Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Though I closed my eyes, I couldn’t erase the image of Percy’s tortured, distorted face.
The lurching movement of my horse became more pronounced and a rush of nausea almost overwhelmed me.
I took a deep breath, and my body shuddered.
I tasted blood on my lips before I realized that I had bitten them.
A low chuckle burbled from behind.
“I think my wife approves of our treatment of traitors. What say you, Sawford?”
“Who can tell what she thinks, my Lord?”
My husband laughed. “Aye, Sawford. She clearly thinks little of her lover, no?”
“Mayhap she knows nothing of love.”
I shuddered at Sawford’s ice cool tone. How could he speak without emotion—and mock me with my own words while that poor gentle soul lay mutilated for all to see.
Hatred rising in my soul, I lifted my gaze to Sawford.
He narrowed his own eyes, showing small creases around the edges.
Tears stung my eyes and I dropped my gaze, unwilling to let him see my weakness.
I focused on my hands which I curled and uncurled around the reins.
My horse, sensing I was no longer in control, lunged her head forward, jerking my arms, and I struggled to steady her as we rode into the stable yard.
Another surge of nausea welled up inside me.
Fighting to control my breathing. I counted: one, two, three.
Keeping my eyes closed, I drew on images of happier times—life with Maman, moments alone in the wild garden, occupation in the treatment room with Harwyn—anything to drive out the black and red images of Percy’s severed neck, the drops of blood and the crow’s vicious beak, pulling in and out…
“Lady.”
A hand touched my wrist.
Sawford was watching me.
I swung my leg over the saddle and dismounted.
The ground came toward me at speed, drawing closer until I could make out a small stone across which a black beetle crawled, dragging its hind legs.
Its back, shiny and poisonous-looking, reminded me of my husband.
I closed my eyes again, wanting to obliterate everything, and a slow, pulsating, swirling sensation shifted my body as the ground beneath my feet began to spin.
My head began to pound, and I heard something— akin to a howling from within my mind, urging me to retreat from the world.
Desperate to succumb, I squeezed my eyes together more tightly, but a strong grip on my arms pulled me back.
I reached out and my hands met cloth, which I grasped to steady myself.
The spinning sensation faded, and I opened my eyes.
I was in Sawford’s arms, my hand curled into a fist, clinging to his sleeve.
I pushed him away, biting my lip to stop my voice from trembling, and eyed him with loathing. This was the man who, in all likelihood had given the order to murder Percy. Mayhap even it was his hand that had wielded the axe.
“The ground is uneven is it not?” Sawford spoke calmly, as if merely passing the time of say.
“Take your hands off me.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted his hand to my face and wiped his thumb across my bottom lip. I saw a smear of red on his thumb which he wiped on his sleeve.
“Take care, madam,” he said in a low voice. “Lord Mortlock does not like to see a flaw on his wife’s face.”
I turned my back on him and addressed my husband.
“I would beg to be excused so that I might dress for dinner.”
“Of course,” Mortlock croaked. “But first, come here.”
My body tightened with horror as he drew me to him.
His mouth covered mine and I heard a sharp intake of breath from Sawford.
Revulsion rippled through me as my husband ran his lips over mine and pushed his tongue in and out of my mouth.
He tasted of decay and evil, his breath a fog of putrefaction.
The kiss only lasted a brief moment, but I felt tainted and unclean, as if the sickness of his mind would permeate my soul and condemn me to hell.
He broke off the kiss and chuckled.
“You see, Sawford,” he said. “My wife is repulsed by a bastard and pushes you away. Yet her noble husband is not thus rejected. She has discerning tastes.”
“Aye, she has.”
I bowed my head at my husband and ignoring Sawford, turned and walked across the stable yard.
Only after I entered the building, assured of my solitude, did I break into a run.
When I reached my room I burst through the door and collapsed on the floor, retching.
The ground began to spin again, and I gasped for air, my vision dimming.
Once again, darkness rushed toward me, but this time I welcomed it, knowing it to be the precursor to oblivion.
I opened my eyes as a cool hand touched the side of my face, and I jerked my head up in fright.
“Shhh, lady. ’Tis me.”
Harwyn sat beside me on the floor, cradling my head in her lap. Grief overcame me as she stroked my forehead, making soothing noises. She sang to me softly, and I clung to her, my body shaking with sobs.
When I quietened, she helped me sit up. The sorrow and compassion in her eyes only made my tears return.
“Poor young man. He did nothing wrong. Yet my insane husband and his vile servant mutilated his body.”
“Shhh, lady, I beg you not speak of it so loudly,” Harwyn said. “Why do you think they killed him? Might he have been the author of the letters?”
I shook my head. “Nay, Harwyn. Percy was simply a kind, young man, loyal to the king, who showed me friendship and was murdered for it. I know not who Tarvin is but I must ask him to stop writing to me. He puts himself in danger.”
“He puts you in danger.”
She held out her hand, and I took it, letting her pull me to a standing position.
“Lady, though you have not seen this Tarvin, do you love him?”
“I cannot afford to, Harwyn,” I said. “I can’t risk loving anyone here.”
A sob rose in my throat. “Oh, Harwyn, ’tis all too much! How can I continue this charade of feigning indifference? I know what happens here: evil, treachery, and the murder of innocents.”
“Lady, you must be strong. You’ve survived this far and your Maman would be proud of you.” Harwyn lowered her voice. “Lord Mortlock is an old man. He won’t live forever. Not all lords are like your husband—or your father.”
“Aye, Harwyn, but my husband has family. His cousin Wulfric de Tourrard would inherit.”
“Then you must ensure that he has no influence over you.”
I shook my head. “The only way to achieve that, Harwyn, is to leave here after my husband dies…”
Someone knocked on the door and I startled. Whomever it was, had they heard us?
Harwyn opened it to reveal Sawford, his powerful frame towering over her.
“I have come to escort Lady Mortlock to the solar.”
“But she’s dressed for dinner.” Harwyn protested.
“She is to dine alone with her husband tonight.”
I shivered at the prospect of spending an entire evening in the solar with my husband, but I tilted my chin and regarded Sawford haughtily.
“I can find my own way there. I’m sure one such as yourself has duties elsewhere.”
He raised an eyebrow sardonically. “One such as myself?”
“Aye—a bastard.”
His jaw ticked, though his expression remained impassive. He narrowed his eyes and offered his hand. When I took it, he stroked my skin with his thumb. I caught a breath in my throat but stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him while he delivered me to my husband.
At the threshold of the solar, Sawford pulled me to him, his voice laced with warning.
“I advise you to do everything your husband wishes tonight, no matter what it might be. Show nothing of the foolish behavior you displayed this afternoon.”
“You have no right to issue orders to your mistress,” I hissed. I tried to withdraw my hand but he gripped it more tightly.
“For the love of God, woman, do not be a fool. Heed my words. Remember what I told you about your husband.”
I did not understand his meaning but as he pushed me into the solar, a strange odor assaulted my senses. The odor was reminiscent of Sawford’s wound, when I’d first treated it—the stench of rotting flesh.
A table was set for three in the center of the room. Each placing had an eating knife and a trencher. On two of the trenchers someone had ladled out the venison stew eaten regularly at Mortlock and my husband sat in front of one of the trenchers, clad in his nightshirt.
On the third trencher—where the odor emitted from—someone had placed Percy’s head.
“Ah, my dear. Come and join us.” My husband beckoned to me. “Your lover and I are taking supper together and think it only fair you be permitted to partake. Sawford, bring her here.”
Sawford pushed me forward and sat me next to my husband.
“Eat, wife. ’Tis good stew.”
Bile rose in my throat. My hand trembling, I jabbed at a piece of meat with my knife. Holding it up, I tried to avoid looking at the thing on the table opposite me. Then, as I saw the small lump of flesh impaled on the tip of my knife, my mouth went dry, and I dropped it on the trencher.
“I believe the stew is too poor a fare for my wife tonight.”
Mortlock’s words were directed at Sawford who merely nodded, though his eyes were on me.
“Perhaps my wife wishes to retire tonight?”
My husband eyed me as a spider, about to drain the lifeblood from its prey. Suppressing my relief at being dismissed, I nodded.
“I would be grateful, husband.”
He gestured to Sawford again.
“Prepare her for me; and in my bed this time.”
“Aye my Lord.”
My stomach knitted with terror. Heaven help me! Did my husband wish me to lie with him? He continued eating, making casual comments about the taste of the sauce and the cut of the meat, while Sawford undressed me before laying me out on the bed, as if I were being placed on a sacrificial altar.
“Good, Sawford,” my husband rasped. “Now leave us.”
Much as I hated Sawford, the prospect of being left alone with Lord Mortlock terrified me. I looked up at him, unable to conceal the plea in my eyes.
“My Lord,” Sawford began, “might I suggest…”