Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  “The note,” Celeste whispered behind her hand to Nelda. “’Tis foul news.”

  Tansy’s mouth crumpled in sympathy. With a motherly cluck, she plopped down on the bed beside Rexana. The bed ropes groaned and sagged in violent protest. “There now. I pray the news is not too awful.”

  “’Tis not bad news. ’Tis—” She bit down on her lip as the fire in her cheeks intensified. What did she say now?

  Tansy and the girls leaned closer. “Aye?”

  Rexana looked into their bright, curious faces, and laughed. “’Tis a love poem.”

  “Ooohhhh. From ’is lordship? How romantic.” Tansy’s fingers twitched. “What does it say?”

  “Do tell, milady!” Celeste squealed. Nelda elbowed her in the ribs and she added in a hushed voice, “Only if you wish, of course.”

  As Rexana unfurled the missive again, her face burned. “I am the randy bee,” she read. “I cannot wait to suck your nectar.”

  Celeste frowned. “Suck what?”

  Tansy rolled her eyes. “Nectar, you silly girl. From flowers.”

  Bewilderment clouded Celeste’s gaze. “Aye, but . . . Milady is not a flower.”

  “Sheriff Linford is trying to write a chanson,” Rexana said. “He has used the extravagant language of the courtiers to express his . . . feelings.”

  With a loud snort, Tansy got to her feet. “We are all aware of those feelin’s, milady. Even a blind woman would see ’is lordship’s affection for ye.” She scowled down at Celeste and Nelda. “If the rest of the poem is as bawdy, ye’d best read it in private. Would not wish ta give these girls any notions.”

  Celeste and Nelda wailed in dismay. “But—”

  “’Er ladyship is not even washed or dressed,” Tansy said. “We must not forget our duties, must we?”

  And I must not forget mine, Rexana reminded herself. The excitement in her blood dimmed. As enticing as Fane’s missive was, she mustn’t dally. She must focus on seeing Rudd.

  As soon as she’d broken her fast, Rexana quit the solar. As she walked, her braided hair swept against her lower spine. A yellow bliaut, cut from the softest wool, brushed her ankles and a gold cloth girdle pressed upon her hips.

  As Rexana’s shoes tapped on the stairs down to the hall, unease rippled through her. What if Fane learned of her visit to the dungeon? He would be angry. Yet, she couldn’t sit idle, and let her brother be punished for a crime he didn’t commit.

  She hurried down the forebuilding’s steps, then out into the sunny bailey. Murmuring hello to the children drawing pictures in the dirt with sticks, she approached the slate-roofed building that housed the kitchens. She dried her hands on her gown and opened the door.

  Steam wreathed the huge pots hung over the cooking fires. Servants stood nearby, stirring in handfuls of vegetables and spices. The scents of stew and baking bread wafted to her.

  The cook chopped onions at a nearby table. Setting down his knife, he smiled at her. “Milady, ye look lovely this morn.” He wiped his fingers on his stained apron and crossed to her.

  “Thank you.” Keeping her voice light and steady, she said, “I thought the prisoners in the dungeon might like some bread and cheese. Will you get it ready?”

  He frowned. “They ate well earlier this morn.”

  Hellfire! “Ale, then,” she said.

  With a puzzled smile, the cook shook his head. “They had ale too. His lordship asked me to make sure they have enough food and drink.”

  She sighed, scarcely able to control her rising impatience. “When is their next meal?”

  “Midday.” With a corner of the apron, he dabbed his sweaty nose. “Surely you do not wish to deliver food to the dungeon yourself? From what I have heard, ’tis not a place for a lady.” Raising his hand like a claw, he hissed, “Spiders.” He shuddered as though he saw one crawling across the floor.

  “I am not afraid of spiders.”

  The cook’s mouth tilted into a reluctant smile. “I do not mean to offend, milady, but I cannot help you. His lordship chose the servants who will deliver the meals each day. No one else is permitted.”

  Rexana resisted the urge to stamp her foot. Fane had outwitted her. Yet, if he thought she would be deterred, he was very wrong. She would find another way to access the dungeon.

  As she stepped out of the kitchens, she spied Winton. He stood near the forebuilding’s door, speaking to one of the laundresses. Rexana skirted a flock of geese waddling across the bailey and marched to Winton, a new plan already buzzing around in her mind.

  With a brisk nod, the steward dismissed the laundress. He smiled as Rexana approached, and bowed. His head shone like a newly minted coin. “Good morn, milady.”

  “Good morn to you.”

  “Did you get the missive I sent with Tansy?”

  She flushed at the reminder of Fane’s note, tucked into her girdle for when she had time alone to read the rest of the poem. “Aye, thank you.” She cleared the blush from her voice. “I realized this morn I have not yet completed a tour of Tangston Keep. There are several places I have not seen. I feel that in order to properly fulfill my role as lady of this fortress, I must know it with utmost thoroughness. Do you not agree?”

  He blinked. His expression turned grave, as though he blamed himself for erring in his duties. “I will see that you finish the tour at once. Where—”

  “The dungeon.”

  Winston shook his head. “I am very sorry, but—”

  Summoning her sternest tone, the one that made even Rudd pause, she said, “You refuse my request?”

  The little man’s face lost color. His hands fluttered as though he didn’t know quite what to do with them. “I would be glad to accommodate you, milady. However, first, Sheriff Linford must give his permission. I have strict orders. So do the guards in the dungeon.”

  She growled. “I should have known.”

  Winton’s shoulders raised in an awkward shrug. “Mayhap if you asked the sheriff for a visit—”

  “Thank you, Winton. That is all.”

  Rexana spun on her heel and marched across the bailey. Dust swirled at her feet. The breeze blew her hair into her eyes, and with an angry hand, she swept it away. Frustration threatened to choke her.

  She passed the well, the stables, the kitchens, and the blacksmith’s, only slowing her pace when she reached the keep’s gardens. A riot of herbs and greenery tumbled from earthen beds and popped up in the stone path under her feet. In the far corner, distinct from the rest of the garden, rose bushes grew in profusion. Climbing roses wove through a long, arched trellis and draped down in a curtain of leaves and pink petals. Inhaling a breath of the sweet perfume, she skirted the trellis to sink onto a weathered wooden bench.

  Her eyes smarted. Rubbing her hands over her face, she vowed not to despair. She must think of another way to visit Rudd. A ruse. God forgive her, another deception.

  The wind whispered through the scented curtain. Honeybees droned as they ambled from bloom to bloom. The sound reminded her of Fane’s poem.

  Rexana sighed. She might as well read the rest of his words.

  She withdrew the parchment from her girdle and unrolled it.

  I am the randy bee. I cannot wait to suck your nectar.

  I know you will taste sweet.

  Your dewy essence fills my mouth, quickens my wings,

  Heats my body like a summer breeze.

  I am lost in your delicious taste, your fragrance.

  I am lost to all but my quivering need.

  Bzzzzz!

  Love me, fair flower, with all the passion in your heart,

  As I will love you.

  She wiped her mouth with a shaking hand and dropped the poem onto her lap. How she yearned for Fane. Quivered, like an eager flower.

  How could she keep fighting what she desired?

  “Bzzzzz.”

  She jumped. The sound, too low and masculine to be a bumblebee, came from behind the trellis. A flush seared her face, even as she crumpled
the parchment. “Who goes there?”

  Fane strode toward her, turning a delicate pink rose in his fingers. “’Tis I, love. Did I startle you?”

  She wadded the poem tighter, hiding all traces of it in her curled hand, and shook her head. “You did not sound at all like a bee.”

  He laughed and dropped down onto the bench beside her. He tossed the bloom into her lap. Then, as though he’d seen the movement of her fingers, he caught her fist. She tried to pull away, but he gently pried open her hand.

  Disappointment shadowed his gaze. “You did not enjoy my poem?”

  His fingers upon hers, and the nearness of him, threatened to pluck the last petals of her restraint. Fie! She should be furious with him, not longing to curl into his embrace and kiss him with all the fervor pounding in her blood. “’Tis a most seductive poem. You woo my heart and body with words.”

  His heavy-lidded gaze locked with hers. “Did I succeed?”

  Rexana was suddenly aware of how alone they were. “Aye.” She expected him to draw her into his arms, to begin seducing her right there on the bench, but he made no move toward her.

  His callused finger trailed over the back of her hand, as though he wrote his name upon her sensitized skin. “I meant every word, Rexana. I want you, in all ways, and intend to have you.” His tone softened. “Yet, I realize the choice is not as simple for you, because part of your heart belongs to your brother.”

  She looked at him.

  “I know you tried to visit the dungeon. Cook and Winton told me.”

  She fought a renewed blush. “You are wrong to keep me from seeing him, and to imprison him. He is not guilty of treason.”

  Fane sighed. His eyes narrowed before he looked out across the rose garden, as though reading an answer to an impossible question amongst the blooms and greenery. “I have come to a decision. One that will, I hope, be productive for both of us, and break this impasse in our marriage.”

  “Decision?” she echoed.

  He nodded. His face shadowed with an unreadable expression. “Your brother refuses to tell me all he knows about the traitors. I promised you that I would do all I can to help him. Yet, ’tis impossible, without complete information. All the evidence I have collected so far proves not that he is innocent, but that he is guilty.”

  Cold sweat broke between her breasts. She swallowed the awful taste in her mouth. “Why will he not tell you?”

  “He does not trust me. Or, he is afraid.” Tilting his head, Fane studied her. “But he trusts you.”

  Fragile hope grew inside her. “Do you mean—”

  “Aye, love. I permit you to visit him.”

  “Today?”

  “Now, if you wish.”

  A delighted gasp burst from her. Without a moment’s thought, she threw herself into Fane’s arms. As her cheek crushed against his tunic, his strong embrace enveloped her. “Oh, thank you,” she whispered. She fought a rush of tears.

  His breath ruffled the crown of her hair. He chuckled, and the sound rumbled though his chest and against her ear. “I am glad my words please you.”

  She squirmed free of his hold. Her bliaut felt scratchy against her skin. Saints above, she could hardly sit still, her blood pounded so fast. She wanted to whoop with joy. Jump and throw her arms toward the sun. Dance and dance and dance, until she couldn’t take another step.

  She scrambled onto the bench. Pushed up on her knees. She stared into his handsome face, then leaned closer, until their noses touched.

  Rexana kissed him full on the lips. “Aye, husband. Your words do please me.”

  His fingers linked through hers, Fane hurried along behind Rexana. He could scarcely keep up. She plowed down the garden path like a cog in full sail, spurred by storm winds.

  “Rudd will still be there,” he said, “no matter how soon we arrive.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and grinned, her face lit by a rare warmth. “You cannot keep up, husband?”

  He grunted, then gave her a crooked smile. “I can keep up, love. I have plenty of stamina, as you will soon learn.”

  Blushing, she looked back at the keep. “How do we get to the dungeon?”

  With a swift, efficient tug, he hauled her backward into his arms. She squawked, struggled, until he slid his arm around her waist, turned her to face him, and silenced her with a thorough, wet kiss. She responded eagerly, as though the joy welling up inside her could never be silenced. His loins hardened. Ah, for a bed. Now. Now!!

  Mint carpeted the ground near his feet. If he pressed her down amongst the piquant leaves, covered her with his body, devoured her lips—

  Her muffled protest pierced his lust-hazed brain. “The dungeon?”

  Fane clenched his teeth against his burning arousal. He straightened his tunic and caught her hand again. “Follow me.”

  He led her into the keep. As they descended the musty stairwell to the fortress’s lowest level, her fingers curled tighter into his. He felt the shudder rippling through her, and his jaw tightened. He would not apologize for the unpleasantness she would experience here. Tangston’s dungeon was far better than General Gazir’s.

  Still, he prayed under his breath that he hadn’t erred in judgment by letting her see Rudd. That her tender spirit wouldn’t be wounded by what she saw. That she would glean from her brother details which would lead to the traitors’ capture and help crush the stirring rebellion.

  Fane halted at the bottom of the stairs. She stopped beside him. Hesitated. In the shadowed light, her face looked tense. She glanced at the iron barred cells, her eyes gleaming with anxiety, yet also hope.

  A guard crossed to him and bowed. “Milord.”

  “Lady Linford wishes to see her brother,” Fane said. “I have permitted her a short visit.”

  As he looked back at her, she tugged her fingers free. He sensed her withdrawing into herself, steeling herself for what she might encounter. She ran a hand over her gown, then said in a calm, quiet tone, “Where is he?”

  Admiration flooded through him. She might be unsettled, but she would show a strong front to her brother.

  Fane pointed across the dungeon. “There.”

  Chains rattled from the farthest cell. Rudd’s strained voice came from the darkness. “Rexana? Is that you?”

  A cry broke from Rexana. She tore across the dungeon, her breath lodged tight between her ribs. She flung herself at the bars, wrapping her hands around the cold metal. “Rudd!”

  He pulled at the end of taut chains fastened to his wrists and ankles. Oh, dear God. His hair was matted. His fine garments were filthy and torn. The odors of mold and misery wafted from the cell. A painful sob welled in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She must be strong. He mustn’t see her despair.

  Rage roiled in her belly, and it growled like an angry fox. How dare Fane treat her brother this way? How dare he?!

  “Rudd,” she whispered. She stretched her arm through the bars. Tried desperately to reach him. Clawed against air.

  He jerked hard against his chains, but their fingers didn’t meet. “I cannot reach,” he said, his voice cracking.

  She heard Fane’s clipped footfalls. Sensed his presence behind her. He touched her shoulder, a small gesture of comfort, but she shook it off. Hands clamped into fists, she spun to face him. Her body shook with the storm of fury churning inside her.

  “Why do you treat him this way?”

  “He is a traitor.”

  Fury turned her tone shrill. “He is the son of an earl and lord of his own keep, yet you hold him like a beast. Is he so dangerous that you must chain him?”

  Fane’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. His mouth opened, as though he intended to reply. Then his gaze slid past her. He nodded.

  Keys clinked. She whirled to face the cell. A guard strode to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

  She ran inside and threw herself into Rudd’s arms.

  With a ragged moan, he caught her in a rib-crushing hug. He smelled as though he hadn’t b
athed in days. The manacles at his wrists pressed into her back. Dust from his garments stung her eyes. She didn’t care. It felt wondrous, truly wondrous, to hug him.

  “Come away,” Fane muttered.

  “Never.” She shook her head against Rudd’s shoulder.

  “The guard will remove his chains, if you allow him.”

  Fane’s gritted words pulled at her like invisible hands. She drew back a fraction. “Do you speak true?”

  “I do.”

  Gratitude warred with her simmering anger. Fane had made this concession for her. Rage quickly snuffed the idiotic sentiment. Her brother didn’t deserve to be chained at all.

  She stepped back, catching Rudd’s cold fingers, then releasing them. At the terse wave of Fane’s hand, the scowling guard strode forward, hunkered down, and unlocked the manacles at Rudd’s ankles. The metal sprang open. The chains clattered to the ground. Rudd stood motionless, his moist gaze locked with hers, as the guard freed his wrists.

  The instant the chains fell away, he stumbled to her and hugged her tight. The guard strode away.

  After a long moment, Rudd held her at arm’s length. His gaze shot to the doorway, then back to her.

  “You are well?” His voice sounded unsteady.

  Smiling, she nodded. “Better now I have seen you.”

  “I asked to see you. Linford refused.”

  The scrape of a boot from the doorway warned her Fane stood nearby. Close enough to hear their conversation. Resentment flamed inside her like burning oil. Still, she wouldn’t waste her precious moments with her brother. “I asked to see you, too.” She pressed her hands over his, felt the tremor that ran through him.

  “I cannot believe you are his wife.” Rudd drew a harsh breath. “How did this come to be? He has not harmed you, has he? Mistreated you? God’s holy teeth, if he—”

  “He treats me well. How do you fare?”

  “I cannot wait to quit this wretched place.”

  Anguish underscored his words. He obviously tried to be brave, but he was only ten and five. Far too young to spend the rest of his life locked behind bars, or to be executed for treason.

  She looked up into his unshaven face. “I know you are innocent of treachery. Tell me how I can prove you are not guilty, and I will do it. I promise.”