“No gods-fearing, respectable man would do such a despicable thing, Your Grace!” Hildy had informed her. “Only those whose feet are set on the path to the Abyss would dare.” She had lowered her voice. “It is written in the Book: ‘Let those who practice the abhorrent act be cast into the Fires of Eternal Damnation and be made clean lest they infect the godly with their debauchery'."
“The man has no shame,” Marie agreed. She clenched her fists. “Does he call that Chalean bitch's name when he spills his seed, I wonder?"
“He is a demon in manly disguise,” Hildy stated. “How else to explain the look of him, Milady?"
Marie lifted one finely-sculpted brow. “The look of him?"
Hildy shuddered. “He bewitches; he entices; he lures the chaste with his comeliness! The maids have remarked on it, Your Grace.” She dipped her head in abject apology. “Even I have had impure thoughts when in his company."
“You?” Marie gasped. Such a thing was certainly not possible. Hildy was a godsfearing woman who had always upheld Marie's own condemnation toward Kaelan Hesar. If she was being affected by the man....
“You wanted to see me, Marie?"
The Duchess of Winterstorm flinched, bringing her anger back to the present. She glared at her husband. Her lips pursed into a thin line as she took in what he was wearing and the way he looked:
Kaelan's breeches were so tight across his hips the bulge of his manhood was made more prominent. The silk shirt he wore was stretched tightly across his wide shoulders and had been left unbuttoned half-way down his chest. Dark chest hair spilled from the opening and drew the eye there as a matter of course. His hair had not been combed; he looked as though he had just risen from bed. The dark brown leather jacket slung over his right shoulder—the collar of which was hooked on the middle finger of his right hand—brought out the swarthy coloring of his skin and the amber glints in his brown eyes. When he spoke, the white gleam of his teeth was dazzling.
“Marie?"
“You are evil,” she whispered. Her belly was doing little flips and she could feel the rapid pounding of her heart as she looked at him. Heat infused her face; her breathing became erratic; and she felt an urgent need to tear off her husband's clothes and impale herself upon the steely length of his shaft.
The prince recognized all too well that look he saw forming on Marie's pretty face; he'd seen it there four times in the last eight months. Whenever that look came over her face, she would begrudgingly allow him to consummate their Joining-lying beneath him as stiffly as a board as he did it-then berate him for the rutting beast he was when she had been fulfilled.
He doubted the woman even knew what it was she was feeling when orgasm came. To her, the sensations bombarding her were no doubt disgusting, vile, and evil, and he was to be condemned for making her feel such things. She had once as much as said so to him when—in the midst of their mating—she had forgotten herself and clung to him as a wife should, thrusting her lower body against his in wild abandon; the experience had left her shaken and mortified.
“You have made me unclean with your lust, Kaelan Hesar!” she'd ranted at him. Her hand had connected violently with his unprotected cheek. “You have defiled me, you beast!"
Watching his wife warily, Kaelan held up a hand to ward her off. “I am in no mood to service you, Marie."
“Service me?” she screeched at him, coming away from the window where she'd been standing. “Service me?” She picked up a vase and threw it at him. “Am I a mare to be bred by you, Hesar?"
Kaelan ducked, turning his head to watch the vase hit the far wall and shatter. The lovely Chrystallusian vessel scattered over the carpeting, its delicate porcelain pieces glinting sadly in the cascade light from the fan window overhead. He looked back at his wife, reluctant to speak for fear she'd throw something else at him.
“Is it true?” she hissed. She advanced on him, grinning cruelly as he took a step back, unsure of her motives.
“Is what true?” he asked. He watched her eyes for it was always there-like a warning flare-that her insane hostility built.
Marie would not sully herself to say the words to him. There was no need; she could see the guilt. Instead, she nodded knowingly. “You are evil,” she repeated.
It was too early in the morning for the fighting to begin, he felt, so he didn't bother to deny her accusation. He just stood there, waiting, knowing she'd get around to telling him what had put this latest burr under her saddle. He tossed his jacket to a chair and folded his arms. It was always best to have his hands free just in case she took it in her mind to try clawing him as she had in the past.
“I'll not have you trying to work your conjuring on my women!” she snarled at him.
So, he thought with a mental sigh of irritation, she was back to accusing him of being a warlock. He had been faintly amused the first time she'd done it, but-over the long months-it had begun to annoy him. Such words were dangerous in these times, for there were those about who fancied themselves messengers of the gods; emissaries chosen to stamp out all forms of Magik.
“What am I suppose to have done now?” he drawled.
“I'll not have you enchanting my women!” she threw at him again. Her mouth twisted in disgust. “They know you for the incubus you are, Kaelan Hesar. They will take steps to protect themselves against you."
“I'm sure you'll make sure they do, Marie,” he said tiredly.
“Be careful I don't set the Inquisition on you, husband,” she challenged. “Caldonicus might take pleasure in questioning you!"
Kaelan's mouth tightened. He unfolded his hands; his voice lowered. “Is that all or are you going to demand I shuck my breeches here and now for you to whack it off so you can make gods-be-damned sure I can't get even a modicum of pleasure out of this hell you've put me in?"
“You admit to the perfidy?” she gasped. “You dare stand there and admit to spilling good seed?"
The prince spoke before he had time to consider the effect of his words: “Aye, I admit it! I'd damned well rather do that than suffer through another of your guilt-ridden matings. A man could find more pleasure in a rotting corpse than from what he gets from a frigid virago like you!"
She flew at him, her fingers curved into vicious talons. He barely had time to grab her wrists before she could go for his eyes. There were already faint scratch marks along the ridge of his chin and down his neck from the last time she'd attacked him. He twisted to avoid the knee she aimed at the juncture of his thighs and hefted her against his hip, spinning her away from him as he let her go. She stumbled into a settee and fell half-way over the wide arm, grunting as her belly connected with the obstacle. Almost immediately she straightened, spun around and would have gone after him again, but he was striding out of the room, his leather jacket gripped fiercely in his left hand.
“YOU'LL BE SORRY YOU MANHANDLED ME, KAELAN HESAR!” she shouted after him. “I'LL MAKE YOU SORRY!"
“THEN DO IT, YOU CRAZY BITCH, AND BE DONE WITH IT!” his words came back to her. “BEFORE ONE OF US KILLS THE OTHER!"
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Chapter Twenty-One
Gillian drew her knees up into the circle of her arms. “Did anyone hear the two of you arguing?” she heard her brother ask.
“The entire manor house heard us arguing, Nick,” Kaelan said. He rubbed his thigh, shaking his head when Nick offered to take a look at his injury. “There's nothing you can do."
“What happened, then?” Gillian asked
Kaelan drew in a long breath, held it for a moment, then slowly exhaled. “I left.” He stared across the room. “I was gone almost a week."
“If the village folk disliked you so much, where did you stay?” Nick inquired.
“I bedded down in an abandoned barn near Heathton,” Kaelan answered.
“But it was winter, wasn't it?” Gillian asked.
“Aye,” Kaelan confirmed. “But it wasn't yet so cold I couldn't stand it. I had taken several good wool blankets
from the stable when I left. And my greatcape. I had my crossbow so I didn't lack for food. Things weren't so bad.” He smiled ruefully. “Anyway, the cold in the barn wasn't nearly as cold as that woman's heart."
“What happened when you finally went back?"
“Marie wasn't there,” Kaelan said, remembering. “She'd gone to complain to her father about my disappearance. I think she thought I'd gone back to Tempest Keep, although she should have known damned well I wouldn't be welcome there.” He rubbed absently at his thigh. “Duke Sinclair carted her with him to the Keep only to have Duncan tell them he hadn't seen me; father and daughter were gone close to a month supposedly searching for me near Colridge, of all places."
“There's a large coven of warlocks there,” Gillian said quietly. “Maybe that's why they went looking where they did."
Kaelan stared at her for a moment, wondering how she knew of such things, then shrugged. “At any rate, by the time she got back—grimacing as he did so—then twisted around so he could bring his legs up to the mattress, stretching them out in front of him and lying back against the headboard.
“Did she continue to come to your room while your wife was gone? That girl, Kymmie?"
Nick glanced at his sister. He had wanted to ask the same thing, but didn't think it polite. Leave it to Gilly to get right to the heart of the matter.
“Aye,” Kaelan said softly. He laid his head back on the headboard and looked up at the ceiling. “She did."
“That was fairly dangerous, wasn't it?” Nick mumbled. “Adultery among the royalty is still punishable by flogging. Had anyone found out...” He shuddered, remembering the time Duncan had ordered his brother whipped and knowing Kaelan was remembering it, too.
“There are punishments and then there are punishments,” Kaelan answered, cryptically. “Lashing was a much easier sentence for the crime I committed against my marriage than the one the gods meted out to me."
I don't understand,” Gillian told him.
Let the man finish,” Nick grumbled.
“I think a part of me must have wanted Marie to find out,” Kaelan said. He closed his eyes. “I never meant for Kymmie to be hurt, though."
“Was she?” Gillian asked.
“Will you let him talk without interruption?” Nick spat at his sister.
“We didn't hear the carriage when it arrived,” Kaelan went on as though he were all alone in the room. “I always locked the door once Kymmie had come in. She would stay until first light, then quietly leave. No one knew what we were doing; we were always very careful not to give anything away during the day. Hildy might have suspected had she been here, but she had gone with Marie. That night I forgot to lock the door.” He opened his eyes and stared blindly across the room. “I've often wondered if I somehow knew Marie was going to come back that night and wanted her to catch us. Sometimes I think that must have been in the back of my mind."
Both Nick and Gillian sat quietly as their host continued to stare unseeingly out over the room. His eyes were glazed and his hand was moving almost of its own volition atop his aching leg. When they thought he wasn't going—needed breath of cleansing air. The brother and sister started, looked at one another, and had to strain to hear him as he finished his tale.
“The door crashed open and Kymmie screamed. I sat up in the bed, saw who was standing there, and tried to shield Kymmie as best I could. I could feel her trembling against me, her naked breasts pressing into my back, her hands clutching my shoulders, but all I could hear was Marie's labored breathing as she stood framed in the doorway, staring at me with this look of absolute amazement. Hildy was beside her, holding a lantern, and the look on that bitch's face was like looking into the Abyss. Death entered the room with Hildy Jamerson that night."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Two: Five years earlier; Holy Dale Manor House
Kaelan held up his hand to block the glare of the lantern. He squinted, blinking against the brightness. Behind him, Kymmie Kullen was shivering so badly the bed was shaking beneath them. Her fingers were like ice on his shoulders and the sex-glaze of sweat that stuck her naked breasts to his back was clammy.
“You bastard!” he heard Marie hiss.
“Get out of that bed, girl!” Hildy ordered, advancing on Kymmie.
“I won't let them hurt you, Kymmie,” Kaelan said. He reached out to knock Hildy's hand away as she made to grab the frightened girl's arm. “Leave her alone,” he ordered.
“You bastard,” Marie repeated, coming further into the room.
“It wasn't his fault!” Kymmie cried, scooting away from him and getting out of the bed before he could stop her. “I seduced His Grace. It was me what started it. I wanted to give him pleasure!"
“SHUT UP!” Hildy thundered. She snagged the poor girl's wrist and started back across the room with her, dragging a stumbling Kymmie in her wake. “You stupid little slut! Have you a desire to have yourself whipped?” Hildy pulled her from the room and into the hall, slamming the door shut behind them.
Kaelan threw the covers away from himself, briefly wondering why he felt no shame at his wife seeing him naked from his adulterous bed, and jerked up his breeches. “She's not to blame for this,” he said, keeping his eye on Marie as he drew on the breeches. I won't allow her to be punished for it."
“I know who's to blame,” Marie countered. She took another step into the room. “That girl won't suffer for the sorcery you've spun this night, Kaelan Hesar, lest you've plumped her belly with seed that rightfully belongs to me!"
“Is that all you care about?” he shouted at her. “By the god, woman! There is more to life than making babies!"
A muffled scream from below stairs brought Kaelan's head up and his lips drew back in a snarl of pure rage. Without bothering with a shirt, he pushed past Marie, jerked the door open and fled the room, tripping down the stairs as fast as his bare feet could take him-her naked body turning blue from the chill-cowering on the floor at her father's feet as Jasper Kullen wielded his heavy leather belt, repeatedly slashing the defenseless girl's back, brought a bellow of fury from the prince and he plowed into the older man, sending them both crashing through the lower hallway and into the front parlor.
Marie heard the loud crashes from below and the meaty thuds that told her there was a fight in progress. The tinkling of glass and the sharp crash of furniture splintering didn't phase her. She stood where she was, staring at the rumpled covers of her husband's bed, and experienced a murderous rage that knew no limits. The smell of him—and the musky scent of his bodily fluids—was like a file rasping along her nerve endings and she cocked her head to one side, marveling at the anger that was quickly building in her very core. She had never known such violence of purpose as she was feeling at that moment.
Her hands itched-sweating for the feel of a cat-o'-nine clutched in her palm. Instead of the sound of tearing drapery that came to her from the front parlor, she longed to hear the sound of those barbed lashes striking her husband's naked back, tearing through flesh and muscle and scoring bones. Instead of the grunts of the fighting men, she ached to hear Kaelan's screams of pain as she laid the lash to him herself. Instead of that bellow she knew had come from her father-demanding an end to the destruction being wrought downstairs-she needed to hear that one last agonized shriek from her husband's throat at the moment she relieved him of that offending growth between his lying, cheating thighs.
“Your Grace?” Hildy questioned.
“How much damage did they do?” Marie asked idly.
“A fair amount,” Hildy said with disgust.
“The girl?"
“Your father has ordered Jasper to take Kymmie home, but warned him there had better be no further abuse done to her.” When her mistress looked around with a raised brow, Hildy shrugged. “A few welts, nothing more."
“And my husband?” Marie locked gazes with her servant.
Hildy's lip lifted in scorn. “His Grace ordered two of the footmen to take
the prince to the stable. The warlock didn't even attempt to fight them.” She lifted her chin. “He knows he's guilty and what his punishment is to be.” She shrugged indifferently. “He went with them on his own steam. Your father has called for the lash."
“No, that will not do,” Marie said in a matter of fact tone. She moved so quickly past her servant, the woman barely had time to step back out of her way before being bowled over.
“Milady?” Hildy called after her, running to catch up.
Marie was breathing heavily by the time she reached the stable. She pressed her right fist against her chest, willing away the sharp pain there. Pain was radiating down her left arm, paralyzing the fingers of that hand, but she ignored it and jerked open the stable door.
The first thing Marie saw was Kaelan being tied between two uprights, his bare back glistening wetly in the harsh glow of several lanterns being held by the men servants of Holy Dale, his wrists stretched high above his head. She saw him turn his head around and knew he'd seen her. It didn't surprise her in the least when he turned away again, stoically facing the rear of the stable as his captors finished tying his wrists to the uprights.
“Go back to your room, Marie,” she heard her fat-haired man who stood nearby.
“This is not what I want,” she said.
“This is what will be,” her father snapped. “Adultery is punishable by the lash; he will be lashed."
“Cut him down,” Marie ordered. “Now. This instant."
Kaelan looked around again. He was panting from the exertion of the fight—and the fear of the pain he expected to feel-and every breath he took seemed to be torn from him.
“He's hurt,” Marie said, guessing correctly that her husband had at least one broken rib from the fight.
“He's going to hurt more,” Sinclair growled. He strode up to his daughter, gripped her upper arm and attempted to lead her to the door.
“NO!” she snarled, jerking her arm away. “I don't want him whipped!"
“It is not a matter of what you want, Marie,” her father retaliated. “It is a matter of Tribunal law!"
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