Elaine Barbieri (12 page)

Martin silently lamented that Hyacinthe’s efforts were a waste of youth and beauty that might be presented as a gift to another who would cherish it…that she wasted true emotion on one who had not a scrap of emotional truth in him…that she squandered all that she was when another might make her happy at last.

Martin straightened up the powerful shoulders that he had earned through difficult toil. Aware that he was not as handsome as the baron, that his scarred cheek caused some women to dismiss his obvious youth and vigor, he also knew that there were many woman who enjoyed each and every one of his scars. But like Hyacinthe, he was now interested in only one person…

Martin heard the sharpness in Edythe’s tone when she spoke to Hyacinthe. The woman hated her, but he did not.

Yea…unfortunately for him, he could not.

With that thought darkening his countenance, Martin turned toward the outer yard and walked swiftly out of sight.

Dagan followed Rosamund silently as they made their way back to the work grounds. He was keenly aware that his true identity had almost been discovered. He had no doubt that Sir Emile DuPree would recognize him, no matter his present degree of battered dishevelment.
Unlike de Silva, who had seen Dagan only in his youth, Emile was one of William’s trusted advisers. They had had an almost daily exchange at William’s court, and they had true affection for each other. In truth, he had not realized that the mission on which William had dispatched Emile almost a year earlier would bring him to the shire at this time. The arrival could have been disastrous to his own mission—for an untimely identification was not in his plans.

Yet…what were his plans?

He had been injured, nursed back to health, and had been exposed to a side of the baron that he had not wished to see. It was a side that he still hoped did not reflect other liberties taken in William’s name.

He was also obsessed by the driven nature of his feelings for Rosamund. But what exactly were those feelings? Why did the sight of her graceful profile set his heart pounding? Why did the sweet scent of her body set him afire? Why did her touch—platonic in every way—ignite a hunger inside him that drove all other thoughts from his mind?

The pain in his chest stirred and Dagan winced. He recalled the rumors that had caused William to send him here. The taking of victor’s rights in the heat of a battle’s aftermath was common, even if he had never found that indulgence to be necessary; yet the time for the taking of such rights was past. William had made that clear to his nobles.

Dagan looked at Rosamund as she turned back toward him. His mouth went dry and his heart lurched at her innate appeal. Confusion ruled his thoughts, but one thing was acutely clear: He needed to leave
this place as soon as possible if he was to escape a conflict that he had no desire to face.

“Why did you do that? Why did you challenge the baron so openly?”

Turning to face Dagan squarely when they reached a secluded portion of the site and would not be overheard, Rosamund continued with obvious agitation, “You know he has superior forces to back him that you do not.”

“I do not fear the baron’s
superior forces
,” Dagan replied coldly.

“It would be wise if you did.”

“I have not often been accused of being wise, but I have always been accused of being—”

“I know, I know.” Rosamund was not amused by his response. “I will not be cajoled by your attempt to dismiss your unwise actions.”

“My actions were not unwise.”

“Were they not? What did you expect would happen if the baron’s knight had not taken that moment to interrupt your exchange with him?”

“I told you, I do not fear the baron in any way.”

“If you do not, you are a fool!” Her face flushed and her patience exhausted, Rosamund responded, “Now is not the time for confrontation! That time
will
come, but in the interim we must use our wits instead of our tongues.”

“Spoken by one who guards his responses wisely.”

Rosamund’s color darkened at his sarcasm. “I use my tongue as a weapon because I have no other.”

“We all use the weapons at our command.”

“Why do you not listen to me?” Rosamund demanded. “Why do you chance wasting the time I took treating your wounds by risking your life so unwisely?”

“I do not risk my life unwisely. I told you that I would not allow the baron to visit his perversions on you.”

“And I told you that I would not allow it, either.”

“You were stepping into his web.”

“I was progressing thoughtfully, using the weapons at my command.”

“Excuses for unwise conduct!”

“Any unwise conduct was your own!”

“I do not agree. I was your own—”

Halting abruptly as he looked up into the distance, Dagan frowned and stepped back to say, “I do not wish to discuss this any longer. What’s done is done. I must return to work.”

“Go! Go then, and forget your foolishness, but remember that I will not allow you to provoke the baron again—under any circumstances!”

Dagan’s amber-eyed gaze went cold. “We will see.”

He startled her by turning his back and walking away. Rosamund gasped. The fool! Did he not see…was he not aware…

Rosamund stared at Dagan’s broad back. She swallowed as tears unexpectedly filled her eyes and tightened her throat. Why did she care if he chose to disregard her warnings? Why did the thought of Dagan spending even a moment in the dark dungeon from which so few emerged frighten her more than she had ever been
frightened for herself? And why did she want to
beg him
…yea, beg him…to allow her to handle the baron lest he suffer in her stead?

Rosamund paused in response to that question because the answer was suddenly clear.

Fighting the tears so close to falling, Rosamund whispered under her breath, “Damn him for his stubbornness! Damn him to hell!”

“Emile…” Dagan saw the exhausted, elderly gentleman turn at the sound of his name. He had not expected to be able to talk to the older man so soon, but he had snatched the opportunity when he saw Emile emerge from the keep in the distance while he was talking to Rosamund.

Dagan waited as Sir Emile approached across the brief lawn behind the keep. He smiled and shook the fellow’s hand when he stood opposite him. The knight showed no surprise at his appearance when Dagan began, “I was startled to see you here, Emile. I had forgotten that you were due to arrive back at court from William’s mission, and that this would most likely be the last of the places you would visit.”

“I was surprised to see you here, too, Dagan.” Dwarfed by Dagan’s muscular stature and his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, Emile continued, “I saw you when you and that other young man came down from de Silva’s quarters, you know. I admit to being momentarily taken aback at the conditions you seem to be living under, but I knew immediately when you slipped from sight that you wished to conceal your
true identity for some reason, and that it would be unwise for me to speak to you.”

“And I thought I had been so clever.”

“You have obviously been clever if you’ve managed to maintain this disguise.” His lips twitched. “And who is this young man you guard?”

“That young man saved my life when I was attacked and nearly expired from my wounds.”

Emile shook his head. “That accounts for your bruises, but it does not explain your disguise as one of the workers here.”

“No, it does not, and I do not have the time to make a full explanation to you, for I will soon be missed. I can only say that I came to Hendsmille on an errand for William, and that circumstances have proved to me that this disguise is necessary if I am to complete the task William has assigned me.”

Emile’s lined face grew grim. “I admit that I was suspicious of duplicity when I spoke briefly to de Silva and realized that he knew nothing about the role you have assumed. Rest assured that I will keep your secret and report on the situation to William when I return to court.”

“Thank you, Emile.”

“Do not thank me. I am simply performing my duty as sworn to William. I admit that after all my traveling, it is my pleasure to speak to one who admires William as much as I.”

“However this affair ends, that truth will never change.” Dagan hesitated. He looked around himself and said urgently, “I must go now.”

“May the good Lord guide your step, Dagan.” The
old man smiled. “I will only be here a day or so longer, for most of my mapping is finished. I need only to define the forested area designated for William’s hunting grounds. Remember not to take any risks that will endanger you.”

“My life has been dedicated to William’s service. I will take any risk necessary to accomplish my purpose here.”

Emile’s lined face drew into a smile. “I will be sure to tell William that as well.”

Familiar warmth welled inside Dagan. He had always liked the old man. He had accomplished one necessary task by explaining the situation to him, yet a far more difficult one lay before him.

Back at the site, Dagan looked at Rosamund where she worked at Hadley’s side. She had been angered at their earlier exchange, and now it was time to seek her out when she was alone and explain his harsh response as best he could.

Dagan sat quietly as Rosamund went about her evening tasks. The workday had come to a close. They had eaten their humble meal of pottage and ale, the daily fare for those who labored at the baron’s command and who were forbidden to hunt in the abundant forests surrounding them. Dagan’s stomach growled as he thought of the elaborate menus at court. He made a mental note to speak to William about the deprivations the common man suffered in Hendsmille.

The unnatural silence in the hut continued. Hadley had had a difficult day. He had struggled to see the plans for the cathedral clearly, and he was frustrated
by his handicap. Rosamund was still angry at Dagan. He had not had an opportunity to speak to her alone, and he wondered when he would. The necessity grew more urgent with each hour that passed.

As if reading his thoughts, Rosamund turned to Hadley and said, “I need to retrieve more water from the stream. I will be back shortly.”

Hadley grunted in response, engaged in his own pursuits. It had become Dagan’s practice to visit the barn each day, and he knew it would not seem strange when he left the hut shortly after Rosamund did. He walked as swiftly as possible toward the stream where water was gathered each day. Dagan realized he might not find Rosamund alone there and one glance proved his expectations correct. Workers’ wives knelt by the bank with buckets in hand. There was only one thing he could do.

Slipping into the foliage, where he would not be seen, Dagan prepared to wait. Only a few minutes passed before he saw Rosamund returning from the stream carrying a full bucket. He paused until she was opposite him before sliding his hand over her mouth and pulling her into the forest. Rosamund struggled wildly, spilling the contents of her bucket in the act, but Dagan drew her backward relentlessly.

Satisfied at last that they were deep enough into the forested glade to have achieved complete privacy, Dagan ordered, “Stop struggling!”

At the sound of his voice, Rosamund went still. She glared up at him as he said softly, “Do not scream when I remove my hand. I only wish to speak to you in private.”

Her indignation obvious when he removed his hand, Rosamund asked, “Was that necessary?”

Dagan almost smiled at her anger. “It was necessary if I wished to speak to you alone.”

Her eyebrows raised, Rosamund inquired tightly in return, “Why was it necessary to speak to me alone?”

“It was necessary if I felt the need to apologize.”

Rosamund went still. “You wish to apologize to me?”

“You did not neglect my wounds when we returned to the hut this evening, but I confess I was uncomfortable with the situation between us. I realize the fault is partially mine, and I—”

Dagan halted abruptly, his brows gathering in a frown when Rosamund’s glorious eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. He demanded incredulously, “Are you crying?”

“Nay.” Her tone defensive, Rosamund replied, “What you see is my reaction to the frustration you caused me.”

“Frustration?”

“I am certain the baron will take steps against you because of me. It is only a matter of time until he does. Your only recourse now is to leave this place.”

Dagan’s expression went cold. “I told you, I do not fear de Silva.”

“That is the reason I am frustrated…and frightened! I do not want to see you killed or imprisoned. I do not want to see that happen to you.”

“It will not.”

“Yea, it will if you persist in your attitude.”

“Why do you care how my attitude affects the baron?”

“Why?” Retreating into her male persona, Rosamund replied, “No man should be made to suffer when he has wronged no one, but de Silva does not make that distinction when he is angry. And he is very angry with you.”

“Because he wants you.”

Rosamund took a breath. “Yea, there can be no denying that he does at the moment, but he will soon find another to tease his passions—a maiden perhaps. I have only to avoid his attentions until that moment comes.”

Aware that he could no longer participate in this farce, Dagan whispered, “It will do no good to pretend with me any longer…Rosamund.”

“Rosamund!” She gasped. “My name is Ross!”

“I have known from the moment my senses returned fully that there was no way you could be other than a woman, Rosamund.”

“But…”

“Surely you did not believe you deceived me with your disguise? Even in your male garb, you are feminine and beautiful. It was not difficult for me to see that the male mannerisms you assumed when away from the hut were feigned. I can only assume that you and Hadley chose such a disguise with de Silva in mind. Fool that he is, de Silva has not yet seen through it. Instead, the potential perversion intrigues him.” Dagan’s expression hardened. “But you may rest assured that I will not allow the baron to harm you.”

Dagan clutched Rosamund closer at that thought, his protective instincts overwhelming him as he continued hoarsely, “Nay, you are meant for more than de
Silva’s crude intentions. You are too intelligent…too beautiful…too womanly…too worthwhile in both body and spirit for a man who has the reputation of having used so many, only to discard them when his interest waned.”