A Lady's Charade (Medieval Romance Novel) (5 page)

She wished she had the headdress her mother so often made her wear. She’d hated it then, but oh how much warmer it would be. Her ears throbbed from the cold. The fabric of her cloak was worn so thin, the winter air went right through it. Underneath, she wore only the flimsy filthy sack of a kirtle Nicola had bade her put on. She was without a proper linen chemise as she was used to. Instead she wore only a threadbare shift that left little to the imagination. Her wool stockings were so filled with holes, she felt like she wore spider webs on her legs. If some vagabond came upon her, he would ravage her, shredding the minimal fabric in a moment’s time.

She didn’t know how much time passed since she collapsed on the ground, but it must have been hours already. She’d watched the sun blaze high in the sky, and now its inky pink hues revealed the start of its decent to the horizon.

Her stomach growled loudly, interrupting the oddly tranquil yet horrifying setting she found herself in. She didn’t dare dig around the lifeless bushes and naked trees for nuts or berries that the animals had yet to carry off. She was too afraid to let her guard down. The attackers she was sure lurked in the forest would see her weakness and charge on her.

Chloe rubbed her swollen eyes, which stung from the cold. Her hands were grimy and brown from lack of washing, and she knew the skin on her face must look the same. She wiped at her face with the bottom of her dirty shift, hoping it would take some of the dirt off instead of putting more onto it.

Another cold gust of wind shook her from her thoughts. She looked about her warily, then up at the stars beginning to peek in the sky. Had it only been a month since she’d sat at South Hearth Castle surrounded by servants and a very annoying maid? Now she was surrounded by no one. In the span of a few months she’d lost everything.

She clutched her brother Jon’s ornate dagger to her side and waited. The hilt of the dagger was colder than ice. At least if someone attacked her, she had a way to defend herself. She’d practiced with Jon on how to use it, and knew if the time came she would be able to deliver a deadly wound.

If only Jon could be with her now. Oh, how she missed her brother. He’d been their father’s pride and joy. Although he never said anything outright, she could see the resentment in the old laird’s eyes. He wished it had been her instead of Jon.

The wind whistled eerily. Chloe glanced around her again to make sure she wasn’t being stalked. The trees’ lack of leaves made it easier to see through the woods. She breathed a little easier knowing there was no one in the immediate vicinity.

There had been so many times she’d begged to be left alone, praying for silence and solitude. Now she had it, and she wished more than anything for the company of Nicola and her mother.

Worse yet, she was in England—a country that was at war with both France and now her family in Scotland. What was her status? Was she a traitor, running from the law? She prayed her parents had been able to escape. Her muscles tightened even more than they were already. If her parents were captured, was it possible the English authorities were looking for her as well? She was now resolute with the idea that she was on her own. Time to move forward. She’d either freeze to death in this spot, die of starvation or risk capture herself. She stood and stretched out her stiff legs, groaning at the tingling sensations shooting through her limbs like little pricks from a thousand needles.

Chloe tucked the dagger into the sheath of the ragged leather girdle at her waist and pulled the fabric from her loose cloak around herself to better conceal it. She narrowed her eyes in the direction of the empty dirt road. How ironic that it resembled her future. Empty and leading to any number of destinations. Where would she go? What would she do? Fate had it that she’d go toward the village, perhaps someone would take pity on her and offer her a crust of bread without need of anything in return.

Anger sliced through her anew and with it a thick rage that made her shake violently. If ever she had the chance, she’d make the knight who stole her home pay for what he’d done to her. If it weren’t for him she’d be home, her maid alive.

“With every breath I take, with every fiber in my body, I swear I will return to the seat of my family and bring his head with me,” she said to the thin air. Problem was, she had no idea who the man was, how, when or if she’d ever find him.

She felt abandoned, left to die. No one knew where she was or what had become of her. Her teeth ceased their chattering as she clenched them tightly shut. Chloe pushed the negative thoughts to the back of her mind. She had plenty of other things to worry about right now.

She needed to eat. She needed to get clean and she needed a home. A new life.

“Today, I am no longer the daughter of Baron Fergusson, I am simply Chloe,” she muttered to the horse as she clasped the reins. She wouldn’t be telling anyone about her past. If her suspicions were correct, then her father had committed a grievous act. Treason was a hefty and dangerous word. As heir to his holdings, lands and money, essentially she could also be in danger. When she was fed and properly clothed, she’d try to get word of the clan. Perhaps safely return to Fergusson lands. Without any information, she couldn’t protect herself.

And she couldn’t do it alone. Traveling that far by herself would only be asking for trouble. She’d need to find someone to help her, or await arrival from her family’s retainers. In the meantime, she couldn’t get caught. That meant certain death, and Chloe had no desire to feel the cold slice of the executioner’s blade.

Her horse whinnied sensing her fear, and she patted him on the nose. “’Twill be all right, we’ll find you some oats.”

Chloe felt more like she was reassuring herself than the animal. Why did wealthy powerful men always try to seek more? Destroy and plunder. Her father was a powerful baron, and from what she knew, loyal to the treaty. She supposed it hadn’t been enough. None of it made sense. But then again, since Jon had died, most things her father did were outlandish, frivolous and spontaneous.

Scared, cold, hungry and tired, she began her trudge toward the village. She could see lights from within the walls and knew if she were to reach it before it was truly dark she needed to hurry. Looking around, she felt every shadow was a brigand set on plundering her horse and God forbid, even her. She walked briskly in the direction of the village. Her tattered leather shoes did not give her much protection against the cold wetness of the icy ground. Thankfully most of her toes were numb.

She prayed for a kind person to give her shelter for the night and offer some warm food and a bed to sleep in. Starting tomorrow she would begin her new life, her new independent life. At least she had the horse, sorry as it may be. Surely someone would barter with her in exchange for the animal.

For a fleeting moment she thought of her parents’ wrath when they came to the crofter’s hut to find her gone, but she knew in the back of her mind they would not be coming to fetch her. Starting a war and besieging a castle, was far worse than abandoning the only heir they had left—if indeed they had abandoned her and not been captured.

Chloe walked close to the horse, letting his warmth sink into her body.

It was going to be very hard to blend in. She’d never looked out for herself, and had certainly never done any type of labor. She would now be forced to work to make a living. She would have to keep her eyes open and wits about her to keep up with the charade. She was a fast learner.

The village seemed so far away. Maybe a mile or more now. From where she’d sat it hadn’t seemed so long, but the cold and pain biting into her feet told her she might not make it that much longer. Riding her horse wasn’t an option. The animal was in worse shape than she was.

She was suddenly so tired and heavy; she wasn’t sure how far she would be able to go without collapsing. She tripped on a rock, which bit right through the soft leather of her boots. Her frozen toes couldn’t take much more abuse. Stifling a cry she kept on walking, so as not to bring attention to herself.

She would have to risk the horse’s poor heart and ride him into the village—pray that the wary animal’s heart wouldn’t burst.

“Hey there, little miss,” a noxious man hissed in her ear and grabbed her arm.

Chapter
Four

Alexander was not married as he had expected to be by now.

He rode sullenly on the road. He’d been able to easily take over the holding, but had not been able to capture the nobility who lived within.

They escaped him.

Something he was not used to.

He did not like
not
being in control, and he certainly did not like being left in the dark. They’d tracked the family to the border, and Alexander could only assume that they had crossed back into Scotland. He was not about to follow them. Such a feat would only bring unwanted attention, and a battle he was not interested in fighting. South Hearth was secure, and he wanted to go home.

Mayhap it was a blessing the family had fled, and he wouldn’t have to deal with a new wife. After all, hadn’t he dreaded the thought?

After leaving some of his men in charge at South Hearth, he and half of his knights made there way for Hardwyck, and away from the godforsaken border castle.

He hoped his father had gone back to his own home, and would leave him in peace for awhile, but doubted it. He was the type of man who would stick around just to ridicule him for his loss. Not that he considered the loss of an unwanted marriage a bad thing—but his pride was bruised. He’d wanted to be the one to deny her, shun her. Not the other way around.

If he ever did find the little wench he would be sure to lock her in the tower for all eternity.

****

The warm feel of the brigand’s breath was on Chloe’s face, and the stench was so overpowering, she gagged.

“What ye be doing out all alone, and with that fine horse?”

He tugged at her, running his free hand down her back and grasping her rear. She yelped and hit at his arms, letting go of the horse’s reins. The man tightened his grip on her and pulled her into his body. The stench of his rotting breath and dirty clothes caused bile to rise in her throat.

“Unhand me!” she shouted.

“Oh, a Frenchie we have here,” he hissed and began placing sloppy wet kisses up and down her face and neck. “Ye ought to be punished for crossing the pond, ye little whore.”

Her previous revulsion grew tenfold. All she could think of was poor Nicola—that would not happen to her! She slapped at him hard and kicked his shin. She remembered the dagger she had hidden in her girdle and tried to pull it free, but he only tightened his grip on her. His arousal dug ugly and menacing into her belly.

“You like it rough, eh?”

She screamed as loud as she could and bit him on the face. The metallic taste of blood seeped through her teeth and onto her tongue. Vomit rose in her throat at the taste of his skin in her mouth. The man screamed.

Oh Lord, please help me!

In an instant he threw her to the ground and began kicking her. She rolled away from his kicks, screaming and spitting his blood onto the ground. Her ribs ached where his feet landed blows. Her heart pounded in her ears, all thoughts of food, shelter and warmth escaped her. Now all she knew was she needed to survive. She needed to get away from this barbarian. Somehow she managed to rise to her feet amidst his blows. Then his kicking ceased and she felt herself rise higher into the air, her feet no longer touching the ground.

Had she died and was now cascading up to Heaven?

A strong arm grasped her about the waist. The cold armor that covered the arm bit through her clothes. Her senses screamed, she wanted to cry out for mercy. She turned to see who it was, but could only make out a helmet. Her eyes were heavy, her mouth slack. She was close to fainting, and welcomed the darkness, begged it to consume her.

But her savior wouldn’t let her. A knight, a large, fierce looking knight. He scooped her up like she was a feather and plopped her on his horse in front of him.
Oh, Dear God in Heaven! Don’t let him hurt me!

Her buttocks hit hard muscled thighs—the warmth of which were in strong contrast to the metal on his arms. Tingles of pleasure and pain shot from her bottom through her thighs as his warmth seeped into her skin. She wiggled closer, wishing she could melt into his warm body, feeling foolish at the same time. How did she know this man didn’t plan a similar fate for her that the vile man had? The other knights? She didn’t know… but her instincts were not on alert. She felt safe, almost comforted.

As he settled her in front of him, strong arms wound around her middle. Her back pressed against the chain mail on his chest. She was overwhelmed by the sheer mass and strength of this man. Nipples tightened of their own accord, throwing her into vast confusion. No longer did she feel pain and revulsion. Quite the opposite. Sensations ripped through her body—she at once wanted to kiss this man, let him stroke her skin. Take her. Good lord, what was she thinking?

Chloe shuddered and could still feel the remnants of vomit threatening to escape. Would they believe him, would she have escaped this vile creature just to feel a bristly rope squeezed tight against the tender flesh of her neck? She took deep breaths to keep herself from letting the liquid contents of her stomach go right onto her protector’s horse. Her savior’s strong arms held fast. He would protect her. Somehow she knew that. She leaned back, limp, utterly fatigued. It was all too much for her. She began to sob quietly so as not to let the knight hear her. She tried to peek at him, but all she could see was shiny metal.