Free Lord of My Heart by Jo Beverley Page B

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!
    “Deguerpissez!” 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.

    Chapter 3
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    Aimery and Gyrth raced through the forest, their dun-colored clothes blending with the greens and browns. Then, as surely as a man walks through the streets of his town, they took to the spreading oaks and moved from tree to tree. When they had evaded the hunt, they halted on a slope by a stream as their pursuers circled aimlessly in the distance.
    Aimery watched in silence as he got his breath back.
    Gyrth rolled on the ground laughing. “Norman pigs,” he gasped. “Stupid, shit-eating Norman pigs!” He sobered and sat shaking his head. “Why’d you have to take a risk like that, lad?”
    “I couldn’t watch a rape.” Aimery bent down and scooped up water to splash over his face and head, then shook the excess off. She was as beautiful as he remembered, as his dreams told him. He should have killed Odo de Pouissey. The mere thought of the man touching her . . .
    “A Norman sow being raped by a Norman hog?” said Gyrth. “The only thing wrong with that is the chance of little piglets.”
    Aimery fought the urge to bury his knife in Gyrth. “She’s a woman and deserves protection.”
    “She’s the little trollop you trysted with down by the stream, you mean.” At the look in Aimery’s eyes, Gyrth backed off. “So you did your noble Norman duty. You nearly got yourself killed.”
    “I was in no danger.”
    “Say that if de Pouissey catches you. That was his son you knocked