Chapter Eleven
Alec sat in the back of the great hall, his eyes trained on the high dais where Joanie stood elegantly dressed in a copper-colored tunic.
Her raven black hair shone in waves that teased her narrow waist, and her white skin gleamed in the candlelight.
A stirring melody, rich and sensual, poured forth from her full lips as she gazed above the heads of avid onlookers to a world unseen and unknown to anyone but her.
Seduced by her slow, languid movements, the men within the hall ogled her as she wove among the trencher tables.
They wanted to reach out and claim her for themselves, to pull her onto their laps and feel her body through her clothing.
They wanted to own her, like a prize, something else to prove their greatness to the world.
She glided past them all, staying just out of reach. Then a flash caught Alec’s eye. Geoffrey Mercer snaked his hand out, grabbing for Joanie’s arm, but she twirled away just in time to escape his touch.
Once more, Alec felt her fear hurtle toward him.
This combined with Geoffrey’s sudden fury and the pulsing lust from the other men in the room, creating a turbulent storm of emotion within his heart and mind.
Pressing both hands on the table, he stood, and watched Geoffrey’s anger grow with every short breath he forced down his lungs.
The last note from Joanie’s lips circled the ceiling of the great hall before its beauty drifted down to settle around the listeners in an echo of grace and vibrancy.
The end of her song fueled Geoffrey’s anger.
He lunged to his feet, but enraptured onlookers stood between his fury and Joanie’s terror, cheering, applauding, and vying for her attention.
Alec narrowed his eyes as Geoffrey whispered something to one of his guards who then set off toward her, pushing through the crowd.
When he reached her, his hand closed around her upper arm, and he pulled her toward Geoffrey, whose lips twisted into a greedy smile as she drew near.
Alec started toward them, his eyes never leaving Joanie’s terrified face.
The guard thrust her at Geoffrey, and she fell onto his lap. Her fear and anger assaulted Alec’s senses as Geoffrey stroked her cheek with his thick fingers. Then he pinned her face between his hands. She pushed against his chest, straining to lean away from his advancing kiss.
“Don’t fight me,” Geoffrey snarled, pulling his hand back.
Fury exploded within Alec when he realized Geoffrey’s intention, and he lunged forward, grabbing Geoffrey’s arm before he could strike Joanie. In that moment of contact, Geoffrey’s soul was laid bare to him.
Pleading women, their faces tear-streaked and bloodied, assaulted Alec’s mind.
So many women, dozens, wearing the mark of Geoffrey’s fists.
Alec recognized the beauty, Diana. And then he saw her — Joanie — but not as she was in the hall, dressed in finery, but tattered and filthy.
She did not plead. She did not cry. She withstood his fury and protected Diana.
Pain, hot and furious, struck Alec as he absorbed every blow she had ever received from Geoffrey.
Then his dream rose like a hazy fog in his mind — Joanie standing on the bridge, guarded by lions, sobbing, “Help us.”
Alec growled. His fist shot up, catching Geoffrey beneath his chin, snapping his head back.
Alec’s stance did not waver when Geoffrey stood up — fury pulsing through him. His eyes narrowed, boring deeper into Geoffrey’s black soul.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Geoffrey sneered, then motioned with a jerk of his hand toward his guards who lunged at Alec.
But Alec was faster. Before the guards finished taking their first step, the sword he had strapped to his back was unsheathed and the tip pressed to Geoffrey’s neck.
The very next moment, the guards unsheathed their own blades, all raised at Alec.
He could feel the heat of the guards’ eyes on his flesh and their hearts quickening at the prospect of spilling his blood.
Alec stared hard at Geoffrey. He could end his worthless life with just a flick of his wrist.
“Enough,” a loud voice shouted.
The keeper stepped forward. His regal gait and bored posturing belied a casualness Alec knew he did not feel. Underneath his calm facade, Alec could feel the keeper’s pulse racing. “That will be enough, gentlemen.”
Sir Hugh Godfrey stood and raised his cup, sloshing the amber liquid on the table. “I believe I’m one of the few gently born men in the room,” he said, his voice thick with drink.
The keeper cast him a surly look before turning to Geoffrey. “Call off your men.”
“Not before he steps down,” Geoffrey growled.
But Alec had no intention of backing down. He was too full of fury and Geoffrey’s hate and the images of beaten women. But then his eldest brother’s words came to him, Jack’s words — we are thieves, not murderers.
Alec fought for control as a new storm began to churn within his heart.
He was one of Scotland’s secret rebels. They stole from wealthy English nobles and gave the riches to Scottish peasants in need.
They delivered messages to advance the cause.
They broke Scottish nobles out of English prisons — they did not kill for simple vengeance or the momentary pleasure it might bring.
Alec gritted his teeth. He wanted to resist the light.
He wanted to refuse the honor his parents had instilled in him.
The battle between his two competing desires raged on.
Did he play God and smite Geoffrey from the earth?
Or did he choose to be the better man? His gaze shifted from Geoffrey, searching for Joanie.
She stood not far from him, beside a large man with thinning brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, her face a picture of terror.
“Damn it,” Alec spat, dropping his blade.
“Now, stand down,” the keeper snapped at Geoffrey’s guards. At once, the men backed away. But Alec knew what was coming. He didn’t flinch as Geoffrey thrust his own blade to Alec’s neck.
“Put down your weapon,” John shouted, his cool facade gone.
Geoffrey’s eyes darted to the keeper but then locked once more with Alec’s. “You saw what he did. He attacked me without provocation. Yet you defend him.”
John shook his head. “I think not. I’m partial to that man, as you well know. I’d rather you not kill him.”
“Then I demand he be flogged and thrown into the dungeon, or have you forgotten who I am, who I know, and whose coin now lines your purse?”
The keeper shrugged. “It’s not just your coin that fills my purse.” John turned to one of his own guards. “Bring me the girl. She seems to be at the heart of this altercation.”
Alec closed his eyes for a moment, rebuilding his shields and chasing away the images of Joanie’s suffering from his mind.
He needed to hold fast to his control. Then he opened his eyes and watched as the keeper’s guard gently took Joanie by the arm.
At first, she resisted, but he whispered something in her ear that seemed to bring her calm, and she followed.
When she was presented to the keeper, she dipped in a low curtsy.
“What is your name?” John asked.
“Joanie,” she replied, her shoulders inching up closer to her ears.
“Just Joanie. Have you another name?”
“Joanie Picard,” she said quietly, her head down.
“She is of my house, the house of Mercer,” Geoffrey thundered. “My servant.”
The keeper looked at Geoffrey with surprise. “Interesting. You’ve had this gem in your household and yet you have kept her to yourself all this time.”
“Until recently she has been my leman’s maid.”
“Ah, yes, the beautiful Diana,” John said as he eyed Joanie. Alec could feel the keeper’s mounting lust.
“It would seem you purchased a servant, but I do not see a servant standing before me. I see a prize.” Then John turned to Geoffrey. “Let me help you settle this matter. I will buy the girl off your hands.”
Alec could feel Joanie’s heart pound harder as her eyes widened. She stepped away from the keeper, but he reached out and took her hand. “Look! She blushes like a maid.”
“She’s not for sale,” Geoffrey snapped, lunging for Joanie, but the keeper’s guards blocked his way.
John didn’t respond to Geoffrey’s refusal. Instead, he quietly studied Joanie. “I’ll give you ten marks,” he said softly, reaching out to stroke her cheek, but Joanie cringed and shrank away.
“Do not insult me,” Geoffrey growled.
“Twenty marks then.”
Fear, anger, and humiliation pulsed from Joanie’s broken heart as the men haggled for her life.
Alec stepped forward. “I will give you one-hundred silver marks.”
Joanie gasped when she heard the sum from Randolph’s lips, and so did everyone else in the room.
Then a hush settled over the hall. Joanie watched as Alec and Geoffrey stared at each other.
Geoffrey’s face was red with fury, and his hands were clenched in tight fists.
Meanwhile, Randolph stood with his now familiar grace, his tall, sinewy body leaning against one of the trencher tables, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Her mind raced. One-hundred silver marks could purchase a household of servants. Geoffrey could keep a harem of mistresses in luxury for a year with such a sum.
“For pity’s sake,” the keeper said. “If you are waiting for a better offer from me, you will not have one. Take this fool’s money, Geoffrey, before he comes to his senses.”
Geoffrey’s gaze flitted between Joanie and Alec and the keeper. Then he reached out his hand to Alec. “She’s yours,” he snarled.
Alec looked at Geoffrey’s hand, but he did not accept it. Instead, he strode around Geoffrey to Joanie’s side, taking hold of her arm. Joanie stiffened at his touch.
“Not until I have my coin,” Geoffrey snapped.
John nodded. “He is right, Randolph. Release her and fetch the promised coin.”
Joanie could feel the heat pouring off her new owner as he stared daggers at her old master.
Then he turned to the keeper. “Have your guard escort Joanie to her room.” He cut his eyes sidelong at Geoffrey.
“Have them wait outside for my arrival.” Then he looked at her.
Despite the heat coming from his body in waves into her soul, his eyes held no warmth.
His hollow expression sent chills up her spine.
“I will come to you in an hour’s time. Be ready to leave the castle.
” Then he turned on his heel and strode from the hall.