Jacq's Warlord (22 page)

Jacq watched as a man materialized next to Dudley up ahead and engaged him in conversation. Trying to hide her nervousness, she feigned a long yawn accompanied by outstretched arms as she peered more intently into the murky darkness around her. She nearly shrieked when another man suddenly appeared beside her wagon.

“And what are you doing here?” he asked, his sword drawn, but pointing toward the ground.

“I’ve been paid to deliver ale to Lord Braxton,” she said, pitching her voice low.

Immediately, he sheathed his sword. “Ale, you say? Let us have a look.”

“You may look all you like, but that is all. It is to be delivered to Lord Braxton—a personal gift from King Stephen himself,” she said with an emphatic nod.

“Our men left days ago for supplies from Stephen’s quartermaster. I see only two carts and four of our men. Why have the rest not returned?”

Jacq snorted in what she hoped was typical male fashion before answering, careful to assume an appropriate accent. “They are passed out drunk back at the last inn. Now, will you show me to Lord Braxton or are you going to answer to him when he doesn’t get his ale?”

119

Delilah Devlin & Myla Jackson

“It will be the devil to pay for those drunken fools when Braxton hears the tale.

Who’s that behind you?” He prodded the shoulder of the corpse. “Hey, Harmon. Wake up, you bloody arse.”

Jacq held her breath as the soldier leaned over the side of the cart. “Phew! Lord have mercy on his soul. This man reeks of ale. He’ll have the devil and Lord Braxton to pay for his condition.”

“You can say that again,” Jacq muttered beneath her breath.

The first wagon began to pull away, and Jacq looked askance at the guard.

“Ah go on with you, then. Perhaps Braxton will feel generous and allow us to share in his bounty.”

Jacq flicked the reins over the necks of the donkey-mules and clucked to urge them to follow the first cart. A soldier, leading the way on foot, accompanied Dudley’s wagon. He steered the carts off the road and into the woods. Jacq prayed Dudley knew what he was doing.

They emerged into a clearing filled with tents and humming with the combined voices of dozens of men. Several fires burned, and Jacq could smell food cooking.

Despite her fear, her stomach rumbled. She realized she hadn’t eaten since that morning and she was beginning to think it would be her last meal. The first wagon drew to a halt, and Jacq likewise hauled back on the reins to stop her team.

“Look what I found wandering around in the woods,” shouted the soldier who had led them to the gathering crowd.

“What have we here, John?” a large heavily bearded man asked.

“Ale from Stephen to our Lord Braxton.”

“Well, don’t just stand there, men. Let’s open up a barrel and make sure it is fit for our leader.”

Laughter accompanied the big man’s statement, but Jacq’s heart began to pound fiercely at the unintended accuracy of his words. The big man walked up to the wagon and peered over the edge.

“Look who we have here. ‘Tis Harmon, and he smells of ale! Looks like the bugger’s already sampled it to oblivion.”

“The blighter! Well, if it was good enough for him…” another piped in.

The behemoth scowled. “Get him out of there. He smells so bad, he’ll spoil the barrels.”

Jacq clenched the reins, when a couple of the men jumped into the back of the wagon and lifted the dead man to hand him down to their companions.

“He’s so drunk, he’s nothing but dead weight,” grumbled one man as he took the feet while another took the shoulders. “The ale must be good. He hasn’t so much as twitched.” Together they carried him toward the fire.

120

Jacq’s Warlord

“Good God. Don’t put him next to the bloody fire, you idiots,” the big man complained. “Do you want to put Braxton in a foul mood right off? We’ll never get to taste the brew.”

The two men walked away from the fire, their burden swaying between them.

Morbid fascination kept Jacq’s attention on them as they disappeared into the dark. She said a prayer that neither would examine their comrade Harmon too closely. She worried for nothing. The two appeared a moment later, dusting off their hands, and eagerly joined the men gathering around the wagon and its special cargo.

With a glance behind her, Jacq saw a man attacking the plug with his dagger.

“Hold there,” she protested, remembering to lower her tone. “The ale is for Lord Braxton. My orders were to deliver it to him.”

She looked anxiously toward the other cart, and saw that Dudley had climbed down and joined the crowd. Deciding she had done her part of the job, she followed suit, climbing from her wagon and preparing to blend into the night. Suddenly, the crowd grew quiet.

“I am Lord Braxton. What have you brought for me, young man?”

Jacq spun about to see a man with ruddy cheeks and thinning hair standing before her. Belatedly, Jacq ducked in a clumsy semblance of a bow. “Sir, I bear a gift from King Stephen. He sends his regards along with this ale and best wishes for your continued success.”

“Ah, marvelous! This is good news, indeed. My soldiers have fought hard and deserve a celebration for their victory against Albermarle’s forces. Open a cask and celebrate with us.”

“Thank you, my lord, but my master wished me to make my delivery and return as soon as possible.”

“You aren’t going anywhere in the dark. Don’t be silly. Join us for a drink. You’ve braved the journey here and deserve a reward.”

“But sir…”

“I will not take no for an answer. You must join us for a drink and tell us all the news from King Stephen’s court.” Lord Braxton pounded Jacq on her back, nearly sending her flying to the ground.

Dismayed, she allowed him to lead her toward the fire in the center of the camp, while the men scrambled for cups and vessels of all shapes and sizes to hold their reward.

A full cup was pressed into Jacq’s hand, and she was pushed down to sit on a log near the fire. Despite the cool air of the night, Jacq felt perspiration gather. She caught herself lifting the cup to her lips, before remembering at the last moment the mild poison it contained.

121

Delilah Devlin & Myla Jackson

Instead, she made of show of taking a great gulp without allowing the liquid to touch her lips. When no one was looking, she tipped the cup, pouring the contents on the ground.

As the laughter grew around her, and Lord Braxton’s gaze returned to her expectantly, Jacq wondered how she was going to get out of this one. It was just about time for her knight in shining armor to come to her rescue again.

* * * * *

Rufus and his men spent an hour crawling on their bellies until they were within spitting distance of Braxton’s tents. From his vantage, he watched the delivery of the ale proceed as planned, savage satisfaction filling him when he noted Braxton himself lifting a cup to offer a toast to Stephen.

His men had been given orders to wait patiently and let the ale and poison do the trick. They shouldn’t have to wait long to confirm the effectiveness of their plan before slipping away undetected. Rufus hoped his men would not be forced into an open battle with the enemy soldiers. He had few enough left of his own men, without unnecessarily risking them. If all went well, by morning the revelers would be wishing they were dead. Rufus and his men would still be healthy, hearty and ready to push on toward Duke Henry.

Waiting was not a natural activity for a man of action. Rufus fought his own impatience by mentally tallying his men and noting their positions. But he kept coming up with one man too many. He knew he’d started out with only twenty. Why then was he still counting twenty in the woods, when the driver of the second cart was sitting next to Braxton? Unease crept under his skin, causing him to feel anxious about something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

His gaze settled on his man sitting among the enemy by the fire, and he tried again to place him. The distance was too far to clearly discern his features, and his hood completely covered his hair. He was unusually tall, and Rufus surmised he must be quite young for his shoulders were narrow for a seasoned warrior. Rufus’ eyes blurred from straining to see that far. There was naught to do but wait until the man escaped to find out who he was.

One of the enemy soldiers sitting next to the deliveryman laughed aloud and slammed a hand against him, knocking his cap askew for only a brief moment. If Rufus had not been staring so intently, he might have missed it. He leaned closer as he watched the man’s hand pulling the hat back into place. The hand was narrow and white, with long tapered fingers. It looked alarmingly familiar.

Rufus straightened, his heart sinking into his stomach then rising to pound madly against his rib cage. “Damnation.”

Donald, crouching in the brush next to him, heard his expletive and leaned close.

“What is it?”

122

Jacq’s Warlord

“Who was the man we sent with Dudley to deliver the ale?” he asked in a short clipped whisper.

Donald hesitated. “Wasn’t it William?”

“No, William is out here with us. I saw him on horseback while we were trailing the cart.” Dread consumed him as the identity of the driver became more certain.

Donald shrugged. “I have no idea who it is. He jumped on the cart and we were off before I even gave it a thought.”

“I have a suspicion…hell, I know who it is.”

“Why does it bother you so? Other than the fact he’s got a bit of a sticky problem trying to get away, he’s done rather well up to this point.”

“Too well.”

“You should have seen him in the skirmish earlier, Rufus.”

“He participated in that rout?” Rufus’ head began to pound, and he felt the tic at the side of his eye flutter into life.

“Yes, and he did quite well. I’m afraid I spoiled his fun by ending his battle with his opponent a bit prematurely.” Donald paused, then said, “Rufus, you don’t look very well. Is there a problem with the man?”

“That’s just it. It is not one of our men.”

Donald’s head jerked toward him. “Who then, Rufus?”

“Jacq,” he spit out her name like a curse.

“What?” Donald peered through the darkness to the campfire, now glowing dimmer. “You are imagining things, my lord.”

“It is she. I’m certain.”

“Damnation.” Donald echoed Rufus’ original curse. His expression however reflected his awe. “Rufus, does your woman even know she is a woman?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Rufus replied. “I think she means to prove she is equal in strength and skill to men. Why, I don’t know.”

His thoughts raced. He had to think of a way to get her safely out of that camp before the ale’s special ingredients began to take effect.

“When you tire of her, I’m going to marry her,” Donald promised reverently.

That gave Rufus pause and he glanced at his friend who was staring at his woman.

“We have to do something,” Rufus uttered irritably. “She has been in there long enough.”

“Sure, why don’t we just walk in and tell them we want our woman back and walk back out? Simple.”

Rufus’ eyes narrowed at his erstwhile friend, who grinned back at him. Actually, that plan had been his first inclination.

What they really needed, however, was a distraction. Something that would draw every man away from the campfire long enough for Jacq to get up and walk away. Just 123

Delilah Devlin & Myla Jackson

then, Rufus heard the sound of a horse whinny on the side of the camp where they were tethered. He almost smiled. It was strange how fate kept stepping in to show him the way.

* * * * *

The conversation had gotten coarser as the soldiers’ tongues loosened with the effect of the alcohol. Jacq’s unease grew as Braxton pressed her once more to drink up.

“I really must be on my way back.” She attempted to rise, but Braxton prevented her with a hand on her arm and called for another round of drinks.

The soldier next to her looked at his buddy propped against the stump of a tree.

“This is the life, eh Daniel?” He swung his arm out expansively, sloshing liquid from the cup in his hand.

Daniel crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the canopy of the trees.

“All I need is a woman to share my bed and the night will be perfect.”

Jacq stiffened at his words.
Oh puleeeze!
If the conversation continued down this particular road, she might throw up. She grimaced when she considered that if they discovered she was a woman…well, she was sure “fate worse than death” would apply here. Her eyes darted around the vicinity, counting the number of men she would have to walk past to get out of camp. She had to make a move and soon.

“I would want a pretty yellow-haired wench with a sweet voice and strong legs,”

said the man sitting next to her.

“Mine would be a fiery, red-haired maid with a spirit to match,” Daniel said.

“What do you want in a woman, my friend?”

Jacq started when she realized the man next to her was addressing his question to her. “Uh…perhaps one who is intelligent?”

The two men looked at her as if she had sprouted wings, then laughed out loud.

“I’d lay odds you’ve never even been with a woman.” He paused to belch. “Hell, you can’t even grow a proper beard—ye’re too young to grow a longstaff.”

“You don’t know how right you are,” Jacq answered with conviction.

“Daniel, we must remedy this. Go wake Lilah. She’ll make a man out of this boy, if you get my meaning.”

That was it. She was getting out now—even if she had to take a few with her.

A sudden commotion in the direction of the horses drew the attention of every man able to stand. A moment later horses galloped through the camp, screaming shrilly, trampling men and tents in their wake. The soldiers cursed while they scrambled to escape the chaos.

Braxton pressed a hand to his stomach, his face green-tinged and desperate. “Don’t just stand there,” he shouted above the din. “Get out of my way.” He scrambled to his feet, his hands reaching frantically for the ties at his waist before he bolted for the trees.