Knight's Caress (3 page)

Moonlight streamed through the leafy overhead branches, casting soft, lacy patterns upon the ground. Night sounds reverberated through the woods like ominous warnings of doom. Amberlie had never felt more alone or frightened. Her entire body trembled with her fear, and her shivering didn’t go unnoticed by Tedric, who placed his mantle around her shoulders. This kind gesture surprised her, and she wondered if the man might truly be something other than a barbarian. “I don’t wish you to become ill and die before I ransom you,” he coldly explained. And that ended her kindly thoughts about Tedric.

It seemed they’d been riding a very long time. Amberlie’s backside was sore and her legs were cramped. The ropes dug painfully into her wrists and ankles. The rag in her mouth had nearly choked her, and when they were a good distance away from the keep, her captor had removed it with a warning not to scream. Not that it would do her any good, Amberlie had decided, since her mouth was so dry she could barely utter a word.

Soon the sounds of human activity and voices alerted her, and she made a croaking noise through dry lips in the hope that someone would help her. Tedric laughed ruefully, and his blue eyes glittered. “Shout all you wish, my lady, but we’ve reached my hiding place.” Amberlie’s disappointment and embarrassment were obvious. Her fear intensified as the huge black horse came to a halt.

An old man rushed forward with a torch in his hand and quickly glanced at the three riders. “‘Tis our Lord Tedric and Wulfgar!” he shouted in relief to a group of people who waited by the yawning threshold of a cave. He grabbed the horse’s mane and looked warily at Amberlie, but bestowed a large smile upon Tedric. “We’ve been worried, my lord. Your mother has been asking for ye. ‘Tis glad we be to see no harm has come to ye.”

“I’m fine, Wick. Tell my mother I’ve arrived safely and will soon speak to her.” The old man nodded and headed toward the cave’s entrance. Tedric lowered himself from his beast’s back and reached for Amberlie. Wulfgar did the same, his fingers going to Amberlie’s waist and encountering Tedric’s powerful hands. “I can handle this wench,” Tedric bit out. Wulfgar flinched at Tedric’s stinging tone, but bowed his head.

“Aye, my lord. I meant only to help — “

“I know well what you meant. Keep your hands to yourself!” Tedric ground out quietly from between clenched teeth. “This Norman wench isn’t to be touched or trifled with. Make certain the men know she is my captive and that they’ll answer to me if my orders are disobeyed.”

“Aye, my lord,” Wulfgar readily agreed, but his eyes lingered over Amberlie’s face and figure as Tedric plucked her from the horse and slung her over his shoulders like a sack of coarse grain.

“Untie me so I may walk,” Amberlie pleaded, but there was a note of authority in her voice which wasn’t lost on Tedric.

“You give no orders here,” he barked back, and walked into the cave, lighted by wall torches, and past a gaping group of his followers.

“I detest you,” she hissed under her breath, her eyes level with Tedric’s broad back.

“Your kidnapping was not done for love of you, my lady, of that I can assure you.”

“And I have no love for you, you accursed barbarian. May you burn in hell!”

“Very likely I will, but for now my soul’s salvation is not my chief concern.” And with that retort left ringing in her ears, he proceeded to ignore her. People clustered around the tall and powerfully built man and his unwilling prisoner, whose long hair nearly dusted the cave’s floor.

“Ah, so you’ve captured the Lady Amberlie, my lord,” a man muttered, and guffaws of approval floated over Amberlie and chilled her with the hatred she heard. Tedric moved to an empty place in a corner and gingerly set her in a sitting position. Through a halo of hair obscuring her face, Amberlie realized she was the center of attention from a motley assortment of people. From what Amberlie could see of their plain dress, they were peasants. At least twenty faces curiously peered at her as if she were a rare pet on a tether.

“With her hair all a-tumble, she’s not a fancy-looking lady now,” sourly noted a woman whose two front teeth were blackened.

“Aye,” agreed old Wick, who appeared from another part of the cave and placed the torch closer so all could get a better look at the haughty Norman lady. “Odd hair and skin coloring, not fair like us. The Devil himself must have spawned her.”

“That’s enough! Go about your chores!” ordered Tedric, and everyone quickly dispersed as if a king had spoken. He looked down at her with arms akimbo, until Amberlie could no longer stand his unnerving gaze.

“Stop staring at me!” she snapped. “I hate to be looked at in such a manner. I’m not an animal.”

“Nay, but you think I am.”

“I … do … not…”

“Aye, you do, but I care little what you think of me.” Tedric turned and called to Wick, who instantly came at his master’s summons. “Guard our prisoner well and see she is given food and drink.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Untie her also.”

“Aye, my lord.” Wick didn’t appear too certain about that command.

“I assure you, Wick, that she looks more dangerous than she is.” Tedric noted Amberlie’s disheveled state with an amused smirk before leaving his disgruntled captive with the wary old man.

Tedric made his way through a labyrinth maze of torch-lighted corridors to find his mother. So far, the cave had served his purpose well. He’d known about the place since he was a young boy, having stumbled across it when he’d gone stag-hunting with his father. It was cut deep into the belly of a large boulder, hidden within the lush vegetation of the forest. There had been some evidence of Druidic worship, but for whatever reason the cave had been abandoned for a long time when Tedric remembered it after he and his family had escaped their home a year ago. The cave was now their haven and their home, at least until he could reclaim Woodrose Keep again. And God willing, that would be soon.

“My boy, my son.” His mother’s pale face brightened the second she saw him. She lifted her head from her pallet and held out her arms to draw him close. Tedric was dismayed at her frailness. Once, his mother had been hearty and smiled a great deal. Since his father’s death at the hands of Guy de Bayonne, her grief had caused her to grow thin, and she very seldom smiled — even less since Edytha’s disappearance. Yet her eyes contained hope. “You’ve brought Edytha?”

Sorrowfully, he shook his head. “Nay, Mother.”

“The Normans have her.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’ve been told she wandered near the keep and was captured,” he said, forced to admit the truth.

His mother’s frail form shook, and her voice broke. “How … will we get her back?”

“I’ve kidnapped Lady Amberlie de Fontaine. I plan to ransom her in exchange for Edytha.”

Her chin trembled, her lips grew white. “Oh, Tedric, no —no—Edytha will suffer for this, if she hasn’t already. You know she isn’t like others…”

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, and stroked her graying hair. “All will be well, Mother. I promise you that Edytha shall be safely returned to us.”

“But at what cost, son? I trust not these Norman dogs. Your father was killed by Lady Amberlie’s family.”

“Rest now, Mother,” he said, and kissed her forehead, seeing that she was growing more upset. He wished now that he hadn’t told her about Amberlie de Fontaine, but he had known word would filter back to her.

A slight movement from a dark corner of the cave alerted him that they weren’t alone. A pretty woman with golden blond hair that hung to her waist in a braid came forward from the shadows and placed a light but possessive hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll see to your mother, Tedric,” Lady Glenna told him.

Tedric glanced appreciatively at the young woman whose comely figure beneath the blue kirtle always brought a smile to his lips. In the days he’d been away, he’d nearly forgotten how pretty Glenna was, how just looking at her brought a familiar heat to his loins. Not only had she taken care of his mother since they’d been forced into hiding, but she’d cared for him in more intimate ways—ways he intended to enjoy this very night. He was weary and worried, and he longed to lay his head upon her soft breasts. Glenna always knew how to ease him. A man would be proud to call her his wife. He knew she wanted him to honor their marriage pledge, but he couldn’t marry Glenna now—not until he was lord of his home—not until he’d driven de Bayonne out of the keep.

Tedric gently squeezed her fingers. “Aye, ‘tis grateful I am for your care of Mother.”

Tears gleamed in Glenna’s pale blue eyes. “Lady Mabel is like my own mother since, since…” Glenna couldn’t go on. Her own mother’s death still weighed heavily upon her. Shortly after the Normans had invaded the countryside, Glenna’s home had been destroyed. She’d fled to Woodrose Keep with her widowed mother and a few servants. But her mother hadn’t been strong enough, and had perished the day before the Normans attacked the keep.

“I know,” he said sympathetically, and wished his mother a good night. He got up and started away, but Glenna moved beside him and clutched at his arm.

“I shall bed with you later?” she whispered, and leaned lewdly into him.

Tedric nodded and lazily traced her sensuous lips with the pad of his thumb. “Aye, I’ll be waiting for you.”

When he saw Amberlie again, she was eating a piece of mutton. Even as she sat in a cave, her dark hair tumbling around her face in disarray and a fire within the depths of her brown eyes when she saw him, Tedric was struck by her elegant beauty. She wasn’t beautiful in the Saxon way. He preferred his women to be blond and fair. But there was a great deal to be said for Amberlie de Fontaine’s own peculiar loveliness. Her mane of hair resembled the finest sable, and felt that way too. Strands of her hair had blown against his cheek during the ride to the cave. He’d liked the feel of the soft tresses against his skin, and recalled breathing in the herbal scent from each strand. The fireglow emphasized her clear complexion, which was a shade darker than Glenna’s—due no doubt to her French blood. Unwillingly, his gaze traveled down her body as he remembered how it had felt to have his arms around her as he guided the horse earlier. Her waist was tiny, just the span of his two hands. She was small in stature, not as tall as Glenna, but her body was better proportioned and her breasts more voluptuous. Though the ugly black bliaut covered her entirely, Tedric imagined that her breasts would be peach-tinged like her face. His hands ached to cup them, his lips longed to tease the dusky nipples…

“What are you staring at, barbarian?”

Her condemning voice brought him up short. Any lustful thoughts he harbored for his captive quickly dissolved. For all of her desirability, she was his prisoner. Her relatives had killed his father, a fact he mustn’t and wouldn’t forget. Even now Guy de Bayonne held his own sister captive at the keep. And there was no telling what horrors might have befallen his poor, simple sister at that swine’s hands.

Tedric suppressed a shudder, but he grinned at Amberlie and came close to her, causing old Wick to back away. This haughty Norman wench needed to be put in her place and to understand she was at his mercy. “I’m staring at you, my lady.”

“I do not like to be stared at,” she retorted bravely, but found herself retreating toward the cave’s wall, wishing she could dissolve into the stone. She didn’t care for the way he looked at her, finding his eyes upon her more than disturbing. If this barbarian should take liberties with her, no one would help her for she was the enemy.

Tedric bent down and whispered in her ear, “I was thinking how unlike you are from a Saxon maiden, in dress and appearance.”

“Bien,
for that I am grateful.” She wasn’t certain he meant his words as a compliment, and she didn’t care if he was pleased with her face and form. She looked away from him.

“My lady, your sharp tongue wounds me, but there is one thing you mustn’t forget as long as you’re my prisoner.” His hand turned her face, and she found herself looking up into his eyes, which were now an indigo color. Within their depths was a touch of fire, and she didn’t know if they burned bright from lust or reflected torchlight. “I will look at you whenever I please; as your captor it is my due. So shrink not away from me, for if I wanted you I would take you.”

He stood up and ordered Wick to prepare a sleeping place for her. Amberlie was shaking so much that she could barely move, scarcely breathe. If the barbarian had wished to frighten her, he’d succeeded. She feared for her honor now, more than her life. Nothing prevented him from taking her by force. She was at his mercy, that she knew. But a primitive yearning had surged through her when he’d touched her. And this disturbed her greatly. How could she feel desire for a savage, the murderer of her husband? What was wrong with her? Was she losing her mind? Somehow she must fight her own perverse nature, though until that moment, she hadn’t even known she was perverse.