by Louisa Trent
Aeschine raced from the chamber, horrified at the prospect of entering Kendle's chamber alone. What choice did she have, though? One way or the other, Yseult always received what she demanded; Aeschine had the bruises to prove it.
She had thought to tell Sage of Yseult's abuse, but in the end, had decided to keep the mistreatment to herself. Her captor kept fair practices, but no reasonable person would expect him to defend his former whore against a lady he was bedding, the mother of his expected babe, his intended bride.
And anyway, she never told tales behind a turned back, never placed blame unless she accused the perpetrator, face to face. She would not run to Sage with her woes. Not that she ever saw him alone or had a private audience with him anymore. She rarely saw him at all. He dined no more at the trestle table, preferring, according to Ellen, to take his evening meal with his vassals in the barracks.
She missed him so! His touch. His kisses. At night, she would lie in bed alone and feel so empty. In her heart. Between her legs...
But no matter how much she missed him, when the warlord wed Yseult of the huge melon breasts and wide rounded hips and spiteful nature, her Scots pride would not permit her to stay. She would make her escape, she decided, her knuckles giving a rap at the solid oak portal of Kendle's bedchamber.
“Who is it?” yelled the detestable brother of Yseult d'Aubrienne.
“ ‘Tis Aeschine. Y-your sister has asked me to investigate your chamber for an extra shift I might have."
At Kendle's, “Come in, wench. The latch is undone,” Aeschine opened the portal and stepped cautiously into the chamber.
The air stank of stale ale. And another stale smell too which she would rather not think about, but which most certainly originated from the three lumpy shapes in Kendle's bed.
“Do not just stand there, wench!” Kendle slurred. “Make yourself useful! Pull back the cover on the loop so we might have a bit of light in here."
As soon as Aeschine did as bade, a matted head popped up in Kendle's bed.
“Shoo, the ruttin’ light hurts me eyes,” a scullery maid whom Aeschine recognized said, sitting up amidst the furs. Another matted head popped up soon after.
To the squeals of his bed companions, Kendle flung back the furs. “Come! Join us, wench. There is always room on the tick for another pair of tits."
High-pitched giggles appreciated D'Aubrienne's drunken wit.
Aeschine did not. “I cannot stay.” She picked a wrinkled russet rag of a gown up from the rushes.
She backed up towards the portal. “I have what I came for, and now I must leave."
“This eve then.” Kendle slurred the invitation. “Come to me after the banquet."
Aeschine nearly choked on her loathing. “I fear I must decline."
“That was not a request. If you are not here at midnight, I will tell the warlord that you have stolen from me. Something valuable.” Kendle looked pointedly at the russet gown in Aeschine's hands. “And that I caught you red-handed in the act of thievery.” He flung his arms around the two servants in his bed. “I have witnesses."
Kendle actually thought to blackmail her? With this rag? “Your sister gave me permission to take a spare gown."
“Spare? I am quite fond of that gown you have in your hand. I ripped it off the back of a terrified virgin, and so it has great sentimental value to me."
“But your sister said..."
“What a fine memory have you! Unfortunately, my sister is not similarly blessed; she will remember whatever I tell her to remember. And since you have perfect recall, you best remember that servant wenches are punished harshly for thievery. These are two fellow miscreants here with me now in bed.” Kendle pulled the bunched covers from the grips of his companions, thus exposing them from neck to ankles.
Puffy welts and purple bruises covered the maids. Not the kind of welts and bruises received from overly enthusiastic lovemaking, either. Before Aeschine's horrified eyes, Kendle pinched the bare teat of one lass. When she cried out; he treated the second lass in like manner until she also cried out in pain.
“Ask these two thieves how I punish them,” he said mockingly.
Fear coiled in Aeschine's belly. “That will not be necessary,” she said in a small voice.
The loathsome Kendle snorted in laughter as Aeschine ran from the room.
* * * *
Much later, Aeschine was still running—between the kitchen fires and the great hall.
As Ellen felt poorly, Aeschine had dismissed the maid and assumed the responsibility for serving the evetide meal herself.
Thankfully, but two individuals dined at the long table: Yseult and her brother. The warlord rarely supped in the hall any more.
Aeschine had only just situated the roast boar in the middle of the scrubbed trestle top when her haggard-looking captor rushed in and took the head chair at top of the table always reserved for, but seldom used by, the warlord.
“Excuse my lateness,” he offered his guests. “A small problem amongst my men required my attention."
Apology given to his dinner companions, the full weight of his disapproving glance fell on her. “Aeschine, why are you not seated too?"
“I eat in the servant's holdings with Ellen, milord."
He frowned. “Where is Ellen?"
“Her feet are swollen. She needs to rest."
“Of course. But what of the peasant women I brought back with me to act as servants?"
“I am training them as best I am able. It takes time to learn new ways of doing chores, and I have been busy with other pressing household demands..."
“That one is great for making excuses,” Yseult interjected. “She is a lazy good-for-nothing, is what she is. In my father's keep, the slut would wear the lash of the whip on her back."
Sage picked up his goblet and drained it. “This is not your father's keep, Yseult. I do things differently here."
“Certainly, the running of this bastion is your prerogative. I am merely informing you, as you are too busy to notice and as yet have no wife to oversee these matters, that the Scottish whore is a shiftless servant and would most certainly benefit from a sound thrashing."
“Aeschine is not a servant; she is my guest. As you, yourself, are my guest. You will not speak of her in this insulting manner. Apologize at once!"
Knowing full well that Yseult would make her pay later for an apology wrung out of her now, Aeschine hurriedly said, “'Tis all right, milord. There is no need for Lady Yseult to apologize to the likes of me. I am sure she meant no undue harm by her words."
The overlord's frown grew dark and ominous. “Why is your cheek, the one you suddenly seem all too anxious to turn the other way, red and swollen, Aeschine?"
Aeschine quickly covered the side of her face with a palm. What with overseeing the preparation of the meal and her worry over Kendle's threat, she had forgotten all about her run in with Yseult. Now, she must think up an excuse for the latest slap.
She kept the explanation purposefully vague. “My face reflects my own inattentiveness."
“Nay, your face reflects a bruise. How did you come by it?"
“I-I was not watching my footsteps, milord.” She stammered the evasion. “As a result, an obstacle in my path, that I should have seen coming, tripped me up. I shall take more care in the future so as not to offend your eyes with the result of my preoccupation."
Sage's scrutiny seemed to penetrate her very soul. “Have I been remiss in my duties in regards to you, Aeschine? Has my neglect placed you in harm's way? If so, feel free to speak now, knowing you fall under my protection here."
Her pride stung. She had become naught but one of Sage's many duties.
Well, she would not run to Sage and whine about mistreatment. She would handle the matter on her own, without telling tales. She would not be an object of pity!
Wishing the matter finished so that she might lick her wounds in private, she said, “You have not been remiss. I understand you have other concer
ns. And accidents will happen. Let us speak no more of it."
“You have neglected me, not the whore, Sage!” Yseult loudly complained. “You have been remiss to my comforts. When you brought me here, I thought I would have your full attention. Now I see that I must share the few crumbs of your time with a sluttish servant."
“First of all,” Sage began,” I did not bring you here. You asked to come. Secondly,” he said, voice escalating, “you and your brother may..."
Kendle cut in. “You will have to forgive my sister, Sage. She is of a somewhat high-strung disposition. Her delicate constitution demands her needs be met without delay."
This time, Sage turned to the male d'Aubrienne. “Perhaps you two delicate souls would be more comfortable if you returned to the comforts of your father's lodgings."
“But we like it here,” the d'Aubrienne pair chimed in unison.
Sage now stared at Yseult's gown. “I recognize that garb! I gave that red silk to Aeschine! Why are you wearing it, Yseult?"
“I let your guest borrow it,” Aeschine raced to explain. “She thought to look nice for you."
“What remarkable generosity, lass! But, then again, you have a generous nature. And now that the meal is served, I would like you to be so generous as to grace us with your presence.” The warlord indicated the spot next to Kendle on the bench.
She would not sit beside the loathsome Kendle. She would not! She would choke on the roasted pig if she took that position.
Aeschine stammered, “I-I was just about to see to Ellen's meal..."
“Once again, you show your generosity to others. Though your concern for a servant is commendable, I must insist you stay and take part of this sumptuous meal you have prepared. You may see to Ellen later."
“Aye, milord.” Aeschine took the seat assigned her.
* * * *
Wishing to avoid another confrontation with Kendle, Aeschine hurried along the corridors to the servant's quarters.
Aeschine's relief upon escaping the lecher died a fast death when she found Ellen propped up against the back of her cot, rubbing her mounded stomach and breathing through her mouth in short pants.
“I have had these pangs...” the mother-to-be said.
“The bairn?” Aeschine asked.
“Wind.” Ellen gave a belch that ended all belches. “My eyes were bigger than my belly, if that be possible.” The very pregnant servant observed the tremendous hillock resting on her lap. “I overindulged on the pig you had Will bring me."
“Are you sure ‘tis only a stomach complaint and not the onset of labor?"
“My bag of waters has not yet sprung a leak,” the maid replied just as Will appeared from the hall and went straight for the cot.
“Has the mouth to your womb widened?” the vassal asked.
“How should I know? Me eyes are up here, not down there. And who asked you anyway?” Ellen said, cantankerously, cranky as only an expectant mother may be cranky. “Stop interrupting. I be answering the lady's personal questions, ye great bull ox!"
Ellen smiled like the Madonna herself at Aeschine. “As I was saying ... I am not in labor."
Will rolled up his sleeves, plunged his arms in a nearby bucket of steaming water, scrubbing up to the elbows. “Saying is not good enough. I need to look.” After drying his hands on a clean linen, Will felt the expectant mother's belly then yanked at the covering. “I need to look between your legs, Ellen. Scoot your bottom down to the edge of the bed and open up wide."
Ellen sat up straighter. “Scoot and open yourself, you ignorant giant! And you leave my bottom out of this! I am not a whore any more."
“Woman, be reasonable! I need to see if the opening to your belly has widened."
“I ate too much, I tell you!"
“The bairn has dropped. I think this angel may arrive any time. Please? I would never forgive myself if calamity befell you or the babe. I know what I am about here, Ellen."
That made one person.
“ ‘Tis glad I am that you are here, Will,” Aeschine said thankfully.
“I told Ellen I would attend her lying-in."
Ellen snapped, “That is what you said, but life has a way of interfering with the best of intentions, particularly the intentions of men. We shall see if you keep fast to your word."
“I said I would deliver your babe and so I shall!” Will hotly declared.
Aeschine turned to leave. The two lovebirds needed some privacy to flap their wings at each other.
“Where are you off to now?” Ellen called after her.
“I must go see Kendle."
“Kendle,” Ellen harrumphed. “You be careful, milady. That offal is not to be trusted.” She nodded to Will who hovered at the foot of the cot. “Go with her..."
Aeschine shook her head. “Nay, Will. You stay here with Ellen. I handled that wild boar we had for our evetide meal, and I shall handle the d'Aubrienne pig too."
* * * *
Because of his black tunic and hose, Aeschine almost ran into the warlord, as he all but disappeared in the shadows of the dark hallway.
“How is Ellen?” he asked, reaching out to steady her, two hands on her shoulders.
“She has wind. From the bowels. She blames the pork."
“Ah!” He grinned. “Wind. From the bowels. The pork, you say. Well apart from Ellen's indigestion—may I say that the meal this eve was delicious?"
“I am glad you enjoyed it."
“I did, and the company too."
“Those d'Aubriennes! They do make for a lively dinnertime conversation."
“I spoke of you, Aeschine."
“Oh..."
“I enjoyed listening to how you spend your days. I am sorry we have not conversed of late.” He looked down. “I have missed you."
His gruff words lifted her sagging spirits—until the green beast of jealousy raised its ugly snout. “I am surprised you have had time to miss me, what with having Yseult for company."
“Yseult,” he said, dryly. “Now there is a lady good for only one thing."
“And I imagine that one thing has been keeping you more than a little amused."
Sage scratched his chin. “One would think so, but as it turns out, I do not enjoy it as once I did."
Her brows raised. “You do not?"
“Surprising, eh? Verily, anything grows tedious with repetition. After a few hours, I grow bored with the activity. And too, Yseult insists upon a hard riding each and every time. It wears a man out. I tell you, most days, I would rather do anything else."
Aeschine felt herself blush. “This discussion is a private matter..."
“Private? Since when? Why, most lords and ladies discuss the hunt to tedium and back.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “You are red in the cheeks! Are we talking at cross-purposes?"
“The hunt! You spoke of the hunt?” she sputtered, sorely embarrassed.
“And what else would I do with that harpy? Any number of vassals might accompany her on her killing jaunts, but she insists I take her, and to be polite, I do. I would much rather take a walk with you. But, of course, you are busy with Peter..."
“Peter is a good friend, an expert shepherd, and a quiet companion. He gives me much sound advice on sheep. He says, by the way, that you did a remarkable job selecting my new flock. He says, he would not have done better himself. He says, I should be able to breed miniatures in no time. He says..."
“For a quiet fellow, Peter dost talk a great deal."
Aeschine giggled. “Aye. That Peter does."
He stroked down her arm. “Has your appetite improved? Has your strength returned? Are you well, Aeschine? Please confide in me that much."
Her throat constricted. “I am fine, milord."
Oh, God. Sage's big palm felt incredibly right on her body. She felt each one of his digits through the worn sleeve of her servant's gunna. As she no longer owned a shift, she was completely bare under the gown. Bare legged. Barefoot too.
Her feet shifted i
n the straw as Sage's hand strayed from her arm to the thick plait that hung over her shoulder, his palm grazing one full breast on the journey.
“Such pretty hair,” he whispered, moving his fingertips up and down the single braid, his knuckles brushing against her softness.
Both nipples tingled. Then peaked, hard and achy.
They stood in an alcove of a darkened hallway, far removed from the bustle of daily castle routine. But their environs mattered not. Public or private, day or night, her desire for Sage remained constant, despite that he carried on an affair with another woman. Though sinful to desire a man committed to another, there it was; she lusted after him.
The warlord lifted his hand from her plait—did she read reluctance where none existed?—as footsteps pounded behind them.
She turned to find Will.
The vassal panted, “'Tis Ellen. She is having her babe and has asked for you."
“Go, Aeschine. You must be with Ellen in her time of need,” the warlord of Cheviot Hills said.
Without another word, she followed Will, the longing in her heart a silent ache.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Peter and Aeschine walked together along the narrow countryside path, companionably, side by side. A flock of miniature sheep grazed up ahead on early tufts of spring grass.
“Ellen's bairn grows bigger with every passing day,” Aeschine said happily, realizing out of the blue that she was well content in Cheviot Hills. She had held a brand-new life in her arms; she owned a flock of sheep and her own hut. The keep seemed far less ugly to her than when she had first arrived. An irresistible urge to set down roots in this place, to watch the brown land turn green—to nest like a bird—had overtaken her.
“Think you a romance is brewing between Will and Ellen?” Peter remarked, bringing her back from her meandering.
“I do. Will had his eye set on my maid since before I arrived. But she was whoring then, and Will did not approve. If Ellen would only admit to feeling more than gratitude to Will for saving her life and the life of her bairn, those two might make a handfast, particularly since Will saved the mother and child's life. Fortuitously, the vassal was once wed to a midwife. Sadly, she died with their two children in a fire. From his wife Will learned to turn a bairn in the womb. When Will determined that Ellen's bairn was in the breech position, he knew just how to put things to right. ‘Twas a miracle what he did, and the most wondrous thing I have ever seen. Though I had no idea that giving birth is such a labor. It seems relatively easy when sheep do it..."