Return of the Rose Page 5

  She stuck her chin out defiantly. “What’s so funny this time?”

  “I find it humorous, my fair wench, that although you compare my countenance to that of an ogre and insult my intelligence by expecting me to believe you are from a world far beyond the horizon,” he threw his arms in a wide arc, “I have not yet strangled you with my own two hands. Which I am quite certain is what it would take to silence you since it seems you have not expired from staring at me as you thought you might. Verily judging by the way you have ogled me of late I would guess you were more than pleased by what you saw.”

  She very nearly growled, her hands curling into fists at her sides as she said, “I did not make up that story. It really happened. And who are you to call me a liar when you knew all along that you were Lord Vanguard and yet you didn’t just tell me.”

  “I do not recall you stating your name the other day,” Derek said as he scratched his stubbled jaw. “Ah, but now that I ponder our first meeting further, I do recall you mentioning you were engaged. I can only assume you were about to inform me that you were engaged to me.” He pointed at his chest. “But now suddenly you claim to be Morgan Hayes, a time-traveler, no less.”

  Morgan snorted. “I don’t care what you think or if you believe a word I’ve said. The truth is I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

  With a few steps he closed the short distance between them. “Is that so?”

  He noticed her chest rise and fall with each breath as she nodded, refusing to cower. The thought of holding her again made every muscle in his body grow taut. The notion that he wanted to touch her at all inflamed him all the more. So much so, that with one swift movement of his arm, he pulled her tight against his chest. He felt the brisk beat of her heart as he slid the palm of his hand behind her head and brought her lips to his. Although she took a bit longer than before, she did succumb, melting in his arms like newly churned butter.

  With his mouth pressed against hers, he eagerly awaited the overpowering sense of potency he usually felt after conquering a wench such as she, but instead, an unfamiliar ache of intense longing swept over him. Pulling away from her, he gazed into her eyes. “You wouldn’t want to be leaving for that other world of yours without a farewell kiss, now would you?”

  He put a finger to her lips before she could respond. “You need not say another word, my sweet angel from beyond. For I believe your response to my touch has already answered my question.”

  She pushed away from him, her eyes narrowing. “Once again I’ve let you get the best of me, but it won’t happen again. I can’t believe I thought there might be a hint of warmth hidden beneath that hardened exterior of yours!” She turned to leave.

  “It will not work,” he called out.

  She paused at the door. “What won’t work?”

  “Your ploys to have me believe you are someone else. Think hard before you continue this game of yours,” he said coolly as he made his way back to his desk. “Whichever name you wish to claim, it will not change the situation. And Amanda—”

  “My name is Morgan.”

  “Amanda,” he said hotly. “You’ll not be leaving Braddock, so abandon any ideas of trying to escape. The banns have been posted. The king, along with your father, will be arriving at month’s end to see us married. Neither of us has a choice in the matter.” He shuffled through the papers before him and then looked up. “I am finished. You may leave now.”

  “I’m not a child awaiting your every order. So you can wipe that pompous, self-important smirk clean off your—”

  “Out!” he snapped, making her jump. He pointed a finger at the door.

  She stood her ground, peering into his eyes, unblinking.

  He watched her closely, seeing nothing but stubborn pride in her stance. Another man might find her mulish behavior infuriating, but he did not. She was like thunder on a clear day, and she aroused his interest like no other.

  Without another word spoken, she turned and left. The door slammed shut, sobering him from such wearisome thoughts. Every muscle tensed. King Henry may as well have strapped him before an arrow slit during battle…’twould have been much more considerate. Marriage to the wench would be the end of him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Morgan returned to her room, plunked herself on the feathered mattress and tried to think. What was she going to do? She needed to find the real Amanda, quickly, preferably before she was forced to marry a medieval man with a medieval attitude. Where was the woman anyhow? Had she really run off to be with her lover? And how, she wondered, could she and this Amanda woman look so much alike? The questions spun inside her head like the rotors on a helicopter.

  She couldn’t sit around the castle doing nothing. But roaming the forests in search of Amanda lost its appeal as visions of Otgar came to mind. According to Lord Vanguard the marriage was to take place at the end of the month. That gave her a few weeks to come up with a plan. Until then she was stuck. Unfortunately she was stuck with an arrogant, overconfident lord who refused to believe a word she said.

  Iron hinges creaked as the door to her room came open. Odelia backed into the room, holding a tray of food that she placed on a high table near the bed.

  “Tell me I didn’t just meet Lord Vanguard,” Morgan said with a groan. “Tell me it was his stable guy or his cook, or the castle’s contractor.”

  “I am afraid ‘twas indeed Lord Vanguard.”

  “How long has he given us to pack?” Morgan asked.

  “Don’t be a shandy fool. Nobody is leaving Braddock.”

  “Even after I told him I wasn’t Lady Amanda?”

  “He believes you are Amanda,” Odelia whispered into her ear, “because you are Amanda. And, according to the others—”

  “Others?”

  “Aye, the castle folk. There is Maren, the new kitchen maid.” Odelia used her fingers to keep count. “And Hugo’s wife, Matti. Shayna and Ciara the sewing maids, and Maxine, the castle’s bloodletter.”

  “The castle’s bloodletter? Oh, never mind, I don’t want to know.” Morgan collapsed backwards on the bed into the mounds of embroidered pillows. After a moment she propped herself up on an elbow. “Okay, I can’t stand it. What did they say?”

  Dusting the furniture as she spoke, Odelia said, “They believe Lord Vanguard is quite taken with you and has acted peculiar since you arrived. They spoke of your entering his lordship’s study on the day you arrived, unannounced and wearing those ridiculous breeches,” Odelia shot her a reproving look, “and they told me of how he mistook you for a serving maid.”

  “A serving maid?” Morgan felt ridiculously offended.

  “A serving maid,” Odelia repeated with a good dose of satisfaction.

  “If he thought I was a serving maid, then what was he doing kissing me that day?”

  “He kissed you?”

  “Yes sirree. As far as he knew, his fiancée was right here under the same roof, and yet he kissed me.”

  “Before you go on, ‘tis not jealousy of your own self I am hearing, is it?”

  “Me? Jealous?” Morgan laughed a little too heartily. “You’re crazy if you think I’d be jealous of that man kissing a serving maid. I couldn’t care less if he kissed every Tom, Dick, and Harry in England.”

  “I do not think ‘tis Tom, Dick, or Harry you have to worry about. Especially since it is indeed your own self whom he seems to be infatuated with. Verily, you don’t have to convince me though. I just thought perchance, after meeting him, you might have changed your mind about marrying the man.”

  “That’s absurd. I don’t ever want to talk to the man again. Except to tell him that I have proof that I’m not Lady Amanda.”

  “And what proof might that be?” Odelia asked, her shoulders sagging.

  “Well, the greatest proof will be when I actually find Amanda. Then you’ll all see.”

  Odelia shook her head in exasperation.

  “If I can’t find Amanda though, I’ll give Lord Vanguard det
ails of the twenty-first century. Things that will happen in the future…history in the making, so to speak.”

  “Since being bumped on the head, my lady, you’ve become a regular jester. Mayhap you can tell his lordship when the war between France and England will be over?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know everything, Odelia. But I do know the French won the war.” She frowned. History had always been one of her weaknesses. Brightening she added, “Something called the Black Death will occur, a bubonic plague caused by rats. I wish I could remember the exact date.”

  Odelia shook her head. “‘Tis behind us.”

  “Oh.” Relief swept over her. Rats rated right up there with horses. “I know…I could tell Lord Vanguard about Joan of Arc…how she leads a French army in a siege.”

  “She became an English prisoner and was burned as a witch,” Odelia finished.

  Morgan drummed a finger on the bed cover. “Well, I’ll think of something.”

  Odelia wagged a finger at her. “Truly you are not going to continue with these tales of yours, are you? Although your long-time maid was too sick to accompany you to Braddock, she warned me of your constant pranks and went on to say that you were a stubborn, overindulged young lady who would do anything to get her way.”

  Morgan’s shoulders drooped. No wonder Odelia was convinced she was Amanda. Since arriving, she’d definitely not been herself.

  “If you want to go on trying to convince me that you are not Amanda, go ahead,” Odelia went on. “But I can assure you of one thing. Should you continue to tell Lord Vanguard that you are someone from aloft the horizon, he will begin to think you are a mad woman. To make the king happy he will marry you anyhow and keep you locked in the dungeon. Forever. Indeed, it happens all the time.”

  Morgan swallowed, picturing herself trapped in a dark musty dungeon with hungry rodents. And there would be bugs, probably stag beetles…the ugly ones with jaws as long as their bodies that branched out like antlers. A prickly unease crept up her spine. “I’ll be very diplomatic when I talk to him next time,” she promised Odelia. “Besides, you already said he’s not going to throw us out. And, if it makes you feel any better, I told him you had nothing to do with any of this.”

  The maid’s plump body wilted. “Whatever you intend to tell his lordship will have to wait. He left for escort duty shortly after you left his study.”

  “Escort duty?”

  “‘Tis when a king calls upon his vassals to provide him protection as he visits his holdings.”

  Odelia straightened a few things before she paused at the doorway and said, “The parents of that little boy you saved wish to thank you. I was told you breathed life into the child. Where did you learn to do such a thing?”

  Morgan wanted to tell her about the CPR class she’d taken, but she stopped herself. What good would it do? “I don’t know, Odelia. I just knew I had to do something.”

  “Mayhap we can visit the boy on the morrow.”

  Morgan nodded. “I would like that.” After Odelia left the room, Morgan felt a tightening in her chest at the thought of Lord Vanguard being gone. The last thing she needed was a crush on some arrogant knightly lord whose kisses felt like a moonlight caress on a balmy night with promises of something more.

  Suddenly she found herself wishing she’d dated more. Maybe then she’d have something to compare his kiss with. There had to be other men who could make her sizzle like an egg on hot asphalt. A nice, friendly, slightly smaller man, who could make her feel the way Lord Vanguard did. She grimaced at the idea that maybe only conceited, arrogant men like Lord Vanguard could make her dissolve in their arms.

  ~~~~

  Derek sent his men onward to Braddock, telling his men-at-arms that he would follow shortly for he had personal business to attend. Getting away from Braddock for a few days had served him well, but he still yearned for his old life back: the simple, promising life of an unattached lord.

  As he neared Leonie’s cottage, a simple wood structure with a chimney, he noted that the windows had been newly covered with fine linen. Dozens of candles flickered from the breeze he let inside when he opened the door, casting a flattering glow upon the woman waiting within. Leonie lay upon a large four-posted bed, her gaze fixed upon him as he set down his sword and removed his tunic.

  “Did you miss me?” she asked seductively, eager for his attentions.

  “I have been busy. I am afraid I have not had time to think of such pleasures.”

  “‘Tis not what I heard, my lord.”

  Not used to her meddling, Derek stopped unbuckling his belt. “Exactly what is it you have heard?”

  She propped herself on a pillow, making certain he had a clear view of her ample bosom. “‘Twas rumored the king plans to force you into marriage. ‘Tis not true, is it?”

  A frown creased his brow. He had come to Leonie in hopes of relieving the mounting tensions of late, hoping to erase Lady Amanda from his mind. It was no use.

  Panic lined Leonie’s voice. “Tell me you do not plan to marry an unseasoned, virginal innocent? Just looking at you would surely put her to her death.”

  His jaw hardened.

  “You are too much of a man for a chaste lass such as Lady Amanda,” she said.

  He arched a brow. “But what of you? I assume ‘tis safe to say I am not too much of a man for you?”

  “Never,” she burst out. She edged off of the bed, trying hard to regain her composure. Her voice became a whisper. “I have a confession to make.” She removed the pins from her hair, letting the thick strands fall past her pale shoulders. Gazing into his eyes, she loosened her belt and let the thin muslin gown she wore slither to the floor around her feet. Slowly, she came toward him, her hips swaying. “I have been burning up with jealousy, my lord, and only you can put out the flames flickering within.”

  Words and gestures laced with jealousy…this is not what he had in mind. A good mind-numbing romp in the sheets is what he desired. Nothing more, nothing less. Derek turned away, retrieved his tunic from the chair and pulled the soft leather jerkin over his head. He moved to the table and claimed his sword.

  ‘Twas like a dark cloud sweeping toward him as she rushed to his side, clinging to his leg like a woman suddenly possessed by insecurity. “Please, my lord, do not leave. Forgive my presumptuous behavior. Stay and let me satisfy your needs.”

  “Get up, Leonie. Begging is unbecoming on you.”

  “I will not let you go,” she cried, paying little attention to his words. She clawed at him like a wild animal being denied its supper.

  “I always thought you were different.” He unclasped her fingers, snatched his mantle from the table, and headed for the door.

  “You’ll regret this day if you leave me, Derek Vanguard. Come back here and satisfy me now. I demand that you do!”

  He gazed back at her long enough to shake his head, wondering what he’d seen in her these past months.

  “If you marry the noble bitch,” Leonie shrieked as he headed for the door, “she will seduce you first with her innocence. Then she will crush your heart in the palm of one flawless hand.” Leonie held a fist to the air. “One gentle squeeze. ‘Tis all it will take to destroy you as you are destroying me. Aye, you will see.”

  Holding her gown to her bosom, Leonie followed him outside to where his horse was tied. He threw the reins over his stallion’s neck and vaulted to its back.

  Still clinging to him, Leonie gazed beseechingly into his eyes, her voice calm as she said, “Unlike myself, my love, you will not survive such destruction of the heart. Your betrothed will see to that.”

  Derek loosened her hold and rode off. He closed his eyes and let the strengthening wind whip across his face as the steady beat of his stallion helped soothe his weary state. Seeing Leonie had only made matters worse.

  The steed quickened its pace as Derek guided the animal to the nearest inn. The scene with Leonie did not bother him nearly as much as the endless visions of his betrothed. Si
nce that first kiss, when he assumed she was no more than a serving maid, Lady Amanda had dared to plague his mind. It was her fine instructions on saving the dead though, that had captured his full attention. He’d been stunned by his unusual reaction to her seemingly inexperienced teachings. And when his men had interrupted their short time together, he should have been grateful. Instead he had found himself aggravated by the interruption.

  He took pride in his ability to remain unaffected by those around him…especially women. Women were naught more than a means in which to satisfy a need. Never once had he contemplated turning Leonie away before. The fact that he had irked him greatly.

  He couldn’t get to the Boar’s Head Inn soon enough. His knuckles turned white as he curled his fingers yet tighter about the reins but nothing stopped the woman from appearing in his mind’s eye. Wisps of hair framing a shadowed face along with a petite form told him that the darkly cloaked figure he was seeing was indeed a woman. As a child he had spotted the same hooded figure many times: at fairs and on market day. Once he had seen her outside Braddock’s gates, but before he could question the woman she always disappeared. He’d forgotten about the woman until now. Who was the wench and why did she dare to plague his thoughts?

  Inwardly he cursed his luck when the vision was replaced with Lady Amanda’s visage. God’s teeth! The wench managed to void all reasoning, pummeling his mind with her enchanting smile and expressive eyes. How was he to counsel the king on important matters when he could not keep a clear head?

  As soon as the thatched roof of the inn came into view, Derek flung himself from his horse and tied the animal to a wooden stake. He stalked past two women gathering water from a well, entered the tavern, and ordered the strongest drink they had. A plump man with pink skin and a patch of red hair on his head promptly brought him a full horn. A handful of people watched as he guzzled the brew in two swallows.