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If not for that curiosity, his father would be alive. He himself would not have spent eleven years in hell. It was a guilt he had lived with for a long time. All because of curiosity and a spurned son’s longing for a mother who was nothing but a spiteful and vain betrayer. It had taught him a painful, valuable lesson about life, and about women. That knowledge he had accepted, nay, embraced, as one of the truths that ruled his life: trust nothing which comes from a woman.
Flinging open the portal, he swept Alayna inside the chamber with him and slammed the door shut.
It did not look much different than it had that night. There was the glut of furnishings, the heavy tapestries, the lavish pile of furs on the bed…the bed, the same one in which he had seen them, entwined in a way that had shocked and embarassed him. A strange feeling constricted in his chest, but he pushed the rush of memory aside.
“Now, Lady Gastonbury,” he said tightly, “you tell me Edgar, who is well-known in these parts for his taking of other men’s wives, sadly neglected his own on the eve of their wedding? Is it possible that you did not suit? I doubt it, for though your tongue is waspish, your form is pretty enough. Pray tell, lady, how is it Edgar forgot you?”
“Hardly forgotten,” Alayna snapped bitterly. “I am quite certain Edgar had every intention of taking advantage.”
“Taking advantage? You were not wed?”
“Of course we were, but I told you it was trickery.”
“One only has to consider Edgar’s wealth to think perhaps you found your marriage advantageous, at least on some accounts.”
She shrugged, doing a bad job of trying to appear unperturbed. “If it suits you to think me the eager bride, then I cannot dissuade you of the notion.”
“Aye, I do indeed find it hard to believe Edgar did not avail himself of your…charms at his first opportunity.”
“He passed out from the wine before he could…” Her face flooded with color. A pretty effect, Lucien thought sourly, meant to dissuade him from inquiring further. Oh, yes, his mother had been an excellent tutor on the cunning ways of women. This one would find her wiles wasted on him.
“What you are telling me is completely unbelievable.”
“Do you think I care what you believe?” she flung. “You stand there and insist on what you want to be true, as if you can command it to be so because you say it. Well, you cannot command this, no matter how much it displeases you. I was not Edgar’s wife! I am no part of this place and I demand that you release me at once.”
Lucien regarded her coldly for a moment, trying to decide if she was lying. Her demands he ignored.
He went to the bed, standing between her and it so she could not see how his hand trembled as he lifted the covering of furs, throwing them aside as if scalded and forcing himself to look at the linen.
There were no signs of virginal stains there. When he turned back to her, his face was once again unreadable.
“’Tis most humorous to me that this bed, which has witnessed the taking of so many woman, goes unused on the night its master is to take the one woman to whom he has a right.”
She was watching him carefully, not able to keep the faint gleam of victory from her eyes. She was waiting for him to concede. He was all at once struck by how incredibly beautiful she was. He had noticed before, of course. Even among the crowd in the bailey, she had shone like a jewel amongst cinders. Her eyes were a strange green, as deep and mysterious as the pine forests he had seen in the Northlands. They were almost luminescent, fringed with thick dark lashes and delicately arched brows. There was something about the shape of those eyes that made her look innocent and sensual at the same time. Her skin was flawless, smooth and the color of cream with a blush. Around the oval of her face, her hair was mussed, but the soft luster of sable was not subdued. Her mouth was pursed in anger now, but it was lovely despite her expression, full and lush, the kind that turned a man’s thoughts away from the business at hand and prompted other, less worthy thoughts.
Suddenly he thought of how odd it was for him to be noticing all of this, and he scowled. “I am not troubled by the lack of proof of your virtue,” he said softly, deliberately. “For all I know you were not a maiden on that night.” He ignored her deep flush of rage. He was certain, of course, that she was indeed still a virgin. She was too obviously embarrassed by the whole matter to be lying on that account. “It makes no difference to me what these linens show, for I say you are the widow of my defeated enemy, and your disposition is mine.”
Aghast at his words, Alayna snapped back at him, “How dare you, when you know the truth! I will tell the king’s man about this, and others will back me, for there is no proof on those linens to credit your false claim.”
Ignoring her, he drew a short dagger from his belt. She shrank away with a small cry. Good Lord, she thought he meant to threaten her with it! Deliberately he held the blade up as if to show it to her, then grasped the naked steel with his other hand and drew it across his palm. He did not flinch at the sting as the cut opened, welling up blood in a vivid crimson line. The wound was nothing. As she watched, horrified and stunned, he reached for the bedclothes and grasped them in his fist.
He waited for the moment of comprehension. With a cry she leaped forward, snatching the cloth from his hand. Lucien released it, letting her see the bright red stain.
“Learn this, lady, for it will serve you well. I have waited upon my vengeance and planned carefully for it. No one, least of all a woman, will thwart me.”
“You are an evil liar,” she whispered vehemently.
“Perhaps. I have been called worse,” Lucien replied. “Take care not to aggravate me, for I have no wish to punish you. Simply mind your place, and we will get along sufficiently.”
She curled her lips in a derisive sneer. “You are more despicable than Edgar. If you think you will hold me here in disgrace and—”
“Be at ease,” he drawled. “I intend no such thing. Your reputation will be safeguarded, for I have no nefarious intentions.” A wicked impulse made him add, “Unless you so wish it.”
She sputtered a moment or two, unable to give voice to the rage that choked her. God’s teeth, she was magnificent! Finally she shouted, “I will see you pay for this. You are a liar and a brute, a cad of the first rank, a fiendish—”
“And you are a mere woman with nothing else but to accept that you have been bested. Why not concede gracefully? I have assured you I intend you no harm. Take heart, my fiery vixen, for I promise when the matter of the barony is settled with the king, we will see then what there is to be done with you. But until that time, you are far too valuable a player in the game to set free.”
“I shall make you regret this,” she promised hotly.
He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. Unable to resist, he pushed her a bit further. “’Tis regrettable to me that you insist on this senseless opposition.” He took a step closer, lifting his unwounded hand to touch an errant lock curling gently at her ear. It was thick, the color of chestnut burnished to a high sheen and incredibly silky. He let the strand sift through his fingers.
Standing frozen, like an animal caught in a snare, she stared back at him with wide eyes. Her gaze flitted to his hand entwined in her hair, so close to her cheek. He had meant only a jest, a simple maneuver to intimidate her, but suddenly there was between them an enigmatic tension. She felt it, too—he could see it in her startled expression, in the stiff posture. And she was as taken aback by it as he was himself. He pressed on. “There is more worth in an alliance between us. Methinks it would bring much greater reward than this sparring.”
Green eyes slid back to him. They seemed to glow with a light of their own, looking as clear and bright as a tiger’s. She smacked his hand away. “You must be mad!” she snapped.
He genuinely laughed then, surprising her and even himself, for he was a man who did not laugh often.
She stepped away, anxious to put some distance between them. “That is something which will never be, for the choice to be enemies was yours. However, I will oblige you on that regard, and so I vow I will do my best not to disappoint. I shall be a worthy adversary.”
With that, she whirled, presenting her back to him in an angry dismissal. Lucien couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting down to notice the shapely curve of her hips.
“I know you mean every word of your promise to vex me. I have no concern about these threats, for I am hard-pressed to imagine any damage you would be able to inflict.” He thought for a moment. “Still, many a woman has sewed trouble for a man for whom she harbored ill.”
“And well do I know the selfish destruction of men!” she flung over her shoulder.
He smiled tightly. “You show yourself to be a credit to womankind, with your threats and foolish pouts. Do your best, demoiselle, for I am eager to meet your contest. But let me, in all fairness, issue a warning of my own. Know that there is little I will tolerate from you without punishment.”
Alayna turned to face him again, her eyes narrowed to bits of emerald ice.
He cut off her brewing tirade. “As long as you behave rightly, I will not trouble you. You are quite safe from me, I assure you. Your beauty would taunt a saint, but I know too well the poison a fair face can hide. Beauty, my dear lady, is a lie to rob a man of his senses, make him weak. You’ll not have that power over me.”
They glared at each other, and to Alayna’s credit, she held her counsel, lifting her chin in a mute arrogance—a gesture meant to annoy him, he was sure.
She was tempting. But he had not come back from the dead to tangle with a slip of a girl. Satisfied with her silence, he gave her a glowering nod of approval. He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a deafening thud.
Alayna was left alone, breathless with overwhelming rage. This man—this Lucien de Montregnier—was incredibly obnoxious! So smug, so sure of himself. So certain he had won.
Well, he had, that much was true. And there was nothing she could do about it. Which was all the more infuriating. As she ruminated, Alayna paced within the confines of the chamber.
She kept looking at the bed linens. Of course, she wouldn’t tell anyone about de Montregnier’s deception—who would believe her? De Montregnier had been the only one to see the unstained cloth. Now there was nothing to prove her story. Angrily she ripped the coverings from the bed. She would have liked to burn them, but that would not have served her purpose any better.
At least he had promised he would not molest her, unless she was willing, he had said. Imagine the gall! Did he think her some lusty chit who fell at a man’s feet simply because he was attractive? Did he think she would swoon at the bawdy suggestions he had made, fainthearted and hopeful for his favor? If he did, he was a fool! He was a swaggering, conceited bully as far as she was concerned, and she would find a way to thwart him!
Not looking where she was going, she almost slammed into a large trunk. The place was teeming with them, oversize leather-bound chests of thick oak. And all of these riches now belonged to de Montregnier. His castle, his chambers, his food, his lands, his furnishings. He had won himself a great prize. Everything, including her, it seemed, belonged to him.
This fueled her anger. How she despised him, with his high-handed arrogance!
She almost tripped again, this time over a thickly embroidered tunic. Edgar’s. She flashed on the memory of the other night in this very room when he had struggled out of it, casting it aside carelessly in his eagerness for her. The recollection brought a shudder. He had gotten down to his leggings before he had succumbed to the effects of his overindulgence.
It occurred to her that this, too, belonged to de Montregnier. Edgar’s penchant for expensive clothing was worth no small sum in itself. All part of de Montregnier’s booty. Alayna smiled at the thought of the dark warrior in Edgar’s fancy garb. She hardly thought de Montregnier would favor the colorful and elaborately embellished garments. Good, it pleased her that this, at least, would be wasted.
Still he could sell them and fetch a goodly amount. No doubt de Montregnier would prove to be as greedy as his predecessor. The poor folk of the shire would certainly fare no better with the new lord than they had with the old.
It was then the idea struck her. A terrible, awful, wonderful, enticing idea that she told herself at once she could not possibly dare.
Could she? Immediately, and against all good sense, she knew she could. She knew she would.
Alayna flung open a trunk. She hastily lifted a few pieces and looked them over. Oh, yes, this was a delightful idea!
So he does not wish to be cheated of one thing of Gastonbury’s? Well, my Lord Conqueror, she thought, a pleased smile stretching her lips, I will cheat you at least out of these splendid clothes, and anything else that I can think of.
Chapter Four (#ulink_63faa8fd-6799-5f8f-be72-bcb1dc5f1c32)
It was much later when Alayna entered the infirmary, her mind filled with plans for the trunks stuffed with Edgar’s clothing, which now resided in her chamber. Her good mood did not last long.
Many of the men who had suffered serious injury in battle were now succumbing to the inevitability of their wounds. The place held the specter of death like a thick, pervasive stench. She moved about from one bedside to the next, feeling a numb horror at the sight of the dying, her high spirits now gone.
Eurice came to her side. “You look ill, Alayna.”
Alayna sighed. “Not ill. I have been manipulated by Edgar and am now harassed by de Montregnier. Yet I stand here and see this carnage and realize that my problems are trivial compared to all of this death.”
Eurice looked to the fallen men lying on their pallets. “Men make war, Alayna. ’Tis their way. They took their oaths to serve the Baron of Gastonbury, as their fathers did before them to all of the barons through the years, some good, some bad.”
“Edgar was a wicked, evil man.” Alayna shivered. “And I fear his successor is not much better.”
Eurice raised her brow. “He seems fitting. Everyone is speaking of him, and not much bad. There is hope he might prove worthy. He gave a free and fair choice to enter into service, one he did not have to give.”
“He gave nothing,” Alayna snapped. “That speech was simply a pretty package for his ultimate insinuation into the barony. De Montregnier knows if he has the support of the vassals, Henry is unlikely to depose him. For the sake of peace and to preserve his own seat of power, the king will approve of the man who has the loyalty of the people. Tell me, did anyone decline his gracious invitation?”
Eurice shook her head. “Nary a one.”
“Of course, who would? Why these poor folk would follow the devil incarnate after Edgar.”
Eurice made a sign of the cross against the mention of the Dark One. Alayna smiled at her nurse’s superstition.
“Eurice, I have found several trunks in Edgar’s room. They contain an array of finery such as you have never seen. The extravagance is sinful, and it put me in mind of the need we saw in the village.”
“Those poor wretches—” Eurice nodded “—what have they to do with Edgar’s clothes?”
“He laid waste the countryside to fill his stores with food and wine, this castle with riches, those trunks with expensive garments and God knows what other extravagances. We must right that. Taking this treasure and redistributing it to the common folk might give some meaning to all that has befallen to me.”
“Nay! It is thievery to take those things,” Eurice wailed. “They belong to the new lord now. He can have you swing from the gibbet for stealing.”
Alayna smiled wickedly, savoring de Montregnier’s anger should he ever learn of her scheme. “He will not kill me, though it would vex him sorely if he knew of my ambitions.”
“Please have sense,” Eurice continued, shaking her head in disapproval. “You were always headstrong, but now you must learn patience, discernment…”
“He is not going to release me, Eurice, he has made that quite clear. He thinks me a possession of Edgar’s and therefore forfeit to him. He said he will not let me go until he is sure I can no longer be of use to him. Who knows how long that will be? I will not let him get away with it, not without making him regret it.”
Eurice looked at Alayna aghast. Understanding dawned on her face. “You plot to steal Edgar’s trunks to thwart this de Montregnier! ‘Give some meaning to all that has befallen me.’ Listen to you! You think to take revenge against him with this childishness.”
“I am going to do it,” Alayna said, her voice steady with determination.
A low groan diverted the women’s attention. Seeing it was one of the wounded men, Alayna quickly abandoned their quarrel and rushed to his bedside.
She remembered him from yesterday when he was brought in. An older man, perhaps too old to fight, who had been conscripted by an unmerciful master. There had been some hope he would survive if his blood loss was not too great, but his health waned and now he was close to death. Pale and faltering, he was making a great effort to speak. “A priest,” the man begged in a thin voice.
Alayna realized that he was requesting last rites to ease his passage into heaven. “My God, Eurice, he seeks absolution!” she gasped. “He wants a priest. Fetch one, quickly!”
“There is no one here,” Eurice whispered. Alayna stared at her disbelievingly.
“What do you mean we have no priests? We have men dying here, honorable men who deserve extreme unction to be absolved of their sins.”
“The bishop commanded his priests to the abbey and Lord Lucien had no choice but to let them go. There are no longer any priests here.”
“A friar, then.”
“Alayna, there is no one!”
“He is dying,” Alayna fretted. “He should be comforted.” She looked down at the man. The poor soldier was in and out of awareness, barely coherent, muttering for forgiveness. She could not stand to see his agony. With a quick prayer for her soul for the blasphemy she was about to commit, she lowered her voice and murmured some Latin blessings she had memorized from daily mass.
Eurice stood in mute horror of the sacrilege she was witnessing but made no protest.
The mumbled words apparently convinced the man his request had been fulfilled. He reached out for Alayna’s hand, crushing her fingers in his gnarled grasp. She did not let go even when the pain stabbed up her arm. His grip weakened and his face relaxed until he was at peace.
She sat in silent tableau with the man she had not known in life yet companioned in death, when a shadow fell across the bed. She looked up to see de Montregnier standing over her, flanked by two of his knights, Will and a youth whose name, she had learned, was Pelly.
Lucien stood with his feet braced apart and arms folded over his chest, wearing the same smug look he had favored earlier. That, and her own unexplainable visceral response to his presence, made her suddenly angry.
“Come to view your handiwork, have you, good knights?” she snapped.
“Alayna!” Eurice gasped in reproach. Lucien did not seem to take offense.
“Was this one known to you?” he asked quietly.
“‘This one’ has a name, though it is not known to me. My introduction to him was made after he had been mortally wounded by one of your men. Perhaps it was even yourself that felled him, my lord, for you surely did your share of the killing. In your enthusiasm for revenge against Edgar, you neglected to consider the faithful villeins who were bound to serve their lord and defend the castle. Good people, whose fault lay only in that they were required to serve your enemy.”
Lucien gave her a hard stare. “I sought to minimize such tragedy. It is why I offered the challenge to Edgar to meet me face-to-face.” His men gaped at him, apparently astounded that he had offered this. He usually explained himself to no one.
“Aye, after you slaughtered his fighting men!” Alayna accused.
“You have a quick tongue and a shrewish way,” Lucien snarled.
Alayna narrowed her eyes. “Did you come here to gloat over your victory or disparage me? It poorly speaks of your character either way.”
“I need make no explanation to you for being here. This is my castle, and this is my chapel. And these are my villeins.”
“Chapel?” Alayna mocked. “I think not, for chapels are made of prayers and alters, are they not? This place has none of that, for it is full of broken men and thin pallets made quickly with the haste of need. The stench of death fairly chokes you when you enter, instead of the sweet smell of incense and candles. A chapel, you say? Nay, ’tis a place of despair.”
