Four

“Christ’s wounds!” Mildred swore loud enough to wake the dead.

The sun was just warming the horizon. Isabel opened her eyes, feeling as though she’d slept little.

Ramon sat up with a snarl. He yanked his sword from its sheath with a roar as he turned on Mildred.

“No!” Isabel threw herself down the length of the bed, stumbling onto her feet and flattening herself in front of Mildred. “’Tis only my nurse.”

Mildred froze, staring wide-eyed at the baron.

Ramon blinked to clear sleep from his mind before he grunted, “’Tis not a wise thing to surprise a man so newly returned from the Crusade.”

The door burst open, and Ambrose stood there in only his shirt with a sword in his hand.

“’Tis only her nurse,” Ramon growled.

Ambrose swept the chamber twice before he lowered his weapon. Beyond his wide shoulders, Isabel could see the chamber on the other side of the keep. Two women watched from the doorway, holding a length of bedding to cover themselves. One gasped and scurried back into the chamber.

“The service at Thistle Keep is quite unmatched,” Ambrose murmured with a satisfied grin. He aimed an amused look toward Ramon before turning and making his way back to the other chamber. They heard a pair of giggles before the door shut.

“Church is going to be crowded this morn,” Mildred muttered.

“Not on my account,” Isabel replied. “I have no special blessings to seek.”

Ramon gave her a hard look but said nothing. Soon his squire arrived and Mildred was gathering up Isabel’s under robe. Isabel should have been pleased that Ramon was holding his tongue, but all it did was stir up a feeling that she had never had for Bechard. Her husband hadn’t cared who was present when he berated her.

Ramon was different. The idea stuck in her thoughts as she finished dressing and headed out of the chamber.

She chuckled softly, her cheeks turning red. She gathered up a fist full of her robes and ran. She arrived out of breath at the morning service but at least no one questioned her about those red cheeks.

* * *

Her morning meal wasn’t even half finished when Isabel found herself blushing again.

The hall was full of hushed whispers and quick glances toward her and Ramon.

She hurried through the last spoonfuls of her porridge and rose.

“You have a fine appetite this morning, Lady Isabel,” Ramon called from the high table, his voice deep and full, echoing off the hall’s stone walls.

She bit her lip, trying to quell the urge to turn and look at Ramon. But everyone in the hall was looking at her, their eyes bright with curiosity. She turned and smiled sweetly but determinedly.

“Yes. The day holds many challenges. I intend to be fortified.”

Ramon curled his fingers around his goblet. “It does indeed. I enjoy challenges and women with the strength to meet them.”

“That is a solid truth,” Ambrose agreed with a wolfish grin. “Know you this lady. I have seen this man outlast every opponent he has chosen to pit himself against.”

Isabel raised her eyebrow. “A common enough claim from men, yet so often disputed by women.”

Ambrose’s lips twitched, his chest shaking with amusement. But it was the look in Ramon’s eyes that stole her breath. For a moment, she indulged in it. The look made her shiver, sensation moving down her body in response to his dark stare.

Everyone was watching her, enjoying the double meaning in their words. She wanted to lift her chin and let Ramon know that he was going to be disappointed, but the way her heart was still racing made her bite her lip. She looked back at him, locking gazes once more, and feeling her belly twist.

Challenge?

Oh aye. It is going to be a challenge to deny the burly knight.

Yet she was up to it.

She turned with a swirl of her robes and ended up facing the priest who stood in the arched doorway, his hands tucked into the wide openings of his sleeves. The inhabitants of Thistle Keep suddenly looked down at their bowls, their expressions becoming bland as their whispers died.

Hell on Earth.

Exactly as she’d known it would be.

* * *

Ramon chuckled.

“That must be the first time I’ve known you to be amused by a priest taking interest in your affairs,” Ambrose mocked.

Ramon took another swallow from his goblet. “Better mine than yours, my friend. You owe me gratitude for diverting him. He has a great amount of zeal for his calling and his flock.”

Ambrose lifted his goblet in a salute. “Many thanks.”

“Of course, once I wed, the priest will have no reason to direct his interest toward me.”

Ambrose grinned. “I will do my best to keep the man amused.” The maid serving him smothered a giggle as she tossed him a saucy look. Ambrose growled softy. “My very, very best,” he muttered.

* * *

Griffin was eager for a morning hunt.

Isabel lifted him, glaring at the sun because it was far later in the morning than usual for taking Griffin out.

But she forbade herself to linger over her discontent. The air was losing its crispness and the grass was growing high. The fields were full of sprouting crops. In the distance, she heard the geese calling to each other. She moved toward them, lifting her forearm and letting Griffin fly free. He let out a screech as he took to the air, climbing quickly. He stretched out his wings, the longer feathers at the tips flared out, and began to circle once he’d reached a good height. Isabel shaded her eyes to keep him in sight.

Isabel moved around the strings marking the nests, careful to give the mothers enough space. There were a few warning honks from birds sitting on eggs, but Isabel moved away on slow, controlled steps.

Griffin flew down and popped back up with a rat. Isabel raised her arm but he screeched at her and flew to a tree to enjoy his prize.

Griffin was too hungry to wait. It was Ramon’s fault for making her late.

She frowned. Once Griffin’s appetite was sated, he wouldn’t be eager to hunt.

You are simply cross because you don’t want to return to the keep.

Well, yes. The man was testing her resolve. The best way to maintain her desire to remain unwed would be to avoid contact with him. She looked out over the fields. The breeze was carrying the scent of fresh growth and turned earth. The little bits of string marking the nests filled her with happiness because spring was upon them. The first days of summer would arrive with the goslings. There would be new fruits and the sight of the fields ripening to make everyone at Thistle Keep feel content.

She was a good mistress and didn’t need a master.

There was nothing to fear.

But the sound of hooves approaching made her turn with a frown. Her time was finished.

The knights bearing down on her didn’t look like Ramon’s. Isabel studied them for a long moment, trying to decide what it was that made her belly twist with apprehension.

It was the leers on their faces.

They were leaning low over the necks of their horses, urging the beasts faster…

They were intent on running her to the ground.

She turned and grabbed her robes.

“Too late, my lady!”

The pounding was so loud it shook the ground beneath her feet. Her heart raced but the horses were much faster. She turned and ran toward the marsh, hoping the horses would shy away from the murky water. Geese reared up, beating the air with their powerful wings to defend their nests.

The horses screeched but charged in after her.

“You are just the prize I’ve been seeking!”

Someone grabbed the back of her robes and her hair. He yanked her off her feet, dragging her onto the back of the horse. Pain exploded in her side as she was dropped in place in front of the knight.

“Let’s claim our reward!” her captor declared to his companions.

Isabel turned her head, trying to see through the tangle of her hair. She was heaving, trying to catch her breath, as the knight wheeled his horse around and headed out of the marshes.

A gander chased them, biting at the legs of the horse. She caught a glimpse of its mate, frantically trying to salvage her nest, which was torn to pieces.

Isabel snarled, fighting her way up. “Put me—”

A hard blow sent her back down, blackness washing over her in a thick wave.

* * *

“She’s rousing, milord.”

The voice was far away. Isabel’s head ached and all she wanted to do was drift back into sleep. It was so tempting. There was no pain in the dark embrace of slumber.

But someone tossed cold water into her face.

When she opened her eyes, there was a dark-eyed woman leaning over her, an empty cup in her hand.

“As I said, she is roused.”

The woman turned and moved away. Isabel stared at her, wondering if she was still locked in a dream. She was in a tent and lying on a bed that was covered in soft silk and an abundance of pillows. The woman’s eyes were outlined in something black. They were also slightly almond-shaped, making her look sensuous. Her skin was a warm honey color and her fingernails were long.

Isabel shook her head but the sight of the tent and the strange woman remained.

The woman had long hair that flowed down her back in a curtain of dark satin. She wore only a robe that fluttered as she moved and looked like it was made of silk.

“You never fail to satisfy me, Rauxana.”

The woman stopped near a man who was washing his hands in a bowl near the door of the tent. She lifted a pitcher and poured water over his hands. Setting it aside, she picked up a length of linen for him.

“Serving you is my reason for life.”

He smiled at her, reaching out to cup her face. Isabel pushed herself up and brushed her hair from her face as the man leaned toward the woman and kissed her deeply.

They didn’t care that she was present. No shame at all. The kiss was deep and passionate. The woman pressed toward the man, moving her body against his as she boldly stroked him from chest to groin, her hand closing around his length.

“Later,” he announced as he broke away from her.

“As you wish,” she purred. “I shall prepare myself for you, master.”

She disappeared between the flaps of the tent opening, leaving Isabel facing her captor.

“Why did you send your men to abduct me?”

“I intend to wed you, Isabel of Camoys.”

Isabel stood up, the bed suddenly burning her. The man watched her, grinning.

“And this is the manner in which you choose to begin a courtship?”

He moved to where a chair rested on a beautiful Persian carpet. He sat down, settling himself in it before looking back at her.

“I am Baron Jacques Raeburn. Bechard was my brother.”

“I am sorry. The fever took him quickly,” Isabel said quietly.

“Perhaps because you did naught to save him.”

She drew in a stiff breath, a tingle of fear teasing her nape. He was a baron, the highest law in the kingdom with the king away. “There are witnesses to assure you I did everything possible.”

Jacques tilted his head to one side and contemplated her. He was far more pleasing to the eye than Ramon, but she found him repulsive.

“I don’t really care if you smothered Bechard with your tits. You seem to have a nice, plump set of them.” She gaped. Jacques snickered at her horror. “But the fact that my dear brother is dead leaves me suffering my father’s demands to retrieve our property.” His gaze lowered to her breasts. “He ordered me to wed you, fuck you, and plant a Raeburn babe in your belly.”

“You are being overly blunt, sir.” She squared her shoulders and glared at him.

“Because I said fuck?” He spread his legs apart and rubbed the bulge his tunic was covering. “Or tits?”

“Both.” Her tone was sharp. There was no way she’d show the brute any fear.

He smiled wide and pushed out of the chair. Fear twisted through her belly but she stood in place. Jacques slowly circled her, leering at her. When he passed behind her, it took every ounce of control she had to stay still. She would not let him see her unsettled. Couldn’t. A panicked animal was very soon slain.

“I plan to enjoy…both,” he muttered next to her ear.

She jumped and turned to face him. “You shall not. Although you have kidnapped me, I will not be taking vows with you.”

But she was in his tent. She refused to ponder the thought. Refused to consider how dire her circumstances were.

He crossed his arms over his chest and pointed behind her at the opening of the tent. “Do you know what is out there?”

“Your camp.”

“And my men. Many, many men,” he confirmed with an amused expression. “They are hardened men who enjoy spoils.”

“This is England,” she interrupted. “I suggest you make your way to richer lands if you seek plunder.”

Jacques shrugged. “A country without a king is a fine place to plunder. You’ll wed me and obey me or I’ll let them enjoy you until you accept your place. I don’t really need an heir from you. If you throw a bastard, it will be useful. I’ll keep it around for a few years, inherit Thistle Keep, and bury it beside your body when it gets too old to be controlled. Perhaps I’ll bury it first and let you anticipate what day will be your last.”

Horror gagged her. Sick pleasure shimmered in his eyes.

“You have until tomorrow to decide which fate you prefer. I’ll have to send for a priest, since the one on your land will likely refuse to perform the ceremony under the circumstances.”

“As if any man of God would wed me to you with my body broken from your men.”

“Oh, there are men of God who will bind us in holy matrimony.” His face brightened with insane enjoyment. “Priests who see women as temptresses, descendants of Eve who must be controlled else they entice men to sin. I rode with a few of them on the Crusade. They never left a single infidel alive, be it woman or child.”

“That is horrible!”

He laughed. “Such is life, lady. Resign yourself to your fate or I will make sure you accept my will. Truly, I care not which method you choose.”

His gaze lowered to her breasts and he smacked his lips before heading toward the door and leaving her.

* * *

She was so foolish.

How could she think Ramon hell on earth?

Well, you know better now.

She did, but the knowledge gave her no solace. Chastising herself surely wouldn’t save her.

Nor would Ramon, for he didn’t even know that she was gone.

Which was her fault as well. He had warned her.

So she would have to help herself. Hadn’t that been what she craved? For a moment, regret tore through her, ripping aside her pride and leaving her facing the harsh reality.

Men were not kind because fate was not kind.

Women became calculating because it was their only resource. Their wiles, their wits, were their own weapons.

Rauxana came to mind.

“Serving you is my reason for life.”

Whether or not the exotic-looking woman meant what she said, there was one thing Isabel knew for certain: Jacques had believed Rauxana. Isabel had seen it in his eyes. The pure male satisfaction as Rauxana rubbed against him that last time. In truth, it was debatable who exactly was the master. When Rauxana flashed a look to him from beneath her dark eyelashes, Isabel thought the girl was the one in control of the man who believed himself her master.

So was Rauxana a sorceress? Or some other word that Isabel had only heard in half whispers? The way she stroked Jacques made it clear that she knew how to touch a man. And it had clearly beguiled him. Enchanted him.

She was treading on dangerous ground, for the church warned against such wild abandonment.

The sound of men talking came through the canvas tent walls.

Isabel squared her shoulders. She would contemplate anything that might free her.

And what will you do when you are back at Thistle Keep with Ramon?

For a moment, a wicked idea of stroking Ramon filled her thoughts. Would his eyes glitter with as much satisfaction?

She shouldn’t have these thoughts, but it was better than weeping over her plight.

Anything was better than pitying herself.

* * *

Isabel was not at the evening service.

Ramon scanned the congregation twice before striding across the aisle to where the women stood.

“Where is your mistress?” the priest hissed at him. Ramon lifted his hand and the man fell silent.

Ramon glared at Mildred. The old woman’s eyes widened with alarm. “I’ve naught seen her since this morn. I thought she was hunting…in the marshes… She is never this late.” Horror edged her words and she looked around again, frantic to catch sight of Isabel.

“My apologies, Father, but your mistress is missing. The ungodly have no respect for the evening mass, so I must beg your forgiveness,” Ramon said.

There was a hush in the church, as everyone waited to see what the priest would make of Ramon interrupting the Lord’s supper.

“Go with God,” the priest said as he made the sign of the cross in the air over Ramon.

Ramon took a moment to acknowledge the priest by bending to one knee before he rose and headed out of the sanctuary. His men followed him, their boots stamping against the stone floor and echoing through the church.

“We’ve precious time to track her before the light is gone,” Ambrose observed.

A hawk cried out and swooped low across the yard before perching on the roof of the mews. It let out another cry before fluffing its feathers. The ends of leather securing its band trailed below it in the fading light.

Ramon growled. His men knew the sound well. But this time, he felt something deeper. Something unfamiliar in his rage.

This time, it was far more…personal.

* * *

Rauxana reappeared near sunset.

She wore a different robe now, one that was buttoned up the front and slit up the sides to her hips. When she moved, her bare legs flashed.

She laughed, low and sultry. “You should see your face. Scandalized by the sight of my legs. Christian women are so boring, so timid. Yet my master must obey his father and take you for his wife.” She glided over to a small table and poured what looked like water into a goblet.

“You cannot drink that,” Isabel warned, but the other woman paid her no mind. She took a long sip from her goblet before glancing at Isabel with a satisfied look on her face.

“Water is what the body needs.” She set the goblet down and looked around her. “Only the ignorant do not know such a thing. In the desert, the body dies without water. Give a man wine and he will still perish beneath the sun. Only water gives life. But I will admit that in this place, it is hard to find pure water.”

“Drinking water brings fever. My husband died of such.”

Rauxana shrugged. “Fermented drink is forbidden. Besides, your wells are too close to your privies. Your women empty their household pots into the streets. Your people do not bathe. Never have I smelled such a stench in this land. Little wonder there is fever. At least you do not stink.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’d have to scrub you if you did. You’ll not bring fleas into the master’s bed.”

“I do not have fleas,” Isabel scoffed.

Rauxana peered at her intently for a long moment, clearly judging the matter for herself. For all her submissive behavior when Jacques was present, she was not meek. She finally gave a graceful shrug before making a slow path across the tent, as though making sure Isabel had time to admire her. Her hips swayed in a slow, sultry motion. Isabel sat on the far side of the tent. Rauxana smiled at her before she crawled up onto the bed and lay across the foot of it. She opened her robe, letting Isabel see several inches of her body. She stretched her arms above her head and then laid her head back while she watched the door.

“The master will be here soon,” she purred.

It had to be a sin, the way Rauxana was so eagerly anticipating sharing intimacies.

But…Isabel was fascinated.

Rauxana wasn’t preparing for her duties with prayer and courage. Her lips were set into a contented little smile and her expression was full of expectation.

Not of a duty that must be shouldered.

But in anticipation of pleasure.

Isabel blinked, not sure if she was seeing this correctly.

Rauxana suddenly laughed, shifting and rolling up to look at Isabel. “Why are you Christian women so brittle?” She shook her head. “You are no virgin, yet you are shocked by the welcome I would give my master.”

“Why do you call him your master?”

Rauxana looked surprised. “Because he owns me,” she said without hesitation. “If he had not bought me, I might have ended up in a brothel or an overcrowded harem where I would have to worry about being poisoned by the master’s older wives as I fought my way to his bed and a position as his favorite.” She suddenly sat up, her hand closing around the bedding like a claw and narrowed her eyes. “Do not think to take my place in his bed. I am his favorite. You are a duty.” Rauxana glared at her. “Cross me and I will poison you.”

She would, too. Rauxana’s eyes were bright with determination.

“There are no slaves in England,” Isabel said. “Such is against the law.”

Rauxana slowly shook her head. “I saw the master buy me. Nothing you can say will undo this. I must live the life fate has given me. Or else I am a shameless creature. There is no place in paradise for such.”

Isabel softened her tone. “Just as you did not wish to be one more among many, I do not wish to be a duty. Help me escape and there will be no need to worry about me taking your place.”

Rauxana’s eyes brightened for a moment before she shook her head. “I would never displease the master. He must obey his father.”

Isabel fought the urge to jerk on her bindings again. She couldn’t panic. She needed her wits. “You could be his wife if I were gone.”

Rauxana slowly smiled. “I will be. When I please him enough, he will grant me permission to have his child.” Determination edged her tone. “When I give him a son, I will be his wife.”

She lay back down, stretching herself out like an offering.

For a long moment, Isabel battled self-pity again. Outside the tent wall, the men were getting drunk. She could hear their voices rising. Cracks of laughter split the darkness as the camp followers came out to earn their keep. Horror gagged her. She fought it but there was no way to defeat it. She looked around, her attention settling on a knife.

Maybe…with the cover of darkness, she might slip away.

The tent flaps opened, letting a gust of night air inside. The wooden poles creaked slightly as the flaps settled back into place.

“My pet,” he drawled as he took a moment to acknowledge Rauxana. She moved her legs and thrust her chest forward so that the robe slid down to bare one of her breasts. It was crowned with a dark nipple.

“And my duty.” Jacques turned to look at Isabel. “The priest will not be here until tomorrow. Perhaps you can learn something tonight about pleasing me.”

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. She jumped but his hand was so big his fingers closed around her fragile limb. He tugged her toward the large chair and quickly tied her to the frame of it with a length of rabbit skin. He secured her wrists behind her, leaving her leaning against the side of the chair.

When he stood back up, he smirked, satisfied. “Tomorrow…I’m going to fuck you. With or without the church’s blessing.”

He turned and moved toward the bed. “I certainly don’t have a blessing for you, my pet…”

Isabel should have looked away.

But she couldn’t.

It was her shame that made her look at the couple on the bed. The shame of knowing that when her husband took his last breath, she had felt relieved. It was by far the most horrible thing she’d ever done.

Rauxana rose to her knees and let her robe slip down her arms to puddle around her like liquid fire.

Something else drove Isabel to keep watching—the dark memories that haunted her sleep. Those intensely clear recollections of being beneath her husband. The pain, the helplessness.

There was no such horror on Rauxana’s face. She smiled invitingly as she undid Jacques’s belt. She moved slowly, sliding her fingers along his body. Baring him little by little until they were both in naught but skin.

Then she kissed him. Not on the lips, but everywhere else. She trailed her lips across his chest, looking like she was savoring the taste of him.

“Suckle me…”

Jacques sounded pained. He pressed her head toward his member and she trailed kisses down its length as well.

“Suckle me!” he demanded.

Rauxana looked past him to where Isabel was watching. Power and triumph glittered in her eyes. For a moment, all of her true feelings were displayed on her face. She stroked his member with a single hand before sending Isabel a hard, promising glare.

Isabel couldn’t have looked away if a priest was standing in front of her. Surely this was something that Mildred had told her ladies didn’t need to know about.

Why?

It surely looked more pleasurable than what she’d experienced as a wife.

Or what Ramon made you feel with his touch?

Aye. There was no other way to answer but to admit the truth.

“That’s it…more…” Jacques was working his member in and out of Rauxana’s mouth, his backside flexing as he labored. “I’m going to let you suckle me before I fuck my wife…” His breathing was labored. “And when my seed is ready…I’ll pump it deep inside her…and have you suck me hard again…”

He gasped, grunting before pulling free of her mouth.

“But tonight…you’ll ride me to the finish.”

Jacques climbed onto the bed. For a moment, Rauxana faced her. Hate simmered in her eyes before Jacques flopped onto his back and demanded, “Mount me! Show my wife how to ride a man.”

Isabel looked away at last, unable to bear the controlling nature that she recalled so well in her husband. The bed was rocking, groaning as the couple on it fucked. Isabel didn’t cringe over the harsh word. It was appropriate.

“You’ll be my pet…and my wife can swell with child…yes…YES…”

Jacques was yelling, his voice strained before he gave one final yell and the bed ropes stopped groaning.

Not long after, the soft sound of his snoring filled the tent. There was a creak from the bed ropes and a soft sound of fabric rustling. Isabel looked up to see Rauxana closing her robe. She moved across the tent on silent feet. She pinched out one candle and then another, until there was nothing but darkness.

And then she came toward Isabel.

There was only a hint of light coming from the fires burning on the other side of the tent walls. A touch of crimson and yellow that flickered and danced off the blade of a knife. Isabel was happy to see the blade, for it promised her something other than what Jacques had.

“I will be his wife,” Rauxana whispered.

She knelt in front of Isabel and lifted her hand with the knife in it. Isabel wasn’t afraid, only regretful for the night she’d refused Ramon. It was an opportunity lost now. Just as her life was about to be snuffed out. Life was suddenly such a precious thing. Something she hadn’t truly appreciated.

She had never enjoyed being a woman.

Rauxana slipped the blade between the chair and the strip of rabbit skin, jerking it up and snapping the binding. Isabel fell away from the chair. Rauxana grasped her arm and cut through the length that held Isabel’s wrists together. Isabel was half sprawled on the ground but all she could do was look at the severed bindings in shock.

“Go, and do not betray me if you are captured.” Rauxana pressed the knife into Isabel’s hand.

“I swear I will not.”

Rauxana moved back toward the bed. She shrugged from her robe and climbed silently onto the bed. There was only one groan from the bed ropes as she resumed her place beside Jacques.

Her master.

Yours as well, if you do not make good use of this opportunity…

Isabel watched the tent walls for a moment, deciding where men were talking. There were two men in front. Every now and then, there was a clinking of rolling dice. She headed toward the darker back of the tent and plunged the knife into the canvas. It popped and she froze, listening for any change around her. Jacques continued to snore and the men talking in front of the flaps kept rolling their dice.

Easing the knife down through the fabric felt as though it took too long. It also sounded loud. But the fabric parted, granting her freedom.

Isabel forced herself to be still. She had only one chance and mustn’t waste it. She watched the camp for a few moments, all the time listening to Jacques snore behind her. There were tents all over and more men sleeping on the ground. A pair of people walked through the sleeping men. One of them wore longer garments and smothered a giggle with her hand. A man sleeping on the ground sat up.

“A whore…just what I was dreaming of.”

The woman went to him and held out her hand. He dug in his tunic and brought something out that pleased her. She gathered up her robes and joined him on the ground.

Isabel looked at her robes. She stood and they settled around her ankles.

One chance…naught but a single opportunity to escape.

She slashed at the fabric of her robes, cringing at the waste. But she had to look like a man. Or at least a youth. She gathered the bottom of her robes and draped it over her head like a woodsman’s hood. In the dark, no one would see it for what it was.

She kept the knife grasped in her hand and eased through the slit. She didn’t dare make it any wider for fear it would be noticed. The canvas parted enough for her to pass and she crouched low next to the tent for a moment. The couple was busy when she stood up and started walking toward the woods. A couple of men rolled toward her and watched her in the dark. Most of them were taking the opportunity to sleep. But those posted on watch saw her.

Demons roam the woods at night…

She shook her head and kept her pace steady.

They roam the darkness, seeking souls to feast on…

She resisted the pull of fireside tales. They were just tales. Superstitions. Naught else.

But her heart was still pounding in her chest when she reached the border between the camp and the shadows of the forest. No one went out in the dark of night.

Well, you must, or suffer being Jacques’s chattel.

She was sure to like being Jacques’s wife less than a demon’s meal.

She moved into the forest, forcing herself to take another step and another and another.

Every step felt like an eternity. Each breath seemed like it was surely going to be her last, because her lungs were freezing. Even her hearing was playing tricks on her. She jerked toward sounds, unable to identify them. Her skin crawled as though there were spiders on her, but when she brushed them aside, there was naught.

Don’t be a child.

Exactly. She was a woman and one who ran her own estate. She could walk through the forest, walk to freedom.

Indeed, she would.

“Cry out and it will be the last sound you ever make, lad.”

A sword slashed out in front of her, stopping just shy of her throat. She gasped, but flattened her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. There was a hard grunt in response.

“Who’s your master, boy? What man commands that army?”

She heard a whistle, one that might be mistaken for an owl, if one didn’t know raptors well. Isabel did. She turned her face toward the sound as the men next to her chuckled.

“Know your way around the forest, do you?”

“I know birds,” she muttered. “And I am no lad.”

Whoever had been approaching pushed the sword away from her. Even in the dark, she knew Ramon.

“Isabel?”

She nodded, her powers of speech suddenly rendered unusable. Her lips were moving but no sound came out. Every muscle she had suddenly shook, her knees knocking and weakening.

“I-I—” she stammered, trying to force the lump in her throat down. Everything was fine now. There was no reason for her to be trembling.

Yet she was. Greatly so.

Ramon reached out and cupped her chin. “Isabel?”

She nodded and held up the knife. “I used this…to cut the back of Jacques’s tent…”

“Jacques Raeburn?” Ramon demanded softly, his tone deadly.

She nodded. “He was Bechard’s brother.”

“So he planned to steal an heiress.”

He whistled, and shapes moved in the night. Ambrose appeared, his normally easygoing expression gone. In its place was a hard, cold look that indicated war. Ramon looked back toward the camp.

“Since we have the lady, we may rid this world of pestilence,” Ramon said firmly.

She felt sick with dread. No one had ever spilled blood on her behalf, but what truly horrified her was Ramon facing Jacques. Ramon had honor, where Jacques would likely use that trait against him.

She ignored her horror so she could speak. “He is a baron. You cannot challenge him. You’ll face judgment from the other barons if you do.”

Her announcement was met with smothered words of profanity. Ramon reached for her wrist but stopped when he felt the rabbit skin still tied around it.

“Baron or not, he deserves death, and I can challenge him for setting his men on you. Yet I need to make sure you are away from here first.”

He wanted blood. She heard it in his tone. Felt it radiating from him.

Maybe that was what she craved. Vengeance. Retribution. She had to resist the urge to long for those things, for that was how bitter family feuds began. So close to the Welsh border, she had seen the suffering such blood feuds brought.

It could bring Ramon death. Even the most valiant knight fell in battle.

She could not bear such.

She walked and tried to make her steps light. At the edge of the woods, she smelled the horses. Ramon mounted and reached down for her. Ambrose was already lifting her up before she realized their intent.

She craved his embrace and it brought her more solace, more comfort than she had ever believed possible.

So she’d be content and not seek vengeance. She’d find a way to make him see the sense in leaving Jacques be.

* * *

“Thanks be to Christ and all his angels!” Mildred was fluttering around them when they made it back to Thistle Keep. The hall was still lit; those who should have been sleeping on its floor were wide awake. They muttered their thanks but Ramon kept her moving toward the stairs and up to her chamber.

“You disobeyed me, lady.”

She turned and faced him as he sent the door closed and propped his hands on his hips.

“It was not my intention. Truly, I took Griffin to hunt as I always do. If I do not, the rats will…will take the goose eggs.”

Ramon pulled his gauntlets off and tossed them on the table. But he nodded once and fought to rein in his temper. “You should have taken an escort.”

He was right. She knew it but still felt as though her life was crumbling. Ramon snorted at the look on her face.

“Do you dare to tell me I am wrong?” he demanded softly. “That my words have no merit?”

He pointed at the polished tin on the wall. “Look at the way your face is darkened and the bindings still on your wrists. Dare to tell me there was not valid reason for me to tell you to stay near the keep or travel with an escort.”

“I do not mean to say…” Her teeth were chattering as though she was freezing, but the chamber was pleasantly warm. She tried to tug the rabbit skin strips from one wrist, but her fingers were shaking too badly to grasp them.

Ramon muttered something and swept her off her feet. His body was warm and his scent teased her senses again, bringing her peace. He carried her to the bed and settled her there. He pulled the bedding up to her chin and smoothed it in place before pulling his hand back and hooking it onto his belt. The look on his face was sculpted from stone, but what shamed her was the concern in his eyes.

“You were right,” she admitted softly. “Honestly, I meant no rebellion against you by taking Griffin out this morning. ’Tis my habit to do so every day. To protect the nests. The feathers are how we pay the taxes. We’d not have enough food without them.”

He drew in a deep breath, fighting his temper, and settled for working the rabbit skin strips loose from one wrist and then the other.

“I have never lived in a world where I must fear walking on my own land,” she offered. “I am not sure I wish to.”

“You have simply blinded yourself to the dangers.”

She stiffened. “Even if I am guilty of such, is it not better than living like a frightened mouse? I had to step up and run Thistle Keep.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Aye, and you rose to the challenge well. Yet it is time for both of us to change.” The bed ropes groaned as he sat beside her. “I cannot recall living anywhere but by my king’s side on the Crusade. Yet I am here, in a place where I might consider having a family instead of only a king’s demands to serve.”

For a moment, he almost looked as uncertain as she felt. It was there in his dark eyes, a flicker of need, a need for understanding. A need to not be alone.

She knew that feeling well.

“I am glad you are here, and I do not want you to go seeking vengeance.”

His expression tightened. “As a baron, I am the only one who can challenge Jacques.”

“And yet, as a baron, you are duty bound to take your grievance to the barons’ council for judgment,” she reminded him. “Or risk breaking the law you are sworn to uphold.”

“The barons do not meet until next spring.” He smoothed the hair away from her bruised face. “Far too much mercy for that dog.”

“And yet, if you go after him, you lower yourself to his level.”

“That is harsh of you to say, Isabel.” His tone was sharp and his eyes hardening. She could see him tightening his resolve, making his decision.

“I will not be the only one saying it,” she argued. “You know I am correct. There are barons who are friends of the Raeburn family. They will try to discredit you in the hope a baron’s title will become vacant for another of their kin. You must wait until the council meets. Besides, he did not gain what he sought. Is that not the most important fact?”

His eyes narrowed, warning her that he was going to shred her argument.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. It was a tender touch, innocent but seeking. Hooking her hands onto his shoulders, she pulled him closer and opened her mouth as he tried to pull away.

She held him, kissing him with all the desperation brewing inside her to keep him from his destruction.

There was a soft pressure and the slide of his mouth against hers as he gave in. She tilted her head so that their lips fit together more perfectly. He cradled her head, taking control of the kiss.

It wasn’t the hot, searing kiss he had pressed on her the night before. This was something else entirely. It was sanctuary. A safe haven from the evil trying to tear at her. He closed his arms around her, taking command of the kiss but not changing the tone. It continued as a seeking touch, an exploration, a tasting.

She slid down into his embrace, content to be pressed against his chest as she surrendered to the darkness. The sound of his heart was more comforting than anything she had ever heard.

* * *

Ambrose was waiting up.

Ramon knew that he as well as his men would be. The hall was silent for so many filling it. They watched him as he climbed to the high table and turned to look at them.

“Seek your beds. Our duty is finished for the night.”

There were frowns but also nods of obedience. The hall filled with the echoes of footsteps as his men departed.

Ambrose was not so easily dismissed. “You plan to allow that cur to see dawn?”

“The lady is recovered.”

“You are no more satisfied with that than I am,” Ambrose said curtly.

Ramon nodded. “Yet Richard warned me that it would be a greater challenge not to draw my sword. I see what he meant now. I will bring the matter before the barons’ council.”

“Piss on that,” Ambrose declared.

“Yet it is the law, and what are men without law but beasts?”

Ambrose closed his mouth, defiance flickering in his eyes. Ramon felt the same but forced himself to climb back up to the chamber Isabel was sleeping in.

Solace came in the form of her sweet scent in the air, the soft sound of her breath, and the warmth from her body as he slid back into the bed with her.

It was solace, and yet his thirst for vengeance raged.

But his need for her was greater. He would be content that she was correct. Jacques had a powerful family. They would do everything they could to unseat Ramon if he gave them even a bit of incentive. The law was clear. Barons ruled over barons. To fight another baron was to risk losing his title and right to his army.

But most importantly, he would lose his ability to protect Thistle Keep.

So he would wait.

* * *

Jacques roared and his men jumped. They knew from bitter experience that he would happily make someone pay for his displeasure if possible.

His squire was the unfortunate one today. He backhanded the youth, sending him rolling. The boy gained his feet quickly, wiping away a trickle of blood with his sleeve.

“You left a knife in my tent and she is gone!”

The squire offered no excuse. The men watching judged him wise, for Jacques wasn’t known for his tolerance.

“Find a way into their confidence.”

The squire blinked. “My lord?”

“Take off my colors.”

His men stiffened.

“If you ever want to wear them again, get yourself taken in at Thistle Keep. I want to know everything Ramon de Segrave is doing. Everything my bride-to-be is doing.”