“Countess?” he called out, his voice sounded too loud by far in the silence of the chamber. “Countess?”
Silence reined for a moment before Christopher turned and disappeared into the darkness. Garrick thought for a brief moment he would leave him to traverse the dark hole himself. Despite any feelings they might have for one another, Christopher’s motives on this day were purely out of regard for Ryann’s safety. Garrick raised a hand in the direction the man disappeared, indicating Marcus was to follow with the torch.
At the end of the first corridor, as Christopher turned back to them, Garrick saw terror in the man’s eyes. It brought anger flooding in on Garrick, because this man felt a great deal for his bride to be. Everyone felt a great deal for the Countess, and Garrick suddenly felt he was left out. If Ryann was still alive and he didn’t allow himself a chance to get to know the woman, he would always remain on the outside looking in. Not just at Kilkenny, but anywhere life was yet to take him.
Marcus fell into step behind Christopher, the chamber quickly grew dark as the two men moved away. Garrick’s mind side tracked back to his childhood, there came a point in his life he knew he would never belong, and apparently the knowledge was dismissed from his mind. But now he felt a hope so strong it nearly took his breath away, Ryann was the key. Lords and commanders could be replaced, a husband and friend could not so easily be forgotten.
“She’s here,” came Christopher’s shout, muffled by the walls, but sweet none the less. Garrick’s feet pounded along the dark corridor, reaching the main chamber the glow of the torch led him in the direction Christopher’s shout came from. He quickly found the two men, the torch in a wall sconce. The Countess was there, her head resting against the wall, her clean and smooth hair was a tangle of knots and filth. Her face was so bruised her eyes were nearly swollen shut with black, blue and red splotches marring her perfect complexion. Her perfect skin was anything but, and blood dried on her busted and parched lips. The bodice of her gown was ripped open and hung loosely in rags around her. Her skirt likewise was torn to shreds, her bruised legs were no longer modestly concealed. He could see the blood that ran down her inner thighs, and on down to her calves. Christopher was crouched before her, reaching a hand out to her, he touched her arm. Her eyes flew open and she shrank back, shaking her head as she moved back as far as her chain would allow. Her wrists were bound in shackles attached to the wall. The iron was large encompassing her delicate wrists, and the brutality of what these men did enraged him.
“No,” she managed in a croak, as she pressed her body against the stone of the wall.
“Countess, it’s me, Christopher,” he said gently, but she continued to press herself away. Her hands came up to fend him off.
How many times did he see this same reaction from other women? How many times had he made women react in stark fear? But he never misused them like this.
“Ryann,” Garrick said, softly nudging Christopher out of the way. She continued her pathetic attempt to avoid them, the chains clinking. With cat like speed he sprung, grabbed her hands and pressed them into the wall above her head. He had to learn long ago to watch out for claws, many a hellcat left a mark on him, sometimes the women were more dangerous than the men. By the looks of her, his wife was a fighter. “Ryann,” he said, leaning down to whisper soothingly in her ear. “Shhh, I won’t hurt you. Shhh. Ryann, you know who I am.” Her body remained tense, and she strained to pull her hands free. “Shhh. Look at me,” he said, leaning over her face and holding her hands with one of his, he used the other to grab her by the chin, and gripping it tightly held her there. “You are mine and no one will take you again. I swear it.” When she looked at him and he saw recognition light the blue depths, he let go of her chin and reaching out, stroked her matted hair twice, before allowing his hand to stroke down the side of her face. She again tried to pull away, but his hand was there, gripping her chin again. “Mine,” he declared, deliberately digging his fingers into her skin. He knew when she began to come back and shook her head with his hand, his fingers digging even deeper. “Do you hear me? No one takes what’s mine.”
“But,” she began, her tongue coming out to lick her lips. “But they did,” in a very tired, weak voice.
He didn’t like the raw emotion flooding him and he knew he could not conceal it. To hide it, he released her chin only to snake a hand out to dive into her hair, taking a firm grip on the back of her head. His other hand claimed her thigh, he could feel the dried blood under his fingers. He cursed himself for bringing this fate onto the Countess. She gasped, but was unable to pull away. He knew he was hurting her as he bent over her, bringing his lips to her ear.
“Forgive me for not protecting you. Your purity would have been a fine gift, but my only regret is the pain you suffered. Stroud will pay for that.” He felt her shudder, but he didn’t release her. He did pull back so he could look into her swollen eyes. “We will marry tonight, and our people will believe I did this to you. You do not want to have a bastard,” he quickly explained, his distaste for the title was evident.
“Stroud left his men to do this. He took Daley. He had a special interest in the boy.” It took several minutes to get the entire explanation out, but once she did her body began to shake.
He released her, looking down at the white hand print on her bare thigh that quickly turned red, and his anger raged. Stroud had no right to do this to his future bride. He stood and in one quick motion he drew his sword and sparks flew as he struck the chains with it. Two more blows and the chain broke and she was free. He knelt back to her and she tried to shrink back into the wall, but had nowhere to go even without the chains holding her to the wall. He reached for her, tucked one hand behind her stiff back and another under her thighs, and lifted her. She moaned quietly at the movement and he felt himself want to stop her pain, but he was too late for that. He had to ask himself why her pain and suffering would matter to him. He likened it to his care of Malik, a fine steed who carried him in and out of many battles, his usefulness made it necessary to care and thus must be the same with his future wife.
Marcus led the way up out of the darkness with Christopher trailing close behind.
“Gather the men and tell them we found the Countess and are returning to Kilkenny. I want the men going toward Lenox and I’ll catch up to them in the morning after I’ve enjoyed my wedding night.”
Marcus immediately left to obey. “You’re with me,” Garrick said to Christopher, giving him a quick appraisal before leading the way out of the hall, still carrying Ryann. Once Christopher gained his saddle Garrick walked to him.
“The Countess rides with you. If we are set upon get the Countess away.” Reluctantly Garrick released his future bride to her guard and he turned quickly away. Away from the fear lurking just beneath the surface. Away from the pain Stroud’s men caused her because Garrick brought her into his life. Away from the desire to snatch her back and hold her forever, this last desire was far more disconcerting than his desire to shed Stroud’s blood.
They rode hard to Kilkenny, and the protection of its walls. Exhausted horses and riders finally came to a stop inside the courtyard. Quickly Garrick was off Malik and strolled to Christopher, taking the Countess from her guard’s arms.
“Send for the priest and Alena,” Garrick ordered, gathering her close despite her stiffening body.
“Who’s Alena,” Christopher questioned.
When Garrick answered he sounded impatient, “She’s Marcus’s woman. Any of my men could tell you where to find her. Whatever you do, say nothing of the circumstances we found her in, and what Stroud’s men did to her.”
“But everyone will see the bruises on the morrow.”
“After our wedding night. So they will assume I brought my reluctant bride into line.”
“What they did to her was brutal and unforgiveable.”
Garrick’s eyes narrowed and his voice made it clear he didn’t appreciate the delay in his orders being carried out, or
the questions about them. “Priest, Alena, if you care anything at all about her,” he said, casting a glance down at the shivering woman.
He turned and entered the main hall and on to her chamber.
Chapter 4
Ryann couldn’t control the tremors that were taking her over. She felt cold and the warmth from Garrick’s strength drew her in. With her head nestled on his chest the world didn’t tilt wildly out of control. Tears threatened to fill her eyes because she expected Garrick to be capable of the cold brutality that left her broken. By all accounts Garrick’s army left behind death and destruction, gave no quarter, showed no mercy. Yet he was carrying her with utmost care.
She found it difficult to follow why the marriage had to happen tonight, or why Garrick wanted to lay claim to her abuse. They were to have a large wedding, opulent enough the King would be attending. Wouldn't he at least be angered by the change in plans? Though he tried to do it gently, pain shot through her body when he laid her on the bed. She adjusted to the new position and sank into the softness of her bed. When Garrick pulled the furs over her, she felt the wariness seep away. She did not know how much time passed with Garrick watching over her before she was awakened by the chamber door being shut quietly.
“You sent for me Garrick?” the woman’s voice questioned. Through swollen eyes she watched her come near to stand beside Garrick, who she suspected had been pacing back and forth like a giant cat prowling, the entire time she slept.
The woman was tall, nearly as tall as Garrick. Her hair was black as midnight flowing over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the light green of her gown and white cloak. Her skin was glowing perfection in its creamy radiance, until she turned her head and Ryann saw the burn that marred one side of her perfect face. Could this be the woman Una told her about? The witch?
Addressing Ryann as he quickly crossed to the bed, he said, “This is Alena, Marcus’s woman.” The woman who had still not reached the bed snorted, receiving a scathing look from Garrick. “She’ll help you clean up for the ceremony.”
Just then Alena reached the bed and the woman cried out, sinking onto the edge and taking Ryann’s hand. Her touch was gentle as she reached up to brush a lock of hair from Ryann’s face. “Who did this to you?” Ryann just stared at her, so the dark headed woman directed the same question to Garrick.
“I did,” he said in a voice turned cold. To Ryann his voice said there was no room for argument.
“You did not,” Alena scoffed.
With a quickness that surprised them both, he reached out seizing her face in his large hand and turned it to expose her scarred face to him. “Just as I did this to you I beat her and took her. That is why we must wed tonight. I must leave on the morrow and I will not have a bastard born while I’m away. Clean her up,” he shoved her away and turning, left the chamber.
Within a few minutes the tub was brought in, along with steaming buckets of water. Quietly Alena let down the curtains around the bed and pulled herself inside with Ryann, holding the other woman’s hand gently, while stroking the hairline at Ryann’s forehead. Once servants left, she opened the curtains again and bounced out, pulling Ryann from her slumber.
“Come, I’ll help you up.” With pain shooting through her back and hips, Ryann raised to a sitting position. Gently Alena helped move her, so her legs hung over the edge. As soon as she slid to her feet her legs screamed at her and threatened to buckle. “I’ve got you,” Alena said, supporting her.
With Ryann using the bedpost for support, Alena removed her tattered tunic, gasping at the cuts and bruises covering her body. “Who did this?” Alena asked again, as she helped her shuffle to the steaming tub.
“Stroud and his men,” just using her voice was taxing.
Gingerly Ryann settled into the warmth of the water, as it bit into some of the cuts, but soothed her at the same time. “Who?” Ryann asked, nodding at Alena’s face.
“Garrick.”
Fear began to knot inside Ryann’s stomach. “Why?” she croaked. Each time she talked she could feel big hands wrapped around her throat, taunting her with her own life, as they did horrible things to her. She shuddered and closed her eyes tightly, as if it could block it from her mind. She was glad the woman broke into an explanation of how she came to be with Garrick and his men, it gave Ryann a reprieve. She concentrated on the woman’s words so that she might move her mind from what she had just been through, and onto something else.
“Garrick is a man at war with himself. To gain power he must have the men under him who can do horrible things.”
Alena moved to Ryann’s head and sinking to her knees, began to gently wet her hair. She added the soap that was left with the clothes, working it gently into her scalp. “My family was killed by Emir Ghalib in Jerusalem, and he took me as a slave. One day five knights and one squire were brought to the Emir’s prison. They were Englishmen, Garrick and Marcus was among them, and I found a way to take them food. When they escaped they took me with them. I had no one and nowhere to turn, so I thought using my body would be the only way I could survive. I made a deal with Garrick I would be his mistress. But we fought and I landed halfway into the fire. My arm and face were immediately burned, such excruciating pain. He lets his people think it was my punishment for rejecting him, not an accident.”
“I have never lain with Garrick,” the woman hurriedly said, as if she just remembered she talked to the man’s future wife. “Garrick told Marcus he could have me, because I would be forever scarred. Marcus took me to his chamber, healed me, and has refused to relinquish his claim on me.”
“Is it bad?” Ryann asked. Marcus was a handsome man in his own right, he looked as kind and gentle as Garrick looked foreboding, but that did not mean she would like being shackled to a man she could not get away from. Her mind flicked to the realization that was her plight when the King gave his blessing to the match with Garrick. Nothing but the death of one of them could break the chain that would hold them together once they took their vows. She did not feel it was the same however, for she decided if there were men like Stroud, she was content with Garrick.
Alena laughed. “Marcus hasn’t touched me, not like that. The only man I have ever known is Ghalib.”
The lithe beauty before her laughed again, a soft tinkling sound. “Marcus likes to pretend I’m his woman. I share his chamber, but servants wait on him. His only demand is that I stay away from the other men, and never let them know what Garrick did was more accident than revenge.”
“I’m not saying Garrick’s a saint. He leads an army of brutal cutthroats and does not tolerate his orders being disobeyed by anyone. That is why it is safest to stay away from the other men as they ask, and to allow Garrick to take the blame for this,” Alena said, motioning to her own face, “and for you.”
Ryann didn’t respond, how could she? Once the bath was complete Alena helped her out of the tub and dressed her in a soft robe, then set to work massaging salve into her cuts. The door burst open and Garrick stalked in, his face pressed into a scowl. Alena and Ryann’s eyes locked on his intimidating figure as he advanced on them. Too late Ryann realized her robe was draped around her shoulders, dipping dangerously close to revealing her breasts to him. He nudged Alena out of the way, at the same time taking the small bowl of salve from her.
His eyes were locked on Ryann’s, the bleak darkness she saw left her cold.
“The priest waits downstairs. Lena,” he said, and waited for her response, his eyes still not leaving his soon to be bride.
“Yes?” she questioned near his shoulder.
“Lower the candles so her face will not be seen during the ceremony.”
Alena left with a nod, leaving the lord and lady staring at each other. The swelling went down considerably in her face, but the bruises would take days to heal.
“The time nears when you will join yourself to me,” he stated, with no inflection in his voice.
“Do you tell me this should I wish to be free of these bo
nds?” she asked in a whisper. As it always seemed, this man was close enough to her she did not need to strain her voice.
Garrick shook his head, “Freedom from me is not an option.”
“Answer one question for me?”
“Do you anticipate the answer will set you free?”
“I learned long ago my will is not my own, I am only a pawn to my station, and to my king.”
Garrick began to reach for her, but dropped his hand back to his side. “Then ask your question.”
“Do you think you could learn to love me?”
He studied her for a moment before shaking his head no. “Love is an emotion that can be as artificial as it is binding. It can shatter you, change your life, and change your destiny. The worst thing about love is it will make you weak, and I will not be weak.” The last was said from his height, looking down on her, and she saw no mercy in the black depths of his eyes, no weakness in his body.
Looking up at him Ryann nodded, and he was pleased by her calmness. She had not placed her heart on fairy tales and happy endings.
He dipped two of his fingers into the salve and reached for her. He saw her need to pull away, and he saw the effort she took to quell it. He sank onto the stool Alena had been using. As his fingers touched her gently she refused to look anywhere but his eyes, because as he concentrated on her, they weren’t filled with coldness and death.
Ryann found it hard to swallow as he gently tended to the cuts on her neck. When she got past the lump in her throat, and her neck moved with the swallow, his eyes lifted to hers. For the briefest of moments she saw Garrick, not the man The Bastard had to be. His eyes dropped to her shoulder and he paused so long before touching her she jumped when he did. His hand froze, and his eyes trailed slowly up to hers.
“Shhh,” Ryann swallowed again, and after a breath of time his eyes slid back to her shoulder. The next set of scratches started near the base of her neck and extended down, disappearing underneath the robe. When he touched the beginning edge she gasped as the cobwebs of her memory cleared. She had awakened on an old straw mattress. Its mustiness made her memories confused for a moment. Then one of the men entered the chamber and her heart plummeted. Only when he came toward her had she realized she was chained to the wall. He tore her clothing off her shoulder, nearly to her waist. His fingernails deliberately dug into her skin, tearing it away down her chest, across her breast. Ryann tried to fight, but the first movement brought on a stabbing pain to her head, and darkness took hold.
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