“It was not fair what happened to you,” she wept. “I held your hand whilst you were laboring with the baby and you told me everything would be fine. But it was not – you lied to me. You lied to me and you left me behind, and Father sent me away with strangers who beat me. Did you know that? Because I wept and because I was little, and I did not know how to do anything, they beat me. You were gone, Father did not care, and there was no one to help me. No one!”
The last words were spoken angrily as she wept, wiping at her face to wipe away the tears and mucus, but the more she wiped the more the tears fell. Her legs gave way and she plopped forward, her knees on the edge of her mother’s grave. She put her hands on the stone, feeling the cold hardness of it but, even so, she was touching her mother beneath. She closed her eyes, imagining that she was touching her soft, warm flesh.
“I was so young,” she sobbed. “When they were not beating me, they were starving me. Fourteen years of being beaten and starved, all in the name of God. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!”
With that, her gaze moved to the freshly turned earth on the other side of her mother’s grave, and the sorrow she was feeling made way for the black sludge of hatred that had been filling her heart.
“And you,” she hissed. “You did that to me. You sent me away like rubbish, like something disgusting and unwanted. I was your child, you unspeakable bastard. I was your daughter and you threw me away. God, I hated you for it. I still hate you for it. You sent me to that horrible place and you left me to the mercy of people who had no compassion. It was a hatred that I kept with me for years, but those years faded, and I forgot. I have not thought of you in years until your men came to tell me that you expected me to assume my place as your heiress. I thought I was over my hatred of you, but I am not. I hate everything about you and I always will.”
Rising on unsteady feet, she walked around her mother’s grave, respectfully, only to stand at the edge of her father’s grave and look down upon it. Her weeping had lessened and she wiped at her face, wiping away the moisture. Her focus upon Garreth’s grave was full of contempt.
“Do you know what I learned at St. Idloes, Father?” she muttered hoarsely. “I learned how to survive. I learned that God is cruel, and that there is hardly any love and kindness in the world, for I have seen very little of it. The only person who ever showed me any measure of it was my friend, Eolande, and the new Mother Abbess, Mary Moria. She came from another abbey when the old Mother Abbess died, the old witch who would beat young girls until they bled or force them to stand all night in the darkness because they had not learned their verses properly. Only from those two did I see any hint of kindness, and they made it so I never wanted to leave St. Idloes. But then you made me come back here. I am glad only in the sense that I am able to tell you what I think of you. I hope there is a special place in hell for what you did to me.”
With that, she spit on his grave and turned away, feeling liberated and free in a sense that she was able to speak of her feelings, but she was also feeling alone and devastated and lost. There was a whole world out there, and she had a great position in it, but it was something she still wasn’t sure she wanted. Even with a handsome husband to help her along.
A handsome husband she was now bound to, for better or for worse, until death.
She had to forge ahead with her new life.
Dane had heard her.
He hadn’t meant to, at least, not at first. He’d simply gone to close the big doors behind her because she’d left them open and he didn’t want anyone interrupting her. So he went to close the heavy carved doors when he heard her soft voice as she began to talk to her mother.
He knew he shouldn’t have listened, but he was innately curious. He didn’t know her well, but he wanted to, and with her change in manner since reaching Shrewsbury, he was genuinely concerned that something might be amiss, something she was afraid to speak of. So, he did what he shouldn’t have done and listened to her.
And he got more than he bargained for.
Grier’s words to her mother had been sweet and sad, and he’d felt a good deal of pity for the woman. But when she began to speak to her father, that was where things changed. The venom was palpable, and when she began to speak of her treatment at St. Idloes, he understood a great deal more about her life there. It wasn’t just the starvation; she’d also been abused, and all of the rage and pain she was feeling was directed at the man who had sent her there.
It was difficult to hear, and Dane felt guilty for listening, but not enough to stop. It made him understand so much more about her in ways he couldn’t have imagined. I learned to survive, she said. The little oblate he’d picked up from St. Idloes evidently had a will of iron, because the woman he heard cursing her father was stronger than he could have ever guessed. But it also underscored his suspicion that Garreth had been quite cruel to his only surviving child.
And she hated him for it.
It was an interesting and unpleasant secret about the old duke that all of the men seemed to love. With the men, Garreth had been kind and generous, but with his only child, he’d been a fiend. It was information that Dane wasn’t sure he ever wanted to share with anyone, like Dastan or Syler or even William or Boden, but it certainly gave him a new perspective on the old fellow.
He was certain that he didn’t like it.
At some point, Grier stopped talking and Dane began to hear footsteps coming towards the door, so he darted away, far enough away so that when she emerged, he was standing a goodly distance from the doors. When he saw her, he headed in her direction.
“I hope your visit with your parents was satisfactory,” he said pleasantly. “If you need more time, please do not feel as if you must rush. We have all the time in the world.”
Grier’s eyes were red-rimmed. It was clear she’d been crying and she kept her head lowered so he wouldn’t notice too much.
“It is not necessary,” she said. “I have completed my visit.”
It sounded rather final so he didn’t push. Instead, he held his elbow out to her, jabbing it at her when she didn’t immediately take it. When she looked up and saw what he was doing, she smiled weakly and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow again.
“My apologies,” she said. “I fear I am unaccustomed to proprieties.”
He patted her hand. “Not for long. Soon, it will become second nature.”
Grier wondered if that was true. At the moment, her mood was somber and she didn’t care much about anything. They were walking towards Dastan and Charlisa, who were still waiting where they’d left them, but Grier didn’t feel much like socializing. In fact, she was weary and emotional, and very much wanted to be alone. She looked up at Dane.
“Would it be too inconvenient to tour Shrewsbury at another time?” she asked. “I fear that I am more exhausted than I thought I was. I would very much like to rest.”
Dane looked at her with an expression suggesting he’d been quite insensitive. “Of course it would not be inconvenient,” he said. “I should have been more considerate. I will take you to our chamber right away. Shall I send Euphemia to you?”
Grier nodded. “She can help me with this devil of a dress,” she said, pulling at it once again as she nearly tripped on it. “I fear I have nearly ruined it, stepping on it as I have.”
He smiled at her. “Not to worry,” he said. “I am sure it can be fixed. And you are still quite beautiful in it. You made a handsome duchess for the town to see.”
Grier smiled at him, somewhat reluctantly, and he winked at her. She could feel her cheeks flush. Patting her hand again, Dane called out to Dastan and informed the man of their change in plans, and he also sent Dastan for the old serving woman who was still down with the escort. Charlisa offered to go with Grier, but Dane politely declined, stating that Lady de Russe simply wished to rest without an audience.
Dane thought he saw gratitude on Grier’s face after that, and it was probably not something she expressed often. F
rom what he’d heard, she had very little to be grateful for. But he was going to make sure that changed. From now on, the woman who survived the hell of St. Idloes was going to know nothing but a pleasant existence. Dane was going to ensure she had all the food and comfort she wanted, because that protective instinct he’d started to feel for her had just blossomed into something firm and strong. He didn’t know why, because he hardly knew the woman, but what he did know of her, he liked. He respected her.
And he wanted to ensure she knew it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was her first big feast.
After an afternoon that saw her sleep for several hours, Grier had been awakened by Euphemia because Dane had come to tell her that a feast in her honor was soon to be held. Groggy, but wanting to do what was expected of her, Grier had climbed out of the very large bed that belonged to Dane to prepare for the evening meal.
It was an event that Dane had known was coming and he’d tried to prepare her for it. Because of what had happened the night before at the inn, he’d seen that she ate frequently throughout the day, explaining that might help her fragile belly if she kept it full with something light. The gruel in the morning had been followed by soft bread a few hours later, and an apple after that, and then more apples and cheese. He’d ridden with her most of the time, handing her food, and making conversation.
In fact, nearly the entire ride to Shrewsbury, Grier had been chewing on one thing or another, but sparingly, and it had all stayed down. Therefore, in spite of the emotional and exhausting day, the lure of a real feast had her interest.
So did spending more time with Dane.
As she staggered out of bed, a real bed that she hardly wanted to leave, Euphemia was already in motion. She was a woman who knew how to get things done, at an inn or in a castle, and she knew how to boss the servants around, and how to get hot water and a tub sent up to her lady’s chamber immediately. As Grier stood in the dented copper tub and yawned, Euphemia cleaned her up with warm water and rags that had been rubbed with more lemon-smelling soap.
Grier had never bathed so much in her entire life as she had in the past two days, but it was something she very quickly became accustomed to. She also became accustomed to being without her clothes on, a fear that had evaporated at an alarming rate with the lure of a hot bath. This new world she found herself part of may have been overwhelming and, at times, uncomfortable but a hot water on her body was something she quickly came to like. With her hair piled on top of her head, Euphemia scrubbed and rubbed, but when it came to Grier’s back, she slowed her enthusiasm.
“Does it hurt ye when I scrub, my lady?” the old woman asked.
Grier wasn’t sure what she meant. “Nay, it does not hurt,” she said. “You’ve not hurt me at all.”
The servant could see that she didn’t know what she meant and she gingerly touched the scars on the lady’s back.
“Here, my lady,” she said quietly. “The scars on yer backside – do they hurt ye?”
Grier sobered dramatically as she realized what the old woman meant. Much like her hatred for her father, the damage to her back was something she kept buried and forgotten. Although she’d never actually seen it, Eolande had told her that the scars were terrible, scars that had come from the many beatings when she’d first arrived at St. Idloes as a frightened six-year-old girl. After all of these years, they’d simply become a part of her. Out of sight, out of mind.
She didn’t even think about them anymore.
“Nay,” she said after a moment. “They do not hurt me.”
Euphemia continued with the rag and the soap, but it was with far less force than she had with the rest of Grier’s body. Grier simply stood there, feeling the rubbing and the buffing, feeling the warm water pour over her as it rinsed her clean.
Those scars…
She wished the old woman hadn’t reminded her of them.
“What has yer husband said about them, my lady?” Euphemia cut into her thoughts.
Grier watched a bird as it flew past the chamber window. “He has said nothing because he has not seen them.”
Euphemia came around front, wrapping a big linen towel around her. “He’s not seen them?” she repeated, surprised. “But… but he’s yer husband. He is supposed to see all of ye.”
Grier looked at the old woman, thinking that she was probably right. But the truth was that she knew nothing about a marriage, or about a relationship between a man and a woman. She was so very ignorant, raised in an isolated convent, but she suspected that if Euphemia knew that a husband should see all of her, then she probably knew even more than that about the ways of men and women. It wasn’t as if the nuns could teach her anything, and she’d had no one to ask. As Euphemia pulled her out of the tub and had her sit down, Grier turned to the old woman.
“I am sure you are correct when you say that he has a right to see all of me, but he has not,” she said. “Euphemia, I have spent nearly my entire life surrounded by nuns. My marriage to the duke was both unexpected and unwelcome, at least at first. But I have come to see that he is a kind man and he is trying hard to please me. I want to please him, too, but I am forced to admit that I know virtually nothing about marriage. Are you married?”
Euphemia was drying her skin about the neck and shoulders. “I was, once,” she said. “One of those big, strong, redheaded men. He had a temper to match.”
“Was he cruel?”
The old woman smiled faintly. “Not much, my lady,” he said. “Oh, I’m sure I deserved his anger, when he was angry at me. It ‘twas that anger that caused his heart to give out a few years ago. Men like my Bodell aren’t meant to be sane and rational.”
Grier looked at her. “But you did marry him,” she said, trying to find the correct words to ask what was a very embarrassing question. “The duke and I have married, but nothing more. What I mean to say is that we’ve not… we’ve not done what it is that men and women do to have children.”
Euphemia understood, grinning with her yellowed teeth on display. “Ah,” she said. “Do ye not know what to do when ye take a man to yer bed, then?”
Grier’s cheeks were flaming already with the subject, made worse by that question. “Nay,” she admitted. “I… I have seen dogs mate. We had dogs around the convent, but you must understand I lived with women who did not… there were no men around to speak of. I do not believe anyone knew what to do in a man’s bed. If they did, they never spoke of it to me.”
Euphemia finished drying her arms and pulled out a small phial of oil that Dane had purchased in Welshpool. It smelled of flowers and she put a sparing amount on her hands, rubbing them together and them smoothing them onto Grier’s skin.
“Then I shall tell ye,” she said confidently. “First, yer husband is to kiss ye. Has he done that yet?”
Grier was feeling freakish and humiliated. “Not yet.”
Euphemia gave her a rather sympathetic look and continued. “Well,” she said, “when he does, what follows is important. A man comes to yer bed and the fleshy sword betwixt his legs becomes long and hard. He takes it and stabs it into yer body.”
Grier’s eyes widened at the shock of that mental image. “Where does he stab it?”
“Anywhere he pleases,” Euphemia said, as if such a thing was completely normal. “If he wants to put it in yer mouth, then ye let him. If he wants to put it anywhere else, ye’ll still let him. But if ye want a child, then he stabs it betwixt yer legs.”
That caused Grier’s eyes to widen even more. “Be… between my legs?”
Euphemia nodded. “That’s why God gave ye a fleshy flower, my lady,” she said. “Ye bleed monthly, don’t ye?”
Oh, what a horrifying subject they were on, but in the interest of learning what was expected of her, Grier nodded. “Aye,” she said hesitantly. “Why?”
Euphemia merely nodded, not feeling the same horror about the conversation that Grier was. It was a subject she had no reservations on speaking about.
“Because that blood means ye can bear a child,” she said. “Yer husband will stab ye with his fleshy sword, but the first time he does it, there will be some pain. Ye must be prepared for it, but don’t cry out. Don’t make a fuss. He’ll stab ye a few more times with it and then the fleshy sword spits right into yer womb. And then, in time, the bleeding will stop and a baby will come.”
It all sounded shocking and vulgar to Grier, and certainly something to be feared. In fact, she was quite repulsed by what she was told, but she was also grateful that at least someone was telling her what she should know. In all of the years she spent at St. Idloes, the subject had never been discussed because it was purely taboo. The ways of men and women were never brought up. Now, Grier knew why, and she had to wonder why women married at all if this was what they had to go through.
She was soon to find out for herself.
“I see,” she said, pondering the idea of spitting fleshy swords. “Thank you for telling me.”
Euphemia patted her on the shoulder. “Ye’ll do fine, lass,” she said. “Not to worry. Yer husband seems to be the kind sort, so I’m sure he’ll be careful with ye. Now, what dress do ye want to wear tonight?”
Off of one subject and on to another, so swiftly that the old woman had to ask twice before Grier could focus. Even as she selected the emerald silk, her mind was still on what she’d been told about the mating of a man and a woman. It sounded violent, messy, and painful.
She wasn’t looking forward to it.
As Euphemia finished dressing her, Grier’s thoughts were wrapped up in the situation in general and, truthfully, the future. She worried over what Dane would think of her, being as ignorant as she was about the ways of men and women, but she also worried about the scarring on her back that Euphemia had mentioned. Surely the man would find that extremely distasteful, so she knew she was going to have to make sure he couldn’t see it. She would simply lay on her back for whatever fleshy sword stabbing had to take place. It began to occur to her just how ignorant she really was when it came to the world at large.
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