“You can't do this!"
“I can and will,” Sinclair countered. He glanced around, found one of his personal bodyguards, and motioned for the man to take his daughter.
Marie tried to slap the burly bodyguard, but the man easily—and gently—batted her hand away. Before she could try to maul him again, he hefted her onto his shoulder and took her screaming and kicking from the stable.
“She isn't well,” Hildy said, flinging a look at her mistress’ father.
“Then see to her,” Sinclair barked. He put a hand in the middle of the servant woman's back and ushered her out of the stable. Once she was beyond the opening, he closed the door and shot the locking bar into place.
* * * *
Forty lashes.
Forty vicious applications of red-hot agony that dragged down his back and laid the flesh open to bleed and tear further apart.
Forty stinging fingers clawing their way through muscle to sear forty paths of excruciating sensation to the very marrow of his bones.
And forty days of lying on his belly: fever-ridden and close to death while Marie, herself, tended his wounds with a Healer-prescribed astringent that was almost as painful as the lash had been when it was poured on his lacerated back.
“When you are well,” he would hear her say over and over again as he lay semi-conscious and in so much pain, her words came to him in waves of distorted sound, “I will have them string you up and I will do the lashing myself this time, Kaelan Hesar."
He didn't doubt her words. They became a litany she spoke each and every day and held the ring of truth that told him she meant to see him suffer far more at her hands than he had at her fathers. That she cared for him so diligently did not make him think for one moment that she would not carry out her threat. She would see him hail and hearty before she crippled him for good.
“I am going to castrate you, Hesar,” she chanted. “I am going to castrate you."
He didn't doubt that, either. Now and again, she would reach under him, clasp his shaft, and hold him as though weighing what it would take to slice the member from his body.
And there was nothing he could do to keep her from doing as she'd said-even had he had the strength and health to do it—for he was bound spreadeagle on one of the guest room beds: wrists and ankles tied tightly to the four posters. The only time he was released was when he begged them to allow him to use the chamberpot. Four times a day they would untie him, turn his agonized body over, drag him up—dangling weakly between two massive guards—and allow him to relieve himself. Most of the time, the pain would be too much and he would pass out even as his urine trickled down his legs.
“Have you no shame?” Hildy would rant at him as though he had done it on purpose. Her hands were like vices on him as she cleaned him.
He saw no one else save the guards, Hildy and Marie. Marie's father had decided to stay with her awhile and now and then Kaelan could hear the man railing at his daughter.
“You could have killed him!” Marie had once shouted at her father.
“If he dies, he dies,” Sinclair had quipped. “All the better for you, I suppose, if he does."
Kaelan had wanted to die. That first night as his torn body seeped blood and his wounds were cleansed and the hellish astringent worked into the lacerations, he had screamed until he was hoarse. He had prayed for death as Marie's long nails had trailed down his wounds.
“Did you enjoy your coupling, Kaelan?” Marie whispered in his ear as he sobbed. “I hope you did, for it will be the last you ever do, my love."
He had wanted to die.
On the forty-third day after his lashing, he woke to a grim gray dawn where snow pelted the windows and a cold draft flowed over his naked back. Only his hips were covered with a thin blanket and he was shivering. Since he had no pillow, it was somewhat easy for him to lift his head and peer around the room. He was alone and he had to urinate so badly his teeth were aching. There was no way for him to call the guards; with his hands tied, he could not reach the bell pull. He laid his head back down, hoping someone would come soon.
An hour passed and he had all but made up his mind to piss on the damned bed. Even lying in cooling piss was better than the ache in his bladder. When at last the door opened, he looked around and found Marie coming toward him with the bottle of astringent.
“I've got to pee,” he told her.
“That can wait."
“No, it can't,” he said, stubbornly.
“I've decided I won't lash you after all,” she said as though he hadn't spoken.
Kaelan barely heard her. “Marie, please. I've got to pee."
“Nor shall I castrate you this time."
He craned his head around. “This time?” he questioned, his attention caught.
“I have decided that I shall keep you here. In this bed. Tied as you are.” She thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “Except on your back.” She poured some of the astringent on a rag; the smell was sharp and biting .
“Keep me here?” he repeated. “Why?"
Marie smoothed the astringent-soaked rag over his backs. “To mate with you, of course."
Kaelan went as still as death. “You can't be serious."
If she had heard him, she gave no sign. Her hands worked gently over the deep scars that had already formed. “I shall come in twice a day, perhaps three times a day, and get you ready.” She didn't see the look of incredulous shock that remark was generating on his face. “Then I shall straddle you and have you until you fill me."
The prince's mouth dropped open. He pulled against his bonds, suddenly angry at the way she was talking to him and the robotic way she was acting. “Have you lost what mind you had, Marie?"
“I shall keep you like this until I have conceived and then I will castrate you.” she said it in such a matter of fact voice, the words were chilling.
Kaelan had long suspected Marie was barren. He doubted any man could get her with child and he certainly had no desire to do so. The thought of having to lie there at her mercy, day after day, month after month, or—the gods forbid—year after year until she realized she was infertile, made a shiver run down his spine.
Marie looked away from his back, met his shocked gaze and took it for one of sheer ecstasy. “You will like that, won't you, Hesar?” she mocked him. “To be serviced like the priceless stud you believe yourself to be?"
“You're insane,” he told her.
“I've heard she's married, now,” Marie purred. “Your Chalean whore."
Kaelan's world tilted slightly off kilter. Each time she mentioned Gillian, his heart still lurched in his chest and he felt the pain of what could have been even more keenly than ever.
“A Rysalian nobleman, I've heard. From the House of Ben-Alkazar.” She put a finger to her lip. “Vashon, I believe his name is."
Kaelan closed his eyes and lowered his head. The pain in his bladder could not equal the pain in his heart. He knew Vashon Ben-Alkazar well; the man was honorable and considered to be a prime catch in his homeland. If he, himself, had had to pick a husband for Gillian, he might well have chosen Vashon.
But the thought of Gillian in another man's arms, lying beneath another man's body, hurt Kaelan far deeper than the searing lash had hurt him and he groaned.
“You have to urinate, don't you?” Marie said, as though she had just remembered his request. “Ned! Stefan!"
The two guards entered and, without asking, came to the bed and began to untie Kaelan. Their stony faces never revealed any emotion and their steely eyes were completely devoid of compassion as they moved to Kaelan's ankles and untied them.
“When he has finished, turn him to his back and tie him down,” Marie ordered. “He is healed enough to lie that way."
“Does your father know what you're planning to do, Milady?” Kaelan snarled from between clenched teeth.
Stefan kept Kaelan's arms in a cruel grip behind the prince's back as he dragged him from the bed and Ned retrieved the
chamberpot.
“I doubt he would care,” Marie said sweetly. She was staring avidly at Stefan's bulky physique.
“What if you don't conceive, Marie?” he asked.
“I will,” she said. Her gaze slid to her husband. “I will keep trying until I do."
Kaelan was weak from the loss of blood as well as the great physical pain he'd suffered at Sinclair's hands. There was no way he could escape these two burly men and he knew it. He clenched his jaw throughout the humiliating ordeal of pissing in front of these two strangers even though neither man acted as though the situation was beyond the normal.
“He's finished,” Marie said. “Tie him."
Kaelan was manhandled to the bed again. He knew it wouldn't do him any good to fight so he lay stoically still as his hands and feet were re-tied to the four posters of the bed. Ned reached down and drew the covers over his nakedness and for the first time made eye contact; there was something akin to pity in the beefy man's face before he turned away.
“Did you know,” Marie asked as the door closed behind the two guards, “I experienced something very strange when Papa brought you back from the stable that night?” She sat primly in the chair beside his bed, folded her hands in her lap, and cocked her head to one side as she looked at him.
“What was that?” he grumbled. He wished she'd go away and leave him alone for the bond on his right wrist—the hand Ned had tied—was loose.
“It surprised me, actually,” she continued. Her lips stretched into a slow, wondering smile. “I found I have feelings for you, Hesar."
Kaelan's brows came together. “What? Utter loathing, Marie?” He eased his right hand around within the confines of the rope and almost whooped with delight when he found he could more than likely slip his hand free with a little maneuvering.
“When Rolf took my virginity, he did not make me feel the bad feelings you do when you take me,” she said.
The prince looked at her. “Virgins rarely feel anything except minor pain, Milady and I doubt Rolf de Viennes would have taken care to provide you with any pleasure, anyway."
“His touch was glorious,” she said, thinking of the tall blond man. “Most respectful.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not like the vile groping I experience at your hands."
He could have told her of de Viennes’ reputation. Of how the man kept a tally of the virgin blood he'd shed over the years. Of the man's boasts that he could pierce a maidenhead and be done with it in less time than it took to spit. But from the wistful look on his wife's face, he knew she wouldn't believe him.
“But you,” Marie said, staring at him, “make me feel the bad feeling."
“It isn't bad, damn it!” he snapped at her. “It is a normal feeling you have when we mate, Marie."
“My grandmother warned me I would not like what my husband would do to me.” Marie nodded. “She said I would endure the filthy act in order to get with child. She said only whores took pleasure in coupling."
Kaelan grunted. So that was why the woman was so torn about sex. On the one hand, she felt the pleasure and satisfaction of the act and on the other, she felt guilty about enjoying it because her beldame of a grandmother had told her she should not.
“I may find what you do to me disgusting, but the pleasure it causes I can not deny.” She stood up and looked down at him. “You will have served your usefulness when you get me with child."
The prince ground his teeth as he stared up at her. He waited for her to say more, but she simply turned away and walked to the door. As soon as she was gone, Kaelan began to work his hand free of the rope.
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Chapter Twenty-Three: Holy Dale Manor: The Present
Kaelan had fallen asleep as he told his tale. His fever was back for his face was shiny with sweat. Nick eased him down in the bed and covered him, motioning Gillian to silence, then he joined his sister by the fire.
“He's had a bad time of it,” Nick commented as he stroked Brownie's head; the big mutt was lying with its muzzle on Nick's knee.
“She died on Kaelan's birthday, on the Solstice as I recall,” Gillian said. She stoked the fire and pulled an old shawl she'd found downstairs around her shoulders. “Five years ago this week."
“Aye,” Nick replied. He glanced at the man on the bed. “I wonder why he stayed."
“Where was there for him to go?” she asked. “If Duncan took his inheritance, how was he to pay for his travel? You've seen the state of this place. There is nothing of value here. If he still had Revenge, I would wager the beast would be housed here with him."
“I had not thought of the steed,” Nick answered. “I can't see him letting anyone take that beastie from him."
“I couldn't care for him,” was the slurred reply from the bed.
Gillian stood and went to the bed. She laid her palm against his forehead. “You are burning up, Kaelan."
“Don't feel all that well, either,” he quipped. Pushing himself up in the bed, he asked for a cup of water.
“What happened to the well?” Nick asked as Gillian held a cup of melted snow to the prince's lips. “I drew up a bucket and the mess tasted of salt. The pond water was worse yet."
Kaelan nodded. “Let me finish telling you what happened that night and you'll understand.” He patted the mattress beside him and Gillian sat down, taking his hand in hers, knowing he needed the contact in order to go on.
“It took me awhile, and before I was finished, my wrist was bleeding from all the twisting, but the blood helped slip my hand from under the rope. The rope on my left wrist was tied tight, but I managed to work the knot loose. Untying my ankles didn't take much time at all."
“Ned left your wrist loose on purpose,” Gillian said.
“Aye,” he answered. “I believe so."
“So you were able to get free."
The prince armed away the sweat on his brow, smiling guiltily as Gillian scolded him then took a rag to wipe his face. “Go on,” she said as she wet the rag in a bowl of tepid water and wrung it out.
“There was no one about at that time of night. I thought to get dressed and leave this hellish place."
“But someone saw you."
Kaelan's eyes took on a glazed look. “Aye. Marie."
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Chapter Twenty-Four: The night Marie died; Holy Dale Manor House
His boots were in his left hand; his shirt clutched tightly in his right. He had just made it to the top of the stairs when Marie's voice brought him to a standstill.
“Where do you think you are going, Kaelan?"
The prince jumped and swung his head toward the shadows there on the balcony. Marie was standing in the doorway of her chamber, her voluminous nightgown draped around her slim body from throat to toe to wrist. The lantern light behind her cast the lush curves of her body into strong relief beneath the white cotton nightgown.
“I won't be your prisoner, Marie,” he said, his voice low to keep anyone from hearing. He could have bellowed with frustration when a sound from below stairs drew his attention and he found himself staring down into the wrathful eyes of his father-in-law.
“You're not leaving this house,” Sinclair shouted at him and called for his personal guards who were never far from the Duke's side. No doubt the four of them—Master and bodyguards—had been in the gaming room for Sinclair carried a brandy snifter in one hand and a spread of cards in the other.
“You are Marie's husband and as such you will not be permitted to shame her by sneaking away in the middle of the night, Hesar."
The three guards came to stand at the foot of the stairs, but one was sent hurrying around to the other side of the parlor where the servant stairs were located, just in case Kaelan attempted to leave that way.
“I told you what was going to happen, Kaelan,” Marie said as she came out of her chamber. Her bare feet made no sound on the smoothly polished wood of the balcony. She clutched the bodice of the nightgown in her fist. “Did you think
I was lying to you?"
“Perhaps another lashing will help him see the truth of your words, Daughter” Sinclair chuckled. He motioned for the thicker set of his two remaining bodyguards to climb the stairs. “Get him back to bed and make sure he stays there."
“I told you I had feelings for you,” Marie said. Her hand was squeezing the material of her gown, pressing it tightly against her chest.
“I can't live like this, Marie,” Kaelan said, backing away from the top of the stairs. The two guards were advancing on him, grinning from ear to ear at his predicament. “I won't live like this!"
Hildy had joined the Duke at the foot of the stairs and was staring up at Marie with a look of genuine concern. “Your Grace, you should be in bed.” She held up her hand. “I have the elixir.” Gathering up the folds of her nightwrap, she started after the guards.
Marie was only ten feet away from her husband. In the striated shadows that fell about her, her face looked ghostly white, too pale, and it glistened with a sheen of sweat. She paused under the dome of the great skylight overhead and the silvery beams of moonlight fell around her, giving her an ethereal glow, but then her face twisted with pain and she drew in a harsh breath.
Kaelan recognized the way she was clutching at her chest. His gaze shifted to her left arm and realized it was hanging limply at her side. “Marie?” he questioned. He threw the boots and shirt away, ignoring the guards who were now at the top of the stairs
“DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!” Marie yelled as the men started toward her husband. She staggered and gasped, bending over with pain.
“Marie!” her father cried out, hurrying up the stairs, himself. “Are you ill, girl?"
The guards stopped, understanding something strange was happening here. Hildy pushed past them and would have gone to her mistress’ aid, but Marie flung out her right hand-palm outward-denying her.
“This is between Kaelan and me,” Marie whispered and her voice was slurred. She straightened up. “Between my husband and me,” she amended.
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