Chapter 5 #2
Who was he? The squire, Percy, seemed too young to engage in such correspondence.
But he was the only other living soul in this place, save Harwyn, who showed any sign of cordiality.
Perhaps he was a spy for a baron loyal to Henry.
Or perhaps Baldwin, the knight he served, was secretly loyal to the king?
I needed to find an opportunity to speak with Percy, to ascertain his loyalties. Some casual inquiry about his origins and family might bring something to light without arousing suspicion. Now my husband was back, Sawford would be relieved of his task to follow me, and I would have my chance.
That evening, a sharp knock on my door made me jump. I opened it, my body tightening in anticipation of seeing Sawford on the other side. But it was not him. Instead, one of the maidservants stood in the doorway.
Not curtseying, she eyed me with insolence, wrinkling her nose in a sneer.
“The master awaits you in the solar, milady.”
I closed my eyes, swallowing the tight knot of dread. Though I had no cause to believe that tonight would be any different to the other nights in my husband’s solar, I could not conquer the fear that if he were to bed me now, my husband would know that I was no longer a maiden.
“Lady?”
Stiffening my body, I opened my eyes, lifted my chin, and glared at her.
“How dare you show such disrespect to your mistress.”
Fixing my stare at her, I waited until she dipped into a curtsey. She lowered her eyes, but not before I caught a flash of hatred.
I swept past her, in the direction of the solar, taking care to nudge her aside with my shoulder.
When we arrived, the door was closed. I stood at the threshold, glaring until the maidservant curtseyed once more and stepped in front of me to knock.
The door swung inward to reveal Sawford, filling the doorway with his tall frame.
Almost instantly, the maid’s demeanor changed from insolent to inviting. She pushed her shoulders back to reveal her ample bosom and curled her plump lips in a smile of seduction.
“Monsieur Sawford, I had not expected to see you here,” she purred, tipping her face up to kiss him.
But Sawford pushed her away. Then he took my arm and pulled me through the doorway. She scowled before turning her smile on him once more.
“Shall I visit you tonight, Monsieur?”
“No.”
He shut the door in her face and led me to the bed where my husband sat waiting.
As soon as Sawford returned me to my chamber, I turned my back on him. The door banged shut behind me but another noise made me look around. Sawford had followed me in. How was such a large man able to move about so quietly?
He took my shoulders and turned me to face him. Then he pushed me back until we reached my bed, where I fell back and lay looking up at him. He leaned over me and held me down by the arms.
“Get out,” I ordered.
“I will leave if you truly wish it, cherie, but I know you want your lover here tonight.”
“You know nothing of love,” I spat.
He released my arms then lifted up my nightshift and his fingers brushed against my thigh.
“You impugn my skills, if you think I cannot have you willingly,” he said. “A woman experiences pain her first time. But now there will be only pleasure.”
His cold words brought me to my senses.
“You flatter yourself,” I retorted, “unless you speak of your own pleasure.”
“Nay, cherie. ’Twill not be long before you open your thighs and beg me to take you, as countless others have done.”
Countless others…
Why, when I loathed him, did those words ignite a spark of jealousy in a dark little corner of my soul?
“I shall never beg you for anything,” I hissed.
A low laugh vibrated through his chest, as if he could read my desires and knew I spoke false. Then he parted my thighs and once more claimed me as his own.
He was right in that there was no pain this time. Yet, I felt not the pleasure he’d promised—only a burning need that intensified but was never satisfied, followed by a sense of loss when he withdrew. He turned his back to adjust his clothes and stood to leave.
“Where are you going, Monsieur?”
“Are you hungry for more pleasure?” he said, an undertone of mirth in his voice.
I pulled my nightshift down, mortified at my unwillingness to fight for my honor.
“You know nothing of pleasure except perhaps your own,” I replied. “Nothing of love…”
He laughed coldly.
“I know all there is to know about pleasure. As for love—I love no woman.”
I turned my head away and jumped when he touched my chin. He ran a thumb across my lips, that were bruised and swollen from his kisses.
“And what of you?” he whispered. “Are you foolish enough to know love, my lady?”
“I have seen enough of the consequences of love to know it will bring me nothing but death.”
“Bitter words for one in such a privileged position.”
“Privileged?” I cried. “What if you get me with child?”
He shrugged. “Mortlock wants an heir. You merely need to convince everyone that he is the sire. As ’tis known you visit him nightly, it will be an easy task.”
“Why does he not take me himself, instead of…?” I broke off, unwilling to voice the act of self gratification that my husband forced me to witness.
Sawford stiffened and he withdrew his hand. “Do you wish him to?”
“No!” I cried, shaking my head, trying to dispel the image of my husband’s shriveled body, his wrinkled yellowing flesh against my skin—him parting my thighs as Sawford had done.
Sawford spoke softly, reaching toward my face.
“Lady, I would never…”
He broke off and his eyes hardened. When he next spoke, the coldness had returned to his tone.
“My lord Mortlock seldom takes pleasure from lying with a woman,” he said.
“His first wives rarely quickened with child, and those who did were never able to carry them to full term. His body is diseased. The whores he took would sicken and die shortly after, and some of his wives met a similar fate. Others—well—they met their ends in other ways. He’s not long for this world and wants a healthy heir before he leaves it.
Rarely is his desire for an heir overshadowed by his wish to lie with a woman.
It happens when…when he’s in a particular frame of mind. ”
A particular frame of mind? I dared not ask Sawford’s meaning.
“I must pray that never happens,” I whispered.
“Prayer will not help you, woman,” Sawford said, “though foolish behavior will be your downfall.”
“Such as quickening with another’s child?” I cried. “Surely if that happens, Lord Mortlock will know that the babe is not his?”
“Mortlock merely wants an heir.”
So this was my purpose. And Sawford’s. To provide Mortlock with a son.
“Does he know ’tis you who…?” I broke off, my cheeks warming.
Sawford shook his head. “He cares not for the sire. With such a fine mare in his possession, he does not concern himself with the identity of the stallion that mounts her.”
“What will become of me…” I spoke whispered, a tremor in my voice, “…when I have fulfilled my purpose?”
“I know not. Once you have borne Mortlock a male heir, I shall have my reward.”
“And what is that?”
“It concerns you not, woman.”
“W-will I share the fate of my predecessors,” I said, “once Mortlock has no more use for me?”
Sawfords lips curled into a sneer. “There are more important things, madam, than one insignificant, adulterous woman, na?ve enough to expect happiness in marriage.”
“I never expected such a thing as happiness in this marriage—or indeed any marriage,” I said, choking down a sob. “I expected sorrow and imprisonment as all those of my sex should expect…but not degradation and death.”
I closed my eyes, attempting to stop treacherous tears from rolling down my cheeks. Moments later, I heard the door close and I was alone again.
At last, I understood my worth to my husband.
He cared nothing for my lineage, my mind, or ability to tend to the people of his estate.
I was nothing more than a vessel, akin to a farm animal intended to breed and then be discarded.
I was no different from the servants Papa had rutted, only I would be disposed of after a child was born—or earlier, if I did not quicken with child soon.
I had feared the destruction of my maidenhead would bring about my downfall, but Mortlock must have planned it from the day Papa offered me to him.
I was trapped. Having engineered my adultery at the hands of another, my husband had not only secured the means to beget an heir but, also, the justification to rid himself of his new wife, however he saw fit.
Was this the fate Mortlock’s previous wives shared? If so, I would be lucky to be alive at the year’s end.
But, given the kind of life I would be leading here, I might welcome death when it came.