Free Warrior's Song by Catherine Coulter Page A

How many more times? She became as she is only because she despises what a woman must be, what she must do for a man. She will never accept having a man plow her belly, controlling her, rendering her helpless, as she has seen you to do to so many different women all her life."
    Â Â Â Â "Shut up, you filthy-mouthed bitch! I have never forced a woman, never. If she saw anything, she would realize that it was naught but pleasure, that it was natural, that it was not a man's will overcoming the woman's. Damn you, I will kill you if you don't be quiet. I will."
    Â Â Â Â "Aye, you would like to, but you can't. My father still lives. He is still powerful. You would be dead within a sennight were you to hurt me. Even if he were dead, there is my brother, who hates you more than you can imagine. He is jealous of you, of course. He wouldn't hesitate to kill you, to crush you like a bug. You know this, Richard. You aren't stupid."
    Â Â Â Â No, he wasn't stupid. She'd sickened upon occasion over the years and he'd prayed she would die, but she never did, and she always smiled at him, knowing what was in his mind. She might look like a bitter old woman, with her coarse graying hair, all those deep lines in her face, but she was stronger than his destrier, curse her foul soul.
    Â Â Â Â "You have also taught John to despise his sister."
    Â Â Â Â "Naturally. He is your heir. He is of my body. He will be the lord at Croyland after you're dead. She has no claim to his affection. She is nothing to him."
    Â Â Â Â Richard said then, because he knew at last that he could cut her deep, "I am sending John to foster with the Earl of Grantham. He is leaving within the month." He looked down at his fingernails.
    Â Â Â Â "No!" She scrambled to her feet, nearly falling because her skirts tangled in the fallen chair cushions.
    Â Â Â Â Richard rubbed his hands together. "Aye, the boy is my heir, and if he remains here you will make him into a mean-spirited, puling little coward, craven and spoiled."
    Â Â Â Â She was shrieking at him, curses he was certain Father Tolbert had never heard from her mouth. He smiled at her as he turned on his heel and left the solar. Her women were gathered outside the door on the narrow landing, listening, he knew, and he smiled at each of them. There were six ladies of different sizes, different ages. He had bedded four of them. He wondered if Chandra had seen him with any of them. But what did that matter? He didn't want her to be innocent going to the marriage bed. He was a strong man, well built, and he gave a woman pleasure. Surely he had shown her that lovemaking between a man and a woman was something pleasurable. He didn't believe that she had vomited. His bloody wife would say anything to make him pay. Jerval de Vernon would teach her, would give her endless pleasure— no, Richard didn't want to think about that.

CHAPTER 6
    Chandra smoothed down the figured buckle over her shoulder, as she always did; it always brought her luck. She pulled an arrow from her leather quiver, set it into its notch against the bow, and drew it back until her bunched fingers touched her cheek next to her mouth. She released slowly, so carefully, watched the arrow as it arced smoothly upward, crested, and embedded itself with a thud in the center of the target.
    Â Â Â Â A shout went up from Lord Richard's men, a murmur of surprise from Jerval's.
    Â Â Â Â Mark said to Jerval, his voice full of laughter, "Lord Richard's men must believe they will make their fortunes today. I will lose my own wager if you do not split Chandra's arrow. The pride of Camberley rests on your shoulders, Jerval, as well as my money and the money of your men."
    Â Â Â Â Jerval smiled, flexed his arm, and stepped forward to stand beside Chandra. She was grinning like a fool; he saw it even though she kept her head down. He wished she didn't make him want to laugh with