The Maiden And The Warrior. Jacqueline Navin

but the soft luster of sable was not subdued. Her mouth was pursed in anger now, but it was lovely despite her expression, full and lush, the kind that turned a man’s thoughts away from the business at hand and prompted other, less worthy thoughts.

      Suddenly he thought of how odd it was for him to be noticing all of this, and he scowled. “I am not troubled by the lack of proof of your virtue,” he said softly, deliberately. “For all I know you were not a maiden on that night.” He ignored her deep flush of rage. He was certain, of course, that she was indeed still a virgin. She was too obviously embarrassed by the whole matter to be lying on that account. “It makes no difference to me what these linens show, for I say you are the widow of my defeated enemy, and your disposition is mine.”

      Aghast at his words, Alayna snapped back at him, “How dare you, when you know the truth! I will tell the king’s man about this, and others will back me, for there is no proof on those linens to credit your false claim.”

      Ignoring her, he drew a short dagger from his belt. She shrank away with a small cry. Good Lord, she thought he meant to threaten her with it! Deliberately he held the blade up as if to show it to her, then grasped the naked steel with his other hand and drew it across his palm. He did not flinch at the sting as the cut opened, welling up blood in a vivid crimson line. The wound was nothing. As she watched, horrified and stunned, he reached for the bedclothes and grasped them in his fist.

      He waited for the moment of comprehension. With a cry she leaped forward, snatching the cloth from his hand. Lucien released it, letting her see the bright red stain.

      “Learn this, lady, for it will serve you well. I have waited upon my vengeance and planned carefully for it. No one, least of all a woman, will thwart me.”

      “You are an evil liar,” she whispered vehemently.

      “Perhaps. I have been called worse,” Lucien replied. “Take care not to aggravate me, for I have no wish to punish you. Simply mind your place, and we will get along sufficiently.”

      She curled her lips in a derisive sneer. “You are more despicable than Edgar. If you think you will hold me here in disgrace and—”

      “Be at ease,” he drawled. “I intend no such thing. Your reputation will be safeguarded, for I have no nefarious intentions.” A wicked impulse made him add, “Unless you so wish it.”

      She sputtered a moment or two, unable to give voice to the rage that choked her. God’s teeth, she was magnificent! Finally she shouted, “I will see you pay for this. You are a liar and a brute, a cad of the first rank, a fiendish—”

      “And you are a mere woman with nothing else but to accept that you have been bested. Why not concede gracefully? I have assured you I intend you no harm. Take heart, my fiery vixen, for I promise when the matter of the barony is settled with the king, we will see then what there is to be done with you. But until that time, you are far too valuable a player in the game to set free.”

      “I shall make you regret this,” she promised hotly.

      He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. Unable to resist, he pushed her a bit further. “’Tis regrettable to me that you insist on this senseless opposition.” He took a step closer, lifting his unwounded hand to touch an errant lock curling gently at her ear. It was thick, the color of chestnut burnished to a high sheen and incredibly silky. He let the strand sift through his fingers.

      Standing frozen, like an animal caught in a snare, she stared back at him with wide eyes. Her gaze flitted to his hand entwined in her hair, so close to her cheek. He had meant only a jest, a simple maneuver to intimidate her, but suddenly there was between them an enigmatic tension. She felt it, too—he could see it in her startled expression, in the stiff posture. And she was as taken aback by it as he was himself. He pressed on. “There is more worth in an alliance between us. Methinks it would bring much greater reward than this sparring.”

      Green eyes slid back to him. They seemed to glow with a light of their own, looking as clear and bright as a tiger’s. She smacked his hand away. “You must be mad!” she snapped.

      He genuinely laughed then, surprising her and even himself, for he was a man who did not laugh often.

      She stepped away, anxious to put some distance between them. “That is something which will never be, for the choice to be enemies was yours. However, I will oblige you on that regard, and so I vow I will do my best not to disappoint. I shall be a worthy adversary.”

      With that, she whirled, presenting her back to him in an angry dismissal. Lucien couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting down to notice the shapely curve of her hips.

      “I know you mean every word of your promise to vex me. I have no concern about these threats, for I am hard-pressed to imagine any damage you would be able to inflict.” He thought for a moment. “Still, many a woman has sewed trouble for a man for whom she harbored ill.”

      “And well do I know the selfish destruction of men!” she flung over her shoulder.

      He smiled tightly. “You show yourself to be a credit to womankind, with your threats and foolish pouts. Do your best, demoiselle, for I am eager to meet your contest. But let me, in all fairness, issue a warning of my own. Know that there is little I will tolerate from you without punishment.”

      Alayna turned to face him again, her eyes narrowed to bits of emerald ice.

      He cut off her brewing tirade. “As long as you behave rightly, I will not trouble you. You are quite safe from me, I assure you. Your beauty would taunt a saint, but I know too well the poison a fair face can hide. Beauty, my dear lady, is a lie to rob a man of his senses, make him weak. You’ll not have that power over me.”

      They glared at each other, and to Alayna’s credit, she held her counsel, lifting her chin in a mute arrogance—a gesture meant to annoy him, he was sure.

      She was tempting. But he had not come back from the dead to tangle with a slip of a girl. Satisfied with her silence, he gave her a glowering nod of approval. He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a deafening thud.

      Alayna was left alone, breathless with overwhelming rage. This man—this Lucien de Montregnier—was incredibly obnoxious! So smug, so sure of himself. So certain he had won.

      Well, he had, that much was true. And there was nothing she could do about it. Which was all the more infuriating. As she ruminated, Alayna paced within the confines of the chamber.

      She kept looking at the bed linens. Of course, she wouldn’t tell anyone about de Montregnier’s deception—who would believe her? De Montregnier had been the only one to see the unstained cloth. Now there was nothing to prove her story. Angrily she ripped the coverings from the bed. She would have liked to burn them, but that would not have served her purpose any better.

      At least he had promised he would not molest her, unless she was willing, he had said. Imagine the gall! Did he think her some lusty chit who fell at a man’s feet simply because he was attractive? Did he think she would swoon at the bawdy suggestions he had made, fainthearted and hopeful for his favor? If he did, he was a fool! He was a swaggering, conceited bully as far as she was concerned, and she would find a way to thwart him!

      Not looking where she was going, she almost slammed into a large trunk. The place was teeming with them, oversize leather-bound chests of thick oak. And all of these riches now belonged to de Montregnier. His castle, his chambers, his food, his lands, his furnishings. He had won himself a great prize. Everything, including her, it seemed, belonged to him.

      This fueled her anger. How she despised him, with his high-handed arrogance!

      She almost tripped again, this time over a thickly embroidered tunic. Edgar’s. She flashed on the memory of the other night in this very room when he had struggled out of it, casting it aside carelessly in his eagerness for her. The recollection brought a shudder. He had gotten down to his leggings before he had succumbed to the effects of his overindulgence.

      It occurred to her that this, too, belonged to de