Chapter Thirteen
A week later
“I wish you would have let me bring the carriage for you,” Jareth said. “It would have been much more comfortable.”
A week after his arrival at Aphrodite’s Feast, Jareth was finally heading out to Portbury Castle to inspect his property, but he’d brought along an entourage that included the entire Guard of Six, Hugh, and Desdra.
Since the day her father had been chased from The Feast, Jareth and Desdra had been inseparable, but only because circumstances dictated so.
They’d gone over account after account. Desdra had indoctrinated Jareth into the world of his mother’s family, something not even Chester had ever done.
She knew the details as if they were her own family, and there were times when Jareth saw a flash of longing in her features, as if she wished they were.
It made for an interesting few days.
But something else had made for an interesting few days.
Jareth had never been strongly attracted to a woman in his life, mostly because he was very selective about the women he spent his time with.
They had to be intelligent and they had to be pleasing to look at, and in London he could find one or the other, but rarely both.
Compounding the problem was the fact that he hardly had time to hunt for such a woman if he were so inclined.
But here in Bristol, he’d found all of those qualities in Desdra.
After the first couple of days, spending nearly every waking hour with her, he’d started to feel something more than politeness toward her.
Days three and four and five crept upon him and he realized that not only had he spent most of his time with her, but he’d also eaten every meal with her.
When he awoke in the morning, he was eager to see her, even if it was only to go over more ledgers.
It didn’t even matter what they did, only that he did it with her.
It was the strangest thing he’d ever experienced.
He wasn’t the only one who was noticing how much time he spent with her.
His friends were noticing, too, and by the expressions on their faces, they approved.
Whenever Jareth was with them, he spent half the time denying that he was fond of her or that there was anything going on between them and the other half speaking about the things she’d educated him on.
The more he denied his fondness of her, the more they teased him about it, and the angrier he became.
It was a vicious cycle.
Even as he was quite possibly becoming more interested in Desdra, Aidric told him that Orion was becoming quite attached to the widow of the knight who had been killed at the Battle of Lewes.
Jareth knew who Anosia was because she had been the very first lady who had told him the story of her association with Aphrodite’s Feast. That elegant woman seemed out of place at what was essentially a brothel.
But several days after his arrival, not even Jareth could call it a brothel any longer.
He’d seen the light.
Today, as they made their way to Portbury, the knights were mounted and in full armor while Desdra, astride a sturdy gray palfrey, was only protected by the traveling clothes she wore, dark green in color, woolen and durable.
She looked like a queen with her magnificent hair in a braid that was longer than the horse’s tail.
It had rained the night before, so the road was muddy and all of the horses were filthy up to their bellies from the slop that had been kicked around, hence the reason for Jareth’s statement.
I wish you would have let me bring the carriage for you.
Desdra wouldn’t hear of it.
“Completely unnecessary, my lord,” she said. “Although I appreciate your kind offer, I would rather ride. It is not often I have the chance to do so like this.”
Jareth wasn’t pleased that she had denied him, yet again, and made a face to reflect that displeasure. “Stubborn wench,” he muttered.
“What did you say?”
He fought off a grin. That was the kind of relationship they’d developed as of late, where he could insult her and get away with it. Truth be told, she’d done plenty of insulting herself, and he’d found it the most charming thing about her.
“I said that you would have been more comfortable on… on a bench,” he said, feigning innocence in his dastardly comment. “You know, the bench of the carriage. Sitting on it. A bench.”
Her eyes were narrowed as she looked at him. “A bench?” she asked.
“Aye, a bench.”
She was well aware that wasn’t what he’d said. So was everyone else. She looked at Aidric, at Britt, riding closest to her.
“Is that what you two heard?” she asked. “That I would be more comfortable on a bench?”
Aidric and Britt were part of the game. “I think so,” Aidric said. “But I actually thought he said fence.”
“Fence?”
“Aye.”
“That I would be more comfortable on a fence?”
“I think he said dense,” Britt said. He was usually a man without humor, so his comment was surprising. “He said you were dense.”
“He did, did he?” Desdra said in outrage, her head snapping to Jareth. “Did you say I was dense?”
Jareth found himself scrambling as his entire group of friends snorted at his predicament. “I said no such thing,” he insisted firmly. “Britt has hearing like de Lohr. He cannot hear a damn thing.”
“What’s that?” Stefan said from behind Jareth. “Do I hear my name taken in vain?”
“Oh, do shut up,” Jareth said. “No one is talking to you.”
“I am taking to him,” Desdra said, slowing her horse so she came in alongside Stefan. “Well? You were closest to him. Did he say that I was dense?”
Stefan shook his head. “He called you a wench.”
The entire group burst into laughter except for Jareth.
He rolled his eyes and shook a fist at Stefan, but Desdra was onto him.
She had a riding crop in her hand because the palfrey sometimes needed a little encouragement, so she took the crop and slapped the big rump of Jareth’s warhorse.
The animal would have bolted had Jareth not been strong enough to hold him back.
But the animal was quite excited, and Desdra smacked the crop against her hand, making the sharp and smacking sound again, and the animal began to dance and kick a little.
Jareth had a hell of a time holding it steady.
Everyone thought it was hilarious.
“That is punishment for your slander,” Desdra called after him as he struggled with his horse. “Let that be a lesson to you.”
“A lesson for what?” he said, grunting as he brought the horse under control. “A lesson in the wickedness that strikes a woman when it suits her? A lesson in how truly awful you are? Pray, tell me what lesson I am to learn.”
Desdra fought off a grin. “A lesson that you should always be polite to a woman who is smarter than you are,” she said. “Otherwise, your life will be misery.”
“It is already misery,” he grumbled. “With you, it could be nothing else.”
“What’s that you say?” she said, pretending to cock an ear in his direction. “That you’re not miserable enough? I’ll see what I can do about that.”
Next to Desdra, Stefan laughed in support. He was always in support if it put Jareth in a bad light. But riding at the head of the column, Orion groaned loudly.
“Christ, de Leybourne,” he said. “Kiss the woman already. Stop with all of this foolish flirting and get on with it!”
Jareth was trying to move his horse forward, to get to Orion, but the animal was still skittish. Without hesitation, Desdra spurred her little horse forward, got in behind Orion, and whacked his horse right on its big rump.
The horse bucked and jumped right off the road.
The laughter was loud and long as Orion struggled with his young, butter-colored stallion.
That gave Desdra an idea, and she moved through the column, smacking any horse rump she came close to.
Stefan was spared because he was her ally, and Dirk backed away when he saw what she was doing, but it made for utter hilarity as they plodded along the road toward Portbury Castle.
Or not so much hilarity for those wrestling with startled warhorses, but Desdra and Stefan got a good laugh out of it.
Until Jareth came up behind her and snatched her right off her palfrey.
Before Desdra realized it, she was across Jareth’s thighs, her backside completely exposed, and he brought a gloved hand down on the general area of her buttocks. She was wearing such heavy clothing, however, that it made more noise than it actually hurt, but Desdra howled.
“Fiend!” she yelled. He smacked her again, listening to the laughter of the men around him. “Vile creature! Put me down this instant!”
“Why?” Jareth said, grinning. “You thought it was very humorous to spank horses. Why is it not humorous to spank you?”
He whacked her again, not hard, but enough to make a loud sound, and she crowed with displeasure. Jareth laughed, especially when Stefan managed to make it up beside him and spank her himself. They had a fine time laughing at Desdra, sprawled across Jareth’s thighs with nowhere to go.
But this was how their relationship had developed.
And he loved every minute of it.
“Apologize,” he told her steadily. “Apologize for smacking my horse and for causing mayhem. Do it and I may be merciful.”
Desdra refused. She was hanging by his left leg, and as he lectured her and demanded apologies, she carefully pushed aside the mail coat and began to pull his breeches out of his boot.
The boots were snug, so it took a bit of doing, but she managed to get the bottom of his breeches out of the boot, exposing the flesh of his leg.
As hard as she could, she pinched him, and the man nearly sent her flying.
“Yow!” he boomed, pushing her pinching fingers away. “That bloody well hurt!”
More laughter in the group. The antics were hilarious. She wouldn’t back down and neither would he. But Jareth sought to punish her, albeit good-naturedly, and began to spin his horse around in circles as she screamed.
Of course, he had hold of her so she wouldn’t fall off.
In all things, he would keep her safe, even when he was trying to scare her.
Somehow, the jokes, the repartee, the bonding was under his skin as if it had always been there.
Moments like this were moments he’d never shared with anyone else, but there was no possible way he could tell her that. Or even express it.
But he was having the time of his life, unexpectedly so.
As he bounced Desdra around, he realized that she was trying to slither off.
She was pulling on his saddle cinch, trying to gain leverage so she could fall headfirst to the ground.
He stopped the horse and grasped the back of her bodice, pulling her upright, or at least somewhat upright.
The moment he did so, she grabbed him around the throat with both hands and started squeezing.
Not hard enough to actually do any damage, but more as an outlet for what he’d just done to her.
“No mercy,” she grunted, shaking him back and forth as much as she could. “Do you hear me? No mercy for you. Apologize for calling me a wench!”
He put up his hands in surrender as she pretended to choke him. “Mea culpa,” he said, eyes twinkling. “My apologies, lass.”
“Tell me that you did not mean it.”
“I did not mean it.”
“I am not convinced!”
“I swear, I did not mean it. Have pity, my lady.”
She stopped squeezing, stopped shaking, and gazed into his eyes.
They were incredibly close to one another, probably more than they should be, but they both just sat there and grinned at one another.
God, it was wonderful. The warmth, the friendship, all of it wonderful.
Jareth had the urge to kiss her, an urge he’d had frequently over the past few days, but as always, he refrained.
He was afraid to. Afraid of what would happen.
Afraid he’d lose his soul to this fiery slip of a woman.
But that was his last coherent thought before chaos descended.
Jareth heard the noise before he ever felt the blow.
A high-pitched sound, and he knew exactly what it was.
Putting a big, gloved hand on Desdra’s head, he suddenly shoved her down just as an arrow slammed into his left shoulder, right where she had been sitting.
The blow from the projectile was a heavy one and knocked him sideways.
He was still holding on to Desdra, however, and she fell with him.
He hit the ground first with her on top of him, cushioning the fall.
Arrows were flying everywhere.
The Six, along with Hugh, were spurred into action.
Stefan and Aidric were the closest to Jareth, and they leapt from their horses to drag him to safety while Hugh, Britt, Dirk, and Orion headed toward the source of the projectiles—only to run headlong into a small group of outlaws just inside the tree line.
As Aidric and Stefan dragged Jareth into the safety of the trees, with Desdra helping them as much as she could, they could hear the sounds of battle.
“Go,” Jareth said, irritable and in pain. “Go and help the others. I will hold for now.”
They weren’t listening. They were both inspecting the arrow, noting that the tip was protruding from the other side of Jareth’s body. They could feel it through his mail.
“Damn,” Aidric said, realizing it was worse than they’d thought. “Jareth, it goes all the way through, but I do not think it hit anything vital. Can you breathe?”
As Jareth nodded, Stefan was trying to pull the mail and fabric away from the wound site. “We need boiled linen and medicaments for this, things we do not have here,” he said. Then he looked to Desdra. “How far are we from the castle?”
Desdra was pale with sorrow. She was also a little sick because she’d never seen a man with an arrow in his body and, unfortunately, her first happened to be Jareth. It was an effort not to become physically ill.
“Not far,” she said. “Over the next rise, we will be able to see it.”
“Then we must ride for it and ride fast,” Stefan said, returning his attention to Jareth. “Can you ride?”
Jareth nodded. “Get me on my feet,” he said, grunting. “I can make it to the castle.”
They pulled him up, carefully, making sure he was steady before Stefan ran off to grab his horse.
Desdra’s palfrey was nowhere to be seen, so Stefan brought the horse back into the shelter of the trees.
Once they helped Jareth to mount, Stefan lifted Desdra up behind him.
Her arms went around his torso, holding on tightly, as Jareth spurred his horse up to the road.
As a short but brutal fight went on behind him, he headed to Portbury Castle at a gallop.