Susan Spencer Paul (2 page)

“Please, sir,” she whispered, “I pray you, help me.”

With only those few words falling from her pretty lips, what had begun as a game for Hugh became something deadly serious.

“God, she’s a greater beauty than you thought, Cyril,” one of the other knights said. “My turn comes after yours.”

The girl’s eyes lit with fire. “I am not…” She didn’t seem to know how to finish. “I am
not
a…a…” Struggling against the knight who held her, she pleaded with Hugh once more. “Please, good sir. I beg you.”

“I told you to lose yourself, man,” Cyril repeated in a tone full of warning.

Ignoring him, Hugh gazed into the girl’s distressed face and tried to decide what it was about this situation that disturbed him. There was something here that wasn’t right. She was far too beautiful to be a whore. And she was pale, as if she were in pain, as if she might faint.

“She doesn’t want you, Cyril, lad,” Hugh said slowly, “and a lady should always be given her choice, is this not so?” He graced the girl with his most charming smile. “What say you, mistress? Would you rather go with him or with me? I’m clean, I promise, and I’ll be gentle with you. I swear it on my own soul.”

“Be gone!” Cyril shouted angrily.

“You!” she cried.

Hugh looked at the big knight. “You have your answer, Cyril, from the lady’s own lips. Now release her and be on your way, like the good and godly knight you are, else take your chances.”

Cyril’s eyes narrowed. “You, man, are going to die!”

Laughing, Hugh unsheathed his sword with an easy, fluid movement. “One day, yes,” he admitted, “but not this night.”

Cyril freed the girl, and Hugh pulled her against himself, hearing her groan of pain and feeling the stiffening of her body.

“Are you mad?” the other man demanded. “You are one against three! Do you seek death, then?”

The sounds of Cyril’s fellow knights pulling out their swords was enough to bring silence to the crowded tavern.

“Oh, please, please, good sirs,” the innkeeper begged to no avail, “don’t…don’t…”

“The day I willingly seek death, Sir Knight, is the day the sun stops rising,” Hugh stated with bald confidence, his heavy sword dancing in the air as though it were a feather. “Especially at the hands of such a one as you, for, truth be told, I’d rather be devoured alive by swine.” He smiled pleasantly.

Cyril gave an angry, animal sound and advanced on Hugh slowly.

“Then I’ll make certain to toss your body into the wallow outside when I’ve finished with you,” he promised. “Now set the girl aside, fool, unless you mean to use her as a shield.”

The insult flew over Hugh’s head; his heart was pounding too erratically for him to mind it. In another moment the hot pleasure of the fight would pour over him like some soothing drug. He would let himself be consumed by it, but before that happened he must send the girl to safety. He wasn’t even certain that she was still conscious; she felt lifeless in his grip, but that wasn’t his worry now. Later he would have no other care than her full awareness, and he would make certain that it was centered fully on himself,
but now…now he wanted only to feel the sweet relief the coming fight would bring.

“Take her, Pete,” he said, excitement shortening his breath. “Take her and keep her safe. When I’ve finished with good knight Cyril and his good knightly friends I’ll come to claim her, and God only knows how I’ll need her all in one piece.” Lifting his sword almost to the level of his chin, he smiled. “Now, sirs,” he murmured, “let us see who ends up in the wallow.”

A
soft, melodic sound drifted into Rosaleen’s dreams, beckoning her to wake. A lute, she thought dimly, her mind struggling to lift out of its sleepy stupor. Someone was playing a lute. And she was…where? In a room? Yes. Not her room at Castle Siere, but a room somewhere. Without opening her eyes she could sense light, the kind of light that meant day, and a gentle breeze caressed her shoulders and face. The bed she lay upon was firm and comfortable, the sheets were cool against her skin. Stretching, yawning, keeping her eyes closed, she snuggled into the mattress and tried to make sense of it all.

Her memories were blurred, at best. She had been so very weary and in so much pain. The wounds on her back had felt hot as fire and had stung as though soaked with lime. The battle to keep going had been fierce, indeed. And then she had caught sight of the inn. What had she done with her horse? she wondered. She couldn’t recall whether she’d had enough sense to stable it or not, only that she had somehow dragged her aching body inside the smoky depths of the inn to request a room.

The memory made Rosaleen frown. Aye, she had requested a room, and the innkeeper had given her a great deal of trouble. What was it he had said? Something about
having to share her night’s profits with him? Whatever had the filthy creature meant? She hadn’t been able to make him understand that she only wanted a room, and when she had tried to explain it once more she’d been accosted by three lecherous brutes, one of whom had gone so far as to lay hands on her.

Her memories after that became less clear. There had been a handsome stranger, with a handsome smile and handsome green eyes and handsome manners, who had come to her rescue, and then there had been only this. A comfortable bed, the taste of bitter medicine, a soothing of her pain, gentle hands caring for her…and dreams.

Dreams, she thought hazily. Only dreams, and yet they had seemed so real. She could recall them vividly, as if she were dreaming them all over again. She could almost feel his hands and lips on her again, moving over her body, and she could hear his voice, soft, whispering. It had both unsettled and soothed her, just as he had…

“You’re smiling, sweeting. That means you’re either dreaming of last night or you’ve finally come awake. Now, which is it, I wonder?”

Rosaleen’s eyes flew open.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good.”

Warm breath touched her cheek. Rosaleen turned her head very slowly. There, smiling down at her, his face inches from her own, his arms like pillars on either side of her, was the handsome stranger.

The scream that came out of her mouth startled both of them. The stranger quickly stood up, and Rosaleen, ignoring the pain it caused, leapt out of the bed on the other side. A shock of cool air on her skin caused her to look down at herself, and the unexpected sight of her completely naked body made her scream again. She dived back
into the bed and pulled the bed covers all the way up to her chin.

“God’s bones, mistress!” said the stranger, laughing, his green eyes filled with amusement. “Must you make so much noise? You’ll have our good hosts bursting in to see whether I’m murdering you.”

“How d-dare you!” she sputtered, tightening her grip on the covers. “How d-d-d-dare you! Get out!” She pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Get
out!
Now!”

The man raised an eyebrow at her. “You would throw me out of my own room, mistress? After all I’ve suffered in it for your sake these past two days?”

“Your
room!” Rosaleen was flooded with confusion. “God’s teeth! What am I doing in your room? And where are my clothes? My things? At least send up a maid and go away so that I may make myself decent. Dear God in heaven!” She set a hand to her forehead. “How long have I been here? I don’t even know where I am!”

“It appears you’re feeling better, at least,” he commented. “Your back doesn’t pain you?”

“My back?” she repeated. Was the man deaf? Why was he still standing there when she had asked him to fetch a serving maid? “Yes, it’s much better. Now go away and send the maid at once to attend me.”

He sat on the bed beside her, causing Rosaleen to lean away and clutch the blankets even more tightly. “Whoever beat you like that ought to be strung up by his feet and repaid in kind, sweeting, and if I ever meet up with the bastard I promise you I’ll do it. I’m half-tempted to alter my plans and go after the fiend anyhow, so help me I am. What in God’s holy name did you ever do to deserve it?”

Making sure to keep herself covered, Rosaleen scrambled as far away from him as possible. The fact that he was sitting on a bed that contained a totally naked lady didn’t
seem to bother him in the least. Indeed, he looked perfectly at ease.

“Well?” he prompted.

“I…” Rosaleen faltered beneath his green-eyed perusal. Merciful heavens! He was certainly handsome enough. His long dark hair, tied up neatly in a tail at the back of his head, had been lightened several shades by the strength of the sun. His face, squarely built and strongly featured, was the most perfectly masculine face she had ever seen. His lips, full and sensual, seemed drawn into a permanently mocking grin.

“Please get off the bed,” she said.

He laced his fingers around one crossed knee. “Not until I have a few answers from you, sweet. I’ve not wasted nearly two full days biding my time at this wayside inn for mere pleasure. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner we can both be quit of this place.”

“Sir, if you will please just…go
away
for a few minutes so that I can…can…” She clenched her teeth. “If you’ve not yet noticed,
I am not dressed.”

He grinned. “I’m not blind, mistress.”

“Well, then?”

“Well?” he repeated.

What in God’s name was the matter with him? Was the man an idiot? “Well then,” she returned patiently, “would you please go away and send the maid to me?”

“As soon as you answer my questions, I’ll answer yours,” he offered, unlacing his fingers and reclining across the bed near her feet, keeping himself propped up on one elbow. “We’ll begin with something easy. Your name.”

“My name?”

“Yes, sweeting, your name. What is it?”

“It’s…” None of your concern, she nearly told him, then thought better of it. She didn’t have a great deal of time to waste bantering with this fool. She had already lost an entire day, a day during which her uncle would have been looking everywhere for her. If he hadn’t yet come this direction, he soon would, and Rosaleen had to make certain she was on her way to London before that happened. “Rosaleen,” she finished.

“Rosaleen,” he repeated approvingly. “Very nice. You’re certainly as pretty as any rose I’ve ever seen. What’s the rest of it?”

Rosaleen bit her lip, wondering how much information she could safely part with. This man had saved her from an unpleasant situation and had clearly made certain that she’d been taken care of while she’d lain sleeping, but how far would his chivalry extend once he knew she was the heiress to one of the most powerful and richest titles in England? If he were to discover the truth, might he not try to force her back to her uncle with the hope of a reward?

“Just Rosaleen,” she whispered.

“Just Rosaleen?” His eyebrows rose mockingly. “I find that hard to believe, sweeting. Even the lowliest of serfs has more of a name than that. Come, tell me the rest of it. I’ll do you no harm.”

Rosaleen shook her head. “I cannot tell you,” she said, “and I would rather not lie. I do not know you or anything about you.”

She expected him to press her, but instead a look of understanding passed his features, and he smiled. “I’d rather you not lie to me, either, sweet. Honesty is a virtue I prize more highly than others.” He nodded his head in tribute. “Rosaleen will suffice. Now, lovely Rosaleen, where have you come from, and who beat you, and why did he do it?”

Resigned to the fact that he’d not be satisfied until he had his questions answered, Rosaleen replied, factually, “I come from a small village north of here. I was beaten by my uncle for refusing to marry the man he had chosen for me. And before you bother to ask, I am on my way to London. Now, may I please be allowed to dress?”

“In a moment,” Hugh said thoughtfully, settling his long body more comfortably on the bed, oblivious to the fact that Rosaleen drew herself into an even tighter ball.

He was quiet for a time, considering her words.

She had been beaten by her uncle for refusing to marry the man who’d been chosen for her. It was a common enough offense, and by law her guardian had every right to do exactly as he had, but that didn’t matter to Hugh. When he had carried her up to his room two nights before, he had been sickened to discover the condition she was in. The wounds on her back had opened and bled through her clothes, soaking them so thoroughly that he’d had to cut them off and throw them away.

The memory made Hugh frown. The bastard who’d beaten her was an animal, and hunting down such animals was one of Hugh’s very favorite sports. But she clearly wasn’t going to be forthcoming with enough information to lead him on that hunt, a fact that only made Hugh that much more curious.

She wasn’t a whore, of that he was certain, but if she was a lady, possessed of any kind of gentle birth, she couldn’t be anything grander than the daughter of some vaguely landed lord. The plain clothing she’d worn had given testament to that, and she’d already admitted as much, having said that she came from a small village.

He could almost envision what had happened. Her destitute uncle, desperate to better his standing, had decided to use his beautiful niece to his advantage by marrying her
off to someone wealthier and better landed. Rosaleen had balked, her guardian had promptly tried to beat her into submission, and she had escaped and ended up at this inn. And with him.

“On your way to London, you say? What do you imagine awaits you there? You don’t think to petition the king for aid, I hope.” Hugh chuckled at her surprised expression. “The king would never grant you an audience, sweet, despite your admirable charms, and he would certainly never take your part over your uncle’s. Or did you think to find some other kind of refuge there?”

Rosaleen understood very well what he meant, and the suggestion that she would seek any man’s protection in return for her favors angered her.

“I have relatives in London,” she said, speaking the truth. Through her father, who had been the head of his family as well as the Earl of Siere, she had innumerable and very important relatives at court. The thought of not being received by the king, or at least by one of his regents, was laughable, though she wasn’t about to tell this strange man that.

Her answer brought him a look of relief. “Relatives,” he murmured. “Good. Much better than the other roads left you. Though with your beauty you’d no doubt end up in court, anyway.” As a leman, he left unsaid.

“I’m so glad you approve,” she replied dryly. “Now if you don’t mind, Sir…Sir…what
is
your name?”

Hugh rose from the bed with fluid grace. “It’s Hugh. Hugh Caldwell.” He lifted a pile of clothes off a chair and returned to place them on the bed. “At your service, my lady,” he added mockingly, with a slight bow.

Rosaleen gazed up at his towering, muscular figure. “I perceive that I owe you a debt of thanks, Sir Hugh, and I-”

“Not
Sir Hugh,” he stated tersely.

She looked at him with incomprehension. “But, you
are
a knight, are you not?”

“God forbid!” he said with feeling. “I am nothing more than what you see. Just Hugh Caldwell.” He strode to the open window and gazed out of it. “And you may dress now, if it pleases you.”

Rosaleen glanced at the clothes he’d left beside her.

“But these—”

“Aren’t your clothes,” he finished, still gazing out the window. “I know that. Your clothes were soaked with blood, thanks to your guardian’s treatment of you and to your own foolishness in venturing out in your condition. They were ruined, and I had to throw them away. Those belonged to the innkeeper’s daughter. I bought them.” He glanced at her and shrugged. “They’ll be a little large on you, but they’ll do.” He turned his gaze skyward again. “There’s a girdle to secure them with.”

Silence reigned in the room for a full minute, until Rosaleen finally cleared her throat to gain his attention. He spared her another short glance from where he looked out the window.

“What?”

“I wish to dress,” she said as lightly as she could, hoping he would understand.

“And so you may.”

“Alone,” she clarified. “Or with the help of the maid, if you don’t mind.”

He smiled. “I don’t mind at all, sweeting, save there is no maid and I’ll not leave this room. You have about three minutes to get yourself dressed without me watching, so I advise you use them well.”

“But…at least send up the woman who helped me to undress in the first place!”

This time he actually laughed.
“I’m
the one who undressed you, sweet. If you desire my assistance, I’ll be more than glad to help. If you don’t, you’d best do as I advised earlier.”

Being possessed of an amazingly quick mind, Rosaleen grabbed the clothes and began to dress in a hurry. She wasn’t entirely successful, for she was not used to being dressed without help, and her back still pained her with the misery of slowly healing wounds. The underclothes provided, she discovered with dismay, were made of rough wool and not of the soft, supple silk she always wore. When she pulled the surcot over her head, her arms somehow got tangled in the cloth, and, muttering an angry oath, she found herself unable to get them free.

Hearing her, Hugh Caldwell turned away from the window, took in her half-clad figure with a shake of his head and strode to where she sat struggling helplessly. Grasping the light blue surcot, which matched the color of her eyes, he tugged it over her head and down her body, freeing her arms, then he snatched up the girdle to fasten it around her waist. “Your guardian was able to afford a maid to lend you aid in dressing, it seems,” he commented rather pointedly. “You clearly aren’t used to doing it yourself.” He knelt to fasten the overlarge leather boots on her feet.