When a scullery maid peeked in and explained that there would be a delay with the hot water, Grainne was forced to excuse herself. Anna took her time surveying her new accommodations and thought upon the cold welcome she’d thus far received. Perhaps they were just more formal here. When they got to know her better, she assured herself again, things would be different.
Her maid returned, followed by servants carrying heavy pails of water. Grainne ordered the servants to fill the bathing basin behind the partition. After the water bearers departed, Anna stepped behind to the bath and, with Grainne’s assistance, stripped herself of her travel-soiled clothes. She lowered herself into the large basin and found the water deliciously hot. Her skin tingled as she submerged her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Grainne stood by, head lowered and hands outstretched, offering a cloth, and—miracle of miracles, Anna thought—cake soap! While she washed, her maid bustled about the rest of the room.
When the water cooled, Anna reached for the thick wrap left by Grainne. Her maid had started a fire, and Anna sat near the hearth, settling her head back on the couch. Grainne lifted her heavy tresses and began to comb her wet hair. It was so soothing that, as she rested, Anna fell asleep. Her hair was dry when she woke to Grainne’s gentle nudging.
“Apologies, m’lady. Lord Roger will be here soon, and he’ll want you prepared.”
“Prepared? Ah, yes. My wedding night,” she said unsteadily. “When will he arrive, Grainne?”
“In an hour, I should think,” Grainne answered. “I’ve laid out your sleeping attire. And you still have time to eat before his lordship arrives.”
Anna touched her bridal bed raiment: a white garment with flowing sleeves, a loose neckline, and drapes that cascaded to the floor. Grainne had poured her another cup of wine, and Anna sipped the sweet concoction before picking at a piece of cheese. Preoccupied with the coming night, she did not notice that her maid had left the chamber.
Strangely, Anna felt more at ease than she had in days. She sipped a little more of the heady wine and, leaning back against the padded cushions of the couch, she thought of her hasty marriage and new life. The warmth of the fireplace and the soporific effects of the drink conspired together, and Anna closed her eyes to allow her mind to wander. Visions of romantic embraces and gentle caresses slipped in and out of her thoughts. Instead of the shadowed man with eyes the color of ink from her dreams, she tried to picture her fair-haired husband. She closed her eyes, imagining her wedding night.
• • •
Making no sound, Roger entered his bride’s chamber and found her in repose near the fire. This wedding night would be quite different from the first; there would be no meddling father-in-law tottering about to curb his appetite. He studied his new bride, and at first glance, he thought her to be sleeping. But then he smiled, seeing her flushed face, imagining what she was expecting.
“Aubrianne,” he whispered, and watched as her eyes fluttered opened. Seeing him so close, she blushed; he chuckled and held out his hand. Still smiling at her, he led her to the bed, where he removed her gown, allowing it to fall to the floor in a soft puddle. She held her breath as he circled around, examining her from every angle.
Her blush had warmed her skin, flushing the tops of her breasts with pink. Still, she stood proudly, his equal. Her tall form was classic in its lines: straight shoulders, perfectly shaped breasts, each just a handful, and a tapered waist that rounded out sensually to her hips. And her backside. Roger’s breath caught in anticipation. He felt the beginnings of his arousal. From the way her breathing heightened, Roger could tell that his wife’s blood was stirring too. She would be a passionate lover.
He listened to her as she sighed. No doubt she was fantasizing about a loving husband. His hands skimmed her waist to allow her anticipation to grow. But the expression on Roger’s face as he stood behind her was anything but loving. Roger had enough passionate lovers as it was. What he wanted from Aubrianne was much more stirring to his blood.
Gracefully, yet with terrifying speed, he shoved her onto the bed. One hand moved to the back of her neck. He suppressed an almost gleeful shout when he heard his wife’s surprised gasp. Beyond excited, his hand shot down to undo his breeches. She was truly magnificent, muscular and smooth, with curves that promised to develop as she grew to a more mature woman.
• • •
At first, it was as though her dream was coming true. And then, suddenly, it was real, and ugly. She couldn’t move. He’d knocked the wind from her chest. When she regained her breath, she found herself pinned to her bed. Though she could not see her husband, she heard his breath growing thicker with each passing moment. Why would he not let her go so that she could show him her willingness to be his wife?
He levered her legs apart with his knee and forced himself into her unprepared body. When she bucked in protest against his violent entry, she heard him groan with pleasure. Pain followed then. An excruciating pain that she could never have imagined. Her body clenched against his relentless attack.
As he plunged deeper, the thin barrier that held her innocence was rent. And still he went on, withdrawing and thrusting, again and again. Anna’s voice abandoned her. He held her neck to the bed and, in his frenzy, pressed her face into the blankets. She couldn’t draw breath; black spots crept over the edges of her vision.
And then her neck was free. She felt him grab her hips to force himself deeper one last time. When his seed exploded, she screamed. Finished, he withdrew as quickly as he had entered and reached for her discarded sleeping gown.
So stunned by the rapidity of his assault, Anna could form no clear thoughts. She tucked herself into a ball, drawing a blanket over her battered body. Was this how it was between man and wife? She closed her eyes against the truth of it: she was his to do with whatever he wanted; it was his right as her husband.
Over the roaring in her head, she heard him speak. “I’ll be riding out tomorrow, and when I return, I will summon you to my chamber.”
Anna watched through tear-swollen eyes as he cleaned himself with her sleeping gown. He threw the garment on the bed next to her face. She closed her eyes against the sight of her blood.
His hot breath was suddenly on her face. “Aubrianne. Aubrianne!” His expression was benign. “You were everything I imagined. Please don’t worry yourself. I’ll return to you soon.” After securing his breeches, he strode from her chamber.
The pain inside was so acute she mewled like an injured animal. It pulsed with her every heartbeat. She was afraid to move. Finally, she slipped into unconsciousness.
Hours must have passed, for when she woke, the embers of the fire had gone out and the room was cold. She slid off the bed, then half crawled to the other side of her chamber. Each throb of pain reminded her of every vicious thrust she’d endured.
She found a pail and vomited. When all the food and wine was ejected from her body, she vomited again, willing the bile from her stomach, all the while praying that Roger’s seed would be purged as well. It was then that she remembered that the bath was still full.
Anna lowered herself into the bracing water, then scrubbed herself raw to be clean of Roger’s seed. She forced her head under, coming up only after her lungs screamed for air, and then let her head rest against the basin’s edge. After the initial shock of her cold bath, her pulse slowed and the pain that came with each heartbeat drifted farther and farther away. As her breathing calmed, she sank deeper into the basin’s chilly water.
Her husband’s face as he’d left her chamber had been horrific in its passivity. Behind the frozen blue ice of his eyes, there was a promise of the nights to come. Anna’s mind darkened, and she slipped under the surface of the bath, staring at the world outside her watery cocoon. Her body succumbed to the numbing cold; try as she might, she could not escape its embrace. Before her eyelids closed, a soft glow surrounded her. At least there would be light, she thought. And her final breath bubbled to the surface.
• • •
“Don’t interfere. Don’t interfere,” Grainne chided herself. “Your heart broke when Lady Isabel died. Don’t attach yourself to this girl. Help her. See her to bed. Feed her and nurse her in the morning. Do not befriend her.”
She’d done too much already, truth be told. Still, there was no harm in giving help when it was not expected, especially if she hid her actions from Lord Roger and his soldiers. She thought about the wine she had given her new mistress. Her lady hadn’t noticed the faint trace of fairy cup in the drink, for Grainne had added a touch of honey to cover the bitterness of the sense-dulling herb.
Upon entering the chamber, Grainne noticed the cold first, and went to the hearth to stoke the fire. She turned to the bed and saw her lady’s bloody gown. Panic seized her heart, and her eyes raced to the windows. They were shuttered and latched.
Then she noticed the trail of blood on the floor. Grabbing her lantern, she raced behind the partition. The stench of vomit and the coppery smell of blood reached her nose before her eyes beheld the basin. Her lady, eyes open but unseeing, was under the water. The warm cast of yellow candlelight did nothing to diminish the blue tinge on Lady Aubrianne’s lips.
With a strength belying her size, Grainne lifted the woman from the freezing water. Lady Aubrianne’s head came up with a satisfying intake of breath—her heart struggled yet to live.
“Good thing you don’t listen to yourself, Grainne,” the maid muttered aloud. “You were well on your way to losing your second mistress.”
Grainne pulled her mistress onto a thick rug. She grabbed the corners of the carpet and slid her to the couch. With the utmost care, she dried Lady Aubrianne in front of the fire. Lord save us, Grainne thought, when she discovered the bruising on her lady’s neck. She then spread a clean blanket over the couch. Using all her strength, she pulled her lady onto it, then covered her with another blanket.
She piled more fuel onto the fire. Satisfied that her mistress was as warm as possible, Grainne began removing all traces of violence from the chamber. She had never imagined that Lord Roger had escalated to such cruelty. Her lady would not soon forget this night. But she would, in time, think of this room as a refuge. Quietly, just as she had done years before, she removed a bloodied gown, stripped the bed, and cleaned the floor. Then she dumped the stained bathwater into the privy hole that would eventually deposit its crimson contents to the ground outside.
After Grainne left the room, she made her way to the kitchen to find a kettle. There was a candle already burning on the work block.
“I’m so very sorry, Grainne,” spoke a soft, female voice.
“Yes, well, I’m a little more prepared this time around, Doreen. I won’t allow my heart to be broken as it was with Lady Isabel.”
Grainne’s longtime friend smiled sadly and put her arms around her. “Of course, you’ll try, but I know you. You’ll care for this one too.”
Grainne sighed and looked at the tray on the table. Doreen had prepared tea. There were other items there, too, that she would need to nurse her new mistress. The road ahead would be a long one, and it helped knowing she was not alone.
Chapter Nine—The King’s Consideration
Queen Juliana handed her sister’s letter to her husband, King Godwin. He read the pages, then sat heavily next to his wife. She could see the worry in his eyes. It had been growing over the last two years, as word from his allies in Nifolhad lessened and eventually ceased. Their latest emissaries had never returned and were considered lost.
Her husband was examining the documents on her desk, a mixture of ancient scrolls and their translations, many in her own hand. They’d pored over the parchments for hours. “Kathryn has given Lark the dagger?” he asked, plucking from the table another ancient blade and turning it in his hand. The handle was worn, but the knife’s edge was keen. Juliana nodded.
“And you agree with your sister’s translation of the charts?” he asked, testing the blade with the pad of his thumb.
“Yes, my lord,” she answered. “And we both believe that such a girl’s existence heralds an upheaval for Aurelia.”
“This dagger’s prophecy, you’re sure it is linked to the other’s?” Godwin asked.
“I am, my love,” Juliana maintained. She pointed to the handle of the dagger and the intricate metalwork. Though ancient, bright silver stars gleamed from their bed of lapis lazuli. “Look, here, along the blade, most of the etchings are worn off. But in the fuller, you can still make out the runes. ‘…with night do stars find strength.’”
“No more than that,” Godwin mused. “This is thin advice indeed to plot our course.”
“What is coming will not be deterred,” she said. “Even without the translations, we know that strife is brewing, and the cause is Diarmait, Steward King of Nifolhad. We must grasp every advantage. And if mating the two blades will strengthen our cause, then it needs be done.”
Her king handed the dagger to her, nodding solemnly. She thought of her nephew Larkin, the most talented of the Royal Guard, and his determination to remain a bachelor.
“Have you traced the girl’s lineage? Do you know her identity?” her husband asked.
“This blade has long been absent from its home,” the queen noted, for its sheath was missing. “Its brothers, shield and sword, are somewhere in this kingdom, and intact, I believe. As to with whom they reside, there are a few possibilities. The strongest connection to the old bloodline lies with Lady Estelle of Chevring and her two daughters.” Juliana thought about the simple escutcheon of silver stars in a field of blue, not seen for generations. There was worry in her eyes when next she spoke. “My correspondence to Estelle has gone unanswered.”
“I’ve received word that the road between Chevring and Stolweg has been traveled much of late,” her husband added. “And so it comes back to Roger of Stolweg, for he is married to the eldest Chevring girl. Perhaps it is time to learn more about the man.”
“A mission is a goodly reason to keep Larkin from court,” Juliana agreed. “But he should not be alone, I think. Perhaps Trian and Warin should go as well—so opposite are their temperaments that Larkin may find himself moving to a middle ground. Too long has my nephew dallied with my ladies.”
Her husband chuckled. “Methinks your nephew’s mind is strong enough to not be swayed by Warin; he has always made his own decisions.” He patted her hand reassuringly when she frowned. “But I agree,” he added. “We shall send Warin and Trian too. The hot and the cold may temper Larkin.”
Late into the night, they discussed Aurelia’s future. Queen Juliana told him more of that which she and Kathryn had read in the stars. He in turn spoke of the rumors circulating throughout their kingdom, rumors that only confirmed the Queen’s predictions. The next day, Larkin and Warin were sent to Whitmarsh and to Larkin’s mentor, Lord Baldric. Trian would join them there, and together they would ride to Ragallach, Lord Roger’s birthplace.
Chapter Ten—Awakenings
Anna woke, and in that instant between sleep and waking, her mind was blessedly blank. But as her senses sharpened, the horror of her wedding night coiled around her head. And like a snake, it spit its venomous images across her mind. Her cry broke forth. Oh, she ached, deep inside. The pain crested, and she gave it voice with a moan. She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder and tried to shrink away. “Shhh, be still, m’lady,” a woman’s voice soothed. “You’re safe now.”
She tasted warm tea, sweet, and smelling of mint and chamomile. Her mind cleared for a moment, and she recognized Grainne.
“Here, m’lady, drink a bit more. It will help you sleep.” Anna felt an ebbing of the pain.
When she woke next, the sun was already making its way west. The windows of her chamber were open, and a soft breeze played about the room. The pain she had suffered earlier had changed to a dull ache. The memories, though, were jagged and sharp. For the first time in her life, Anna was afraid. She did not belong here. She would have to escape to Chevring. Tully wou
ld take her there in half the time it took to arrive. She could camp simply, a blanket under the stars, or not camp at all and sleep in her saddle.
Roger would be gone for a week. Plenty of time to make the ride south. Her parents would protect her. But then she remembered that her parents were indebted to Roger. What would he do to her family? They could lose everything.
East, Anna thought next. She could plead her case to King Godwin. But they would send her back. Roger would smooth things over and make her look like a foolish girl.
West. No one would know her in the west. She could hide in a seaside village. She could work. West, she decided. Anna had been so intent on planning her escape that she hadn’t noticed that Grainne was standing beside the bed.
“It won’t work, m’lady,” Grainne said sadly. “Whatever it is you’re planning. I can see it written all over your face. You think you can run away,” Grainne said as she prepared more tea. Anna felt dismay that her thoughts had been so obvious on her face. Damn that door, too, Anna thought. It was much too quiet.
“He’ll make it his mission to find you, m’lady. And after he tortures everyone in your life that you care about, he will kill you.”
“Grainne, what are you going on about?” Anna asked with forced ease.
“You’ve probably been thinking about where to hide,” Grainne carried on. “Not south, he’ll hurt your family. Perhaps east, with the north being impassible. But the best option is west. And if you do manage to elude him, what then?”
“I could work,” Anna stated, lifting her chin proudly. “Or, I could keep moving.”
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