“But Constantine, you are no longer a virgin. Lord Horrible can no longer hurt you,” Juliette said.
“But I have not bled,” Constantine said miserably, wondering what went wrong.
“Perhaps the bleeding comes after,” Juliette replied.
Constantine wiped her hands on the bed. She realized suddenly that this is what her husband would want from her. Granted it was not as painful as she was led to believe, but it was so darned messy. Oh, I will never last. She then glanced at the man on the bed and hoped she had not hurt him.
“We need to return home now. I fear we have been gone too long,” Juliette warned.
“Thank you for not hurting me,” Constantine told the man in earnest. Then to Juliette, “Prepare our mounts. When you are ready, come for me and I can cut loose an arm.”
Sensing her sister needed a moment alone; Juliette did as she was asked.
After Juliette left, Constantine sat again beside the man. “I am happy my first time was with a handsome man,” she confided to him with shyness, feeling the need to say something. Her head was bowed with her embarrassment. “I am truly sorry if I have frightened you or caused you any pain. You see I am to be wed soon. My betrothed is a heartless man who would have caused me great harm on my wedding’s eve. I was afraid to let him be the first to have me.” Constantine leaned over and removed the wadding from his mouth. She expected him to rail at her and she knew she deserved it.
“Who is your betrothed?” Rory asked tightly.
Surprised, Constantine looked into his eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Do you not fear you will be punished if you do not go to him untouched?” Rory asked curiously. The girl’s fear of her betrothed must be great indeed for her to risk such a venture.
Constantine’s eyes flashed. “He would have hurt me. Perhaps he will lock me away. I do not care,” she insisted with a cheeky toss of her long locks.
But Rory could see beneath the bravado, she was indeed terrified.
“What is his name, woman?” Rory questioned again. He was afraid he already knew. He had heard the young accomplice call her Constantine. It was the name of his betrothed. It was not the common name of a lass, but a favorite name of her eccentric father. The other female could be none other than her younger sister.
“Come, Pepper. I have done,” Juliette called from the doorway.
Constantine removed the man’s own knife. She cut through the bond on his left arm freeing it. Once removed Rory quickly grabbed her wrist painfully in a powerful grip.
“His name, girl. I want your betrothed’s name,” Rory demanded.
Constantine cried out with fear. He was hurting her. He was crushing her wrist. She sobbed pitifully and tried to yank herself free but he was too powerful.
“’Tis Rory, my lord. “’Tis Lord Rory Broc.” Constantine pulled violently, but Rory released her. She fell backward hard, injuring her arm. Juliette had her up in a moment and both raced to their mounts. They leaped into their saddles, urging their normally quiet palfreys on, and were off riding at a frantic dangerous pace through the woods to be away from him.
Rory cut himself free. He had been hoping his reputation had not reached his young sheltered betrothed. But it had and with a vengeance. What to do? If she was already this terrified of him, what would she do when they came face to face? He did not want his squire racing for buckets of cold water to revive her on their wedding day. Granted some of the rumors were fact based, but he did not eat babes, nor did he rape virgins for sport. How on earth could he hope to explain to one so innocent it was necessary at times to have untruths about oneself to stay alive? Sighing deeply Rory walked to his horse. He had learned a great many things about his little bride to be. She was for a fact completely innocent. She was indeed quite beautiful, and perhaps it was best not to turn his back on her. Damnation his head hurt.
* * * *
Once the girls had put distance between themselves and the man, they slowed to an easier pace. Constantine remained quiet until her sister grew concerned.
“Are you hurt?” Juliette asked.
Constantine looked over at her sorrowfully. She held up her injured hand, the one she had fallen on.
“The old woman was right, Juliette. Look, I bleed.” Sure enough when Juliette looked at her sister’s injured wrist it was not only turning color, there was a small trickle of blood oozing from a cut that dripped onto her sleeve. The deed was complete, their mission accomplished and apparently successful.
Chapter Two
Devon could see Rory’s mood was dark. He’d arrived back at the castle near dusk. A decided frown to his face. Instead of food, he reached for the ale and was working on his third mug.
“Do not fret, brother, they do not hate you overmuch,” Devon finally declared, assuming Rory’s foul state had been brought about by the sad reception, and rejection, of the people.
“I do not care one whit what the people think.” Rory scowled.
Devon sat quietly beside his brother. They were alone in the main hall. Devon could understand Rory’s frustration, only just returning home to find the coffers near empty. Winter was fast approaching and there were many things the people needed.
Forced to seek an audience with the king upon his return, Rory was granted a boon for his years of faithful service: the rich and decidedly beautiful Constantine Campbell. She was the eldest daughter of his doddering old neighbor. A sweet and sheltered coddled young woman. Rory snorted over that. Sweet my ass! His head still ached. He wished she were here right this moment; he would show her a thing or two of how to make it pop.
His brother’s dark foreboding look turned sinister, making Devon shudder. He wondered who had brought that look about. Devon was a few years younger than Rory; injured from a horse fall, he was unable to accompany his brother on the Crusades. After Devon recovered, their father died and Devon stayed behind to run their holdings. Their father had lost a great deal of the family fortune, frivoled it away until it was almost nonexistent. This forced Rory to beg a boon of the king, and he was handed a wife. Devon knew little of his neighbors. He knew Lord Campbell’s wife had died many years earlier and that he had two very sheltered daughters. So sheltered in fact, he’d laid eyes on neither; the man had also seemed loath to give his daughters over into wedlock, an almost unheard of practice.
Devon pondered over the fact, brooding in his disconcerting speculation. The king assured Rory both daughters were quite comely and innocent, which usually meant old, fat, and ugly; poor Rory, some boon. Also, the people were terrified of him, not that Devon could blame them. Rory rode through the grounds his first day in full battle gear, a longsword on his hip, and an ominous scowl to his face. The people had no idea the scowl was not directed to them but rather the poor state of affairs he was viewing. Homes needed desperate repair; children were thin and filthy, barefoot, wearing tattered un-repairable clothing, some of the younger ones unclothed completely. The men and women fared not much better; they had dark circles from worry etched under weary, frightened, woe-begotten eyes.
“Damnation,” Rory suddenly exclaimed, his mug of ale came slamming down on the long hard table.
“Brother?” Devon questioned, concerned. Rory looked at Devon. They shared not the same mother; Rory’s having died in childbirth, his own birth. Devon had the looks of his mother: blond, thick wavy golden hair, sincere deep vivid sky-blue eyes. Whereas his mother had been petite, Devon was powerful and exceedingly dashing, alluring, a look that was like a moth to flames for the ladies.
“Tell me what you know of Lady Constantine Campbell,” Rory demanded.
Startled, Devon was a tad flustered. Rory knew Devon had never set eyes on the lass. “I have never set eyes on her, brother, as I have told you afore.”
“Damnation,” his brother grumbled.
“What has you so vexed?” Devon suddenly realized Rory’s mood was not an effect caused by the peasants.
“I believe I may have encountered the little vix
en.” Rory snarled.
Intrigued, Devon leaned closer. “Is she ancient and pig-like then?”
“No, she is no young girl to be certain, but comely, a very rare beautiful young woman.” Rory’s answer was short, and he glanced over with a look of irritation.
Devon smiled and raised an eyebrow. “So when did this certain tryst take place?”
“It was not a tryst. She and her sibling waylaid me when I was alone,” Rory replied.
Devon appeared shocked at first then chuckled. “Did they hurt you?”
“They hit my head and knocked me senseless,” Rory grouched.
“Were you robbed? Is that how they come to have wealth? Appearing helpless, they coerced you into stopping to offer aid, and then they knocked you out from behind? That is outrageous; we must put a stop to this at once.” Devon began to rise from his bench.
“Calm yourself, brother, I was not robbed.” Rory put out a hand to still his motion.
“What did they seek?” Devon asked perplexed, reseating himself with an air of confusion.
Feeling sheepish, Rory shrugged the question off. He would rather not explain the ‘popping’ incident. “It matters not what they wanted. What concerns me is my betrothed and her younger sister appear to be scampering around the countryside dressed as lads.”
“Lads?” Devon inquired, an eyebrow raised. “What did they want?”
“It matters not,” Rory insisted, turning red. “What matters is that I need to up my wedding date before my comely little imp is killed. We have need of her dowry.”
Devon smiled shrewdly. “Why, brother, I do believe you are smitten.”
“I am not smitten,” Rory thundered and jumped to his feet, his cup of ale clattered to the floor.
He was no love struck lad. Just because he would like to run his hands through her silken long tresses, taste her rosy moist lips, feel her firm rounded bottom cupped tightly within his grasp, and feel her hands gliding upon his manhood once more. They did need the girl’s wealth, they did. She belonged to him after all. Damnation. He was smitten. Annoyed, Rory dropped back down to the chair he had vacated for his tirade.
“Rory’s smitten,” Devon quietly offered a singsong chant. He stopped as his brother’s look turned murderous.
“All right, smitten or no, on the morrow I am headed to collect my boon. If I do not, I may just pop,” Rory said.
His voice held a devious quality that had Devon wondering. Just what did they do to him?
* * * *
“How fares your injury?” Juliette inquired of her sister.
“’Tis fine,” Constantine replied in a quiet tone, then rubbed at it absently.
They were both sitting companionably on Constantine’s bed. “We have not much time left together,” Constantine said, her mournful gaze shifted to settle upon the floor.
Juliette clasped her sister’s uninjured hand within both of hers. They had never been separated before; they had always had one another, the pain they were feeling was becoming unbearable.
“Perhaps...” Juliette began tentatively.
“Nay, I doubt he will let me visit,” Constantine said dejectedly.
“Perhaps...” Juliette began, this time hopefully.
“Nay, I doubt he will allow you to visit,” Constantine moaned.
“Drat the beast,” Juliette exclaimed.
They sat sullen, quiet with their pondering thoughts, until the door burst open startling both of them. “Quickly, girls, make ready yourselves, we are to have company.”
Both girls jumped up as Uncle Emit scurried into their room looking haggard. Uncle Emit always appeared haggard. He claimed caring for the two of them had aged him before his time.
“Who comes?” Juliette anxiously asked.
“’Tis a lord, now hurry, hurry,” Uncle Emit practically screeched, and after a close inspection of both with his eagle eyes, he fled the room as quickly as he had entered.
“Do you suppose Lord Horrible comes for me already? Do you suppose the other man has spoken of my indiscretion?” Constantine practically howled. “Oh, I am doomed, doomed.”
“You are not doomed. I will go take a look,” Juliette promised and fled the room as Emit had done.
Juliette returned shortly, a look of pure horror on her face. She walked quietly to the bed and plopped herself down, her eyes wide and troubled.
“Well? ’Tis Lord Horrible?” Constantine asked frantically, wringing her hands, near bouncing in her agitation.
“Worse,” Juliette said aghast.
Constantine stilled, her eyes widened sharply at that. What could possibly be worse than Lord Broc? Her own eyes suddenly lit with understanding, she too flopped atop the bed. “This cannot be happening,” she whimpered, her head bowed in her hands.
“I am afraid so, Pepper. The man you bedded is right now speaking to our father. You were right. We are doomed.”
* * * *
Impressive at six feet four inches in height, Lord Rory Broc towered over Lord Campbell. With his younger brother Devon, who was not much smaller, at his side they were indeed an imposing pair.
Lord Campbell looked up at the young man chosen for his daughter. She would be well protected, but more than that she would be happy. Gregory Campbell loved his daughters more than life itself. He wanted them to remain with him forever, although he was unable to refuse a direct order from the King. Edward had been gracious enough to understand Gregory’s anxiousness. An old and dear friend, His Majesty spoke with him at great length, kindly insisting it was time to allow his child the pleasure of her own family.
Gregory wanted his children close by so that he may visit, and the request had been honored. He knew Rory Broc was a favorite of the king, yet he lacked finances. That mattered not. What mattered to Gregory was the man within the man. Oh, he knew of Broc’s reputation, he also knew not all said was true. When Broc came for Constantine’s hand all Gregory had asked was that he make her happy, Broc had given his word. That part of his reputation was at least truthful. Lord Rory Broc was indeed a man of his word. Constantine, her father was certain, would be well cared for.
“They will be down posthaste,” Emit informed Gregory. His voice came out a wheeze and the spindly little man dropped to a bench to catch his breath.
“Thank you, Emit,” Gregory said kindly. Poor old man, every year the steps grew harder for him. He did his best though. Having no other family, Emit was invited into their home at Gregory’s wife’s pleading. Just as it was with his daughters, he could deny her nothing. So, old Emit came to stay. He helped him through the agonizing weeks and months after his wife died. Emit was the one who made Gregory realize his beloved wife was not really gone as long as he had Juliette and Constantine; his daughters became his life.
****
“I look forward to seeing my betrothed,” Rory said with a pleasant smile. He waited in eager anticipation. Dressed as a lad, the lass was very comely, how would she look dressed as a woman?
Emit’s shrill, unmanly shriek startled Rory whose hand went automatically to his sword hilt. Disbelief made his eyes widen in sheer surprise. He blinked, hard. He knew one of the filthy dripping, foul-smelling creatures who now stood before them was his intended, but even he could not make out which one she was.
****
After Juliette’s terrifying discovery, Constantine grabbed her hand. They fled down a secret passage they found years ago that enabled them to come and go as they pleased when their father and Uncle Emit became too smothering. Once reaching the bog, Juliette frowned in concern at what Constantine was now demanding of her. She expected her to take a dip into the blackened smelly cold pond knowing the bracken bits would stick to them. Juliette paused in uncertainty only moments before being pushed roughly from behind. She came up kicking and smelling horrific. Constantine sat beside her, bits of reeds and muck clinging to her head and throughout her long hair, a sticky substance oozed through fingers she held up in disgust. She looked just as miserable as Juliett
e felt.
Juliette glared at her evilly. “You do realize the next time you wish to couple, I will not be about?”
“I am afraid ’tis not enough,” Constantine said, her brow furrowing.
“What mean you, ‘not enough’?” Juliette asked, her glare turned to trepidation.
“Come on,” Constantine said and struggled out of the bog, her dress sodden and clinging.
She led Juliette to the stable. Juliette turned swiftly but Constantine had anticipated her reluctance as they approached the manure pile.
“Come now, Juliette, it will not be that awful.” Constantine tried persuasion.
“Show me.” A gleam to her eye, Juliette returned the favor and Constantine roughly nosedived into the fresh pile of horse dung and straw, her arms flailing.
Juliette laughed as her sister came out spluttering. Her laughter was short lived however when she was smacked soundly in the face with runny feces. One of their horses was ill. Juliette howled in disgust and lobbed some dung of her own. It did not take long for both girls to be rolling around in the filth.
“Constantine? Is that you? Are you in there? Under all—that?” An astounded Gregory inquired to one of the filth-covered creatures before him.
“Yes, father,” came a subdued response.
“What happened, child? Juliette is that you?” their father asked aghast.
“We—fell,” Constantine replied lamely.
“Fell from what? Fell into what?” Uncle Emit cried, his nose twitched distastefully, he feared he would expire here and now of embarrassment.
Rory stood staring from one to the other. Most definitely he had a smart little vixen on his hands. If he wasn’t positive of their identity he would be hard-pressed to recognize them.
“You are planning to clean her before you hand her over to me?” Rory chuckled with amusement.
“My lord, I swear I just left them alone for a second,” Emit cried distressed.
“Then I must make certain in the future she is not left alone for even a second,” Rory said, still smiling. Oh my yes, he was having fun again.
Battle Cry and The Berserker Page 3