Chapter 2 #3
They both pulled up. The trees grew down close to the banks, and the chances of working their way along the edge of the water were poor.
“Do you think we can ford the stream?” Madeleine asked, listening to the distant sounds of the hunt.
“No, of course not.” Odo was looking at her strangely. Madeleine shivered with unease. It was surely just the dim coolness here among the trees. “Come on then.” She turned her mount. “Let’s go back around the hill and catch up.”
His voice stopped her. “Hold on a moment. Mastery’s limping.” He swung off and raised a hoof for inspection. “Mad, can you come down and hold him?” called Odo, struggling with his sidling horse. “I think he’s picked up a thorn, but I can’t get a grip on it.”
Madeleine swung out of her saddle with a sigh and went to help. She took Mastery’s reins, and the horse immediately calmed. After a moment she realized this was because Odo had stopped touching the beast. He came around the horse.
“Odo, what are you—”
He grabbed her.
Her cry was smothered by his wet lips and stale breath. She kicked and twisted to frighteningly little effect. Fear and suffocation made her head swim, and her clawing hands found only the tangling cloth of his cloak.
His lips released her, and she sucked in breath to scream, but he pushed her down on the hard ground, landing on top of her so that only a squeak emerged as pain shot out from her spine and hip and shoulders.
Incredibly, he was grinning. “Come on, Mad, you panted after me as a girl.” One hand yanked her skirt up at the side. “Bet you had hot dreams of me in your cold little convent cell. Well, I’ll make your dreams come true.”
She bucked. “Odo, no!”
His grin just widened. Bile rose in Madeleine’s throat. Frantic, she twisted and kicked, but his massive body was like a log on top of her. His shoulder pressed on her face, making it difficult to breathe, never mind to scream.
Panic choked her. If he dishonored her, the law called for castration, but the law hereabouts was Odo’s father. The alternative would be a hasty wedding. Once it was done, would the king interfere? “Blessed Mary, aid me. . .”
His smile switched to an ugly scowl. “Don’t call on the saints,” he snarled, struggling to manage both her clothes and his without giving her a chance to move or scream.
“It’s time you learned your . . . duty .
. . stay still, curse you! Learned what a woman’s .
. . for.” His writhing freed one of her hands. “Hell!”
Madeleine wrenched out her small knife and stabbed him in the arm.
“You little bitch!” He picked her up and slammed her back to the ground. The knife flew from her hand.
He was back on top and her skirt was now up high. His weight was full on her chest as she gasped for every breath.
“By the Grail, you need a lesson, Mad!” he exclaimed, redfaced. “When we’re wed . . .”
Only half conscious, Madeleine felt a new wave of terror at the word. It brought a new burst of strength. She writhed, she shrieked. He pummeled and cursed.
He stopped.
His dead weight crushed her. Then it rolled away.
Sobbing and gasping air into her burning lungs, Madeleine saw a peasant leering at her exposed body.
He was stocky and grizzle-haired, with a beard and moustache which marked him as English.
Muttering prayers to the Virgin and saints, Madeleine scrambled painfully to her feet, grabbed her pathetic little weapon, and hobbled back against a spreading oak.
“Allez-vous en!” she gasped. Then, awkwardly, she tried English. “Go away.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
Madeleine started at the new voice and looked down to see another man by Odo’s body. It wasn’t surprising she’d missed him for he blended with the leafy earth, dressed as he was in mud-colored clothes. Even his head was wrapped with a dirty cloth that hung forward over his face.
He stood and rocked Odo with a sandaled foot. “He is not dead,” he said in rough French. “Do you want him to be?”
With a gasp, Madeleine recognized him. Then doubted. Then saw green eyes and was sure. She gave a little cry and hurled herself into his arms.
He held her as she shuddered, choking back sobs. He was so strong and warm and safe. His hand gently comforted the back of her head. Then he pushed her away a little. “Shall I kill him for you?” He pulled out a long, vicious-looking knife.
The other man said something sharply. She could tell he wanted to get out of the glade, which wasn’t surprising. They were English, and they’d attacked a Norman.
“No,” she said quickly. She just wanted them safe. “Go. Please.”
He shrugged and sheathed the knife. “You should leave this place, too.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be all right. It was just that he took me by surprise. Please go. My uncle’s hunting here. He’ll kill you. Or worse.”
He showed no urgency. His hand reached out to cradle her neck and humor glinted in his eyes. “I warned you about going about the country unescorted.”
“He was my escort,” Madeleine said with a disgusted look at Odo.
“Truly a wolf sent to guard sheep.” He drew her gently to him.
Madeleine relished the comfort but regarded him in exasperation. Why didn’t he flee? “You said you would not be here again. It’s dangerous.”
He traced her lips with a gentle finger and frowned. “You’re swollen. I should kill him.” Then, “I had business here. You did promise not to betray me.”
“I won’t.”
“I know. Shall I take the taste of him away?”
Madeleine sighed. “Yes, please.”
He tilted her chin and lowered his head.
His friend said something. Then Madeleine heard it. Horses!
“Déguerpissez!” she hissed urgently and pushed him. “Go. For Mary’s sake, go!”
Still he hesitated. “Are you sure you’ll be safe?”
She pushed harder, with all her strength. “Yes! Go!”
Like wraiths they melted into the forest, and Madeleine was alone with her unconscious cousin. Her rubbery legs gave way, and she collapsed on the ground. She could feel bruises forming all over her body.
Odo. Odo had tried to rape her, but if she accused him it was as likely to lead to a hasty wedding as anything. She started to shiver again. But overlaying pain and shock was joy. Her outlaw was back, and he had rescued her, and he was as wonderful as her dreams told her.
“Madeleine! Odo!”
Her uncle’s voice shattered her thoughts. She called out to get his attention, then crawled to her cousin. She didn’t want him dead for then the whole Norman might would be turned to finding his murderer.
No danger of that. Odo had a large lump on the side of his head but was beginning to stir and groan.
The eruption into the glade of Paul de Pouissey, four of his men, and three cavorting hounds caught her just as she was wondering what she was going to say about her predicament.
“Odo!” Paul was off his horse in a moment and at his son’s side. “Who did this?” he demanded of Madeleine, fiery anger coloring his heavy jowls.
“Not me,” she said hastily. Paul de Pouissey’s anger easily took a physical form. “We were set upon,” she explained quickly, acting on instinct alone. “Outlaws.” No, that was too close to the mark. “A band of marauders. Many of them . . . Danes, perhaps . . .”
Her uncle snarled at her babbling and whirled on his men. “Find them! Find the curs who did this to my son. And,” he added quietly, “take them alive for my vengeance.”
In a moment the yelling men and their dogs were off into the wood, hunting new prey. Madeleine watched in horror. She had not intended that. But, she told herself, her outlaw was at home in the forest and would easily evade such clumsy pursuit.