The Maiden and the Warrior Page 3

  “You are an evil liar,” she whispered vehemently.

  “Perhaps. I have been called worse,” Lucien replied. “Take care not to aggravate me, for I have no wish to punish you. Simply mind your place, and we will get along sufficiently.”

  She curled her lips in a derisive sneer. “You are more despicable than Edgar. If you think you will hold me here in disgrace and—”

  “Be at ease,” he drawled. “I intend no such thing. Your reputation will be safeguarded, for I have no nefarious intentions.” A wicked impulse made him add, “Unless you so wish it.”

  She sputtered a moment or two, unable to give voice to the rage that choked her. God’s teeth, she was magnificent! Finally she shouted, “I will see you pay for this. You are a liar and a brute, a cad of the first rank, a fiendish—”

  “And you are a mere woman with nothing else but to accept that you have been bested. Why not concede gracefully? I have assured you I intend you no harm. Take heart, my fiery vixen, for I promise when the matter of the barony is settled with the king, we will see then what there is to be done with you. But until that time, you are far too valuable a player in the game to set free.”

  “I shall make you regret this,” she promised hotly.

  He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. Unable to resist, he pushed her a bit further. “’Tis regrettable to me that you insist on this senseless opposition.” He took a step closer, lifting his unwounded hand to touch an errant lock curling gently at her ear. It was thick, the color of chestnut burnished to a high sheen and incredibly silky. He let the strand sift through his fingers.

  Standing frozen, like an animal caught in a snare, she stared back at him with wide eyes. Her gaze flitted to his hand entwined in her hair, so close to her cheek. He had meant only a jest, a simple maneuver to intimidate her, but suddenly there was between them an enigmatic tension. She felt it, too—he could see it in her startled expression, in the stiff posture. And she was as taken aback by it as he was himself. He pressed on. “There is more worth in an alliance between us. Methinks it would bring much greater reward than this sparring.”

  Green eyes slid back to him. They seemed to glow with a light of their own, looking as clear and bright as a tiger’s. She smacked his hand away. “You must be mad!” she snapped.

  He genuinely laughed then, surprising her and even himself, for he was a man who did not laugh often.

  She stepped away, anxious to put some distance between them. “That is something which will never be, for the choice to be enemies was yours. However, I will oblige you on that regard, and so I vow I will do my best not to disappoint. I shall be a worthy adversary.”

  With that, she whirled, presenting her back to him in an angry dismissal. Lucien couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting down to notice the shapely curve of her hips.

  “I know you mean every word of your promise to vex me. I have no concern about these threats, for I am hard-pressed to imagine any damage you would be able to inflict.” He thought for a moment. “Still, many a woman has sewed trouble for a man for whom she harbored ill.”

  “And well do I know the selfish destruction of men!” she flung over her shoulder.

  He smiled tightly. “You show yourself to be a credit to womankind, with your threats and foolish pouts. Do your best, demoiselle, for I am eager to meet your contest. But let me, in all fairness, issue a warning of my own. Know that there is little I will tolerate from you without punishment.”

  Alayna turned to face him again, her eyes narrowed to bits of emerald ice.

  He cut off her brewing tirade. “As long as you behave rightly, I will not trouble you. You are quite safe from me, I assure you. Your beauty would taunt a saint, but I know too well the poison a fair face can hide. Beauty, my dear lady, is a lie to rob a man of his senses, make him weak. You’ll not have that power over me.”

  They glared at each other, and to Alayna’s credit, she held her counsel, lifting her chin in a mute arrogance—a gesture meant to annoy him, he was sure.

  She was tempting. But he had not come back from the dead to tangle with a slip of a girl. Satisfied with her silence, he gave her a glowering nod of approval. He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a deafening thud.

  Alayna was left alone, breathless with overwhelming rage. This man—this Lucien de Montregnier—was incredibly obnoxious! So smug, so sure of himself. So certain he had won.

  Well, he had, that much was true. And there was nothing she could do about it. Which was all the more infuriating. As she ruminated, Alayna paced within the confines of the chamber.

  She kept looking at the bed linens. Of course, she wouldn’t tell anyone about de Montregnier’s deception—who would believe her? De Montregnier had been the only one to see the unstained cloth. Now there was nothing to prove her story. Angrily she ripped the coverings from the bed. She would have liked to burn them, but that would not have served her purpose any better.

  At least he had promised he would not molest her, unless she was willing, he had said. Imagine the gall! Did he think her some lusty chit who fell at a man’s feet simply because he was attractive? Did he think she would swoon at the bawdy suggestions he had made, fainthearted and hopeful for his favor? If he did, he was a fool! He was a swaggering, conceited bully as far as she was concerned, and she would find a way to thwart him!

  Not looking where she was going, she almost slammed into a large trunk. The place was teeming with them, oversize leather-bound chests of thick oak. And all of these riches now belonged to de Montregnier. His castle, his chambers, his food, his lands, his furnishings. He had won himself a great prize. Everything, including her, it seemed, belonged to him.

  This fueled her anger. How she despised him, with his high-handed arrogance!

  She almost tripped again, this time over a thickly embroidered tunic. Edgar’s. She flashed on the memory of the other night in this very room when he had struggled out of it, casting it aside carelessly in his eagerness for her. The recollection brought a shudder. He had gotten down to his leggings before he had succumbed to the effects of his overindulgence.

  It occurred to her that this, too, belonged to de Montregnier. Edgar’s penchant for expensive clothing was worth no small sum in itself. All part of de Montregnier’s booty. Alayna smiled at the thought of the dark warrior in Edgar’s fancy garb. She hardly thought de Montregnier would favor the colorful and elaborately embellished garments. Good, it pleased her that this, at least, would be wasted.

  Still he could sell them and fetch a goodly amount. No doubt de Montregnier would prove to be as greedy as his predecessor. The poor folk of the shire would certainly fare no better with the new lord than they had with the old.

  It was then the idea struck her. A terrible, awful, wonderful, enticing idea that she told herself at once she could not possibly dare.

  Could she? Immediately, and against all good sense, she knew she could. She knew she would.

  Alayna flung open a trunk. She hastily lifted a few pieces and looked them over. Oh, yes, this was a delightful idea!

  So he does not wish to be cheated of one thing of Gastonbury’s? Well, my Lord Conqueror, she thought, a pleased smile stretching her lips, I will cheat you at least out of these splendid clothes, and anything else that I can think of.

  Chapter Four

  It was much later when Alayna entered the infirmary, her mind filled with plans for the trunks stuffed with Edgar’s clothing, which now resided in her chamber. Her good mood did not last long.

  Many of the men who had suffered serious injury in battle were now succumbing to the inevitability of their wounds. The place held the specter of death like a thick, pervasive stench. She moved about from one bedside to the next, feeling a numb horror at the sight of the dying, her high spirits now gone.

  Eurice came to her side. “You look ill, Alayna.”

  Alayna sighed. “Not ill. I have been manipulated by Edgar and am now harassed by de Montregnier. Yet I stand here and see this carn
age and realize that my problems are trivial compared to all of this death.”

  Eurice looked to the fallen men lying on their pallets. “Men make war, Alayna. ’Tis their way. They took their oaths to serve the Baron of Gastonbury, as their fathers did before them to all of the barons through the years, some good, some bad.”

  “Edgar was a wicked, evil man.” Alayna shivered. “And I fear his successor is not much better.”

  Eurice raised her brow. “He seems fitting. Everyone is speaking of him, and not much bad. There is hope he might prove worthy. He gave a free and fair choice to enter into service, one he did not have to give.”

  “He gave nothing,” Alayna snapped. “That speech was simply a pretty package for his ultimate insinuation into the barony. De Montregnier knows if he has the support of the vassals, Henry is unlikely to depose him. For the sake of peace and to preserve his own seat of power, the king will approve of the man who has the loyalty of the people. Tell me, did anyone decline his gracious invitation?”

  Eurice shook her head. “Nary a one.”

  “Of course, who would? Why these poor folk would follow the devil incarnate after Edgar.”

  Eurice made a sign of the cross against the mention of the Dark One. Alayna smiled at her nurse’s superstition.

  “Eurice, I have found several trunks in Edgar’s room. They contain an array of finery such as you have never seen. The extravagance is sinful, and it put me in mind of the need we saw in the village.”

  “Those poor wretches—” Eurice nodded “—what have they to do with Edgar’s clothes?”

  “He laid waste the countryside to fill his stores with food and wine, this castle with riches, those trunks with expensive garments and God knows what other extravagances. We must right that. Taking this treasure and redistributing it to the common folk might give some meaning to all that has befallen to me.”

  “Nay! It is thievery to take those things,” Eurice wailed. “They belong to the new lord now. He can have you swing from the gibbet for stealing.”

  Alayna smiled wickedly, savoring de Montregnier’s anger should he ever learn of her scheme. “He will not kill me, though it would vex him sorely if he knew of my ambitions.”

  “Please have sense,” Eurice continued, shaking her head in disapproval. “You were always headstrong, but now you must learn patience, discernment…”

  “He is not going to release me, Eurice, he has made that quite clear. He thinks me a possession of Edgar’s and therefore forfeit to him. He said he will not let me go until he is sure I can no longer be of use to him. Who knows how long that will be? I will not let him get away with it, not without making him regret it.”

  Eurice looked at Alayna aghast. Understanding dawned on her face. “You plot to steal Edgar’s trunks to thwart this de Montregnier! ‘Give some meaning to all that has befallen me.’ Listen to you! You think to take revenge against him with this childishness.”

  “I am going to do it,” Alayna said, her voice steady with determination.

  A low groan diverted the women’s attention. Seeing it was one of the wounded men, Alayna quickly abandoned their quarrel and rushed to his bedside.

  She remembered him from yesterday when he was brought in. An older man, perhaps too old to fight, who had been conscripted by an unmerciful master. There had been some hope he would survive if his blood loss was not too great, but his health waned and now he was close to death. Pale and faltering, he was making a great effort to speak. “A priest,” the man begged in a thin voice.

  Alayna realized that he was requesting last rites to ease his passage into heaven. “My God, Eurice, he seeks absolution!” she gasped. “He wants a priest. Fetch one, quickly!”

  “There is no one here,” Eurice whispered. Alayna stared at her disbelievingly.

  “What do you mean we have no priests? We have men dying here, honorable men who deserve extreme unction to be absolved of their sins.”

  “The bishop commanded his priests to the abbey and Lord Lucien had no choice but to let them go. There are no longer any priests here.”

  “A friar, then.”

  “Alayna, there is no one!”

  “He is dying,” Alayna fretted. “He should be comforted.” She looked down at the man. The poor soldier was in and out of awareness, barely coherent, muttering for forgiveness. She could not stand to see his agony. With a quick prayer for her soul for the blasphemy she was about to commit, she lowered her voice and murmured some Latin blessings she had memorized from daily mass.

  Eurice stood in mute horror of the sacrilege she was witnessing but made no protest.

  The mumbled words apparently convinced the man his request had been fulfilled. He reached out for Alayna’s hand, crushing her fingers in his gnarled grasp. She did not let go even when the pain stabbed up her arm. His grip weakened and his face relaxed until he was at peace.

  She sat in silent tableau with the man she had not known in life yet companioned in death, when a shadow fell across the bed. She looked up to see de Montregnier standing over her, flanked by two of his knights, Will and a youth whose name, she had learned, was Pelly.

  Lucien stood with his feet braced apart and arms folded over his chest, wearing the same smug look he had favored earlier. That, and her own unexplainable visceral response to his presence, made her suddenly angry.

  “Come to view your handiwork, have you, good knights?” she snapped.

  “Alayna!” Eurice gasped in reproach. Lucien did not seem to take offense.

  “Was this one known to you?” he asked quietly.

  “‘This one’ has a name, though it is not known to me. My introduction to him was made after he had been mortally wounded by one of your men. Perhaps it was even yourself that felled him, my lord, for you surely did your share of the killing. In your enthusiasm for revenge against Edgar, you neglected to consider the faithful villeins who were bound to serve their lord and defend the castle. Good people, whose fault lay only in that they were required to serve your enemy.”

  Lucien gave her a hard stare. “I sought to minimize such tragedy. It is why I offered the challenge to Edgar to meet me face-to-face.” His men gaped at him, apparently astounded that he had offered this. He usually explained himself to no one.

  “Aye, after you slaughtered his fighting men!” Alayna accused.

  “You have a quick tongue and a shrewish way,” Lucien snarled.

  Alayna narrowed her eyes. “Did you come here to gloat over your victory or disparage me? It poorly speaks of your character either way.”

  “I need make no explanation to you for being here. This is my castle, and this is my chapel. And these are my villeins.”

  “Chapel?” Alayna mocked. “I think not, for chapels are made of prayers and alters, are they not? This place has none of that, for it is full of broken men and thin pallets made quickly with the haste of need. The stench of death fairly chokes you when you enter, instead of the sweet smell of incense and candles. A chapel, you say? Nay, ’tis a place of despair.”

  “Well, it makes no difference either way, does it?” Lucien’s eyes glared. “’Tis mine! Need I remind you at every turn that I am now the lord and master here?”

  “’Tis a grand testament to your prowess as a warrior that you see spread before you, but it does you little credit as our new lord and protector. ‘Twas a deplorable performance in lordly protection you showed us yestermorn.”

  Lifting a dark brow, Lucien eyed her sardonically. “This day has seen many noteworthy events, not the least of which seems to be this—a woman is making complaint about my ‘performance.’”

  Alayna colored at his innuendo and Will snorted momentarily before bringing himself under control. He was sobered by Alayna’s indignant look. He smiled apologetically, but she only notched her chin higher.

  She was angry enough to be reckless, yet she realized the hopelessness of arguing. She could never outmatch de Montregnier, for he would say the most out-rageous things to shock and offend. W
ith a sigh, she said, “Your rude comments are not necessary, my lord. I did not wish to antagonize you, though I find that, indeed, I seem to do so without much effort.” She looked at the men lying in their humble beds, shaking her head distractedly. “Perhaps I have been a bit too vehement, but tending the fallen is not an easy duty. It grates on one as much as the loss of precious freedom.”

  Lucien eyed her carefully, clearly suspicious this sudden penitence might not be entirely sincere. When nothing else followed that last comment, he turned away, dismissing her apology without comment.

  He spoke loudly in the vaulted chamber. “Those of you who were not in the bailey this morning, hear me.” He repeated his offer of pardon in exchange for their pledge to honor him as their new lord. The terms were the same as before.

  No one said a word. Alayna was silently glad, thinking that these men, embittered by their injuries and the death of their comrades, would refuse. At last, to see de Montregnier thwarted!

  Then, unexpectedly, a murmur rose up as Hubert, a castellan of Gastonbury who was a good and noble man, rose slowly from his pallet. His wife, the Lady Mellyssand, caught Alayna’s eye. Mellyssand had been the only person at Gastonbury who had befriended her, offering Alayna comfort when she was forced to marry Edgar. In the absence of Alayna’s mother, Mellyssand had counseled her on what to expect in the marriage bed. Further, Alayna suspected Hubert had been largely to blame for Edgar’s inability to consummate their marriage, for it had been the kind man’s voice she had heard raising toast after toast to his newly wedded overlord.

  Hubert limped to stand before de Montregnier. The room hushed. Hubert spoke. “Aye, I will accept you as my liege lord. And if the king’s justice finds your claim false, I will commit my armies to serve any challenge you wish to make to that decision.”

  De Montregnier remained outwardly impassive, but after a moment’s hesitation, or what could have been shock, he reached out a hand to firmly grasp Hubert’s forearm in the gesture that men-at-arms shared as a sign of truce.