Lady At Arms (8 page)

He lifted her onto the back of Walter’s mount, but she immediately scooted backward and nearly unseated herself, causing the great destrier to prance sideways.

Grinding his teeth, Ranulf transferred her to the fore of the saddle.

Reluctantly, Walter encircled her waist with one arm and drew her back against his armored chest.

When she strained away from him, Ranulf gripped her thigh. “You would do well to remember these are your terms, Lizanne. You keep your side of the bargain, and I shall keep mine. Now accept your fate and show some dignity.”

She was slow to still, but when she did, that chin of hers went up. “I would have you take me to my brother that I might see no harm has befallen him.”

As it was neither the time nor place to disabuse her of her brother’s capture, for he did not doubt she would prove far more difficult when she learned the truth, Ranulf turned away. Disregarding the questions and demands hurled at his back, he swung into his saddle and spurred his destrier away from Penforke.

Walter stared after his lord, then turned his horse’s head. As he did so, the woman given into his care snapped her chin around and peered at her home with moist eyes. Moved as he knew he should not be, he was once more beset with doubt over the course Ranulf had set himself.

As the drawbridge chains sounded behind, Lizanne Balmaine slid her gaze to Walter’s, and he felt as if he looked into the eyes of a frightened girl. However, in the next instant, the angry woman who had abducted and subjected his lord to degradation gave him a hateful glare.

Good, she deserves no pity
, he told himself. But as he set his horse to a gallop amid the thunder of hooves that sounded the army’s retreat, she was forced back against his chest and he regretted the silent sobs that moved her shoulders.

Oh, Lady, what have you done? And what am I to do about it?

When Ranulf had revealed his encounter with her at Penforke, Walter had understood his lord’s desire for revenge. But revenge it was. Though it was agreed the lady should not go unpunished, Walter had encouraged Ranulf to find a better way to see justice served, especially since she had professed to have a good reason for abducting him. But regardless of what that crime was, she had to be mistaken, for Ranulf Wardieu was a man of honor. Walter had seen to that himself, training him up in arms as well as faith.

Unfortunately, Ranulf had refused to be dissuaded from repaying abduction with abduction, which had surprised Walter—until he had pondered the brief and distant encounter between his lord and the lady in Langdon’s hall. Clearly, Ranulf had been captivated by the shrew. And he still was.

Walter shook his head. For all of his lord’s talk of making the lady suffer as he had suffered, there was more than revenge behind the taking of Lizanne Balmaine. Ranulf surely did not realize it, but it was more likely he was looking for a bride than a settling of scores. If so, it was upon Walter to make him see sense.

Lizanne had not intended to sleep and was astonished that she had been able to considering the pace set by Wardieu.

Muddled by her abrupt awakening, she yielded to the hands that lifted her from the horse’s back and allowed them to support her when her knees buckled and toppled her forward onto an armored chest. Cheek smarting from its brush with the rough links of armor, she lifted her head.

Wardieu had removed his helmet and unbuckled his chain-mail hood so that it hung loosely over the collar of his hauberk and revealed his pale hair, the length of which remained tucked beneath the neck of his armor.

Lizanne was captivated by the effects of the setting sun behind him. Like a halo, it surrounded him and gave color to his colorless hair. She lowered her gaze. Had his eyes softened? Was that a smile tucking up the corners of his mouth? Without thinking, she reached up and traced the cut above his eye into his hairline.

“’Twill not even scar,” she murmured.

His eyes reflected surprise at her boldness, and only then did she realize what she did and snatch her hand away.

What had she been thinking? The man was evil—could not possibly put aside a past such as his. Horrified that she had willingly touched him, she thrust her hands against his chest and began to struggle.

Immediately, he set her back from him, and when she looked up, his face was hard again.

“Come!” He turned on his heel, retrieved his horse’s reins, and led his destrier toward where the others tethered their horses.

 Lizanne folded her arms over her chest and stared after him.

“I will drag you if needs be,” he called over his shoulder.

The thought of that humiliation gained her capitulation. She followed, maintaining a safe distance as they crossed the meadow where a camp was being erected for the night. A half dozen wagons that had not been present earlier were grouped near the horses, and she guessed they had joined the party while she slept.

Leveling her gaze on a spot between Wardieu’s shoulder blades, she sidestepped the soldiers in her path. For each interested look she received, she lifted her chin a degree until it was so high she stumbled and nearly fell over an exposed root.

She glared at the chortling group of men who had paused in the midst of raising a tent to witness her clumsiness. They grinned wider.

“My lord,” Wardieu’s squire called, hurrying forward. “I’ve the rope you asked for.”

Wardieu accepted it and lowered his head as the animated young man spoke to him. Their words were hushed, and Lizanne could not make sense of them across the distance. Curious, she took a step nearer, then another, and pulled herself up short when Wardieu straightened.

“See he is given plenty of oats and water, Geoff,” he instructed, stroking the horse’s neck.

“Aye, my lord.” The squire stole a glance at Lizanne and led the horse away.

Wardieu watched their departure, then turned to Lizanne, looped the rope beneath his belt, and raised his eyebrows.

She turned her back on him and pretended an interest in the flurry of activity.

Shortly, a hand closed over her upper arm.

As Wardieu pulled her behind him, she searched for scathing words to toss at his back. Then she saw where she was being led—a copse of trees. What he had tried to do to her four years past when he had taken her deep into the wood came thundering back to her and she dug her heels in and wrenched at her arm.

He gripped her tighter and increased his stride, forcing her to match his pace to keep her feet beneath her.

Dear God, this cannot be happening. Not again!

Shockingly, he released her at the edge of the meadow and pushed her forward. “Relieve yourself, and be quick else I shall interrupt your privacy.”

Then he did not mean to…?

She expelled her breath, ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, and hurried into the wood. Though it occurred to her she might be able to outrun him given the extra minutes’ lead she would have, she grimly accepted that, until Gilbert was released, escape was not an option.

Not wanting to give Wardieu an excuse to humiliate her further, she finished quickly and hurried back.

“You try my patience,” he said. “Another minute and I would have come after you, regardless of your state.”

“’Tis not so easy for a lady,” she snapped.

“Were you one, I would make allowances.”

Though she wanted to argue the matter, she knew it would be folly to attempt to persuade him that she was, indeed, a lady. “Nevertheless,” she said, “there are differences.”

“I assure you, I am aware of them.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I do not believe you are.”

Ranulf knew better than to act on impulse, but he caught her arm, pulled her into the shelter of trees, and drew her against him. “If you would like a demonstration of my knowledge,” he said, “I am willing to oblige.”

As she stared up at him, he felt his annoyance ease. He liked the feel of this wild-haired vixen and the glimpses of femininity beneath the hardened exterior she hid behind.

It unsettled him to admit it, even if only to himself, but the attraction he had felt the day he had first seen her at Langdon’s castle had not diminished though he had tried to convince himself it had. Having spent every spare moment planning his revenge, he was surprised by the intensity of his feelings and, once more, tried to push them down, but to no avail.

He shifted his gaze to her parted lips, told himself he should not, then lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. At the taste of her, his annoyance receded further and he drew her nearer. It was some moments before he realized she was completely unresponsive.

He raised his head. Wide-eyed, but otherwise expressionless, she held his gaze.

Nay, he amended, she gazed through him. The infuriating woman had removed herself from the present. In fact, she would likely crumple to the ground if he released her.

It had not occurred to him she might be frigid and, even now, with the evidence before him, it was difficult to accept. There was too much fire and spirit in her for it to be anything other than a defensive ploy—a means of cooling a man’s ardor.

“Lizanne!” He gave her a shake.

Pulled back from the scenes that had burst upon her mind, Lizanne blinked, and the past and present melded as she focused on the face above hers. It was the same one that plagued her dreams, yet somehow different. The realization unsettled her, and she instinctively knew that something more than the intervening years was responsible for the discrepancy. It went deeper, and it confused and alarmed her.

Wardieu was smiling now, though the expression did not reach his eyes. “I think ‘tis you who does not understand the difference between the sexes,” he said. “You have much to learn, but I shall enjoy instructing you.”

It was just what she needed to snap her out of her stupor. She flew at him with hands, feet, and angry words, but his only response was to pull her tight against him and hold her until she was overcome with exhaustion.

When she stilled, he lifted her chin and touched a corner of her mouth with his thumb. “First, I will teach you to kiss.”

She gasped. “Never!”

With a laugh that echoed around the wood, he released her and swung away.

Grudgingly, Lizanne lifted her skirts and tramped after him. When she emerged from the thicket, it was to find him uncoiling the rope.

He motioned her forward.

“Nay.”

He looked up. “’Twill not bode well if I must needs collect you.”

Mouth dry, she remained unmoving.

He grumbled something, and she flinched when he strode toward her. However, he merely said, “Your hands.”

“’Tis not necessary for you to fetter me.”

He caught her wrists together and wound the rope around them.

She tried to pull free. “You bind them too tight.”

“I but repay in kind.” He glanced at his own wrists that bore the marks of healing flesh.

She averted her eyes. “Surely you know I will not attempt an escape as long as you hold Gilbert.”

He knotted the rope and led her to a tree where he eased her down into a sitting position with her back against it. “’Tis precisely the reason I do this,” he said.

Lizanne frowned.

“Moreover,” he continued as he began lashing her to the trunk, “I do not want you causing mischief among my men. There is much to be done ere nightfall, and you would surely distract them.”

When he sat back on his heels, she considered the rope that bound her and defiance once more raised its head. “You think I cannot work my way out of this?”

His eyes narrowed, then momentarily closed. “You may try, but ‘twill only waste your strength.” He stood.

“What of Gilbert? You agreed to release him. Have you done so?”

He hesitated, then lowered to his haunches, rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, and slowly shook his head. “Nay.”

Lizanne groped for words to express her outrage.

“You are turning an unbecoming shade of red,” he noted.

“You gave me your word!”

“I did—that no harm would come to the people of Penforke or your brother. None has.”

She shook her head. “You agreed to release Gilbert. You vowed this before your own men!”

Ranulf considered his knuckles. He would have liked to avoid the subject of her brother a while longer, for the leverage afforded by the deception was appealing in its simplicity. It had, after all, delivered her to him without bloodshed. However, she would have to be told, for it was not in her nature to be satisfied with evasive answers.

He returned his gaze to her. “I cannot release a man I do not hold, Lizanne.”

Her eyes widened a moment before her face contorted with such fury it was almost laughable. “You deceived me!”

He shrugged.

Bound to the tree, her only recourse was to strike out with her legs, stirring up a cloud of dust and scattering stones in his direction. “Dishonorable swine!”

He held up a hand. “Lest you forget, ‘twas you who assumed I had captured your brother. I neither confirmed nor denied it.”

“You deliberately misled me!”

“I did.” He stood. “It seemed best to use your assumption in order to protect your people from foolishly risking their lives for such an unworthy cause.”

“Unworthy?” Her voice was strained.

“Aye. You are not worth dying for, Lizanne of Penforke.”

To his surprise, he glimpsed vulnerability on her face before she masked it with a sweep of long lashes and a tightening of lips. A moment later, she dropped her head back against the tree and pinned him with eyes full of hatred.

Were it possible to lay a man down with such a look, he was certain he would be dead. There was far too much hate in Lizanne Balmaine.

“When you come to my tent tonight,” he said, “I shall expect you to have worked through your anger.”

“Then you had best not send for me!”

“But I shall.” He pivoted and started across the meadow.

She threw angry words at his departing back, and though he had no intention of reacting, a particularly vile word turned him back. “If needs be, I will gag you,” he warned and resumed his course.