Beloved Forever

by Kit Tunstall

  She found all doors closed when she stepped onto the third-floor landing. Surely, Agnes and Griselda weren’t still in the room. She walked over to Agnes’s door and tapped softly. When there was no answer, she opened the door and peeked in. A neatly made bed and empty room was all she saw.

  She closed the door and moved down the hall to the room she normally shared with her sister. She opened the door and slipped inside after a quick glance over her shoulder to confirm Johanna wasn’t lurking behind her.

  She became alarmed when she saw her sister lying on the bed, under the covers. “Griselda, are you ill?” When she didn’t answer, Elspeth walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. She touched her sister’s shoulder, frowning when she felt how cold she was. She pulled back the thin blanket and rolled her sister over. A scream blocked her throat, and she felt light-headed.

  Griselda’s vacant eyes stared up at her. Her expression was one of terror. Dried blood covered the jagged wound across her throat, and the sheet she had been lying on was soaked through with a huge puddle of dark-red blood. Her sister was naked, and various cuts and bruises—forever frozen in the forming stage—marred her body. Blood had dried on her thighs.

  The scream found its way through the blockage in her throat. Elspeth tried to clamp it off, but couldn’t. The shrill sound continued to pour from her, building in intensity until the door slammed against the wall. Even when she heard the heavy clomping of Lord Tremont’s boots on the thin floor, she couldn’t make herself stop screaming.

  She couldn’t turn when he stepped up behind her, because her body remained frozen. Elspeth’s eyes widened when he clamped his hand over her mouth and nose as he pulled her against him, holding her so tightly her ribs ached.

  “Whore,” he thundered against her ear. “Look upon the wages of sin.”

  She struggled to breathe, but he held her too tightly. Elspeth’s hands clawed at his, trying to dislodge his grip. Her eyes grew round with terror as her oxygen supply diminished. She slumped forward.

  He spun her around in his arms, dropping his hand from her mouth, and allowing her to draw in deep breaths. “You brought sin into my house.” His face was bright red, and the veins in his temples pounded visibly. “You were a party to your own defilement.” He roughly grabbed one of her breasts. “You are mine. How dare you allow another man to touch you?”

  She yelped when he pinched her nipple. “Please—”

  Lord Tremont shoved her toward the bed, sending her sprawling across her dead sister’s legs. He fumbled with his belt before lowering his breeches. “You will pay for this abomination.”

  She screamed as he came near her. Elspeth kicked out at him, but he was like a man possessed. He easily subdued her and pushed up her skirts, tearing away her drawers as he settled between her thighs, taking her as roughly as possible. She cried out at the unbearable pain and lost consciousness as he thrust into her with all of his strength.

  Emily’s eyes blinked open, aware of a heavy weight on her side. At first, she thought it must be Tremont, but when she turned her head, she saw Nicholas stretched out beside her, snoring softly. She wanted to push him off her and send him away, but her eyes closed again before she could form the words.

  Elspeth lifted her head as the cellar door creaked open. She briefly wondered what Lord Tremont had in store for her today, but was too weak to sustain the line of speculation. The days had blurred into a seemingly endless string of tortures. Since he had covered the windows weeks—months, maybe—before, she couldn’t even look outside to tell day from night. Time had lost all meaning for her. If not for her swelling waistline, she would have had no measure of time passing at all.

  The familiar thud of his boots on the stairs preceded his arrival. It was difficult to tell in the meager light provided by his candle, but he looked rumpled, as if he had thrown on his clothes in a rush. The only thing visible was his wide smile. She drew herself into a tighter ball on the dirt floor, temporarily ignoring her assorted aches and pains, dry mouth and rumbling stomach, deprived of the proper nourishment to ensure her babe grew correctly. Of course, Tremont had no concern for the child in her womb, never having mentioned it. He must assume it was Nicholas’s. She didn’t know herself, but preferred to believe she sheltered her lover’s son or daughter in her body, not her tormentor’s.

  His chilling expression made her forget it had been a long while since he brought water, and even longer since she had seen any food. She sensed today would bring a new torture that would overshadow the others he had inflicted upon her during her confinement in the cellar. She was close to delivering the child and knew he would inflict great pain upon both of them when it came.

  “Your lover draws near the plantation. My men saw his boat dock last evening.”

  She frowned at his cheerful tone. Why would Nicholas’s arrival make him pleased? What was he scheming? She took a deep breath and tried to reassure herself that nothing Tremont planned to do would harm Nicholas. He could survive almost anything.

  Lord Tremont walked over to her, jovially swinging the key to the iron clamps on her wrists. He knelt near her, but instead of opening the restraints on her wrist, he removed the bolt from the bar where she was tethered. He used it as a leash to haul her to her feet.

  Elspeth swayed unsteadily. The room spun, and her legs refused to support her. She collapsed to the dirt floor, crying as he continued to drag her. She struggled to get to her feet, but didn’t succeed until he dragged her to the rough staircase, and her knees collided with the bottom step. She used her bound hands to push herself up and grasp the wooden railing as she hobbled up the stairs.

  When they reached the door, she realized he was taking her out of the cellar. A deep blush spread across her face. She wore nothing but a tattered chemise and a torn petticoat. Dirt and blood stained both garments, and the petticoat stretched across her stomach in such a way to make her condition painfully obvious.

  He lifted the doors, and the early morning light drilled into her eyes, making her cry out and shield her face. She hadn’t seen the sunlight in so long that it made her head pound to look upon even the pale light of dawn.

  He dragged her outside, muttering with disgust when she tripped. Tremont jerked her to her feet and pulled her along without a trace of gentleness.

  “Where are you taking me?” she dared to whisper. He preferred she didn’t speak, but she didn’t think obedience would earn her a reprieve.

  “To prepare a surprise for Vallsade.” The merry note remained in his voice, though he was grimacing. “We cannot have him arrive without the proper welcome.” He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers up her spine.

  They stopped near the barn, and Elspeth stumbled to a halt. All of the inhabitants of the plantation had gathered in a circle around a pole in the ground, with sticks and hay at its base. Many of those standing appeared anxious to be elsewhere, but she could see an avid expression here and there among the crowd. Standing slightly apart from the others was Johanna. She wore a red dress made from high-quality wool. Her hair was pinned under a bonnet rather than a mobcap, and she had black silk slippers on her feet. She held a basket in her arms and looked absurdly as though she was about to attend a picnic.

  It was only when a cry issued from the basket that Elspeth realized it held a baby. How long had she been Tremont’s prisoner? Obviously, long enough for Johanna to become the mistress of Tremont Plantation and bear a child. She idly wondered if it had been worth it to the former housekeeper, to know she purchased her position with betrayal and Griselda’s blood. How had she felt, knowing Tremont kept Elspeth as his plaything in the cellar and visited regularly? Did he come to his marriage bed as often?

  A sinking sensation filled her when she realized the child in her womb couldn’t possibly be Nicholas’s if there had been enough time for Johanna to birth the master’s child. Time truly had slipped away. All this time, she had assumed it would be his baby, had clung to life on the frail hope of escape, all to save a child she
now didn’t want.

  The babe kicked then, and tears misted Elspeth’s eyes. She put her bound hands on her stomach, trying to soothe the tiny life inside her. It didn’t matter who had fathered the child. She loved it either way and would gladly die for it. Nausea rolled in her stomach when she glanced around again, taking in the scenario. She would have the chance to prove that soon, she sensed, locking gazes with Johanna once more.

  The malice and dark satisfaction she saw when she met Johanna’s eyes sickened her. Had it been any other woman, she would have wondered how she could stand to bring her child to an execution. She didn’t wonder about Johanna though. The woman was content to be married to a murderer, rapist and sadist. She clearly held no fear that he might someday turn his tendencies against her.

  Tremont tossed the chain affixed to her manacles to a burly black slave in trousers. His ebony chest, bare as the day of his birth, gleamed with sweat, even so early in the morning. “Tie her to the post.”

  Elspeth tried digging in her heels, but was no match for the strength of the man. He lifted her easily and carried her to the post, where Abel waited with a rope. Neither man met her eyes as they secured her to the makeshift post, a tree someone had chopped down.

  Tremont watched with obvious satisfaction as they bound her. When the men stepped away, he raised his voice so all could hear. “This woman has brought sin into our midst. Like Eve in the Garden, she is unclean. We must rid ourselves of her presence.”

  At least no one cheered, Elspeth thought with uncharacteristic cynicism. She saw Johanna’s smile widen and felt a rush of pity for the child. With two parents such as Lord and Lady Tremont, the babe was doomed. “What of my child? Your child, Tremont. It has committed no sin,” she yelled, taking a measure of satisfaction in Johanna’s scowl and the way those standing around flinched.

  Stepping forward, Tremont took a torch from the slave and lifted it high in the air, apparently ignoring her words. He inclined his head in Johanna’s direction and received a girlish wave. As he touched the flame to the kindling at Elspeth’s feet, he said, “Today, we do God’s bidding.”

  Elspeth closed her eyes as the temperature around her suddenly shot up several degrees. Already, the fire singed her feet, though the flames hadn’t reached them yet. She balled her hands into fists and summoned Nicholas’s image in her mind, clinging to him. As the first lick of flame reached her toes, she imagined the soft touch of his hands upon her, obliterating the things Tremont had done to her.

  She was aware of the fire spreading up her legs and whimpered before biting down hard on her lip. She refused to give them the satisfaction of voicing her screams. Instead, she pictured the house she and Nicholas would have built. In her fantasy, children filled the house, and her sister was there. Each night, her husband held her close and told her of his love. He would embrace the child growing in her womb as his own.

  The flames reached her waist, bringing intense pain with them. The baby kicked with a frenzy of movement, and she cursed her helplessness. Despite her resolve not to cry out, a scream ripped from her throat. It echoed around the clearing, making most of those required to attend flinch with horror. Surely, it was so loud it carried straight to God’s ears.

  Emily awoke with a scream trapped in her throat and the phantom sensation of flames consuming her flesh. An acrid odor of smoke and burning skin lingered in her nostrils, and for half a minute, she was convinced she was burning alive. She was trembling, and the cry tore its way from her throat.

  Nicholas was there, still beside her. His comforting arms immediately enfolded her, and she was aware of him whispering against her ear. “It’s a dream, my beloved. Just a dream.”

  She shuddered. “No, a memory,” she said in a thick voice. “Tremont—” She turned her head to see Nicholas’s expression and was surprised to find him even paler than normal.

  He nodded. “I know. He left you for me to find when I brought in my horse. Right there in the stables, swinging from the rafters, to be assured I would see you—” He took a deep breath. “Don’t think of it, Emily.”

  Her haunted eyes searched his. “How can I not? Every time I see him, I’ll remember what he did to me…to my baby.”

  Nicholas sighed. “That was almost four hundred years ago. I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you he isn’t a danger to you. He won’t harm you.” He stroked her arm. “Tremont is a man to be pitied in many ways.”

  Before she could argue with his assessment, a wave of pulsing pain swept through her head, distracting her. She touched her pounding temples. “What happened? Why are you in my room?”

  “You didn’t want to be alone. Do you remember last night?”

  She frowned, searching her memory. She recalled leaving the apartment with Nicholas and returning later. Her brows furrowed as she struggled to regain the memory of the lost time in between. The blissful expression of a dead man flashed behind her eyes, followed by a wave of sexual arousal as she remembered the way she and Nicholas had reached for each other after feeding.

  She grasped her head and leaned forward, whimpering. “What have I done?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

  “You fed,” he said with a complete lack of emotion.

  “How could I do that?” A surge of pleasure shot through her when she recalled the moment the man’s heart stopped pouring blood from the wound on his neck into her sucking maw. She moaned, disgusted and simultaneously delighted. “I killed someone,” she whispered.

  Absurdly, a memory of a conversation with Sara flashed through her mind. She had stayed over at her friend’s house, and they had just watched a movie about a woman who killed her husband for cheating on her.

  “Could you do it?” Sara had asked, as she snuggled against the pillow and cocked her head.

  Emily had frowned. “Do what?”

  “Kill someone.”

  “For cheating on me?” She made a scoffing sound.

  Sara shrugged. “Suppose it was self-defense. Could you then?”

  She had emphatically shaken her head. “I couldn’t kill anyone, ever.”

  The words took on a mocking tone as they echoed through her brain. She lifted her head to glare at Nicholas. “It’s your fault. You’ve made me like this.”

  He sighed heavily. “Yes, I fully acknowledge changing you.” He rolled from the bed and gained his feet. His expression was cold when he stared down at her. “Grow up. Stop whining about how tortured you are, and what you’ve become. Appreciate what I’ve given you.”

  A harsh laugh escaped her. “What have you given me? You’ve done nothing but take from me since the moment I met you—my life, my friends, even my humanity. You want me to be grateful?”

  He moved so quickly her eyes couldn’t follow him. He went from standing by the bed to sitting in front of her, holding her face in his hands. His fingers bit into her cheeks. His eyes blazed with anger when he pressed his face against hers. “I’ve given you eight hundred years, Emily. I’ve given you eternal life, and I’m offering you undying love.” He shook her roughly. “You’re too foolish to accept what’s in front of you. You prefer to moan about how you’ve been wronged.”

  She cringed as his nails punctured her right cheek, causing blood to ooze down her face. “Pweesh,” she tried to say, but the word came out distorted.

  Nicholas’s fingers bit even deeper into her flesh, sliding through the skin of her left cheek too. “You’re a child. A spoiled child.” He sagged forward, and his grip eased before his hand fell away. His shoulders hunched, and he looked defeated.

  Emily tentatively touched her face, wiping away the trails of blood. She stared at him for a long time without speaking, not sure what to say. He was wrong. How could he expect her to appreciate what he had done for her? She sighed softly, torn between a need to scream at him and an unsettling need to comfort him.

  He looked up, and his eyes were a dull black when they locked with hers. “What do you want from me?”

  Her breath caught in her throat a
t his whispered question. She struggled to breathe as emotions flooded her—guilt, torment and fear. Her clumsy tongue formed the words before she could tell herself not to say them. “Make it like it was.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Let me go home.”

  Nicholas shook his head again. “No! You belong here with me. After all I’ve been through to find you again, I won’t let you go.”

  Anger brought a flush to her cheek. “I don’t want to be with you. I don’t want what you’re offering.”

  “Too bad.” He spoke with cold finality as he got to his feet. “You know I’ll never let you go.”

  A shiver of dark delight at the promise in his words caught her by surprise. She squirmed, anxious to deny what she felt. She didn’t want him, and she didn’t want him to need her. She wanted her freedom. “I won’t live like this.”

  He laughed, but it didn’t sound like he was amused. “You don’t have to. You’re not really alive anymore, remember, beloved?”

  She bounded from the bed, buoyed on a tide of anger, pushed past him, and rushed to the bedroom door. When she reached the black wood, she jerked on the doorknob, but it refused to move under her hand. She whirled around to face him. “Let me leave. Now.” Her defiance threatened to crumble in the wake of his baleful glare, and she firmed her shoulders. “I don’t want to be like you. You’re a murderer.”

  “You’re just like me.” His lips twisted. “You’re already a murderer. You killed two people last night.” He began walking toward her. “You felt their pulse stop beating under your touch.”

  She swayed at his seductive tone, struggling to deny the hunger his words stirred. “No, I—”

  “You tore into them like a mindless animal.” His voice dropped an octave as he stopped an inch away from her. “You consumed their blood, and you loved it.” He pressed his body against hers, placing his mouth against her ear. “You were so turned on by what you’d done, you would have let me take you in the alley, amid the carnage we wreaked. We would be lovers now if that boy hadn’t cried out.”