Jacq's Warlord (23 page)

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Jacq’s Warlord

Jacq backed away from the campfire slowly. This was her chance.

Walking back in the direction she had been lead into the camp, she passed the edge of the tree line. She could barely see. But she didn’t have time to let her sight adjust. She ran through the woods as fast as her feet could take her.

It wasn’t fast enough. A hand descended on her shoulder, whipping her around and into the arms of her attacker.

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Jacq yelped. Her next reaction was just as instinctive. Grabbing for the arm attached to the hand on her shoulder, she bent at the hip and attempted to roll her attacker over her shoulder.

He didn’t budge.

So she jabbed her elbow sharply backward into his gut.

However, instead of releasing her he snagged his arm around her, pulling her back against him. “Are you through playing games, Jacq?” The voice, gravelly and low next to her ear, made her shudder with relief.

Before she could respond, he clamped his hand around her wrist and dragged her behind him, running farther into the forest, lengthening the distance between them and the camp.

She ran behind him, her breath rasping harshly at his pace until he halted suddenly, causing her to run into him.

He dropped her hand and turned to face her.

Moonlight filtering through the trees, gave Jacq her first good look at Rufus’ face, but his expression didn’t calm her already jangled nerves.

Her mind raced, trying to find the words to soothe his anger. “Now Rufus, I can see you’re angry. If you would just—”

He took a step toward her, his face a hard, implacable mask, his jaw set with determination.

“I think I’ll just wait to talk to you when you’re a little less upset,” she said. She turned to run, but didn’t get farther than two steps before he spun her roughly around.

He pulled her toward a fallen tree, and sat, yanking her until she lay facedown across his bent knees.

Shocked, she reared up, craning her face around to look at him. “You’re not going to do what I think—”

His mouth tightened into a flat line before he pushed her head down. One arm anchored her in position as his hand dove beneath her tunic and tugged at the waist of her braies until the ties gave. He then pulled them down until she felt the chill night air against her bottom.

Whomp!

“Oooww! That hurts,” she protested.

Whomp!

“Don’t you think I’ll ever forgive you—”

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Whomp!

“Why, you miserable tyrant!” she screeched. Jacq struggled to escape his iron hold, but his heavy arm and the tangled fabric of her trousers kept her trapped.

His palm met her tender flesh again and again until her skin was warm and stinging. Shaking now with rage at his audacity, she stopped struggling and waited mutely for the storm to pass. Tears of outrage and pain trickled down her cheeks, and her breath grew choppy with her quiet sobs.

Finally, his hand descended one last time to rest against her warm flesh. She waited, not knowing what to expect next.

He released a ragged breath, and his body trembled a moment before he shoved her off his knees to the ground.

She rolled away and stood on shaking legs, struggling to pull up her braies and fasten them, refusing to look at him.

He rose from the tree trunk, his hands fisting at his sides. “You are under my protection.” Each word he spoke was deliberate and clipped.

“Some protection.” Anger and humiliation made her own voice harsh.

He stepped toward her and reached to turn her face toward him.

She jerked away from his touch and glared.

“It is also my responsibility to discipline you and help you learn your place.”

“I’m not a child!” She drew a deep shuddering breath. “Neither am I your responsibility…I’m my own person.”

“You’re wrong, Jacq. You belong to me.”

She shook her head.

He stepped toward her again.

She retreated. Her progress was halted when her back met a tree. Once again, she yelped in surprise when he jerked her tunic up, and grabbed for the fabric she had tied around her chest to flatten her breasts. The cloth ripped open and he tossed it away.

Then his hand cupped her breast and squeezed.

Batting at his hand, she tried to wriggle away, but he held her easily. She stilled once more. “You’re a bully.”

“And you are a woman.” His thumb brushed across the tip of her breast, a feathery caress—shocking in its tenderness after so much violence.

She couldn’t help her shuddering response, nor stop her breast from dimpling beneath his touch.

His smile was grim as he read her unwilling response. “You will learn your place.”

Her chin rose. “Beneath your heel, you mean?”

“Beneath my heel, beneath my body—wherever I command it.”

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Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked, refusing to let him see her cry. “You’re so damn arrogant! I’m not yours to command. And I swear, the first opportunity I get to prove that, I’ll leave.”

He appeared to be about to say something else, but instead released her. With a deep breath, he raked his hand through his hair before turning to whistle into the darkness.

A moment later his horse charged into the clearing.

Rufus swung up into his saddle then extended his hand, palm up. She gave hers to him reluctantly, but instead of being pulled up to sit before him, he deposited her in front of him, face down. She’d been here before. The man definitely liked to get the last word.

“Ooooh!”

“Keep quiet, woman.” His hand squeezed her aching backside, an unsubtle warning she’d better behave.

With a quick kick to the flanks of his horse, they surged forward.

Outraged at his treatment, she kicked her feet and pounded his leg with her fists.

His only reaction was to spur his horse into a gallop.

Then it was all she could do to hang on for dear life, her head and legs flopping as the horse carried them farther away from Braxton’s camp.

When they finally pulled to a halt in a moonlit clearing, Rufus dismounted. Jacq slid from the horse unassisted, only to crumple to the ground, exhausted from the entire ordeal.

The rest of the men were assembled and stared curiously after her.

Groaning with dismay that her humiliation wouldn’t remain private, she lay back on the ground, wishing it would swallow her whole.

She wasn’t allowed to rest long.

Rufus lifted her under her arms to stand in front of him. “I want an answer, now.

Just what did you think you were doing? See whether these men agree you were in the right.”

Tired and feeling unappreciated, Jacq heaved a huge sigh. Instead of answering his question, she posed one of her own. “Did you really expect me to stay behind again?”

Hands on her hips, she challenged him further. “Besides, didn’t we accomplish exactly what we set out to do?”

Even in the dim light she could see the telltale tic beside his eye. She winced inwardly and decided a little less sass from her might be wise right about now.

“The lad is right,” Donald’s amused voice intruded. “Dudley found me after you disappeared and told me Braxton’s entire army is laid low, and not likely to be a threat to anyone for another two days.”

Jacq didn’t say
I told you so
, but she couldn’t resist lifting her chin a little higher and smiling smugly.

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“This
man
had no place in this intrigue,” Rufus responded, his angry glare pinning her to the spot. Stepping toward her, he spun her around to face the group, then pulled the hooded cap from her head and jerked her ponytail out of her tunic.

As each man realized who she was, he stiffened.

Jacq stood tall, her chin held high. As she watched the faces of the men, she noticed a shift in their expressions. The openmouthed gapes slowly turned into smiles, then laughter with a distinct flavor of awe. The soldiers all began to speak at once.

“Hooray for Jacq!”

“An entire army of enemy soldiers laid low by a mere woman.”

“Wherever did you find such a jewel, my lord? Are there more where she came from?”

“Does she have a sister?”

Jacq relaxed her stiff pose and felt a flush of embarrassment rise in her cheeks at their words. She turned to face her captor-protector. He would never understand her reasons for following them into battle. In this century women were nothing more than possessions—their only function to serve their men—to cook, clean and bear their children. It was a situation that wouldn’t be rectified for more than eight hundred years.

Tongue in cheek, Donald said, “Milord, I thought she was safely ensconced in your tent. How is it that you keep misplacing her?”

Rufus’ fierce scowl silenced any further comments. “We will speak of this later.

Now we must return to camp and prepare to move out.”

Thankfully, he allowed her to ride on her own horse, but he rode closely beside her, keeping his eye on her the entire way. Jacq was beyond caring. Between the chafing soreness of her thighs from riding horseback and the lingering tenderness of her abused derriere, she was exhausted. But for all her physical discomforts, she was deeply satisfied by her performance during the night’s “operation”. Rufus might not be appreciative of her efforts, but she had proved to herself she could do it.

Rufus was silent during the entire journey back to their encampment. The longer they rode, the more disturbed she grew by his silence. She would much rather have him yelling at her than giving her this stony-faced silent treatment. And she missed his attentions.

No smoldering glances to make her heart somersault, no angry scowls to excite her.

Maybe he’d finally had enough of her defiance. Maybe he was growing tired of her.

Dispirited, she slumped in her saddle. Her own attitude toward him puzzled her.

As angry as she was at his high-handed treatment, she still craved his company.

When they reached camp, Jacq only wanted to crawl into the furs and fall into a long, deep sleep. But that was not to be. The sun was rising and the camp stirred to life.

Those who had stayed behind rushed out to greet the returning warriors, anxious to hear how the raid had gone.

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She ignored the stares she received as she rode past them at the head of the entourage. She didn’t stop until she reached Rufus’ tent. Not wanting to be the butt of any jokes or, worse, the angry target of Rufus’ renewed anger, she slid from her horse, tossed the reins to Monty and tried to slink away unnoticed.

As she lifted the tent flap, she spotted Donald surrounded by the camp followers.

She heard his voice as he dramatically recounted the events. They listened raptly to his retelling of the night’s adventures, and then suddenly looked around to stare wide-eyed at her.

Donald had a big mouth. It certainly hadn’t taken him long to reveal her part in the battle and her deception. She grimaced and sought a glimpse of the man whose opinion mattered too much. She was startled to find his gaze intent on her, his thoughts concealed by his stony mask.

While he held her gaze, he shouted above the din, “There will be time enough later to hear the tale. Let us break camp and not waste the advantage we have earned.”

His tone brooked no arguments, and everyone jumped to do his bidding. Everyone, but Jacq.

She watched as he dismounted and approached Beast. Jacq almost felt sorry for the big man as he stood, suffering Rufus’ obvious displeasure. Beast had only been doing his job. How was he to know she would prove so resourceful? Feeling contrite, Jacq ducked beneath the flap.

“Lady Jacq!” Monty’s excited voice broke into her thoughts, halting her. “Is it true what they say? Did you wield a sword?”

Jacq rolled her eyes. She really didn’t want to talk about this now. “Yes, Monty. But it was a very short battle.”

“Was Lord Rufus very angry with you?”

The boy was tenacious. “Yes, Monty, he is still very angry.”

“Did he beat you soundly?”

Recalling her spanking, she scowled. She didn’t really consider it a beating. It had been more a child’s punishment…and she positively didn’t want the entire camp to know of her humiliation. “He most certainly did not.”

“Bugger!” he breathed, his face reflecting his disbelief. “Milady, did you really—”

“Monty, please bring me a bucket of water,” she interrupted before he could ask her anything more.

“Yes, madam,” he replied, sounding disappointed. As he turned away, she heard him say, “His lordship must be going soft.”

When he returned, Jacq quickly stripped off her clothing and washed her body of the dirt and grime she’d accumulated throughout her ordeal. When she finished bathing, she fished through Rufus’ belongings for a comb. Tugging at her tangles, she realized it was a hopeless effort. What she wouldn’t give for her herbal shampoo, conditioner and her favorite brush. Funny how the big things like dishwashers and 130

Jacq’s Warlord

automobiles didn’t seem to matter. The simpler comforts of running water and hairbrushes were what she missed most.

Donning her now shabby red dress, she gathered the men’s clothing she’d

“borrowed” and went to find the laundress to return the items.

* * * * *

Rufus sat morosely pondering the quandary that was Jacq. Whatever had possessed her father to teach her a warrior’s skills? She was too headstrong by far.

Remembering the punishment he had meted out earlier, he couldn’t regret it. His actions had been warranted. She had openly defied his orders. His punishment had been light compared to what other men would have done.

Still, he cringed at the memory of her tears, knowing he had caused them. Why didn’t she realize he wanted only to protect her from the harsh realities of this war?

And didn’t she know how truly vulnerable she was as a woman? He didn’t want to break the spirit of the proud woman, but he was at a loss as to how to redirect her enthusiasm.