Master Of Surrender (14 page)

Isabel opened her mouth to tell him she would fight him with every shred of might she possessed, but the words caught in her throat. His lips nibbled her chin, and his tongue licked at her bottom lip. “Tell me, Isa, where did she go?”

A deep wave of desire crashed through her at his short naming of her. No one, not even her father, had called her Isa. The sound of it on his lips made her feel so wantonly beautiful she almost cried out. “She—she has disappeared,” Isabel murmured, not trusting her voice to speak louder.

“Bring her back.”

Isabel shook her head, still refusing to open her eyes.

“Nay. She will never return.”

Rohan pulled back from her. She could feel his eyes on her. “Why?”

Bravely, Isabel opened her eyes. She caught her breath. Rohan’s dark hair fell about his shoulders. His tawny eyes burned so bright they rivaled the north star in brilliance. In the shadows of the fire, he looked like a fierce god come to life.

“She—I—because she displeases you!” There, she said it. A rush of shame flared across her. Her cheeks warmed. By her words, she admitted that displeasing him was something that disturbed her.

Rohan looked taken aback. His dark brows furrowed. “Your meaning escapes me, Isabel. Aside from your waspish tongue, uneven temperament, and refusal to heed my word, there is naught about you that displeases me.”

His subtle insult spurred her to reveal what was really bothering her. “Why did you push me away?”

Rohan’s expression was confused, but then it darkened as the answer to her question dawned on him. He frowned and moved away from her. Isabel was crushed. She rolled away from him, angry with herself for being vulnerable to this man.

“Isabel,” Rohan said from behind her, “’twas nothing you did to displease me. ’Twas my own frustration.”

She rolled over and faced him. “You speak in riddles.”

Rohan smiled that cocksure smile of his, and warning bells sounded in her head. He moved closer and slid his scarred hand along the curve of her hip and squeezed her. “You were wet for me, Isabel.” Her cheeks flamed, and she tried to pull away. His hand gripped her tighter. “Nay, you asked, now hear me out.” He took her hand and pressed it to his bare chest. The heat of his body surprised her. The feel of the uneven scar did not repulse her as she thought it might. Rohan pushed her hand down the hard contoured plane of his belly. She flinched when he pushed farther. His hand clasped hers tighter. When her fingertips brushed the head of his penis, he hissed in a deep breath, but hoarsely said, “’Tis painful, Isa, and while there are many ways to relieve the ache, there is only one I crave.”

Her eyes searched his face. “What are you saying?”

Rohan ground his teeth and shook his head. “I cannot believe you are so innocent of the ways of men and women, Isabel.”

She yanked her hand back. “I am perfectly aware of what a man seeks from a woman and what that act entails. And while I do not see what all of the fuss is about, I know men tend to act rashly when a woman wags her bottom under his nose.”

Rohan rolled onto his back and clamped his hand over his eyes. “God’s teeth, woman! Sometimes it is more than just a mere wag of a derriere.”

“I have not thrown myself at you, sir!”

He lowered his hand, turned his head on the pillow, and faced her. “Aye, you did that and more.”

Indignation rose with dizzying speed. “How can you say such a thing? ’Tis a lie!”

Rohan smiled a tight smile. “You responded to me, Isabel. Your body prepared for me.”

“Nay!”

“When I touched your mons, you were wet for me. ’Tis how a man knows a woman desires him.”

Heat flooded her face. She could feel it travel down her neck to her chest. “You are a lout to say such a terrible thing!” She punched his chest. The hard steel of his muscles bruised her hand. He acted as if he did not even feel the blow.

Rohan rolled back to lie flat on the bed. Once again, he clamped his hand over his eyes and rubbed them as if they ached. “Damsel, you would tempt Saint Michael himself with your wiles.” He stopped rubbing his eyes but kept his hand over his eyes and expelled a long breath. “I am but a mere mortal man who finds himself with tight bal-locks each time I touch you. Forgive me if I should displease you with my actions.”

Isabel shoved his shoulder. “You berate me for your own boorishness? I did not ask you to come into my home and treat me as a common house wench! It is not my fault you find yourself unable to control your lusty thoughts. Go slake your lust on one who welcomes it!” Isabel pushed away from him.

He grabbed her arm and in a quick movement rolled her onto her back and settled himself between her thighs. The base of his thick shaft pressed against her mound. The only thing preventing him from entering her was the thin linen of her shift. Isabel went instantly still.

His eyes blazed, and he worked his jaw in a terrible fit to gain control of himself. Isabel breathed hard. “Leave me,” she softly said.

“You make that impossible,” he muttered hoarsely, then kissed her.

He was all around her, so much so she felt as if she were drowning. His fingers dug deep into her hair, pinning her to the pillow. His thighs pressed her flailing legs into the furs, and her hands as they pushed hard against him had no effect.

His lips were hot, so hot they singed her flesh. When she arched against him in an attempt to push him away, Rohan groaned, and she thought she had hurt him. She arched again and this time realized she only ignited his fire more thoroughly. He moved slightly away from her and ripped the shift down the front of her. Her breasts popped out, and he latched hungrily onto a nipple and suckled her.

Isabel took in great gulps of air, fighting for control of her body. It seemed every move she made only spurred him further in his headlong intent of ravishing her.

If she lay still, he would take all of her. If she resisted, she would see herself completely dishonored. It was if the Black Sword had lost all control.

Panic tore through her. Under his heated kisses and caresses, her body warmed to his game, and the moistness he spoke of earlier returned with a vengeance. Aye, her body was ready for him, even if her heart was not. Her slick opening would cradle him as a mother would a newborn babe.

The thought of a bastard chilled her to the bone.

“Nay!” she screamed as loudly as she could. “Leave me intact!”

Rohan’s mouth descended on hers, silencing her cries. He moved her thighs apart with his knee, and when she felt the wide tip of his cock press for entry, panic ripped through her. She tore her mouth from his lips. “Please! Rohan!” she desperately cried out. “Please, honor your oath to me!”

His body stiffened, and for a long moment he did not move. When he pulled back from her, his eyes had the glazed look of a madman. He shook his head, and lucidity slowly returned to his face. His chest rose and fell as if he had run a great race. The flames in the hearth burned loud and greedy. Heat charged the room, from the fire and from the occupants in the bed.

Rohan touched a hand to her cheek. “My pardon, Isabel. I know not what came over me.” His simple apology astounded her. It was the last thing she expected from him.

He rolled off her onto his back and stared straight up. Isabel pulled the remnants of her shift tight around her breasts and peered hard at the man who had just a short few seconds ago nearly ravished her. Instead of fear and anger at him, her curiosity at what drove him overcame her. What manner of man was this?

“Rohan, what demons pursue you?”

He laughed out loud, the sound harsh. He continued to stare up at the canopy. “What makes you think demons haunt me?”

She reached out to his chest and traced the scar there. Without looking at her, he grabbed her hand with his scarred left hand, halting her move. “The scar there on your chest.” Slowly, she rotated her hand in his and pressed her fingertips to the thick scars on his palm. “The scars here. Tell me what happened to you.”

Rohan turned slightly to look at her. Isabel gasped. His eyes had darkened, and for such a mighty knight, pain clouded his features. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Isabel had no doubt this man had been tortured as unmercilessly as a man could be tortured and survive. But what of the torture in his heart? Did he leave a lady love behind? A sudden prick of jealousy scratched her belly. Then she remembered he was bastard to the world. Many a sire did not claim a by-blow, but what of his mother? She was aunt to the Conqueror. Surely, she held some compassion for her son. A child was the most innocent of all.

“Did you leave a lady love behind?” Isabel softly asked.

Rohan seemed to stare straight through her. “Nay,” he said, the word barely audible.

Isabel felt compelled to move closer to him, yet she was afraid any contact with him would stir his passions. So she settled her head on the pillow next to his. “Does your mother still live?”

Instantly, his body stiffened.

Before he could answer, Isabel said, “Forgive me, Rohan, I was but curious. I did not mean to stir up old hurt.”

He rolled over, presenting his back to her. “If she lives, it is no concern of mine,” he bit off before sleep claimed him.

A
harsh voice followed by the shaking of the thick mattress woke Isabel from a deep sleep. Were they under attack? She popped up from beneath the warm furs ready to shake Rohan awake. But the voice and the movement on the large bed were from the restless knight. He flailed in his sleep, his fists clenched at his side, his body taut as if some greater force held him down.

Sweat beaded his brow in the chilled air of the room. He had flung all of the pelts from his body and lay naked and exposed upon the bed. Harsh words in a language she did not understand came from him. The cords in his neck stood out as he grimaced in pain.

“I’ll see you in hell, Tariq!” he shouted, then flung his arms over his face as if to ward off some evil.

Isabel pressed a soothing hand to Rohan’s shoulder. “Rohan,” she softly said. He flung her hand away as if she were fire. His eyes, now open, stared wildly at her. “Rohan, it is but a night terror that troubles you,” she soothed.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “A’isha?”

Isabel’s chest tightened. “Nay, Rohan, ’tis I, Isabel.”

His eyes lost some of their wildness. His hands relaxed, and he let her go, then he lay back among the furs. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the fury was gone.

Isabel slipped from the bed and threw more logs onto the waning fire, then poured a draught of wine from a flagon on the table. She moved around to Rohan’s side of the bed and handed it to him. He took it without word and drained the cup. He handed it back to her. His eyes raked her form. “Did I harm you?”

She shook her head. “Nay. I but awoke to your shouts and tossing.”

“Battles long fought linger in my head.”

Isabel moved around to her side of the bed and slipped between the linens and the furs. “Do they visit often?”

Rohan lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. “Thank God, they do not.”

Rohan woke long before the cock called to the new day. The ache in his groin for the woman who lay slumbering against his side was too uncomfortable to ignore. Yet he pulled her closer to him. Her small, delicate hand pressed his chest. Her warm breath teased his flesh. Rohan stared at the canopy, clenching his jaw. He’d had one of the night terrors again. It had been many years since his last one. That Isabel witnessed it shamed him. Yet she had been a comfort to him. It was the first time he had been able to find sleep so soon after. After the other episodes, he had risen and feared to sleep the next night. It was always the same dream. It always put him back in that despicable cell. It always ended with A’isha’s death.

Isabel snuggled closer to him. As she remaneuvered herself, her hand moved down his belly. Rohan froze. Her hand lay over his thick shaft. Jesu! In a slow, shallow undulation he could not control, his hips moved up toward her hand. Her fingers twitched, and Rohan knew he’d spill on her with the next movement. He clenched his jaw. She was too much of a distraction. And after last night, whilst they had not been as intimate as a man and a woman could be on a physical level, he felt somehow they had crossed an emotional bridge together. It unnerved him. Mostly because he didn’t understand this newfound feeling of intimacy with a woman that did not involve body parts. And more than that, he feared it would show to his men and they would perceive him as weak. Rohan slipped away from her warmth. Mayhap he should hunt down her betrothed and pay him to take her away. But the thought of her gone from him was no easier to accept than his weakness for her.

Rohan stood naked in the room, staring at Isabel’s sleeping form. He didn’t feel the harsh chill of the air. His body throbbed, too hot for the woman no more than three feet away. The woman who haunted his dreams at night and his thoughts during the day. The woman who, should he continue with her as they were, would be his demise.

It was war. He could not afford to be distracted.

Rohan shook his head. When she had become his Achilles’ heel, he did not know, but he would make sure when next they met that she would understand in very clear terms that the only thing he wanted from her was an obedient slave to do his bidding. He cringed when he thought of the fallout that would ensue.

He moved to the hearth and tossed several logs onto the glowing embers. In the end, it would be best for them both.

Morning came much too early for Isabel. When she awakened, she knew without even opening her eyes that Rohan was not in the room. For a long time, she lay quiet, thinking of the day and night passed with him. Her entire body hummed. He was a complex man who at nearly every turn maneuvered the tables against her. When she would thrust, he would parry, and he was a much more seasoned warrior than she. She rolled over to look at his side of the bed. The indentation from his head still curved his pillow. She reached out and touched it. Cold. But she brought it to her nose and inhaled the strong, masculine scent of him. It was uniquely his own, and she found herself responding to it.

Isabel turned to face the well-fed fire and smiled, thinking of his thoughtfulness in at least that small way. Though rich woven carpets covered most of the floors and rich tapestries hung from the high walls of the chamber, it was still cold without the help of a fire. Isabel hurried and saw to her morning toilette, not waiting for Enid. As she fixed a finely woven leather belt around her hips, her maid scurried in.

Isabel scowled. “You tarry too long, Enid. I am done here.”

“My apologies, milady, but Astrid needed help in the kitchens. The Normans were unusually hungry this morn.”

Isabel shivered, knowing full well the appetite of a certain Norman. “Are they still about?”

“Some linger, but most rode out to bring in the villagers from the glade.”

Isabel wondered if Rohan was amongst the men who rode to the forest. She refused to ask. She would find out soon enough. She descended into the hall and found it deserted, save for the African, who scowled at her when she glanced his way. Ungrateful lout. It occurred to Isabel that there was no guard hovering about. Had Rohan lost interest in her so soon? Or had the man he appointed grown lazy? Or worse, did he think he had a hold on her now?

She shrugged. It mattered not. She was grateful no hulking knight followed her every move. She grabbed a chunk of bread and cheese from the trencher and moved to stand next to Manhku, who continued to scowl up at her. “You can look at me as if I am responsible for your wound, Saracen,” she said in French. “But if you do not watch your manners, you will wake up one morning to find your leg in the straw next to you.”

Manhku grumbled but backed down onto his pallet. She would let him stew for a few more minutes while she broke the fast, then tend to him.

As Isabel sat down at the wide trestle table, the doors to the manor were flung open with such a force she jumped in her seat. Rohan strode in, the morning fog swirling around his great shoulders. His breath curled around his ears. He looked like a fire-breathing dragon. Her body warmed. When his gaze settled on her, she fidgeted in her seat. He scowled. Several of his men flowed in behind him. All of them mailed and armed to the hilt. ’Twas their way. Save for the times in their chamber, Isabel had not seen Rohan in anything but his mail. It was the same with his men.

Isabel turned a shy smile up at Rohan, but his cruel words chased it away. “I give you the lord’s chamber, feed your carnal wants, and now you think you are the queen of the realm, not rising until the sun is high?”

Isabel choked on the thick bread in her throat. Rorick scowled, as did Thorin. Wulfson stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at Rohan. Rhys and Stefan shook their heads but continued toward the roaring hearth.

Humiliation rode Isabel hard. Angrily, she stood, shoving her chair back so hard it fell, hitting the floor with a loud crash. Rage infused every inch of her. She spit the chunk of bread into her hand, afraid that if she swallowed it in the tirade that would follow, she would surely choke to death. She flung it to the floor. A hungry hound snatched it up. Isabel squared her shoulders, and, not to be brought low in front of Rohan’s men, she moved toward him, stopping only inches from where he stood so cocksure of himself.

“Do
not
speak to me of gifts you bear,” she spat. “You have only
taken
from me. Had I not reminded you so loudly this eve past of your oath to me, I might at this very moment carry your child.” She moved closer to him and said very low but very clearly for all to hear, “And most, chivalrous knight, your child would not please me at all!”

Rohan’s eyes narrowed, and she knew when his skin whitened that she had crossed a line. But she would not allow him or any man or woman to tarnish her good name with half-truths. Hurt, anger, and confusion melded into a big emotional ball in her belly. What she thought was a most intimate evening despite his near rape of her, he saw in an entirely different light.

So be it.

“That you could even bear a child is not known,” Rohan said.

Isabel slapped him. “You are a lout and a boor. You are not worthy for me to wipe my feet on!” She reared her hand to slap him again, but this time he grabbed her wrist.

“Beware, Lady Isabel, I am a knight of William, and he does not take kindly to his subjects being assaulted.”

She yanked her hand from his grasp and spat at his feet. “I do not take kindly to base-born knights tarnishing my good name, especially one who is not welcome in my home!”

“Your regard of me means nothing, damsel. You are but a slave now.”

Isabel gasped at his harsh words. Hot tears filled her eyes. She looked up into his face, searching for a sign that he jested with her. She found none. “You are cruel, Rohan. May God spare you the pain you so freely inflict on others.” She turned and started to walk toward the stairway, but Rohan’s sharp command halted her.

“Stop, slave.”

Isabel stiffened before turning to face him. Through her tears, she saw Rohan’s men staring at her, each of them holding the same stony stare as his master. They were all the same, this death squad of William’s. There was not one gentle edge to any of them.

“My lord?” she softly questioned.

“You have not been dismissed.”

Isabel curtsied. “May I have your permission, milord, to see to the business of the manor?”

“Smoke in the forest!” shouted the lookout.

Rohan turned from her and hurried to the bottom of the tower stairway as the guard came down. “Smoke, Rohan, fresh black billows of it two leagues past the south road to Wilshire.”

“’Tis the small settlement of Siward. The families who excavate the limestone from the caves live there,” Isabel said. She wrung her hands. “The huts are made mostly of the stone, but the roofs are thatched. Thatch burns white.”

“To arms, men!” Rohan called. He looked down at her and opened his mouth as if to say something, but he jammed his lips together, turned from her, and strode out into the courtyard. Isabel was surprised to see Russell dressed and holding the reins to Rohan’s great steed. He was also dressed in similar garb to the knights’.

Before he handed Rohan his weapons, Russell shared a quick smile with Isabel. Confused, she watched the squire’s eyes follow the tall knight in something akin to worship. Quickly, Russ mounted a smaller horse behind Rohan and turned with the horde as they thundered off through the village.

Was it not just days ago that the same knight he now so admired nearly stripped his back of flesh? Isabel shook her head, once again stymied by the ways of men and the brutality of one in particular. Her ire rose as she watched the black horses and riders disappear over the crest of the last hill. She kicked angrily at a stone on the ground and in so doing stubbed her toes. She cursed and turned toward the hall and caught the eyes of several of Rohan’s guards on her. So, he still guarded her, did he? She would see about giving them the slip as she did Warner. Not because she had somewhere to go but because she wanted to prove she could. Isabel slammed the heavy oak portal closed and strode angrily toward the kitchen. The villagers would be arriving soon with Ioan and Warner, and they would be hungry. She would set about making huts available to them. Once Isabel had the servants hard at work, she came back into the empty hall. Empty except for the African. Anger rushed anew as she watched the foolish man attempt to rise with the aid of a short spear. The wood bowed under his weight. A dull crimson stain marred the bandages. Exasperated and looking to exact some vengeance on Rohan, Isabel chose the next best thing.

She strode up to the man and grabbed the spear from him, knocking him off balance. He sprawled backward toward his pallet, and as he did, he flung a long arm out to her, catching her by the throat as he tumbled backward. The action left her breathless, cutting off her scream for help.

Manhku rolled onto his side, taking the brunt of the impact, but he did not let her go. Instead, he rolled over onto her, his face a murderous shade of purple. He grasped her throat with his other hand, and in a slow squeeze, his hands tightened. Isabel flailed and kicked at him, trying to scream, but no sound would come forth. Still, Manhku did not relent. With the hall empty, there was no one to come to her aid. She saw the spear to her right and grabbed for it. Manhku smacked it from her hand. Then he abruptly released her and moved away. On her hands and knees on the floor, her fingers digging into the rush mat, Isabel coughed and heaved, trying mightily to catch her breath. Her throat burned, and she felt as if it had closed completely. Teary-eyed, she scooted backward away from the giant, gasping and coughing and trying not to lose her precarious grip on her control.

The wooden corner of the table dug into her back. Warily, she watched the man’s face morph from wild savagery into uncertainty. He seemed confused and looked around, as if just realizing where he was. His dark brows furrowed, his sharp teeth flashed. He rubbed his thigh where the bandage now oozed fresh blood. He mumbled something in his strange tongue, then looked over at her.

For a long moment, he stared at her. Then he did the last thing she expected of him. He extended his hand. Isabel shook her head and moved harder into the bite of the table leg.