‘Take her to her chamber and lock her in,’ the Bastard roared. ‘If she escapes again I’ll hang every last man in the castle.’ His eyes glittered with fury. ‘I’ll speak to you later, witch. You will be sorry you dared to defy me.’
Someone grabbed hold of Marietta’s arms and dragged her away.
‘You are a bully, a murderer and a thief!’ Marietta screamed as they forced her into the castle. ‘One day I shall be avenged. My son will be the master here and he will not spare you.’
‘Be quiet, lady,’ the man who had her arm whispered. ‘He is a devil when roused. You would be wise to do as he wants, and then he may let you live.’
‘I would rather die than live as his whore,’ Marietta said.
On the voyage she had been close to despair, ready to die if she must, but now she was angry. Her feeling of apathy had gone. She would fight him to the last! The Bastard had no right to rule here. Surely God would strike him down!
‘If there is any justice he will die first …’
Locked in her chamber, Marietta paced the floor restlessly. Her faithful servants were in England. She had no hope of escape this time, unless she could find a way out of here.
She swung round as a key turned in the stout lock that guarded her door and a woman entered. She was a beautiful woman, with long pale hair and narrow cat-like eyes. Her mouth was thin and hard as she looked at Marietta with dislike.
‘So you are the woman he would wed,’ she said. ‘What have you done to him, witch? Have you put your spell on him? He was mine, but he never spoke of marriage. He thinks of nothing else but you. You must have bewitched him.’
‘I swear to you that I have put no spell on him. He wants me only so that he can be sure of my husband’s lands and fortune.’
The woman’s gaze intensified. ‘If he marries you he will forget me—and he owes me much. I bear his child and I should be his wife.’
‘If I could change places with you I would,’ Marietta said. ‘I mean that I would wish for you to be his wife, not me. Believe me, if I could leave this place again I would not wait to be forced to wed him.’
‘You say that, but how can I believe you?’
‘I swear it on my life, lady … I do not know your name?’
‘It is Claudette. I was but fifteen when he took me from my parents and made me his whore. At first I hated him, but then—’ She broke off, eyes glittering. ‘If I could think of a way to set you free—would you go?’
‘Yes, I swear it.’ Marietta moved towards her eagerly. ‘Please help me. I have nothing to give you, but …’
‘I want nothing from you,’ Claudette said, stepping back. ‘Speak of this to my lord and you are dead.’
‘I swear I shall not.’ Marietta’s heart sank as the woman went out and locked the door again. ‘Please help me …’
She had thought the Bastard would kill her, but it seemed that he still planned to wed her—why?
Had he discovered that he needed her? She was sure that he had expected to rule here, whether she lived or died, but something must have happened to make him realise that he couldn’t do it without her.
Marietta clenched her hands, her nails cutting into her palms. She would prefer to die than live as the Bastard’s wife, but she might not be given the choice. He could force a priest to do his bidding—and he could force himself on her once she was his wife, for she was not strong enough to prevent him.
She had seen anger in his eyes as he looked at her, but also the gleam of lust. He wanted her. And he needed her. The will her husband had lodged at court must have upheld her husband’s wish that she should be in charge of his fortune until his son was of age. Rouen had taken the castle by force, but he could not touch the vast fortune in gold that her husband had lodged with the King’s goldsmiths for safety. It seemed that the Comte de Montcrief had outwitted his bastard after all. Much of her son’s birthright was safe—but to keep it that way Marietta would have to pay a terrible price.
She fell to her knees beside the bed, head bent as she prayed for help.
If only Anton of Gifford had believed her innocent! She was certain that he would have come to her aid.
‘Please, please help me,’ she whispered, and it was no longer to God that she prayed.
Now she was remembering the face of the charming youth who had rescued her from certain death, and despite the way he had looked at her the last time they met she was comforted.
Chapter Five
Anton’s men were close enough behind the abductors to discover that a party of men and one woman had taken a ship for France the previous morning, but the tide was against them. It would not turn again until the evening.
‘Damn them! If he harms her I swear I shall kill him!’ Anton’s frustration at being held in port was tearing him apart. He stood looking out across the sea, his face like thunder. ‘I cannot bear the thought of her at his mercy.’
‘Courage, my friend,’ Miguel said, clapping a hand to his shoulder. ‘We shall bring her back if she lives. If she is dead, by his hand or theirs, they shall all pay for it.’
‘There are but ten of us, and he must have a hundred fighting men,’ Anton replied in clipped tones. ‘I shall not let you all die trying to storm the walls of such a fortress. We should give our lives for nothing.’
‘The man Sandro says he knows a secret way into the castle.’
‘Is he with us? I had not noticed.’ Anton glanced round at the men who had dismounted and were waiting for his orders.
‘You have been too preoccupied. The lady’s maid stayed behind, to care for the child, but Sandro followed you from the start. We would all of us give our lives to serve you,’ Miguel said.
‘But I shall not waste lives in vain. If there is a secret way into the castle some of us will go in when the enemy sleeps.’ His face twisted in an agony of remorse. ‘I must find her alive. I must. If she died because of my neglect I could not forgive myself …’
Marietta lay fully clothed on her bed. She had not undressed, even though one of her own nightgowns had been brought to her and the serving woman had offered to help her. The woman’s name was Veronique, but she was new to the castle and Marietta did not know her.
‘Thank you, but I can manage alone.’
She dismissed the woman and drank the cup of wine she had been given. A piece of coarse bread and some cold bacon had been sent with the wine. Her hunger drove her to eat what she could, even though it sat uneasily on her stomach.
The walls of her chamber were still hung with the tapestries she had worked herself. All the possessions she had abandoned when she fled were as she had left them, though her lyre had been smashed. She had thought the Bastard might have rent her belongings to pieces, but he had left them undisturbed—all but the lyre, which he must have known was her prized possession.
She touched the silken surface of the wood, which had been smashed apart, then shook her head. What did such things matter? She had left the lyre behind when she fled because her thoughts had been only for her child. His safety and well-being were still of paramount importance.
She paced her chamber, torn between hope and despair. Where was Charles? Did Claire still have charge of her baby? Had he been taken from her—perhaps to become the King’s ward, as often happened when there were lands and money involved? The King of England would know that Charles was the rightful heir to a fortune and he might do something for her son—speak to the King of France on his behalf. She herself was beyond help, but it did not matter if her son was safe.
Marietta’s lips moved in prayer. She could bear anything if her son were safe!
She stiffened as she heard a key in the lock, and then the door of her chamber opened. She saw a large shadow enter and froze, because she knew instinctively that it was the Bastard. He came towards the bed, the sound of his steps heavy and uncertain. The smell of strong wine hung over him and she guessed that he had drunk deeply at table.
Marietta kept her eyes closed as she sen
sed and smelled him near. He was looking down at her. Would he throw himself on her? Ravish her? Her stomach churned as the fear curled inside her. She would fight him, but she knew that he would take her for he was too strong for her.
‘Thought to escape me.’ The Bastard’s words were slurred with drink. ‘Mine now. always wanted … beautiful but a bitch …’
Marietta tried not to move as she felt his breath on her face. Her only chance was surprise. If he thought she was sleeping he might be careless, giving her an opportunity to escape. She felt the touch of his hand on her hair. He lifted strands of it, sniffing it as if to inhale the perfume.
‘Witch …’ he muttered. ‘I’ll make you pay. Not tonight. must be wed … only way to get the gold. Need your signature … won’t give me the gold without it.’
He was moving away, unsteady on his feet. She heard him knock into a stool and curse, then the door opened, closed again, and a key turned. Marietta had her answer. It was as she’d suspected. The Bastard needed her to get his hands on the Comte’s fortune. He believed that once she was his wife he could force her to do anything, but she would rather die than marry him! She was locked in for the moment, but somehow she had to escape.
‘The lord says you must come down—and you are to wear your best gown,’ the serving woman said the next morning. ‘He is waiting for you in the hall, lady.’
‘Tell your master that I cannot come,’ Marietta replied, giving a little moan. ‘I am sick and must rest. My head aches so much that I can scarce stand.’
‘If I tell him that he will beat me.’
‘Then tell him I will not come.’
‘Are you truly sick, lady?’ The woman looked at her uncertainly.
‘Look in the pot. You will see that I have been sick.’
The woman fetched it out, recoiling at the sour smell. ‘You are sick, lady. I will show him this—but if he comes you must lie on your bed and groan, or he will blame me and I shall be punished.’
‘I am too ill to get up today.’
Marietta lay back as the woman took the pewter pot with her. It was true that the coarse food she had been given had turned her stomach, but she had made herself sick by mixing some powders from her medicine chest with water and swallowing them. She was surprised that her herbs had not been taken as proof of her witchcraft, but perhaps the Bastard feared her powers? She had used the mixture before. In the case of poisoning, sometimes the only remedy was to make the patient sick. Sometimes the remedy worked, at others it did not—healing was not a precise form but a matter of trial and error, at least for her.
The mixture had made her feel unwell, and her stomach heaved as she felt bitter bile in her throat. If the ruse worked it would be worthwhile—but would the Bastard accept her excuses?
After some minutes had passed she heard a commotion outside her door, and then it was thrust open and the Bastard entered. She saw that he had shaved and was wearing his best clothes. For their wedding, she suspected.
‘What ails you?’ he demanded.
‘I am sick. Your men hit me too hard and I have been feeling ill.’
‘You were sleeping well enough last night.’ He looked at her and bent over her, but caught the rancid smell of vomit that she had taken care to spill on her covers. Recoiling in disgust, he glared at her. ‘Very well, you may rest today—but tomorrow I shall wed you. You are mine. If you please me I may let you live for a while …’
Marietta gave a little moan and made a retching sound, pressing a cloth to her mouth. She lay with her face buried as she heard the sound of the door slamming.
He was angry, but he could not force her to rise and go down to be married if she was ill. However, the reprieve might not last more than one day. She glanced up as the serving woman approached her.
‘Will you ask the lady Claudette to come to me, please?’
‘That one is a haughty bitch and will do only as she pleases.’ The woman sniffed. ‘I shall ask, but I do not know if she will come.’
‘Please ask …’
Marietta lay back and sighed as the woman left her. Her head ached, though she could have risen and gone down to the hall had she wished. If Claudette truly wanted to be the Bastard’s wife she must realise that she needed to act quickly to prevent his marriage to Marietta, for he was determined to have his way. Marietta had managed to delay the ceremony but he would not be thwarted. Next time he would drag her from the bed and take her with him!
‘Please come for me … please …’
Her only hope of salvation lay in the faint hope that Anton would feel it his duty to bring her back to face King Henry’s justice—unless she could persuade Claudette to help her.
‘Our scouts have spoken to local people. There are still some that remain loyal to their true lord’s wife, and they say she is a prisoner in the tower. She has her own rooms and has been given clothes and food. It is rumoured that she would have been wed today had she not been ill.’
‘Marietta is ill?’ Anton seized on the statement fiercely. ‘Damn him to hell for this! He deserves to be hanged for the way he has treated her.’
‘It is as well she was ill, for at least it has saved her from worse,’ Miguel said. ‘If Sandro delivers a way into the castle we may be able to get her out tonight.’
‘I pray that we are in time to save her.’ Anton’s expression darkened. There were worse fates than death, and he could imagine what the Bastard planned for the woman who had humiliated him. ‘It is a chance we must take. If she is too ill to walk I shall carry her.’
Miguel nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘It is said that the Bastard drinks heavily. We must pray that he will indulge at the table this night, and his men with him.’
‘I noticed that there were few guards the last time we visited. His men are ill-disciplined, and it may well be that they are in the habit of drinking too heavily at night …’
Anton’s eyes glittered. He had come after Marietta because it was his duty to rescue her and deliver her safely to the King of England—and he would do all in his power to outwit the Bastard of Rouen.
‘You asked me to come?’ Claudette looked sulky as she entered the chamber. ‘I am not yours to command, even if my lord weds you. My obedience is given only where I choose.’
Marietta met her challenging look. ‘I asked if you would come. I know I cannot command you, lady. If you would see me gone from here, I beg you to help me.’
‘My lord will kill me if he learns you have fled.’
‘He need not know you helped me. Come tonight, when the castle sleeps, and unlock the door. I ask nothing more of you.’
‘If he knew I was having his child he might wed me—if you were gone.’ Claudette looked thoughtful. ‘But he will send for you in the morning, and if you do not come he will order men to look for you. They would find you and bring you back. Nothing would be gained and I might be blamed.’
‘If I have enough time I might be far away by the time he realises I am gone.’
‘I do not see how that could be … unless …’ Claudette’s eyes gleamed suddenly. ‘I could change places with you—wear your gown and a veil to cover my face.’ She looked excited. ‘I shall wed him in your place. When he discovers the truth it will be too late. I shall be his wife and you will be far away.’
‘Are you certain you wish to do this?’ Marietta looked doubtful. The Bastard would undoubtedly be furious when he discovered that he had been duped. ‘What will he do to you when he discovers that you have taken my place?’
‘He may hit me and shout, but it has happened before. I do not fear him. He knows it, and that is why he loves me. Even if he wed you he would sleep in my bed, for you could not hold him.’
Marietta made no reply. She did not wish to have the Bastard in her bed even on her wedding night, but she would not tell this woman for it would anger her.
‘How can you make sure that he does not discover what we have done too soon?’
‘I shall put a sleeping draught in his
cup when he grows careless. He will sleep late, and when he wakes he will hardly know what he is doing for hours. By the time he realises what has happened you should have a good start.’
‘Thank you. I believe you are a brave woman, Claudette.’
‘I do this for me, because I love him. He took me when I was but a child. I should be his wife.’ Claudette looked her in the eyes, her expression one of pride. ‘If he catches you again he will kill you. You are no good to him unless he is your lawful husband. He wants your husband’s gold, and you are the key that will unlock the goldsmiths’ coffers.’
‘I expected him to kill me this time,’ Marietta replied. Claudette had confirmed what she had suspected. ‘I must think of a way to disappear so that he can never find me again …’
After Claudette had left, Marietta paced the room. She was restless, impatient to be gone, but common sense told her that she must wait for night to fall. The Bastard was eager to make her his wife, and once he had her he would not spare her. He would not kill her immediately. She was useful to him for the moment. But once he had the gold he craved he would find a way to humiliate and destroy her. It would be a slow death and she would prefer to die quickly. If his men recaptured her she would die rather than be brought back alive.
‘Anton …’ She mouthed the word softly, not realising she spoke aloud. ‘Please help me …’
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She was foolish to think of Anton. He had rescued her before, but he now believed she was a murderess. Why would he bother to look for her?
He would not think it worth the trouble. Why should he? She must forget him and think of what she could do once she had left the castle. This time she would have no money, and no one to help her, but somehow she must make her way back to England.
A Wayward Woman Page 33
