Chapter Three
Evil
Anne stared at Philipa and knew that what was shining in the lady’s eyes was pure evil.
Not once in her life had she ever believed that any person might be so horrible.
A glance over at Mary showed her another woman who placed her own comforts above the very life of the servants who brought them those comforts.
There was no hint of mercy on the younger lady’s face, either; only a slight fear that Anne wouldn’t bend to the whim of her mother.
But to take her place in the wedding bed…Anne shivered, unable to grasp such an idea. To agree to such a bargain made her no better than a whore. A woman reduced to using her body to buy what she needed.
But there really was no choice to make. She would choose her love for her family above herself. Reaching for the button on the top of her doublet, she pushed it open.
“There. I am glad to see you behaving so reasonably.” Philipa looked pleased. “Help her, Mary. We have to see this finished before any of the maids become wise.”
Anne’s doublet dropped away and Mary attacked the tie that closed the waist of her skirts.
They dropped to her ankles, leaving her in her chemise and stays.
Anne felt Mary’s fingers on the ties that closed the corset, loosening them until her breasts hung free.
Any other time, she would have savored the freedom from her stays, but Philipa’s eyes dropped to her chest, inspecting her body.
Philipa’s lip curled in distaste as Mary grasped the hem of Anne’s chemise and pulled it over her head.
Philipa stared at her bared chest and grunted.
“With plump tits like those, you should breed quickly. I made a wise choice when I had you watched. You’d have a string of bastards like your mother if I hadn’t.”
“I am not promiscuous.”
Philipa glared at her. “What you are is forgetful of your station.”
Anne sat down on a small stool to begin removing her boots. She hid her fury as she looked at the boot lacings. It would be most unwise to continue to speak her mind. Her family would be left behind to suffer Philipa’s temper.
But she wanted to voice every word she’d ever bitten back. The woman was horrible, an evil consort of demons. No one else could contrive such a plan or force it onto the shoulders of another.
“Hurry up.” Mary dropped to her knees and began pulling on the other boot. “We haven’t much time.” Her eyes shimmered with glee as she removed the boot and yanked Anne’s stocking down.
Anne was suddenly shy. She’d never stood nude in front of anyone.
Mary got to her feet and went around back of her to pull her braid loose.
For such a spoilt child she was better at the task than Anne might have guessed.
Her half-sister picked up a brush and began working it through Anne’s hair.
It looked as though Mary had learned something at court while waiting on the Queen.
“Stand up. I want a look at you.”
Anne rose, her hands covering as much of her body as possible. Philipa snapped her fingers at her.
“Stop cowering.”
Anne bristled but let her hands fall to her sides. The lady swept her from head to toe, her lips pressing into a hard line.
“In with you, this Scot will never believe that his noble bride wasn’t bathed before his arrival.”
The water was still warm. It only made her angrier to sink into it and not be able to enjoy the moment.
She always had to bathe in a chemise because the bathing tub used by the servants of Warwickshire was not in a private room.
Besides, everyone needed help washing their hair or they tracked water across the floor when they went to fetch a bucket of rinse water.
The sight of her own nipples was slightly distracting because she rarely looked at them.
The bar of soap landed in front of her, splashing water into her eyes. Her hand shot out, grabbing it out of reflex. Normally, no one simply threw such a costly item.
No one but Philipa, it would seem.
The soft scent of lavender teased her nose as Mary dumped a cup of water over her head.
It was cold and tickled her nose. More followed until her hair was completely wet.
But the fire was blazing, warming her bare skin.
She had never had so fine a bath, never been allowed to wash with scented soap.
The French soap glided over her skin. She suddenly understood why Philipa enjoyed her bath so much.
If she were allowed such fine soap, she would linger in her bathing as well.
Mary rushed her through the bath, using hard motions of her hands to scrub Anne’s hair. Within a quarter hour, Anne stood in front of the fire with the linen wrapped around her body. Despair tried to claim her but she resisted. It was not an easy task but panic would only aid Philipa.
“Surely this cannot work.”
Philipa scoffed at her.
“What if the earl wishes to spend a few nights at Warwickshire before returning to his lands?”
“He’s Scots. The man will want to return home with all haste.
I hear their clans raid one another when they hear the lord is away.
Yet another reason why I will not send my only child to that barbaric land.
” Philipa shook out a chemise. “No matter if he does decide to stay. I shall tell him Mary is ill. You will remain hidden until he is ready to depart.”
“Wear these.” Mary handed her stockings. Anne stared at them. The tiny rows of knitted finery were something she had dressed Philipa in but never dreamed to don herself. “You must be ready at all times.”
A fine chemise followed, as did an entire dress that was Mary’s. It was good wool for traveling but edged in trim that was only for vanity. A quilted petticoat and stays were fit to her body as well. Mary drew a brush through her hair until it was dry and then she braided it.
“There. Now, you will wear a veil when you meet this Scot so that none of the household staff become wise. You will remain in the upper alcove until I come for you. Make no mistake, my girl. Cross me and I will turn your mother out without a loaf of bread or a cloak.”
Philipa waved her toward the back stairs. Anne went but didn’t lower her head before she moved. Instead she stared straight at Philipa, refusing to give her deference. The lady’s face turned purple with temper.
“Get you up those stairs, and best you ponder what further defiance will bring on your family. Go.”
“Mary, pick up that uniform. You’ll have to wear that to leave Warwickshire. We can’t have you seen or all our efforts will be for nothing.”
The back stairs were dark. A flight of narrow stone steps led to a tower used by archers in time of siege.
For the moment, it was where the books of the estate rested because there was no way to enter it except through the mistress’s chamber.
Hugging her arms around her body, Anne climbed as she felt the chill soak into her bones.
It felt almost as though the chill was coming from inside her, and maybe it was.
Her heart ached. Never had she been away from her family. She slept in the maids’ chamber, the furthest she had ever been from her mother. It might be foolishness to lament leaving the castle, but it was the only home she knew.
She shivered as she reached the small chamber.
She could press her fingers against one wall and stick her leg out behind her to touch the opposite side with her foot.
Very little light entered because there were naught but arrow slits in the stone walls.
The wind whistled through the narrow openings, sending more shivers down her spine.
Surely she must be dreaming. A nightmare that she would awaken from soon.
Her fingers stroked the front of her skirt, finding the lines of trim carefully sewn down the center front.
She had helped to make some of it with her own hands, sitting with the other maids after the fires had been banked for the night.
With Mary’s love of fashion, every pair of hands helped with constructing her wardrobe.
The dress was fine but had not been made for her. The stays were a tiny bit too long in the waist, poking into her hips. She would have to alter it, but dared not do it now. Mary’s husband might arrive at any hour.
Actually, her husband.
Anne considered that. She wasn’t afraid of men but she was ignorant of them.
Having been kept under a strict eye, she had told herself to not look at the boys who tried to gain her attention.
It was an unnatural thing to not flirt, and now it seemed it was also unwise.
What if the Scot didn’t like her? She didn’t know how to entice him into her bed.
A shiver shook her as she considered that duty.
Maybe she should avoid it. If she produced the baby Philipa demanded, there would be no further need for her.
Icy dread closed around her heart as she contemplated the deception Philipa was set on using her to achieve.
The lady wasn’t above murder. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Anne ordered herself not to panic.
She had to think. She needed to figure out a way to get the news to her father.
She couldn’t tell the Scot about the deception; he would send her home and into Philipa’s keeping.
The idea of her sweet sister Bonnie being wed made her stomach twist sickeningly.
Her father was the only one who held the power to protect her and her family.
He would. She believed that. She had to, it was her only hope.
She would write him a letter. Turning around, she looked at the desk she’d spent many an hour at doing the estate books. Yes. There was parchment and ink.
Yet, how would she have it delivered? Court was an uncertain place with nobles crowding around the Queen. Only an experienced man could see any letter into her father’s powerful hand. His secretary often had letters for months before gaining the chance to present them to her noble sire.