The Fall of Lady Westwood (15 page)

“I miss those afternoons, Clayton. Crying over your lap, your hard hands teaching me what a woman is for. I want that again.”

“Never!”

“You liked hurting me, didn’t you? Remember?” She dipped her chin, long eyelashes against her cheeks. A display of deceptive vulnerability. “And I liked
being
hurt. I craved it — and I still do.”

“What about your — servants?” The effort it took to form the words became more difficult by the second. His mind whirled, searching desperately for a way out of this.

“They’re fine for a diversion, now and then. Fun. But it’s not the same.” She tilted her head. “You’re stalling, aren’t you?”

He shook his head, dizziness making the room spin about him.

“Elizabeth wouldn’t do the things I did, would she? She wouldn’t let you be who you
really
are. I know it. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You evil w—”

She placed her finger to his lips. “Be careful. My goodwill has limits — even with you.”

Sitting back on her heels, she looked up into his eyes. Her image swam, her words taking on an odd, far off tone. “Now what do you think I should say to your proposal, hmm? Your little ruse.”

He struggled to enunciate, exaggerating the movements of his mouth. “I don’t — know what you’re talking — ’bout.”

Her lips pursed. “I think that you do. Never mind though. A sleep sounds good now, doesn’t it?”

He swayed forward, his head lolling. “You fff—”

She caught him, easing him back to a semblance of upright. “Such language Clayton,” she said, laughing.

His field of vision had shrunk to a small window, and that window was closing fast. His last desolate thought before succumbing to the blackness was of his sweet Sophie.

He’d failed her once again.

* * *

There was a soft tapping at the door.

“Enter.”

Arnaud appeared, a knowing smile curving his lips. He moved closer, and stood over them, one arm under his elbow, a hand stroking his chin. “Worked, did it?”

She inclined her head, looking at him from under slender dark eyebrows. “He’s still strong. He fought it.”

Most of the candles had long since guttered out, the few that remained lit bathing the room in wavering orange hues. She was sitting on the floor, Clayton’s slumbering form in her arms, his head pillowed upon her breasts. She stroked her hand through the open buttons of his shirt.

Arnaud pointed, his finger wagging. “Usually works within seconds. Be careful with him. He’ll be a raging animal when he awakes.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “That’s what I’m hoping for. I think I can handle him.”

“The mendicants are arrived, Mistress.”

Her brow knit together a moment. “Have you searched them? Thoroughly?”

Arnaud nodded, his expression solemn. “Nothing untoward. I was about to let them rest in the guest quarters. Shall I detain them?”

She shook her head. “Tell the servants to make themselves available. The depraved disciples mustn’t be left wanting Arnaud.”

He grinned, his head inclined. “Certainly, Mistress. I’ll see to it.” He raised an eyebrow. “What of his daughter?”

Miriam waved her hand. “Make her available to them, just as the others would be. I’m sure they’ll enjoy ministering to such flesh.”

“I could hardly blame them,” Arnaud murmured.

He moved to depart.

“Arnaud, something doesn’t make sense to me.”

He turned back to her.

“Why would he come out here alone like this? Defenseless?”

Arnaud shrugged. “Perhaps the Council?”

She laughed softly, her hand back within Clayton’s shirt. “He knows they’d do nothing. It’s just this—” She looked down at the unconscious man.”—seems almost … reckless. It’s not like him.”

“Reckless … or desperate.”

She frowned. “Perhaps he’ll be more amenable to answering my questions when he awakes.”

“Not likely, Mistress. I advise you have him secured before he comes back to us.”

“I’ll take my chances, Arnaud. He wouldn’t hurt me.” She grinned up at him. “Well, not like that way, anyway.”

Arnaud shook his head, his eyes growing dark. “You take chances, Mistress. You should have him tied up in the yard until he awakes. Just to be sure.”

She clucked her tongue. “And you worry too much, man. He still feels for me. I could see it in his eyes. He’s scared for his little daughter, but he won’t hurt me. Go. See to the mendicants’ comfort. I’m sure they’ll want to
interview
all the servants — at least the female ones anyway.”

Arnaud snorted, shaking his head. “As you wish, Mistress.”

Chapter Ten

The Beginning

“W
ake up, Bryant! If the captain catches you nodding off again we’ll both be for it.”

Bryant shot his companion Marsden a glare, shoving him with the haft of his halberd. “I’m not sleeping, you fool.”

Marsden shifted his weight, planting the handle of his weapon on one booted toe. “When are they rotating us back? This is sheer boredom out here.”

Bryant chuckled, cuffing his partner on a mailed shoulder. “You mean you want to get your hands on that sweet piece, eh?”

Marsden narrowed his eyes. “Don’t act as if you don’t either, you randy bastard.”

Bryant shrugged. “It will happen in good time. She’s not going anywhere, so I’ll get my turn eventually.”

Marsden stilled, bringing the blade of his halberd down as if to parry a blow.

“What is it, Marsden?”

“Out there,” Marsden whispered, the bushy whiskers of his black beard concealing the movement of his lips. “Do you see it?”

Bryant moved forward, his weapon at the ready. “This is the Night Road. State your business or be arrested.”

A tall figure, dressed in a long hooded coat of darkest jet emerged into the guttering torch light. The hood hid the features of the face completely, inky blackness shrouding the visage.

“State your business, traveler. Now.” Bryant snapped a quick look back at Marsden. “Be ready to sound the—”

Bryant’s eyes grew wide. “Marsden, behind you!”

The gleaming steel of a sword seemed to materialize from nothingness, slashing down at Marsden’s back. The blade cleaved into his neck, the chain mail giving way with a crunch. Marsden dropped to his knees, a gurgling sound coming from his gaping mouth, then pitched forward onto his face. His body twitched once, then was still.

“Business?”

Bryant slowly turned back to the black-clad figure.

“Hmm, my business.”

Bryant’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. The tall figure before him opened his coat, a shimmering blade emerging. Twin points of silver flame shone under the hood.

“My business is death, human.”

Bryant opened his mouth to scream, but the blade ended his life before he could emit a sound. Bryant’s head rolled on the ground, the man’s body keeling over like a felled tree.

The figure with the silver fire eyes stooped to one knee, wiping the smooth steel of his blade on the dead soldier’s cloak. Marsden’s killer appeared fully from the night, cleaning his own blade of the blood that, in the low light, looked black as oil.

The kneeling figure looked up at his companion. “Give the word, Taidon.”

* * *

Sophie heard the thump of the door opening to the servants’ quarters. Like much else at Westwood Manor, she’d come to dread that sound. She shivered, lying on her side, nearly naked but for a brief smock that barely reached the tops of her thighs. The guards had been cruel, leaving her hands bound in front of her, the cuffs locked to a length of chain that prevented her from bringing her hands down to the level of her head. Her ankles, similarly locked, prevented her from leaving the bed, but did allow her some leeway for turning. Her cuffed arms ensured lying on her front would be nearly impossible, and her back still ached so badly that the mere thought of lying on that flesh made her tremble.

The heartless bitch had been merciless in her retribution. Sophie had screamed out her agony as she hung from the gibbet like so much game, the Lady whipping her back raw. The guards had fondled her as usual, one of them leaving her with a parting, painful twist of a swollen nipple.

What would be happening to her next? She wondered if now, in the dead of night
it
was to finally happen. She’d been braced for it, trying to prepare herself for the horror. Indeed, her depraved treatment at the hands of Miriam and her cruel friend Countess Holstenborg had seemingly inured her to further travails. She expected nothing less than the worst.

But she would survive it. She would survive it even if she had to retreat to the tiny shelter deep within her mind. A place to cry the terror and pain away. A place where an imaginary Owen could hold her, somewhere she’d be protected, loved. It was the one part of her that couldn’t be reached. It would be enough.

It had to be.

The bolt of her door was thrown, and she raised her head, reflexively trying to bring her knees up into a fetal position. Her body began to tremble.

Oh Gods, I’m not ready!

No matter how often she’d played out how this might go, she knew she wasn’t really prepared to endure it.

A tall figure dressed in head to toe black emerged through the doorway, a heavy hood completely shrouding the face. The figure closed and locked the door before turning back toward her.

Sophie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. If only she could get free! She’d fight. Fight until he had to kill her. She would not cooperate in this; to do so would smack of …
participation.

“Go away,” she croaked. “Can’t you see I can’t take anymore? Leave me alone.”

The figure pulled the hood back. Unruly sandy hair, smooth brown eyes.

She was confused. This wasn’t one of the guards.

“I’ve come to take you back. Sophie, it’s me.” The voice was a familiar one — from her dreams.

She felt the tears welling in her burning eyes. “Ow-Owen?”

He smiled at her, his eyes filled with concern — and something else. “I’ve missed you, Sophie.”

“How? Is that really you?” The tears came then, sobs threatening to erupt up from the depths. It was him! Here for her. To take her home. To be with her. Love her.

His eyes were bright. “Shh, it’s all right, Sophie. We’re safe for the moment. They think I‘m … inspecting you.”

“Inspecting me?”

He looked away a moment, fingering the dark cloth of his robes. “That’s how we got in. We made ourselves appear as Mendicants.”

“We must get away from here, Owen.” She swallowed, wishing her mouth wasn’t so dry. “She’s evil.”

Kneeling at the side of the bed, his eyes took in her whole body. What she saw in those brown depths sent a spark of unease fluttering through her belly. Or was it more than that?

“We need to wait here until we get the signal. We’ve got a plan for getting you out.”

She felt the tension wash from her body immediately. Saved!

“Get me out of these,” Sophie said, rattling her chains.

For a moment, he said nothing, but his avid gaze didn’t leave her, the flash in his eyes unmistakable.

“Owen, I mean it. I’ve got to get loose.”

His shook his head, dispelling that look from his eyes.”Of course, here.”

He reached into his robe and retrieved a battered metal key. Within moments he had the cuffs free.

Sophie clutched to his body, her arms wrapped around him “Owen, I’ve — thought about you.”

“You have?” The note of surprise in his voice shocked her.

She’d thought of him every day. Did he not know her real feelings? A shiver of dread raced through her at that possibility
Wh
at if her feelings weren’t reciprocated? Could she have misread the signs? Misinterpreted everything?

“Sophie, I need to ask you something. I should have asked you — before.” He tipped her chin up, his gaze meeting hers. “It’s stupid of me to ask now at a time like this, but I must know.” His throat moved, his gaze dropping a moment. “Is there someone? I mean — was there someone?”

Sophie blew out a breath. “No, not until … ” She looked away, humiliated by the blush she felt burning her cheeks. Until she’d been defiled by that hateful woman. Debased by her lackeys.

But there was a deeper truth she’d discovered — had been
forced
to discover. It was something she didn’t think she had the courage to confront.

She’d changed.

Whether it was voluntarily or not — and she wasn’t sure what Owen would make of it — she was no longer the girl he used to know. Perhaps he’d be horrified. Would he think her depraved?

Never.

Sophie would
never
let that evil witch have that too, rob her of her self-regard.