Jacq's Warlord (16 page)

His hand withdrew from beneath her skirts and he struggled to free himself from his clothing.

With a deep breath to still her panic, she spoke in a voice she hoped sounded sultry and inviting, “Milord, please, can we not be alone to enjoy ourselves?”

He stopped rustling and heaved a satisfied sigh. “Ahhh! I’m ready now.”

She twisted around to look at him, a frisson of alarm racing down her spine at his slackened expression. “But we’d be more comfortable lying down, and I can show you a few of the things I did with Rufus.” She ducked her head, aiming for a shy and simpering look. “Surely you don’t expect me to perform in front of so many eyes?”

He hauled her up and hissed into her ear, “This had better not be a trick. If it is, I’ll let my men have you when I am through.”

Again, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes drooping and her breathing heavy, praying she didn’t look ready to throw up. “I promise, I’ll give you what I gave to Rufus the first time we met.” Jacq held her breath. Would he fall for the ploy?

“Wait for me here,” he shouted to his men, then kicked at the sides of his horse to gallop away from the trail, deep into the forest.

Once they’d moved out of sight of his men, Percy yanked hard on the reins, bringing the horse to a halt. He leapt to the ground and pulled her down beside him.

Jacq struggled to maintain her hold on the knife without alerting the man. She grew alarmed at his leering gaze. But alone, she stood a chance, if she played her cards right.

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Percy stripped his clothes in a few hurried movements, then stood frowning at her.

“Well, what are you waiting for? I wish to see what delights you’ve shared with Lord Rathburn. And no tricks. My men are within shouting distance and will run you to ground should you attack me or attempt to escape.”

Jacq swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and rucked up her skirt. She extended one leg, bending to remove her stocking and then her shoe. A glance from beneath her lashes confirmed Percy watched her every move. She bent to remove the other stocking and shoe, taking her time and gauging his rising excitement by the flesh growing and expanding between his legs. She played a dangerous game, and she’d have only one shot at winning. Patience, she schooled herself.

She further loosened the ties at the left side of her dress and pulled the velvet bliaut over her head, careful to slide the knife up the sleeve of her muslin undergown. With one hand, she pulled loose the string at the throat of her undergown, tugging the neck of the garment low enough to frame her exposed breasts.

Completely focused on her “offering”, Percy licked his lips.

Jacq used one hand to fondle herself while her other hand palmed the knife hidden in the folds of her undergarment.

With her best vamp sway, she walked toward him, ensuring his gaze remained glued to her breasts. “Percy, do you think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes,” he answered his face taut, his mouth practically salivating.

“I like to be touched here.” She tweaked a nipple with her fingers.

His hands rose to capture a nipple in each hand and he moaned.

Jacq leaned close to him pressing her breasts into his hands…then rammed the blade into his belly.

He gasped and clutched at the knife, his eyes wide.

Before he could shout, Jacq cold-cocked him in the jaw.

Percy folded to the ground like a rag doll, without uttering a sound.

Jacq grabbed her discarded clothing and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. As she sprinted over fallen logs, and through brush and bramble, she prayed she was heading in Rufus’ direction and, by some power of God or Fate, he’d been spared.

Because when she found him, she was going to kill him.

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Rufus smiled with grim satisfaction. Percy’s raiding party hadn’t bothered to hide the evidence of their passing. Likely, they believed there was no need. After all, Rufus wasn’t expected to survive the well-planned ambush. The trail Percy’s men left was deep and easily discernable, and Rufus and his small group of warriors gained steadily on them. He had to catch Percy before he stopped for the night.

His fists tightened on his reins. He just hoped his one-time ally hadn’t decided to get down to the business of rape before he had placed a goodly distance between himself and the battle.

A cold anger settled over Rufus like a damp cloak at the thought of his captive’s fate. He’d be angered by any woman’s rape. Women were the weaker sex, and it was a knight’s sworn duty to protect those unable to defend themselves.

Not that Jacq wasn’t more capable of taking care of herself than any woman he had ever known. But Percy never acted alone. He would have help from a number of his men.

The urgency that gripped Rufus was far more than his worry for an unprotected woman; Rufus felt strangely possessive of this particular one. Aye, she was beautiful and passionate—but many women were. He was at a loss to explain what set her apart.

Never before had he cared whether a woman came or went. Hell, he rarely remembered their names.

But this one he would not let go. She belonged to him. Whatever force had placed her in his path had chosen well. Jacq was his match in every way.

Rufus admired the fact she was headstrong and seemingly fearless, but he prayed she would think before she acted in this instance. Percy would be merciless should she attempt to resist him.

Suddenly, the man riding at the head of the procession raised his hand to halt them, signaling for silence. Then Rufus heard it too. The sound of thundering hooves came from just around the bend of the trail. His men quickly unsheathed their swords.

However, the first thing they saw rounding the bend was a woman—running with her red skirts held high, her long white legs pounding, eating up the distance between them.

Close on Jacq’s heels was a group of six riders.

With a howl of fury, Rufus kicked the flanks of his warhorse, leading the charge to rescue her.

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What followed would remain a blur of steel, blood and screams in Rufus’ mind.

When it was over an unearthly silence enveloped the place, as if bird, beast nor man dared to fill the sudden void.

Rufus took note that all of his men remained horsed; the bloody corpses littering the road all belonged to Percy. Fierce satisfaction filled him.

Turning in his saddle, his gaze sought Jacq and found her, one hand braced against a tree, the other pressed against her belly, her face ashen. He handed his soiled sword to the man nearest him, ripped off the sleeves of his tunic, and turned them inside out to wipe away the spatters of blood covering his face and the front of his chain mail. All the while his gaze remained on the woman.

Satisfied the gore of the battle no longer stained him, he urged his horse forward until he was beside her. Mindful he was watched, and unwilling to allow emotions he was so unfamiliar with to rule him, he resisted the urge to climb down and engulf her in his arms.

Instead, he took a deep breath before addressing her. “Woman, is there no end to the bother you cause?”

Her head came up, eyes narrowed, and he braced himself, hoping she would react violently to his taunt. It would give her the chance to release her anguish in an acceptable anger. Anger he understood and could deal with. What he feared were her tears, or worse, horror for the violence he had done.

Instead, she glared at him. Raising her chin a notch, she turned in the direction she had just come and stomped away.

Rufus stared after her. Feeling foolish for his concern for her tender feelings, he followed her on his horse.
Damnable woman! She never does what is expected.

Exasperated now, he dismounted and stalked after her. She began to walk faster, and he lengthened his strides. Then she gathered her skirts once more and ran.

He reached her in three steps, catching her shoulders and spinning her about.

Shoving away from him, she slapped him hard across the face and yelled, “You have lousy taste in friends.”

Next she swung a closed fist at his face, and he allowed the blow to land hard against his jaw. He did not retaliate against her attack or attempt to evade her blow—he knew he deserved her anger for his failure to ensure her safety.

Continuing her attack, she pounded a fist against his chest, then reeled back in pain when her knuckles met chain mail. Her face contorted with rage as her good hand clasped the injured one. She paced, shaking the pain from her hand, and cursed him with each step. Or at least he believed it was curses for she was speaking the language she had used when he first found her. He let her rant for several minutes, waiting stoically for her anger to fade. He knew he wasn’t the real target of her ire—but he was conveniently near.

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He watched her. What a beautiful, angry mess she was, and he was glad he had found her alive.

Finally, she stopped. With her head tilted back, she blinked several times and breathed deeply.

He heaved a sigh of relief—the storm appeared to be over. “Are you finished now?”

He winced, knowing his words sounded a bit impatient.

She stared at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. “You bastard!”

Her cheeks grew red again, and he groaned inwardly. But instead of launching herself at him as he expected, her bottom lip trembled and her face screwed up. When her shoulders began to shake, he couldn’t stand the distance between them a moment longer.

He stepped toward her and opened his arms.

Jacq fell against his chest as the first sob wrenched from deep inside her.

She leaned against him, her forehead to his chest.

He slipped his hand beneath her long hair and pressed her face into the corner of shoulder, needing to feel her skin against his. Because it seemed the natural thing to do, he patted her back as he’d seen mothers do with their children.

She nuzzled her face against his skin as she cried, and her arms crept up, encircling his neck to cling fiercely. Her shoulders shook with the strength of her deep sobs.

Rufus held her, breathing in her warm, musky scent, holding her lush body close to his, and realized he was swaying with her—rocking her like a child—doing something he’d never considered doing before—providing comfort.

Bemused, he wondered what other odd behaviors she would produce in him. He continued to rub circles on her back until he felt her relax against him with a ragged sigh.

Finally, he set her away from him to look into her face. Her cheeks were red and blotchy, and her eyes and nose were soggy.

A small smile curved his mouth until he looked down at her clothing. Up close, he noticed several things that disturbed him. Her bliaut was unfastened, and there was a large tear along the side of her undergown that revealed her skin from ribs to hip.

There was also a large brown mark on the side of her neck, which looked suspiciously like a love bite. He stared down where the fabric was rent, then up at her face again. His jaw tightened when she glanced away.

His stomach roiled and he felt sick. He reached, cupping her jaw to turn her gaze to his. “Tell me, Jacq…were you harmed?”

She pulled her face away from his hand and looked away again, then gathered the open side of her gown together. He waited in silence for her to look at him, and was almost amused at how arduously she tried to evade his gaze.

Finally, she stilled. Her shoulders slumped and she raised her glance to his. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “He didn’t rape me with…his body,” she 91

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whispered, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes squeezed shut. “But he touched me…put his finger inside me.” Her lips trembled, and her moist eyes revealed her hurt.

His body reacted with a violent lurch in his gut. But he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “Who did this? Percy?”

She nodded, and then bowed her head.

His palms bracketed her face, and he tilted back her head. “I will kill him for you,”

he promised, staring into her green eyes.

“No need.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I already took care of that.”

Watching the emotions cross her face—satisfaction, shame then resolve—he was at a loss as to which to address, and chose the coward’s way out, ignoring all of them. For now, she was safe…the danger to her was past. “Then we mustn’t tarry here. Will you come with me now?”

She nodded, then turned to join the men who sat upon their horses watching them.

“Wait.” He stayed her with a hand on her arm, then reached for the laces at the side of her dress and gently began to thread them through the holes to draw the sides closed.

* * * * *

Jacq rode behind Rufus atop his warhorse throughout the afternoon. They traveled fast until they met up with Donald and the rest of Rufus’ contingent. Then the wagons set the pace.

Surprised when she wasn’t automatically dumped into one of the wagons, she kept silent so Rufus wouldn’t get annoyed with her and set her down. There was something comforting about the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath her and the strength of the man she clung to.

But she’d forgotten just how long it had been since she’d spent any time in a saddle.

She’d had lessons, but she’d never spent hours astride, and the skin on the inside of her thighs was hot and itchy. She shifted and drew more of the fabric of her skirt underneath each thigh for padding.

Rufus looked over his shoulder. “Patience, Jacq, we will halt soon.”

She groaned. “Thank God. My backside’s blistered.”

She saw him smile before turning his head forward again. “You know, I have only to ask Cook for one of his salves…”

“That’s quite all right,” she answered quickly. She loved any show of humor from him. She guessed teasing a woman was probably as new to him as receiving it was to her. Content for the moment, she squeezed his waist and was surprised when his hand closed over her clasped ones.