by Diane Darcy
Uneasily, she acknowledged that this particular fantasy could be tailor-made for her. She shrugged off the prickly sensation tickling her shoulder blades. If she saw her parents or brother, she’d know for sure and deal with it then.
As much as she liked the thought of seeing her family again, she liked the version where she was simply unconscious, dreaming, and had a full life ahead of her still. Did people in comas resist waking because they were somewhere nice and didn’t want to leave?
Something else to think about later. Right now, there were tons of much more pleasant things to focus on. The place was amazing. Gillian ran her hand on one section of the wall as she walked up the stairs admiring the rough, mismatched stonework and the way the staircase curved around to form an arch above a window.
She tripped on the uneven steps, not a good idea as she could fall off to the side and to the floor below if she wasn’t careful, so she pulled the blanket from her shoulders and hung it over one arm so she’d have a better view of the steps.
Key Woman, jangling with every step, shrieked, and spilled words so fast Gillian couldn’t catch what she was saying; but the woman was obviously in some sort of distress, her face panicky and screwed up like a lemon.
The woman lunged forward, pulled at the blanket around Gillian’s arm, and tried to cover her legs with it; but the bulk of the material tightened around her arm when Gillian pressed herself against the wall to keep from tumbling over the side.
Eyes wide, heart pounding, Gillian gripped the stones. Was the woman trying to kill her?
When tugging didn’t work, the woman held out her skirts as if to hide Gillian from view. The woman called out to others, serving girls by the looks of them, and they rushed up to push Gillian up the stairs and into a hallway. Gillian, getting the hint, hurried on her own and finally rounded the corner; Key Woman shrieking behind her all the way.
Once in the hallway, the woman calmed down and Gillian, still unsettled by the shrieking and pushing, tried to ignore her and the others.
Spying a colorful wall hanging, flickering wall sconces, and a couple of handcrafted tables; Gillian turned her attention to her surroundings, pausing to study an aqua and white vase, but was firmly pushed down the hallway and into a room where they shut the door behind them.
She hardly had time to glance at the large bed with its heavy wooden frame, comfortable bedding, and linen hangings before the women circled her.
Gillian took a breath and crossed her arms. This was the third time she’d been circled in less than an hour. What was it with this place? Was her subconscious acknowledging that she was still in danger? Couldn’t she simply enjoy this hallucination into another time and place without constantly feeling threatened?
The women talked amongst themselves, reached out, and though Gillian’s instinct was to batt their curious hands away, she refrained.
They felt her clothes, rubbing the material of her shirt and jacket. Gillian nodded. “Old Navy.”
They fingered her cotton shorts. “Macy’s. And I got the belt at a yard sale when I was in college.” One woman ran her hands down one of Gillian’s legs, and Gillian was glad she’d shaved that morning.
Another pushed a finger into an athletic shoe then plucked at the laces. “Adidas.” Gillian finally squirmed away. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
Key Woman gestured at her clothes. “Disrobe, please.”
The woman finally spoke slowly enough that Gillian understood, and she wanted her to strip? Gillian narrowed her eyes. Was this a mental representation of her fear of the assault she was worried about? She shook her head. “No way. That is not going to happen.”
Key Woman crossed to a large chest against the wall and opened it. She took something out, shook it, turned, and lifted a beautiful blue gown for Gillian to inspect. It was similar to the one Key Woman wore only smaller, finer in quality, a better cut, and a prettier color.
Gillian wavered. The dress really was gorgeous, and Gillian loved the color blue. And it would be fun to wear while she was in this medieval castle.
The women noted her expression and nodded to each other. Another walked forward to spread the bottom of the dress and another girl dug a thin gold belt out of the trunk and held it up for Gillian’s inspection.
Again, she wavered. The outfit was gorgeous. “Why do you want me to wear the dress?”
They took a moment to decipher her words, then Key Woman answered. “The master desires it.”
The master being her dream knight? “Why would he want that?”
They didn’t respond but simply looked at each other as if trying to understand her words, and then Key Woman shrugged.
Gillian shook her head. It didn’t make sense, but then dreams never did. Why not go with the flow for a while? It might turn out to be fun. A great adventure to remember if and when she woke up.
She held out her hand for the dress and all the women smiled and voiced their approval. Again, they wanted her to take off her clothes.
“I’d like some privacy, please.”
They discussed it then finally all turned their backs.
Good enough. Gillian moved to the bed and laid out the dress, slipped off her athletic shoes, took a shaky breath, and removed her clothes. She ignored the obvious peeking. It was all among women, right?
She was down to her bra and underwear and reaching for the dress when the women turned as one and grabbed her.
Shocked, Gillian tried to wrench her arms free but couldn’t. “What are you doing?” Gillian tugged again trying to free herself from the hands imprisoning her; but collectively, the women were too strong and easily pulled her across the mattress, flipped her onto her back, and held her there.
Gillian screamed with rage, and one of the women quickly cupped a hand over her mouth. Gillian bucked, twisted, writhed, and screamed against the hand.
It didn’t matter. The women relentlessly pulled Gillian’s legs together and yanked her underwear down her legs and all the way off.
Anger, embarrassment, and disbelief heated her entire body, overriding any fear she might have felt.
Key Woman went to the door and admitted another woman, old and hunched, who shuffled toward the bed to look at Gillian.
Gillian stilled. What was going on? What could possibly be happening?
The old woman scooted a young servant to the left with her hip, dipped her hand into a bowl that Key Woman provided, rubbed her hands with what looked to be grease, leaned forward, and reached out a hand toward Gillian’s privates.
What in the name of all that was holy?
Gillian wrenched her mouth free and screamed her rage and disgust.
That was it.
She was done here.
Now would be a very good time to wake up.
Chapter 4
Another scream—long, loud, and peppered with words no lady should know—drifted down the stairs.
Kellen winced, and his brows rose, as he exchanged a glance with his open-mouthed friend, Sir Tristan of Alnwick.
Kellen looked to a flushed Sir Owen de Burgess, standing straight at attention, fiddling with his sword hilt, something he did when nervous or upset. “Has the girl been raised in the barracks with the foulest of knights?” Owen asked between stiff lips.
Kellen flushed and felt the need to defend her. “Lady Corbett, Edith, is obviously not herself. She has been frightened out of her wits and will recover her delicate nature soon.” At least Kellen hoped for that result.
Tristan took a breath and turned from the stairs. “Er . . . as I was saying. This is a most unusual situation. Perhaps the girl needs a chaperone until the wedding?”
Kellen was glad to latch onto the subject, to have something to think on, and a decision to make. “A good notion.” He spoke the words too loudly and attempted to lower his voice to a more moderate pitch. “Since her own mother was not sent to prepare for the wedding, I will send for my father’s wife and some of her ladies.”
“Good, good
.” Sir Owen stared at the opening to the hallway at the top of the stairs, his cheeks flushed.
Kellen turned away. The girl would be a virgin. She must needs be. He did not want any further delays; and if he refused to wed the girl, he might have a long wait until another bride was granted him. Kellen sank onto a long bench, then moments later was up pacing again, much to the amusement of Tristan.
“Perhaps if you simply went upstairs, you could wait outside the door and receive the news that much the sooner?”
Kellen shot him a narrow-eyed glare. He was trying not to feel disappointed in the girl. He had waited long for an heir and a mending to his alliance with Lord Corbett. And this foul-mouthed girl was the reward for his patience?
Kellen stifled a wince as more language drifted down the stairs; and servants, going about their work in the great hall; and his men, studiously cleaning their weapons at a far table; kept their eyes on their tasks, but no doubt listened intently.
Kellen rubbed a hand over his face and thought on the immodest clothing the girl had worn. She had not spoken overmuch to him on the way to the castle. And now this foul language? With all of Corbett’s daughters, surely he did not send a defective for a bride? Surely, he would not dare?
No. Not after Catherine dishonored the family so. He glanced up the stairs as his fury roared to life once more. Fury at himself and at the situation. First, he could not protect his wife from being influenced by a villain, then he could not discover who the villain was, and now his new affianced had been robbed, and perhaps worse?
All on his own property!
His pacing resumed. Pure or not, his wife or not, he would avenge the girl. And protect her reputation. But would he marry her?
Needing to do something, Kellen called one of his men to him. “Leave immediately for my father’s keep, and fetch his wife and her ladies. Ride as fast as possible.”
“Yes, my lord.” With a nod, the man was gone.
It felt good to be doing something. He would also assign a maid to follow the girl about. To keep an eye on her, aid her, but most especially to report back to him. There would be no hint of impropriety with this bride.
Not as there had been with his first.
If he was to even consider this alliance, he would make sure of that from the beginning, starting with proof that she had not been defiled.
Tristan sat and leaned against one table. “She is very fair to look upon. Getting heirs off her would not be a hardship.”
Kellen waved a hand. “One healthy woman is as good as the next.” He ignored Tristan’s laughter. Of course, her body and her mind must be fit. He wanted strong sons. If this bride was not satisfactory, he would demand another of Corbett’s daughters.
But with his goal finally within his grasp, did he care to wait any longer?
Kellen wanted to go outside to train, to work off some of his anger, but must needs wait for the midwife. Spying the pack the girl had brought with her on one of the tables, Kellen grabbed it up.
It possessed a drawstring with an impossibly thin and silky rope, and Kellen opened and shut the pack a few times.
Ingenious.
And the material itself was fine, yet sturdy, the bright color unique and one he’d only ever seen at sunset, or at the edges of a rainbow. He studied the pockets on the outside, filled with an assortment of oddly formed orange sticks, then dug inside the pack.
First, he pulled out a square, silver box and studied the circular markings on the piece. A chunk of fine metal? Perhaps it could be melted into a sword hilt. Could it be a gift from his bride?
Kellen set the piece aside and plucked out a tiny book, finely made. He opened it and gasped. His bride’s picture, so finely drawn it should have been impossible, stared back at him.
The artist was skilled indeed.
His bride was smiling and beautiful in the tiny square, not a hint of insanity in the clear blue eyes that stared back at him. He didn’t understand the writing on the paper, but perhaps the priest would.
Tristan leaned in to look. “The work is amazing.”
“Aye.”
“The artist would not have come cheap. Why have the likeness set on paper in such a way? Why not embed it within gold?”
Kellen could not fathom it.
Owen, finally curious, moved stiffly forward.
Kellen gave the book to Tristan and reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a smaller bag made of paper so fine he could see through it as if it were not even there. It was filled with colorful objects. He pulled one small piece out and studied it. He lifted it to his nose, widened his eyes, and held the object out to his friends. “Smell!”
Tristan took the piece, sniffed once, let out a breath, and smelled again. “Amazing! A spice?”
Kellen shrugged.
Owen snared it, sniffed once, grunted, and placed the object on the table.
Next Kellen lifted out a small metal rectangle, so bright a color as to confound the eye. He had never before seen the color. The object had a white cord even longer and finer than the one that closed the pack but made of a stiffer material. A finely wrought belt perhaps? The colored box would make a pretty accessory against a gown. He’d never seen the like. He needed to travel to London more often.
He dug out a small packet with what looked to be clear gauzy material inside; then a tube of stiffer material with a tie around it came next. Kellen plucked at the tie and the material gaped open; and when Kellen gave the object a shake, the thing shot longer and blew itself wide, as would a bullfrog’s throat.
Startled, Kellen dropped it and it rolled off the table and onto the floor.
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
Kellen shook his head, leaned forward, and plucked the thing off the ground by the stick protruding from its top and lifted it high. “A hat?”
All three men shook their heads in mute horror as Kellen set the thing on the table and they all watched it rock and finally settle.
Tristan let out a long whistle. “Let us hope it does not become the fashion, else there will be no room to sit next to the ladies at supper.”
“Aye.” Kellen nodded his agreement, and reached into the pack and removed a long tube of blue metal that mushroomed at the top. A man could easily grip it in his hand but what of its use? As a bludgeon, it was shorter and much inferior to the one he already possessed.
Setting it aside, he reached into the pack once more. Finally, something he recognized. Paper. But the paper was unbelievably fine.
Tristan looked over his shoulder. “Corbett must travel often to find such treasures. And to send them with the girl, as part of her dowry, must be a message of the esteem in which he holds you.”
Kellen nodded. He couldn’t help but agree and regardless of the unexplained way of his bride’s arrival, couldn’t help but feel relieved.
He opened the binding of paper and found a sketch. It was his castle, but it looked to be a ruin, hundreds of years old.
Owen sucked in a breath. “An insult? A threat?”
Kellen could not imagine what purpose there could be in drawing his castle old and decrepit. A shiver raced down his spine; he threw the papers down to the table, stood, and started to pace again. He did not understand any of this. Did Lord Corbett wish to incur his favor or his wrath?
“My lord.” Sir Owen followed close behind. “If it is an insult, we should go to war to defend your honor.”
Frustrated, Kellen shook his head. “I will get answers from the girl before making any decisions.”
“But, my lord—”
Kellen sliced a hand through the air. “We will wait and see.”
Kellen had plans. Big plans. And war would interfere with them all. He needed an heir, an alliance, and prosperity for his land and people. Honor and building his family name were all important. He could overlook a slight or two in favor of his goals. Mayhap it was simply a joke in poor taste?
Kellen glanced up the stairs again, the unanswered questions giving
him a headache. Did they think to send her unchaperoned so she would be compromised? So he would feel honor bound to marry her? Or so he would not?
Or perhaps she had been ruined before they had even sent her out? Did her knights strip her and dump her at the cemetery so he would find her thus? Was she being punished by her father? Or did Royce attack her then mount his horse again before Kellen’s arrival?
There was no sense in any of it.
Kellen thought of Corbett’s ring on the girl’s finger and of the bag of beautiful treasures. It must needs be a message from Corbett. He was just not sure if it was a welcome one.
He could still hear an occasional rant in the background. Finally, the midwife came down the stairs toward him.
At last.
He strode toward the stairs to meet up with her at the bottom. “Well?” he asked, when she stopped level with him a few steps up, her hand on the wall for balance.
The old woman’s face cracked into a smile, showing missing teeth. “She is a virgin still.”
Kellen’s breath left him.
The midwife came the rest of the way down the stairs and held out a strange article of clothing Kellen recognized as the short breeches the girl had worn.
The old woman pulled on a metal sliver and the front of the short breeches magically sealed themselves.
The hair rose on Kellen’s arms and a nearby servant gasped and crossed herself. Kellen took the clothing and examined it.
“’Tis a chastity belt.” The midwife stated.
Kellen pulled the clasp down and up once more. “Ingenious.”
Owen and Tristan moved forward and Kellen pulled the tab up and down a few times to demonstrate.
Owen was visibly impressed. “A fine trick indeed.”
Tristan was grinning and excited. “And clever. Very clever to my thinking. If one did not know how to work the seam, it would be impossible to peel the garment off without a knife.”
Kellen remembered how tightly the breeches had formed to the girl’s body. Mayhap even a knife would not fit between her and the skin. “One might have to kill her before ravishing her. Very cunning.”
