Love Thine Enemy Read online

  "He sends her to a convent."

  "And into my trap. I'll trail them from a distance until I know which nunnery. I'll slip in at night, rape her, and take her to Moreau. Then DuBois will be mine."

  “Your scheme is for naught. As heir, Becket inherits DuBois without the consummation. He but dallies with her.”

  “You spineless fool. He has no proof. The idiot sends away his best claim to DuBois, a blunder I will use to defeat him.” Gaston reached for the flask, nearly vomiting from the agony of movement.

  "You can't go to Moreau, Gaston. He has claimed your estate as well."

  "Slay him, then the only estate he'll claim is his grave."

  "And risk detection?"

  "You risk more than detection if you fail."

  Gaston wrenched out the cork and took a swig. Liquid burned a welcome trail down his throat and eased his queasy stomach.

  "'Tis not as with the others, Gaston. Becket is different, more astute, less trusting, less affected by my influence."

  "Do something to gain his confidence if you must. But kill him."

  The waterfall filled the silence as Gaston waited for the expected compliance.

  "How?"

  He shoved in the stopper. "Like before. Poison the wine. Or be creative. Just make certain he dies."

  "What if I'm caught?"

  "Slit your throat."

  He heard the gasp.

  Gaston sneered and leaned forward. "If you reveal anything, and I catch up to you, I'll take revenge within my dungeon. You've witnessed the macabre gories that excite my soul. You know how creative I am." He fought a laugh.

  "You wouldn't. Not after all we've done together."

  "Which should convince you I have no qualms about another mutilation. In truth, too much time has passed since blood other than mine has run through my fingers."

  "In return, I want the boy."

  Gaston chuckled. "Pierre?

  "Don't take offense. I prefer them young."

  "Lady Rochelle has too much attachment to him anyway. He's yours. After Becket is dead."

  "He will be. Soon."

  Gaston gathered the reins. "I can't wait around here. They'll be searching for me." He urged his mount from out of the shelter of the cedars.

  "What if aught should go awry? How do I reach you?"

  Gaston turned his steed but stayed behind the brush. "If 'tis before they depart for the convent, use polished brass to signal from the parapet. I'll meet you behind the waterfall after dark."

  "Becket has knights searching for you."

  "They'll expect me to be traveling away from DuBois. If the entourage leaves as scheduled, then I'll return as soon as I have Lady Rochelle sequestered at Moreau."

  "But the guard---"

  "If you do your job, there won't be a guard. Even so, make certain the secret passageway remains unbarred. And Becket had better be worm fodder by the time I return. If not, you will be . . . after I've had my . . . pleasure."

  "Don't threaten me."

  "Then kill him."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "I'll kill him. English or no."

  Steadying her shaking hand as she sat at her writing desk, Rochelle dipped the sharpened vane-tip of the feather into the inkwell and signed her name on the parchment.

  Distant screams and shouts between a man and woman filtered into her chamber, as they had in intermittent moments for the past hour. She wondered what depravity the knight performed upon some helpless female, hating that she couldn't rescue the poor woman.

  Rochelle sprinkled powder on the wet ink and blotted, then reread to make certain she had fully explained her dreadful circumstances.

  "To my most exalted liege lord, King Jean of France,

  On the treacherous day before this, one of your knights, Sire Becket, Le Vengeur, forced me into a marriage mere moments before the mysterious death of my father, your loyal supporter, Lord Reynaurd de DuBois. Sire Becket now arranges to annul the vows and sentences me to a convent, sending me away from all that is rightfully mine.

  Sire Becket claims he does so upon your orders. If so, then I would know what I have done to earn such vile punishment. If he acts upon his own, then I beg you, my most exalted King, please assist me in regaining my stolen lands.

  I know not in which convent he intends my sequester, but if you will aid me in my most dire of moments, I will fatten your coffers with a healthy percentage of profits that will surely be obtained if I rule DuBois alone.

  I will attempt to communicate with you again from my imprisonment, but if I am unable, please seek me out and rescue me from this wretchedness. You are my only hope.

  Your faithful servant,

  Lady Rochelle Christine de DuBois."

  Satisfied, she rolled the parchment and tied the message with a satin ribband the color of her bleeding heart. Now, for a messenger. But whom to trust? How to pass the missive without being seen? What to do about Pierre during her absence? If she could only quit shaking and think!

  The lock clicked!

  Her gaze flew to the door. She hadn't burned the rejected attempts strewn at her feet. If Becket saw them and knew what she attempted . . . Controlling her panic, she stuffed the scroll into her bodice between her breasts.

  The door hinges creaked. Trembling like a sinner at Satan's gate, she knelt and gathered the incriminating evidence. The guard would surely catch her, with the devil to pay. As the door swung open, she leapt to a stand, hiding her litter-filled hands behind her, forcing a calm smile to belie her raging pulse as ---the devil himself strode into the chamber, re-armored as if for battle, and as handsome as sin, curse his dark soul.

  Her smile hardened. "You come for me?"

  Becket's eyes seethed with hateful revenge, but she couldn't imagine why, since he had been the victor. However, she planned her own revenge via her note to King Jean.

  Becket cocked a masterful brow. "Whom did you expect? Henri? One of my lust-driven knights? A passing peddler? Not so, my traitorous falcon. They would surely be stricken witless by your accomplished pretense of innocence. They will see to your personal possessions. I will see to you."

  He slid a distasteful appraisal over her body much like a viper searching for a vulnerable spot to strike. He hesitated at her breasts for a degrading moment which seemed to intensify his anger, then slammed her with a sneer.

  "You think to shame me with the shabby attire you have donned ever since my arrival---the black bombazine and now this---but 'twill have no effect on me. You must have spent your precious moments this morn butchering this outfit just for spite, instead of readying your possessions."

  Heat crept up her neck to burn her face from the fang-like sting of his words. Rochelle glanced down at the five year-old gown which she had let out with what she had believed quite creative methods. Varicolored materials fanned from her waist to beneath her arms like a peacock's tail, a necessity to accommodate her developing form. Her hatred burned so hot from his venomous censure that he surely felt the heat. She quelled the urge to crumple the pages and fling them at his face.

  He curved a smug grin at her irritation. "Now, come here. 'Tis time. And I warn you. I forbid you to weep."

  "You obnoxious boor. I am eager to be away from your repulsive control. And fear not, you will never see me shed tears. My father and Marcel taught me well."

  "You lie about thinking me repulsive." He ran his finger over the hilt of his sword, then his tongue as if to transfer taste. "'Twas but a pleasurable scream ago that you begged for my touch."

  Her face burned hotter. Moon-struck images of how he had teased her with the hilt, of how she had touched him, licked him, begged him, seared through her disreputable memories. But she had no time for remembered humiliations.

  As she met his glare, the truth sliced into her mind; her secret mission made her departure imperative, for she could better plot Becket's overthrow when out from under his scrutiny. Of a sudden, she ached to be away. But what to do about the discarded letters? I
f he saw them he would search her for the final copy, and all would be forfeit. Mayhap, even her life.

  "Sire, before we leave, I beg you to see the view from this chamber, to witness what I will miss while I die a slow death behind cloistered walls."

  "I know the view from here. 'Twas my chamber before the theft, remember?"

  "But you have not seen this vantage for two decades. After all you have required of me, 'tis but a simple request."

  He narrowed his eyes with distrust, then as if to humor her, or to catch her at her ruse, he mumbled to someone outside the door. No escape for her that way. He sauntered toward the window and she could sense his heightened awareness, in wait for treachery.

  Rochelle backed toward the hearth, much too slowly according to the wild beat of her heart. But if she moved quickly, Becket would notice. And worse, the small bag of coins she had secured to one thigh might slip. Now, if she just didn't trip . . .

  She took another step back and felt the heat on her hands, felt the hearthstones beneath her feet.

  Becket still stared out the window, his body as tense as a cat ready to pounce. "'Tis a magnificent view. Lady Rochelle. Although, 'twould be even more interesting if one could see the cave entrance from here."

  He had the indecency to remind her again of her failure. Rochelle tossed the papers backward at the fire, praying they landed in the dying embers, but she didn't hear a pouf as if they had leapt into flames. Blast the fates!

  "For if you could see the cave and had been watching, Lady Rochelle . . ."

  She spun to see one parchment in a slow singe, the other on cold ashes at the edge.

  ". . . you would have seen that Gaston is trapped inside the cave and can no longer come to your rescue."

  Frantic, she grabbed the poker and pushed the evidence into the hot coals. The poker jerked from her hands!

  Becket jabbed at the papers with the steel rod. "What do you burn? Notes for Gaston?"

  Her heart leapt into her throat. Dear God, help her. If Becket read them . . .

  He jabbed again as if wishing he skewered her instead. The coals flared. Flames enveloped the sheets.

  "Sacre blue!"

  She almost sank to the floor in relief, then stiffened when his words registered in her numbed mind.

  "What do you mean, Sire Gaston is trapped in the cave?"

  He flung the poker into the embers stirring a grayish cloud of ash and sparks, then he grasped her arms and her head snapped back as he shook her.

  "You failed at your ploy to distract me while upon the bluff so that Gaston could escape, as you failed at your attempt to seduce me."

  "My ploy? 'Twas your insane form of punishment. And I knew naught of Sire Gaston being in the cave." She gasped. "Then 'twas he I heard, not an animal. If I had entered . . ." She couldn't finish, the idea of what might have happened to her too revolting to consider. She shuddered, which only served to increase his wrath.

  "You outrageous liar. But all for naught. As soon as Gaston slithers out, he'll be trapped beneath the heel of my power. And once I have dealt punishment, Lady Rochelle, his forked tongue will hiss the truth of your liaison, hiss about your traitorous aid in his escape."

  He lowered his face much too near, and her heart pounded a betraying beat. How dare she react thus to her enemy.

  She glared in return. "I hate to destroy your perfect plan, but if he suspects a trap he might exit another way."

  Becket stiffened as if a cold chill had run along his spine. "There is another egress? How know you this?"

  She crossed her arms over her chest and turned toward the hearth, feeling again the terror of being doomed, like now. "When as a child I became lost in the blackness for two horrendous days that seemed as a thousand. Just when I knew I would surely die, I spied a sliver of light that led me to an opening behind the waterfall."

  She stilled at the symbolism. Light beyond the dark. Victory beyond failure? She would win. King Jean would defeat her enemy.

  As if to squelch her secret hope, he gripped her arm and dragged her toward the door. "You think to divert suspicion with your timely tidbit about the hidden exit, but I know you now, body and soul."

  His touch sent a shiver through that body of hers he knew too well, cracking her patched resolve.

  He motioned to a cluster of male servants who hovered just outside, one of them the giant who had been the dungeon guard, now with a bandaged head and contrite expression.

  "Men, gather her belongings since she has not done so and bring them to the bailey, posthaste, before my ire raises another notch."

  As the men dashed past her, she gestured toward the windowseat to show them where sat her trunk, then practically tripped as Becket pulled her into the hallway and toward the stairs. Because of the coins, she had to limp so as not to hit the bag loose with her other thigh. She prayed they wouldn't jingle.

  "Cease this dawdling, Lady Rochelle." He yanked on her hand, and the bag slipped a bit. Horrified, she attempted small, mincing steps, surely giving the appearance of a woman desperate for the garderobe.

  "You slow me apurpose, woman."

  She gasped as Becket slung her over his shoulder like a sack of oats. Her stomach jarred with each urgent stride, with each jolting downward step on the spiral staircase.

  Rochelle squirmed so that she could press one hand to her bosom to keep the note from falling out, the other clutched her wimple. He caressed his hand on her upturned buttocks, and a traitorous bolt of heat shot right to her womanhood.

  "Be still, woman, or I'll run my hand up your skirts and give you a well-deserved swat."

  The coins. "To avoid your revolting touch, I'll be as still as your stone heart."

  "You bait me? As punishment, I believe I'll explore you again."

  "You rutting knave. You use any excuse to touch me."

  He hesitated a moment as if stunned by her observation. "'Tis only that I enjoy your discomfort."

  The weight of his hand disappeared from her backside, then she felt his callused flesh slide up the back of her calf.

  "Cease, knight, or I'll expose your backside."

  He eased his fingers past her knee while he strode down the hallway as if an everyday occurrence.

  Clamping her thighs together, she worked her hands under the heavy edge of his mail shirt in a mad search for his laces that held up his hose.

  As if to prove his superiority, he splayed his hand on the back of her thigh, thank goodness the other one, and seared a path upward and caressed her bare buttocks, almost as if he searched for something. He surely had felt the bag, but then why hadn't he ripped the coins from her leg?

  Frantic to distract him, she jerked with both hands, trying to pull the laces from the points, her head so heavy with blood she could barely think.

  "Lady Rochelle, as of now, the world cannot see what I do. You dare expose me, and I'll flip up your skirt."

  Blast him. He stepped down into the great hall, and even from her bottomside-up position, she saw that servants and knights stared as Becket carried her past, obviously stunned by the lord's and lady's ignoble behavior.

  "Even though fabric covers your obscenity, knight, that you would perform such lewdness in front of my servants and my knights while in my keep..."

  As if for malice, he brushed his fingers against her privacy, and moisture formed in her womanhood. He groaned and tightened his clamp around her knees.

  How dare he. Rochelle bucked, then tried to rip---

  A woman's scream of rage from outside chilled her movements. She heard indistinct shouts about "convent' and "dead first". Someone fought for her! Unexpected tears threatened to spill, for no one else had dared defy their new master.

  Becket stepped through the doorway into the dawn-tinged bailey, then halted.

  "What the . . . What is all this strewn baggage? How did you arrange this while locked in your chamber, woman? Did you think to steal from me and I wouldn't notice?" He squeezed her bare bottom as he moved down the steps. "O
r, mayhap 'tis but wares from a passing peddler."

  Rochelle rammed her hand into his hose and squeezed his buttocks as rock-hard as his head. "Tell the peddler I have need of him."

  "After my talents at arousing you, I would imagine you lust for any unwary male. How magnificent my punishment, for you will not have the chance."

  "You were no less affected. I pity the poor unsuspecting female who sprawled in your frustrated path during this past hour."

  He growled as he stood her upright, making her doubt he had found his release with another woman. Something inside her hoped he hadn't, then she wondered why she cared. Most likely because she wanted him to suffer as much as she.

  Unable to stand with the spin of her head, Rochelle grasped his arms, eager to know who fought her cause, curious about what had instigated the peddler jibe.

  Lifting her gaze, she stilled, stunned. Amidst the noise and confusion of wagons, knights, horses, servants, barking dogs and the ring of the smithy's hammer, sat a myriad of chests and sacks that littered the bailey as if the entire household prepared for departure. Except she knew better. Angelique's belongings.

  Angelique.

  The source of the shouts.

  The helpless female.

  But the scene made no sense.

  Henri swung a wide gesture, his hair disheveled, his face furious frustration. "If we take all this, we won't have room for nonessentials like food and tents."

  Becket pulled Rochelle alongside in a lopsided stride as he trod toward the conglomeration. "When did they bring down Lady Rochelle's possessions? I had the key."

  "They didn't. They're Lady Angelique's."

  "Great glory. By the time we add Lady Rochelle's . . ." He turned to the doorway where the cluster of servants flanked the giant, the lot of them looking ridiculous as they each held onto her tiny trunk.

  "That's all you have?" Becket seared her with a suspicious glare. "What do you attempt with this trickery? Undeserved sympathy?"

  Before she could retort, lavender flashed into her view. She stumbled from a shove and landed on her seat with a painful jolt.