Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (67 page)

After almost two hours of picking her way to the
dense forest, Sabina had its edge in her sights. She could hear
noise in the clearing beyond, could even feel strange and heavy
vibrations travelling along the ground. Something was happening on
the other side of the forest, something very, very big, and likely
dangerous. But what? Sabina wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

And from his safe distance, Robert wasn’t sure he
wanted her to, either.

Take care, beloved,
he thought.
Be safe. And
know that you shall always be in my heart.

Robert watched as Sabina slowly approached the edge
of the forest. She finally made it there, and then after a moment’s
hesitation, she disappeared.

Chapter
16

Tostig of York looked through his battlescope. It
was a curious device, sort of a magnifying glass set in a long
leather tube that allowed him to see great distances. It had been a
gift from Lord Reginald of Guillaume, a souvenir of his time with
the Saracens and a token of his goodwill. How ironic, then, that
Tostig was using it to spy on him now.

He scanned the horizon, and saw only a few
scraggling scouts from Lord Reginald’s battalion. Tostig was amazed
that his adversary would risk sending scouts out in the open
sunshine at all, especially when he knew well that Tostig had the
ability to scope out long distances. Then again, men were known to
make bad judgment calls where women were concerned. Lord Reginald
appeared to be focusing all his efforts upon finding that runaway
bride of his, at the expense of his usual near-perfect battle
acumen. It gave Tostig a unique opportunity, one that he had no
intention of letting slip past.

Tostig wasn’t entirely sure that Reginald even knew
that he and his army were there. But in any case, he would find out
soon enough. He estimated from the signs he could see on the
horizon that Reginald’s men were about eight miles away, on the
other side of the forest, and closing in fast. Tostig would just
wait, and watch. He held the high ground after all—when Reginald
and his men advanced, his archers would pick them off like
flies.And then he’d send his cavalry in for the kill.

One thing worried him, however. He hadn’t received
word from Mfanwy in almost two days. The scout he sent after her
had never returned, and she hadn’t arrived at their designated
rendezvous point, either. Obvious she’d been delayed, but why? It
wasn’t at all like her to bungle a mission. If she didn’t return by
sundown, he’d have to send another scout after her.

Mfanwy was an excellent spy, but she was also tiny
and somewhat frail. Tostig doubted she’d hold up well under torture
if she were ever captured. That was always a risk whenever one
hired women to do the dirty work of spying, but the rewards usually
far outweighed the risks—especially where the pleasures of the
flesh were concerned. Such was the case with Mfanwy. All Tostig
could do was wait and pray that she wasn’t captured.And in the
meantime, he had plenty to keep him busy.

He adjusted the focus on his battlescope, then
scanned the horizon again. Now he could see much further, all the
way to the edge of the forest. He spotted something there,
something that shocked and surprised him.

He readjusted the scope, looked
again. It—or rather,
she
—was still there.

He turned to Sir Moonwulf, his lead cavalryman and
childhood friend from Denmark. “Moonwulf, look through this glass
and tell me what you see,” he ordered in Danish.

Moonwulf obeyed. He stared into the glass for a
moment, then handed it back to his master. “’Tis a woman, Sire,” he
said. “Or rather, a woods hag, filthy with mud and leaves. Though
‘tis a far prettier one than most wood hags that ye see.”

“Indeed she is,” Tostig replied, staring in the
scope again. He adjusted the lens until it was set at maximum
power. What an incredible invention this thing was! Now he could
gaze upon the woman’s dirty, yet lovely features as if she were
just a few steps away, instead of a mile or two. He would make a
point to thank Lord Reginald for it just before he killed him.
“This woman is no common peasant, either,” he said. “She has fine
aristocratic features, and her clothes are cut of the finest
materials, even if they are dirty. And that Scottish tartan of hers
isn’t fooling anyone, I’m afraid.”

Tostig stopped looking into his battlescope, and
began to laugh.

“What’s so funny, Sire?”

Tostig just laughed harder, then clapped his hands
three times. When he’d finally recovered his senses, he turned to
Moonwulf and grinned. “God is good to us today, old friend. I do
believe we have discovered Lord Reginald’s beloved bride.”

Moonwulf gave him a blank look. “Do you intend to
return her to him, then?”

“Oh no, Moonwulf. We shall use her as bait.”

Sabina emerged from the forest, shielding her eyes
against the suddenly bright sunlight. She was in a large open
meadow now, and on the far horizon she could see a tall grassy
knoll. Atop that grassy knoll was a legion of soldiers, both on
foot and on horseback. From this far distance, their banners and
coats-of-arms looked to be Norman, though it was impossible to tell
for sure. She didn’t know the colors of her fiance’s insignia, nor
the color of his horse. She’d only met him once, briefly, at a
feast her father had hosted. But that hardly mattered. Sabina
figured that Lord Reginald was the only man in England besides the
king who had any reason to mass an army on a hill overlooking the
very forest where his fiancée had tried to escape him. So those
legions of soldiers and cavalrymen had to be his. There was just no
other logical explanation.

She rent a swatch of cloth from her shift and waved
it over her head. It was the closest thing she had to the white
flag of surrender. She would march right up to those soldiers, wave
her white flag, and meet her fate.

Tostig rubbed his hands together with delight. The
woman was closer now, only a quarter-mile or so away. She waved a
dirty wet rag over her head, a pathetic attempt at a flag of truce.
She was a foolish girl to even think that such things were ever
done on the field of battle these days.“Look, Moonwulf. She’s
surrendering. How quaint.”

“Why does she seek us out, Sire, and not her
fiancé?”

“I believe she mistakes us for Lord Reginald’s
armies,” he observed. “All the better for us. Ride out to meet her,
Moonwulf. Pretend that you’re one of our enemy’s mercenaries, then
bring her to my tent.Let her believe that you are reuniting her
with her beloved husband-to-be. I’ll take things from there.”

“Yes, Sire,” He mounted his horse and rode off.

Tostig made a beeline for his battle pavilion. The
game had begun, then. And he already had the advantage. Maybe he
wouldn’t need Mfanwy after all.

Sabina watched as a huge man with blonde hair and
blue eyes rode towards her on a dappled gray roan. She thought it
rather strange that he looked nothing like a Norman. Most of the
soldiers in Lord Reginald’s armies were Norman, after all, even if
they were mercenaries. If they weren’t Normans, they were chiefly
hulking Romans or lean Germanics, not at all like the massive man
who rode towards her. Indeed, he looked like the frightening,
savage Vikings her governess had told her stories of when she was a
little girl.

The horse stopped about twenty feet away from where
she stood. The man said something in a language she didn’t
understand and beckoned for her to come forward. Against her better
judgment, she did.

She stopped short a few feet from the dappled gray
roan. The man repeated the unintelligible words he’d said before,
louder this time. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you,” she said
first in English, then in French. She thought about Latin, but
decided if the solider didn’t understand English or French, chances
were good he had no Latin either. “I’m sorry, I don’t underst—“

Instead of responding, the huge Viking scooped her
up with one massive arm and carried her beside his horse parallel
to the ground like a battering ram. Sabina screamed, kicked,
flailed her arms, to no avail. The horse cantered up the side of
the steep ridge at lightning speed, threatening the trample
Sabina’s dangling body. Just when Sabina was about to abandon all
hope of survival, the Viking steadied his mount, and they made
their way slowly through the base camp.

The military encampment was unlike anything Sabina
had ever seen. Instead of the round silk canvas pavilions preferred
by both the Normans and the English, these soldiers had erected
strange-looking triangular structures held up by elaborately carved
flat planks of wood.Almost all of them were fair and blonde, and
all speaking in that strange, guttural tongue spoken by her latest
captor.

All at once, it hit her. She’s surrendered to the
wrong army. What would become of her now? These men were Norsemen,
perhaps Danes or even Swedes—and therefore, Vikings. Vikings were a
brutal people with no respect for women. Surely she’d be raped at
least, then possibly held for ransom, maybe even killed. Or made to
work as a camp slave, cooking food for the hundreds of soldiers.
But why on earth were they here in the first place? Vikings hadn’t
raided the British Isles in centuries. They hadn’t had to—the
Viking Danes had ruled England for three hundred years,
intermarrying with the Saxons until the two peoples were almost
indistinguishable. Then the Normans overthrew the Saxons, so what
business would a bunch of guttural, uncivilized Vikings have here
now?

That was easy. They were here to take their old
country back.

Good Lord. Sabina thought surrender would bring her
safety at last, but instead she’d jumped straight into a raging
bonfire.

The Viking rode up to the largest tent in the
encampment and dumped Sabina at the door. She landed on the muddy
ground in a heap. Before she’d even had a chance to stand, a tall,
imposing man with fair hair, blue eyes, and the rough-and-tumble
beard of a Yorkshireman stepped out of the tent.

“Ah, Lady Sabina of Angwyld, I presume,” he said in
heavily accented yet perfect English. “How nice of you to drop
in.”

****

Robert de Tyre had the dry heaves. He hadn’t eaten a
morsel in days, and yet his body couldn’t stop trying to empty
itself. Each heave brought up nothing but bile, and just made him
feel even sicker. Still, Robert was not sick of body. He was sick
at heart.

He had failed Sabina in every possible way. First he
had failed to protect her, then he failed to make her love him
enough to stay with him. And now, it seemed he’d helped to send her
to her death.

Robert had originally planned to just abandon Sabina
to her fate when she decided to return to her fiancé. But when push
came to shove, he just couldn’t do it. He had to make sure she was
safe, even if she wasn’t happy. He continued to watch her from afar
as she approached what they both had thought was Lord Reginald’s
base camp, had even managed to follow her part of the way by
slithering his way along the ground, hiding himself among the tall
meadow grasses. He’d even considered going after her at one point,
but he’d nipped that feeling right in the bud. Sabina was her own
woman now. At least, she was her own woman until she married Lord
Reginald, and became yet another piece of his chattel property. The
very thought of a woman like Sabina settling for such a submissive,
powerless role as the wife of a Norman warlord made Robert’s skin
crawl, but like it or not, he had to accept it. Some things just
weren’t up to him.

The most important thing, he’d reasoned to himself,
was for Sabina to remain alive and safe. He could take comfort in
that, at least. So imagine Robert’s shock when he saw his beloved
surrender under the white flag at the bottom of the meadow, only to
be scooped up and carried away by a wild Viking on horseback.

All at once, it hit him. The massive army waiting on
the ridge wasn’t Lord Reginald’s. When Robert risked all to get
close enough to see that the encampment was laid out in the Dane
fashion, he could draw only one conclusion. Sabina had surrendered
herself to the armies of Tostig of York.

Robert’s blood ran cold. What the hell was Tostig
doing here in the first place? Had he broken his vow not to
interfere with Lord Reginald’s campaigns, then? Or perhaps had the
two warlords struck up a strange alliance of some sort? Robert had
no idea. For Tostig to appear on England’s southern coast with an
army even bigger than Lord Reginald’s didn’t make a heap of sense
in all of Christendom. But then again, nothing in Robert’s world
made sense anymore. In the past few weeks, he’d had his entire
world turned upside down.

Knowing that his beloved Sabina was now in Tostig’s
clutches made Robert physically ill. Unlike his adversary Lord
Reginald, Tostig had no honor where women were concerned. The
slithery Dane viewed them as mere receptacles for his seed, to be
tossed aside like old turnip-tops when he finished with them. For
all he knew, Tostig was abusing Sabina right now, at this very
moment.

The thought of Tostig taking liberties with Sabina
shook him to his very core. Robert collapsed to his knees, began
the first of what would be an endless string of dry heaves.

It had taken all of his remaining strength to let
Sabina go. He’d respected her choice then, but now the game had
changed. She was in danger under Tostig’s clutches, possibly even
mortal danger. He had no choice but to risk everything to get her
out of there.

Robert knew there was no chance in hell he could
just waltz into Tostig’s encampment and rescue his beloved alone.
He had no horse, no lance, he was filthy, he stank, and he hadn’t
had a decent meal in more than two days. He needed backup. But
where the hell was he going to get the help he needed?