Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (55 page)

“I’m
never
coming down!” Sabina hurled
down at the Norman. “I’d rather die!”

The hooded figure laughed. “Well,
you
will
die if
you stay up there too long. You’ll die of cold and exposure, or at
the very least collapse, at which time you’d die from a blow to the
head as you fall to the ground. Or perhaps you’ll die a slow death
of starvation. None of which are particularly pleasant, I’m
afraid.”

“You mock me!”

“No, milady, I merely am explaining your options.
You do have another option. You can come down.”

“No! Never!”

The Norman slowly lifted up his dark hood, let it
fall to his shoulders. As she looked upon his face for the first
time, Sabina gave an involuntary gasp.

His hair was a deep shiny brown, almost black, and
it fell to his shoulders in gentle tousled waves. He had the
typical sharp cheekbones of a Norman, but he also had the hard,
angled jawline, powerful broad shoulders, and high forehead of a
Dane. Plus his eyes were a striking ice blue, not at all typical
for the usually dark-eyed Normans. His features were fine,
classical even—they reminded her of the ancient Roman statuary bust
her father had once brought back from a trip to Rome.

In fact, you might say he was by
far the best-looking Norman that Sabina had ever laid her eyes on.
In fact, she’d go one better. He was by far the best-looking
man
she’d ever laid eyes
on—of any race.

Sabina felt her pulse quicken, noticed she was
suddenly out of breath. But why? Was it fear? Or exhaustion? Or
perhaps something else?

“Are you all right, milady,” the man called up to
her. “You seem a little—ahem—flushed.”

Sabina took a long, slow, deep breath, then blew it
out. All that seemed to accomplish was to make her whole body heat
up and speed up her pulse even further. What on earth was happening
to her? What was going on?

The Norman’s ice-blue eyes locked with hers, and
suddenly Sabina felt very faint. She braced herself against the
tree trunk to keep from falling.

The Norman noticed her distress even from thirty
feet below. He immediately dismounted his horse. “Lady Sabina of
Angwyld, I am Robert de Tyre, lead cavalry officer in Lord Reginald
de Guillaume’s personal garrison. I was sent to apprehend you and
guarantee your safe return to your father and future husband. Since
it seems that you not only refuse to come down, you are also
obviously unwell, I have no choice but to climb up this infernal
tree and retrieve you myself.”

With that, the Norman called Robert de Tyre threw
off his cloak and draped it over his horse’s back. He wore a simple
short-sleeved tunic and wool tights underneath, both of which clung
to his rippled, well-formed muscles, and a light set of leather
armor on his chest and forearms. His shoulders were impossibly
broad, his chest as solid as a winebarrel. He looked as though he
could pull the huge elder tree she’d climbed right out of the
ground and sling it over his shoulder.

Sabina let out another little gasp
at the sight of him. She’d never seen any man whose physique was
so, well—
perfect.

Sabina squeezed her eyes shut tight, shook her head
back and forth rapidly. She mustn’t think such evil, carnal
thoughts. She was about to become a nun, after all.

She heard him swing his strong, heavy body onto the
elder’s lowest branch, then heard the rustle of his tunic and tight
breeches as they scratched against the damp tree bark and leaves.
She kept her eyes shut as she felt him climb nearer and nearer, in
the vain hope that as long as she couldn’t see him anymore, he was
no longer there.

Of course, that line of thinking
was ridiculous and absurd. For in less than half a minute, the
surprisingly agile Robert de Tyre stood—yes,
stood
—fully erect on a thick branch
just below her. She heard his lilting Norman voice, a deep
bass-baritone with an almost musical quality, practically in her
ear. “Milady, if you would be so kind as to open your eyes, then
take my hand, I shall escort you down to safety.”

Sabina opened one eye and peered down at him with
suspicion. “Safety? I assume that means you intend to take me by
force to my fiancé?”

“But of course, madam.”

She pressed her body back against the tree trunk.
“If that truly is your intention, sir, then perhaps you should call
it by its proper name.”

“Such as?”

“That you shall escort me down not to safety, but to
slavery.”

He pondered this a moment. His eyes—such a pale blue
that they were almost gray—penetrated her with something that
looked a lot like sympathy. “I trust that means Your Ladyship is
not pleased about her impending marriage?”

She scoffed. “And what would you know about it?”

“Quite a lot, I’m afraid.” He reached up, laid a
firm-yet-gentle hand on her forearm. “’Twould be far easier for us
to continue this conversation on the ground, madam. I promise I
shall not harm or misuse you in any way. You have my word as a
Norman.”

“And what good is the word of a Norman?” she
snapped. “Your kind has raped and pillaged the whole of England for
forty years. Filth and degeneracy, every single one of you! Your
employer, especially.” She turned her head and spat into the
wind.

Robert laughed. “Now that’s not something you see
every day.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“A fine noble lady who isn’t afraid to spit like a
man.” He cocked his head sideways at her and grinned. “I think I’m
beginning to understand why you fled rather than marry my employer.
Or marry anyone, for that matter.”

“I have nothing against marriage,” Sabina retorted.
“Though I do have something against marriage solely for political
gain.”

“Alas, madam, there is no other type of marriage for
a woman of your stature these days. A Saxon woman of your stature,
most especially.”

“You certainly seem to know a good deal about me,
Robert de Tyre,” Sabina said with disdain. “My fiancé didn’t spare
a single detail, I trust.”

“Indeed, madam.” The branch underneath Robert’s feet
creaked. “We really must get down now, milady. This old tree cannot
sustain the weight of both of us for long.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I shall have no choice but to manhandle you,
madam.” With that, he grabbed Sabina by the waist, flung her over
his shoulder, and began to climb down the tree.

“What are you doing?” Sabina cried. “LET ME GO!” She
flung her arms, kicked her legs, even bit him on the shoulder.
Nothing worked.

“Milady, if you would kindly refrain from throwing a
temper tantrum until we are safely on the ground, it would be most
appreciated,” Robert said, not even trying to hide his sarcasm.
“And I must say, I’ve never encountered a biting noblewoman before.
That’s a new discovery, indeed.”

Sabina just bit into his shoulder even harder. She
could taste the greasy lambswool of his tunic, could smell his
masculine scent of sweat, moss, and woodsmoke. “Let me go!” she
grunted through her clenched teeth.

“Indeed I shall, once we are on the ground. Though
I’m afraid I won’t let you go far. I only receive my pay if I
return you safely to both your masters.”

“Your pay, sir? Does that mean you are not Lord
Reginald’s lawful vassal? Nor a sworn member of his noble
house?”

Robert didn’t answer right away. He nimbly
maneuvered his way from branch to branch until he set Sabina gently
on the ground, then suddenly turned his face away from her. “Well?”
Sabina prodded.

Robert kept his eyes on the ground. “Neither, my
lady. I am a mercenary.”

Sabina gasped in shock. “A mercenary? You mean to
tell me that my fiancé sent a common brute to fetch me? Oh, insult
of insults!” She sank back against the tree trunk and slumped to
the ground. “Does my fiancé really think so little of me?”

“With all due respect, your Ladyship, I am not a
common brute,” Robert said. “I am of noble blood. My grandfather
was the Seventh Marquis de Beaufort.”

Sabina scoffed. “And yet, you are a mercenary.
Noblemen do not work as mercenaries. It is a common, coarse
profession. Only course, common men rape and pillage and maraud the
innocent for pay.”

“I suppose that means you think those men who rape
and pillage and maraud the countryside in the name of royal
conquest, such as my countryman William the Conqueror and his
progeny, are perfectly civilized then.”

Sabina flushed. “No, that’s not
what I meant to say at all. I hate the Normans. I hate all of
them—of
you.
Your
people have destroyed my country.”

Robert’s pale blue eyes scanned Sabina’s body up and
down, then came to rest on her perfect, fair features. “And what do
you know of your country before the Normans, your Ladyship? You are
barely twenty. The Normans have ruled England since well before
your birth.”

Sabina averted her eyes. Something about the man’s
powerful gaze unsettled her. That, and the fact he spoke the truth.
“You are surprisingly well-spoken for a common mercenary,” she
remarked.

“You didn’t answer my question, milady.”

“I know the stories that my mother and father told.
My grandmother, my wet nurse, and my servants too. I grew up in a
household of people, all proud and noble Saxons, who knew what
England was before the Normans overran it and turned it into yet
another province of France. Couldn’t you Normans leave well enough
alone?” She tasted bile in her throat.

“I didn’t conquer this land, milady. That was done
by William and his armies. You needn’t blame me.”

“And yet
you’re
here, too. You aren’t
English. You weren’t born here. Perhaps you speak my language well
enough, but that doesn’t make you any less of a
foreigner.”

Robert inched closer, taking care to ensure that his
now-captured prey did not escape him. “The Saxons were once
foreigners in this land, too, milady,” he said. “Or perhaps ‘tis
too much to expect for a mere woman to know her people’s own
history.”

“How dare you speak to me that way!” she cried. “I
am a noblewoman and a maiden! You will address me with the
appropriate respect.” She sneered at him, looked down her nose at
him. “Mercenary that you are.”

“As I said madam, I am not a commoner. I am a
nobleman. A very minor nobleman, ‘tis true, but a nobleman just the
same.” He paused, then reached out to grab Sabina’s chin to force
her to look at him. “You might say that I am your level peer,
milady.”

“I don’t care if your blood runs as blue as the
sea,” Sabina seethed at him. “A common mercenary is no peer of
mine.”

“Perhaps it pains you to recall your position,
milady, but allow me to remind you of your—or shall I say, your
father’s—rather precarious situation. Your father the Duke of
Angwyld is the only remaining Saxon nobleman of any major
importance left in the whole of England. Our new sovereign King
Henry had made it his business to wipe men like your father off the
map. And your father has no sons whom he could offer as vassals in
King Henry’s army as an act of fealty. The only hope for even a
partial preservation of your family’s land and title is for him to
link you, his eldest, in marriage to a powerful Norman. And the
only Norman of any position in all of England who will have you in
marriage, I’m told, is the old humpbacked marauder Lord Reginald de
Guillaume. So here you are.”

“Yes, indeed, here I am, Robert de
Tyre. And here
you
are as well. You have come to ruin my life and deliver me
into a living hell.”

“I am sorry for that, madam. But as you have already
pointed out, I am but a common mercenary. I do only what my
employer wishes. It is not my place to ask questions or make moral
judgments.”

“Robert de Tyre, you are a foul knave and a
degenerate bastard.”

Robert laughed. “Foul knave and degenerate, perhaps.
But not a bastard. I was born of a lawful marriage, madam.”

Sabina didn’t know what else to say. No matter what
insult she hurled at this man, he responded to her verbal blows and
parries with three of his own. A mercenary Robert de Tyre might be,
but he was by no means a coarse or common one. It was clear she’d
been overtaken in both brain and brawn. She might as well admit
defeat. “I suppose you will put me in chains and throw me over your
horse now, then,” she mused, staring at her muddy hands. “Or ravish
me, I suppose.”

“No, madam. You are a lady, and you shall be treated
accordingly. Though you of course you understand I will still have
to take some measures to prevent you from escaping your marriage
obligations a second time.”

“And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?”

Robert took a length of rope from his saddlebag and
held it out for her to see. “With this, milady. Do not fear, I
shall not bind you too tightly. Just enough to keep you close.”

Before Sabina could utter a word in protest, she was
tied at hands and feet. Robert’s hands worked the knots so quickly
they became a blur, and then in one swift motion she felt herself
lifted up onto Robert’s massive horse, where she was made to ride
sidesaddle on a rough wool blanket behind Robert’s proper leather
saddle. Robert looped the ends of the rope around and around
Sabina’s waist and legs, then knotted them again into another loop
underneath the horse’s hindquarters. Sabina’s entire body was made
motionless and lashed down onto the horse. “There, milady. I should
think you shall not be going anywhere now. Anywhere I don’t say, at
least.”

She struggled underneath the bindings. “Knave!
Whoreson! This is no way to treat a lady!”