The Sorceror's Revenge

by Linda Sole

  Melloria crossed herself, an icy shiver trickling down her spine. Nicholas would not use sorcery to pass unseen through the castle bailey – or would he? Old Griszelda had told her once that people said Nicholas consorted with the Devil.

  It was nonsense! She had dismissed it then and she dismissed it now. Nicholas was a good man. Whatever powers he had came from learning and his skill. He used them for the good of others and she would not let superstition cloud her mind.

  Yet what had he meant about wishing to spare her from learning the extent of Robert’s black heart? What did he know that she did not?

  37

  Melloria picked up her sewing. She had abandoned the altar cloth for the moment and was using some lengths of the finest linen woven in Rheims to make a night chemise for Iolanthe. As the door opened, she glanced up and saw that Robert had finished his meeting with the steward. She inclined her head and offered him a polite greeting but she did not rise and go to him nor did she smile.

  ‘I was sent to deliver a message to the prince. He plans to visit Gascony soon, I think to avoid trouble if there is civil war,’ Robert said, his blue eyes dark and brooding as he looked at her. ‘It is almost inevitable that there will be war soon, Melloria. His Majesty bade me take you to court if you would care to come.’

  ‘I thank His Majesty for the invitation, but I prefer to stay here with my daughter.’

  ‘You know that I could compel you?’

  Melloria stood up and walked towards her bedchamber. Robert followed her. Inside, she turned to face him.

  ‘If we are to quarrel it is best that we do so in private. Lady Maria may return at any time and I would not have her hear.’

  ‘I do not wish to quarrel with you, Melloria. It is your stubbornness that makes me lose my temper. You defy me in everything and I have had enough of your reproaches. I have sent men to look for the child but she is not to be found. I am certain she is dead.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps you are right,’ Melloria said. ‘You need not search for her more, Robert. I acquit you of the charge and release you of your promise to find her.’

  ‘You release me?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Why? What are you hiding from me? Has someone been here? Have you news of the child? What have you done, Melloria – have you betrayed me again?’

  ‘If I had news I should tell my husband. Why do you accuse me, Robert? I do not know why you should think I would betray you…’ Her heart was racing. Could he know that Nicholas had been here?

  ‘I know you are hiding something.’ Robert moved towards her. His hand reached out and gripped her wrist, his fingers digging into her flesh, hurting her so that she cried out. ‘Tell me or I shall really hurt you, Melloria. You drive me beyond the point of breaking.’ His face twisted with either anguish or anger. She was not certain which emotion was uppermost in his mind.

  ‘There is nothing to tell you. I spend the days quietly with Iolanthe and your son. They fight as children will but now that Harry is with his tutors for much of the day they do not fight as much as before.’

  ‘Damn you! I know you are hiding something.’

  ‘I have nothing to tell you, Robert. If you fear I have some dark secret it is into your own mind that you should look.’

  He let go of her wrist, his face working with temper. ‘I shall leave you to reflect, Melloria. You have defied me too long. This night you will do your duty as a wife. I shall return and you will yield to me. If you do not you have only yourself to blame for what follows.’

  Melloria sank to her knees as he left her. Why had she not gone with Nicholas when he urged her? What kind of duty could she owe to such a man? She had heeded her conscience but now she wished that she had fled while she had the chance.

  * * *

  Robert sat drinking in the hall. His steward had ordered a feast to celebrate the lord’s return, and the men had eaten well and drunk deeply of the good ale served them. Robert brooded over his wine. It was the finest in his cellar but it tasted sour in his mouth, as had the succulent food served him. Melloria had sent word that she had a headache and would not join them for supper. He knew that she was deliberately defying him and the anger fermented in his guts.

  How dare she continue to defy him? Robert had heard something at court that made him suspect that Nicholas Malvern might not be dead. The King had spoken of an apothecary who had cured him of a raging toothache without extracting the tooth. The name he had used was Count Niccolai Malvolia, but the description fitted the man who had stolen Melloria’s mind and convinced her she was his wife Anne.

  Had the rogue been here in his absence? Was Melloria planning to leave him? Was she in love with the apothecary? Had she been Malvern’s wife in truth?

  Robert’s dreams had been disturbed more and more of late. He could not sleep and woke sweating and fearful, tortured by the visions of Hell that haunted his nights. Sometimes he saw demons or a fiery cavern, sometimes he felt the demons claw at his flesh and tear him with their long sharp teeth. He was suffering what the priests described as the torments of Hell, the punishment that awaited sinners after death.

  Robert’s mouth felt dry. He was not an evil man. It was his right to send for a bride on her wedding eve. He had done nothing that needed the cleansing of the confessional.

  Anger clawed at his insides. Damn the woman for fighting him and making him threaten her – and damn Melloria for loving someone else. She was his wife and yet she denied him the marriage debt. She refused to lie with him, though she knew that he could force her by law.

  Robert brooded on his grievances as the night wore on. He would not drag his wife before the Church courts but he was damned if he would put up with her refusal to do her duty any longer.

  Getting to his feet, he strode from the hall, entering his own chamber and slamming the door hard. He poured himself another glass of wine from the flask that stood by his bed and drank it straight down, then went to the door between Melloria’s chamber and his. He threw it open and entered.

  Melloria was lying in bed, her eyes closed. He sensed that she was not sleeping, just pretending, hoping that he would go away. Another night Robert might have done just that, but the bitterness was strong and his sense of injustice tasted like bile in his mouth. He reached out and pulled the cover from Melloria. Her eyes flew open and she looked at him in horror.

  The look of fear and disgust on her face maddened him. He swore and flung himself on her, pushing his face close to hers as he sought her mouth. She set it against him, rejecting his kiss and in a fury he hit her across the mouth, splitting her lip.

  ‘Damn you, Melloria,’ he grunted. ‘If you will not give I shall take.’

  ‘If you force me I shall hate you,’ she said. ‘Leave me, Robert. Do not do this thing or you will regret it.’

  ‘Be quiet, damn you,’ he muttered and grabbed her nightgown, ripping it down the front so that her pale flesh was revealed to him. He bent his head, his mouth seeking her breasts greedily. He sucked at her nipples, licking at her and kneading her with his fingers, hoping for a response. She lay still, neither fighting him nor responding. She had once been so warm and willing in his arms, and her coldness tore at his insides. ‘Bitch. You will yield.’

  Robert forced her legs wide and thrust his finger inside her, finding her dry and resistant. He moaned in frustration and slid down on her, licking at her thighs and her clitoris in an effort to make her wet but she remained dry, unmoved and unmoving.

  ‘Why do you hate me?’ he cried in a tone of anguish. ‘You were always wet and hot for me. You welcomed my loving once. Why won’t you let me love you?’

  ‘I do not love you. I hate you.’

  ‘Then it is your own fault…’ Robert said and thrust her legs apart; lying between them he drove his hard rod deep into her and heard her cry of pain. He knew that he was hurting her, tearing her because she was dry and unready, but he was too far gone to care. In his anger and frustration he thrust into her again and again until he was spent. For a moment
he lay with his full weight on her, crushing her into the feather mattress, then he rolled on to his back and grunted. ‘It was your own fault, Melloria. You made me what I am – you and you alone are to blame for this night.’

  Melloria did not answer. She lay with her eyes closed and would not open them when he left the bed. He stood beside it, willing her to open her eyes and say something. He would rather she raged at him than lay there like one of the dead, pale and silent, reproachful in her silence.

  ‘Damn you,’ he muttered. ‘Tomorrow you go to a nunnery. I have had enough of you and your holy attitude. You drove me to what I did this night. You are not blameless. You will go to the nunnery and reflect on your behaviour and your sins. When you are ready to beg me for forgiveness on your knees then I shall allow you to come home.’

  Melloria opened her eyes and looked at him then. ‘I shall never beg you,’ she said softly. ‘I shall die in the nunnery before I ask you to forgive me, Robert.’

  ‘Then you may as well take your vows, as you once threatened, because you will stay there until you do as I say – and you will not see Iolanthe until you abandon your pride and your stubbornness.’

  ‘You cannot take my child from me. She is mine, my reason for living.’

  ‘She is also my daughter and she stays here with me,’ Robert said coldly. ‘In the morning the women will pack your things. You may take some of your clothes and books, but no jewels and no money. Everything you once owned belongs to me.’

  Melloria closed her eyes. Robert stared at her furiously. If she pleaded with him for mercy he would relent even now, but she was too proud, too stubborn.

  He left her and went to his own room, slamming the door between them. His fury was such that he wanted to kill and did not trust himself to stay near the wife he had once adored. Melloria was no longer that woman. She was cold and distant to him, almost as though she was bewitched.

  If he ever met Nicholas Malvern face to face, he would kill him. Melloria belonged to him and even if she hated him, he would keep her.

  38

  Melloria glanced round the cell that was now her home. For the first few days she had been numbed with grief, unable to think clearly. If Robert had sent her to her sister at the Abbey of Saint Innocent, she might have borne her imprisonment more easily, but to be amongst strangers, kept in solitary confinement and refused access to her child was unbearable.

  She had prayed for comfort but found little. God seemed disinclined to answer her prayers, and perhaps she deserved her fate. She had stubbornly refused her duty to Robert, and she had betrayed him in her heart a thousand times. Her body had healed from the violence of his cruelty, but her heart ached.

  Would she ever see Iolanthe again, and Harry? Even though the boy was Robert’s son by the woman he had put in her place when he thought her dead, Melloria had felt affection for Harry. She knew that Iolanthe hated her father. She had never acknowledged him and spoke often of her true papa. Her love for Nicholas had been rooted deep in her heart, and she had been torn from him as a small child. Now she was once again parted from her mother. How must she be feeling?

  Melloria wept bitter tears. Would that she had fled with Nicholas when he came to her. She still did not understand how it was possible for him to come and go without being challenged, for Robert had left orders that no strangers were to be admitted without stating their business.

  Did Nicholas know what had happened to her? How could he? Even Beatrice would not know where she had been taken, unless one of her ladies told her. Melloria knew that the one slender hope she had for release was that her sister would speak to the King.

  Melloria bent her head in prayer.

  ‘Forgive me my sins, lord, for they are many. I have been disobedient and unfaithful in my thoughts and heart – yet I beg for mercy. I cannot bear my children to suffer for they will be so alone. Iolanthe has suffered enough. Please be merciful for her sake if not for mine.’

  Tears stained her face. Why should God hear her prayers when there were so many more deserving? She had brought her fate upon herself and must endure it or kneel to Robert and beg his pardon.

  She would rather die.

  * * *

  Iolanthe listened at the door that connected her mother’s chamber to the earl’s room. What was happening in there? Why did the woman cry out and moan so – and why did her father make so much noise?

  She scowled as she thought of the man who claimed to be her father. She hated him with a passion. He had taken her from her dearest Papa. It was a long time ago now and the memory was hazy, but Iolanthe remembered screaming as she was carried from the home where she had been so happy. Papa had been kind to her, loving her and kissing her, giving her presents and telling her she was his own little girl. She could remember the smell of him and his touch. He was so gentle and kind. Papa did not shout and threaten people, as the earl did. She wondered if the earl were hurting the woman in his chamber. Yet now she was laughing, as if she had enjoyed whatever they did together. Tempted to go in and see for herself, Iolanthe’s hand was on the latch, when the door opened from the hall and someone came in.

  ‘So there you are child,’ Maria said and smiled. ‘I was wondering where you had got to, Iolanthe. Remember, we were going to make a new dress for your doll this morning.’

  ‘Where is Mama? Iolanthe asked. ‘Why does that woman stay in the earl’s room? I heard them laughing. Has she come to take my mother’s place?’

  ‘Come away from there, Iolanthe.’ Maria looked disapproving and held out her hand, motioning for her to come. She pursued her mouth as there was a shout of laughter from the earl. ‘You should not come here now. It is not fitting.’

  ‘But what are they doing? Why has my mother gone away and the village woman come in her place?’

  ‘A woman like that could never take your mother’s place, child.’ Maria looked angry, which was unlike her. ‘Your mother is a great lady and she is…no better than she should be. It is disgusting that you should be subjected to such unseemly behaviour. The earl should be ashamed of himself.’

  Iolanthe looked at her. It was clear that Maria did not like the new woman. She was not sure why the earl should be ashamed but she was glad that Maria did not agree with whatever was going on. Iolanthe did not like it either. She wanted her mother and had cried every night since she went away.

  ‘Is it that woman’s fault that the earl sent my mother away?’

  ‘Not exactly but it may be because he sent Melloria away that he has brought her here. You really must not come here, dearest. I shall send to Mother Abbess and see what may be done about the situation.’ She would speak to the steward too. He had shown her some attention in the past and if he really cared for her he would bring the earl to his senses.

  * * *

  Robert left the brief interview with his steward in a foul temper. How dare the priggish fool chide him with ungodly behaviour? How could he know the torments Robert was suffering?

  For years his wife had defied him, refusing him the comfort and pleasure of her body. He pushed the memory of what he had done to her that last night from his mind. If he allowed himself to think of her white face and the way she had looked at him with dead eyes, he would be lost in Hell. A shudder went through him and he cursed.

  Damn her cheating soul to hell! He would not give into guilt or remorse, nor would he let her see Iolanthe until she sent word that she was sorry. He might spare her the humiliation of begging him to forgive her on her knees, but she must apologise and ask to return – and she must accept her duty as his wife.

  He thought of the woman waiting for him in his chamber. Alfreda was a true whore. She loved everything he did to her, accepting the worst of him. In his anger at the start, he had subjected her to things that shamed him. The thought of her riding him the previous night made his breath come faster and his stride quicken. Alfreda had not lied when she promised him that she had been born knowing how to please a man. Be damned to his wife and his steward too
. The man was a pompous fool and Robert would not be preached to in his own house. Had he not relied on the fool he would have dismissed him.

  Opening the door to his chamber, he saw Alfreda lying on the bed. She was naked, waiting for him. He stripped the clothes from his body and fell to the bed with her. ‘Open for me. I want you now.’

  ‘As my lord commands.’ Alfreda looked and sounded submissive but the moment he touched her she came to life like a dormant flame.

  Robert thrust his tongue into her mouth as he entered her, plunging deep as if he would give pain but instead of weeping, she clawed at him, urging him on, her hips grinding against his as she took him all the way to the hilt. Again and again he thrust, carried on by a tide of lust that consumed him.

  He would not give her up! He would leave Craigmoor in the morning. Iolanthe should not be exposed to lewd behaviour, as the steward claimed, but she would stay here and Melloria would remain in the nunnery.

  ‘I want you to ride me,’ he said. ‘I want to see you come and hear you scream.’

  ‘What of the servants?’

  ‘Be damned to them all. I am master here. Tomorrow I shall leave the castle. I shall give you costly clothes and jewels of your own – providing you continue to surprise and please me.’

  ‘I can please you,’ Alfreda said and knelt on the bed. Robert lay back and let her have her way. She was coarse and common but beautiful and she pleased him, gave him back his pride.

  Yet as he came and came again in her, he knew that it was still his wife he wanted and always would.