Carolyne Cathey (2 page)

Brigham
snatched the pendant from off the sword and let the ruby drop to beneath his
cloak.

"Brigham,
I've come a long way.  I'm exhausted.  Just bring her to me.  Now."

"Ride
on your horse?  On that giant beast?"  She had never before been on an
animal's back.  And the saddle allowed no room.  Eleanor should insist she
walk, but she knew better.  Even though she had forgotten the pain while under
Lord Kyle's spell, her feet now reminded her.  Wondering if Brigham would
relinquish her without further contention, she chanced a brief glance his way.

Brigham
met her glance, his hatred as sharp as a honed sword.  He jerked upright as if
alarmed.  "Green eyes.  Witch’s eyes."  

Terror
surged through Eleanor like spewed venom.

"Lord
Kyle, she's a witch.  Let me dispense with her and then I must see you in
private.  King Edward--"

"Not
now, Brigham."

"But
the king--"

"My
first moments home after four years and we are quick to argue?  'Tis our
destiny?"  He lowered the tip of his weapon again to point toward
Brigham's chest.  "Bring her here.  I will not ask again."

Brigham
glanced at the now-vacant puddle where his sword had fallen.

Eleanor
wondered what sort of odd relationship existed between the two men, and why
Lord Kyle allowed such disrespect from his steward.

Brigham
fisted his gloved hands as if he preferred them around someone’s neck, then
nodded to one of her former captors.  "William, do as
Lord Kyle
orders."

The
conspirator stepped forward and lifted her from the ground.  Pain from her feet
screamed through her body, replaced quickly by fear as the man carried her
toward Lord Kyle--and his enormous steed, which grew even larger with each
spur-jangled step her bearer took.

"Merciful
heaven, give me strength."  Determined to show bravery she didn't feel,
she clenched her teeth and held her breath.  When William lifted her higher,
she swung her leg astride the huge stallion that would surely eat her if given
the chance.  She held her feet out so as not to muddy her master's boots and
groaned as the blood throbbed in punishment.

Lord
Kyle settled her atop his steel-like thighs, and with his arm around her waist
like a keg strap, snuggled her against the rock-hard muscles of his body.

The
black beast pranced and stepped sideways.

Eleanor
clutched Lord Kyle's arms, his strength obvious beneath his drenched cote.  She
knew the smell of wet wool would forever bring to mind his mysterious,
fog-wrapped image.

"Be
not afraid."  His voice sounded gentle, husky.  "I'll not let you
fall."

"I'm
not frightened, Sire, only startled." Not entirely true, but she gained
courage with the pretense.

Lord
Kyle pulled her tighter on the wedge of his legs, and she felt oddly safe
within his arms.  She let her frame melt into his.  Her savior would keep her
from harm; her heart assured her as much.

"I
thank you for rescuing me, my lord.  I'll serve you well.  Aye, I'll serve you
well." 

His
rumbled chuckle sent an uneasy tingle through her back to the pit of her
stomach.

"Aye,
you will, wench.  You will."

"
H
ome." 

Lord
Kyle released the word on a soft breath as if not meant for her ears.

Eleanor
looked past the destrier's head toward their destination.  Through the fog, the
castle seemed as a thought in formation, all hazy and indistinct.

Brigham
rode to their left.  A knight rode to her right.  Behind her she heard the
rattle of a wagon. 

"Your
legs stick out straight like two sticks, wench.  Put your feet down.  Or do you
wish my steed to bite you?"

Eleanor
stiffened at the brusqueness of Lord Kyle's tone as well as the horrid name he
seemed determined to call her.  "I don't wish to muddy you, my lord."

His
laughter thundered beside her ear.  "I've been to hell and back, woman. 
Many things have I feared, but not mud.  Now, relax your legs atop mine."

An
odd sensation roused from his suggestion.  Tingles swirled warmth around her
fear-chilled heart, and as she lowered her feet, she became more aware of the
shape and firmness of his legs.  Her warmth intensified.

The
movement of the black beast of a horse rocked her against her savior's
stone-like body.  The motion caused her to slide off his thighs against the
raised front edge of his saddle.  Uncomfortable, she placed her hand on the
hard leather and wriggled for a better position.

Lord
Kyle groaned.  He pulled her tight atop his thighs until her buttocks sat
cradled on his lap. 

Heat
leapt from his touch and merged with her fever.  Well, curse.  Her body behaved
most strange.

She
squirmed. 

He
groaned.

The
knight to her right guided his palfrey alongside, mischief on his face. 
"What might be on your mind, Kyle?" 

Her
savior stirred as if interrupted in his thoughts.  "You spoke,
Jerrod?"

The
knight chuckled.  "All I have heard for months is how loathe you are to
return home, how lonesome your bed.  And now you out-pace us.  Pray tell me,
friend, why such haste?"  Sir Jerrod's mouth twitched in amusement. 
"Me thinks you ache for a ride more rewarding than Valiant."

"Enough,
Jerrod."

Sir
Jerrod laughed, then dropped back and melted into the fog.

Confusion
over Jerrod’s odd comment dissipated as the horses clomped onto a wooden
bridge, then between stone towers that held a raised iron gate.  Nervous about
her new life, new challenges, Eleanor scanned the haziness of the bailey.

Shadowy
servants scurried about the grounds.  Dogs barked.  Horses whinnied in answer,
their hooves thudding against rain-drenched earth.  Behind her, she heard the
rumble of wheels over wood, then men's voices in greeting.

Leather
creaked as Lord Kyle swung down from behind her.  After tugging the gauntlets
from his hands and fastening them to his saddle, he handed his reins to a boy,
then assisted Eleanor.

As
soon as her feet touched the ground, agony screamed through her body.  She
grabbed Lord Kyle's arms for support.

Brigham
stepped out of the fog like Satan from the smoke of hell.  "Kyle, I must
see you in private."

"Later,
Brigham."

"But,
Kyle, the king--"

"I
said, later!" 

Along
with Lord Kyle’s brusqueness, thunder rolled again in the distance, but nearer,
more ominous. 

Brigham’s
eyes narrowed, then he spun and disappeared into the fog, his spurs an angry
jangle as he strode toward the keep.

Lord
Kyle moved aside her hands and turned to follow Brigham.  "Come,
wench."

Eleanor
clamped her jaw against the pain in her feet as well as with her fury at his
insistent use of that despicable name.  She lifted a foot and swallowed a cry. 
Dear heavens.  How would she repay her debt if she couldn't walk?

Lord
Kyle angled his head as if he spoke to someone behind him, then he halted,
turned, and lifted his gaze.  "What do you back there?  Did you not hear,
wench?  Must I scream my orders?"

"Forgive
me, my lord.  I--"

"Come
here, woman."

Nausea
roiled her stomach.

Lord
Kyle stood, an apparition in the mist, mouth agape, amazement on his face. 
"Do you think me a fool, soft in the head?  Do you think to charm me out
of your duty?"

"Nay,
my lord.  I'm most eager to serve you."

A
sly grin curved his mouth. "Most eager?  Then why do you tarry?" 

She
couldn't take a step; her body refused.

"Do
you mock me, woman?  Why do you not move?"

"I...I
cannot, my lord."

Lord
Kyle raised an eyebrow.  "Cannot?"  He strode to an intimidating
nearness, then halted, hands thrust on his hips, eyes aglower, an image of
mastery.  "You have wiggled your impatient backside against me until I
thought, for certain, you wanted me to take you whilst we sat upon my horse. 
And now you refuse?" 

He
swept her into his arms and swept the breath from her body.  "But, my
lord, you don't understand.  My feet are . . ."

Lord
Kyle lowered his gaze.

Eleanor's
heart thumped against her ribs.  Mesmerized, she watched water drip from his
curls that hung loose below his leather skullcap.  His hair might be the color
of pale honey when dry.  He possessed a strong jaw covered with bristly stubble
as if he hadn't taken the time to shave that day.  And the slight bend of his
nose, perhaps broken in some past violence, added virility to his rugged
features.  Lips, sensuous, tempting, and curved slightly upward at one end,
formed the mouth that hovered too near hers.  The blue of an evening sky
shimmered in his sumptuous eyes.  His sultry gaze pierced deep inside her to a
steamy center newly formed.  Sweet bliss.  'Twas contentment to gaze upon the
man.

"Cannot,
you did say.  I heard you distinctly."

"Aye. 
But..."

Lord
Kyle silenced her with a glare.  His eyes gleamed with mischief, or
anticipation, or something secret, she knew not what. 

"Now,
help me, wench.  Put your arms about my neck."

Defiant,
she clenched her fists.  "My name is Eleanor.  Not wench." 

He
blinked as if astonished, then cleared his throat.  "Eleanor.  Place your
hands behind my head, for support."

He
didn't need her help, she knew as much.  Yet, her arms about him might feel
pleasant.  Looking anyplace but his eyes, Eleanor lowered her gaze and studied
the cross on his surcote.  Her hands trembled, but with slow deliberation, she
lifted them, then reached past his broad shoulders and laced her fingers in his
wet hair.  When she did so, one breast pressed against him and she caught her
breath.  Her heart threatened to bolt past her ribs. 

A
low growl vibrated in his chest, and her gaze flew up to his.

His
eyes again.  Blue flame.  One corner of Lord Kyle's mouth twitched as if in
smug satisfaction. 

"You're
a lusty wench.  You tempt me to take you right here where all can see." 
His voice deepened to a husky whisper.  "Your jeweled eyes glimmer of
rampant delights.  Your hair, the hue of rich earth, will spread thick upon my
pillow."

His
pillow?  Her heart leapt to her throat and permitted only a stunned gasp.

"A
bead of moisture quivers upon your lower lip like honey in wait for my tongue
to taste."  Lord Kyle lowered his face; his breath warmed her lips. 

Heaven's
mercy!  He meant to kiss her! 

"Will
your parted mouth be sweet with slickness?  As well as your softness down
low?"

She
inhaled too fast and choked.

Lord
Kyle straightened, disappointment on his face.

His
words had caught her so by surprise she knew she stared at him as if
senseless.  Her mind churned into a muddle of puzzlement.  Something seemed
amiss.

He
paused, his mouth pursed.  "Nay.  Even though might be enjoyable to take
you right here, 'twill be best in my chamber upon my soft bed.  Perhaps later
we'll try the bailey."  The too-bold knight adjusted his hold, moving in
long strides through the confusion toward the keep.

Heat
flew up her throat to burn her face and stir her tongue.  "Your bed?  Nay,
my lord!"

He
raised an eyebrow.  "Your impetuosity stirs my lust, wench.  But you'll
have to be patient.  I am sick to death of rain and mud, although 'twould be a
different experience with you beneath me."  He shook his head.  "Nay,
this time I long for a bed.  Later I'll roll you in the bailey. 
'Tis
a promise."

"I
fear there has been a misunderstanding, my lord!"

He
seemed not to hear.  The impudence of the man!  Eleanor's thoughts whirled, her
foreshadowed vision now only discordant, jagged pieces.  "My lord, I fear
our thoughts run not along the same path!"  Surely he detected the panic,
the anger in her tone.  "Halt!  Pay heed!"

Lord
Kyle strode through the entry into the great hall.

The
vastness of the room caught her attention and her protests died on her tongue. 
Tall, shuttered windows stretched to carved wooden trusses that supported a
ceiling far above her head.  Smoke spiraled from the center hearth and tinged
the air with a patchy haze.

"'Tis
the master," bounced from one servant to another while they rushed about
in preparation.

As
Lord Kyle strode across the torch-lit room, he nodded to a boy who set a pail
beside a long trestle table. 

"Boy! 
Take a bathing tub to my room and set it by the hearth, then fetch Nurse
Kincaid."

"Aye,
milord."  The lad bowed, then sprinted toward a far doorway.

The
arrogant knight carried her toward the end of the great hall as if his life
depended upon his haste.

"Lord
Kyle!"  She had not meant to yell, but desperation had overruled.

Her
master froze, fury in his cerulean eyes.  "Aye?"

"If
you will but show me whom to see about my duties, I will begin at once.  Of
course, my feet are--"

"You
will see me.  And your feet will matter not when you are flat upon your
back."

"My
back?"  Her voice came out all mewly and weak.  "I cannot scrub your
floors or tend your garden whilst I lie upon my back, Sire."

His
face flushed as red as the flames of the center hearth.  "Scrub my floors? 
Tend my garden?  Not damned likely!"

Did
she hear the flap of bird's wings amidst the roar of his voice in the rafters? 
Or, perhaps 'twas a startled angel.  Much to her dread, she noticed all
activity in the room had stilled. 

"But
the debt, my lord.  You see--"

"'Twas
you who made the suggestive offer, wench, not I!  You said you would repay the
debt in any way I saw fit and for as long as I deemed fair!"

"'Tis
so, my lord.  I know all aspects of running a vast estate, even to the gardens
and pastures.   Aught you need done, Sire, I will do."  She gave thanks to
the nuns and the old gardener at the convent who had trained her well, her only
hope for escaping a disastrous end to the matter.

He
grinned, then nuzzled his mouth close to her ear.  "Aught?  Then you will
do aught I ask when you share my bed."

Some
horrid creature must have stolen her tongue.  And nary a live thing stirred in
the hall, except for her heart, which pounded a frantic rhythm against her
ribs.  "Sire, may we discuss this in private?"

"You
know well what we shall do in private, wench.  And 'twill not be a
discussion."

"What
hails here, Kyle?"  Sir Jerrod faked a stagger as he moved up beside
them.  "I fear the world begins to tilt from your shouts and we'll all
slide off the edge."  His mouth quirked a grin.  "For certain you'll
deafen the owl in the rafters."

"Burn
in hell, Jerrod."

Eleanor
gasped.  She jerked her gaze to her lecherous master, eyes wide.  "You
blaspheme, Sire!  I'm most sorely disappointed.  You're a knight, but you have
yet to behave as one."

A
loud guffaw erupted from his companion.  "Have you been a resident behind
cloistered walls, lass?"

Eleanor
stared at Jerrod, amazed at his accuracy.  "Aye.  How did you know?"

Lord
Kyle choked.  The red drained from his face, his skin paled as white as chalk. 
"Are you a nun?"  His words sounded as though forced through wet
wool.

"Nay,
my lord.  I was naught but a laborer."

Sir
Jerrod blinked, grinning.  "Pray tell then, lass, in what way has Kyle
tarnished his knightly image?"

She
felt her face flush; her lips quivered.  "Knights do swear to honor all
women, and yet he...he...he wishes not for me to scrub his floors." 
Embarrassed, she turned her attention to the smoky hearth.

"He
wishes not for you to..."  Sir Jerrod erupted into laughter.

"Your
levity is unwanted, friend."

Sir
Jerrod wiped moisture from his eyes.  "Ah, you're about to be brought to
heel, Kyle.  And since you'll be occupied with this delectable subduer of wild
beasts, I doubt your dreams will be haunted by the dragon this night."

Dragon
? 
A chill of apprehension slithered over Eleanor’s flesh, then she jolted as Lord
Kyle placed his mouth a hot breath away from hers. 

"Only
a virgin would have worded your offer as you did and not have understood what you
implied!"  He straightened, dismay on his face, distress in his eyes. 
"Are you a...a virgin?"  He seemed about to burst with rage.

She
could only stare, mute, like an idiot who pondered the simplest of questions.

Sir
Jerrod laughed.  "Ah.  'Tis rich."  He bowed to Eleanor.  "You
see, my innocent lass, Kyle has taken a personal vow never to force a virgin,
thus you need have no fear of ravishment."  He shrugged.  "Of course,
seduction is another matter.  And he's the best in the world.  I fear you
haven't a prayer."

She
tossed a prayer to the heavens anyway.