Chapter 7 #2
A sense of triumph nestled within the cloud of desire for him. I was a weak woman, owned by one man, claimed by another. But here, in my own chamber that was my prison, I had the power.
Then Sawford shifted position, and I cried out as the tip of him found the very spot where my body ached for him.
His mouth twitched into a knowing smile.
He had been toying with me, teasing me. In a heartbeat his slick, rhythmic motions shifted the balance of power and once more, I became his to command.
“Please…” I whispered.
“Please what, cherie?” his voice was quiet but demanding.
He stopped moving, and I whimpered, arching my back to offer myself to him.
He lifted his body away, and I let out a wail of despair.
“Ah, you wish for me to leave?”
“No!” I cried. “Please, I beg you…” my voice broke at the moment I voiced my surrender.
“Do you want me, woman? Do you beg me to take you?”
I blinked back the tears of shame. But my need for him surpassed the shame and, surrendering to that need, I nodded.
“Yes.”
“Show me, woman,” he growled. “Show me how much you want me.”
I shook my head, and he moved back.
“No!” I clung to him, pulling him toward me.
He said nothing but remained, his body still covering mine, yet he did not move. He was waiting for me to obey.
I closed my eyes, unwilling for him to see the humiliation in my soul. Then I shifted my thighs further apart, pulling him close until I felt him once again, hot and hard against my body.
“Now, tell me what you want,” he demanded.
“I want you.”
I gave a strangled sob, and he kissed me again before he drove into me, claiming his complete ownership.
But this time, instead of lying passively I met him stroke for stoke, opening my thighs hungrily to receive him.
I wrapped my legs around his body and locked my ankles together to draw him in further.
I dug my hands into his shoulders, feeling the iron hard lines of muscle ripple back and forth with his exertion.
That burning hot flame ignited in me again, this time deeper, stronger, building with each thrust until I thought I might die from it, and I clung to him, crying out with need.
He began to sound as if he were in pain—groaning quietly at first, then the groans increasing until he lifted his head and let out a primeval roar.
Then the world disintegrated as if my body had been smashed into a thousand shards.
I screamed and gripped onto him while my body rippled and surged and I was lost as my senses were torn apart.
Sawford always left quickly after taking me, but this time he stayed on top of me, holding me as fiercely as I held him, his head buried in my shoulder, his breathing ragged.
I uncrossed my ankles and let my legs fall though I kept my arms round him, wanting to take comfort from his strength.
Then he lifted his head, and looked at me.
I met his gaze, my vision blurred by tears.
For several heartbeats, we simply stared at each other while we strained for breath.
His eyes widened. They showed arousal and something else. Recognition, perhaps? Discomfort and doubt, as if he questioned himself? Then, finally, they showed anger. He blinked and his eyes glazed over into that emotionless expression I knew and hated.
At length he moved away to sit on the bed with his back to me, casually dressing as if nothing had happened between us.
“I knew you would beg me to take you.” His voice was flat, toneless.
“Get out,” I said, equally coldly, ignoring the pain of the burn on my hand as I curled it into a fist.
“As my lady wishes.”
He gave me a mock bow before leaving. My tears were already falling as he closed the door behind him.
From then on, I struggled to maintain my resolve.
During the day I avoided Sawford, barely able to maintain the mask of indifference in his presence. But when he took me to my room at night I surrendered, unable to fight my body’s craving for his touch.
Tender caresses and gentle nips at my skin brought me to the brink of satisfaction.
There, he would wait until I offered my body, pleading and pulling him to me.
The intensity of the pleasure rendered my body limp, save for the gentle aftershocks which rippled through me.
My body called him to return inside me; my need for him surpassed my fear of discovery.
We spoke not at all during the day and very little at night. I hated what he made my body do, yet I yearned for the feeling that, when he lost himself at that final pinnacle of abandonment, a part of him cherished me, if only for the briefest moment.
The only fragment of hope came from my correspondence with Tarvin. His letters and notes became more frequent, and increasingly they convinced me that the gentle, heartfelt words I read were genuine.
My emotions were so torn to shreds at Sawford’s hands.
I could not contain them. At length, I succumbed and wrote to Tarvin, telling him how desperately I needed a friend and how frightened I was.
He responded, begging me, for my own safety and his, not to try to discover him.
I promised I would not. I alternated between hiding my letters to him in the rose bush and the stone in the stable wall.
Though I burned with curiosity, I kept my distance afterward and bid Harwyn, who had taken it upon herself to spy on Mortlock, to do the same.
I wrote of my childhood and, in turn, he wrote about his own life.
He had not been a favored son and left his home seeking adventure only to be almost killed on the road by robbers.
A knight had rescued him and employed him as a squire, teaching him the arts of warfare and of stealth, until he was able to give his services to his lord.
I smiled at his stories, which reminded me of the tales my mother had read of King Arthur’s knights and their daring but chivalrous exploits.
Tarvin’s outlandish tales took me to another world: a world of romance and honor, where men fought bravely and where they loved, cherished, and protected their women.
I was grateful to him, not only for his friendship, but for giving me those few precious moments when I could read his words and forget about the harsh realities of the world I lived in—the world of pain, treachery, and loneliness.
It became clear from Tarvin’s letters that he was loyal to the king.
Might I trust him enough to reveal my own loyalties, worthless as they were?
At first, I dared not, but as our correspondence continued he wrote more openly of his sentiments, warning me that traitors to the king were in our midst.
Would he ever reveal himself and take me away from here? I ached to know his identity, to see him with my own eyes. I had an ally, someone who held me in high enough regard to place his faith in me. He cared enough to risk his own neck for the sole purpose of giving me comfort.
Lord help me, was I falling in love?
The very notion gripped me with terror. My mother had died not only because she’d loved a man other than her husband, but because she lay with him.
She had given her body and her heart to another.
Now, two years after watching my mother’s destruction at the hands of my father, I found myself to be a woman married to a traitor—a man with a sadistic streak and a host of men at his beck and call.
And in turn I was betraying my husband. For I had willingly given my body to one of those men, and my heart to another.
While replacing the stone in the stable wall to conceal a letter to Tarvin, I stiffened as voices echoed in the air—high pitched, coarse female tones. They grew closer and I shrank back against the wall.
What might I use as an excuse for being here? I almost laughed at the irony. Two gossiping maidservants shirking their duties should be more afraid of their mistress, yet I was the one crouched in the shadows, fearful of discovery.
One of the women sounded upset, her voice broken with angry sobs. Her companion spoke harshly.
“Calm yourself Edith. He’s just a man and there are plenty of others willing to take your favors.”
“Just a man, indeed!” The second voice was punctuated by sobs. “I want not the others, Celia, and you know it!”
More sobbing.
I knew of Edith—a pretty girl who worked in the kitchens around whom many of my husband’s men flocked in anticipation of favors.
Edith was harmless, but not very bright.
Celia, however, was the woman who had taken me to the solar and tried to seduce Sawford in front of me.
Where Edith was harmless, Celia had a predatory air.
Where most of the servants dropped a deep curtsey or bow on seeing me, Celia stood that little bit higher, challenging me with her sharp eyes.
The hatred in her expression, when I caught her watching me, was unmistakable.
“…Sawford…”
Lost in thought, my mind jerked back to their conversation on hearing Sawford’s name.
“You want him for yourself, Celia! You always have.”
“Aye, ’tis true, Edith. ’Tis also true that his tastes have widened to include that scrawny sack of bones. But he will always prefer a real woman.”
“Such as yourself?”
Celia’s voice carried an undertone of pride. “I know how to pleasure him; unlike you and certainly unlike her.”
Edith resumed her sobs and Celia spoke more kindly. But I could hear the false charm in her voice. Celia had used the same charm on Sawford the night she took me to the solar. For that night at least, her attempt at seduction had failed.
“Edith, Sawford will never kiss any of his women on the mouth, and he refuses to let them kiss him. You should not have tried.”
“Aye, he’s told me that, but…”
“But you thought you could be the one to change him? Little fool! ’Tis too personal an act with him. Enjoy the pleasure he gives you between your thighs, and expect nothing else.”
Edith continued to sob and though Celia shushed her with words of comfort, I detected exasperation in her voice along with a sense of triumph. Eventually sniffs replaced the sobs.
“For the love of God, Edith, stop that. Here.”
Edith blew her nose, and her voice lowered to a murmur.
“He is an—energetic—man,” Celia said. “And his appetite is unmatched. A comely wench such as yourself will not be banished from his bed for long.”
“But he said never…”
“Shush, fool! With your pretty face he’ll soon relent and spread your legs again. Then, between us, we’ll banish all thoughts he has for that whore.”
I almost smiled to myself. The jealousy in Celia’s voice belied the manner in which she reassured Edith about Sawford’s interest in her. However, my smile faded at her next words and a cold fist punched through my chest, squeezing my heart with icy fingers.
“Sawford’s interest in the mistress will wane. Mortlock will use her adultery to dispose of her soon enough, but we need tell him that it’s Sawford who is fucking his wife.”
I sank to the ground, my legs crumpling under me. Edith’s sobs turned into a wail. Then a sharp crack resounded followed by a shriek of pain.
“Be quiet, you fool, or I’ll strike you again,” Celia hissed. “Sawford is too clever to arouse suspicion. Another man will take the fall for her adultery and find his head on a pike.”
The voices faded, and I waited a moment, to ensure that they had gone. Then I rose. My hands shook as I brushed the dust off my overgown. I could not help but run a finger across my lips. Sawford had kissed my lips both savagely and tenderly. Under a torrent of passion, I had kissed him back.
’Tis too personal an act with him.
A hand tapped my shoulder.
“Lady?”
I startled and let out a small cry, then looked up to see the young squire standing before me.
“Percy!”
“Forgive me, my lady,” Percy said. “B-but…are you well?”
I nodded, striving to regain some of my composure.
“Aye, I’m well, Percy, but what are you doing here, at the back of the stables?”
“I…I heard something.”
The young man clasped his hands together and shuffled from one foot to another.
“Did you follow me, Percy?” I said.
He shook his head, but the fear in his soft eyes told a different story. My own gaze flicked to the stone in the wall where I had concealed my note. Then I smoothed my expression into a smile and held out my hand.
“Come, Percy, I am a little unwell and would have you escort me to my chamber.”
He colored and helped me to my feet. We crossed the stable yard, and I caught sight of Edith and Celia standing beside the door to the kitchen.
They were deep in conversation, their backs to us.
At that moment, Sawford emerged from the building, striding toward the stables.
He stiffened and stopped, narrowing his eyes.
I shivered at the intensity in his expression and I gripped Percy’s arm, in need of support.
Celia called his name, lowering her voice to a drawl. I raised my eyebrows at Sawford. He mirrored my gesture, a faint smile on his lips, before he turned in her direction.
I continued across the yard with Percy, acutely aware of murmuring voices, one deep and strong, the other sultry and seductive. Though I looked straight ahead as we passed them, I could sense Sawford’s gaze on me.