Dame Agnes smiled. It was a nice smile to Hastings, even though the old woman was missing most of her teeth. “You keep your head about you, Hastings. You hold firm. A woman bends, that you must remember, but she can still keep her place unto herself. Our new lord, he is a mystery, but he is still just a man, and no man I’ve ever heard of can hide himself for very long.”
“I dare say his marten won’t let him.”
“Ah, the marten. A strange companion for a warrior. Now, little pet, let me assist you in your night shift. I
t belonged to your mother. I have been keeping it safe for you.”
“Why should I wear it tonight? He will not come. He swore to me that he would not.”
“Ah, I had forgotten that. Aye, just wear your shift. There’s my little pet. You will sleep now. Hear the storm. You have always loved the storm blowing in from the sea. Let it give you sweet dreams.”
Dame Agnes leaned down, pulled the soft wool blanket to Hastings’s throat, and kissed her cheek. She pulled her fingers through her thick hair. “How beautiful you are, Hastings, with your lovely chestnut hair, just like your mother’s. And those green eyes of yours, aye, they’re more vivid than the moss in the Pevensey Swamp. And now, you are my lady. I will inform the servants that they are now to curtsy when they see you and not just sing out your name as all of them have done since you were a tiny little mite.”
Hastings just smiled. It was difficult to believe all these changes could occur overnight.
The bedchamber was dark. The rain pounded against the closed wooden shutters that covered the only window in her room. She listened to the roiling waves crash against the ancient rocks some sixty feet below. She was lucky, all in all. She wouldn’t have to leave her home as did most girls when they wedded. So she was beautiful, was she? She wondered if her new husband believed her beautiful. He probably didn’t care.
The last thought in her mind as she fell asleep was of the marten, lightly snoring, his face cupped in Severin’s hand. A large hand, callused and strong, the nails clean. She shivered.
The dream wasn’t sweet and vague as her dreams usually were during a storm. She felt someone pull down the blanket. She heard someone breathing close to her face. She was cold. She shivered. Hands were touching her, untying the ribbons of her shift.
Her eyes flew open. There was a single candle burning next to her narrow bed. She looked up into the eyes of her husband.
“You’re awake. Good. Hold still so I can take off your shift.”
He was no dream. He was here in her bedchamber. “What are you doing? You said you would leave me alone tonight.” He said nothing and she began to struggle, hard, and soon she was panting. “What are you doing here? Damn you, you lied.” She jerked away from him, but only for an instant. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
She yelled again, “You lied! You aren’t to be here. You swore you wouldn’t bother me this night.”
He was pulling on the ties of her shift. But he was clumsy. With a growl, he grabbed the soft cotton in his hands and yanked it apart, the ripping sound obscene in the small bedchamber.
He grunted as he stared down at her breasts.
He whipped away the blanket and looked down the length of her. He leaned down to pull off her torn shift. “Nay,” she shouted, and jerked up her legs. She struck him squarely in the chest. It knocked him off balance and he careened backward, flailing the air with his arms until he regained his balance.
She saw his anger, indeed, she felt it, and knew she wouldn’t like what he would do. She knew she should lie upon her back and just let him have his way. But she couldn’t. She struggled up onto her knees. She flung out her hands to ward him off. “Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie. I meant what I said to you, but now everything is different. I now have no choice. Hold still. Stop fighting me.” He was on her, pulling her onto her back, lying by her side, holding her still with an arm over her chest and one of his legs covering hers.
He jerked up the shift, baring her to her waist. He stilled, but just a moment.
Then his hand was prying open her legs. She felt his fingers touching her, pushing into her, and she cried out.
He cursed, low and long. He probed more with his fingers. She flinched and struggled. Suddenly he left her. He walked to the small table with its narrow mirror. He was looking at the jars on top of the table. He opened one, smelled it, then nodded. She watched him smear a goodly amount of the cream on his fingers. Then he turned back to her. God, what was he going to do with that cream? Stuff it down her throat? He would poison her now that he had what he wanted? Since she was fighting him, he no longer cared if she lived or died?
She leapt from the bed and ran to the door. She heard him curse her, but she was fast. She got the door open and was into the corridor, the hard stone cold and sharp beneath her bare feet. In the next instant she ran into someone. Strong hands went around her upper arms.
“Hastings, stop it.”
It was Lord Graelam. He shook her, then pulled her against him. She realized dimly that she was wearing only a shift that was nearly ripped from neck to hem. She jerked back to see him in the dim light. She was shaking violently, all rational thought fled from her brain. “Graelam, please listen to me. He lied. He is here to hurt me. You must not let him, Graelam. He promised to wait. Please.”
“Hold still,” Graelam said. He looked to see Severin standing in the open doorway. “You plan to hurt her?”
Severin raised his hand. “Look you, Graelam. My fingers are covered with cream to ease my member into her. She’s drier than the Saracen desert.”
He took a step toward her.
“No!” She managed to jerk away from Graelam, but he caught her quickly enough.