Love Thine Enemy (19 page)

Screams filtered in from the courtyard as people shouted
warnings to escape the wild stallion.  Would that she could.

Becket ran the tip of the whip handle along the scoop
of her neckline and tingles feathered across her flesh.  "Is that not the
penalty for betrayal?  Death?"

 She jerked from his grip.  "If so, then at least
two will fall this day.  You and Jacques.  Now escort me to the nunnery.  I'm
eager for the purity of the convent."

"Where you can plot my overthrow?  I think not, my
lady."

The dank chill of the dungeon enshrouded her like a
taunting premonition.  He would surely torture her.  Death wouldn't be far
behind.  But by all the power within her, she would unravel his tangle of
mysteries before she died.  She pressed her nails into her palms for courage
and lifted her chin in defiance.

"Why your secrets, knight?  What have you to hide
from King Jean?"

"Confide
your
secret, Lady Rochelle.  Why
would this mystery between you and an orphaned peasant lad affect my claim to
DuBois?  Shall I guess?"

Fear ripped through her fragile courage like a dagger
through gauze.  He would surely murder Pierre as he might have her father's
bastards.  She held up her crossed fists, taunting him to bind her. 

"Do your worst, knight.  I am ready for your
decree."

He shackled her wrists within one hand.  "My
decree depends upon your cooperation to several stipulations."

"My cooperation depends upon the stipulations. 
Name the first."

He cocked a brow in acknowledgment.  "Kneel before
me and swear your fealty."

"If I do, will you take me as wife?"

"
Non
."

"Then you would have as much chance as asking Sire
Gaston to kneel at your feet."  As soon as the words spilled from her
mouth, she cursed her error. 

Hatred flared in his eyes.  He studied her for an
uncomfortable moment.  Then as if he had made a decision that bode her ill, he
forced her hands against his chest.  She splayed her fingers upon the golden
falcon of his crimson jupon, the silk a contrast to the steel of his armor, the
steel of his heart.

"I withdraw that stipulation, Lady Rochelle, for
when you kneel before me, 'twill not be from force but of your own free will. 
A day I anticipate, for then I'll know I’ll have bent you to my will.  But this
I demand if you ever hope to see the sun again.  Vow never to betray me
again."

Rochelle inhaled a controlled breath and prayed for
wisdom.  Becket trussed her with promises like a wild beast tied for slaughter,
vulnerable, without resource, in wait for the blade.  But Pierre . . . 

"And if I make such a promise?"

"I will allow you to remain unfettered and at
DuBois . . . for a time."

Her heart leapt.  "How long?"

"Until the fall."

"Why the fall?"

His eyes narrowed.  "You are too curious, my
lady.  You are dangerous whether you stay or leave.  You diminish my
options."  He released her hands and stepped back.

Diminished . . . to what?  The dungeon?  Torture?  Then
death?  She longed to ask what would happen to Pierre after she died, but knew
not to bring up the subject.  She nodded. 

"I vow not to betray you."

He lifted his gaze as if surprised, but victorious. 
"Another stipulation.  Ask no questions about aught that is none of your
affair."

She would merely have to delve into his secrets without
querying.  And yet, all appeared too easy.  She nodded again.  "Agreed. 
And my punishment?"

"You will obey me."

Rochelle felt her eyes widen and her mouth drop open. 
"In what way?"

"In whatever I demand." 

"But why that?"

"'Tis the most disagreeable punishment for you I
can surmise.  And the most agreeable to me."

She gave him her back as her mind raced for an answer. 
Obey?  He obviously didn't want her body, nor would he throw her to his
knights.  What did he want?  To manage the household?  She would love such a
duty.  To work as a servant?  She already did. To humiliate her in public?  He
already had.  Torture her?  Beat her?  Marcel had done as much.  What might he
require that she would refuse to honor?

The sliding sunlight burnished the row of bridles that
hung upon pegs in front of her.  Like Becket did with Satan, he bridled her,
controlled her.  And like Satan, she refused to relinquish her strong will. 
But at least Becket spared her life . . . for now. 

"I know I have no say in my punishment, knight,
but I beg you not to separate me from Pierre.  He is all I have.  Also, I will
not reveal my every secret.  Other than those stipulations I will obey you.  I
give you my oath." 

"Acceptable.  For now.  But I warn you.  I will
know your secret before the day fades."

And I, yours, knight.

Rochelle heard movement, felt the whip handle dragged
across the back of her neck beneath her wimple.  A shiver rippled up her tensed
spine.

"Despite your oath, my sly falcon, I have the
feeling you haven't surrendered.  Do you hope to bedevil the devil?"

"I but seek the solution to my dilemma." 
Rochelle reached over her shoulder and grabbed the handle, the leather woven as
tightly as the knots in her stomach.  "How do I tempt the Fallen
Angel?" 

"Satan is beyond temptation."

"And yet, Satan is tempted by Falcon." She
tugged on the handle, pulled him toward her.  Although he outpowered her, he
allowed the pull, moved closer, pressed his body against her back, bathed her
with his heat. 

"
Au contraire,
Lady Rochelle, Falcon will
carry Satan's seed. 
You
failed.  Remember?"

"The moments are branded upon my pride.  Even so,
I request another chance."

"All losers do."

Her face burned with humiliation.  Anger filled her
like molten metal barely set.  Hot.  Strong.

She spun to face him, bowing in mock obeisance. 
"Congratulations, mighty conqueror.  You have won." 

"You play the part of the vanquished with too much
ease,
demoiselle
.  Methinks I'd best watch my back, and my wine.  But as
for now, satisfy my curiosity.  Why your meager possessions?  Unlike Lady
Angelique, you had packed only your embroidered bed-covering, your tapestry, a
faded gown and a brooch." 

"The fabrics, I worked with my own hands.  Take
them.  May they remind you of your treachery.  The gown is fit only for rags. 
The brooch I wish to keep."

"A gift from your lover?"

"God must have formed you from suspicion instead
of clay.  "’Twas my mother's.  The only material possession I have that
means aught to me."

In a blur of speed he swiped the bag of gold from the
rushes and held the measly amount in front of her face.  "And yet you have
coin.  For Gaston?" 

"For grapevines, knight.  For DuBois.  What
sous
I had left after heavy taxes I hid from men like you who would spend them on
whores and tournaments, on vanities and luxuries."

"Surely not on DuBois.  I've witnessed with
heartache the estate's disrepair."

"Where have you been for the last half-decade,
knight?"

He tightened his grip on the bag of gold.  "I told
you, no questions of aught that is none of your affair."

Another secret. 

She shrugged, she hoped the image of nonchalance. 

"I meant the question rhetorically, knight.  The
Black Death decimated us five years past, the disease taking noble and servant
alike, my mother included." 

"Is your mother also Pierre's?"

Her heart jolted.  "
Non
.  I told
you---"

"That his mother died in the plague."

"Pierre's mother was of the village."  Her
fingers trembled at the too-close question.  To hide her discomposure, she ambled
along the aisle, then leaned her back against the tack room door-facing, her
hands tucked behind her hips, safe from his view, her heart tucked behind her
newly reconstructed defense-wall, safe from his allure.

Becket flicked the whip as if in idle concentration,
repeatedly snapping the tip into a slithery coil.

"Enlighten me,
demoiselle.
  How did the
landless Lady Angelique garner so much wealth?  From bribery? 
Collusion?" 

"She has her own way of appearing with new and
wondrous treasures.  I don't interfere." 

"Whom did you send to take a horse to
Gaston?"

She pushed away from the facing.  "Your head is as
hard as your armor.  I sent no one.  You are the one with spies.  Besides, how
would you know of this?"

"The men found blood on the other side of the
waterfall, then two sets of hoof prints.  You knew of the hidden exit." 
He glanced along the row of animals' rumps and switching tails."  I will
check the shoes of all horses."  Then he slid his attention to the
light-drenched opening.  "Including those of your mare.  But for now . .
."

He faced her, the image of victory eager to test his
dominance, smug grin, confident stance, cocky demeanor.  Expectant hunger.

And yet despite all his demands, she still had her
self-respect, her pride, and the coins

"Open your bodice, Lady Rochelle."

Her heart thudded to a halt. 
"Pardonez-moi?"
 

"Obey me."  He ran his finger down the handle
of his whip as if contemplating its use.

"But . . ." She stiffened, appalled. 

His eyes darkened in anticipation, stirring her wrath. 
She straightened her wimple along with her dignity.

"And why, may I ask?"

"No questions, remember?  Now show me the
treasures you hide beneath your gown."

Did he refer to her body?  Or the gold? 

Hands on hips, she stormed to a halt by the haystack,
close to the pitchfork in case she needed a weapon.  "I've changed my
mind, knight.  I'd rather be imprisoned or tortured.  Use that whip on me you
so tauntingly stroke.  I reclaim my word."

"Too late,
cherie
.  'Tis given.  And cease
that raillery." 

"Cease that . . .  You expect me to obey you . . .
and not complain?" 

He grinned. 

She closed her mouth, shocked.  Dear heaven.  She had
given her word to this lunacy.

Cursing beneath her breath, Rochelle struggled with the
top button, but between Becket's too-near disclosure about Pierre, and
his---she sneered---his
command
, her fingers trembled like moth's wings
after a lengthy flight.  She released the first button, and then another. 

Although he pretended indifference, Becket's attention
focused on her fingers like a thirsty man at a well.  By the stars, she would
exact revenge for such an order.

"Soften your expression, fair
demoiselle
. 
Smile as if delighted to obey me.  Play the part of temptress."

She narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth.  "You
will burn for this."

"Bravo."  Rage exploded, fanning the flames
of revenge in his eyes.  He clapped his hands in slow applause, the thin lash
swaying with each pop of his palms.  "Spoken like the true seed of
Reynaurd.  You only reaffirm my determination to make certain his bloodline
dies with you."

"I didn't mean, literally."

"But your father did.  And my father burned. 
Reynard is in your blood, Lady Rochelle.  In most instances you may be
successful in hiding your lineage, but I would wager DuBois that when desperate
enough, you will reveal your breeding.  Someday, despite your oath, you will
betray me."

Indeed, she might.  Rochelle inhaled a deep breath and
prayed for control.  Shoving her mouth into a stiff upward curve, she batted
her lashes Angelique-style and released another button, exposing the top of the
tangled coins.

"A treasure chest, indeed, my lady.  But then, I
knew so, even before I noticed the
sous
."

"Not enough courage to retrieve them yourself,
knight?  Afraid I might hide dangerous weapons upon my person?"

"That you do, mine enemy.  'Tis why I keep my
distance, why I will not touch you.  By the by, you would never be mistaken for
a boy, no matter how you dress."

Feeling oddly complimented, she released another
button.  As the fabric parted, the coins settled, revealing more of her flesh. 

Despite his supposed loathing of her, his chest rose
and fell with deeper breaths, his attention unwavering. 

She unfastened one more, then caught the waterfall of
disks and rushes in her palms.  The man didn't even blink, so intent was his
concentration upon her partially exposed breasts. 

"Offer them to me."

Her nipples tingled.  Furious that she seemed
determined to misinterpret his every word, she fought the urge to throw the
money in his face and instead, held out her cupped palms, her smile as stiff as
her spine.