Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  Fane jumped into the water. The murky depths cocooned him before he rose at her side. He kissed the tip of her nose, and she giggled.

  The musical sound touched deep in his soul, rousing the joy, desire, and love buried there. Rexana belonged to no man but him. He would die before he let her suffer for her brother’s treachery.

  He would die before he ever let her go.

  Blinking away tears, Rexana tossed the wax tablet down on the bed. Yesterday, on the ride back to Tangston, Fane had promised to show her the evidence against Rudd. True to his word, Fane had brought the accounts and documents to the solar the next morn.

  She stared at the tablets, laid out upon the coverlet and lit by the sunlight streaming in through the open shutters. The words taunted her. The accounts Kester had carefully documented reinforced what Fane had told her—that Rudd had met in local taverns with known conspirators to plot treachery.

  Equally damning was the missive Fane had shown her. He hadn’t let her touch it, but had held it out to her. Once she’d seen Rudd’s unmistakable, scrawled signature, Fane had tucked the missive into his belt. She shivered, remembering his shuttered expression. Despite his feelings for her, he took no chances she might snatch the parchment and toss it into the fire.

  She rubbed her lips together, silently praying for strength.

  Dragging her gaze from the tablets, she said, “I cannot believe it.”

  “Why not?” Fane lounged with one hip against the trestle table, holding a half eaten block of cheese. He wore black hose and a russet tunic, the shoulders still damp from his hair. They had bathed together earlier, but the wash had quickly progressed to lovemaking in the tub.

  His eyebrow arched. Wanton sparks shot through her. He had quirked his brow before he’d cupped her wet breasts in his hands and seduced her. He had been very attentive since telling her of his past, as though he feared she now despised him. Yet, how could she, when she had no doubt he cared for her and Leila was long dead?

  By the saints, how could she, when he knew how to spin her body into a wondrous sensual whirl?

  “Well, love?” With an eating dagger, Fane sliced some cheese and slid it between his teeth. “What more proof do you need? ’Tis more than sufficient to convince the King’s Courts of your brother’s guilt.”

  She drew her legs up under her chin, adjusted her gown, and dropped her forehead to her knees. “I know what the accounts and his signature imply. Yet, I know my brother. He would not betray the king.”

  Fane sighed. The eating dagger clicked on the table before he strode to the bed. He rubbed his hand over her shoulder, a skilled touch that fired her every tingling nerve and made her burn for him. “Come. Break your fast. You will feel better, and your thoughts will be clearer.”

  A bit of bread, cheese, and fruit wouldn’t change her mind about Rudd. Yet, Rexana slid off the bed and walked to the table. Grabbing the dagger, she cut into the peel of an orange. The zesty scent burst into the air.

  Fane retrieved the tablets and stuffed them into a leather bag. “I have matters of estate to attend this morn. Duties I should have addressed yesterday, except I was delightfully occupied.” His mouth curved in a roguish grin. “If only I could set my High Sheriff duties aside yet another day.”

  His smile flooded her with sensual anticipation. She swayed her body in brazen invitation. “I shall await your return.”

  “I am counting on it.” He crossed to her. His mouth danced over hers in an arousing rhythm. As his scent mingled with the orange’s, loyalties warred within her. Her fingers itched to drop the fruit and grab the missive, while her mind scorned the hope that she would reach the hearth in time to toss the parchment into the flames. Her heart screamed that Fane would consider such actions the worst betrayal. He would never, ever forgive her.

  Why did the thought of betraying him hurt so much? He had come to mean as much to her as her own brother.

  Before she had a chance to resolve her dilemma, he groaned, then pulled away. “Think of me, as I will think of you. I will see you anon.”

  He slung the bag over his shoulder and strode toward the door.

  “Wait.” She hardly dared ask, yet she must. “May I visit Rudd?”

  Fane looked at her. “Why?”

  “I must speak to him about this evidence you have collected. Please.”

  His gaze sharpened, as though he considered the wisdom of her visit. Then, he nodded. “When I return, I will go with you.”

  Relief filtered through her. “Until then, may I send him clean garments? Surely that is not too much to ask.”

  “I had thought to see it done myself. Speak with Tansy. She will help you find clothes to fit him, and will see them delivered.”

  Rexana smiled. “Thank you.”

  He smiled back. “Thank you, love, for the pleasure you have given me. Our marriage will only get better.” He winked and opened the door.

  Dropping the orange and knife onto the table, she hurried to the doorway, her silk gown brushing at her ankles. As Fane turned onto the landing that led down to the hall, she waved. He disappeared from view, and she ordered one of the guards to send for Tansy.

  Rexana closed the solar doors and leaned back against them. Her gaze fell to the half eaten food. Anticipation drummed to life in her blood. A plan, hovering at the edge of her consciousness, coalesced in her mind.

  Could it succeed?

  With slow strides, she crossed to the table. The eating dagger glinted in the sunlight. ’Twas a common knife, devoid of fancy patterning like Fane’s. The dagger was one of several brought up by the kitchen staff, used by the chaplain and steward, and made available to visiting dignitaries who had forgotten their own.

  She fingered the small knife. Nausea churned inside her. She had no choice. If she didn’t seize this opportunity, her brother might end up beheaded. She knew him to be innocent, but the evidence she’d seen against him was overwhelming.

  Oh, God. Could she conceal the dagger in the clothing she sent to Rudd? Could she betray Fane’s trust?

  Her stomach clenched. She could. She must.

  A knock sounded on the door. Tansy.

  “One moment.” Rexana grabbed the knife, slashed an opening in her sleeve’s cuff, then pushed the dagger inside. She forced herself to ignore her conscience’s warning cry and the ache consuming her heart.

  She could. She must.

  As Fane climbed the forebuilding’s steps to the hall for the midday meal, his strides lightened. He had investigated a dispute between neighboring cotters, collected overdue tithes from a nobleman, and dismissed baseless accusations of stealing brought against a peasant girl. Fane smiled. That afternoon, he would have time to spare, and would spend it with Rexana.

  Their coupling in the bathtub had been extraordinary. What would it be like to make love on the garden bench?

  He imagined Rexana’s bared breasts, shimmering in the sunlight like pearls. Her pale skin flushed and damp. Her nude body, stretched out on the stone, writhing against him. He could not remember desiring a woman with such hunger.

  As he took the last step, he forced his mind to neutral territory. He smiled at the matrons and young children waiting patiently beside their tables, nodded to the men-at-arms, and crossed to the dais.

  Rexana sat in her usual place, beside his.

  She looked up, smiling as he approached, yet the warmth did not completely reach her eyes. She looked a little pale.

  A pang of disquiet jarred through him, but he shrugged it aside. After the evidence he had shown her that morn, she had every reason to be unsettled. No doubt she had thought about Rudd’s fate all morn. No doubt she was realizing she had misjudged her brother.

  Fane dropped down into his chair and kissed her cheek. “Love.”

  “Milord.”

  He poured wine into the silver goblet set before her. “You had a good morn? You found plenty to amuse you, and did not get into mischief?”

  He spoke in jest, yet she visibly tensed. He
r expression softened, and she laughed. “Milord, the only mischief I entertain is with you.”

  He chuckled. Leaning close, he began to whisper a naughty secret in her ear.

  Footfalls rose above the hall’s chatter. “Milord!”

  Fane halted mid sentence to glance toward the commotion. Armed guards hurried toward him, their weapons drawn.

  Silence fell in the hall.

  “What has happened?” Fane snapped.

  “Villeaux,” a guard said. “He and the prisoners escaped the dungeon.”

  “What?” Fane slammed down the jug. Wine sloshed over the rim to stain the tablecloth.

  “They are in the bailey. Villeaux has a knife. They have hostages.”

  Rexana gasped. “Nay!”

  Barely holding back the fury scalding his lungs, Fane rose to his feet. “How did this happen? I gave orders—”

  “I do not know, milord.”

  He exhaled on a growl. He looked down at Rexana, her face ashen. Anger and dismay roiled in his gut. Curse Villeaux for provoking a confrontation. Curse Villeaux for choosing to take hostages. The situation did not bode well for a quick recapture, for it could only lead to bloodshed.

  How in hellfire had the traitors escaped their cells?

  He yanked his jeweled dagger from its sheath.

  Rexana’s hand flew to her mouth. “What will you do?”

  “Whatever I must.”

  Her chair squealed back. “I am coming with you.”

  “You will stay here.”

  Fane skirted the table, stepped down from the dais, and marched across the hall. The armed guards fell in behind him. He took the forebuilding’s stairs two at a time, and threw open the door to the bailey.

  Clad in a loose-fitting brown tunic and hose, Villeaux stood near the stables. His right arm was wrapped around a young boy’s neck. Fane recognized the lad as one of the stable hands. A knife glinted at the boy’s throat.

  An eating dagger.

  Fane scowled. He had forbidden implements of any kind to the prisoners. Who had dared to defy his orders? Rage blazed through him. He would find out, and they would pay dearly.

  A pained grunt drew his gaze to the other three traitors who stood near Villeaux. They wielded swords, stolen from the dungeon guards. They stood over one of the guards, whom they had forced to kneel in the dirt. Blood ran down his face. He swayed from side to side, as though on the verge of fainting.

  With measured strides, Fane crossed to Rudd. “Let the boy go.”

  Rudd smiled. The knife edged higher. The lad’s eyes flared with fear. “He comes with me. I will not release him and let you kill me.”

  In the near distance, Fane heard a woman’s scream. The boy’s mother. Her cry became hysterical sobs.

  “Mama.” The lad’s face crumpled. Tears welled in his eyes.

  Fane sensed Rexana step into the bailey. For an instant, no more than the space of a blink, Rudd looked at her. Then, his gaze shot back to Fane.

  Awareness of Rexana whooshed through Fane, even as his anger surged. He had told her to stay in the hall. He had tried to shield her from the inevitable fight. Did she really want to watch him subdue her brother with brute force?

  Frustration pressed like an iron fist against Fane’s ribs. Forcing his emotions aside, he weighed his options. The archers on the battlements could shoot the three men, but could not wound Villeaux without harming the boy. Tangston’s men-at-arms could overpower the escapees, but again, the child could be injured or killed. So could the guard.

  The knot in Fane’s belly tightened. Did he risk harming a defenseless child to recapture Villeaux? Did he risk the guard’s life, when the man was newly wed and his wife expected a babe? Did he risk killing Villeaux, likely one of the rebel leaders and thus a key prisoner Fane wanted alive?

  Were such choices not barbaric?

  A grim smile hardened Fane’s mouth. Villeaux might not have the stomach to murder a child before a score of witnesses. Villeaux might be bluffing.

  Yet, he did not know Villeaux well enough to know for certain.

  As though sensing his dilemma, Rudd tipped his head to the stable. “I want four horses. You will clear the guards from the gatehouse and let us pass.”

  “If I refuse?”

  Rudd’s expression darkened. He no longer looked like a misguided youth, but a determined man. “I will slit the boy’s throat. My friends will kill your guard. Their deaths will be on your conscience.”

  “You would kill a child?”

  For the briefest moment, hesitation flashed in Rudd’s green eyes. His fingers curled tighter around the knife’s hilt. “Do not force me, Linford.”

  “Rudd,” Rexana cried. “Nay!”

  Fane heard her skidded footsteps a moment before she reached his side. She looked at him, her gaze frantic. “Let me go to him. I can reason with him.”

  “You will go no closer.” Fane looked back at Rudd. “He is armed and trapped.”

  “He will not harm me.”

  Fane’s jaw tightened until it hurt. His stomach twisted, as though a knife had plunged into his flesh. It was not mere coincidence that the day she delivered Rudd clean garments he escaped the dungeon. Had she slipped him the dagger? Had she brought about this wretched dilemma? He would ask her, as soon as he resolved the imminent danger.

  Fane signaled to the men-at-arms who had moved into the bailey. Two approached. “Escort Lady Linford to safety,” Fane muttered. “Keep her well away from these ruffians.”

  The men guided Rexana back toward the forebuilding.

  “Fane!”

  He shut out her indignant shrieks. Strode closer to the rebels. A decision consolidated in his mind. One he despised, but the only choice to avoid bloodshed.

  Yet, his decision might lead him to the rat’s nest of traitors.

  “You will have your horses.” He ignored the shocked gasps that rippled through the onlookers. “Let me send stable hands to ready them.”

  The tension in Villeaux’s face eased. “A wise decision.”

  Murmurs rose behind Fane. Biting back his fury, he ordered four horses saddled and readied. He sent a man-at-arms to the gatehouse, with orders for the armed guards to leave.

  The rebels abandoned the wounded guard to mount their horses. They grinned in triumph.

  Rage boiled inside Fane and threatened to explode.

  Yet, if his plan developed as he hoped, he would be the victor.

  As Villeaux forced the terrified boy onto the horse, determination burned in Fane’s blood. Villeaux might think he had won, but this battle was far from over.

  With an insolent whoop, Rudd urged his horse toward the gatehouse. The other traitors followed. Hoofbeats thundered on the drawbridge.

  Fane turned to the servants nearby. He pointed to the injured guard. “Get him to the healer. See that his wounds are tended, and find his wife.” He looked at his soldiers. “To your mounts. Now.”

  “You let them escape,” the mother wailed. She swooned into the arms of two young girls, a hand clutched to her breast. “My son.”

  “We will bring him home safely,” Fane said. “This I promise.”

  Shouting to their squires, knights hurried to the stables. Bridles jangled. Men-at-arms and stable hands led out horses, including Fane’s destrier, which snorted and flicked its tail. The air hummed with anticipation of battle.

  Fane set his hands on his hips. He glanced at the dust rising on the road beyond the drawbridge, then looked to where the guards had taken Rexana. She would answer to him now.

  She was no longer in the guards’ care. She stood a hand’s span away, her hair mussed. How hauntingly lovely she looked. He cursed the appreciative groan that even now rumbled inside him.

  Her guards hovered at a discreet distance. With a nod, Fane dismissed them.

  He stared at her. Hard.

  “Rudd would not have harmed that child,” she said with quiet conviction.

  “You do not know that for certain.”
r />   “I do.”

  Fane snorted. “I vow the brother you once knew no longer exists.”

  Anguish shivered across her face. She glanced away, as though fascinated by the noise and activity at the stables. His mouth tightened. She would not escape so easily.

  “You gave Rudd that eating dagger. Aye?”

  Her chin nudged up, even as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She had done that the last time they coupled, just before she climaxed around him and sent his pleasure soaring.

  Emotions warred within him, the desire to yank her close and kiss her, as well as the urge to shake her. Instead, he cupped her chin, forcing her gaze back to him. “I want an answer.”

  She swallowed against his fingers. “Why ask me? A servant may have delivered the knife to him along with his food.”

  “They were warned against such folly. None of them would dare to disobey me.” His thumb brushed her petal soft jaw. “The only one who might defy me is you.”

  After a silence, she said quietly, “I gave him the knife.”

  “You concealed it inside the clothes?”

  Her head jerked in a nod.

  Fane swore. His hand fell to his side. “Foolish, wife.”

  “I know what you believe. I know what your evidence implies.” She trembled. “I tell you, Rudd is not a traitor. He cannot confess his crimes because he has done naught wrong.”

  A sigh hissed between Fane’s teeth. “He is a criminal. If you will not accept the evidence I showed you, his actions today prove it.” His voice thinned to a dangerous growl. “Your actions also make you suspect, love. I trusted you. I granted you a kindness, by sending your brother clean clothes, and you betrayed me.”

  She shook her head. Tears misted her eyes. They turned as green as the glade’s lush grass. Despite his fury, despite what she had done, he hated to see her cry.

  His voice shook. “We enjoyed such passion, Rexana. We began to trust. Why did you betray me in this way? Why?”

  She did not speak, yet he glimpsed an answer in her watery gaze. She had deceived him to save her brother, yet she had also acted out of self-interest. His soul screamed, as though she had ripped it from his chest. In her heart, she did not really trust him. Like so many others, she saw him as the misfit barbarian who had bedded a Saracen courtesan.