The Maiden And The Warrior. Jacqueline Navin

you my word that I will do nothing to interfere with you.”

      The twitch of his eyes warned her of his displeasure and of a depth of rage she dared not tap. “I have no use for a woman’s promises. They are not worth the breath required to speak them.”

      Her mouth worked in mute indignation as she struggled to find her argument. Then, a thought struck her suddenly, and she relaxed, returning his bitter smile.

      “You have no need to worry. I am not Edgar’s widow!”

      Lucien gave a long sigh. “What nonsense is this now? I am in no mood for your games. Now, will you pledge fealty to me, or will it be the dungeons?”

      “You would not dare!”

      “You do not know what I would dare, demoiselle,” he threatened. He stood before her, legs spread, arms crossed before him with easy arrogance. He seemed to loom gigantic, impossibly immense and threatening. “And let me further warn you that I am not tolerant of the female sport of coyness and pointless intrigue. If you have something of import to say to me, speak it outright. My patience, what little I have for your sex, is wearing thin.”

      “The marriage contract is invalid,” she stated, “for there was no consummation.”

      His brows shot up. “What lie is this? You say Edgar did not take you?”

      Blushing deeply, Alayna forced herself to meet his incredulous stare. “That is what I said.”

      “I do not believe you,” he challenged.

      “’Tis true,” she countered stubbornly.

      Lucien raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Who knows of this?” he demanded, “Were not the linens displayed?”

      “There was no time. Indeed, all assumed the marriage fulfilled, if they gave it any thought in the midst of being besieged.”

      “I returned to Gastonbury for one purpose only—to possess all which belonged to Edgar du Berg as payment for his crimes against my family. I intend to do just that. You were his beloved wife, so too shall you belong to me.”

      “But I told you, I am not the lady of the castle.”

      He gave no answer, but made a swift move toward her. She cringed, thinking he meant to strike her. Instead, his hand shot out and long, steellike fingers closed around her wrist.

      “Wh—?” she began, but the objection was cut off by the hard jerk he gave, bringing her full against him. Stunned, she stared up at him, his face only inches from hers. For some strange reason, her gaze fastened on the clean, pale line marring his cheek, just under the eye. Unable to move, she was dimly aware of some distant part of herself urging her to protest this rough treatment. “Let go,” she said softly, but it was without conviction.

      His eyes flitted over her face for a moment before he turned away and pulled her behind without a word.

      “Let go!” she said, this time more emphatically, when she saw which direction he was headed. Dragging her up the stairs, he was bringing her to the corridor that led only to the master’s bedchamber.

      My God, she thought with alarm, the knave meant to bed her!

       Chapter Three

      Lucien had no such intentions.

      Hauling her along behind him, he went directly to Edgar’s chamber. His chamber now. He knew the way well. He had played in this castle in his youth. His mother and he had come here every year when his father’s service was due to his overlord.

      It was here that he had made the tragic discovery, all that time ago.

      Such an innocent mistake, his was. He had heard his mother’s laughter, an unaccustomed sound to his young ears, and had been unable to resist. She had always been so cool, so removed, so indifferent to him. Yet he had adored her, thinking her the most beautiful of women and he had hungered for her love.

      That was why he had been drawn to the laughter. It was so rare to hear it. Curiosity it had been. Deadly curiosity.

      If not for that curiosity, his father would be alive. He himself would not have spent eleven years in hell. It was a guilt he had lived with for a long time. All because of curiosity and a spurned son’s longing for a mother who was nothing but a spiteful and vain betrayer. It had taught him a painful, valuable lesson about life, and about women. That knowledge he had accepted, nay, embraced, as one of the truths that ruled his life: trust nothing which comes from a woman.

      Flinging open the portal, he swept Alayna inside the chamber with him and slammed the door shut.

      It did not look much different than it had that night. There was the glut of furnishings, the heavy tapestries, the lavish pile of furs on the bed…the bed, the same one in which he had seen them, entwined in a way that had shocked and embarassed him. A strange feeling constricted in his chest, but he pushed the rush of memory aside.

      “Now, Lady Gastonbury,” he said tightly, “you tell me Edgar, who is well-known in these parts for his taking of other men’s wives, sadly neglected his own on the eve of their wedding? Is it possible that you did not suit? I doubt it, for though your tongue is waspish, your form is pretty enough. Pray tell, lady, how is it Edgar forgot you?”

      “Hardly forgotten,” Alayna snapped bitterly. “I am quite certain Edgar had every intention of taking advantage.”

      “Taking advantage? You were not wed?”

      “Of course we were, but I told you it was trickery.”

      “One only has to consider Edgar’s wealth to think perhaps you found your marriage advantageous, at least on some accounts.”

      She shrugged, doing a bad job of trying to appear unperturbed. “If it suits you to think me the eager bride, then I cannot dissuade you of the notion.”

      “Aye, I do indeed find it hard to believe Edgar did not avail himself of your…charms at his first opportunity.”

      “He passed out from the wine before he could…” Her face flooded with color. A pretty effect, Lucien thought sourly, meant to dissuade him from inquiring further. Oh, yes, his mother had been an excellent tutor on the cunning ways of women. This one would find her wiles wasted on him.

      “What you are telling me is completely unbelievable.”

      “Do you think I care what you believe?” she flung. “You stand there and insist on what you want to be true, as if you can command it to be so because you say it. Well, you cannot command this, no matter how much it displeases you. I was not Edgar’s wife! I am no part of this place and I demand that you release me at once.”

      Lucien regarded her coldly for a moment, trying to decide if she was lying. Her demands he ignored.

      He went to the bed, standing between her and it so she could not see how his hand trembled as he lifted the covering of furs, throwing them aside as if scalded and forcing himself to look at the linen.

      There were no signs of virginal stains there. When he turned back to her, his face was once again unreadable.

      “’Tis most humorous to me that this bed, which has witnessed the taking of so many woman, goes unused on the night its master is to take the one woman to whom he has a right.”

      She was watching him carefully, not able to keep the faint gleam of victory from her eyes. She was waiting for him to concede. He was all at once struck by how incredibly beautiful she was. He had noticed before, of course. Even among the crowd in the bailey, she had shone like a jewel amongst cinders. Her eyes were a strange green, as deep and mysterious as the pine forests he had seen in the Northlands. They were almost luminescent, fringed with thick dark lashes and delicately arched brows. There was something about the shape of those eyes that made her look innocent and sensual