Conquering the Dark Axe (2 page)

He was unaware of his intake of breath as he watched
the tall figure with her hair blowing wildly behind her and her graceful swan
like maneuver with the gleaming sword as she raised it high above and over her
head before she drove it down into the earth. 

Rourke’s face darkened, brows creased and his lips
pulled into a hard line as annoyance shot through. 

When word had come from his liege to leave court
posthaste to wed straight away, Rourke had not understood at first the
urgency.  He had been granted the lands by the king’s hand himself and he
knew he was to marry this Lisbeth within one month’s time.  All had been
planned accordingly up to that day.  It was another chance at hell in his
eyes for at the mere thought of it left the taste of bile and brimstone in his
mouth.  He spat on the ground, yet the taste lingered on his
tongue.  

He was to take a Saxon bride and add to his title.

It was not the only reason he was here. 
William had ordered him to secure this northern shire and quell any usurpers
lingering in the forest.  He’d just come from visiting a fellow overlord
and friend across the river not far from here.   The image of that
lord’s beautiful new bride had given him a glimmer of hope for all of a brief
moment.  But Rourke knew it would not be his fate to have such luck. Luck
had forgotten his name long ago. 

With this betrothal, something had happened while
he’d been at court and the matters of the arrangement had changed.  His
betrothed was dead.  He’d never met her, but that had in no sense lessened
the blow for him.  He had said nothing and simply hardened that wall
around his heart all the more. 

Yet, all was not lost.

He was now to marry the remaining daughter, Alexa
Barnett.

Rourke cared not which or whom of the two he was
ordered to marry as long as he received his award.  He would wed the girl,
consummate the marriage and she would give him his heir. If she did not give
him a son, she was of no use to him.  There was neither room nor time he
wanted to expend on some sniveling, clingy Saxon wench.  From the weakness
he’d seen during the Battle of Hastings and a few other campaigns after that,
he’d no tolerance for the weak and traitorous Saxons whatsoever.  He could
never love one. 

Nor any woman for that matter, Saxon or not.

Love and affection had no place in his life. 
He’d found that out years ago the hard way and that hate filled him now as it
had then. He’d poured it all into battle, growth and being a worthy vassal to
his king.

Nothing more. 

The night they had departed, William had discussed
the unexplained murders at the Barnett holdings and he trusted Rourke would root
out the evil doers behind it.  But, it was not that that had caused Rourke
to give his sovereign a peculiar glance.  It was his second words as he
and Goran had neared the barbican gate. 

“Your back is well guarded by your good man Goran on
the battlefield, but my friend, he cannot watch your back with the one you are
left to wed.  She is not a tame one.  I would not like to see my Dark
Axe cut down by a knife in the back from some untamed Saxon wench. Be wary.”

Rourke had chuckled along with Goran, yet he’d noted
that William had not. His liege had just arched a thick warning brow and
watched them depart.  As they’d ridden hard and fast across the English
countryside to Barnett holdings, Rourke had thought no more of it until he
witnessed the wild banshee above on the grassy knoll.  She had swung that
sword too easily. 

He shook off his musings, grunted out a curse of
disgust and guided his warhorse in a slow ascent up the hill in her direction.

The hairs on the back of her neck tingled and drew
Alexa out of her state of grief.  She remained in her crouched position as
she listened. She heard nothing.  But she felt something.  She looked
through her fallen locks that covered most of her face and could see nothing
out of the ordinary down below in the village.  But a movement- there!
Aye, a fleet of soldiers dismounting in the manor courtyard.  The sight
caused her anger to resurface.  So the Norman bastard had arrived. 
Alexa stood abruptly, tore the sword from the ground with ease yet again and in
a flash of steel wheeled around, the tip of her blade just missed beheading the
giant that stood behind her.

Before she could finish her battle cry, she suddenly
found herself flat on her back with the breath knocked out of her and a wall of
stone on top of her. 

“A man’s weapon is not a toy, wench.”  The
gruff voice of steel brushed over her brow. His use of her language was perfect
on his tongue, and then he muttered something crude in his Norman French.

She understood his words. Fluent in Latin to Norman
French, her father had been insistent upon it and seen to it during her and
Lisbeth’s early education. A foreboding sign of things to come it seemed.

Alexa could not breathe.  The stone wall was a
man.  A very large man in chain mail.  She could feel the cold of his
mail through her tunic.  The fall had twisted her clothing and the cloak
that was clasped at her throat, pressed down upon her  wind pipe, choking
her and it didn’t help that his large hand rested firmly on top of that. 
Panic and fury seized her.

Rourke’s other hand wrapped around her wrist in a
tight grip. “Drop it!”  He hissed over her and felt her hand
tighten. 

He pulled back a bit to look down at her.  Most
of her face was covered by amber-colored waves.  Only the tip of her
straight nose and full lips were visible.  Her nostrils flared. 

He continued, “If I have to ask you again, wench, I
will break this.” He applied pressure to her slim wrist to further his
emphasis, and she let out a painful yelp.  He waited just a second as she released
the sword and it clanked to the ground beside them.  He knew the moment
she was about to fight.  Rourke was ready.  Or so he thought. 

The hellion almost threw his large frame off her by
arching her spine and using her thighs to launch them both nearly off the
ground. Rourke’s surprise at her strength wore off quickly.

He had no idea that part of that strength came from
her battle to breathe.  His large frame was crushing her chest. 
Alexa was close to passing out if this big oaf did not get off her or release
his death grip on her throat. She had sensed him behind her. Probably one of
that Norman warmongering bastard’s soldiers.  His chest and mail were
crushing her.  She bucked and had to fight off the threat, the pull of
darkness.  He finally removed his hand from her throat to pull both her
hands in one of his and stretch them above her head.  The move caused more
of his weight to bear down on her and brought her face directly under
his. 

He continued,  “Men have died for less than
your girlish foolishness. Now, what do you here?”

She heard him over her heavy pants to suck in air.
His booming demand hurt her ringing ears. Alexa managed to gasp out in a strong
voice, “Your loudness is what gives you away. Unhand me at once!” 

“Not ‘til you tell me who you are,” Rourke
seethed.  He already knew who she was. She had just confirmed his
suspicions by the authoritative tone in her gritty voice.

“I will if you remove yourself from my person so
that I may breath, you lack-wit!”  She spat the last at him.

Rourke yanked her up roughly with the one hand that
clasped both of hers together and held her away from him as if she were no more
than a ragdoll.   She moved her long legs as though to kick
him.  He gave her such a hard shake that Alexa felt her teeth rattle.
Surely the big lout had loosened a few or all of her teeth in her head. 

Rourke still could not see anything more than her
nose and those full lips for that amber mop on her head still hid most of her
face.  He shook her again. 

“Answer!”  He roared.

As soon as the bastard put her down Alexa knew her
first action would be to run him through.  But for now, she would cut the
giant warrior to the quick.  She swallowed and said through clenched
teeth, “Lady Alexa Barnett. If you value your life, you will put me down at
once lest you-“   Alexa found herself on her arse again in the hard
dirt.

Rourke plucked up her sword and gazed down at her, a
look of repulsion on his face. As he’d known. Luck had forsaken him yet again.
His betrothed. 

This hellion of nothing but bones and legs. 

Rourke inhaled, a sound of censure left his lips and
he stood to his full height as the hellcat scrambled to her feet.  She was
indeed tall.  The top of her head came to just under his chin.  She
whipped those amber locks up into a quick and furious knot within seconds and
glared up at him.  Fury flashing in those amber eyes shot daggers at him.
Spots of blood covered the front of her white tunic. 

Alexa stilled and took in the warrior before her. 
He wore no suit of armor or mail like she’d first suspected.   He
wore nothing more than a black cape that hung on one large shoulder over what
was the largest chest she’d ever seen and his face- no other words came to her,
angry or not- even though tall and savage looking, the man was beautiful. 
Golden hair graced his skull and was pulled back from his face; a shadow of
whiskers covered his squared jaw.  Bright green eyes shot fire at her and
he possessed lips that were full like hers.  She smiled when her eyes
dropped to his throat. 

She may not have cut off his beautiful head, but she
had not missed her target altogether after all.  Blood trickled down the
front of his thick neck, just below the bump on his throat. She could not stop
her smile even if she had wanted to.  

Rourke took in her simple features.  The wench
left much to be desired. Plain with sharp bones, high cheeks, a strong jaw and
large amber eyes to match that unruly mop on her head.  The only thing he
thought of, with some disappointment was that she was too thin and probably
would die in childbirth. Her figure did not appear strong enough to handle the
rigors of childbirth. He liked his women with more meat on their bones. 
Like his friend’s wife he’d just left, the Lady Danielle back at Gravane
manor.   Why couldn’t he have been blessed with a Saxon wife as
that?   The image of Lady Danielle’s voluptuous and tempting curves
came back to him.

Indeed he’d no luck.

Back in Normandy, the women there were not only
raving beauties, but curvy.  But, aye, it mattered not.  He did not
have to like this wench.  

He said, “Lady Barnett.”  He would not bow.
“Your betrothed stands before you. I am, Rourke Thorsson.”  He kept his
title to himself and waited. Her smile disappeared.  Her amber eyes
sparkled and went wide.

He recognized the familiar look of horror flash in
them over his size, and then it was quickly replaced- with anger.  He
ignored it as he always did. Yet, she surprised him when she met his gaze with
a brave jut of that strong jaw. 

Alexa wished she had been successful in cutting off
his head.  Nay!  Beautiful or not, this oversized warrior could not
be who the King had promised to Lisbeth.  Aye, what was she thinking, it
could. Their new King was indeed a cold unfeeling man.  Lisbeth would have
taken one look at this hulk of a man and burst into tears with a plea to beg
off the wedding.  Oh no.  Alexa narrowed her eyes. She could not
marry this man either.  She had to get away or she would have to kill him. 

She could not help but voice her objections aloud.
“Next time I will take your head, Norman bastard.”  She wiped at his blood
on her tunic between her thumb and forefinger with relish before she smeared it
slowly across her chest to further emphasize her slice of victory.

Rourke’s hand went to his neck and felt the
cut.  His fingers came away wet.  He stepped to her.  He gazed
down at her and said in a deadly whisper.  “There will not be a next time,
wench.  Come the morrow, I will plant my seed in you.”  He ignored
her screech of rage.

 “Your king-“

“
Our
king!” he corrected. 

“
Your
king may force me to marry you, but I
tell you this and best you remember it.  You will indeed have to lock me
up or kill me before I give you an heir or have you touch me, Norman
bastard.”  She spat at him.

She gasped as with lightning speed he bound her
hands behind her back with the sash he had at his waist and slammed her hard
against his frame. He had moved so fast she had had no time to move.  The
corner of his lips turning up told her he enjoyed her flinch. Alexa let out a
breath. The fury that blazed from his green eyes matched how she felt inside.

“You may have learned to wield and play with a
sword, but you have not learned how to hide your thoughts.” A cold smile spread
upon his full lips that did not reach his green-eyed steely gaze.  He
continued with a shrug of those massive shoulders.  “So be it.  You
will be locked away until my child is born.  Hellion of a wench you may
be, but you will not be escaping this union.  Barnett lands are now mine
and
that
makes you mine.  No one takes what belongs to me. 
You
do well to remember that and quickly, Lady Barnett.  For it will make this
marriage much easier, perhaps even pleasant for you.”