Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  Earlier, he’d attempted polite conversation, yet she had discouraged him with a frosty stare that could have tempered newly forged steel.

  She didn’t like his assertion she would come to love him.

  She didn’t care to admit the truth.

  Warmth lightened Fane’s heart. Her passions ran strong and deep. One day, she would care as much for him as she did for her brother.

  Fane smiled. He could woo her stubborn pride. He could woo her tender heart and passionate soul. He had successfully wooed her body. He remembered her gasped cries, her lips’ welcoming urgency, the way she’d trembled when he’d flexed his body against hers.

  In a matter of days, she would be completely his.

  Mayhap he would have her tonight.

  The destrier clopped down the final approach to the keep. The drawbridge was already lowered, the wood and iron portcullis raised. A different sort of excitement stirred within him. He wondered if Kester and the men-at-arms had finished their mission, and what they had discovered about Rudd Villeaux.

  Fane hailed the sentries standing guard in front of the drawbridge. The men bowed, then stepped aside to let him pass.

  “Have Kester and the patrol returned?” he asked.

  “Not long ago, milord,” one replied.

  The destrier’s hooves thudded on the drawbridge. Fane spurred his mount under the gatehouse and into the bailey. Dogs scampered out of the way.

  He guided the horse around a pile of wine barrels, remnants of last eve’s celebration, and headed for the stables. Five horses, lathered from a long ride, drank at the water troughs.

  A dirty-faced young lad hurried out of the stable, dumped his armload of straw onto the ground, and caught the destrier’s reins.

  Fane dismounted. “Where’s Kester?”

  “In the great ’all, milord.” The boy lowered his gaze. “’E went ta parch ’is thirst afore ye returned.”

  Fane ruffled the boy’s hair. “Good lad.” He heard horses behind him and turned.

  Rexana halted the mare. Frowning, she looked at the drinking horses.

  As a boy hurried over to her horse with a mounting block, Fane followed. He set a hand on Rexana’s leg, covered by yards of stained silk. Did she start at his touch, or had he imagined her reaction?

  “Place your hand in mine, love.”

  She refused to look down at him. “Thank you, but I can dismount on my own.”

  He bit his tongue, resisting a laugh. Anger wouldn’t keep them apart. She misjudged his determination, if she believed ’twas so.

  He rubbed her leg. “Can I not be chivalrous?” He infused his tone with a teasing lilt. “I must assist my lady wife. ’Tis my husbandly duty.”

  She huffed a breath. After a pause, she curled her hand into his—more to quell the inquisitive glances of the servants around them, he vowed, than to please him.

  As their flesh connected, a sigh rippled through him. She must have felt the physical connection too, for her gaze shot to his. Tightening her grasp on his hand, she slid down off the mare’s back to the mounting block.

  Yearning tore through Fane. He pressed closer. As her shoes hit the block, he trapped her between his body and the mare. He curled his arm around her waist. Yanked her against him.

  They stood almost nose to nose, her breasts squeezed against his chest. She shivered in his hold, while her lips formed a tense smile. “What are you doing?”

  He nuzzled her ear. Her hair smelled of sunshine and meadow air, and his blood instantly heated. “Shall we give these lads something to talk about?” he murmured. “Kiss me, Rexana. Kiss me with all the passion ruling your heart.”

  Her gaze was cool, but he saw a hint of the wildness he’d enjoyed in the meadow. “A deception, milord?” she said, her voice soft.

  “Not at all, wife.” He nibbled the corner of her mouth. “You may be angry, but you crave my kiss. Show me how much.”

  Her smile turned sly. “If I refuse?”

  Fane grinned. “I will have to devise other, far more wicked ways, to bend you to my will.”

  Her eyes darkened. He anticipated her hot refusal, but instead, she smiled. Her expression rivaled that of any of Gazir’s ambitious courtesans.

  She pressed a slow, slippery kiss to his cheek. “Let me visit Rudd,” she whispered, “and I will kiss you with a passion you will never forget.”

  He laughed, then caught her mouth in a thorough kiss. The stable lads hooted and clapped. Cheers erupted from across the bailey.

  With a groan, Fane released her. He stepped away, forcing his thoughts from the temptations she posed. When he had done his duties, he would have time to play. “I will send Tansy to the solar to tend you. I know you are eager to bathe and change your gown.”

  She lifted her skirt’s hem to step off the mounting block. “Will you not bathe and change your garments?”

  He shut his mind to the invitation in her words. Did she realize how seductive her question sounded? Did she realize he had dreamed, more than once, of climbing into the tub with her and exploring, with soap and water, every bit of her luscious body?

  Clearing the roughness from his throat, he said, “My garments are dry enough. I have important matters to attend.”

  She looked at the horses. “You will question the riders?”

  He nodded. “I will see you anon. If my duties permit, I will join you at the evening meal. If not, I will see you later in our bed.” Turning on his heel, he started toward the keep.

  “Do your duties involve Rudd?”

  Challenge rang in her voice. She confronted him in front of the stable hands and the rest of the folk working in the bailey. If she hoped to win sympathy for her brother’s cause, she trod dangerous territory.

  Fane turned, narrowing his gaze. “You know I am responsible for law and order in Warringham. ’Tis my duty, bestowed upon me by our king, to capture the rebels who threaten peace. As your brother is involved with these traitors, then aye, my duties concern him.”

  “I will come with you. Rudd—”

  “Nay, love.” Aware their disagreement had made them the focus of the bailey, Fane softened his tone to a sensual rumble. “You are weary after our long journey. Let Tansy tend and refresh you.” He raised one eyebrow. “No man will consume your energies today but me.”

  Bawdy titters rippled through the bailey. She scowled, then planted her hands upon her hips. ’Twas clear she prepared to do battle.

  “I will come.”

  “You will not, Rexana. That is my final word.” He strode across the bailey, aware of her glare scorching his back, and her most unladylike curse.

  Rexana stared at Fane. Annoyance swelled inside her like a bubble about to pop. If she stomped her feet, shrieked, or had an unseemly tantrum, would Fane change his stubborn mind?

  Most likely not.

  Master of clever words, he would probably convince all who watched that she’d caught too much sun. He’d throw her over his shoulder and carry her straight to the solar.

  She kicked at the dirt. Why did Fane keep her from Rudd? Was Fane reluctant to have her accompany him because he had no intentions of proving her brother’s innocence, even though he’d vowed to help Rudd?

  The mare’s bridle clinked, and the stable hands’ lowered voices reached her. Aware of their stares, she started off across the bailey toward the forebuilding. Her gown, stiff from drying, snapped at her heels.

  She wouldn’t allow Fane to ignore their agreement. She might not be able to escape the marriage until Rudd was freed, but she could be persistent and determined.

  A daring thought took form in her mind. With Fane busy for the rest of the day, ’twas the perfect opportunity to search the solar.

  She would find the missive that named her brother a traitor—and she would destroy it.

  As Fane strode into the great hall, Kester looked up from a trestle table near the hearth. He set down his ale mug, stood, and bowed. “Milord.”

  “I trust you were successfu
l?”

  Kester grinned. “Very.”

  Fane slid onto the wooden bench opposite Kester before glancing at the wax tablets laid out on the scarred oak. He accepted a mug of ale from the servant hovering nearby, then dismissed her.

  He studied the tablets’ marked surfaces. The scent of ale, musky and bitter like unwelcome secrets, rose from the mug. The earthenware warmed to his touch, as heady anticipation fired within him. A wealth of information lay before him. Kester’s men had done well.

  Fane sipped his drink. He willed himself to be patient and let Kester tell of the day’s success. “What did you learn?”

  Kester’s eyes lit with pride. “We visited four taverns. Several of the owners recalled seeing Villeaux over the past months. He came after dark with a group of men. Not always the same men, mind you. They usually sat in a quiet part of the room, ordered several rounds, and seemed like any other lads out for a night of drinking.”

  Fane scratched his chin. Meeting his friends didn’t prove Villeaux was guilty of treason. He stifled an impatient sigh. “Did the tavern owners overhear the conversations? See aught happen during their meetings?”

  “One told of a near fight a few sennights ago. There was a disagreement over who was to pay for the ale. One lord drew a sword. Looked eager to draw blood.” Kester shrugged. “Apparently Villeaux intervened to stop the argument.”

  Fane blew a breath. He hadn’t expected to hear of Rudd’s heroics. He shoved aside an unwelcome prick of conscience.

  Kester picked up a scored tablet. “This account is from Master Jones, of the Cock and Hen. He witnessed Villeaux and his friends passing a small, rolled parchment between them.”

  A triumphant growl rumbled in Fane’s throat. At last, what he wanted to hear. “What of this parchment?”

  “’Twas clearly important, for there were serious discussions.”

  “The missive?”

  Kester smiled. “Mayhap, though the traitors likely drafted other documents. Letters to fellow lords to join their cause, for example.”

  Fane nodded his agreement.

  “Jones said it appeared each man was to sign. Some were hesitant, but in the end did. Once they had all done their part, the parchment vanished.”

  Fane sipped his drink. An image of Rexana, her eyes glowing with love for her brother, flashed through Fane’s mind. How would she react when he showed her evidence that proved her brother was not innocent, as she insisted, but guilty? How could he tell her the truth without hurting her? He couldn’t.

  Shrugging tightness from between his shoulder blades, Fane said, “We must know what missives are circulating, and find them. Unfortunately, Villeaux still refuses to cooperate.”

  “As you know, he has revealed naught to my men who have interrogated him twice a day.” Kester’s mouth tilted in a grin. “Though that may soon change.”

  Satisfaction rang in Kester’s voice. Almost gloating. He sounded like an ambitious servant who knew he had well exceeded his lord’s expectations.

  “Indeed?” Fane sipped another mouthful of ale. The cool liquid flowed over his tongue and down his throat, as Kester slid near several tablets.

  “Here, I have accounts from the cotters. Most knew of Villeaux because they had heard of his parents’ deaths. Many recounted seeing him and his sister in the village on market day, or him in the taverns.” With a lazy half shrug, Kester said, “there is much here that may not be of interest—personal statements of his character, past sightings, and such—but one of the villagers, in particular, knows Villeaux well.”

  Fane wiped his bottom lip. “His name?”

  “Thomas Newland. He is a farmer. He lives with his wife and five children not far from the river that runs between Tangston and Ickleton. Not long ago, Villeaux visited Newland’s home. Villeaux asked to use his barn for a meeting.”

  Fane struggled to keep from lunging to his feet and whooping with elation. “Meeting?”

  “Villeaux paid Newland a bag of silver in advance, and said he would arrange the exact day later. Newland did not suspect Villeaux’s intentions, for he had no reason to. He also was glad of the money, for he has a game leg from a bad wound he got last winter. Since he cannot work, he needed the coin to feed his family.” Kester shook his head. “He had heard of Rudd’s arrest for treason. He hated to speak ill of the lad—he wept as he talked—but his conscience plagued him.”

  Fane’s eyes narrowed. “Newland’s account can be trusted?”

  Kester nodded. “His family is highly respected. His brother is a talented goldsmith. You may have seen his work for sale in Tangston’s market.”

  Goldsmith!

  Fane’s mind spun, but not from the ale. He thought again of Rexana. Of her cherished brooch, pinned above her heart. The detailed little arrow wasn’t the work of an amateur, but of a talented artisan.

  His hands squeezed tight around his mug. Could the links in the treacherous chain be so simple?

  “Does this craftsman design brooches?”

  “Aye, milord, as well as jewel boxes, rings, crucifixes, and other ornaments.”

  Enlightenment pulsed through Fane in a slow, stunning throb. With care, he set down his ale. He could scarcely think past the hammering at his temple. “Tell me more of Newland and his goldsmith brother.”

  Humming under her breath, Tansy finished fastening Rexana’s midnight blue silk gown. “There now, milady. Come sit near the fire, so I can dry your hair.”

  Rexana walked around the bathing tub, through the orange-red sunlight pooling on the floorboards, and bit back a groan. True to his word, Fane had summoned Tansy. The woman had arrived at the solar moments after Rexana. With a bright smile and endless chatter, Tansy had ordered a hot bath, a soothing mint and chamomile tonic, plus a bowl of sweetmeats for Rexana to nibble.

  Irritation crackled in Rexana’s veins. While she appreciated the luxurious bath, and the extraordinary time Tansy had spent lathering, scrubbing, and rinsing, Rexana had to wonder if her wicked husband had ordered the pampering to keep her occupied. To keep her from getting in the way as he completed his “duties.”

  Blowing a sigh, she dropped onto the stool near the hearth tiles. She clasped her hands in her lap and, as Tansy smoothed a towel down her hair, did her best to sit still.

  Rexana’s fingers twitched. What was Fane doing at this moment? What had Kester discovered? Had they found information that implicated Rudd?

  She had to find the missive.

  Thoughts whirled around and around in her brain. She shut her eyes. Forced her mind to calm. She would accomplish naught by working herself into a tizzy. She must focus. Concentrate. Plan.

  Beside her, the fire snapped. She inhaled the smoky odor of burning wood along with the tang of hot pitch. As Tansy set to work with a wide-toothed ivory comb, a yawn warmed Rexana’s throat. She resisted the fatigue. Resisted the temptation to relax into Tansy’s care. Resisted the urge to set aside all worrying and searching until the morrow.

  If the missive were hidden in this room, she would find it.

  “Thank you, Tansy. That will be all.”

  The maidservant clucked her tongue. “Yer hair is not quite dry. Just a little more—”

  Rexana trapped a yawn with her hand.

  Tansy chuckled. “Ye must keep awake fer the evenin’ meal, milady.” The comb whispered through Rexana’s hair again. “There. ’Tis the best I can do fer now.” Tansy shuffled around to face Rexana, and said, “Will ye come ta the ’all, then?”

  Ignoring the woman’s coaxing, toothy smile, Rexana rose and ran her hands over her wind-chapped cheeks. “After today’s long ride, and the fresh air, I am weary. I think I will go to bed.”

  Tansy winked like a cheeky child. “Fergive me if I speak plainly, but I was a newlywed meself a few times. I know ’is lusty lordship kept ye up late last eve.”

  Despite her determination not to, Rexana blushed. Fane had indeed kept her awake until the wee hours, though not with coupling. She glanced at the bed, f
or her skin tingled with the memory of lying beside him, her blood sluggish and hot, her body yearning in a manner she’d never felt before.

  Rexana cleared a knot from her throat. “How did you guess?”

  The giggling maidservant waved her plump hand in the air. “I will tell ’is lordship ye retired early, and that ye are warm and snug in the blankets. Restin’ up,” she added, “for the next time ’e desires ye.”

  “Ah . . . thank you.”

  Tansy plodded to the solar doors. She yanked them open, leaned into the hallway, then clapped her hands. Young lads hurried in to drag the sloshing tub out into the passage. Tansy quickly dried the floorboards and collected the towels and soap. “I will ask the lads ta leave the empty tub outside, so they do not disturb ye.” She dropped into a wobbly curtsey. “May ye slumber well, milady.”

  The doors clicked shut.

  Rexana listened while Tansy snapped orders to the boys. The voices faded down the hallway. As the quiet settled around Rexana, warning tingled down her spine. She mustn’t be caught searching the solar. Not when Fane moved like a silent, stalking cat. The last time she’d explored the chamber, days ago when she was disguised as a dancer, he had caught her unawares.

  She picked up the rectangular stool and set it against the doors. Fane wouldn’t be able to enter without it scraping across the floor, or him tripping over it. She brushed her palms together and smiled. Now, to search.

  Her gaze narrowed on Fane’s wooden chest, set beside hers along the wall. While he hadn’t forbidden her to look at his belongings, she sensed he didn’t wish her to. She dropped to her knees, sucked in a shaky breath, then raised the lid.

  His lemon-spice scent filled her nostrils. She resisted the delicious shiver that rippled through her to settle low in her belly. Her fingers brushed a cloth wrapped package tucked to one side. By its shape, she guessed it held many soaps. She shifted the layers of folded tunics and shirts and found a glittering sword shaped like a half moon. A weapon unlike any she’d seen before.

  In the east, had Fane learned how to wield such a sword? Had he killed men with such a barbaric looking instrument?