Chapter Nine
Something inside Madelaine died the night Christien left her in the garden.
She’d walked back to her bedchamber and gone to bed a young girl. When dawn broke, the young girl was no more, replaced by a disillusioned woman who no longer believed in the hope that had once grown within her.
What is between us is not finished. His words were the comfort she sought and the hope she clung to that night.
She na?vely believed he’d come for her and save her from the cruelty of her existence, but when she awoke the next morning she discovered Christien and his men had left soon after he’d walked away from her in the garden.
He’d had no intention of coming for her.
She withdrew into herself, speaking when spoken to, carrying out the duties of a countess in a large, bustling castle, but she was a shell of herself.
In a way, she had Christien’s abandonment to thank for the change within her because deep inside, in the place she retreated to, she found the strength she’d been lacking.
Her husband’s threats meant little. What more could he do to her that he hadn’t done before?
When the count realized the hold he had over her was weakening, that his threats held no meaning, that he failed to reach the part of her where fear lived, he declared her ill. He called in a physician, forcing her to submit to a humiliating bodily inspection in front of him.
Instead of the mortification she would have felt weeks ago, she burned with an intense anger the likes of which she’d never experienced before. She used her anger to feed her strength, clinging to it like a person drowning, knowing if she let go, she would no longer exist.
She lifted her chin and stared at her husband, forcing all the coldness inside her to show through her eyes. He’d taken one look at her and winced, his black-eyed gaze unable to meet hers.
But it hadn’t taken long for her indifference to incite his fury.
“It seems, dear wife, the physician believes nothing is wrong with you. Physically.” He circled her, watching, waiting for her to show a chink in her armor, but she refused to give him what he was searching for.
She simply didn’t care anymore. If he killed her, ’twould be best. Her life had become an endless road of sorrow, fear and pain. To end it would be a blessing.
If Christien were going to save her from this, he would have done it long ago.
The sad truth was she couldn’t count on him.
She couldn’t count on anyone. She was on her own and in order to survive she had to become a different person.
Not the na?ve young girl who wrung her hands while waiting for someone to save her, but a woman who fought back.
She lifted her chin and looked her husband squarely in the bottomless pit of those black eyes and discovered something she should have seen a long time ago.
Her husband had no soul. Those black eyes were merely the window to what lay inside him…
nothing. With a shudder of fear—the first real fear she allowed herself to feel since her night in the garden—she realized a darkness encompassed him. Something sinister and evil.
His smile was cold and made his obsidian eyes gleam with anticipation. She’d seen that look many times before and it made her shiver inside.
“Brother Lucien believes you need help of a different sort.”
Her fear flared but she valiantly hid it.
His teeth flashed in an evil smile. “Of the religious sort.”
Dear God, no.
“I believe time spent with Brother Lucien will cure you of your affliction, no?”
She balled her hands in the folds of her skirts and took deep breaths to calm her racing heart.
The count circled her again. “Mayhap your ill humors come from the devil himself.”
She mashed her back teeth together. She was not the one with the evil inside her.
He put his finger to his chin, his hard gaze raking her from head to foot. “Yes. I believe that’s what is needed here. A little education from the good brother.” He laughed and sauntered out of the room.
Madelaine sagged against the cold, stone wall, fighting her tears. The protective barrier she’d erected over the past several weeks was not enough to stem the tidal wave of fear nearly buckling her knees. Mon Dieu, he was sending Brother Lucien to her.
She could only imagine what Brother Lucien’s “cure” would be. More than likely ’twas something far removed from an exorcism.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her mind flitted from one thought to another.
She needed to escape. To run away before Brother Lucien came for her.
But where to go? Her family? They would gladly take her in but they were so far away she had no hope of getting to them without help from some quarter.
She buried her face in her hands and for the first time since learning Christien had left she allowed herself to cry.
But the tears didn’t last long. Tears hadn’t helped in the past and wouldn’t help now.
What she needed was action. A plan of escape.
When she first came to Castle Flandres she paid little attention to the route her escorts took to get her here.
She’d na?vely assumed those same escorts would simply reverse their direction when she wanted to visit her home.
She’d been stunned to discover her new husband had no intention of allowing her to visit her home again nor of allowing her parents to visit.
She’d been cut off from everyone and everything she’d ever known.
It wasn’t until months later she understood why.
Count Flandres wooed her parents in exactly the same way he wooed the king and her.
With flowery lies dripping from honeyed lips that masked an innate evil.
To her family, he was everything they wanted in a match for her—rich and powerful and considerate of her needs.
He was the perfect alliance and he knew it.
He also knew if her family visited or she visited them the ruse would be over.
Deep in thought she left her bedchambers and headed for the hall for the midday meal. How soon would her husband send Brother Lucien? How much time did she have to plan her escape?
She ate her meal, lost in thoughts and plans, for the first time feeling any real emotion since Christien left nearly three weeks ago. It felt good to make her own decisions, to not be at the mercy of another’s whims.
After finishing her meal, she left the hall and headed back to her bedchamber.
She would go through her gowns and choose a few older ones that wouldn’t be missed by her maid.
She would stash them in an unused bedchamber so her maids wouldn’t see them and report back to her husband, then she would pilfer food from the kitchens and hide it, as well.
Maybe she’d make up a story about a stray dog so no one would become suspicious.
Transportation was a problem. Obviously she needed a mount.
At one time she had been an accomplished rider, but the count never let her ride anymore and her mare, an even-tempered, lovely animal, had been left behind when she came here.
She would have to quickly pick one in the stables and hope for the best.
Unburdened from her fear as she’d never been before, she quickly made her gown choices and found a rarely used chamber at the darkest end of the hall.
She stuffed the gowns beneath the mattress and dusted her hands off, pleased with herself for taking the first step.
The thought of what route she would take to get to her family nagged her.
Once, on one of the rare occasions she’d been in her husband’s solar, she’d noticed maps of France spread across his desk.
Those would tell her where her family home was located in relation to Castle Flandres.
Somehow she would have to sneak in and try to find them.
Now would be the perfect opportunity for ’twas the time of day when her husband inspected the soldiers’ training.
She turned to leave the bedchamber and froze.
Lucien leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a small smile lifting his thin lips.
“What have we here, my countess? Hiding clothing?” He sauntered in, closing the door behind him.
Instinctively Madelaine backed away.
He lifted the mattress and pulled her gowns out.
Her heart fell to her toes and nearly ceased beating.
Her breath left her and defeat clawed at her.
He’d discovered her plan. Somehow, someway, Lucien discovered what she was doing and had followed her.
She wanted to kick herself for not being vigilant enough.
For being so involved in her own thoughts she hadn’t looked around. Foolish. Foolish.
Her gaze jumped from the gowns to Lucien to the door and back again. He would tell her husband and who knew what would happen next. No punishment would be severe enough for the count. He wouldn’t take lightly the thought of his wife, his property, leaving him.
She glanced at the window covered with a large, heavy tapestry. ’Twas only an arrow slit if she remembered correctly. Not nearly wide enough to fit through and jump from. Possible death was preferable than remaining in this chamber.
Sweat dripped down her back and her hands shook. She inched toward the arrow slit.
Lucien held up the gowns, his brows lifting, mocking. “What have you to say, my lady?”
Words crowded her rapidly closing throat. Lies tumbled through her brain but none were plausible reasons for stashing clothing beneath a mattress. Short of killing Lucien, which she didn’t have the strength nor the means to do, she was doomed.
Lucien looked at the gowns in his hands, then at her. “Are you running away?” He tsked and tossed the garments on the bed. Helplessly, she watched one slide to the floor. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
She licked suddenly dry lips. “What do you want?”