by Clare Smith
Borman burst out laughing, delighted by her outburst. “You’re right, My Lady, I don’t have those sensitivities which you seem to value so much. On the other hand I have no desire to be loved by the peasants, only obeyed, and I have my minions here to serve me and to ensure that it happens.”
“You’re mistaken My Lord. Those you have chosen to serve you are a pack of avaricious sly hunters who are better at serving their own needs than upholding your right to be the legitimate ruler of two kingdoms.”
“By the goddess’s tits, madam, you are something special when you’re angry and every bit as exciting as Malingar said.” He turned to the others and waved them in the direction of the door. “You can all go and Malingar, Rastor, remember what I said. Any fighting and you’re both dead.”
He turned back to Tarraquin, took her hand and led her to a chair. She sat whilst Borman poured her some wine feeling a bit breathless from her outburst and very surprised that she still had her head on her shoulders. Borman removed the cloth from the delicate array of food and indicated that she should help herself. Instead she sipped her wine trying hard not to grimace at the sickly sweet taste but failing miserably. The king laughed and took her goblet away pouring the expensive wine out of the window and replacing it with the deep red he preferred before taking his seat opposite her.
“You know, you and I would make a magnificent pairing, me ruling the kingdom with an iron hand, showing the people what manhood is about and you producing my heirs on demand.”
“I think you have it wrong, My Lord. If you wish to rule Borland well and have designs on the other kingdoms you need someone by your side who can offer you more than just heirs. You need someone who can curb your excesses, someone who knows about those things which never enter your mind like honour, fairness and justice. That’s how you get the best out of people, by valuing them, not setting your hounds on them to tear and rend.”
Borman laughed. “Hellden’s balls lady, but you are a feisty one. I hope you are like this in bed! Tell me, My Lady, will you be my queen and sit at my feet whilst I rule the six kingdoms?”
She shuddered at the idea. If she could she would rather bury a dagger in his unfeeling heart. “Do I have any choice?”
“Of course, there are always choices. In your case you can either marry me or entertain Rastor and my troops.”
“In that case, My Lord, I would be honoured to be your bride as soon as arrangements can be made.”
He smiled in delight and stood holding his hand out to her. “Good. We could seal our agreement now; my sleeping chamber is just through that door.”
She stood as well, trying to look stern instead of terrified. “As I said, one of the things I will bring to this marriage is an insight into those things which you may not have thought about, such as the lack of honour in sleeping together before we are wed. Now if you will excuse me, My Lord, it’s been a long and exceedingly difficult day and I would like to retire.”
Borman grunted in displeasure and poured himself some more wine. “Very well, you may go, but not back to those tiny, dingy rooms at the rear of the fortress. As my future wife you deserve better.” He called for the guard. “Take her ladyship to the special guest rooms, fetch her maid and see that she is comfortable.” He took her hand and kissed her finger tips. “I look forward to you and me joining together at the earliest opportunity.”
*
Tarraquin lay awake thinking about what she had done and wondered if Istan and Jarrul would have condemned her for doing the only thing she could do to save her own life. Malingar clearly didn’t approve by the look on his face when she had seen him after leaving Borman’s room, but that didn’t matter anymore. Any feelings she might have had for him had been extinguished by his betrayal.
The approval of Istan and Jarrul, had they been able to give it, was important to her, but even though they were dead she guessed they would have said that she had done the right thing. It was better that she lived and tried to change things rather than giving her life away, although she wasn’t quite sure if she would have agreed with them. Surprisingly, in the short time they had together, Birrit had supported her, reminding her of a whore’s first rule. Perhaps that is what she was, a whore selling her soul for a few more days of life.
Disturbed by the thought, she sat up and pulled the blanket higher around her, uncomfortable at having nothing to wear in bed. Trying to move her thoughts to something less depressing she studied the room with some disapproval. It was a sumptuous affair with long drapes covering the walls, several loungers with piles of cushions, and a huge bed with lacy curtains, ribbons and bows. She couldn’t recall seeing it when she had lived in the fortress, although she was certain she would have remembered it, as it was definitely not to her taste. Perhaps Borman had meant to please her by giving her these fancy rooms instead of returning her to the drab suite at the rear of the fortress. In the morning she would have to arrange for her personal belongings to be moved in and, if she could, some of the ribbons and bows to be moved out.
If Borman allowed, she could move Birrit in on a permanent basis as well and then she wouldn’t feel so alone. She started to redesign the room in her head but was startled when one of the drapes suddenly parted and Borman sauntered into the room. Hastily she pulled the blanket up higher and tried not to look like a startled hopper whilst her heart rate increased rapidly. He had changed from his formal wear into a long robe tied at the waist but lacking any other fastenings. He strolled over to the bed and looked down at her, a pleased smile on his face.
“Well, My Lady, what do you think to my special guest room? I had it decorated especially for my female visitors and so conveniently placed, don’t you think, next to my own sleeping chamber.”
“It’s very pretty, My Lord, only a little too frivolous for my taste.”
“That’s easily remedied. We can use my room; the bed is bigger and it has some interesting devices built in which might enhance my pleasure.”
She pulled the blanket still higher around her so only her head showed. “I don’t know what you can mean, My Lord.”
Borman continued to smile at her, a grin that made her blood run cold. “Don’t you? Then I’ll make it plain. I’ve come to sample the goods I have just bought.”
“But we are not yet married.”
He laughed. “That’s just a formality and so old fashioned. You didn’t really think I would wait until then, did you?”
He reached down and tried to pull the blanket out of her hands but she resisted so he slapped her sharply across her face with the back of his hand. Tarraquin gave a cry of shock and let go of the blanket as he ripped it from her hands, leaving her exposed on the bed.
Borman looked down, the smile gone from his face replaced by something much more feral. “Ah yes, very nice and as yet unblemished.” He reached down and took her breast in his hand squeezing it and then pulling on the nipple making her squirm and cry out. “Malingar tells me you are a virgin, so I’m really going to enjoy this.”
He pulled the tie at his waist so that the robe came open and then fell to the ground exposing his raised manhood. With a chuckle of anticipation he climbed onto her, forcing her legs apart with his knee and lent across her body taking her breast into his mouth and biting down hard. Tarraquin gasped under his weight and the pain in her breast and then cried out as he thrust himself inside of her, grunting with pleasure, harder and faster until he came to a climax. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed so she didn’t have to look at him, her only thoughts, the advice Sheevar had given her a lifetime ago.
When he had finished he rolled off her and picked his robe up off the floor giving her one last look before replacing the blanket over her naked body. “Yes, very nice though it’s a pity you can only be a virgin once. Tomorrow night you’ll come to my bed and we’ll try something different.”
He draped the robe over his shoulders and left the same way as he had entered, closing the drapes behind him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Duty and Devotion
Jonderill came to the conclusion that he didn’t like living in the fortress. The place was always dark and cold and even when he was sitting by the fire he felt chilled to the bone, which was odd because his white robe should have kept him warm. He knew it wasn’t just the cold; there was something about the place which seemed to suck the life out of him, leaving him feeling hollow and dispirited. Of course it wasn’t the fault of the fortress at all; after all it was only stone and wood. Perhaps it was the changes in his life which made him feel as if, somewhere, he had taken a wrong turning, and his road was taking him somewhere dark and dreary, when he actually wanted to find somewhere where the sun shone and the birds sang.
It wasn’t just him either; Tissian had been quiet and tense, jumping at shadows and challenging anyone who came near his master. They had talked about their feelings and had both come to the same conclusion; life had changed for them the first day they had come in sight of Tarmin’s city walls. He would have liked to have talked to Callabris about it, but that was another problem. Since the incident with the escaped prisoners they had only spoken once and then very briefly.
Like everyone else in the fortress he had been commanded to watch the torture and execution of Istan and the others. It had been a sickening spectacle, and he had felt both guilty for being the cause of such suffering and relieved that Jarrul had been spared such a grisly end. Callabris had stopped him as they were leaving the execution and he had expected a lecture on the consequences of interfering in other people’s lives. Instead Callabris had put his arm around his shoulders and told him not to mourn his friend as not everything was always what it seemed.
If Callabris had thought to comfort him he was mistaken; all his words had done was to confuse him and make him feel even more depressed. He hadn’t seen Callabris since then, tied up as he was with the king’s business, but Tissian had spoken with Allowyn and it was he who had told them about this small, hidden courtyard. It was enclosed, mostly cobbled and a bit of an oddity really. Apart from the front courtyard and the stables, there were no open areas behind the walls of the fortress, but this one existed, tucked away in a corner where the fortress wall met the city wall at an angle.
A single, white bark tree with green tinged, silver leaves grew through a hole in the cobbled yard and several clay pots contained plants with colourful leaves but no flowers. He supposed that as the sun only topped the surrounding walls each day for just a candle length or two, flowers wouldn’t stand much chance of blooming. One thing was certain though; someone else apart from Allowyn knew about the courtyard as the small patch of earth around the tree was free of weeds and the plants were fresh and well watered.
For a while he had watched Tissian practice, his movements cramped by the confined space in the courtyard, and his face dark with a scowl of concentration. Tissian hadn’t said anything but he knew that the strain of constantly being on his guard and inside the walls of the fortress was wearing him down. Of course they could have ridden out of the city with an armed escort, but he couldn’t see the point and Tissian would not permit others, apart from himself, to watch his devotions. Instead he sat with his back against the wall, his thoughts as thick and as tangled as soggy wool and Tissian stood guard at the door.
A commotion by the door made him look up as Tissian confronted two guards in Northshield livery. He recognised the men from the executions; they were the ones who had stood at Rastor’s side and had held the prisoners whilst the Guardcaptain had hacked off their heads. Without much interest he watched as Tissian faced up to them like a fighting cock, and was then surprised to see them suddenly leave and his protector bow and step back to let two cloaked figures into the courtyard. Perhaps the courtyard belonged to these two and they were the ones who cared for the plants. He hoped they wouldn’t want him to leave; he really didn’t want to go back to his cold room and cheerless fire.
The two strangers crossed to where he sat on the wooden bench by the wall and the taller of the two slipped back her hood. He stared at her certain that he knew her from somewhere but his dull mind just couldn’t place her.
“Jonderill?” He knew the voice too but still couldn’t think who she was. “It is you, Jonderill. Don’t you recognise me? It’s Tarraquin.”
Now he remembered, or nearly remembered. She had saved him from something or someone in the past or something like that. Suddenly the memory of a girl with long auburn hair telling him that one day she would be his wife flashed through his mind and he jumped to his feet and gave her a big smile.
“Lady Tarraquin! My apologies, my mind is like mud these days. Come and sit down, you don’t look well.” He took her cold hands and helped her to sit on the stone bench next to him. Tears started to fall from her eyes making him squirm nervously; dealing with weeping women was something of which he had no experience. “What’s the matter, My Lady? Is it something I can help with?”
Tarraquin shook her head, too upset to speak, but Birrit didn’t have that problem, so she pushed back her hood and told him the whole sorry tale, including the way Borman was treating her mistress.
Tissian left his place by the door to listen as well, his hands gripping his swords as if he were about to use them on someone. “Master, what are we going to do about this?” he asked angrily. “We cannot leave the lady and her maid here; it’s only a matter of time before Borman will forget himself and go too far, then the lady’s life will be worth nothing.”
“You’re right, Tissian, what do you suggest?”
“We have to get them away from Borman and this place as soon as we can, tonight if possible.”
Tarraquin looked up and wiped her eyes. “You can’t. I’m guarded wherever I go by Rastor’s thugs and even if I could get away from them and out of the city, Borman would send one of his cursed white robes after me and that would make things worse for everyone.”
Jonderill shook his head trying to understand what she was talking about. “Why would Callabris go after you?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you know? It was Callabris who tracked Istan and the others down and murdered Jarrul.”
He gave a groan of anguish and put his head in his hands. It had been bad enough that Callabris had used his magic to help Borman enter Tarmin unopposed and despite the magician’s explanation he still thought that Callabris had been wrong. But to then track down the innocent men that Callabris knew he had rescued, murder his friend and watch the others being tortured and killed was a misuse of Federa’s gift and a betrayal that he could never forgive.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. It seems that these past days my mind has been dull and I have missed so much of what has been going on, but that is about to change.” He stood, looking determined. “I don’t like what Callabris has done, so I’m going to put a stop to it and if I can, I will make up for some of the evil things he has been doing with his magic. My Lady, do you remember the hidden passageway I told you about last time we met?” Tarraquin nodded. “We’ll use that as our escape route. It was the way I helped Istan and Jarrul to get out of the fortress and once we are away from here I know somewhere we can hide where they won’t find us.”
Tarraquin shook her head. “But how are you going to do this? It’s impossible, I’m guarded all the time”
There was a sudden noise as the wooden door in the wall opened and Rastor’s two guards stepped into the courtyard. They gave Jonderill a disdainful look and beckoned the two women to follow them. Tissian moved swiftly in front of his master and the lady to give them some final moments of privacy and Jonderill helped Tarraquin to her feet and held her closely to him so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Don’t worry about that, I will just have to use some magic.”
She looked startled; noticing for the first time what he was wearing and pulling away from him as if he was a venomous sand crawler. “You’re the other white robe who serves Borman, another damned Callabris!”
He watched the two women cross the courtyard towards the waiting guards and Tarraquin’s maid stopping to have a quick word with Tissian before leaving with their escort behind them. Once the door was closed, Jonderill sat back down on the bench, the energy and determination draining out of him like wine out of a punctured skin and his lethargy returning. “Ah, Tissian, I think I’ve done something unkind without meaning to. I’ve given the lady some hope of reprieve when I’ve no idea how I’m going to do what I’ve promised. If only my mind would work properly, I might be able to think of something but at the moment it’s beyond me.”