Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  “Who performs the bulk of the steward’s duties?”

  The brown eyes he noticed now that he stood close to her, were a light brown, but the charcoal ring around the outer edge darkened them, and the full dark lashes that surrounded her eyes, darkened them even more. But now as she looked up at him with so much fear, he felt himself scowl, if Bruce wasn't dead, Halvor would drive his sword through him to the hilt. “I do.”

  “If you wish to see another day,” he said, his anger leashed like a beast and he saw the horror cross Jillian’s face when she read it, and thought it was directed at her. He turned quickly to the steward, and watched the color drain from his already pale face. “You will leave Hawknest with all due haste,” he continued. “If I ever lay eyes on you again I will kill you.”

  The man just stood there like some kind of drooling idiot, his mouth hanging slack, and he had that look about himself that made Halvor believe if he said “boo" to the man, he would piss all over himself.

  “With all due haste means leave my sight now,” he bellowed. The man made to bow, but halfway there, thought better of it, and turning fled.

  He turned back to Lady Jillian, and she looked relieved, and then immediately her guard went up and her chin raised a notch. He saw an emotion flash across her face, but it was quickly hidden before he could analyze it. With a husband like Bruce, she would have learned quite well how to keep her thoughts to herself, how to keep them hidden. Halvor did not much like it, but there was nothing he could do to change it, other than give her time.

  He looked over the woman that would be his wife. She couldn’t get any more pregnant. He couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him. She should be in bed, and he said as much.

  “Perhaps I would be in bed if I did not have to meet my new husband at dawn,” she snapped. Her eyes darted to his hands still confined in his gauntlets, then back to his face that still held shadows from his helm. She blanched and clamped her lips together, only to open them again to ask, “Would you like some ale my lord?” she asked, moving past him toward the trestle table. Waddled was more relevant a term for her gate. “We will discuss your holdings.”

  “We will have food, my men are hungry,” he said, turning to follow.

  Lady Jillian was close to the bench, but veered in a different direction. “I will see to that.”

  “Sit,” he ordered, his voice stopped her in her tracks, and he watched her back stiffen. He was angry that she would be going back and forth in her advanced condition. Is this how she would act carrying his child? She cast a quick glance in his direction, and again there was some emotion there. Anger? Disdain? He felt his irritation return, because her only emotion he could read was fear, and he already knew that was forced upon her over the years.

  The Lady turned back to the bench, and began settling herself on it, in a very unladylike fashion.

  “God have mercy,” he said impatiently, as he waited behind her. He began to reach for her, but she cast such a withering glance back at him, he took a step away and allowed her the time to settle herself, before taking a seat beside her.

  He marveled at the difference in this woman from the small slip of a girl she was when first wed to Bruce. When Bruce was granted Jillian and her property Halvor had come with him to meet his bride, and share in the wedding celebration. It turned into a brutal nightmare for the bride, and the next day Halvor left quietly. But he never forgot the frightened girl or her tears, and the fear Bruce brought out in her. Until the man's wedding, Halvor considered him a friend. But never would Halvor align himself with a man as heartless to a defenseless woman as Bruce was to his new bride. If he stayed he would have to become Lady Jillian's champion, which would get Halvor thrown in a dungeon, beheaded, or a number of things in between. Despite having no claim to Jillian, the guilt ate at him through the years because he left the girl to her fate, with no one to protect her. Not that anyone could protect her from her husband, for a husband was all powerful over his wife. Which was why he requested the Lady Jillian be wed to him upon Bruce's death, instead of some other heartless man. He had visions of riding into the keep, taking over easily, even with some gratitude sent his way, for he was kind to her the short time he was at Hawknest. But it was obvious Jillian did not remember him trying to block the knights from seeing upon the dais, as Bruce took her virginity, or that he carried her back to her chamber and mended her as best he could before leaving.

  He decided it was best not to mention his presence at her deflowering, or that he already saw her naked, had already touched her, knew what her soft skin felt like under his touch. How he wanted to kill Bruce for what he did to the child, not even a woman yet. But now it was a woman he sat beside. Although he detected the power of her fear, he also saw something else, her bravery and resilience. She survived, and she did not know it yet, but he would do all he could so she would never feel the pain of a fist against her head, or the humiliation of her husband taking her whenever or wherever the urge hit him.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was well passed midday when she finished apprising her soon to be new husband of his land, servants, and other holdings. She felt exhausted, her back ached from sitting on the bench, her legs had little feeling in them, and the food she watched Halvor eat was enough to make her feel queasy again.

  After she settled onto the bench Halvor sat beside her, his size frightened her and his heat made the sweat trickle down her back. He removed his gauntlets and she couldn’t help the stare that dried out her throat, as she gazed at the size of his hands. He used those huge hands to lay his gauntlets just so on the table, before lifting them to his helm and pulling it from his head. He then pulled the hood of his chain mail from his head, and turned to her.

  She stared at her new husband’s face for the first time. It was a strong face, chiseled from granite as he looked down at her. His eyes were hazel, not quite any color, and she suspected they changed with the predominate color of his surroundings and clothing. Despite their appealing color, they were bottomless voids as he looked at her. He was handsome, his dark brown hair was plastered to his forehead, and tufted out in other places, giving this hardened man a look of boyishness. He was by all rights handsome, if only there was some warmth to be found there she might be able to accept her fate a little better, but there was none. She pleaded with the Lord to make him kind, if not to her, than to her people. The truth was she was tired. Jillian was tired of the worry and constant work that went into looking after her people alone, while doing everything in her power to please her husband so as not to feel his rage. She stared at this man beside her, hoping beyond hope that this man would give her some relief.

  As if in response the baby kicked and a slight pain followed. She touched a hand to the mound of her stomach, wincing slightly. Halvor saw, and scowled down at her.

  “Do you carry Bruce’s child?” he asked.

  Anger shot through her at the question, and if it had been possible, she would have jumped up from the bench, but she had not been able to jump for at least a month. Instead, her eyebrows snapped together and her eyes narrowed on him. “How dare you,” she spat out, barely above a whisper. “I have known no other man’s touch but the vile touch of my husband, and you question my faithfulness.”

  His remarkable eyes darkened as he frowned down at her.

  “You consider your husband’s touch to be vile, why then do you carry his child? It seems you may have found yourself a man’s touch that did not drive you away.” She looked up at this man with the darkening eyes, and saw an anger toward her that gave her hope.

  “Regardless of how brutal my husband was, I was his, and my people still my people.”

  He stared at her, allowing his gaze to travel slowly over her from the tip of her head to the enormous mountain that was her stomach. As he looked upon that mountain, the child gave a mighty kick and she saw he too saw this. His face took on a look of awe, and the emptiness was gone as he raised them to meet hers. “Was that the babe?” he asked, hi
s eyes darting back to her stomach.

  She nodded, but he paid her no heed as he stared, waiting for another movement. When she reached for his hand he did not jerk away from her. That was another thing she hated about Bruce, she could never touch him. If she tried he drew away, as if she would burn him, and sometimes, he returned the favor by hitting her. At least this man did not fear her touch. She offered Halvor a smile and a reassuring nod of her head, before drawing it across his lap and placing the palm flat against her stomach. He stared down at their two hands intertwined, waiting, while she studied her husband’s face. When the baby gave another mighty kick, she saw the corners of his mouth turn upward and she could not help the giggle that escaped. She quickly ended it, for Bruce thought each time he heard her laughter, it was her laughing at him, which would warrant at least one blow. But the smile remained on Halvor’s lips and Jillian had the insane hope that she would be able to laugh and smile again.

  “Does this not hurt you?”

  “Not when he kicks that way. He can kick other places and it hurts, but nothing unbearable.” She wanted to tell him nothing like the pain of giving birth to a child that never breathed, but she cared not to ruin the moment.

  “So it is a boy?”

  Jillian found humor in his innocent questions and laughed again. “I will not know that until it is born.”

  His eyes came back to hers and he bothered not to veil them. “Why then do you call it a he?”

  She shrugged, “I guess because I don’t want it to grow up just to be the pawn in men’s games.”

  He studied her for a moment. “What if I do not wish to grant succor to another man’s son?”

  “Do not worry my Lord,” she said, nearly choking on the words of anger mixed with misery. “Perhaps you will be lucky and this one will die as the two before it.”

  Her soon to be husband’s face clouded over, and she saw the anger leap into it before it became as hard and emotionless as stone. She waited for the blow that never came. Instead he replied curtly, “We will be wed this afternoon.” Halvor stood and began to turn from her, when her question stopped him.

  “Will you be demanding your husbandly rights tonight?”

  “I demand nothing of you but loyalty.” He turned away and left the hall, calling his men to follow, and as she watched the 20 or so men he arrived with, she would swear they were all as big as her soon to be husband. Lord help them all, but at least the size of her stomach was now a blessing, which was the only reason she could see he would not be demanding his right to her body. As if to retaliate, it gave a mighty kick that nearly doubled her over.

  ~ ~ ~

  Why was he surprised that Bruce's wife was carrying his child? His wife, Halvor quickly amended. The village parson had married them in the small chapel a short time after he spoke with Jillian, in a short uneventful ceremony with only a few gathered. Why did he suddenly feel afraid when she told him of losing two other children? Perhaps the third one would be the charm, but what force was in power here? The third child would survive and grow up healthy and strong, or the third child would be the one to kill Jillian, and force her into the afterlife with Bruce, which would have to be in no other place but hell. If God and the devil were in play here, what evil thing had Jillian done to deserve such a fate?

  He watched the woman walk down the aisle toward him, and he could not help compare her to the child he watched walk down the aisle to wed Bruce. Surprisingly, she appeared more frightened now than she had then. The disillusionment of marriage to a brutal man he supposed. He wished he could pull her to him, stroke her long hair that was a myriad of colors, and tell her she had nothing to fear from him. But she would never believe him. One did not suffer at the hands of one man, and turn around and give her trust easily to the next.

  He spent the remainder of the day familiarizing himself with his new property. Its potential for wealth was vast for such a small holding, but it was evident its resources had been over looked. He immediately appointed Michael, one of his own men, as acting steward, and began making arrangements for improvements and expanding the scope of the land, from not only farming but cattle and sheep once fences were repaired and fields cleared. He also found an old grist mill and began planning for its refurbishment. It was a contented Halvor who rode back into the bailey near sunset, but that fled at sight of his very pregnant wife struggling with a bucket she was pulling from the well. Without a word he advanced on her, reached around her and took the handle from her hands. Jillian gasped, spun quickly, nearly losing her balance, then brought her hands up to protect her face. Again Halvor had a desire to kill the man who spent the past several years feeding on this woman's fear.

  "You should not be lifting heavy things," Halvor chastised, holding his hand out indicating she was to precede him to where she was taking the water. "You should not be on your feet in your condition."

  "I have no choice," she said, dropping her hands and raising her head a notch, as she tried to regain her dignity. "Many of my people have left over the years, so all here must work."

  "Not you. I will have my squire attend to the tasks you would normally be saddled with. If he cannot accomplish this, we will find another who can."

  Jillian stopped so suddenly he nearly stumbled over her as she doubled over, placing a hand on the ground to steady herself as she crouched. Immediately he dropped the bucket, its contents spilling as he reached for her. As soon as she felt his touch she gasped, "No," between her gritted teeth.

  It wasn't much that made Halvor feel helpless. He was present during his mother's pregnancies with some of his sisters, but never had he seen pain such as his wife was experiencing.

  When she began to straighten, he offered his hand for support. Tentatively she took it, and looked at him with surprise that he offered her his assistance. "Is this normal?" he asked, once she was on her feet.

  It took her another moment before her breathing was back under control. In that time he began guiding her toward the tower, away from the hall where she had been moving. He held one of her hands in his own for support, while guiding her with his other on her back. He felt her stiffness and had no doubt it was due to his proximity.

  "In a way," she said.

  "How so?" he asked, guiding her into the small solar that was obviously her haven by the looks of the feminine touch. He seated her gently in a soft backed chair, while taking the one opposite.

  "All seems to go well until Bruce would beat me, and then the pains would begin."

  Bruce beat her while she carried his child? Rage filled him. "How often did he beat you?"

  "More often than I wished," she said, with a small chuckle in an obvious attempt to ease the tension.

  "How many times did he beat you while you carried this child?"

  Halvor was appalled his wife had to take a moment to think about this. "Eight times."

  "Eight?” he was furious, she could not have been very far along in her pregnancy when the man died. How could he beat her that many times in such a short amount of time? “Were they all bad?"

  "They were always bad," she said, looking anywhere but to him.

  "How bad?" he asked quietly.

  Her eyes were on him, studying him. "Broken bones, unconsciousness," she shrugged her shoulders. "After that I do not know how bad they were."

  He stared at her, forcing himself to be calm. The man he wanted to kill more than any other was already dead.

  "Bruce is no longer your husband," Halvor said suddenly.

  She looked at him, her brown eyes full of fear, and he knew it was because she feared it was a cycle that was beginning over again.

  "I will have our dinner brought to us here." Halvor walked to the door, not surprised to find his squire Tate waiting outside. The young man was the best squire Halvor he’d had yet. From the first day, he was Halvor’s constant shadow and often anticipated what the man would need, sometimes even before he himself realized it.

  After sending Tate away for their meal Halv
or sat down again across from her, and they stared at each other in awkward silence for some time.

  Finally, Halvor cleared his throat. “Do you know how it is I came to be here?”

  Jillian shook her head that she did not know.

  “I asked Lord Garrick for you,” Halvor said, watching her.

  “Hawknest is a beautiful property.”

  “No,” Halvor said, shaking his head patiently. “Hawknest had nothing to do with it. I asked Lord Garrick to allow me to wed you. He was most kind to give the property into my safe keeping, but it was you I came for.”

  He saw the fear in her eyes, not that it ever left them. “I know what kind of man Bruce was. I arrived here at Hawknest when he did.”

  He watched Jillian’s eyes narrow on him. “I was here for your wedding. I was here that night. I stood in front of you and tried to keep the other men away, when he had you down on the table.”

  Jillian’s throat worked and tears pooled in her brown eyes. “The next morning I went to tell Bruce I was leaving. I could not follow a man who could be so brutal to a child. I found you alone in the room, on the floor where he left you. I carried you back to your own chamber, and saw that you were cared for before I left.”

  Jillian swallowed, visibly straightened. “I still don’t understand.”

  “No woman should have to live with a man like Bruce. I could do nothing to stop him when he was your husband. When I found out he was dead, I knew I wanted to come here, and offer you the safety I couldn’t then.”

  A sob came out, and he saw the confusion and shock still warring with one another. “But I am sure you could have a younger wife. One that is not…” She was obvious at a loss for words.

  “Broken?”

  Another sob escaped, but this one sounded as if it was mingled with a chuckle. “So pregnant.”

  “I’m sure you are right. I would always wonder what became of you. If your new husband treated you kindly, or if you found yourself with another Bruce.”