Master Of Surrender (16 page)

Rohan dismounted from the great horse. He was not alone. His knights fanned out behind him, all of them with arrows notched and strung in their long bows. They were a most awesome sight.

Henri’s men, who had joined the chase, stood back.

“Harm the maid, and you pay with your life,” Rohan said quietly.

“It is that simple?” Henri asked.

Rohan nodded. “Aye.”

“The life of a Saxon slave is of no consequence to William,” Henri proclaimed. “But the son of one of Normandy’s greatest families? I doubt there would be a large enough penalty to pay, Rohan.”

Rohan pointed his sword at Henri’s chest. “If you would like to find out, I am willing.”

Henri pressed the tip of the dagger to Isabel’s throat. He laughed heartily. “Look at her throat, Rohan. By these marks, I suspect she likes rough play. And ’tis not by my hand.” Rohan’s eyes narrowed. Henri laughed. “She has played you for the fool. When I found her in the chapel, she was begging your God for forgiveness for her shameful acts.”

“’Tis a lie!” Isabel shrieked.

She met Rohan’s narrowed stare. She saw doubt there. Did he think she—?

“Aye, she meets her betrothed not far from here,” Henri lied.

Though he wore his helmet, Isabel could see Rohan scowled.

“She is no virgin, brother. You have been cuckolded!” Henri threw her at Rohan. “Have her, I do not wish to be third with this piece.”

Isabel landed at Rohan’s feet. She sprang up and lunged at Henri’s back, pummeling him. “Liar!”

He turned, raising his arm to backhand her, but found it seized by Rohan’s fist. “For every mark you put on her, I will put three times as many on you.”

Henri grinned a nasty smile and flung Rohan’s hand from him. “I never thought I would see the day you place a woman above blood, brother. Good riddance. May she spill the Saxon’s bastard before she spills yours.” Henri stalked past Rohan but turned and gave notice. “I had come by to warn you, Rohan, there are marauders about. Just past the Dunsworth border, there was an attack last eve. The louts seem bent on simple destruction. What was left of my churls was not recognizable.”

Rohan faced his brother and nodded. “Aye, I will keep an eye out for them. But should you meet them before I do, give this message for me.” Rohan stepped toward his brother, stopping only a horse length away. “When I hunt them down, they will burn alive.”

Henri’s lips twisted into a sadistic smile. “I would pay good silver to see it.”

“You may be present for free,” Rohan said, his voice low and threatening.

Henri’s eyes sparked, and for a moment Isabel swore she saw a flash of fear. While she did not understand the full scope of Rohan’s threat, Henri did.

Henri opened his mouth to retort, but he must have thought better of it, for he turned and strode back to his horse. His men followed.

When Rohan turned back to her, a glower marked his features. He sheathed his sword as he walked toward her. When he stopped, Rohan stood silent, looking hard at her as if to assess the truth of his brother’s words.

A hard trembling wracked her. Henri’s lies did not affect her half as much as the thought that Rohan believed them.

“I will not defend myself to you, Rohan. You will think what you will.”

He moved a step closer, close enough that he could brush her hair from her neck. When he did, his scowl deepened. “How came you by these marks?”

Isabel kept his stare. What would he do to his man if he knew Manhku had attacked her? She shouldn’t care. They were all her enemy. Let them kill one another in their bloodlust. But she could not name Manhku. She was overfed with blood and death. She did not want to be responsible for what may follow.

“It has been a long, tedious day. I do not know.”

Rohan wrapped his gauntleted hand around her throat and squeezed. The pressure hurt. Tears erupted. She was so weary of this game of war. “You lie.” He released her and stepped back. “And I do not deal well with liars.”

He turned his back to her and called to the villagers who had gathered behind his men. “See to your lady.” Then he mounted his horse and galloped up the hill to the manor.

F
atigue took over both Isabel’s mind and her body, squeezing what little will she had left from her. As she allowed several of the village women to walk her back to the manor, Isabel realized it was the first time since her mother’s death some six years past when she wasn’t the one seeing to another’s needs.

And with that realization, more emotion poured out of her heart. Never once had she complained to her sire or her brother that while they were given the luxury of time to grieve, she was not. She was thrust into the role of lady of the manor before her mother’s body was cold. And she did not regret it or resent it; it was what had to be done. Had she not stepped up to the role, Alethorpe and its people would have suffered greatly, for Alefric became a stingy, bitter man after his wife’s passing. And only Isabel could soften him. So, for the sake of her sire, her brother, and the people who depended on the lord, Isabel put her own emotions aside. She did the same now. As weary and emotionally drained as she was, she would require only a short time of privacy to collect herself, then once again present the face of a lady in complete control of the manor, to her people and to the Normans who sought to rip it asunder.

When Isabel entered the hall, she caught Rohan’s angry stare from across the great divide. Though her energy was severely depleted, she squared her shoulders and presented a hardened front. Let Rohan think what he would of her. In her heart, she knew the truth, and at the end of the day it would be enough, for she had no one else to depend on. That understanding did more to knock her off balance than Rohan’s accusing glare.

She was utterly alone.

Rohan’s heated gaze followed her up the stairway. His men were quiet, several of them watching her as if assessing for themselves the validity of Henri’s words. Isabel leashed the urge to tell them all to go to the devil. How dare they question her virtue!

Having met her in the courtyard, Enid took Isabel’s elbow halfway up the stairway, forestalling the eruption the servant knew was imminent. Enid shooed the other women away, and instead of directing her mistress to the lord’s chamber, she guided Isabel down the hall to the lady’s solar.

Once in the room, Enid threw the bolt. “Norman swine!” she hissed.

Isabel sank to a cushioned hassock at the foot of the large bed. Enid fussed around her. “I’ll prepare a bath for you, milady. The blood of the village and the stench of the bastard’s brother cling to you like dung.”

In a fog, Isabel allowed her maid to undress her. “These are not fit to wear,” Enid scoffed, and tossed the bundle of clothing into the fire. She wrapped Isabel in a thick linen towel and set her back against the hassock. “Lie down, milady, and rest whilst I prepare your bath.”

Isabel did. As she closed her eyes and swallowed, the rawness of her throat reminded her of the day. Her chest tightened as she remembered not Henri’s attack on her but the way Rohan had looked at her, as if she were not fit to clean his chamber pot. Did he truly believe his brother?
How could he?
Rohan, of all men, knew how desperately she clung to her virtue. A hard sob wracked her chest, and try as she might, Isabel could not contain the tears. In silent protest, they slid down her cheeks. Eyes closed, she sucked in a huge breath and desperately wished for sleep. Wearily, she exhaled and prayed that when she awoke, the nightmare would be over.

Rohan wished for no company. Not even from his men, who having sensed his morose mood moved down to the far end of the hall and the hearth there. He wanted complete solitude. He wanted to throttle his brother for touching Isabel, and more than that, he wanted to force the truth from the maid. Yet he did nothing but stand in front of the roaring hearth and drink another cup of ale. ’Twas his fourth.

Once again, his pride waged a terrible war with feelings he did not understand. When Henri pushed up Isabel’s skirts and laid her bottom bare for all to see, Rohan felt an inexplicable rush of fury. And a foreign sense of propriety. He did not want his men or anyone else to see that part of Isabel that only he had seen. Or so he had thought. Did Henri taunt with lies, or did he speak the truth? Had the maid met with her betrothed? Was she with child?

Rohan cringed at the thought of her lying with another man. He tossed back the last of his ale. Nay, his gut told him. She was not with child, nor had she willingly given away her virtue. Since his coming, she had been watched.

His blood cooled. What of her time yesterday in the forest? She was alone for most of the day and into the evening hour. Mayhap Arlys met her there. The fine hairs on the back of Rohan’s neck stood straight up. Aye, she had slipped past Warner with little effort. Mayhap there was a secret passage in the manor. ’Twould make perfect sense. And mayhap they met that way.

Rohan gripped the cup in his hand so tightly his knuckles whitened. And what of those marks on her neck? They were fresh, the mark of a man’s hand boldly imprinted. No man in this manor would dare touch her for fear of his wrath. So? How had the marks gotten there? Did Isabel, as Henri suggested, like rough play? He knew of women like that. Indeed, he had had a few. And while he had never left such marks, he could not be sure. For he never stayed long enough to see the face of his evening’s tumble. So, it was more than possible her marks had come in the throes of passion.

Rohan threw the cup into the fire and turned, determined to put his doubts to rest once and for all. He strode up the stairway to his chamber. When he flung the door open only to find the room cold and empty, his fury soared.

He left the room, slamming the door open so hard it crashed against the wall. He strode farther down the hall to the lady’s solar, where he saw Enid carrying in two great buckets of steaming water. He shoved her aside and burst through the door, intending to have it out with the damsel. He stopped short when he saw her small form curled up in a linen wrap on a hassock. He stepped closer. Her cheeks glistened with tears.

Something moved in Rohan then. Something so deep and so profound it terrified him. He had no words to explain what it was or what it meant. He just knew the woman who lay asleep before him was braver than ten of William’s knights combined.

When her body shuddered as she drew in a ragged breath, he stepped closer. She stirred, and the linen fell from her shoulders, catching on the high swell of her breasts.

God’s blood, she was beautiful. She moved again just slightly, but it was enough for the thick veil of hair to fall back from her neck. The bruises that marked her jumped out at him, mocking him for a fool.

Rohan moved closer and squatted beside the sleeping maid. Tracing a finger across the bruises, he marveled at the softness of her. Not able to stop, he trailed lower to the creamy rise of her breast. He watched her skin pucker in gooseflesh and her nipples rise below the fabric. His blood quickened, but so did his doubt, and with it his anger welled up again. Setting his jaw so hard he thought he would break his teeth, Rohan wanted to shake her until she told him the truth. He wanted to push up her skirts and ease himself within her body and know for sure that
he
was the first. Rohan stood and moved away from her. Aye, he could take her and know for certain. He’d hang the bloodied linens out for the entire shire to witness
his
taking of her. Not her betrothed, as Henri insinuated, and certainly not that most unnoble of nobles, his brother!

Rohan whirled on his heels, almost knocking Enid over. Damn them all to hell! What did it matter who had had her? She was just a woman.

Rohan found himself not wanting to go near the manor. And with that decision, he found more than a few chores to keep him busy in the stable. As he gave a last brush to Mordred’s ebony flank, Rohan glanced down at the straw next to the horse, thinking it would be far more comfortable sleeping next to the furry beast than lying beside the soft and smooth damsel. Aye, he’d take his meals out here as well. He wanted no more distractions. He must focus on what he was to accomplish for William. He expected to be called any day to his liege. And though he tried to push the next thought away, the one about Isabel and leaving her behind, he could not help it. It bothered him greatly that he had concern for her. What if Henri decided to visit again?

While Rohan had complete faith in all of his men, he knew Henri held a deeper fear of Rohan than any of his knights. Rohan tossed the brush into a bucket, then grabbed up a hoof pick. Holding the great hoof between his knees, Rohan began to dig the muck from his horse’s foot. The great black turned a head to Rohan and nibbled at his back as if to assure him the woman was not worth his worry.

“Aye, Mordred, you are lucky to be a simple beast. Women are no great mystery to you. Count your blessings.” The horse snorted as if in agreement.

“So, you find the maid a mystery, do you, Rohan?” Thorin asked from the aisle outside the large stall.

“I did not invite you into my conversation,” Rohan said tersely.

“I could not help but overhear. Thorvald and I were having a similar talk.”

Rohan set the great hoof gently down and stood up. Casually, he tossed the pick into the bucket next to the brush. “Oh? And what advice does your horse have for you?”

“He is as confused as we, Rohan. I have no inkling what makes the females of this world think or act. I suspect I never will. And because it only causes me great frustration, I have decided not to try.”

Rohan wiped his hands on the leather tunic he had put on over his undershirt. “Good advice.”

“Rohan!” Wulfson called from the far end of the stable. “I have come to announce the evening meal awaits your pleasure. Hurry your arse. I am withering away to nothing!”

“Since when do you do the job of a page?” Thorin called.

“Since they are scarce and fear the moody Norman. Come, let us sup together.”

“Nay,” Rohan said. “I have no hunger for food this eve. Go and dine without me.”

Wulfson strode down the aisle and stopped to look at his comrades in arms and in friendship. His green eyes danced in mischief. “I must admit, Rohan, Henri’s words today gave me cause to pause.” He held his hand up to halt Rohan’s forthcoming denial. “Let me speak. As I said, Henri made a good case, but did you not see it for the ploy it was?”

Rohan frowned.

Wulfson smiled. “Come now, my friend, you cannot be so blind to your brother. His accusations were a poor attempt to cover his dastardly deed. He turned the blame to the maid to keep it from himself, where it should have been placed.”

“I—” Rohan started.

“Nay, let me finish. In the end, it matters not if the maid is no longer a virgin, or even if she is barren. She is but a stepping stone here. Is she not? A necessary pawn in our game. Take her if you will, and be done with it. I cannot abide your morose moods.”

“I gave my oath, Wulf,” Rohan said.

“Aye, you gave it, but on the condition that she was a virgin. How else to prove it than to see the bloodstains yourself?” Wulfson countered.

Thorin clapped Rohan on the shoulder. “Wulfson has something, Rohan. Your oath was based on the belief that the girl was a virgin. If she is not, then all oaths are forfeit. Besides, she is but one of ten score more women you will have. Take her, get her out of your blood, and mayhap we can all get along more peacefully.”

Thorin winked at Wulfson and said to no one in particular, “Aye, take your fill of her, Rohan, so that we may have a taste ourselves. From what I saw today, you are selfish not to share.”

“Hah!” Wulfson shouted, and slapped Rohan on the back. “We have always shared. What makes you think to keep this one to yourself?”

A hard shard of jealousy slashed through Rohan’s gut. ’Twas true, if the damsel was obliging, they had on more than one occasion passed the cup, so to speak. It was never a problem. Why was it now?

“She is just another woman, Rohan, and she means naught to you,” Thorin goaded.

“Aye, and she is leman to the Saxon,” Wulfson added.

“Enough!” Rohan roared. “Do not question her virtue. There is no evidence she is other than virgin. The day I believe any lie my brother spews is the day you can bury me with my sword.”

Thorin clasped Rohan’s shoulder and leaned toward the younger man. “Aye, and now, listen to your own words, my friend, and give the maid the benefit of your doubt.”

“Aye, I am weary of your hostility, Rohan. Mayhap you need to ease yourself somewhere else,” Wulfson suggested.

Thorin slapped Rohan on the back. “Or take matters into your own hands.”

Wulfson chortled and slapped Rohan as well. He held up his right hand and said, “Aye, ’tis a good way to build calluses.” Wulfson turned and strode for the wide double door opening to the stable, “Let us sup, men! I have a great hunger this eve. Mayhap I will search out the fair Sarah or the temptress Lyn.” Wulfson threw his head back and laughed louder. “By God, I will seek them both for the evening!”

When Rohan, Thorin, and a grinning Wulfson entered the hall, their hair damp from washing and their spirits high, Isabel let out a bit of the breath she had been holding. She was not the only one in the hall bracing for more storms. Each of Rohan’s men looked from him to her, then back to him again. Rohan acted as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He did not seek her out. And while that should have made her very happy, it angered her. He obviously believed his brother.

Isabel chose not to go near the lord’s table or the hall. Instead, she hid in the kitchen. Until she heard a woman’s shriek followed by uproarious male laughter. Isabel hurried to the hall. She stopped in her tracks and watched in horror as Wulfson and Ioan fought over the maid Sarah. Isabel rushed to reprimand them when Sarah turned to face her. Her eyes smiled as she teased the men. Lyn made the mistake of setting a large platter of roasted fowl on the table near Ioan, who ripped a juicy leg from one of the birds, then grabbed the buxom flame-haired maid to his chest. He kissed her full on the mouth. When Lyn bit a hunk of Ioan’s drumstick and half chewed it before she kissed him back, Isabel knew they were not in need of her help.