Knight's Caress (5 page)

A wall torch illumined his prisoner. She shivered, apparently unaware that during sleep she’d rolled off the rushes and onto the cold ground. Just like the silly woman, Tedric noted with a frown. She couldn’t accept anything from him, even in sleep. Tedric threw a fur on top of the rushes and bent to gingerly pick up his captive and place her on the fur. For an instant she opened her eyes, but apparently was so deep in sleep that she didn’t waken. Which was just as well, Tedric decided. He didn’t want this ornery wench waking everyone with her shouts to be left alone. He’d look foolish if he were found offering her assistance when he’d given strict orders to the contrary.

Placing the other fur on top of her, he pulled it near her chin. His fingers brushed her cool cheek, and he realized how soft her skin felt, almost like velvet. She was so astoundingly beautiful with all that dark hair billowing onto the fur to frame her lovely, perfectly formed face.

He noticed Wick staring at him with a huge grin on his toothless mouth. Tedric quickly pulled his hand away, almost as if her flesh had burned him, and stood up. “I don’t want my captive to fall ill before the exchange is made,” Tedric lamely explained.

“Aye, my lord.” Wick nodded, but the knowing grin never left his wrinkled countenance, even after Tedric had departed.

 
“Wake up, you Norman witch. Chores need to be done before the morn is wasted.” A toe rudely dug into Amberlie’s side, causing her to come awake instantly. For a second, she glanced around, not certain where she was until she noticed Glenna, standing above her. Glenna roughly pulled the warm sheepskin from Amberlie. “There’ll be no lying abed for you, my fine lady—not as long as you’re in my charge.”

Amberlie bristled with rage to be spoken to so harshly. She was so angry that she hardly noticed the furs which had warmed her during the night. How dare this Saxon woman speak to her as if she were a lowly serf! She didn’t care if Glenna was Tedric’s wife; she wouldn’t allow the woman to get away with such ill treatment of her. From the malicious gleam in Glenna’s eyes, Amberlie could see how much delight Glenna took in humiliating her, confident that Amberlie would do whatever she was bid, expecting a cowardly response.

Rising to her feet, Amberlie gritted her teeth and forced a deceptively pleasant smile. “I’ve not had the honor of an introduction, my lady—if you are a lady.” From across the cave, Amberlie heard Wick chuckle.

“Why, why—I’m Lady Glenna,” Glenna sputtered, her face reddening with the implication.

“I take it you’re not Tedric the Barbarian’s leman.” She was goading this woman too far, but for some perverse reason, Amberlie couldn’t help herself. She realized she’d likely suffer for her impudence.

Glenna shook her fair head, malice hardening the blue of her eyes to ice. She raised a hand to strike Amberlie, but the sound of Tedric’s voice cut through the cave like a sharply honed ax. “Glenna! See to your duties.”

Glenna spun around and pointed to Amberlie. “Didn’t you hear what this spawn of Satan said to me, Tedric?”

“Aye, I heard.”

“Then she must be punished!”

Tedric towered over both women. From the cruel twist of his mouth, Amberlie could tell that he was less than pleased with what she’d said to his wife. Her surge of bravery dwindled away with his next words. “Lady Amberlie is my prisoner. If there is any sort of punishment to be meted out, I shall be the one to do it. Not you, Glenna. Now, please see to my mother.”

“But … ‘tis my duty to oversee this Norman witch … you said last night…”

“Enough! I know what I told you. I’m ordering you to see to Mother now!”

Glenna appeared to realize that further argument would be in vain. But before she left them, she shot Amberlie a contemptuous look. Amberlie knew this woman was far from finished with her. And it appeared Tedric wasn’t finished either.

He firmly and masterfully grabbed her arm and walked her out of the cave. Fear grew as big as a peach pit in her throat. She could barely speak. “Where … are you taking me? What will you do with me?”

He didn’t answer, but marched her through the throng of people who were outside, going about their morning chores, breaking their fast, and gawking at her. God, no one will help me, she thought in a panic. No one will aid me if this barbarian beats me—or worse. The image of this large and powerfully muscled man ravishing her was more than Amberlie could bear to dwell upon, even for a second. Henri had been a gentle lover, a sweet youthful lamb. This lion of a man could no doubt crush her with his bare hands, rip her apart with his sex. She’d be dead before he finished with her.

“Please, you must listen to me. I’m sorry for what I said to your lady wife. I’ll apologize to her. But … ‘tis sorry you’ll be for harming me…”

He pulled her up short, and would have knocked her off balance if his hand had not retained a firm grip on her arm. “You’re in no position to threaten me.”

Amberlie winced at the growling sound of his voice. At that second, he truly resembled a lion with his wild mane of hair framing a lightly stubbled face. And his eyes were such a clear, penetrating blue that she could see her own terrified reflection within them. She hated showing her fear, but most of her life she’d lived under others’ domination, afraid of her own shadow and always doing as she was told. Yet something surfaced within her for the barest second, something akin to defiance and a boldness she’d seldom experienced. This man was quite capable of torturing her and raping her—even killing her. But she’d be damned if she was going to go to her doom like a docile ewe.

She breathed hard, her hands clenching. “You are bigger than I. You may do whatever you will,
monsieur,
but I shall fight you with bared teeth and sharp claws.”

“Ah, ‘tis a she-cat you would be,” he returned.

She nodded, her tongue feeling thick and heavy in her mouth. Suddenly, he threw back his leonine head and gave a deep laugh. Amberlie was more baffled than embarrassed and annoyed when the Saxons began giggling and laughing among themselves, for she realized she was the object of their amusement. “Why does everyone laugh?” she cried.

“Because, Lady Amberlie, even a vicious tigress must eat and wash herself sometimes.”

Amberlie was still puzzled, but he pushed her toward a group of his followers, who parted to reveal a campfire from which the scintillating smell of frying pork wafted over her and caused her mouth to water.

“Sit,” Tedric ordered, and Amberlie instantly sat upon the ground. Tedric leaned his large frame against the trunk of a spreading oak tree whose leafy limbs offered cover from the early morning sunshine. Instantly, a Saxon woman served up two plates of the pork with freshly scrambled quail eggs to both of them. Someone grudgingly placed a cup of cool goat’s milk in Amberlie’s hand. “Eat,” Tedric commanded, but Amberlie had already started chewing before Tedric had even spoken, so ravenous was she. “You see,” he said a few seconds later with a knowing smile, “even a she-cat gets hungry and will eat from the hand of whoever deigns to feed her.”

A blush suffused her face. The hateful man had never intended to harm her—only to see that she ate. Then why didn’t he just tell her from the beginning instead of trying to frighten her? Or was she the one who’d frightened herself? But she wouldn’t allow him to think he’d gotten the best of her. “Barbarian,” she hissed under her breath before taking a deep swallow of the milk. Apparently he’d heard her for she noticed that he cocked a wary eyebrow at her, and she suppressed a delighted smile.

When she’d eaten her fill, Tedric motioned to her to rise. Once again, he took her by the arm, and this time he led her away from the others, into a secluded glade of the forest by a small pond. Amberlie glanced wildly around, aware that now they were very much alone. Did he plan to rape her here?

“I’ll not stay here! I’ll fight you, by God I swear you’ll not take me easily! I’d rather die than be raped by a barbarian!” Amberlie’s fear caused her to panic and she tried to wrench away from Tedric, but his superior strength kept her arm locked in his hand. Her fear was so great that she didn’t realize that Tedric was silently staring at her, watching her flail at him like a startled hen whose chicks were in danger from a fox. She came at him, her hand curled into a claw, ready to rake her nails across his skin and scar his other cheek. But in one lithe gesture, he grabbed her and turned her so that her back was against his chest.

Her breasts heaved, her breathing was labored. Her attack had been like throwing stones at a mountain; Tedric wasn’t the least daunted. His breath wafted across the back of her neck, sending odd shivers down her spinal column. He spoke, his voice an angry growl beside her ear. “I’m not an easy target like Wulfgar for your venom, nor am I easily swayed by a pretty face and figure. If I’d wanted you, my lady, then I would have bedded you beneath the furs with me last night. I’d not have had cause to rape you for you’d willingly have stayed.”

“You arrogant, conceited—”

“And that snippish Norman tongue of yours would have been put to better use.”

Amberlie gasped. As a widowed woman, she understood full well what this barbarian meant and what he’d have made her do to him with her tongue. “I won’t … pleasure … you in that way.” She could barely say the words, the thought was so abhorrent.

“Which way is that, my lady?”

“With … with … my tongue.” She felt like she was going to faint.

“I don’t understand what you mean, my lady,” he answered, all innocence. “I meant only for your tongue to taste the sweet apples which grow wild in the forest. Is there some trick Normans do with their tongues that Saxons do not?”

He was making sport of her, and Amberlie felt her entire body redden. Even the back of her neck felt warm, and when Tedric turned her to face him, there was a definite twinkle within his blue eyes. “I brought you here so you could bathe … and take care of personal matters.” He gently removed pieces of limp straw from her hair, souvenirs of her night upon the rushes. Amberlie moved back, suddenly very much aware that this was no ordinary man; Tedric was a man whose very touch caused a slow burn to begin in her blood—a condition for which she had no explanation.

“How do I know you won’t look whilst I am bathing?”

“You don’t, my lady, for I’m a mere man and you’re a beautiful woman. But I saw you bathing near Woodrose before I kidnapped you, and ‘tis somewhat familiar I am with your loveliness.” That remark sent a scarlet flush over the length of her body. Amberlie had forgotten that he’d been spying upon her.

“I trust you will allow me some privacy.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Tedric bowed deeply and went to sit beneath the spreading branches of an oak tree. He gazed up at the morning sky with such thoughtfulness that Amberlie wondered if he might be praying. She dismissed the notion. Tedric was a barbarian and a pagan, no doubt having partaken in the pagan revelries she’d heard about. Tales abounded among the knights about pagan orgies where the Saxons danced naked in the moonlight, the women mating with the men like wild beasts only to produce bastard children nine months later. Had Tedric danced naked with a willing wench? Had he mated with a woman beneath the wild moon?

She groaned aloud. She had to stop these sinful thoughts. Only God knew the reason for them. As soon as she was returned to Woodrose, she’d seek out Father Ambrose and confess—somehow she’d rid herself of the wanton images of Tedric the Barbarian or go mad in the attempt.

Out of the corner of her eye, Amberlie watched Tedric until she felt certain he wasn’t going to accost her. A hedge offered cover while she removed her mantle, bliaut, shoes, and stockings. As she entered the water, she wore only her chemise.

The water felt wonderful and refreshing. She washed away the grime from her night spent upon the dirty rushes and wondered who had kindly covered her with the sheepskin. Perhaps it had been Wick. She’d thank him at a later time. She knew it hadn’t been Tedric—the conceited bully!

Dipping beneath the slow-moving stream, Amberlie suddenly realized that this must be the same stream that bypassed Woodrose Keep, the very same stream in which the serving women washed the clothes, the same one from which Tedric had snatched her the day before. All she had to do was follow the stream’s current and find her way home, an easy enough feat.

But how to escape without Tedric seeing her?

Casting another look in his direction, she saw that he appeared to be dozing. Such a silly trick, she decided. Tedric wasn’t dim-witted enough to actually be sleeping while his prized prisoner bathed. He’d taken a great risk in kidnapping her, but he wouldn’t regain the keep because of it. The reason behind her kidnapping was unimportant to her. All she wanted was to return home and bring down this renegade Saxon with her own knights. But how?

Wading toward the opposite shore and attempting to run would be a wasted effort. She doubted that she’d get very far before Tedric caught up to her, for apparently he was quite familiar with the woods. Pretending to be involved in her washing, she kept a wary eye upon her captor while her mind revolved like a cart’s wheel until she found the answer.

She’d simply have to drown.