She committed the ultimate sin, and now it was time to pay.
Carline waited until she saw the flicker of light from the candle sconces in the hallway die to a subtle glow. Studying the forms that cast shadows as they moved about inside, she knew she had to stay put until everyone settled down for the night before she made a move. She waited, listened, and didn’t dare move.
Standing too long in one spot intensified the prickly sensations of pins and needles that started and shimmied up her legs uncomfortably until she wanted to stomp about to circulate more blood into her body and add warmth. Darkness fell and offered a layer of protection from detection. She learned not to take the dark at face value, and remained motionless.
Her teeth chattered as the fog rose and surrounded her, the moisture thick enough to cling to her clothing like a damp veil, as she waited for the right moment to move about.
Night came and with it a chilly wind that embraced her and seeped pass the thin material of the shawl she wore and caused Carline to shiver. The thin material offered little protection, and she considered to bring her heavy wrap knowing it was better suited for the evening if it wasn’t necessary for her to make a swift exit, if needed. She looked down at the hem of her skirt swirl and entangle around her ankles knowing it was hindrance enough should she be required to run, knowing additional weight of the wool cloak would only be more cumbersome.
After watching a while, she moved farther from the inner house, sticking as close to the shadows as possible. When a cluster of opaque clouds formed and rolled in temporarily blocking the moonlight, and shrouded the area in dimness, Carline seized the opportunity to flee. Swiftly, dashing into the night, running through the inner bailey pass the bridge that connected the main structure and the rest of the buildings without stopping until she reached the chapel. As soon as she reached her destination, the clouds drifted by and the moonlight bathed the area in enough light that to anyone looking in her direction she’d be visible. She pressed her back against the cold bricks of the church wall, inched along the scratchy surface that snagged her shawl, daringly making her way to toward the steps leading to the church.
The sound of heavy boots hitting the paved walkway thumped loudly in the quiet. She stopped in her tracks. Clutching the wrap between her fingers, she waited and tried to hear the noise over the loud thumping of her heart that slammed against her chest.
They were close enough to smell the odors; stale whiskey on their breaths and unwashed bodies. Instinctively, she wanted to run. She didn’t. She couldn’t. There was too much at stake.
Carline stared at the back of the head of a tall, thin, man. “I swear this is bullshit,” he swore. He pulled a leather pouch from his pocket, unscrewed the cork, and threw back his head and gulped the liquid. He passed the bag to his partner. “There is no reason for us to be out here freezing our arses off.”
“We have our orders,” the other man murmured.
The man spit, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t give a damn what that bloodsucker said, this ain’t right. It’s not as if he is our lordship and we have to do what he orders. I say screw this, go inside and let some wench warm our arses for the rest of the night instead of standing out here wasting our time because the Black Bastard thinks it’s wise. Humph, I doubt he’d know wise if it locked on his arse.”
“Shhh, lower your tone. You know the variants move about like ghost. They could be anywhere, watching, listening.” The man looked about, up, as if he expected to see someone floating above his head. “Shut your trap before you’re heard.”
The man snorted, puffed out his chest, and bristled. “Let ‘em hear me. I don’t fear the fanged vermin.”
“Then feel free to go inside and ask permission…no, demand to the Black Bastard to relieve us of our duty. I will wait your return, if you return, and hear what he had to say.”
Carline heard the sarcasm. The rebellious solider entire body stiffened. He snatched the bag from the other and took a long swallow, belched, and then shoved the container into his pant pocket. “Come on you coward bastard, let’s get this over with, I got a hot wench waiting on me to wield my shaft.” He grabbed his crotch and made a rude gesture. “‘Tis the only fighting I be doin' tonight with a hard long sword, anyway,” he said tersely, storming away.
When the twosome was a good distance away, she slipped from the hiding place and hurried to the sanctuary entrance. The iron knockers were cold against her fingertips. She clutched the knobs, pushed, eased the doors open, while silently praying the hinges were oiled, and wouldn’t squeak.
The sanctuary was quiet.
Cold.
Dreary.
The thick tapestries blocked the moonlight and masked the room in darkness. The multiple candles that lined the alter cast a faint glow, wax dripped, and the sound of a soft hiss could be heard as the tiny flames submerged in the bubble of liquid, and enclosed the chamber in gloom.
Her heart thudded erratically, as Carline made her way to the other side of the room to the hallway to the row of wood steps which led down into the quarters beneath the chapel. Where Priest Manner waited to abolish her sins from her body, or something like that, her memory of his exact words fuzzy and really didn’t matter. What did was what lay ahead.
A chilling shiver raced up her spine.
Without focusing on the daunting tasks, she warned herself not to get into a tizzy and drive herself into a fit of worry. She thought, chewed her bottom lip, forcing the unsavory thought aside, as she carefully walked down the stairway crumbling due to decay. The stones loose, shaky, wobbled beneath her weight, as she made her way downward, taking each step slowly. She flattened her palm against the wall to feel her way, and for balance, least she slipped, one by one, she managed the rickety passage until she reached the landing. Before she knocked, the door swung open. Priest Manner stood there, his lengthy frame covered in a black robe, from neck to his feet, left his narrow head visible. He looked down his nose, buried his hands in the folds of the cloak, resembling a praying mantis, he glared down at her. “Are you sure you weren’t seen?”
“I was very careful to wait until all was in bed,” she said, purposely leaving out mentioning the guards.
Priest Manner eyed her skeptically and then stepped aside.
She hurried into the chamber. She jumped when she heard the throw of the heavy lock catch.
“We must be quick.”
Carline watched the priest move around. He walked to the other side of the tiny room and stood beside the long wood table, no higher than his waist, it still dwarfed the other furniture inside the quarter. Her eyes flickered about, taking in her surroundings, and observed the sparse room. A narrow cot was against the wall. Next to it a table leaned precariously to the left, a bit off balanced. A top it sat a chipped basin, a pitcher with a dent in metal, and the Book of Oslei. A single candle, half-burned, and stool completed the dismal surroundings.
The wind blew outside and whistled through the cracks in the walls.
The faint scent of sulfur burned her nose. She smelt a putrid, indescribable odor, worse than dried blood, forced her to hold her breath it was so distasteful. The smell of sea salt, charred bark, and a strong medicinal reek lingered and lay heavy in the stagnant air.
Forcing back the fear that caused her nerves to fray and consider fleeing, she shoved the thought to the back of her mind. Squared shoulders, chin held high, she faced Priest Manner. “There is no other way?” She did not intend to sound pleading, nonetheless her voice quivered with uncertainty. Her eyelids filled with tears, as she swallowed to keep from begging the priest to change his mind. Knowing he would not, could she blame him, she got herself into the unfortunate predicament, and Priest Manner deigned to handle the situation as he saw fit.
She dared not disagree with a priest, not a practiced man of Oslei’s word. Besides, she did the unthinkable, and now she must atone for her sins, suffer the penance, and pray Oslei was as forgiving as the lectures preached. For if
not, something greater than the fires of Oslei would rain down on her with brutal force: The wrath of Megatha.
Priest Manner did not bother to answer her concerns. Instead, he pointed a slim finger toward the dirt-packed floor. His tone indifferent, and flat in the closed quarters, he gave instructions. “Child, go to your knees.” His voice raised an octave. “Pray,” he said. “Pray your sins away,” he chanted repeatedly as Carline dropped to her knees.
The hard floor tore into her tender flesh, she refused to cry out, and give the priest the satisfaction of knowing her discomfort. Already raw from her many nights of kneeling beside her bed on the wood floor, she bit back, and suffered through the stinging pain which tore into her already raw skin.
“Plead for forgiveness and ask Oslei to purge the wicked sins from your soul.”
Carline bowed her head, clasped her hands tightly, until the blood drained from her fingertips leaving her knuckles pale. She began her feverish prayers for forgiveness.
* * * *
Carline knees nearly gave way as she tried to rise. Priest Manner loomed over her, offered no assistance, and waited impatiently for her to stand. She stood, turned her head, and blinked as the slivers of dawn broke into the room from the single window. The windowpane low, half shielded by the brick wall and went beneath the ground. Enough glass was visible she could see the sunrise, red and orange, as the sun crept over the mountaintops and shinned into the room.
Heavy lines beneath her eyes showed her weariness from praying all night. Her eyes felt scratchy, itched, as she struggled through sleepiness to keep up with her chanting least Oslei not take her serious and ignore her pleas. She swayed on her feet and cried out as a sharp pain shot through her body. Priest Manner converged on her, not to help, but to chastise her. He said, “The whoremonger cries out for pity. Oh, say, Oslei, his ears close to such selfish request.” He poked a finger into her ribcage and gave her a hard jab. Priest Manner left her to suffer, going about his duties, unfazed by the lateness of the hour, or her suffering.
“What happens now?” Carline said. She eyed the contents the priest prepared, a metal bowl, prongs, and a long probing tool. He gathered cloth and sat it down on the table. She knew it was to wipe away the blood, and the thought made the bile rise in her throat.
“We rid you of blasphemy,” Priest Manner spoke matter of fact.
“I can’t do it!” Carline shrieked, and turned away from the ghastly things the priest intended to use to eradicate her sins.
She fled to the door, struggled with the jammed latch.. She tried to jerk the door open, desperately wanting to leave, she pulled, twisted, turned the handle, it held firm. Terror seized her when she realized escape impossible. Wild-eyed, she turned to plea with Priest Manner who slunk up behind her. “Please, I have changed my mind.”
“‘Tis too late, you little fool.” He grabbed her arm. Carline flinched as his nails dug into her skin.
They were face to face. His breath harsh, a whip of heat slashed her cheek, as he spoke, “‘Tis this or we go to the witches of Loust.” Carline recoiled. She shook her head back and forth, furiously, threatening to snap her neck. She refused him again.
“I will not do it! This—this, what you ask of me seems a greater atrocity than what I have done.”
“He will not be pleased,” Priest Manner threatened. His grip firmed. He leaned into her face, saying, “Do what you feel is best, but know this, you little fool. The time will come when you must answer for your sins of the flesh which can only lead to shame.” She snatched away from him. With a sense of calm, she spoke. “Open this door.” Priest Manner worked the lock until it slipped free. Carline sighed in relief. Refusing to face him, she spoke toward the entryway. “I will do anything to protect my child. Whatever it takes,” she said, with renewed confidence. She left the priest alone.
She hurried across the inner bailey.
“What brings you out and about so early?”
The sudden sound of his voice made her jump. Where did he come from? Carline thought, he hadn’t made a peep, appeared like an apparition and stood behind her. She turned around to face one of Juden’s guards.
Faison smiled at her. “What chore requires a genteel lady to awaken and leave the warmth of her bed at this hour? You are shivering.” She knew she should say something, instead she stood there silent, a viable excuse for being about at dawn had yet surfaced.
She saw his attention shift to the chapel a second before he concentrated on her again.
Faison said, “Surely you haven’t so many sins you must seek the priest’s ear before sunrise?”
“What is it you want?”
“Faison.” He finished, bowing.
“Is there something you needed?” she asked, not knowing what else to say.
“Nothing in particular, Carline, I was merely being inquisitive.”
Careful to avoid his dark and scrutinizing gaze, she kept her attention to the ground. “Then I should be on my way. If you do not mind, excuse me.”
Faison stepped aside. “When you have finished with confession you should seek the warmth of the hearth. This morning is chilly…conducive to causing an ailment.”
Carline smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate your concern,” she said and then hurried away before he questioned her further. If he believed she was going to confession that was fine by her. I have to be careful, Carline thought, making her way to the house. Now with Juden and his men about, she must remember eyes and ears were everywhere.
Chapter 13
To say Lord Horatio Drackett was outraged was an understatement.
He stomped about like a stampede, ranting and raving, intent to destroy everything in his path. In one violent sweep, he sent all the contents on the table crashing to the floor. The platter of food and glassware shattered on impact. Lord Drackett smashed the items beneath his boots, slumped down in a chair, and then glared at the object of his fury. He lifted his prominent chin, cool blue eyes, and glared at Priest Manner. “Can you not handle one stupid bitch?”
Priest Manner remained passive. Only a slight twitch of his jaw showed he was irritated. He said, “I did what I could without forcibly holding Carline against her will. I could see her mind was set…she ran from the chapel before I could persuade her to stay.”
Lord Drackett lifted the corner of his lip, sneering. “You are useless.”
Priest Manner tensed, and then relaxed. “She ran into the arms of one of Juden’s men. They exchanged words.”
Lord Drackett stopped dead, not moving. His eyes tapered. “You think she revealed something?”
Priest Manner shook his head. “I listened at the door. I could hear him speak. From what I could tell, Carline responded to whatever he asked. Their encounter was brief, and then she ran away like a frightened doe.”
“Stupid female,” Lord Drackett mumbled. His eyes flickered about, searching, and then settled on a serving girl as she crossed his path. “Bring me something to drink. I’m parched,” he shouted, causing the girl to flinch. He turned his attention to Priest Manner. A sly grin surfaced making his expression tighten. His lips flattened and disappeared into his face. He ran his fingers through his golden locks, setting the curls back off his face to reveal the defined lines of his features. With the expression he wore, the attractiveness of his strong jaw line and brilliant blue eyes turned harsh. “I wonder what brings Juden to Dandelion.” He spoke, but it was clear he didn’t expect or want a response. He continued his thread of thought, speaking aloud, “Lord DeCapri never cared a wit about his beastly brother. Why now? Why would Juden come to Dandelion? He is responsible for Carline’s sudden spine.”
Silence surfaced, and then Lord Drackett slammed his fist against the table. “I don’t like unanswered questions. Surprises.” He leaned forward, face to face, glowering at Priest Manner. His teeth set. He forced words between his teeth, saying, “Tell me you learned something of why Juden suddenly appeared.”
“Are you not more interested in Carli
ne’s refusal to do your bidding?”
“What I want to know is about Juden. The stupid cow,” he said, flipping his hand in the air, “she is of no consequences to me. Her usefulness waned for now.” He slouched back in the chair and eyed the priest. A deep-set line between his eyebrows wrinkled, he moved his fingers over the table as if he might start tapping the surface, and instead dug his fingertips into the grainy surface.
Eyes blazing, lips pinched, he looked like he might lunge at the priest. “Well? Give me answers, damnit,” Lord Drackett demanded. “Surely, you have news to tell me other than the silly girl is an idiot. I already know this. Controlling a milk cow is not an issue. She will do as I demand, one way or another. A neatly laid out plan I will put into motion shortly, but the arrival of Juden makes me reconsider matters. The variant is not to be underestimated. I need to know why he arrived, Lord DeCapri’s reasons for entertaining his brother, and then I can decide whether to go through with things as I’ve designed. You were put in place for a reason.” He pointed at Priest Manner, making a stabbing motion. “I wonder to your usefulness,” he snarled.
Before Priest Manner replied, the girl returned with a pitcher and two cups. It was obvious she tried to keep her distance from Lord Drackett. She set the items down on the table and then tried to make a quick escape. She wasn’t fast enough. Lord Drackett reached out and grabbed her arm hard enough to make the girl wince. He jerked her toward him, and slammed her against his broad chest.
“Is there something else, milord?” the girl said, visibly shaken.
Lord Drackett chuckled beneath his breath as he ran a thumb over the girl’s bodice before pinching her nipple. She cried out, and the squeal increased his arousal.
All knew Lord Drackett was unbearable when he was in what they called a “dark mood.” During this time, the slightest offense set the man into a tirade that resulted in adolescent outburst and a quick hand. He wielded his power over his people by intimidation tactics—a swift slap across the face, punch to the gut, in severe cases, he used his sword. Man, woman, or child unexcused from his venom.
Barbour, Carolina - Watch Me, Desire Me (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 8
