Jacq's Warlord (20 page)

“Jacq, are you not interested in how our night’s adventures went?”

No response.

He moved farther into the tent, and then stopped, his eyes narrowing. Her silence disappointed him. He’d hoped the time she spent alone would help her see he’d had no other choice but to leave her there. At the least, he’d expected her to rail at him. Her failure to acknowledge his presence in any way put him off balance.

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Well, he wouldn’t cajole her into better humor. He turned and stomped out of the tent to ensure the others were being fed and the horses tended.

When he got around to feeding himself, the men had finished their meal. A few sat around the fire with Jacq and Donald, listening raptly to Donald’s description of the skirmish.

“It was amazing how smoothly everything went, Jacq,” Donald was saying, excitement lighting his face.

Rufus frowned at his familiar use of her given name. She had given all his men permission to do so, but it wasn’t seemly. With a muttered curse beneath his breath, he found a solitary seat on a fallen log close enough he could watch them unobserved.

Jacq had yet to acknowledge his presence, although Donald’s smirk told him they were very much aware of him.

“Tell me what happened,” she asked eagerly.

“Well, when we found the supply wagons they had just called a halt for the night, so we waited for them to fall asleep. Their men were all tucked in, snoring like babes, except for the guards they left stationed around the perimeter of the camp.”

Rufus snorted. Some guards.

Donald warmed to his tale. “But it didn’t take us long to deal with them.” Donald rose from his seat, simulating their actions during the attack. “We crawled through the brush on our bellies, got into position and on Rufus’ signal—we slit the guards’

throats.”

Rufus watched Jacq cringe at the crude hacking motion Donald used. He hoped she fully understood the dangers they had faced and would learn to be appreciative of his concern for her safety and tender sensibility.

“We did just as you said, Jacq—we were quiet and stealthy. They were dead before they could utter a single call for help.”

Jacq looked a little green when Donald finished. Rufus guessed she was out of her depth in the actual blood and gore of combat. A battle was no place for a woman.

Fortunately, none of his soldiers had been harmed and they had returned with plenty of supplies loaded on their saddles. Jacq should be proud of the contribution she had made to the raid, rather than wishing herself somewhere she had no business being.

“The men sleeping in the camp were just as quickly dispatched to their Maker. We saved the last one and he proved to be a valuable informant.”

“How so?” Jacq asked, a little more subdued this time. “Were you able to learn more about Braxton’s intentions and location?”

“No.” Daniel smiled, his chest puffing out. “We learned about the next shipment due to come on the morrow.”

“Oh really? Why wasn’t it with the other wagons?”

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“It didn’t arrive in time and they needed the other supplies sooner, so they sent the first load without it.”

“What was in the shipment?”

“The prize of all prizes,” a soldier piped in, then sighed loudly.

“What is it?” Jacq snapped.

Rufus smothered a smile. He’d bet she couldn’t hold her piss as a child.

“Barrels of Stephen’s finest ale,” Donald said triumphantly. “A prize they will miss more than any other, no doubt. Braxton will be enraged when he realizes we have stolen it from under his nose.”

A frown creased Jacq’s forehead. “Why steal it?” The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Why not let him have it?”

“What?” Donald’s face filled with dismay.

“Let him have the ale, milady?” another soldier asked.

All the soldiers nearby looked aghast at her suggestion.

Rufus could almost see Jacq’s thoughts ruminating in her head. He set aside his meal and walked closer to the circle, curious about what she would say next.

“Why not let him have it?” she repeated a little louder. Jacq was hatching a plan.

The look on her face radiated her excitement.

“Just how would letting him keep the ale help our cause?” Rufus asked as he stood next to her.

She ignored him and replied to Donald instead. “You want to slow his progress, right?” At Donald’s nod, she continued, “What was Percival’s excuse for not joining you and Albermarle in battle?”

Donald snorted. “Scutters. Although now we know it was cowardice and traitorous intentions.”

“Well, let’s have a little care for their souls. We wouldn’t want them to remain liars.

So why not give them the ale…and the scutters?” Jacq smiled, her eyes alight with mischief.

“And waste a good barrel of ale on our enemy?”

“That’s the idea.” A grin spilled across her face and she swept a hand out. “Only they’ll get everything they deserve, if you get my meaning.”

Slowly, realization dawned in the eyes of the men nearby and one by one they began to chuckle. Before long they were falling to their knees with full belly laughs, clutching their sides.

Rufus smiled, fierce pride building in his chest. She was a clever one.

“Jacq, you’re a heartless wench.” Donald wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.

She stood and curtsied. “From you, I’ll take that as a compliment, Donald.”

“And I know just the person who could make such a potion.” Donald jumped to his feet. In a few moments he returned dragging the laundress behind him. “Gwen here has 110

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knowledge of herbs,” he explained to Jacq. “I told her what it is we desire, and she has agreed to provide us the decoction we need.”

The laundress sulkily addressed Jacq. “I keep dried herbs on hand to treat the wounded and ill. There is a thistle I harvest from pastures. I can boil it with water and put it into gourds for the men to carry with them. Then all they have to do is add it to the ale. It should do the trick.”

“Well done…Gwen.” Rufus clapped her on the back, relieved to have fastened on her name for once.

“She does ask a boon of you, milord.” Donald slid a glance at Jacq.

Rufus straightened knowing Donald was enjoying this too much for it to be good.

“And what reward do you ask for, Gwen?”

“Why yourself, milord,” Donald replied for her, grinning now. “She wants to spend a night…” He glanced toward Jacq with a meaningful look. “…alone, with you.”

Laughter rose from the soldiers around him.

Jacq’s face paled, and then turned a fiery red. Her gaze sought his and she glared daggers.

The laundress sidled up to Rufus and rubbed her breasts against his arm. “You won’t be sorry, milord. Gwen knows what you like.”

Rufus wasn’t watching the woman rubbing against him; he was watching the play of emotions across Jacq’s face.

He allowed a slow smile to slide across his face.

His captive spun in a flurry of red velvet and marched away.

It would serve her right to stew about this for a while, especially after turning a cold shoulder to him earlier.

* * * * *

That scum-sucking toad!
She stomped past the tent no real destination in mind, just needing a little exercise to clear her head.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to stick around to see
them together.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed men’s clothing draped across bushes. They appeared slightly damp, and she surmised this was the laundress’s work. Among the articles was a pair of men’s braies, a shirt, tunic and a woolen cap. After a furtive glance around for any witnesses, she snatched the clothing, rolled it into a bundle, and crept back to Rufus’ tent. Once inside, she hid the confiscated items beneath the furs.

She spent the morning in the solitude of the tent, formulating a plan.
There’s no way
I’m going to sit back and let the men go out and have all the fun this time. Rufus of Rathburn
doesn’t own me, and it’s about time he learned that lesson.

Biding her time until the departure of the raiding party, she waited for an expected visit from her protector. She could hear the preparations of the men readying 111

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themselves and their horses to go out for another foray into enemy territory. She wouldn’t have long to wait before she could put her plan into action.

A noise outside the tent alerted her she had a visitor. The flap flew up, but seeing it was Rufus, she turned her back to him, refusing to speak.

“Still angry, my dear?”

Jacq bit hard on her tongue.
My dear, my ass!

“Perhaps I should find a woman more…willing…and docile.”

If Rufus didn’t leave soon, Jacq feared she’d lose a sizable portion of her tongue.

She eased up a little, focusing on her ache and not the injury she wanted to inflict on Lord Rat-face.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and then he lifted her up by her arms and spun her around.

Jacq shrieked and pounded against his chest. “Let me go.”

The louse wasn’t angry as she had hoped. He was smiling. Then he bent to cover her mouth with his lips.

She pressed hers tightly together to prevent his entrance.

But his teeth bit at her lower lip until she gasped. Taking advantage of her surprise, he swept his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her deeply.

As if controlled by someone else’s brain, her arms snaked around his shoulders, and she clung to him.

His hands clasped her ass hard and lifted her, and fool that she was, she never uttered a protest. Instead, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, straining against him.

Two steps and he had her back against the thick center pole of the tent.

Jacq pulled at her skirt, dragging it and her bliaut up and out of the way, then reached under his clothing for his braies.

He lifted away his lips, breathing hard. “The men await me.”

She bit his chin as she rooted for his cock. “I waited a whole damn night.”

He slid his cheek alongside hers, his body tightening inside the circle of her thighs.

“We could have spent the day abed if you hadn’t been so stubborn.”

She scowled at the reminder of what had her panties in a wad and clasped his swelling shaft. “We have now. Fuck me.”

Air hissed between his teeth as she pushed his cock down to her pussy. He sank inside her easily as a knife through soft butter. “We must be quick or Donald will come see what keeps me.”

“I’m already there,” she said, letting her head fall back against the pole. She squeezed him with her inner muscles and tilted her hips to let him sink deeper inside.

Rufus’ big, rough hands gripped her hard as he lifted her up and lowered her on his cock, forcing a faster pace than she’d have liked. But it did the trick.

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They ground against each other, stoking a fiery friction that had her gasping. “Now.

I’m coming now!” she cried out.

He ground her hips up and down, up and down, while rutting against her, letting the tent pole hold them both upright.

When her orgasm crashed over her, his mouth captured her sharp cry. His own remained locked tight inside his throat, but she felt the hot spurt of his cum bathing her womb. He kissed her then, eating her lips, sliding over her cheek, nudging beneath her chin, seemingly as desperate to extend their joining as she felt.

At last, he let her down, holding her by the notches of her hips until her legs stopped trembling.

Rufus broke the kiss and set her away. The look he gave her was scorching, full of promise and heated anger. Then without a word, he left her standing alone in a dazed stupor.

It took her a good minute to shake the trance and move into action. “Ooooh! Who does he think he is? And what the hell does he have to be angry at me about?” She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth.

She grabbed the lump of charcoal she’d hidden away and smeared it on her face, then pulled back her hair, tying it with a leather thong. Tearing at the ties beneath her arms, she quickly shucked her dress and undergarments, and then rummaged beneath the furs for the men’s clothing she had hidden earlier. She ripped a bathing cloth down the middle, tied the two pieces together and wrapped it several times around her chest to flatten her breasts.

Hurriedly, she pulled on the men’s clothes, slipped on the oversized boots she’d filched from Rufus’ chest, tucked her hair beneath the cap and stood ready.

For what? She still had to get past the Beast. Removing a short sword and scabbard from among the weapons in Rufus’ chest, she waited for the commotion of the departing men. Amid the sounds of their war cries and the horses pounding hooves, Jacq slashed the fabric at the rear of the tent. In less than a second, she stepped through the canvas and sprinted off in the direction of the remaining horses. No one would think it was her, dressed as she was in her men’s clothing, her face blackened like all the rest. With ease, she mounted a horse and slipped in beside the other riders.

They turned a bend and the camp disappeared. Jacq was on her way, now. Funny, but she’d only planned up to this point, sure she would fail. Now what?

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Time lost all meaning for Jacq. She measured her existence, not by the passing of the sun across the afternoon sky, but rather by the number of times her bottom smacked the back of her horse.

Having caught up with the others soon after leaving camp, she stayed at the rear of the group and did her best not to attract attention. She was almost ready to admit her plan had been a little shortsighted.

This debacle was just another complaint she could lay at the doorstep of Lord Rat-face. If it hadn’t been for “his majesty” flaunting that floozy in her face, she might not have gone to such drastic lengths.

But Jacq knew that was a lie. She was here due to a congenital personality flaw—

one she inherited directly from her dad. The word “no” to her was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. It set off a chemical chain reaction in her brain that invariably led to disaster.