Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 (5 page)

Elena thought she must be dreaming, or perhaps she was trapped inside a nightmare, she swiftly corrected herself as her middle was slammed against a hard saddle and her head bounced against the side of what she would swear was a galloping horse. When she tried to move her hands to right herself, she realized they were bound together. She had no memory of being taken from her room. They must have drugged her while she slept, she concluded bitterly.  She winced as she was once again slapped against the saddle with an audible thump.  Her kidnappers must not have tied her very securely, she realized, as with each tortuous stride of her racing mount she felt the binding holding her in place loosen a bit more.  She reasoned at any moment she would fly off the back of the galloping horse and land very painfully on the hard ground. 

Despite her rage at the indignity of being stuffed into some kind of sack and being tied face down on a galloping horse, unlikely hope stirred within her heart.  Her kidnappers had unknowingly done her a great service by aiding her plans for escape.  Now if she could only get away from them, she could put her plans in motion.  This certainly wasn’t the way she envisioned leaving the city.  The truth was even if she could separate herself from the evil men who took her, she would be alone in the mountains without food or drink. 

Shaking off her dire fears, she forced herself to concentrate on the bright side of her predicament. She was on her way to her new life and every powerful stride of her mount’s charging gait took her farther away from the fate she prayed constantly over the past weeks and months of her uncle’s illness that she would be able to avoid.

Her burgeoning joy was short-lived as with the next stride, her racing mount broke his rhythmic stride and leapt across some barrier in its path, causing Elena to bounce hard against his back when he regained his footing, and then fly off into the air.  Moments later she endured a painful impact, and then rolled down a steep incline, over stones and tree branches before coming up hard against the wide trunk of a mature tree bringing her uncomfortable flight to an ignominious halt.

“Ouch,” she whispered behind the cloth that gagged her mouth, laying there stunned for a moment in the darkness of her burlap prison. Then the pain hit her, followed swiftly by panic.  She did not do well in closed spaces and she began to struggle in earnest against the ties binding her wrists.  She released a relieved sigh when she regained the use of her hands, then proceeded to reach up through the hole in the top of the bag in a frantic attempt to free herself.

True panic set in when she realized the rope binding the sack closed was much thicker and secured a lot tighter than the restraint on her hands.  She knew it would be more helpful for her to remain calm, but she couldn’t seem to stop her breaths from coming more and more quickly between her parted lips until she recognized she was in danger of losing consciousness.

“Stop wriggling and I will free you.”

The insistent command issued in an impatient, and somewhat amused male voice, froze her in place.  Tears stung her eyes.  How could they have found her so quickly? She hadn’t heard any indication of their approach down the steep incline.  Probably because she was so busy with her frantic attempt to escape from her cloth prison. 

In an instant, the stranger cut through the rope and freed her.  A deep breath calmed her panicked struggle for air, and then she turned a fearful glance in the direction of her rescuer, praying she would not recognize him as one of Raulf’s men.  The stranger’s booted feet were not reminiscent of the heavy boots the soldiers of Calei wore.  Nor were the leather breeches that clung to his muscular legs.  Hope growing in her breast, Elena slowly ran her gaze up the stranger’s long, lithe form, passed his broad chest to his young and handsome face, until she finally met the amusement in his stunning blue eyes.  Her lips curved in a relieved smile.  He was not one of Raulf’s men.  She was certain of that.  In fact, she was quite certain she’d never seen him before in her life.  Despite her youth and inexperience, she instinctively grasped that no woman could ever forget the stranger’s face or his incredible eyes. 

Michel was having his own struggles recovering from his astonishment at the turn his morning scouting ride had taken.  He drew in a sharp breath at the hesitant expression in the feminine eyes raised to his.  They belonged to the unexpected bounty that rolled down the hill and literally landed at his feet.  At first he assumed the squirming sack contained the stolen prey of some unlucky poacher. When he drew closer to investigate, he heard the furious, oddly smothered muttering of its feminine captive and quickly moved to free her. 

When she burst free of her confinement his initial impression was that of a young girl with a tangled mass of dark, sable-colored hair streaming down her back.  Then she raised her frightened, soft brown eyes to his and sat at his feet regarding him with dawning, impossible hope filling her gaze, as if he was some god sent to rescue her from the evil pursuing her, and he recognized immediately his plans for the day were completely overset. 

Cursing himself for his inability to walk away from the situation he frowned down upon this latest source of distraction to his carefully thought out plans, none of which he was quite certain, included a doe-eyed innocent looking to him to rescue her from whoever tied her up in a burlap sack.

That the child was in need of rescuing was increasingly clear. She was clad in nothing but a thin sleeping gown.  Seeing her shiver in the cold air of a new dawn, Michel quickly removed his rich, fur-lined cloak to wrap her in it and then assisted her to her feet.  He noted her ankles were bound together and he swiftly bent to free them, and then released her mouth from the gag meant to ensure her silence.

“Thank you.”

He nodded in response to the girl’s shy offering of gratitude even as he wondered what in the name of all that was holy he was going to do with her.  “You’re safe now.  I won’t hurt you.”

“Who are you? I can see you are not one of Baron’s Raulf’s minions.”

By the cultured, educated tones of her voice, and the rather arrogant way she referred to the offending baron, Michel concluded she was no servant. Another uncomfortable conclusion followed fast on the heels of the first. The girl might be young, but from the way the fullness of her feminine breasts pressed against the thin material of her night gown, visible beneath the opening where his cloak rested around her shoulders, he realized she was no child. 

The situation was growing more complicated by the moment.  With a single, discerning glance, he took in her refined features, the rather haughty tilt of her chin, and the directness of her gaze and decided she was likely a daughter of one of the city’s noble families.  How in the world she managed to get herself tied up in a sack on the back of a galloping horse was probably not an answer he really wished her to share with him.

No it would be better for the success of his plans to extricate himself from the maid’s misfortune at the earliest opportunity, before she discovered any more about him, and about the army of men waiting to attack her home hidden in the woods atop the mountain.  But before he made a decision about how to go about extricating himself he needed to know what exactly, or who more likely, he was up against. “Who is Baron Raulf?”

Her eyes widened in astonished wonder at his query.  “You do not know Baron Raulf?  You must be a stranger to the city then.”

“Yes, we have only just arrived.  We are visitors to your fair kingdom,” he replied, nodding to where Amele observed their exchange from a few feet away.

“I suggest you turn around then,” she immediately instructed him, after nodding politely in Amele’s direction, then added in a hopeful voice, “And if it would not be too much trouble, perhaps you would take me with you.”

“And why would we do that?”  Surprisingly, Michel found himself not indisposed to prolonging their conversation.  He justified the obvious sign of weakness on his part by reminding himself that the long days and nights he’d spent in the company of his men these past months made him more susceptible than usual to her shy femininity and soft voice.

“Because you would be rescuing me from a fate worse than death.”

Michel’s lips curved at her dramatic announcement and he queried curiously, “Might I assume Baron Raulf is somehow involved in this dreadful fate you speak of?”

“Yes, he intends to marry me.”

Michel turned in the direction of his silent, equally amused, companion. “Ah, Amele we have captured a runaway bride.”

“I am not a bride and I have no intention of becoming one.”

Michel grinned outright at the maid’s assured declaration, thinking how often he’d been the recipient of the same dramatic vow uttered from between his twin’s lips.  In the end Melissa had been unable to avoid her Norman husband, despite her not inconsiderable efforts to do so. “Well, you appear a bit young to wed.  Perhaps you can convince your father to change his mind about this betrothal to Baron Raulf.”

“My father is dead and there is no betrothal.  He kidnapped me and thought to…”

“Thought to?” Michel couldn’t resist his teasing when words failed the maid and a fierce blush stained her cheeks.  He immediately regretted his banter because the girl’s blush only deepened and she bowed her head in shame. 

When she continued it was in a hushed voice he had to strain to hear, “He was going to force me…you know…then I would have no choice but to marry him. But I wouldn’t have…even if he…” she couldn’t bring herself to utter the foul word.

“Even if he raped you?”  Michel supplied for her, his jaw clenching at the foul picture the girl drew for him. Despite the evidence her appealing, feminine curves presented to the contrary it was obvious the maid was still a child and certainly much too young to know about such obscenities let alone be forced to confront her very real fear of falling victim to them.

She nodded, her soft eyes filling with unshed tears.  “Yes.  I won’t marry him.  I’m not going back.  I’m never going back.”

“Is there someone you can stay with who would protect you from this Baron Raulf?” He asked, concerned enough at the fate she outlined to bestir himself on her behalf.

“No,” she admitted forlornly, and then raised a hopeful, expectant glance to his face.  “Do you know anyone I can stay with?”

Michel evaded her question with one of his own. “If your father is dead, who do you live with?”

“My uncle.”

“Surely he would not force you to marry the baron against your wishes.”

“No, but he won’t be able to stop the baron from taking what he wants after he’s dead.”

“Your uncle is dying, too?”

“Too?”

“You said your father was dead,” he reminded her.

She nodded.  “My parents died when I was a little girl.  I was sent to live with my uncle.”

“The uncle who is dying?”

“Yes, he’s the only uncle I have.”

Michel suppressed the urge to smile at the girl’s desolate confession.  “What about your uncle’s wife?”

She shook her head and Michel was forced to conclude either her uncle didn’t have a wife, or she would not be able to provide assistance to defend the girl against the baron’s foul intentions.  “Another family member perhaps?”

“I don’t have any other family.  When Uncle Barnabas dies I will be quite alone in the world.”

“Uncle Barnabas?” Michel echoed stunned.  He should have seen this coming, he realized. Then, as if in a belated warning, Michel felt a prickle of unease slither up his spine as he recalled the dying king’s request of him.
‘All I ask is that you not wed another until you have at least met my Elena.
’ Well the deed was done, Michel concluded bitterly.  He had met Barnabas’ beloved Elena. 

Michel was no believer in coincidences, but since he very much doubted Barnabas would put his niece in deadly danger on the off chance Michel might be around to rescue her; he was forced to conclude that fate elected to involve itself in his affairs and had taken matters into its own unpredictable hands. His mind still boggled at the consequences of the king’s niece literally dropping out of the sky to land at his feet. Michel was distracted away from his musings by Elena’s impudent response to his earlier question.

“Yes, my uncle is the king.  Don’t you know anything?”

Despite his unease at becoming further entangled in the untenable situation, Michel couldn’t help but be amused by her autocratic tone. “Apparently not.  So let me guess.  Your name is Elena?”

“Yes.  How did you know my name? Who are you?”

“My name is Michel and this is Amele.  The king lives?”

“Yes, as of last night when I retired to my rooms, but I can no longer be certain.  He is very ill.  I think he will not live much longer.  I suppose the baron grew tired of waiting for him to die. He must have instructed his men to kidnap me from my chamber while I slept.  They drugged me and tied me in that dreadful sack.”

The sound of approaching horses interrupted their discussion, this time coming from the opposite direction of their initial pass. It didn’t take any great powers of reasoning to deduct the girl’s abductors must have realized they lost their captive and were returning to look for her. 

Elena turned tearful, terrified eyes in Michel’s direction.  “You won’t let them take me, will you?”