Promise of the Rose Read Free Page B

she remembered, bigger and more powerful and more frightening. And he was close to being naked; he had shed his mail and most of his clothing. He wore only a short undertunic which just covered his groin, calf-highboots, and a cloth bandage, high up on one of his powerful thighs.
    Intently he met her regard.
    Mary swallowed. She had seen men’s legs bare before, of course, but Scotsmen, decently clad in knee-high kilts and tall leggings. Now she quickly looked away, her face already flaming at the male nudity facing her.
    “Will appears to have caught us tonight’s repast, Stephen,” the older man said.
    Mary tensed, glancing up. Stephen’s gaze turned to one of inspection. He did not respond to Neale as his gaze slid down her slim body. Mary’s heart thudded. She did not like the way he was looking at her, and if he thought to cow her, he would not—even though she
was
cowed. She glared furiously back.
    “Bring her to me, Neale,” Stephen ordered, and then he ducked and disappeared back into his tent.
    Neale suddenly chortled, a sound at odds with his stem, battle-scarred face and cold, iron-gray eyes. “It appears that his lordship is not as badly off as it appears, and I do think he has settled your argument, lads.”
    Mary was paralyzed by the meaning of Stephen de Warenne’s words. The old knight’s comment brought her to life. “No!” she cried. Then, remembering her disguise, she reverted to her burr. “Nae! Nae!”
    Despite her protests, Neale grabbed her arm and propelled her towards the tent. Mary was a small, slender girl, but nevertheless she fought him every step of the way, digging in her heels, twisting, frantically trying to kick him. He ignored her, dragging her with him as easily as if she were a small child.
    Laughter sounded. The men found her pathetic struggle and imminent fate amusing. Hot tears blurred her vision as she heard the coarse jests being bandied about. She could not help but understand what was being so crudely said. Graphic references were made about the sexual prowess and physical endowment of the man she was being brought to. “His lordship will probably kill her,” someone finally joked.
    Terror seized her. And then it was too late. Neale was pushing her ahead of him into the tent.
    Inside it was dark. Mary stumbled when Neale released her but caught herself before falling. She was trembling and out of breath as her eyes adjusted to the shadows. She finally saw him. Her enemy was half-sitting on the pallet of fur-lined blankets, propped up by his saddle. His presence seemed gigantic in the small tent, and a feeling of claustrophobia and imminent doom swept over her.
    Stephen sat up straighter. “You may leave us, Neale.”
    Neale turned. Mary cried out. “Nae! Do na gae!” But Neale was already gone. She whirled to face Stephen, panicked, slim hands raised. “Do nae touch me!”
    “Come here.”
    She froze. His words were soft, but unquestionably a command. The kind of command one automatically obeyed, but her feet did not move, and now her mind was frozen, too.
    “Woman, come here,
now.
”
    Mary searched his countenance. There was no innuendo in his tone to confirm that her fate was about to be a violent rape—an act that, according to all she had just heard, would most likely murder her. Nevertheless, she was shaking.
    Her gaze found his again; he had been studying her, too, with growing impatience. “What do yae want with me?” she managed.
    “What do you think I want?” he gritted. “You are a woman. I am in pain. Come here and tend my leg properly, now.”
    Mary started and then relief flooded her. “Is that all yae want?” She was incredulous.
    His jaw flexed. “I am used to instant obedience, woman. Come here and do what you have been trained to do.”
    Mary knew she must obey, for his rising temper was obvious, but if she did not reach an agreement with him now, while she had some tiny portion of power, she never would. “I will gladly tend ye, if