Exhaustion overtook her. She would not brood upon the bastard heir anymore. She shifted to look longingly at the fur pallet. She could only guess whether the Norman would return to sleep there or not, and she was too fatigued now to think clearly. But it didn’t matter. She could not lie in his bed, even alone; the very idea was atrocious.
Mary sank down on the dirt floor, huddling into a small ball. Finally numbness settled upon her aching mind, but sleep eluded her. She drifted restlessly, listening to the sounds of the night and the camp, the nickering of horses, a hooting owl, the men talking quietly outside, until the last of their voices died down. As the human sounds faded, she tensed, waiting for inevitable footsteps—footsteps she was certain would come. She lay rigid for a long time, but they did not come—he did not come.
Mary awoke to find the Norman’s face close to her own. For one instant she did not move, dazed with sleep, gazing into glittering eyes that were not black but a rich maple brown. Then reality hit her with violent force and she jerked away from him.
He had been leaning over her, to touch his face almost to hers, but now he straightened. “I hope your story proves to be the truth, demoiselle.”
His meaning was not lost upon her. “Get away from me!”
“What frightens you so this mom, mademoiselle? Is it me you fear—or yourself?”
Mary found her tongue. “I do not fear myself. I fear big black Normans for whom rape is as casual a sport as hawking.”
He laughed. “I can assure you, mademoiselle, I have never participated in that particular act of violence, and I never will.” He added, very low, “I have never needed to, and when you join me in my bed, it will be with enthusiasm—the same kind of enthusiasm that was in evidence last night.”
His blunt reference to her appalling behavior yesterday infuriated Mary. “You will never see such enthusiasm from me again!”
He lifted a dark brow. “Do you challenge me?” His smile was genuine. “I enjoy challenges, demoiselle.”
She shook her head vehemently, her heart tripping. “You have no power over me.”
“To the contrary, I have an ancient power over you, mademoiselle, the power of a man over a woman.”
“I am not like other women.”
“No?” His teeth flashed. “You appeared to be a woman as any other last night, when you lay mewling beneath me, a woman both in my power and at my mercy. But if it makes you feel better, I will concede that you are far more interesting than all the women I have so far met. Far more interesting, far more intriguing, and—” he smiled again, his eyes suddenly warm “—far more beautiful.”
Mary fought the seduction that simmered in the intensity of his gaze. She bristled. “I do not mewl, Norman! And you may say whatever you like, you may think as you undoubtedly will, but it does not change what I feel, and what I feel for you is better left unsaid.”
He eyed her for a long moment, assessingly. “Beneath the anger there is much to explore, I think. Nevertheless, we are wasting not just words but time. We leave in a quarter hour. I suggest you take a few private moments to do what you must. This dispute can be concluded at Alnwick.”
De Warenne turned and limped away, moving remarkably well for a man who had recently suffered a gore wound. Mary stared after him, relieved that he was gone. Every encounter she survived—intact—seemed to her no small victory.
But she was also dismayed. Alnwick was the new seat of Northumberland. The earl, the bastard’s father, had spent some fifteen years completing it, and rumor held it to be an impenetrable fortress. If that was true, it meant that once she was imprisoned there, she had no hope of being rescued.
It flashed through Mary’s mind that by this morning, Malcolm and her brothers would be scouring the countryside looking for her. Perhaps she could be rescued before being imprisoned at Alnwick. Shemustbe rescued first! It was her only hope.
What if she were to leave a sign for Malcolm? How could she do this?
Quickly she shoved aside the fur she had been covered with, trembling with excitement. Someone had brought her a bowl of water, and Mary quickly washed. She hurried from the tent and stopped.
Horses were being saddled, the camp packed up. Everyone appeared absorbed with their tasks. Mary saw her captor talking with another knight, his back to her.
Mary took a calming breath, praying that Stephen de Warenne would not notice her. But he suddenly turned to face her. Mary ignored him, hoping her sudden excitement did not show, walking to the woods. She was well aware that a knight trailed after her, obviously instructed to guard her. Her spirits dimmed somewhat, but not her determination. Mary disappeared behind a tree and some bushes to tend to some pressing needs. In the process she tore off a piece of her fine silk chemise, worn beneath both peasant tunics, one well laundered and bone white. Her hands were shaking so badly that it took several attempts to tie the bright piece of fabric to a branch of the tree. When she had succeeded, she tore off several additional strips, stuffing them up her sleeves. She hurried around the bushes to where the knight stood, his back to her. Her hopes soared. Surely one of the Scots searching for her would find the flag she had left!
The knight escorted her back to the camp and her captor. The Norman was in conversation with the man who had captured her yesterday.
“Liddel?” Will was saying. “It should not be a problem, Stephen; after all, by tonight everyone will be well crocked from the wedding feast. I can find out what you want, my lord.” He flashed him a cocky smile.
Stephen smacked his shoulder. “Godspeed.” He smiled at Mary. “Is there a message you wish to give someone? Your beloved, perhaps?”
Mary was frozen, but only for an instant. “Do you have eyes on the back of your head like some misshapen monster?”
He was amused. “Did you really think to eavesdrop? If you wish to know my intentions, you need only ask, mademoiselle.”
“Why is he going to Liddel?”
“Do you have something to hide?”
