Heart of Ice_Snow Queen Page 16

  Lysandra respected the Amazon ways, but killing babies was not a custom she would ever agree to. When she became queen, she would change their ancient traditions. But for now, she could only hope that when she birthed her first child it would be a girl.

  One of the women ran a tortoise-shell comb through Lysandra’s long, red hair and gently turned her away from the fire to meet her chosen mate. The queen stepped forward clutching the long, oaken hair of a man tightly in her grip. He struggled against her, but his hands were shackled behind him and his feet were in chains. A heavy iron collar was clasped around his neck and several of the Amazons held on to the chains connected to it.

  Anxiety coursed through Lysandra’s body. She was curious to finally couple with a man, yet anxious to have the deed already completed. She’d heard some of the Amazons say it was pleasurable, but that was only whispered through the rushes. Men were not brought to their camp for pleasure. They were brought there for duty only. ’Twas their only purpose in life to plant the seed of a future female warrior within the Amazon nation.

  The queen threw the man down at Lysandra’s feet and his face rubbed into the dust, only the back of his head visible for her perusal.

  “Raise your face to my daughter,” came Medora’s snarl. Still, the man did not obey. Then with a swift kick to his backside, the queen repeated her order.

  Lysandra’s insides quivered. This was the man she would take before the night was through, though she had yet to see his face. She reached out to touch his head, but before her fingers met with his hair, he raised his face to her.

  Anger, yet cunning blazed in his golden eyes, seeping right through her. His face handsome, but dirty, his long hair hung around him, the ends brushing against the ground. Lysandra couldn’t help but stare at his regal features as he held his head high and proud. Chiseled cheekbones and a slight hawk-like sweep of his nose gave him a noble composure. Bushy eyebrows and deep-set eyes made him look dangerous yet mysterious at the same time.

  “Do you know what is expected of you?” Lysandra asked the man.

  “He’s been informed,” interrupted the queen.

  “You disgust me,” he growled.

  Lysandra pulled her hand back, feeling her own disgust at the man’s insolence. Didn’t he realize the honor of mating with one of the powerful, undefeated women of her tribe?

  “No man has ever denied an Amazon,” warned Queen Medora, “and neither will you. You have been chosen by my own hand to be the first man to couple with my daughter, Lysandra, at her coming-of-age. The moon is right for her time and she shall conceive your baby this night.” Medora tugged at the chain connected to his iron collar, and brought the man to a standing position.

  He stood before Lysandra, towering over her by head and shoulders, triggering off her instinct to draw her sword in defense though she hadn’t one on her being. His mere stance dominated the scene, his composure saying he could match any one of the Amazon warriors. His shoulders straightened and his chin raised as her mother reached up and took hold of the front of his garment. With one powerful yank, she tore the cloth from his body, but he never even flinched. He just stared at Lysandra, his gaze rattling every one of her nerves. Donned in nothing now but a cloth covering his loins, his tanned skin shone in the light of the night fire. Had she not been weaponless and about to mate with this man, her composure would have been solid. But tonight she’d lose her virginity, and Lysandra was not used to losing anything.

  “No woman has ever treated me as thus,” he told her in a warning voice. “I advise you not to couple with me. If you do, you’ll regret it.”

  “Be still!” she shouted. “Do not talk to an Amazon with such tone.”

  The Amazon warriors pulled on the chains at his neck, meaning to punish him for his threat. His feet planted firmly, his solid body did not move. The veins in his neck bulged, but he did not cry out in pain. His chest glistened with beads of sweat, shining in the firelight, and Lysandra’s eyes were drawn to his muscular form. He would make the seed of a strong warrior baby. He could give her a daughter who would someday rule the Amazon nation with strength and courage. She prayed he’d give her a girl so she could raise the child to be as strong as both this man and herself. She prayed to the gods their union would not bring about a boy and be a wasted act.

  “Let go of the chains,” demanded Lysandra, and the Amazons dropped them to the ground.

  “Lysandra, don’t be foolish,” warned her mother. “He is not to be trusted. He may run before the union is consummated.”

  “He’s too proud to run.” Lysandra circled the man, seeing by the twitch in his jaw that her comment was true. “This man needs to be taught a lesson.” She grabbed his chin in her hand, squeezing as she brought his face closer to hers. “Tonight you will learn how to treat an Amazon properly.” She released her hold, seeing the marks of her fingers upon his skin. The man never even blinked at her action. “Take him to my tent,” she instructed.

  Several of the women did just that. He had to duck very low to enter, enabling Lysandra to see the muscles of his backside. His legs were thick and strong. She was sure other parts of him were the same.

  Once inside the tent, she instructed the women to strip him, then leave them alone. They removed his cloth, leaving him naked. With a slight bow of their heads to the Amazon princess, they left the tent.

  He turned to face her, his head scraping the ceiling. The candlelight lit up his body, enabling her to see each and every muscle. She twirled the amethyst stone ring on her finger, the jewelry that identified her as the princess of her tribe. She spun it around with her thumb, staring at his face, not letting her eyes travel lower.

  His dark gaze encompassed her, mesmerizing her in a way she never thought possible. She was drawn to this man. An attraction she didn’t understand. She’d been trained and raised to hate all men, but this one intrigued her. He held a secret deep inside of which she could not decipher -a dangerous secret that was well guarded. Lysandra liked challenges, and this man challenged her with not only his words but with his stance and the brash way he looked directly into her eyes. She met his stare, wondering as to where he had gained his courage to stand up against a tribe of Amazons. His eyes told her nothing in return.

  “So you like my face,” he commented casually. “Afraid to look lower? I think you’ll be pleased by what you see there as well.”

  The heat rushed to her cheeks at his insinuation. He was only a man. He shouldn’t be in control of her emotions. He had caught her by surprise, and she despised that. It made her weak, and she was not a weak woman.

  “I will not have a man telling me what to do.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Then if you do not want to look at me, at least allow me to see your own body hidden under that thick robe.”

  “Be silenced, you cur!” she shouted, not believing his audaciousness.

  “Perhaps you need help disrobing?” he asked with a raised brow.

  “Your hands and legs are chained,” she pointed out. “I hardly think - ”

  She never finished her sentence. His arms shot out from behind his back…unchained. He rubbed one foot against the other in an awkward motion that somehow unlocked the manacles around his ankles. He stepped forward, free from his confinements.

  “What makes you think your chains can hold me?”

  He reached to the ground and took a thin metal pick from between his bare toes. He managed to unlock the iron collar around his neck in one quick motion. He held the shackle out in front of him for her to see, then dropped it to the ground. It clanked and landed with a dense thud upon the dirt floor.

  Excerpt from The Baron’s Destiny

  The Baron’s Destiny

  (Barons of the Cinque Ports Series - Book 3)

  Hanging off the side of a cliff by one arm, watching as the horse that had thrown him ran off through the forest, John Montague was sure this would be the way he died.

  If he had any doubt in his mind, the crash of thunder reve
rberating in his ears, the flashes of lightning across the nighttime sky, and the torrential downpour only reinforced the fact that this was the last nail in his coffin.

  “God’s eyes, why a storm?” he growled, trying to grab with both hands for the vine that held him, but couldn’t. His horse had become spooked at the nearby strike of lightning and thrown him just as he’d seen a man on the road in front of him.

  His head had hit against the rocks and was bleeding and he could barely move his arm because of the pain from the arrow sticking out of his flesh. Blood trickled down his forehead getting into his eyes, and lodging its coppery taste upon his lips. He should have stayed with the others at King Edward’s side in Paris for another hour, or at least waited for his squire to accompany him instead of venturing out on his own. But when he’d seen the storm coming he’d panicked, and felt the need to get back to his ship without delay.

  His fleet of ships was scheduled to leave France tonight since the men had served their required fourteen day’s service to their king. King Edward had spent the summer in Paris, and had not stepped foot on English soil in so long now that it was starting to become a problem back home. John had brought the king’s reinforcements to France, as well as the supplies his sovereign had requested from England. The trading had taken place once they’d docked on the French coast, and they’d be leaving the coveted high quality English wool behind, taking back with them fine French wine in its place.

  “Arrrrgh,” he shouted, his fingers slipping on the wet vine as he wondered whom the person was who’d dared to jump out on the road threatening him with a bow and arrow and causing this inconvenience in the first place. The knave had the nerve to threaten an armed baron on horseback, and John still couldn’t believe he’d actually taken an arrow to the shoulder. If his horse hadn’t reared up and thrown him, he would have struck the man down with his sword. If he ever got his hands on the hooded man, there would be hell to pay.

  He dared to look down to his feet dangling like a rag doll beneath him and wished he hadn’t. The stormy sea swirled and waves swelled up far below, threatening to drown him. The sharp rocks on the way down would most likely crack his skull open before he even hit the water. Being a baron of the coast in Hastings, he should be used to any kind of weather, but his nightmares made him seem like a coward every time a storm hit even though he was really a very brave man.

  Visions of his recurring nightmare swarmed in his head. It was the fear of that awful dream he’d been having for the last fourteen years that had more than once made him think he’d gone mad. No twenty-eight-year-old baron of the Cinque Ports should be crying out in his sleep like a scared child. Tongues were already wagging about him back home, and his own friends – the other barons of the Cinque Ports, ridiculed him constantly about his frightening nightmare.

  He closed his eyes and tried not to think of the horrific dream, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. It all started on his wedding day fourteen years ago to a girl he hadn’t known was a witch. He’d found a deck of her devil cards and when he’d picked them up, a card had fallen to the ground, landing face up at his feet.

  It was a card that depicted a castle tower breaking apart as the ground caved in beneath it. Stormy skies all around it, two people plunged from the tower over the side and to their deaths. This card was the seed of his nightmares because somehow, he knew it was his own castle falling into the sea.

  “This is just a dream. It’s just a dream,” he spoke aloud to himself. “I’ll wake up and I’ll be in my bed, and none of this will be real.”

  He wished he could believe it, but this time his muscles were trembling from holding up the weight of his own body, and blood gushed from his wounds. This wasn’t a dream. His tunic had turned red from the blood that had blended with the rain soaking his body. With his fingers slipping, he finally managed to bring his hurt arm around and grab onto the vine as well.

  Aye, he should have waited for his squire, Miles, to travel the road with him and could only hope now that he followed and would come to his assistance. After a few minutes, he realized no one was coming to his aid. What a stupid way to die! When he left this world, he wanted it to be a warrior’s death protecting his king or saving another noble, not from being shot by a ruffian, thrown from a horse, and falling over the edge of a cliff.

  Cursed be the bandit who had done this to him. He wanted to kill that man right now, but knew his attacker was also the only one who could save him.

  “Is anyone there?” he called out, hoping the man would have a change of heart and come to his rescue. “I know you’re there,” he called out. “I need . . . help. Can you hear me?”

  Also by Elizabeth Rose

  Medieval Series:

  Legendary Bastards of the Crown Series

  Season of Fortitude Series

  Legacy of the Blade Series

  Daughters of the Dagger Series

  MadMan MacKeefe Series

  Barons of the Cinque Ports Series

  Second in Command Series

  Medieval/Paranormal Series:

  Elemental Series

  Greek Myth Fantasy Series

  Tangled Tales Series

  Contemporary Series:

  Tarnished Saints Series

  Western Series:

  Cowboys of the Old West Series

  And More!

  Please visit http://elizabethrosenovels.com