The good-natured look of amusement faded from the sheriff's countenance as he brought his hand down roughly on Kendra's shoulder.
"Those days ended when we agreed to free England, my friend." His voice was filled with warning.
"If freeing England means I must deny every value I ever held dear," Navarre said softly, "then England must remain forever shackled, for I shall not rend her bonds by cutting the throats of innocents."
Garrick's mouth twisted in a smirk. "You think her innocent? You have grown soft, Navarre, and foolish. Now, if you will excuse me, I must 'interrogate' this lovely blossom of womanhood. Meet me early tomorrow to discuss our business."
"Nay." Navarre's hand came down on Garrick's where it rested on Kendra's shoulder. The sheriff turned, his gray eyes filled with astonishment.
"We will discuss our business tonight, Garrick," Navarre said. "I shall send the woman to the tower since you object to her staying in the dungeon. Perhaps tomorrow you and I shall interrogate her together." Garrick's face went stony and Kendra could see the violence just below the surface. She waited, trembling, as the two men glared at one another.
"As John said, you go too far, my friend." The tone of the sheriffs voice sent a cold chill down Kendra's spine.
"Do not think that you may treat me in private as you treat me in front of John," the knight said in a low voice meant only for Garrick's ears. "I am not your lackey. Take care you remember."
The fury faded suddenly from the sheriff's eyes and he nodded, a slow smile curving his lips. Lifting one long strand of Kendra's auburn hair from her shoulder, Garrick sighed.
"Ah, yes, I will remember. I find I am quite weary after all. Let us discuss London tomorrow, shall we?" He made a slight bow toward Navarre, then straightened and clapped the other man on the shoulder and laughed. "Let us not have a wench come between us, Navarre. Here, take her, enjoy her. My turn will come soon enough. Good night, my dear." Lifting her hand briefly to his lips, Garrick smiled a filthy smile and strolled casually to the entrance of the great hall.
Kendra watched as he paused at the doorway and spoke with one of the guards, then left. As soon as he was gone, she rose and turned to ask Navarre why he hadn't told them she was a witch, and maybe even more important, why he hadn't shown Garrick the gun.
Instead, she found herself swept into Navarre's arms, lost once again in his embrace. His lips burned against hers, lowered to her throat, then caressed her cheeks, her forehead and back to her mouth again. No, it was not a kiss, she thought in some rational part of her brain. It was a possession.
Kendra felt herself sinking, falling, pitching headlong into that gentle ecstasy Navarre kept promising. Linking her arms around his neck, she let herself fall. When at last he broke the embrace and lifted his face from hers, his golden eyes pierced her with their feral intensity.
"His turn will never come," he said softly, "I promise you that." As abruptly as he had taken her, Navarre broke their embrace, dropping his arms to his sides. "Guards," he commanded, his eyes never leaving Kendra's face. "Take her to the tower."
Chapter Seven
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Kendra was marched up a flight of stairs and down two dark corridors before coming to a halt in front of a huge door. Kendra gazed up at the gigantic portal, which must have been over twenty feet tall, and forgot for a moment her anger at Navarre's cursory dismissal. The door swung open, creaking with the effort, and Kendra lowered her gaze to meet that of the sheriff of Nottingham's. Suddenly she knew why the man had paused to speak to the guards before leaving the great hall.
"Do come in," he said, executing a slight bow. "I have everything ready for your comfort."
"My, what short towers you have here," Kendra said dryly. "I counted only one flight of stairs, or perhaps funds at Nottingham are so meager that you must build your towers meagerly as well."
Garrick chuckled. "A witty woman, how droll. Again, do come in, my dear."
Kendra felt the sharp prod of a spear at her back and smiled graciously. "Thank you so much, my dear sheriff, and will Navarre be joining us?"
His cool gray eyes were surprisingly warm as he smiled at her. "Unfortunately Navarre has other duties to attend to. Please, have a glass of wine while I excuse myself. I will be but a moment." He walked across the room and opened another, smaller door, then glanced back at her. "Oh, there are guards outside my chamber at all times, so please, do try and relax."
As soon as the door closed behind him, Kendra took a survey of her surroundings. First, a quick look out the huge door, which she had trouble even getting to budge. Cautiously, she peered around the edge of the doorframe and found Garrick hadn't been bluffing. Two armored guards stood on either side of the door. Neither turned his head to even look at her, but she knew instinctively they were both aware of her perusal. With a sigh, she pushed the heavy door shut and turned to consider her other options.
The walls of the room were stone of course, with almost every square inch covered by ornate tapestries, bright with color. Once again, torches were the major source of light, although only two of the six in Garrick's quarters were presently lit. A gigantic fireplace took up most of one wall, a fire flickering there now, warming the hearth. A tapestry above the mantle depicted none other than the Sheriff of Nottingham in full crusade battle gear: white surcoat over silver chain mail with a crimson cross blazing across his chest.
Kendra stared up at the cold gray eyes and felt the ice of his flat smile chill her blood with new fear. Deliberately she turned away and came face to face with Garrick's bed.
Massively built, it occupied center stage in the chamber. Huge posters, two feet in diameter, adorned each corner. They had been carved into gargoyles with lurid smiles and bulging eyes. A coverlet of what looked to be heavy black silk lay across the bed, golden tassels around the hem. Sheer black curtains flowed forth from a large golden medallion set into the wall above the bed, the material falling on either side, while a wealth of red and gold pillows completed the picture. Kendra shivered at the sight of it, then scolded herself for her timidity. She'd been in much worse situations, she reminded herself.
But never in medieval England, her inner voice whispered.
She ran her tongue across her lips and immediately regretted the movement. Garrick, garbed in a loose-fitting robe, open down his chest, had silently reentered the room and was watching her, his eyes gleaming in the dim light like a predator's.
"Admiring my colors, I see," Garrick said, moving toward her with a dancer's grace. "The house of Neushaw has always decorated in red and black with just a touch of gold."
"Rather sinister," Kendra said, feigning a nonchalance she didn't feel as the sheriff stopped directly in front of her.
Garrick chuckled. "If only my dear father could hear you. He prided himself on his charity, you know, except to the women he impregnated outside of his sainted marriage, of course." He lifted his hand to her face and drew the knuckle of his index finger down the side of her jaw.
Kendra swallowed hard. "Then you're a… that is, your mother wasn't married to your father."
"Bastard, my lovely. That's the word you are thinking and that is exactly what I am, just like my good friend Navarre. Both bastards who will achieve greatness and nobility by their own hand, and in spite of their absent, most noble fathers."
Kendra's mind raced as Garrick's finger moved to trace the outline of her lips. If she could keep him talking perhaps she could buy some time. She slipped away from his touch and crossed the room to stand in front of the fireplace.
"Have you and Navarre known each other long?" she asked, turning her back to the fire. She was grateful for the warmth. She hadn't felt really warm since she'd arrived in England a week ago. A week ago. The thought sent a wave of panic coursing through her. A week ago in the future. A week ago that had never even existed yet. Kendra closed her eyes, feeling faint.
"Forever, it seems."
Her eyes flew open. Garrick stood directly in front of her,
his pale eyes flickering casually from her breasts to her face and back again. Too late she realized she had given him the advantage by placing the fireplace behind her. It left her with nowhere to go. Kendra drew in a quick breath as he reached for her, then she relaxed slightly as she saw he had reached for the end of her long braid.
"Navarre and I grew up in Normandy, bastard sons of two of England's aristocratic best. Unfortunately, although our births were acknowledged, our birthrights were not." He tugged at the leather tie binding her hair and tossed the thin strap aside, then slowly began to unbraid the auburn locks.
"Normandy," Kendra said, trying to maneuver past him toward the right. He moved slightly, his eyes on his work, and blocked her way again. "How is it you speak English?"
Garrick shrugged. The braid was undone and he combed his fingers through her hair, spreading it around her shoulders. Kendra forced herself not to shudder at his touch.
"We speak the Norman tongue when we are alone—that is, speaking of John and Navarre and me. Many, like our good King Richard, speak only Norman. However, Navarre and I were unfortunate enough—or fortunate depending upon your outlook—to spend enough time in poverty to learn the Saxon tongue as well. I admit it has aided us more times than not over the years. As the daughter of a wealthy merchant you should not only know these things, but converse in the Norman tongue as well. Interesting."
"You didn't believe my story anyway, did you, Sheriff?" Kendra said, fighting the tremor in her voice as Garrick's gaze moved from her hair, back to her face, "I heard what Navarre said about the priestess and the prophecy," she blurted. "I swear to you, I know nothing about it. I do not know this woman, Magda, and I do not know King Richard or Robin Hood."
"My dear," Garrick said, cupping her head between his hands and pulling her toward him, "I care not whom you know or know not. This night, you shall know me—in every sense of the word."
Kendra opened her mouth to tell him it would be a cold day in hell before she bedded him. It was a mistake. Garrick covered her lips with his. His kiss was hard, demanding, and absolutely terrifying. Using both hands, she pushed against his chest as hard as she could. Off balance, Garrick stumbled back a step and Kendra made a mad dash for the door, then stared up at it, stupidly remembering the guards beyond. He was on her in a matter of moments, his chest against her back, his hot breath raking against her right ear. She could feel his hardness through the cloth of her gown and felt bile rise to her throat.
"I'll scream," she said, feeling hysterical laughter bubbling up inside of her at the sound of her own voice declaring the age-old feminine cliché.
Garrick laughed softly. "Scream away, my dear. No one will come to your aid." He placed the palms of both hands flat against the door, one on either side of her face, then pressed against her until Kendra could smell his heat. He began kissing the back of her neck and she swallowed hard, fighting back a wave of nausea.
"I am the Sheriff of Nottingham," he said, enunciating each word slowly against her ear. "Here, my word is law. Here, I do whatever I wish and there is no one who will stop me." He jerked the back of her gown up above her waist. "No one at all," he whispered.
Kendra fought down the scream welling up in her throat and instead turned in his arms, meeting his gaze, fighting to keep the fear from her eyes. If she were going to be raped, it wouldn't be without a fight and she couldn't fight with her face against a door.
"Do you always have to threaten women into your bed?" she asked, pushing the words out past the lump in her throat.
With an oath, he jerked her away from the door. Fighting and kicking, Kendra was dragged across the room and thrown across the huge bed. Before she could scramble off the thick coverlet, he had thrown himself on top of her and seized her by the throat. Gone was any semblance of the polite, amused nobleman, and in its place was a ruthless madman.
"You will not fight me," Garrick ordered, tightening each finger around her throat until Kendra's own hand shot up and encircled his wrist in mute protest. "You will lie quietly and let me do as I wish, or I will kill you."
Kendra tried to speak but couldn't. She was strangling, dying at the hands of this monstrous man, dying in a land far from her home, far from her time.
"Will you cooperate?" he asked savagely through his teeth, his face pressed close to hers, his fingers hard bands around her throat.
Second order of business according to Mac: survive. The thought raced through Kendra's mind just as tiny black spots began to invade her vision. She closed her eyes and forced herself to nod. The pressure around her throat immediately eased.
"Splendid."
She drew in a deep, ragged breath and began coughing.
Garrick gave her only a moment before he began his next attack.
"Now, my dear, just relax," he said, leaning over her, trapping her legs with one of his. "I assure you there is really nothing to fear. I am certain you will prefer my lovemaking vastly over that of my good friend, Navarre."
Garrick moved his fingers to the neck of her tunic and with one quick gesture, jerked. Kendra jumped as the material tore easily, then closed her eyes as he ripped away the cloth of her underdress as well. Trying to remain calm, she told herself she was tough, could endure even rape if it meant surviving. But when she felt the cool air strike her thighs, and heard Garrick groping to shed his own clothing, something inside of her snapped. With the instinct that had served her through two wars and countless disasters, Kendra brought her knee up hard between his legs.
Garrick doubled over, his roar of rage echoing around the room. His eyes clenched shut and Kendra felt a momentary satisfaction at the sight of actual tears on the man's cheeks. She didn't waste time watching him, however, but ran to the door. Using every ounce of her strength she pulled on the door handle, managing to budge it open a mere six inches. That was all she needed before the sheriff untangled himself from the bedclothes and stumbled to her side. She had one chance, one uncertain chance.
"Navarre!" Her scream echoed down the stone hallway, startling the guards at the door and causing them to turn toward her, spears lowered. Garrick reached her first. Kendra turned to face him, terrified at the anger in his eyes, the twisted grimace of rage about his lips. He lifted his hand and brought the back of it down across her face. With a cry Kendra fell to the floor, the jolt the stones gave her knees nothing compared to the pain lacing through her jaw.
"I shall kill you with my bare hands," Garrick whispered, circling around her. Kendra cried out in fear like a wounded animal, terrified by the violence of the man. Something told her Garrick's blow had been very minor compared to what it could have been and if she didn't give in, he would make good his promise and kill her.
Survival, a voice in her mind shouted. Give in gracefully and beg for mercy.
"So this is the great Sheriff of Nottingham," she heard herself say, almost looking around in horror to find who had spoken. "The man who rules England, some say, reduced to bludgeoning a woman into having sex with him."
"Silence!" he roared, reaching down and jerking her to her feet. "You will be silent!" He pulled his arm back again and Kendra closed her eyes, bracing herself for the blow.
"Garrick, what in hell is going on?"
Kendra's legs almost collapsed with relief as she heard the voice at the crack in the door. Navarre.
"Navarre, help me!" she cried, all pretense of control cast aside. Garrick's gray eyes bored through her, commanding her to be still, but instead she struggled against him, succeeding only in bruising her arms where his hands held her in an iron grip. He spun her away from him and she fell to her knees as he moved to shut the door completely.
"Navarre, in the name of God, help me!" she cried.
"Kendra?"
The door was shoved open seconds before Garrick could slide the inside bolt home, shoving the sheriff back as well. Garrick stumbled backward as the black-haired knight burst into the room, his tall form framed in the doorway, his golden gaze shifting to Kendra's crumpl
ed form on the floor.
"Navarre," she whispered, "don't let him do this to me."
His furious glare took in the swelling evidence of Garrick's temper on her jaw as well as her torn clothing and exposed flesh. His jaw tightened and his eyes darkened.
To her astonishment Kendra found herself blushing with shame. When she'd stood before Navarre naked, at his bidding, she'd felt no shame, but Garrick's violence, which was in no way her fault, made her feel ashamed. Tears burned against her eyelids and one slid, unbidden, down her cheek as she tried to pull the edges of her tattered gown together. Navarre bent down on one knee and stopped her, one hand covering hers.
"Did he hurt you?" he asked, lifting her chin gently. "I mean—besides your face." She looked up at him, unable to hide the pain in her eyes. "Did he… damn you to hell, Garrick," Navarre said, stumbling to his feet.
Garrick had shut the door to the outer hall and now stood, arms folded across his chest in front of the fireplace. Navarre stopped a few feet from him and drew his sword from its sheath. The hushed sound of metal against metal echoed through the stillness of the room, and Kendra held her breath. The last thing she expected was for Garrick to throw his blond head back, sending a peal of laughter to follow the sound of steel.
"Do you draw your sword against me, old friend? Over a wench?"
"What did you do to her?" Navarre demanded, taking a menacing step toward the sheriff.
"What does it matter to you what I did to her?" His lips were still twisted in amusement, but his eyes burned like pale charcoal.
"If you have used her as you used the women in Outremer—"
"What will you do?" Garrick crossed the room to where two swords were mounted, crossed, on the wall. He jerked one of them down and the other fell to the floor with a loud crash. "Will you fight me?" he said, spinning back to face the knight, the sword slashing the air between them. "Will you kill me? All for the sake of this woman? Does our time together then indeed mean little to you, our quest become as nothing? What has happened to you, Navarre? Has this whore bewitched you?"
Tess Mallory - Circles in Time Page 12