Meriel Fuller - Commanded By The French Duke

‘He deserved it!’ A vivid colour flushed Alinor’s cheeks. ‘I thought he was going to help me and then...to waste the grain like that!’

Her eyes were truly the most astonishing colour, Guilhem thought. The wimple wrapped around the perfect oval of her face seemed only to enhance the clear, brilliant green of the irises, glowing like huge emeralds, translucent glass. His heart lurched suddenly, unexpectedly.

‘Just give me the sword, Sister,’ he demanded gruffly, annoyed at the unwelcome nudge in his groin. A nun, for God’s sake! What had got into him? She was nothing to look at: short, no doubt with a vast mountain of flesh beneath that unbecoming gown and a shaved head under that head-covering. A bride of Christ, married to Our Lord. Untouchable. He should know better.

‘Never!’ Alinor hissed out. ‘Why should I trust you...or them—’ she nodded mockingly over at Edward’s men ‘—to do the right thing? Your reputation, or should I say, your notoriety, precedes you! Everyone knows what Prince Edward is like! He’s a devil and a rogue, and that goes for all who serve him, as well! I’m staying here and I’m not moving until my friend comes back with help to mend the wheel.’

Irritation burned through him at her rudeness. ‘Be careful, maid.’ His voice lowered in warning. ‘Your accusations are treacherous and based on ignorance; you would do well to remember who you’re dealing with, lay sister or not. Edward does not take kindly to those who defy him...’ his sparkling eyes roamed over her ‘...and neither do I.’

Alinor reeled back in fright as he lunged forward, wrenching the sword helm easily from her and lobbing it back along the bridge with a clatter. The blade spun away, sliding across the flat cobbles. ‘No...o...o!’ she protested weakly, senses spinning; for one sickening moment, she thought she might faint. Quickly, she wound her fingers into the oxen’s leather harness, thinking to stay close to the cart that way.

‘Forgive me, Sister,’ the knight said, but there was no forgiveness in his tone. ‘But if you refuse to move, then I will have to move you.’

Roped, muscular arms looped tightly around her waist; she gasped out, a mixture of terror and outrage, fingers snarling in desperation around the harness. But to no avail. He plucked her up with ease, lifting her so high that her feet flailed above the ground. Under the sheer force of the movement, her grip loosened on the harness, fingers flailing in the air as he slammed her against his solid frame to carry her away.

The jolting impact of the man’s body against her own sent shock waves coursing through her; her face was on a level with his, his chest hard up against her soft breasts, her hips bouncing intimately against his muscle-bound thighs. A wild, hectic colour flooded her pale skin; she wanted to die in shame. Never, never, had she been so close to a man before!

‘You let me go! This instant!’ she demanded, fury and humiliation shunting aside her fear. Battering small fists down on the top of his shoulders, she wriggled violently in his fearsome grip, wanting him to drop her, kicking at his shins and stubbing her toes against the inflexible muscle. ‘Put me down! I’ll make you pay for this!’ Beneath his tunic, the tiny links that made up his mail coat poked into her raging fists.

He chuckled, a throaty sound rippling upwards from his chest. ‘You make a lot of threats for someone supposedly from the house of God. And for a woman.’

Bashing furiously at his shoulders, Alinor failed to hear him. ‘Let me go,’ she shrieked again, ‘let me go!’ Sanity fled, as if snapped away in a sharp breeze. She would do anything to extricate herself from his punishing grip. Instinct drove her, the instinct to survive. Leaning forward, she sunk her teeth into the soft, downy lobe of his ear, senses poised for the smallest release of his arms so she could wriggle away.

It didn’t come.

‘Why, you little...!’ Guilhem roared at her, outraged, his brawny arms still clamped around her, muscles like iron rivets against the small of her back. ‘You bit me!’ His eyes flared across her white, fearful face.

Her confidence shrivelled; convinced he would release her after she had bit him, she had given no thought to the consequences. Why had she not been meek and mild, subservient? How foolish she had been! What would they do to her, a single maid in a group of royalist soldiers? My God, it didn’t bear thinking about! A shriek rose up on an engulfing tide of fear, a high-pitched screeching welling in her chest, bursting out from her mouth in incoherent splutters, gathering strength; her mind blanked completely, washed through, crumpling into a vast wasteland of utter terror.

Her screams, shrill and anguished, made his ears hurt. Wincing, Guilhem reached the riverbank with the struggling bundle in his arms. He wanted to assure the maid that everything would be fine, that they had no intention of hurting her, and that all they wanted to do was be on their way, but he knew his words would make no impression. Given the noise the nun was making, she simply wouldn’t hear him.

‘Sweet Jesu! Will you stop that caterwauling?’ Edward said as he strode towards the pair of them. ‘I’ve had enough of this!’

The blow came out of nowhere, a large fist slamming into the side of Alinor’s cheek.

The maid’s body reeled sideways at the violent impact, limp in Guilhem’s arms, unconscious. Her head lolled forward on to his shoulder, linen veil fanning out across his surcoat. He didn’t even have time to step back, to pull her away from Edward’s damaging swing, the full force of his blow. ‘I’m sorry,’ Edward said, staring with dismay at the senseless maid in Guilhem’s arms, ‘but that infernal screeching was crawling under my skin; it made me mad.’

‘Really?’ Guilhem replied, his tone constrained, dry. He adjusted his arms so that the girl’s body was more evenly balanced against him. God, when would Edward learn to control his temper? He swung her legs up towards his chest, so that she lay secure against him, her weight light, surprisingly delicate. Her voluminous gown concealed a trim figure, a slender indent of waist. The curve of her hip nudged against his forearm. ‘It was completely unnecessary. To hit a woman, Edward, and not only a woman, a lay sister!’

‘I know, I know,’ Edward said, pale eyes immediately contrite. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

Guilhem’s eyes lowered, scowling at the mass of purple bruising on the woman’s cheekbone. Blood trickled down towards her wimple, staining the white cloth, blooming steadily across the fabric like a blossoming flower. Her eyes were closed, long velvet lashes fanning her cheeks. But her breath puffed against his jawline, warm and regular. Thank God. Ignoring Edward, he carried her over into the shade of a beech tree and laid her down, carefully, on the ground.

He walked over to help the other soldiers unload the grain sacks, stacking them neatly at the side of the bridge. Unhitching the oxen, they led the animals over to the trees, securing their reins to the lower branches. Watched by Edward, grim and unsmiling on his horse, they managed to half-drag, half-carry the ailing cart from the bridge, depositing it safely on the river bank.

‘What I can’t understand is, what was the stupid chit doing on her own?’ Edward said suddenly, exasperated, trying to mitigate his guilt, as if he were less likely to hit a woman if she had a man with her. ‘I mean, what woman travels alone, these days? It’s unheard of. Foolish. Stupid.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Guilhem said. ‘But apparently she told the soldiers she had sent her man to fetch help with the broken axle.’ He flicked his gaze over to the spreading beech tree, at the prone, motionless figure, the stark white face.