Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (19 page)

The Scots on ladders were
repelled by the flame.  It lit their tartans on fire, a blaze that only grew
worse when water was doused upon it.  Men began jumping from the ladders and
the ladders themselves went up in flame.  It quickly became a retreat of
chaos.  Stephen stood by, watching the complete change in the tides, as Lane,
Ian and Alan finally rejoined him.

“Brilliant, my lord,” Ian said
with satisfaction. “Your fire has worked magic.”

Stephen grunted. “Perhaps it will
give them pause should they think to charge the castle again,” he tore his eyes
away from the intense white blaze and looked at his men. “Mount as many men as
we can spare and prepare to ride to de Lara’s aid.  And there is enough powder
left that you can take some pouches filled with the stuff to throw at any Scots
foolish enough to get in your way.”

The knights were gone, leaving
Stephen standing with Lane and watching the Scots fall away from the walls.  
It was soon readily apparent that no more Scots were willing to try and mount
the walls so long as the fire burned.  Stephen had a few men take whatever
remained in the cauldron to sprinkle on the fire and refresh the flames.   Then
he had the men gather whatever peat and wood they could, stoking the blaze atop
the walls so that the Scots would forget about trying to attack the walls
again. So long as there was flame, Stephen figured, it would discourage both
the Scots and their ladders.

Stephen rode out into the burning
city to aid de Lara who, by that time, had managed to chase off most of his
attackers.  He was weary but in one piece.  Tate and his men helped Stephen
clean the city of the remaining rebels, who fled north. But they did not flee
before inflicting as much damage as possible on the citizens of the city of
Berwick. As dawn broke, Stephen and Tate returned to Berwick Castle and walls
that were still flaming a brilliant white light that could be seen for miles. 
It looked like the entire castle was on fire, creating an eerie glow against
the pink and purple sky.

Stephen headed straight for the
vault and Kynan Lott MacKenzie.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Joselyn had no idea what time it
was when she was awakened by soft noises in her chamber.  It was bright in the
room, indicating the late hour. Lying curled up on her side, she opened her
eyes to see that Stephen was very carefully attempting to remove his boots.  
She lay there, not moving a muscle, as she watched him pull off first one boot
and then the other, very carefully setting them down against the wall.  He was
trying desperately not to make any noise but in his weary state, he was not
doing a very good job. She could hear him grunting and groaning softly as the
boots and tunic came off.  Finally, she took pity on him.

“You grunt like an old bear,” she
said softly.

He pulled the tunic over his
head, grinning down at her. “Is that so?” he tossed the tunic into the corner.
“And you snore like one”

Her head came up, a frown on her
lips. “I do not snore.”

He laughed softly, going to open
the door and issuing orders to a soldier that was near the landing.  He called
for hot water and food before shutting the door and bolting it.

“Aye, you do,” he made his way
over to the bed somewhat stiffly. “You make a very sweet whistling sound. I
find it very charming.”

He sat down beside her and she
lay her head back down again, studying the fatigue on his handsome face. Though
the cornflower blue eyes were glimmering, she could tell that he was exhausted,
perhaps spiritually as well as physically. It had been a very long night for
them both and she was hesitant to ask him too many questions about the siege,
fearful that she would not like his answers.

“Is the battle over?” she finally
asked.

He nodded, raking his hand
through his black hair. “For now,” he replied. “Hopefully we’ve given the Scots
pause to think next time they try to attack the city.  I would hope that peace
will hold out for a time so that the citizens can at least recover.”

She thought a moment on that.
“Between the English attacking the city and the Scots counter-attacking, I
would imagine that everyone has had their fill of war.”

“Everyone but the Scots,” he
grunted. “The city is in shambles.”

She propped herself up on an
elbow. “I would like to help those put out by the constant warring,” she put
her hand on his enormous thigh. “There must be something I can do for the
citizens of Berwick.”

He put his massive hand over her
small one. “’Tis a noble thought, but you have plenty to do at the castle,” he
said. “Moreover, the city is still a dangerous place. I do not want you exposed
to the hazards of a rebellion. There is no knowing when the Scots will attack
again.”

She cocked her head thoughtfully.
“But I am Scots; they would not harm me,” she squeezed his hand. “These are my
people, Stephen.  They are in distress and I feel very strongly that I must
help. The constant battles have surely left them in great need.”

He opened his mouth but a knock
on the door interrupted.  He went to the door, opening it to admit two soldiers
with a big iron pot of steaming water and Tilda bringing up the rear with a
wooden tray of food.  Stephen took the food and chased everyone from the room. 
Bolting the door, he set the tray down and collected a large piece of bread
from it; taking a huge bite, he faced his wife.

“How would you help?” he asked,
chewing.

She sat up and swung her legs
over the side of the bed.   “Attend those who are injured, perhaps provide food
to those who have none,” she ventured with a shrug. “I would help however I
can. I simply cannot stay locked in this keep, well away from those who are
fighting for young David’s cause.”

He swallowed the bite in his
mouth, his cornflower blue eyes taking on a peculiar gleam. “When you married
me, your loyalty became to England.”

She fixed him in the eye. “When I
married you, my loyalty became to you and only you. But that does not mean I do
not feel concern or pity for my people.”

He regarded her a moment before
the warmth returned to the cornflower blue eyes. “Well put,” he said. “But can
I at least have a few hours of peace myself before I have to delve into this
subject?”

She grinned and rose from the
bed, moving to the wardrobe that was against the wall, the one that she and the
servants had moved down from the upper floor. “Of course,” she said. “Sit and
eat your food and I shall help you bathe when you are finished.”

He grunted yet again as he sat on
the bed, feeling his fatigue in every fiber of his body.  Plus, he was old for
a fighting man at thirty years and seven; his body had taken a lot of abuse
over the years and he was beginning to pay the price.  He devoured most of the
bread, the cheese and all of the wine as Joselyn removed some items from the
wardrobe.  He watched her as she set out a few squares of drying linen and the
bar of white soap that smelled like pine.  It was his soap; he had provided it
to her to wash with because he had nothing else to offer. He made a mental note
to purchase sweet-smelling soap for his wife that she would like better than
his manly pine.

Joselyn was very busy as Stephen
ate; she was clad in a heavy shift, one of the newer garments he had bought
her, and she quickly donned the old broadcloth surcoat over it to work in.  It
was still dusty and dirty, having been one of the only garments she owned up
until two days ago, but she did not want to get any of her new clothing wet as
she helped her husband bathe.  Due to her chores at Jedburgh, she was well
versed in things like washing or bathing, although she’d never personally
washed a man. But she did not experience a flicker of apprehension as she
prepared to help Stephen wash; she was, in fact, eager to do something for
him.  The man had so far done all of the giving since she’d known him and she
was eager to give back something in return, as small a gesture as it was. 

In fact, since their conversation
the night before when all horrors had been revealed, she was extremely eager to
make a life with this man who seemed so capable of forgiveness and
understanding.  With every moment that passed she was learning the character of
this man whom she had married and her sense of gratitude grew.  She never
imagined herself to be so fortunate and she was determined never to take one
moment of her new life, or new husband, for granted.

The pot with warm water was big
enough for Stephen to sit in if she put a three legged stool in it.   She
looked over at her husband as he finished the last of his bread.

“Do you have a razor?” she asked.

He nodded, dipping his head in
the direction of his bags against the wall. “In there.”

“May I retrieve it?”

He nodded and she went to his
bags, carefully pulling items out and setting them on the floor until she came
to a long steel razor wrapped in heavy linen.   She removed it, and a horsehair
brush, and went back to prepare his bath.

“I am ready when you are, my
lord,” she told him, putting a little water on the pine soap and working it
into a heavy lather with the horsehair brush.

Stephen brushed off his hands,
stood up, and removed his breeches.  He went straight to the pot and climbed
in, seating his bulk on the stool.   It was a tight fit in the pot but
manageable.   Joselyn turned to him with an empty bowl in her hand, smiled, and
went to work.

Stephen sat with his eyes closed
as the warm water coursed over him.  It was the most relaxing, wonderful sensation
he could imagine.  He let his mind clear of all thoughts except for those of
Joselyn as she hovered next to him, carefully pouring water over his head and
body. She doused him several times before picking up the lathered brush, the
soap, and going to work.

Stephen grunted as she began to
soap him within an inch of his life.  She vigorously soaped his back, his chest
and his arms.  She used the brush to scrub the gore and dirt from his hands,
under his nails, before softly commanding him to lift his arms, which he did,
fearful that his docile wife had suddenly turned militant on him. She soaped
his armpits, ribs and belly before he was allowed to put his arms down again. 
He had tried, once, and she had growled at him.  So the arms went back up and
he grinned broadly.

It was difficult to keep from
laughing as she ordered him to stand up so she could wash the rest of him.  He
had a fairly significant arousal by this time and had to bite off his guffaws
as she tried to work, red-faced, around it.   By the time she commanded him to
sit back down again, her cheeks weren’t quite so red.   She rinsed him off
thoroughly over and over before picking up the brush again and lathering up his
beard.

Stephen sat stock-still as she
carefully shaved him.  He was able to watch her at close range as she worked,
the gentle curve of her face and the sweet bow of her lips.  He found himself
studying every pore on her skin and counting how many dark eyelashes she had. 
She had the most beautiful eyes.  Finally, when he was clean-shaven, she wiped
off his face and set the towel aside.  Stephen thought she was finished until
he felt her lathering his shoulders again.   He was about to ask her what she
was doing when she set the soap down, put her small hands on his shoulders, and
began to rub.

He groaned and dropped his chin
to his chest, wallowing in the pure pleasure of the massage.  Her little hands
applied gentle pressure as she rubbed away the knots that the burden of his
command had created.  It was heavenly.

“Good Christ,” he muttered. “Who
taught you to do this?”

Standing behind him, Joselyn
smiled modestly. “My mother used to do this for me when I was pregnant,” she
said softly. “I was so miserable the entire time that she would do this for me
to help me feel better.  Do you feel better?”

He could barely nod, succumbing
to extreme relaxation. “You have no idea how much better,” he mumbled. “Your
hands are magic.”

“Thank you, husband.”

He reached up when her hand came
close to his neck and grasped the hand gently, pulling it to his lips for a
gentle kiss.  But that was not enough for him and he pulled more insistently,
pulling her from behind him so that she was standing next to him.  His big
hands cupped her face and he kissed her tenderly. Suddenly, his arms went
around her and he was pulling her inside the tub.

Joselyn’s arms went around his
neck, giving in to his tremendous strength, as he pulled her into the tepid
water with him.  Her broadcloth surcoat was wet but she didn’t care; her focus
was on her husband, his sweet kisses and his clean, pine-smelling body.  It was
all so new and exciting, this relationship they were beginning to share; where
she once feared a man’s touch, now she craved Stephen’s. When he began removing
her clothing, she didn’t protest.  Soon enough, the broadcloth came off and the
shift went over her head. Both ended up tossed into a corner.

Naked in his arms, she ended up
straddling his lap, facing him, as his mouth and hands ravaged her.  Stephen
had managed to stoke a raging fire within her, one that caused her breathing to
come in heavy gasps and her body to tremble.  His great hands were on her
breasts, followed by his mouth, and she gasped softly as he suckled first one
nipple and then the other.  His enormous arousal was between them, hard and throbbing,
and he fingered her woman’s center gently, ensuring that she was wet enough for
his entry.  She was hot and slick, and it drove him mad.  Taking her by the
waist, he lifted her up and impaled her upon his demanding arousal.