Jacq's Warlord (24 page)

Rufus watched as his soldiers went about their preparations. All the while they laughed and made jokes about the wonderful trick they had played on the enemy. It was good to see them in a jovial mood. The horrors they had witnessed over the past few weeks could have sunk their morale and weakened their will to fight. This one small victory had revived their spirits and given them hope.

All thanks to Jacq. The woman was a thorn in his side with her total disregard for his commands. His heart flipped over again as he thought about her sitting as calm as could be in the midst of the enemy camp. The thought of what they could have done to her ate at his insides. She was entirely too naïve of the possible repercussions of her actions. She needed a protector to follow her around at all times to save her from herself.

The problem was he wanted to be that protector, and perhaps more, but circumstances made it impossible. Something had to be done with her. As much as he would prefer to keep her near to him, doing so put her at risk.

“Milord, you will be happy to know the men are nearly ready,” Donald said.

“Hmmm?” Rufus was surprised to see Donald standing next to him. He hadn’t heard his approach. Glancing around, he realized that indeed most of the work was done.

She’d distracted him again…and she had done it without even being in sight. This was precisely the problem.

“Rufus, did you even hear what I just said?”

“Yes, Donald,” he said grumpily.

“What troubles you? Did you get a sip of Braxton’s ale?” Donald’s lopsided grin contrasted with the concern mirrored in his eyes.

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“No. I was only thinking.” Rufus watched the work being done, not really seeing it.

“About a certain dark-haired beauty?”

Rufus frowned when he saw Donald’s grin widen. “About a young merchant surrounded by enemy soldiers.”

“Ah. The same intriguing person. She is a puzzle.”

“That is stating the problem lightly.” Rufus paced, his hands clasped behind his back. He needed to talk about this problem before it burned a hole in his gut. “I do not understand her.”

“What is to understand?” Donald spread his arms wide and smiled. “She’s strong, brave and beautiful.”

“Yes, I know that. But I do not understand why she puts herself into danger time after time.” Rufus continued his pacing, hoping the activity would burn off his frustration.

“She is brave.”

“Foolish, more like,” Rufus muttered.

“Foolish perhaps, but brave.”

“She could have been killed,” he argued. It was easier to find fault than to admit he admired that attribute, among others.

“And if one of your men had gone in there, he too could have been killed,” Donald stated firmly.

“Don’t be thickheaded. You understand my point. She is not a man. She is a woman.” Rufus pounded his fist into his open palm to drive his point home. “It is not her place to do battle. Damnation! I was an idiot to ever let her train my men.”

“But what she taught us worked.”

“Yes, but we could have come up with something just as effective. It just…intrigued me to watch her plan unfold.”

“So you are unhappy it worked?”

Rufus glared. “Donald, are you trying to anger me?”

“Not at all, milord. I am just trying to understand the point of this conversation.”

“I am angry she took my agreement for her to train the men as encouragement to do more. She went too far. I should have stopped it before it ever started. This is all my fault.”

“Ahhh…”

Irritated, Rufus paused in his pacing. “What do you mean by ‘Ahhh’?”

“Oh nothing, milord.”

“No, say it. I would know your thoughts—without any of your dismal attempts at humor.”

Donald shrugged. “Since you give me leave, let me ask you a few questions.”

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Guardedly, Rufus gave his consent. “Very well, then. Go on.”

“What truly bothers you…that she is intelligent?”

“It is true a woman does not require excessive intelligence, but I find I like her wit.”

“Then it must be her lack of beauty…she is extraordinarily tall.”

“Her height is not of any consequence to me, since I am also tall.”

“Then perhaps you find her proportions are too…abundant?”

“Nay. Her proportions are proportionate to her height.”

He knew Donald was enjoying this line of inquisition too much when he saw him try to hide his smile. He scowled in warning. Jacq’s ample proportions were not open for discussion.

“Then it must be her manly courage.”

Rufus bristled. “Her courage is not manly—excessive perhaps—but not manly.”

“Is she not—how do I say this delicately—passionate enough?”

Rufus growled. “Donald, that is none of your affair.”

“It is not that I want to hear any details…unless you need to share them…”

“Jacq’s passion is adequate,” he stated abruptly.

“I have covered Jacq’s attributes. Perhaps, milord, the problem is within you?

Perhaps you are experiencing some difficulty determining how best to curb her unseemly behavior.”

Rufus sighed. “That is it exactly.”

“Well, then it is simple enough. Gird yourself to instruct her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Beat her.”

“Beat her?” Rufus roared.

“Then again,” Donald said quickly, “perhaps nothing so drastic. How about spanking her soundly?”

Rufus’ cheeks reddened, and he glared as he saw Donald choking back his laughter.

“I see you have already discerned that need, milord. Did it not have the desired effect—tears, pleading—”

“Donald,” he growled a warning.

“Honestly, Rufus, I do not see the problem. You have a beautiful, intelligent,
passionate
woman, of awesome proportions and courage. You have punished her. You have done your duty to help her see the error of her ways. So resign yourself. Keep her…or not. Wed her…or not. But just think of the fine, strapping sons she would bear you and teach them of strength and bravery by her very example.”

“I have thought of that,” Rufus admitted before adding, “if she doesn’t get herself killed, or I do not expire from apoplexy from her next misadventure.”

“I may be mistaken, however, I feel there is a ‘but’ in there.”

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“There is.” Rufus turned and strode back toward Donald, lowering his voice. “I still do not know from whence she came and she continues to refuse me that information.”

“Do you think she is a spy?”

“No, no. That is not my fear.”

“Then what, pray tell, do you fear?”

Rufus stood still and looked out into the distance, recalling the battlefield, the mist and the woman kneeling in prayer. “I fear she will disappear as quickly as she appeared.”

“A woman of mystery is a perplexing entity, indeed.” Donald began to pace now.

“Increase the number of guards you put on her.”

Rufus snorted. “I don’t think the number of guards is the issue. I must safeguard her for my own peace of mind.”

“So what are you planning to do about her?”

“As much as I hate to have her out of my sight, when we pass near to Rathburn Keep, I will leave her there until this war is over.” He said it with conviction, while on the inside he was less certain.

“We could be away a long time.”

“I know, but I don’t see Jacq playing the role of camp follower, and the battlefield is certainly not the place for her. And I find her too…distracting.”

“I think Jacq would take issue with that.”

Rufus knew Jacq would complain loudly. “Maybe so, but she is a distraction I can ill afford.”

“I can see that. Hellfire, I’ve never seen you give a thought for a woman after you’ve donned your braies.” Donald’s gaze narrowed and his smile returned.

Rufus followed his gaze to catch sight of the woman in question walking across the camp in her red gown.

Rufus turned back to Donald and noted the admiring way he stared at Jacq and felt a sudden urge to wipe the look off his face. He settled for a frown and an elbow in his friend’s gut.

“Rufus, I am a man. I can’t help but appreciate—”

“Do not covet my property,” Rufus warned.

“I am sure Lady Jacq would like to know you see her as your property.”

“Whether she likes it or not, she will remain mine until I deem otherwise. Am I understood?”

“Absolutely,” Donald replied, rubbing his injured belly. “And when are you going to tell your property of your plan?”

“Now, I think.”

“May I stay to enjoy the battle?”

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“Don’t you have more important work to do?”

“No.”

“Well, find something.” Rufus left Donald’s side and marched in Jacq’s direction, feeling like he was girding himself for battle.

* * * * *

“You’re going to what?” Jacq yelled, the shock of his announcement taking her completely off guard.

Rufus was glad he had dragged her a distance from the camp before having this conversation.

“I am taking you to my home, Rathburn Keep, and leaving you there until this war is over. We will depart momentarily, please be ready.” Then he turned and started to step away.

“Just a minute, buster!” Jacq grabbed his arm and pulled him back to face her. “You mean to tell me you’re going to dump me in the middle of the English countryside, in some moldy old castle with people I don’t know while you and your men go off without me?”

Rufus nodded. “That is precisely what I mean.”

“I won’t do it!” Jacq dropped her hand from his sleeve and crossed her arms stubbornly.

“You will. You are not being given a choice.”

“Is this punishment for what happened last night? What if I promise not to do that ever again?”

Rufus sighed deeply. “You could make a promise for every situation that might arise, and still I would not change my mind. This is not a punishment. It is the only way I can think to protect you.”

“And how are you going to do that when you won’t even be there?”

“I have men assigned to guard the keep. They will take care of you.”

“I don’t believe this.” Jacq threw her hands up in the air and paced in front of Rufus. “You expect me to go to some castle—”

“My home,” he interrupted.

“—and do needlework with the rest of the women while the men go off to play army?”

“You do not have to keep company with the women.”

“Good! Because I don’t know what they do,” she shouted into his face. “What’s more I have no intention of learning.”

“I do not expect you to do anything, if it is not what you wish to do.”

“I don’t wish to be left behind.”

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“With that one exception.” Rufus wagged his finger and smiled. “There is always plenty to do at the castle to keep a woman busy.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered. Women’s work. Medieval women’s work. It grated to be relegated to women’s work when she had been raised by her father to share household responsibilities equally.

As she stared at the firm set of his jaw, Jacq knew he wasn’t going to change his mind and she wasn’t getting anywhere arguing with him. The realization was ripping a hole in her heart.

Rufus had become her lifeline, her rock, and the only man she’d ever known in this or the twenty-first century who could stir her sensual fires so thoroughly. She admired his fearlessness, his fairness with his people and the way he cared what happened to his country. He was a man of honor and duty. He wouldn’t swerve from his goal of seeing the rightful king in place.

Where did that leave her? At his castle. Alone with women and children. The realization dawned that she didn’t belong in his world. Dammit, she’d known it all along. Perhaps away from him, she wouldn’t be so distracted and could search for her way back to where she did belong.

“What will be my position in your home?” she asked, resigned to being dumped like unwanted baggage.

“What do you mean?”

“I need to know how others are expected to treat me. Am I to be known only as your whore?” She knew she sounded petulant, but she couldn’t help the hurt that drove her to act this way. Besides, his answer would have bearing on whether she chose to stay for a while at the keep or leave immediately.

A red flush spread from his neck up into his cheeks and finally to the roots of his hair. Jacq knew she’d gone too far when he spoke. “Have I treated you like a whore?”

“No. I’m sorry I said that, but I would have my status made known to your people—whatever it is,” she replied quietly.

“I shall let it be known you are to be treated as the lady of the keep and my chatelaine, with all the rights and privileges of the position in my absence.”

“And when you return?” she whispered.

“When I return we will talk about many things.”

“I don’t like this, Rufus,” she said, not caring she wore her heart on her sleeve. He was slipping through her fingers. “I would still rather stay with you.”

He cupped her chin with his palm and stared into her eyes. “I wish you could.”

“Don’t do this to me…to us.” She hated that she was begging now. “Let me stay.”

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “You cannot,” he said, his voice ragged. “My concern for you is a dangerous distraction.”

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That dried up all her arguments. Distractions could be deadly, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he died because of her. “Well, put that way…I understand.”

She blinked away the moisture threatening to overspill her eyes.

“Jacq—”

“Tell me, Rufus. Am I only a distraction to you?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “You are that and so much more,” he said, his voice raw. He stepped closer, realigning his face with hers.

Jacq met him halfway, caressing his mouth, her lips sliding over his, her hands creeping up his chest.
I have to savor every moment, every kiss.

He let her take the lead.

She sucked his lower lip between hers, before licking it.