Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Iwoke to find myself lying on my cot which rocked gently as if I were in a boat. As I sat up the rocking intensified and the world swirled before me. I collapsed back, my heart hammering in my chest.
I had been drugged again.
“So, you’re awake.” A woman’s voice spoke, coarse and unfriendly—a voice I recognized.
“Celia,” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“I have replaced the traitor.”
My poor Harwyn. What would I do without her?
“I need no maid, Celia. Leave me.”
“No,” she retorted, “I am to look after you until your brat is born. Lord Mortlock knows the difference between a loyal servant and a treacherous bitch. Or should that be two treacherous bitches. You do as I say.”
I rolled onto my side. My prison walls had closed around me. Celia would not help me; instead, she would relish the chance to wield any power she might have over me.
As for Tarvin—with the note discovered, how long before he shared Harwyn’s fate?
Forgive me, Tarvin.
“What did you say?” Celia demanded, but I closed my eyes, letting the drug coursing through my veins give me peace again, if only for a while.
From then on, I found myself confined to my room and forbidden to venture out.
My senses were almost permanently dulled.
During brief moments of clarity when alone, I fumbled about the chamber, seeking a way out, but the door was always locked.
The window was large enough for me to climb through, but when I looked out, the ground far below swirled before my eyes, increasing the nausea that constantly threatened to expel the contents of my stomach.
Each time I bent over, retching, I struggled not to be sick, knowing that it would burn my throat and subject me to Celia’s punishments.
Had I been on my own, I would have risked falling to my death to climb out. But the urge to protect the life inside me was too strong. I could not risk my child. There had to be another means of escape.
Celia fetched my meals, feeding me herself to ensure I ate and drank everything. For my own sake I would have refused, but I submitted for the sake of the babe.
After each meal, the food lay heavy in my stomach and I fell asleep almost as soon as I had eaten, but I welcomed the oblivion of sleep that gave me some respite from the world.
Each day Celia grew more confident in her cruelty, her eyes glittering with glee as she told me how she would be rewarded after the babe was born and I was disposed of.
I ignored her taunts, became numb to her rough handling when she dragged me to the privy to see to my private needs.
Sometimes, on the brink of oblivion, I saw dark shapes moving.
Muffled voices surrounded me, punctuated by howling noises; wild animals and demons marking my descent into madness.
As time passed, the air within the thick walls of my chamber grew colder, signaling the end of summer.
Celia grew lazy, letting me feed myself, watching me with scornful eyes.
She laughed at my attempts to rise, mocking me as I stumbled across to the food.
On one occasion my hands shook so much that I spilled the stew.
She strode over and slapped me on the side of my head.
“Disgusting wench!” she cried. “I shall have to clean up your mess. I’m not paid enough to put up with one such as you.”
She flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
The pain where she struck me honed my senses and the sound of the door closing was sharp and clear.
I took a deep breath, and my head almost cleared: the air in my lungs brought forth a moment of lucidity.
I was neither ill nor insane. Perhaps they were still drugging me—to keep me docile.
I picked up the flagon of wine, staggered to the window and threw the contents out before finishing my meal.
Over the next few days I continued to dispose of the wine when Celia’s attention was elsewhere and I began to feel better.
I played my part carefully, stumbling against Celia when she helped me up and lying still on my cot when she was in the room, feigning sleep and resting to conserve my strength.
On the third day after I threw the wine away the source of the demonic noises was revealed. I woke one afternoon to the sound of a beast being speared.
Opening my eyes, I saw Celia pressed against the door, her head twisted to one side, mouth wide open revealing blackened teeth.
The noise had come from her—guttural sounds of animal pleasure as the man behind her drove into her relentlessly.
I squeezed my eyes shut but the sound only magnified.
The pounding against the door increased in unison with Celia’s howls though the man was oddly silent apart from his breathing which came out in harsh puffs.
Celia’s scream pierced the air, and the pounding stopped. I heard a rustle of clothes before she spoke, the desperate need for reassurance in her voice.
“Did I please you?”
“Well enough.”
It was Wyatt. His terse answer was followed by the sound of coins clinking.
“Surely I pleased you better than that?”
“’Tis more than you are worth.”
I heard the door open and slam shut. After a pause, Celia spoke again, lowering her voice to a sultry tone.
“And what of the pleasures I can give you? You know my worth, do you not?”
Another man was in the room.
He said nothing but must have responded somehow, because she continued, her tone sulky.
“Then why did you agree to meet me if only to give me to Wyatt? It’s you I want. I told you I am willing, and I would let you give me your seed.”
“I will father no bastards.”
The voice was Sawford’s.
“What about the brat that bitch over there carries?”
I almost flinched at the hatred in Celia’s voice but Sawford merely laughed.
“The child is Mortlock’s, Celia. Anyone claiming otherwise risks their neck.”
“But she’s had a lover—perhaps she’s had many. Have you bedded her?”
“I have no time for haughty ladies, Celia,” Sawford said. “I despise them and all they stand for. I prefer my women lush and earthy.
“But you want her?”
“Jealous, love?” His tone was mocking yet Celia persisted.
“She’s not the woman for you, Vane. Not like your Celia…”
“No woman shall lay claim to me,” he replied, “not even you. I take who I want whenever I want.”
“Do not take her, Vane,” she murmured, her voice thick with seduction.
I heard the crack of a hand striking flesh.
“You bastard! You dare hit me?”
“I do what I please, woman.” His voice rose in anger and I heard a scuffle before he struck her again.
“Get off me you bastard! I only kissed you!”
“I told you before I don’t kiss my women. Do not try it again! You think I would father my bastards with you when you use that term to belittle me?”
“Then take me for a wife,” Celia pleaded, “I can give you endless nights of pleasure in your bed—bear many sons.”
“You’re a whore, Celia, only fit to be rutted in the dirt on your knees.”
“You liked me well enough in the past.”
The coaxing tone returned to Celia’s voice.
“Fawning does not become you—you who freely give your pleasures to every man in the castle, nay, the country.” Sawford’s voice turned into a snarl. “Get out and find another willing to settle for soiled goods.”
“And leave you in here with her?”
“I said get out!” Sawford roared. I heard a curse and scrambling feet before the door slammed shut.
The cot shifted under his weight, and he sat beside me, the warmth from his body seeping into mine. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to open my eyes.
His hand touched my arm. The gentleness with which he brushed his fingers over me contrasted sharply with the cruelty of his words to Celia.
His touch was so delicate that I almost couldn’t feel it, yet my skin tightened with want.
He flattened his hand and moved it slowly, tentatively, toward my rounded belly.
The child within me moved, and he drew in a sharp breath.
My instincts took over, and I moved my hand to protect my baby.
Sawford’s body stiffened. Then the cot shifted again as he stood. The door opened, and he issued a sharp order before he moved back to the cot.
“I will tell Lord Mortlock to expect you at his side tonight. I have sent for someone to help you dress.”
Not waiting for an answer he left the room. I cursed his arrogant confidence; expecting me to comply, he did not even deign to argue the point.
That evening he came to deliver me to my husband.
I wore my pale gray silk gown through which my swollen belly was more visible.
Though I loathed Sawford, I was thankful that he had sent Edith to dress me.
Her hands would never be as gentle as my beloved Harwyn’s but she lacked Celia’s streak of cruelty; Celia who had taken pleasure in tugging my hair viciously as she drove the comb into my scalp.
Still unsteady on my feet, I clung to Sawford’s arm as he led me to the dining hall. We walked past the trestle tables while the men stood, watching me in silence until we reached my husband who sat on his ornately carved chair, two empty places either side of him.
“Ah, wife. I’m glad to see you recovered from your—illness.”
I sat beside him, repressing a shudder as his clammy fingers circled my wrist, the nails biting into my skin. A servant approached with a flagon of wine but Sawford waved him away before sitting at Mortlock’s other side.
“Quite so, Sawford,” my husband said. “My wife has had enough of our wine, has she not?”
The company continued to watch us, some of the men shifting their feet as they stood waiting.
My husband cleared his throat.
“I am pleased to tell you that my wife has recovered from her illness and can grace us with her presence again.”
A polite ripple threaded through the room.
“I also wish for you to share our joy. Tonight I announce that we are soon to be furnished with an heir.”
A cheer rose. Some of the men stamped their feet while others banged their wine cups and tankards on the tables.
I searched their faces, to see if any of them showed recognition, but I saw none.
No evidence signaled that Tarvin was in the hall.
My gaze rested on Sir Baldwin, the knight Percy had served; but he was engrossed in conversation with Wyatt.
At a signal from Mortlock the company sat down.
Platters, trenchers and wine cups were filled, and everyone began to eat.
My husband held a piece of meat to my lips.
“I trust you understand, wife, that as you have no more need of my good wine and are now more precious to me than ever, I must assign some of my men to—hmm—protect you.”
His smile did not reach his eyes. He knew that I had discarded the drugged wine. I looked past him at Sawford, loathing him with every fiber of my being.
His betrayal had cost me my only advantage. Rather than trust the drug to keep me submissive, I would now be guarded. Mortlock ate the stew with gusto while I picked at it with my knife.
He drained his wine, and the red liquid ran down his chin, as Harwyn’s life essence had flooded over her shoulders.
As if he could see the image in my mind, he smiled and licked his lips.
The slurping smacking sound turned my stomach.
I looked away in disgust and he chuckled.
I flinched as he touched my shoulder, tracing a line with his fingertip across the front of my gown, dipping his finger in the valley between my breasts.
“I am glad you are recovered, wife, for I have missed you. I shall greatly enjoy your company later tonight.”
He stood up, instructing Sawford to return me to my room and send for Celia to prepare me.