Lady At Arms (7 page)

Just as he would not have had his lord undertake the task of righting this injustice. Ranulf cast him a look to silence further advice and called, “Show yourself, Lady Lizanne.”

“I regret I must decline.”

“I vow no harm will befall you.”

“Ha!”

Ranulf fought down his anger. “Blood need not be spilled over this.”

“’Tis your blood that will spill. Even now, my brother rides to defend his home.”

“In that you are wrong!” Though Ranulf had not considered such a deception, it rose so easily to his lips he could not refrain.

His words achieved the desired effect. Lizanne moved into the open, the drawn bow with its nocked arrow trained on him. She stood alone among the crenellations, her men-at-arms having disappeared from view.

Ranulf suppressed the smile that tried to turn his lips. Though she was suitably attired as the lady of Penforke, the picture she presented of soft femininity was at odds with her defiant bearing, made even more prominent by her state of dishabille.

He studied the face behind the bow. A dark smudge slashed diagonally across her brow and disappeared beneath the hand grasping the bow’s string. One eye was leveled down the arrow’s shaft at him, her mouth was grimly set, and much of her curled hair sprang free of the veil that, having slipped from the restraining circlet, hung unevenly.

“Shield yourself, Ranulf!” Walter exclaimed. “She means to run you through.”

Refusing to break eye contact with her, Ranulf remained unmoving.

“What have you done with my brother?” she demanded.

“He is alive,” Ranulf said, ignoring Walter’s startle of surprise.

Lizanne’s arm wavered. “Where is he?”

“He is safe. For now.”

Her gasp was audible. “Tell me where he is!”

He urged his mount nearer the edge of the moat. “Mayhap I will take you to him.”

“I shall go nowhere with you!”

“And I shall go nowhere without you, even if it means the lives of your people.” He allowed his words to sink in before continuing. “Their fate, and that of your brother, is in your hands, Lizanne of Penforke. Yield, and I give you my word there shall be no bloodshed.”

She maintained her offensive stance and Ranulf began to worry about the arrow trained upon him. Not that he thought she meant to shoot him, but the sustained effort of keeping the string taut was surely wearing on her. In readiness should she unintentionally loose the arrow, he tensed his shield arm.

When she spoke again, he had to strain to catch her words.

“I would bargain with you.”

He thinned his lips into a hard smile. “I know all about your bargains, Lady Lizanne.” Had he not been forced to raise a sword against her? “Not only am I done bargaining, but you are in no position to ask such.”

“Would you have me dead or alive?” she threw back, her veil slipping farther.

“Naturally, I would prefer you alive.”

“Then you will honor my terms.”

He did not like being forced to make concessions, particularly to her, and certainly not in front of his men, but he said, “What would you ask of me?”

“I will come with you. In exchange, you are not to enter these walls.”

He almost laughed, for it was more than agreeable. “And?”

“You will release my brother and hold him blameless for my actions.”

“And?”

“’Tis all.”

Then she would make no demands for her own safety—a miscalculation on his part, for it would have pleased him to refuse at least one of her demands. He looked to Walter. The man was clearly amused. Ranulf was not.

“My quarrel is with you, Lizanne Balmaine,” he called. “Hence, I shall honor your terms. No harm will befall those of Penforke.”

“And my brother?”

“Gilbert as well.”

“I would have your word.”

He grasped the hilt of his sword. “I give you my word.”

She began to lower the bow, only to swiftly raise it and release the arrow. It found its target, rending the fabric of a raised pennant.

“I will not make this easy for you, Ranulf Wardieu,” she shouted and disappeared from sight.

“I did not expect you would,” he muttered. Nevertheless, he had won.

Alone atop the gatehouse, Lizanne dropped her bow and knelt behind the battlements. Steepling her hands before her face, she struggled to summon a prayer in the hope God had not set her aside as she had very nearly done Him four years past, but all she could manage was, “If You are there…” She shook her head, opened her eyes.

The very thought of what Wardieu would do to her made her knees quake and heart skip. When she gave herself into his hands, he would surely take what she had wrested from him four years past—and more. And when he finished with her, would he give her to his men? Kill her?

She felt the sting of tears. Her thirst for revenge had brought her to this moment. Was this why it was said vengeance belonged to God?

With feet that dragged, she descended to the outer bailey where the castle folk had gathered before the gatehouse. Silently, she looked from one to the next.

They were frightened, the women wringing their hands and clutching their children against their sides, the men ashamedly bowing their heads and looking anywhere but at her. Even Robert Coulter could not meet her eyes.

“All will be well,” she said. “My brother will return shortly. He will know what to do.”

A murmur of opposition rose from the gathering, but died when Samuel and Lucy pushed their way through.

“Milady.” Samuel lifted her hand and enveloped it in his much larger one. “Surely ye canna be thinkin’ of giving yerself over?”

“There is no other course, Samuel. I must consider the welfare of our people—and my brother.”

“Methinks it a bluff, milady. Baron Balmaine wouldna allow himself to fall prey to that man.”

“I cannot be so sure.” She pulled her hand free. “’Tis too great a risk.” She turned to the captain of the guard. “Robert, lower the drawbridge.”

He nodded and moved away.

“And raise the portcullis no more than is necessary for me to slip beneath. Once I am through, secure it.”

“‘Twill be done.”

Mellie rushed forward and threw her arms around Lizanne’s waist. “Nay, milady, ye cannot!”

Lizanne returned the girl’s hug and disengaged herself. “I must.”

“Then I will go with ye.”

“Nay, I go alone.”

Emotions flitted across Mellie’s face as if she pondered a matter of grave importance, then she said, “Ye will have need of protection.” She lifted her skirts, rummaged beneath them, and produced a meat dagger.

After a brief hesitation, Lizanne accepted it and concealed the weapon in the top of her hose as, for the second time that morning, the drawbridge began its descent. She smoothed her skirts. “Thank you, Mellie.”

The girl reached up and straightened Lizanne’s veil. “If ye look the lady, he will have no choice but to treat ye as one.”

Lizanne did not think so, but she did not have the heart to disillusion her. She allowed Mellie to adjust the circlet and smooth her hair. However, when the girl began to rub at the smudge on her face, Lizanne stepped away and drew the back of a hand across the mark.

“Ye did not get it all.” Mellie reached again.

Lizanne waved her off. “’Twill do.” As the drawbridge neared its end, she turned and crossed to the arched portal. Standing before the portcullis, she once more tried to pray, this time by silently reciting a paternoster. However, the words that had been banished to the farthest reaches of her memory would not properly order themselves.

As the drawbridge revealed, bit by bit, the two mounted warriors before the moat, her heart quickened, then lurched when the immense, planked device joined with the stationary bridge that spanned half the moat.

Lizanne lifted her chin and stared straight ahead.

The portcullis groaned as it was raised, shuddered when it stopped at the level of her waist. Drawing a deep breath, she ducked beneath it and stepped out onto firm wooden planks. As directed, the iron gate immediately descended.

Lizanne met Wardieu’s gaze across the breadth that separated them, then stepped forward. However, upon reaching the bridge’s threshold, she stopped, determined he would have to meet her part of the way.

He dropped the reins and dismounted. With the metallic ring of his great hauberk echoing before him, he strode toward her.

Though he seemed a bit stiff in the leg, it appeared he had suffered no lasting ill effects from the wound to his thigh. But then, it had not been deep.

He halted before her. Though she was tall, he towered over her, and she reflected that he had not seemed as large chained to a wall. Was the armor responsible?

Determined to conceal the fear that made her feel so light of head that her consciousness was threatened, she crossed her arms over her chest and studied the face partially concealed beneath chain mail and the nasal guard of his helmet.

Ranulf was struck by the incredible bit of femininity before him. Though Lizanne Balmaine was tousled and rebellious, she was all woman. He did not want to like the sparkle of her very green, very candid eyes, the thick fringe of lashes that threw shadows beneath her delicately arched eyebrows, her perfectly bowed and rose-hued lips. But he did. And fought the desire to touch the sable hair that fell past her shoulders and which did not begin to resemble the wild mane of all those days past.

Was this truly the same woman? He lowered his eyes over her fitted bodice and saw that her chest rose and fell with the force of short, rasping breaths. Lower still, the ends of her curling hair caressed her hips.

He returned his gaze to her face, yanked the veil from her hair, and sent it and the circlet plummeting to the dry bed of the moat.

Lizanne could not control the startle that propelled her backward, but Wardieu did. His large hands fell to her shoulders and wrenched her forward, bringing her face within inches of his. Here were the cold, angry eyes that had haunted her nights, so dark it was impossible to distinguish where color ended and pupil began.

“Surely, you are not frightened of me?” he said, his breath stirring the hair at her temples.

She narrowed her lids. “Does not your flesh bear my mark, Baron Wardieu?”

His hold tightened and tension appeared around his lips.

“I will never fear you,” she lied, “and lest you forget, I give fair warning. Do not show me your back.”

Or what? You will put a knife in it? Coward. Even when you held him at the point of a sword, you could not finish what you had begun.

“You are fortunate we are not alone,” he warned.

“You would not beat me in front of your men?” She raised her eyebrows. “You are truly gracious,
my lord
.”

He caught her chin in his leather-gauntleted hand. “I truly
am
your lord now. And you would do well to remember that.”

She started to refute him, but his next words made her swallow hers.

“Are you armed?”

She hesitated, perhaps too long. “You need not worry. I left my bow behind.” It was the truth, after all.

He dropped his hands to her waist and slid them over the material of her garments, searching his way down her body.

“Oh!” She twisted out of his grasp and jumped back when he reached to recapture her.

He straightened, removed his gloves. “I would see what you have hidden beneath your skirts. Lift them.”

“I will not!”

He took a step toward her. She took a step back.

“Obey me, else I will tear the clothes from you.”

“You would not!”

“I would,” he said, then bridged the distance with a single stride.

Though she longed to refuse anew, the look on his face told her she did not dare. With a deeply held breath, she hiked up her skirts to her knees.

Wardieu bent and ran his hands up from her ankles.

Warmed by humiliation, Lizanne trained her eyes on his companion where he sat astride his mount. The man looked thoughtful, even troubled, but when he met her gaze, whatever had shown on his face passed and he raised his eyebrows as if he was amused by her disgrace.

She scowled and turned her attention to the mounted soldiers who flanked the moat. They also appeared to be enjoying the spectacle.

When Wardieu’s hands turned around her thighs, she gasped and looked down.

Ranulf was not surprised to discover the lady was armed, though he certainly did not expect her weapon of choice to be the puny meat dagger he pulled from the top of her hose. He looked up, smiled wryly at her wide-eyed expression, and straightened.

She thrust her skirts down, muttered, “I had to try.”

“
This
is trying?” He glanced at the dagger, raised his eyebrows. “I am almost disappointed.”

Her nostrils flared. “As you ought to have learned from your last visit to Penforke, the particular weapon is of less consequence than the person behind it.”

Ranulf caught back the anger she seemed intent on rousing. Though he had not expected her to grovel, he had believed she would be sensible enough to suspend her hostilities. Any other woman would have used her beauty and charm to soothe him, but not Lizanne Balmaine. She was unlike any woman he had encountered.

“As you say,” he said, “‘tis the person behind it.” He tossed the dagger aside and stepped nearer. “Three times, Lizanne of Penforke, you had the chance to slay me, once with a dagger, once with a sword, and today an arrow. Three times you failed.”

“A mistake I intend to remedy.”

“I am sure you will try.” He grasped her arm and pulled her toward his destrier.

She dug her heels in, forcing him to half-carry, half-drag her across the short distance.

“What of my brother?” she demanded when he halted before Walter.

Ignoring her, Ranulf looked to his man. “She shall ride with you.”

Walter’s face shone with distaste. Unfortunately for him, Ranulf did not trust himself with Lizanne. Though it was not in his nature to strike a woman, he had felt near to it these last few minutes. Doubtless, if she rode with him, she would continue her verbal assault and, at the moment, he needed respite from her waspish tongue.