Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  The most notorious brigand in Christendom, and he expected her to calmly accompany him to some nameless fate! Aileen wished she could have bitten his hand in truth.

  “The other scheme I leave to your imagination.” He bent and his words fanned her ear, sending a thousand unwelcome shivers over her flesh. “We shall celebrate our union this night, you and I, of that you may be assured.”

  Aileen’s blood ran cold. She knew then that the Hawk meant to rape her. If he did not so indulge here in the ladies’ chamber, then the deed would occur somewhere in her father’s abode. She knew that he would show her no mercy and that her life in the aftermath of his deed would not be worth living.

  It is one matter to be a plain maiden unwanted by any man, and quite another to be despoiled. Aileen’s virginity and her father’s name were the only assets she could offer a potential spouse—the loss of her chastity would eliminate her father’s endorsement, as well. She had no doubt her father would cast her out of his home once he knew the truth, for he was a man of high principles.

  Like any man of sense, he would deem her rape to be her own fault.

  How dare the Hawk do this to her? Aileen looked into the glint of her assailant’s eyes and felt determination rise within her. The Hawk might mean to steal the last hope she had, but she would fight him with all the strength she possessed.

  Even if she was doomed to lose. He seemed to be waiting, so Aileen bit his glove fiercely to give him her answer. The deed must have taken him by surprise for she felt some flesh between her teeth. He muttered something and she struggled with new vigor. She managed to free one arm from his grip and gave his hair a tug that must have hurt.

  He swore beneath his breath, caught her face in his hand, then kissed her grimly.

  His move was unexpected, so aggressive that no tenderness could be found within it. Aileen screamed, and he swallowed the sound with ease, then what had happened earlier repeated itself.

  Almost.

  A vine appeared in Aileen’s thoughts—no, two vines entangled tightly together and growing into the infinite distance. The vines wound around each other, one rife with thorns and one burdened with flowers.

  They were a hazel and a honeysuckle. Aileen knew this though she could not imagine how. She knew little of plants and had never heeded her mother’s lessons. But these she knew, with eerie certainty.

  The two were so entangled that it was not easy to see where one ended and the other began. Aileen understood that they could not have been separated without threatening the survival of either or both. Yet entangled thus, they thrived.

  The plants coiled, opening into a tunnel of green as tall as Aileen. In her mind’s eye, she stepped into this verdant corridor and peered into the tangle of leaves and branches as she walked down it. She saw the Hawk and herself, half-hidden in the vines, their limbs as entwined as the branches themselves. Then beyond, further down a corridor of shadows, she spied a warrior she knew to be Magnus Armstrong, his hand clasped in that of a maiden with blue eyes and long dark hair.

  Anna. Aileen knew the woman’s name, though she knew not how. The tangle of growth bent then, like a corridor that turned a corner, and she could see no further along its length.

  The Hawk’s lips burned against her own and Aileen again understood the origin of these alien thoughts. He would cast a spell upon her! She fought to evade the Hawk’s touch. He deepened his kiss and the vision claimed Aileen in a grip as fierce as his determination to possess her.

  Aileen saw herself, the thorned vine knotted around her ankles. She saw the Hawk holding her in a passionate embrace, much like this one, but as if she stood outside of her own skin. As he kissed her, the hazel grew around them both. It was followed by the honeysuckle vine, growing with unholy haste, surrounding them so that they were locked in an eternal embrace. The creamy honeysuckle flowers blossomed in abundance, hiding the hazel’s thorns, perfuming the air with a heady sweetness.

  Aileen was shocked numb.

  Was this her destiny?

  Was the Hawk her fate?

  Or did he simply try to persuade her to accept his dark scheme?

  The Hawk lifted his head, his gaze searching hers even as the vision was dispersed like mist beneath the morning sun.

  “Sorcerer!” she spat and that was all it took.

  He abruptly braced himself upon his elbows and Aileen tasted the prospect of freedom. She fought anew, but he shoved a wad of leather into her mouth. He wound a length of cloth over it and knotted it behind her head, rendering her mute.

  Aileen choked in outrage over this and the poison he had poured into her thoughts, but he moved deftly to complete his work. He pinned her legs beneath the weight of his own. He held her hands above her head in one hand, his grip relentless. She fought, but to no avail.

  It seemed he had lied about despoiling maidens, for he clearly had experience in performing such foul deeds. He cast aside Aileen’s bed linens, then grasped her chemise by the neck and tore it from her body. It was old and thin, and the cloth barely whimpered as it was shredded.

  His leather tabard was cold against her bare flesh, the chill of his mail sent shivers from each point they touched. Aileen closed her eyes, knowing what must come next.

  To her astonishment, he grasped her tight against him, her back against his chest. He rolled over, away from the women. She felt fur beneath herself and man above, and braced for her last chance to defend herself against his rape.

  But she was rolled within the fur, rolled over and over until she was swathed and fully trapped. It was his cloak, she realized belatedly, cut full and lined with fur. The fur was warm, uncommonly soft and thick.

  And it rendered her helpless. The Hawk bent over her, knotting rope around her in a lattice, securing her into his cloak. She was bound into the cloak from neck to foot. His deed stilled Aileen’s struggles and left her only able to thump her bound feet against the floor.

  She did so, with vigor, but the layers of fur ensured that she made no sound.

  She glared at her captor and wriggled in her bonds, fearing what fate he had planned for her. She hated how well he had planned his assault and how successful it had been.

  He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I would have you be silent.”

  Aileen growled and thumped her feet, unwilling to make his foul deed easier.

  The Hawk’s eyes gleamed and he put his lips to her ear, his words dark and dangerous. “Know this, lady mine. There are a thousand rumors of my wickedness, and lest you imagine otherwise, I am guilty of every crime.”

  His fingertip stroked her cheek, then he turned her face so she could see the determination in his eyes. “And if you are so fool as to betray me, I shall hunt you down and wring your neck with mine own hands.” He held her gaze and Aileen did not doubt that he told her the truth. “I have no intent to kill you, but you clearly aim to change my thinking. I would suggest you desist.”

  He left her there then, trussed like a package of pelts to be shipped south and trembling in fear. Aileen loathed that there was so little she could do about her state. She quietly rolled in an attempt to escape, but only hit the wall with a muffled thump. She tried to angle herself toward the door, but the fur was so thick that she could scarcely bend.

  Meanwhile, the Hawk crouched beside her pallet, disinterested in her efforts. Aileen watched him when she knew herself trapped. In all honesty, she was somewhat more reassured to be a bundle than a naked wench beneath him. She could not be raped in her current state, though that might prove to be a small mercy.

  Hope rose within her that she might have another chance to evade his desire. His threat echoed in her thoughts, meanwhile, making her very heart tremble.

  As she fretted, he spread her chemise before him with care, the white linen fairly glowing in the darkness. He doffed his glove and cut his thumb without a flinch, letting the blood drip to stain the linen. Aileen was mystified as to his intent.

  The Hawk was, however, disinclined to confid
e in her. He returned his knife to its scabbard and sucked the side of his thumb to staunch the bleeding, even as he pushed her chemise into his belt. He glanced at her, the pure mischief in his expression so startling that her heart leaped.

  She struggled as he approached, but he donned his glove, picked her up, and cast her over his shoulder with appalling ease. He left the ladies’ chamber silently and moved with speed to his destination.

  Wherever it might be.

  III

  As they crossed the hall and took the corridor leading to the gates—passing many intimate chambers that could have been utilized for a quick rape—Aileen’s thoughts flew. It seemed that she was being kidnapped.

  But why?

  Did the Hawk imagine her father to be so wealthy that he would pay a rich ransom for her return? If so, he should have stolen Blanche, for Nigel would have sold his soul for her return!

  It would suit Blanche, Aileen suddenly realized, to not only be rid of her stepdaughter but be rid of Aileen to such a man as this. Had they made a wager at the board after Aileen retired? Perhaps Blanche had even summoned the Hawk to do this deed!

  Aileen’s father might think it a fine solution to his woes in finding his daughter a spouse, particularly if Blanche presented the matter to him as artfully as she could argue her way. Perhaps she had even seen fit to aid the Hawk in polluting the ale to ensure that his crime might more readily succeed.

  And what would be Aileen’s fate? She had no illusions that an honorable match would come of this inauspicious beginning, nor did she imagine a plain maiden like herself would hold the gaze of a man like the Hawk. She was bound like goods because she would be treated like goods.

  She was being carried into concubinage, at best. Perhaps the Hawk would savor Aileen for a while, perhaps she would merely be given to his men to divert them. It was a cruel punishment for one known to find a man’s touch abhorrent, perhaps a jest that a rough warrior would find amusing.

  Aileen shuddered at the prospect. It would destroy her spirit to be used as a whore and discarded. She had need of a scheme to ensure her own survival.

  But what could she do?

  Aileen was swung upright so abruptly that she felt dizzy. Though she was set upon her feet, the padding of fur gave her no sure footing. When she toppled, the Hawk caught her fast before him. She saw, with some surprise, that they were in the chapel. Two candles were burning on the altar, and Abernye’s priest stood rumpled before her.

  One of the Hawk’s men had clearly roused Father Gilchrist from his bed and held him fast. The felon was garbed in armor and dark clothing, just like his laird. He was a grim-looking man, swarthy of complexion and black of hair, his eyes so dark as to be fathomless. He winked at her, a rogue much enamored with his own appeal.

  Or one anticipating his chance to sample her. Aileen looked at the priest, sickened by her circumstance.

  Father Gilchrist looked to be bleary with sleep. Aileen guessed that he had partaken heavily of the tainted ale, though his eyes widened at the sight of her. He was an older man, unafraid to speak his thoughts, and generally sharp of tongue.

  Perhaps he might aid her!

  “What blasphemy is this?” he demanded.

  “Quiet, Father,” growled the Hawk’s man. Aileen saw the glint of the man’s blade touch the priest’s side and understood that this was no jest.

  Father Gilchrist swallowed then, his gaze flicking between his captor and the man who now unknotted the cloth that gagged Aileen. Another of the Hawk’s men stood in the shadows, guarding the door, his expression grim and his hands on the hilts of his blades. He was dark-haired, as well, tall and blue of eye. He also wore dark garb like the Hawk—they were men dressed to do foul deeds in the midst of the night.

  When Aileen’s gag was unbound, she lost no time in spitting out the leather within her mouth. She barely had a chance to lick her lips before the Hawk’s gloved hand closed over her mouth with surety. She made an indignant sound of protest but he merely tightened his grip upon her.

  “Begin, Father,” he said. “We have no time to waste.”

  The priest straightened and gave her captor a sharp glance. “It is imperative that the parties both be willing.”

  “We are both willing,” the Hawk said with resolve.

  Aileen guessed then what he meant to do. She twisted against him, unable to understand why he would compel her to wed him, and anxious to halt the ceremony.

  “I hardly think…” the priest said, then paused to frown at the blade that prodded his ribs anew. He fixed a stern eye upon Aileen’s captor. “The lady clearly is not willing.”

  “Umph!” Aileen nodded in emphatic agreement to that.

  “Then perhaps the lady does not understand her own best interests,” the Hawk said smoothly.

  Aileen would have gladly argued that assertion and the priest clearly made note of her flashing eyes. He made to protest, but the Hawk released his grip upon her waist. White flashed before her eyes and the priest instinctively caught the object tossed at him.

  It was Aileen’s chemise. And there was blood upon it, blood where the blood of a woman’s broken maidenhead would fall. The blood was yet wet, of course.

  Father Gilchrist realized what he held and dropped it immediately.

  Aileen saw the look in the priest’s eyes and knew that he believed that she had been raped. She felt doubly ill then, for she understood that the Hawk had cornered her again. If he abandoned her now, nothing she said could take the stain from her name. If he claimed her, she could not imagine her existence.

  She was left with no good choices.

  The other two men began to chuckle. “I thought you took overlong, my lord,” said the one by the door, his manner teasing.

  The other winked at Aileen again. “The Hawk of Inverfyre leaves no detail to chance.”

  “Certainly not,” the Hawk lied easily, though Aileen supposed that would be a minor crime to a man of his ilk.

  “The garment is torn,” Father Gilchrist insisted with vigor. “The lady was not willing.”

  “Yet the deed is done all the same,” the Hawk said with such confidence that none would doubt him. Aileen loathed him in that moment with all her heart and soul. How dare he damage her reputation? “Surely what is of import is that I would treat her with honor from this moment forward.”

  “With honor?” Father Gilchrist sputtered. “What mockery is this? You cannot imagine I will be persuaded that you would treat the daughter of my patron with any dignity after you have raped her! I would be a fool to cede her hand to you!”

  “And you think her fate much improved to remain here, soiled as she is. How many suitors do you think will come for her now?” The Hawk’s tone was derisive. “You are a fool to think that you—or she—have a choice.”

  The priest frowned. “Why do you wed her?”

  “Perhaps I am smitten.”

  The Hawk’s men laughed and Aileen felt her face heat. The Hawk, though, did not laugh. Indeed, he must have granted his men a stern glance for they abruptly sobered.

  Father Gilchrist regarded the Hawk with skepticism. “Her father will provide no dowry or lands, given your deed.”

  “I have no need of whatsoever he would give.” The Hawk tightened his grip upon Aileen. “I already possess the sole prize of Abernye.”

  The certainty in his tone fairly took Aileen’s breath away, though she could not imagine that he meant his words.

  His breath stirred her hair suddenly and unexpected humor tinged his next words. “And perhaps Aileen will be less inclined to kill me when next we meet abed, if she is my lady wife. Women have a fondness for such formalities, I am told.”

  “I will call for aid and foil your scheme,” Father Gilchrist argued.

  “I would advise against that.” The Hawk’s tone turned as grim as the expressions of his men. “It will be the last sound you make on this earth.”

  “You would not kill a priest in the sanctuary of a church!”

&nb
sp; Aileen might have agreed before she heard the coldness of the Hawk’s reply. “I have done worse before and likely will do worse again,” he said and Aileen shivered, remembering his threat just moments before.

  “I will take her, either way,” the Hawk continued with resolve. “Would you deny your laird’s daughter the honor of a marital bond, or do you dispatch her to the uncertain life of a concubine?”

  Father Gilchrist clearly wanted to deny this man his will, but Aileen saw the blade of the Hawk’s man dig deep enough to make the priest flinch. A trickle of blood stained the priest’s undyed robe. The gazes of priest and would-be bride met, their fear tangible.

  “My lady? I shall not do this thing without your assent, even if they do kill me for it.” The priest who had baptized Aileen eighteen years before now studied her.

  The knife against Father Gilchrist’s side gleamed evilly. These men would kill him and Aileen knew it. And as much as she might have preferred, there was truth in the Hawk’s claim—she would have more rights as his wife than as his whore.

  Further, she might have the chance of escape once they left this chapel. He had planned this deed well, for she truly had no choice but to cede to him, for the moment.

  Aileen nodded once, without enthusiasm. At least, she would not have the blood of a priest upon her hands—nor would it be on the hands of her spouse. Their lives would be bound together from this night onward, be it for better or for worse.

  Let the Hawk imagine she was amenable to that. There would be time aplenty for vengeance after he was persuaded that he could trust her.

  Aileen never remembered the words of her wedding service. She assumed they were the usual ones, for the Hawk showed no displeasure with the ritual they were granted.

  What she remembered was the tightness of the bonds around her, the conviction in the words her new spouse uttered so close by her ear, the smoothness of his leather glove against her lips.

  And his kiss to seal the match.