The woman stopped moving, staring at Bell Heather as if her head was spinning on her shoulders. Had the woman never considered leaving?
She shook her head. “Nay. Willem is all I have. I have nowhere to go, and…he is my husband. I must obey him.”
“Horse shite,” Bell Heather exclaimed and Lady Lillian started. “Ye spoke yer vows, just as he did. But here I am, strapped to a bed, awaiting his disgusting ravishment. From my reckoning, that gives ye amble reason to dissolve yer horrid union. Ye can leave, take yer jewels and go. Let him hunt for ye, let him slaver after ye like a rabid dog, but he will not find ye. I will do all I can to keep ye safe. Ye have my word.”
She realized how ridiculous she might sound, claiming such things so adamantly, whilst tied to a bed, naked. But she meant every word. Lillian Mason needed a friend, and Bell Heather would be that for her.
Sighing, Lillian stood, grasping her hands in front of her belly nervously. “Once I have your wrists free, we must hurry. I can show you to a passageway that will take you to the larder door. I cannot help you after that, but if you are as clever as I think you are, I am sure you can make it out before you are spotted.” She walked to the head board, tugging at the chains, and as Bell Heather watched, the woman’s movements became more frantic, as if she could feel danger coming.
“Are you looking for this, my dear?” Willem Mason’s voice rumbled through the chamber, slamming into Bell Heather’s chest and knocking the air from her. Lillian gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, as she spun to face the devil she married. A fully dressed Willem Mason was standing just inside the door way, the candle’s light casting shadows over his eyes. He looked diabolical, born of hell, and Bell Heather trembled at the malice.
He moved closer and Bell Heather noticed he was holding up a key, which was secured around his neck by a thick, gold chain. Of course, he would lock the irons around her wrists with a key only he carried.
He was an evil genius, his intelligence wasted on despicable deeds.
“No one gets to play with my dolls but me, my dear. I must admit, though, I never thought you wanted to participate in my games… If I had, I would have chained you to this bed, long ago.” His voice dropped an octave, and Lillian’s face fell just as far.
“Willem, I—”
Willem reached her in a second, grabbing her around her throat. Bell Heather shrieked, kicking her legs, trying to free herself to save Lillian. But it was no use, with her arms still chained, she could only flail helplessly. She called out again. “Leave her be, ye monster!”
Ignoring Bell Heather’s outburst, he backed his wife into the wall, pinning her there by her neck. “Lillian, darling, you were not thinking of letting my doll escape, now were you? That would be foolish…dangerous,” he purred, tightening his grip around his wife’s throat. “How many times do I have to remind you that you are nothing, you are no one, you are meant for nothing more than wetting my prick,” he said, spittle flying from his mouth in his vehemence.
Lillian tried to speak, scratching as his hands to find relief, but he held tight.
“I suppose I should just kill you here, with my new doll watching…” He turned to cast a heated gaze at Bell Heather, a hideous grin splitting his face. “Let you watch as I gut her…get you good and scared. I think I would like to taste you when you are scared.” He chuckled, and Bell Heather flinched. Lillian continued to struggle, and suddenly Bell Heather realized the terrible truth; she really was going to watch an innocent woman die, and there was nothing she could do about it. She turned her head, refusing to see it, refusing to give him that pleasure.
A sob ripped from her throat.
“Let her go, Mason!” A familiar voice yelled into the chamber, and Bell Heather cried out at the rush of relief, then stiffened when she looked down and immediately remembered her nakedness. But she couldn’t care about that, not when the one person she never thought to see again hurried into the room, Elric and Glenn right behind him. At the gleam in Glenn’s eyes, she knew he’d noticed her unclothed state, and she wished herself buried, if only to keep that wicked smile on his face from growing.
But, by Dagda, she was certainly glad to see the rogue again.
“How dare you enter my home, my chamber?” Willem roared, pulling Lillian into his chest as a sort of human shield.
Bell Heather’s gaze snapped to Tristin, a face she needed to see, and was greeted by the image of a man rippling with rage and violence. His handsome face was twisted, his black eyes growing darker by the moment, and his body, sheathed in black leather, was taut, his muscles bulging. If she weren’t in a perilous predicament, she would take a moment to enjoy the sight.
“How dare you take Bell Heather?” Tristin roared back. His dark eyes landing on her, taking in her, the bed, the restraints, and the melted wax on her breasts, all with a single swipe of his gaze.
Willem laughed. “Do you see what I did to her? She screamed so beautifully as I dropped the wax onto the plump breasts,” he said, pressing his face against Lillian’s cheek. “I look forward to tasting them once I dispatch with you three.”
Elric brandished his sword. “You are as mad as your valet. You honestly think you can get away with murdering your own wife, torturing innocent women, and trying to kill members of a chivalric order, commissioned by the cardinal you call your friend?” Elric spat. “You are mad and a fool.”
Willem grunted, Lillian gasped, making a gurgling sound in her throat.
“I said, let her go, Mason,” Tristin repeated, taking a step closer to Willem, his own sword glinting in the poor light from Lillian’s small candle.
“She is mine, they both are. I will not allow you to take what is mine, Tristin!” Willem threw Lillian side and lunged for Bell Heather. She shrieked, trying to throw her legs from the bed, to get as far from him as she could, but it was pointless. He was atop her, dagger to her throat, before Tristin could move three feet.
“Leave. Now. And I will forgive your trespassing and interference. Stay, and you can watch me as I slide this blade into her belly. Slow. Bloody.”
“Ye would not dare. After all this, ye would kill me?” Bell Heather shrilled. Her gaze flicked to Tristin, who was standing so close and was yet so far away.
Please, help me, she cried silently.
“I would kill you so that no other man can have what it mine. You are mine to break, to bend. No other man will have that honor but me!” Willem raised the dagger, ready to plunge it into her flesh, but Lillian flew at him, throwing her body into his, and they collided. The two of them crashed to the floor on the other side of the bed, and Bell Heather cried out, stunned, and terrified for Lillian.
Tristin was there beside her in a flash, trying to remove the irons from her wrists.
“Tristin, there’s a key. Around his neck,” she croaked.
There was a sickening thud, and then Willem stood up, dagger in his hand. He flew around the bed, waving the dagger at Tristin, then Elric, then Glenn.
“I will kill each one of you!”
Tristin looked down at Bell Heather, strapped to the bed, and his expression hardened. A glint of something deadly shone in his gaze. The cords in his neck flexed, and he stared at her, his eyes burning in to her. And she felt his strength pour in her, through her.
He turned away from her, raising his sword and widening his stance.
“Nay. You will fight me, and you will lose,” Tristin taunted. Elric ran to where Lillian had landed, and Bell Heather could see Lillian, crumpled into a corner, blood pouring from her forehead. Willem had bludgeoned her. The bastard. Elric knelt beside her, giving his back to the room; his trust in his commander complete.
Glenn walked to Bell Heather, sheathing his dagger and pulling a tapestry from the wall to cover her with it. “Nay worries, lass. The captain will kill ‘em quick, then we can get ye safe.”
“I am already safe, ye found me…ye came for me,” Bell Heather rasped, tears burning her throat.
Glenn offered
her a lopsided grin. “Why would we nay?” he asked, confusion in his tone.
She shuddered beneath the thick, heavy tapestry, the rough fibers scratching her already sore breasts. She took a deep breath and flinched at the pain. “Why would ye?”
Glenn tapped the tip of her nose. “The captain was ready ta tear after ye the minute ye were out of sight. Now, stop yammerin’ so I can get these irons off ye.”
Tristin had already planned to come for her? But why? She couldn’t think of the implications now, there was too much else to think on, like how Tristin was baring his teeth at a madman, who was staring wild-eyed at Tristin.
“You do not have to do die tonight, Willem. Just let Bell Heather go,” Tristin implored.
Willem raised his dagger. “Never!” He lunged at Tristin, and Bell Heather sucked in air to scream.
Nay! Willem couldn’t kill Tristin! Terror burst through her, scorching her blood, and she shook from the force of every fear crashing together.
Tristin raised his sword, easily deflecting Willem’s downward swing. Pushing Willem back, Tristin stepped forward, Willem stumbled back, recovering then swinging the dagger at Tristin’s belly. Tristin jumped back, just shy of being sliced open. As Glenn propped a booted foot against the wall and used his weight to pull on the chains, Elric dragged the unconscious Lillian to the farthest corner. From what Bell Heather could see over the foot of the bed, Lillian was still breathing. She wasn’t dead.
Thank Dagda!
Glenn grunted. “Where is the key?”
Bell Heather looked up into his face, a single bead of sweat formed on his forehead.
“Willem wears the key around his neck,” she answered, craning her neck to see Tristin and Willem battling. For every thrust of Willem’s dagger, Tristin would dodge, and with every dodge, Willem grew more frantic. Why wasn’t Tristin swinging his sword? Why was he letting Willem get so close? He was the commander of the Homme du Sang, he could best a man like Willem Mason without batting an eye, so why wasn’t he?
Overwhelmed by the fear, the anxiety, the rush of relief, and the humiliation, Bell Heather could feel the pressure building in her chest. Nay, now is not the time for weeping. Ye must stay strong. Ye must hope in Tristin.
Thwarted by the chains, Glenn grunted and turned away from Bell Heather, his blue eyes taking in the battle going on just a few feet away. Tristin was doing a good job of keeping himself between Willem and the bed, but Willem’s frenetic movements were becoming more difficult to predict—and Tristin must’ve realized that, too. With a mighty yell, he lunged at Willem, his sword raised over his right shoulder, bringing the blade down. Willem barely missed losing his arm by raising his dagger at the last minute, deflecting the blade to Tristin’s left. Tristin took that moment to back swing, aiming for Willem’s belly, but Willem stumbled back. The wall behind him kept him upright, but it also became a barricade. Tristin moved in, trapping Willem against the far wall with the tip of his sword.
“It is done, Willem. Lay down your dagger, I will not spill blood this night,” Tristin commanded, hardly winded.
Willem sneered, his expression tightening, and his eyebrows cutting into a vicious V between his eyes. “You think you have won?” He cackled. “You fool. Even if you do make it out of here with Bell Heather, you still have to take her to Cieldon, to her doom. Calleaux will demand her trial. He will demand her neck stretched from the end of a rope.” He cackled again, and the blood drained from Bell Heather’s body.
She’d known it was possible that she would be sentenced to die, but for Willem Mason to speak of it with such finality…it was devastating.
If Tristin delivered her to Cieldon, she would die.
“Calleaux is a man of reason, he will listen to my advice on the matter. She is no witch, and your abduction only proves that your motives for accusing her were selfish. The cardinal will not be able to overlook such an abuse of power,” Tristin intoned, his words dancing over Bell Heather’s heart, even as hope flickered. If he meant what he said, there was a chance…
Willem roared, his face turning a deep red. “You will not win!” He raised his arm and flipped the dagger with surprising dexterity. He loosed the blade and Bell Heather watched it flip end over end, right toward her.
Glenn appeared right in front of her, and a wet thwunk rang out, just as Glenn fell back, a blade protruding from his shoulder.
“Glenn!” Tristin yelled, but before he would make it to his friend, Glenn unsheathed his own blade and sent it flying toward Willem, where it hit its deadly mark, in the center of his throat. Blood erupted from the wound, spraying the walls, his supertunic, Elric—who was just as shocked as Tristin. Bell Heather watched in horror was Willem Mason clutched as his throat, desperately trying to hold in his life’s blood. But it was pointless. His face lost all color and his eyes grew dim, and he fell to his knees. He slumped forward into a heap, and his blood pulsed from him.
Glenn cursed, pulling Willem’s blade from his shoulder and tossing it beside Willem’s prone form. “Get the key!”
Elric skirted the growing pool of blood and bent over Willem’s corpse, and Tristin came to stand beside the bed, his gaze taking her in.
“Are you unhurt?” he asked, his voice ragged. Undone by the depth of concern in his eyes, she could only nod. When Elric arrived with the key, blood dripping from the golden chain, Tristin unlocked the irons from her wrists, immediately pulling her into his chest and holding her there.
It felt like coming home. She melted into him, her heart thundering in relief and pure happiness. She’d been rescued, Tristin had come for her. She looped her arms around his back, drawing in his warmth, his strength.
“Tristin, we must go,” Elric said, looking down the corridor from which they came. “We do not know if there are more of the ones like the valet.”
Tristin’s embrace tightened and she held her breath, never wanting to be free of his arms again. With a groan, he released her, but only long enough to scoop her into his arms.
“Glenn, can you manage?” Tristin asked, and Glenn grimaced. Blood was flowing freely from the hole in his shoulder. His hand was a poor bandage.
“Aye, I have lived through worse, and have a merry time of it, too,” he replied, the lines around his eyes deepening with the restrained pain.
Tristin nodded then turned to where Lillian was still slumped in the corner. “Elric, see to Lady Lillian. There is not much we can do other than make sure she is still breathing. Her own servants must aide her.”
Bell Heather tensed. She knew they couldn’t risk encountering more enemies, but the thought of leaving Lillian there, bleeding, tore at her. The woman had risked her life to save Bell Heather’s, twice. The least they could do was make sure she was safe from retaliation from any of Willem’s cronies.
“Tristin, we cannot leave her. What if Mason had friends? She could be in danger,” Bell Heather implored. His gaze bore deep into hers, and she infused her expression with stubborn compassion.
Sighing, Tristin moaned in frustration. “Elric, take the lady. We will leave her at the inn in Hixon. They can care for her until she is well enough to deal with the mess we are leaving behind.”
Elric snapped a salute and bent to gather the unconscious lady in his arms.
By the light of the nearly spent candle, casting an orange glow down the dark corridor, they quit the echoing torture chamber and entered another, smaller chamber. It held only a bed, a side table, a bureau, and a fireplace. They were through the bedchamber door in a few strides, and Tristin was moving quickly. They descended a spiral staircase—one she didn’t remember climbing in the first place—and entered into another corridor.
“We will be out soon enough,” Tristin husked into her ear, his hot breath raising gooseflesh along her neck and over her chest. Her nipples, now erect, rubbed ever more painfully against the rough tapestry, which was little more than a sheet to cover her. Tristin’s hands were clasped onto her right shoulder and under her knees, but she co
uld still remember what his hands felt like elsewhere. She fought the shudder those memories conjured and buried her face in Tristin’s chest. Without his armor, his chest was just as hard, but warmer. And she could feel the rapid tattoo of his heartbeat against her cheek.
Exhaustion poured over her, leeching out every last drop of vitality. She could feel her limbs growing heavy, and her heart slowing in contrast to Tristin’s. Tristin’s steady footfalls were like unto a babe rocking in a cradle, lulling her, promising her comfort…safety…
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tristin stared down at Bell Heather, his heart in his throat. He traced a finger around her mouth, over her cheek, and along her eyebrow. Beautiful. Strong. Unutterably remarkable. His.
He couldn’t fathom the weight of the anguish he felt when he burst into the hidden chamber and came upon her laying, chained to the bed, her body on display. He wanted to pull Willem Mason’s bullocks out through his nose. To see Bell Heather so vulnerable, helpless—it tore at him still, the memory of her wide eyes, surprised to see him, but also ashamed.
She had nothing with which to be ashamed of. She’d been victimized by a man who used his power to hurt those he saw as weaker than. But Bell Heather, she was one of the strongest people he knew; he admired her resilience, her fire, and her compassion. Who else would care only for the welfare of another, even as they are only just escaping from captivity? Bell Heather was a marvel he wanted to spend the rest of his life celebrating. He took in Bell Heather’s face, which was now slack in slumber, her mind having given over to unconsciousness after her ordeal. He owed her so much, because he’d failed to do as he’d sworn; protect her.
Upon entering Willem’s den of depravity, Tristin could tell in a single glance that Willem had begun his sickening plans with Bell Heather; her breasts covered in red welts, and solidified waxed spattered about her chest and neck. What pain she must have endured. God, she must have cried out, scared and in agony. And he hadn’t been there to keep her from harm.
The Blood and The Bloom (Men of Blood Book 1) Page 27
