Fane’s blood. He would have an answer from her. She wouldn’t secretly crave another man.

  He stomped across the bank, through the grass, and dropped to his knees in front of her on the blanket.

  Rexana glanced at him. As though sensing his volatile emotions, she averted her gaze and pushed a wrapped package into the sack.

  She would not evade him. Not now. Not ever.

  As she withdrew her hand, he caught her wrist. Her pale skin reminded him of her soft, silky thighs. With effort, he stifled the urge to press her fingers to his cheek and kiss her palm. “You have not been honest with me, Rexana.”

  Her bones jerked in his grasp. “Milord?”

  “Tell me what is between you and Garmonn.”

  Panic shone in her eyes, before her gaze turned cool, cooler even than the water at the bottom of the pool. The invisible serpent around his throat squeezed tighter.

  “There is naught between Garmonn and me,” she said at last. “Why do you ask?”

  “I do not believe you.”

  She stiffened. Her fingers splayed, like a cat baring its claws. “Release my hand, Fane. You hinder my work. After what happened moments ago, I do not wish to speak of Garmonn.”

  “Nor do I.” Fane brushed his thumb over her wrist in a deliberate caress. “Yet, I was almost run through by his sword. I believe I am entitled to the truth.”

  He felt the shiver that coursed through her body. She twisted in his hold, but he didn’t relax his grip.

  Her eyes blazed. “What can I say that you do not already know? He is Rudd’s friend. He is arrogant and reckless. He is good with a sword, and he despises you.”

  “He desires you.”

  Anguish shivered across her face. “His interest in me is of no consequence any longer, now you and I are wed.”

  Fane’s gut wrenched. Ah, l
ove, but you and I are not fully man and wife. We have not yet consummated our marriage.

  “Do you desire him, Rexana?”

  An incredulous laugh burst from her. She shook her head, as though struggling to make sense of what he’d asked. “You are jealous of Garmonn?”

  Fane’s cheekbones stung, but he refused to look away. “I am jealous of any man who dares to lay claim to what is mine. You are mine. Until the day I die. I will tolerate no other man in your heart.”

  A sad smile curved her mouth. Her hand relaxed in his hold to curl like a blossom against his. “I could never hold Garmonn dear.”

  Pleasure unfurled within Fane. He resisted a smile. His blood screamed for him to pull her close and kiss her. Yet first, he must have answers to the questions that ate at him. “Why not? Once, did you not consider marrying him?”

  She looked out across the shifting sea of grass and flowers, as though she saw into the past. “When he and I were younger, marriage was discussed between us, but we were not officially betrothed. My parents were friends of Lord Darwell. He encouraged the marriage. At first, my family supported the idea. I imagine there were many benefits to a union between our two families.” With her free hand, she swept away windblown hair. Her gaze shadowed. “After Garmonn returned from crusade, he was a different man. Cold. Ruthless.” She paused. “Frightening.”

  Fane nodded. “War often changes a man. It can shrivel a soul. Turn it cold.”

  She looked at him, an intense stare, as though she saw far more than his sun-bronzed skin and disfiguring scars. “You are not cold. In your years of imprisonment and torture, I vow your soul suffered worse than his.”

  Fane started, for her words touched a protected, tender place in his heart. A howl ripped through him, echoing again and again in his mind, as though he yelled into a fathomless cave. How dare she speak of his soul in the same breath that she spoke of Garmonn’s? She had no right to pass judgment, when she didn’t know what Fane had endured, or the decisions he’d been forced to make in the name of God and king.

  “We do not speak of me,” he bit out. “We speak of Garmonn.”

  Moisture glinted in her eyes, and she blinked before she glanced away. Did she weep for Garmonn? For the man he’d once been, before battle, bloodshed, and death had changed him? Mayhap she missed the respectable, prominent marriage of which she’d dreamed and which had never come true.

  Fane fought to keep his tone civil. “When he returned to England, did he expect to wed you?”

  Her head dipped in a jerky nod. “He made many visits to Ickleton. He courted me. Brought me flowers and gifts. Spoke of the day when we would be man and wife. He was . . . persistent.”

  “Persistent?”

  She shrugged. “He wanted me to press my father for a formal betrothal. When I refused, he tried to kiss me. I pushed him away. He got angry. Father told him not to return until he could control his temper.” Her throat moved with a swallow. “I told my father I did not want to marry Garmonn. Father understood. He, too, did not like how Garmonn had changed. Nor did he appreciate the dangerous, foolish pranks Garmonn coaxed Rudd to take part in.”

  She paused to flick an ant from her gown. “I believe Father intended to tell Lord Darwell there would be no wedding. Before he could, both he and Mother fell ill. They died.”

  Her words faded to a whisper. With a muffled sniff, she tugged at her hand. “Release me now, Fane. I have told you all you wished to know.”

  Nay, she hadn’t told him all. She had convinced him she didn’t lust for Garmonn, but she left a great deal untold. Tension still lined her eyes, while her posture held a hint of caution.

  If he drew her into his arms, would she soften against him? If he offered her kisses and caresses, if he coaxed her to confide in him, would she yield what she knew? Would she then let him press her down on the blanket and ease her tension with slow, tender lovemaking?

  Fane’s heated blood urged him to touch her. His mind scorned him. He hadn’t wooed her enough. She wasn’t yet completely his.

  With a last caress, Fane released her. Wiping her eyes, Rexana pushed to her feet. She exhaled and thrust her shoulders back, as though, despite all that had occurred, she wouldn’t fail to carry on.

  Fane stood. “Some day, love, you will tell me the rest.”

  “The rest, milord?”

  He smiled.

  In the brilliant sunlight, her face paled. Her gaze sharpened. He braced himself for her retort. Instead, she grasped her skirts, turned away, and marched toward the grazing horses.

  Her posture told him what her luscious lips had not. Never.

  Fighting the scream welling in her throat, Rexana reached her mount. As the mare shook off a fly and stepped forward to nibble more grass, Rexana retrieved the dangling reins.

  Some day, love, you will tell me the rest.

  With a firm mental shake, she forced aside Fane’s words. She would not be ruled by the disquiet pulsing in her blood, or the looming sense of entrapment. She’d told Fane what he wanted to know. She’d confessed her dealings with Garmonn, yet she had not told of Thomas. Thank God.

  The sweetish, comforting smell of horse filled her nostrils. She set both hands upon the mare’s warm hide, then shut her eyes. As a child, she’d often streaked through the fields on horseback, at one with the animal and the wind, Rudd not far behind. In those irreverent rides, she had escaped her boredom and tiresome duties.

  If she leapt onto the horse, kicked it to a gallop, and rode as far as the dusty road took her, would she recapture that exhilarating sense of freedom?

  Would Fane thunder after her, or let her go?

  Over the sighing breeze, she heard him cinching the leather sack. A moment later, he shook out the blanket with a brisk snap.

  She scowled. Her foolish thoughts corrupted her reason. She couldn’t leave Rudd in the dungeon. She couldn’t shirk her responsibility to find the missive, free him, and see the treason charge dismissed. She couldn’t ride away, because her duty to Rudd would draw her straight back to Tangston Keep.

  The subversive voice in her mind taunted her. She could never flee, even if Rudd were free, because her body, as well as part of her heart and soul, already belonged to Fane.

  Grass crunched behind her. Fane strode toward her.

  She felt his gaze wandering down her back. Her blood heated in response.

  Some day, love, you will tell me the rest.

  Nay! She would not. The risk was too great.

  Her hands curled around the mare’s reins, and her mouth pinched with resentment. Why should she tell him? He’d given her little insight into his past. He wanted her heart, yet the gossips whispered he’d had a passionate affair with a Saracen courtesan. Some said he’d loved her.

  Had he?

  As he approached the destrier, Rexana glanced at him. She was his wife, but even she didn’t know the truth. ’Twas not fair she had to reveal her past, when his remained cloaked in exotic mystery.

  Even more unfair, she found she wanted to know what had happened between him and his eastern lover.

  Fane slung the sack over his horse’s saddle. Muscles shifted beneath his tunic as he tied the bag in place, and she tore her gaze away.

  “We will leave now.”

  “Aye.”

  “I realize you do not trust me enough yet to reveal all you know of Garmonn. For some reason, you are afraid. Yet, I promise you this. He will never hurt you. I will not let him.”

  She adjusted her saddle. As Fane’s words wrapped around her like an embrace, part of her wept with relief. For months, she had kept the truth of that winter day to herself. Did she dare confide in Fane? Would it ease the hurt inside her?

  Another part of her shrilled a warning. With gilded promises, Fane coaxed her to tell him all. Yet, if he knew the truth, he might be duty bound to investigate. Garmonn would know what she had revealed. Rudd’s life would be in jeopardy.

  “I have told you what I can of Garmonn. Why do you press me?” />
  Fane’s head swiveled. “I can protect you best if you trust me, and share what you know.”

  “Trust you? A difficult task, when you hold my brother prisoner. Indeed, milord, I hardly know you. You are my husband by law, yet most of what I have learned about you has come from rumor and gossip.”

  He shrugged. “In time, you will come to trust me.”

  “Will I?”

  His gaze turned assessing. “Do you believe all the rumors about me, Rexana?”

  “Nay, but—”

  “Does part of you worry what Garmonn will tell others about today? Do you fear what the gossips will say about us?”

  She worried about far more deadly matters than gossip. Yet, as she stared at Fane, a grin warmed her lips. He’d just given her a way to divert his suspicions.

  Nodding, she said, “Garmonn will not speak well of us to his peers.”

  Fane laughed. The vibrant sound, borne on the breeze, rolled across the meadow. “We can thwart the tongue-wagging, love. We will prove Garmonn’s words are false. He may tell his friends that I forced myself upon you, but ’twill be clear to all who see us that we are in love.”

  “Milord, I am not in love.”

  He grinned. “That, too, is only a matter of time.”

  Fane shifted in his saddle to ease a cramp in his scarred thigh. He studied Tangston Keep, directly ahead on the pitted dirt road. The sun’s rays had begun to lengthen, casting parts of the mortared wall and watchtowers in shadow. Intriguing, the contrast of light and dark. His relationship with Rexana was the same—moments of brilliance, as well as moments of uncertainty.

  She rode several yards behind, followed by the guards. He imagined her as he’d seen her moments ago, when he’d dared glance over his shoulder. Her hands clutched the leather reins. She sat stiff and proud upon the mare, looking elegant despite her creased, water stained gown. Her hair fell over her shoulders in an unkempt mass. Her chin jutted at a stubborn angle. Her eyes flashed with warning, before she turned her head to stare across the fields of wheat and barley.