Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The next afternoon, while I worked in the treatment room, Harwyn rushed through the door, her face creased with distress, eyes wide with terror.
“Dear Lord, Harwyn!” I cried. “What has happened?”
“Oh, my lady,” she panted. “I-it’s Lord Mortlock. He’s grown suspicious of you.”
“Of what? He’s the one who ordered a stallion to service the mare.”
Harwyn shook her head, trying to catch her breath.
“Then what has frightened you, Harwyn?” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Is it Tarvin?”
“No, but I overheard a conversation between Lord Mortlock and Monsieur Sawford. I managed to get close enough to hear much of what they said.”
“Harwyn, I have told you before not to place yourself in danger. What if they’d seen you?”
“I pledged to your Maman that I would face all the dangers in the world to keep you safe,” she said. “I was well concealed; you need not fear for me.”
“What did they speak of?”
Sawford would hardly wish to incriminate himself if what Celia told Edith was true. But perhaps he was attempting to incriminate another.
“Your husband said he grows suspicious of the way you carry yourself.”
“But I have been so careful not to reveal my feelings.”
“That is what concerns him, my lady. He feels you should be more—afraid. He’s a jealous man and has demanded to know if…if the mare holds affection for any of her studs.”
“Any of them?”
“Aye, it seems that the plan was for no individual to be given exclusivity over you. I heard him tell Sawford that his previous wife had been taken by four men.”
I sank onto the bed, nausea rippling in my stomach.
“So, I’m to be handed around his men?” I whispered. “And what would happen if he suspected I held a…a stud in my affections?”
“Mortlock said that any man with a loose tongue would pay with his head. And with yours.”
“Mon Dieu,” I whispered. “But if he spoke so freely to Sawford, he cannot be aware that Sawford takes me for himself. Who does he think I’m being given to?”
“I know not, lady. I was only able to hear part of their conversation before I deemed it too dangerous to stay. I…” she hesitated, her eyes glistening, and a tear splashed onto her cheek. “I-I saw Percy listening, too.”
“Good Lord!” I cried. “Percy?”
“He was not as well concealed as I. He risked us both being discovered so I left. It seems there are spies everywhere.”
“Spies for whom? Mayhap Percy is not all he appears to be.”
Harwyn’s eyes widened. “Surely you don’t think—Tarvin…”
I found it difficult to believe it to be someone so young, but Percy had come upon me at the back of the stables, just after I’d concealed my letter. What possible reason could he have for going there unless he was Tarvin?
The following morning, after I had broken my fast, I was summoned to the stables. I expected to find my husband brandishing my note to Tarvin, declaring my adultery before taking me to the courtyard for punishment. However, instead, a hunting party awaited me, most of them already saddled.
My husband, atop his gelding, gestured toward me.
“I have been neglecting my lovely wife,” he croaked.
“Nay, you have been an attentive husband.”
“Do not contradict me, woman,” he said. “I would have you ride with me on the hunt today.”
I understood the necessity of hunting to provide food, but disliked the relish the participants took in the savagery of the kill.
But, I was fond of my horse and would take pleasure in being permitted to ride her today.
I had not ridden her since the first time when Wyatt forced his attentions on me, and I’d been reluctant to ask permission to ride again for fear that I’d be subject to Wyatt’s attentions again.
Though I kept my knife about me, I had no wish to be placed in a situation where I’d have need of it.
I approached my mare and stroked her nose, relishing the velvety smooth fur beneath my palm.
“Here, madam.”
The skin at the back of my neck tightened at the familiar voice, and I inhaled the earthy, spicy scent of man that grew stronger.
Then, a large hand touched my elbow and Sawford helped me to mount.
His hand was that of a hunter who already had his prey in his grasp and was merely toying with her before the kill.
Then Sawford approached a horse—an enormous, powerful stallion the color of coal.
He mounted the animal with the swift, smooth movement of a warrior, not a clerk, then the hunting party set off.
Mortlock took the lead with Sawford beside him, followed by another man leading the deerhounds.
My heart lifted when I saw that Percy was one of the party, though Sir Baldwin, the knight he served, was not present.
The young squire drew alongside me as we crossed the drawbridge which spanned the moat surrounding Mortlock Fort.
“I trust my lady is feeling better?”
Percy colored as he spoke, and I nodded, giving him a smile.
The hounds picked up the scent of their quarry almost as soon as we entered the forest. Most of the party set off at a gallop, but I followed at a more leisurely pace.
Though I would have preferred the solitude, I was grateful to Percy for hanging back while the rest of the party disappeared through the trees.
Perhaps now was the time to discover where his loyalties truly lay.
My curiosity rose when he began to speak of the king, but before I could steer the conversation, my horse pulled up, and I lost my balance on the saddle and fell to the ground.
For a moment, I lay face up on the forest floor, watching the sunlight dance across the leaves of the trees in the breeze, until a shape appeared, silhouetted against the dappled sunlight and Percy’s concerned face came into view.
He helped me to my feet, his blush deepening as his fingers touched mine.
I could not imagine him to be my secret correspondent.
The poor young man was little more than a boy—an infatuated boy.
The deep, heartfelt words in the letters and poems were not those of a tender-hearted boy.
And Tarvin would be too aware of the danger to risk such an outward display of affection.
But, if Percy were loyal to the king as was Tarvin, he might prove useful in helping me to discover Tarvin’s identity.
“You have my thanks, Percy,” I said. “Twice in two days you have shown gallantry.”
He smiled and bowed over my hand, kissing it at the wrist where the flesh was exposed. Then he froze as a deep voice spoke.
“What are you doing with Lady Mortlock?”
My stomach fluttered in recognition.
Sawford stood by a tree, his expression darkening.
He raked his gaze over me, taking in my disheveled appearance and the mud on my gown, then he curled his hands into fists.
The granite-hard resolve in his eyes had gone, replaced by white-hot anger, betraying more emotion than I had ever seen in him.
A tickling sensation on my skin made me look down.
A long scratch ran across the back of my hand, and dark red droplets had already begun to form.
I lifted my hand to inspect the wound and heard a low hiss from Sawford.
He stepped toward me, jaw set firm, teeth gritted, shoulders shaking. But with what? Anger, fear?
What could he possibly have to be afraid of?
“What have you done, boy!” he roared.
Percy stepped back, his eyes widening at the force of Sawford’s anger.
I glared at Sawford. “He has done nothing. My horse pulled up and he helped me to stand. Why are you not at your place by my husband’s side?”
Sawford ignored me and spoke to Percy.
“Return her ladyship’s horse to the stables.”
“But the mare is lame,” Percy said. “It will take hours if I must walk her back.”
“Do not make me ask again.”
“But how will my lady…”
“I will ensure that she’s returned to her place by her husband’s side.”
Sawford spoke quietly but his voice carried a lethal edge, as if he had drawn a blade. Tall and muscular, he towered over both of us, casting a shadow across the forest floor. Percy glanced at me, lifting his eyebrows in inquiry. I nodded at him to do as he was bid, then he mounted his horse.
Sawford inspected the mare, lifting her front left foot.
“She has lost a shoe,” he said. “Take her directly to the blacksmith. A gentle trot should suffice. Nothing faster or you’ll lame her.”
The young squire nodded, then he smiled at me, before setting off back toward Mortlock Fort. Sawford furrowed his brow and reached out to touch my sleeve which was covered in mud from my fall.
“How do you propose I return to my husband now I have no horse?” I said with a sneer in my voice.
“You will ride with me.”
The stallion was tethered beside a tree, waiting patiently for his rider to return, his ears pricking up as we drew near. Sawford took my arm and led me toward the tree. Though his face showed no emotion, his grip betrayed his discomfort and the tension in his body reverberated through his arm.
“Let me go.”
I tried to pull free, but he was too strong.
He grasped my other arm and pushed me against the tree and the hard lumps of the bark dug into my shoulder blades.
As I opened my mouth to protest, his mouth crushed mine, and he forced me harder against the tree with his body.
His kiss was brutal, and I cried out as he grazed my bottom lip with his teeth, then soothed it with his tongue.
He grew hard as he moved his body against mine, rocking his hips, a low growl in his throat.
Driven by a savage instinct, I responded to his kiss, and I bit his lip, tasting blood.
He stiffened and let go of my arms. Unable to quench my hunger, I reached out to him, and buried my hands into his hair.
Then I pulled him to me until our mouths met.