by Mary Wine
It held true, binding her without mercy to the huge bed.
“Synclair!”
He walked past her and stepped into his britches. There was a hard set to his face that sent dread through her.
“You cannot mean to lock me up here.”
But the look in his eyes was familiar and she recognized it from when he had approached her last night. He shrugged into his shirt and carried her chemise in one hand. There was nothing in his eyes but ruthless determination.
He held out the chemise. “I must go see to a few things.” His attention dropped to her wrist with its manacle. “You will be here when I return.”
“You brute!”
She aimed a slap at his face and the sound was loud in the predawn stillness. Synclair turned his head with the blow but beyond that, he did nothing to avoid her strike. He dropped her chemise on the bed before turning and walking to the door.
“You cannot do this.”
“I have, Justina, and I will keep you.” He turned to look at her. “So get back into bed before you catch a chill.”
“But my son—”
“You shall have to trust me with the well-being of your child, Justina. I will not allow Biddeford to harm him.”
The door shut behind him and her jaw actually dropped with astonishment. Her temper flared up, threatening to light her hair on fire, it was so hot.
Oh men!
Power hungry, every last one of them. She tugged on her bound wrist but only managed to bruise the skin on her hand. She tried to make her hand into different shapes to allow the manacle to slide over the bones, but none of her efforts gained her anything but more pain. She cursed as she began to shiver, her body chilled.
It would serve him right if she did take ill.
She sighed, disgusted by her own childish thinking. Reaching for her chemise, she pulled it over her head only to discover that it was impossible to put her left arm through the sleeve. Her right arm was in the sleeve but that left half the garment resting on her shoulder and baring the entire left side of her body.
So she was chained to the man’s bed ... nude.
She began to shiver, her teeth chattering. With a snort she tossed the chemise aside and climbed back into bed. The covers had lost their warmth and she pulled them close to have them hold her body heat against her. Justina curled onto her side, with her eyes upon the door. Synclair was in for a surprise if he thought she would submit meekly to his plan to keep her.
Except that he had already imprisoned her. The long months at Amber Hill flooded her with their endless hours of worrying over Brandon’s fate. It sickened her to think that the man she’d embraced as her lover would force her to endure such a betrayal.
Yet wasn’t that the fate of most lovers? Bitter betrayals that often led to misery. Tears slid from her eyes and she failed to control them. It was foolish to cry, a waste of energy and emotions, but she could not seem to talk herself into stopping. The pillow beneath her cheek became wet while she huddled beneath the bedding, her heart torn.
That was the truth of what taking a lover did to a woman. It separated her from her family. It was a torment indeed. Brandon or Synclair, she would have to live without one of them being happy.
A soft knock woke her. Justina blinked, wondering how she could have fallen asleep with so much turmoil inside her. The burning in her eyes reminded her that she had wept, and that gained a disgusted mutter from her as she sat up. Crying always wasted energy and she had fallen asleep like a child after allowing her emotions such freedom.
“Excuse me, mistress, I did not mean to wake you.” It was the housekeeper who stood in the doorway. The woman was a credit to her position for she did not poke her head around a partially opened door, instead the woman stood firmly in the doorframe, ready to face any displeasure without cringing.
“It’s too late to be sleeping. I am glad you woke me.” Light was spilling in through the open door. Justina looked at the windows. There were floor-to-ceiling draperies covering them. The fabric was thick and they were designed in such long lengths to keep the morning light from disturbing the master of the house if he should choose to lie abed after dawn.
“The master suggested a bath before he departed.”
A bath, of course! She had to think of any reason to be unlocked. Her gaze flew to the ring of keys hanging from the housekeeper’s belt.
“I should adore a bath.” Justina pushed her hand into view, so that the housekeeper might fit one of those black keys into the lock, but the woman only turned to address someone in the hallway.
“Bring the tub.”
The double doors were both opened wide and two burly women carried a slipper tub into the chamber. One end was higher than the other, making it a comfortable tub for bathing. It was a newer design and this one was made of silver, so that it would not rust.
“I have only women with me, since the master told me you are unclothed.”
Justina snorted. The unladylike sound gained her looks from the women bringing the tub in.
“Surely you have a bathroom below stairs. I do not need such service, simply unlock me and I shall bathe below.”
The housekeeper looked nervous for the first time. “Begging your pardon, mistress, but the master did not leave me a key. I cannot unlock you.”
Justina growled and didn’t care what looks were cast her way. She jerked against the chain. “I cannot dress in anything with sleeves unless this foul thing is removed.”
The two women had set down the tub, and they stepped closer to look at the chain and manacle. They stared at it intently, clearly trying to think of a solution.
One of them turned to look at the housekeeper. “I’ll fetch the sewing box up here. We’ll likely have to stitch her into a dressing gown.”
“Yes, there’s an idea that may work well. Bring young Amy along. She’s quick with a needle.”
The woman bobbed her head before hurrying off into the hallway to do as she suggested. A line of maids began filing through the doorway with yokes across their shoulders. A bucket of water hung from either side of those yokes, and they dumped them into the tub with a practiced hand.
“It is ridiculous to waste so much effort on one bath when I can walk very well.”
The housekeeper was pulling the drapes back, using a careful hand when touching the fabric. Thick curtains such as the ones hanging in the windows were worth a fortune and the under maids in any house wouldn’t be allowed to handle them until they had proven their skill.
“Not so, mistress, the staff are paid well and having someone to perform our duties for is a welcome thing. This house has been empty for too long.” The housekeeper finished and snapped her fingers at two younger maids who were standing shoulder to shoulder awaiting direction. They nodded simultaneously before moving to the bed and rolling the covers down toward the footboard.
“I am named Arlene.” She lowered herself before bending down to pick up the chain so that it would be easier for Justina to walk to the tub. The two maids finished with the bedding and went to pour the last two buckets of water into the tub. Steam rose from the water, and Justina had to admit that the bath looked inviting.
She stepped away from the bed, refusing to worry about the fact that she was nude. Modesty was something she had learned to live without the day she married. She stepped over the edge of the tub and found the water delightful.
“I’m sorry you cannot bathe closer to the hearth, but the cook has more water on the fire and will send it soon.”
“This is not your doing.”
The two maids looked at each other with quick glances but they kept their lips sealed. Justina took a cloth from Arlene and a small piece of soap. It was scented with gilly flowers and she inhaled the scent deeply before dunking it beneath the surface of the water. She rubbed it across the cloth before beginning to wash her arms and chest. More hot water arrived as well as more cold water. Arlene directed those beneath her authority with a practiced hand. It took l
ittle time to complete her bath, the housekeeper even helping her to wash her hair.
“Begging your pardon, mistress, but I’d suggest not lingering in the water with that iron about your wrist.”
“I believe you are correct.” The manacle would likely stain her skin orange, especially since it was winter and the air so cold. The water that ended up beneath it would likely take a long time to dry.
She stood up and Arlene took up the weight of the chain once again. Amy had arrived and stood near the table looking at several garments. She would glance back at Justina from time to time while she pondered the task given to her.
Arlene brought toweling forward and dried every drop of water from her skin.
“Amy?”
There was a soft note of apprehension in the housekeeper’s voice. Justina had to admit to feeling the same. Being chained to the bed could only be made worse by having to spend the day wrapped in toweling like some Greek statue.
“I believe we might simply stitch a few seams while on the mistress.” Amy fingered the point of her scissors. “But I fear that there is truly no way to dress you back into your gown, mistress.”
There was a good wool dress lying on the table, one that looked inviting in the cold weather, but she would have to do without it.
“It would take the entire day.” There were a few quick smiles in response and Justina returned them with one of her own. Making friends with the staff might gain her freedom at some point, if not today. “I would be grateful for a chemise and maybe a dressing gown with wide sleeves.”
“Yes, excellent idea.” Arlene sent one of the maids off with a flick of her fingers. “The master had some garments purchased for your arrival last week.”
“He did?” Justina had to bite back her temper.
Arlene turned and offered her a smile. “Yes, the baron did. He is a man who sees to the details and planning. Why, he even consulted with me upon what items a lady might need for her personal comfort. I shall show it to you later to see if it meets with your approval.”
Comfort indeed.
Amy came forward with a chemise that had the left sleeve detached. The side of the garment was also open to allow for it to go over her head and fall down to cover her body. The girl already had a needle threaded and began sewing up the side seam. Since the edges of the fabric had been rolled and hemmed before being seamed together, it was a simple enough task to sew the side of the chemise back together.
The sleeve itself was also opened beneath the arm. A maid laid it over her left arm and Amy began to sew the center seam shut before she fit it into the body of the garment and reattached it to the chemise.
Justina felt her temper simmering the entire time. At least her long stays had ties on the shoulder straps making it simple to get into them. The dressing gown the maids brought had to be opened exactly as the chemise had been, and Amy had help with the sewing, one girl working on the bottom of the dressing gown, while Amy worked on the sleeve.
“There.” Arlene looked at the finished work and nodded. “At least there is a good length of chain and you are on the window side of the bed, so you’ll be able to look out.”
The maids had begun moving a small table and chair across the chamber to the corner by the bed. More staff members entered the chamber, and they all stopped to offer her a curtsy before delivering whatever they had in their hands. Several books were placed on the table, along with a small travel desk. A sewing basket came next and then several carefully folded lengths of cloth. Still another woman brought a box that she opened to reveal face powder and other makeup. The last thing that arrived was a mirror, set in a silver frame. It was set down with great care, in the center of the table, where a careless bump might not knock it to the floor. The polished-looking glass was a rare item and one that must have cost a small fortune.
“As you can see, the master was most thoughtful in making sure there was plenty for you to do.”
“Yes, it does appear so.”
Arlene was raising her voice, just a small amount, but every maid in the room lifted her eyes from the task she was doing. Justina felt them all looking at her and the housekeeper while they listened to the true meaning of what Arlene was saying. The master of the house had given an order that she be chained. Anyone who went against the master could expect to be turned out. Snow was thick upon the ground, the trees bare and frozen beyond the window. Anyone who decided to condemn Synclair for his treatment of her would find the world very unforgiving. One by one, they all looked back down at their tasks, not a single one looking at her.
She understood well what it was to bend to the will of the man who had charge of you. Her hope of gaining help in escaping dwindled until there was only a mere whisper left. The firm look on the housekeeper’s face as she directed a newly arrived girl to place her tray on the table confirmed what Justina felt. There would be no help from Arlene or anyone taking orders from her. The consequences were simply too grave.
“Thank you, Arlene, I shall be well upon my own.”
“Yes, of course.”
There was a hint of pity in her voice, but the housekeeper lowered herself and left the room with her staff following. Justina turned to look at the view from the windows. She could smell the breakfast that was hidden beneath silver dome plate covers. Her eyes scanned the tabletop again, noticing the expense that went into everything there. She lifted the lid of the travel desk and found parchment, silver-tipped quills, and ink. In the sewing box were needles, thread, scissors, and pins. All of it new and shiny. The makeup box held everything a court lady might ask her father for and the books were bound in fine leather.
“Well, Synclair, it seems that I am awaiting you, sir.”
She spoke quietly, not truly caring if someone might consider her odd for conversing with a man who was not in the room.
For there was nothing sane about her relationship with Synclair. It was insanity at its best. The sort that the Church warned against because it would lead good souls from the path of narrow and straight.
She was longing for his return, the chain binding her to his bed causing her to feel wanted instead of captured. Her temper might be irritated over his means but her heart was dwelling on the table full of amusements he had planned to leave her with.
She began pacing, as far as the chain would allow her, walking to and from the wall.
Her emotions were in a jumble and refusing to be controlled. She had mastered them so often in the past that it was shocking to have them rise up and over the barricades she had thought her heart was hidden so completely behind. There seemed to be no sense left in her, for she failed to hate herself for sharing the night with him.
She was such a fool. The only other person she loved was Brandon, and that drew enough of a toll from her, but one that might be expected because he was her child. To love Synclair was a vastly different matter.
Love?
She froze and felt a jolt of emotion shake her. Her knees threatened to buckle under the weight of her own thoughts.
To love any man was foolish. It was bound to bring her grief and yet, her heart felt fuller than it had in many years, possibly her entire life. She sat down. She dreaded the future, because loving Synclair did not mean he would love her in return. Her gaze wandered over the table once more, and she could not overlook the care that the items represented.
Gifts. They were true treasures, ones that most women waited until they married to own. Such things as scissors and pins and needles were passed down through generations because the metal was so expensive. Some of the needles were bright gold, ensuring that they would glide smoothly through even the finest fabric.
Synclair cared for her, there was no denying it, but even a mistress often collected expensive gifts from her lover.
Yet Synclair had offered her more. She longed to wed him, and that was the truth. It was hard to admit it, but surrounded by his gifts, evidence of his caring, she lost the will to deny what her heart truly longed for.
/> A husband whom she loved. Was that such a terrible thing? To love one’s own spouse? There wasn’t a person she might ask that question of because she knew what the reaction would be.
Love was considered an insanity, and it had surely brought England great grief as Henry the Eighth loved and then fell out of love.
But in her case, it would be her child who suffered for her decisions.
She sighed. She could never wed Synclair, no matter how much she might long to.
The day stretched out into hours that felt longer than they were. The table held ample things for her to do but she discovered herself restless and pacing more times than she could count. The chain was long enough that she might make it to the water closet, telling her that Synclair had thought about it and tested it.
No wonder the man had been missing for so many days from court. He had been busy setting his plan into motion.
A maid brought her meals, but with little activity, she did not eat much. Arlene appeared after sunset with Amy, and they split the seam of the dressing robe so that it might be removed for the night.
“The cook would like to know if you have any instructions for her, mistress.”
“It’s rather odd to hear you calling me mistress, when I am chained by your master.”
Arlene twisted her apron between her fingers. “The master said you were the mistress.”
Justina lay back in the bed and sighed. “I see. Please tell the cook that her skill is great and appreciated, I simply do not require much when I am sitting the day through.”
Arlene’s eyes widened with understanding. “Yes ... yes, that makes good sense. Good night, mistress.”
Mistress ...
Justina couldn’t deny that she was indeed being treated like the mistress of the house, with the very notable exception of having the freedom to survey her domain. The bedding that surrounded her was fine. There were plump pillows behind her head and the mattress was thick and wide. The bed itself was huge, with thick posts at each corner that were carved at the tops to look like falcons. Curtains were hung along the sides of the bed to keep the heat inside during the cold months of winter. She didn’t see the chamber door close tonight because Arlene drew the last length of fabric closed before she left. Justina discovered herself grateful for the privacy because she found the bed very lonely. It was far more of a challenge to attempt sleeping in it than she had thought it would be. The winter chill forced her to snuggle down beneath the thick comforter but even that did not seem to warm her.