How to Seduce a Queen: A Medieval Romance Novel (8 page)

“Are you ready for me, lass?”

She nodded, as a new stronger ache grew.

“I will go very slowly. Stop me if the nightmares come.” Throwing off his robe, he pushed down his braies, and spread her wide with his knees. His rock hard cock pushed slowly at her want.

Blood spurted everywhere. Fay screamed and screamed but Gofraid loomed over her, and pushed her down onto the floor. He laughed with crazed eyes. He held her arms down . . .

“Fay. Fay. Stop.”

Her monk called from far away and the evil dream-clouds faded. Oh God, nay. Not again.

He held her hands clamped together against the ground and peered nose to nose with brows creased in concern. “Are you back?”

She nodded. “You can let go now.”

The world spun, he placed her upon her feet, and brushed straw from her kirtle. “Did I hurt you, lass?”

Her face burned with embarrassment, as she grabbed her undercloth and shook her head
nay
. Her hopes of leaving the island dashed upon the black cliffs and broke, like the never-ending surf.

He moaned when he pulled his braies up. He asked hoarsely, “Where do you go?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Talk about it. I believe it may help. Look at me.” His eyes went kind and soft. “I am not vexed with you. This time, I expected it.”

He must be a monk, for certainly no normal man could have stopped. Twice. She put her hands in his, and stared at the wide-open fields, laced with sheep and an occasional thatch-covered hut.

She took a deep breath, and relived that awful night. “I’m young, not yet to my monthly courses. My stepbrother, Gofraid, hungry for power, defies Alexander and takes the keep. He, he, he takes me by force. My mother, lies nearby with dead eyes wide. He would not let me close them.”

Giant tears wet her cheeks and she whispered, “And she and I had only just become reacquainted.”

Her monk pulled her into his chest, his heart beating wildly against her ear. “I wish he were not dead, so I could gut him chin to navel and feed him his guts.”

At the sound of horse hooves, they both looked up and pulled apart. Beyond, Sean thundered down the road, sand flying up into the air. Eyes, angry as the winter sea, glared accusingly as he dismounted. “Again. I find you alone with him. This ends here.”

Glad for the distraction, she wiped her eyes, sniffed, and put her hands on her hips. “Since when do I answer to you?”

“Since you’ve begun to act so unchaste. Alexander expects you pure for your husband, when he sends him here.” Murder was in his body language when he glared at Nicodemus.

“He’s a monk, Sean. God’s Blood, not a suitor.”

He snorted through his nose and scoffed. “He’s a mon, and you spend way too much time alone with him.”

“And you presume—”

Her monk stepped between them and used that condescending holy tone she’d come to loathe. “Shush, children. Don’t quarrel. Sir Ferguson is correct. We should not be left alone. ’Tis unseemly.”

He patted her head as if she were five and bowed low. “Please forgive me, Sir Ferguson. I get so involved in my quest to convince her of God’s holy existence, I forget myself. But today we’ve made much progress. She agrees there are those things that exist that are unknown to us. We have discussed Cain and Able and the nature of good and evil.”

Her mouth dropped open at his blatant lies, and she put her face into prayer hands to hide her smirk.

Sean raised his eyebrows and stared. “Is that true? Ye’ve found a bit of faith?”

She smiled at her secret as she told the truth. “Aye, I did.”

He continued to glare but seemed somewhat appeased
.
“I will accompany both of you into the village and
every
hour from now on. Is that understood?”

Her monk opened his mouth, as if to say more, then nodded his consent.

Chapter 13

What the devil was going on? Outside the door to the great hall, benches, trestle tables, and every manner of portable item were stacked high on the plaza stones. As Nicholas closed the distance, acrid bile rested at the back of his throat and his eyes smarted. He blinked twice and entered. With strong stomach and greater will, he passed the now clean center hearth to where Eaton and the rest of his men scraped ancient rush mats from the floor with pitchforks and hoes.

Two of Fay’s eldest orphans wheeled a barrel of rotting straw across the hall, out the door, and toward the outer stairs.

“Don’t clog the moat, lads. We’ll need bury this.” Eaton handed a shovel to Nicholas with brows furrowed. “Where’ve you been?”

“Trying to reason a way out from my grandsire’s web. Unfortunately, I cannot get within a foot of Fay without Sir Guardian-of-Virtue stepping in. Ferguson follows her about, like . . . like a hound in heat.” He shoveled a pile of ancient rush into a barrel.

His friend sliced another square of floor mat with a hoe. It broke loose and exuded the pungent essence of animal urine and mold.

Pinching his nose, Eaton said, “He must suspect by now that we’re not what we profess to be. Gird up your loins, man, and fuck her. We need off this damned island. One more day of this, and I may go daft.”

Would that he could. Truth was, he had feelings so deep that he dared not share them. Especially not with Eaton. Twice now, she’d offered her body. And twice he had stopped.

Sixteen men in brown robes, covered in decaying straw and filth, stopped their shoveling and looked to him for salvation. He had no good answer for them. His conscience, which never bothered him before, had taken up residence.

He growled to the gathering, “Would you rather us slaughter her protectors, bind her, and take her to my grandfather?”

Eaton whacked at the rush. “Aye. If that’s what needs doing. But make haste. Alexander’s suitor is bound to arrive soon.”

As if melded to the stone floor, a large piece of mat refused to yield. Nicholas took out his frustrations. He beat at it, cursed, and then lied to his best friend. “Quit yer bleatin’ and worryin’. I do have some notions. I’ve just n—”

From the parapets above, iron clanged upon iron, saving him from more falsehoods. The eldest orphan, Aiden, shouted from the doorway, “Anon. All. A ship approaches. A Scottish ship.”

It had to be Alexander’s next suitor. Nicholas whispered to all, “Get to the cottage. Go. Dig up our weapons. At the sound of a horn, we’ll take the ship, the queen, and be gone.”

Grinning, Eaton shouted as he dropped his hoe and ran. “Better to die in battle than in Annandale’s dungeon. Or Alexander’s.”

“Or mayhap King Edward will have you both drawn and quartered.” Sir Gaspar dashed out the door with spring in his step.

Derek-the-Younger lifted his robes and followed. “Shut it and move.”

Nicholas rushed between the hall’s items, climbed the parapet ladder, and squinted. Below, villagers parted for a line of sandaled Franciscans rushing across the drawbridge. It came as no surprise, that next to him, Lady Fay stared with bow in hand. They stared at the speck that bobbed on the ocean.

He sidled next to her and asked, “Who comes?”

“What is it to you?” She clenched her bow and kept focus on the dot.

It had been two days since they’d spoken last. Obviously she’d blamed him. In truth, Ferguson had repelled him whenever he’d tried to even speak to her.

“If that’s your suitor, as your confessor, I must insist you not murder him.” In truth, he would be well pleased if she hit her mark.

She lowered her weapon and sighed. “Anon. ’Tis only humble folk. There’s a dock over there with a craft. Go fetch them to me.” Her tone was cold.

“Are you vexed with me?” he asked in a low whisper, and let his fingers brush across hers.

“Go,
monk
.” She tilted her head toward a glowering Ferguson who held his hand upon his sword’s hilt.

Nicholas nodded, hoping she understood the depth of his feelings, and descended to the docks. How would he ever get her alone and explain all?

Grabbing the oars, he rowed to the large cog ship. By the time he reached the high wooden sides, the sail had already been lowered, and the captain had dropped anchor.

The smaller craft rocked madly when a sturdy monk jumped off a rope ladder with the grace of a cat. He wore mail and sword under the massive brown robe and greeted Nicholas with a vice-like grasp.

Together, they watched the cog’s sail unfurl and snap in the wind. Slaves grunted, drums beat, and the ship turned in a wide arc back toward the mainland.

“I am Brother James.” The monk leaned forward, and stopped Nicholas from rowing with a firm hand on the oar. “Slowly, my son. We’ve much to discuss. I understand you’re in quite a muck here.”

God’s Blood
. Alexander must’ve learned of his grandsire’s plot. Nicholas dropped the wood handles and pulled out his knife.

This Brother James was mighty for his age and the boat nearly capsized as the man tried to steal his blade. When they paused to catch a breath, he wheezed out, “Oh, for the love of God our Savior. Your sister, Merry, sent me.”

Stunned, Nicholas sat. The small craft rocked. No one called her by that name, except family.

“She sent word to The Beast of Thornhill and he sent me. You tread on dangerous ground, Nicholas. Not only for your life, but your eternal soul.” The brother righted his robes, and folded his hands in his lap, now completely composed. His glare, however, was righteous and holy.

Damned? Nicholas moaned. Surely he would rot in hell if the look on the man was any indication. He tried to explain. “The monk’s guise was to be but a short ruse to get within the walls. Then I was to bring her back to my grandsire, my seed set within her belly.”

Brother James’s mouth dropped open. “Is he mad? She’s a most favored ward of Alexander. Does Annandale want war?”

“Worse. I believe he want’s Alexander’s crown.” Nicholas paddled over the side of the boat, reached for a lost oar, and placed it in an iron lock. He began to row back toward the faraway dock. The ocean current had dragged them much off course.

Brother James tsk-tsked and frowned. “You are to go to your sister’s keep. There, Sir Marcus of the Meadows will take your case to King Edward.”

“I will not leave her.” His heart ached at the thought of never seeing her fiery green eyes again.

The true man of God raised his eyebrows.

Nicholas tried to explain, but to do so might expose how he had almost taken her. “She’s fragile.”

“Queen Fay of the longbow? Killer of suitors? Do we speak of the same woman?” The monk’s face skewed in disbelief.

“You don’t understand. I care for her.” His hope of a happy life died slowly, each time his muscles flexed. The water whooshed under the oar’s wide paddles until the boat’s nose nudged the wooden dock.

James jumped out, grabbed a rope, and tied it to an iron ring. “If you truly care, then let her marry Alexander’s choice. ’Tis the only way to fix this mess.”

Nicholas set the oars into the boat bottom and followed. Would he truly be able to let her go? Her sweet body in the arms of another man? Would anyone else cherish her as he did? Would anyone else give her the time to adjust? He thought not, but swallowed hard, and nodded.

“That’s a good lad.” The monk patted his arm. “We’ll get you off this island and you’ll soon forget her. You’re both young and young hearts heal quickly.”

“There is one slight problem to be resolved first.” Nicholas stopped and stared into the foaming ocean below. “She’s confessed her lack of faith and the local priest has let it be known. He builds a platform in the village to burn her.”

James nodded. “A troubled woman. A troubled town. An evil priest. I will fix all.”

“What can
you
do?” Did the brother really have the ear of God? Damned if he didn’t look that confident.

As if reading his mind, the monk smiled slowly. “First, I shall say a mass tomorrow, before breaking fast. All must attend except those too infirmed. You shall see to it. Then, the cog will return. You’ll leave this isle and head to Wales where Sir Blackwell will meet you.”

“What about the rest of my knights?” Nicholas dreaded every word this man uttered.

“Where are their loyalties fixed?” His intelligent gaze pierced.

“First to Annandale and then to Edward. Not t’other way around.”

He shrugged. “Alas. They will need to find their own path back to their treasonous master.”

“Treasonous? My grandsire? Surely that’s a stretch.” For the first time, Nicholas considered the possibility and swallowed hard. Always before, he had bent to his laird’s will.

“Only a king can start a war with his strongest neighbor to the north.” James cocked his head, and frowned.

Nicholas felt the odd need to defend his family. “What if he has Edward’s blessing?”

“It’s obvious. If found out, Edward will have you all killed.”

Suddenly, Nicholas understood. There was no hope. He was a dead man walking. “I would have you hear my last confession. My sins are many. My only hope is in the next world and even that is slim.”

He led Brother James up the hill while his hope for a future with Fay, now or in eternity, withered and died.