Defiant Love Page 6

  He was standing a little to one side, talking with a grizzled thegn responsible for the archery training. Brenna noted briefly that he seemed in a good mood, was even laughing. But his smile faded as he spied her hurrying toward him with a grim-faced Edythe close behind.

  "My lord," Brenna murmured respectfully, "would you allow me a moment to speak with you?"

  A flick of the Earl's hand was sufficient to dismiss the thegn, who scurried quickly away. His piercing gray eyes flitting from Brenna to his lady and back again, Harold demanded, "What concerns you?"

  "My betrothal to Guyon D'Arcy," Brenna blurted, thinking it better to come to the heart of the matter at once. "I do not wish to marry him."

  For a moment the Earl simply stared at her as though unable to believe what he had just heard. Extreme displeasure was stamped clearly on his arrogant features. Swallowing hard, Brenna kept her gaze focused on the broad chain of beaten gold stretched across the Earl's powerful chest. She did not raise her head as, addressing Edythe, he said grimly, "I had understood, my lady, that this union was desired by both parties."

  Edythe shifted uncomfortably before him. She was not afraid of the Earl, for in fifteen years he had never treated her with anything other than gentleness and loving passion. But she had seen his temper directed at others enough times to dread such an outburst now. Hurriedly, she said, "Brenna has some idea that she would prefer to take holy vows, my lord."

  "Is this true?" he barked, a hard hand forcing Brenna's head up.

  "Y-yes," she gasped, finding it difficult to breathe under his fierce scrutiny.

  "You believe you have a vocation?"

  "I..." Brenna could not lie. She knew she was not one of those rare individuals truly called to the service of God. But she was also fully aware that such men and women made up only a tiny portion of the cloistered population. Most others were there simply because they did not care for the secular life, or had no place in it. "I do not wish to wed, my lord," she managed at last. "Not Guyon D'Arcy or any man. I mean no disrespect to you or him, but I cannot honor the contract."

  "You cannot!" the Earl repeated harshly. "That contract is between D'Arcy and myself. As your kinsman and guardian since your father's death, it is my right to dispose of you however I see fit."

  Brenna flushed angrily. What the Earl said was true, but did he have to make her sound like a side of beef up for barter? "My cooperation is still required," she snapped, "and that I will not give!"

  Before her brave defiance, the Earl merely laughed. Grimly, he informed her: "Your cooperation is far from essential. Guyon D'Arcy will wed and bed you whether or not you approve!"

  "My lord!" Edythe broke in hastily, seeing the color drain from Brenna's face. She sent a hasty look of pleading at the Earl who, seeing it, was reminded of what he should not have forgotten. Relenting very slightly, he muttered, "Brenna, this marriage is best for you. Believe me. You will shortly come to understand and accept that." More sternly, he added, "But in the meantime, you will accept my will. The contract is signed. Two days hence you become Guyon D'Arcy's wife."

  Afraid to look at her kinsman again lest she say something truly unforgivable, Brenna kept her head mutely bowed. She could hear Edythe speaking placatingly to the Earl, assuring him that Brenna would be brought around. But the words barely registered on her fevered mind. Swamped by despair, she knew only that she had been a fool to believe her wishes would prevail over any man's. To her kinsman, she told herself bitterly, she was nothing but a possession to be bartered away. And to Guyon... The memory of his kiss and the barely leashed passion she had sensed within him flooded back, making her tremble.

  To Guyon she was merely a womanly body he desired to possess. One which would give him both pleasure and children. That she also brought with her beneficial political ties was an added inducement, but she had no doubt where his interest mainly lay. Guyon would expect her to fulfill her obligations as his wife completely and without the slightest resistance. Not that there would be any hope of denying him. As the Earl had pointed out, the seasoned warrior would take her whether she wished it or not.

  Never! Brenna vowed fiercely. He will never get the chance to hurt me like that. Forgetting all the happy, relaxed times with Guyon, the easy companionship they enjoyed, her ready acceptance of his friendship, Brenna knew only that she would not, could not, submit to his possession. Before her terrible fear of what that entailed, all other considerations vanished.

  Numbly, she allowed Edythe to lead her away. Back in her room, seated on the narrow bed, she listened silently as her sister pleaded and coaxed and finally just insisted that she accept her fate gracefully. "There are dozens, maybe hundreds of women," Edythe insisted, "who would joyfully trade places with you. Not one would hesitate for a moment to be Guyon D'Arcy's wife. But he's chosen you. Oh, Brenna," she entreated, "can't you see it's for the best? Guyon is a kind man. He will not hurt you."

  Edythe hesitated, wondering if she should say more. Perhaps this was the time to bring Brenna's fears out in the open, to talk plainly of them and to explain exactly why she should not dread marriage to Guyon. Though she had lain with no man but the Earl, Edythe was certain her sister's betrothed would be a gentle and patient lover. Faithful to the core of her being, she was still woman enough to have heard and appreciated the comments about his prowess. This was no callow boy who would be rough or unfeeling, but a skilled, experienced man who knew full well how to bring a woman to the peak of exquisite pleasure. If only Brenna would entrust herself to him...

  About to say something of this, Edythe was prevented when Brenna murmured, "I am sorry for the trouble I've caused. Surely the Earl will not hold you responsible?"

  In her present state, fearing and distrusting all men, she truly worried that Edythe might suffer physically for her actions. It was by no means unheard of for women to be beaten or otherwise abused by their husbands, without the slightest recourse. If she had brought such punishment down on her sister...

  Seeing the woebegone look in the younger girl's eyes, Edythe instinctively sought to comfort her. "Don't worry about me. The Earl's anger flares swiftly, but dies just as fast."

  Somewhat reassured, Brenna nodded. "That is good. After all your kindness to me, I would not like to think I brought you trouble."

  There was a note in the younger girl's voice that made Edythe frown. If she had been less worried and better able to concentrate, she might have recognized the hint of finality and farewell. But Edythe's mind was in turmoil as she struggled to determine how the marriage could be brought off without further disturbance.

  When Brenna suggested she would like to lie down and rest for a few hours, her sister agreed at once. The younger girl's apparent calmness relieved her, and she was certain that with a little time Brenna would see her only sensible course was to go along with that which was already arranged. She left Brenna lying on the bed, lightly covered by a soft wool blanket with the shutters closed against the morning sun.

  No sooner did Edythe step from the room, shutting the door behind her, than Brenna sprang into action. Jumping from the bed, she hurried to the chest holding her clothes. An older but sturdier mantle replaced the silk one she had donned that morning. The soft slippers she wore were discarded in favor of sturdy leather boots. A woolen cloak went around her shoulders, the hood pulled up to hide her luxurious hair.

  Bundling a few more belongings into the purse hanging from her belt, Brenna hurried to the door. She opened it just a crack and peered outside. The corridor was empty. She could hear nothing but the distant sounds of household servants moving about and the shouts of men on the training field. Taking a deep breath, she ran lightly down the hallway, not pausing until she reached the stairs.

  There she hesitated. In the narrow, winding confines leading down to the Great Hall, she would be unable to hide herself from anyone who happened to pass by. If recognized, her presence would certainly not be thought remarkable. But her dress would arouse curiosity. A careless word ut
tered in the wrong ear and pursuers would quickly be after her.

  Hardly daring to breath, Brenna moved slowly down the stairs. She hugged the curving stone wall, listened intently for any sound that would send her fleeing to the relative safety of the passageway. By the time she at last reached the bottom, she was trembling and her heart beat painfully.

  It was easy enough to lose herself in the shadows of the Great Hall. She was certain no one noticed as she flitted through, slipping out a side door that led to the stables. Her mare was in the usual stall. The horse whinnied a greeting, but was quickly shushed by Brenna. Talking soothingly to the chestnut, she breathed a silent prayer of thanks to her father who had insisted his daughter learn for herself how to saddle and bridle a horse. When the last girths were tightened, Brenna slid easily onto the mare's back.

  Ducking her head under the low beam of the stable door, she took a last quick glance around. At this hour, the grooms were in the tackle barn polishing leather and gossiping. Confident her departure went unnoticed, Brenna urged the little horse down the path leading to a little-traveled back road.

  There was no doubt about which direction to take. Only one refuge remained to her—the convent at Wilton where a distant kinswoman of Brenna's served as abbess. She had stayed at the convent several years before when her father finally gave in to her desire to learn more about the difficult art of illumination. Over several months of study, Wilton had become a dear and familiar place.

  Brenna visualized it as she rode along, taking comfort from the thought of sturdy walls of rough-hewn stone protecting neat fields and orchards.

  Wilton was very much a world unto itself. Completely self-sufficient, the convent precincts included far more than just the abbey itself. A good-sized village of spotless conical huts housed the lay workers. From many doorposts hung special badges signifying the resident's status as tanner, shoemaker, herdsman, tailor, or other of the many occupations required to keep Wilton running smoothly. Some little distance from the village stood the barns, stables, and hennery, far enough away for cleanliness but still convenient to easy reach.

  At the center of the estate, as at the hub of a wheel with many spokes, stood the abbey. Built about a century before, its somber stone walls, thatched roof, and high bell tower were a beacon to the ideals of sanctity and sacrifice. The women who dwelled within devoted their lives to an endless round of prayer, work, and most importantly to Brenna, the copying of books through which knowledge might spread.

  Protected by the special favor of the Queen and made wealthy by numerous endowments, Wilton enjoyed a high degree of independence. The holy sisters managed their own affairs, both secular and religious, without interference from London, Canterbury, or Rome. More than anything else, that independence and the freedom it suggested, attracted Brenna. She could hardly wait to be once again safe within Wilton's high stone walls, from which not even the Earl or the King himself would be able to drag her.

  Spurring the little horse to a trot, she joined the main road leading west. Even at this early hour, traffic was already heavy. But most was going in the opposite direction, toward London and the Court. Only a few merchants, their carts heavy with trade goods for the outlying villages, were moving in the same direction as Brenna. She joined the thin stream anxiously, aware that it couldn't be much longer before her absence was noted and the chase begun. Her hope rested on the likelihood that pursuers would head for Norfolk, believing she would return home. By the time they learned that was not her route, she counted on being well within Wilton's sanctuary.

  The hours passed slowly. Brenna stopped twice to rest and water the mare, but each time she was too anxious to pause very long. As the road ahead grew emptier, a new fear joined her dread of pursuers. Without escort, she was vulnerable to attack by robbers or even worse. Regretfully, she wished she had stayed her hurried pace and remained within the shelter of some merchant's train. Surrounded by other people, there would be some protection. Alone, with night fast approaching, she had none.

  Bravely telling herself that England's roads were safe under the King's peace, Brenna forced her weary body onward. Accustomed though she was to long periods in the saddle, the tension of her escape and her frantic speed had combined to exhaust her. Her back throbbed and her shoulders slumped. As mile succeeded weary mile, she began to think longingly of rest. If she could only lie down for a few minutes...

  A copse of trees appeared around the next bend. Brenna drew rein. In the rapidly growing dusk, she relished the peaceful sense of solitude. Only a few birds fluttered their wings in the arching oak trees. A small spring bubbled nearby. The ground beneath her was soft and inviting.

  The mare whinnied longingly, spurring Brenna to a decision. She would stop for a few hours, continuing when the full moon was high enough to light the road. Prudence required that she leave her saddle in place, but she was at least able to rub the chestnut down and lead her to a particularly verdant clump of grass before lowering her own exhausted body beside the stream.

  Cupping cool water in her hands, Brenna bathed her face and drank eagerly. Her escape from Thorney had been so swift that she gave no thought to provisions. Her stomach growled hungrily. Realizing that it would be some time before she ate again, Brenna took comfort from the fact that recent rainfall had filled the many streams and rivulets between London and her destination. At least she would not go thirsty.

  Stretching out full-length beneath one of the massive oak trees, she stared up at the sky dreamily. In the sheltered glen, so far from the intrigue of the court, it was possible to forget there was anyone else in the world. She seemed to drift out of all time and place. Her fears, the Earl's threats, the confusing sensations Guyon aroused in her, all faded before the serenity of fragrant moss and the distant chirping of a nightingale. Sighing softly, Brenna slept.

  The mare's frightened snorting woke her. She sat up quickly, uncertain how much time had passed. A swift glance at the moon riding high above the tree branches told her she had slept much longer than intended. The shadowy silhouettes of men moving among the ancient oaks warned of the seriousness of her mistake.

  Praying that she would somehow go unnoticed, Brenna slid soundlessly to her feet. She huddled against the gnarled trunk. Her gray cloak blended well with the bark and she pulled it more securely around her. Nearby she heard the deep voices of men and their sudden exclamation.

  "What's this, a fine horse left out to roam?"

  "Not roam, dolt. Can't you see she's saddled?"

  "Where's the rider then?"

  The chestnut reared as her bridle was seized. Men slipped from their own mounts to inspect the prize. Brenna heard a low whistle. "Look at how she's rigged. That's a woman's horse."

  "Aye, a lady by the look of it."

  "Riding alone?"

  The same thought must have occurred to several of the men at the same time. Steel clanked in the still night air as weapons were pulled free. They glanced round warily, seeking any sign of an escort.

  "Perhaps she was thrown some distance from here."

  "And the horse left to run free?"

  "Maybe her people were too busy carrying for her to go after the mount."

  Someone snorted doubtfully. Hard hands moved over the mare, seeking clues. Hearing frightened whinnies, Brenna dared to peer round the tree trunk. What she saw fulfilled her worse fears. Half a dozen men stood in a circle around the chestnut. In the bright moonlight she could clearly make out their dress. Tattered tunics matched oddly with well-cared-for weapons. Landless thegns, Brenna thought in terror. Men who through some failure of honor had been disbarred from service to their sworn lord. Left to roam without position or purpose, most had no choice but to leave England in search of some place where they might start again. It was likely the group before her was planning to take ship from London or one of the ports further south. Along the way, these embittered, violent men wouldn't hesitate to take full advantage of anyone too weak to defend against them.

  Hopin
g that the chestnut would hold their attention for at least a few more minutes, Brenna looked around desperately for some means of escape. As the moon slid behind a cloud, she ran from the shelter of the oak tree to another further away. She had almost reached it when a shout warned she was seen. Heavy feet sounded behind her as the renegade thegns chased their new and far more welcome quarry.

  Running faster than she ever had in her life, Brenna sped deeper and deeper into the copse. She gave no thought to her direction, knowing only that she had to get away. Her heart was threatening to burst through her ribs and her breath came in tortured gasps when a steely hand lashed out to grab her. Thrown hard against the ground, Brenna was momentarily too dazed to struggle. Hauled to her feet and dragged into the full moonlight, she was conscious only of the gleeful laughter of the men as they studied their prize.

  "By God, look at that! A beauty!"

  "Sweetest looking thing I've ever seen! What's she doing here?"

  "Who cares? She's here and so are we. Let's make the most of it!"

  The men grunted in quick agreement. They closed in around Brenna as her cloak was ripped from her. One of the renegades grabbed her from behind, holding her helpless as the others surveyed her lustfully.

  "Look at that hair and skin! I bet none of us ever touched anything so soft!"

  "Get that mantle off her! Let's get a closer look."

  Spurred by sheer terror, Brenna fought desperately, lashing out with her feet and trying to bite the one who held her. Against the thegn's iron strength, her struggles were no more than the flutterings of a frightened bird. Laughing harshly, a rank-smelling, foul-breathed assailant tore the mantle from her body, leaving nothing but the thin tunic to shield her nakedness.

  Brenna screamed as savage hands closed over her breasts, squeezing brutally. She tried again to kick her attacker, and did manage to land a blow to his shin. The man cursed, striking her hard across the face. Brenna's head lashed back, slamming against the massive chest of the man holding her. He adjusted his grip so that both her hands were held by one of his. The other passed slowly and hurtfully down the delicate curve of her waist to fasten cruelly on her buttocks.