Suzanne Robinson (32 page)

She hissed into his ear. “God’s toes, what are they doing?”

“They’re leaving.” Derry uttered two words she’d never heard before. “Christian will have my head for this. He sent me to help Blade, and I’ve given him to the cardinal.”

“Who is Christian?” She jerked Derry around to face her. “Did you say the cardinal? He’s there?” She shoved him aside and peered around a tree at the house again.

“Are you certain?” she asked.

“Yes. Jesu Maria, they’re leaving, with Blade.”

She nodded, then clutched at his arm. “They’re taking the road to Amboise. We must free him before they reach the chateau, or we’ll never get him at all.”

“We must go before them,” Derry said as they rejoined the men and horses. “What we need is a place in the road where the trees lie close. Make haste.”

She followed Derry in a perilous dash through the forest, dodging saplings and low-hanging branches. Behind her she heard swearing as one of the men caught a branch in the face. The full moon was high by the time Derry called a halt. He dismounted and drew his dagger. She took his reins and those of René and the other men and wrapped them around her fist.

“Remember,” Derry said. “You vowed you would let me do the fighting.”

“I promise to guard the horses. If I knew how to use a sword, I would fight, but I don’t.”

Derry snorted. “And the last time you tried, you nearly got killed.”

“You needn’t belabor the matter. I don’t wish to put myself in your way and risk endangering Blade.”

“Good.”

At a signal from Derry, his men took up their positions. Derry shinnied up a tree trunk and climbed out on a thick branch that hung over the road. Imitating Derry, René chose a tree on the opposite side of the road. Three men nocked arrows in their bows and hid behind trees on either side of the path. The fourth settled in another tree and loaded a crossbow. Oriel fixed her attention on quieting the horses. She led them some distance away, but couldn’t go too far, for the mounts must be nearby for a quick escape. From her station she could barely make out the road, and she couldn’t see Derry or his men at all. Her task was to ride in with the horses once the fight was won.

She sat still, her arm aching from holding fast to the bundle of reins. Tree branches creaked in the breeze, and dead leaves skipped along the forest floor. She heard an owl, then realized it was Derry. They were coming.

At first she could only hear hoofbeats and the sound of clinking bits and bridles. Then she glimpsed the line of horsemen. Her skin crawled as she watched them pass beneath Derry’s branch. Why didn’t he attack? Then she saw a slumping figure riding between two upright ones. Blade. Derry whistled again, and Blade straightened in the saddle, his head raised toward Derry’s perch.

The three passed beneath Derry’s branch, and he dropped on top of the guard nearest him with a howl. He raised his dagger and plunged it into the man’s chest. As he did so, Blade’s leg shot out, and he kicked the second guard. The man grunted, but didn’t fall. He drew his sword, and lashed out at Blade, but before he could strike, an arrow hit him in the back. He fell to the ground. Other arrows hissed through the trees, and a man screamed.

A clamor rose as the Frenchmen drew their weapons and dismounted under the hail of arrows. Two of Derry’s bowmen fell under their swords. The third ran out of arrows and ducked behind a tree to draw his sword. A French guard riding just ahead of Blade turned his horse. Drawing his sword, he headed for Derry and Blade, but René hurled himself on the man from above, and the two vanished behind horses and fighting men.

Derry was trying to cut Blade’s bonds when a guard kicked his horse and charged toward them, sword drawn. Another man rode close behind. Oriel shouted, but the noise of the fight drowned her warning. For a moment she fumbled with the knot of reins, then cast it aside and kicked her horse into motion. The mare
leaped forward, and she charged through the trees toward Blade in a race with the Frenchman.

Derry’s dagger cut the last of Blade’s bonds. She sprang into the road and screamed at him.

“Blade, behind you!”

He turned. A sword sliced through the air. Blade ducked, hauling his mount around. Derry shouted something and threw him his sword. Blade caught it just as the guard thrust at him. He parried the thrust, feinted left, then brought his sword down in a slicing blow across the man’s shoulder that knocked him to the ground. Without pause Blade brought his weapon up to meet the attack of a second man.

It was the cardinal. He parried, and their swords locked. The cardinal glanced over his shoulder at Oriel and Derry, then smiled at Blade.

“Is this English luck?”

“English guile, more like,” Blade said.

The cardinal laughed and raised his voice, summoning his men. Three were left, including Le Brun, and they all charged at Blade. Derry cried out, and Blade immediately broke from the cardinal, sliding his weapon up so quickly that his opponent had no time to respond. The tip of the sword danced, then dipped and sliced at the cardinal’s cheek. The man gasped, cursed, then turned his horse and galloped back toward the manor.

The three Frenchmen followed their master, passing Oriel and Derry who were running to Blade. They reached him as the last man drew abreast of them, his sword raised. Blade shouted a warning at Oriel. She hauled her mare aside, but the animal was too slow. The sword arced down at her, but before it could strike home, something else hit her, hurling her out of the saddle and to the ground.

Landing face down with a thump, she felt a great weight crush the air from her body. It lifted, and she sucked in gulps of air.

“God’s blood. Mother of heaven. Christ and the apostles.”

Strong hands turned her over. Blade’s face hovered over hers.

“Are you hurt? What do you here? Have you no wits at all? Where is Derry? I’ll skewer him to a tree, so help me.”

Oriel took a last deep breath, then grabbed his shoulders. “Thank the Almighty. They haven’t hurt you too much or you wouldn’t have the strength to harp at me for saving your life.”

“God’s patience. Woman, I should take a whip to you.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he covered her mouth with his and squeezed the air from her lungs at the same time. Her ribs ached, but she devoured his lips in return, then caught his face in her hands and peered at him.

“Are you truly well?”

“Yes,
chère
, and you?”

René appeared from behind horses and bodies. He whispered something in French, and Blade whirled around to face him. Hauling him into his grasp, the Frenchman rasped out questions so quickly Blade had no chance to respond. Finally, without waiting for answers, René pulled his master into a crushing hug.

Derry pulled them apart. “Enough cosseting. He’s well, but not like to be for long if we don’t quit this place. Now mount your horses, before the cardinal decides to reclaim his prisoner.”

They set off with René guiding them, leaving Derry to gather his men and follow. They rode through the night, only stopping at dawn when they reached a town large enough for them to hide in. There Derry caught up with them. Two of his men had survived the attack, and these he sent to an inn separately. They would make their way back to England by a different route. Oriel, Blade, and Derry took refuge in a modest tavern.

While Derry kept watch a while before retiring, Blade escorted Oriel to a room on the second floor. He ushered her into the chamber, shut the door, barred it, and leaned against it. He’d been quiet during their strenuous ride, but none of them had had the time to talk He’d spoken briefly with Derry, but had said nothing to her.

Now he regarded her as she dropped her bundle of possessions on the floor and sank onto the bed. She gave him an eager smile, but it faded when he did not respond.

He drew a dagger from his boot and examined the blade, testing its weight in his hand as he surveyed her from head to foot. She began to grow anxious as he spun the weapon by its tip on one finger, staring at her all the while.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the dagger vanished, and still he stared at her. Finally she could bear the silence no longer.

“I was afraid they would hurt you.”

Nothing.

“Do you think they will follow?”

Nothing.

She frowned at him. “I know Plutarch says it is wise to be silent when the occasion requires, but this occasion requires speech, my lord.”

No answer.

As the silence wore on, it abruptly occurred to her that they were alone. How odd that the thought disturbed her. She hadn’t seen him in so long, and now he was different, so silent and almost threatening.

Mayhap it was because she’d seen him kill, quickly and without hesitation—seen him ply his sword as if it were wind. When he’d killed Jack Midnight’s men, she hadn’t been in a position to see him do it. Now she wasn’t sure of him. How could one alluring body contain the unequaled skills of a courtesan and of a killer?

At last he did something. He shoved away from the
door and began to walk toward her. She scrambled to the opposite side of the bed and off it to the floor. He paused as she retreated, then swung around the bed, still walking slowly. Too late she noticed she’d put herself in a corner. Anxious, she retreated with each of his steps until she ran up against the wall beside a cabinet. He leaned close, his hand resting beside her head. She tried to duck his arm, but he caught her wrist and pressed it to the wall.

“What are you doing?”

He flattened her against the wall with his body, and she tried to wriggle away from him. He pinned her other wrist against the wall and bent so that his lips were close to hers.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Hush,
chère
This is an occasion for silence.”

His lips closed over hers, and she felt their warmth invade her flesh. His chest pressed against her breasts, and his tongue flitted about inside her mouth before he began to suck. He put his hand to the side of her breast and held it there while he kissed her, then his other hand came to rest on her other breast.

Still pinioned between his body and the wall, she felt his hips press against hers. A knee nudged between hers, and her legs were spread. Immediately he began a steady flexing of his hips so that they rode against hers.

Slowly, with each kiss, each small stroke of his hands, every sensual movement of his hips, her body began to simmer. His hands lifted her skirts, then stroked their way up her thighs, and the simmer turned to a boil. He had made her so sensitive that when he touched her, she started. He lifted his mouth from hers, but only a little, and their lips still touched. At long last he whispered while he continued to touch her.

“Oh,
chère
, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would be killed without being able to say farewell.”

She tried to respond, but his lips devoured hers. As
he kissed her, he lifted her and placed her on the bed. Shoving her legs apart, he settled between them.

She felt her gown rip at the neck, and he covered a breast with one hand. His palm brushed against her nipple, and she sucked in her breath. He was right. This was an occasion for silence.

She woke many hours later to find Blade resting on his side and staring at her. He plucked a stray curl from the bridge of her nose and tossed it over her shoulder.

“I am afraid for you,
chère
I’ve tried to cast you from my heart and I’ve failed.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you afraid?”

He turned away. Lying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling. “Why do you think I’m so good at killing?”

“I know not.”

“Because within my soul there lies a great hellish rage. A rage I have learned to govern by keeping myself alone, allowing no one too near. When I was younger I turned my rage against others. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Once I even hurt a lady—an innocent, sweet lady named Nora.”

“Did you kill her?”

He shook his head. “But I have killed men. Men who deserved death. I use my rage. I send it through my body to my sword, and it kills.” He turned to look at her, his eyes dark in the shuttered room. “I am afraid of my own rage, afraid that it will strike you, as it has others. It’s in my blood—a curse inherited from my father.”

Oriel sat up and leaned over him, but he wouldn’t look at her. “You have said this before. But never in all our time together have you ever hurt me. I’ve never seen you raise your hand to a woman.”

“When a man and a woman live together, they can grow to hate each other. I’ve seen it. And hate turns to violence. I couldn’t endure it if that happened to us.”

She sat back, her eyes wide with hurt, and gathered a
sheet to her breast. “You still want to be released from our betrothal, because of this fear that you’re as great a monster as your father.”

Propping himself up on one arm, Blade drew close, so close that she could see his face. She saw pain, yet he was almost smiling.

“No, I don’t wish to be released, for I have discovered a far greater fear, the fear of never seeing you again. No torture by the cardinal could have surpassed the pain of losing you.” Blade sat up and put his hand against her cheek “I have told you what I am. Now that I have, you must decide whether you want me.
Chère
, will you be my wife?”

She threw herself into his arms, and he sank back down on the bed beneath her weight. She kissed him hard, then released his lips so that she could gaze at him, taking in the glitter of amusement that had crept into his eyes.

“I will,” she said.

“And I see I must marry you to keep you safe from harm. As your lord I will forbid you to take any more risks with your life.”

She pounded him on the chest. “Fie. It’s your fault I had to gad about the countryside and risk my life. If you would but keep still and refrain from intrigue, I wouldn’t find it necessary to embark upon perilous adventures.”

“We’re still in danger,” he said as he rose from the bed.

Sunlight filtered through the shutters, casting intriguing beams upon his thighs and buttocks. Oriel cocked her head to the side and watched as he washed in a basin and drew on his clothing.