Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (56 page)

Robert clucked. “Whoreson, eh? A lady would never
use such foul language, madam. Nor would a proper lady be covered
from head to toe in mud, moss, and horse manure, as you are.” He
checked the tightness of the ropes one last time, then dusted off
his hands with satisfaction. “In any case, you are safe and sound
now.”

“No! I am in hell! Hell! I want to die!” Sabina
began to cry. “I was so close,” she sobbed. “If only I’d made those
last few miles! If only I’d made it to Glastonbury Abbey, then I’d
be safe!

Robert tied Arthur to a lead rope that he fastened
to the rear of Amir’s saddle. He mounted Amir and set off, with
Arthur trailing behind them. “If that’s the case, milady, you’re
even safer now than you were a moment ago. For I am taking you to
Glastonbury Abbey now myself.”

Chapter
5

They were a motley crew, to be sure—a minor Norman
nobleman in peasant garb toting a rain-and-mud-soaked Saxon maiden
lashed to a fine Arabian stallion, with Sabina’s bedraggled and
exhausted mount Arthur dragging behind.“What do you mean, you’re
taking me to Glastonbury Abbey?” Sabina shrieked. “I was on my way
there the whole time! You mean to tell me that you captured me and
lashed me to a horse just so you could take me to the very place I
was headed all along?”

Robert didn’t even try to hide his amusement.
“Precisely, madam.”

“Well, Robert de Tyre, I must say that you make for
a very poor mercenary indeed.”

“Tell me something, Your Ladyship,” Robert said as
he expertly guided Amir around the edge of a ravine. “Was the
abbess at Glastonbury aware you were coming?”

“Yes. I sent a messenger ahead by three days.”

“Ah, I see. And what proof do you have that your
messenger arrived safely at Glastonbury?”

Sabina bit her lip. “Well, ahhh, none.”

“I see. And further to that, have you any proof that
your message was received by the abbess herself? The abbess does
not take kindly to strange unannounced messengers, I’m told. At
least not strange unannounced messengers who aren’t prepared to
offer something in exchange for receipt of their messages.”

“I sent word with my messenger that I would produce
precious jewels upon my arrival at Glastonbury in exchange for my
veil and cloister,” Sabina said.

“Only a
promise
of jewels?” Robert tittered.
“Not the jewels themselves?”

“Well—“ Sabina stammered. “I have the promised
jewels upon my person now. Or rather, on Arthur’s person—I mean, in
a hidden pocket on Arthur’s saddle.”

“I suppose that’s better than nothing,” Robert said.
“Though chances are the abbess never got your message in the first
place. Even if your messenger arrived safely, the monks who guard
the abbey gates are under direct orders from the abbess to turn
away all unannounced visitors. Except those bearing appropriate
gifts, of course. Abbeys across the whole of England are being
overrun by desperate maidens and long-suffering wives seeking
escape from their marriages these days. And the abbeys can’t
exactly afford to take in too many damsels in distress at present,
what with King Henry cutting off all royal funds to the abbeys and
monasteries as he reforms his Exchequer. Things became terribly
corrupt when Henry’s idiot older brother was in charge, you see. No
wonder even the abbess of mighty Glastonbury is known to take a
bribe or two.”

“You are very well-spoken and knowledgeable for a
common mercenary,” Sabina remarked, insulting his occupation for
the umpteenth time. But even she knew by now that Robert de Tyre
was no commoner; clearly he was well-educated even by noble
standards. “How do you come to know such things as this?”

“’Tis part and parcel of my profession to know
anything and everything about the circles of power in this
country,” he explained. “Or any country, for that matter. I can
hardly know how best to make my living if I don’t know where to
find the best potential employers.” He paused, turned around in the
saddle to gaze upon her. “Or where to find the information that my
employers pay me to find.”

Sabina’s upper lip curled in distaste. “So I suppose
that means you’re a spy as well?”

“I am whatever my employers require me to be, madam.
My profession requires versatility above all other things.”

“Your profession requires vile baseness above all
things,” Sabina snarled. “Have you any morals at all?”

“Yes, madam. Many. Especially where ladies are
concerned. But then again, your position as a lady is, shall we
say, somewhat uncertain at present. Therefore I cannot be held
responsible for my actions if I forget to behave like a
gentleman.”

“Whatever do you mean,
my position as a lady is uncertain?
My God man, is there nothing about me you will
not debase and insult?”

Robert turned back around and faced forward. “I
mean, madam, that when I heard no eligible Norman in all of England
save for our dear misshapen friend Lord Reginald would have you in
marriage, I assumed it was because you were grossly deformed,
perhaps with a harelip or a humpback yourself, or possibly because
you were pockmarked, or had the leprosy. But now I know it is not
your appearance that men find so repulsive. Nay, it is obviously
your foul mouth and ill-tempered, unladylike disposition. I pity
any man who must spend his life tethered to you.”

“You are impossible! My father will have your head
on a stake!”

“Nay, madam, it was your father who hired me.
Indirectly, of course. But it was he who directed my employer to
spare neither expense nor resources in finding you.”

“So my father has betrayed me yet again,” Sabina
mused. “I curse the day I was ever born a woman! If only I were a
man, then I could control my own destiny instead of being thrown
about the country like dice on a table.”

She was silent then. Robert rode on, thanking God
under his breath for finally clamping the infernal woman’s mouth
shut. Lady Sabina of Angwyld would try any man’s patience. No
wonder her father was willing to make such a bad match for her. The
woman might speak highly of her father, but truth be told the Duke
was probably as desperate to get his daughter out from under his
roof as Robert was to get her off his horse.

Still, there was something intriguing about his
captive, however irritating she might be. He was surprised at how
attractive she was, for one. In fact, Lady Sabina was beautiful—not
at all what he’d expected. He’d expected a homely, portly woman at
the very least, or possibly even a deformed hag—why else had she
not been able to make a suitable marriage with anyone save Lord
Reginald? Sure, she was a Saxon, and a willful one at that—but that
alone shouldn’t have been enough to prevent her from obtaining
multiple marriage proposals given her remarkable beauty. There had
to be something else to the story.

Of her parentage and family, Robert knew little save
for what Lord Reginald had told him, along with what was common
knowledge throughout the countryside. He knew that the Duke of
Angwyld was a strong, educated, and intelligent man who spoke
multiple languages and possessed a degree of political cunning
unmatched by most anyone in England, save for Lord Reginald and the
King himself. He also knew that the Angwyld lands were much coveted
by King Henry and the rest of his loyal nobles for their fertile
farmlands, hunting grounds, and proximity to the Welsh border.

It was also common knowledge throughout the realm
that Henry had his eye on conquering Wales. That posed a problem
for the Duke, who was of Welsh descent and as such had negotiated a
truce with Powys ap Mawr, the Welsh baron who controlled lands just
to Angwyld’s west. The Duke was a man of his word, and directed his
best vassals to protect the integrity of the border against any and
all invaders, even if they came under the King’s direct orders. He
had even gone so far as to turn away a garrison of royal
footsoldiers and cavalrymen from entering his lands when he learned
the King had sent them to scout the border for possible entrypoints
in a Welsh invasion.

No wonder the Duke’s back is
against the wall
, Robert thought. He cared
more for his own treaties with a minor Welsh nobleman than for the
King’s lawful decrees and military campaigns. The Duke’s only hope
for security was to latch himself onto a man even the King knew
better than to trifle with. Lord Reginald cared little for royal
titles, especially considering that they changed hands so easily
these days. A generation ago, William the Conqueror usurped King
Harald with a small mounted army, and then Henry wrenched the crown
away from William’s eldest son just last year. William II had died
in the forest of an arrow through the lung while hunting. The story
went that an arrow shot by one of William’s trusted advisors
glanced off a tree trunk and ricocheted into the king’s chest,
though no one, Robert included, believed that account. No one ever
officially said so, but it was common knowledge that Henry had
William murdered so he could take the throne in his
stead.

And who knew how long Henry would manage to hold
onto his crown before someone tried to wrest it away from him?
There were plenty of others who had claim to it, including his
elder brother Robert, who was still away on the Crusades but could
reappear in England at any time to claim his birthright. Power was
a fickle thing in England; it was far better for all concerned to
be under the protection of someone who was ruthless and feared by
all than someone who was kind, gracious and benevolent. These days,
grace and benevolence just got one killed.

The Lady Sabina was nothing if not idealistic. She
honestly seemed to believe that true love really existed, and had
chosen an austere life devoted to God and prayer rather than live
with someone she did not love. That meant the woman obviously
hadn’t been raised properly. Everyone knew that noblewomen never
experienced true love. True love was a fantasy that only happened
in fairy tales and bards’ ballads. And besides, only landless
peasants married for love. Anyone of any importance married only
for power. Or else never married at all.

Robert de Tyre was of the latter sort. He had little
use for women, and even less for marriage. If ever he had need of a
woman, he could visit a brothel. There were plenty of them
scattered throughout the countryside. And failing that, he
encountered plenty of lonely widows in his line of work. Even if
spending long weeks and months in the field with Lord Reginald got
his blood running hard and hot for female comfort, he always knew
that the comfort of a woman would always be as close as the nearest
wenching tavern on his next night off.

Robert had always been able to keep his masculine
needs under control. He never lost his head over a woman, never got
one with child or came down with the pox (being a Norman and
therefore French, he knew to use the “French letter” device
whenever he bedded anyone). He had no use for romance or courtly
love; he thought the troubadours of his homeland were nothing but
prissy annoyances. Courtly love and romance were for idle,
effeminate men with too much time on their hands. Robert was a
mercenary soldier; he had no time for such things. Women were
simply receptacles who were easily discarded when one was finished
with them. Any man who fawned and pined over a woman, who let her
dominate his thoughts and actions, was obviously a weakling. Or so
Robert had once believed.

All at once, those steadfast beliefs of his seemed
hollow. Because like it or not, Lady Sabina of Angwyld had managed
to get under Robert’s skin. Try as he might to clear his head of
carnal thoughts about her naked body or his heart of its growing
desire to cherish and protect her, they held steady.

It was absurd. It was impossible. Robert de Tyre
cared nothing for women. Never had. Never would. And yet, in just a
few short hours, Lady Sabina of Angwyld had managed to break
through all of his deeply-held notions and touch his heart.

He would have to put a stop to that, however. Lady
Sabina simply wasn’t his to claim. She belonged to his employer.
And that made her off-limits. Which was precisely why they were
headed to the abbey at Glastonbury. Robert knew that he had to get
Sabina to a safe place where she would be looked after and
protected until he could arrange for Lord Reginald’s garrison to
come and retrieve her. Somewhere there was no chance that they
would ever be alone together, somewhere he would never again be
tempted by her beauty, or even her sharp tongue. Although he’d
never admit it out loud, it was her sharp tongue and unladylike
disposition that attracted him to her the most. She annoyed him and
tried his patience to be sure, but there was a part of him that
enjoyed that part of her immensely. He had no idea why. Sabina’s
willful, impudent nature represented everything that he’d always
been taught to detest in women—and instead, it just made him desire
her even more.

All the more reason to get the wench safely locked
in a cell behind Glastonbury’s walls, post-haste.

Fortunately for him, Lord Reginald had made a
substantial donation of gold, wheat, and barley to Glastonbury just
a few months before, so it was likely the abbess would do him a
return favor. Robert’s master was no devout religious man, but he
understood the influence the monks and nuns at Glastonbury had with
the Crown, and placed his bets accordingly. At this point Lord
Reginald had little faith that Henry’s crown would stick,
especially if his older brother Robert Curthose returned from the
Crusades anytime soon. His master knew well that keeping the
princes and princesses of the Church happy always paid political
dividends, even if you detested everything the Church stood for.
Henry was keeping the Church poor in his realm for a carefully
calculated reason, after all. The Church would surely play a major
role in England yet again if Henry’s elder brother Robert Curthose
ever returned victorious from his Crusade, and Lord Reginald, in
his typical political maneuvering, wanted to be prepared for
it.