Warrior's Song (18 page)

    She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his furious voice. Jerval? Her head felt as though it would explode, the pain was so bad.

    "Look at me, you damned woman!"

    She blinked then and looked up into her husband's face. He looked angrier than she'd ever seen him. He looked ready to kill. She managed to wet her lips. "Did you catch him?"

    "Good, you're awake." He paid her no more attention. He was feeling each of her arms, her legs. "Is there pain?" He was pressing his hand against her belly.

    "No."

    "And here?"

    His hands were splayed on her ribs. She winced.

    "I don't think they're broken. By all the saints' white teeth, you're a mess." Jerval lifted her slowly to her feet. "Can you stand?"

    "Please, Jerval, did you catch him? He is their leader."

    "My men are chasing him, but he's veered into the forest again between our two forces. I decided to see if you were alive."

    "You must ride after him, Jerval. You mustn't let him escape."

    "Shut up," he said and released her. There was blood on his hands, her blood. "Your head will hurt from that rock you hit, but you deserve it."

    He had believed he could forgive her anything if only he found her alive. He'd been wrong. He took a step back from her, knowing that if he touched her again, he would thrash her, mayhap even strangle her. He wiped her blood on his trousers.

    She saw his fury, knew that fury of his was greater than it had been just the moment before, but it didn't matter. She said, "He saw you coming after him and whipped his horse about, but his horse stumbled and I hit him in the groin and managed to jump. His name is Alan. That's what his men called him. He is their leader. We must hurry, Jerval, before he gets too far ahead of us."

    Jerval stared down at her, angry cords straining in his neck. He was nearly incoherent with rage. He drew a deep breath, still not approaching her. He said, his voice as low and soft as a gentle mist, "Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if we had not seen the Scots surround you?"

    "Of course I know. My father trained me well, if you would just but recognize it. I would have killed two of them, but then I would have been hurt or killed myself."

    It was true. He closed his eyes a moment, words beyond him.

    "Thank you," she said low. She lightly touched her dirty fingers to his shoulder.

    "Do not touch me."

    He'd spaced each word apart. She dropped her hand. "Thank you for coming after me."

    "I should have let you fend for yourself."

    "I did fend for myself. I managed to get away from him."

    "I saw what happened. When he realized that he was caught between my men, his horse panicked and you took your chance, as I would expect anyone to. Now, you know what he intended, don't you? He would have raped you, and then if he had not killed you, you would have been hauled across the border and held for ransom. By God, it might have been good riddance."

    "Aye, I know what he intended. I would have died first before I let him rape me. He thought you had used me as bait, that I was your mistress, that since all Englishmen were pederasts, it pleased you to dress me up like a boy."

    "Now I am a pederast," he said, and then he laughed. "The truth of it is that you did make excellent bait. We had ridden past him, as you know. I doubt we would have caught him if he hadn't come out to get you." And he laughed more.

    "What is a pederast?"

    "It is a man who prefers other men, not women."

    "But that makes no sense at all."

    "No, it doesn't."

    "I don't feel well," she said then, and fell to her knees and vomited, shaking and heaving, wanting to die. She hurt all over.

    He didn't touch her, just stood over her, his arms crossed over his chest. When she was done heaving, he said, "He sliced off your braid, a good foot of it. You look more like a boy now than before. Oh, yes, his name is Alan Durwald. He is rather infamous for the ferocity of his raids."

    She felt too wretched to touch her hair, but she felt it dangling to her shoulders, no further. "It is just hair," she managed to say at last. "It isn't important."

    Thoms shouted, "He escaped us, Jerval. Damnation, but he knows every hiding place in the forest. That wouldn't matter so much, but now it is dark and we haven't a chance of tracking him."

    "I know," Jerval called back. "It doesn't matter."

    "Is Chandra all right?" Mark said as he swung off his horse's back.

    "She is herself," Jerval said, his teeth clenched. He strode to his destrier and leapt into the saddle. "We will hope Ranulfe and his men find and secure the cattle. Now there is nothing more for us here. We will ride down the coast a bit until we find a sheltered inlet for the night. Tomorrow we return to Camberley."

    Bayon was leading the roan stallion to her. He nickered as she walked to him. She stood there a moment, staring up. She hurt everywhere, felt the chill evening air and the blood drying against her flesh through her torn clothes. But it didn't matter. Alan Durwald was gone. She was safe. She gritted her teeth and pulled herself up into the saddle.

    Jerval watched her from the corner of his eye, but did not turn to face her. When she rode up next to him, he said, "Just how did you get out of my bedchamber?"

    "I knotted sheets and climbed out the window."

    A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Did it not occur to you that everyone would be frantic when they found you gone?"

    "I was sorry for that. Truly I was, but don't you see, I had to prove myself to you?"

    "Aye, you did just that, didn't you? And look at the outcome. Not so very skilled, are you? You didn't stand a chance."

    "I would have if I had been one of your men, if I had fought at your side, if I had not been alone. No one could have managed by himself. Perhaps you would have, but it would have been very difficult, even for you."

    She was utterly serious. He said nothing for a very long time, then, "I have been wondering if I can haul you out to sea and drown you."

    She wondered if he meant it. Then she felt too numb to care.

CHAPTER 18

They stopped to make camp twenty minutes later. It was dark, with thick clouds rolling across the sky and a half moon giving enough light to collect wood for a fire. Chandra found herself alone, for the men as well as her husband ignored her and kept their distance. It was cold. She pulled her blanket around her shoulders and moved closer to the fire. She was jerking the burned rabbit meat away from the bone when Mark came around the fire to sit cross-legged beside her.

    He saw that she was covered with cuts and bruises. He said, however, "You are eating, so you must feel all right."

    "Aye. My head hurts, that is all."

    "Jerval said you took quite a blow, but that your head is so hard, it wouldn't hurt you very long." He paused a moment, then said very clearly and slowly, "I was forced to tell him that I am very grateful to God that you are neither my wife nor my responsibility."

    His words struck her to the bone, adding to the pain that swamped her, but she said nothing for the moment, just sucked her fingers, for the meat was hot. Then, "It was not my choice to be any man's wife or responsibility."

    Mark shook his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was as cold as the sea breeze chilling her flesh. "Jerval is my best friend. We were raised together. It is unfortunate what has happened to him. You say that you never wanted to be any man's wife or responsibility. By God, I'll wager that he now wishes he had known that."

    She chewed on a bite of rabbit, knowing what he said was true. She just wished the knowing didn't hurt so much. But even that didn't matter now. Nothing, at the moment, appeared to matter. She said, "I wonder why Alan Durwald chopped part of my braid."

    "A trophy. If he manages to survive this raid, and now I am certain that he will, I can see him wearing it about his arm for all the world to see. He took Jerval de Vernon's woman, be it only for a few hours. He will tell the world about that, about the golden hair he wears. He might even boast that he took you, that he returned you to your husband mayhap with his babe in your belly."

    "Then he would lie. Who is he?"

    "He is a very hard man, smarter than he should be, merciless to his enemies, a man who is also a very dangerous renegade."

    "What do you mean?"

    "Durwald was in line for a rich estate in Galloway, but King Alexander would not back his claim and gave it instead to his cousin. You see, Durwald would not swear fealty to his king. Unfortunately, the trouble is now ours. He's not stupid. He never wreaks enough damage to gain the attention of King Henry or King Alexander. He has been until recently content to raid farther to the east. But now he is here, and we must kill him or he will pick our bones."

    "Thank you for telling me."

    "There was no reason not to tell you. There is nothing harmful you can do with the information. Good night, Chandra."

    "Do you hate me so much?"

    Mark rose to his feet, looked down at her for another moment, then turned on his heel and left her without a backward glance.

    A short time later, Jerval wrapped himself up in his blanket and lay down near his wife. He knew she had to be in some pain. That was too bad. He wondered why he'd bothered to give her a blanket. She had her conceit, her god-awful arrogance, to keep the chill night air at bay.

    The fire was nearly out, but from the dim shadows cast by the orange embers, he could see clotted blood over a cut near her jaw. She deserved it.

    They were a few miles north of Camberley late the next morning when Jerval turned in his saddle and waved his hand toward Chandra, who was riding by herself at the rear of the troop.

    For a moment, he believed she would ignore him.

    Then, just a moment later, she reined in beside him. "Aye?"

    He never looked at her, just said, "I have thought about what to do with you. I gave you all the freedom you had at Croyland, until you broke trust with me. Even then, I allowed you your manly trappings. After your ridiculous performance with the Scots in the tiltyard, I ordered you to learn from my mother, hoping, praying, it would temper your actions. That did naught but make my mother howl in frustration.

    "But now, I will make no more excuses for you. No, you will not interrupt me. Close your mouth and listen carefully, for I can assure you that all hell will break loose once we are home." He felt the pain rumbling through him even as he forced himself to say, "I have done all that I can to change your feelings for me. I give you a woman's pleasure every night. Then I feel your tears against my shoulder at what you believe to be your humiliation, your subjugation, by me, your husband. You see it as a battle and see yourself, after you have recovered from the pleasure I give you, as having somehow lost something and been bested by me, your enemy. I believe you are incapable of recognizing that there is caring between us, and your passion with me is a sign of your caring for me."

    Her face was frozen.

    He continued, his voice harsher now, because the pain cut him so deeply. "Every morning, you flee from me. Tell me why you must run away."

    He did not believe she would answer him, but she did. "I have no choice. I cannot stay."

    "Why?" She remained silent, and he said, "If you did stay, and I awoke with you, then I would bring you pleasure yet again and that is something you would never forgive yourself for. Is that it?"

    She said nothing. The dried blood itched on her cheek.

    "It would be in the light of day, and you would have to see me in that full light, not in the dim shadows of night, and you would know I was looking at you and you would see my mouth and my hands on you and you cannot bear that, can you?"

    He didn't think she would answer that, but she did, saying slowly, "You're right. I cannot bear it."

    "Why the hell not?"

    And that she couldn't, or wouldn't, answer. Which, she didn't know. She stared down at her scraped and torn hands and remained silent.

    He said at last, "This last example of your thoughtlessness, your childishness, your absolute selfishness, has shown me clearly that you have not a pittance of sense, or maturity, and no regard at all for my wishes." Indeed, he thought, as a husband, as her lord, as a man to whom she owed respect, he had failed spectacularly. She'd accused him of changing after they'd wed. Now, he knew that he must change.

    "You will practice no more with the men, nor will you again wear your men's clothes. You will spend all of your time learning from my mother the things a lady should know. Never again will you set yourself against me, or I will deal with you as befits a disobedient, ill-tempered wife."

    It was more than she could bear, more than she would let pass. "I am not ill tempered."

    He nearly laughed at that one. "Mayhap that wasn't what I meant exactly. You are more heedless, mayhap more oblivious, than ill tempered. There, does that suit you?"

    She said nothing at all.

    "Just look at you. Some lady I bound myself to. You're filthy. Your hair is tangled around your face."

    "The same applies to you, Jerval, save that you have a dirty, scratchy growth of beard on your face to hide the dirt."

    She was right.

    "It will take me an hour to bathe and soothe ointment into all the cuts and scratches on your body."

    "I will do it myself."

    "Aye, if I did it, then I would see your body in the full light of day. I would touch you, and you are afraid that you would like the feel of my hand on you and would want more."

    "All right, then you will do it. I care not. You think I would want you to touch me more? That is a man's conceit. By all the saints, I hurt too badly."

    Again, he nearly laughed. "If I wish it, then I will. Now, do you have any questions about what you will do?"

    She said nothing, just dug her heels into the stallion's sides and rode away from him. He wondered what she would do.

    A half hour later, he saw her beside the rutted road. He would have grinned had he been able, for he realized that she did not have the courage to enter the keep without him.

    He merely nodded to her, and she guided the roan beside him, not looking at him. There were shouts from the men lining the outer walls, and as he expected, his parents were awaiting them in the inner bailey. He could hear his father's sigh of relief upon seeing Chandra. There were two spots of angry color on his mother's cheeks.

    Chandra slithered slowly off the roan's back. She heard her mother-in-law call her name, but kept her head down and walked quickly to where her husband stood.

    "Jerval," said Lady Avicia, "thank the Virgin you have brought her back safely."

    "By all the saints, we did not know what she would do," Lord Hugh said, limping toward them, for his gout was particularly noxious today.

    "I know," Jerval said. "Let us go within and I will tell you everything."

    Once in the hall, Lord Hugh said, "What of the Scots? Did you get our cattle back? Capture the bastards?"

    Jerval pulled Chandra down beside him on a trestle bench. He said, "We killed many of them, but their leader, Alan Durwald, escaped. I expect Ranulfe will catch up with the other Scots and will bring back the cattle."

    "Oh, my God, your hair!" Lady Avicia was staring at Chandra, pointing.

    Chandra hurt, both in body and in spirit, but it appeared that there was nothing she could do about either. She shrugged, but it cost her dearly. "Their leader, Alan Durwald, chopped off my braid. Mark believed he did it because he would have a trophy. It doesn't matter. It is just hair."

    Lady Avicia's eyes bulged. "You were in the fighting? But, Jerval, you told me you would not allow it."

    "She did it anyway," Jerval said, and nothing more.

    "You smashed my glass window," Lord Hugh said. "By all the saints' blessed deeds, you should be beaten."

    Lady Avicia rose to stand over her daughter-in-law. "This nonsense must stop, Jerval, before she is killed through her own foolishness."

    Jerval rose and brought Chandra up beside him. When she would have pulled away, he just tightened his hold. He said very calmly, "Yes, it will stop. Now Chandra and I will bathe off our dirt. Mother, please have some ointment sent to my bedchamber. As you see, my wife is covered with cuts and bruises that must be tended to." He paused a moment, then said over his shoulder, "When Alan Durwald saw that we had cut him off, Chandra managed to fling herself off his horse and save herself. Unfortunately, the ground was not smooth."

    "Hold still."

    She had no choice. Before he'd stripped off her torn, filthy clothing, he'd given her a potion to drink. "It will ease your pain. Now you will bathe; then I will see how badly you are hurt."

    He hadn't left the bedchamber while she bathed. Indeed, he'd held a towel for her when she stepped out of the tub. "Lie down," he'd said, and she did, on her stomach on the bed.

    "Hold still," he said again, only she hadn't moved. Her body hurt and her spirit wanted to die.

    He said nothing more, but she felt his hands on her, gentle, his fingers covered with the ointment, touching her here and there, looking at her everywhere. "Turn onto your back now."

    She turned onto her back. She hated it. She lay there, naked, and he was sitting beside her, only there was no caring in his eyes as he looked down at her, only duty, perhaps also impatience, and anger still simmering in him at what she had done.

    "I played my part well even though you hadn't given it to me. I was a fine tethered goat. I brought them out for you to fight and capture. You managed to kill most of them."

    His fingers were on her belly. They stilled. "Tethered goat? Oh, yes, you were my bait." He didn't tell her that when he'd first seen her surrounded by the Scots, he'd nearly lost all control, he'd been so afraid for her. But she was all right. He looked down at his fingers still lightly touching her smooth belly. He wanted her, and it surprised him. He wanted her very badly.

    She said, "I managed to get away from Alan Durwald by myself."

    He moved quickly away from her belly. "Aye, you did. I even told my mother and father that."

    He was rubbing the ointment into several cuts on her legs.

    "I do not believe that I should be punished to such an extreme. It was just that I was unlucky. Surely—"

    "Be quiet. I don't care a single damn what you believe. You have even cut your feet. No, don't say anything more. I am tired of your excuses, your justifications." When he was done, he rose and covered her with a light towel. "Do not move until I tell you to."

    She closed her eyes, feeling the ointment leach the pain out of the worst of the cuts and bruises.

    She heard him speaking, knew he was ordering clean hot water for himself. She said nothing, merely lay there, not understanding why she wasn't yelling at him to free her, to take part of the blame for what had happened. But the fact was, there was nothing inside her now— no anger, no fear, nothing at all. She felt both numb and battered. At that moment she truly didn't care if she lived or died. She closed her eyes.