Warrior's Deception

“Come on! Let’s do it!” Horse and rider concentrated on the obstacle ahead. The hedge seemed to grow in height as they approached it. ‘Twas not a low-lying wild brush but a natural fence, grown to keep out deer and roving cattle. Jupiter sensed the challenge ahead of him, and she felt the horse’s hard muscles contract as he prepared for the jump. The hedge loomed before them.

Her heart pounded against her chest. Even to her own ears, her breath sounded ragged. Her conscience berated this latest folly but ‘twas too late to change course now.

Two strides from the hedge, Lenora laced her fingers into the flying mane, leaned forward in the saddle and gave the stallion his head. She felt the surge of strength course through Jupiter’s body, a lurch, then she was airborne. Her body transcended the confines of the earth and she became weightless, suspended in midair. Air whipped around her and tore the hood from her head. Her waist-length braid came unbound and streamed about her. Pleasure, excitement, complete freedom sprouted within her. Too soon, she saw Jupiter’s long legs reach the fast-approaching ground. The hard impact jarred her backbone and jerked her back in the saddle.

Exhilaration made her giddy. Another hedge lay a short distance away. Laughter bubbled from her. Lenora pushed her long tresses from her face and pivoted Jupiter toward the next jump. Thoughts of the bad-tempered knight cleared from her mind.

She dug her heels into Jupiter’s flanks, and the pounding of horse’s hooves drummed in her ears. She prepared for the jump, mentally picturing when she would need to ease off the bit to give the stallion his head. Just a few more strides, five more, three more, “Now!” She loosened her hold on the reins, grabbed the flying mane, and leaned forward in the saddle. From the corner of her eye, a shadow swooped down on her. A huge mail-covered hand appeared out of nowhere, yanking her from Jupiter’s back just as the horse sprang. Jupiter cleared the hedge as her back hit against a hard wall of metal. The blow knocked the air from her lungs. Stunned, she found herself breathless and dumped into the lap of an armor-clad knight.

“Let…go…of…me.” The words came in several wheezes while she attempted to fill her empty lungs with air. She kicked and thrashed her legs, trying to free herself. “Who are you?” She twisted in her captor’s grasp and her eyes traveled up to the knight’s face.

A wide nosepiece on his helmet obscured his face. Only his eyes were visible. The hard-won air she had strived for escaped her lungs in a low, desperate sigh. “Nay, it cannot be!” The knight’s dark blue gray eyes glowered at her, and a current of fear whorled through her.

“I’ve come to settle our bet, Lady Lenora.” Roen de Galliard removed his helmet, tucked it under his arm and shook his head like a mighty golden lion. “Among other things.” He wrapped his viselike arm around her waist and pulled her tightly toward him. His deep musky smell filled her nostrils. The hard steel links of his chain hauberk bit like metal teeth into her back. Pain shot through her shoulders and festered her outrage.

“I had no need of rescue, Galliard. I was in control of my mount. I demand you release me immediately!” Hot blood rushed to her face. The heat of her ire changed to humiliation when Roen moved his mount toward a group of knights and squires. The wind carried hoots and cackles from the men.

“’Tis not you I’m worried about,” Roen retorted calmly. “My concern is for the horse. I don’t want your stupidity to risk hurting a good mount.”

“Oh!” Lenora floundered for a sarcastic reply, but her mind was frozen, like a pond in midwinter. Instead, she shot him an icy look, crossed her arms and retreated into an angry silence. She was forced to look either ahead at the jeering men or down at Roen’s thick muscular arm, imprisoning her. The tension of the past few days returned and her will weakened. She chose to look down, centering all her fury on the ironlike arm that held her captive.

Roen rejoined his men at a leisurely gait and savored the feel of the woman against his chest. He chuckled to himself, amused by her silence and angry indignation. The faint hint of lavender mixed with the familiar scent of hay wafted from her windswept coppery locks.

When his men pointed out the young lad on the horse, he had admired the boy’s horsemanship. ‘Twas obvious the vigorous stallion was well under control. Admiration had changed midjump when the boy’s hood blew off. The “lad” transformed into a tall, copper-haired lass. He had held his breath until horse and rider came down to earth. Heaven’s grace had spared the girl once. Why had she tried to push her luck by trying again? She could have broken her neck. His arm tightened instinctively around her.

“That hurts!” Lenora gasped. “I’m not fool enough to jump from horseback.”

He forced his arm to relax and stared down into her upturned face. Auburn tresses lay in disarray around her face and gave her a Gypsy look. Faint golden brown freckles were sprinkled lightly across her straight nose and high cheeks. Her eyes no longer burned from the fire of her anger, but he could still see smoldering embers of gold in the earthen-colored orbs. His fingers played with her unbound waist-length hair. They wove into the thick strands and took a light but possessive hold.

“Really?” he questioned. “You jump a hedge that is waisthigh to me, you barely regain control of an animal that is clearly too much for you to handle, and then you try to jump a hedge even higher than the first. Aye, you have need to warn me you’re no fool. Your actions do not show it!”

Lenora wanted to smack the smug smile from his face and scream at him that it was all his fault. If not for him, she wouldn’t have been riding in such an outlandish fashion in the first place.

Determined not to let him see how upset she was, Lenora arranged her features into a mask of calm and serenity. “Galliard, I suppose that in your own misguided way you were trying to be chivalrous, although there was no need. So why don’t you stop, let me down to catch my horse, and each of us may travel our own way?”

His smile turned to an irritating smirk. “But, Lady Lenora, my way is your way. Remember our bargain?”

“Let us say that your…aid to me just now more than fulfills your obligation.”

“That would be true, if the aid had been needed. Since you have mentioned several times that it was not, I cannot feel justified in letting this small act be your…reward for all you have done for me.”

She bit her upper lip to help keep her tongue in check. Mentally, she questioned the possible double meaning of his words. Her thoughts were interrupted by the loud laughter from the men ahead.

“Roen! You’ve caught your prize, but poor Landrick is still chasing his.”

Lenora recognized Hamlin, sitting astride a sturdy chestnut stallion. She followed his gaze toward the rolling hills and saw a mounted young man, armorless, trying to outmaneuver the still-galloping Jupiter.

“He’ll get him. If Roen gives an order, Landrick won’t give up till it’s completed,” a young squire declared.

“I’ll clean your tack and that of your knight for a week if he does.” Another young knight gave her a wink and wagered with the squire.

Her elbow jabbed into Roen’s side as he moved to join his men. He paid no attention. The move only caused her to yelp in pain when the sharp metal of his haubrek pinched her skin.

Lenora bridled. The knave’s quiet chuckles proclaimed his amusement with her predicament. Her mask of composure cracked. She was not about to let Galliard’s men think she needed rescuing. “I’ll take that bet, to get Jupiter, if you’ll include all my knights.” She gave the wagering knight an innocent smile.

“Forget the bet, Roderick,” Roen warned. “She’s not leaving me until she is safely dumped at the gates of Woodshadow.”

“I have no need to leave your side to capture Jupiter.” She broadened her smile. “And I do believe the squire is quite tired by now.”

The group watched as once again Landrick tried to steer the running horse toward the waiting men. At first, the young squire appeared successful, then Jupiter broke. With a sharp turn the stallion evaded Landrick’s rope and the strange men ahead. The action diverted her captor’s attention.

Lenora saw her chance. She slid out from between Roen’s arms and dropped to the ground. Her feet hit the earth hard and she stumbled a few steps away to escape the knight’s reach. “This is as far as I need to be. Is it a wager, Sir Roderick?”

Roderick took one peek at the black look of his commander’s face and shook his head. “Nay, Lady Lenora, I do not doubt your skill with the animal. If you can bring him in, pray do so, and save our friend further loss of pride.”

A warmth of satisfaction cloaked her. She had escaped the moody knight and his man admitted her horsemanship. A challenging neigh caused her to turn. Jupiter feigned surrender, then just as the sweat-soaked squire drew close, the horse pivoted and raced away. When her stallion paused, she pursed her lips together and emitted three sharp, shrill tones. The animal’s ears twitched toward the sound. Once again, she whistled three sharp blasts.

Hearing the call, Jupiter reeled and galloped toward her. Sides heaving and sweat-stained, the horse skidded to a stop at her side. She captured the loose reins and swung up into the saddle. Relaxed from his workout, the charger stood docile, waiting for his rider’s command.

Roen gave his horse a slight squeeze, nodded to his second and moved nonchalantly toward her. The set of his rocklike chin mirrored his granite-colored eyes. She did not doubt that he felt he had one more score to settle with her.

Gathering the reins tightly, Lenora pumped a cheerful tone into her speech. “I would like to extend the hospitality of Woodshadow to you all. I hope you will join me for the nooning.” Secretly, she prayed they would all ride away and she would never see Roen de Galliard again.

She kept her eyes on the leader of the group of men. The hard line of his jaw, the bulging neck veins and the scowl announced his emotions. His eyes narrowed as he moved his mount next to hers. The brush of his leg against her own sent currents of excitement speeding up her thigh, settling in the pit of her stomach.

“Drop your reins!” Roen commanded. “Return to my horse.”

“I’ll do no such thing. I’ll ride into Woodshadow on my own mount.” She squeezed Jupiter with her knees, but the horse did not move. Glancing from Roen, she saw Hamlin firmly holding on to her horse’s bridle. He gave her a dimpled smile of apology.

“The horse needs to be cooled down or he’ll colic. Give the reins to Landrick. He also needs to cool his mount.” At the mention of his name, the boyishly lean squire held on to his saddle and slid his feet to the ground. He grasped the girth until his feet would support him. Sweat streaked his red face.

“My grooms will see to my horse. You have no need to be concerned, Galliard.” She tried to wrench control from Hamlin but the knight’s hold persisted. Roen lifted her from her saddle and plopped her down onto his lap.

“But it is my concern, Lady Lenora. ‘Twas my man that ran the horse. ‘Tis his responsibility to care for it now. He will return to your home when the horses have been walked and cooled down. I will be glad to offer you a ride back to your home.”

She opened her mouth to utter several of Tom’s more colorful curses but she was slammed back against Roen when his charger cantered toward the castle. Her back kept colliding with Roen’s powerful chest from the horse’s rocking movement. Each time she banged into the knight’s massive torso, she winced. He made no move to prevent her discomfort.

Exasperated, Lenora finally grabbed Roen’s arm, pulled it tight around her and leaned against him. “’Tis this or bruises,” she muttered under her breath, and shot him a murderous glance when she felt the deep rumble of laughter reverberate in his chest.

The rumble stopped, as did the horse. Only her tight hold on Roen’s arm kept her from being thrown forward. The contingent of men drew close to form a barricade between her and the road ahead.

“Release Lady Lenora!” a voice ordered.

“Sir Hywel.” She craned her neck to see a group of her father’s men blocking the road. Roen’s men waited, their hands resting on the hilts of their undrawn swords.

“Release her now!” In unison the knights of Woodshadow drew their swords, their upheld blades casting a blinding reflection of the sun.

Roen moved forward, his men parting for him. He stopped his horse a few paces from her father’s seneschal. “Greetings, Sir Hywel. I and my men aided her when she lost control of her mount. See, yonder is my squire bringing the horse back.”

Sir Hywel glanced over Roen’s shoulder at Landrick, who was walking the two horses back. “Lady Lenora?”

She gritted her teeth and seethed with inner frustration. Galliard gave her a benign smile that only served to stoke her anger. If she contradicted Roen’s story, the two groups would come to blows. To admit, in front of her men and his, that she needed his help galled her.

“Tis as Galliard says,” she managed to get out through clenched teeth, “I was riding Jupiter and—”

“Jupiter! Girl, are you daft? That horse is more than most men can handle.” The steward raised his hand and signalled her protectors to resheath their swords. The knights surrounding her relaxed.

“I thank you for your aid to our lady. She is at times a trifle foolhardy.” Sir Hywel approached Roen and Lenora. “I will take her back to Woodshadow. I am sure her father would like to extend his thanks, also.”

Roen did not remove his arm from around her waist. “Lady Lenora has graciously extended the hospitality of her home to my men and me. Since we travel the same way, I will be glad to take the lady home.” Spurring his horse, he led the group of knights through the gates of Woodshadow and into the inner bailey of her home.

Damn Roen de Galliard! Lenora swore to herself. The man had caused her nothing but trouble and embarrassment since she met him. Gawking villagers lined the hard-packed road to the castle entrance. The sight of her aunt and cousin on forebuilding steps caused her to cringe with mortification. Roen swung her down and deposited her at Matilda’s feet. Dust, from the horses, stirred whirlwinds of dirt around her. She coughed as grime coated her hair, face and clothes.

Roen gave her aunt a polite smile. “Your niece was in need of help, Lady Matilda. I was more than happy to assist her.”

“Sir Roen!” her aunt gushed, as she brushed past Lenora, pulling her skirts close to avoid soiling them on her filthy niece. “I recognize you from the tourney. We are honored to have a knight of your reputation as our guest.”

A stableboy took hold of his horse. Destner tossed his mane and twisted his head to take a bite from the lad’s arm. One of Roen’s squires scrambled from his saddle and took a tentative hold of the animal. A one-word command from his master and the horse settled. Roen dismounted and Matilda latched onto his arm. She waved to her daughter and steered the knight in the direction of the steps. Eagerness and hope rushed through the older woman’s voice. “I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Lady Beatrice.”

“Galhard! I want a word with you.”

Roen turned casually toward Lenora. She stood covered in dust, her skirt partially tucked into her belt. Her hair formed a red gold mantle; her anger caused it to sizzle around her shoulders like tongues of flame.

“Lenora, you should not delay Sir Roen,” Matilda scolded, and tried to tug Roen up the forebuilding steps.

“I don’t mind. I am sure Lady Lenora wishes to give me her thanks in private. Pray, continue on with my men. We will follow shortly.”

Lenora held her tongue until her aunt and cousin disappeared into the keep. “Things have not changed. My cousin remains off limits to you.”

Roen shook his head in amazement. Regardless of how she looked, she sounded like the mistress of the keep. He had bested the girl in front of everyone and she still dared to oppose him. Her use of his family name needled him. She remembered Hamlin or Landrick’s title with no problem. His should not be any harder to recall.

“I am Sir Roen de Galliard of Normandy. You may address me as Sir Roen or Sir Galliard.”

“The way that I address you is not what I wish to discuss.”

“’Tis what I wish to discuss.”

Lenora shook her dust-caked apron, a delighted look on her face when a light cloud of dirt hovered over Roen. Her full lips curled into a sarcastic smile. “I do not wish to keep you from your admirers, Galliard.” He heard the relish in her voice at the insult. She spun around and trudged up the step to the keep.

Left in another cloud of her dust, he started after her. “And I do not wish to keep you from your much needed bath, Nora.”

Lenora stopped, her mouth moving like a fish gasping on dry land. “My name is Lenora.”

Roen skipped up the stair past her, “I don’t wish to discuss that right now. My admirers await.” His laugh rang triumphant as he entered the great hall.

Lenora fumed. If today was Galliard’s payment for her loose tongue, then they were even.

“Lady Lenora.” Sir Hywel stood on the top step. “Your father wants to see you. Now!”

Her chin sank to her chest. The scales had just tipped. She owed Galliard now and she intended her payment to be a painful one to the arrogant lout.

Chapter Five

“Sir Roen, I’m so glad you came along when you did,” her aunt cooed. “Poor Lenora could have been killed trying such an outlandish stunt.” She took a sip from the wine goblet she shared with Roen. The rest of the meal participants listened with rapt attention to the knight’s exaggerated account of the rescue.

Lenora felt a needlelike jab in her head and tried to fix her concentration on her meal. Under the table, her foot tapped the floor in a staccato beat. She wished it was Galliard under her foot instead of the rushes.

“You were so brave to attempt such a rescue.” Matilda continued to heap praise on Roen. Every word of gratitude triggered another pain. Lenora’s head felt like a pincushion.

“Lady Lenora, you have a fine cook. The meal is…” Her dinner partner, Sir Alric, stopped his polite conversation at her icy look.

Alric retreated into a quelled silence. Lenora grabbed their shared wine goblet without asking for help from the knight seated next to her. She dared him to comment on her breach of proper etiquette, which demanded the knight hold the goblet. The last thing she wanted was help from any of Roen de Galliard’s men.

Just as she took a huge gulp of wine, she heard Roen say, “’Twas pure luck that she stayed on the beast’s back after the first jump. Then to see her barreling down toward a second! Well, dear lady, I knew I had to intervene or a terrible accident would occur.”

Her wine almost spewed across the table. She forced the liquid down her constricted throat and was seized by a fit of coughing. All eyes at the head table turned toward her.

“It seems the lady needs my assistance once again.” Roen smiled ruefully at Matilda. He started to rise from his seat of honor next to the saltcellar.

“Nay. Nay.” Lenora waved him back to his seat. “I am fine. The wine was sour.”

“Really!” He took a long swill from his cup. “Mine is deliciously sweet.” Roen gave her a crooked smile. Mischief brought out the blue in his eyes. “Perhaps, ‘tis not the wine that’s sour.”

He turned to Hamlin, seated next to Beatrice on his right. “I have heard, my friend, that the flavor of the meal is enhanced by one’s disposition. I myself feel extremely well satisfied, and my meal was extremely savory. Perhaps ‘tis the lady’s disposition that soured her meal.” The high table exploded with laughter.

Beatrice opened her mouth to defend her dear cousin. Hamlin lightly placed his callused hand over her delicate one. “Nay, Lady Beatrice, this battle is not for one as gentle as yourself. Besides,” he whispered, “I do not think the Lady Lenora is ready to admit defeat just yet.”

As if in response to Hamlin’s statement, Lenora, her eyes aflame, parried back. “Nay, Galliard. My disposition is wonderfully content after my refreshing bath. How could one help to be otherwise when the water was so soothingly warm and scented with mint. I trust yours was the same.”

Roen tapped his index finger on his wide, generous lips, forcing his smile to remain. When he had seen the scrawny, toothless old woman sent to assist him at his bath, he suspected Lenora had arranged it. His men relaxed in hot tubs while he nearly froze in a bucket of tepid water. Not to mention he had had to bear the tale of the hag’s many ailments. Roen nodded appreciatively toward his adversary. Lenora was not a woman to give up any battle easily.

“My bath was exactly as you would expect it to be.” Roen turned toward his dining partner. “Lady Matilda, your niece sent the…”

Matilda giggled like a young girl. “Lenora is too interested in her horses and plants to be concerned with taking proper care of her guests. I am afraid the stress of managing this keep falls on my shoulders and those of my daughter.”

“Then I have you to thank for my bath and the care I received?” Roen questioned.

He was surprised to see Matilda accept the statement as a compliment when he knew Lenora was responsible for his inhospitable treatment. He turned toward the young woman, her face radiant with triumph.

“Sir Roen, my lord will see you now,” the castle seneschal announced. Roen tore his gaze from Lenora. Sir Hywel continued, “Sir Edmund apologizes for the delay in addressing you, but his illness forces him to rest at midday. If you are finished with your meal, I will lead you to his chambers.”

Roen stood and turned to face Lenora, a mocking gnn unsuppressed on his lips. It vanished when he found her seat empty.

“Sir Hywel…” Roen was surprised to find Lenora at his side as she spoke to her father’s steward. “Since ‘twas I the knight assisted, I feel that I should present the man to my father.” Turning to her aunt, the vixen transformed her waspish tongue with a demure guise. “’Tis only the proper thing to do.”

Before her aunt could reply, Lenora grabbed his arm and led him across the room to the stairs. He lengthened his stride to keep up with the girl.

Roen’s battle senses noted with approval the construction of the stairs. As the stone steps reached the upper stories they narrowed and curved. Forced to climb single file, an invading army was blind to what lay ahead. A snatch of Lenora’s dress was all he could see of her as she disappeared around the curve of the step.

The creak of wood contrasted with the cold echo of the stone. Roen quickly identified the sound, wooden defense steps. The structures could be burned or demolished if invaders entered.

“Hold, Galliard!”

Roen pulled himself up short. Lenora blocked his passage. She stood on the upper step, her eyes level with his own. Her chin tilted at a defiant angle and she crossed her arms over her chest. The golden shade of her eyes signaled her state of mind. The docile lamb had reverted back into a bad-tempered lion.

Lenora held her ground. The narrow steps prevented Galliard from brushing past her and the curve of the stair hid them from people below, in the great hall, and above, in her father’s room.

“We will talk before you see my father,” Lenora commanded.

“Orders! You give far too many orders for a woman!” Roen sighed, exasperated.

Her voice dripped with false sincerity. “And would the words sound sweeter coming from the mouth of a man? Do you want me to look humbly at the ground and ask requests of you in my own home, in my own hall, after you have eaten my food and drunk my wine?

“This battle we have—” Lenora saw Roen’s startled expression. “Aye, ‘tis a battle, Galliard. But this is between you and me. You will not involve my father. The story I told him is the same we told his steward.” Lenora clenched her fists and fought to control the timbre of her voice. “My father is ill. He must not be unsettled.”