Free Lord of My Heart by Jo Beverley Page A

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