The Wagered Wench (11 page)

“I couldn’t wait forever, Bloodaxe,” her father responded sleepily. “I tried to speak to her on your behalf, but she still would not consider it. And you were gone far longer than I expected. For all I knew you might never come back again. Times are hard, Bloodaxe, the world changes every day around us. A sick, old man must do what he can to make preparations for his end. I needed my daughter taken care of.”

“And I,” the big Dane exclaimed, thrusting a finger into his chest, “would have taken care of her.”

Dominic, still naked under a wolf-skin robe, shifted restlessly in his chair. “I did not know Gudderth had made any promise to you, Bloodaxe. I am sorry that you must be disappointed, but she is now my wife. It is done.”

Stryker glowered at him. “That’s what you think, Norman. I’ll take my case to Count Mortain and then we’ll see.”

There was a rawness in the other man’s expression. It told of his hurt. Knowing what it was to be betrayed, Dominic recognized that look. It brought back his own painful memories, of watching the woman he adored ride off with another lover.

He held his temper and answered carefully, “You have no case, Bloodaxe.” He hoped it was true, because he’d won the woman with crooked dice. His own case might too easily be challenged.

“I had Gudderth’s promise. I had his word that she would be mine if I waited patiently. Well I waited. Ten years I waited. And she will be mine.” Stryker stepped closer to Dominic and leaned over him to whisper. “Your residence between her thighs is temporary, just like your place here. Elsinora and Lyndower belong rightfully to me and soon I’ll have them both.”

* * * *

“
I
made him no promise,” she said, sitting up and hugging her knees when he returned to the bed later.

“He says you let him touch you. Is that true?”

She hesitated.

He felt sickened. She’d feigned such innocence with him, even running around the marriage bed, making him give chase. Now he began to wonder if that was indeed just because she found his scarred face so frightening—as he’d suspected before—nothing to do with her inexperience. He sat on the bed and looked at the ground. “The truth, woman. If you are capable of it. Did you let him touch you?”

Elsinora exhaled a small gasp. “Only once or twice. I was—”

He held up his hand. “No more.” And then he laid down, lowering a mental portcullis between them, while he wrestled with this painful discovery.

* * * *

She tried to explain. “I have known Stryker for years. Naturally I was curious. We explored.” When he remained silent, she lost her temper. “I fail to see why you are so upset, when you have known many women before me. I at least was a maid when you met me.”

She knew it was likely her father had made a drunken promise to Stryker. He could do anything under the influence of too much ale and he would never think to tell her afterwards. He might even forget what he’d done.

“My claim to this land and to you,” Dominic explained, spitting out his words, “is tentative at best, Elzinora.”

She let that sink in. All this time he’d made her think she had no real choice. From the moment he got there, he assured her the wager would stand up under any form of questioning. “Then you lied,” she said.

He did not bother denying it now, something about Stryker Bloodaxe appeared to have drained the fight out of him. For now at least. “I cheated,” he admitted quietly. “The dice were weighted. I knew where they would fall. I never meant to keep your father to his wager. Until I came here. And saw you.”

She said nothing, appalled to think that her body and everything she cared about had been won and lost with crooked dice.

“If I am asked by Count Robert,” he added, “I must tell the truth now. I will not take from another man that which is rightfully his. I know what it is to be treated unjustly, wronged by the indecisive nature of a woman.”

So he would blame her for all this. She stared at the tapestry bed curtain. Her father had married her to a cheating, lying thief and a coward who would shirk the blame for what he’d done and turn her into the villain.

Dominic Coeur-du-Loup, flopped over on his front and feigned sleep. She was disgusted. He’d had what he wanted from her and now he had the perfect excuse to leave, while laying the fault at her feet.

Well, good. Because she didn’t want him there in the first place, did she?

She stared at his back.
I know what it is to be treated unjustly, wronged by the indecisive nature of a woman.
As if he was the only person ever wronged.

Perhaps he was tired of the place and of her already. Perhaps he longed to go back to fighting and he could use this issue with Stryker as his excuse. That was what he was, after all—a warrior without home or family. So she had better protect her heart and stop those little twinges that had begun to pulse within it. She should never have trusted him, but he’d tricked her into it with his cunning, quiet ways.

Now she knew he was a liar and a cheat. She very much doubted dice were the only things he cheated at.

It was good that she discovered this now, before she made a fool of herself and fell in love.

Part Two

AER

Chapter Nine

Dominic rode across the moor to Bloodaxe’s manor on his warhorse one morning early, not telling Elsinora where he went. Saying nothing to anyone.

He wore no armor, only his sword in its scabbard. Bloodaxe was waiting, having been warned, clearly, by his lookout. The big Dane sat on a thickly muscled plow horse, wearing a sleeveless tunic, hide breeches and boots with laces crisscrossed around his calves. His fair hair stood on end, his eyes full of fire, hand clasped around the hilt of his sword. At least he was a man of honor, thought Dominic, seeing that his rival approached alone and took no comfort hiding behind reinforcements.

Why, he wondered, had the pixie rejected this man? He’d been led to believe there was no real, viable alternative nearby for Gudderth’s daughter. But he had not realized Bloodaxe was a young man, strong, healthy—and clearly smitten with Elsinora. According to Alf, the steward, Bloodaxe had wanted Lyndower ever since Gudderth’s son died. It was possible that Count Robert might side with Dominic’s rival. Bloodaxe’s lands were extensive already and he was by no means poor. He could buy his way into the Count’s good graces and Dominic was, after all, merely a humble cavalry soldier who won a wager with crooked dice. Dominic owed his loyalty to Robert Mortain, the king’s representative in the region. He could be made to give up Lyndower if the Count insisted.

Dominic smiled grimly. He dismounted, as did Bloodaxe, and they both walked down into the brook, water bubbling over their feet. “Now to the matter of my wife.”

“She who will be
my
wife.”

Bloodaxe swung his sword first, but too wildly. Dominic’s sword in the returning parry took more controlled aim and scraped the flesh of the other man’s bared arm. They both slipped in the water, but steadied, pacing in a circle around one another. The second thrust of Bloodaxe’s sword missed by only a gnat’s wing and that was the one that started the fight in earnest. Grunting, the two men clashed swords, each strike vibrating down the steel blade, splicing a ray of sun that came close to blinding them both. Bloodaxe’s men watched from his gate, solemn-faced. Dominic had no supporters to cheer for him. He almost wished, in that moment, that Elsinora was there to watch. Let her see the trouble she’d caused an honest man—the honest man being Stryker Bloodaxe, of course. A man who clearly had been mislead by her attentions and her wavering. Typical damn woman!

But wherever the fault lay, and despite the crooked dice that laid heavily on his conscience, he didn’t want to give her up. Fury raged through him like a wildfire through dry forest and he did not know where to direct it. With a roar he flew forward, sword swinging. Stryker’s weapon was knocked from his hand and he stumbled back, looking surprised. Dominic tossed his own sword aside likewise, rather than be accused of an unfair advantage. Now they fought hand to hand, splashing through the brook. A solid punch to the jaw sent Bloodaxe falling and Dominic followed him down, one knee in the other man’s back, pinning him in the water, his face just held above it.

But Stryker was not ready to concede defeat. Regaining a sudden burst of strength, bucking and kicking like a wild boar, he threw Dominic off his back and dove at him again. They rolled over in the water, a tangle of arms and legs. Dominic tasted rust in his mouth and spat. A stream of thin blood landed on Stryker’s ear. He hoped he hadn’t lost a tooth—that would do his looks no favors, he thought. Here came a fist, hard to his mouth. He went down. Muddy water filled his ears in a rush and his head narrowly missed a sharp rock about the size of a pear.

Is this how he’d meet his end, he wondered? Brawling in a muddy ditch and all because of one disobedient, proud wench? He’d once sworn he would never fight for a woman again. Now look at him!

He reached for Stryker’s ankles. The big Dane’s feet were sucked down into the muddy bed and he couldn’t move fast enough. Dominic was no stranger to fighting dirty. He tore at the laces and the worn leather of the other man’s boot and then he sank his teeth into his leg. He bit down hard.

Stryker squealed like a pig with its throat cut. He stooped, reaching to pluck Dominic out of the stream by his tunic and that was the moment when the pear-shaped rock came to good use. Dominic gripped it on one hand and struck his opponent hard between the legs with the pointed rock. The only place more tender than a man’s pride. Stryker doubled over, coughing. Dominic reached for his belt and pulled hard, until he was off balance, falling to his knees in the bloodied water. The belt broke, snapping apart at the buckle. Not wasting a moment, Dominic wrapped the leather belt around the other man’s broad neck and twisted it. Stryker wheezed, gasping for air, fingers scrabbling at the belt.

Again Dominic saw Elsinora’s face as she admitted allowing Stryker Bloodaxe certain liberties that should belong to a husband.

And he caught his own reflection in the shallow water. His scarred face—testament to his own mistakes.

Exhaling a deep groan, he stood, releasing the belt from around Stryker’s neck. He flung it to the bank side and then waded out, falling to sit in the long grasses, arms on his knees.

Bloodaxe knelt in the water, rubbing his neck and coughing.

Fast moving clouds briefly passed over the sun, streaking shadows across the moor. The horses, unimpressed, cropped at the grass, tails flicking idly. The men at the gate waited to see what would happen next.

The two rivals eyed one another thoughtfully, both having lost blood that day.

“We shall not talk of this again,” said Dominic.

After a moment, Stryker nodded. But it was not over, of course. Today they were done with the discussion, but it was a slight reprieve—like the welcome shade caused by thin clouds passing over the bright sun for those few seconds. The sun was always there still, and Dominic knew this matter would remain likewise, only temporarily hidden.

The sun was high, the air thick and still. Elsinora laid in the long grass on her belly, half-hidden, her chin resting on her folded arms. She’d been there a long time, listening to the sounds of the men at work on her husband’s project, drinking in the hot summer scents, watching a ladybird scramble upward along a blade of grass. The tiny insect’s steady amble slowly bent the strand of grass before her eyes and then it paused a moment. She imagined that it watched her with as much curiosity as she watched it. If Elsinora were not in such a drowsy mood, she could have found many other things to do, but for now she lay there, making the most of an idle moment alone. A rarity in her father’s manor. Besides, work could wait a few more minutes and someone would, doubtless, stumble upon her soon and accuse her of being a lazybones.

From this place she would see through the tall grasses to where Dominic worked under the bright sun, his torso shining with sweat, his muscles flexing. He was tireless at most things, she mused, except conversation. He still spoke little to her during the day and never answered any of her questions. But at night they shared that bed—repaired thrice already—and she had no cause to complain about that. He was duly attentive to her then.

More soldiers, sent by Count Robert, had arrived in Lyndower to help with the construction of a fortress. So far they blended well with her father’s villagers. The young women certainly were happy. But Elsinora worried that her world was changing, Lyndower being extracted from her hands, piece by piece. Soon her home would be an entirely new place, filled with too many strangers. It happened too fast, as if the ground was dug away beneath her feet while she stood there, frozen, unable to move. She felt forgotten.