Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Neither my husband nor Sawford said anything in particular to me during the evening meal, but I struggled to maintain my composure as I swallowed each mouthful of stew and dared not look in Sawford’s direction.
After the stew had been cleared away my husband waved a servant over who placed a dish in front of me, laden with honeyed figs. They were my favorite food, but a wave if nausea gripped me as I picked one up.
“Do you like them?”
Under the fetid, watchful gaze of my husband, I bit into the fig. The rich, sweet flavor burst on my tongue and the sticky, juice dribbled over my fingers.
“Aye, husband,” I said. “I thank you for your consideration.”
“I find them repulsive myself,” he replied. “Sawford, however, was very particular about serving them tonight.”
My eyes met Sawford’s and he dipped his thumb into the dish of figs in front of him and lifted it to his mouth, curling his tongue to lick the honey off, an echo of my wedding night when I had taken his thumb into my mouth.
I dropped my gaze and took a second fig, the sweet taste lessening the churning in my stomach.
My husband gave a low laugh. “It seems my wife has regained her appetite. You must be careful, my dear, not to overeat. A woman who takes too much food is in danger of losing her looks. And I like to look at my women. I do enjoy your visits to the solar.”
I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach.
After Sawford had left my room earlier, Harwyn had lifted my gown to inspect my thickening waist. I had cursed myself for having assumed the changes to my body had resulted from poisoning.
My monthly flow had not come since I’d arrived at Mortlock.
Sawford’s seed must have taken root almost as soon as he had taken me.
Which meant that I must be at least five months’ gone.
After supper concluded, my husband summoned me to the solar again.
This time, I was aware of my changing shape and its cause and as I bared myself to him, I prayed that he would not notice it himself.
But when Sawford returned me to my room I could not contain my fear.
With a deeper insight than my husband, Sawford had the ability to penetrate my innermost thoughts with a single, clear blue gaze.
But he showed no sign that he noticed—or that he’d overheard my earlier conversation with Harwyn.
Later, that night, after Sawford had left my chamber, I curled into a ball and wept with fear for the child growing within me and with shame at my reaction to Sawford’s skillful touch.
I had cried out and writhed underneath him as he touched every part of me with his hands and mouth, and I had pulled him to me as greedily as I’d plundered the bowl of figs, relishing the honey on his lips.
His touch had been gentle when he finally claimed me, easing into my body while he covered my mouth with his own.
His tenderness elicited a more passionate response than his brutality, and I groaned with the shame of revealing myself to him.
Had he been colder, rougher, I could have withstood it better.
Celia had spoken the truth. Kissing was too personal.
Not for Sawford, but for me. I had to get away from here before it was too late.
Not only did I fear that Sawford and I would be discovered, but I knew that if I stayed here much longer I would lose the strength of will to leave Mortlock Fort—to leave, him.
The next day I woke aching for the taste of the figs.
After sending Harwyn to the kitchens she returned with a small dish of honey and a piece of bread which I ate greedily, the rush of sweetness filling my mouth.
We spent the morning in the herb garden, replenishing our supplies before tying them up to dry in the treatment room.
Another note was slipped under the door and though Harwyn rushed to the door and flung it open she neither saw nor heard anyone. It was as if a ghost delivered them.
Another wave of nausea struck me, and I bent over, groaning. Harwyn admonished me for working too hard and insisted I go outside for some fresh air. I needed little persuasion and within moments I was on the path to the wild garden. I felt a flutter in my stomach and placed my hand over it.
My child…
The need to escape was more acute now I had another to think of; an innocent life for whom I was responsible.
Sitting by my tree I opened Tarvin’s note.
He told me to be brave, but what would he think when he discovered I carried another man’s child—the child of a servant?
Would he call me whore as Papa did—as Sawford did?
Unobserved I could let my mask slip and surrender to emotion, and a sob escaped my lips.
“My poor child. How I wish your father was another. Oh Tarvin! Where are you?”
I heard a noise and looked up. My stomach clenched in fear, as I saw a dark mass moving among the trees. I was being watched.
“Who’s there?” My voice sounded feeble. The shape moved and I forced myself to step toward it, fumbling in my skirts for my knife.
“Show yourself!” I cried, more boldly than I felt. I drew the knife and moved toward the trees and the shape became more defined. A man.
“Tarvin? Tarvin!”
He broke into a run. By the time I reached the edge of the trees he was gone. Was there nowhere I could find solace, away from prying eyes?
I returned to my room, caring neither for subterfuge nor discretion.
I scribbled a note pleading with Tarvin to take Harwyn and me as far away from Mortlock as possible.
Harwyn begged me to be cautious but I was desperate.
I wrote that I had fallen in love with him and if he refused to help I would leave of my own accord and seek sanctuary in a convent.
With hindsight it was a reckless act, but the need for freedom was too strong.
By revealing my loyalties I had placed my life in Tarvin’s hands, hoping he would be spurred into action by my declaration of love.
But if he failed to act, then I would leave of my own accord.
Eager to keep me from danger and discovery, Harwyn bade me wait in my chamber, promising to conceal my letter in its usual place behind the stables.
I felt another stirring in my belly and placed my hands over it, wanting nothing more than to protect the precious life within.
I lay on my bed, drawing my knees up, whispering softly to the babe I carried.
In my na?veté I imagined a time when I was far from here, settled in safe obscurity, away from intrigue and treachery, my child in my arms and Tarvin by my side.
Closing my eyes I could picture it—a small dwelling in the middle of a lush green countryside. I could almost smell the fresh air; see the ears of wheat in the fields surrounding our home, nodding gently in the breeze while we walked among them, hand in hand.
The pounding on my chamber door brought me to my senses. Before I could call out, the door burst open, and Wyatt rushed in.
“What are you thinking of; disturbing me like this?” I said. “Where is my maid?”
He took me by the arm and I winced at the roughness of his touch. “You are to come with me immediately.”
“For what purpose?”
“Your husband demands it.”
“But—”
“Be quiet, woman.”
“You have no right to address me so,” I said, the anger in my voice tainted by the undertone of panic.
Ignoring my words, he pulled me to my feet. Tightening his grip on my arm, he strode out of the chamber and I struggled to keep up without tripping.
“At least tell me where you’re taking me,” I said, fighting the rising dread.
“Lord Mortlock instructed me to tell you nothing.”
Wyatt took me to the courtyard. Had his hold on my arm not been so firm I would have collapsed with fear at the sight awaiting me. Two men-at-arms held a crying, whimpering figure, its shoulders hunched and head bent. My husband, standing beside them, beckoned to me.
“Ah, here she comes. Wife, we have a traitress in our midst.”
The figure between the men groaned and lifted its head up. The face was bruised and battered, almost beyond recognition, but it was a face I knew and loved.
“Harwyn.”
My voice came out in a tight whisper and my husband smiled.
“Aye, my dear. We caught her delivering a missive to your lover.”
“Forgive me!” Harwyn cried, her voice thick with pain.
Then one of the men delivered a kick to her side and she let out a scream.
“No!” I cried. “Leave her alone! She has done nothing wrong.”
“Silence, wife, unless you want the same.”
“I don’t have a lover. Let her go,” I pleaded, but my husband shook his head.
“She has betrayed you, my dear.”
He held up my letter to Tarvin, and Harwyn’s body shook with sobs.
“It took little persuasion for her to tell us of your plans to leave” my husband continued. “She was gracious enough to show us where she had concealed your letter.”
He moved toward me until his face almost touched mine, then he lifted his hand, running a finger along my lips.
“I am disappointed to find you to be as much of a whore as my other wives. But we can remedy that when you share their fate.”
“My lord,” a familiar quiet voice resonated behind me.
“Ah, Sawford,” my husband said. “You are just in time to administer justice upon two more traitors.”
Sawford raised his eyebrows. “Two?”
“It seems the mare sought freedom. Here.”
Mortlock handed the note to Sawford whose eyes narrowed as he read the words I had written.
“You know what to do, Sawford. I want them both executed immediately.”
Harwyn wailed piteously at Mortlock’s words and I struggled against Wyatt’s hold.
“Let my maid go, my lord,” I pleaded, “’twas not her doing.”
“Nay,” he said, “’tis time I found a new wife.”
Sawford folded the note, keeping his gaze trained on me.
“My lord, put the servant to death if you will. But, as to your wife, I would counsel you to wait at least until after the birth of your child.”
Wyatt let out a low hiss and increased the pressure on my arm.
My husband tilted his head to one side and blinked. Then, a slow smile curled across his lips.
“My wife is with child?”
I drew in a sharp breath. Amid Harwyn’s sobbing my husband let out a chuckle. Then he took my chin in his hand, digging his fingertips into my flesh, and forced my head up.
“Is this true? Woman?”
“Aye,” I whispered.
“Then she has performed her duty. Sawford, has she been examined?”
“Aye, my lord.”
I did not know why Sawford lied but hoped I could turn it to my advantage. I pleaded with my eyes, hoping news of a child might instill some compassion in my husband’s heart.
“I-I will need a maidservant, husband, to care for me. Harwyn tended to my mother throughout her confinement. Y-you would want to ensure the child is born healthy, w-would you not…my lord?”
Mortlock narrowed his eyes and paused. Then, at length, he nodded his assent and my body sighed with relief.
“Thank you my lord,” I said, I…”
My husband interrupted. “I shall find a replacement among the wenches in the castle.”
“No!” I cried.
“Sawford, deal with my wife,” Mortlock said. “Wyatt, the axe.”
Wyatt handed me to Sawford who circled his arm around my waist, pulling me against his hard body. He dipped his head and whispered harshly in my ear, his hot breath tightening the skin of my neck.
“Do not struggle, madam, or ’twill be the worse for you. You are still at risk of sharing your maid’s fate.”
I wanted to close my eyes but could not. Instead I watched, a morbid little corner of my soul transfixed, as they dragged Harwyn toward a thick, wooden block. At her feet, a small puddle of liquid began to form, spreading across the dirt.
Wyatt approached her brandishing an axe, its iron head catching in the sunlight where the blade had been honed. Its sharp, cutting edge curled into a sadistic smile to match the leer on my husband’s lips.
They pushed Harwyn to her knees and held her head against the block while she wailed and struggled.
“Harwyn, be brave!” I cried, “Heaven awaits—”
I was cut short as Sawford’s hand clamped over my mouth.
“Be quiet, madam. Heed my warning.”
My poor maid’s body shook as terror overcame her.
When the first blow fell, I shuddered, almost feeling the iron on my own neck.
A strangled cry told me that the blade had not struck cleanly, and I prayed the next blow would be fatal and deliver her a swift death.
The second caught her across the shoulders, and her arms twitched against the force of it.
Sawford’s hand muffled my screams and tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision.
Wyatt raised the axe once more and this time he struck cleanly. Harwyn’s head fell to the ground and rolled toward my husband’s feet.
He gave a grunt of satisfaction, and nodded. “Good. Wyatt, see to it that the servant receives the same treatment as the other traitor. Sawford, my wife is in need of her rest. Make sure she does not place herself or my child in danger. Methinks she is in need of much…protection.”
My gown became too tight, constricting my chest. Sawford loosened his hold, and I stumbled, my legs unable to support my weight. My heartbeat rushed inside my head before the ground gave way under me.
The last thing I saw before the door closed between the world and my consciousness was a pair of dark blue eyes looking into my own. I fought my body’s instincts to shut down and looked at him with loathing.
“You will burn in hell for this,” I choked.
“Aye, doubtless I will,” he said quietly, and swept me into his arms before blackness engulfed me.