Warprize (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 5)(MFMMMMMM) (11 page)

"I'll fight my way out," he repeated,
adding smoothly, "and you're coming with me."

"I am not! My place is
here."

"Your place is with me, at my side and
in my bed."

"Just get under
my
bed, d'Anzeray, and
stay there until I fetch you."

Frowning, he stood before her,
bare-chested, and prepared to argue again.

She swiftly drew her sword from where
it hung by the wall. The blade gleamed in that cool afternoon light
as she raised the point to his chin. He glanced slyly at his own
weapon where it lay across a chair, three or four steps from where
he stood.

"You can try, d'Anzeray, but I will
not hesitate to use my sword."

"Even on your lover? The man who
claimed your maidenhead?"

Cedney kept the point of her weapon
trained on his throat. "I was not in my right mind. Already I
regret giving you so much."

His eyes darkened with grey anger. His
jaw twitched.

"Do you think I cannot fuck and
forget?" she demanded. "Just as you have done many times, no
doubt."

Still he was silent, although she
suspected it cost him a heavy fee to remain so. Unless he was
thinking again. God Forbid. A man who thought so much was worse
than a woman who talked too much.

"But I suppose I must thank you for
the lesson, d'Anzeray," she added coolly. "It was...
educational."

"It was more than that," he replied at
last. "Much more."

"For you perhaps. Not for
me."

"You pretend it was not
enjoyable?"

"Was it meant to be? I thought you
were merely interested in your own pleasure. Like all
men."

Oh, the fury flamed now inside,
turning his eyes to cold, hard iron.

"Get under the bed and wait," she
snapped.

Still he hesitated, muscles flexing,
trying to draw her eye to that powerful splendor no doubt, she
mused.

"It must be hard for you to obey a
woman's command," she added drily. "But try. Not only for your
sake, but for mine this time."

Instinctively Cedney knew that would
silence him. It did.

* * * *

As he lay under her bed in the dark
and listened to retreating steps, Dom considered the strangeness of
this day and of the woman who had just left him. She would not let
him fight, but thought he could sneak away like a coward. Amusing.
Well, he'd let her think that for now, but he was not leaving
without her.

He thought of what she'd
told him of her plans for this marriage to Rosamund. She really
imagined it possible to keep up her act, to trick her bride in the
bedchamber. To get that unknowing wife pregnant and claim the child
as a Bloodwynne. He smiled in the dark. Perhaps she
could
succeed. She was
determined, stubborn, strong, fearless, unique.

Dom could not possibly leave her
behind, could he? If he found a horse he liked and valued this
much, he'd definitely steal it.

When she returned to show him the
hidden tunnel that her father had built many years before, he said
nothing to her about his plans, but he kissed her— hungrily, with a
passion he hoped would linger in her memories and with no mention
of their argument. And then he left, slithering out on his belly
through the cold dark ground.

Chapter Eleven

Cedney invited the soldiers to search
her manor and then offered them supper. The longer she kept them
occupied, the more distance Dominigo could travel before they were
on his scent again. But they would not stay long. Having overturned
every chair and looked behind every tapestry they were ready to
move on. Only the interference of Lady Rosamund's nurse as she got
"accidentally" in the way of their horses, kept them from being too
close behind him.

Lady Rosamund covered her own hide by
declaring angrily that she too was tricked.

"I never met Uncle Rufus," she'd
muttered haughtily. "How could I have known that man was an
imposter? I had no choice but to go with him since I was abandoned
by everyone else."

Her elderly nurse shot her a dark look
but remained silent on the matter.

The Norman Sheriff at Foxhall had been
assured by witnesses of the tavern scuffle, that the murderer of
Rufus Barberousse was none other than a d'Anzeray. They just did
not know which of the infamous brothers was to blame.

From the soldiers who came there to
hunt for him, Cedney heard all about that family of mercenaries.
The details the man himself had lacked in telling were now filled
in and expanded upon. Their father, Guillaume, had come to England
and fought for King William of Normandy at Hastings, but he was
something of a rogue who went his own way and fought for whomever
paid enough. Now he had settled with his sons in the south of the
new-conquered land, and it was said that they struck such fear in
the hearts of their fellow men that they did much as they pleased.
She heard also about the sharing of wives— women stolen away from
other men. The d'Anzeray were a fierce bunch, bloodthirsty and
without conscience. Some even went so far as to claim they were
descended from the daughter of Satan.

Although they usually got away with
their behavior for some reason, on this occasion the King was angry
enough to send soldiers after one of them.

This crime must have hit a sore
spot.

She was unsettled, but not so much by
the fact that he had killed a man and taken his place. Killing was
a frequent occurrence in this world and she would be a hypocrite to
pretend herself outraged by the death of a man about whom she knew
and cared nothing. No, Cedney's concern was for Dominigo, the man
to whom she had given her virginity. The man who knew her
secret.

Unable to resist him, she had betrayed
the promise to her father. Disappointed in herself, she refused to
think anymore about him or what they had done together. She would
never see him again. If he knew what was best for himself he would
be far away by now and beyond the reach of William's
soldiers.

But when she closed her
eyes she saw him pointing that finger at her again.
I choose you
.

She clenched her jaw. No, she, Cedney
Bloodwynne, was not to be chosen. She was not a female living at
the bidding of men. Her destine was already assigned, long before
he came along and looked at her with white-hot appreciation in
those forged steel eyes.

He had not taken the box of treasures
she'd offered in exchange for his secrecy. Odd that a mercenary
soldier would leave those riches behind.

"I am fortunate to have escaped his
clutches," exclaimed the Lady Rosamund. "For I have heard how those
d'Anzeray bastards treat women. It is a wonder I was not
ravaged."

Again her elderly maid looked
askance.

The soldiers gone again, there was
nothing to do but continue with the wedding plans.

Lady Rosamund flirted and chattered
away, apparently not too upset by the news of her uncle's death.
"My lord, I hear you had a good hunt today," she said in her native
French.

"We did." It was a good thing Cedney
knew some of the language and had studied hard. Clearly Lady
Rosamund had no intention of learning her "husband's" tongue
likewise to make this adopted land her proper home. But that would
only make it harder for her to be happy there, thought
Cedney.

"You have blood from the hunt still
upon your tunic," the woman observed with a sultry gleam in her eye
as if she was aroused by the sight. "On our wedding night tomorrow,
my lord, the blood that is let shall be mine." She ran her
fingernails down Cedney's sleeve.

Alarmed, Cedney suddenly thought of
her bed, the mattress spotted with the stain of her maidenhead. She
would have to cover it before the wedding night. Or perhaps she
could hide it until the next morning and Rosamund would think the
blood her own.

She signaled for wine, thinking she
would need it, not only to get through this, but also to never
think of Dominigo again. "I shall give my wife lessons in the Saxon
tongue," she said sternly.

Rosamund smiled blankly at her, not
understanding, of course.

The elderly maid leaned close to
Cedney and whispered, "Take caution, young sir. The lady is not so
naive in some matters as she would lead you to believe."

"What is your meaning,
woman?"

"She knows what to
expect
. And she'll be
disappointed without it." The old lady looked nervous and then
lowered her gaze to the ground, before shuffling away.

Fear touched Cedney with cold,
invisible hands. The nurse's warning was obvious and suggested that
she too had guessed the secret of the young lord of Bloodwynne. If
so, was it becoming more evident to strangers, or had she said
something to give herself away? Since the old woman already moved
away across the hall it was too late to reprimand her for speaking
before she was invited to do so, but something must have emboldened
her to say this without her lady hearing.

Cedney's anxiety turned to anger. This
was d'Anzeray's fault. Had he never come there she would not have
been tempted, would never have let her mask slip. He had shown her
up as a woman simply by standing beside her no doubt. The
bastard.

* * * *

The next morning dawned bright but
cold. The air was brittle, the sky a piercing blue without cloud,
yet the light gave out no heat to comfort her bones or to melt the
snow that had fallen yesterday.

Cedney bathed and dressed in her
chamber. She ached from her activities with Dominigo the day
before, for although her muscles were well exercised in most sport,
the games he had taught her were different and demanded positions
to which she was unaccustomed. She finished her garments with a
hooded mantle and her father's chain of copper.

Her counselors came, as they did each
morning, to let her know the news and business of the day. The monk
charged with overseeing the marriage had arrived from Ely and was
currently feeding his face in the cookhouse.

"Lady Rosamund is in fractious spirits
and eager to get the ceremony over with," said Ordwyn, once her
father's most trusted counselor and now her oldest. He coughed hard
and gazed at her through watery eyes. This winter had been hard on
the old man's health.

"Yes," Cedney sighed. "She does seem
keen. Is that not strange?"

They all looked at her,
their faces uncertain. She studied each one carefully and noted
that Torvig seemed irritated, restless. He was resentful, she knew,
because he thought he could do a better job than Cedney. She had
heard him complain to his grandfather that he felt held back, that
if only
his
father had been lord of the manor...

"What think you of Lady Rosamund?" she
asked him now.

He was plainly startled by the
question. "She is a bride of good pedigree, my lord."

"And if you were me you would be glad
to take her."

Torvig squinted uneasily. "Of course.
But I am not lord of the manor."

She sighed. "Then I suppose the deed
falls to my lot. I cannot say I find the prospect thrilling. The
lady is...forward. And noisy."

"The Lady Rosamund is two and twenty,
beyond the first flush of youth. Beyond the first bloom," observed
Ordwyn gloomily. "No doubt she is anxious to have a husband and
bear children. Once she is settled here she will change. All women
conform and calm their ways once they are made mothers."

Cedney was amused by this. Not merely
because the old man really must have forgotten her gender after all
these years, but because he did not know as much about women as he
thought.

She glanced down at her hands where
they rested on her knees. Her gaze skimmed the rough nails and the
ring she wore— her father's amber ring and his cuffs etched with
the Bloodwynne crest. The cuffs were still large on her own wrists.
She had never quite filled them out. Like her breeches. "I am only
a year younger than Rosamund," she muttered. And her mind dwelt
upon the thought. Rosamund was considered at the end of her most
valuable years already and that was why she needed a husband— even
a Saxon would do for her now. Rosamund wanted babies too, of
course.

She expected Cedney to give them to
her.

None of her counselors spoke again.
They stood around her as they always did and waited for her to look
at them. Except for Torvig. Torvig was young, handsome, clever.
Sometimes she felt his resentment boiling away beneath his
well-chiseled surface. One day he would look to flex his strength
against her. His pride would force it, whether he had enough
support for his rebellion or not. He may be waiting now for Ordwyn
to die, for the old man was her strongest ally, her greatest
protector, and he was much respected by the other counselors. No
one would go against her while she still had Ordwyn on her side. He
was her one constant, the man who had guided her much as a parent
would—without the rights of chastisement.