by Mary Wine
She witnessed it shimmering in his eyes, and also the first hint of fear she could ever recall seeing in him. She couldn’t endure that fear, her heart rebelled against every logical reason her mind offered up to refuse him.
“I do love you, Synclair. More than you might ever know. That is why I persist in telling you—”
His mouth covered hers, sealing her well-meant arguments behind a kiss that was sweeter than anything she had ever known. It cut through the harsh edges of reality and burned every rule until there was nothing except the man kissing her. She reached for him and clung to the man she loved while he kissed her softly and the night closed around them.
“That is why you must belong to me.”
Synclair pulled the covers over them now that their bodies had slowed down enough for the winter chill to begin biting into them. Justina shivered and Synclair pulled her closer.
“Trust me, Justina.”
She heard his voice in her dreams and couldn’t stop herself from doing it.
Bessie Portshire was happy. She hummed a little tune of springtime while making her way toward Justina’s chambers. There were personal guards for the Viscount Biddeford standing at the entrance to the area, but she did not allow them to concern her. Most of the higher nobles set their retainers to securing the area around where they lived in the palace. Her own father did the same.
“I am here to see the Lady Wincott.”
“The lady’s chambers are on the right, third door.”
The men did not bar her path. They didn’t even look directly at her but kept their eyes on the hallway in back of her. Bessie smiled and counted the doors before lifting her hand and rapping softly on the third one. She glanced back down the hallway and was grateful to see that she had escaped everyone who seemed to be forever clinging to her skirts. She drew a deep breath, eager to spend the evening with someone she wouldn’t need to guard her expression against or consider each word before she muttered it. Sometimes, being the daughter of a duke was exhausting.
The door opened and a maid stood there with her head bowed. Bessie entered quickly, intent on having the door shut and enjoying some rare privacy. The maid closed the door with a soft sound before she walked to a table and began pouring a glass of mulled wine for her.
Bessie could smell the cloves, and it made her smile, for it touched off memories of evenings spent with her mother when she was still too young for court. She missed those simpler winter days.
“The mistress shall attend you shortly, Lady Portshire. Lady Wincott requests that you enjoy the wine while you wait.” The maid brought her the goblet on a small tray, the scent of other spices growing stronger as the servant drew close. Bessie picked it up and sniffed at the dark brew. She detected a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon along with the cloves. Considering that it was not a feast day, such spices were a treat. She sipped at it and smiled when she tasted sweet sugar. Her mother had always feared that her teeth might rot because she liked sweets too much, so sugar had always been locked away and only allowed for celebrations.
Bessie drank more of the wine, enjoying the way it seemed to coat her tongue. The maid disappeared on quiet steps while Bessie continued to enjoy the wine.
“Wait.”
Francis de Canis placed a hand on Biddeford’s chest to keep him from entering the room where Bessie was nursing her goblet of tainted wine.
“Give it a bit to do its job.”
“I want her to know that she is being drugged.” Biddeford pushed the hand aside that de Canis had put on him. “I have wasted a great deal of time courting that girl. It will be very satisfying to watch her fear when she hears that she will lose her wits.”
“The potion doesn’t work that way. She will be as impressible as a child, open to suggestion, but easily frightened, too.”
The viscount made a disgusted sound beneath his breath.
De Canis shot him a hard look in return. “You shall have all the nights for the rest of her life to bend her however you see fit. Tonight you need to tumble her without there being any sign of rape. Do try and be a little appreciative of my ability to deliver that to you for something so small as bringing your ward back to court.”
Biddeford ground his teeth together. “As you say, you have delivered so far, everything that you promised.”
“I always do.”
There was a sharp sound from the other room as Bessie stumbled and knocked a bowl off the edge of the table.
“Oh my ... how did that happen?” Her words were slightly slurred and she giggled instead of worrying about the mess she had made. She began to hum and even lifted her skirts so that she might dance along with her tune. De Canis laid a hand on the viscount’s shoulder and leaned closer.
“Remember, instruct her like a child. Give her gentle suggestions, and she will follow them.”
Biddeford walked into the chamber and smiled. Bessie was still dancing across the floor, her humming growing louder as de Canis’s potion took her deeper into its grasp. She was dancing with more passion now, her skirts bouncing as if she were at a spring festival. She turned and caught sight of him.
“Sweet mother of Christ! My Lord Biddeford, I did not hear you arrive!”
Her eyes were wide, and she blinked rapidly as though attempting to clear her mind, but de Canis had spoken true; the potion was firmly in command of her. Bessie suddenly frowned.
“You are in your shirt and hose, sir.” Instead of being alarmed, Bessie smiled and then giggled. She extended her hand and pointed at his knees. “I can see your garters very well, indeed I can!”
Biddeford smiled. The sides of his face actually felt tight because so few things actually made him happy, but he was tonight because Bessie was staring at his state of undress exactly like a child who found it amusing and not a young maiden who would expect to recoil in fear. Her wits were completely dull. He stuck one leg forward.
“Do you like these garters? I find the color most pleasing.” He kept his voice low and soothing and Bessie responded perfectly.
“Why yes, I do think them most grand.” She stepped forward and frowned when she tripped over the hem of her gown.
“This dress is so cumbersome.”
Biddeford felt his smile grow wider. “Perhaps you should take it off, my dear.”
Bessie’s face lit up with approval. “Yes, that would be nice but I cannot reach the laces.”
“I can.”
She clasped her hands together and turned around in a quick motion that made her skirt bounce.
“That would be most kind of you, and then I might show you my garters. They are very pretty, too.”
“I would like to see them, my dear girl ...”
Biddeford chuckled but reached for the forgotten goblet of wine. He poured more of the tainted brew into it before offering it to Bessie once more. She took it happily, drinking it so quickly that some of it poured down her chin.
“I shall be most happy to help you unlace your gown, my dear girl.”
There was pain.
Bessie gasped, the burning pain ripping away the fog that seemed to blind her so completely. She gasped and tried to lift her eyelids to see what was holding her down. Fiery hot pain ripped through her passage again, far worse than any monthly cramps had ever been. She didn’t understand and she couldn’t seem to twist away from the hard flesh causing her such torment.
But it moved, leaving her while her eyelids still refused to lift. She wasn’t sleeping, she could feel the heat of another person, feel it pressing against her own skin and then her passage was split open once more.
She gasped, her eyes opening wide.
“Now you will wed me, Bessie.”
“I won’t ...” Her voice was unclear, her tongue feeling like it was swollen. She wanted to argue but the fog returned, trapping her mind in its folds and pulling her down into its white mist where the only thing that she was sure about was the hard flesh invading her passage again and again until she felt a hot stream of fluid fil
l her.
“You’ll be my wife and bear my children, for your virgin’s blood is spilled ...”
Evil. Bessie had never heard a voice of pure evil before, but she did in that moment. Surrounded by suffocating mist, all she could do was shiver as she listened to the laughter.
It was evil, so black, that she feared for her soul.
CHAPTER TEN
Footsteps pounded down the hallway at dawn.
Synclair jerked awake and pushed Justina over to the far side of the bed before she completely awoke. She tumbled to the floor, smacking her knees against the hard surface at the same time she heard Synclair pull his sword from its sheath.
“My lord! We’ve riders on the road!”
Captain Repel pushed the doors in without knocking, making Justina grateful that she had the bed to hide behind. He didn’t spare her even a glance but had his full attention on Synclair.
“They are flying the King’s colors but there is an entire contingent of them.”
Synclair snarled something beneath his breath. “I will be there in a moment.”
Captain Repel didn’t stop long enough to offer his lord a bow. The man was on his way back out the door, the sound of his spurs echoing in the hallway. Justina stood up instantly, climbing over the bed and sliding onto her feet next to Synclair. He was already stepping into his britches and she gathered his shirt up in her hands so that she could push it over his head when he looked up at her. He didn’t bother to tuck the tail in but sat down and yanked his boots on with hard motions of his hands.
“Get dressed and find Brandon. I have too few men here to secure the house and safeguard him.”
“But surely there is no danger. Captain Repel said it was the King’s men.”
Synclair stood up, his face set in a hard expression. “The King is not directing his men these days. I should have sent Brandon north yesterday.” Synclair sent her a hard look. “Have Arlene hide the boy and silence the servants about him.”
The lament in his voice horrified her. He was gone a moment later, leaving her to battle the dread that began swarming through her. Arlene appeared in the doorway, her linen cap missing and her apron tied only at her waist and not pinned up over her bodice.
“Mistress, we needs dress you in a hurry. The yard is filling with men all suited up in armor. I believe they plan to occupy the house.”
Two maids came through the doorway with their hair still trailing down their backs.
“Bring my son to me. Bring him here immediately and tell no one that a child slept beneath this roof last eve.”
Justina watched one of the maids hesitate but a quick snap from Arlene’s fingers sent the girl back out the door. Icy-cold fear wrapped its fingers around her heart. Only she was torn between her worry for Brandon and her concern for Synclair. She loved them both more than herself, and even feeling the horror flooding her, she still could not lament it.
Dressing had never taken so long, nor had she ever detested the layers so much before.
“Mother, who is coming to our house? I saw the archers from my window.”
Her son was still in his nightshirt, the maid holding him and the coverlet from his bed. The girl had not wasted any time in obeying her order, but simply scooped Brandon up along with the bedding to keep him warm.
Thank God!
“Arlene, you must take my child and conceal him.”
“Mistress?” The head of house looked startled, wrinkles appearing around her eyes as she tried to understand the fear lacing Justina’s voice.
“My guardian is a depraved man, Arlene. He sins against nature and must not have my son. Do you understand? Lord Harrow was to send my son north today to protect him. The court is no place for an innocent boy.”
The housekeeper gasped, covering her mouth with a hand while her eyes filled with horror. She made the sign of the cross over herself before she began sputtering.
“Oh, the wickedness of the palace! We’ve heard tell of it but I never wanted to believe.”
“Believe it, Arlene; I swear it on Christ’s sweet mother.”
The head of house reached out and scooped Brandon up into her own arms. “I’ll see to the boy. You may place your trust in me.”
“Mother? What is going on?”
Justina fought the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She reached out and laid her hand on her child’s cheek. “You are going to be the best boy and do what Arlene tells you now, Brandon.”
“But I don’t want our visit to be over, Mother.”
“Neither do I, Brandon, but you must not be seen here. Now be my lion and show me how brave you are for you have a journey to begin.”
“Like a knight on a quest?”
She cupped the side of his face in her hand, shuddering at the feel of his tender skin against her palm. “Yes, my lion, exactly like a knight who must be strong and do the duty he has been charged with.”
“I will not fail you, Mother, or Sir Synclair. I want to earn his respect, as you have.”
“I have faith that you shall, my son. Nan will be with you.”
Arlene began turning to the doorway, and Justina gained only a glimpse of her son nodding while he watched her with wide eyes over the housekeeper’s shoulder. Justina jabbed her hairpins into her hair, caring nothing for the pain. Each moment felt too long while she finished dressing. There was only one defense left to safeguard her child and that was to appear before anyone entered the house and learned that Brandon was there.
She ran through the hallways and down the stairs the moment her French hood was pushed down to cover her head. Just as her son had said, the yard was full of armed men and the archers stood just beyond the gate with the bows in hand. The men wore three-quarter suits of armor and they were, in fact, flying Henry Tudor’s flags in the early morning light.
It was a desolate sight. The yard full of snow and the King’s messenger standing in front of Synclair while he read from a parchment he was holding open. From the bottom of the paper, crimson ribbons dangled, fluttering in the morning wind to confirm that the parchment was signed and sealed.
“Lord Harrow, you are henceforth restricted to this house until it does please His most royal Majesty, Henry Tudor, to rule upon your transgression against the Viscount Biddeford’s ward, the Lady Wincott.”
“He has done nothing to me.”
The man reading the parchment looked up, his eyes peering at her from beneath the visor of his helmet. The fingers holding the parchment open were encased in armored gauntlets, telling her that Biddeford had kept his word and sent his wrath down upon her for daring to displease him. The entire yard was full of men who were going to break her for her disobedience, and she felt icy dread close around her heart because she would not suffer herself. No, the viscount would force her to watch while the man she loved was punished, possibly put to death for her sin. It was too horrible to comprehend but the royal guard lifted his chin and spoke to her in a hard voice that pierced the disbelief trying to smother her.
“Lady Wincott, you are summoned to court by His Majesty’s privy council. You will accompany my men to Whitehall palace immediately.”
“She’s a woman; leave this between us men. I will accompany you to the palace.” Synclair snarled at the messenger wearing the King’s colors, but the men behind him drew their swords and held them ready. Justina saw Synclair’s hand tighten around the pommel of his own sword but there were far too many of the King’s men. But she could feel his rage. Justina could see it etched into the hard expression on his face. The King’s man hesitated, even stepping back in the face of Synclair’s anger, but he looked behind him, noting the men who stood ready to back up what he wanted, and straightened his back.
“You are placed under house arrest, my Lord Harrow. The King’s seal is upon this order and these men are here to enforce the will of the King! The Lady Wincott is summoned to court, not you. The Lady shall accompany us and you will restrict yourself unto this house with half my men lef
t here to ensure that you abide by the will of the King.”
“The Lady remains.” Synclair growled the words but the men holding the swords began to push forward, their boots crunching against the snow that had frozen during the night. Justina watched it all, as though time itself was caught in the grip of the winter ice. It was too much, the impending horror of watching Synclair fall beneath the weapons being pointed at him, too much for her to witness.
“I will go with you.”
Synclair reached out and closed his fingers around her wrist. He pulled her to him and she stepped across the distance between them so that she might whisper next to his ear.
“Please release me. I beg you, Synclair, do not make me witness your death. There are too many of them.” She pressed a kiss against his cheek. “I trust you to keep your promise.”
He jerked, his eyes flashing at her words. Understanding darkened his eyes and she shivered with the knowledge that she did indeed trust him to see to her son. Tears stung her eyes but she moved away from him, her eyes pleading with him to release her.
His hand didn’t relax, not until she was a full two steps from him. Fury danced in his eyes but his fingers lessened their hold and finally unlocked to free her.
“I will see you soon, Justina, I promise you that.”
Each word was edged with rage. It sent a shiver along her skin that had nothing to do with the frigid weather. The knight she had witnessed riding so confidently through the night was staring at her through a blaze of anger that she knew would not be kept contained for very long.
“You shall keep to this house, Baron Harrow, by order of the King.”
Synclair growled. “You already said that, man.”
The paper crinkled behind her, the King’s man crumpling it between nervous fingers. He stepped back and pointed other men toward her. No one wanted the duty of moving too close to Synclair, but the men standing in the yard wanted to be gone quickly, before the knight used the sword clasped so confidently in his tight fist. Justina felt the men reach for her. She shrugged their touch away, hissing at them while she forced herself to turn away from the man she loved.