Wings of the Storm (24 page)

She gave him a sarcastic look. Bertram came by and piled both their trenchers high with bread and meat mixed with an unrecognizable greenish-gray vegetable mush. It did smell strongly of onions. What didn't?

She poked at the concoction with her spoon, then took a bite of coarse black bread. She wondered what the high table was being served.

Daffyd set to his meal with gusto. After washing down a chunk of bread with a swig of ale, he looked at her plate meaningfully. "You don't eat enough," he complained. "Though I admit I like you long and willowy."

She ignored the compliment. He'd been hanging out with courtiers. They always talked like that. "And I must admit I don't much like English fare," she told him. "I much prefer the food of my own land." She pushed her plate away, then folded her hands before her on the table and looked up at him imploringly. "You wouldn't have any baklava with you, I don't suppose?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I've heard of the sweet, though," he answered. "It's nuts and honey in a pastry, isn't it?" She nodded. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I'll have a talk with the king's cook."

She supposed he was joking, but the thrill of plea-sure she felt at his thoughtful words was pleasantly undeniable. He was smiling, his eyes full of amuse-ment and something unreadable. He reached out toward her face,' his large hand stopping just short of touching her. "May I?" he asked, his rich voice quiet-ly intent.

She could see the callused palm and elegant fingers from the comer of her eye, feel the warmth of his skin on her cheek. She moistened her dry lips with her tongue as she gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Instead of touching her, he flipped her veil back a single fold. "There," he said. "I'd almost forgotten what you look like. Sometimes it's hard to really get a good look at anyone in these dark buildings," he went on. His voice was chocolate and cream when he added, "I like you in sunlight more than in shadows, Jehane."

Jane felt his words as much as heard them. He used his wonderful voice to caress her, making her feel alive and beautiful and excited. She moistened dry lips again, almost wishing the touch came from his lips instead of her tongue. His hand moved to hover above hers as they rested on the table surface.

Stop this! Stop if right now, astem voice in her mind demanded.
Think of where you are! Think of
who's here. This is no time to lose your head to a skilled seducer. Get out of here. Right now. An
affair with a Welsh mercenary is the last thing you need.

Oh, shut up,her heart and her body screamed back at the voice of reason.

He leaned closer, and she didn't try to pull away. She hardly noticed the shouting from the
rentiers
at the next table as they jumped to their feet, hardly saw the green-clad figure suddenly moving in their midst.

But Daffyd did. As the group of ruffians gathered close about the king, he pulled away from her.

Spin-ning on the bench, he rose to "his feet. Jane stared up at the long form standing above her once more, so drunk with his nearness, so bereft at this sudden abandonment, that for a moment she wasn't aware of what was going on around her.

It was Daffyd's fiercely whispering, "The king!" that brought her back to her senses.

Jane almost jumped out of her skin at the shock. The king! She bolted to her feet and tried to squeeze herself behind Daffyd's wide-shouldered form as a shield. He gave her an odd look but didn't try to move away. Jane peeped out from behind his stalwart arm, hoping the king wouldn't turn her way. She felt safe enough behind Daffyd's sheltering form to risk a look at the king.

What was he doing down here below the salt, any-way? She thought he was frowning furiously, the red flush on his face from anger. Looking across the room, she saw Sibelle was no longer at the high table and decided that the lady of the manor had retreated to the safety of her bower. Now the disappointed king of England was looking for some low amusement with about the lowest men of the thirteenth century.

He moved, laughing boisterously, and the hard men trailed him like puppies, toward the hearth. He had his arm around the
routier
commander, Louvrecaire. Louvrecaire made a comment and a lewd gesture, and the king laughed harder. Louvrecaire called for wine. Michael rushed forward with a jug too big for him to carry.

Jane knew it was going to happen. As she watched, the accident seemed to unfold before her in slow motion. The scrawny boy's foot slipped on some wet straw, he tumbled forward, trying desperately to keep hold of the wine jug. Dark liquid arced out of the jar's mouth as Michael fell flat on his face at the king's feet. The king's green surcoat was soaked from chest to hem with purple wine brought to Passfair as a wedding gift. The half-drunken
routiers
laughed, loud and long.

The sound must have been galling to the fat little man who held all their lives in his hands. He took it out on the prostrate boy, drawing back his foot and kicking him viciously in the ribs. The child cried out in pain. He curled up in a tight ball. The king kicked him again.

Appalled, Jane started forward automatically. Something hard as steel held her back.

It was Melisande who came to the boy's defense, rocketing forward through the crowd to stand, teeth bared and growling, hackles up, over the whimpering child as the king drew back his foot one more time.

In the room's sudden silence, the king drew a sword. One moment the dog was bravely defending Michael. The next she was a blood-covered heap on the rushes, struck down and forgotten. The king turned back to his crowd of cronies.

They were laughing again, but with the king, not at him.

23

The world turned red around Jane.Fire and ice came together as a terrible, killing rage rushing up to drown out her reason. The focus of her rage came nearer. She lunged for him, wanting only to scream and strike out and pay him back for the pain he so casually caused. She lunged but couldn't move for-ward. She was caught, tight bands of steel wrapped around her middle. She struggled in silent fury, fling-ing her head back against a mail-sheathed wall.

A voice in her ear hissed, "Stop it. Calm down, girl. There's nothing you can do." The words did nothing to soothe her. She kicked back at the leg of the man holding her. He didn't budge. He didn't release her.

He just murmured soft words she didn't hear in her ear.

She jerked her head away, and as she turned it, her eyes met those of King John. Little, covetous eyes, she thought. Pig's eyes. They drank in the sight of her, and she almost spat at them. The king stepped closer, his hot eyes raking her head to foot. A slow smile

spread across his bloated features. Jane tried to pull away from Daffyd again.

He hauled her into a tighter embrace. "Excuse my lady," he said to the king. "She was fond of the animal."

John came close. He took her chin in his fingers, forcing her head from side to side. He was little, but strong. The fingers touching her were greasy. Jane almost screamed. His fingers moved down to the base of her throat. "Your name—lady?"

"The Lady Jehane, widow of Sir Geoffrey FitzRose," Daffyd answered for her. "My betrothed," he added, as John's fingers reached her breast. He tugged her subtly away from the Ring's exploring hand.

She hauled her head around to stare angrily at Daffyd. "What?"

He shook her. "A difficult woman," he said, speak-ing around her to John.

"Fiery," the king said.

"A good beating will calm her," Daffyd said, his voice so matter-of-fact that Jane almost screamed with outrage. He gave a perfunctory bow, pushing her before him toward the stairs without awaiting the king's permission to leave. He had to drag her away by force. Ribald laughter followed them up the stairs.

Her anger was turning quickly to panic in the dark of the staircase. She hated this world! She didn't want to be touched! She struck out, fists and feet fly-ing. Daffyd swore and swung her off her feet. He slung her easily over his shoulder and held her there as he marched into the storeroom.

"Out!" he shouted, and the serving woman fled. He slammed the door behind her, then flung Jane down.

By the time her knees hit the floor, Jane was start-ing to come back to her senses, but she remained where she fell for a few moments, doubled up and shaking, with her hands clutching her stomach.

Reac-tion from fear and anger and adrenaline-driven hyste-ria was hitting her. Daffyd knelt beside her.

She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were snapping with anger, but he gave her the familiar smirk when he said, "I've never known anyone to panic like that to a proposal of marriage. Did Geof-frey

have this much trouble with you?"

She blinked stupidly. Who was Geoffrey? "What?"

She sat back on her heels and covered her face with her hands. Her head was spinning, and it hurt, but the blood-red scene in the hall was coming back to her now. She peered hesitantly at him over her fin-gers. "What have I done?"

"Very nearly gotten yourself thrown across a table by the king of England with your dress flung up around your head," he stated bluntly. "With an audi-ence to cheer him on." He rose to his feet and paced the length of the room. She followed him with her eyes.

He spun around at the door. "Lord, girl, don't you know getting his attention was the worst thing you could have done?"

Getting John's attention was the last thing
she
had wanted, too. She'd been hiding for days, desperate to keep away from the king. Why had she tried to attack him? Why hadn't she remained calm in the midst of the ugly scene in the hall? Why the breaking point at this of all times?

"Why?" she said aloud, knowing the answer was because she couldn't stand idly by and watch anyone, king or slave, abuse a child or be cruel to a mindless beast.

"Why?" Daffyd raged at her, greenish eyes sparkling furiously in the candlelight. "Because he's a randy, rutting toad and you're just to his taste! Especially now the girl's proved to be a disappoint-ment. Stay out of his way," he ordered. "Betrothed to one of his favorite captains or not, he still might try to bed you."

Jane got shakily to her feet. Daffyd's words were sinking into her brain. Detailed memory was return-ing.

She rubbed her temples, pushing her fingers beneath the barbette covering them. "Yes. Thank you. It was clever of you to claim betrothal. Thank you for the lie," she said again.

He was looking at her with a sardonic tilt to his head, the angry glint still in his eyes. "It was all I could think of. And not a wise thing to say in front of the king and all those witnesses."

She stared at him while every plan she'd made for her life fell into broken shards around her. Stephan would be delighted. Jonathan would be delighted. There was no question of Daffyd's suit being refused by liege or Church. She was trapped. Daffyd held complete power over her. Why did this situation seem so familiar?

All she said, numbly, was, "No. It wasn't a wise thing to say." She lifted her head proudly and added, "I don't wish to marry you, you know."

He stepped close to her. "Jehane." He rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't touch me," she said tightly. He didn't let go. He came closer, until their bodies touched. Although he wasn't pressing close, she could still feel the power of his muscular body. "Please," she said. It wasn't a plea for her release. He nodded his understanding.

He put one arm around her and spread his fingers at the base of her spine. He lifted her chin with two lingers. It didn't feel at all the same as when John did it. He looked deeply into her eyes. He said,

"Perhaps you need to be touched."

"Perhaps I do."

He put his hand on the back of her head, drawing her upturned face toward him. She was wide-eyed, full of trembling need. She couldn't take her eyes off his. His eyes spoke of trust and passion. Her lips opened, welcoming his kiss. It filled her with fire. The fire was cleansing, kindling passion, blotting out pain and loss and terror of the hours past and the days to come. Daffyd's hands moved over her, gentle and urgent at once. Her body responded to his touch as a lute did to a master player. She let his hands have their way, searching out her secrets through the layers of silk and linen, until his frustrated growl brought some sense back into her reeling brain.

"Touch me, woman!" he demanded.

She threw her head back on the arm holding her in a tight embrace, laughing joyously. Not without a can opener! she thought, but said, "You're dressed for war, my lord. Nothing's meant to get through all that armor."

He gave a snort of answering laughter. "True, love. But I thought you clever enough to contrive anything." He stepped away and began stripping off surcoat, mail shirt, and the quilted shirt worn beneath the heavy mail. By the time he was down to the black knit braccae cov-ering his legs and loins, Jane was completely shed of her light summer wear. Her body was too warm and needing to shiver in the cool night air.

They looked at each other in the candle glow. His eyes danced over her, taking in every detail the same way she'd done in the same spot not so long ago. She reacted to the visual assault with the same bold aban-don he'd shown then. She straightened, posed, turned slowly, throwing a seductive look over her shoulder.

He caught her to him as she finished the turn. His mouth took hers again. Their tongues entwined and slipped with hungry playfulness to trace the insides of lips and teeth.

She moved her hands across his torso, exploring his smooth-skinned, gold-pelted form as he'd urged.

He purred like a big cat with each new stroke of her fingertips. She moved her mouth from his, leaving soft kisses down his strong throat, licking teasingly at each pink nipple half-hidden in a nest of gold chest hair. She'd never known this kind of powerful desire before. Need drove her, need to give and take plea-sure, if only for this one night.

"This one knight," she said, laughing softly with her mouth against his throat.

"Only one Jehane," he answered. He swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. No one had ever done that before. She draped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her, mouths pressed tightly together. This kiss sent her soaring. It was headier than wine. She gloried in it, crying out against his mouth when his hand covered her hard-peaked breast.