Master Of Surrender (17 page)

Her gaze rose to where Rohan sat. Her blood warmed. He watched her intently. She quickly turned from him and back to the kitchen, where she found a small bit of solace. As she busied herself with chores, Isabel could not help the wild flutter of her heart, or as the shrill laughter of the village girls mingled with the deep voices of the knights, she could not still the way her blood coursed hotly through her limbs.

The night held the full promise to end in wanton debauchery. Isabel slipped out of the hot kitchen to catch her breath and cool down. She also did not want to listen to the maids giggle and the men chortle. She stepped back against the hard, cold stone of the wall outside the kitchen and watched Wulfson stride with Lyn over one shoulder and Sarah over the other toward the stable. Ioan and Rhys followed, calling out to the selfish knight to share. Isabel shook her head, and despite her morose mood, she could not help a small smile. Mayhap it was good for Rohan’s men and her people to ease some of their tension. Henri’s appearance today had left a dark, tense pall over Rossmoor. An eruption was imminent. ’Twas good that the men and the women could find pleasure.

Isabel sighed. No doubt, as the summer grew hot and humid, the shire would swell in population. Just as Isabel was about to move back into the kitchen, she heard Rohan’s deep voice call to one of his men, “For what I have in mind, ’twill only take a moment of my time, and I am willing to share this piece!” A female giggle followed.

Isabel’s stomach lurched. Why Rohan’s announcement caused her such pain she could not fathom. Had she not told him to slake his lust elsewhere? She peeked around the corner and saw the recent widow Gwyneth tossed over his shoulder like a sack of turnips, her laughter giving away her excitement. Rohan looked up and caught Isabel’s stare in the darkness. The torches burned bright around her, and she had no doubt he saw her. The fire in his eyes faded. Yet he continued his bold stride to the stable. He slapped his hand down on Gwyneth’s bottom, and she squealed in delight.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Isabel hurried back into the kitchen. She didn’t stop her retreat. She moved through the great room and into the hall, where the rest of Rohan’s men drank and sang like squires having their first cup of ale. Keeping her head down, she hurried up the great stairway to the lord’s chamber, where she quickly gathered her few possessions. Isabel kept her composure until she returned to her solar. She was glad to find it empty. Save for Enid, there were no other ladies to find rest here.

Isabel paced the floor, wondering at herself and the man who had completely turned her life inside out and upside down. He was a boor, a lout, a knave. He was ill-mannered and brash. He was bold, and he was a Norman! Why, then, did she feel as if he at this moment had betrayed her? She was nothing to him. He was nothing to her. Then why her anger? Jealousy ripped through her like a wounded boar after a hunter.

Dear Lord, he believed she had lain with her betrothed and mayhap carried his child! Then he turned around and insinuated in front of his men and her people that she may be barren! How could she care for such a man?

Isabel cried out. Nay! She did not care for him. He was not worth it! He would be gone soon. Or mayhap not, but either way, what could he offer her? And she him? She shook her head and paced anew. Nay, she could not,
would
not, consider any form of attachment to him. ’Twas only a girl’s fantasy. He had awakened the woman in her, and she was drawn to him only for that reason. She crossed herself. ’Twas not holy for a maid to crave a man’s hands and lips on her body…or more. Most especially if that man was not her husband.

Isabel flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the embroidered canopy. She wondered what Rohan did at that very moment. Did he touch Gwyneth as he had touched her? Did he whisper sweet words of love to her? Would the summer solstice find Gwyneth heavy with Rohan’s child? Isabel fisted her hands and punched the mattress. “Jesu!” Jealousy was a bitter balm to swallow. She popped up from the bed and began to pace again. Fury, longing, and sadness warred in her heart, and try as she might to say it nay, it affected her more deeply than any emotion she had ever experienced. She did not like it. And worst of all, she knew there was not a single thing she could do to stop it.

Isabel flung open the door and strode downstairs. She scanned the hall for Rohan, but he was not there amongst his men and several of the village girls. Her stomach roiled. Aye, she knew where he was and what he was about. If she had no pride, she’d march straight down to the stable and yank Gwyneth’s blond hair out of her head strand by strand, then geld the Norman she lay with!

Guided by a demon she had no name for, Isabel moved through the hall, and past the giggling women and smiling men, and shoved open the front doors to the manor. Hard chilled air filled her chest, and she welcomed the pain of it.

R
ohan stood at a trough outside the stall he’d just stepped from. His loins burned hot. The sounds of heavy panting and women’s cries of pleasure crashed around him, like a tight hand around his cock. He clenched his jaw and dunked his head into the icy water a second time. The shock of the cold chased his lusty thoughts of the woman in the manor away for a brief moment or two. He welcomed it. He held his head below the water until he could not breathe. He pulled his head out of the frigid water and shook it, sending icy water everywhere.

The wench he had taken from the hall giggled in the stall next to where he stood. Rohan wiped his arm across his face, drying it some. He hiked up his garters, stepping away from the stall where Thorin enjoyed the spoils of Rohan’s hunt. Not that it was much of a pursuit. The wench had fallen into his lap, and when she felt his throbbing cock, she manipulated him to hewn stone. However, he had not been able to find release with the wench. Her scent, her breath, her rough skin did not appeal to him. He had handed her over to Thorin, who had more ale than he and was not nearly as particular this night. He left them to their robust coupling and strode back to the manor.

As he crossed the courtyard, a small, dark body darting toward the bailey caught his attention. He looked up to find the guards, while alert, looking past the bailey to the village. Rohan’s blood surged anew. He knew the small form well. He followed.

Isabel met a man near the opening of a large hut. Rohan’s blood boiled. Was it the Saxon? She ducked in. He hurried to the doorway and listened.

“How fare they, Ralph?” Isabel asked.

“Most are better, milady, but several rage with the fever. Blythe works hard to cool them with water, but it does not help.”

“Milady, the damage is so terrible!” the girl cried.

“Do not stop, Blythe. Sometimes it takes days to break the fever. Come, fetch more water, and show me to those who need us most. I will stay with you,” Isabel comforted.

Rohan stepped back as the girl hurried from the hut. He debated whether to demand that Isabel return to him. Yet he knew she would fight him tooth and nail. Especially now that she suspected his romp with Gwyneth. ’Twas his right as a man, and had she not demanded he slake his lust between another’s thighs? Rohan growled low. The maid had poisoned him! He no longer found what most men would consider fine fare acceptable. And the flaxen-haired wench was comely. Her teeth were good, and she had a full figure a man could lose himself in for many a night. Yet he wanted another. His desire was so great he could not savor the dish before him. Jesu!

Rohan swiped his hand across his face. He was acting like a milksop of a boy! He turned on his heel and whistled to a guard who patrolled the bailey wall. “See that the lady Isabel is escorted back to the manor when she is done with her work here.”

“Aye,” the guard said, and moved toward the hut.

Rohan grabbed the man hard by the shoulder. “Do not let her out of your sight, Robert, or you will pay with my sword buried in your gullet.”

The younger man swallowed hard. “You may consider her returned safely to the hall, Rohan.”

Rohan debated staying and waiting, but he would be damned if he would let the wench know he followed her.

The hall had quieted considerably since he left it. The torches were dimmed, and sated bodies lay sprawled on the floor and strewn pallets. A likely lot of knights they were. Yet Rohan knew his men had to release their tension. They had fought too long and too hard with no respite. Aye, let them have this night. For tomorrow would find them back on their horses in search of the cowardly louts who destroyed for the sheer love of the kill.

Rohan glanced over at the hearth where Manhku watched him. He nodded to his man, in no mood for conversation, and jogged up the stairs to what he knew would be a torture chamber.

As he lay back on the linens and furs of the great bed, Isabel’s heather scent swirled around him like a living thing. He closed his eyes, and instead of fighting it, he opened his senses to her. His cock throbbed with his need for her body. Rohan growled like a wounded animal and took his shaft into his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut at the pressure and cursed Isabel for the witch she was.

Rohan woke long before the first crow of the cock. He cleaned and dressed. As he stepped down the stairway, he grinned. His men snored happily, no doubt reliving their conquests of the night before. “Rouse yourselves, men!” Rohan called. Muffled groans and pained moans filled the hall.

He kicked several of them in the feet. “Clothe yourselves, and break the fast. We have work to do!” Just as Rohan was about to open the heavy doors, they opened from the outside. He scowled. They had not been bolted?

A weary Isabel slipped through. With her head bent, she moved straight toward him. When she bumped into his chest, Rohan’s blood quickened. His release last night had done nothing to temper his want of her.

Isabel cried out, and as she moved away from him, he grasped her by the arm to keep her from falling backward. “What brings you into the hall, Isabel?”

Despite the fatigue that marred her features, she yanked her arm from his grasp. “It is of no concern to you!”

He grinned. So the maid had her dander up, did she? “Aye, ’tis my concern. Why were you not abed?” he asked, knowing full well where she had spent the night.

Isabel stiffened and notched her chin to look up at him. Her violet eyes sparked furiously. “Mayhap I had my own rendezvous.”

Although he knew she taunted him with her insinuation, the implication soured his mood. The vision of Isabel hot and panting beneath a faceless man as he pumped into her infuriated him. He yanked her close to him. “Should proof positive be given to me, Isabel, you will feel the lash on that silk-skinned back of yours.”

Instead of pulling away from him, Isabel moved toward him. Her soft scent wafted up to his nostrils. His grip tightened around her arm. “What is good for the gander is not good for the goose?”

His jaw tightened. “Do not jest with me, Isabel.”

She moved closer still, so that now the ripeness of her left breast pressed against his hauberk. She slid her hand down the arm clasping hers and moved it to her right breast. Rohan hiked in a sharp breath. Then she moved it up to her neck and pressed his fingers there. “Once I heal from my lover’s rough play, I will tutor you in how it is done.” She leaned closer toward him, and Rohan thought his body would come apart at every seam. Fury mangled heatedly with his fierce desire for her. He flung her hand away and stepped away from her.

“Who marked you?”

She laughed a low, throaty laugh. The sound of a woman experienced in the game of love. “A lady never divulges such secrets.”

“You play a game you will lose.”

She smiled and pursued him. “Really, Rohan? What is the prize?”

“Would you have me take you here and now?”

“I would have you take me not at all.” With those parting words, Isabel sauntered past him.

Rohan turned, furious, his gaze following the jaunty swing of her hips. He grabbed a stool next to the hearth and flung it across the room, where it shattered into dozens of pieces against the wall. “Name the cur who marked you!” he bellowed.

Isabel hesitated in her step but kept moving toward the stairway.

Rohan strode toward her, his temper nearly out of control. “You will halt, damsel, and answer me!” He stopped at the lord’s table. She was nearly to the stairs.

Slowly, Isabel turned. Her eyes darted to Manhku, who, along with every other soul in the hall, held his breath and watched the storm build.

Isabel swallowed hard, and though she knew she should not, she cast another glance at Manhku, who sat upon his pallet. His eyes remained passive. She dared not name him whilst Rohan raged. He might tear the man apart.

“Du Luc,” the giant said. Isabel vehemently shook her head, but the Saracen ignored her. “’Twas I who damaged the maid,” Manhku admitted.

Rohan’s jaw dropped. Anger darkened his features. Thorin appeared as if from the thin air and clapped a hand firmly on his shoulder. As if he were asking directions to the nearest shire, he said, “Tell us, Manhku, how that came about.”

Rohan shook Thorin’s hand from his shoulder and squarely faced his man, his hands fisted at his sides. “Aye, Manhku, tell us.”

“’Twas a simple misunderstanding,” Isabel offered, moving between the two men.

Rohan worked his jaw, and Isabel knew a terrible war waged within him. His man had damaged his property. If he allowed Manhku to carry on with no punishment, he would lose face, and his men would see him as weak.

Manhku looked from Isabel to Rohan. “The wench speaks half-truths.”

“Then speak the whole truth, Manhku,” Rohan bit out.

“The maid came upon me as I was trying to move about with the aid of a spear. She took it from me. To break my fall, I took her with me.” Manhku looked to Isabel, who stood rigid, holding her breath. “I begged her pardon. ’Twas not my intent to damage her.”

Rohan looked to Isabel, his eyes narrowed, but instead of anger, puzzlement lurked in the golden depths. “Why did you hide this from me?”

Isabel looked up to Thorin and past him to Ioan, Wulfson, and Rorick, who all stood silent in the doorway. “I—I did not want your man harmed.”

Rohan shook his head and raked his fingers through his long hair. He laughed, confused. “I do not understand your methods, damsel. You save my man not once but twice. From the looks of those marks on your neck, he nearly snuffed you out, and yet you defend him?”

Isabel nodded. “I am not a barbarian, Sir Rohan.”

“Nay, you are—” He sighed and turned to look at Manhku, then back to Isabel. “You are a complete mystery to me. Next you will welcome Henri and his band of thieves to come sup with us.”

Isabel quirked a smile, despite the memories the name conjured up. “My civilities only go so far.”

Rohan made a gallant bow before her and all of his men. “I beg your pardon as well, Lady Isabel.”

His words shocked her. Never had she expected an apology from him, and certainly not a public one. But what worried Isabel most was that she found herself being pulled toward the knight. He was all things bad, but beneath his rough exterior lurked a fair and passionate man. The heat rose in her cheeks as she remembered where he had spent the night. He may be fair, and he may be passionate, but he was as bad as a rutting boar, and she would not be his next conquest.

“You will beg for more than my pardon, sir,” Isabel quipped.

Wulfson snorted and chortled. “Nay, Lady Isabel, ’twill be Gwyneth he should beg forgiveness from!”

Isabel scowled, not understanding his meaning, but Wulfson continued. “Aye, the wench was dumped!” Wulfson laughed louder as he made his way deeper into the hall. Rohan scowled heavily at his man. “But ’twas Thorin’s gain.” He slapped the Viking on the back. “I would have joined you, my good man, but both of my hands were occupied.”

“Ha!” Rorick chimed in. “You stingy knight. Could you not share one of your pieces with your brothers in arms?”

Rohan grinned and rubbed his chest. “The way those maids devoured Wulf last night, ’tis a wonder there is anything left of him this morn.”

Wulfson’s grin nearly split his face. “Aye, I am a bit sore.” He poured himself a cup of ale and raised it high. “But not nearly as sore as those two. See for yourselves when they come to the hall.” He tossed his head back and drank deeply of the brew. As he finished, Lyn and Sarah brought two large platters into the hall, both walking unnaturally stiffly. The entire hall erupted into uproarious laughter. The maids’ cheeks flushed red, and both looked bashfully from beneath lowered lashes at Wulfson. He grinned, and as Rohan was fond of doing, Wulfson rubbed his chest. “Ladies, I am free this eve if you wish for company.”

As weary as Isabel was, she was elated at the news that Rohan had not lain with the merry widow. Despite it all, she was filthy from the night’s ministries to the sick. But because Rohan pulled her down to sit beside him at the lord’s table and because she was famished, she ate. Soon her lids were heavy with fatigue. Enid came to her, and begged her leave of Rohan. He granted it. No sooner had Isabel entered her solar than Enid stripped her of her garments. Too exhausted to bathe, she sank naked between the cool linens. Her last thought was of Rohan’s smiling face as sleep found her.

When Isabel woke several hours later, the sun had not risen full up. She stretched and smiled, glad for once not to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. While she still did not welcome the Normans to her home, she welcomed the break in tension. Enid appeared and aided her in a quick toilette, then helped her dress for the day.

When Isabel walked down the stairway, the hall was uncharacteristically quiet. Manhku sat up on a chair with his leg elevated on another. She smiled at him. And while she could tell he would rather she disappeared into the stone walls, his lips twitched in a smile.

“Good morn, Manhku, how fares the leg?’

“The pain eases.”

“Good. Let me change the poultice and the bandages.”

Isabel set about the chore, and just as she finished wrapping the last linen strip around his thigh, he put his hand to hers. “You are brave.”

His words startled her. Isabel raised her eyes to his. “That is very kind of you to say, Manhku, but I only do what anyone would do.”

“Nay. Another wench would have run screaming and tearing her hair at the first sight of us. You stayed, and you fought.”

Isabel smiled and tied the linen snugly, then sat back. “Aye, and a lot of good that did me.”

“Rohan is a fair man.”

“He is a man first, Manhku.”

“Aye, he is that, but you will not find a finer champion than he. Give him his head. And do not betray him. He would never forgive you that.”

Isabel looked closely at the Saracen. “Why do you tell me these things?”

“Your sire and your brother. They will not return.” Hot tears flashed at his cold words. “I do not mean to hurt you, Lady Isabel, I speak the truth. They would be here had they survived the bloody hill of Senlac.”