“John has disappeared,” she murmured. “He was here only a moment ago.”
Her husband didn’t reply, drinking his wine as he gazed about the room. Victoria stared at him, her sense of concern deepening.
“Did you hear me?” she said. “Barric Fitz Hammond walked past this table not a moment ago. I swear that he was looking at Lady Barklestone.”
Still, her husband did not reply and a strong sense of panic seized her. Victoria realized she was carrying on a one-sided conversation with a man who, if the king requested it, would submit to the king’s command. So would Hamilton.
She knew that without a doubt.
“Answer me, Godfrey,” she snapped. “Is that why Barric was lingering near this table? Did Hamilton spill that wine at the king’s behest? An excuse to remove Lady Teodora from the hall?”
Victoria was too smart, too perceptive for her own good. Although she wasn’t young enough or pretty enough for the king’s tastes, she had seen many fine young women ruined by John’s lust, and the idea of her lovely young mistress at the king’s mercy filled her with terrible dread.
“Godfrey,” she hissed, shaking his arm to gain his attention. “You will answer me. Did Ham…”
Her husband turned on her, viciously. “Shut your mouth, stupid woman,” he growled. “Don’t you realize the trouble you invite with your loose lips?”
Victoria paled at his sharp words, deeply hurt. But she persisted. “He has selected her, then. That is why Barric was near this table. She goes even now to meet John.”
“I told you to shut up.”
She shook her head in disbelief and urgency. “But we must send word to the earl and Sir Cullen immediately. They must stop the king!”
Godfrey clenched his teeth, the look in his eye deadly. “No one can stop the king, not even Preston de Lacy.”
“But if you don’t send word to them, you’ll be to blame for their anger as much as the king. It’s as though…”
“Shut your stupid mouth!”
“… As though you are loyal to John and not the earl!”
Godfrey lurched as though he might strike her. Wisely, he held himself in check and indulged in more wine. Victoria watched him closely, torn between dropping the subject and pressing it.
“But what of Sir Cullen?” she changed her approach, asking softly and non-aggressively. “Perhaps if we…”
Godfrey shook his head. “If we send word to Cullen, he’ll simply kill the king. And he, in turn, shall be executed. And the earl needs Cullen more than he needs an unsullied wife.”
Victoria was horrified. “So we can do nothing?”
Her husband didn’t answer. He simply drank more wine. Victoria, sickened and distraught, sat back in her chair and tried not to become physically ill. As she sat repeating a prayer from her childhood, a large warm body suddenly sat in the chair beside her.
“Where is the countess?”
It was Cullen. Godfrey almost choked on his wine, spraying most of it onto the table. Victoria looked at Cullen as though beholding an avenging angel, a million words coming to mind but unable to speak any of them. She knew that if she said anything, her husband would punish her. So, wide-eyed and frantic, she silently looked to her husband for his response.
Godfrey was struggling to recover his shock. “Where… where’s the earl?”
Cullen made a grab for the nearest pitcher of wine. “In his apartment, drowning his pain in liquor and opiates. But he shall be along soon.” He glanced around. “Where’s the countess?”
Victoria looked as if she were about to cry. Being as perceptive as he was, Cullen focused on her expression immediately.
“What’s wrong, Victoria?” he asked.
Victoria wouldn’t answer. Godfrey couldn’t answer. As Cullen stared at the pair, seeing their varied and intense expressions, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as a horrible thought occurred to him.
“Where is the countess?”
“This is not the way back to Rodstone House,” Teodora said helpfully, though she could hardly believe that Hamilton had gotten lost. “I believe we must go out to the bailey of Westminster and summon the earl’s cab.”
Hamilton shook his head. “It would take too much time,” he said. “I thought it best to find a private room, close by, where you could change your clothing.”
“But the seamstress…”
“I shall find a maid to carry a message to her as to your location.” He smiled confidently. “You needn’t worry, my lady. You are in good hands.”
Teodora thought he was being rather considerate and did not question him. The corridor they were traveling was long and dark, somewhere away from Westminster’s great hall, and eventually they turned a corner and found themselves walking on woolen rugs. The ambiance of the hall had changed and there were soldiers lining the walls at lengthy intervals. Heavy brocade curtains hung over every open window, and Teodora gazed at it all curiously.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Hamilton didn’t answer. They passed a few more soldiers, men dressed in fine mail with tunics of crimson and gold. Reaching a large, new oaken door with heavy iron fixtures, Hamilton lifted the latch and ushered her inside.
“Do not leave this room.” His polite request sounded suspiciously like a command. “I shall return as soon as I can.”
Teodora listened to the door shut, the latch falling back into place. The chamber was dark, a small fire in the oversized hearth offering minimal light and warmth. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see that the room was very lavishly furnished; heavy tapestries hung on the walls and a great woolen rug covered the floor. There were rushes near the hearth and surrounding a very large bed near the far wall. She peered more closely at the massive bed, noting its impossibly stuffed mattress and extravagant curtains.
She’d never seen anything like it.
“Do you like it?”
A voice from the darkness startled her. Swinging about, she caught sight of a figure seated in a large, high-backed chair. Hidden by the long shadows, she could hardly make out anything more than the bottom half of a torso.
“I… I am sorry,” she said. “I did not know there was anyone in this room. Sir Hamilton brought me here to…”
“What is your name?”
Teodora paused a moment, deliberately. She peered more closely at the figure. “I shall tell you my name when I know who it is I am addressing.”
“You do not recognize me?”
“I can’t even see you.”
The figure shifted, sitting forward. The lavish robe covering the body partially fell away, revealing naked legs and a small, hairy chest. Shocked, Teodora took a step back as a man with black hair and one droopy eye came into focus.
“I am your king,” he said quietly. “And you are the Lady Barklestone?”
It took Teodora a moment to realize she was speaking to John. Startled and confused, she curtsied deeply, not knowing what else to do.
“Highness,” she tried not to stammer. “Please forgive me. I had no idea you were here.”
John smiled faintly. “Turn around, my lady. Let’s have a look at you.”
Teodora was bewildered. “I… I do not know…”
John extended an index finger, stirring it in the air. “Turn. I would inspect you.”
Teodora’s eyebrows drew together. She was about to question him but thought better of it. Slowly, without grace, she turned a single circle.
John was still smiling. “Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite. How old are you, my lady?”
“I have seen eighteen years, Your Highness,” she replied, fighting off a sense of uneasiness. She felt suspiciously like a mouse that had been led to a trap, though she was unwilling to believe that Sir Hamilton knew the king was in this room. Still, her inclination to leave this very moment was powerful. “I again apologize for disturbing you. If you will excuse me, I shall leave you to your evening.”
John merely sm
iled. Teodora took two more steps and suddenly bumped into a warm body, standing near the door. Startled, she jumped away, gazing at a man with long, dirty hair and a scarred face. He smiled at her, lasciviously.
“Lady Barklestone, allow me to present Sir Barric Fitz Hammond,” the king said, gesturing with a limp hand. “He is the Lord Justice of Rockingham.”
Barric bowed deeply. “’Tis a pleasure, my lady.”
Two men. One lady. Teodora didn’t like the odds at all and her hands began to shake, more from indecision than from fear. Defending herself from the earl had been one matter, but the king and his Lord Justice created entirely another. Were she to resist, Cullen might not be able to save her this time.
Quickly, her mind sorted through the possibilities. To fight was not an option, not only because there were two of them and only one of her, but because striking the king would mean instant death. And she was in a bad position to simply run away; the Lord Justice was blocking the door quite efficiently. Her cheeks flushed and her head began to swim, and from her symptoms came an immediate idea.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said, putting a hand to her forehead in a dramatic gesture. “I am feeling rather poorly this evening. I suppose my travels have finally caught up to me. As much as I would like to stay and entertain you, I fear I must return to my apartments and lie down before I collapse.”
John’s long, thin hand moved in the direction of the bed. “If you feel ill, you may rest here. I should not like you walking the corridors feeling as poorly as you do and, quite possibly, fainting on the stone. ’Twould not do your health well at all.”
Teodora hissed a silent curse; foiled! Before she realized what was happening, Barric grasped her arm with the intention of helping her to the bed. Infuriated, not to mention startled, she yanked her arm away.
“I do not require your assistance, my lord,” she growled.
The weak-voiced lady from a moment earlier was gone, a powerfully indignant woman in her place. The king eyed Teodora, knowing that she realized his scheme and that the game was now afoot. It was time to act. Forgoing the usual pleasantries, he nodded to Barric.
“Put her on the bed,” he said. “Strap her down if necessary.”
Barric wasn’t a big man, but he was strong and wiry. Teodora saw him coming for her and natural instincts took hold. Swinging her fists, she caught him on the corner of the mouth and drew blood. Angry, Barric cuffed her on the side of the head. Teodora then retaliated by shoving the palm of her hand into his nose, drawing a painful groan from him. Wrestling furiously, Barric and Teodora continued to tussle but drew no closer to the bed. John watched the ensuing battle from his chair, growing impatient.
“Stop fooling with her, Barric,” he commanded. “Put her to the bed!”
Barric grunted, trying to trap both of her swinging arms. “I am… trying.” He dodged a flying fist and threw his shoulder into her abdomen, tossing her up and onto his back. Carrying her across the room, he threw her brutally on the bed.
But Teodora would not be easily caught, nor easily subdued. She tried to slither off the bed, kicking Barric furiously as he tried to tie her to the bedpost. He managed to trap one hand but not the other until the king lent his assistance. John was weary of watching the struggle and his fully engorged manhood demanded he sate himself. Observing her strength and spirit over the past few moments, he could only imagine how satisfying she would be when he bedded her.
“Resistance is futile, Lady Barklestone,” John said, grunting with the effort of attempting to quell her. “Submit peacefully and I shall be merciful. But continue this foolish fight and my wrath shall be felt.”
Teodora was like a trapped animal, all of her reason and logic vanished in lieu of pure panic. She brought her leg up, catching the king in the torso and sending him staggering across the floor.
Barric, horrified that the king had been struck, summoned every last ounce of strength and tied Teodora’s remaining wrist to the bed. Partially tethered, Teodora maintained her fight by kicking with her long legs and twisting her body in all directions to prevent them from securing her further. If the king wanted to take her, then he was going to have to work for it.
“Stupid wench,” Barric growled, wiping the trickle of blood from his mouth. “By the end of this eve, I shall see you humbled like a beaten horse.”
Robe hanging open, revealing his thin body and enormously aroused manhood, the king shook his head and pushed Barric aside.
“No need, Barric,” he said. “I rather enjoyed the struggle. ’Twill make this victory all the sweeter.”
Teodora was distracted from her fight by the sight of the naked king. She’d never seen anything so horribly grotesque in her entire life. John took advantage of the momentary lull to throw his body atop her, wedging himself between her kicking legs. Barric leapt to the king’s aid, holding her by the ankles as John took a good look at his quarry.
“Fine, fine,” he murmured, trailing a finger down her neck. “You are quite fine.”
His stinking breath was in her face as he lifted her skirts, just a little higher, with Barric’s assistance. He tried to kiss her but she turned her face away, sputtering. Perturbed, he bit her on the shoulder. Teodora stifled a cry, refusing to acknowledge she was now his prisoner. Subdued like an animal, she was trapped and they both knew.
“If you do not relax, I can guarantee this will be a painful venture,” the king said quietly. “Barric, do you think she is prepared to accept me?”
Teodora’s legs were apart, held in place by the king’s body weight and Barric’s hands. She could feel fingers on her knees, as if teasing her. She convulsed, trying to move away, but the men held her fast.
“I cannot imagine she is, Highness,” Barric said seductively. “All of this fighting surely has her dry as a summer well.”
The king smiled down at her before cruelly plugging the sash of his robe into her mouth to quell her screams. “We must help her, Barric,” he said. “She must be ready to accept all of me or this eve will not go well for her in the least. Nay, not in the least.”
Teodora was barely able to breathe with the wad of silk in her mouth. The king lapped the swell of her breasts as Barric began to stroke her ankles. Teodora was verging on hysteria, closer to losing her carefully held control than she had ever been in her life. The only person who had touched her like this had been Cullen, and his caresses had been so sweet that to compare it to this mayhem was nauseating. The urge to give in to self-pity was overwhelming.
But it was not her nature to surrender and, once again, she began to twist and heave, hoping to dislodge her two accosters. Still, she suspected this night would end only one way – with the king’s lust sated deep inside her, and she ultimately becoming another royal victim. But she would not go down without a fight.
The stroking of her lower legs was becoming more forceful. Barric’s attention was moving alarmingly close to her knees, and beyond that was the junction between her legs. The king moved down her body, lifting her skirts higher and quickly holding down a leg that was aimed for his head. His hands joined Barric’s as Teodora struggled against them, ashamed and horrified. She heard the men snicker, whisper, and then the hands were removed. Teodora strained to catch a glimpse of what was happening and realized the king was holding his member, stroking it, as Barric removed himself from the bed. John caught her stare and smiled.
“Relax, Lady Barklestone,” he murmured. “I do believe you might enjoy this as much as I.”
She shouted something at him, muffled by the silk. John climbed on to the bed and Teodora closed her eyes, praying that God would let her live through this night. She prayed it would be over quickly, that there would be no pain, that that she would not conceive a royal bastard. And she prayed, more fervently than anything else, that Cullen would not look upon her with revulsion for allowing this to happen.
She expected to feel the full hardness of the king at any second. What she did not expect was for the chamber
door to suddenly explode, a thousand splinters flying across the room as the panel crashed violently to the floor. Cullen was suddenly in the doorway, his handsome face a mask of rage and vengeance. His sword was leveled and as Barric charged him, a big dagger in his hand, Cullen thrust his blade into Barric’s gut.
The king fell off the bed in his fear and haste. When he saw Barric sprawled on the floor in a growing pool of blood, he shrieked.
“De Nerra!” he cried. “I am of royal blood! You may not harm me lest you incur instant death!”
Cullen was pure hate, seething with venom and fury. He stared at the king, his gaze then moving to Teodora tied to the bed. Slowly, he sheathed his sword and moved to her, removing the sash from her mouth. She gazed up at him, licking her damp lips, wondering if the disgust she saw in his eyes was meant for her.
“Cullen,” she breathed. “I…”
“Did he harm you?” Cullen’s voice was cold.
Teodora shook her head unsteadily. “Nay… that is to say, I am well enough to…”
“Did he penetrate you, my lady?” Cullen would not hear her meaningless chatter.
Teodora was at a loss for words. “I… I don’t know what you…”
Cullen took her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You know exactly what I mean. Did he penetrate your body with his?”
She gazed into his eyes, dark orbs so clouded over by emotion that they were difficult to read. She wasn’t sure how to answer. But the only thing that came to mind was the truth. The sickening, embarrassing truth.
“He did not penetrate me with his body,” she said quietly, nearly choking on the words. “And the Lord Justice only touched me.”
“Where?”
“He touched my leg.”
“That is all?”
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 15