Chapter Sixteen
The best thing about lying in wait for someone was the very fact they had no idea what was coming.
The element of surprise was on Raymond’s side.
Knowing Mira would probably run if she saw him, he made sure to position himself in the shadows at the bottom of the staircase that led from the small service door.
The vault was illuminated by several torches that were secured to the walls because servants were coming in and out due to the feast, and he went so far as to remove some of the torches so the area would be darker.
Less chance of his being seen.
As a child, he’d spent a good deal of time hiding in this storeroom, playing with his friends, so he knew the place well.
With the exception of inventory being in different places, it had changed little over the years.
It still smelled like damp earth and straw, which was spread over the bottom of the dirt to keep the moisture at bay.
Truthfully, he found some comfort in that smell.
He was rather glad that he and his father had stopped at Axminster for the night.
Glad for many reasons, but the most prevalent was the opportunity to reacquaint himself with Mira.
In spite of what he had been told, she didn’t seem all that eager to see him, but he attributed that to the surprise of his appearance.
Mira put up a good fight, but he felt that it was simply for show.
He was sure it was all part of the chase.
Most of all, however, was the information from Lady Astoria about Mira lifting her skirts for men these days.
He always thought Mira had been a proper lady, but apparently things had changed.
He found himself hoping she would lift her skirts for him.
There was no better place to lift them than down in a dark, shadowed vault.
So he waited.
Surprisingly, he didn’t have to wait long. As he sat on a firm sack of what turned out to be carrots, he could hear the door above squeak open. Footsteps hit the stairs and he heard Mira call out.
“Athole?” she called. “Bets? Are you down here?”
There wasn’t anyone down there and, fearful that she might turn to leave if she found the storeroom empty, Raymond spoke in a high-pitched voice.
“M’lady?” he said.
Hearing someone call, Mira headed down the stairs. “Bets, is that you?” she said. “What’s this I hear about rot in the grain? We were just down here earlier and there was nothing that I saw. Where did you find it?”
She was coming closer. From where Raymond was sitting, he could see her feet and then the bottom of her dress. She came off the stairs and headed toward the area where the grain was stored.
Raymond was compelled to strike.
Bursting out of his hiding place, he grabbed Mira from behind, slapping his hand over her mouth and hauling her up against him.
As she screamed and kicked and twisted, he managed to carry her back to the darkened corner where the grain was stored in big, covered barrels.
All the way back he carried her, pushing her into a corner between the barrels so she was effectively trapped.
Only then did he set her on her feet.
“Do not scream,” he growled in her ear. “If I uncover your mouth, you will not scream. I only want to speak with you and I did not wish to do it in a hall full of men where your attention was divided. Do you understand me? There is no need to scream.”
Mira’s response was to try to kick him, scratching with her sharp nails until he yelped and yanked his hand away. She was able to peal a brief scream before he slapped a hand over her mouth again and shoved her back against the wall.
Now they were facing one another.
“I told you not to scream,” he rumbled. “Now I shall have to keep my hand over your mouth until you hear what I have to say.”
That brought slapping and twisting from Mira.
Raymond was trying not to get hit in the face as she lashed out at him and keep his hand over her mouth at the same time, so he was forced to shove her into the wall to still her while he trapped her flailing hands.
She was awkwardly pressed against the stone now, the right side of her face being ground against the rough wall as he used his body weight to subdue her.
“Mira, stop,” he muttered in her ear. “I am not entirely sure why you are fighting so much, but it stops now. Your dear friend Astoria was kind enough to tell me what you could not, so there is no need to struggle. It is unnecessary. I prefer my women obedient and compliant.”
The right side of her face was becoming scratched as he pushed and she struggled. Mira couldn’t speak because of his hand over her mouth, but her terror was evident. She was gasping and grunting, her entire body tense, and Raymond pressed closer to her.
“It has been a long time since we last saw one another,” he said.
“I tried to tell you that I was glad to see you in the hall, but you would not give me your attention. If you would only stop and listen, I am certain we can rekindle what has been lost over the years. I will not hurt you and I do not mean to frighten you, but you are fighting so much that I have no choice. Do you hear me? You are forcing me to hurt you, Mira.”
Mira tried to let out a scream, muffled by his hand. He could feel something warm and wet on his fingers, and realized it was tears. Mira was weeping.
Bizarrely, he tried to hug her.
“No tears, lass,” he whispered, kissing her ear.
“There is no need. If you would stop struggling, this will be pleasant. We spent moments like this in the past, moments you only told me tonight that you did not find enjoyable, but I will change your mind. You will let me do that, won’t you? Change your mind?”
Mira suddenly went limp in his arms, and Raymond thought she might have swooned. She turned into something boneless and sagging, and he was forced to adjust his grip on her, but just as he moved his hand from her mouth, she came to life and brought her knee up into his groin as hard as she could.
Raymond doubled over and Mira ran for the stairs.
Gasping in fright and panic, she put her foot on the bottom step but slipped on the slick stone in her haste.
She fell forward, striking her temple on the stone step.
Collapsing on the ground, dazed, Raymond recovered from her knee to his groin and, angry and in pain, stormed over to where she lay, grabbing her by the arm, dragging her back into the darkness.
The hunter had finally caught his prey.
*
Soldier fights were often the messiest.
Douglas had walked into what looked like a bloodbath.
Men with too much drink and too much time on their hands had turned a friendly evening meal into a wasteland of destruction.
The central bailey had been where de Honiton set up his encampment, which happened to be the same place de Winter and de Lohr had set up theirs.
The two armies were allies in theory and the evening meal had been shared by all.
There had been a large fire with a spit over it, roasting half a cow.
The men had eaten their share and gotten drunk on the cheap ale that Eric purchased for the army, and that had unfortunately set up a rather large brawl.
Now, there was blood everywhere.
Jonathan had been on the wall, monitoring the sentries and not paying a good deal of attention to the soldiers down in the bailey.
He could hear them laughing and singing, and he assumed everyone was getting along just fine until they weren’t.
The fight had started between just a few men, but by the time he got down there, both armies were embroiled in a fistfight.
Inevitably, men began to produce daggers and at least six men were slashed.
One of them had been stabbed fairly seriously, and Douglas and Jonathan stood by and watched the de Winter surgeon try to save the man’s life.
It was a de Winter soldier who had been stabbed and all indications were that a de Honiton man had done it.
As the de Winter soldier bled out in the dark earth, Douglas and Jonathan went into command-and-control mode.
The two knights separated the men, sending all armies back to their respective camps.
The sergeants of the de Honiton contingent were cooperative, and horrified at what had happened, and Douglas demanded they turn over the soldier who had committed the crime.
Truthfully, there seemed to be some confusion over who had actually wielded the weapon because no one wanted to incriminate a comrade, but the sergeants were relentless in their questioning.
“You’d better send for Lord de Honiton,” Jonathan said quietly, watching men jostle around in search of the killer. “He will not be pleased if we do not at least tell him what has happened.”
Douglas nodded as he, too, watched the de Honiton sergeants roust their own men. “I know,” he said. “But the man is drunk. He probably will not even realize what is going on here, so let us find the offending soldier before we send for him. We do not need the man trying to figure it all out.”
Jonathan could see his point. “Mayhap not,” he said. “But this is not ideal. No one wants this visit to end badly, especially with an ally.”
“And you were up on the wall when all of this started?”
“Indeed, I was,” Jonathan said. “The men seemed to be getting along splendidly until suddenly, they weren’t.”
“What started the fight?”
“Who knows?” Jonathan said with a shrug. “These things can start so easily, as you know. One moment, everyone is friendly and in the next, the daggers are coming out.”