Captured by the Warrior. Meriel Fuller
his seal, these men followed the orders of the Duke of York, as opposed to the King. Alice needed to tread carefully.
Chewing her lip, she wrenched her eyes upwards. ‘Your men…your men…’ she spluttered out, unable to elucidate the full awful truth of what his men had been about to do.
‘My men should have known better,’ the soldier began, shaking his rough blond head: an unexpected shaft of sunlight turned the strands momentarily to gold, surrounding him with an aura of light that magnified the sheer size of his body. The hood of his chainmail hauberk gathered in metallic folds over his shoulders, emphasising the corded strength of his neck.
Alice gulped.
‘But they were only having a bit of fun,’ the soldier added pleasantly, folding his huge arms across his chest. In this curious half-light, the intense leaf-green of his eyes deepened, drawing her in reluctantly with their magnificent colour.
‘Having a bit of fun?’ she snapped out, clenching her fists against the folds of her gown, disbelieving this man’s audacious defence of his men. ‘My God! Have you any idea? Why, they nearly…they very nearly…!’
‘Calm yourself, mistress,’ he murmured, his voice neutral as he contemplated his men over the top of her head. Dark brown lashes framed his magnificent eyes. ‘Nothing would have happened here, believe me.’
‘Oh, you think to know your men so well, do you!’ Rashly, she poked a finger into his chest, her mind jolting as it registered the unyielding flesh.
Mild amusement mixed with astonishment crossed his sculptured features—the maid’s boldness was quite astounding. ‘I would run, my lady, run back to where you came from, before anything else happens,’ he advised coolly.
But she seemed not to hear his words, incensed that he seemed incapable of comprehending the severity of the situation. She whirled away from him, furious, challenging his soldiers. ‘Look at you, hanging your heads in shame—you know the truth, so why not tell him?’
‘Enough, mistress,’ Bastien said, more sternly now. ‘I will hear their story, and punish them accordingly.’
Alice spun back to face him, her hands planted firmly on her hips. ‘Which, in my opinion, should be nothing less than a horse-whipping.’
Bastien raised his eyebrows. ‘You seem to have a great deal of opinion for…a maid.’ A faint note of annoyance marked his reply; this woman was beginning to severely irritate him, with her argumentative tone and challenging manner. The relentless pace of the last two days travelling began to cloud his brain; he felt weary and in no mood to remonstrate. As far as he was concerned, women were only good for one thing, and even then he preferred them if they kept their mouths shut.
‘You need to understand, you need to listen to me…’ Her voice rang in his ears, scolding, reprimanding.
Self-restraint, laced tightly, unravelled. ‘Nay,’ he ground out dangerously, ‘you need to listen to me.’ His blond head dipped, one thick arm snared her waist, jamming her against the inflexible slab of his chest. His men cheered as he lowered his lips to hers, primitive, demanding, insistent.
He had meant to scare her, to stop that relentless tirade of speech that needled its way into his very soul, but the first touch of her soft sweet lips made him almost groan out loud with desire. Too long! He’d been too long without the pleasure of a woman. The gruelling days of battle, the dust, sweat and heat—all those memories faded, dwindled with the sweet smell of her skin, the luscious pliability of her slender frame hard up against his, the rounded swell of her bosom. Sweet Jesu! Desire rattled through his body, building steadily, inexorably.
Foolish! Foolish girl! Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? Alice squeezed her eyes together, holding her body rigid as his lips came down over hers. She had a fleeting impression of wide green eyes, tanned ruddy skin, before his lips touched. Shock ricocheted through her veins at the impact, breath snatching in her throat as her heart thumped uncontrollably against her ribs. His mouth roamed against hers, wild, plundering; she crumpled against him, knees suddenly weak. Her mind scrambled, his lips luring her, drawing her towards the edge of a plunging abyss, a whispering place of tantalising promise, of…
‘Alice! Where are you? Alice…?’ A peevish, wheedling voice drifted over from the other side of the forest, calling.
Bastien tore himself away, breath ragged.
Alice reeled backwards, shaking, dazed. Senses shredded, she managed to lift one trembling finger towards Bastien, eyes hot with indignant accusation. ‘How dare you!’ she screeched at him, her mouth carrying the hot bruise of his kiss, her cheeks flushed with shame. ‘You insufferable pig! You tell me you’ll reprimand your men, and then you take advantage yourself! How dare you!’
‘Steady yourself, my lady.’ Bastien regarded her tensely. In truth, he was having trouble calming himself. He tipped his head on one side, listening. ‘Someone’s searching for you; go now.’
The deep cerulean pools of her eyes lobbed him one last stinging look, before she turned, stumbling away through the undergrowth towards her mother’s voice, veil sitting askew on her head.
‘Dear Lord, I thought she’d never stop!’ muttered one of his soldiers. ‘What a shame on such a beauty.’
Bastien followed the maid’s slender back retreating through the trees, her sparkling skirts flowing over the mossy ground. As soon as she was out of his sight, he told himself, he would forget her completely; women had no part to play in his life, especially bossy, unbearable girls who scarce came up to his shoulder. Women were of no importance, in his opinion. Not after what had happened with Katherine.
Chapter Two
Alice swept her eyes around the great hall at Abberley. Aye, it was all still there: the sumptuous intricacy of the huge tapestries hanging from floor to ceiling, concealing the uneven stone walls; the high dais at the far end where the King and Queen and their attending nobility sat above the murmured hubbub of people gathered together to eat. Pausing in the doorway, Alice attempted to draw some comfort from the familiar surroundings, but her perception seemed tarnished, different, somehow. She knew why—a pair of emerald-green eyes and a shock of tousled blond hair loomed with unnerving regularity across her vision, unsettling her normal confidence. Aye, and that kiss. That treacherous kiss.
Light filled the space, spilling out from a combination of rush torches slung into iron brackets along the walls, and a roaring fire. Soldiers and servants alike crammed along the wooden trestles in the main body of the hall, knives jamming into the large serving platters of steaming roast meat. There was Queen Margaret, her small neat head held erect and proud as she listened to a nobleman at her side, her eyes wide and intelligent as she nodded in agreement once or twice. The height of the table obscured the round smooth bump of her pregnancy. Alice liked the young Queen, drawn by Margaret’s ambition and vitality; it was said that she had enough energy for both herself and her husband. Of King Henry, there was no sign. He had recently become unwell, and was confined to his chambers to recover.
‘Alice!’ A fresh-faced young man moved across her line of vision. Edmund! A sense of relief flooded through her, his jovial expression for a moment shutting out her unpleasant memories of the journey. ‘Alice, did you not see me waving? I saved you a place beside me over there!’ His open, candid features searched her face.
She laid a careful hand on his arm, allowing him to lead her around the edges of the hall to an empty table, mindful that her mother was up on the top table, and would be watching. Maybe if Beatrice saw her with Edmund, it would shake off her mother’s current mood. When Alice had finally returned to the cart in the forest, Beatrice had been furious, berating her for keeping the entourage waiting. Alice, humbled by her encounter, had crept to a corner of the cart without a word. Now, as she met Edmund’s warm brown eyes, she hoped his easy companionship would drive away the bad memories.
‘Tell me, what was he like?’ Edmund asked softly at her side. At one-and-twenty winters he was the same age as her, his rounded features holding the pink bloom of