Alys tapped her shoulder. “Are you awake, my lamb?”
Peri squeezed her eyes tight shut, recognizing the grief in Alys’ voice. The elderly maidservant was the only link to her childhood, and the gruff old woman was heartsick over what had befallen her mistress. She was sure Alys too suspected she was again with child. “Non, I’m awake,” she whispered. “What is it?”
“A courier,” Alys replied.
Peri sat up quickly—too quickly, as vertigo ensued. “News of Gallien?”
Alys shook her head sadly. “Non, from your friend, Tandine.”
Peri’s hopes sank. She accepted the missive, but put it aside. “I will read it later.”
“The courier awaits a reply. Said I was to put the letter directly in your hands, and no one else’s.”
What was so important that Tandine would send a courier? Peri’s heart lurched for her friend. Perhaps one of her stepchildren was ill and Tandine was begging the Countess’s help.
She broke the seal and scanned the message—then read it again. A deafening pulse beat a tattoo in her ears.
Alys fidgeted and took her mistress’s hand. “Not more bad news?”
Peri shuffled off the bed, a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts swirling in her head. “Tandine has word of Gallien. I must go to her. Where is the courier?”
“In the bailey, but you cannot leave the castle without telling anyone.”
“Tandine warns of danger to my children if I share the contents of the letter. De Villiers Hall is not far. I can be there before nightfall. Is the escort armed?”
“Oui, milady, but—”
“Go quickly to the stables. Have my horse saddled. Tell the courier I will be there directly.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Darkness crept into the courtyard of de Villiers Hall as a stable boy helped Peri dismount from her horse. She was exhausted after the seven hour ride, but hope for Gallien had kept her going. The escort had barely spoken a word, increasing her trepidation.
She stamped her numbed feet on the cobblestones. Anxious to meet with Tandine, she was disappointed and nervous to see Devlin de Villiers emerge from the house.
“Welcome, milady de Montbryce,” he oozed.
What was it about him that set her teeth on edge? She pitied her friend, married to such a strange man.
“Tandine?” she asked, as he ushered her towards the house, aware that her escort had disappeared.
“I will take you to her.”
She prepared to follow him inside, but he lit a torch and walked away from the door. Puzzled, she followed him along the front of the house. He carried on, only occasionally looking over his shoulder to grin at her. At the back of the house he stopped at the top of a ramp that seemed to lead down to an undercroft.
She swayed, reluctant to follow him any further as he set off down the ramp. “I don’t understand,” she murmured. “Is Tandine in the cellar?”
She shivered as he beckoned with his mutilated arm. “Come, milady.”
The way he said milady sent a bolt of dread up her spine, but she could not remain alone outside in the dark. Surely he meant her no harm. She was merely distraught over Gallien’s whereabouts. Perhaps Tandine was being cautious. But why?
He led her to a wooden door. “Mind your head, milady,” he warned, shoving the wooden door with his stump. It scraped on the stone floor. He put his hip to it.
The knot of fear in Peri’s belly tightened. Why had Tandine arranged a secret meeting in the undercroft?
The door shuddered open. She bent to follow through the low opening, then straightened slowly, gasping as his torch lit the gloom. It was a cellar.
Apprehension skittered up and down her thighs as he shoved the stubborn door closed. She put a hand to her breast. Something was wrong. She looked back at de Villiers. He sneered and made a mock bow. “Welcome indeed, milady.”
She turned away, her heart beating wildly. She covered her nose against the fetid odour of damp and decay. Cold sweat broke out on her body as de Villiers lifted his torch higher, illuminating a blackened cauldron, the crackling fire beneath it burning hot in a stone grate. Clouds of steam rose from its sputtering contents, filling the air with wet heat.
Memories of her first day at Westminster flooded back. Perhaps this was a kitchen of some sort. The pot was large enough to cook a horse. Her knees trembled now. There was to be no meeting with Tandine. She had been lured here under false pretences.
She looked back at de Villiers. Leering at her, he moved closer to the cauldron, pointing his torch beyond it. She narrowed her eyes, peering into the swirling steam. Bile rose in her throat when she made out the figure of a man, his hands tied to a beam high above his head. Stripped to the waist, his grime streaked body gleamed with sweat. His feet were bare, his toes hardly touching the stone floor. She had seen deer strung up the same way, blood draining from their carcasses.
Fear thudded now in her breast. She cast about for something to hold on to, afraid she might swoon. Was the wretch dead? Who was he? Her gaze travelled up the long legs, over the bruised belly, to the well-muscled chest—
A shriek died in her throat as the steam cleared. The man’s head lolled forward like a broken marionette. His face was hidden, but there was no mistaking the silver hair.
“Gallien” she screamed as terror engulfed her. She wanted to run to him, but de Villiers shoved her back, pinning her against the wet wall, his stump pressed against her breasts. She struggled. The cold rough stone bit into her back. “Not so fast,” he taunted.
A hoarse voice uttered her name. “Peri?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Gallien,” she rasped, heartsick at the pain and exhaustion on his beloved face. She rammed her elbow into de Villiers, but he deflected the blow and laughed. “Awake I see, milord Montbryce.”
De Villiers had brought them both here, but for what reason? She swallowed hard, her throat dry as a desert despite the moisture in the air. Her limbs had turned to lead. “Why is my husband here? What have you done to him?”
De Villiers stepped back, brandishing the flaming torch at her. The smirk had been replaced by a grimace of hatred. “Stay there, else I set you alight now.”
She gripped her throat, seeking to still the deafening pulse that threatened to choke her. She sought her husband’s eyes. “What is going on, Gallien?” she sobbed. “Why are we here?”
De Villiers strode over to his prisoner, waving the torch in his face. “Tell her, tell your pretty wife why she is about to be raped before your eyes.”
Gallien hissed in a sharp breath, then spat at de Villiers. His target sidestepped the spittle then whirled to kick Gallien in the shin. “Mayhap I’ll play with you first, so she can feel your pain. Tell her!”
Peri stood frozen, unable to move, incapable of coherent thought. The man she loved more than life was to suffer terrible torture at de Villiers’ hands. Then she would be raped.
Gallien swallowed, breathing hard. “We are here because I cut off his hand.”
De Villiers snorted, swinging the torch back and forth wildly, dangerously close to Gallien’s chest. She heard the woosh of the flame. The odour of singed hair filled her nostrils.
“Tell it all, Montbryce,” he shouted, prancing like a tormented soul amid the billowing clouds of steam, the flames of the fire shining in his manic eyes.
Gallien gritted his teeth. “This pathetic wretch was my wife’s lover.” He looked into Peri’s eyes. “They cuckolded me even before our marriage. Felicité was a whore who flaunted her infidelity.” He looked back at de Villiers who seethed with anger beside him. “I hated her.”
De Villiers ranted, pacing before the steaming cauldron, promising gleefully to throw Peri into the boiling water after debauching her, but Gallien’s words filled her mind.
I hated her.
He had not loved his first wife. She had hurt him, broken his heart. No wonder he had feared to trust his new wife.
De Villiers growled, thumping h
is chest with his stump. Sweat plastered his hair to his head. “She was an angel. I loved her. You murdered her, and my child.”
Gallien’s gaze was still fixed on Peri. Love blazed in those tormented blue depths. Glancing quickly to make sure de Villiers’ eyes were not on her, she looked back at her husband and put her hands to her belly.
Gallien’s nod told her he understood.
The raving monster who strutted before her, threatening dire torture, was the cause of Gallien’s misery, and her own. Fury raged in her heart, turning her terror into icy calm. She would not allow him to hurt her husband any longer. She would protect their child.
The befuddling fog of fear lifted. De Villiers had a dagger tucked in his belt. It was her one chance. Bracing her clammy hands against the wall, she launched her body at her husband’s tormentor, screaming like a demon newly cast out from hell.
~~~
The bloodcurdling scream that issued from the throat of his dainty Peri stopped Gallien’s heart. At first sight of her, it had struck like a kick in the belly that it was his wife de Villiers intended to kill, not him. He would be left alive to grieve.
The revelation of her condition had been a shock. Elation and abject fear for her threatened to render him witless. What was she thinking, risking her life and the babe’s? Had fear of rape and a gruesome death spurred her on? As she threw her fragile body at de Villiers, her green eyes glowed with rage, not fear.
Caught off guard by the onslaught, de Villiers reached for his dagger, dropping the torch. It rolled towards the cauldron. Cursing, he struggled to dislodge her grip from his good arm.
It was only a matter of time before de Villiers’ superior strength would win out. If Gallien did nothing, the madman might drag Peri to the boiling water and push her in. That or plunge his dagger into her heart.
Fear for his wife twisted in his gut. Pain gnawed the tortured muscles of his arms. His lacerated back felt like the skin had been peeled from it inch by inch. With the last of his strength, he tightened his shoulders and pulled his battered body up, his biceps on fire. He lashed out with his feet to kick de Villiers in the face, fearing his racked arms might leave their sockets.
The brute reeled at the impact, stumbling onto the fallen torch. He released Peri, reaching out blindly with his mutilated hand. He screeched as the hot metal of the cauldron seared his stump. The air filled with the stench of burnt flesh and foul swearing as he clutched his arm to his chest.
Gallien feared the torch would ignite Peri’s skirts. “Kick it away,” he urged.
Yelling a hair-raising shriek, she nimbly sidestepped the flame, grabbed the dagger, and plunged it into the madman’s injured arm. He bellowed and shoved her away. She teetered, then shoved back. Disbelief clouded his eyes as he lost the fight to keep his balance and fell backwards into the boiling water, his arms and legs flailing, hot water splashing everywhere. Howls of agony rent the air.
In his panic, he latched on to Peri, still struggling to regain her footing. He dragged her arm into the roiling water. She screamed, trying to pull away. Gallien’s heart stopped. His wife would either be drawn into the water, or burned when her body touched the cauldron.
Suddenly, de Villiers’ grip loosened as he slipped below the surface. The dagger slid from Peri’s hand and clattered onto the stone floor as she collapsed.
Gallien twisted, straining against the rope that bound him, but it held fast. Was his beloved still alive? The dagger that could free him lay at his feet. Tears of agony and frustration flowed down his cheeks. “Peri,” he cried. “My jewel.”
~~~
The thud of a battering ram penetrated the fog of his despair. The door burst open and men poured in. Relief made Gallien dizzy. He had never been happier to see his father and brother. Étienne rushed to Peri.
“Don’t touch her,” Gallien shouted hoarsely. “She has been scalded. Cut me down. I will see to her.”
Fury blazed on his father’s face as he came to Gallien’s side, clasping him around the thighs to bear some of the weight. “We’ll have you down from there in a moment,” he rasped.
Men bearing the Marmion devise lifted Étienne and he hacked through the rope with de Villiers’ dagger. Gallien would have fallen to the floor without his father’s support. Agony surged as the blood rushed back to his extremities. He stumbled to kneel by his wife.
Steam still rose from the sleeve of her gown where the water had scalded her. Blisters were already swelling on her reddened wrist. He forced down the bile rising in his gullet. She had risked her life for him, and now she might die from her injuries. He racked his brain for some memory of lore his mother may have once imparted regarding the treatment of scalds. Why had he not paid more attention?
She moaned. He feared for the agony that would rack her once she regained her wits. “Hand me the dagger,” he commanded his brother.
Carefully, inch by painful inch, he slit the sleeve of her gown, casting it aside once he had the full length of her swollen arm exposed. The men from Tamworth doused the fire under the cauldron, then stood scratching their heads, doubtless wondering how to get a boiled body out of the vessel.
Cool air rushing through the open door had dissipated much of the steam, but sweat poured from Gallien’s brow. He breathed a sigh of relief that the fabric had not adhered to Peri’s arm, but gruesome blisters were already forming. He thanked the saints the water had not scalded her breast.
She moaned again, twitching on the floor. The spectre of fever rose in his heart. “We must get her out of here, get her cooled down.”
“Let me carry her,” Étienne offered.
Gallien had failed his wife too often. He would not fail her now. “Non. She is my wife. I will carry her.”
“But you’re injured—”
Gallien ignored him, already lifting Peri into his arms, careful not to touch the blistered skin. Unmindful of his own pain, he carried her out of the undercroft and into the house, stepping over the bodies of men he recognized as his tormentors.
Tandine de Villiers rushed forward. “Peri! Mon dieu! What happened? My wretched husband locked me in my chamber.”
Étienne put his arm around her and took her aside. “Your husband is dead, milady de Villiers.”
Tandine leaned into him, making the sign of the crucifix. “May God forgive me, but I am relieved,” she breathed, swallowing hard. “He was a monster.”
Peri moaned loudly. Her eyes fluttered open, full of pain. Gallien’s heart plummeted to his feet. “Vite, milady, cool water. My wife has been scalded.”
Tandine gasped. “To the kitchen.”
Gallien followed in her wake, all the while reassuring his wife. “You have been scalded, but I will take care of you, my love.”
She closed her eyes tightly, and whispered his name through gritted teeth.
The cook and several terrified servants cowered in the kitchen under the watchful eye of Marmion’s men.
“Clear this table,” Gallien shouted to the cook, who sprang forward to do his bidding. Pans clattered to the floor. Dogs ran underfoot to scrounge scraps. A servant kicked them away.
Étienne spread his cloak on the newly cleared surface and Gallien put down his precious burden. “Bring me cold water, and clean linens,” he bellowed to the Cook.
~~~
Peri was sure the flesh of her arm had been burned through to the bone, yet she shivered uncontrollably. Her belly roiled. Soon she would retch.
But Gallien was safe. He had carried her, his husky voice a soothing balm amid the agony that consumed her. He had called her his love.
“Mayhap we should burst the blisters.”
Étienne? How could he be here?
“No, milord, many’s the time a lad or lass gets scalded in a kitchen. Best not to burst the blisters. ‘Twill heal faster, and lessen the chance of fever.”
It was a peasant’s voice. She was in a kitchen? Her eyelashes seemed to be stuck together, but she finally managed to open her eyes. A bloated r
ed face loomed over her—a cook.
A warm hand smoothed hair off her face. She recognised her husband’s touch. She put her hand over his and narrowed her eyes to peer at his beloved face through the haze of pain that threatened to engulf her. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” she murmured.
“Forgive me, Peri,” he rasped, dabbing her arm with something cool. “I am a fool. You are dearer to me than life itself.”
She swallowed the knot of fear in her throat. It was important he know of her love. She reached up to wipe away his tears with her thumb. “I love you, Gallien. But I am not long for this world. Pray for me, and our baby.”
His shout of denial was the last thing she heard.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The cook at de Villiers Hall proved to be something of a healer, which Gallien supposed was to be expected of a servant familiar with herbs and such. Her ministrations went a long way to soothing the fire in his back as he sat sponging the grime off his body in a few inches of hot water in a kitchen tub. The vessel was probably large enough for the scullery lads and maids, but he was forced to sit with his knees bent to his chest. He had to be clean before tending Peri. He recalled that much of his mother’s teachings.
Anguished and in pain as he was, he could not help but be amused by the glint of appreciation in the old woman’s eyes when she set eyes on his manhood. He felt like a child being fussed over by a mother hen.
He cinched the large drying linen she handed him around his waist as he stepped out of the tub. His clothes and boots were nowhere to be found, and he could not have borne anything on his back in any case.
His father had gone off to search for the missing children, muttering about the indignity of Gallien’s flogging and calling for de Villiers to burn for all eternity in Hell.
They had forced a few spoonfuls from the cook’s bottle of dwale between Peri’s lips to keep her drugged. The woman swore by its effectiveness, and Gallien was aware his mother used the drug, but he would have preferred to rely on her recipe. She had often warned her apprentices at Ellesmere that too much hemlock or henbane in the potion could prove fatal. However, the cook reported none had died from ingesting her dwale. He had to trust her.
Hearts and Crowns Page 16