Fearsome Brides Read online

  Juston was on her in a flash. Emera had hardly made it a few feet when he grabbed her, pulling her into a viselike hold. But instead of surrendering, she turned into a wildcat, struggling to pull herself from his grip, doing everything she could to release herself. She was in the grips of fear, causing her to kick and fight as she’d never done in her life. Still, Juston held her firm, dragging her back towards his tent when her struggles caused her to lose footing. Stumbling over herself, she fell into the frozen mud but Juston yanked her to her feet so sharply that he nearly pulled her arms from their sockets.

  “Stop fighting,” he commanded in a voice that left no room for doubt. “Are you listening to me? Cease your struggles, lady, or things will go very badly for you. Is this in any way unclear?”

  When she refused to acknowledge him, now nearly out of her head with panic, he slapped her across the face simply to get her attention. It wasn’t terribly hard but it was enough to sting, and it certainly got her attention. But instead of ceasing her struggles as he’d commanded, she did something very unexpected. One slap was met by another as Emera swung her open palm at him, slapping him across the face as swiftly and as sharply as he had slapped her.

  He’d hit her and she’d hit him right back.

  The sounds reverberated in the cold air, two sharp strikes – plap, plap! Juston’s eyes widened in surprise, looking into Emera’s wide eyes when she realized what she had done. All of her struggling came to an instant halt and her mouth fell open in horror.

  “Oh… my lord…,” she gasped, terrified that he was going to beat her for striking him. “I… forgive me, please. I… I did not think… I only… well, it was much like it was with my sister’s husband and… oh, God, please do not hurt me. I acted before I could think.”

  Juston gazed into her pale face a moment longer before dragging her back into his tent in a most undignified manner. He had her by the arm but he also had some of her hair in his grasp, which meant she was walking beside him most awkwardly as he pulled her back into his tent. There was utter misery on her face, as if going to her execution.

  For all Emera knew, she was.

  Once inside the dim confines of the tent, Juston roughly threw her to her knees again and, this time, Emera didn’t try to rise. She remained there, on her knees, trembling with fear. She knew she’d done something terrible and she knew she was going to pay for it. Terror filled her like never before, even more than when she was terrorized by Brey. At least he was a known evil, something she’d been able to fight off for the past two years. But this man… she knew she couldn’t fight him off.

  In her terror, she’d dug her own grave.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What do you mean it was much like your sister’s husband?”

  The question hung in the air between them as Emera cowered on the cold ground, her head lowered. Juston wasn’t even sure why he asked the question, only that the look in Emera’s eyes when she’d said it had him very curious. Was he angry about the slap? Oddly enough, he wasn’t. Truthfully, he didn’t even care. It had been a very long time since someone had swung back at him, someone who wasn’t groveling at his feet, telling him how great he was and how magnificent. Someone who wasn’t feeding that enormous sense of pride he had.

  Truthfully, he didn’t know why he wasn’t angry at the slap. There was something in the woman’s expression that cooled any anger he might have felt. Maybe he was simply getting foolish in his old age. Or maybe that mercy Christopher had spoken of was confusing him.

  Now, he found himself asking the first question that came to his mind and he expected an answer. As he watched the meaning of his words sink in, Emera’s head came up, her eyes turning to him with confusion.

  “My… my sister’s….?” she stammered.

  “Tell me what you meant by that.”

  Emera swallowed hard. “I meant…,” she stopped, swallowed again, and continued. “He… he is the commander of Bowes. Was the commander of Bowes, I mean. He could do as he pleased, or at least he thought he could.”

  “I know what a commander’s rights are. Answer my question. I will not ask again.”

  His tone frightened her. “He… he thought that when he married my sister, I was part of that bargain,” she said, her voice trembling. “For two years, I have told him that I was not. Simply because I came to live with my sister did not mean I became his property.”

  Juston had no idea why this woman’s plight, or the dynamics between her and de la Roarke, should interest him. But he was interested nonetheless. Perhaps it was because his own life was so colorless and devoid of anything beautiful or pleasant that he found other lives more interesting. Or perhaps it was simply because the woman herself interested him. All he knew was that she had his focus more than she should have.

  “But he was your liege,” he pointed out. “He clothed you and fed you.”

  “That does not mean that I am his property.”

  “You are of marriageable age. He made no attempt to marry you off?”

  Her pale cheeks reddened and she lowered her head. “He tried.”

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head. “I do not make a pleasing prospect.”

  He frowned. “Ridiculous,” he said. “Any man would consider you purely based on your physical appearance.”

  She looked at him, then. “The only men he chose were men to whom he owed a debt,” she said, the strength returning to her voice as she spoke on a subject that both infuriated and sickened her. “Old men, sickly men, but all of them had one thing in common – they were wealthy and he owed them money or business dealings. If you’ve not heard, my lord, Brey de la Roarke was a thief. He treated the road that runs alongside this castle like his own personal property, exacting heavy tolls from travelers or even murdering men for their wealth. I cannot tell you how many wealthy travelers he simply killed and stole from. Why do you think this siege went on for so long? Not only did he not want you to have the castle, but he did not want you to have the wealth it harbors.”

  Juston regarded her in the weak light for a moment, mulling over her words as he once again turned for the wine on the table. He’d already known most of the reputation of Brey de la Roarke but this was the first time he’d heard anything first-hand.

  “You are divulging quite a bit of information to the enemy, lady,” he said.

  She snorted softly. “I have nothing to protect, my lord,” she said frankly. “If Brey is dead, then there is nothing to fear. The vaults below the keep are full of his ill-gotten gains. I must presume that you commanded this siege against Bowes.”

  He poured his wine. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because my sister and I were delivered to you as spoils of war.”

  “Then that was a clever deduction.”

  Emera couldn’t tell if he was insulting her or not. “Then as the commander, you are now in possession of a great treasure courtesy of Brey’s thievery. He would be furious to know all of his wealth went to his enemy.”

  He turned to look at her, wine in hand. “And you show absolutely no loyalty to the man who fed and clothed you,” he said. “I find that very curious, indeed.”

  There was rebuke in that statement and she looked at him a moment; really looked at him. He was an older knight with shoulder-length blonde hair, wavy and dirty, half of it tucked behind one ear. His features were big and masculine, with a granite-square jaw and a big dimple in his chin. He was very tall as well as very muscular. Everything about him was big and booming and powerful, as if she was a little bug to be quashed up against his sheer size. The man had an aura about him that was palpable.

  But the most noticeable thing about him was his eyes – they were a pale green color that was as vibrant as a green amethyst gemstone she’d seen once. They were also intense and intelligent, and a bit wild-eyed to tell the truth. When he looked at her, it was almost as if his eyes were burning right through her. Those eyes spoke of untold strength but they also spoke to he
r of something strangely tumultuous, as if he, too, had some upheaval in his life.

  “He made my life miserable, my lord,” she said after a moment. “Every day was a day trying to stay clear of him, every meal was a lesson in how to avoid his seeking hands, and every night I felt like a prisoner, locking myself into my chamber and ignoring him when he came pounding on my door. Do you not understand? I lived in terror of him. I am, therefore, as disloyal to him as one can be. In fact, when your men entered the hall earlier, I had a mind to thank them for freeing me of Brey’s tyranny. But I think that was a foolish notion.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I fear I am in a worse situation than before.”

  Juston couldn’t disagree with that statement. He regarded her before taking a long drink of his wine. Then, he just looked at her, pondering what she had told him. In truth, she made perfect sense as to why she held no loyalty to de la Roarke. She was well-spoken and articulate, with a voice that sounded sweet and melodious.

  “So you refused his marital contracts and you refused his advances,” he said.

  She nodded. “Aye.”

  He finished the last of his wine. “Are you so precious and pious that you are too good for a man’s touch?” he finally spat. “You eat the man’s food, allow him to clothe you, and you show absolutely no gratitude for that? Great Bleeding Christ, I would have thrown you to the wolves the first chance I had if you’d behaved so poorly with me. Woman, in case you have not yet realized it, you are at a man’s mercy. You have no right to speak up for yourself; you will only do as you are told. Now you are at my mercy. Pray you do not behave so irrationally with me.”

  Emera was back to being terrified of him. “What do you mean?” she asked. “What are you going to do?”

  He shook his head, his blonde hair waving back and forth. “It is what you are going to do,” he said. “You belong to me now. You will do as I say.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that in the least. “What… what would you have me do?”

  He began to untie the heavy padded tunic that hung over his mail coat. “What a woman does best.”

  “What is that?”

  “You will service me.”

  Those were horrifying words to Emera. Oh, she knew what he meant. She had no doubt. But she’d spent the past two years fighting off Brey de la Roarke and she had no intention of losing her carefully-guarded maidenhood to this brusque knight.

  “Surely you cannot mean…,” she gasped.

  “I can and I do. Remove your clothing.”

  Her mouth popped open in shock and dismay. “I will not,” she said, backing away from him, still on her knees. “I… I have never known the touch of a man, my lord. I would have no idea how to… to service you.”

  “You will learn.”

  She shook her head, recoiling from him yet again, only more strongly than before. What he was suggesting had panic filling her chest and tears were threatening as hard as she tried to stave them off.

  “I will not service you,” she hissed. “You can throw me to the wolves or worse and, still, I will not willingly touch you.”

  He pulled the heavy tunic over his head. “I do not care if it is willingly or not,” he said. “You will do what I tell you to do.”

  “I will die before I do!”

  His eyes flicked up to her as he went to work on the mail he was wearing. Usually, Gart helped him with it but Gart was in command of the gatehouse so there was no one to help him except a woman who swore she wouldn’t do anything he told her to do. He’d not had that kind of refusal in a very long time and, to be truthful, wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. Perhaps if he ignored it, she’d forget all about her rebellion and simply give in.

  “Stand up,” he told her.

  On her knees, inching away from him, Emera shook her head. “I will not.”

  He frowned. “I am growing weary of hearing those words come out of your mouth. I told you to stand up. I require your assistance.”

  She was looking at him, having no idea what he meant. One moment, he was speaking of her servicing him and in the next, he was asking for her assistance. She had no idea what he was trying to accomplish.

  Was he trying to trick her somehow?

  “Assistance for what?” she asked fearfully.

  Juston sighed heavily. Now, her resistance to him was becoming annoying. “I require assistance with my mail,” he said. “Stand up and help me.”

  Emera shook her head hesitantly. “I will not help you undress so you can then force me to… to do whatever it is you want me to do. I will not do it!”

  He’d had enough of her refusal. Whatever patience he’d had snapped and he was on her in two big strides, grabbing her by the arms and yanking her to her feet. He then pulled her up against his broad chest, forcing her into contact with him, her warm body against his hard mail. They came together with so much force that he heard her grunt.

  In truth, it had been a brutal action designed to frighten her. When Juston found himself staring down into Emera’s terrified face, he was pleased to see that she was quite frightened.

  It was time to show the woman who was in charge.

  “I grow weary of your refusals,” he snarled, his hot breath blowing tendrils of hair about her face. “If you think I am asking for your cooperation or permission, you are gravely mistaken. This is conquest, lady, and I take what I want. You have no say in the matter. Now, help me off with my mail and let’s get on with it.”

  So his intentions had not changed. He wanted her to help him with his mail so he could continue with his lustful plans. Emera’s eyes were wide with fear as she gazed up at him, a very large and very virile man who had her trapped against him. She’d never been this close to a man before and she could feel the heat from his hands as he gripped her. But his heated breath on her face was causing her to tremble for more reasons than simply fright.

  Aye, he’d put a good scare into her but there was something more, something she didn’t understand. All she knew was that the smell and feel of him was overwhelming her in a manner she’d never before known. Her heart was racing and her breathing was coming in uneven gasps. But in spite of her confusing reaction to him, one thing was clear – she would not obey him. She would not submit. She would not surrender herself to him in any fashion. That being the case, she could only give him one answer, the only answer that came to mind.

  An answer, she knew, that would cost her.

  “Nay,” she breathed. “I will not.”

  Juston wasn’t surprised to hear her answer. As much as it infuriated him, it also impressed him. He had the woman overwhelmed with his strength, snarling threats in her face, and she still refused. Either she was very brave or very stupid. He couldn’t decide which. Now, it was becoming a game.

  A game he intended to win.

  Abruptly, he slanted his lips over hers, suckling her mouth and feeling her stiffen in his grip. He’d only meant to jar her, to frighten her further, but the moment he tasted her was the moment the tables turned on him completely. She was soft and sweet, like warm honey upon his tongue, and her flesh was delectable and tender. He suckled her lips, forcing them apart only to plunge his tongue into her mouth as if to gorge himself. There wasn’t anything about her that wasn’t wildly arousing, calling out to the potent male inside of him. But this wildly arousing creature had refused him. She hadn’t thought him nearly as attractive as he thought her.

  She had insulted him.

  Abruptly, he released his grip on her and dragged her over to the tent opening. Throwing back the fabric panel, he was met with several soldiers on guard but no knights. Infuriated, he tossed her at the nearest soldier.

  “Find Chris,” he demanded. “Have him throw the woman in the vault. She is not to be released until I give the word.”

  The soldier, a seasoned man clad in a full array of well-used armor, reached down and grabbed Emera, who had essentially fallen at his feet. When she started to fight him, he motioned t
o another soldier to come and help him.

  “Aye, my lord,” the soldier said as he hauled Emera to her feet.

  Juston jabbed a finger at him. “She is not to be touched, by anyone,” he said. “If any man so much as touches a hair on her head, my justice shall be swift. Lock her up but she is not to be punished beyond that.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “And send Burton to me once you’ve delivered her to de Lohr.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Juston’s focus shifted from the soldier to Emera, who was disheveled and struggling not to weep. He could see that she was completely, utterly rattled. He looked her in the eye.

  “Mayhap a night in the vault will convince you to change your mind,” he said. “For your sake, I hope it does.”

  With that, he flicked a wrist at the soldiers, indicating for them to remove the prisoner. As Juston turned for his tent, he could hear Emera’s struggles as she was led away. Doubt mingled with his fury and he turned, briefly, to see that she was giving the two soldiers quite a fight, so much so that she was trying to kick one of them in the knees.

  Somehow, he didn’t like to see her fighting like that, as if fighting for her very life. He almost called them back but he had no idea what that would accomplish other than it would simply feed his anger – she was terrified and reacting in kind, and he suspected that they would only be back where they started if he took her back into the tent with him – him demanding her services and her refusing. Of course, he could take what he wanted from her but he’d never needed to. Women naturally fell at his feet, the revered feet of the great Juston de Royans.

  But not Emera la Marche. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him and the fact that he’d shown her a morsel of attention had no effect on her whatsoever. Most women would have killed for such a thing. Was it possible there was actually a woman unwilling to submit to England’s greatest warrior?