“In the future?” Constantine croaked, a sinking feeling in her belly.
“Why yes, of course, child. This is Lord Rory Broc, your betrothed,” her father informed her.
Simultaneously both Constantine and Juliette hit the floor in a dead faint.
* * * *
Constantine was miserable. She had indeed been cleaned up, then wed, then dragged from the only home she had known after a solemn goodbye. Constantine refused to cry, knowing it would pain her sister even more. She pined for her sister, her father, surprisingly even beak-nosed Uncle Emit. She rode in silence mounted before her new lord and husband. He insisted she ride with him because he wanted his new treasure close. At least that is what he said to her bleary-eyed father. Quietly, he informed Constantine he was going to be keeping a very close eye on her. There was no escape. She was doomed.
“You knew it was I all along.” Her soft comment reached Rory’s ears.
Rory remained silent. He was savoring his victory. His new bride was in fact beautiful when dressed as a woman and in all the finery of her wealth. Perhaps he would find some lad’s old clothing and force her to dress in them as punishment. Perhaps he would teach her the right way to make it pop right now. Perhaps he should lock her in a tower, maybe he would... But when Constantine looked up at him eyes so sad, sorrowful, desperately lonely, and afraid, his thoughts of punishment vanished.
“Aye, I knew it was you,” Rory admitted.
“What will you do with me?” Constantine whimpered. “I am afraid of heights, my lord. Dark places are also frightening. Will you starve me?”
“I do not plan on locking you up, throwing you in the dungeon or keeping sustenance from you,” Rory replied a bit exasperated, but chagrined because he had pondered each for a brief moment.
Constantine’s head bowed. They rode quietly for a short time before Rory heard her soft voice plead, “Please may I keep one, my lord?”
“One what?” Rory asked befuddled.
“One babe?” she whispered.
Angry now, Rory gripped her chin and glared at her fiercely. “I do not now nor have I ever eaten babes.” He growled with fury.
Instead of being frightened at his glowering dark look Constantine managed a small smile of relief. Perhaps if she had a babe of her own, she might overcome this agonizing homesickness that seemed to be lodged in her belly like a great castle stone.
Satisfied she believed him, Rory released the firm grip he had on her chin. Rory realized he had a great deal of damage control to do, not only with his little wife but also with his own people.
He hoped if they saw he made Constantine happy, he would become a man in their eyes, not just a monstrosity. He conceded he was somewhat rough around the edges; he was a warrior after all, still he vowed to keep the promise he’d made his wife’s father.
* * * *
Upon arriving at Castle Braven, Constantine was quick to determine she was in fact married for her dowry. The castle was in dire need of repair and a good cleaning, as were many of the villager’s homes. The people looked slovenly, the castle knights suspicious, although she sensed the distrust was toward Lord Broc, not herself. It did not matter, she couldn’t possibly be more miserable than she was.
There being no women in the castle other than the cook, Rory had obtained the services of a doddering old woman whose only job was to keep Constantine company and hopefully out of trouble. Mary was a sweet widow who fussed over her new charge. Mary had been thrilled with her new position as it meant she would not suffer through another long hard winter. She cared not if she catered to a spoiled brat as she most likely was, as long as she was well fed. But it became apparent, though wealthy, Constantine was not spoiled overmuch and her sad melancholy look had Mary soon fussing with genuine sincerity as her motherly nature came shining through.
“Now, child, do not be afraid. I am sure his lordship will be very gentle with you. He seems to hold some affection for you,” Mary said hoping to calm the girl’s fears, although she was sure she sensed the lie.
“It does not matter,” Constantine replied sadly. She couldn’t possibly explain to the woman she was no longer a virgin and Lord Broc could not harm her. Constantine’s thoughts remained focused on her dearest Juliette.
“Let us get you dressed, lamb. Dinner will be starting shortly,” Mary said, still fussing.
* * * *
Not long after Constantine hesitantly entered the main hall. She gazed about the large room scowling, her nose twitching, unused to such a sad state of affairs. She and Juliette had never been privy to any type of...squalor, was the word that came to mind.
Regardless, this was to be her new home, and she would endeavor to set things to right as a lady should. She straightened her shoulders, calmed her outer demeanor, and walked with head held high. Though her sadness pained her deeply, she determined none would ever be able to tell how saddened she was.
* * * *
Rory came swiftly to her, taking an arm. He’d invited many hoping to spread the news of his new wealth better through his people by encouraging acceptance. He knew Constantine would prove invaluable. Not just the wealth she brought, but her innocent looks and her determination.
He cast a quick glance at his beautiful bride and was confused and dismayed at her look of almost agony. Certainly she must know he meant her no harm. She had not been abused upon her arrival. He had even engaged Mary’s services. He had offered no threats of retribution for her previous act. What on earth could be wrong? She couldn’t fear their bedding thinking she was no longer a virgin. A disturbing thought occurred to Rory, what if she just didn’t like him? What if she hated him as much as his people did? What was it that Juliette referred to him as? Lord Horrible. How could he hope to gain the trust of his people if his own wife despised him? He knew many wives held great fear of their husbands.
Though Rory had no recollection of his own mother he remembered Devon’s mother seemed quite content with his father, they were always laughing, happy when around one another. Rory had rather hoped it would be the same for him. He’d had enough of people’s fear. Contrary to popular belief, he would like a few sons of his own. Perhaps even a miniature Constantine, though he vowed to keep a tighter rein on his own child. No daughter of his would be gallivanting as a lad across the countryside. For that matter neither would her mother. He really had best keep a close eye on her.
Rory decided to double his efforts. He would be patient and caring. Another disturbing thought entered Rory’s mind. He had never been patient or caring with women. All the women he had known were after trinkets or coins. They came and went, following on the heels of the Crusade. All experienced eager women; he had never once bedded a virgin. Damnation. Now what to do?
“Devon,” Rory called, a bit flustered. He seated Constantine at the table to his left and sought out the council of his brother.
“What is it Rory? Why do you leave your frightened little wife alone?” Devon admonished. He had been skeptical at first about the king’s choice for his brother, but one look at the Lady Constantine when cleaned up had quelled his fears. She had cast her solemn doe-brown innocent eyes once to his pleadingly and his heart near melted. Both she and her younger sister, the beautiful gentle Juliette, had seemed rare jewels.
“I seek your council,” Rory all but stammered.
“My council?” Devon blurted, almost shocked into silence.
“My bride is untouched.”
“Of course.” Devon chuckled. Yet the look Rory cast him was not aimed for confirmation, something was bothering him.
“What is it you seek brother?” Devon inquired.
“My bride is untouched,” Rory all but ground out. He was becoming embarrassed; perhaps Devon was not after all a council to seek on such a delicate matter.
At his brother’s apparent agitation, understanding dawned. Devon clapped his brother on the shoulder heartily. Though Devon realized the people and even many a powerful knight feared his big brother, Rory
did have a heart.
“Brother, your coupling starts here. Be gracious and kind. You are her only friend at this time. She is alone and frightened. She has no one but you. Take advantage of it, use it. Once abed you will know what to do, she will not break.”
Relieved, Rory decided Devon was right. He would fawn and fuss over her. The grand show would increase his prestige and calm his little vixen. He was certain of it. Smiling from relief now, Rory returned to Constantine and grandly placed her small hand in his. She cast him an uneasy glance wondering what he was about. But his look was unthreatening.
The hall was full to bursting. Rory had planned a grand feast, platters piled high with delectable treats. Mead and ale flowed. Constantine’s sire had sent over entertainment to please her. A minstrel sang of Constantine’s fair looks, but when he harped overlong on Rory’s dangerous features a glare from his lord had him scampering elsewhere posthaste.
Constantine took the opportunity of her husband’s distraction to study his facial features. He had shoulder length long flowing deep raven-black hair. His hands were large and powerful, calloused from wielding a sword. He was very tall and broad of shoulder. She could understand why men feared him. But when he laughed at the jugglers his hard features changed and he seemed quite handsome. She remembered thinking he was quite remarkable looking when she first met him. Reminding herself of that incident made Constantine blush. She wondered why he had not chosen as yet to seek retribution. Clearly he had been angry. Her wrist still pained from his vicious grasp. Perhaps he was waiting until he had her alone. That must be it, she thought. All this grandiose was not intended for her, it was a show for his people. A proclamation of his new wealth.
Constantine slumped. Her husband could do as he wished, spend what he wished, and sell her jewelry and clothing; she no longer had the protection of her father or Juliette. That last thought saddened Constantine so much she fought to control her tears that had threatened all day. A battle she soon lost. Constantine sat quietly with tears slowly dripping from her long silken lashes to land in her lap. She suddenly did not care what Lord Horrible did. Nothing he could do would pain her more than the loss of her sister. A sister she would never in her life see again, her best friend and beloved playmate gone forever. Oh, the pain was unbearable, she sniffed loudly, and her bottom lip began to tremble uncontrollably.
A widely smiling Rory took in the festivities. He was having a grand time. Except for the damnable minstrel everything was going fine. The people were laughing and eating. His young beautiful wife was at his side. Everything was just perfect.
“Waa!” Came an ungodly howl to his left, so startled, Rory lunged to his feet forgetting he still had hold of Constantine’s hand. She was yanked off her feet backward from her bench and would have hit the ground if Devon had not leaped to capture her from behind.
His hand on his sword hilt, Rory, still stunned, determined quickly that the bellowing was coming none other than from his delicate little wife. A wife who was now held tightly in the arms of his brother, while he himself maintained a death grip on her small hand. Releasing her immediately Rory felt aghast, he might have broken her slender fingers.
“Constantine, are you injured?” Rory asked anxiously.
This was met by another deafening howl almost shaking the room in its intensity. It appeared Constantine had only quieted long enough to refill her lungs.
“Damnation she is loud, ’tis enough to wake the dead,” Rory declared.
“What say you?” Devon yelled. God have mercy, how could something so small sound like three banshees?
Rory’s mouth was agape; he had killed men who had died quieter. “I said, enough to wake the dead,” he tried once more, louder.
“Eh?” Devon yelled again. The room was growing quieter by the minute. All watching with mounting horror as poor little Lady Constantine continued to howl ever louder.
“I said, enough to wake the dead...the dead... DEAD,” Rory bellowed wildly into the now quiet hall.
Everyone stood stunned. First Lord Broc had ignored his gentle wife’s tears, he then had dragged her from her seat, and now he threatened her with death. It was too much, how could any man be so cruel on their wedding day? If he was like this in his hall with everyone watching what would he do to the poor child when he got her alone?
Rory looked about him as the people began to disperse, some even offering condemning looks. At least Constantine had thankfully quieted. But when he looked at his wife he noted Devon had pressed her face into his chest hoping to calm her. Rory’s heart leaped with fear, her lips were turning blue, his brother was smothering her.
Devon had been watching the people disperse wide-eyed wondering what on earth had happened and had no idea he held Constantine in such a death grip.
“Damnation Devon, desist,” Rory all but screamed and yanked a now unconscious
Constantine from his brother’s powerful grasp. His little wife lay limp in his arms unmoving or breathing and Rory raced frantically for the stairs taking them three at a time.
The remaining people stared, mouths agape. Lord Broc, so jealous even of his own brother, had viciously grabbed his little wife from Devon’s soothing embrace. Frightening her so badly she expired with fear. He then raced to bed her in her helpless state. Was there no end to his despicable behavior?
When Rory reached his chamber he gently placed a motionless Constantine atop his bed. Her face was a ghostly pale, her lips bluish in color. Working frantically Rory ripped her dress in his haste to remove it to give her air. He then gently pat at her cheeks, hoping to rouse her. When still she failed to revive Rory climbed gently atop of her to straddle her body, making sure to keep his weight from her slight form. He then tilted her head and pinched her nose closed and blew softly into her mouth. It was a technique he had seen a doctor use in the field once on one of his unconscious men.
Rory blew once, twice, Constantine began to stir. Rory slowly lifted his head, though remained close in case she had need of his breath once more, their noses almost touching.
Constantine’s lashes fluttered. She awoke to what looked like a great Cyclops poised over top of her. Their faces so close she could only focus on one of Rory’s eyes. Constantine shrieked in terror.
Rory, so surprised at her reaction, leaped off the bed backward and crashed to the floor landing in a heap. Still howling, Constantine fled sideways until she too fell off the other side of the bed with a bang and expelled a heavy groan.
“Damnation woman, what ails you?” Rory thundered. He, Lord Rory Broc, had just been frightened out of his wits by a tiny imp. He who was considered invincible, he who had faced many foes, countless dangers...Rory carefully peeked over the top of the bed. The all-powerful lord could not believe it, he was terrified of what would come out of his little wife’s mouth.
“My lord?” Came a small squeak.
“Aye, ’tis Rory.” Rory rose higher and slowly climbed on the great bed. Cautiously, he peered over the other side. Constantine looked up at him with trepidation. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and Rory felt a wave of compassion. “Come sit on the bed with me, little one.” He offered her his hand and with his help, they were soon sitting side by side.
“Tell me, Constantine, why did you howl so in the hall? Were you stung by a bee?” Rory asked.
“Nay, my lord. I just became so saddened,” Constantine admitted.
“Our marriage saddens you?” Rory asked tightly. She did despise him. “Do you find me that unbearable?”
“Nay, my lord, ’tis not you,” she replied.
Rory’s heart lifted at that disclosure. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Who has upset you? Has someone been cruel?” he demanded.
“Nay, my lord, everyone has been most kind,” she replied.
“Then what has you screaming like a castrated horse?”
“I miss my sister.”
Constantine snuffled loudly and fearing she would begin a new tirade, Rory placed a comforting arm arou
nd her. “There now. We have only just been wed and need some time alone.
Perhaps if it would help, I will send a messenger to see how she fares?” Rory offered
“Oh, would you, my lord?” Constantine brightened instantly. “I would be ever so grateful. I fear I miss her overmuch. We have never once in our entire lives been separated.”
Happy her tears were no longer falling, Rory was pleased he made the suggestion. He gave her a quick hug and rose from the bed. Constantine became silent and then looked up at him a bit fretfully.
“Now what?” Rory asked, feeling the dread rise in him again.
“I realize ’tis our wedding eve, my lord, but the day has been overlong. Since we have already coupled once before perhaps it could be popped on the morrow’s eve?” Constantine asked hopefully.
Looking thoughtful, Rory felt that might be a better idea. Once his little banshee found out what it meant to really be bedded he might be in for a trying time. He needed his strength about him and perhaps some wax to stick in his ears. Conceding graciously, Rory left Constantine atop his bed and went to go seek out his brother.
* * * *
“It’s not of my business, but her dress was all ripped. I tell you ’tis shameful. Poor little lass cried through the night. When he finished with her, he just left her there sobbing and whatnot,” Mary confided to the cook in the morning. She did not mention she had waited outside the lord’s chamber wondering if he meant to kill her young charge. Mary heard her lady’s fearful scream and terrible bangs followed by his lordship’s shouting. Mary felt positive he must have put a hand to her mouth to silence her after as everything suddenly went an eerie quiet.
“There is nothing to be done, Mary. Come now, do not trouble yourself. He is a mean one, but ’tis his wife. We cannot interfere,” the cook replied. The two women were old friends; it was how Mary came about the position in the first place.
Battle Cry and The Berserker Page 4