Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (30 page)

“I didn’t realize you were a Christian,” Alexander said, not speaking of his activity with Hielda even while wondering if Ingar would heed the church’s teachings about charity.

“My father was baptized, and so was I.” Chuckling, Ingar pulled his tunic out of the rumpled linens. “It’s good for trade.”

“Speaking of trade, I have come to make a bargain with you, Ingar.”

“What kind of bargain?” Ingar reached under his bed and pulled out a wineskin that he had probably hidden from Hielda.

He offered the skin first to Alexander, who shook his head.

“You speak for Oswald?” Ingar asked before he put the opening to his mouth and drank deeply.

“No.”

Ingar lowered the skin, wiped his mouth and belched. “No? This is a bargain for yourself?”

“Yes.”

Ingar’s expression grew very shrewd, and certain. “You want the woman.”

Oh, God, how he did! But he could never, ever be anything more to her than the man who had abducted her and caused her so much misery. “I want to take her home and return her to her family. I have discovered that she is not the Lady Allis after all. I took the lady’s sister by mistake.”

He felt himself blush as Ingar’s eyes widened like Denis’s. Then the Norseman threw back his head and laughed fit to collapse the tent. “The wrong woman? You put up with her and ran after her and nearly drowned yourself—and she was the wrong woman?”

Alexander waited until the man calmed down. “Yes.”

Another idea seemed to strike Ingar. “Then she is not the prize for ransom.”

“Nor is she married, so Oswald plans to force her to marry Osburn.”

Ingar frowned with disgust. “Waste her on that drunken rat? Bah! He would do better to sell her to me. She would surely think so, too.”

“I gave the lady my word she would not be harmed, and I intend to keep it. Also, that was not the agreement I made with Oswald, and I will not permit him to change it. Nor will I allow him to sell her to you.”

Instead of being offended, Ingar smiled slowly, one side of his mouth lifting with sardonic cunning. “This is not about your honor and word given or broken. You would rather take her home than see her wed to that fool or in my bed.”

Alexander started to stand. He had made another mistake coming here. They would find a different way to escape, even if it meant stealing horses. “I told you, I gave—”

“I know, you gave your word.” Ingar half rose and put his large hand on Alexander’s shoulder, pushing him back down. “But that does not mean there need not be a ransom. Won’t this Sir Connor pay to get her back just the same? He may not want to pay so much, of course, but surely he will give you something for her.”

“I won’t risk going close to Bellevoire, for I’m sure Sir Connor has many more patrols out now, searching for her or anybody trespassing on his land.”

“You could take some of my men.”

Although he would not say so to Ingar, he would trust the Norsemen about as much as he would the Brabancons. “She goes back to her family, and the loss of the ransom is the cost of my error. I will not further dishonor myself by bargaining like a man hawking goods at a fair.”

Ingar’s gray eyes narrowed, and all trace of good humor vanished. “Then what have you to offer me in return for helping you? You have no money and nothing of any value.”

“I have my sword arm. If you agree to take us from here, I will serve in your crew for the rest of my life and give you half of all the plunder I get.”

He steeled himself to betray no uneasiness as he waited for Ingar to answer, but with Ingar stroking his beard and studying him, even he thought his offer seemed pathetic.

“What you offer is not without value,” Ingar said at last, “but Oswald is a wealthy and powerful man, with powerful friends. You ask me to abandon such a man and the payment he offers now for the sake of what you may provide later?”

“Oswald was rich and powerful
once
, before he betrayed his king. Now he is an outlaw, and one who treats you and your crew like hirelings, not Norsemen to be respected. Or do you fear this formerly wealthy and powerful lord?”

“Not at all,” Ingar answered with calm certainty and no rancor. “And it is true, he keeps us here like dogs on a leash.”

He eyed Alexander as he might a horse he was thinking of buying—as
he
had treated Isabelle. She had known this humiliation, yet it had not defeated her, and he would endure it, too.

“You might not live long,” Ingar noted.

“That’s true.”

The Norseman smiled. “You are an honest man. And I suspect you can fight like a Berserker when you must.” His smile disappeared. “But when a man does not care if he lives or dies, he usually dies.”

He would say what was necessary. “I wish to live as much as any man, and if I am in your crew, Lord Oswald will not be able to catch me.”

“Ah! You will be
hiding
with us.”

Like a coward. But if that helped convince Ingar to agree… “Yes.”

His gaze shrewdly measuring, Ingar studied Alexander more. “So, you will not keep her for yourself?”

“I gave the lady my word she would not be harmed, as I will give you my word that I will sail with you if you help me. How can you trust me to keep my word with you if I’ll break it with another?”

“Very true,” Ingar mused aloud. “Besides, there are many women.”

None like her
.

“I have many myself, in many ports.” Ingar turned over his left hand so that his palm was facing upward. “One here.” He did the same with his right hand. “One there. It is a fine way to live. You will see.”

Alexander doubted that he would find anything about Ingar’s way of life enjoyable, except perhaps the copious amounts of ale and wine the Norsemen consumed. That might help him forget Lady Isabelle, Denis and what he had done. “So you’ll help us?”

“Yes.” Ingar thought a moment. “As you have no wish to be captured by patrols, neither have I, so we dare not sail far inland this time. I will set you ashore and put out to sea, then return in two days to pick you up. If you are not there, I will leave you.”

“Then you won’t have me in your crew, and you’ll have lost Oswald’s patronage, too.”

“I will risk it.” Ingar gave Alexander another sly grin. “You will come back. Your honor will demand it, and if you don’t, I’ll know you’re dead. As for Oswald, I am no man’s churl, and it is worth some coin to prove it.”

I
n the dim light of evening, Isabelle sat on the bed in her chamber, her head leaning limply against her hand. She had not gone below for the evening meal, and no one had come to check on her, or to bring her food. Maybe they planned on starving her into obedience.

She sighed wearily and wiped at her running nose with her free hand. She had cried her cry, and felt drained and empty of far more than food. Every time she thought things were terrible, they became worse. Every time she was pleased to have maintained her dignity in the face of her troubles, new ones arose to test her mettle.

Worst of all, when she had finally believed that Alexander DeFrouchette was not her enemy, she had discovered fully, completely, incontrovertibly, that he was. He had decided in the end to remain in Oswald’s camp, abandoning her to a terrible fate.

The door to the room crashed open, and Isabelle shot to her feet.

Dressed in his fine clothes and shining boots, a smug smile on his face, and his wine-befuddled eyes fairly glowing with lust, Osburn sauntered in. “So here you are, my bride-to-be. I came to beard you in your den.”

She moved around the bed, away from it and him. “Get out, Osburn. We are not married yet.”

“As good as,” he slurred as he reached back and closed the door. “Why wait for the formalities? You’re here, so am I, and there’s”—he gestured lazily and smiled with demonic pleasure—“a bed.”

“Does your father know you’re here?”

“See how she asks, like I am a child?” he demanded, looking around as if the chamber were full of spectators before his sneering gaze returned to her. “Rest assured, my lady, I am not a child, and my dear father has finally found that out, too. My dear
dead
father.”

Isabelle gasped, disbelieving. “Dead?”

“Completely.”

She backed away. “I heard no sound of a struggle.”

Swaying as if he were again on the deck of Ingar’s ship, Osburn grinned. “I’m too smart for that. I sent Kiera to sleep with the other women and told my father I wanted to discuss his plans in private. He came around the screen and sat in my chair.
My
chair, not his.” Osburn shook his head as if to clear it, then regarded her with glistening, frightening eyes. “But I was ready for him. I went behind him and slit his throat. Easy, really. He burbled a bit and tried to get up, but he was too fat.” Osburn laughed, a hideous giggle, then ended in an angry sob. “He thought I was stupid. Well, who’s the stupid one now, eh? He’s the one that’s dead, not me!”

So one of her enemies was dead—but she was still in danger because Osburn was not.

“Now come, my dear, and kiss me. I’ve waited long enough to have you.”

As Osburn stumbled toward her, she saw the dagger in his belt. She had gotten a weapon away from Heinrich; surely she could do that again and defend herself.

Osburn halted and shook his finger at her. “Don’t get any ideas, my lady. I won’t let you near my dagger—or at least, not that one.” He giggled again at his own joke and shoved the knife further into his belt. “You really must learn to act more like a lady. As my wife, I’ll expect no less.”

“I was only marrying you to protect my family. Now that your father is dead, so is my reason.”

He fingered the hilt of his dagger. “You think I don’t have money to pay assassins? Besides, I have to marry you, because if I don’t, there’s nothing to prevent your family from coming after me.” He nodded as he crept closer. “I told you I wasn’t stupid, Isabelle. I don’t want to die because of you.”

She continued back toward the outer wall, near the loophole and the loose stones. If she could get him in front of them....

“Oh, come, come, Isabelle,” he cooed, sounding so eerily like his father that it made her flesh crawl. “I’m not so bad, really. I’m handsome, and if you cooperate, I’ll treat you well.”

“What about Kiera?” she charged, inching toward the loophole. “She loves you.”

“She’s nothing but a servant, a woman to warm my bed and pleasure me when I desire it. I’ve taught her well, though, so I won’t discard her just yet. After all, a man can have a mistress as well as a wife. Are you jealous?”

“That is the last thing I will ever be where you are concerned.”

He stopped a few feet away and drew out his dagger with measured deliberation. The blade gleamed in the moonlight shining in through the loophole. “I told you to come here and kiss me.”

She had to get him to come to her, one way or another. If he swung at her to hit her, he would be off balance, too.

Every muscle tense, ready for action, she planted her feet. “When I am your wife, you will have the right to command me. Until that time, I am free.”

“Free?” he scoffed, gesturing at the chamber with his dagger. “You’re not free at all.” His expression changed to fierce anger as he pointed to his feet with the tip of his weapon. “
Now come here and kiss me
, or I’ll make you sorry you refused.”

“No.”

“Always proud, always stubborn,” Osburn jeered. He shoved the knife into his belt. “Very well. This time—this
once
—I’ll come to you.”

He strode toward her and reached out for her. She deftly twisted away from him. He whirled around, his back now to the wall. She put her hands on his chest and with all her might, pushed him against the wall.

“What in the name—!” he cried, putting out his arms, his hands against the stones that were not loose. The stones shifted back a few inches. He lost his balance, but that was all.

She ran to the door. With a furious cry, he caught her by the arm and swung her around. Her shoulder ached as he tugged her close. “You stupid bitch!” he snarled, his whole body seeming to seethe with rage. “Can’t you see you’ve lost? You’re mine, and you will be for the rest of your life! If you don’t want to suffer—and by God, I’ll make you!—you’ll do what I tell you.
Whatever
I tell you.”