The Warrior's Damsel In Distress

Chapter Three

‘Valkenborg,’ she repeated stupidly. ‘I have not heard of that place before...’

‘I am from Flanders,’ Bruin replied, sensing her tension easing, the fractional wilt in the maid’s slim frame. But why would knowing his name cause her any comfort? He was a stranger to her. ‘From across the North Sea.’

‘I know where Flanders is,’ Eva snapped. She raised her eyes to his wild auburn hair. Above the fiery bristles covering his jaw, the determined slash of his cheekbones created shadowed hollows, giving his face a lean, wolfish look. He looked so similar to Lord Steffen, the resemblance was uncanny, and yet, he was not him. Her heart plunged at the intimidating sight of him, but not with fear. With—what? He was too close, too overpowering. His rangy build hunkered over her like a Norse god of old, torch flames touching his skin with a golden patina, his lashes stuck white with snow. The man shed physical energy like shooting stars. Her hands trembled; she tucked them forcibly into her lap to disguise the shake.

Beside them, the light guttered ominously, the flame dipping and sliding, blue-tinged. ‘We’ve tarried long enough. We need to go back to the castle before this light fails,’ Bruin muttered. ‘And before this wretched snow becomes too deep.’ His gaze swept the maid’s neatly wrapped wimple, the delicate wrists resting in her lap, her slim calves poking out from beneath her gown: a swift assessment. ‘Take your stocking off so I can bind the wound.’

Eva’s head jerked upwards, eyes rounding in horror. ‘No. I cannot. You know I cannot.’ She stuck her chin in the air, bridling at his high-handed tone. ‘It would be improper.’

‘Improper or not, we have nothing else.’ He dragged off his gauntlets, throwing them to the ground. The creased leather made a scuffling sound across the newly fallen snow. ‘Unless you want me to do it for you?’ He grinned unexpectedly, diamond eyes flashing in challenge.

Damn the man! His big knee was planted heavily in the spreading cloth of her skirts; she tugged at the material ineffectively, wanting to be free of him. Turning away, she lifted her skirts to release the ribbon that secured her stocking top to her thigh, fumbling awkwardly with the fragile ties. The icy air, the large feathery snowflakes, tickled her naked skin. For some reason, she seemed incapable of undoing the ribbon; her cheeks grew hot as she repeatedly failed to release the tight knot.

Strong, sinewy fingers pushed hers aside, tearing the pink ribbon in half and smoothing the stocking down her bare leg, his palm intrusive, shocking against her satiny skin. Eva squeaked in outrage, rocking back at the rough contact as he hauled off her boot and stocking; threw them into the snow. Never, ever, had a man touched her like that! His hand knocked against her toes and she curled them downwards, recoiling at the abrasiveness of his calloused palm. A strange heat staggered through her chest, flexing the muscles of her diaphragm. What on earth was the matter with her? Her mind felt besieged, wooden and loose, as if it were not functioning properly.

‘I can do it!’ Eva flared at him. ‘Stop manhandling me!’

Bruin raised his eyebrows. ‘This is hardly “manhandling”,’ he replied coolly. ‘I’m trying to help you.’ Ripping lumps of moss from a decaying piece of wood, he packed the wound on her leg. ‘And anyway, you’re too slow; we’ll be sitting in darkness if I let you do it.’ Winding the stocking around her leg, he bound it tightly, lifting her leg to wrap the limp wool behind her knee. His movements were deft, efficient, his careful touch minimising the spiralling pain. Tearing the end of the stocking in two to make a knot, he secured the makeshift bandage.

‘There,’ he said, sitting back on his heels. Snow fell around him, spangled flakes landing on his massive shoulders, dousing the bright flame of his hair, flecking his red surcoat. Seizing her leather boot, he cupped her foot, cradling her heel. ‘Shall I put this back on?’

‘I’m surprised you even ask me,’ Eva replied haughtily. Heat radiated across her exposed ankle. His deft fingers tightened fractionally around her fine bones; tiny darts of heat pulsated upwards from the point where he held her. ‘You seem to do most things without asking.’

Ignoring her, he eased the boot carefully around her ankle, securing the wooden toggles that held the pliable leather in place. Eva threw her skirts down over her feet. The damp from the ground had begun to seep through the thin layers of her gown; she shivered. High up in the trees an owl hooted, a lonely drawn-out cry, echoing through the stark, crooked branches. Picking up his gauntlets, Bruin sprang to his feet. He adjusted his belt over his lean hips, bringing his sword around to swing diagonally across his left leg. Semi-precious stones gleamed in the hilt; a strip of red leather, creased and worn, bound the sword handle, a gold circular disc decorated the top. Pulling the torch from the ground, Bruin held out his hand. ‘Do you think you can walk?’

‘I can try.’ Eva hesitated, staring at his outstretched hand, the ridged web of sinew. His nails were clean, clipped short. Since her imprisonment she had actively avoided the company of men, developing a hesitant wariness in their presence. It had become second nature to her, an added protective layer. She couldn’t allow what had happened to her once to happen again.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, take my hand!’ A lock of hair had fallen across his forehead; he shoved it back in frustration. What was the matter with her? Why did the maid resist every single offer of help? ‘Don’t you trust me?’

Her eyes darkened. ‘Why should I? I have no idea who you are! You look like a barbarian!’ Her gaze flickered over the blond-red stubble coating his jaw, the flick of messy, rumpled hair, the size of him.

‘No more than any other knight,’ he countered, rubbing his chin ruefully, noting her pointed stare. Maybe he should have taken time to shave before he had started the journey that morning. ‘And you seem to have enough of them at the castle.’

Not like you. The thought whipped through her, a streak of fire. This man was young, only a few years older than herself, with every muscle in his body honed, not an ounce of spare flesh on him. Katherine’s knights were older, grizzled, barely capable of running for more than a few yards. They had the experience, aye, but were no match for this man’s physical ability.

‘I’m right to be cautious.’

He sighed. ‘I agree, but you can be too cautious. You saw that I came with those other knights to the castle. You have to trust me.’

But I don’t trust them either, Eva thought. She sighed. She had little choice in the matter; this man was her only way out of the forest and it was growing late. A snowy twilight drew around them like a dark sparkling curtain. Katherine would be worried. Tentatively, she raised her hand and he pulled her upwards. Tottering for a moment, she placed her full weight gingerly on the damaged leg.

Bruin watched her face pale, her skin grow waxy. ‘It hurts, doesn’t it? Let me carry you.’

‘No, give me a moment. I’ll be fine.’

‘There’s no time,’ he responded gruffly. ‘Here, hold this.’ He shoved the brand towards her, closing her fingers decisively around it. ‘Take care not to burn any more of my hair; I have no wish to be completely bald by the time I reach my horse.’ Pulling on his gauntlets, he bent down, sweeping her feet from beneath her, one arm under her knees, the other around her back.

‘I don’t—’

‘I don’t care.’ Bruin cut off her speech, his tone low and forceful. ‘You’ve held me up long enough. We’re going back to the castle and we’re going like this, whether you like it or not.’

* * *

Hoisting her high against his chest, he carried her back through the trees, through the scurries of falling snow. His stride was purposeful and sure, never losing his footing across the lumpy, uneven ground, ignoring the over-arching brambles that clutched and snagged at his surcoat, at the flowing hem of the maid’s gown. Sensibly, she had fallen silent, quiet in his arms, but he wasn’t fooled by her chastised demeanour. Her shoulder muscles were tense, contracted against his upper arm; she kept her head positioned stubbornly away to avoid touching him, refusing to let it rest. He grinned suddenly; her neck must be hurting like hell with the strain of maintaining her distance from him. Her hip curved temptingly against his forearm, the faintest smell of lavender rising from her skin. His chest squeezed with unexpected delight.

Eva gripped on to the torch, holding the flame out before her like a ship’s figurehead, her knuckles white. The memory of this man’s over-familiar touch on her flesh was branded on her brain: a scorch mark, throbbing, vivid. The way he had plucked at her stocking. The way his fingers had rasped against her soft skin, leathery and calloused like those of a peasant, and yet he was obviously high-born, a count in his own right. The air shivered in her lungs. The wound on her leg was sore, making her unsettled, unsure of herself.

She gritted her teeth, hating her incapacity to walk on her own two feet, hating the fact that this man had to carry her. His confident domineering behaviour rattled her; his assumption that she would blithely follow his orders, no matter what. She had always been able to look after herself, even more so after what had happened to her; she resented his intrusion, this foisting of unwanted intimacy upon her. His chest pressed against her shoulder, flat plates of hard muscles rippling against the curve of her upper arm, but she was unable to shift away any further, his arms held her too securely. His horse waited on the outskirts of the forest, cropping the few wisps of spindly grass that poked up through the settling snow, jangling the bit irritably between its teeth as they approached.

‘We’ll ride back,’ Bruin announced, shifting his grip on the maid. His short beard scratched against her wimple; she jolted back at the inadvertent contact. ‘Hold tight to that torch.’ He turned her in his arms, clasping her waist to lift her into the saddle, but to her surprise, he placed her up front, nearer the horse’s neck.

‘Oh!’ Eva said, surprised, rocking forward to grab the horse’s mane for balance. Her grasp loosened on the torch; she almost dropped it. She sat with both legs dangling to one side, hip wedged up against the animal’s neck. Why had he not placed her in the saddle? ‘I thought you said I was going to ride!’ Her voice juddered slightly, panic slicing through her veins. A beat of pain streaked through her leg.

‘You are. But I’m riding, too.’

‘No, no, you’re not. You’re going to lead the horse.’ The words jabbed out of her before she had time to contemplate their impact. He couldn’t be near her again; the closeness of him tangled her brain, made her lose her train of thought. He flustered her.

Bruin’s chin shot up at her imperious tone, his eyes, mineral dark, glittering dangerously. ‘I am riding.’ Rummaging in his saddlebags, he extracted a thick woollen cloak, handing it up to her, frowning. ‘You give yourself of lot of airs and graces, my girl, for one in such a lowly position. Why, anyone would think you were a noble lady, not a servant dressed in rags. By rights, you should be walking alongside me.’

Eva flinched as if he had hit her. Her mouth snapped shut. She grabbed his cloak with her spare hand, bundling its voluminous folds in her lap, staring rigidly ahead with flushed cheeks. Good God, this man made her forget who she was supposed to be! Not Eva, Lady of Striguil, but Eva Macmurrough, nursemaid to the Lady Katherine’s children. She needed to watch her step, remember to behave in a manner appropriate for a servant. ‘I apologise if I’ve caused offence,’ she replied eventually. ‘Lady Katherine encourages all her servants to be outspoken. She prefers it that way.’ Her reasoning sounded limp, pathetic.

‘Really.’ His response was caustic, disbelieving, silver eyes scrutinising her wan face. He had seen the sudden lurch of her body at his accusation, the flare of panic in her eyes. What was she hiding? Her high-handed manner, the regal tilt of her head—all was out of kilter with her appearance, with the clothes she wore. But then, her feisty, stubborn behaviour matched no other woman he had ever met, ever, in his whole life. The girl was a complete puzzle. ‘Well, you’ll just have to put up with my unwanted presence.’ Sticking his booted foot into the shining stirrup, he sprang into the saddle behind her. The horse shifted sideways under his added weight. ‘I’m sorry it will be such an unpleasant experience for you.’

Lifting the cloak from her lap, Bruin laid it around her shoulders, pulling Eva against his hard torso to tuck in the edges firmly around her. She wrenched forward instinctively, unwilling to submit to his control of her, unwilling to let him win. The torch dipped precariously.

‘Give me that,’ he said, taking the torch from her. ‘We can’t afford to lose the light.’ He gathered up the reins in one hand. ‘Do you behave like this all the time? I pity the poor man married to you!’ Circling her with his arms, he jabbed his knees into the horse’s sides, setting the animal in motion, the jerky forward gait of the animal forcing her to grasp at his arm.

‘I’m not married,’ she bit out.

In the flickering light, he traced her haughty profile, the stubborn jut of her chin, and chuckled, a long low rumble in his chest. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. Your father must be wringing his hands trying to find someone for you!’

The luscious sweep of her eyelashes dipped fractionally. He caught the fleeting trace of vulnerability crossing her face, swiftly masked. ‘My father is dead, as is my brother. Killed by the King, fighting to protect their land!’ she blurted out, then clapped her hand across her mouth. Why had she not curbed her speech? She rode with a man who had arrived at the castle with a knight wearing the King’s colours. It was easy to guess where this man’s allegiances lay.

‘So your father was a rebel,’ he said slowly, ducking his head to avoid a low-hanging branch, steering the horse through the last few trees at the woodland edge and out on to open ground. His eye trailed across the flushed curve of her cheeks, the ebony hair curling out from beneath her linen wimple. ‘With his own land,’ he added significantly. The saddle leather creaked as he adjusted his weight slightly.

A hot prickling sensation swept up her spine. She had made a mistake. Playing the role of a servant, she should have remembered that her family would have nothing, no land or estates, being entirely dependent on their master, or in this case, Lady Katherine. ‘No—no! I meant—his lord’s land.’

‘I see.’ But in truth, he didn’t see at all. He had caught the false note in her tone and wondered at it. What was she doing with Lady Katherine? Maybe the chit’s mother was living at the castle, too. As he tipped back in the saddle, leading the horse down the snowy slope to the castle, he told himself that the maid was not his concern. He shouldn’t care. But strangely, he realised that he did.

* * *

‘My God, Eva! What happened to you? Where did you go?’ Katherine emerged through the arched doorway leading to the great hall, her graceful body silhouetted by the light spilling out behind her. Her willowy slenderness was encased in a sleeveless gown of patterned red velvet, cut low at the sides to reveal a tight-fitting underdress of rose-pink silk. Descending the wooden staircase, set at right angles to the door, she came down into the bailey. At the bottom of the steps, she paused, hugging her arms around her chest to ward off the cold. ‘Goodness, it’s freezing! We were so worried, especially when Peter came back and told us you had run off into the forest.’

‘I’m fine,’ Eva said, pinning a wide and hopefully reassuring smile on her frozen face. Her muscles ached from the short journey down the hill, her spine stiff, strained from the constant effort of keeping herself away from the knight at her side. Bruin’s arm had roped around her like an iron clasp, winching her continually against his chest. His cloak warmed her; the felted woollen folds lay snug about her shoulders, the fur edging tickling her chin.

Wheeling his horse around to the steps, Bruin reined the animal in, jumping down in one easy movement to land on the snow-slicked cobbles. He handed the torch to a stable lad who came running up. Rolling her shoulders forward, Eva stretched out the tense muscles in her neck, pert nose wrinkling slightly. How on earth was she going to climb down from this enormous horse without landing in a heap at Katherine’s feet?

Katherine turned to Bruin. The hanging pearls in her silver circlet bobbed with the movement, gleaming faintly. ‘Thank you, my lord, for bringing Eva back. Your men are all inside.’ Her breath hazed the air. She tilted her head to indicate the lighted doorway behind her. ‘Please, give your horse to the stable lad. Go and help yourself to some food.’

Bruin inclined his head graciously. ‘I thank you, my lady. But—’ his eyes flicked up to Eva ‘—your nursemaid has hurt her leg. Is there somewhere I could carry her?’

Lord, no! ‘I can walk now, thank you,’ Eva interrupted briskly. She had no wish to be beholden to this man any longer than was possible. His powerful presence made her feel vulnerable, weak, traits that she had striven long and hard to erase from her character. She had already said too much to him. Gripping the horse’s mane, she slithered down haphazardly, Bruin’s cloak clutched to her middle, unwieldy folds gathering heavily around her, the hem falling to the cobbles. She landed with a thump, gasping, eyes watering at the pain radiating up her leg. She willed herself to remain upright, steady, beneath Bruin’s glittering gaze. Tipped her chin in the air, proud, resolute.

‘What did you do?’ Katherine was at her side, holding her arm. Eva flicked her gaze towards Bruin, annoyed by his continued presence, not wanting to talk in front of him.

Interpreting her hostile expression, Bruin smiled, lifting his eyebrows in faint mockery at Eva’s obvious rebuff. He passed his reins to the stable boy. ‘I see I am dismissed.’ He nodded brusquely towards Lady Katherine, ignoring Eva. ‘Call me if you need any help.’ Climbing the wooden steps two at a time, he disappeared beneath the ornately tiled archway.

‘Oh, God!’ Eva pressed her palm to her forehead. As the stable lad led Bruin’s horse away, she was forced to release her hold on the horse’s mane; wobbling slightly, she hopped over to the handrail of the steps, clutching at the polished wood. ‘What a nightmare! That man is hell on earth!’

‘But handsome, if truth be told,’ Katherine said, following Bruin’s commanding figure as he vanished into the great hall. ‘Why did you run away? What on earth possessed you?’ Her breath billowed out like a cloud into the snow-filled air.

Eva swept the loose end of her linen wimple back over her shoulder. ‘That man—’ she jabbed a pointing finger towards the doorway ‘—that man looks exactly like that thug who abducted me. Lord Steffen. I wasn’t thinking straight; I saw that hair, those eyes, and I thought, my God, he’s come back to fetch me, to finish what he started.’ Her voice dropped to a fierce whisper. ‘Remember, Katherine, I escaped before Lord Steffen discovered the full extent of my inheritance; I suspect by now he’s worked out what I hid from him. The man’s so greedy; he’ll want the rest.’

‘He wouldn’t come back for you; it’s been too long.’ Katherine’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘He’s too busy stealing the riches of other unfortunate heiresses.’

‘But I was the only one to escape from him,’ Eva replied. ‘He’s the sort of man who would never forget a slight. He will claim revenge for something like that.’ Shivering, she shifted her feet from side to side, wincing at her throbbing leg.

‘I think you need to stop worrying,’ Katherine said. ‘Let’s go inside. Martha can look at your injury.’

‘Have you found out why those knights are here?’

‘No, I was so concerned about you, I hadn’t the wit to ask. The old knight has asked for bed and board, for one night. I assume they plan to travel further into Wales.’

Eva’s eyes narrowed to a sapphire glint. ‘I don’t like it; they wear the King’s colours and yet they are bothering with the likes of us. Why?’

Katherine shivered. ‘Do you think my uncle has plans for me?’ She glanced up at the front of the castle, at the warm glow of light spilling out from the open door, and chewed worriedly on her bottom lip. ‘I should hate it—’ her breath caught ‘—if we were taken away from this place.’

‘Just be careful what you say in front of them. At least until we know why they are here. Despite our lack of menfolk, they will regard us as rebels to the Crown.’

A sift of vulnerability crossed Katherine’s face. ‘I hope you are wrong, Eva.’ She shook her head decisively, as if dismissing the unwelcome thoughts. ‘Now, can you manage, or shall I fetch someone?’

Eva pursed her lips together, staggering awkwardly to the steps. Snow whirled around her, driven into the sheltered bailey on a sharp little breeze. Bruin’s cloak dragged on the cobbles, hampering her movement. She swung the wool from her shoulders, dumping the cloak into Katherine’s arms. ‘Here, have this; I can’t move at all!’ Placing her uninjured leg on the bottom step, gripping the rail, Eva pulled herself up with grim determination, slowly, one step at a time.

‘Eva, this is impossible! This will take all night. Let me fetch someone to carry you.’

‘No! You go ahead, Katherine. It won’t take long,’ she replied stubbornly. She could not allow herself to be carried into the great hall, in full view of everyone, in full view of Lord Bruin’s mocking gaze! Sweat gathered along her hairline with the effort of hauling herself up. Katherine remained alongside her, matching Eva’s pace until they finally climbed the one shallow step into the great hall.

The raftered chamber was full of people, eating, talking and laughing. Fresh straw covered the flagstone floor; dogs trotted up and down between the trestle tables, scavenging for scraps of food, the occasional bone flung in their direction. A huge fire roared beneath the thick limestone lintel of the fireplace, situated halfway along one white-plastered wall. Giant, ornate tapestries decorated the plain plaster, each one a riot of coloured thread, depicting scenes of hunting, or great battles. Katherine’s family crest, the golden falcon of the Montagues, was everywhere: in the ornate bosses set into the curving ends of the rafters, above the windows, embroidered extravagantly across the door curtains, gold thread against blue velvet.

Katherine’s hand on her elbow, Eva slumped on to the nearest bench, the peasants alongside nodding briefly at her without ceasing to shove food into their mouths. Their eyes paused momentarily on her wan face, gazes shifting away immediately. A nursemaid was of no interest; she was one of them, a servant of the Montagu family. Peering across the rows of bobbing heads, the faces flushed with mead, Eva checked the knights seated at the top table at the other end of the hall, making sure that he, Bruin, was as far away as possible. Sitting next to the older knight, his gold-red hair shone out like a beacon. He was laughing at something, tipping his head back. The sinews in his neck wrapped powerfully around the shadowed hollow of his throat, up into his bristly beard. An extraordinary sensation unfurled in her belly, a flickering pang of longing. She couldn’t explain it.

‘You’d better go up there, Katherine. Leave me now, otherwise it will look strange that you fuss over me so much.’

‘If you’re sure...?’ Katherine hesitated, bundling Bruin’s cloak against her middle. ‘I’ll send someone to fetch Martha; she can help you to your chamber.’