by Shea,Lisa
Her voice rang out, challenging him. “I was given over to a coward, and if there were any way for me to undo this bond while keeping the Beadnell lands safe, I would take it!”
The room went dead silent, and Barnard’s eyes burned into her with the heat of a thousand suns. Constance found she was shaking with passion, fear, and exhaustion. She could not un-say what she had just shouted. God only knew what Barnard would do to her now.
Barnard’s eyes slowly swept the room, and Constance could see what he found there – dislike, disdain, and disapproval. Charles had come to join the group, with Alison and Gaynor right behind him. All three stared coldly at Barnard.
Barnard brought his gaze back to stare down at Constance. “I see now that your stay here has tainted you; your disposition is normally tolerable at best, and now it more closely resembles the ill-mannered family your brother has married into.”
Alison and Gaynor both drew breath, aghast, and Charles’ eyes became steely. Barnard did not hesitate; his orders came swiftly and without equivocation.
“It is time you were back home fully under my control where you belong. If your coach were here we would leave immediately. As it is, you and I will return home at first light tomorrow morning, doctors’ orders be damned.” He looked up, his eyes searching out one of his guards. “You there, go back and ensure the coach is ready at dawn.” The man bowed and fled from the room.
Barnard’s eyes rose to hold Gabriel’s with an open challenge as he continued to bark orders at Constance. “If you are healthy enough to fight with me, you are healthy enough for your other intimate duties as well. You will join me in our bed … now.”
Gabriel went very still. Constance could see the tension in every muscle. She had seen this look before, knew the myriad signals broadcasting that he was preparing to launch his attack. His hand slid slowly down the hilt of his blade.
Constance could not let it happen. If Gabriel attacked Barnard, no court would justify the action. He would be hung … put to death …
Anything was better than that consequence.
She tossed back her head in challenge, knowing she would have to goad Barnard to distract him from the rising threat in Gabriel’s stance. She forced her voice to be calm, almost disdainful.
“You have shown no interest in me these past five years, My Lord. I thought you were becoming interested in a position with a monastery. Fine, then, let us see if you still have the energy to be a man.” She gazed dismissively at him, then turned and began striding purposefully up the stairs.
She sighed in both relief and nervousness as she heard him turn, heard the fast footsteps come up behind her to join her. Whatever came next, she had lured him away from Gabriel, had bought them some time.
She steeled her inner strength as Barnard stalked into her room after her, as he turned to drop the heavy bar across the door with a solid thud.
He strode over toward her, ripping loose the laces of her tunic with one hand, yanking the material down with a savage fierceness she had not seen before. She did not resist as he pulled the tunic down to her waist, then slammed one hand against the chemise at her chest, searching.
His voice was terse. “You do not have your medallion,” he snapped, his eyes sharp on her.
She dropped her eyes. “You ordered me to destroy it,” she responded simply. He had her at his mercy, here in this room. She did not want to goad him into a rage. She knew it was a lie of omission to hedge like this, and mentally promised to pray out her sins as soon as possible.
He held his hand there, against her body, and she felt his eyes searing into her.
“At this fair … was Gabriel there?”
She turned away, flushing crimson at the thought. Yes, Gabriel had been there. He had become still with shock when he saw the medallion in her hand. He had bought it instantly for her, no haggling, no questions. He had been like a man driven …
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice low.
Barnard stripped the tunic off of her in one fierce move. He pressed her down onto her bed, climbing on top of her and staring down at her with fierce possessiveness.
“Did he buy the medallion for you?” he snapped, his eyes bright with dawning realization.
Constance could not lie. Not about something as important as this – not about the pendant which had kept her strong, had kept her sane.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice more steady.
Barnard’s face mottled with rage. “You knew he had the matching pendant!” he screamed with fury. “You knew he was pledging himself to you!”
“No!” shot out Constance immediately.
She barely saw Barnard’s fist flying toward her face, barely had time to turn before it slammed into the side of her head. Her world burst into brilliant flares of pain. She screamed in agony; the waves of torment which followed left her gasping for breath.
“Do not lie to me, whore!” cried Barnard, his hand raised again. She could see blood on his knuckles, could taste its metallic tang in her mouth. Her vision unfocused, then came back into alignment. She struggled to see through the shimmering waves, to focus on survival.
“I swear I speak the truth,” she gasped, and the knowledge flooded through her, filling her with anguish. She drew in long, deep breaths. “Gabriel never told me he had a medallion,” she added in a whisper, her heart torn. The pain became visceral, became a swamp which enveloped her entire being.
Why had he not told her of her medallion’s true origin? Undoubtedly it had belonged to his mother, and had been stolen or lost long ago. Why had he not told her of the one he carried? That she had worn hers all those years, not realizing …
There was no further blow, no motion from the man above her. She warily looked up again, and saw an expression of understanding dawn on Barnard’s face. “It seems you were in fact deceived,” he murmured slowly, a cynical smile spreading. “It serves you right. Your little boy toy is not so noble after all, is he?” He chuckled for a moment. “I wonder what he is doing this very moment, knowing that you are mine, that you are in my bed, feeling my hands upon you …”
Constance blanched, her stomach roiling, her head throbbing. Barnard slid her chemise up in one quick movement, exposing her lower half, and then began fumbling at his pants. Constance did not resist or turn. Once, years ago, she had gone through this process almost willingly, hoping to grow a bond between herself and her new ally. She had dreams of children to love, a family to nurture. Now she fought off a shiver as his cold and clumsy fingers grasped at her, as he slid himself up against her with insistent focus. Fighting him off would only bring more pain. Best to endure as best she could, and get this over with as quickly as possible.
But … nothing was happening. Confused, she looked up at Barnard. The look on his face was … frustration? Anger? She realized suddenly that he had not entered her because he could not. Despite his best efforts, he was completely limp.
Constance bit her lip and turned her face away, willing herself to portray no emotion. She lay absolutely still. If she sent Barnard into a rage with a look, a sign …
Barnard rolled off her with an angry growl. “That medallion is cursed,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I will have no peace while I am under the same roof with it.” Constance laid stock still as he climbed out of bed and reassembled his clothing. He ran his eyes over her with dismissive contempt.
“I will not stay one second longer in this damned house,” he shot out hotly. “I ride at once. I expect you to follow in the coach at first light tomorrow morning.” His voice took on a more sinister tone. “I will send an armed guard with it to ensure you follow my orders.”
Constance fought to hold her face motionless. A steely resolve coalesced in her core. She would never return to Barnard’s keep, never put herself under his control again. She would find some solution – any solution – to ensure the Beadnell villagers’ safety. One that did not require her to maintain this charade of a marriage any further.
; Barnard’s eyes narrowed, and a cold grin spread across his face. “Thinking of following through on that little threat of yours earlier, are you? The whole land thinks we are married. That gives me legal rights over you. You are my property. Just as the Beadnell lands are my property.”
Constance could not help herself, the wound was too raw. Against every instinct screaming in her body, she found herself whispering, “you are not my husband.”
Barnard’s grin grew wider. “I am afraid, my dear, that I have legal documentation that proves I am indeed your lord and master.”
Constance’s blood ran cold. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
Barnard straightened out his tunic with a look of keen satisfaction. “A forgery, of course, but completely legitimate looking. You would never convince anyone, after all this time, that it was anything but authentic.” His eyes narrowed. “You will be on that coach in the morning, or I will bring the full power of my estate against your brother’s keep – and the backing of every lawman in the region will be on my side.”
Constance turned away, her world crashing in on her, feeling as if she were sliding into a black pit with no bottom. She was lost. She was hopelessly lost.
There was a long moment of silence. She heard the bolt slide free, and the door open and then close again as he left the room. Constance pulled herself away from the abyss and moved into desperate action. The moment the door was closed again, she flew from the bed to slide the bolt quietly, carefully, into the sealed position again. She stood by the door shaking, waiting – but he did not return. She heard the sound of raised voices from the main hall, but could not make out any words. Then nothing.
She waited … waited … there was the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway to her door. Audrey’s quiet voice came hesitantly through the solid wood.
“Constance, are you all right?”
Constance leant back against the door, closing her eyes, fighting away the dizziness. She did not want to deal with questions, did not want to think about what tomorrow held for her. She wanted time to stop …
Audrey’s voice cracked with concern. “Constance?!”
Constance suddenly realized that Charles and Gabriel were likely to break down the door if she did not at least give an answer.
“I … I am fine,” she called through the door, trying to keep her voice even.
There was a moment of low murmuring, then silence. Audrey’s voice was gentle. “Please let me in.”
Constance shook her head, and immediately her world grew fuzzy. A warm rivulet of blood trickled down her cheek. The thought concerned her. If she was going to be able to plan any sort of action, she needed all of her wits about her – and her senses. Still, not Audrey …
“Send Ralph in, please – and only Ralph,” she requested in resignation. She slid the bar back from the door, and stayed behind it as Ralph pushed it open and walked into the room. He looked around in surprise, then turned as she pushed the door shut behind him.
“Oh, Constance,” he groaned as he looked at her face, stepping closer.
“You have seen worse, I am sure,” she pointed out pragmatically, standing stoically beneath his scrutiny. “The pain is intense, but I am hoping the injury is superficial.”
He stepped forward, using his sleeve to carefully mop away the blood from her forehead. “Head wounds always bleed a lot,” he murmured to himself, “even if they are minor.” He probed gently for a few minutes, then looked down at her.
“It will leave a nasty bruise, but if we can stop the bleeding, you should recover soon enough.”
“A steak, then,” she requested, relieved at the diagnosis. “Could you bring one, please? With a mug of mead?”
Ralph nodded and left the room quickly. Constance leant back against the door, closing her eyes with exhaustion. Barnard swore he would attack her brother if she did not return to his home. The war would tear the lands apart – and the bandits would have easy pickings from the survivors. But to willingly go back into Barnard’s power …
There was a knocking at the door, and she slid it open again, reaching out to take the mead from Ralph’s hand.
It was not Ralph. Gabriel stood there, mug of mead in one hand, steak in the other, a shocked look on his face.
His voice was rough. “God’s blood, I will kill him.”
Ralph stumbled into the room, his tunic askew. “I am sorry, My Lady. He saw the blood -”
Constance shook her head. “It is all right, Ralph. Leave us, please.”
Ralph retreated, pulling the door shut behind him. Gabriel stood still for a moment, then set the items on a side table. He stepped forward to wrap an arm around Constance’s waist, carefully helping her to sit on the bed.
“Connie, what have you gotten yourself into,” he murmured softly, his voice almost breaking. He reached over to take the steak, sitting beside her and pressing it carefully to the side of her head.
It was so familiar to Constance. The gentle way he had tended to her after their training rounds, caring for the numerous scrapes and bruises she collected so easily. She found herself leaning against him, and his arm came up around her shoulder as it always had.
“Oh, Gabe,” she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder.
He ran his fingers through her hair, pressing a gentle kiss down on the top of her head. “Please tell me this is the first time he has hit you,” he asked, almost hesitantly.
She nodded against his chest. “The first … and the last,” she vowed.
“Tell me how I can help,” he insisted, his voice full of steel.
Constance thought for a long moment of telling Gabriel the full truth, that she was not married to Barnard, that she was a free woman. She knew how that discussion would end. Gabriel would insist she go with him, to hole up at his ocean-side keep. Barnard would then produce his illegitimate marriage documents and level kidnapping charges against Gabriel. The full might of the justice system would slam down on Gabriel’s neck. There was no way he would survive that full-on onslaught.
She would not take that path. There had to be another solution.
Constance took in a deep breath, then let it out again. She reached over for the mead, taking in a long swallow.
“If I could do this on my own, I would,” she stated quietly. “I hate to involve you in this; crossing Barnard could cause you no end of trouble.”
“Do not even think of keeping me out of this,” bit out Gabriel tersely. “If you try, I will just follow you on my own.”
“I know,” Constance soothed, patting his hand. “He insists I return to his home – but he gave me leave to go to the nunnery for two weeks. I never had that time there.”
“The … nunnery?” asked Gabriel, his expression torn between hope and concern. “You are not thinking -”
Constance shook her head, wincing at the pain that came with the motion. “I just need time to think. I cannot stay here – and I cannot go home. I need a safe haven where I can gain some breathing room.” She turned to look out the window at the stars in the night sky. “If I can get to the nunnery, that should give me at least two weeks, if not more. Maybe something will come to me during that time.”
“It is a start at least,” agreed Gabriel resolutely. “However, it will be a race. If we leave at first light, the coach team will send the alert back to Barnard. He will then send an intercept group to block your flight.”
Constance nodded in agreement, her mind clicking through the possible moves. “I imagine the ambush would be laid at the bridge at the old ford. His team could try to make it there just before we did. That would give him a choke point to stop us. If we took the ride at a fast canter, we could clear that an hour earlier than he could, easily. Maybe even two.”
Gabriel looked into her eyes with concern. “Are you sure you are up to that?” He lifted the steak away for a moment, checking her wound. A black anger moved into his eyes, then dissipated again as he forced it away. “You should rest f
or a day … maybe two …”
“I do not have the luxury,” pointed out Constance. “If I get a solid night’s rest, then yes – I will make the ride. I need to.”
“Ralph will come with us, and perhaps some of your brother’s men -”
Constance shook her head. “I cannot bring a war down on Charles’ head. Also, Ralph is Barnard’s man and -”
“Ralph is your man,” corrected Gabriel. “You can ask him yourself, of course, but I know his answer. He will go with you, rather than return to Barnard.”
“Will the three of us be enough?” asked Constance with concern.
“For the likes of the soldiers Barnard will ‘spare’ to bring you in?” snorted Gabriel with the hint of a smile. “We will be more than enough.”
Constance allowed herself a wry grin. “Then I will leave my fate in your hands,” she agreed softly, looking up at him.
She melted as she saw the tender look in his eyes, a gaze full of longing and protectiveness. He lingered for a long moment, then leant forward to press his lips gently to her forehead.
“I must go make plans, if we are to succeed. In the meantime, you need every moment of rest you can manage.” He paused for a minute, looking down at her. “Sleep well,” he rasped gently, then stood and walked slowly to the door. She saw several people gathered around the door as he left, and in a moment Audrey came in to help her into bed. Constance allowed herself to be guided under the covers, and in a moment she was falling fast asleep.
Chapter 16
Constance woke to a throbbing headache, a feeble thread of early morning sunlight entering the room. She rolled over and buried her head back into her pillow.
The knocking came again, more insistently. She sprung awake suddenly, the events of the previous day flooding back to her. She sat awake in the bed, pulling the blanket up around her. The room swayed dangerously, then settled back down again.
“Come in,” she called out in concern.
Audrey entered the room at once, bustling around her. “The coach is here, and they are becoming agitated. M’Lord and Ralph are both ready to ride, and your horse is prepared as well. The moment you leave, Lord Barnard’s men will head back to alert him, so it is important you get out as soon as you can so you can make it to your aunt’s by nightfall.”
