Enchantress (7 page)

* * * *

"Where are we going,
d'Anzeray?"

"I'm taking you home with me. To
entertain my brothers."

"You did not ask my
permit."

He snorted. "Why should I? You're a
woman and I'm a man. I say how it will be."

She let her mind explore inside his
thoughts and found that he had no ulterior motive in bringing her
to his family. He spoke the truth of his intentions to let her
entertain them. But she also knew he was greatly fascinated by her—
more so than he had been by any other woman. Because he thought
they had met before, in his mind this meant they had a connection
beyond sex.

Jesamyn, however, would surely have
read it in the cards of they had met ten years ago in that hot
marketplace he described.

Some protest was necessary, or he
might become suspicious.

"You are not my master, d'Anzeray. I
work for myself. I perform where and when I choose. On my
terms."

"I just saved your life, wench. You
owe me."

"I owe you nothing! Let me off this
horse at once."

He refused and his horse galloped
faster still. She had to cling tighter or else risk
falling.

"I like fucking you," he shouted over
his shoulder. "I mean to keep doing it until I tire."

"You cannot afford it,
Cub."

"Yes, I can."

"You do not know my price."

"Whatever it is, we'll pay
it."

She laid her cheek to his back. They
had fled the tavern stables in such haste that he left his tunic
behind, grabbing only his sword belt before mounting his horse. The
feel of that warm flesh against her face was oddly soothing.
Pleasing. Although she was naked but for her bells and leather
purse, she felt no embarrassment. There was no room for such as
that in her life.

"And what of your many wives?" she
shouted back at him. "They will not take kindly to the presence of
a whore, I think."

He turned his head, showing his
profile in the moonlight. "But you are not a whore. You said you
are a dancer." He grinned. "Did you not? I seem to recall you were
most adamant."

Furious she snapped her lips
shut.

"In any case," he added. "A good wife
does as she is bid and leaves her husband to his
pleasures."

Oh, he was so cocky, so arrogant. "I
pity those poor women of yours."

"Do not. They are treated well, kept
happy." With her arms wrapped around his waist she felt him sit up
taller, prouder. "Our wives have no cause to complain."

"Ha! If I was one of them I would knee
you in the balls for bringing home a wh— a dancer."

"Then I would spank you and let every
man in the castle do the same, until you learn to bow your head to
me, like a proper and grateful wife. And kiss my feet."

"I would never kiss your
feet!"

"Then you would have a very sore
arse."

She shook her head, sensing that he
enjoyed pricking her temper this way. She could hear the laughter
in his voice. Of course he was a young, impetuous boy who thought
the entire world should be at his feet and kissing them.

He had meant to protect her from those
men back there, even though it would have been three against one.
Or so he believed.

She sighed. Yes, he was reckless and
foolhardy; she might have known he would be. The cards called him
so. An arrogant young man who expected the world— and especially
women— to go his way.

But he was brave too, was he not?
Even...gallant? No, that did not fit the image of a d'Anzeray and
so she refused to let the idea stay with her. A murderer was not
gallant.

Yet you too plan to kill,
Jesamyn
.

In my case it is for
vengeance
, she argued with her unusually
ruffled conscience.
I do this for my
mother and sister.

That querulous, unwelcome voice
silenced, she set her mouth in a grim line and stared at the
passing moonlit branches as his horse carried her from one danger
to another.

Under her cheek, his muscles moved. He
was well made, she admitted begrudgingly to herself. His body was
strong, well-honed by battle no doubt. His cock was magnificent.
Pity it was wasted on a d'Anzeray.

Although Jesamyn used sex to lure men
in, she truly had never been very interested by it. For her it was
merely a means to an end and she was not curious. Not the way her
twin sister had been. Jasynda was the one who used to watch their
mother through a hole in the curtain. Jasynda liked her hiding
places and her secrets.

Once Jesamyn had said that she never
wanted to lie with a man in his bed. That the idea of a man kissing
her with his big wet fleshy lips made her feel sick. Jasynda had
laughed and replied, "Kissing is not like that. One day you will
know."

And Jesamyn, who never liked her
sister to know more than her, had demanded, "What man have you ever
kissed?"

Jasynda replied with a smile, "A boy
once. Before we left Marrakech. He was very sweet and shared food
with me."

The memory of that brief conversation
had been lost until now.

As she rode behind Nino on
his horse, the image returned, glittering and brilliant for a few
moments. Her sister's smile was so pretty and innocent, so full of
joy. She was the good twin, the good daughter. Jesamyn, on the
other hand, was always in trouble because she
did,
while Jasynda merely watched
and observed.

That kiss must have been
the first time— possibly the only time— her sister acted on an
impulse. He must have been a
very
sweet boy, she mused, to make her good twin
misbehave. Very handsome too, no doubt.

You get to enjoy him,
Jesamyn, as I could not. As a woman.

She opened her eyes again and took a
deep breath of his manly scent. Jasynda was right; perhaps she
might enjoy him a while before she ended his life and those of his
brothers too. Before her task was complete. Jasynda, on her angel's
cloud, was probably watching, living vicariously through her
naughty twin. Just the way it used to be.

Killing him
will not bring us back,
Jesamyn
.

Remember the cards and
what we told you today.

But she was sure the Tarot cards were
merely being mischievous when they changed his fate for that last
reading. Occasionally it happened that the spirits were playful and
mischievous. Or else she had made a mistake when dealing them out,
fumbled a card or two. Nino d'Anzeray had somehow distracted her,
perhaps.

Ask him about the
bracelet.

"What was that?" Nino asked. "Did you
say something?"

"No. Thank you," she snapped,
determinedly silencing her twin sister's voice again.

* * * *

The woman was quiet, her arms tight
around his waist. It was a good feeling to have her body warmth
against his, even when she argued and spoke with such relish of one
day kneeing him in the seed-bags. Her presence was comforting to
his insides in a way he had not known since his mother gave him her
last embrace.

"You were lucky I was there to save
you from those men, Jesamyn," he said. "You may show your gratitude
to me later, when we get home to my family's fortress."

At that she chuckled dourly. "I could
save myself, Cub. I am not a woman like those weak ones you know.
Like those foolish wives who let you treat them like
slaves."

Again his thoughts returned to the
apple seed upon which she thought that man was choking. She spoke
of it with such self-assurance. And what of the other two— felled
by some unseen attacker? It was all very disconcerting and because
he had got away from there without bloodshed, Nino almost felt as
if he'd cheated. It was not like a d'Anzeray to sneak away without
a fight. But, of course, he had this woman to protect and she had
been his first priority, even though he might have preferred to
stay and slice up some villainous guts. Always it was different
when there was a woman involved.

His brothers had warned him it was so—
had teased him that one day he would know what it was like to have
all one's thoughts revolve around the need to save a woman in
peril. Even if she did not believe she needed help.

"Is it far to the fortress?" she
asked.

"A few hours. We should be there as
dawn breaks."

She was quiet again for a while, but
tightened her grip around him, and he thought she might have fallen
asleep. Although he'd been tricked that way before, he mused,
thinking of the speed with which she got to her feet when it was
time to flee.

"Where is
your
family, Jesamyn?"
he asked, breaking the long silence at last.

"I have none still living."

He was saddened by that. A woman
should not be all alone in the world.

She added coldly, "They were killed.
Slaughtered like cattle. Their village razed to the
ground."

Nino shook his head. "I'm sorry. That
is very bad." Seeking something to cheer her a little and having no
experience with that tender skill, he blurted, "But these things
happen in wartime." It was something he'd heard his father say many
times. And there was always a war going on somewhere. During Nino's
one and twenty years, there had never been real peace in any land
where they lived. If it was not one country against another, it was
fighting within the country, tribe against tribe. Sometimes it was
even fighting within a family.

War and death, therefore, was a common
occurrence in Nino's own life. The d'Anzeray were always in the
thick of it, of course, for they earned their fortune as mercenary
warriors, cleaning up other folk's messes and ridding lazy noblemen
of their enemies.

Guillaume d'Anzeray had told his sons
that he hoped here in this land they could settle at last, put down
roots, build an empire. It was the reason why he sent them all out
to find brides, so they could begin establishing the next
generation and stake their claim on the land— as much of it as they
could lay hands upon. Tired of being sneered at by superior nobles
who saw in him only an upstart, a blacksmith's son who raised
himself up by the sword, Guillaume was determined to use his seven
bastard sons to make a dynasty that would one day be as powerful—
or more so— than any family in England.

Nino, aware of his father's ambitions,
also hoped that one day there would be an end to war. He wouldn't
mind a bit of peace, although he suspected some of his brothers
wouldn't know what to do with themselves if there was no one to
fight.

The woman riding behind him had gone
quiet once more. Ominously so, he thought.

"Are you asleep, Jesamyn?"

"No," she snapped. "I am not. How
could I be when I have been kidnapped in this manner?"

He didn't know why she was suddenly
angry. Oh well, wenches had a tendency to sulk occasionally for no
apparent reason.

Chapter Six

Ram, Sebastien and Alonso were in the
courtyard, gathered around a glowing brazier, when he rode through
the gates just as thin slivers of dawn light crept across the sky.
At once he sensed something amiss. His brothers' eyes were weary,
their heads bowed. Even the guards at the gate seemed
anxious.

Nino dismounted and helped Jesamyn
down. "What's happened?" he demanded.

"It's the old man. He took a turn for
the worse yesterday." Alonso laid a hand on his shoulder. "It is
good you are returned for he's been asking for you. He was
concerned and thought you in danger."

He knew it must be serious this time
for his brothers barely glanced at the naked beauty by his side.
Introductions would have to be saved for later.

* * * *

She was taken inside and a cloak found
to provide temporary covering until some clothing could be sorted.
The five d'Anzeray wives, hearing about a new arrival, came to
welcome her.

"We will take care of Jesamyn," said a
petite, pretty, golden-haired woman who held a babe to her breast.
"Antonino, you must go to your father. He will be glad to see
you."

So Nino left her in their care. His
face, she saw, was lined with anxiety, his eyes clouded with
sadness. But she could not allow herself to feel pity for the young
cub, not after he had so callously dismissed the murder of her own
family as just something that happened "in wartime".

She looked warily at the other women.
They were all of varied heights and coloring, but all eager to
welcome her there, all of them seemingly content in their strange
roles. To her surprise they were more than civil to her. At least,
they were on the surface. Jesamyn remained cautious, knowing women
could often wield longer daggers than men. The male animal was
always far easier to read.