Jacq's Warlord (8 page)

“My kind of woman. What spirit! I’ll bet she gives a hell of a ride.”

“Just don’t give her to a puling like James, he’s still lying in the dirt moaning from the ride she gave him. And he never got between her legs.”

The snickers grew into full laughter as the naked and dirty Lord Rathburn reached his tent. He flung aside the flap, strode in and tossed her to the pile of furs on the ground.

“You will bathe me, and you will dry me.” He sat once more on the stool and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now!”

Jacq leapt to her feet, rubbed her sore bottom and stared. This was a battle of wills—and he’d won easily. Dare she incite him again?

The twitch next to his left eye was still there.

Perhaps he was a little more dangerous than originally anticipated. She grabbed a cloth from the bucket of water and inched closer. Unable to look at his face, and disconcerted by the way her eyes kept straying downward, she circled him.

She’d never washed a man before. Where the hell should she start? She touched the cloth to his muscled neck.

In a flash of movement, he swiveled on his stool, grabbing her arm. With a sharp tug, he unbalanced her, sending her flying across his naked thighs to sit in his lap.

“Don’t try anything, witch.” His voice was little more than a growl.

“I wasn’t trying anything, you big bully.” She pushed against the rock-hard wall of his hairy chest. “Let me up.”

“Not until you understand your position.”

“Oh, I know my position, all right.” Jacq’s words dripped sarcasm as she stared from his sinewy thighs, still-erect cock and up to his chest. “I would have to be an idiot not to figure it out.” She tipped her head to the side, placed a fingertip to her chin and rolled her eyes. “Let’s see, you’re about twice as big as I am and probably three times stronger. That would make it, like, hard for me to be your equal. Have I got it right?”

she said in her best clueless voice.

“Stop your insolence, woman.” His voice roared in the confines of the small tent.

Anger still simmering, she grabbed his face between her hands and looked him square in the eyes. “You are bigger than me, therefore you can force me to do whatever 42

Jacq’s Warlord

you want. But, that does
not
make it right.” She enunciated each word as if he were a kindergarten student with an attitude.

“I care not whether it is right or wrong. Do as I command, and I give you my protection. Disobey, and my protection is withdrawn.” He grabbed her chin with one hand, and turned her face up to his until they were nose to nose. “Do
you
understand?”

The strength of his hand and the nearness of his lips, not to mention the naked poker pressing against her hip, befuddled her brain and stole her breath away. “Yes,”

she squeaked.

“Good, now wash me, woman.” He dumped her off his lap, to land on the cold dirt floor of the tent.

A hand pressed to her sore tush, Jacq shot a resentful frown at him and retrieved the washrag. She dipped it into the now cold water and rubbed the dirt off his shoulders, working her way down his back then across his chest. Afraid of her own reaction to his nearness, she closed her eyes when the washcloth moved farther downward.

“Jacq…”

Even though he spoke softly into her ear, she jumped, her eyes flying open. Her hand itched to slap the half-smile off his rugged face.

“What?” She laced the word with every ounce of her irritation.

“Keep your eyes open, lest you miss something.” A superior smirk curled his lip.

“Oh, you!” She slung the rag and stalked off to stand in the corner of the tent with her back to him.

His chuckle warmed the air behind her. “I see you will require much training before you’re of any use to me.”

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Delilah Devlin & Myla Jackson

Jacq awoke the next morning, hoping the events of the previous day had all been the result of a really bad nightmare. But the daylight filtering through the grimy tent walls, the acrid aromas of male body odor and campfire smoke permeated her bed and clothing.

Fortunately, no one else was in the tent. His high-and-mighty, Lord Rat-face, was probably out bullying other unfortunates. She grinned and wondered whether she’d ever have the nerve to use the nickname directly to his face. She sobered for a moment.

What horrible punishments were meted out to women for insolence in this century? She pressed a hand to her lips.

Jacq rather liked her tongue exactly where it was.

She felt refreshed despite the fact it had taken a very long time for her to fall asleep the evening before.

After he’d finished bathing himself, Rufus had left the tent. Not much later, one of his men brought her dinner.

Ravenous, she hadn’t cared what it was. Blackened on the outside and raw closer to the bone, the food only bordered on inedible, but at least it filled her belly. She’d made a pallet from a stack of furs on the side of the tent farthest from her captor’s bed and lay down fully clothed, determined to stay awake.

Rufus hadn’t returned until late, making his way to his bed unerringly in the dark.

Jacq tried to breathe deeply, mimicking sleep, until she heard the rustle of clothing and realized he’d disrobed. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark, and she found herself unable to look away from him.

Moonlight had crept through the tent flaps, gilding the skin on his shoulders and chest. Each muscle of his torso was permanently etched in Jacq’s mind, and she’d found her eyes automatically dropping to the place where his sex hung from a midnight-dark patch of hair at his groin. As she watched, her breath catching, it lengthened and rose, standing as straight and strong as its master.

Jacq’s gaze flew to his and she’d realized, he’d been watching her all along. Grateful the darkness hid her blushes, she’d rolled away from his knowing gaze to the sound of deep laughter.

Sleep had been a long time in coming. At first she’d held her breath, wondering when he’d pounce. But soon the sound of his soft snores filled the tent. She should have been relieved. Instead, she’d been annoyed he wasn’t as affected by her proximity as she was by his. Finally, his snoring and the harmony of night sounds from outside the tent lulled her into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

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Jacq’s Warlord

Yesterday, she’d been caught off balance, rather like Alice after her fall down the rabbit’s hole. Today, she promised herself to think before she spoke, until she understood better what sort of people she’d landed among. She’d keep her eyes open and try to figure out how she’d come to this time and place and hopefully find a way back to where she belonged.

In the meantime, it wasn’t like her to complain about her fate. She was living the adventure of a lifetime, and she resolved she’d make the most of it.

Jacq knew her previous sour mood probably had a lot to do with how dirty she felt.

She would have to make do without a change of clothing, but something must be done about the underlying grime. In a chest, she found a large square of fabric, similar to the one Lord Rathburn used after his bath to dry himself. She located a dried cake of what looked like soap. Thusly armed, she ducked under the tent flap.

“Milady, may I be of assistance to you?” A voice spoke beside her.

Although the words still sounded foreign to her they were English, and Jacq could understand. She recognized the boy as one of her “guards” from the previous day and smiled, determined to get off on a better foot this morning. “As a matter of fact, you may. I want to bathe. Are we near a stream or pond?”

He looked to be about twelve years old, with brown choppy hair that looked like it had been cut with a dull knife. His fair skin was quick to blush, as it did now. “I will have one of the women bring water to your tent, if that is what you wish,” he hastily assured her.

“No, no need.” Jacq kept the horror from her face, imagining the washerwoman from yesterday bathing her. She could fend for herself, thank you very much. “I want a full bath. Just point me in the direction of the water.”

He stood mute, staring at her as if she’d sprouted horns.

Jacq’s patience grew thin. “Well, if you won’t tell me where it is, I suppose I’ll just have to find it for myself.”

As she turned away, she heard an exasperated sigh from the boy. If he was supposed to keep her in the tent, they shouldn’t expect a boy to do a man’s job. Jacq left the child standing beside the tent and strode through the encampment, eager to find a stream with the promise of clean skin and hair.

Soldiers, engaged in various activities, stopped what they were doing to look up as she walked by.

“That one’s too tall to kiss and ride at the same time,” one said loudly enough Jacq knew he intended for her to hear him. “A man would have to go to work on her in stages.”

His comment drew laughter, and she felt her face begin a slow burn.

Another called out, “I bet those legs of hers could wrap twice around a man’s waist whilst he was riding her.”

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Delilah Devlin & Myla Jackson

“Don’t pay any mind to them, milady,” her young escort reassured her, breathing hard from his race to catch up with her. “His lordship will put them in their place when he hears about of their insolence.”

Angry, and wishing she had a baseball bat to whomp the living daylights out of the soldiers, Jacq hurried through.

The boy was persistent, skipping beside her to keep up. “Milady, you must stop.

His lordship left specific orders you were to remain in the camp. ‘Tis dangerous out in the forest. There may be enemy soldiers out there.” When she didn’t halt, he shot her a fierce frown. “His lordship will not be pleased if you disregard his orders.”

“What his lordship doesn’t know won’t make him angry, now will it?” she asked him pointedly, without breaking her pace. “Besides, I’ll have you along to protect me from harm, won’t I?”

The boy drew himself up to his full height, making him look even younger because of his skinny frame and unkempt hair. “With my life, my lady.” Then with a little less bravado, he added, “But I will have to tell his lordship. I would never lie to him.”

“You don’t have to lie to him, you just won’t tell him unless he asks.”

He eyed her dubiously.

Jacq lost her patience and snapped, “Oh for Pete’s sake, tell him I refused to do as I was told. Just show me the way to the water.”

Grumbling beneath his breath, the boy led her beyond the edge of the trees. “I’m training as a soldier, not a lady’s maid.”

Jacq smothered a smile until she heard the sound of a gurgling stream ahead. Her heart lightened, her day filling with promise even before she spied the sparkling water.

The mood was improving by the minute. How could her situation be so bad as long as she was clean?

“Here’s your water,” the boy said, kicking his foot at a small stone, his chin tucked low against his chest. He obviously wasn’t happy with her.

Jacq walked along the edge of the stream until she came to a place where it grew wider and looked deep enough for her to submerge herself. With a quick look around to make sure they were alone, she turned her attention back to her escort. “I don’t suppose you’ll go away while I bathe, will you?”

The roll of his eyes was his only comment.

“All right, turn around and keep your back to me while I undress. I’ll let you know when I’m in the water,” she said.

“But my lady, how am I to protect you if I have my back to you?”

“Look, it will only be for a moment until I can get into the water.” She untied the fastenings of her gown.

The boy’s face flushed red and he whipped around to face away.

Jacq smiled. He was too easy to tease. “You know, now that you’re assisting me with my bath, don’t you think we should at least introduce ourselves?” She lifted the 46

Jacq’s Warlord

bliaut over her head and went to work removing her stockings and twenty-first-century panties. She decided to leave her chemise on for modesty’s sake, and to give it a wash since it lay nearest to her skin.

“I am not assisting you with your bath, I’m only standing guard,” he said, his skinny arms crossing over his chest. “His lordship would have my ballocks if he heard you say that,” he said, his voice heavy with indignation.

The cool air sent chills over Jacq’s skin. She determinedly shook her clothing to remove as much dirt as she could and then spread them over a bush to keep them off the ground. Soap in hand, Jacq walked to the water’s edge and dipped a toe in to test its warmth.
Brrr
! What a girl had to endure to get a bath in the wild. She rubbed her arms.

“My name is Jacqueline, but you may call me Jacq. All my friends do.”

She heard him snort before saying, “That’s a man’s name. I can’t call you Lady Jacq.

That’s an absurd name.”

“It’s my name. What about yours?” She gritted her teeth and eased herself into the frigid stream one foot at a time, her breath stolen from her lungs.

“My name is Montgomery of Wythe.”

“Well, M-M-Monty—you d-don’t mind if I c-call you Monty, do you? It’s nice to meet you.” When the water lapped at her shoulders, she called to him, “Okay, you can turn around n-now.”

Her body already numbing, Jacq held her breath and ducked beneath the surface to wet her hair. She came up immediately, gasping from the shock. With trembling hands she worked the bar of soap into lather and scoured the chemise. Then she lifted the material away from her skin and reached underneath to wash, lastly applying the cake to her hair. When she finished, she called out, “Catch!” before launching the soap at Monty’s head.

Jacq laughed when she heard the dull thud and his answering curse. With the last of the soapsuds rinsed from her hair, she tried to comb her fingers through it to work out the tangles. What she wouldn’t give for a little conditioner. She struggled for several minutes to remove the tangles before giving up. Then she decided to take advantage of her privacy to enjoy a brisk swim. To preserve her modesty, and save Monty’s embarrassment, she glided in a sedate breaststroke enjoying the feel of her muscles getting a much-needed workout despite the frigid coolness of the water.