Jacq's Warlord (11 page)

Please stand aside so I may pass.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and opened his stance.

“All right then, I’ll just go around you.” She ducked to the right.

The giant, smelly man stepped again into her path.

She feinted to the left.

Moving quickly for such a large man, he once again blocked her path.

“Okay, I get it. You don’t want me to leave.” Faintly lightheaded from lack of air, she stepped back in the tent and breathed. Inhale. Exhale. Blessed, stench-free air.

Thoroughly frustrated, she pulled the flap shut with a crack. Not as satisfying as slamming a door, but he got the picture.

Deflated, she realized he would hardly be insulted. The giant had exactly what he wanted. She was still inside the tent. As she glanced around, Jacq’s foot tapped against the hard-packed dirt. There must be another way out. She walked to the far side of the tent and put her toe beneath the edge. The heavy fabric was too tight for her to lift very 58

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far; she reasoned it was probably too close to the tent stakes. Working her way along the back, she finally found a place that gave a little slack and crowed with glee.

We’ll see who wins this battle
. She dropped onto her stomach and shimmied her way beneath the tent. When she cleared the other side, she stood and looked down at her velvet gown. If it was dirty before, the red fabric was a muddy mess now.

A crackle of breaking twigs coming from around the side of the tent caught her attention. Her heart jumped as Jacq spun in alarm.

The giant rounded the corner, a fierce scowl cramming his brows together in a single fuzzy pelt slashing across his forehead.

Jacq yelped and turned to flee. After only a few steps, a heavy hand clamped on her shoulder. She said a quick prayer that judo wasn’t in this warrior’s skill set, and deliberately backed into him while at the same time sinking into a crouch. Before he could react to her abrupt change of direction, Jacq grabbed the man’s arm and attempted to throw him over her shoulder.

He didn’t budge.

Okay, so Plan A didn’t work. Jacq faced the giant with a sheepish grin. On to Plan B.

If possible, the man’s scowl grew more menacing.

“If you would only let me explain—”

Giant-smelly-man caught her around the waist and carried her under one arm like a sack of dog food.

Bent in half and too close to the ruffian’s body for her stomach to tolerate the stench, Jacq fought her upchuck reflex. Manhandled three times in one day was too much, she ranted silently. Just as she was about to lose her lunch from the acrid aroma emanating from his body, the ride was over.

He dumped her unceremoniously inside the tent and closed the flap.

Jacq sat in a heap on the floor, willing herself not to howl like a baby. Lord Rat-face was going to get a piece of her mind the next time she saw him.

With the thought of revenge warming her blood, she picked herself up and dusted off her skirt. Rufus meant to keep her confined, but by her nature, Jacq detested being idle. Besides a stubborn streak a mile wide, curiosity was also a component of her character—she decided to explore the confines of the tent. In the process, she might learn a little more about the man who was driving her crazy.

The two chests didn’t yield anything of interest, except for his chain mail shirt. Her wild ride the previous day hadn’t given her the chance to examine it. She lifted the heavy metal garment from the chest and weighed it in her arms. Wow! This one was the heaviest she’d ever held. Its weight gave her a new appreciation for the strength of the men who fought battles wearing one.

When she found his weapons stacked in a corner, her heart pounded in her chest.

How could he be so careless to leave her alone with the means to gain her freedom? On 59

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second thought, she guessed he knew she would figure out she didn’t stand a chance on her own. Her face wrinkled in self-disgust. Her dependency on a man for protection galled her.

She picked up a short sword that looked like a dagger and tested its sharp edge gingerly with her thumb. Next, she lifted the broadsword—or rather tried to. The point fell directly to the ground due to the unexpected heaviness of the blade. The sword she’d used in the mock mêlée was much lighter.

With her legs braced apart, she strained to give a couple of practice swipes in the air, before returning the weapon to the stack in exactly the same position she first found it.

Bored now, she moved aimlessly around the tent until the discomfort struck her.

She needed to pee. With a deep breath to gird herself for the confrontation and smell, she went once more to the entrance. She stepped out and eyed her new guard.

“I have to relieve myself,” she said, knowing her face betrayed a mutinous pout.

Any pretense of civility with this man was a waste of time.

He stared at her for a long moment, and she was almost ready to tell him to go to hell and return to the tent, when he stepped aside to let her exit.

Relieved, she walked toward the edge of camp.

Her hairy, odiferous sentinel followed close behind.

When she reached the privacy of the bushes she turned to him and said, “If you will just give me a moment…”

He didn’t move, and his face remained impassive. Hints were obviously lost on this imbecile.

“Look, I need a little privacy to take care of business,” she insisted.

Still his expression didn’t alter.

She took a deep breath, and felt her face heat up as she realized he had no intention of letting her out of his sight. “I take it you expect to watch me?” she asked, disbelieving.

She knew who was responsible for this latest humiliation. “Fine!” she said in exasperation, and squatted where she stood. Her long skirts served as a shield, and she concentrated on holding them as far away from her as she could to keep from wetting the fabric. She did her best to ignore his presence, but it didn’t work. Her flow wouldn’t start, and she glared at him as she crouched, despising him, Lord Rat-face and the way her eyes teared at this latest humiliation.

“I can’t do this while you watch me.” Her voice trembled, adding to her list of reasons to hate the man responsible for her predicament.

Her jailor’s scowl deepened and he turned sideways to stare directly ahead. He could still see her from the corner of his eye, but his intense glare didn’t pin her to the dirt.

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Surprised at this little bit of sensitivity in a man so noticeably unfazed, Jacq was able to finish the job.

She stomped all the way back to the camp. All those ridiculously soft and feminine thoughts she had been thinking of Lord Rufus earlier withered. Whatever magic had deposited her here would just have to be reversed. She would not be attracted to a man with so little respect for women.
No way!
She didn’t belong here.

* * * * *

Still itching for a fight, Rufus found Percy’s men pitching tents and setting up camp. Unfortunately, not a one was practicing the art of war. He considered telling them they wasted their time because they would be moving out the following day, when he heard footsteps from behind. He turned to face Percival of Sedgwick.

“Rufus, I’m dreadfully sorry we weren’t here to lend our support yesterday. It saddened me to hear of Albermarle’s death—how dreadful it must have been.”

The tic twitched at the corner of Rufus’ eye, otherwise he managed to keep his face clear of the irritation he felt.

As Percy drew abreast, Rufus noted he had removed his mail and changed the leggings he had muddied in his scrape with Jacq. Despite his condolences, the man looked less than remorseful, almost as if he were a bit on edge.

Rufus wondered at the alertness he sensed in the other man. “Yes. We might all have been dead if the weather hadn’t given us an unexpected respite. God was on our side yesterday.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to lend my sword. I’m still uncertain whether it was the food or a malaise that laid my men low, but we weren’t fit to sit a horse, if you get my meaning.”

A snort sounded from behind, and Donald joined them. “It would have been a shame to spoil your clothing in the heat of the battle,” he said, challenge evident in his steely gaze.

Percy turned a smooth smile toward Donald, apparently not at all put out by his cutting remark. “Well, friend, with you here to assist Rufus hardly had need of my meager skills. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Percy turned to address Rufus. “However, I am here now to lend my aid.” He swept Donald a mocking bow.

Percy’s bow seemed ill-placed in the harsh environment of a battle camp, further irritating Rufus. “And we have need of your forces now ours are so depleted. Donald, did the wagons leave with the wounded?”

“Yes, milord.” Donald’s tone was noticeably more respectful when he addressed him.

Rufus smiled inwardly at Percy’s narrowed glance.

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“I sent a few able-bodied men with them to act as guards until they arrive at Rathburn. They’ll be moving slowly, and since we will be traveling ourselves, I ordered them to remain at the keep until we can send for them.”

“Are we moving out so soon?” Percival interrupted, his dismay almost comical.

“Yes, at first light. But come, let us eat and I’ll tell you of our plans for the morrow.

Cook will have supper ready for us. Then I suggest an early night. We have a long ride through treacherous territory to reach the duke’s forces.”

“Good Lord, Rufus. I’ve just arrived, and my men are still exhausted from our illness and journey. Can we not wait a day?”

“No,” Rufus answered firmly. “Braxton knows we are here. He might still return to finish us off.”

Percy’s eyes widened and his face paled. “Well, I suppose it is rather a good thing I arrived today, or I would be following your trail.”

“We wouldn’t be hard to find—just follow the trail of bloody bodies we will leave in our wake,” Donald said.

“Would that be your own or Braxton’s bloody bodies?” Percy replied, with a sneer.

Rufus felt like knocking both their heads together.

For whatever reason, Donald acted the part of a bloodthirsty rogue whenever Percy was near. Percy’s squeamishness was hard enough to take without provocation.

Hopefully, his men had more stomach for battle than their leader.

“I say, that long-limbed beauty would be all the incentive I would need to make an early night of it.” Percy slid a sideways glance toward Rufus.

Rufus’ eyes narrowed, warning Percy that was not an option he would entertain.

Percy shrugged and smiled. “I can understand your wanting to keep that one to yourself. And I’m glad you’re not holding a grudge for my earlier indiscretion. How was I to know the woman belonged to you?”

The tic pounded next to Rufus’ eye, and his hands clenched at his sides.

Percy must have noted it too, for his next words came in a rush. “Well then, if it is all the same to you, I think I’ll dine with my men. If we are to leave at first light, I need to ensure they understand their orders.” With a nod to Rufus, he said, “Until the morrow,” then turned to join his men.

Rufus walked to the edge of the encampment, Donald falling into step with him. “I don’t trust him.” Rufus’ voice was low so only Donald would hear his comment.

“Who, Percy?” Donald snorted. “He’s harmless.”

“That’s my greatest worry. We have need of him and the men he brings. But I’m not certain they have the training or the stomach for war. He’s not telling the truth about his delay. I suggest we keep a close eye on him. Something smells foul.”

Donald grinned. “Perhaps you smell the jakes wherever he and his men stopped.”

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Rufus felt a little of the tension pounding in his veins relax. He laughed, and clapped Donald on the shoulder hard. When they reached their own tents, Rufus noted the waning daylight and grimaced. He still had not found the physical release he needed before he faced the woman in his tent. A surge of excitement stirred him, even as he acknowledged she would not be pleased to see him. He nodded to Beast, and was puzzled when he saw how quickly the man departed.

With a shrug, Rufus ducked into the tent. He had only a moment to realize he had miscalculated before the flash of silver sailing through the air met his forehead with a painful thump.

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“Damnation!”

Rufus landed on his rear at the entrance of his tent. He saw the silvery glint of stars for a moment before he realized the flashing metal was the water ewer bouncing away.

Instinct saved him a second knot on his forehead as his arm came up to deflect the next object lobbed at his head. He rolled to his knees and lunged upwards to face his angry adversary.

His breath caught. She was magnificent! Her hair was in disarray around her shoulders and her chest heaved with fury. Bright blotches of color stained her cheeks, and the determined set of her chin and narrowed eyes warned him this would not be an easy conquest.

And she had prepared well. His two war chests were stacked one on top of the other, and he saw a number of objects on the ground beside her feet—ammunition for the battle to come. The chests stood as a shield between them.

“I take it you’re upset,” he said mildly.

Her lips curled back in a feral smile, as she hefted the copper water basin in her hand.

Aware of her intent, he feinted to the left.

Jacq modified her aim before the bowl left her hand.

The copper vessel spun through the air and caught Rufus directly at his midsection.

“Oomph!” He rubbed his stomach. She certainly didn’t throw like a girl. “You were placed under guard in this tent for your own protection,” he began, trying to reason her out of her present course of action. He could easily overpower her but didn’t want to cause her harm, and hoped that the physical venting would aid both their libidos.

Her left hand balanced his helmet.