My Gallant Enemy Part 3

Lilliane was in a dither by the time she reached the iron-hinged door to the master's chamber. With hands that trembled, she eased the door open. The room had already been swept and aired. Thomas had been most efficient, for new linens lay over the high bed and a small fire now burned in the stone fireplace.

Lilliane had always loved this room, and although she'd not been in it in years, its effect on her was profound. For a moment she was caught in time, remembering a long-ago life that suddenly seemed as real as yesterday. Her mother had used the room as a retreat, a place for solitude or quiet conversations with her fast-growing daughters. It had been warm and inviting, and very special.

As quickly as that, Lilliane's anger fled, leaving in its stead a sad longing for a time that could never be again. She let her eyes sweep the room, noting the familiar furnishings and rugs. There were differences, though, she saw. The tapestry stand had been put away. Now only a chair stood before the tall, narrow windows.

Then she spied the heavy leather pouch leaning against the large trunk in the corner, and she felt a returning surge of anger. He had ridden into Orrick in the most arrogant manner. He had dismissed her as a mere servant, a maid of no importance whatsoever. And now he was using this room as if it was his due!

Swiftly she crossed to the pouch and shoved it away from her mother's long-emptied trunk. It fell with a dull thud, spilling a few garments and a sheaf of papers from beneath its loose flap.

Lilliane did not care one whit about his belongings. However, the papers did catch her interest. For a moment she hesitated. Then, with a wary glance over her shoulder, she knelt down and lifted the packet of tied papers into her lap.

Her slender hands were quick as she sifted through the doc.u.ments. They were all written in the flowing hand of a scribe, she determined, with flourishes and wax seals in profusion. But it was in a language she could not fathom. Not French, nor Latin, nor even English, the words were completely foreign to her, and her brow creased in bemus.e.m.e.nt.

She was sitting on her knees, puzzling just what it could mean, when she felt the fine hairs on the nape of her neck raise. With a gasp she looked over at the door only to be met with the dark scowling vision of Sir Corbett.

He did not speak a word, but his fierce stare pinned her to her spot. Helpless and horribly embarra.s.sed to be found thus, she nervously made to rise. But with three quick strides he was across the room and had planted one leather-booted foot on the skirt of her faded work gown.

At such an insulting gesture Lilliane's embarra.s.sment fled. But when she tugged unsuccessfully to free herself, her anger began to rise.

"Is this the welcome all Orrick's guests receive? Their belongings rifled through?" At the quiet menace in his voice she paused, suddenly less sure of herself.

Mutely she stared up the long muscular length of him. He was a big man, but as he towered above her, his arms folded sternly across his ma.s.sive chest, he appeared enormous, and she shrank back from him in fear. With a sudden movement he bent down and s.n.a.t.c.hed the packet from her lap, then handed it to a brawny knight who had followed him in.

"What's this?" the other man exclaimed. "Has Orrick already loosened his pilfering horde upon us?"

"She may just be a pilferer. Or else a spy. But I'll soon have the truth of it, Dunn." So saying, Sir Corbett grabbed the back of Lilliane's gown and lifted her rudely to her feet.

Faced with his sinister glower and the equally clear animosity of his companion, Lilliane fell back a step, her mind empty of any retort. Her heart was pounding painfully and a small bead of icy sweat trickled down between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. All she could think was that this terrifying man was the one she would be forced to marry. That threatening realization shook her to her very core.

"Speak up, girl," he ordered curtly. "What did you think to find by searching my belongings?"

"I ... I only ... It fell-" Lilliane stopped her babble abruptly. She took a deep breath. "I came in to prepare your bath and-"

"She has neither tub nor water," the man called Dunn scoffed.

"They're on their way," Lilliane snapped back at him as her anger returned.

"That's of no matter," Sir Corbett cut in. "The fact is you've shown yourself to be a thief or, even worse, a spy. I'll have neither in my household."

"Your household!" Lilliane sputtered. "Your household! You've no rights to Orrick-"

"Hold your tongue!"

Sir Corbett's thunderous command stilled her words momentarily, and it was during that quaking silence that a timid knock sounded.

Sir Corbett's man opened the door with a jerk, and the group of servants in the hall seemed to tremble as they viewed the two warrior knights. Their mistress's pale face did nothing to strengthen their resolve, and it was only the threat inherent in Dunn's gesture for them to enter that prevented them from fleeing.

The silence in the room was dreadful. Dunn watched keenly over the procession of servants bearing tub, water, soaps, and bath linens. Sir Corbett, in contrast, ignored the rest and kept his eyes trained on Lilliane. Conscious of his steady stare, she fought to regain her composure.

Orrick was her home, she told herself. She understood the need to have a strong and just lord to see to its well-being. Neither Aldis nor Santon would do; she would not argue her father on that score. But neither would this hard and suspicious knight do, she vowed. Unable to prevent herself, she lifted her downcast eyes to him.

She was immediately sorry. Sir Corbett's expression was no less forbidding. His tall, muscled form was no less threatening than before. But his dark eyes had cleared to an even gray and they were slipping now over her trim figure in interested scrutiny.

She'd been frightened of his anger before, but of a sudden Lilliane felt a far different sort of fear. Trying to restrain her panic, she clasped her arms tightly around her waist and licked her dry lips. But at precisely that moment Sir Corbett lifted his gaze from the fullness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to her face, and his eyes seemed to heat as he watched the swift darting movement of her small pink tongue.

She looked away at once. But it was only a matter of seconds before the servants were dismissed and she was once again alone with the two knights.

"See to your own quarters now," the dark knight bade his man, although his eyes did not veer from Lilliane. "And see guards well posted in the camp."

"I'll make a pallet in the hall at your door."

"It won't be needed."

"d.a.m.n it, Corbett! Isn't this chit's pilfering proof enough that it is needed?" Dunn stared balefully at Lilliane. "She may be a small enough threat, but think you that Orrick's sons-in-law will take your presence here lightly?"

"Neither of them look to be much opposition. Besides, I think our curious little maid may prove quite a boon." Sir Corbett smiled and revealed white even teeth. Yet Lilliane felt no relief at his smile; she was sure it bode ill for her.

"If you mean to bed her, it may be precisely what was intended."

Corbett laughed out loud. "She would no doubt fit quite neatly beneath a man. But I've no intention of spoiling the marriage before it's done. No." He caught Lilliane's wrist in his large palm and pulled her closer to him. "She shall a.s.sist me at my bath and nothing more."

There was something in his touch that disturbed Lilliane, although his grasp did not actually hurt her. She tugged at his hand, trying vainly to be free, but he only caught her chin in his other hand and tilted her face up to his. "You're the chit from this morning, aren't you?" he asked. Then he turned to Sir Dunn without waiting for an answer. "She came tearing into the hall as Lord Barton and I sealed our pact. Rather bold for a mere serving wench, wouldn't you say?"

The two men's eyes met and Lilliane knew some understanding pa.s.sed between them.

"Well, then, I leave you to your sport." Dunn shrugged. "But bear in mind that she's got the advantage. She no doubt knows exactly which way the wind blows. She's on her home ground."

"It's my home ground now as well," Sir Corbett countered. He released his hold on Lilliane and watched as she scurried across the room. "I'll soon know which way the wind blows also."

Lilliane had to fight down her panic as the other knight departed. As frightened as she'd been at being caught in such awkward circ.u.mstances, there was something in her that feared much more being alone with this tall, battle-hardened knight.

Nervously she started to identify herself, then stopped and gathered her courage. He thought her a servant? Well, she would just play the part and see where it might lead. It seemed he was a man who had an eye for a comely maid. If he should become too free with her, she might be able to convince her father that the great Sir Corbett of Colchester was no better than a common, l.u.s.ty soldier. Certainly he was not worthy of being lord of Orrick!

She peered at him through partially lowered lashes. It would not be easy. He was inordinately tall with muscled arms and shoulders that would put even Orrick's armorer to shame. But it was more than his physical strength that concerned her. There was a dangerous quality about him. She could not define it any better than that. She only knew he would not be a good person to have as an enemy.

Still, she reminded herself, they were already enemies. He might not recognize that fact, but she did. And she was fighting for her very life. She weighed the circ.u.mstances and decided. If she could prove him a dishonorable man, her father would have to break the betrothal. He would have to!

She was standing against the rough limestone wall. Sir Corbett had not moved a step closer to her, and yet when his smoky gray eyes swept over her she felt his gaze as profoundly as a long, lingering touch. To her chagrin she felt a blush heat her cheeks, and she wished devoutly that she could simply disappear into a crack in the wide plank floor.

"Whether a thief or spy, you are surely a pleasure for the eyes," he commented quietly. Then he abruptly turned away from her and crossed the room to pull a velvet hanging back from one tall, arched window. He peered out into the late-afternoon sunlight.

"I should not be surprised that the 'lady' of the castle isn't here to attend her guest." He snorted. Then he shot her a sardonic look over his wide shoulder. "I'll have my bath first, then you can unpack my belongings. Those two tasks should satisfy your curiosity fairly well."

Lilliane almost snapped an angry retort back at him. Did he truly think she would a.s.sist him any further in his bath than seeing that everything he needed was at hand? But she wisely decided caution might be the better course, at least for now. Still, he must have seen the rebellious look in her stormy golden eyes, for his grin widened.

"You've a bold manner for a mere serving wench."

"If you were familiar with Orrick you would know that I'm no 'mere serving wench,'" she replied, unable to keep a note of belligerence out of her voice.

"Oh?" One dark brow lifted knowingly and his eyes seemed to take in every aspect of her appearance.

For a brief vain moment Lilliane wished she were dressed as befitted the lady of a castle. She knew her gown was serviceable at best, its soft blue long ago faded to drab gray. The linen that bound her hair was plain as well, and without even a wimple to add some dignity.

But then reason returned and she lifted her chin haughtily. She didn't care what he thought. She would never care what anyone from Colchester thought.

Noting her arrogant expression, Sir Corbett's eyes swept her willowy form, lingering at the soft white hollow of her throat then following the sweet curve of her jawline to meet her angry glare. "Any other maidservant would be shuffling around, never daring to meet my eyes, let alone argue with me. But you," he said as he strolled toward her. "You dare much with the new lord of Orrick."

He let his gaze drop to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then ever so slowly lower to her toes. She felt burned by his frank appraisal of her, and she bit her lip in vexation. Then his eyes made a leisurely return up her feminine form, pausing at her rose-hued lips before raising to her now-furious eyes.

"You must be Lord Barton's ... personal servant." He grinned. "I'll give him credit for good taste. But I should think he'd dress you in finer gowns if you treated him well. Don't you treat him well?"

Although taken aback by his innuendo, Lilliane managed to respond in her iciest tone. "I treat him well enough. I'll have you know the lord of this castle is an honorable man-"

"But a man nonetheless," he taunted.

"No doubt he has his flaws," she retorted angrily. "For instance, he was sorely mistaken when he selected such a base and lowborn fool as you for a son-in-law!"

It was the wrong thing to say.

In an instant he had her by the arms, and she was completely unable to break his grasp no matter how she struggled.

"You'd best take a care and not anger he who shall soon be your master."

"You'll never be my master." She panted as she fought him. But he only clasped her against his broad chest until her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were pressed hard against him.

"Oh, I'll master you, my pretty little maid. But which will be more effective?" He mocked her with a gleam in his dark eyes. "Strength or seduction?"

His face lowered and for a wild instant she thought he meant to kiss her. She tensed, determined to avoid him, and closed her eyes tightly. When he chuckled, however, then suddenly released her, her eyes flew wide open and she stared at him in surprise and suspicion.

His eyes were warmer now, lighted from within as from a low and smoldering fire. But his words, when he spoke, were as arrogant as before. "You've a fair face, and even that dreary gown cannot completely hide your soft, rounded form. But it's your mistress I'll be bedding. You'll have to be satisfied with the old lord."

Then he unbuckled his leather sword belt and set it aside. He sat down on an upholstered bench and stretched his long, muscled legs before him. "Help me to my bath. I've weeks of travel to wash away. And a new bride to impress," he added sarcastically.

Lilliane did not respond at once. Her mind was working so quickly she did not know how to react. A part of her wanted to tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his appalling manners. He had been at Orrick but a few hours, and already he chased the serving maids. He didn't even have the decency to wait until after the wedding. The fact that her father fully intended to marry her to this wretch and, further, considered him a man of honor was galling beyond belief. A knight indeed! This great grinning brute who sat before her most a.s.suredly knew not one whit about chivalry!

But then that would be his undoing, she reminded herself.

With her resolve firm she faced the arrogant man. A faint smile played upon her lips. "It's unlikely you can do anything that would impress the Lady Lilliane."

He did not immediately respond and she realized he was staring at her softly curving mouth. Disturbed, she looked away, a frown returning to her face.

"It is no matter how particular she proves to be. She will submit to her husband's will. Now come here and remove my tunic."

It took all her willpower to hold her anger in check. Only by reminding herself of her goal to rid herself of him once and for all could she force herself to do as he ordered. Still, her reluctance must have been apparent, for when she stopped near his outstretched feet he grinned.

"Come closer. I'll not bite you."

Lilliane's heart was racing in her chest as she edged closer. His gray eyes were steady on her, and she wondered what thoughts churned beneath their hooded surface. He did not move to make it easier for her, and it was with a frustrated sigh of resignation that she reached to loosen the silver-edged leather girdle at his waist.

She had to bite back an oath as her fingers fumbled with the buckle. Instead of acting cool and detached, she was trembling like a child and, what was worse, he was quite aware of it. When she finally had it unfastened, she pulled it from around his waist and hastily put it aside.

His tunic was next and he obligingly leaned forward to make her task easier. But if removing his belt had made her nervous, sliding the soft hide tunic over his shoulders rattled her completely. Like a living extension of him, the leather retained his body warmth. Lilliane nearly flung it away, she was so anxious to be free of the strange feelings it caused in her.

He looked up at her when she hesitated to remove his shirt, and she was sure it was amus.e.m.e.nt that sparkled in his eyes. "My shirt," he prompted smugly. Then when she did not respond he grinned. "Remove my boots then."

"Remove them yourself," she snapped.

His gaze grew warning and his words were low and steady. "Lord Barton may be lax with you. But I will not."

It took all her willpower to choke back her fury. He was no more than an arrogant fool! Yet she knew she must play this role of servant. Just do it, she told herself. It will soon be over.

Gritting her teeth, she knelt down and turned her attention to his boots. As she concentrated grimly on her task, she noted that they were of an unusual style, rising almost to his knees and hiding most of his hose. The leather was heavy and yet it was amazingly supple.

Once he was clad only in his hose, braies, and shirt, and she was faced with the choice of what to remove, Lilliane balked at last. After scrambling to her feet, she backed away.

"My shirt. Come, pull it off," he ordered from his relaxed position on the bench.

Lilliane swallowed convulsively then shook her head.

"You'd best learn now that I demand obedience of all my servants and retainers." His face was unreadable and his voice even, yet Lilliane felt a tremor of fear shake her. She was suddenly sorry that she had elected to play this dangerous game.

"I ... I cannot," she whispered in a cracked voice.

"You mean you will not." Slowly he rose to stand tall and threatening before her. "Now come here and do as I say."

How she hated him at that moment. She hated him for the strength he had, so much greater than her own. And for the arrogant manner in which he was making the castle his. But most of all she hated him for the power he would soon have over her as her husband.

Trembling as much in anger as in fear, Lilliane approached him. With both hands she lifted the hem of the fine bissyn fabric and, with extreme care so as not to actually touch him, she slid it up his back. His bare skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, making it a gleaming bronze in the afternoon light, and she closed her eyes to the disturbing sight. In her haste to finish her loathsome task she tugged the garment free of his shoulders, then, with a final yank, pulled it over his head. His arms slid easily from it, and she stepped back from him at once, unaware that she still clutched his shirt in her arms.

She'd known he was a big man, not only of rare height but of brawny muscle as well. But having him standing before her, bare to the waist, took her completely aback. She'd not often seen a man's naked chest, and yet she knew beyond all doubt that any man would envy him his powerful form. He was solid muscle, carved as a marble statue might be. But she knew he was warm to the touch.

Unwillingly her eyes slipped over him, from the heavy muscles of his broad shoulders, down his dark-furred chest to the rippling muscles of his trim waist. Her eyes stopped there, refusing to be drawn any further. The bunched fabric of his braies hid his hips and thighs from her view, and yet somehow she knew. His thighs would be like iron, finely wrought from years of horseback riding even as his arms were developed from endless practice at his battle skills. And the narrow line of hair that ran down his belly would end ... She swallowed hard.

"Shall my bride find me as appealing as you seem to?"

She raised her eyes to his face with a jerk at his amused taunt and a wash of color flooded her cheeks. "As unappealing, you mean," she snapped. But she feared he saw past her angry retort, for his eyes were dark and smoldering from some heat from within. She watched in helpless fascination the tick of a muscle in his jaw. The moment seemed to stretch out forever, and even her breathing was suspended as if she waited for something.

Then, as if it were an effort, he turned away from her and toward his bath.

She heard but did not watch as he removed his remaining garments. It was only when she heard him step into the tub, then lower himself into the heated water, that she dared turn around. He was lying back in the hammered tin tub, his head against the rolled edge. His eyes were closed and he was so still she might have thought he slept. Yet somehow she knew he was quite alert. He was a knight, well trained and well seasoned, and she knew from her father's constant lectures to his own troops that this man had not survived by chance. He might rest, but the least sign of danger would bring him at once to the ready.

She wasn't sure what she should do. She had the soap and cloths in her hands, yet she could not force herself to approach him. Then, as if he sensed her dilemma, he spoke.

"Unpack my bags now. Put out suitable garments in which a bridegroom may meet his bride."

There was a tension in his voice that belied his relaxed position, but Lilliane was too relieved to note it overlong. With swift hands she emptied the satchel that had caused this awkward situation in the first place. Besides the sheaf of papers that he'd placed on the bed, there were only what she might expect a man to carry. Two shirts, extra braies, chausses and their bindings, and three handsome tunics.

She chose an iron-gray tunic, woven in a rare silk cloth she'd seen only once before. Silver threads ran through it making it glimmer in the light, and she could not resist running her hand lightly over it.