When Lightning Strikes (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sarah’s senses were overwhelmed with the strong scent of spiced meat and apples. She smiled to herself as she groggily opened her eyes. Margery must have returned with the food. She hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but she must have been more tired than she thought.

She sat up abruptly in the tub and looked up at the towel that was being held out to her.
Wait a
minute. I locked the door
, she thought.

Her eyes traveled up the length of the long, muscular arm that held the cloth and she knew that this was not Margery. Navarre had somehow entered the room while she slept. He was standing inches from the tub. He had removed what armor and weapons he had been wearing earlier and was dressed simply in a white linen tunic with the sleeves rolled and a pair of leather breeches. His hair was damp and pulled back into a neat ponytail and she could see and smell that he had obviously already bathed.

She quickly hunkered back down into the water – which was growing cold now and covered herself the best she could with her hands and arms.

“No need to cover yourself, my love. I have already feasted upon your loveliness…with my eyes, that is. I shall taste of that which I hunger for soon enough.”

He smiled, not his usual wolf-like grin, but an almost pleasant smile. His teeth were straight and white against his golden skin. Sarah regarded him for a moment.

Navarre of Lyon was not an ugly man – quite the opposite. He was in fact breathtaking in his own right. Perhaps some of the old stories of Satan being the most beautiful archangel were correct.

“I will not get out of this tub in front of you.” Sarah spat out the words. “How did you get into this room? I locked the door.” She was scared, but she wasn’t going to let him know it. She tried to look calm and unafraid. It wasn’t easy.

“Do you think the door would stop me from entering my own chamber, my lady? I think not.” He stood there unmoving,
still holding the towel.

Sarah’s eyes traveled to the heavy wooden door. The latch was still in place. There must be some other secret entryway.
But, where?

“I have brought you some food. You must be famished after the long day’s ride. You must eat. You will need your strength.” He reached out and ran one long finger down the side of her cheek.

“Take your hand off me.” Sarah slapped his hand, splashing water on the floor and soaking his arm. Her voice dripped with the venom she felt.

His turquoise eyes narrowed. “I will place my hands on you anywhere and anyway I please. You, my lady
wife
, belong to me. Or have you forgotten?” He moved in closer to her, kneeling down next to the tub, sensuously stirring the water with his fingers.

“First and foremost, I am not your wife. You and I both know this. Secondly, I belong to no one, especially you. Now get back from this tub so that I may get out. The water is cold and I am hungry.”

Sarah was shaking like a leaf, but not just from the cold. She needed to get out of the tub, even if it meant standing naked in front of this skunk. It wasn’t the end of the world – he had already seen her butt-naked while she slept here in the tub. Right now she needed him to think she was unafraid and she was going to have to think fast on her feet if she was going to avoid being raped by him.

Navarre stood by and watched the woman in silence. He was overwhelmed at her audacity. How dare this witch speak to him thusly? And yet it excited him to the core of his very being. This little game he had conjured for himself…attempting to win over du Barbaronne’s beautiful woman and having her choose to stay here was most sweet. It was almost frightening. But more frightening was the idea that he may lose himself too deeply in the game. He could not allow some wench to cause him to lose his sensibilities. That was how men got themselves killed…or worse. His own sire was a shining example of that. He would
have to be careful.

Sarah stood up in the tub and the cool water sluiced down her body. Navarre shuddered as he drank in the sight of her supple form. Melissande had been a pretty girl – but nothing like this nymph standing before him with her long, dark legs and lush curves.

Who in God’s name was she? From whence had she come? It made no matter, he supposed. All that mattered in this moment was that she was here. And for all intents and purposes she was his…or soon would be.

She stepped out of the tub and snatched the towel from him pushing him out of the way as she walked closer to the fireplace and quickly dried off. In a swift movement she picked up the white, gauzy nightshirt and slipped it over her head. Navarre licked his lips as he watched her firm breasts rise and fall as she lifted her arms.

She ignored him as she walked over to the small, carved table by the bed and began hungrily wolfing down the food he had brought up to her, praying to God it wasn’t poisoned or drugged.

Sarah was uncertain of what to do next. She was simply going on instinct now. He seemed to be allowing her to treat him with utter disrespect and if she wasn’t mistaken he was almost enjoying it. Could it be that perhaps he was just a little bit taken with her…more so than he was willing to let on? She could definitely see something going on in those blue-green eyes of his.
But what? The looks he was giving her were definitely not the spiteful looks she had seen there earlier. There was almost a tenderness to it. Perhaps that would be his undoing.

“Navarre,” she said with her mouth full. “I am weary and I need sleep. Although I find you an extremely handsome man, I am not going to let you into this bed with me.”

He laughed and walked over to her, plunking himself down on the bed. “Oh, my lady, but I think you will. It is after all,
my
bed.” He raised his eyebrows, entranced by the fact that she had said she found him handsome.

“I would like to sleep elsewhere…in my own bed,” she
said matter-of-factly.

“I think not. You will sleep here with me,” he said, with equal certainty. The witch was simply playing hard to get.

He reached out to her again, but she scooted away taking another huge bite of food. She swallowed hard and stared at him. Perhaps she could reason with him. She didn’t think so, but maybe it was worth a try. There was always the outside chance that this oaf was just some pig-headed noble who thought he knew it all and really
did
think she was his lost wife.

“Navarre…I have something to show you.”

In one quick second she turned her back to him and hiked up the nightshirt exposing her behind. Not exactly ladylike and it would no doubt get her into more trouble, but it was a necessary evil at this moment. “So – do you see a mark there?! There is
none
. I am not Melissande. My name is Sarah.”

She wanted to say “Sarah du Barbaronne”, but she feared that the mention of Dominic’s name would enrage him and she didn’t want to suffer the consequences of his fury.

His eyes narrowed and Sarah feared that she may have already crossed the line with him. So much for reasoning with a psycho!  His expression darkened for a brief second and she waited but he was silent. Then without warning he pushed her down onto the bed. He looked down at the medallion hanging between her breasts and in one fluid movement he tore it from her neck tossing it to the floor. Sarah’s eyes welled with tears and she wanted to reach for it, but his body blocked her like a brick wall.

“My lady, I do not care what your name is. You….and your lovely body are my property to do with as I wish as of now and from this moment on,” was all he said.

He moved his body over her and a second later his lips were a half an inch from her own. Her breathing was ragged and she didn’t know what she was going to do. Should she hit him? Should she scream or fight? It wasn’t likely that anyone would come to her aid – after all they believed her to be his own wife. If she bit him, he might hurt her. And she knew that he was indeed capable of hurting her very badly.

Navarre’s lips gently grazed her own and then found their way to the side of her neck as his hands wound their way up the side of her body. His breath was sweet and his lips were soft and gentle
,  as was his skilled touch, but it made her skin absolutely crawl.

Oh, please God! What am I going to do?
she thought.

“You are filled with a fire, my lady. A man could lose himself…his very soul in such warmth. I can sense that you know how to enjoy the pleasures between man and woman. Melissande never could.” His tongue traveled down to the hollow between her breasts.

Sarah’s blood chilled in her veins. “Navarre, where is the real Melissande? What did you do to her?”

Navarre was silent as his tongue continued its assault on the top of her breast. “I will not hurt you…unless you force me to it.” His voice was a sinister whisper.

She began to struggle now as hard as she could to get away from him but his grip was like a vice. He wasn’t hurting her, but she couldn’t get away either.

A knock at the door came in the nick of time.

“My lord…my lady? I have brought ye some wine!”

It was Margery! The old lady’s voice couldn’t be any more welcome than it was in that moment.

“Go away Margery!” Navarre’s voice was filled with frustration and he rested his weight more fully on Sarah to pin her more securely to the bed.

“NO!” Sarah yelled. “Please, Margery, I would like some wine! My lord is very anxious and I think we could both use a soothing drink to ease us into our evening together.”

Her words took him off guard for the instant she needed to push him off of her and run to the door, unbolting it before he had a chance to leap from the bed and catch her.

Sarah straightened her nightshirt and looked at Margery pleadingly as she stood in the door. Margery’s eyes narrowed and she winked at Sarah before entering with the tray with two cups. She poured one for her lord and handed it to him. She poured another and handed it to Sarah…keeping one eye on Navarre.

What is the old lady up to?
Sarah wondered. Navarre smiled sarcastically and raised his cup to the old lady and to Sarah before taking a long drink.

“Very well then, crone.
I will play your little game this night. But heed me well. You will not keep me from my wife. It will take but a few minutes to drink our wine and whisk you from our chambers that I may continue showing her how grateful I am to have her returned safely to my side.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

Sarah looked at Margery before lifting her own cup to her lips. Margery nodded ever so slightly. Within minutes Navarre’s eyes became glazed and he began to look sleepy. He tried to stand and his face was a mask of anger.
A second later her plopped over heavily on the bed.

“Oh, my God…is he dead?” Sarah rushed to his side and felt his neck. His pulse beat strong and true under her fingers.

Margery cackled ever so softly.

“Bah! His lordship will sleep well tonight, milady!
Heehee.” She collected up the cups. “I tried…love! I tried to keep him from coming up here this eve, but he would hear nothing of it. Hilde tried as well. He was like a bull in rut, he was. He left me no choice if I was to keep him from you.”

She paused for a moment. “I gave him a good sleepin’ draught. He will not be botherin’
ye any more this night.” She winked at Sarah. “Ah, but his head will be hurtin’ like hell’s fire in the morn.”

“I…thank you, Margery. Thank you!” Sarah’s eyes welled with tears and she ran over and hugged the old lady. “But will he hurt you for this? Will he come after you?”

“I do not fear that lowly whelp. Now, ye’d better get dressed. I know ye will be wantin’ to escape here as soon as ye can.”

“What did you say?”
Sarah’s eyes widened in both disbelief and fear.

“Ye heard me. Did ye think I would not know that yer not milady? The lady I meself raised from but a babe? I may be a blind, old fool…but I am not that old.
And not that blind or foolish. Why, yer as dark as the sweet honey in our lord’s beehives…all over. That is no color from the sun. And yer accent – that is not something that would likely happen from losin’ one’s memory. I know not who ye are, milady, but I can sense that ye do not wish to be here.”

She lifted the back of Sarah’s nightshirt and Sarah knew she was looking for the telltale mark that she would not find. Well. Navarre was telling the truth about the birthmark. It was probably the only truth the snake had ever spoken in his life.

Margery’s eyes met Sarah’s.

Sarah gasped. “You…you are right. And I am afraid. I believe Navarre has murdered the real Melissande. That is why he brought me here…to keep it hidden. He forced me to it, actually. He said he would kill Dominic if I told anyone the truth that I was not your lady…or he would have me killed for impersonating her. Which of course I was not! I had never heard of Lady Melissande until two days ago. Two days past.”

She reached to the floor and picked up the medallion and re-tied it around her neck.

“Ye think Navarre has murdered Melissande? We thought she was dragged away by a boar in rut at midday meal in the field. We saw his lordships wounds and the blood upon him. And…and….” Margery’s voice trembled as it trailed off.