Chapter Four
On the third day of Yuletide my love gave to me,
a red garnet, a girdle of gold, and a snow white palfrey. . .
Lesslyn’s eyes did not stay closed for but a heartbeat. The strident sound of iron meeting metal that was harder caused her eyelids to fly open. She stared up at the weapon of the bleeding man blocked by a shining sword of tempered and hardened steel. The older blade had sounded flat, dull.
The man’s eyes widened as they fixed upon where the two swords had crossed. The singing vibration traveled back through the iron, clearly making it hard for him to keep his grip. The two blades were locked. Now, it became not a battle of weapons, but the strength of two men.
As his blade was slowly forced closer to his face, the desperate man’s wild eyes traveled up the gleaming blade to the newcomer—a tall man dressed in a hooded mantel of blue, so deep it was nearly black.
The warrior did a small, graceful duck of his body, and then spun underneath the pinnacle of the two swords, the great cape swirling about him. He used the momentum of his turn to spin the enemy’s blade out of his hands and sent it sailing away and into the trees. Before the attacker had a chance to blink, the broadsword’s tip was placed to the man’s throat.
“Move, and I shall carve a cross from your scrawny neck down to your belly, and have you staked out, leaving you for the wolves and ravens. A gut death is so painful...and slow. But then, the wolves roam hungry this winter. Mayhap they shan’t leave it for long.” He sang out, “Hellborne! To me!”
Still unable to draw breath, Lesslyn’s panicked heart pounded even more erratic. This was Greyson De Verre—the man she was to wed! What a way to be presented to your future spouse. At present, his face was in total shadows. He was nothing more than a wraith of dark blue.
Men melted from the trees, rushing to their lord’s summons. Two came to take hold of the man, and bind his hands behind him. Once that was done, the wraith lowered the gleaming sword. He turned away from the captive and hurried to her.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
Lesslyn could not breathe, let alone answer. Her head ached from where the limb slammed into it, and the prolonged lack of coming air was now scaring her. She was not sure she could even blink. Tears filled her eyes. She tried to bat them away to focus on the man towering over her.
“Where are you hurt?” the hooded man persisted. When she gave no reply, he knelt before her. He leaned over her body, but the large hood blocked the filtered light from reaching his face. “Bloody hell. You are not breathing.”
A shriek came from behind him. He turned as the screaming woman came running toward them. “Oh, Saints above! Is she alive? Mother of Mercy! She canno’ be dead!” Coming to her side, Ena knelt in the snow. “Surely, the Fates could no’ be so cruel.”
Weakly, Lesslyn lifted her right lower arm, struggling to reach out to her friend. Ena caught her wrist and squeezed it between her hands.
The wraith pushed back his hood to where Lesslyn could see his face. He was clean shaven. When she had seen him last year, he had worn a close-cropped beard. The lack of facial hair made him seem younger. And even more handsome than she recalled. His long sooty lashes batted over the pale grey eyes as he looked at her. His chin was square, framed by a strong jawline. His handsome face offered her a worried smile.
Passing off his sword to one of his men, he reached and took her left hand in his. “Can you understand me?”
Somehow, she managed a faint nod. A tear trickled from the corner of one eye. She was scared.
“You have lost your air. It was knocked out of you when you hit the ground. It comes back. Scary when it is happening, but things will be fine shortly. Let me make sure nothing was broken when you fell. Then, we will get you up on your feet.” Hellborne flung aside the edges of her cape.
If she had been able to breathe, she likely would have stopped when he put his hands on her hips. Strong hands, with long fingers. Never had any man touched her in such an intimate manner. Her eyelids flew wide, as he molded his grip over their hips, and then slid them down to her thighs.
Ena gave him a cross glare and then began slapping at his lower arms. “Oh, no! Stop that! Earl or no’ you will no’ be takin’ liberties with my lady.”
“John.” Hellborne tilted his head toward Ena. “Take her in hand.”
The auburn-haired knight passed off his sword and Hellborne’s to a squire, then grabbed Ena by the arms and pulled them gently behind her back. She haphazardly kicked out at Hellborne, and when John gave her a small shake, she tried to kick backward to strike him, too. She only hit the metal greaves protecting his lower legs. He smiled at her scrappy nature.
“Your fearless protection of your lady speaks highly for you. I merely check to see if she broke any bones.” Hellborne gave Ena an easy, unrepentant grin.
“Well, you just be aware, my lord. I am watchin’ you,” Ena warned, as she backed off from her attack.
Hellborne continued moving his hands down until he reached her ankles. “Nothing broken or out of place. Let’s get her on her feet.” He rose, and then stood hesitating.”
“Well, Ena—there is no courtly way to do this. You will simply have to bear with me to handle your lady.” So saying, Hellborne stepped so he was astride her body.
Lesslyn stared, her eyes traveling up the long, strong thighs, encased in soft leathern hose, exposed since he wore no surcoat. The short black habergeon only came to his narrow hips. Growing lightheaded, the whole incident was taking on a bizarre dream quality. She tried to swallow, as she stared up at his muscular legs. If it were a fantasy, then it must be one born of her darkest desires. How ironic to meet her bridegroom in such a fashion.
He leaned down and locked his hands behind the small of her back. “Can you link your arms around my neck?”
She was too weak to nod again, instead, she just did as he asked.
He lifted her, until Lesslyn was on her feet––and pressed up against him! Her body was flush against his very masculine frame; heat off him rolled over her in a wave. So flooded with the sense of this man, her heart slammed against her ribs. The unusual, luring scent of his skin was surprisingly intoxicating. Lesslyn leaned into him, reveling in the tantalizing fragrance.
“Your breath will come. Trust me.” His head dipped closer so he could whisper in her ear. “You might pass out. Never fear, I shall catch you and keep you safe.”
Lesslyn felt faint, her legs rubbery. She started to sway. Suddenly, air returned and she could draw breath again. Still dizzy, her legs buckled, but as he promised he caught her and held her close.
“See, I told two truths. Your breath came back, and I did not allow you to fall.” He gave a grin that nearly stopped her heart.
Lesslyn wheezed, her throat still burning.
“Breathe slowly. Keep your breaths shallow. Soon, all will be normal.”
Lesslyn tried to offer him a reassuring smile, but her body was focused on blessed air. She had never understood the necessary function, or how something so natural could be taken from you. Instead, she gave him a small nod, and lowered her eyes, unable to meet his penetrating stare.
The fear was subsiding, only to be replaced by other powerful emotions. She was aware of this man, on a level that had never touched her before. Aware she was offering him a life of lies. It made her ashamed.
He kissed her cheek, ever so faintly, the touch so light she could almost believe she imagined it. The moment was spoiled as a chunk of snow fell high from the tree, hitting them both. Hellborne laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound that suddenly made her feel happy.
His eyes narrowed and he tilted her head back, his brow flexing into a frown as he checked her forehead. His thumb faintly brushed over the sore spot. “You grow a lump. Did he hit you?” He turned his head, watching as they led the man past. If eyes had the power to kill, the enemy warrior would drop to his death on the spot.
She swallowed hard to push words out. “Nay...horse...knocked me off.”
The attacker looked worried. “I was no’ goin’ to harm her. Wanted the beast, ’tis all...to get away...she stabbed me, she did.” He raised his bleeding lower arm to show the wound.
“Not harm her? You forget I blocked your swing as you stood over her. She was knocked breathless, unable to move. What? You lifted your sword against a woman who was flat on her back?” Fury rode on every word Hellborne spoke.
One of the knights guarding the man held up the knife. “Your lady is a fighter, I’d say.”
Greyson stepped away from her, though he kept his left hand on her back. “Knave, want to save your life? Tell me under whose banner you fought? Why did you attack this party?”
The man glanced from Hellborne, then to Lesslyn, and then back, buying time before he answered. Resignation finally lit his eyes. “No banner, my lord. We were paid coin—I know not who. I canno’ give you a name even if I wanted to.”
“What were your orders?
“Just to attack the party and take the woman,” he replied. At the darkening of Hellborne’s face, he quickly tacked on. “The command was no’ to harm a hair on her head. Just take her.”
Hellborne barked, “Take her where?”
“Again, I know not.”
Hellborne held out his right hand for his sword, and his squire quickly passed it to him. He did not raise it. Just the threat of the weapon in his hand saw the man backing up—or trying. The guard jerked the upper arm he was holding.
“I’d tell you, if I knew. I swear, my lord, please! The man leading us was Welsh. Not young, not old. He wore an eye patch, and had a white streak at the side of his head. He said we attack and spirit the lass away—and we’d lose our hands if we so much as bruised the woman.”
“Tie him and dump him in the cart—” Hellborne commanded.
Ena called out, “I ain’t ridin’ with that killin’ scum!”
“Sir John, will you take our complaining maid to ride behind you?”
“Aye, Lord Hellborne.”
Ena backed up a step. “Me? On a horse? That bloody beastie will likely kill me!”
The auburn-haired knight held out his hand. “Come, Lady Ena. I will make sure you do not fall off.”
“Lady?” she squeaked. “I ain’t no lady. Lawd.”
The gentle push from Hellborne’s hand steered Lesslyn toward the road and the waiting horses. “Your mount has fled, I fear. You can ride with me. With that bump on your pate ’tis probably best you do not ride alone.” He slid his sword into the sheath attached to the side of the saddle, and then quickly mounted. Kicking his booted foot out of the stirrup, he held out his hand to her.
She looked up at his ungloved hand. It held a power, yet it was graceful for a man, belying the years of wielding a broadsword. Though she knew him not, she saw a hand that would be lifted to protect her, but also one to reach for her in gentleness. In her mind’s eye, she could see that hand on her throat, the thumb stroking along the muscle on the side of her neck.
His offering it to her—a simple gesture to aid her in mounting—but she felt if she took that hand she was placing her fate into his keeping.
Mayhap she should have tasted reticence, even guilt. Only, as she stared up into his handsome face, she experienced a glowing tranquility inside, a sense she had never known.
She reached out and took his hand.