A Night of Wicked Delight

Joanne Rock

Chapter 1

North of London, 1169

Shoving aside her trencher of uneaten food, Lady Emma of Westleigh studied the knights seated in the great hall with a frank assessment that would have made her late mother cringe.

Her gaze roaming over the collection of shoulders and arms, strong torsos and surcoats of assorted cleanliness, Emma pondered the thirty assembled warriors with an interest surely unbecoming to a maid. But as she lacked an honorable guardian to help her choose an appropriate male, she could not be too hard on herself.

The meal was drawing to a close at her cousin’s keep, Edenrock, where she had been a guest since her odious relation had been made her overlord after her father’s death.

“What about yonder knight with half his trencher stuck in his beard?” her maid, Rowena, asked. Familiar with Emma’s secret quest for this eve, Rowena pointed toward an oafish figure well past his prime whose ruddy complexion attested to his drunkenness. He gnawed the end of a thick bone with less grace than one of Edward’s smelly hounds.

Emma hid a shiver of repulsion, knowing full well Rowena only wished to discourage her from her furtive task. The moment Edward du Bois had become her guardian, he’d made it clear he would marry her off as quickly as possible to whichever of his knavish acquaintances would overlook her lack of dowry. Then, two days later, he’d announced the match of his choice and set a wedding date for a fortnight hence. She’d been promised to a fearsome tyrant whose last wife had flung herself from his battlements the morning after their bridal night.

Rather than suffer whatever torments that woeful maid had endured, Emma planned to thwart her nuptials by ridding herself of the sole commodity her proposed groom claimed to prize in her.

Her virginity.

“I believe that one is a bit too heavy for a maid’s first time,” Emma asserted calmly, knowing full well Rowena hoped to discourage her from her goal by identifying the most unappealing choices from the knights present. Fortunately, her future husband was not in attendance. “Perhaps someone who weighs less than a horse?”

Rowena glared at her as the din in the hall grew. The wine flowed freely tonight because Edward hoped to solidify his dubious claim to Edenrock among the local nobles. Edward had usurped the keep from the absentee lord—Hugh de Montagne—a cousin Emma and Edward shared. Hugh had left the keep two moons ago and not returned. To effectively steal the lands, Edward had started rumors all over the countryside insinuating the rightful owner of Edenrock had committed crimes against his neighbors—atrocities he himself had perpetrated.

Now, he fed his new friends like visiting royalty, providing so much roasted meat that Emma feared the forests would need replenishing. Incense burned in a far-off censer in an attempt to cover the smells of too many men in one hall. The dogs paced the edges of the meal, eager for leftover bones.

“Any man who is not your husband is not right for your first time.” Rowena lowered her voice in deference to their subject even though they were seated at the end of a trestle table far from the dais. The closest guest in the great hall sat two arms’ lengths away.

A year older than Emma, Rowena had been born to a wealthy family that perished in a plague, leaving naught but a bankrupt estate and debts King Henry would not forgive.

“You would prefer I meekly concede to wed a man who is said to have made his whole village a private harem?” Emma had overheard this in jest after a particularly bloody hunting party a sennight prior.

“I prefer you think carefully about what might happen if you go continue with this plan.” Rowena tugged at her sleeve, bending her head close as two knights nearby started to brawl. “Instead of being sent to a convent as you hope, you could be beaten mercilessly by Edward. Worse, you could be beaten by Edward and given to an even bigger brute who could show his rage on your wedding night.”

The brawling men were separated by a third. The one held his eye and cried foul while the other toasted his victory with his friends.

“Nay.” She could not envision such a future for herself. Her parents had taught her letters. She had been encouraged to use her wits. How could she allow herself to become target practice for a vicious man’s fists? “Edward is too proud to risk the humiliation that would bring on him. He is deceitful enough, but his conceit would not allow him to give away a ruined woman as a virgin. To do so would speak poorly of his ability to defend people under his banner.”

She felt certain of it. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her himself. She had yet to plot her way to a convent if and when she managed to secure her own deflowering.

“What of the hasty-witted lout you choose to perform such a risky task as tupping another man’s betrothed?” Rowena’s gaze slid around the hall, pausing on no one in particular but grazing each man briefly. “What is to stop him from claiming you for a bride himself? Then you are no closer to the convent and you might be tying yourself to an even worse fate than before.” Emma could not deny the hint of fear that tripped down her spine in response. “I will ensure I commit the deed with a man who would never wish to wed me.” The list of risks grew the more she considered the strategy.

“And yet, he needs to be a man too powerful for Edward to consider killing out of vengeance.”

The words burned like a poorly brewed ale, the possibility something she had not considered. Emma had been so intent on her own goal, consumed with finding a man of chivalry who would not refuse a gentlewoman’s overture, that she had not considered the fate she might seal for him. Edward’s cruelty was legendary north of London.

Around them, minstrels began to play, an unusually extravagant entertainment for Edward’s hall since he’d taken over Edenrock. Was this another way to woo supporters? But then, as the bells fell into a lilting rhythm, Emma saw their purpose. Camp followers and village women had been assembled to dance for the company. The sudden rumble of interest among the men assured her that the mood in the hall had just turned a bit feverish.

Perhaps tonight, instead of locking herself in her chamber as Edward bade, she could merely linger in a shadowy corner of the courtyard and await some lusty knight.

The notion sparked an idea.

“I shall wear a servant’s garb.” She latched onto Rowena’s arm, lifting her friend from the bench as she stood. “That way, no man would think of wedding me, since he will believe me beneath his station.”

“Emma, do not—”

“For that matter, he will not have to worry about Edward seeking vengeance upon him, since my anonymous lover will be oblivious to my identity.” She hurried toward the dimly lit corridor that led to her chamber, hoping to find a maid to lend her clothes in case Rowena refused to comply. “After all, how can he be blamed for a transgression he’ll never know he committed? I will certainly not name my despoiler.”

As loathsome as Emma suspected it would be to lose her virginity in a courtyard to a drunken knight, at least she would have some comfort that the ordeal would be quickly over. What knight lingered in the arms of a dairy maid when there was ale to be had at his lord’s table? The knave would make quick work of coupling and return to his companions, leaving her to her peace.

Escaping into the dark passage where a staircase wound its way up to her tower chamber, Emma hastened her step. Tonight had to be the time to enact this plan for reasons she did not care to share with Rowena.

The midwife had told her the best times to conceive a babe, believing Emma an eager future bride. In truth, Emma had been listening carefully to discover the time she would be least likely to conceive. Tonight was the last eve of the only short window left before her nuptials.

“Hurry,” she called behind her, but Rowena’s grip tightened, pulling her back.

Determined to go through with the plan without Rowena, she spun on her heel to tell her as much. Only to find Rowena wrapped in the grip of a stout man-atarms, his blade at her neck.

Before Emma could scream, a massive knight garbed in black stepped out of the blind passage and advanced on her. Fear silenced her, although her lips worked feverishly. Dark menace rolled off him, his face lined with scarred markings so perfectly etched they had to have been purposefully made.

“Lady Emma?” the knight asked, his voice as coolly polite as if he had offered her a sugared fig.

Her heartbeat tripped and stuttered, racing between the hiccoughs in her pulse. Unable to speak, she simply shook her head, hoping her denial would be enough to make him walk away.

The big knight stepped closer to Rowena.

“Then I presume you are the woman I’m looking for.” He reached for Emma’s friend. Certain his intentions were dishonorable at best or lethal at worst, Emma finally found her voice.

“Good sir, I beg you.” She reached out to touch his tunic, as if she possessed the strength to ward off his progress. “Release my maidservant and I will offer you…” she faltered here, unable to put her bargain into words “…whatever you wish.”

Chapter 2

Gareth of Domingart wanted vengeance.

He’d penetrated his enemy’s keep. He’d successfully intercepted his enemy’s kin. He had no intention of bartering away his position of power to Edward du Bois’ pretty young ward who appeared as fond of scheming as her deceitful overlord.

“I will take whatever I wish either way,” he assured her, clamping a quieting hand over her mouth. “But the odds of your maid surviving the night will greatly increase if you do exactly as I say.”

He noted how she trembled as he secured her back to his chest to guide her down the staircase. The memory darkened his mood along with any hint of remorse for the woman’s fears.

“In the name of all that’s holy,” his companion, Bronson, complained on the step beneath him as he struggled to change his hold on the other female, “this one has gone and fainted now.”

He glared at Gareth as he scooped the dark-haired maid off her feet, tucking her skirts about her legs to keep them from trailing on the ground and tripping him. She was uncommonly lovely, her skin creamy and unmarked by pox, her lips full and soft. Long, chestnut waves cloaked her shoulders, her hair visible through the sheer veils she wore. There was a hint of the exotic about her eyes. Something about the shape and the heavy fringe of lashes reminded him of the nomadic people he’d taken shelter with for a year while he regained his strength in the desert.

“Onward,” Gareth commanded, unwilling to argue with his reluctant man-at-arms in front of his enemy’s cousin. Bronson did not approve of his tactics, but revenge on Edward du Bois required a strong hand.

If that meant he had to instill fear into his new captive, that was better than inflicting physical harm.

“D’ya have to talk of her surviving the night?” The burly man-at-arms grumbled, holding the little maid sideways while he picked his way down the tower’s narrow, curving passage.

Whoever had constructed Edenrock had not concerned themselves with spacing the steps an even width apart, creating an awkward climb for invaders. Gareth wasn’t sure the odd layout had been purposeful, but he could certainly envision an invading army breaking a few necks on the way up.

“Would you rather we leave her behind for Edward to question when he discovers Lady Emma missing?” he asked Bronson, keeping his voice low even though the noise from the great hall should have covered the sound of their escape.

The woman in his arms stiffened at his words before she made some kind of protest behind his restraining hand. Gareth guessed Emma knew as well as he that the maid would be abused for allowing her mistress to escape. Edward du Bois possessed no mercy.

As Gareth navigated his way to the main floor, he thought it boded well for Emma that she had enough human decency to protect someone who served her. Clearly, she was a person of greater integrity than her cousin.

Or was she?

Memories of Lady Emma’s intriguing offer to do whatever he wished assailed his senses even as he slipped past the great hall entrance. Had this sheltered maid meant to exchange her innocence for the life of her servant? Or was Emma of Westleigh less sheltered than he had guessed? There had been a glint of knowing in her eyes when she’d made her proposition. Although—tempting as the lady might be—Gareth had no intention of touching the kin of his enemy. Abducting the would-be bride was about vengeance against Edward du Bois and not about despoiling an innocent.

Though he would certainly leverage any of her good will to assure she complied with his demands, he did not wish her captivity to be more difficult than it had to be.

“Do not think I will forget about your bargain,” he whispered in her ear as he eased open a creaking side entrance to the keep. There, he stepped over the unconscious form of a guard who had fought his admittance earlier. He lifted Emma higher so her suspended feet would not drag over the man either.

Or had he lifted her simply to feel the slide of her rounded bottom against his hip? He swallowed back an unexpected surge of lust that would only distract him when he needed to keep his wits. Perhaps he had been more enticed by Emma’s provocative suggestion than he had realized.

“Mmph!” His captive made a muffled sound behind his restraining hand, her soft lips pressed into his palm.

Up ahead, an old man with a small peddler’s cart pushed the conveyance closer. Bronson hastened ahead to meet him, according to their plan for escape. Without speaking, he loaded the maid into the back of the cart among the bolts of silk the gray-haired trader had brought into the walled village for sale a few days ago. There was no one manning the gate, thanks to Gareth’s forces, but they would rouse less suspicion among anyone else in the courtyard if they departed Edenrock under cover of the merchant’s cart.

Apparently Emma spied what awaited her, for she elbowed Gareth in the chest with a jab more fierce than he would have anticipated, given that she had little room to swing at him. Wrapping her more securely in his arms, he stepped up into the low cart with her.

“Never fear, Lady Emma,” he whispered, mindful of anyone who might lurk in the shadows and overhear them. At least the lack of a moon helped hide their scuffling about from anyone nearby, though right now he could see naught but a few old women gathered around a fire outside the kitchen behind the keep. “I will lie beside you to ensure you are safe.”

Climbing into the back, Gareth settled her close to him, inhaling the delicate perfume of her hair. The cart lurched into motion as Bronson pulled the coarse hide over the silk and bodies within. Their plan was to take the prisoners to his men’s nearby encampment where they’d remain while he made his demands to her overlord. But as he situated her wriggling form tight to his among the rolls of silk, he knew there would be a change of tactics.

He did not wish to confront this fiery noblewoman in front of his men. Not when their last conversation had been so highly charged. Instead of taking her to the camp, he would bring her to his keep and speak to her in private.

Within the confines of his chamber, behind a bolted door.

He would not take advantage of her, but if she was insistent about trading her favors for his compliance, he would be better served locking her away from himself, where she would remain safe. Untouched. He would sleep among his knights so she would have his chamber to herself. He would not be conquered by his enemy’s cousin, even if she looked at him without the revulsion he’d noted in other women’s eyes.

A few feet away, Emma’s maidservant lay quietly with her hands tied and her mouth bound by Bronson’s tunic sleeve. Bronson would help push the cart past the gatehouse until they arrived at their waiting horses in the forest nearby. Gareth would free the captives’ bonds as soon as they were far enough from Edenrock not to be overheard.

For now, he had his hands full keeping Emma still and quiet next to him. She’d been straining against him in earnest ever since he’d put her in the cart. Not that she was much trouble, her strength was minimal compared to his own. Still, he regretted her discomfort since she hadn’t been the one to betray him. She hadn’t been the one to sell him to an eastern flesh trader in order to plunder Gareth’s keep five years ago.

Nay, that treachery had been committed by her guardian. Emma had done naught but remind him how long it had been since he’d had a sweetly scented noblewoman in his arms.

He cursed the inappropriateness of that thought.

“Be very, very quiet and you will not be harmed,” he warned her, knowing they must be passing through the gate in the castle walls by the way the creaking wheels had slowed.

All at once, she bit the center of his palm, her teeth scraping along his flesh. Gareth’s grip eased for only a moment, but it was enough for her to scream if she’d wanted to make noise.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.