Part 14 (1/2)
”Arrangements?” she asked, the warmth of only moments ago fading under an uncomfortable chill. ”I was not aware my ignorance was such an offence.”
”No, little fool,” he said, smothering any hint of rebellion under the power of his lips. ”I meant arrangements to insure you delivered him an heir.”
”A stud?” she gasped, shocked anew. ”For breeding purposes!”
The Wolf s.h.i.+fted his weight forward to confine her outrage to a few halfhearted squirmings. ”A man,” man,” he said firmly. ”For the purpose of protecting you against being sold or traded away in another marriage of someone else's convenience. Surely Sir Hubert was aware of his shortcomings. He should have contrived to keep you from falling victim to a king's greed again-especially if he was as gentle, considerate, and loving as you say he was. Had it been me,” he added intently, ”I would have gone to whatever lengths necessary to protect you, even to finding a stud to breed you ... even to binding you hand and foot to the bed and overseeing the deed myself.” he said firmly. ”For the purpose of protecting you against being sold or traded away in another marriage of someone else's convenience. Surely Sir Hubert was aware of his shortcomings. He should have contrived to keep you from falling victim to a king's greed again-especially if he was as gentle, considerate, and loving as you say he was. Had it been me,” he added intently, ”I would have gone to whatever lengths necessary to protect you, even to finding a stud to breed you ... even to binding you hand and foot to the bed and overseeing the deed myself.”
Servanne had no reb.u.t.tal, for indeed there was none. She would not have been in this predicament if she had given Sir Hubert an heir. Both she and the child would have become wards of the king until the heir came of age, but she would have been well within her rights to refuse any proposed unions which she did not favour.
What the rogue's theory failed to consider, however, was that up until a few short hours ago, she had been more than content with the future arrangements made for her. She had been looking forward to her marriage to Lucien Wardieu with a naive eagerness that bordered on childish glee. There again, content in her ignorance, she had not been aware of any other choice available to her.
But was there any other choice? She had only his word he was come to England on a secretive, honourable mission for Eleanor of Aquitaine. She had only his word the golden-haired knight known throughout England as the Baron de Gournay was a cheat and an impostor. This man had bedded her, had introduced her to the wonders of her woman's body, but was pa.s.sion and pleasure any way to measure the truth from the lie?
The chill within her deepened and spread. Despite claiming revenge had played no part in this, would he not, when clearer, calmer reasoning prevailed, consider it a minor triumph to have bedded his brother's intended bride beforehand? Men were all vainglorious creatures when it came to testing and proving their prowess; why should the Wolf's motives prove to be any purer?
Fear, conscience, uncertainty ... and a sudden awareness of where she was-sprawled naked and wildly disheveled in a cave hissing with the ghostly voices of pagan rituals -caused Servanne to tense noticeably. She lowered her hands from where they rested on his shoulders and placed them like a subtle barrier between his flesh and hers.
”Please, I ...”
”What is it? What is wrong? Surely you still do not fear me as a demon with horns and a forked tail?”
”Devilish,” she admitted softly, her fingers curling involuntarily into the crisp pelt of hair on his chest. ”But no devil, although it does confuse me profoundly to try to find a difference.”
He smiled crookedly. ”Confusion is a woman's normal state of mind, so I neither take nor lay blame for causing it in you.”
Servanne watched as he bowed his head and caught one of her slim, delicate fingers between his lips.
”You have done what your brother will have expected you to do,” she said matter-of-factly, and reclaimed her hand.
His gaze lifted slowly to hers. ”That was not why I did it.”
”Nevertheless”-she spoke slowly, searching his eyes for the truth before she continued-”the deed is done and he will know.”
A long pause-long enough for a future of loneliness, regret, and despair to flash before Servanne's eyes-ended on a faintly snarled oath. ”You will be safe enough. The Dragon will not take his anger out on you.”
”But ... he will will be angry.” be angry.”
”He will be angry,” the Wolf conceded.
”And ... knowing this ... you are still determined to sell me back to him as planned?”
”Your choice of terms leaves much to be desired,” he answered with a frown. ”I am not selling you back to him. I am sending you on ahead to Bloodmoor Keep because, for the time being anyway, it is the safest place for you to be until the matter is resolved.”
”Safe?” she gasped. ”How can you expect me to feel safe when you have said and done everything in your power to warn me away away from Bloodmoor Keep?” from Bloodmoor Keep?”
”I have only endeavoured to warn you away from the man who resides there as its master. Bloodmoor itself cannot be held to account for the taint he has brought to it. You will be safe,” he repeated. ”The castle is full of wedding guests- important guests-and the Dragon will do nothing to rouse anyone's suspicions until the halls and chambers are empty again. If anything, he will be only too eager to act as if nothing has happened beyond paying an enterprising outlaw for the release of his bride. He will not willingly admit to anyone his brother has come back from the dead, or that there might be some reason for the nuptials to be delayed or postponed. Moreover, there are other reasons for secrecy and silence; reasons which forbid both Etienne and myself from settling our conflict openly and speedily, and those I dare not tell you, for it would most definitely place you in certain danger.”
”But ... would it not be better for me to know of this danger?”
The Wolf brushed his fingertips over the tight, damp coils of hair clinging to her temples. ”I told you he and I were much alike. Just as I can see so clearly what you feel and think at times, one look, one glance into these wide blue eyes of yours and he would know you were hiding something behind them.”
”Knowing this, you would still send me to face him alone?”
”I think you are more than a match for whatever tests the Dragon may put you through. Furthermore, you will not be completely alone,” the Wolf promised, twining his hands into the wet tangle of her hair. ”Nor will you be without recourse if something ... anything anything happens to frighten you. The queen's official representative at the wedding is Lord Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer. You can trust him. He or any of his men will provide help or sanctuary if you need it.” happens to frighten you. The queen's official representative at the wedding is Lord Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer. You can trust him. He or any of his men will provide help or sanctuary if you need it.”
His frown cleared and he smiled in an attempt to soften the bluntness of his words. ”La Seyne is another blackhearted b.a.s.t.a.r.d you will undoubtedly take to task for his boorish manners, but he is loyal to the queen, and none too fond of anyone who shares the humour of Prince John. You can can trust him. I do ... with my life.” trust him. I do ... with my life.”
Servanne's eyes brimmed slowly with fat, s.h.i.+ny tears. Seeing them, seeing the uncertainty behind them, the Wolf tightened his hands and drew her forward. She tried to avoid his mouth as it came down over hers, but his hands were firm and his lips forceful. His tongue was quick and efficient at reminding her how futile any show of resistance might be, and Servanne moaned softly, helplessly. She went so far as to push against the lowering wall of muscle before her hands betrayed their true desire and crept up and around the bronzed width of his shoulders.
At almost the same moment as Servanne de Briscourt was experiencing the greatest joy in her young life, the Dragon de Gournay was flus.h.i.+ng with excitement.
”We believe we have found their lair, my lord,” Sir Aubrey de Vere reported. ”We did not dare take the risk of creeping too close lest we betray our presence, but all signs indicate the Black Wolf has made camp in the ruins of an abbey once known as Thornfeld.”
”Thornfeld?” Wardieu's blue eyes narrowed sharply. ”Why am I not familiar with the name?”
”It is ... was was a cloister inhabited by monks who shunned all contact with the outside world. It is but a halfday's ride from here, no more, and not five leagues from where we lost the scent of the two foresters the other night.” a cloister inhabited by monks who shunned all contact with the outside world. It is but a halfday's ride from here, no more, and not five leagues from where we lost the scent of the two foresters the other night.”
”By G.o.d, right under our noses,” muttered Wardieu. ”And no one thought to search this ruined abbey before now?”
De Vere frowned uncomfortably. ”It was believed the brothers who lived there were followers of the Antichrist. At any rate, the abbey was put to the torch and the monks slaughtered, and for nigh on eighty years, no one has set eyes upon the ruins or dared to venture anywhere near that part of the forest.”
”No one? Not even the hounds of our fearsome Lord High Sheriff who professes to have scoured every square inch of the forest in search of the outlaw and his band?”
”It is not an easy place to find,” De Vere said. ”The trees are thicker than flies on rotted meat, and the hills are pocked with caves and gorges to easily lead a man astray.”
”Surely the local villagers know of its location, especially those who poach the king's deer with impunity.”
”Indeed, my lord, and to them this Black Wolf would be a rogue hero; they would not betray his whereabouts even if they knew it. We could only find one toothless old crone who would even admit to knowing of the place, and then only because she was an imbecile and has kept to her own foul company in the woods these past twenty years.”
”Perhaps we should make this imbecile sheriff then,” Wardieu said angrily. ”Who else would think to look first on cursed grounds for a man who would like the world to think of him as a spectre who can appear and disappear at will? By G.o.d, it is just as well Onfroi de la Haye lies so near death; I would strangle him myself for all the worth he is to me.”
Nicolaa de la Haye emerged from Wardieu's pavilion and scowled up at the sun. Light filtering through the overhanging flap gave her milk-white complexion a faintly bluish caste. Her eyes were puffed and her stance unsteady, for she had needed strong decoctions of crushed willow bark to help her sleep without dreaming too vividly.
”What is all this about strangling Onfroi?” she grumbled. ”I have been entreating you to let me do so for years, but you have always stayed my hand.”
”Thornfeld Abbey,” Wardieu asked brusquely. ”Do you know of it?”
”Thornfeld? Thornfeld ... the name tastes familiar somehow ...”
Wardieu allowed a flicker of disgust to cross his face as he regarded her unkempt, dissolute condition. Was it just the sickly blue glow from the pavilion overhang giving Nicolaa's raven beauty a brittle edge, or was it the stirring of memories that vaguely repulsed him? She had clung to him like a leech the past two nights, and while her body had afforded its usual erotic release for his tensions, there had been no real pleasure derived from her frantic manipulations.
Wardieu turned back to De Vere. ”Have the men in full armour and ready to ride in twenty minutes. Are you certain you can find the place again?”
De Vere smiled wanly. ”We still have the hag and she still has possession of half her fingers and toes. Milord D'Aeth has been most persuasive in winning her cooperation thus far; I have no doubt he can continue to do so.”
”Tell him he can have more than her fingers and toes to chew on so long as she lives long enough to guide us to Thornfeld Abbey.”