The Protector (11 page)

She thought about that. She liked being in Morvan's arms, but she wasn't at all sure that she would like being under his thumb. And that is where marriage would put her, she had no doubt of that. She had learned tonight that he had only to touch her and she would lock the
shackles on herself. The senses were indeed very dangerous things.

And yet, dear God, it had been a form of ecstasy. It saddened her to realize that she would never feel it again.

“I do not want to marry anyone, Ascanio. Even tonight has not changed my mind about that. Besides, if I were willing to marry, I would not be allowed to choose the man. The duke would decide, or perhaps Fouke and Haarold would even reach a settlement with Gurwant. They would find a way to rationalize it if it preserved their rights and lands. I have not forgotten that my decision to take the veil protects me from that. And Morvan is English. This estate must remain with a Breton family.”

Ascanio's face was full of concern.

“Do not worry yourself so. I have no illusions about Morvan, and what a woman like myself could mean to him. I will not live out some foolish jongleur's song, pining for a man I cannot have and who does not want me.”

“I would say it is very clear that he wants you, Anna.”

Did he? No man ever had before. Nay, he only wanted La Roche de Roald. She recoiled from that thought, but there it was, explaining too much, tainting the sweetness of what had just occurred with a bitter reality. Gurwant had brought an army to gain this estate, but Morvan had decided that his eyes and touch could accomplish the same goal.

She stood and smoothed her skirt, the magic sadly gone now. “I must see him and settle things.”

Ascanio put a restraining hand on her arm. “I will speak with him. It is late. Go to sleep.”

Morvan lay in his chamber off the hall. In front of his half-closed eyes floated the image of a long naked leg
and the raised fabric of a gown barely covering paradise. The memory of her skin, the color of old ivory, and both soft and taut under his fingers, threatened to inflame him again. His dreams had been frustrating enough, but with reality to feed on the torture would be unrelenting.

He had told himself that she was a woman he wanted but could never have. He thought he had accepted her godly future, had rejected the lure cast by John's words, but today had shattered his resolve.

He knew he should have controlled himself, but he could not. Saints help him, he had enjoyed controlling her, had reveled in the way she trembled in his arms and in the sight of her breasts arching forward. He had expected pieties or outrage when he touched her. Instead he had discovered a fire to match his own, and an untapped sensuality aching to drown them both.

The memories of her surprised gasps and aroused tremors floated back into his mind.

Suddenly the door to the chamber crashed open, scattering the drifting images.

“You self-centered, arrogant bastard!” Ascanio yelled, slamming the door behind him. Then his French left him and he added a string of insults in Italian.

“You are brave to come here, priest. Don't start with me.”

“Aye, it is well that you call me priest, for remember that I am the one who has heard your confession. Isn't it enough that you have bedded most of the women at the English court and half the females in Gascony? Aren't you content to have fornicated your way through Normandy and France? Your men pass their time regaling each other with stories of your women. The maids here throw themselves at you, but you must turn your lust on an innocent with no knowledge of men!”

“You exaggerate my experience,” Morvan said, throwing his legs off the bed and rising to meet the onslaught.

“Barely. What were you thinking of?”

“I wasn't thinking at all, or have you been a priest so long that you forget how it is.”

“Are you so jaded that only destroying a woman can give you pleasure?”

“It isn't like that. I have wanted her since the first day I came.”

“Do you always take what you want?”

“If I did I could have taken her that first night,” he snapped. “She is a maid still only because I have permitted it.”

“You think so? Well, I have bad tidings for you. She learns quickly. She is your match in everything else and will be in this also. Your game with her is over and a draw at best.”

“You will force a baseness on this, won't you? I have feelings for this woman.”

Ascanio's shock took the wind out of his fury. “God help us,” he said. “You know it is impossible, don't you? That you must stay away from her?”

“So that she can return to the abbey? Or die in battle? She is your creation, isn't she? A man does not fit in with your plans for your saint.”

“She is her own creation, and if you know her, you know that. God cursed her with intelligence and a taste for freedom. A man does not fit in with
her
plans.”

“You taught her weaponry. You let her ride into actions and wear men's clothes. You have helped her deny her womanhood.”

“It was not for me to stop her. Circumstances let her do it. Demanded she do it. And if she does
not
deny her womanhood, what is left for her? The bed and home of
an arranged marriage? Not your bed, I assure you, but someone else's. Picture her thus, embroidering by day and being used by night, and then tell me that I should have been preaching womanly duties to her.”

Morvan stretched in front of the hearth, his head resting on an arm slung on the stones above, his body curving around its heat.

“She is so damned ignorant. Oblivious to what she does to me. Oblivious to what awaits her out on the field.” He glanced back at Ascanio. “Do you know what she was doing tonight? Planning her surrender if we fail. Practicing negotiation terms and tactics.” He laughed bitterly. “Did you see the way Gurwant looked at her? I could read his mind, and I almost killed him then and there.”

Ascanio's expression said he had seen too, and not liked it any better. Even priests recognized a desirable woman when they met one. The Gurwants of the world definitely did. Behind those cold blue eyes a mind had been reassessing and anticipating. The armor had not helped delay that, as Morvan had hoped. With the removal of a helmet, the stakes had been raised.

“Did you see the scar on his cheek? She put it there.” He told Ascanio about the betrothal night.

“It is only her word against his that he didn't succeed,” Ascanio said when he'd finished.

“Do you doubt her?”

“Never. But others might. The proof of her story is her virginity. Another reason …” He met Morvan's gaze meaningfully.

He had not thought of that. His body, still half aroused, resented the implications, but his honor knew that a decision had been made for him. For now. “I will not touch her again.”

Satisfied, Ascanio turned to leave.

“There is a condition. If we fail, and I live, I would have one night with her before she goes to him. I want her to have memories besides his brutality.”

Ascanio smiled sympathetically. “She is not my gift to give or refuse. Besides, with her will, your strength, and my prayers, how can we fail?”

T
HREE DAYS LATER
, two riders approached the gate from Gurwant's field camp. They pushed bundles of blankets off their horses and rode away. Guards carried the bundles in and lowered their burdens to the ground.

Morvan pulled aside the tattered cloths. Freed from their wrappings, arms and legs sprawled out onto the dirt.

They were two females, a woman and a young girl. They bore the signs of carnal abuse, but there was still life in them both.

He saw Anna emerging from the hall. “Go and stop her. I do not want her to see this,” he told Gregory.

Several of the young guards stood nearby. “That's Ruth,” Louis said. “From the village where we found you, Sir Morvan. And her daughter Marguerite.”

“One of you bring the girl.”

Morvan knelt down and slid his arms under the woman and slowly rose. The movement brought her to consciousness.

Anna strode forward while Gregory backed up in front of her, entreating her to stop. She came over and eyed the woman in Morvan's arms. She raised the blanket, paled, and turned away. “Bring them to my chamber.”

“Anna, let the servants tend them,” Morvan entreated her.

“Bring them,” she yelled over her shoulder, the command strangled with emotion.

Morvan followed her into the hall and up the stairs, the two of them shouting orders to servants as they went. The woman opened her eyes and stared warily at him. “My baby,” she mumbled.

“She is here. She lives. The lady will see to her care and yours. They say she has the angel's touch, you know.”

Anna made him lay the woman on her bed and had a pallet brought in for the girl. “Leave us.”

“They have been raped, Anna.” He doubted she had seen it before.

She looked from the woman to the girl balled up on the pallet. “One of the women will know what to do. Go now, please.”

Anna did not spare herself the unpleasantness of washing the battered women. The girl appeared unconscious, but the woman was aware. Broth was brought, and they got Ruth to take some of it. After sheets and blankets had been tucked around her, Anna sat on the edge of the bed. “You were brought to us so that you would tell me what happened. Gurwant wants me to know. When you have rested we will talk.”

She rose to go, but Ruth grabbed her arm. “Nay, I will tell you now, for when I sleep I hope never to wake up.”

Anna sat down again. “How old is your daughter?”

“But thirteen last summer. Better she die now, I think.”

Anna fought for her composure.
Yield and you can save your people
.

“They came this morning right at dawn. We had no warning until they were calling us out. There were ten of them, all on horses, and a big giant of a man leading.”

Ruth licked her parched lips. “The big one told us that he was our lord now, and your husband, and that we were his. You could tell he's a man that likes killing. He looked us all over then, and I knew that someone was going to die. He called my man forward. He had one of those big axes the knights use, and as quick as a blink he took his head, my man just standing there one second and dead the next.”

Her tears flowed freely, soaking the sheet at her neck. “He said we was to tell you about it. Every day until you yield he'll kill another. When he comes, if one is missing, hiding, he'll kill two.” She turned her head and muttered the rest. “He took us back with him. He gave me to his knights. My baby he kept for himself.”

Yield and you can save your people.
Few lords would respond to this threat, for in truth most offered their people little protection during war and siege. She could sit here in safety and wait him out. But her father would not have done so, nor her brother, and she could not. He was counting on that, counting on her sacrificing herself and the lands to save the many lives that depended on her.

She went to the pallet. The frail girl had not moved, but her breathing came regularly and her skin felt cool.

Within a week you will be in my bed
. Gurwant expected her to capitulate as the horrors mounted. But he had gone too far in sending her this child whom he had subjected to her own nightmare.

A servant handed her a cup of wine. She took it, then returned her attention to the girl. “Find Carlos. Send him to me. Then tell the knights that we meet shortly in the hall.”

A half hour later she joined her men around the high table. She stood in front of the lord's chair and placed a large scroll on the table.

She told them Ruth's tale. “He is counting on my yielding when he holds true to his threat,” she concluded. “It is what one would expect from a noblewoman of any heart.”

“Nay, my lady,” Fouke replied. “Most would have the sense to stay put. We are strong now and the castle will not fall.”

“And while we sit here, what happens to the lands? We have already lost too much to the plague. By the time he tires and gives up there will be little left.”

“If you expect to yield, do so now,” Haarold said. “You can get better terms.”

“I do not intend to yield.” Her decision was a rash one, and a tremendous gamble. She'd never expected it to be as difficult to make as it suddenly was. “I have sent Carlos to the town by way of the coast, while the tide is low.” She threw open the scroll to reveal a map of the estate. “I have sent word to the English archers that we will attack Gurwant's camp tomorrow at dawn.”

There were objections, but no real resistance. These men were warriors, and the idea of a pitched battle carried its own allure. They gathered around the map.

“My father once described how Jeanne de Montfort raised a city's siege. She led the knights out a postern gate, circled behind the enemy camp, and made a surprise attack from behind. We will do the same. We will push Gurwant's force toward the wall, where our archers will aid us. Our main force will charge the camp from here.” She indicated a spot directly across from the castle. “Carlos and I and one other will ride with our bows thus at the north end of the field, helping to put down any flanking movement. The English archers will do the same at the south.”