Betrothed (4 page)

When she had stopped crying, she lifted her head from his neck and hiccupped, “I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to s-sass you.”

He rubbed her back.  “That wasn't for sassing me,” he said mildly.  “It was for scaring me.”

She met his eyes with a surprised look. 

“I would've
killed
Matthias if he'd hurt you.  And I'm quite fond of the boy.”

She blinked at him with a look of wonder and he pulled her head toward his face and kissed her on the temple.  Her cheeks colored a bit and she kept her eyes lowered.  Then, because he was far too aroused having just seen— and touched, for that matter— her naked little rear end, he reluctantly lifted her off his lap and stood.  He picked up her cap which had fallen when she was bent over his knee and placed it back on her head. 

He peered at her.  Tears had made tracks down her cheeks, which were dusty from the long ride.  He picked up his water pouch and wet the tail of his undershirt to clean her face.  She stood patient and still for him.  He couldn't stop himself from planting another kiss on her— this time on her forehead— when he finished.  Her eyes flicked up in surprise, then dropped to her feet.  She was all sweetness, wasn't she? 

After supper his little page— he preferred to think of her that way, as “Jake” just didn't fit— went to the tent to work on the mending.  Some of the soldiers returned from a jaunt to the village with women.  The kind who entertain soldiers for pay. 

“Lord Bronson?” one of the soldier's said with a grand gesture toward the women.  He always got first pick as a show of respect.  None of them appealed to him.  But of course, none of them had pale green eyes, coppery hair and were dressed like a page.  And it was because of that little flower that he'd better make good use of one of these women.  He picked the comeliest one and led her to his tent.  His little page looked up at them in shock.

“Jake,” he said softly, “will you go to Matthias' tent for a spell?”

Her cheeks flushed crimson as she gathered up the mending.  “With my bedroll?”

He shook his head.  She slipped out without another word. 

The whore was clearly skilled, as she went to work immediately, kneeling at his feet and springing his length from his leggings.  Lord knew he needed the release.  He closed his eyes and pictured his little page the way she looked the night before, her hair glowing in the candlelight, the promising outlines of her breasts underneath the linen undershirt.  The village girl sucked him off with a practiced mouth and made a big show out of catching his seed between her breasts.  He gave her a few coins and slapped her arse as she left to seek another customer. 

“Jake!” he called out.  She didn't reply.  But after a few moments, she entered the tent, avoiding eye contact with him.  Her embarrassment was endearing.

“I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

She flushed angrily.  “I'm sure the shame is all yours!”

He chuckled.  “You judge me for it, then?”

She shook her head, her eyes on the ground, her cheeks still red.  “Nay, my lord. 'Tis not for me to judge.”  She dropped the mending and gingerly settled herself into a seated position her bedroll.

“You're angry?”

“Not at all.  Why would I be angry?” she said through clenched teeth.  He nearly laughed out loud.  Could it be possible that she was jealous? 

“I will make no excuses.  Using village girls is obviously a practice that my men and I are well-acquainted with.  But I will tell you that it felt particularly necessary this time.  On account of my current sleeping arrangements,” he said pointedly.

It took her a moment to comprehend his meaning and when she did, her eyes widened in shock.  He held up his palms.  “I mean absolutely no disrespect.  Nor should you feel any threat from me.” 

She was staring at him with her mouth open.  Then she flushed again and dropped her eyes, the anger gone. 

Chapter Three

The Earl had been right that riding would be uncomfortable with the welts on her backside.  But it was not unbearable, and the pain of the punishment was eased by the warmth of the memory of the Earl's tenderness with her afterward.  And what he had said to her the night before.  She found her eyes followed him throughout the day, watching the ripples of his strong back as he rode, observing the easy graceful command he had over his men. 

Mid-day they came upon a troop of the royal guard.  Lord Bronson kicked his horse and rode to the front of the line.  Sir John, Sir Andrew, his three squires and Matthias followed the latter motioning for her to come as well. 

Lord Bronson and his men and the royal guard all dismounted to properly greet one another.  The royal guard announced, “I come bearing a message for the Duke of Pembridge.”

“I am the Duke of Pembridge,” Lord Bronson said.

Julia went still.  Shock flooded her veins.  Waves of ice flashed through her. 

“The king requests your presence at his castle.  He is granting you marriage to the Lady Julia, daughter of Lord Argon.”

The Duke stood still for a long moment, during which Julia hardly breathed.   Then he spoke.  “I am most honored, of course.  We will accompany you to the castle.”

The cold was still threading through her limbs, but Julia's mind became perfectly clear.  Now was her only chance to escape, if she still could.  How could he have kept his identity a secret from her?  And what a fool she had been, saying she'd been the Duke's page.  But forget that, the important thing now was to get away.  For she had no doubt that once he knew who she was, his chivalry and kindness would dry up faster than rainfall in the desert.

She looked neither right, nor left.  She simply walked back to her horse and mounted, pulled her around and took her at a walk straight into the woods, away from both parties.  Her heart was beating too fast for her to be able to breathe, but she kept the singular focus in her mind:  she must steal away. 

Behind her she heard another horse and she whirled to see Matthias astride his horse.  “Where are you going?” he called out. 

She was far enough away and it was only Matthias following, so she kicked her horse with urgency until she brought her to a gallop.

“Wait!  Where are you going?” Mathias cried and she could hear his horse's hoof beats following. 

* * *

He had hoped to choose his own wife.  Of course, marriages among the aristocracy must be approved by the king, but it was a bit of a shock to be summoned to his own wedding.  Not that he'd really ever expected a love match.  Marriage among lords was always political. 

“My lord,” Andrew said to him in a low voice.  “Jake has ridden off into the woods.  Matthias followed.” 

Bronson stared at him, his mind putting the pieces together.  Could it be?  Yes—he had fought off a would-be usurper of his land not more than four months earlier, and had killed the lord and his sons in the process.  He gasped, “Lady Julia?” 

Andrew shrugged. 

“She must be!”  Bronson ran for his destrier.  “Which way?” 

Andrew pointed into the woods, mounting his own destrier and signaling to John to follow.  As the three took off at a gallop, his mind was racing.  He hadn't told her he was the Duke of Pembridge since she'd borrowed that identity for her lie.  To him it had been an inside joke, one he'd been waiting for the right moment to reveal to her for teasing.

Lady Fortune was smiling upon them because the trees thinned out and it became simple to track the two horses galloping ahead of them.  Lady Julia was an excellent rider, crouching low to jump the horse over a stump, then taking a sharp turn around a huge tree.  Matthias was not as skilled.  He missed the turn and was unhorsed by a tree branch.  The three of them gasped at the same time.  Matthias had caught the branch across his chest and was thrown onto his back.  He didn't move from where he fell. 

Lady Julia twisted around in her saddle and pulled back on the reins when she saw Matthias unhorsed.  He motioned to Andrew and John and moved further into the cover of what trees there were, slowing his horse.  He didn't think she'd seen them yet, and if she was going to return to Matthias, he didn't want to spook her.  They hugged the thicker area of the trees, watching as Julia dismounted and knelt beside Matthias.  She was speaking to him, though he didn't appear to be moving.  She was so focused on him that she didn't hear them until they had dismounted and were almost upon her.  Then her head jerked up and she met his eyes with a wide, uncertain stare.  Clearly she was torn between running and staying with Matthias.  They approached slowly, looking only at Matthias. 

“Is he...alive?” 

Her head bobbled— neither a nod nor a shake, her eyes bright with unshed tears.  They joined her, kneeling beside him.  Matthias' face was an unnatural shade of gray, his lips a strange hue of blue-gray.  His chest was moving with breath, though.  She hadn't moved him from where he landed and though it was no guarantee, he was not lying at a strange angle that would indicate a broken back or neck. 

“Matthias?  Can you hear me?” he asked.

Matthias opened his eyes and groaned.  All four of them heaved a unified sigh of relief. 

“Can you move?  What hurts?” 

Matthias tried to sit up but fell back again, gasping.  “My chest.  My Arm.  Elbow.  My head.” 

“All right.  Don't move.”  He pulled his tunic off and draped it over the boy.  All the time he'd been speaking to Matthias, he'd kept part of his awareness on Julia.  He could feel the tension within her.  She still wanted to run, but seemed torn by loyalty or guilt.  He tracked her movement as she started to slowly stand and darted his hand out to clamp her wrist, doing his best not to hurt her.  She gasped, her eyes wide with fear.

“Lady Julia.”  He tried to pull her back down beside him, but she dug her heels in and leaned her full weight away from him, twisting her wrist desperately to get away from him.  He jumped to his feet, about to lose grasp.  Her hand slipped out and he lunged to catch her retreating figure around the waist with one arm.  He pulled her up off her feet so she couldn't run. 

“Are you really still afraid?  Of me?”  He tried to speak soothingly, so she would see reason.  She started to thrash around in earnest.  He carried her wriggling and kicking away from the audience of his men, where they could speak in private.  Finding a large tree, he sank down and pulled her into his lap, leaning his back against the rough bark. 

“I assure you I bear you no grudge, Julia.  Do you still think I do?”  She was staring straight ahead, studiously avoiding looking at him, but he felt something in her soften.  She was listening.  “I consider the score with your father settled.”   She blinked rapidly.  “And I'm sorry for your loss, I know it has brought you pain.”  Her eyes dropped to her lap. 

He stroked her cheek.  “Julia,” he said softly.  A tear fell into her lap.  “These past few days—I've been completely...” he swallowed then forged ahead, hoping the truth would ease her mind.  “I've been completely captivated by you.  But I thought you were intended for another.  And then when I heard today that I'd been ordered to marry, I didn't understand that it was to you—and I felt... well, strangely bereft.  Because in my eyes, no other lady could ever compare to you.” 

She lifted her eyes to his now.  In them he saw a mixture of wariness and hope.  “It's true, my sweet.  Learning that you are my intended is the happiest thing that's ever happened to me.”

* * *

Cradled on Bronson's lap, hearing his confession of love, Julia burst into tears.  They were a release of all the tension that had built in her since...since the day the king's messengers first came for her.  Her fears over the Duke of Pembridge had been unfounded.  It all seemed so silly, suddenly.  And although she still had reservations about how living under the rule of a new husband was going to work out for her, she had to admit that she felt the same way Bronson did—she was so glad it was him. 

She hid her face in his neck and he stroked her hair.  The sound of a whistle whipped her head around and she saw a few hundred paces away Matthias was sitting up now, whistling to his horse, who had wandered back. 

“Do you still think it will be so horrible to be married to me?”  Bronson asked softly.  She shook her head and smiled shyly.  “I do beat women indiscriminately, though,” he teased her. 

“Only when they get into fist fights with twelve year old boys, I hope?”  He threw back his head and laughed and she wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled into his warm eyes. 

Then he said sincerely, “I promise you, Julia, that if and when I punish you, I will never do it in anger and you can be sure that we will both agree you deserve it.”  She flushed at that— the thought of him spanking her again giving her butterflies, and the intimacy of the topic was embarrassing her. 

He pulled her head toward him and kissed her at the temple.  “Come,” he said, lifting her off his lap.  “We should check on Matthias.” 

“Yes, of course,” she jumped up, ashamed that she'd taken him away from Matthias' care. 

Matthias was in no condition to ride back.  Though his arm did not appear to be broken, he could not straighten it at the elbow and any movement in his chest caused him to gasp in pain.  They  carefully lifted him up behind Sir John on his horse with Sir Andrew leading Matthias' horse along behind his own.  Julia followed on her mare, Bronson bringing up the rear. 

That night, lying on her bedroll, Julia wondered if the Duke would take liberties with her, now that he knew she was his intended.  Her thoughts went to the village girl he had entertained in his tent and she again grew resentful.  She found she couldn't sleep, and after tossing about a few times, Bronson's low voice cut across the tent, “Are you still worrying, Julia?” 

Since he was awake, she pounced on the opportunity to question him.  “Will you still entertain village girls after you're married, my lord?” 

He gave a short laugh. “I don't think I entertain them so much as the other way 'round,” he said drily. 

“You know what I mean.”