Love Thine Enemy Page 15

  "I will not go to the convent with you!" Angelique kicked out.

  Pain stabbed from Rochelle's shin and she gasped.

  Angelique spun and pummeled on an obviously stunned Becket with her fists. "Your hatred for Rochelle shouldn't affect my destiny. Just because she is undesirable..."

  Angelique? To the convent? Ignoring Angelique's insults, Rochelle pushed to a stand and brushed dirt from her aching backside. "I say, knight. Do you send all your conquests to convents after one bedding?"

  "I warn you, Lady Rochelle. Lady Angelique, cease your---"

  "If so, I would think the nunneries full by now." By heavens the digs felt good. Encouraged, she forged on as Angelique screamed. "I named you stallion much too soon. Mayhap you back away from all women and rid yourself of any who remind you of your failure. As we fortunate rejects gather for vespers, we'll discuss your---"

  "Rochelle---"

  "Short comings."

  He threw Rochelle a don't-push-me scowl. "I didn't bed her."

  "And the English are saints instead of devils."

  He caught Angelique's wrist as she swiped, then shoved his increasingly irate face close to Rochelle. "Then the English are saints, because 'tis true."

  Rochelle blinked, taken aback. "You refused her?” A mysterious type of relief surged through her. “You refused Angelique . . . and still live? I don't believe any man has done such before. She didn't seek revenge?"

  Stunned by a traitorous thought, Rochelle faced a now quiet Angelique, as did Becket.

  He snarled. "Did you release Gaston?"

  She fluttered her lashes and paled. "Moi?"

  "Are you and Lady Rochelle in collusion?"

  That did it. "Collusion? You accuse us of collusion? Angelique, attack him again."

  "Lady Rochelle---Cease, Lady Angelique---Henri, come snare this lavender she-wolf."

  "She-wolf!" Angelique writhed and kicked harder. "No man treats me this way. I am a lady, of the Chandeau's of . . ."

  Rochelle smiled, then froze as Pierre with the ever-present Sire Spitz darted across the yard like a stone launched from a sling-shot and kicked at Becket's armored legs.

  "You can't take her away. She's my---"

  "Pierre!" Terrified, Rochelle bonked Becket on his stubborn head hoping to distract him and winced from the certain future bruise on her wrist bone.

  "Sacre bleu, not again!" Becket stood like a tree in a storm amidst the attack. "Cease you vixens. Get back, you little hellion. Ouch! That blasted cat!"

  "How dare you assault defenseless children and pets!" Rochelle bonked him on his head again, then leaned over and attempted to catch Pierre despite his flailing arms and legs. "Pierre, stop, he might harm you!"

  Henri's armored feet stomped into her limited view. "Have someone else tend to this human hellcat. Look at these scratches. I didn't receive this many in the battle at---"

  "Hellcat? Hellcat?"

  "As priest of this parish, I insist you reconsider." Père Bertrand's black robes brushed against her arm. "Lady Rochelle has---"

  "Curse you!" Angelique caught Rochelle in the side with her foot, and Rochelle grunted.

  "How dare you---"

  "Blast you to perdition, woman! Someone come kill this cat!"

  “Don’t you hurt Sire Spitz!”

  "Blasphemy! The church---"

  "Let me go, you---"

  "Cease! Everybody cease!"

  Becket swung a leg over Rochelle's bent form and clamped her between his thighs. A black furry blur sailed through the air, landing on its feet.

  "Whoever said females are weak has never met one. The only attacks I've had since arriving here are from women, children and animals."

  She slid him an upward glance.

  He nodded to a group of knights who steadied the spooked horses. "Put this violet femme fatale in the litter, even if you have to tie and gag her. Père Bertrand, another protest and I'll assume you wish to tend to lost souls in another parish."

  The priest sputtered, then spun on his heel and stormed away, abandoning her to her fate.

  "Someone grab this lad before I have him drawn and quartered. As to that cat---"

  Rochelle gasped. "I'll see to them, Sire Becket. 'Tis a promise. They won't bother you again." She slammed backward with her elbow and must have hit something vulnerable, for he groaned and relaxed his legs.

  She scrambled out, clasping Pierre's drawn-back fist. Snatching Sire Spitz from off Becket’s leg, she pulled Pierre into the shade of the curtain wall where she could visit with him in private. Suddenly exhausted, she leaned her back against the stones, noticing that the men who dragged Angelique away looked much like uncertain dogs who had cornered a clawing cat.

  Becket straightened, appearing a bit ashen. "Blast them all to hell. "Phillipe, load the supplies. Fit in what you can of the lady's belongings, then leave the rest."

  Angelique surely shattered the heavens with her screech of protest.

  "Henri, send some men to the waterfall to search . . ."

  "They say he's sending you away!" Pierre burst into sobs burying his face into her unacceptable gown.

  Rochelle hugged Pierre to her breast, her heart surely splitting in two. "Mon frère. Don't weep. I go of my own free will, and if you hush I'll tell you why."

  He stilled, gazing up at her with the largest wet dark eyes a body could possess. "You call me your brother, but you leave me."

  "To get help, mon petit.” She handed him his pet who immediately plopped himself around Pierre’s neck then stretched and yawned as if worn out by the fracas. “Now listen, sweets, because I don't have much time. Keep hold of Sire Spitz and stay out of Sire Becket's sight as if you didn't exist. Jacques will help you. I will return to save us all. I promise."

  She kissed his damp cheek. "Now, I need your help. Find Jacques and tell him to meet me in the great hall. You'll most likely find him in the garderobe. Then hide. Remember, I will return. I will never abandon you." She squeezed him with all her strength, hoping he didn't hear the fear in her voice. "Je t'aime, mon frère."

  "And I love you, my sister." He turned and scampered through the fracas until she could no longer see him. She glanced at Becket, and a chill froze her blood.

  He watched her, a suspicious scowl on his face, then he strolled toward her, backing her into a corner. "You think to play games with me, Lady Rochelle?"

  He leaned down as if to kiss her. Not likely. She balled her hand into a fist and stiffened.

  "Unlike the appropriately named Sire Spitz, you won't fight me, my lady."

  He brushed his lips over hers and a bolt of desire thundered through her veins.

  He chuckled. "No matter how much you loathe me, you dare not pass up the chance for seduction. What power you have placed in my hands. I shall give much thought in conjuring creative ways to enjoy you while we travel."

  Her face burned. If he became any more creative, she would melt like butter over a flame. He smiled down at her, and her heart lumped in her throat, curse her treacherous body.

  "We will make camp early this day. Before the sun sets. So that I can better satisfy my curiosity about you---all of you---in the light of day."

  He dipped his tongue into her stunned mouth, winked, then sauntered away like the only cock in a pen full of adoring hens.

  The arrogant lout.

  By heaven, she demanded revenge. She strolled to where a group of her knights stood in a cluster by one of the wagons, but the bag of coins now hung around her knee and she had to clamp her legs together and move with a most unusual sway. She saw their unease pique to curiosity, then she could swear for some, outright lust. For her? Surely not. But just in case . . .

  She smiled. "I need your services, my brave knights. Would one of you fetch my torn gown from upon the bluff by the cave?"

  Sire Henri turned from where he stood beside the horses, eyes wide with curiosity.

  Ignoring him, she concentrated on the attentive group in front of her. "I confess, sires,
I tried my best to woo Sire Becket into consummating the marriage, per his command . . . his punishment he called it, an odd request for a groom to his bride, if I may say so without being indiscreet. But alas, I am an inexperienced virgin, and as with Sire Marcel, I failed in arousing him enough. Whatever is the matter with me?" She batted her lashes and faked a pout.

  The entire cluster of men came to immediate attention. At least some males found her interesting. Or perhaps they were inquisitive of Becket's possible impotence. At this point, either would do.

  "Perhaps if I knew my faults, or how to seduce a man. I am such an innocent. Do you have any suggestions for me? 'Tis such an embarrassment, but I know not whom else to ask." She batted her lashes again and gave them a look of desperation.

  She witnessed a sea of blushing faces, a wealth of cleared voices and shuffling feet, a few snickers. Several appeared shocked.

  Sire Henri burst into laughter, grabbing the front of the wagon as if to hold himself up.

  "Sire Becket, milady?" one inquired with disbelief. "Are you certain?"

  She toyed with the scoop of her neckline, pleased to see their attention dart to her bosom. She sighed, and they all sighed with her. Being a woman might have advantages, after all.

  She shrugged in feigned innocence. "'Tis so. He told me I could only remain at DuBois if I seduced him into bedding me, but I failed, and now he sends me away. I hope you will give me advice on how to accomplish the task before we reach the convent. For in his magnanimity, he gives me until then." She caught at a sob. "If I fail, he vows no man will have me and will hide me away so as not to remind him of . . ." She bit her lip and blinked as if struggling not to cry.

  Tears rolled from Henri's eyes he laughed so hard. She decided to confront him, head on.

  "Sire Henri, I even suggested to Sire Becket that he accept your offer of bedding me in his stead, an unusual but accepted custom."

  That caught the amused knight's attention. His eyes gleamed pewter as he lounged against the corner and raked her with his gaze. "I surmise he didn't approve of your solution. How sad. I would have enjoyed the sacrifice."

  "As would have I, but he insisted upon attempting the task himself, even though he claimed disinterest and boredom." She scanned their rapt faces. "You can't imagine what I, who knows naught of the ways between a man and woman . . . well, 'twas intimidating what my new husband required of me."

  "Lady Rochelle." Becket came up behind her. "What are you doing?"

  Fearing he would see the note down her bodice, she clasped her hands to her breast.

  Several of the men coughed and looked at the ground, or the sky, their faces red. One even had the temerity to tsk-tsk and shake his head.

  "Lady Rochelle?"

  "I merely visit with the men."

  "About what?"

  He massaged her shoulders, and she wondered if he considered strangling her.

  "I am in need of a man's services."

  She felt him stiffen and he tightened his fingers on her shoulders as if in warning. "For what reason?"

  Henri bit his lip as if to keep from laughing, and rolled his eyes skyward.

  "To fetch my damaged clothing from beside the cave where you . . . well. . . you know . . . I mean when you didn't . . . wouldn't . . . or couldn't . . . and 'tis why you send me away."

  "You what?"

  He spun her to face him, and if ever a man wanted to strike her, he obviously did. She tensed for the blow.

  "I have said naught that isn't true, Sire. I but seek their advice . . . carnally speaking."

  One of the knights cleared his throat. "'Tis naught to be ashamed of, Sire. You've had much strain---"

  "Cease! 'Tis not why I didn't take her!"

  Henri burst into laughter again.

  She gazed up at Becket, she hoped the image of concern. "But, my lord, you did retreat. If you have a problem, mayhap they might be of assistance."

  Henri had sunk to his knees, doubled over, gasping with hilarity.

  Becket's eyes promised death. "You master of twisted truths. What you intimate is a lie and you know it. Several of these men know otherwise. They know I am secure in my abilities."

  "Do they? Personally? Then mayhap I am the wrong gender."

  She heard several gasps. Henri choked and cried at the same time.

  Becket straightened like a post and his face couldn't have become more red. "Curse you, Lady Rochelle. 'Tis not what I meant, and you know it."

  "Oh? Then, mayhap some men have no trouble with light skirts, but are intimidated by ladies of breeding. I but seek to amend the situation, Sire. You said but moments ago that you would give much thought . . well, you hoped to be creative in our . . . or your . . . explorations of my person . . . Perhaps they might be of help to you with your---"

  "Rochelle---"

  "Inadequacy."

  "Tell them 'tis because of your father."

  "Ah. We did agree upon that excuse, didn't we."

  Henri rolled on the ground as if dying, with an occasional gasp for air.

  "Men! Mount up! Now! Before I kill her."

  And she hadn't given the note to Jacques.

  "Sire, I must go to the garderobe." Perspiration trickled between her breasts. The ink might smear.

  "Get in the litter, Rochelle."

  She didn't know how he had managed the feat, but he had given the order with his jaw clenched.

  "But, Sire---"

  "Now."

  A knight hurried from the direction of the gate and tapped Becket on the shoulder. "Sire, we found blood."

  Becket swung from her and moved away as if for privacy.

  Frantic, Rochelle clutched the bag around her knee and dashed in an odd gait for the great hall. She bumped into Jacques, almost knocking him down. The sight of him brought sudden tears to her eyes. Clutching his gnarled hand, she slipped the damp scroll from her bodice, hoping the note still readable.

  "Jacques, you are the only soul I can trust."

  A pained look creased his burn-scarred forehead.

  "Don't worry about me, Jacques." She handed him the missive. "Somehow, you must see that this is taken to King Jean. He will aid our cause and oust Becket, I'm certain of it."

  The sweet old man opened his mouth but said naught as if uncertain as what to say.

  She kissed him on his mostly bald head and hugged him. "Je t'aime, Jacques."

  Fearing she would break into tears and reveal her weakness, she turned, and spied Pierre and Sire Spitz. She should give her brother some of the coins.

  Rochelle grabbed Pierre's small hand and pulled him up the stairs into the lord's chamber, the safest place since the lord occupied himself outside, and that window claimed the best view of the bailey. She lifted Pierre-and-cat onto the windowseat so that she could keep an eye on Becket. If he came toward the keep, she would have time to hide.

  She raised her skirt and slipped the bag off over her foot, then handed him several coins. "Pierre, keep these in case . . ." She glanced out the window, then froze, the coins thudding and clattering around her feet.

  Jacques shuffled up to Becket. No, he wouldn't. She trusted him.

  Love. A vulnerability. A tool for manipulation.

  Jacques passed the scroll to her enemy! He betrayed her!

  Becket's earlier statement pierced her mind. Someone she trusted . . . Jacques! He had brought Becket to her father's chamber. Now she knew why his unease the entire day.

  Pain worse than with her failure upon the bluff tore through her chest. Tears blurred her vision. She swiped at her eyes.

  Becket opened the parchment. He didn't rant or shout curses as she expected, but went dangerously still. He then stole toward her trunk and gestured to the giant, who forced open the lid. At another nod from Becket, the man dumped her few precious possessions onto the ground. Becket knelt and fumbled as if in search of something. He stood, scanned the bailey, then lifted his gaze.

  She ducked back from the window. He had seen her! Rochelle fel
l to her knees and scooped up the fallen money, dropping coins, rushes and all down the front of her bodice.

  "Pierre, I erred about Jacques. He has betrayed us. Seek shelter with the priest. I'll come back to you as soon as I can, but I know not when. I must flee before Sire Becket finds me. You must leave this chamber. Now!"

  Pierre burst into tears. She dashed the back of her hand over her own tears. Giving him a final hug, she pulled him through the door, then turned for the back staircase, feeling as if she left her heart behind.

  What would happen to him? She could never sneak back in for Pierre, not when men watched the cave for Gaston. And between seeing the note and what she had done to Becket in front of his men, he would . . . what? Not pleasant for certain, and most assuredly bizarre. He probably raced up the steps at that very moment.

  "Rochelle! Don't leave me."

  Her mind screaming for her to run, she turned to her brother. They only had each other now. She couldn't leave him behind. With all the strain, he might have an attack. What would they do to him? She held out her shaking hand.

  "Come with me, Pierre. We'll escape the devil together."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  King Jean!

  The near-calamity shook Becket to his toes He retrieved the note from a stunned Henri and re-rolled the parchment.

  "'Tis almost beyond belief, Henri. With the delicate stroke of her quill, the vixen almost destroyed the entire English battle plan to gain the French throne, and in the process, signed our death warrants. If not for Jacques . . ." Becket shook his head, still reeling with how close the disaster. "I'll kill her."

  Henri laughed, but shallow, uneasy. "An empty threat. You're too enamored with your enemy."

  "Enamored? 'Tis hatred." Becket leaned against the curtain wall within the shadows. He removed one armored solarette from his foot so that he could tread without sound.

  "Both emotions branch from the same tree, Becket. Shall I tell you why you're enamored? Beyond her comeliness, that is."

  "Spare me your rationale."

  "Lady Rochelle belongs to you. Like DuBois."

  Becket stilled. How many times had he said the same to her? She even claimed to be of DuBois. And her coloring, her scent . . . Nonsense. To both surmisals. He removed the other solarette but stayed within the shade, scanning the bailey, watching, waiting.