An Outlaw's Honor Read online

  The lady Annora needed to accommodate whatever came her way, and the sooner she learned that, the easier her life would be.

  Thomas leaned over those sitting near to where he stood and grabbed a piece of cheese and chunk of bread from the platter there. He would find a place to eat the whole of the meal, but for now, he grazed as he made his way around the hall...and observed the lady. Whatever it was about her that drew him to her every change in expression or of her body, he knew not. Still, he watched her and reveled in her attention and reactions in each of their encounters so far.

  The king’s orders commanded that the castle would be William’s to dispose of, but this woman was to be Thomas’s. The king, no doubt, believed he would take her to wife, for it was all but spoken as an order when the king’s demands had been explained to Thomas.

  But would he marry her? Should he keep her? Once his lands and titles were returned to him, he would be in need of a wife and sons. Why not her?

  Getting bairns on her would be no hardship at all. Not with his hunger for the curves that lay beneath the oversized gowns she chose to wear. Not with her turquoise eyes and her mouth that would tempt a monk to sins of the flesh. He pushed those growing thoughts aside when her father and le Govic rose and left her there at the table alone. Her expressive face had not hidden her exasperation or bewilderment or her arousal when he’d teased her before.

  Innocence—this was what it looked like. Lady Annora de Umfraville. ’Twas so long since he’d seen it embodied in a person that he’d almost forgotten its appearance.

  So, why not her, indeed? There would be time for this decision after he won.

  At first, as he turned his steps in her direction, devilment rode his shoulders as he considered how to bring that blush to her cheeks once more. After her father departed and before she’d noticed him, she closed her eyes for a brief moment, as though in prayer or contemplation. When she opened them, desolation filled her gaze, and it nearly took him to his knees.

  Why it should matter, he knew not. She was just part of the method by which he would regain all he’d lost in his life. She was nothing more than a pawn to be played, whether at her father’s or his own direction. Nothing other than that was of import to his scheme.

  The confusion and despair deepened the color of her eyes until they were a darker blue than the color of the sea. Much like shades of a storm did when passing over the depths of the ocean off Scotland and churning the colder, deeper waters to the surface. He stood in front of her for several seconds before she saw him, and he fought the reaction within him at her obvious distress. It took a mighty effort to bring back to mind the mischievous teasing he’d planned. Something in those first few seconds when she did realize she’d stared at him told him she could not accept any concern or pity at this moment.

  Fragile. That was the word he sought to describe her now.

  Fragile and easily broken.

  Fragile and somehow, he played a part in it.

  He slid into the chair opposite her and nodded. “My lady.”

  The lady confounded him in the next moments. She pulled herself back under control, the brittle expression replaced with one of politeness and distance. “Sir Thomas.” Her voice cool and her face empty, she nodded at him. “Pray, join me.”

  Since he already had, Thomas took the words with a smile as the rebuke she’d intended. “My thanks, Lady Annora.” He could play this game, too. “Where is your maid this evening? Should she not be at your side?”

  “Thank you for your concern, sir. I was well-attended by my father and his...our champion until just now. My maid is on an errand at my request.” She lied smoothly, for she did not know that Thomas had paid the young woman to slow her steps and wait for his signal to join her lady at table.

  “Have her always at your side, lady. These tournaments bring in unsavory characters who have not the best intentions behind their actions and words.”

  “Do you speak of yourself, Sir Thomas?”

  He could not restrain his reaction, and his laugh was loud and hearty. “’Tis possible, my lady. ’Tis certainly possible. So, you have heard my sordid tale then?” He would know what her father had told her. For some reason, he believed she would tell him the truth.

  “A man who betrayed his king and country is now brought high and sent to represent that king in a matter of honor about which no one will speak. I only wonder what payment a traitor will receive if he upholds his king’s honor?”

  Cold and precise, her words cut through the rumors and innuendos to the heart of it.

  “Did you not hear? I will win Prudhoe and its lady.”

  “I doubt your king will allow you to keep Prudhoe, sir. What do you get in this matter if God sees His way to favor your cause?” God, Thomas feared, had little to do with the battles and challenges to be fought in the coming week.

  “If the Almighty concerned Himself with these small matters of insult and pride, what other greater matters would go untended while He dithered here in England?”

  “Sir!” she gasped out in a whisper. “Have a care for such words!”

  “Do you worry over my immortal soul, my lady? ’Tis already blackened and tarnished by many misdeeds and sins, so worry not.”

  She watched him with wide eyes now.

  He reached out and covered her hand, there on the table. “But I thank you for your concern.”

  The touch lasted only moments before he removed his hand. She had not pulled away, only stared at the sight of his larger hand covering her smaller one. It was, he knew, far less scandalous than the kiss on the inside of her wrist he’d given her when they first met. And far, far less than he’d like to do to her, but that she had not pulled back pleased him in some deeper way. The lady looked away from his gaze for a second before meeting it again.

  “I hope that you will receive more from your king if you win than just me. I fear you will be disappointed in your prize, then.”

  Thomas startled then at her self-deprecation. She was, he’d learned, accomplished at the many things a noblewoman should be and oversaw the household on her father’s behalf. In spite of not having traveled far from her home, she rode well and was known to be kind to her servants and those who worked their lands. Indeed, she would be a worthy prize for most men seeking such.

  Only as he prepared to say words that would express those thoughts did he stop. Nay, he must not make this a personal exchange. This was not about her beauty nor her accomplishments. Not about her noble birth or standing. And the king would not appreciate him sharing the details of their arrangement with their quarry.

  This was about him. This was about getting his honor and his properties back from the duplicitous King of Scotland. She was only a part of the plan.

  So, Thomas pushed off the soft feelings this woman engendered in his dark soul and laughed once more. Catching the eye of her waiting servant, he signaled for her to return.

  “Ah! The missing lady’s maid is returned to her mistress,” he said, using the girl’s presence to take his leave. “Be you more vigilant for your lady’s safety and comfort, lass. There are bad men and dangerous things afoot at gatherings such as these.”

  His coin had assured her silence, so he did not worry that his scolding would loosen her tongue in this business between them. When he paid women, he paid them well.

  “I do not need you to tell my maid her duties, Sir Thomas.” The spirit was back in Lady Annora’s eyes and in her voice.

  Good. He much preferred that to the sad, empty temperament he’d witnessed earlier. He’d rather fight her than pity her. Their interactions were so much more fun when she was spitting fire.

  “Indeed,” he said, rising from his seat. “I will leave you in her hands then. My lady.”

  Thomas nodded and walked away as the maid whispered apologetic words, begging pardon for straying from her lady’s side. Seeking out the shadows along the wall, he continued to watch the woman at the center of t
his undertaking. Though the king revealed little of his motives in seeking out this redress of honor, Thomas had heard some of the stories that bound William to those who’d held Prudhoe.

  After losing his family claim to Northumberland to the English King Henry, William’s attempts to take it back had failed miserably, resulting in him being defeated in battle and taken and held hostage across the channel. The ransom paid for William’s return had added more insult to the matter. Yet, something in his instructions to Thomas spoke of a more personal betrayal or humiliation that involved the de Umfraville family. One that Thomas would help him remedy or, at the least, avenge its commission.

  Lady Annora was, without doubt, in the middle of it. And though the king had promised her disposition to him if—when—he won, Thomas did not believe for a moment it would end that easily. Something more was at play here. Something powerful and unseen, hidden from him apurpose he suspected, pulled strings. The feeling in his gut told him that he was only one of the puppets.

  Well, five more days, and it would be over for him. He would win his challenge against the lord of Prudhoe and his champion as he must, dispense with the girl and claim his lost title and lands. Five more days, and he would be restored. He would be known no longer as traitor and outlaw. Five more days.

  And yet, it took only one day more to show him how wrong he was about this being a clear path to redemption.

  Chapter Six

  After breaking their fast in the hall with all the other nobles and their host, Annora waited until her father and le Govic left for the field to seek out their tents and to prepare for the coming parade of knights. His warnings about staying to their chamber until he called for her rang in her ears even as she made plans to the contrary. In spite of her dire situation, she’d never visited a castle such as this or been in a place with this many people from such different places. The many inhabitants and visitors would be going to the field of honor to watch the opening ceremony, so it would be the best time to explore the town. She did not plan to waste this opportunity on a day that had turned out to be so fair.

  With her maid at her heels, Annora made her way down from the tower where their chamber was to the main floor of the castle and then out into the yard. Gathering her bearings, she led Margaret towards the part of the village where she’d been told that the craftsmen and merchants sold their wares. Serving as chatelaine for her father’s estate and working with his steward had given Annora an understanding of the goods and supplies that could be purchased in this distant place, which might be of interest to their own weavers and bakers and chandlers and such. In times of shortage or years of bad crops or unreliable sources, it was prudent to know of others.

  That was the story she’d prepared for her father if he discovered that she’d disobeyed his command to remain within and work on her needlework or other tasks favored by ladies. Even now, as she approached the busiest and very crowded part of Gracious Hill, she thought it was a sound one. Following one narrow lane and then another, Annora stepped into the most amazing place she’d ever seen.

  Oh, her own village had a marketplace filled with carts and tents and wagons offering a wide variety of foodstuffs and fabrics, butchered meats and fowl and the like. Yet, none of that had prepared her for the sheer size and bustle of this one. All she could do for the first several moments was stare.

  Colors and sounds and noises and people! Coming to and going from the castle or the village. Talking in groups. Standing alone. Moving, always moving. Speaking in some languages she understood and some she did not—the tongues of the kings’ courts and the common people. ’Twas simply astonishing to her that she was a witness to this!

  Garments of every hue and sort. Ladies in fine raiment and veils of all colors, and knights and warriors in their finest armor and surcoats, heading out of the town to the fields for the parade. Banners floated on the breeze, declaring their allegiances. Peasants of all shapes and ages in serviceable garments of brown and gray. Tradesmen hawking their wares in loud voices, calling out the price of their goods and enticing anyone nearby to buy them. Others arguing and bickering over choices and costs. Bartering for items needed or wanted.

  Annora could do nothing but smile and try to take it all in. A glance at Margaret told her that the maid did not have the same reaction to the sheer scope of what they saw and heard there, just steps away from the safety of the castle. When she caught her eye, Margaret shook her head and motioned back the way they’d come.

  “My lady, surely we should return.” The maid reached out and took her hand. “This is what your noble father warned you about, my lady. I pray you, let us return to our chamber,” the girl begged. “This is...too much.”

  “Exactly that,” Annora answered. ’Twas too much, and it filled her with excitement and curiosity and need. “Stay here in the shelter of this doorway. I shall only be a short while.”

  Pulling out of the girl’s grasp, Annora made her way towards the center of it all. Led by the aromas and the calls of the merchants urging people to examine their goods, she finally reached the main market area. Standing close to a shop that had its windows and doors thrown open in an invitation to potential customers, Annora was drawn by the scent of something sweet and spicy. Taking a coin from the purse tied inside her cloak, she bought a piece of the baker’s special cake and began walking as she nibbled the edges of the honey-sweetened, sticky, gooey treat.

  She’d stopped to ask about the location of the silversmiths, and where the coopers had their workshops, when the sounds changed. Glancing around, Annora noticed the shopkeepers and merchants becoming aware of it, too. As the ominous noise approached, one vendor and then another and another began securing their goods beneath carts and closing windows. Chaos spread, almost in a slow-moving wave, through the open area of the market from one side. Caught in the open there, Annora was too far from any of the shops to seek haven in them.

  Turning this way and that, she sought a place that would keep her from being dragged into the wild brawl that expanded as she watched. How it had started mattered not now, only how to escape it. As a man was thrown to the ground at her feet by another who pounced on him, slinging his huge fists, Annora lost the ability to move. Then, a strong arm encircled her waist, lifting her from her feet and taking her out of the mayhem.

  “Unhand me, you fiend!” she screamed. She made fists of her sticky fingers, ready to protect herself from his advances when she looked up and found...“Sir Thomas!”

  “I told you of the dangers here, Annora,” he growled at her. “Could you not heed my warning?” He never loosened his hold over her as he ducked punches, weaving through the mob and jumping over fallen bodies. “Bloody hell!” he yelled more than once.

  Then, with an even more vulgar epithet, he released her and pushed her into a small alcove there. Turning his back to her, he fought off one man, and then one more, before grabbing her and pulling her along the dark lane, away from the fracas. Only when they reached a place where the noise and chaos had not followed did he stop. Pressing her against the stone wall, he protected her from others who’d wandered this way with his large body.

  At first, his gaze was fierce and full of anger, and she held her breath for the outburst she was certain was coming. She released a ragged sigh as he stared. He panted then as she did from the exertion, but she suspected fury drove his, while fear fed hers. Before she could stop herself, she lifted her hand up and touched his face. Her hand looked small and inconsequential against the hard angles and rough stubble of a beard not shaven. He turned his head into her palm and inhaled deeply.

  “Ah, you have visited Master Bartholomew’s shop, have you not?” He covered her hand with his and lifted it closer, sniffing again. “His spice cake, covered in nuts and honey, I think.” Her breathing hitched for a completely different reason now. “So much honey,” he whispered. The tip of his tongue touched her fingers, where that honey still clung. “So sweet.”

  Meeting his gaze
as he began to lick the remaining flavors off her fingers was the wrong thing to do. Terribly wrong. A huge error in judgment. His pupils flared, removing all color from his eyes, making them as black as night. He dawdled then, sucking her finger deep into his mouth and laving it with his tongue. Tendrils of need and heat pierced her to her core with each flick of that rough tongue.

  She should resist. Pull away. Stop this madness. Fight him. And she would have if her body listened to her commands. Instead, her treacherous flesh pushed against him, surrendering her hand to his mouth as her hips pressed his.

  “Is the other one as delicious, Annora?” he whispered.

  From the way his mouth tasted and licked it, aye, he found it so. Annora melted in his embrace, as each slide of his tongue caused more tremors of heat to pulse within her. When every trace of honey was gone from her hands, she thought she might escape. She thought sanity and control would return. Then his gaze fixed on her mouth, and she was lost.

  “Ah, your lips still glistening with honey. I would taste it there and know if it is sweeter than your own flavor.”

  Annora noticed, barely, that he paused a moment and looked directly at her. Almost as though he waited on her consent or refusal. Almost as though he would obey her if she objected. It mattered not, for her body urged her onto her toes to offer him access. He lifted both of her hands in one of his and held them over her head against the wall, imprisoning her there with nothing more than one touch. He slid his other hand behind her head and held her still.

  “Annora.”

  Then his mouth took hers. Not a mere kiss. Not like anything she’d experienced before. He invaded, pressing his lips against hers until she understood he wanted her to open to him. And she did. His tongue moved within her mouth, seeking and touching hers, sweeping deep until she offered hers. Suckling it, he drew it into his mouth, and her body bucked against him, rubbing that ridge of flesh apparent through all the layers that separated them. When he released her hands, she clutched at his tunic, keeping him against her while he yet possessed her mouth.