Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Asulky Celia escorted me to the solar. When I opened my chamber door to find her standing before me, I noticed a darkening bruise on her cheek.
Despite her hatred of me, I could not suppress a small spark of compassion for her, even though she had brought her own misery upon herself.
But, as women, we were victims of the men who owned us, though we would never unite against our common enemy.
But, the balance of power between us had shifted in my favor and I needed to maintain it to survive.
As we reached the door to the solar, I dismissed her with a sharp word.
After pleasuring himself, my husband beckoned me closer until he could touch me.
Then he rubbed my belly, licking his lips with relish as if he wanted to devour the little life growing inside.
I couldn’t bear the thought of my child being subjected to a life with him.
Worse, still, was the idea of my child growing up to be like the man who would acknowledge him as his heir.
Him. Now I felt the babe move almost daily I imagined him growing into a fine man. But, a life at Mortlock Fort would corrupt him. His soul would rot and decay from the evil surrounding him until he mirrored my husband’s twisted form.
I could not let that happen. Not only would I die to protect my child, I would also be prepared to kill. I still had my knife.
After I returned to my chamber with Sawford, he pushed me inside and tugged at my nightshift.
“Take it off,” he demanded.
I backed away until I met the hard resistance of the door. Visions of Celia slammed against the wood while Wyatt rutted her from behind flashed across my mind.
“No.” I held out my hands to fend him off. “You have done the deed and my husband knows it. I am with child. You have no need to touch me again.”
“You forget, madam, I only receive my reward on the birth of a healthy son. Until then I see no reason why I should not seek my pleasure where and with whom I see fit.”
“Then find one who is willing,” I snarled. “I’m sure Celia would oblige.”
“Jealous, love?”
I turned my head away at the same derisory tone he’d used on Celia, but he took my chin in his hand and pulled me to him until our mouths met.
His hard body radiated heat into my own flesh, and he let out a low groan before teasing my lips with his tongue.
He played my body with his hands, caressing me where he knew he could elicit sighs of pleasure.
He brushed his hand against my breasts before teasing them with his fingertips, sending shocks of desire coursing through me.
My body melted, and I opened my lips to invite him in while he ravaged my senses with his tongue, probing, searching my mouth until I gave a sob of surrender and drew my arms around him.
“I have found one who is willing,” he whispered, then he tore my nightshift down the front and dropping the remnants on the floor.
“Leave me alone,” I whimpered, covering myself with my hands, shivering at the rush of cold on my bare skin. “You will harm the babe.”
He laughed softly. “You underestimate my talents. I know how to pleasure all manner of mares, in all sizes and shapes.”
He drew me toward the bed and pulled his clothes off, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Please,” I begged one last time as he lay beside me.
“For what do you beg, lady? For me to take you?”
“No,” I said quietly, “for compassion.”
“Look not for compassion here, for you will find none.”
He kissed me before turning me on my side, my back to him.
His powerful frame imprisoned me. He began to caress me again, running his hand across my body in soft, sweeping movements, teasing my breasts until they ached with longing, touching my belly possessively before dipping lower.
My very core jolted with longing as he slipped his hand between my legs, before easing a finger inside me.
My body pulsed with desire, and he growled with pleasure as I clutched the sheets, burning need surpassing my shame at responding so wantonly to his touch.
“Mine.”
The soft rumble of his voice against my neck sent a rush of longing through my body, igniting my flesh which rippled under his expert touch. I clenched my teeth but couldn’t suppress the low growl of pleasure that erupted from my throat, my body calling to him.
“Lean back,” he whispered.
My body involuntarily obeyed the soft command, and I tipped my head back.
He claimed my mouth with his own and continued to administer his exquisite torture, eyes darkening, mouth capturing every whimper that escaped my lips as each slick circle he traced drew me closer to completion.
I felt him hot and hard against my back before he teased my legs apart and took me swiftly and smoothly.
His movements inside me were so unlike the base, hard thrusting I had expected. But he was merely using his gentleness as a weapon. My body might be weak against his brutality, but it was his tenderness that conquered my mind and soul.
He seemed to know how to draw me to the brink of pleasure, to that moment of madness which preceded the dissolution into ecstasy. Urging him to move faster, I arched my back, offering myself to him, caring only for my body’s need to have him deep within me.
He smiled against my mouth and stopped moving.
“No!”
The pleasure began to fade. I shifted my legs wider, reaching for his hand, urging him to continue.
He pulled his mouth away from mine and whispered in my ear.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
Unable to respond I parted my thighs wider, but he began to withdraw.
“Please…”
“Tell me, Lisetta.”
“Yes!” I cried, “I’m yours.”
Nipping my earlobe, he dipped his hand between my folds again while my sensitive flesh quivered at his touch before he slammed into me and my world exploded.
My body’s reaction caught me unawares, sending wave after wave of exquisite, pleasurable torture.
My legs writhed and danced as I cried out with the force of it.
The deep pulsing within my core grew more powerful, crossing between agony and pleasure.
Sawford’s cries matched my own, as if he felt the same agonies as I, until he let out a shout, his hands tightening their hold on me while he drove into me one last time with a deep sigh.
We lay there, utterly exhausted, my heart thudding in my chest. Sawford’s breath, fiery and erratic, brushed against my neck.
His own heartbeat pulsed against my back, and he molded his body against mine, wrapping his arms around me.
At length, our breathing eased until our chests rose and fell together in unison, joined together as if we were a single creature.
He moved his arm until his hand rested lightly on my swollen belly where the life within slept on, undisturbed by what had happened on the bed.
Before sleep overtook me he murmured into my ear.
“Mine.”
I woke the next morning with a clear head, to the sound of knocking. I had slept well, experiencing no nightmares.
Someone was outside the door. I tried to move but could not. Sawford lay beside me, cradling my body with his own, his embrace protecting rather than possessive. He had remained by my side throughout the night.
Stirring in his sleep, he caressed my belly, a loving, gentle gesture. Soft feathered kisses brushed against my neck, and he murmured my name, his voice thick with emotion.
“Lisetta…”
The knocking grew louder and Sawford’s body stiffened.
“Lady!” Celia called from outside and Sawford leaped from the cot and gathered his clothes. There was no time to question why he had remained beside me during the night; the danger of discovery was too great.
“A moment, Celia,” I called out before gesturing to Sawford.
“Get under the cot,” I whispered, pulling the sheet over my body to hide my nakedness.
He only just made it in time. His foot disappeared under the bed as the door opened and Celia entered.
“I have come to dress you,” she said, not bothering to hide her dislike.
“I find myself indisposed this morning, Celia. Pray tell my husband this.”
She gave me a sly smile, “I will find Sawford and tell him.”
“No!” Her eyes widened at my reaction before her mouth curled into a smile.
“Aye, I will, lady. He would welcome me into his room—and his bed.”
“Don’t be a fool, Celia.” She stiffened at my tone of authority.
“Go to Mortlock directly,” I continued. “Say I shall be well enough tomorrow.”
She looked at me, dislike in her eyes, and I straightened my stance, glaring at her. Some of my old resolve returned, and I became, once again, the ice cold mistress rather than a weak rival.
“Do as you are bid,” I said with a cruel edge to my voice. “As the mother of Mortlock’s heir I have more value than a lazy disobedient servant. A word or two in the wrong ear and you could find yourself on a pike. After all, one whore is easily replaced by another.”
She paled at my words but fear for her own skin overcame her urge to retaliate, and she fled.
I leaned over the bed.
“Begone before you share their fate also,” I whispered. “Be quick!”
He rolled out from underneath and slipped his clothes on before handing over my torn nightshift. He cupped my face with his hand.
“Is your heart softening, lady?”
“I want no more deaths on my conscience.”
His eyes narrowed. A glimmer of emotion swam in their depths before his usual, dispassionate expression took over.
“You forget, your maid brought about her demise herself,” he said. “She betrayed you. She was weak-minded and treacherous, as all women are.”
“Not all of us, Monsieur,” I said bitterly. “Your hatred for women blinds you.”
“Hatred? Of women? Far from it. I enjoy them frequently. But I understand better than others what your purpose is—to serve a man’s needs and nothing more. Women with ideas outside their station are either whores or lovesick fools.”
“And which am I?”
“I shall leave that for you to decide.”
He smiled, tracing an invisible line with his fingertip down my throat to the swell of my breasts before he reached a nipple and flicked it with his thumb, curling his lip into a smile as it peaked under his touch.
Leaning forward, he kissed my cheek before taking my earlobe between his lips where he had bitten it the night before, marking me as his.
“Remember who you belong to.”
He bowed and left the room.
We were playing a dangerous game. My worth as the bearer of Mortlock’s heir was not limitless, nor would it last forever.
After he had gone, I noticed a piece of paper on the floor near my cot. It must have fallen out of Sawford’s pocket, for it was my last letter to Tarvin; the letter that had condemned Harwyn to death.
With trembling hands I picked it up and held it against my breast before concealing it in my trunk where I had hidden all the notes and poems Tarvin had written to me over the months.
Was he alive?
Over the next month I did not see Sawford.
It was as if he had disappeared. Had my husband finally discovered the identity of the stallion?
Had Sawford shared Harwyn’s fate? While Celia saw to my needs, I watched her carefully for a sign that she knew anything.
But she remained sullen and quiet, and I dared not ask.
Though I was not permitted to venture outside, my husband granted me freedom within the confines of the building.
He did not summon me to the solar again but insisted I dine with him each night.
He seemed to grow daily in strength and stature, eating his meals with an increasingly voracious appetite.
The very air was thick with anticipation.
There was a lot of activity among the men, their excited whispers echoing in the stone passages.
I saw Baldwin and Wyatt thick in conversation.
It sickened me to see the knight chatting amiably with the very man who had tortured and mutilated the young man who’d served him.
Sawford was noticeable by his absence. To my surprise my heart ached with regret at the possibility that he might be dead. I found myself laying awake in my cot, waiting for the candles to die while they cast flickering lights that danced across the ceiling.
My body ached as I tried to sleep, as if it were stretching around the child.
But I dared not ask for anything to relieve the pain.
My beloved Harwyn would have brought me an infusion and soothed my aching limbs with her gentle hands.
But I couldn’t bear the thought of Celia touching me.
She had every reason to want me to lose the child—every reason to see me die before my child arrived into the world.
As for after my child arrived when Mortlock had no further use for me.
..how long would it be before I joined Harwyn in death?
Such thoughts plagued me each night as I drifted into sleep while the flames flickered and died, the faint odor of smoke and oil in my nostrils.
A noise woke me and I opened my eyes. Dawn had yet to come—my chamber was in almost total darkness.
I turned my head toward the window from which a faint blue light came, picking out the shapes of the stones in the wall.
The moon hung low in the sky, bathing the landscape in a cold light, but there was a faint flicker of warmth in the air—a hint of orange.
A shadow moved across the window and I froze.
My stomach swirled with fear and I held my breath.
Outside I heard a scream—some small animal, perhaps, being caught by a night hunter.
I closed my eyes, willing the tremors in my body to cease, and began to count: one, two, three, four…
But before I reached five, I heard a light footstep.
I froze. Casting my gaze about my chamber I strained to see if anyone was there.
But I saw nothing. It must have been a nightmare, born of my imagination.
I exhaled and lay back on the bed, willing my body to stop trembling and, at length, my heartrate steadied and I exhaled, closing my eyes awaiting the sweet release of sleep.
Then a large hand covered my mouth and I felt the cold steel of a blade against my throat. I opened my eyes to see a pair of familiar blue eyes glittering savagely in the darkness.
It was Sawford.
“What…” I began, then let out a whimper as he pressed his knife against my skin.
“Come with me now, lady,” Sawford said, “or you die tonight.”