Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next morning a maidservant entered with a tray of food and wine, with instructions from de Tourrard that I was to eat and drink everything or Geoffrey would suffer.
I had to be strong for my son so I complied, sipping the wine even though doubtless it had been drugged, while she looked on.
I sat passively while she treated my wounds until the drug took effect, and I sank into a stupor.
That evening Celia entered the chamber holding a pile of clothes. Her face bore a fresh bruise and dark finger marks circled the base of her neck. She limped across the room, her expression showing nothing but pain and shame.
“Where’s my son?” I said.
“With the wet-nurse, lady. He is safe.”
“He’s not safe!” I cried. “You think any of us are safe here? Is this what your ambition has brought you to?”
A tear slid down her cheek, and I recalled my encounter with de Tourrard at Mortlock Fort and the relish in his eyes as he held my throat. Like his cousin he took an unnatural pleasure in inflicting pain. What had Celia endured at his hands?
“Did he hurt you?” I whispered.
She nodded and I took her hand.
“Can’t you leave? Is there nowhere you can go?”
She shook her head.
“Celia—you cannot let him treat you like this! Now he has me I might be able to persuade him to release you.”
She fell to her knees and began to cry, her shoulders shaking as she covered her face.
“Be quiet, I beg you,” I said. “Someone will hear.”
“Forgive me!” she sobbed, “I cannot bear your kindness after how I treated you. I hated you so much that I let de Tourrard pay me to spy on you at Mortlock. He promised I would be his mistress, and he would treat me as a lady; but he has beaten me almost every day since I came here. I am nothing but his whore now.”
“Then you must leave here. Surely there is somewhere you can go?”
“What of you, lady; what of Geoffrey?” she wept, “I cannot leave you—I must atone for what I did to you.”
I took her in my arms while she cried. Then she stiffened and pulled away.
“We must hurry!” she said. “De Tourrard sent me to bring you to the dining hall. He’ll come looking if you don’t join him soon.”
“Then I must dress—quickly!”
She helped me into the clothes, a pale gold surcoat over a white gown. Then she placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Lady,” she hesitated, “did you always love Monsieur Sawford?”
I stiffened on hearing his name, but though I did not answer, she understood my silence for what it was, and she let out a sigh.
“That’s why I hated you. I wanted Sawford for myself. But he only wanted you. From the day you arrived at Mortlock he had eyes for none other.”
“Celia, he did not want…”
“Aye, he did. I knew of Lord Mortlock’s plan to whore you out. De Tourrard paid me to listen to everything. With Mortlock’s previous wives Sawford always found others to do the deed, but you were different.”
She sniffed. “I envied you. I thought you were yet another noblewoman to look down on us and care only for yourself. But last night, when de Tourrard tortured you, you refused to betray Sawford.” She shook her head. “I have never loved anyone enough to be ready to die for them.”
“But, in the end, I did betray him,” I said.
“For the sake of your son,” she replied. “You made a wise choice. Sawford can protect himself—and as he’s not here to protect you, I will do the best I can.”
Before we approached the dining hall, I took Celia’s arm and whispered urgently in her ear.
“Celia, tonight you must treat me with the same dislike you have always shown. De Tourrard must not suspect we are now allies.”
The dining hall was larger than that at Mortlock Fort. Long tables filled the room at which over forty men sat. De Tourrard overlooked the company from a high table at the far end of the hall, beyond a huge stone fireplace.
He beckoned to me. To reach him I had to pass the fireplace. Several dogs lay at the hearth and some lifted their heads to watch me. They were vicious looking brutes, and one curled its lip in a snarl, revealing sharp yellow teeth.
I took care to make no sudden movements. Every nerve in my body screamed to run, but de Tourrard would take pleasure in setting the dogs on me if I did.
I kept my expression neutral as he sat me on a chair at his right hand side. The cloak of dignity slipped on as easily as it had when his vile cousin had committed unspeakable acts at Mortlock Fort. If de Tourrard wanted to break me I would be glad to disappoint him.
He poured two goblets of wine and handed one to me. To the casual observer we might have been a betrothed couple in love, not tormentor and prisoner.
He asked me about the gown I had worn when I wed Mortlock, and I played along with the charade, describing it in detail. He spoke of our wedding and how much finer my gown would be the day I became Baroness de Tourrard. It was as if last night had never happened.
Finally he gave me a cruel smile.
“Of course, my dear, you will need to bathe before you visit me tonight.”
“Bathe?”
“Aye. I cannot be expected to bed you while you reek like a peasant’s whore.”
My hand shook as I lifted the goblet to my lips.
“Ah,” he said, his gaze fixed on my hand. “Methinks you’re not the stone-hearted bitch your outward appearance would suggest, but instead, a warm-blooded whore. After your flesh has been cleansed of his filth I shall show you what it is to have a real man between your legs.”
I swallowed the wine and set the goblet down.
“I hear my cousin served your lover’s head on a platter,” he continued. “Percy was it not? I hope soon to repeat the favor. Sawford’s heart would be a delicacy indeed. I hear a heart can still beat several times after being removed from the body.”
I turned my head to see him smiling at me. He reached out in front of him to a plate of honeyed figs, which I’d not noticed before. He picked one up and held it to my lips.
“I understand you have a particular fondness for these?”
I slapped his hand away, sending the fig flying.
The next moment his fist met my jaw, and I fell to the floor, my head ringing. De Tourrard stood over me, his face dark with anger.
“Guy!” he roared.
“My lord?”
“Return this bitch to her chamber and lock her in. Stand by the door and do not move until we’re ready to leave.”
He grasped a handful of my hair and jerked my head up.
“You’ll learn to show proper respect or that brat of yours will pay the price.”
He crushed his mouth against mine, and I winced at the sting of pain as he bit my lip. But I refused to cry out. He broke the kiss and helped me up with an air of gallantry.
“My poor dear,” he said, his voice softening. “You seem to have fallen. Come, Guy will escort you to your chamber. You need your rest for we ride at dawn.”
The man on de Tourrard’s left rose, his eyes gleaming with relish, and his lips curved into a leer. De Tourrard handed me to him, and he took my upper arm, gripping it firmly as he led me back to the bedchamber. At the door, he pulled me close, lips parted, mouth hungry.
I drew my free hand back before delivering a slap on his face.
“How dare you!” I cried.
Rubbing his cheek, he laughed.
“You may think you’re too high and mighty for me now, whore, but when my master tires of you I will have you. We share similar tastes—in particular, I relish a struggle.”
He pushed me into the chamber and blew me a kiss.
“Until later, whore.”
The door slammed behind him and the key turned in the lock once more.
Almost a sennight later we arrived on the outskirts of Balsdean village.
De Tourrard had brought along twenty of his men.
During the day, I rode beside him while Celia travelled in a cart behind us with Geoffrey and the wet-nurse.
At night, after setting up camp, he made me lie beside him, my hands bound.
My breasts were swollen and sore and ached each time I heard Geoffrey’s cry, but de Tourrard refused to let me nurse my son.
Though outwardly hostile toward me, Celia would squeeze my hand in a gesture of comfort in the rare moments when we were unobserved.
Before we set out on our journey to Balsdean she’d handed me my most treasured possessions—my last letter from Tarvin together with my response—the one he had never received.
She had stolen them from me when I’d arrived at de Tourrard’s castle, originally intending to use them against me, for they were the proof of adultery—evidence that could be used to sentence me to death.
But she had returned them to me in an act of kindness to seal our new friendship.
De Tourrard’s men struck camp in the woods outside the village.
I’d told him that Sawford and I had stayed in the tavern and he’d believed me.
I hoped that, if nothing else, it would give Vane a chance to escape but de Tourrard placed men on the road at either end of the village, to watch the comings and goings.
The camp consisted of six or seven tents. I shared the smallest with Celia and Geoffrey and when we were unobserved, she would hand my son over, keeping watch while I held him in my arms.
The first night after our arrival, de Tourrard went to the village to search the tavern.
I lay awake trembling with fear that he would find and kill Vane, but he did not.
He returned and flew into a rage. Nobody in the village had heard the name Sawford.
Celia suffered from his anger, returning from a summons to his tent with fresh cuts on her face, one eye already swelling.
“You must leave,” she pleaded, “before he turns his attentions to you.”
“I cannot. He’ll track me down and Geoffrey will suffer. I must think of my son.”
“Your son will suffer at his hands no matter what you do. For his sake, you must get away. But not to the village—de Tourrard spoke of a sickness which has taken many children’s lives. The churchyard is piled with their bodies. He intends to burn the village at first light tomorrow.”
The sickness.
Churchyard piled with bodies.