Chapter 20 #2
“How dare…” I began but Tom placed a warning hand on my arm.
“Forgive us, good man. My sister is merely tired and wishes to retire.”
“If she wishes to eat, she’ll eat in the main room with the rest of us. We’re too busy to tend to a woman who fancies herself a lady.”
He spat at my feet then turned his back and roared for Gwenna.
A thin girl, barely out of childhood, scuttled out and led us to our room.
I sank onto the bed, my body aching. It would be a relief to sleep in a bed rather than outside.
The cold from ground hardened by winter frosts had penetrated the woolen blankets we lay on during our journey.
Each morning I’d massaged my feet, numbed by the frost, flinching at the sharp needles of pain pricking at my skin as my toes returned painfully to life.
After fetching our belongings, Tom left me to nurse Geoffrey in peace.
Then, when he’d had his fill, I placed my sleeping child on the bed, I dropped a kiss on his forehead before joining Tom in the main room.
He had found a table tucked away in a corner and waved as I entered.
I sat, surveying the room, my skin prickling with anticipation as if everyone’s eyes were on me.
The room had filled since our arrival and was much noisier—an amorphous bustle of coarse words and laughter. My eyes smarted in the air, acrid with smoke from the fire which now burned more brightly, the shapes of the patrons silhouetted against the deep orange glow of the flames.
An occasional drunkard roared for ale, followed by cheers as a plump serving wench weaved her way between the tables.
The woman shrieked with laughter as she dodged eager hands which reached out to fondle her, spilling ale as one man secured a hold on her skirts, pulling her toward him to plant a loud kiss on her lips.
“Well, well—what do we have here?” a thick, lust-filled voice said.
A sour stench of sweat and stale liquor grew stronger and a leering, fleshy face was thrust in front of me. Having learned my lesson earlier I remained quiet, waiting for Tom to respond.
“P-please leave us,” Tom said.
The man laughed and sat beside me. The stench of his body odor turned my stomach, which already churned in distaste at the greasy stew we had eaten.
“I’ll wager you cannot satisfy your wife as she’d like, young pup,” he slurred. “I could warm her up for you.”
Poor young Tom. His face paled and he shook his head, too frightened to respond.
He had grown up in a friendly village where most of the inhabitants were related to each other—brothers, cousins, aunts, and uncles.
Midford, a larger town, attracted traders and travelers from further afield—strangers with no ties of family or friendship. Tom was unused to such behavior.
I drew my knife and pressed it against the man’s side. With a yelp of surprise he jerked away. but I lifted it, holding the tip of the blade against his throat. His eyes widened, but he stayed still as I twisted the knife, making a deep dent in his skin.
“I have much experience in defending myself against drunken animals,” I said coldly. “Your wife has my sympathies.”
“I-I meant no disrespect to you or your husband,” he said.
I increased the pressure and a small patch of red appeared on his throat, growing to form a droplet. The man whimpered, and I leaned closer, ignoring the stench of his breath, and I gave him a cold smile.
“My husband is dead,” I said. “I wonder if your own wife would care to join my widowed status. I doubt she would miss you.”
He shook his head, but I held the knife firm, the droplet spilling onto his tunic.
“What say you, Tom?” I asked. “Shall we find out if this man’s wife would miss him?”
“Begging your pardon, madam,” the man said, retreating.
“Leave us,” I said. “Crawl back to the hovel from whence you came.”
He lumbered off, doubtless on his way to accost another unsuspecting female.
“We should retire, Tom,” I said. “I’m anxious not to attract any more attention.”
The following morning Tom insisted I stay in our room while he made inquiries for someone willing to complete my journey to the convent.
He had offered to take me himself but I didn’t want to place him in any danger in case I was being watched, particularly after the attention we had drawn the previous evening.
A few hours later Tom’s voice signaled his return, and I placed Geoffrey on the bed before calling out in response.
He entered the room, a broad grin on his face, a man following him. The man nodded at me then coughed loudly.
“I have found someone willing to take you further,” Tom said. “He…”
Another man appeared and a knife flashed briefly in the sunlight before he drew the blade across Tom’s throat. Crimson liquid pulsed down the young man’s chest, and he fell soundlessly forward, not even a look of surprise in his eyes, so swiftly did he meet his death.
“Tom!” I cried.
The two men advanced toward the bed.
“We’ve been looking for you.”
“You have the wrong room,” I said, my stomach clenching with terror as they drew close to Geoffrey who wriggled on the bed beside me. “You’ve killed an innocent man—my brother!”
I drew breath to scream but they were too quick.
The man with the knife picked up Geoffrey, and held the blade against my son’s body while his companion took my arm.
“I’d advise you to be silent,” he said. “You are coming with us and we’d prefer it if you—and the brat—were alive.”
“Please, let my son go,” I sobbed, “I care not who you are—I’ll say nothing, do nothing if you leave now. I tell you, you have the wrong room!”
“I’m afraid we cannot do that. We are in the right room, are we not, Lady Mortlock?”
Mon Dieu—I had been discovered.
My captor nodded to his companion. “Bring the brat.”
“No!” I cried.
“Be quiet!” He twisted my arm behind me and took my throat with his free hand.
“Dead or alive you shall be the means of my reward. Your life and that of the little bastard depends on your following orders. Play the devoted wife, and I may be more kindly disposed toward you.”
He led me out of the room, and I suppressed the urge to retch as he squeezed my buttocks as we walked through the tavern and outside to a cart laden with sacks, beside which a third man waited.
Before I knew what was happening, pain exploded in the back of my head.
The last thing I remembered was Geoffrey’s cries as I sank into the dark pit of despair.
Yet another innocent life had been taken because of me, and I had failed utterly to protect my son.