Only For You

by Hannah Howell

  The men obeyed her immediately. Robert, the one who had found her, stayed at her side. He hastily wrapped her in his cloak. She gave him a grateful smile and struggled to her feet only to find that she was still too shaken by her ordeal. Only Robert’s strong support kept her on her feet.

  “I wish to return to Regenford,” she said to the young, handsome man-at-arms.

  “Of course, m’lady,” he replied.

  “I fear you will have to carry me.” She smiled weakly at his look of consternation. “My legs are too unsteady to support me. You either carry me or I fear you must drag me or toss me over the saddle like a sack of grain.”

  “I will carry you, m’lady.”

  “Aye, I thought mayhap you would.” It was almost amusing to see the look on his face as he picked her up in his arms and started toward the keep. “Why do you look as if you march to your doom, Robert?”

  “ ’Tis naught, m’lady.”

  “I may have gone wobbly in the knees, but my head is clear enough. What ails you? If this is such a trouble for you, I will walk.”

  “Nay, m’lady. Then I shall truly get into trouble.”

  “And what trouble could you get into by carrying me when I am too unsteady of gait to walk?”

  “M’lady, you have many kinsmen with short tempers, and it is strongly believed that your husband looks blackly upon any man who pays you attentions of any sort,” Robert explained.

  “And you fear they will misinterpret this?” she asked.

  “Well, you are not a lady who grows faint.”

  “Nay, and neither am I so foolish as to be toted into my husband’s presence in my lover’s arms. I would walk if I could. I hate this weakness that has come over me, but I have not faced a man like Cecil before. You can put me down now, Robert,” she commanded gently. “I think I can walk with just a little help now.”

  “I should not wish you to fall, m’lady,” he said worriedly even as he set her down on her feet.

  She gripped his strong arm and took a few deep breaths to further steady herself. She still felt nauseatingly afraid, but not really for herself, although the helplessness she had endured was something that still terrified her. She also had a fear of facing Botolf. Saxan felt unclean and could still hear Cecil’s taunting words about how Botolf had turned from his first wife because she had been touched by Cecil.

  Forcing aside those thoughts, she found the strength to walk with a greater confidence and even gained speed. It was important that Botolf be told that his enemy was near at hand as soon as possible. She doubted Cecil would be found, but a more careful watch had to be set up. Cecil had shown her all too clearly just how dangerous he was.

  Botolf looked up from the papers his steward had spread before him and tensed as Robert escorted his wife into the great hall. An instant later he was on his feet, moving quickly to Saxan’s side. He heard several others join him, but did not bother to see who they were.

  “Saxan, are you hurt?” he queried tensely as he touched her arm.

  “It was Cecil,” she replied.

  “Did he do this?” Botolf touched the bruise forming on her face, his voice hard and demanding.

  “Aye.” She turned so that the men with Botolf, only some of whom were her kinsmen, could not see what she would reveal when she opened the cloak she wore. She signaled to Botolf to turn as well. “And this.” She winced as he gripped her tightly by the arms and hurriedly closed the cloak. “The rest of the men who were with me are searching for him. Robert can tell you where they are.”

  “And mayhap he can tell me how you came to be alone,” Botolf said in a tone that caused Robert to pale. “I should stay with you—” he began.

  “There is no need. I have ladies to tend to me. Go on, although I fear he has slipped away again.”

  “If he has not, then he is a dead man.”

  Even as he strode out of the hall, all the men there hurrying after him, Lady Mary and Jane rushed into the room. Saxan barely uttered a word as she was ushered to her bedchamber. She was suffering the bitter taste of shame. It was a feeling growing so large it was threatening to choke her. Nothing she told herself, no assurances she gave herself, stopped the guilt from flooding her.

  She told herself that she had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Tied to a tree, she had been helpless to stop any of Cecil’s foul advances. She had not succumbed to sweet words or seduction. Even though there had been no penetration, she had been raped. The promise of that final indignity had been easy to read in his eyes, however. She wondered if it could have made her feel any worse.

  “Child, would you like to bathe?” Lady Mary asked gently.

  Aye,” Saxan replied. “A hot bath and lots of soap.”

  Saxan sat on the bed and watched as her bath was prepared. The two women seemed nervous around her, and Saxan wished she could do or say something to put them at ease. She was too sunk in her own thoughts, however, too involved in her own feelings, to concern herself about theirs. Shame, she concluded, was an extremely selfish emotion.

  “Your bath is ready, Saxan,” Lady Mary called. “Jane has gone to fetch a compress for your bruised face. Come, I will help you undress.” She reached for the cloak Saxan still clung to.

  Reluctantly, Saxan allowed Lady Mary to help her shed her tattered clothes. She watched the woman closely. Lady Mary grew consistently pale until, as Saxan stood naked before her, the woman looked as if she were about to swoon.

  “Were you raped, child?” Lady Mary asked in a hoarse, unsteady voice.

  Glancing down at the bruises on her breasts, Saxan shook her head. “Not fully.”

  “Not fully?”

  “He did not penetrate my body, but is this not rape of a kind? He certainly planned to rape me. He spoke of it, and I could read it in his eyes,” she whispered. “It was so hard to see that, for Cecil looks so much like Botolf.”

  “Nay, not Cecil. It could not have been Cecil.”

  “You think I do not know the truth of my own eyes?”

  “Nay, child, but I cannot believe that Cecil would treat a woman so.” She wet a cloth and dabbed at the wound on Saxan’s abdomen. “He was always fond of women. To a fault, I fear. Nay, Cecil could not have done this.”

  Saxan was suddenly and intensely furious and could do nothing to quell the feeling. Cecil had abused her. The man had threatened her honor and her life. Although Lady Mary could not know it, Cecil had held the life of Botolf’s heir on the tip of his knife. The man consistently tried to murder Botolf. Despite all that, Lady Mary persisted in her blind belief in the man’s innocence. Even though a small rational voice in her head urged calm, told her that it was not really Lady Mary she was angry at, Saxan felt a cold, blind rage seize hold of her.

  “The reason the man who touched me still lives is because he looked just like Botolf. Are there three such men then? I simply could not bury my knife in the heart of this man who looks just like Botolf, but is not Cecil.”

  “It cannot be,” Lady Mary protested in a weak voice. “I just cannot believe he would do this.”

  “Ah, I see.” A part of Saxan was astonished at the furious sneer in her voice, but she pressed on. “It was this not-Cecil who nearly killed my brother. It is this not-Cecil who sends assassins after Botolf, even into the bridal chamber. These bruises I bear are the marks of this not-Cecil, too, are they? And this cut upon my belly was done by the knife of this not-Cecil. He is a very busy man.”

  “Child, you are upset—”

  “Aye, I am upset. ’Tis upsetting for a woman to be bound fast to a tree and told that she will be raped by a man who looks like her husband, but who is, of a certain, not Cecil. Most women would be upset to have a knife held to their belly, a belly that has not bled in over three months,” she hissed and watched Lady Mary’s tear-stained face pale even further.

  “Strange, is it not, m’lady, that a man who is not Cecil would be so concerned about what Botolf’s wife holds in her womb. He talked of seeding me himself and gai
ning all he craves that way. Such is the game he played with Alice. Then he puzzled over whether or not Botolf had seeded me already, whether he should simply cut me open and see.

  “When will you believe, m’lady?” she continued, a hint of pleading behind her fury. “When your son and his family lie dead at your feet and Cecil comes here to rule, his hands soaked in our blood? Mayhap you need more proof than that of mine own eyes. After today I feel well able to give it to you. I will deliver it to you on a silver salver as John the Baptist was delivered to Salome.”

  Lady Mary choked out a cry and fled the room. Saxan sighed and shook her head. That tirade had gained her nothing. She had deeply hurt Lady Mary because she had felt a need to strike out at someone. Feeling even worse than she had before, she climbed into her bath, gritting her teeth against the sting from the cut on her stomach.

  “Where is Lady Mary?” Jane asked as she entered the bedchamber carrying a compress and an herbal drink.

  “My tongue has driven her from the room.” Saxan smiled weakly at Jane’s confusion. “I was unkind, I fear.”

  “Nay, not you.”

  “Aye, me. Come, help me wash my back. I wish to be scrubbed nearly raw. The unwanted touch of a man can make one feel unclean.”

  “Were you raped, m’lady?” Jane asked tentatively as she complied with Saxan’s request.

  “Nay. It was but threatened and I was manhandled. Jane? How long have I been wed?”

  “Four months next week, m’lady.”

  “Aye, so I thought. Now, Jane, if the last time I bled was about a fortnight after my wedding night, what would you say ails me?”

  Jane stared at her in wonder for a moment. “You are with child.”

  “So I would think.”

  “Have you been ill?”

  “Nay, though it has become difficult to rise in the morning. I wish to stay abed more.”

  “ ’Tis one of the signs. You are fortunate, m’lady. Many a woman empties her belly every mom or takes to swooning a lot.” She shook her head. “I should have noticed. I am your woman and tend you daily. It is something I should have seen. Aye, something I should have been watching for.”

  “And I, yet I took no notice. Neither has Botolf, even though he was once kept from my arms because of my woman’s time.”

  “Men often fail to notice until the babe begins to round a woman’s belly and he can feel it move within. Who knows?”

  “I did not realize it until Cecil’s knife touched my belly.”

  Jane’s gaze dropped to that part of Saxan’s anatomy and she gasped. “You have been cut.”

  “Not badly, but the threat of a far deeper one was there; and, fate being the cruel mistress she is, that is when I knew I was with child. I have also told Lady Mary, but I think she will say naught. S’truth, I think the woman will not be speaking to anyone for a while.”

  “So you wish me to be silent until you can tell his lordship.”

  “Aye, please. Is he still out hunting for Cecil?”

  “Aye, m‘lady. It has been said that he will be doing so ’til nightfall.”

  By the time Saxan was bathed to her satisfaction and dressed in her robe, Thylda had arrived. Saxan took the drink Jane urged upon her, then lay down. As soon as Jane had left and the bath was cleared away, Thylda sat on the side of the bed and took Saxan’s hand in hers.

  “Were you raped, Saxan?” she asked.

  “Nay. Does everyone think so?”

  “ ’Tis whispered that you may have been.”

  “Jane will correct that. Cecil but put his hands upon me and talked of the deed.”

  Thylda shivered. “I think I should feel raped nonetheless.”

  Saxan tightened her grip on Thylda’s hand for a brief moment. “That is how I feel, Thylda. I feel defiled. God’s teeth, I shudder to think how I would feel had he done as he threatened. Shame eats at me, and I cannot talk it away.”

  “You have naught to be ashamed of, Saxan.”

  “A part of me knows that. He tied me to a tree and gagged me. I could do and say naught. How could I stop him from doing as he pleased? I could not. Yet, I feel shamed as if I had asked to be touched so and now regret it.”

  “That feeling will pass, Saxan. You are clever, and to feel as if this were your fault, as if you have aught to be ashamed of, is not very clever at all. You are still overset and, mayhap, cannot think clearly.”

  “I hope you are right. This feeling is hard to bear. ’Tis like a sickness. Mayhap there is a potion for it,” she jested weakly.

  “There is a potion—Botolf. When he returns and holds you, all this will pass.”

  “Aye,” Saxan murmured. “When he returns.”

  “Come, Saxan, you cannot think he will blame you for this.”

  “I do not know about that, but ’tis not what I fear.”

  “Yet something is troubling you.”

  “Aye. Cecil said that Botolf turned away from his first wife after he had touched her.”

  “He raped Alice?” Thylda asked in shock.

  “Nay, I do not think it was rape. He spoke of her as a whore. Nay,” Saxan said firmly after a moment’s thought. “It was not rape.”

  “Then that is why Botolf turned away from her. She went to Cecil willingly. She cuckolded the earl.”

  “But will he believe I was unwilling?”

  “I heard you are marked.”

  Opening her robe, Saxan briefly displayed her injuries, then tightly closed her wrap again. “Aye, marked.”

  “A man cannot look upon such as that and think you were willing,” Thylda said, her voice revealing how shaken she was. “There is yet another thing to consider about Botolf and his first wife.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Cecil called her a whore. She is little mentioned around here, but I have heard a whisper or two. He is not the only one who thought her one. Mayhap Cecil takes credit for what was not his doing. It is said that Botolf discovered what his wife was. That is why he turned from her. Mayhap finding out about Cecil was the, well, the final stroke that cut the ties. I have not cured your fear much, have I?” Thylda murmured.

  “Not yet, but your words are certainly good ones to think on.”

  “He cut you.”

  “Aye, but ’tis a shallow cut.”

  “Why?” Thylda asked.

  “He wanted to see if I were with child.”

  “God’s beard.” Thylda’s eyes widened as she looked at Saxan. “And you are.”

  “Aye, and ’twas my fate to know it just as he put the knife to my belly.”

  “How frightening.”

  “Aye, it was, Thylda. I think it was my helplessness that was most frightening. There was nothing I could do but stand there as he played his horrible games. Even now I can taste the bitterness of that fear, for myself and the child that he threatened. I never wish to feel like that again.”

  “Hush,” Thylda said, smoothing her hand over Saxan’s forehead. “You fret yourself, and there is no need. The ordeal is over.”

  “Is it? I think this ordeal cannot be over until Cecil is dead. He threatens us all. I wonder if I fully understood that. Until now, it was between him and Botolf, man against man, attacks that Botolf could and did fight off.”

  “But now you see that it is anyone who stands between Cecil and all that is rightfully Botolf’s.”

  “Aye, all—even an unborn babe.”

  “Mayhap Cecil just meant to frighten you.”

  “Nay, he meant it. He was going to cut me open. The only doubt was as to when and whether or not he would take me first. I could read the truth of his threat in his eyes. Eyes so like Botolf’s,” she whispered.

  “I think that has made all of this much worse for you,” Thylda said.

  “That he looks like Botolf?”

  “Aye. You knew it was not Botolf, yet your eyes told you that it could be, that this man who so abused you looked exactly like the man who holds you in the night. I am certain that added to your
horror. You know they are not the same man, yet they look so much alike. ’Tis so troubling for a mind and heart already infested with fear.”

  “Sometimes, Thylda, you can sound very old and wise.” Saxan managed a weak smile.

  “Well, this old and wise woman now orders you to rest.”

  “Odd, but I do feel weary.”

  “ ’Tis not odd at all. Such an ordeal can easily rob one of her strength. You have had a hot bath, which soothes, and the drink Jane gave you was meant to do the same. Come, close your eyes and rest. Remember that the child you carry shared your ordeal.”

  “Aye. I must not forget that. I shall have to take care now.”

  “I am certain Botolf will see that you do after you tell him. Do not fear that I will say anything until the proud father-to-be has cried out his success.” Thylda smiled faintly.

  “ ’Tis what he has waited for. ’Tis what he wed me for.”

  “That and a few other reasons. The product of your womb was not his only consideration. He wanted you.”

  Saxan smiled fleetingly. “Aye, he did.”

  “And he still will,” Thylda said firmly as she removed the compress Jane had placed on Saxan’s bruised face. “This is no longer useful. Did he hit you hard?”

  “Aye, because I would not warm to his touch.”

  “Which should tell you how foolish it is to feel any shame or guilt. Now, rest.”

  “You will stay?” Saxan asked, her lingering fear echoing in her voice.

  “As long as you wish me to or until Botolf arrives to take my place,” Thylda vowed.

  Saxan closed her eyes, but frowned as she remembered something Cecil had said. “Have you heard much about Botolf’s search for a wife? Whom he may have courted or which ones people may have thought were his choice ere I arrived?”

  “Not truly,” Thylda replied. “I do not think he looked very hard. Lady Odella is the only woman I have ever heard mentioned. She was not the only one who thought that Botolf would soon ask for her hand.”

  “So I thought, I believe the Alansons side with Cecil, most certainly Odella does.”

  Thylda frowned. “We-ell. ’Tis suspicious that they should creep away on the very morning that assassin escapes.”