Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m going to remove my hand,” Sawford said, quietly, “but one sound from you and I shall tie a gag so tight that you’ll struggle to breathe. Do you understand?”
I stared at him, gripped by fear. He grasped my shoulder and gave me a shake.
“Answer me!”
I nodded. “I-I understand.”
“Get up,” he said. “Now.”
I rubbed my eyes then felt a soft thud against my chest as Sawford threw something at me.
“Put that on.”
Before I could answer, he approached my door and looked outside, body tense, as if in readiness to spring into action.
I struggled to my feet, then donned the garments—a brown kirtle and overgown. They were made from a rough, homespun material and I was glad of my nightshift, for they prickled my skin, even through the soft silk.
Noises came from the passageway outside—voices, a sharp cry, and a clash of metal on metal.
“What’s happening?” I said.
“I told you to be quiet,” Sawford snapped, still looking outside.
“But…” I began and he interrupted.
“A traitor dies tonight.”
His voice was as cold as the steel blade he’d held against my throat and my instincts told me that I would never set foot in my chamber again.
I crossed the floor to my trunk and opened it. Nestled among the gowns was a sheaf of papers, my most treasured possession. Tarvin’s letters. I picked them up, then tucked them down the front of my gown, where they lay against my heart. Would I ever hear from him again?
Then, I took my knife and slipped it into the belt of the kirtle, concealing it beneath the overgown. As I smoothed down the skirt, Sawford took my wrist and pulled me to him.
“’Tis time to leave,” he said. “Remain silent, and do everything I say.”
He led me through the door and followed the passage to the end, dragging me with him.
I struggled to keep up with his long strides, and stumbled against him, but he only increased the pace.
A blurred shape lay ahead on the floor. As we drew near, the shape took form and I recognized one of Mortlock’s men.
His body lay twisted and broken, legs akimbo, mouth wide open, sightless eyes staring directly at me.
“Dear God!” I cried. “What is happening?”
“Hush!” Sawford snarled, tightening his grip on my wrist. “Do you want to share his fate?”
Not waiting for an answer, he stepped over the body, pulling me after him, and I shuddered as my foot caught on the man’s body.
The smell of smoke and oil that I believed that I’d imagined in my chamber, now burned in my nostrils and stung my eyes.
The memory of my mother forced itself into my mind—the image of her standing on the pyre, holding her head high and lifting her gaze to the heavens to greet her fate with dignity, before succumbing to the pain, as the flames licked up against her gown.
A traitor dies tonight.
Death by fire…
Sawford was leading me to my death.
Unable to fight the swell of panic, I tried to break free of his grip.
“No!” I cried, struggling, “Dear God have mercy, no!”
I would face death when the time came but not now, not when I had a child to protect. I lashed out like a wild animal caught in a snare, screaming for mercy.
The screaming intensified. The crackling of the flames and cries of pain from men who knew they were meeting their death swirled inside my head, beating out a rhythm before culminating in a sharp crack that plunged me into blackness.
When I opened my eyes I was outside. The whole landscape seemed to glow with a deep orange color. Flames spilled out of the windows of the Fort, curling along the walls to dance in the night air, sending sparks and smoke into the sky. The whole building was ablaze.
Thunder roared in my ears and my jaw throbbed with pain.
I let out a soft groan. A hand grasped my wrist then pulled me upright, and I came face to face with Sawford.
He touched my chin where he had struck me, and sighed as I flinched.
Our eyes met, mine smarting from the smoke, his showing a flicker of emotion—regret, perhaps?
—before they hardened and he lowered his hand.
“It was necessary.”
He took my hand and led me away from the building. We were outside the bailey, at the edge of the moat where it was narrowest at the back of the Fort. He gestured toward the dark water.
“Can you swim?”
“Aye.”
“Then jump.”
I pulled away. “No.”
“Does a lady not care to get her feet wet?” he mocked. “We cross the water now, or I leave you here at the mercy of Mortlock’s men.”
I turned my back on him and jumped. The shock of the cold pierced me like a knife.
The woolen gown hampered my limbs, and I struggled to stay afloat.
Was death by water a worse fate than death by fire?
A splash beside me signaled Sawford’s entry.
Strong hands took hold of me, and he swam across the water, supporting me until we reached the other side.
He scrambled out and pulled me up after him before we set off at a run again.
I was almost grateful for the hard pace; my limbs began to warm with the exercise.
At length, we reached the edge of the forest where a large black horse was tethered by a tree.
The animal pricked its ears up on seeing us.
Behind the saddle, bulging panniers had been strapped to the horse. Sawford had prepared for this.
“Please,” I whispered. “Tell me what is happening.”
“Your husband is a traitor,” he replied, his tone savage, “and tonight the traitor was betrayed.”
“By you?” I whispered. “Mon Dieu.”
He gave a cold laugh, “I think you’ll find that God is on my side tonight.”
“But innocent lives will die! Servants, children…” I cried, thinking of Cedric, still a boy.
“The casualties of war.”
“I hate you,” I said with all the passion I could muster, “God would never be on the side of a man who caused such destruction. The Devil himself would gladly walk beside you after what you have done.”
“Enough!” he roared, pushing me toward his mount. “Get up on the saddle. I have no time for tattle.”
A shout rang out from behind.
“Sawford! You treacherous bastard!”
I turned to see Wyatt running toward us, brandishing a sword.
Sawford pushed me aside then reached into one of the panniers and pulled out a sheathed sword.
The air hissed as he drew the sword from its scabbard and raised it the very moment Wyatt reached him.
The clash of steel rang through the night, punctuated by heavy breathing and grunts as the two men fought savagely.
I knew Wyatt was a skilled fighter—I had witnessed him practicing swordplay with my husband’s other men. But Sawford…
Sawford was a servant, yet he displayed the skill of a knight. I had never before seen him wield a weapon, but it was clear that he was a practiced fighter; a warrior. Who was Sawford, and what did he want with me?
The fight continued until Sawford made a sharp lunge toward Wyatt and drove his blade through his heart. He pulled the blade back and wiped it on his sleeve even before his opponent’s body had fallen to the ground.
Frozen to the spot, I hadn’t considered escape while they fought.
I wouldn’t need to run far into the forest before I’d be completely concealed in the shadows, out of Sawford’s sight and reach.
As if he read my thoughts Sawford turned toward me, his mouth set in a grim line, and he motioned to the saddle.
“Get up—hurry, woman.”
Over his shoulder, I caught sight of another man, and I recognized Sir Baldwin. He raised a finger to his lips to warn me to be quiet. Holding his sword aloft, he advanced toward Sawford with slow, careful steps. His gaze was fixed on me, his eyes almost glowing in the darkness.
I saw my life split like a fork on the road. One path led away from Mortlock, to Sawford, the man in whose power I had been almost since I had arrived here. The other led me back, to the man my father had sold me to, the man who would take my child and dispose of me.
Baldwin paused about five paces away. In that moment I made my choice.
“Vane!” I screamed. “Look out!”
Sawford spun around as Baldwin’s sword came down. The blade narrowly missed Sawford’s head but he took a glancing blow to the shoulder and lost his balance.
“Bitch! You’ll be next,” Baldwin snarled before lunging for Sawford again.
Grunting in pain, Sawford kicked out at Baldwin, who crashed to the ground.
The two men rolled over, arms and legs flailing, fighting to the death.
I pulled out my knife and held it up but they were moving so fast I feared I might hit the wrong man if I threw it, still uncertain who the wrong man was.
Who was the enemy?
The next moment it was all over. Baldwin screamed before making a gurgling sound.
Thick red liquid poured from a long gash in his throat, running down his tunic with slow, steady bursts as his heart pumped the last of the life out of him.
Sawford threw the body to the ground and cleaned his blade before looking up.
For a heartbeat he stared at me, his expression intensifying.
Then he lowered his gaze to the knife in my hand. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“What did you intend to do with that little blade against a man with a sword? You fool!”
I tucked the knife back into my kirtle.
“You’re no ordinary servant,” I said. “You fight like a warrior. Who are you?”
“’Tis nothing to you. Get up on the horse.”
“No,” I said. “I’ll do nothing until I have an answer. You owe me that, at least.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“Are you a knight?” I said. “Or, a nobleman?”
“Would you prefer me if I was such a man rather than base born?” he mocked. “All women are the same! Whores the lot of you—you would willingly open your legs for nobility, casting aside a respectable man to be ridden by one with a title.”
Why did he despise me so much, despite my having given him the warning that saved his life?
“What do you know of respectability?” I cried. “No respectable man would do to any noblewoman what you have done to me.”
“Noblewoman no more, my dear,” he replied, coldly. “Without your husband you are nothing.”
“How dare…”
“Enough!” he roared. “Do as I say, woman, or I’ll leave you here to rot.”
He helped me into the saddle, then mounted behind me. I opened my mouth to ask where we were going, then closed it again.
He sighed. “We ride to the next village. Ask me no more tonight.”
We had not ridden for very long before patches of light appeared on the horizon, bleeding into the sky.
We approached a cluster of small dwellings—little more than huts—and Sawford guided the horse past a number of them until we reached a dwelling a little larger than the others, next to a smithy.
He dismounted, motioning to me to stay on the horse.
Then he approached the dwelling and tapped on the door.
It opened and the silhouette of a man appeared, framed in the doorway, then I heard low voices.
I glanced around as the notion of escape once more crossed my mind.
I had only to snatch the reins, urge the stallion on and be gone.
I fingered the rings on my hands—jewels which would pay for my passage and entry to the convent where I could seek sanctuary.
But something prevented me; a small spark of concern in Sawford’s eyes as they met mine.
My desire to be rid of him faltered until it drained from me as assuredly as the blood from Baldwin’s throat.
Sawford glanced around and met my gaze. Then he approached the horse and offered his hand. I took it and dismounted, leaning against his hard body to steady myself, my legs trembling. Wanting to draw strength from him yet afraid to show dependency I resisted when he tried to draw me closer.
He shrugged, then pushed me toward the door.
“Say nothing, do you hear?” he warned, “or ’twill be the worse for you.”
The smith’s home was split into two rooms, separated by a cloth hanging.
The smell of stale sweat and human waste lingered in the front room.
I wrinkled my nose but said nothing. The smith sat at a table in the center of the room and eyed me with curiosity.
A woman lay asleep on a pallet. Three children huddled together under a blanket on another pallet beside her.
Sawford pushed me into the back room and threw the panniers at my feet.
“You’ll find dry clothes in there.”
He returned to the front room to speak to the smith.
I stripped off my clothes, pulling on a fresh kirtle from the panniers, then I setting my wet clothes out to dry. When I’d finished, I drew the hanging back to see Sawford holding the smith’s hand.
“You have my thanks,” he said.
“Be gone in the morning,” the smith grunted, giving me a pointed look. Then he approached the pallet and lay down beside his wife. She stirred and drew him to her, offering her lips in her sleep. As Sawford let the hanging fall, I heard her sighs of pleasure.
“Are we to stay here?” I asked.
“Just for the night,” Sawford replied. “Do not cause trouble. I had to pay him extra to let you stay.”
“Does he know who I am?”
“I told him you’re my whore. You look the part.”
I turned my back, touching my chin which throbbed where he had struck me. I heard him moving about, but remained still, fighting to keep the tears at bay.
“Come here,” Sawford said. I turned to see him lying on the pallet, holding his hand out.
“You wish me to play the part of your whore?” I said.
“I am in no mood for you tonight,” he replied, “but I wish to keep you close. You belong to me now. Do I need to bind your hands?”
“No,” I said overcome by fatigue. “I have nowhere to go.”
I sank onto the pallet beside him, exhausted in body and mind, barely noticing him curl his body around mine. The last thing I remember before sleep took me was the sound of lovemaking in the room next door.