Chapter 4 #2
His voice became more insistent. I shook my head again, trying to ignore the sensation threatening to control my body.
I felt weightless, as if the world was melting around me.
My surroundings began to disappear. The cold air, the hard stone wall, the sounds of laughter in the distance slipped away until only one thing remained. Him.
“Then take me, lady” he whispered.
His gentle voice broke through my mental defenses, and my bodily desires triumphed.
With a small sound of defeat, I reached up, curling my fingers in his hair, and pulled him closer.
I pressed my lips against his and waited to feel him push me away.
I needed a connection with someone—anyone—in this oppressive, lonely place.
A low, primal sound rumbled in his chest, and he pulled me hard against his body, forcing my mouth open with his tongue.
I let out a whimper and tried to move, but Sawford was too strong.
He pushed me until I fell on the cot, his weight crushing me.
Unable to fight with my limbs, I used the only weapon I had and forced my own tongue into his mouth, relishing the taste of him—of spiced wine.
Lord save me, I wanted him, wanted to give myself to him, though I belonged to Mortlock.
Cold air caressed my legs then a burning, stinging sensation ripped between my thighs.
I tore my mouth away from Sawford’s and cried out.
He gripped the hair at the back of my neck, forcing my head back toward him and silenced my cries with his mouth.
His kisses grew gentler as I surrendered to him, my body willing.
The pain faded and was replaced by another, lighter sensation. He was stroking my forehead much like my mother, and later Harwyn, had done to calm me. It was such odd behavior, for any man, that for a moment, I forgot my fears, until the candle in the room hissed, plunging us into darkness.
“The candle!” I cried out, panic swelling in my soul.
“Shhh, you’re safe.”
I might have imagined the words; they were spoken so softly. Reassured by his strength I clung to him as the darkness thickened around me.
He kissed me again, almost reverently, whispering incoherently.
Then he moved. The pain increased with each movement of his body.
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding on to his arms. His muscles rippled beneath my fingers, and his breathing grew harsher until he released a deep groan and fell on to me.
He wrapped his arms around me, and I held on to him, vaguely aware of a warm sensation spreading between my thighs.
I lay still in his arms, listening to his breathing growing steadier. Eventually, he moved away. I heard the sound of a flint being struck then saw the flickering light of a candle.
“Get up.”
His voice was cold. I sat up and pulled my skirts down. Shame overcame me. My thighs were smeared with blood, as was the bed sheet.
I controlled my voice and spoke equally as coldly.
“You are in no position to give orders after what you have done to me.”
He gave a low, mirthless laugh. “You asked me to, remember?”
“I did no such thing.”
The indignation in my voice could not disguise the lie on my lips and he knew it.
“Aye, madam, you did, with your body as assuredly as you would have done with your voice. My stained sheets will make a fine keepsake.”
“How dare you!” I cried. “Lord Mortlock…”
“My lord will listen to the counsel of a trusted employee over the tattle of a woman. ’Tis better he knows not that you are now soiled goods. I’m sure I do not have to remind you of the penalty for adultery.”
Death by fire. My mother’s fate.
In a fit of madness and desire, I had reached out to Sawford and, in doing so, had thrown my worth—and my life—away.
As a bride, my maidenhead was the only value, other than my dowry, which the world placed on me. Years of schooling and Maman’s nurturing had taught me to protect my virtue and never succumb to my desires. Yet, in a fleeting moment I had destroyed it all.
Sawford had only to tell Lord Mortlock of my sin to bring about my destruction.
“Maman,” I whispered.
My throat tightened and I struggled to breathe as pain gripped my body. At that moment, I hated Sawford, more than I thought it possible to hate another living soul.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
I wiped my eyes. “Nothing.”
He remained silent for a while before I thought I heard him sigh. I jumped as he laid a hand on my shoulder.
“Come, lady, I will take you to your room.”
“I can manage by myself.”
I stood up to leave, but his hand snaked round my wrist.
“Nevertheless, I insist. You would not want to meet Mortlock’s men.”
“I fail to see why not,” I replied bitterly. “What can they do to me that you have not already done?”
His hand tightened its grip and he bowed his head, staying still for a moment. He then led me out of the room and back to my chamber.
Before we approached my door, he stopped and stiffened, his eyes narrowing. Shortly after, I heard it too. Hoof beats, the sound of a carriage, and voices echoing outside.
It could only mean one thing.
“Your husband has returned,” Sawford said. “I must greet him, but before I go: a kiss, my lady, for your lover.”
I turned my face away, but he took my chin and planted a light kiss on my lips.
I opened my door and recoiled at the darkness inside.
He gave me his candle before disappearing into the darkness of the passageway.
I stripped off my cloak and gown, and crept into my bed, curling myself up into a ball.
Loud voices approached, my husband’s among them.
Had Sawford told him of my adultery? Was I to die tonight?
I drifted into a doze, but woke later. It was still nighttime and the candle had not yet burned out.
Footsteps echoed outside my door, and I sat up, my stomach cramping with fear.
A faint rustling came from the door and something appeared at the bottom.
Another note. The footsteps receded. I ran to the door and opened it, but there was no one in sight.
Trembling, I picked up the note. Written in the same hand as before were two words.
Pardonnez-moi.
Forgive me.