Chapter 3
Chapter Three
For many years, the people of Provence rejoiced under the leadership of Duke Guillaume du Chevalerie and his wife, the beautiful Duchess Laure.
A generation ago, the region had been in turmoil.
The French, fiercely independent and mistrustful of power, had rebelled against a greedy duke.
Guillaume led that rebellion, overthrowing the corrupt régime.
The King himself, recognizing Guillaume’s potential, appointed him as the new duke, and in this position, Guillaume had proven to be a potent commander, a champion of his people, and an invaluable asset to his country.
Not only that, but he’d also bred three strong sons, each of whom had made the country proud in battle.
Guillaume had at his ready everything he needed to protect his land.
Now, a crisis was unraveling in the North.
Someone was attacking villages. At first, isolated to a small corner of northern Provence, it seemed to be common robberies between village rivals.
The attacks had grown in force and number.
Reports indicated a rogue group, not large, but still dangerous.
They raided for gold, slaughtered livestock, and burnt farms to the ground.
These attacks were strange: small in scale and scattered.
Experience told Guillaume that a larger insurrection was building.
He had seen small groups grow to hurricane force—his own rebel group had built itself up in the thick forest to the West—but, for the moment, he didn’t know what this group wanted or where to find them, so he couldn’t tie a noose around their necks.
He wanted to end it before the movement had a chance to grow, to attack with the full strength of his army, but the damn rogues proved impossible to find.
After every raid, they retreated and disappeared.
He suspected they hid in the serpentine caves of the North; a place where rats would hide but no decent man would enter.
Guillaume struggled with how to defend his people.
He could charge forward with the trained and fearsome soldiers of Chevalerie; however, this was inefficient and would cause panic.
No, he needed a more careful and organized approach.
A subtle investigation, a trail to throw them off, an unexpected ambush.
Guillaume trusted his intuition and was glad to have one of his sons at hand for the mission.
Philippe, his youngest, was a little impulsive, but capable of leading a group to corner and crush these agitators.
Philippe couldn’t go without some help, though.
The northern territory was treacherous and uncharted.
Guillaume knew of just one guide who could claim knowledge of these parts.
And his wife wanted to kill him for hiring her.
“Monsieur Perreault?” Alex called into the empty training arena at the back of the Duke’s palace, hoping to find the palace master-at-arms who had once been her teacher.
She crossed the floor where she’d attended swordsmanship class as a girl and called his name again to no answer.
Outside, the sun was setting, sending the last darts of sunlight through the high-slatted ceiling.
Her boots crunched across the dirt as Alex came to the end of the floor and entered the small equipment room she used to sneak downstairs to, to train late at night.
Lighting the oil lamp in the dim room, she was delighted to find the old training dummy she had favored among the stacks of feather mattresses and racks of protective gear.
She squared her shoulders and raised her sword.
With a fast attack she left a new mark on the block of wood.
She whirled around and cracked it again. But then she paused. She closed her eyes to listen. She breathed in. The silence of the room had changed. The air had changed. She wasn’t alone anymore. And she knew it wasn’t Monsieur Perreault who had found her.
She turned to face the entrance of the room. There he stood, leaning against the archway, that smug, half smile having returned to his face.
It was eerily similar to another scene from their past. Alex held her sword out, signaling to him not to come any closer.
“I have come from the tavern,” Philippe said.
“Where the whole town speaks of the lady guide.” He unsheathed his blade.
“If the stories I hear are true,” he continued, raising his own sword to meet hers, “then you have become quite the formidable opponent.” He circled her, their swords crossed in the air, keeping them apart.
She was careful with her words. She didn’t want to show too much pleasure in the encounter, but she couldn’t deny her enjoyment at the chance to best the man who had sent her running years ago.
“I have always been a formidable opponent,” she said.
“I’m just a little taller than I was the last time we fought. ”
He continued moving her around. He swung low with his sword, and she batted it away. “You have changed a great deal since I saw you last,” he said, his eyes on her body. “But I bet you still fight dirty.”
Alex smiled to herself at his teasing. Maybe now, as an adult, she could enjoy the turmoil he stirred inside her.
She knew his intentions, and those young, innocent feelings no longer had a hold on her.
She had encountered too many cruel men on the road, and she had learned from Philippe himself of a man’s true nature: uncaring and insincere.
Still, she watched him, unable to deny the way he made her quiver inside.
Philippe stopped in front of her. He placed his sword on the ground and held up his hands. His fighting stance disappeared, and he took a step closer. She backed away still holding her sword out at him. He gently pushed her sword aside and reached forward to take her hand.
She let him, unsure of what he was doing.
He took a breath and then spoke, his eyes searching hers. “When I saw you this morning, I reacted to you as a man does to… an intriguing woman. I did not realize who you were. Then it occurred to me,” he paused, “that I never apologized for what I did.”
Alex did not want to talk about such things. Those were not happy memories. She would never let him know that they still hurt her heart. “You’re forgiven,” she replied, hoping to end the line of conversation.
He stared at her a moment longer. “Are you sure?”
She looked down. It was still hard to look at him, even after all these years. Then she forced herself to meet his eyes again and nod.
Thankfully, he didn’t linger, and he reached down for his sword. “Now,” he said as he rose, his sly grin back. “Would you care to show me what you’ve learned on the road?”
She felt heat flush over her at the thought of sparring with him once more.
It was a dangerous game she was inviting but also too good to pass up.
She squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes.
“You are no longer the only master here,” she said, her confidence returning.
“And I don’t wish to hurt you, Monsieur. ”
“I have heard that from you before.” He touched the scar on his lip and looked at her, accusation in his eyes.
“I very much meant to hurt you that time,” she purred.
“Ha!” he called, seconds before cracking his sword against hers.
The battle between them came hard and fast. He drove her across the room, not giving her a chance to adjust to his strength. She came back just as aggressively, accepting his blows then dominating him, pressing him back across the floor.
He had the strength; she had the speed. He again took control and fought her into a corner.
She jumped onto the mattresses and leapt from one stack to the next.
He was at her heels, but she darted over the clutter like a dragonfly and landed on a solid trunk.
She swung her blade from above. He caught it with a clang and pushed her back.
She almost lost her balance but steadied herself against the nearby wall.
She sucked in a breath. Was the room this hot, or was it her?
Did he feel it too, she wondered? He gave no sign of discomfort—his jaw was set in battle, his muscles strong with skill, his sword as dangerous as ever, and that damn humor still in his eyes.
Why did he insist on looking at her like that?
She wanted to smack the expression off his face.
He moved again to take her over. She responded by placing her foot on his chest and shoving him away.
He stumbled back, and it gained her a few inches of dirt to land on.
As soon as her boots hit the floor, he was on top of her again.
She whirled around and whacked his arm. He grunted and whipped her across the thigh in response.
She winced, absorbing the shock of his sword.
They rallied again across the floor, dodging the dummy that stood in the middle.
The humor in his eyes was changing into something else.
He was enjoying this far too much, and it unnerved her.
Then, feeling the heat growing inside, she began to understand.
His moves became jagged and blunt, just as the precision of her own attacks was dulling.
Blood rushed through her body, and she felt faint as she struggled to keep him from getting closer.
She slashed at him again, this time across his trunk, hoping he would retaliate. Pain would wake her up.
He took the blow and came towards her with even more force.
She struck him again; he came closer still.
He was fighting now just to eliminate space, she realized.
For a second, she wondered what he would do to her if he caught her, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the thought.
No, she couldn’t let it happen. She struck him again.
And again. He did little more than back her across the room.
And she was proving powerless to stop him.
Then with one quick move, he jumped forward and cracked the bottom of her hand.
She yelped as pain spasmed her fingers into releasing her sword.
It popped into the air, and he snatched it with his free hand.
Then he threw both swords to the ground with a noisy clang.
He took two heavy steps towards her, his thick, powerful body muting her movements.
She backed away until the wall stopped her, crushing her against it.
“I want to kiss you,” he said.
Alex felt the words come out before she could stop them. “So, kiss me,” she replied.
In less than a second, his lips were on hers, his hands in her hair.
Desire was a thick musk that poured out of him, and she couldn’t deny that it thrilled her.
He wasted no time and his lips parted hers.
She felt the warm invasion of his tongue.
Having never kissed a man this deeply, she followed his lead, and matched his movements with her own.
He was kissing her with more than just his lips.
He used his whole body to squeeze the reason out of her.
His hands began moving down her sides. They stopped at her hips, where she felt his fingers dig into her.
Then he lifted her and pressed the hard length in his pants against the one spot on her body that could make her fall apart.
The pleasure of contact shot through her, and she had to break their kiss as a ragged gasp escaped her lips.
Her own desire was a revelation, but somewhere, swimming in the back of her mind, was a tender kiss from long ago: their first kiss, her only kiss.
She had spent many nights idly imagining encounters between them, in which something more grew from that simple kiss, but this was well beyond what she was prepared to handle.
Philippe recaptured her lips and moved against her as he held her nailed to the wall. Her body was blooming, but she knew it wasn’t right. It was too intense. It was too fast. She would have to stop this, but it felt like a crime to do so.
He was the one to break away. “Shall we try to make it to another room?” he asked. His eyelids were heavy and his tone pure syrup. He nipped at her lips as he waited for her answer.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her mind not working.
“Or we could be scandalous and drop here to the floor.”
“For what?” she asked with an edge to her voice, reason coming back to her.
“To make love, darling,” he said, still moving in rhythm against her. “Please don’t make me beg. But I will if that’s what you like.”
She held her hand out against his chest. “I do not intend to make love to you,” she spat out.
“And why not?” he asked, trying to kiss her again. “Your reputation as a lover precedes you.”
She shoved him. “You lie,” she said.
Now it was his turn to stare at her. “Mademoiselle…” he started, releasing his hold on her body. “Alex,” he said. “I’m sorry if this is not what you wanted. But it is widely known that you have taken many lovers. I don’t see why you would still hate me so—”
“Those are rumors,” she interrupted.
“But–”
“They are rumors,” she said again. At least now she understood this sudden attention. He didn’t think of her as anything special. He just thought she’d be an easy lay.
“Oh no,” he said. He dropped his gaze and backed away from her.
A laugh bubbled out of her. “You clearly haven’t changed much.”
He didn’t look up. Instead, he rubbed his forehead with his index finger and thumb. “Alex,” he said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. She picked up her sword. “And thank you for the apology, Monsieur.” She curtseyed low to the ground before leaving him in the training room, alone with the dummy.