“Aye,” Madeline replied, breathless and uncertain. “Are you?”
Evon cocked his head thoughtfully. “Your Red Lion has a sharp eye,” he said as he took Madeline by the shoulders and turned her around for the nearest tree, forcing her to bend over and grip the tree to steady herself. “There are Scots mercenaries among us who have been training the men. Their tactics, Madeline… they are far more than the Welsh way of fighting. They are calculated and logical. We lost far less men this time around the way the Scots taught us.”
He stood behind her as he spoke, fumbling with his breeches. Quickly, he pulled them down and flipped up her layers of tunics, exposing her slender while buttocks. He bent over her, pressing his manhood against her wet and swollen core, thrusting firmly into her quivering body. Madeline gasped and shifted on her legs, bracing them apart further to allow him better access. She held on to the tree as he began to thrust, his hands on her hips as he held her firmly against him.
Evon’s thrusts were quick and brutal, hitting Madeline so hard with his pelvis that more than once, she lost her grip on the tree. She ended up with her head against the tree, repeatedly ramming her head into it as he thrust firmly behind her. The hands on her hips began to slap at her buttocks, harshly enough to cause a sting, but his handprints on her white flesh excited him terribly. He slapped her buttocks as she yelped in pain.
“Tell me more,” he breathed, spittle dripping from his lower lip and landing on her buttocks. “What else has your Red Lion said?”
Madeline groaned as his thrusting caused her pleasure-pain. “He… he is sending out patrols again,” she reiterated, grunting. “He… is teaching our men to fight the way the Scots fight. If… if you have Scots mercenaries among your men, then they should know this.”
“I will tell them,” he said as he thrust, feeling his climax coming and slapping her buttocks again. “Are there plans for the English to leave the castle?”
“There… there are no plans of leaving that I know of.”
“Then the English are staying?”
“Aye.”
“When do the first patrols leave?”
“I do not know… tomorrow, mayhap. Soon.”
He withdrew from her woman’s core and, using the moisture from her own body, slicked up her second maidenhead, her anus, and pushed into her. Madeline bit her hand to keep from crying out as he continued to make love to her in a most unnatural way. But it was something Evon liked and, being in love with the man since childhood, she permitted it no matter how much it pained her. She belonged to him and always had. It was a dream they had, to rule Four Crosses together.
Madeline was doing all she could to ensure that dream came true.
Evon gave one hard, final thrust and released himself into her body, into the orifice where it was guaranteed no children could be born. He didn’t need a bastard from a half-Welsh wench, but what he did need was information for Madog’s rebellion. His father, Lord Preece, wasn’t part of the rebellion sweeping the country, the dying throes of the last Welsh prince, but Evon was part of that movement and he used Madeline de Llion to gain his information.
Madeline thought it was because he loved her, but the truth was that he was simply using her. He’d tell her everything she wanted to hear simply to make sure she told him everything that was happening at Four Crosses. Madog’s men wanted the fortress very badly and Evon was helping in any way he could. It made him an important man in Madog’s ranks.
He had his own spy within Four Crosses.
So he hugged Madeline and told her how much he was looking forward to their future together, lying through his teeth as he said it. He questioned her more about the patrols, about the Scotsman they called The Red Lion, and about anything else he could think of that might help his cause. The damage to the walls was being repaired and the army was now reinforced by English troops. That wasn’t good news and it was something Madog’s men needed to know.
Evon had to rush back to his rebel force but he made sure to elicit a promise from Madeline that she would meet him again tomorrow after the nooning meal, here in their thicket, with more information on what was transpiring at Four Crosses. Now, with the addition of three English knights and their Scottish commander, the situation had changed markedly.
Now, the conquest of Four Crosses might be in jeopardy.
*
Nights like this reminded Jamison of nights on the Highland moors, dark and foggy and wet. The only difference for him was that at his home, one could smell the sea. He couldn’t smell it here and he missed it. All he could see were land and rocks and winter-dead hills, as far as the eye could see.
After a long day of training troops on Scots tactics, Jamison had the night watch. He wasn’t particularly tired so he relieved Tobias and Thad of the wall and planted himself up by the gatehouse with a big bowl of steaming broth. It was bone broth, from boiled sheep bones, cooked with onions and turnips and carrots and highly seasoned with salt and precious peppercorns. The de Lohr army had brought the salt and pepper with them, and the cook at Four Crosses seemed to have a talent for cooking. So Jamison leaned against the parapet of the gatehouse as the fog settled and the sun set, drinking his bowl of hot broth and feeling warmth in his belly. He remembered thinking during battle that he might never be warm again so the hot soup was comforting.
But he was still cold and damp in spite of the warm broth. He was in layers of wool, his hands with heavy leather gloves on, and he was chilled. Nights like this drove the cold down to a man’s very bones and the only thing he could do was to move around to try to chase the chill away.
Nights like this were also very dangerous. Without the ability to see to the horizon, an entire army could sneak up to the castle using the mist as cover and no one would know until the army was upon them, so vigilance was the order of the moment. Jamison began walking the fighting platform, the one that had been repaired in the past few days, encouraging the men on watch to be heedful. This could very well be the night that the Welsh returned.
The men were on edge with the fog, straining to see through it. Torches burned brightly and more were lit, lining the walls to keep away the night. Jamison continued to wander the wall walk, which happened to go most of the way around the castle. It was quite an architectural feat, in truth, because of the size of the walls. But it was quite necessary to keep watch over the countryside surrounding the castle.
Jamison moved past the gatehouse, keeping his attention on the fog outside of the walls but finding his thoughts turning to Havilland. Havilland. Even thinking her name made him smile. In truth, he’d thought about her all day, ever since their conversation in the great hall. He liked the way she laughed and her smile… well, the woman’s smile made his heart thump as it had never thumped before.
Bringing up the subject of marriage with her had been impetuous and quite possibly reckless, but it had seemed the most natural of things to do. He had jested about it when he realized, in hindsight, he hadn’t been jesting at all. But he wanted her to think that he was. He fully expected her to reject any suggestion of marriage and if she thought he was jesting, perhaps he wouldn’t look like such a fool. But he was quite certain her refusal would disappoint him greatly.
It might even break his heart.
He had to smile to himself, thinking that he was capable of having a broken heart from a woman he’d only known a few days. But he didn’t have to know Havilland more than a few days to know that she was special. She had an innocence about her that was hard to define, yet it was vastly attractive. And she had bravery and intelligence that was unmatched. That was a rare thing, indeed.
As he moved past the gatehouse, his gaze fell on Tobias standing along the parapet, speaking to one of the senior de Lohr sergeants. Thoughts of Havilland and Tobias didn’t mix because it brought a recollection of what Brend had said earlier in the day – Tobias has already expressed interest in Havilland.
Gazing at Tobias, a man he genuinely liked, Jamison could feel h
imself becoming territorial. He didn’t want any of the de Lohr brothers lusting after a woman he was attracted to, least of all Tobias. He didn’t need or want the competition. He briefly considered throwing Tobias over the wall and then telling everyone it was an accident, but that wouldn’t work out well in his favor because there were witnesses. Too many of them. He wasn’t sure he could throw that many de Lohr men over the wall, too, in order to silence them, so he put the thought of murdering Tobias out of his mind. At least, for the moment.
Tobias, oblivious to Jamison’s dangerous thoughts, smiled when he saw Jamison approach. “Jamie,” he greeted. “It is nearly time to change the guards to the night watch. The gatehouse has double the capacity of sentries, as you ordered.”
Jamison nodded to the efficient knight. “And the postern gate?”
Tobias glanced over his shoulder. “There are Four Crosses men guarding it,” he said. “I would not worry. I checked the gate myself a short time ago and it is quite secure.”
Jamison grunted. “It is still an entry point should the Welsh decide tae descend upon us this night,” he said, looking around at the fog. “Nights like this make me nervous.”
Tobias couldn’t disagree with him. He, too, looked out to the fog beyond the walls. “It is hard to believe there is an entire land out there, now buried in mist.”
“An entire land that could be crawling with Welsh.”
Tobias lifted his eyebrows in resignation. “There is naught we can do about it tonight,” he said. “We have three patrols scheduled for the morning, each patrol manned by at least one Four Crosses man who is familiar with the area. Let us see what the patrols have to say when they return tomorrow.”
Jamison knew that was the truth; there wasn’t much more they could do. He turned to continue his walk, slapping Tobias on the shoulder as he went.
“But we still must make it through the night,” he said. “Stay vigilant, Tobias. Yer keen eyes may save us.”
Tobias took the request seriously. Jamison continued down the wall, his thoughts on the coming night and not Havilland for the moment, but that changed when he saw Havilland’s sister, Madeline, in the bailey below. She was heavily dressed against the night, carrying a torch with her as she crossed from the keep into the kitchen yard. Jamison was heading in much the same direction and kept pace with her as she moved.
It was curious to watch the woman move because she acted like she was being hunted. She moved swiftly and kept looking around her as if either searching for something or someone. Jamison thought it all rather odd but, then again, Madeline was an odd one to begin with so perhaps it was nothing new with her. Perhaps, that was simply the way she always moved.
Still, he couldn’t quite shake the fact that she seemed to be behaving strangely so he continued to parallel her path, casually, moving down the wall as she moved into the kitchen yard. The fighting platform ended by the time it reached the kitchen yard, however. He watched as she slipped into the kitchen yard, discarded the torch, and stopped to speak with the half-dozen men on guard at the postern gate. It was difficult to see what was transpiring through the mist, but he could see the outlines of men and the outline of Madeline as she spoke with them.
He had only been watching a minute or two when the men who had been guarding the gate began heading away from their post. Madeline, however, remained. She simply stood by the gate, like a sentry, as the men made their way out of the kitchen yard and into the bailey.
Vastly confused, Jamison wondered if she intended to guard the gate all by herself. Given the arrogance of the woman, he wouldn’t have been surprised, but he didn’t approve of that particular situation. That gate needed at least a dozen men on it and he intended to tell her just that. Heading for the nearest ladder that led down to the bailey, he cast a final glance into the kitchen yard in time to see Madeline slip from the postern gate. In the blink of an eye, she opened the gate swiftly and was gone.
Startled, Jamison flew down the ladder and ran into the kitchen yard, hardly believing what he had just seen. Why on earth the lass would leave the safety of the castle was beyond him. Was she out checking the perimeter wall? It was a foolish notion at best and he began to build up a serious rage thinking that Madeline believed she knew better than anyone else on this misty, cold night. Going outside the walls was lunacy at best.
Charging through the narrow tunnel that comprised the postern gate, he emerged into the other side, outside of the walls, expecting to see Madeline walking along the tall, stone perimeter. He was surprised to see that she wasn’t there and as far as he could see down the wall, she was nowhere to be found. Greatly puzzled, he turned to the path that led down the side of the slope and into the foliage below. There was a small river down there, he knew, and it took him a moment to realize he caught a glimpse Madeline far below, heading down the path. She disappeared from his line of sight almost as quickly as he saw her and, like a flash, Jamison was after her. He wanted to know where the woman was going.
Into the trees he followed her, deeper and deeper still. Spending the first ten years of his life in the Highlands, he had been taught the art of tracking from his father and grandfather. He knew how to be quiet and unseen. He was excessively good at it and was able to follow Madeline without her knowing.
Wrapped up in his wool brecan, he was concealed by the darkness and the trees, and easily blended in. Madeline was far enough ahead of him that she had no idea that someone was behind her although she did stop once or twice to glance behind. Jamison simply froze, shielded by a tree trunk or a bush. Not seeing anything, Madeline would then turn about and keep going.
She headed down by the river path and he followed, moving in stealth. He honestly couldn’t imagine where the girl was going. She’d never come across to him like a wanderer so her behavior was most puzzling. Still, he had to see where she was going. It could have been something completely innocent – or it could have been something more than that. What was it Havilland had said to him earlier in the day? I believe we may have a spy within our ranks. To be truthful, Jamison hadn’t taken her seriously until now. Was it possible there really was a spy and was it further possible that the spy was her very own sister?
He was about to find out.
Up ahead in the misty trees, Jamison heard Madeline yelp but she was just as quickly silenced as Jamison heard a male voice. It was faint, but it was definitely male. Then, it hit him – had Madeline snuck out to meet a lover. Seized with the possibility, Jamison lost himself in the vines and leaves and bushes, creeping closer to the voices. They were soft but unmistakable.
Creeping closer still, he ended up on his belly, his head covered by his dark wool brecan, peering out from beneath some bushes as Madeline and a tall, slender young man whispered and passionately kissed in the darkness. He could hear bits and pieces of what was being said.
Why did you not come to before now…there is much you should know… tell me now while I touch you.
Jamison didn’t want to move, didn’t want to chance that he might be seen, but he very much wanted to hear what Madeline had to say. He was trying to ignore the fact that the man was intent on having his way with her as the woman tried to speak.
It was de Lohr who helped us fight off the Welsh… he left five hundred men behind to reinforce our ranks, including four knights… one is a Scotsman… the men are saying that he is called The Red Lion and that he is the best knight in all of Scotland.
Jamison’s heart sank. Whoever this man was, Madeline was freely telling him about the situation at Four Crosses. With every kiss or touch from the man, she would tell him more and it was quite clear to Jamison that the man wasn’t part of any allied force. If he was, he wouldn’t be hiding out here in the trees and meeting with Madeline in secret. She was providing him with intelligence as he put his head beneath her tunic and did things to her that were making her writhe and gasp. He is seducing her, Jamison thought, feeling a spark of anger deep in his belly. And… she is letting him. Fool!
> After that, it grew even more uncomfortable and infuriating for him. The man was all over Madeline, using his mouth and hands to violate her. Madeline continued to stammer out more information as Jamison listened… he is sending out patrols again… he knows there are Scots among you….
By the time the man bent her over a tree, dropped his breeches and took her from behind, Jamison had heard enough. He’d even heard a name – Evon – a name that was decidedly Welsh. As a logical man, the evidence of this rendezvous was overwhelming – Madeline was evidently the spy that had cost many lives at Four Crosses. There was no other conclusion he could come to.
As he listened to the sounds of lovemaking, Jamison decided to retreat. He wanted to make it back to the castle before her because he had much to discuss with the knights. They needed to know that there was, indeed, a spy in their ranks because now, the situation had changed dangerously. Everything they said and everything they did would make it back to the Welsh rebels who were very much trying to destroy them.
Therefore, they had to plan.
They couldn’t let one of their own sink them.
Moving in the dark, the fog, and the wet, Jamison made his way back to Four Crosses Castle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
*
“You cannot control
the heart that covets….”
*
“We can do one of two things,” Tobias said. “We can throw Madeline in the vault and stop the bleeding or we can use her to feed the Welsh false information. We can even use her to trap their leaders. Evon, you said? Has anyone heard that name before?”
In the small solar of Four Crosses, Jamison, Tobias, Brend, and Thad huddled around the glowing hearth, mulling over the shocking story that Jamison had just relayed to them. It was disgusting, truly, and there wasn’t one man among them not thoroughly disheartened by Madeline’s behavior. Given the way she had behaved towards the presence of the de Lohr troops, and most especially to Jamison, no one seemed particularly surprised by it. Now, things were starting to make some sense.