by Anne Herries
‘You had no right to bring me here against my will,’ Elona cried, her eyes flashing. Temper flared in her, temporarily banishing the fear. ‘I have no wish to marry you, nor shall I. You cannot make me.’
‘Come, Elona,’ he said, his narrow-set eyes boring in on her angrily. ‘You surely do not believe that you can resist me? Your father flung my offer in my face. I was not good enough for his daughter—but now he is dead and you are here, my prisoner. Who is there to stop me doing as I will with you? I think that, once I have had you in my bed, you will be glad enough to take your vows.’
Elona stared at him, unable to think for a moment, but then inspiration came to her and she raised her head, looking into his face mockingly.
‘I am your prisoner,’ she said, ‘that I cannot deny, but if you imagine that I am friendless you are wrong. I am betrothed to Stefan de Banewulf and he will not allow what you have done to me to go unpunished…’
‘You lie!’ Danewold’s ugly face became uglier with temper, his nostrils flaring. ‘It was to his brother you were to be promised.’
‘That was before Stefan discovered that he loved me,’ Elona replied. ‘We were betrothed at court and the contract we signed bears the King’s seal. If you violate that, you could be called to account by his Majesty—’
‘Damn you, wench, you lie!’ The Baron stepped closer as if he would strike her, but she lifted her head proudly and something in her eyes stayed his hand. He stroked his beard, studying her face. ‘Yes, you lie. I would have heard of this if it were true.’
‘You will see,’ Elona said, her manner much calmer than she felt inside. ‘Stefan will come after me. He will bring others to besiege your keep and raze it to the ground, if need be. Harm me and you will pay the price with your head.’
Danewold’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. He was furious that she should dare to speak out against him. No other woman had ever dared to answer him back, and he would not stand for it from her—and yet, there was a chance that she was telling the truth.
‘Take her to her chamber and keep her close,’ he said to one of the men about him. ‘By the stink of her she needs a bath. I like my women to smell clean.’
The insult was meant to sting, but Elona was glad of the respite. Thank goodness his men had not let her take time to clean herself! Elona swallowed the insult, following the servant who beckoned her into the keep, taking her through the great hall, which was cold and dark and comfortless, to a winding stair at the far end.
‘Your chamber is above in the tower,’ the servant told her. ‘You will find women there to do your bidding, lady. I go to order hot water for your comfort.’
‘Thank you,’ Elona said. ‘What may I call you?’
‘Friedrich, my lady. I serve my master—but I apologise for your poor welcome here.’
Elona inclined her head, but did not answer. His words were soft enough, but she would trust no one in this place; even the women who would serve her must be treated warily.
They were waiting for her within the chamber she had been given, a small round room with barely enough space for her bed. Surely the Baron did not expect her to live here? The walls seemed to press in on her and she felt that she could not breathe. If this were truly to be her home she would find some way to escape, even if it meant ending her life.
Two women came towards her as she entered, their faces schooled to smiles of welcome, though she could see they were uncertain how to behave towards her. They did not know whether she was their mistress or their master’s hostage.
‘I am the Lady Elona de Barre,’ she announced, raising her head with a flash of pride. She was a lady of rank and would be treated as such. ‘Your names are?’
‘I am Roberta, my lady.’
‘And I Philippa.’
‘I need water to wash and a change of clothing,’ Elona said, determined to assert her authority at once. ‘And I am hungry, for I have been given nothing but bread, water and a hard cheese that I could not eat these past few days.’
‘I shall fetch food,’ Philippa said at once. ‘Roberta will bring you clothes, my lady. I fear we have only a plain tunic to offer you for the moment, but at least it will be clean.’
‘I shall have your own clothes washed,’ Roberta assured her as the other woman departed. ‘When do you expect your goods to arrive, my lady?’
‘I do not expect it,’ Elona said tartly. ‘I am here against my will and shall not remain long.’
Even as she finished speaking there was a knock at the door and, when Roberta answered it, a servant entered bearing a wooden tub. Others followed him into the room, carrying jugs filled with water, which they poured into the tub, before leaving as swiftly as they had come.
Once they had gone, Elona bid Roberta bar the door before helping her to disrobe. She slipped into the water, closing her eyes as she felt the ease of aching limbs in its relaxing heat.
Roberta brought her scented soap and then departed. She smoothed the soft substance over her arms and body, relishing the feel of the water on her aching limbs.
The serving wench had gone through a curtained alcove into a small space where clothes were stored and did not return until Elona called to her to bring her drying cloths.
She was wrapped in a large cloth as she stepped out of the bath and gently dried before being helped into a clean tunic, which she tied with her own girdle of gold threads.
It was one of the girdles that Stefan had bought for her, Elona realized, and the thought brought tears to her eyes. She tried to hold them back, but the memory of those happy days at court flooded into her mind, making her feel what she had lost all the more keenly.
‘Ah, no, do not weep, my lady,’ Roberta said. ‘He is a brute and tears will not help you. If you wish to avoid his attentions, you must use your wits.’
‘Use my wits?’ Elona looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘My master is not known for the cleverness of his mind,’ Roberta said, a scornful twist about her mouth. She was a plain girl, slender but with a square, flat face and snubbed nose. ‘I am fortunate that he does not notice me—but there are others here who have wept bitter tears because of his bestiality.’
‘I have heard that he is cruel,’ Elona said, hesitant still, yet inclined to trust this girl despite her resolve not to. ‘But what can I do if he is determined? It is my wealth, my father’s lands, he wants, not my person.’
‘You are beautiful,’ Roberta said, ‘and he will take pleasure in humbling you if he can, but, as I said, he is sometimes slow witted, though he thinks himself clever. You must find a way to keep him at bay until help can come to you.’
If help came… Elona was not sure that it would, though she had told Baron Danewold that Stefan and his men would come after her. Pray God that he did!
‘I am betrothed to Stefan de Banewulf,’ she said, deciding to keep up the pretence. ‘He will come and he will demand satisfaction of the Baron if he harms me.’ Pray God that he did come!
Roberta nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘If the betrothal was conducted legally, it would be a bar to your marriage—but it cannot prevent him taking you to his bed. Once he has despoiled you, your betrothed may seek to have your contract set aside. My master’s steward will tell him this… You must think of another reason to hold him off, lady. Otherwise he will send for you and—’
‘Supposing I was carrying my betrothed’s child?’
Roberta looked shocked at the idea. It was something that no chaste lady should ever allow to happen and she was a moral girl. To behave so wantonly was a sin.
‘My lady…’
Elona smiled and shook her head. ‘No, no, do not look like that. It is not so. I have never lain with a man, but supposing I could convince the Baron that it was true. A man would take revenge against someone who dared to lay hold of the woman who carried his child, would he not? And a knight as brave and true as Sir Stefan de Banewulf would be certain to take revenge on the man who had despoiled his lady,
would he not?’
Roberta smiled and nodded her agreement. ‘This is true, my lady—but you must give the Baron proof of your condition…’
‘How can I do that?’
‘Trust in me,’ Roberta said. ‘And tell no one. Philippa may be trusted to serve you well, but she is hopeful of marrying my master’s steward and might not keep your secrets, my lady.’
‘But why should you help me?’ Elona looked at her intently. ‘You do not know me and you might be punished if it were discovered that you had interfered with your master’s plans. Why should you risk punishment for my sake?’
‘My cousin was but twelve when my master forced her to his bed,’ Roberta told her and her eyes flashed with anger. ‘The things he did to her shamed her so that she took her own life by jumping into the moat the next morning and drowned there. I hate him and I would not see you suffer as she did.’
Elona nodded, seeing the truth in her eyes. Jedro had betrayed her, but perhaps this woman would help her. She had little choice, for there was not much time. Once the evening wore on and the men began to drink, the Baron would send for her.
‘Then I shall trust you—tell me what I should do…’
Elona felt better when she had eaten. Her stomach had protested at the rich food, but she had eaten her fill, for it was a part of her plan with Roberta.
It was evening now and she had been left in peace for most of the time, alone with her thoughts, which were so gloomy that she found it difficult not to give way to despair. The plan she had worked out with Roberta was cunning and might serve to hold the Baron at bay for a few days—but unless someone came to rescue her, in the end he would discover that she was lying.
Lying on the hard couch, which was all that had been provided for her, Elona closed her eyes against the tears. She would not think of her ultimate fate if no rescue came. She thought instead about Stefan, about the way he had looked at her, smiled at her, and of how she had felt inside. How she wished that he had taken her to his bed. If she were truly carrying his child, how happy she would be!
Feelings of loss and need swept over her. She loved Stefan so much and she might never see him again. If that were the case, then she might be driven to the terrible sin of taking her own life—just as Roberta’s cousin had—but she would fight the Baron to the last in the hope that someone might come for her.
Surely Lady Alayne’s husband would not allow his wife’s kinswoman to be forced into marriage against her will? The thought that perhaps Sir Ralph might come himself raised Elona’s spirits once more. Perhaps after all she was not as alone as she had feared.
Her courage lasted until it was nearly dark and then the Baron sent for her to come to him. Her heart raced and she looked at Roberta fearfully, knowing what likely fate awaited her.
‘What shall I do?’
‘Take this now.’ Roberta pushed the small earthenware flask into hand. ‘It will take some minutes to work, but when it does it will be horrible.’
Elona hesitated, then took it and swallowed the contents hurriedly before Philippa could return from the inner chamber where the clothes were kept and the two women slept on straw pallets.
What did it matter if the potion poisoned her? Elona thought recklessly as she tasted the bitter liquid and gagged on it. Better that she should die than live to be that man’s thing, used and abused as he willed. Besides, she was inclined to believe that Roberta was truly on her side, not like the crafty Jedro who had promised much and delivered nothing.
‘Do not worry, the effects are temporary,’ Roberta assured her as she gave her a wan smile and went out.
Walking down the twisting stone stairs to the huge, shadowy hall below, Elona was aware that a large gathering of men was present. Clearly the Baron followed the old custom of dining with his men and did not have a private chamber. Perhaps he slept on the floor with his men too, she thought, lifting her head as she caught the stink of unwashed bodies and other odours that wafted about the hall. The only light came from torches flaring from iron sconces on the wall, which gave off a pungent odour. Dogs were hunting in the filthy straw that covered the floor, looking for discarded bones and scraps of food that were dropped when the men became drunken and careless.
One of the dogs growled at her as she passed, her skirt brushing against its mangy body. She ignored it, refusing to flinch as it bared yellow fangs at her before one of the men kicked it out of the way. No wonder the poor brute was so fierce if that was its usual lot, she thought, and lifted her head proudly.
The Baron lived in a way her father would have thought beneath him, and her body recoiled at the thought of being forced to live with these people. Much better that she should take her own life!
‘Come here and sit by me, lady,’ the Baron’s voice boomed at her from the table at the far end. ‘I would have your company for a while before I seek the comforts of my bed.’
Laughing greeted this announcement and it was clear that the assembled soldiers knew what he meant by comforts. Elona felt her cheeks heat, but she could also feel the queasiness beginning in her stomach. Roberta’s potion was working.
‘I have eaten,’ Elona replied as she went to stand next to the Baron. ‘I beg you to excuse me, sir, for I do not feel well.’
‘What ails you?’ he growled. ‘You look well enough to me. And you smell better too.’
‘I wish I could say the same of your hall, sir. I vow ’tis a disgrace.’
The Baron glared at her, then roared with laughter. ‘I like a bit of spirit in a woman—it makes her more fun to tame. Make no mistake, Elona, I shall tame you. You’ll beg for your scraps at my hand before I’m finished with you.’
‘Your threats do not frighten me, sir,’ Elona replied, discovering that it was true all of a sudden. Her courage returned. He was nothing but a dull-witted bully, as Roberta had told her. ‘If you lay a finger on me, your life will be forfeit.’
‘You are a lying wench, but even if your tale be true it does not matter. Your lord will not want you once he knows that I have stolen what should be rightfully his.’ Another burst of laughter greeted this sally and Elona raised her head. How she hated to be the butt of this man’s coarse jesting!
‘But there is more than the contract between us,’ Elona said in a clear voice that could be heard by all those close by. ‘Stefan de Banewulf is the father of the child I carry in my womb. Harm me or that child and he will surely kill you.’
‘Are you a whore, then?’ Baron Danewold’s ruddy cheeks blenched. He was clearly stunned by her revelation and the manner of it. She had spoken as though she were proud of her wanton behaviour. ‘I thought you chaste, lady.’
‘I have no lover but the man I am to wed soon.’
His eyes narrowed to malicious slits. ‘You lie…’ he began, but even as he blustered, torn between striking her and carrying her to his couch to test the truth of her words, she convulsed suddenly, clutching at her belly. ‘Damn it, woman…’
Elona’s body shook with the force of her sickness as it rose up her throat in a great tide, spilling over, splattering on to the Baron’s tunic and surcote and over the board, his trencher and even on to his leather boots. And it smelled vile. She had never smelt anything as disgusting in her life. And it kept coming. Three times she vomited before she managed to stagger away, the sound of the Baron’s cursing following her as she walked slowly from the hall and up the stairs to her chamber.
She felt so ill. Her head was going round and round and her stomach felt as if she had been kicked several times. She was dying. She was sure she was dying! Yet the look on the Baron’s face as she had spewed her vomit over him had been worth it, Elona thought, her triumph sustaining her. If she did not feel so ill, she would laugh until she cried. He had been so furious, so outraged that she should vomit all over him—and so much vomit! There had seemed no end to it, and its sour taste was in her mouth.
‘My lady…’ Roberta was hurrying to greet and support her back to her chamber. ‘You are f
eeling ill? I feared it might be so. I gave you a strong dose of the potion, for I wanted to be sure it worked at just the right moment. It did, didn’t it?’
‘Yes…’ Elona groaned and clutched at her stomach again as she felt the griping pain. ‘Yes, it worked perfectly. Am I dying, Roberta? It feels as if I am like to die.’
‘No, my lady, you will feel better soon.’
Philippa had come out to see what the matter was and gave a cry of dismay as she saw that Elona was clearly ill. ‘Oh, my lady,’ she cried. ‘Has that brute harmed you?’
‘No. I was already feeling sick before I went down,’ Elona said. ‘I’m afraid the Baron is not pleased with me. I vomited all over him—and the table where he sat—and it did not smell pleasant. I vow it was the most awful stench I have ever encountered.’
‘You…’ Philippa laughed, amused by the thought. ‘It serves him right. Oh, my lady, I wish I had been there to see his face.’
Elona gave her a weak smile. ‘It was almost worth it just for that,’ she said. ‘Please help me, I feel so weak. I must lie down.’
‘You are faint,’ Roberta said. ‘You must sleep now and it will pass. I will make you a tisane to ease your stomach.’ She smiled as Elona pulled a wry face. ‘Trust me, my lady, it will help you feel much better.’
As Elona lay down on her hard cot, she felt the aching in her stomach and wondered if she would ever feel better again, and yet she would not have changed what had just happened for the world. For what might have happened had she not vomited did not bear thinking of!
Oh, please God, let Stefan come for her, for if he did not she would ask Roberta for a potion that would make certain she could never be the Baron’s wife.
‘How long have I lain here unconscious?’ Stefan asked as he gazed up into the face of the man who tended him. ‘Elona! We have lost too much time.’
‘Nay, my lord, there is no sense in pushing yourself before you are rested,’ the soldier told him. ‘’Tis but a few hours since your horse threw you and went lame. I sent a man on ahead and he saw the lady being taken into the castle. He has returned to tell us the lie of the land and gone back to keep a watch.’