The Bride Gift (25 page)

“Not too much,” he cautioned. “You do not want to drown her.”

“Would you like to do this part?” Helena snapped from where she crouched between Rosalind’s knees.

The stranger immediately quieted and lay back down.

“The head,” Rosalind panted. “I think the head is coming. You must look.”

“Look?” Helena’s stomach heaved. She peered cautiously between Rosalind’s raised knees.
Dear Lord
. She went faint, before her brain made sense of what her eyes beheld.

“I see it,” she whispered.

And it was awful. Blood and fluids streaked down Rosalind’s thighs. Helena could barely imagine the pain of what was happening to the woman’s body, yet it was riveting.

A sense of wonder overtook Helena’s fears. “What must I do?”

Rosalind’s howl shook the cottage as she bore down. The crown appeared and Helena instinctively held out her hands. Another mighty push and the babe’s shoulders appeared. She caught the tiny bundle as it emerged, warm and slick from Rosalind’s body.

“Hold the head,” the stranger instructed. “It will come fast now.”

With a final, almighty heave from its mother, the babe slid free. Helena tightened her grip around the slippery little body. It was covered in blood and a sticky, pale substance, but it was the most marvellous being she had ever beheld.

“It is here!” she exclaimed. The bundle in her arms gave a strange cough and then a wail that seemed far too large for such a tiny mite.

Rosalind held out her arms and Helena handed over the babe.

“A girl,” Rosalind murmured wearily, folding the wriggling scrap to her breast.

Helena echoed in wonder, “We have a girl.”

Chapter 29

Crispin had turned away as Guy slit the man’s throat. His brother was too much the priest to condone killing. Guy didn’t have that luxury, not with Helena’s life at stake. The man was a link to Ranulf and a risk.

Guy had been riding ahead of the party for most of the night and well into the morning. They kept the horses at a steady pace, conserving their strength, but stops were inevitable.

With each hour that passed the mood amongst the men grew grimmer. Not even Crispin attempted conversation.

Although the man they caught had been well hidden, Guy had unearthed him along the trail. After a few well-placed threats, he confirmed that there were two women with men who owed fealty to Ranulf, and they were not at Dartmoore. Guy drew no satisfaction in being right.

Crispin left the campsite as the man began to scream.

It took Guy ten long minutes to convince the man to surrender a location. After learning the women were hidden to the west of their current position, Guy mounted and the rest of his men followed.

He scoured the trail, chafing at the slower pace. They’d lost half a day to misdirection. They could risk no more mistakes.

Ranulf didn’t know where they were, their only advantage. Guy dispatched two men to make sure there were no other unwelcome watchers in the trees.

Rosalind slept, her face pale but restful, the babe tucked securely within the crook of her body. Helena tiptoed over to see the slumbering infant. With pale down covering her soft pate, she resembled a wizened old man. Helena chuckled softly at her own thought.

Breaking off a corner of the bread, she sat by the hearth and rested. The magic of birth dissipated under the weight of their circumstances, imprisoned in the filthy cabin. Caught up with Rosalind as she laboured, it had been easy to push their peril to one side. It all flooded back to Helena as she attempted to force the dry bread down her throat.

Suddenly, the situation seemed even direr. Into this, they now had a small, hopeful life to protect. They might die here, all of them. Guy might not reach her in time. She never questioned whether he would come or not, but what if he did not reach them soon enough?

A sudden sound broke the quiet. Hoof beats approached the hut, coming fast. She strained to hear the activity outside, holding her breath as a horse stopped before the cottage. A man’s voice—and a few mumbled responses—made her blood ran cold.

Ranulf had come. His was not a voice she was likely to forget. Fear held her immobile as she stared at the door.

The murmur grew louder, and then Ranulf flung open the door to their prison. Light limned his frame in the doorway.

Rosalind stirred in her sleep, but didn’t wake.

“Good day, Nell.” Ranulf’s smile was cordial.

Helena rose to her feet. Beneath her bliaut her limbs held a tremor.

Ranulf’s eyes came to rest on the sleeping woman. “Du Basson has been peering under every bed he finds looking for his faithless wife.” He gave a short laugh. “And she was hiding at Lystanwold all the while.”

“What do you hope to gain by this?” Helena demanded. She clasped her hands together to stop their shaking.

Ranulf’s triumphant smile sent a fresh spike of terror through her. “Hope to gain?” His grin broadened. “Nay, sweet Nell, I have already gained.”

He strolled into the cabin. Helena shrank back against the hearth, but Ranulf strode to the cot. His lips twisted contemptuously. “I do not believe I will need you after all. It has become more troublesome to keep you alive.” The figure on the cot remained silent as he added, “You will, of course, allow me to deal with the ladies first.”

Ranulf’s glance swept her from top to bottom. “Ah, Nell.” He shook his head regretfully. “What to do with you?”

Helena dared not move as Ranulf took the few steps separating them. He examined her face as if he were searching for some truth not yet apparent. “You lied to my men,” he chided her softly. “Did you think I would be merciful with an infant?”

“I did not lie,” Helena replied hoarsely. “The child is Guy’s.”

“The child
may
be Guy’s. Then again, that whore spread her legs for most of Stephen’s court.” Ranulf shrugged. “It could be anyone’s and Guy will not come for her. So, you see, Nell, you have only gained her a reprieve long enough to birth her bastard.”

Dread locked around her chest. It was difficult to draw breath. Completely without any trace of remorse, Ranulf watched her as a wolf chooses its prey, enjoying her fear. “It could have been so different for you and me.”

Over Ranulf’s shoulder the bundle on the bed stirred.

Be still
. She sent the silent plea to the man buried under those ragged bed clothes. He wouldn’t stand a chance against Ranulf.

Ranulf’s boots touched the edge of her gown. Helena could retreat no further as the wall met her back. “Did I not court you, Nell?” he asked softly as he gripped her chin. “Was I not patient and were my intentions not of the most noble?”

Ranulf’s twisted mind horrified her.

The babe made a soft, mewling noise, unnaturally loud in the cabin. Helena dared not glance in the child’s direction.

“You were unwed for all of those years, an insult in itself. Then he married you to that whoreson, rutting bastard.” Ranulf’s grip on her jaw tightened.

The knot of fear grew in her throat. She didn’t want to die here in this filthy hut, never to see Guy again . . .

“You are mine. Lystanwold is mine. I have waited for it patiently all this time.” Ranulf’s tone softened, but his hold on her face remained punishing.

She grasped his wrists to loosen his hold. His fingers tightened. Tears stung her eyes.

There was no reason to him, just bottomless rage.

“He took what is mine and now I will have it back. You, however, present a problem. I thought if I kept you hidden somewhere, I could have my fill of you, but I can see now that was merely foolish sentiment.”

He loomed closer, forcing her head up and back. “Such a clever, clever wench you are, Nell.” His eyes scoured her face.

Helena couldn’t compel her eyes to move from him. He held her life fully in his grasp.

“Even now you would stand before me with a lie on your beautiful lips. You would say what I wanted to hear to win time for that cur to find you, would you not?”

“I—”

“You would tell the devil you loved him to save your precious skin.” Effortlessly he caught her wrists in his free hand and held her immobile. His strength was terrifying.

Powerless, her limbs weakened.

“We are alike in this, sweeting. We will do what we must to win the day.”

“Please . . .” Her jaw ached from his grip and it was difficult to form words around the steadily increasing pressure of his fingers.

“What a perfect woman you would have made me, but I cannot trust your word. I cannot believe anything that trips from that treacherous tongue of yours. I have not slept, Nell.” He shook her like she was a poppet, crowding her further against the wall.

She tried to form words, but they were nothing more than sobs.

“I have lain awake and agonized over what I must do.”

“I am sorry, I . . .”
Buy time, distract him
—

“You must die, Nell. There is no help for it. I cannot keep what I cannot trust.” He smacked her against the rough wall, hard, scraping her tender flesh, painfully jarring the back of her head.

Her breath came harsh and ragged as terror clawed through her, turning her limbs to water. Her mind went dark; she couldn’t think beyond the growing certainty that he would kill her.

“Bess was too weak to be bothersome, but you, Nell, you are a bird of a different feather.” His thighs pressed against hers as he crushed her into the unyielding barrier at her back. “I could have shaped you.”

Her head thumped against the wall as he shook her again. “I could have moulded you, but now . . .” Another thump forced a soft whimper of pain from between her lips. “Now you are useless to me. Spoiled, wilful.”

Black spots danced before her eyes as he used her head to punctuate his speech. “Headstrong, deceitful, bitch,” he rasped harshly in her ear.

She would gladly beg for mercy but she had not the strength or breath.

Cold as the grave, he stared down at her. “But first, I will have what was denied me.” He kicked her feet apart and Helena almost fell, but his body was there, pressing against the juncture of her thighs. “See, how I am between your sweet thighs, you haughty trull. You will know before you die how all your machinations were for naught. I still took what was mine.” He released her jaw and his fingers scraped against her thigh as he pulled her skirts up.

Her mind stopped working. Instinct took over and she struggled in earnest. As he pinned her hands to the wall with one hand, she tried kicking out with her legs, but he was too strong and she flailed uselessly.

A scream tore from her throat. She could do nothing.
Nothing
.

His body held her captive, her arms wrenched painfully as she struggled to get away from his rough grasp. His breathing grew ragged and hot against the side of her face. Raw terror shook her as his fingers fumbled with the ties to his braies. The smell of his sweat nearly choked her. Her mind locked on his hand, trying to open his clothing.

The low keening of a creature in distress filled her ears as if it came from someone else and not her.

Then, Ranulf jerked to an abrupt halt. His brow slammed into hers and everything went dark for a moment. Blood seeped into her mouth where she bit the inside of her cheek.

His entire body went rigid and another jolt rippled through him.

Helena screamed and ducked as moisture doused her face.

Ranulf slid to the floor. His weight nearly dragged her down. She swayed, the wall against her back the only solid thing in her world as she stared at the body draped over her feet. She scrabbled to pull her skirts out from beneath him.

Rosalind staggered before her, the battered remnants of the water bucket hanging limply from her fingers.

“Make haste.” A body pushed past Rosalind, causing her to stumble.

Through the open door, Ranulf’s men ran toward them. The stranger she and Rosalind had tended, unsteady on his feet, jerked Ranulf’s sword from its scabbard as the first invader breached the doorway. He raised the sword in a jagged arc, both hands on the pommel, his jaw set in grim lines.

There was a brief flash of realization on the invader’s face before his momentum carried him into the path of the blade that sheared through his gut. A heartbeat later, he crumpled into a heap over his fallen lord.

Godfrey stepped into the hut. Oh,
Jesu
, he was a big brute as he approached, his blade in hand.

The stranger staggered back two steps, freeing his weapon. His face was deathly pale and the sword shook in his grasp as he turned to face his adversary.

Godfrey grinned triumphantly as he raised his own sword. Almost contemptuously he knocked the blade aside. The stranger held on, but the blow sent him struggling backward. Godfrey stepped in for the kill.

Helena launched herself at Godfrey’s back.

Losing his balance, he stumbled forward, flinging Helena clear. Her teeth rattled as she hit the floor. As she rolled and staggered to her feet, their man gave a great shout and thrust the sword forward, impaling Godfrey between his neck and shoulder, pushing his weight behind the blow to drive it home.

The silence in the cabin was deafening. Blood seeped out from around the sword and onto the floor. Godfrey made a small, gargling noise, his hand clawing helplessly at the blade before he slumped onto the packed dirt and went still.

Rosalind sank to her knees with a soft moan.

The stranger panted hard as he leaned against the wall, before the effort became too much and he slid onto the floor.

“We need to do something with him.” His hand trembled violently as he pointed toward Ranulf.

Helena dragged the first man off Ranulf. He was heavy and it took too long.

Beneath him, Ranulf gave a hitching groan.

“Kill him,” the man urged. “Kill him.” He seemed spent, his lips bloodless against his pale face.

Helena’s feet slid in the growing pool of blood. She retched as she grabbed Godfrey’s sword. It was heavy and slick with gore as she brought it up to drive into Ranulf’s back.
For Bess
.

Here was her vengeance at last. For Guy and for Roger, for Peter and for Flora, she would end this now. Her arms shook with the effort.