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

by Claire Delacroix

  Edana would not let her escape. Indeed, ’twas a relief to find one soul he could trust.

  But even after reminding himself forcibly of all of these things, Angus was still cursedly curious about his captive.

  He obviously had need of sleep.

  Edana’s twisted fingers worked with surprising grace once she had dipped a length of cloth into the well. The lantern sputtered from its perch on a moss-carpeted rock, and Jacqueline felt the watchful eyes of the forest hovering beyond the halo of yellow light.

  She sat on a rock herself, Edana up to her knees in the dark bubbling well that sang softly to itself. She wrapped Jacqueline’s ankle firmly but gently in the wet rag, muttering words that the younger woman could not discern.

  Were they spells? Jacqueline wondered, nearly recoiling in distaste of pagan witchery. But then she reasoned that they were probably harmless spells and could not hurt one so resolute in her faith as she. Indeed, the cool water felt good against her swollen ankle.

  She heaved a sigh of relief, closed her eyes, and her thoughts drifted to Angus. She recalled what he had said—or, more accurately, what his companion had said to him and of him—and made more sense of it now that he was not so close at hand.

  Angus was a knight, though ’twas clear his origins were local. And he had been to the Holy Land, he had taken the cross and battled the infidel for Christ. She felt an odd kinship with him for all of that, a unity of faith that was unexpected.

  He had been imprisoned by those Saracen infidels, a history that no doubt was responsible for his scars and whatever had happened to his eye. She almost smiled to herself at his companion’s accusation that he had been kicked once too many times in the head by a pagan foe.

  Though Jacqueline did not find Angus slow of wit. She had deceived him, ’twas true, but she knew that she had only briefly taken advantage of his gallantry. She shivered, uncertain whether he would be so gallant again, now that she had vexed him so thoroughly.

  She glanced uncertainly about but caught no glimpse of him in the surrounding shadows. He lingered nearby, of that she had no doubt. She could not see him, though, and wondered whether he was within earshot or not.

  Perhaps he had returned to tend the steeds with his companion. She strained her ears but heard naught beyond a distant nicker.

  Who was this woman and what bond was between the two? Might Edana aid her once she had heard the truth? The old woman certainly seemed inclined to be friendly.

  Her heart began to pound. If Angus lingered nearby, she dared not consider his potential retaliation for her seeking escape again. But if he had returned to the steeds, this might be her sole chance. Jacqueline had no choice but to try to change her fate. She realized belatedly that the old woman was watching her with a hooded gaze.

  “You are thinking of a man,” Edana accused.

  “Aye, I was,” Jacqueline admitted.

  Edana smiled a secretive smile. “A handsome man.”

  It had not been the precise direction of her thoughts, but Jacqueline did not want to alienate her potential confidante. She decided that despite the patch over his eye and the harshness of his expression, Angus was indeed a handsome man.

  “Handsome as the devil himself,” she admitted. “How did you guess?”

  Edana smiled. “Bonny lasses only notice handsome lads.”

  “Perhaps that is true of Celts,” Jacqueline retorted, well and tired of people assuming they understood her on the basis of her looks alone. “But I prefer to assess a person by his or her character.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed. The man of whom I was thinking would not be called handsome by many. He is scarred from battle, and clearly bitter. It shows in his face that he has seen much ill in his days.”

  Edana’s gaze was considering. She wrung out a rag with care and placed a few leaves upon it. “Yet you call him handsome,” the old woman mused. “As the devil, even. Do you not mean that his heart is filled with evil?”

  Jacqueline thought of this for a moment, soothed by the ministrations of the older woman and the silence of the night. “I am not certain. He is fierce in anger, of that there can be no doubt,” she admitted with a frown. “He has not hurt me, though he had the chance. Indeed, he brought me here to be tended. And he has not forced himself upon me, though I was certain he would.”

  “Perhaps he but waits his chance.”

  “Aye, undoubtedly he does.” Jacqueline held her breath, doubting she could be more blunt than that.

  Edana glanced up with mischief glinting in her eyes. “Or perhaps he did not find you fetching, lass.”

  Jacqueline smiled, unable to be insulted when the old woman’s expression was so impish. Edana was teasing her, as an affectionate aunt might. “Perhaps not.”

  “’Twould not be the first time a man’s taste changed to women with skin of darker hue, with black eyes and thick lashes, adorned with lush perfumes and adept at amorous games. They are of another breed, those women of the East, and men are oft enchanted by their charms. If your handsome man has been to Outremer, he might well find you naught but a pale and uninteresting virgin.”

  Though the assessment was a reasonable one, it rankled unexpectedly. Jacqueline reminded herself that ’twas far preferable to have Angus consider her unappealing than for him to feel compelled to sample her. Indeed, it might be a sign that someone watched over her fate, that someone ensured that her chastity was maintained so that her pledges could be made.

  But then she remembered the heat of his stolen kiss, the press of his erection against her buttocks. He had been attracted to her, but he had denied his desire.

  Because the presence of his companion deterred him?

  “I fear him,” she whispered.

  The old woman stilled at that confession and looked up. The mischief faded from her eyes as their gazes held. “As do I, lass,” she admitted softly. “As do I.”

  Jacqueline’s heart sank. They could not both be prey to the knight’s whim. “But you know him!”

  “I knew him.” Edana tied the end of the bandage around Jacqueline’s ankle with efficiency. “’Twas a long time ago.”

  “But how? But when?”

  “’Tis not my tale to tell.” Edana pushed to her feet and spoke brusquely. “Come along, lass. ’Tis too chill for an old woman’s bones to linger here. I will have your tale by the fire.”

  Edana, having stood in the healing waters of the spring, moved with unexpected agility, her cane swinging in her grip. More important, the lantern was in her other hand, and the light was fading into the distance with great speed.

  Jacqueline leaped to her feet, not wanting to be left alone amid the eerie clouties. She frowned and tested her weight upon her ankle twice, but it seemed more likely to bear her weight than before. She glanced back at the bubbling well and wondered.

  But she was not one to credit pagan magic, not she.

  No doubt the flesh was numb from the chill of the water. Aye, that was it. Jacqueline considered the forest for a long moment, even as a wolf howled in the distance.

  She could flee again.

  But Edana halted and glanced back, as if she had heard the younger woman’s thoughts. “He will have my head if you do not return with me,” she said darkly, and Jacqueline had no doubt ’twas true. She could not repay the woman’s kindness with such a selfish gesture.

  And perhaps, together, they might escape whatever Angus had planned. At least, they might bar the door against him this night. ’Twas encouraging not to face such adversity alone. She picked up her skirts and darted after Edana.

  Chapter 5

  Edana felt a sympathy for Jacqueline’s plight, for she had no better idea what this changed Angus might do than the lass did. She was more than agreeable to the plea that they bar the door against the men, which seemed to amuse Angus more than it troubled him. The old woman knew that she was not alone in understanding that it could be forced, nor evidently was she alone in thinking it harmless to reassure t
he maiden.

  This she found most interesting.

  “We could escape through the back,” Jacqueline whispered. “The wood is aged there, and none would know the truth of it in the darkness.”

  Edana snorted. “You are his prize, lass, and no man lets a prize escape so readily as that. No doubt they check the perimeter moment by moment.”

  Jacqueline heaved a sigh of frustration. “I imagine you speak aright. The man will be cursedly vigilant now.”

  Edana chuckled despite herself. “Aye, he was oft known to be strong of will.”

  “You know his tale, though, and you could share it with me.”

  “I know but part of his tale, lass, and ’tis not my tale to share.”

  “He will never tell me of it.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Will you?”

  Edana shrugged.

  Impatience lit Jacqueline’s features. “What harm is there in sharing a tale? You are the most reticent lot I have ever known!” she declared, and Edana could not help but smile. The maid took her expression as encouragement. “Will you answer me one thing, if naught else?”

  “Perhaps one thing,” the old woman agreed slowly.

  “How has he changed? What was Angus like before?” Edana dropped her gaze to the pot, stirring in silence. Indeed, she had to sift through her thoughts and impressions to find the kernel of his change.

  “In the years since I have seen him, he has come to know wickedness,” she finally said, her voice low. “And, as wickedness so often does, it has left its stain upon him.”

  A shiver slid visibly through the younger woman, and Edana was certain her curiosity was sated.

  Jacqueline sat on the floor of the hut, clad in no more than her chemise as her kirtle dried. She watched Edana with bright eyes pick at this herb and another. “What are you doing?”

  “Are you always so intent to know what others do not tell you?”

  The maiden laughed lightly, the sparkle in her eyes most fetching. “Aye. Curiosity is said to be my curse.”

  Edana snorted. “I’ll make something to fill your belly. Are you not hungry?”

  “Aye!”

  Edana poured the heated water over the lot, sniffing as the herbs released their potency. She stirred, then added a measure of honey, before handing it to Jacqueline. “Too sweet?”

  “Nay, ’tis perfect.”

  “Good, then drink it down.”

  Jacqueline sipped, her gaze watchful. The men’s voices carried to them intermittently, though no one came to the door. Edana settled onto her stool and braced her hands atop her cane.

  “And? What do you know of him?” Jacqueline asked pertly.

  “Naught that is yours to hear. At least not afore you share your own tale.” Edana shook a finger at the lass. “You have a debt to pay, need I remind you?”

  Jacqueline smiled. “Aye, I know it well. This morn, I was en route to a convent...”

  There was marvel in her tone at the change of her situation. Edana heard much that was said and just as much unsaid, and was as intrigued by the omissions as the facts included. The maiden had not been in her vision, though ’twas clear she played a key role in whatever Angus had begun.

  This Jacqueline was young and sweet and innocent of much of the world, yet she saw much more than even she knew she did. She had a sharp tongue on occasion, and her commentary could make an old woman smile—though Edana imagined that those at the convent she was destined to join would not be so amused by such cheek.

  ’Twas true that she was beauteous, but her gaze was sharp with intellect. Edana came quickly to see the wits first and the beauty second. She wondered how many others did the same.

  As she recounted the tale of her abduction, Jacqueline’s eyelids drooped. She valiantly forced them open time and again, clearly not one to surrender without a fight. Edana knew ’twould not be long before she guessed the truth.

  When her head nodded once more, and she jerked upright yet again, Jacqueline hefted the cup she had emptied in Edana’s direction. “’Twas a potion, was it not?”

  Edana smiled. “Aye.”

  “You tricked me!”

  “Nay. Sleep is the best aid for a wound.” She watched the maiden’s eyes close once again. Each time they were slower to open, Jacqueline’s responses dulling with the power of the brew. “Especially for one devoid of stalwart Celt blood.”

  Jacqueline’s eyes snapped open, though she smiled when she spoke with mock indignation. “The blood of my forebears is stalwart! My mother is wrought of steel and silk, so my stepfather oft says—”

  A rap at the door stopped her tirade and she hiccupped sleepily even as her eyes widened. Edana opened the door to find Angus there, waiting expectantly though he could have forced his way within.

  “She cannot be trusted,” he said simply. “I will sleep within, while Rodney sleeps without.”

  “She is but a mere maiden,” Edana retorted.

  “And crafty despite all of that.” He fixed a gaze upon Jacqueline, who visibly quaked. Indeed, she tried to rise, as if she would flee him, but her body betrayed her and she slumped against the wall of the hut.

  “What have you done to so frighten her?” Edana demanded.

  Angus scowled. “She had but to look upon me.”

  The older woman felt her eyes narrow as she considered him and Jacqueline’s statement that he was a handsome man. She suspected that he, not atypical of a man, had named the cause of her distress wrongly and even—yet more typical of a man—might not realize what he had done to so upset Jacqueline.

  “She has taken a sleeping draught and will not awaken again this night. There is no need for you to remain,” Edana hissed, but Angus was not persuaded.

  “Already she has tricked me once. ’Twill not happen again, not when the stakes are so high.” He crossed the room and squatted down beside her. “Come, my beauty, on this night we slumber together.”

  Jacqueline could not have been more distraught. She cried out, tried to flee, but only crumpled in her fear of him.

  And ’twas Edana’s own fault that the lass was trapped, for ’twas her potion that took away Jacqueline’s ability to flee. The old woman stepped forward to intervene, but the unexpected tenderness in Angus’s expression halted her.

  Indeed, he lifted the unconscious Jacqueline gently and wrapped her within his cloak, then lay her upon the pallet Edana had offered. He drew his blade and laid it beside the maiden, then sat so that the blade was between them and folded his arms across his chest. He fixed Edana with a challenging stare.

  This was the boy she remembered!

  “You care for her welfare,” she charged softly, much reassured.

  “Her welfare is critical to winning my objective,” he said crisply. “She means no more to me than that.”

  She would have wagered that ’twas a lie, but Angus gave her no chance to question him. His eye gleamed as he steadily met the gaze of the older woman. “Make no mistake, Edana. I have learned that a man must hold fast to his goals if he means to succeed.”

  “What is your goal?”

  He did not answer her, but lay down beside Jacqueline, still fully garbed. “I would ask you to remain within the hut this night,” he said quietly. “There should be a witness that I have done her no injury.”

  “She fears you.”

  “All women fear me.” There was bitterness in his words, though she had no chance to ask another question. Angus closed his eye, effectively ending their discourse, and she knew he would ignore any word she uttered.

  But Edana watched the pair for a long time, long after the breath fell slowly from them both. Indeed, the maiden might need some understanding of this knight after all. He had changed, but not so much as the old woman had first feared.

  Jacqueline awakened slowly, her thoughts uncommonly clouded and her tongue thick. She winced at the pounding behind her temples, then her eyes flew open in sudden recollection of Edana’s brew. Had the old woman deceived
her, so that Angus might have his will when she was powerless to fight?

  Fearful of what she might find, she ran her hands down her body. Her chemise was perfectly dry and perfectly in place. There was naught damp between her thighs.

  The roof of the hut was painted with the pearly light of the dawn and echoed with the gentle patter of rain. Jacqueline was warmer than she had expected to be, though that might have been a lingering effect of the herbs.

  A man snored, but at a distance, and she guessed that Rodney slept outside with the steeds. Edana snored more softly and at closer range. She turned to seek out the older woman and found her vision completely blocked.

  Aye, Jacqueline herself lay against the back wall of the hut, a certain knight lying full length beside her. He was a considerable obstacle, responsible for a good part of the heat she felt.

  He had not forced himself upon her. She thought “not yet” again, then wondered whether he even had any intent to take her. What did he desire? What kind of man was he? She swallowed and studied him carefully through her lashes, seeking answers in his features.

  His patched eye was the one closest to her, so she could not discern whether he was awake or not. He lay on his back, so still that she was not entirely certain that he even breathed. His hair fell back in dark waves from his tanned face, and even in profile, he looked uncompromising and harsh.

  Aye, his lips were set in a resolute line even now. He wore his tabard and chausses and boots, the toes of those black leather boots far beyond her own toes. His belt was fastened loosely about his waist. His hands were folded together on his chest, like a man laid out for a funeral. His scabbard lay on the floor beyond him, evidently empty.

  She looked for his sword and found it between them, the hilt at his hip, the tip of the weighty blade between their shoulders. The steel gleamed coldly upon the cloth, and Jacqueline realized belatedly that she was also warm because the knight had cast his red cloak over her. She could smell his flesh in the wool hood nestled around her neck, the unexpected familiarity making her yet warmer again.

  She was tucked within the circle of the cloak, enfolded within it with his weight and his blade securing the ends. ’Twas as if he meant to secure her from assault, even while he slept, and Jacqueline wondered at the import of this.