Chapter 11

T O HIS AMAZEMENT, SHE seemed rather subdued when he returned.

He had taken his time outside, feeding his horse, rummaging through his saddlebags for the loaves of bread and cheese that he had brought along. He hadn't thought about food for a while, but after following her through the forest and as the morning had passed away, he found he'd acquired a magnificent hunger.

It wasn't for food! an inner voice taunted.

He gritted his teeth. This was truly a fool's errand he had set himself today. One moment he wanted to slap her, then he would discover himself swept into the web of her beauty, taut with the blinding desire she could elicit. One moment she would make him furious and then she would be soft, and sweetly noble, and he would find his temper in check once again.

Well, Lord Montjoy had no cause for complaint, he told himself. Richard had granted him whatever he might desire for his return. Land. Men. Knights and villeins, good farm wives and good serving women.

And Lady Katherine. Marriage would be no torment, trying to get heirs upon a hairy-chinned old crone.

Nay, life would be this tempest! If she were so unwilling to bend to the Silver Sword she would surely never surrender a thing to Lord Montjoy!

We will, he assured himself, come to some agreement when the deed of marriage is done.

They would, aye …

For her, it would be a simple matter of acceptance. She hated him. Or, rather, she hated Montjoy.

While for him …

One moment he was tormented that she was not Alyssa. The next he was furious with her words or her cool assumption of absolute superiority. Then all that he could see was her beauty, and all that he could feel was the wrenching knot of desire.

He never should have held her. No matter what his temper, he never should have kissed her. Never should have tasted the sweetness of her lips, felt the fullness of her breasts, touched her flesh …

Never felt the fire in the woman. Passion lay deep within her. The passion to determine she must slip through the forest in green, the passion for right and for justice …

And a passion for love, one she had yet to taste.

And one she certainly wouldn't bestow too easily upon Lord Montjoy.

"Damn her!" he said aloud, patting his horse so hard that the faithful animal looked to him reproachfully. "Sorry, fellow. I might have been better off with a crone! Whatever, I suppose I must feed the maid, what say you? But you know what? I should have left her to the likes of de la Ville. He'd have stripped the spirit from her in a matter of hours."

Would de la Ville have been able to do so? No, and Damian felt an admiration for her that he had not expected. No, not even de la Ville's hideous cruelties or perversions would have killed what lived within her. For she wouldn't have let him touch it. And unless de la Ville had actually brought a knife to her throat and slain her, she would have gone on, finding new ways to fight him.

"Lady, you are lucky to have me!" he exclaimed. "Perhaps I will curtail your activities, but behave and learn your place, and I will leave you in peace!" Well, what peace he could leave her in. He was sorry, he would treat no wife like a nun. Perhaps love had been denied him. Heirs would not.

"I must go back in," he murmured. He'd been gone a long time. The morning had come and gone already, and they were well past noon. He had yet to offer her a single bite to eat.

"I can't starve her, eh?"

As if in answer, the great black stallion snorted and shook his huge head. Damian smiled grimly and turned back to their shelter.

When he strode back inside the lodge, she was subdued. She had slipped on the beautiful robe, and now sat before the fire, trying to dry and untangle her long golden hair.

He held still in the doorway for a moment, watching her, feeling the warmth steal over his own body. The length of her hair might have consisted of spun gold. It seemed to hang now in fine, rippling sheets of sunlight and fire. She was trying to undo the tangles with her fingers, a task that surely could not be an easy one.

For a moment, the strength of his longing kept him motionless in the doorway, fighting the painful surges that tore through his body. Then he walked on in, setting the food down on the rough wooden table and turning to search through the crate by the loft window. He found a skein of wine and two leather cups and placed them on the table with the food.

She knew that he was there, of course. Her eyes turned to him surreptitiously, then returned quickly to study the blaze.

"My lady, what meal we have is here."

Maybe she had been trying to keep her distance from him. But her hunger had to be as great as his, and so she rose.

He was sorry then in truth that he had given her the robe. The fur was so soft and white against her flesh. The fabric molded to her body, clinging to her legs even as she walked. The deep V of the garment at the neck displayed the rise of her breasts in an incredibly enticing fashion.

He drew out a chair for her, and she sat, her hands in her lap at first, her eyes downcast, as he positioned himself across from her. Then she looked up. His breath caught for a moment, he was so startled by the deep aquamarine of her eyes. Damn this! He'd be tormented his life through, wondering just what this damsel was about!

She was not Alyssa!

Ah, but her beauty was greater than that of any maid he had known. Perhaps he could not love her, nor she love him, but he would be a harried husband, always determined that no other man should lay claim to that which was his!

"Eat," he told her, and the word sounded almost like a growl.

She didn't seem to need another invitation but reached for the loaf of bread and the cheese, breaking both into several pieces. He was disturbed to see that she took only small portions herself, careful to leave most of the food for him.

It was a generous gesture. But he didn't care to admire her too much.

Watching her, he shoved the cup of wine in her direction. She inclined her head in a thank-you. He started to wolf down a piece of bread and found it difficult with the mail nearly over his lips.

She lowered her eyes again, smiling. "Sir, I'm hardly likely to tell anyone the identity of the Silver Sword. You can cast aside that helmet and mail."

He shook his head. "You forget! You already plan to ask Montjoy to hang me. It will be far better for me if Montjoy does not know who he seeks to hang."

She waved a hand in the air. "How is this, sir? I shall not ask Montjoy to hang you—if you do not persist in handing me over to Montjoy."

He was still for a moment, clenching his teeth against the hope in her eyes. He shook his head. "I'm sorry." He picked up his cup of wine and swallowed it down as if it were water, shuddering fiercely then, but glad of the warmth that filled him. If she was startled by his behavior or dismayed by it, she gave no sign, but lifted her own cup to her lips. Her eyes met his for a moment, shimmering with their aquamarine beauty. There was the definite light of challenge in them.

She swallowed down the whole of her wine with one quick flick of the mug, just as he had himself. Then she smiled sweetly. "Have we more?"

"Indeed, we do."

He poured out another cup for them each. She lifted hers to his and, bemused, he allowed their cups to touch. "Salut!" she said, and swallowed down her wine again, waiting for him to drink his own.

"Salut!" he replied, and did so.

He poured another cup for each of them, somewhat amused.

She never quit. Never gave up. He realized she hoped to leave him passed out in his cups—while she darted away through the woods.

"I assume that this wine belongs to Montjoy," she said, making the words more a statement than a question.

"Indeed, it does." He poured them both more.

This time she swirled the wine in her cup. "A very fine vintage with rich, smooth flavor. And kept here by Montjoy. A clever man. As clever as John. Everything here for his bidding for an intimate tryst in this little—"

She broke off abruptly, guilt curiously touching her eyes as she glanced swiftly to him. What had she been about to say? Love nest? Den of iniquity?

He leaned forward. "In this what?" he demanded.

"In this lovely cottage," she said lightly, and hurried on. "Shall I pour you more wine?"

He lifted his hand in a gesture that assured her she must go right ahead and do so. "So this is Montjoy's wine. Perhaps we should not touch it."

"Why not? I hear that Montjoy is a generous man—when it comes to food and drink, that is—and I imagine that he would very much like his lovely betrothed to enjoy whatever creature comforts he might offer her in his absence."

"But what of you, Sir Silver Sword?" she inquired sweetly.

"I think that he would be willing to offer me far more than a mug of wine for seizing you from the very grasp of de la Ville!"

"Hm," she murmured, her fingers plucking a piece of bread. She managed to consume it very quickly—even as he knew she was busily hatching a scheme in her mind. She was both very hungry and very eager to escape him. Were he not the cause of her scheming, the entire situation might be amusing.

Her eyes touched his. She rose suddenly, coming around the table. Her knee touched his as she leaned against the table, reaching over to pour more wine into his mug. "So you are looking forward to a reward, eh?"

Just what was she getting at? He could feel her closeness, breathe her sweet feminine scent. Her eyes were shimmering in their aquamarine beauty. Her hair swept around her in tendrils that seemed to be crafted of pure gold, brushing the flesh of his arm. At this distance she was indeed a tempting morsel. She watched him so intently with those magical eyes, and her smile was surely the most seductive he had ever seen.

He picked up his mug and drained the wine from it. She refilled it quickly. He caught the skein from her and refilled her own. She swallowed it, still smiling, an invitation for him to do the same with his own.

"You drink far more like a tavern wench than a great lady," he said flatly. "Where did you acquire this … er, talent?"

Her lashes swept over her eyes for a moment, and a wistful, very poignant—and honest—smile curved her lips. "My father," she said softly. "It would be late and I was supposed to be in bed, but I would know that he was down in the hall, just watching the flames sometimes while my mother bathed or rested. Just biding his time before he would go to her. And he would say that we would share just a sip of wine, but then he would tell me the most glorious stories."

"About?"

Her smile deepened.

"About my mother. He loved her so. I'm sure that it was embellished, but he would tell me about their meeting, and somehow it all became very magical, a fairy tale." She gazed at him then and suddenly seemed to remember what she was about. "Well, you know, one sip led to another. Then sometimes he would be with his knights, and I would join them. And we all knew that I was my father's heir, and I had to take care that I never betrayed a weakness …" Again, she was telling him more than she meant to tell him. She leaned close, trying to make it appear that the wine was beginning to make the world just a bit hazy. "Ah, but you, sir, are a hardened knight! Yet a poor one, it would seem. Have more! If we are both here, guests of Montjoy, we should enjoy this, eh?" Again, she poured wine into his mug.

He poured wine into hers, offering it to her.

"Salut!" he said.

"Salut!" she replied.

Still smiling so seductively, she started to pour from the skein again, allowing the silk of her hair to fall over his arm as she reached for his mug.

He clamped his fingers suddenly and tightly around her wrist. Startled, her eyes flew to his. He held her there firmly.

"I don't think so," he informed her.

"You don't think what?" she tried.

"My lady, I am not going to pass out cold on the floor. And you are not going to go running off, a smug little smile on your face, while you think to escape me, Montjoy—and destiny. It will not work. For one, my lady, you could drink until you were ready to drop, and I would still feel less the fruit of the vine than would you! I have drunk and whored and gambled with some of the most loutish fellows you might ever imagine."

She tried to snatch her wrist free from his grasp. The sweet smile was gone. Her eyes were narrowed and snapping. Anger had etched hard, stubborn lines about her mouth.

"I have no difficulty in the least imagining you with horrid louts!" she assured him. "Indeed, I have no difficulty imagining you being the most horrid of the knaves! Let me go!"

He did so. She had been straining so hard against him that she went flying back, nearly striking the wall. She recovered her balance just in time and stared at him furiously, rubbing her wrist. "I swear, Sir Silver Sword—You will hang."

He pushed back his chair and rose, watching her. "Perhaps I shall. Will you really be so glad to see it?"

She hesitated a moment. Always thinking! Plotting, planning, conniving! Honesty seemed the best choice to her at the moment. "Truly, I don't hate you! Despite your disgraceful behavior and terribly crude manners, I do not hate you. I saw you save that girl in the woods—"

"What?" he demanded, frowning.

"I saw you save the girl in the forest. And there could be no great reward for her. Some decency lurks in your breast, I know it!" She paused a moment. "Robin thinks highly of you. Therefore, I do not want to see you caught, a prey to others."

"How magnanimous, my lady."

She took a step back toward him and spoke very softly. "I cannot understand why you are so eager to see me made a prisoner when we are both so aware of the pricelessness of freedom."

He pushed away from the table with an explosive oath, standing and walking around the table to survey her. "My lady, you are tiresome in the extreme! Understand this. I will not let you leave here. You don't begin to realize your peril. Do you think that Richard is a fool? Why do you think he has sent Montjoy home to claim you?"

"He has done so because he is not here, because he doesn't realize that I can manage on my own—"

"As you did the other night."

"I was faring quite well—"

"Not well enough."

"I'm quite sure that I could have jumped into the moat by myself."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. And I do think that you underestimate de la Ville. He will not quit. He dared a raid on your castle. In fact, he left a man—or several men—within your walls to lower the bridge for his assault. De la Ville is not clever enough to have planned so himself. John was in on it—and John is determined. Your only safety is in marrying—and marrying as Richard has ordered."

Her hands were folded before her. She walked to the fire, her head slightly lowered. Had she accepted his wisdom at last? She stood there in silence.

Then she spun around before the fire to face him again. The highlights of red and gold flared against the beautiful crystal-pure white of the furred robe, and against the flowing cascade of her hair as she swirled.

"You have mentioned that you are interested in rewards, sir," she said very softly.

Just the tone of her voice made a curious, searing tension sweep through him.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps I can offer you a greater reward for my freedom than Montjoy could offer for my person."

"Montjoy is a very wealthy man."

"I can offer more than wealth."

As he stared at her, he made a great effort to conceal the anger growing within him. "What?"

"I am willing to do almost anything to escape Montjoy!" she said swiftly.

He was dead silent for a long moment. "Almost anything?" he asked harshly.

She inhaled, and exhaled. He could see the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the softness of the fabric and the fur of her gown.

"All right," she whispered. Her eyes met his fully. "Not almost anything. Anything."

Stars seemed to explode within the sudden blackness that clouded his vision. His fingers wound into his palms, nails cutting into his flesh.

"Truly, my lady," he muttered furiously, "you jest!"

"I do not."

He fought raggedly to control his temper. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Spin, my lady."

"What?"

"Spin around, please. Let me see what I am offered."

"You have already seen plenty!"

"You are offering your person as a reward. I am entitled to judge this reward."

She stamped a foot suddenly, forgetting for a moment what a seductress she intended to be. Her eyes were truly a blue-green fire, blazing and hot. Her chin went very high, and her hair rippled and glistened down her back.

"Sir, I am not a whore—"

"Oh, but exactly, my lady, for you would sell yourself for gain!"

"Not for gain, you bastard!" she hissed.

"Spin! And do it prettily and well, for I have had some beautiful women in my day. I need to see what would be worth risking my neck and revenue for!"

She spun around, her eyes flashing angrily. The gown swirled around her slim ankles and beautiful legs.

And she did it well. Very well. When she paused before him again, her breath came quickly. "You wretched clod! You'll never again be offered anything so fine in your miserable life!"

"Watch it, my lady. A maid refrains from calling a man a ‘wretched clod' when she wishes to seduce him. Truly, my lady, you do not know what you are about!"

"Perhaps!" she shot back furiously. "But truly, sir, you do not understand how I value my freedom!"

"And loathe Montjoy?" he added.

"Oh, indeed! And loathe Montjoy," she agreed

It seemed the final straw. He strode across the room to her and wrenched her into his arms. As he had held her before, he held her again. This time there was no mercy in his touch. He bent her back, fingers taut and cruel as they raked through the golden length of her hair. His lips descended upon hers, rough in their demand. His mouth ground against hers, his tongue demanded entrance. And with a thorough fury made ruthless by the depths of his desire, he ravaged her lips and mouth, demandingly, brutally. His fingers brushed over the ivory length of her throat, slipped within the folds of her gown, and curled around the fullness of her breast. She could not breathe, and he knew it. Could not protest in any way. And still he gave her no quarter, drinking of her lips, exploring her flesh with his bold caress.

And then his lips did slide from hers. Down her throat. And he thrust open the V of the robe, causing the front to fall open. And he slid his mouth swiftly from the pulse at her throat down to the deep tempting valley between her breasts, and down farther still to tarry at the naked flesh of her belly. His hands clamped over her hips. The mail of his mask made patterned images against the softness of her bare skin.

Then he felt her shaking. Shaking like the earth when a hundred horses rode. A roaring came to his ears. Her long delicate fingers were on his shoulders. She was fighting now, and he wondered if it was too late.

He thrust himself up against her and saw the anguish, the fury, the tempest in her eyes. Thunder touched his voice as he railed at her, "Anything, my lady! Anything at all! You want to betray Montjoy. And you would have me join you? Tell me—what will be my reward? Would you stand passive? Would you not fight back? Well, I tell you, lady! That is no reward! Have you spent so many years hearing about your beauty that you assume it will buy you anything? Alas, not with me!"

"Stop it!" she cried, drawing the cords of the robe and wrapping them around herself tightly once again. "Knave of knaves—"

"No!" he protested furiously, catching her shoulders. "Nay, nay, lady! You made the offer! You would do anything. Well, let me tell you what I would require! Let's see … you would cast off the robe. Slowly. Very slowly. Sensually. From a distance, I think. And you would walk the length of the room to me. Slowly. Very slowly. And with the certain walk that a woman knows. You would come to me, to a bed we would create on the pallet with the furs. And you'd kneel down before me, and wrap your hair around me. And I would see that fire within your eyes, and your lips would part to kiss me. And my lady, that you would do. Those lips would travel sword-scarred flesh and more. Until I swept you down and took your mouth again with my own. And more. Do you begin, even begin, to know what I demand?"

She struck him full across the face. She swung so fast that he didn't see her, nor did he expect to feel the pain when her palm caused the mail mask to bite so brutally against his flesh. He reached out and caught her arm, wrenching her forward, but she cried out.

"Stop! I am desperate! What right have you to humiliate me so?"

"What right have you to betray Montjoy?"

"Jesu!" she swore, wrenching free and backing away from him. "Montjoy surely had no inhibitions against betraying me! The man has had his mistresses and lovers, and well as his precious Alyssa. He seeks to acquire property and a brood mare, and no more!"

"What?"

"That is the truth of it, sir, and you know it as well as I!"

"He would not hurt you—"

"No more than he would beat a decent horse!" she cried out. "Oh, never mind! I think I hate you as much as I hate him!" She spun again, turning from him. And now her beautiful golden head was bowed as she watched the flames. Her proud shoulders were ever so slightly fallen. She seemed weary beyond belief, and he was ever more furious with himself that he was beginning to feel sorry for her.

She was willing to sell herself to a bandit to escape marriage to him! An honorable state, if nothing more!

He turned to walk to the door. He had to escape her, if only for a few moments.

But at the doorway, he stopped, slapping his fists against the wooden frame. And he turned back to her, amazingly touched by that small, exquisite figure with the bowed golden head.

"Jesu, lady! I am tempted!" he told her.

"And I am amazed," she murmured.

"Why is that?"

She turned to face him again, not beaten at all. "You are every bit as loathsome as Montjoy!"

"Am I?"

"Perhaps more so."

"But your offer still stands, does it?"

Her eyes narrowed, smoldering and dangerous. "I will not be mocked by you more, sir!"

Tension seized him. He walked back into the room, stopping just feet before her. "I do not mock you, Katherine. At the moment, I am trying to understand you!"

Her chin rose just a bit higher. The challenge, the fury, the independence shone in her eyes once again. "Montjoy seeks to own me. You would seek only to use me," she said very quietly, and with a startling dignity.

"My lady, you seek to use me!" he reminded her harshly.

She smiled. "Can you be used, sir?"

He threw up his hands. "I don't believe this!"

"Nor do I," she murmured, her lashes sweeping her cheeks once again. "And I am acquiring a splitting headache." She looked at him balefully. "I drank too much wine."

She turned away and took her seat before the fire, rubbing her temples now as she gazed into the flames. He watched her for a moment, and was startled by the tug upon his heartstrings once again.

The things he would do to her once they were wed! He'd thought once before that she'd needed a good oak stick.

Now he was determined that she needed the whole tree!

And still …

He strode across the room to the cupboard where he had kept the robe all these years and found a silver-handled brush. He came to stand behind her and picked up a length of her golden tresses.

She started at his touch, realized that all he held was a brush, and seemed to slump back into her lethargy.

"There's no need to be disturbed. The brush—"

"Belonged to the Lady Alyssa," she finished.

"Aye!" he said softly.

"You serve Montjoy, and you've served him many years, and you're foolishly loyal. Do you think that Montjoy knows about the things you do in the forest as the Silver Sword? Do you think that he knows about Robin and the others? Are you so foolish as to think that he wouldn't hang you instantly if he knew that you robbed from his kindred to give to the old Saxon aristocracy?"

"I do not rob from the rich to give to the poor," he said, hesitating to clamp down hard on his jaw as a length of that glorious hair of hers curled and wrapped around his hand. "That is Robin's domain. I merely do my best to see that some of the robber barons do not practice their crafts upon the poor people of this region." He let fall a length of her hair. It nearly brushed the floor.

She shifted on the chair, turning so that her hand rested on the back of it, and her chin rested on her hand. "There is goodness in you, sir—"

"Sir Swine?" he interrupted.

"Please!" she whispered softly. Hers was such a beautiful face. And the plea was uttered with such a sweet and feminine appeal. It was easy to see how she might have twisted her father, or Henry, or Richard easily around her little finger. "Please! Just think about letting me go?"

"Ah! About accepting your … er, bounty instead of Montjoy's reward."

"Mine would be the sweeter reward, I swear it," she promised solemnly.

He caught up a lock of her hair once again. "You said that I humiliated you, my lady. I assure you, I would ask no less than I have already described! And you have said that I am as loathsome as Montjoy."

She shook her head. There was something honest about the motion, and even about the way her lashes fell, sweeping her cheeks. She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I am being given to one man. One who has known many women. Before being handed over to him, perhaps I would have a tryst of my own choosing."

"To avenge him?" he demanded hotly. "Lady, I tell you! Montjoy will be looking for purity in his bride."

"He will have no right—"

"He will have every right!"

She shook her head again. "You can be wretched, sir, and horrible. But …"

"But?"

"Your—your person is not so horrible. It might be better to …" She paused, needing another breath. "Better to know you before being handed over to Montjoy!"

"And why is that? I am the man you think Montjoy should order to be hanged. The knave who brought you swimming in the moat."

"And you are the man who saved my father's life in the forest that day," she said very softly. "You saved my life, you—"

"I never said that I was that man!"

"I know that you are. You gave yourself away when we spoke before. I would offer you anything."

"But you are asking for your freedom in return!" he reminded her harshly.

"Aye, that I am."

"For a reward well given."

She colored. But she didn't protest his words. "Think about it! Oh, please!" she whispered.

"I'll think about it!" He dropped the brush in her hands and turned about, determined that he really had to leave the cabin at last. He paused only a second at the doorway, speaking to her over his shoulder.

"Rest assured, my lady, I will be thinking about your words in all the days to come. In all the weeks to come. Maybe even in all the years to come!"

He slammed his way out of the cabin.

And Katherine, watching him go, couldn't help wonder at the depths of his fury.

After all, it wasn't he she intended to betray!