The Blood and The Bloom (Men of Blood Book 1)

by Rosamund Winchester

  “But then, he could not just abduct her as he wished. There would be too many people as witness, and the cardinal does not like trouble in his realm,” Elric sneered, and Tristin understood his friend’s spite. For all of the cardinal’s airs of holiness, they each knew there were sins, buried deep, that he hid from his “worshippers”. They just hadn’t cared enough to dig for the truth.

  Now, though…Tristin couldn’t help but wonder if the cardinal’s sins were interwoven with Willem’s.

  “Aye. It was the only way he could get Bell Heather without turning all eyes on himself. This way, with abducting her from you, the cardinal’s wrath will fall on your shoulders. Mason knows that by threatening one of you, you will keep his secret.”

  “Damn!” Bear roared, throwing his head back to bellow into the sky. “How dare he use my daughter in his ruse? I want to crush him.”

  “We all do, my friend. But first, we need to rescue Bell Heather,” Tristin said, his voice calmer than he thought it could be.

  “Tell us about this hidden room?” Glenn demanded.

  Timmons eyed Tristin, then began, “He was really quiet about it, only hiring a few men for a week at a time so that none of them knew what they were building. But the men talk. There are three masons in Hixon who got drunk and shared that they had created a second, hidden room, off of Willem’s bedchamber. It greatly reduced the size of his sleeping chamber, but it created a room where he could hurt those girls without anyone hearing them scream.

  A shuddered rocked Tristin’s frame. The horror those girls must have endured—what Bell Heather would endure if he didn’t save her in time.

  “How do you get to the room?” Tristin asked, itching to get moving.

  “There is a hidden latch, it opens the door to the corridor linking the rooms.”

  Tristin nodded, turning to Elric, who also nodded. “Do you have any other information useful to us?”

  Timmons shook his head. “Nay, I know nothing else.”

  Tristin sighed, weary and yet vibrating with unspent aggression.

  Finally, having wrung all the information he could from the man, Tristin signaled to Glenn to end the man’s tainted life.

  Turning his back, he only heard the barest of shrieks before there was silence. Tristin and his men mounted and headed west, toward Hickston Close.

  When he’d sworn to not follow after Willem, he’d meant it. They wouldn’t follow him, they would make their own way to his castle. And once there, he would destroy everything the man loved, starting with his own life. Then, he would go to Cieldon where he would lay down his sword and swear to Bell Heather to protect her.

  The memory of her face when he’d promised to not follow tore another wound into his heart. The look of betrayal in her eyes nearly felled him, but he couldn’t let on that he was planning to rescue her. As intelligent and brave as she was, she was terrible at keeping secrets. Her eyes and her expressions gave everything away. It was one of the things he loved most about her. Her honesty, her courage, her ability to care so deeply and burn so hot.

  And he would take that into his keeping, and cherish her for always.

  “Tristin, we will get her back,” Elric said, his gaze taking in Tristin’s expression as he pulled Bellerophon up beside him. Glenn and Sluagh pulled up on his left.

  Tristin looked at these men, these loyal, faithful men, and knew that it would kill him to leave them. But he wanted more from his life, he wanted a life with Bell Heather. But first, he had to save her.

  With a whoop, he kicked Chevalier into a gallop, the late afternoon sun shining its encouragement down on them as they raced from the glen.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She didn’t know how long they’d been riding, only that she’d endured Willem’s touch for far too long. He used one hand to grip the reins but the other one was free to fondle her, sliding over her breasts, drifting down her belly toward her womanhood. Thankfully, the way her legs were situated, he couldn’t get much farther than her navel.

  That much to be thankful for, aye? What an awful thing to be grateful for! As she sat, seething beneath her stiff exterior, Bell Heather was biting her tongue, drawing strength from the coppery taste of her own blood.

  Once again, the vile wretch leaned forward, nuzzling her neck. “You smell of heather, Bell Heather…a most intoxicating scent.”

  She said nothing, only stiffening further.

  He chuckled, the rumbling of his laughter sending shards of glass through her veins. She bit back a frustrated shriek.

  “Soon, you will smell of leather…and my seed,” he drawled, and she finally broke.

  “I would rather die than let ye touch me!” she shrilled, struggling to pull away from him. She didn’t care that she was high up on a horse, and that the horse was moving along at a quick pace. She’d rather be trampled to death beneath the horse’s hooves than let Willem Mason put his seed anywhere near her.

  He hissed, gripping her neck in the vice of his hand. He pressed his nose into her cheek.

  “You are a fool to think you have any choice. Do not forget, my doll…there is a little girl out there, without the protection of her papa. I would hate for anything to happen to her.”

  Her anger doused in a second and her breath caught. The bastard really would hurt an innocent child. He’d done it too many times before. All those girls from the villages, who went to his castle, only to return weeks later as hollow husks and ravaged souls. She knew what he was capable of…and now, she’d experience his depravity for herself.

  Better ye than Marian…

  Forcing herself to calm, she let logic take the place of all the roiling emotions. She could still escape. Once they reached his castle, she’d ask someone for help—but then, none of the people in the castle had helped those other girls. It was as though Mason had corrupted his household, turning them all into complacent slaves.

  Just like he wanted her to be.

  Not if I have anything to do with it. She’d fight, to her last breath, if she had to, to keep from becoming like those other girls. She’d seen it with her own eyes, the lifelessness behind their eyes, the drawn and empty expressions, the bruises, the welts… She nearly gagged at the memory.

  “Do not worry, my dear. We will be home soon enough, then I will make you comfortable,” he purred into her ear, and she shuddered, hating her vulnerability.

  Oh, Tristin… Forcing out the images of Willem Mason making her comfortable, she let the memories of her time with Tristin flow in. The warmth of his embrace, the pleasure of his body in hers, the sighs, the bursting of lights and hearts… Being with Tristin was the most incredible experience of her life, and she couldn’t help wanting to repeat it. But he betrayed her, he let a villain steal her away, and then promised to not come for her.

  Again, anger filled her, and she trembled with it. She could count on no one but herself, just as it had been since her mother died. And she could survive this just as she had everything else, with strength and purpose.

  But the pain was still there, the knowledge that the one man she’d given her innocence to didn’t care enough about her gift to want to save her. To him, she was no better than a pest best left for extermination. By Willem Mason.

  Her thoughts swirled, tumbling through her mind, and she watched, blindly, as the terrain changed from open fields to hillocks to finally small plots of farm land. They were nearing his castle, and she could make out the turrets and walls peaking over a rise in the distance. Not too long now, and she’d be trapped in the devil’s lair. At his mercy.

  The hand around her throat tightened. “Do not think of doing anything foolish. I will catch you, and I will punish you.” His threat worked, removing any desire to run from her mind. She knew his brand of punishment. She’d just have to think of another way. Sneak away, perhaps. Perhaps she could fashion a rope and leave through a window, or she could bribe one of the maids to disguise her so she could leave through the back door.

  More thoughts swi
rled, and she didn’t come up for air until they were cantering through the gates of his castle.

  Hickston Close. A large stone hulk, made of gray and brown stones, had two baileys, and an inner court, where people milled about watching their arrival with disinterest. The sight of their master arriving with a young woman wasn’t a new one.

  Coming to a halt before a wide, shallow set of steps, Willem dismounted, tossing his reins to a gaunt boy, who looked no more than ten years old. Without a word, Willem pulled Bell Heather from the saddle and threw her over his shoulder.

  Startled and humiliated, she kicked at him, struggling to get to her feet, but his hand slapping the meat of her arse made her still.

  “Ah, ah, Bell Heather. Do not make a scene or I will be forced to paddle your lovely ass until it is red and throbbing. While that will be painful for you, it will be naught but pleasure for me.”

  She stiffened, the thought of him spanking her and enjoying it made her stomach riot. Thank the gods she hadn’t eaten more than that apple, else she would have retched right there at Willem’s door.

  Would serve him right.

  The massive black door opened to reveal a petite, golden-haired woman. Her stunning violet eyes were dull, dead. Her gaze landed on Bell Heather’s upturned face, and Bell Heather blushed, the blood rushing to her head making her dizzy.

  “Lillian, I expect you to offer our new guest a cup of our most special wine,” Willem said, walking around the woman to stride down a long corridor.

  From her position at his back, she could see the woman—apparently, Lady Lillian Mason, his wife—bow her head submissively and turn to walk through a wide opening into what Bell Heather could only assume was the great hall.

  After turning down a maze of corridors—or at least it seemed so from her dangling position—they entered a rather warm room. Willem stopped, then bent at the waist and deposited her on a chair. Blinking to try and offset the dizziness, Bell Heather could almost make out the size of the room—large. As her vision cleared she also noticed the massive fireplace, with a marble mantel, and a roaring fire beneath it. No wonder it was so hot in there.

  Unconsciously tugging at her bodice, Bell Heather watched as Willem Mason walked to an elegantly appointed desk, complete with what looked like gold inlay, and retrieved a slender piece of oval-shaped wood, covered in black leather. The handle was shaped to make gripping easy.

  It was a paddle. She sucked in her breath and held it.

  “Well, now that you are here, will you be giving me any trouble, or will you behave like a good girl?”

  She bit back a scathing retort and only glared at him.

  “I see…trouble it is, then.” He chuckled, coming toward her with the paddle in his hand.

  “Troublemakers get the paddle,” he said, taking another step nearer.

  She shot to her feet, holding out her hands to ward him off. “Nay, I will be good. I will be good…I promise.” She nearly swallowed her tongue.

  His smile could freeze a ghost’s teats; the edges of his mouth curled upward, revealing a row of even, startlingly white teeth. To anyone else, his smile would be handsome, attractive—to many he was an attractive man, dark hair and eyes, and a body that belied his life of leisure. But to her…he was the most hideous being in all of creation.

  “I do not know whether to be excited by your sudden desire to obey, or to be disappointed… I would have liked to punish you.”

  Her stomach plunged into her feet like a rock.

  “No matter. I know you will fight back, it is in your nature. I will find joy in punishing you then—”

  A quiet knock on the door made him stop and tip his head. “Come.”

  The door opened and Lady Lillian entered carrying a tray with a single golden cup and an opaque bottle beside it.

  “Oh, good,” he exclaimed with feigned excitement. “Put it there, if you please.”

  Bell Heather stared as the woman, the lady of the castle, his wife, acted as any common servant would. She put the tray down on the table beside the hearth and then dipped a curtsy.

  “Lillian, before you go…” The woman flinched at the use of her name but recovered quickly. With her head bowed, she approached her husband. “I want you to meet my newest doll… Bell Heather Caire. When I am busy with other business, I expect you to make sure she is fed and otherwise cared for.”

  Lillian peeked at Bell Heather through the fan of her golden lashes and a slight blush tinged her cheeks. So, she wasn’t completely hollowed out.

  “Yes, darling,” Lillian uttered, her voice soft, then dipped another curtsey before shuffling from the room and closing the door behind her.

  “Well, now that she is gone, we will make ourselves comfortable,” Willem said, walking toward the table where his wife had put the tray. “This wine is our best vintage, made especially for my...special guests.”

  His dolls—what an awful name for human women. She was no more a doll than he was a good husband.

  He poured the wine into the only glass and then held it out to her. She’d forgotten that she was standing, her legs were numb, and her feet—bare once again, because he’d come for her just as she’d removed her boots to inspect her soles—were turning white under the strain of keeping her balance. She didn’t want to step forward and take the glass, and she certainly didn’t want to drink anything the man offered her, but he said he would punish her… At least, right now, he was acting as a cordial host. What would happen if she acted like an ungrateful doll?

  Swallowing the curses she’d rather spew into his face, she took two tentative steps forward. She glared at the cup and she couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t poured himself any, or for that matter, why Lillian had only brought the one cup.

  She didn’t have time to ponder it before he lifted the cup higher, indicating he was waiting for her to take it, and so, she did, while trying not to touch his hand with hers. She barely succeeded in avoiding his touch then palmed the cup, holding it against her chest as a flimsy shield against his lascivious gaze.

  Bell Heather inhaled the scent of fruit and something…familiar she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Again, he didn’t give her time to think before pinning her with his black gaze and smirking. “Drink it, all of it. Show me what a good little doll you are…”

  Dagda’s wrath! She wanted to hurl the cup in his face, but she thought better of it. Bide yer time, let him think he has won ye, then find a way to escape.

  Holding her breath, she took a sip. When he frowned, she took a longer draught. Finally, she emptied the cup and held it out to him. “There, I have done as ye asked. Now, I want to know what it is ye expect of me.”

  He took the cup, replacing it on the tray, then turned to her. He planted his big hands on his hips, which helped to emphasize the trimness of his waist. Aye, he’d be handsome, if he weren’t so ugly.

  “Do you really want to know what I expect of you, my dear?” he asked, his lips curling into a sneer.

  “Aye,” she blurted, suddenly feeling as though her skin were on fire.

  In a blink, he was there, standing before her, his hands grasping her arms.

  “I plan to break you, piece by piece by piece, then build you back, just as I want you, until all that is left is a perfect doll of my own making.”

  “I will never break,” she muttered, surprised by how difficult it was to speak those words.

  He chuckled, that sinister laugh that made her flesh crawl.

  “Oh, but you will. And I will enjoy every moment of it. Your taste, how tight and hot you are—your fire will be exquisite.” Her eyes wide she nearly choked as the man shuddered, his body trembling at the thoughts his own words had conjured.

  Sick. He is sick… I am sick… She thought, wondering about the feeling of sand in her mouth.

  “Are you feeling unwell, my dear?” he asked, his voice coming from a million miles away. He pressed his mouth to her neck, nipping her just beneath her chin.

  She wanted
to gasp, she wanted to pull away, but her mind was fuzzy, her thoughts growing fainter and fainter.

  “What—what did ye put…in the wine?” she asked, her words halting and slurred.

  “A little something to help you relax…” He nipped her again, this time he dragged his mouth upward until it was just a hairs-breadth from hers. “Do not worry, I will take great care with you. You are my very special doll…” Suddenly his mouth was on hers, his tongue invading the recesses of her mouth, and she gagged—on him and on the urge to purge her body of whatever he’d given her.

  She swayed on her feet, trying to find purchase with her hands on his shoulders, but he only kissed her harder. And then, his kiss was the last terror in her mind before darkness overcame her.

  ***

  Her eyes were like grit covered wool, and her body felt like she’d been flayed with a garden spade. Blinking, she begged for tears to blanket her eyes and bring relief, and when they did, she clamped her eyes shut.

  What happened? She could remember the abduction, she could remember Tristin handing her over and washing his hands of her. She could remember Willem Mason’s hands all over her…and then, they were in his castle. He was handing her a cup of wine.

  That was it! He’d drugged her!

  Her eyes shot open and she peered up into pitch blackness.

  “Hello?” she called out, not sure she wanted anyone to respond. Not in a place of utter darkness. When the sounds of scraping and breathing met her ears, she stilled, holding her own breath.

  “I am surprised you are awake so soon,” Willem’s voice penetrated the darkness, and she bit her lips to keep from crying out. Maybe he couldn’t see her; she couldn’t see him. Then again, this was his castle, his domain. He probably knew it by the feel of each flagstone beneath his feet.

  “I apologize for drugging you, but it was the only way to ensure you would not fight back when I brought you in here.” His voice was much closer now.

  She remained silent.

  “I knew you would fight me, despite acting acquiescent. You are a fighter, have been. It was one of the things that drew me to you.” He was right next to her, his breath fanning over her face. She trembled, her heart thudding in suppressed fear. “You had just lost your mother—a beauty too, I must say—and you were all alone. I watched you; through your pain, your loneliness, you worked, you survived, you flourished. And I knew I had to have you. That strength, that fire, that beauty… And you are a beauty…” She felt his finger slide over her cheek, and she tried to reach up and swat him away, only to realize her hands wouldn’t move.