The Maiden And The Warrior. Jacqueline Navin

as a foot soldier, he had eventually become so valued that old Hendron would not dare slither from his lair without his English slave, who soon became his finest warrior.

      Whether due to this status or his withdrawn, aloof manner, he had been much sought after by the women of the lodge. This never fazed him, nor did he think much about the beauties who had graced his bed. They were only important for the short time they had amused him, and then they were gone.

      Nothing and no one had mattered except the secret dream of revenge. Agravar, of course, had been his one friend, but no one else had penetrated his brittle constraint, least of all a woman.

      He had moved amongst his comrades in arms, much envied for his skill both in battle and in attracting the amorous interests of women, yet set apart, encased in the isolated chrysalis of carefully nurtured hate. But it was not only that which had kept him apart. He was never their equal. Old Hendron had made sure that though his warriorslave enjoyed sufficient freedoms to keep him content to fight for him, Lucien had never known a moment’s peace from the brutal and humiliating treatment his master doled out to remind him of his lowly position.

      That was the past, only the past. He knew it, but somehow it seemed impossible those years were behind him. He would feel differently inside if it were truly over, wouldn’t he? Some spark of life, something to replace the vivid pain that had driven him thus far.

      Maybe he would feel it in the morning, when he was rested and had a chance to put the rebellious Alayna out of his mind.

      Lucien entered Edgar’s chamber, closing the door quietly behind him as if afraid to disturb the reverent silence of the place. No ghosts now, he was relieved to note, none of the disturbing press of memories that had earlier afflicted him when he was here before with Alayna. He saw the bloodied linens in a heap on the floor and smiled at the mental image of her tearing them off the bed. The evidence of her temper amused him.

      There was another feeling there, as well. He was surprised to find himself a tiny bit ashamed of his deception.

      The entrance of a young servant girl interrupted his thoughts. She carried a tray heaped with meats and bread, which she placed on the table by the towering hearth. He had ordered the food sent up to his chamber, wanting to escape the hall. Having forbidden his band of mercenaries the typical amusements of the victorious—none of his new villeins were to be harassed or assaulted—he was content to have set Agravar and Will to watch over the proceedings. He himself needed no such diversions. Tonight, he sought solitude.

      Lucien realized he was ravenous. “Girl,” he called, making her jump. “Fetch some water and see it is well heated for me to wash.”

      Lucien ate quickly while she was gone. When the servant returned with the water, he stripped to his chausses in preparation for a quick bath.

      Indicating the heap of garments he had worn in battle, he said, “Beat the dust from my clothes, and hang them on pegs to air. There is no time to wash them, but I’ll not bear the stink of battle another day.”

      She gave him a quick look, taking in his state of undress. Lucien was not too fatigued to notice the womanly curve of her hips under the crude garments. He had thought her young at first, for her face was round and flushed. But at closer glance, she was indeed a woman full grown.

      Finishing his bath, he toweled himself off. She was not as graceful as he was used to, but pretty enough. Perhaps the company of a woman would ease the unrest that plagued him, and banish the haunting thoughts of flashing green eyes and an arrogant chin tilted at him in defiance. Lord, just the thought of Alayna made his jaw work in irritation.

      “What is your name?” he asked.

      “Glenna,” she answered in a small voice. There was something about her, something that made him a bit suspicious of her play of innocence.

      “How is it you were chosen to see to me tonight?” he inquired. “Were you not afraid like the others?”

      “How did you know the others were afraid?” she blurted.

      He smiled tightly. Women were so transparent. The girl had probably volunteered, moving quickly to put her pretty little self before him in hopes of winning his favor. The status of the lord’s leman was not a bad lot. The chosen woman shared her master’s bed, and in return won prestige and privilege. This one was crafty, pretending shyness as a ploy to catch his eye.

      As if sensing the end to her ruse, she met his gaze a little too boldly, allowing herself a better look at him. Lucien watched her eyes slide over him, gradually darkening with desire. Her face and form were lush, and by rights should have been inviting, but he could barely seem to summon any interest. He mentally compared her to a slimmer form more to his liking. Stubbornly he pushed the intruding vision of Alayna aside. “Did you serve the old lord?”

      She understood well enough what he was asking. “Aye,” she answered.

      “You know what I seek?”

      Glenna nodded, her eyes alight with anticipation. She stepped forward to close the gap between them and placed her arms about his neck.

      “I know, my lord. I will not disappoint.”

      Lucien felt his back stiffen in response. Even as she touched her lips to his, he knew he had made a mistake. He did not want her. He felt not the slightest stirring of desire at the voluptuous form pressed against him. He had wanted to quell the distressing preoccupation with another, but he was immediately aware that he would find no solace with this one.

      He quickly reached his hands up to peel the fleshy arms from him.

      Thinking he was breaking away to move to the bed, Glenna started for it, her hands already working to remove her woolen shift.

      “Nay,” Lucien barked, “I am far too tired to dally tonight. Leave me.”

      She looked startled, then smiled slowly as if in understanding. “If you are worried that your fatigue will afflict you, I will help you. Let me take—”

      Lucien caught her outstretched arms by the wrists. “That is not my concern. I simply wish to be left alone.”

      “But you—”

      “A passing thought, one I acted upon too quickly.”

      A flash of anger in her dark eyes surprised him. “Perhaps some other night, when you are better rested, you can call upon me. You will find me most willing…and accomplished.”

      “No doubt,” Lucien murmured, presenting his back to her in dismissal.

      “If there is anything else you require, at any time, call upon me.”

      She was annoying him now. “Go,” he said curtly, not bothering to turn around.

      He heard her leave and breathed a sigh of relief. He chided himself for his impulsiveness. Something about the girl disturbed him, something wrong about her. Or perhaps it was just his imagination. He was not normally given to flights of fancy, but then it was a strange mood he was in tonight. He grunted self-deprecatingly, wondering if perhaps he had gotten a knocked head in the fighting, scrambling his brains a bit.

      But it was no injury that had driven him to consider the inadequate arms of the servant. As he flung himself atop the furs and let sleep descend, he knew that damnable witch Alayna had cast some sort of spell upon him. Never mind, he decided, no woman would divert him for long. He was much too disciplined for that.

      

      He came awake with a start, instantly alert, knowing himself to be in a strange place. As memory washed over him, he relaxed back down amidst the furs.

      His sleep had been dreamless. It had not improved his mood.

      He rose from the bed, grimacing as his feet hit the cold stone floor. The chill of the lingering winter was bracing and he could see his breath like a puff of smoke in the air. He crossed to the hearth to stoke the fire, getting the blaze going before pulling on the thick woolen tunic he had worn yesterday. Abstractly he fingered the holes in the well-worn material.