Love Thine Enemy (17 page)

"Even though fabric covers your obscenity, knight,
that you would perform such lewdness in front of
my
servants and
my
knights while in
my
keep..."

As if for malice, he brushed his fingers against her
privacy, and moisture formed in her womanhood.  He groaned and tightened his
clamp around her knees.

How dare he
.  Rochelle bucked, then
tried to rip---

A woman's scream of rage from outside chilled her
movements.  She heard indistinct shouts about "convent' and "dead
first".  Someone fought for her!  Unexpected tears threatened to spill,
for no one else had dared defy their new master.

Becket stepped through the doorway into the dawn-tinged
bailey, then halted. 

"What the . . .   What is all this strewn
baggage?  How did you arrange this while locked in your chamber, woman?  Did
you think to steal from me and I wouldn't notice?"   He squeezed her bare
bottom as he moved down the steps.  "Or, mayhap 'tis but wares from a
passing
peddler
." 

Rochelle rammed her hand into his hose and squeezed his
buttocks as rock-hard as his head.  "Tell the peddler I have need of
him."

"After my talents at arousing you, I would imagine
you lust for any unwary male.  How magnificent my punishment, for you will not
have the chance."

"You were no less affected.  I pity the poor unsuspecting
female who sprawled in your frustrated path during this past hour."

He growled as he stood her upright, making her doubt he
had found his release with another woman.  Something inside her hoped he
hadn't, then she wondered why she cared.  Most likely because she wanted him to
suffer as much as she. 

Unable to stand with the spin of her head, Rochelle
grasped his arms, eager to know who fought her cause, curious about what had
instigated the peddler jibe. 

Lifting her gaze, she stilled, stunned.  Amidst the
noise and confusion of wagons, knights, horses, servants, barking dogs and the
ring of the smithy's hammer, sat a myriad of chests and sacks that littered the
bailey as if the entire household prepared for departure.  Except she knew
better.  Angelique's belongings. 

Angelique. 

The source of the shouts. 

The helpless female. 

But the scene made no sense. 

Henri swung a wide gesture, his hair disheveled, his
face furious frustration.  "If we take all this, we won't have room for
nonessentials
like food and tents."

Becket pulled Rochelle alongside in a lopsided stride
as he trod toward the conglomeration.  "When did they bring down Lady
Rochelle's possessions?  I had the key."

"They didn't.  They're
Lady
Angelique's."

"Great glory.  By the time we add Lady Rochelle's
. . ."  He turned to the doorway where the cluster of servants flanked the
giant, the lot of them looking ridiculous as they each held onto her tiny
trunk.

"That's all you have?"  Becket seared her
with a suspicious glare.  "What do you attempt with this trickery? 
Undeserved sympathy?"

Before she could retort, lavender flashed into her
view.  She stumbled from a shove and landed on her seat with a painful jolt.

"I will not go to the convent with you!" 
Angelique kicked out.

Pain stabbed from Rochelle's shin and she gasped.

Angelique spun and pummeled on an obviously stunned
Becket with her fists.  "Your hatred for Rochelle shouldn't affect my
destiny.  Just because she is undesirable..."

Angelique?
 
To the convent?
 
Ignoring Angelique's insults, Rochelle pushed to a stand and brushed dirt from
her aching backside.  "I say, knight.  Do you send all your conquests to
convents after one bedding?"

"I warn you, Lady Rochelle.  Lady Angelique, cease
your---"

"If so, I would think the nunneries full by
now."  By heavens the digs felt good.  Encouraged, she forged on as
Angelique screamed.  "I named you stallion much too soon.  Mayhap you back
away from all women and rid yourself of any who remind you of
your
failure.  As we fortunate rejects gather for vespers, we'll discuss
your---"

"Rochelle---"

"
Short
comings."

He threw Rochelle a don't-push-me scowl.  "I
didn't bed her."

"And the English are saints instead of
devils."

He caught Angelique's wrist as she swiped, then shoved
his increasingly irate face close to Rochelle.  "Then the English are
saints, because 'tis true."

Rochelle blinked, taken aback.  "You refused
her?”  A mysterious type of relief surged through her.  “You refused Angelique
. . . and still live?  I don't believe any man has done such before.  She
didn't seek revenge?"

Stunned by a traitorous thought, Rochelle faced a now
quiet Angelique, as did Becket. 

He snarled.  "Did you release Gaston?"

She fluttered her lashes and paled.  "
Moi
?"

"Are you and Lady Rochelle in collusion?"

That did it.  "Collusion?  You accuse
us
of
collusion?  Angelique, attack him again."

"Lady Rochelle---Cease, Lady Angelique---Henri,
come snare this lavender she-wolf."

"She-wolf!"  Angelique writhed and kicked
harder.  "No man treats me this way.  I am a lady, of the Chandeau's of .
. ."

Rochelle smiled, then froze as Pierre with the
ever-present Sire Spitz darted across the yard like a stone launched from a
sling-shot and kicked at Becket's armored legs. 

"You can't take her away.  She's my---"

"Pierre!"  Terrified, Rochelle bonked Becket
on his stubborn head hoping to distract him and winced from the certain future
bruise on her wrist bone.

"
Sacre bleu
, not again!"  Becket stood
like a tree in a storm amidst the attack.  "Cease you vixens.  Get back,
you little hellion.  Ouch!  That blasted cat!"

"How dare you assault defenseless children and
pets!"  Rochelle bonked him on his head again, then leaned over and
attempted to catch Pierre despite his flailing arms and legs.  "Pierre,
stop, he might harm you!"

Henri's armored feet stomped into her limited view. 
"Have someone else tend to this human hellcat.  Look at these scratches. 
I didn't receive this many in the battle at---"

"Hellcat? 
Hellcat
?"

"As priest of this parish, I insist you reconsider." 
Père
Bertrand's black robes brushed against her arm.  "Lady
Rochelle has---"

"Curse you!"  Angelique caught Rochelle in
the side with her foot, and Rochelle grunted.

"How dare you---"

"Blast you to perdition, woman!  Someone come kill
this cat!"

“Don’t you hurt Sire Spitz!”

"Blasphemy!  The church---"

"Let me go, you---"

"Cease!  Everybody cease!"

Becket swung a leg over Rochelle's bent form and
clamped her between his thighs.  A black furry blur sailed through the air,
landing on its feet.

"Whoever said females are weak has never met one. 
The only attacks I've had since arriving here are from women, children and
animals." 

She slid him an upward glance.

He nodded to a group of knights who steadied the
spooked horses.  "Put this violet femme fatale in the litter, even if you
have to tie and gag her. 
Père
Bertrand, another protest and I'll assume
you wish to tend to lost souls in another parish."

The priest sputtered, then spun on his heel and stormed
away, abandoning her to her fate.

"Someone grab this lad before I have him drawn and
quartered.  As to that cat---" 

Rochelle gasped.  "I'll see to them, Sire Becket. 
'Tis a promise.  They won't bother you again."  She slammed backward with
her elbow and must have hit something vulnerable, for he groaned and relaxed
his legs.

She scrambled out, clasping Pierre's drawn-back fist. 
Snatching Sire Spitz from off Becket’s leg, she pulled Pierre into the shade of
the curtain wall where she could visit with him in private.  Suddenly
exhausted, she leaned her back against the stones, noticing that the men who
dragged Angelique away looked much like uncertain dogs who had cornered a
clawing cat. 

Becket straightened, appearing a bit ashen. 
"Blast them all to hell.  "Phillipe, load the supplies.  Fit in what
you can of the lady's belongings, then leave the rest."

Angelique surely shattered the heavens with her screech
of protest.

"Henri, send some men to the waterfall to search .
. ."

"They say he's sending you away!"  Pierre
burst into sobs burying his face into her unacceptable gown.

Rochelle hugged Pierre to her breast, her heart surely
splitting in two.  "
Mon frère
.  Don't weep.  I go of my own free
will, and if you hush I'll tell you why."

He stilled, gazing up at her with the largest wet dark
eyes a body could possess.  "You call me your brother, but you leave
me."

"To get help,
mon
petit
.”  She
handed him his pet who immediately plopped himself around Pierre’s neck then
stretched and yawned as if worn out by the fracas.  “Now listen, sweets,
because I don't have much time.  Keep hold of Sire Spitz and stay out of Sire
Becket's sight as if you didn't exist.  Jacques will help you.  I will return
to save us all.  I promise."

She kissed his damp cheek.  "Now, I need your
help.  Find Jacques and tell him to meet me in the great hall.  You'll most
likely find him in the garderobe.  Then hide.  Remember, I will return.  I will
never abandon you."  She squeezed him with all her strength, hoping he
didn't hear the fear in her voice.  "
Je t'aime, mon frère
."

"And I love you, my sister."  He turned and
scampered through the fracas until she could no longer see him.  She glanced at
Becket, and a chill froze her blood. 

He watched her, a suspicious scowl on his face, then he
strolled toward her, backing her into a corner.  "You think to play games
with me, Lady Rochelle?" 

He leaned down as if to kiss her.  Not likely.  She
balled her hand into a fist and stiffened. 

"Unlike the appropriately named Sire Spitz, you
won't fight me, my lady." 

He brushed his lips over hers and a bolt of desire
thundered through her veins.

He chuckled.  "No matter how much you loathe me,
you dare not pass up the chance for seduction.  What power you have placed in
my hands.  I shall give much thought in conjuring creative ways to enjoy you
while we travel."

Her face burned.  If he became any more creative, she
would melt like butter over a flame.  He smiled down at her, and her heart
lumped in her throat, curse her treacherous body.

"We will make camp early this day.  Before the sun
sets.  So that I can better satisfy my curiosity about you---all of you---in
the light of day."

He dipped his tongue into her stunned mouth, winked,
then sauntered away like the only cock in a pen full of adoring hens.

The arrogant lout.

By heaven, she demanded revenge.  She strolled to where
a group of
her
knights stood in a cluster by one of the wagons, but the
bag of coins now hung around her knee and she had to clamp her legs together
and move with a most unusual sway.  She saw their unease pique to curiosity,
then she could swear for some, outright lust.  For her? Surely not.  But just
in case . . .

She smiled.  "I need your services, my brave
knights.  Would one of you fetch my torn gown from upon the bluff by the
cave?"

Sire Henri turned from where he stood beside the
horses, eyes wide with curiosity. 

Ignoring him, she concentrated on the attentive group
in front of her.  "I confess, sires, I tried my best to woo Sire Becket
into consummating the marriage, per his command . . . his punishment he called
it, an odd request for a groom to his bride, if I may say so without being
indiscreet.  But alas, I am an inexperienced virgin, and as with Sire Marcel, I
failed in arousing him enough.  Whatever is the matter with me?"  She
batted her lashes and faked a pout.

The entire cluster of men came to immediate attention. 
At least
some
males found her interesting.  Or perhaps they were
inquisitive of Becket's possible impotence.  At this point, either would do.

"Perhaps if I knew my faults, or how to seduce a man. 
I am such an innocent.  Do you have any suggestions for me?  'Tis such an
embarrassment, but I know not whom else to ask."  She batted her lashes
again and gave them a look of desperation.

She witnessed a sea of blushing faces, a wealth of
cleared voices and shuffling feet, a few snickers.  Several appeared shocked. 

Sire Henri burst into laughter, grabbing the front of
the wagon as if to hold himself up.