Sharon Schulze - Bride Of The Tower

Though ’twas a struggle for her—the fellow was tall and solidly built—she didn’t permit herself so much as a grunt of discomfort as they carried him to her mount.

“I’ll take him with me,” she said, gratefully shifting her burden to a glowering Bart and climbing unassisted onto her mount.

It took three men, grumbling and complaining, to support the fellow and shift him into the saddle before her. Biting back a few curses of her own, Julianna fitted her arms about him to hold him more securely. His tall, lean body fit snug against her, his back to her front, making her all too aware of his muscled physique even through the layers of mail separating them.

She eased her hold a bit, making him groan and shift in her grasp and his empty scabbard bump against her leg. Tightening her hold again, she glanced about, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sword. If he survived, he’d not thank her for leaving the weapon behind in the forest.

And if he did not, ’twould be another blade to add to her own ever-dwindling arsenal. Though the thought made her feel like a grave robber, of late she’d reached the point where she could not afford to be too particular. As long as she wasn’t forced to turn outlaw…

“Rolf, find his sword and anything else that looks like it belongs to him,” she ordered. “His horse, as well, if it hasn’t run off. God willing, he’ll have need of them someday soon.”

Wheeling her mount, she led her troop along the moon-shadowed trail, doing her best to ignore the intriguing feel of the man’s weight pressing her into the saddle. She glanced down at the stranger’s face, at the strength no amount of blood and bruising could hide.

And prayed she’d not have cause to regret this night’s work.

The torches along the walls of Tuck’s Tower glowed in the distance, a welcome greeting that lent Julianna the strength to hold on to the man slumped in her arms a bit longer. Never had the road from the forest to the keep seemed so long, nor her own resources so puny. She’d worked hard to perfect the ability to suppress any signs of exhaustion or weakness, yet this unknown man threatened to expose the woman she tried to hide beneath her mannish ways.

The weight of him, his muscled body nested against her, felt foreign in a deliciously intriguing way, making her aware of how different her own body was from his. Tall and lean, male. The scent of leather and armor, the subtle brush of his whiskered cheek against her neck…. That simple contact heightened her senses until her mind and body fair reeled from the overwhelming enticement of sound, scent and touch.

But the tide of heat that passed through her owed as much to embarrassment as to feminine awareness. To feel such things for a man nigh lifeless in her arms! What was wrong with her? Had she grown so desperate in her self-imposed chastity?

She shook her head in disgust. ’Twas an easy thing to live a chaste life when not faced with temptation. The good Lord knew she’d never before been tempted by any man at Tuck’s Tower.

Or elsewhere.

’Twas a good thing she had not, she thought wryly as she rode beneath the raised portcullis and nudged her mount toward the stables. For if she were to give herself to a man, she suspected her fragile and treasured authority over Tuck’s Tower and all who dwelled within its walls would come to an end.

And that, she would never allow to happen—not while she had breath in her body, and the support of her doting and powerful uncle—her overlord—behind her.

She’d willingly sacrifice herself for Tuck’s Tower, if need be.

Two of her men approached and eased the wounded man from her grasp, though she feared she’d not free herself of the feelings he’d engendered within her so readily. But she’d work to do it now, to settle the man and treat his injuries. For the sooner he recovered and left Tuck’s Tower, the less opportunity for her to do something she might regret.

Despite the late hour and her own state of exhaustion, Julianna took charge of seeing to her unexpected guest. The fact that outsiders seldom passed through their gates had made some of her people suspicious of every stranger, while others—mostly those too young to realize the threat a stranger could pose—would welcome anyone to Tuck’s Tower without a thought of caution. Julianna, however, had been taught vigilance nigh from the cradle; she would protect her own until time and experience allowed her to do otherwise.

They carried the man to a small chamber adjoining hers—a room equipped with stout doors that could be locked—and laid him upon a straw pallet on the floor. After she’d given them several low-voiced commands, the men-at-arms left.

Biting back a sigh of exhaustion, Julianna entered her chamber and collected the night candle from beside her bed, kindled it and returned to the storeroom to set the tall iron stand next to her patient. The thick taper cast its brightness too high to be of much use, although it gave her a clear enough look at him to see that the disheveled hair hanging to his shoulders, where not matted with blood, was dark blond.

Bending over him, she adjusted the makeshift bandage wound tightly about his brow. “You are a handsome one,” she murmured, then shook her head in disgust at her weakness. “Though that matters not a whit.”

She went back to her room to collect more candles and water. “Who are you?” she mused. “And what were you doing in Sherwood on foot, all alone?”

If he survived his injuries, she’d learn those answers as soon as he could speak, for she scarce dared trust anyone anymore, even those she knew. Strangers—especially well-armed strangers—posed far too great a risk. She refused to permit anyone or anything to threaten her tenuous control over Tuck’s Tower, for she dared not risk losing all she held dear.

However, of late her nerves and resources had been stretched to the limit. If her uncle knew about the recent chaos and suspicious events in the area, he might decide to remove control of Tuck’s Tower from her hands, make it but another minor holding in his succession of manors and keeps spread about the land. He might also decide to carry her off to court or to live with him and his family—to live a noble lady’s life, to be wed to a stranger, to be forced to live someplace far from her home.

The ewer, which should have been full, stood nigh empty, and the candle stubs in the holder from the table were too short to be of use. Another example of recent events; with most of the servants pressed into service for defense and other tasks, many of the usual household chores had fallen by the wayside. She poured the dregs from the pitcher onto a washrag, then stuck her head out into the narrow corridor and shouted for someone to bring more candles, hot water, her box of simples and a maid skilled in healing.

Unwilling to leave her patient alone any longer, she snatched a branch of candles from the table by the hearth, pausing at the sound of heavy footsteps outside the chamber.

“My lady.” Rolf stood in the doorway, her basket of medicines clutched to his brawny chest. “Thought you might need me for something.”

“Aye.” She set aside the cloth and candles from her chamber, arranging them on the floor alongside the pallet. “Help me out of this armor, if you would.” She’d a long night ahead of her, with naught but her own will to overcome her exhaustion. Though the mail hauberk and leggings allowed her to move freely, they weighed heavy upon her after a day’s wear, and they made kneeling for any length of time uncomfortable.

She bent at the waist and gave a groan of relief as Rolf assisted her in drawing the hauberk over her head. She left the armor where it fell and turned away to tug off her boots, then unbuckled the straps at the waist of the mail leggings and slid them off. Her padded undertunic and linen leggings, uncomfortably damp with sweat, clung to her skin, but she would wait until after she took care of her guest—her prisoner?—to change out of them.