Lady of Hay by Barbara Erskine (reading an ebook TXT) 📕

did not dare to look at his face as, suddenly terrified by the audacity of what she had said, she backed away from him. He was breathing fast, his eyes narrowed, his fist clenched on the hilt of his dagger as he watched her, and she felt her bones dissolve in an icy trickle of terror as, slowly, he began to unbuckle his belt. He laid his dagger aside, on the improvised table, then he turned to her again. "You may be no whore yet, my lady, " he snarled, "though some would beg to question your innocence when they speak of your friendship with Lord de Clare. Oh, yes!" He laughed again. "You color and look away. So modest and so shy, madam. Yet your tongue betrays you for a shrew and, by God's bones, I'll make a whore of you as well! Sir William would not begrudge me a night with his lady, I'll warrant. He follows my star closely. You should do the same. When I'm king I shall remember my friends. " He moved purposefully toward her. "And I shall also remember my enemies, madam. "

She tried to dodge away around the blocks of stone toward the archway that led to the spiral stairs and to escape, but John was there, barring her way.

"Which are you, Matilda?" he whispered, breathing heavily. "My friend or my enemy?"

"Neither, Your Highness. I am the wife of one of your brother Richard's most loyal subjects—" She broke off, biting her lip, seeing the blind fury in his face as she mentioned the king's name, cursing herself for her tactlessness. "And we shall be yours too, sire, should you succeed him, " she rushed on, backing away again. "Your friends—your loyal friends—" She gave a little cry as he lunged forward and caught her arm and pushed her, stumbling, toward the pile of blankets.

He threw her down and stood for a moment over her, staring down in cold triumph. "Then prove your loyalty, madam, " he breathed.

"No!" She tried to crawl away, dragging herself across the piled furs, hampered by her heavy skirts. "Your Highness, please! Think of Isabella. You break your vows of knighthood, sire—"

Her anguished cry turned to a scream as, with an oath, he threw himself on her, pushing her violently over onto her back, one hand clamped over her mouth as she tried to scream again, the other groping for her throat.

"Silence, woman!" he hissed. "Do you want the entire garrison here as spectators to our lust?"

She was struggling desperately against him, afraid now only of the pitiless fingers tightening around her throat as she fought for breath, clawing frantically at his hands, hearing nothing but the roaring in her ears as her struggles grew weaker. Then everything grew dark and she lay still.

She felt herself moved, her kirtle stripped from her, her gown unlaced and pulled from her body, and she was lying naked on the furs before the fire, struggling for breath through a swollen half-closed throat. Through the darkness she saw his face above her, his eyes intense, blue as the unfathomable sky, his hair and beard gold in the flickering light of the flames. Then all went black once more.

His lips took hers, his tongue moistening her dry mouth, his hands crushing her breasts before moving on to caress her body and push demandingly between her thighs. She did not struggle, scarcely conscious anymore of what he did to her, seeing the arched vaults of the roof, smoky and dark above his shoulders, spin and recede into the darkness, flicker in the firelight, and grow dark once more. He took her again and again, seemingly unconcerned whether she lived or died, venting his fury and his lust on her acquiescent body, then he pulled her roughly over onto her face and threw himself on her again. Her single agonized scream, dragged in pain and humiliation from her bruised throat as he drove deep inside her, was lost in the rancid sheep's wool of the fleece that filled her mouth and nose.

It was a long time before she realized that he had at last moved away from her. Her bruised body, spreadeagled over the untidy heap of blankets, refused for a moment to respond as she tried to ease her position, wanting to curl up against the cold that hit her now the sweating body of the man left her uncovered. With a groan she rolled onto her side and managed to drag the fleece over her, then she lay still, her eyes still closed, her body a mass of aching bruises.

John had pulled on his tunic and mantle. Buckling on his belt with its jeweled dagger, he turned to her at last and stood looking down at her for several moments. Then he smiled. "If you will excuse me, Lady Matilda, " he said softly, "I will go and see that the horses are comfortable and fed. " She heard him cross the room and run down the steps. He did not come back.

She did not move for a long time, then, driven by cold as the fire died, she dragged herself to her feet and, still dizzy and confused, groped wearily for her clothes before taking wood from the basket and dropping it on the cooling embers.

For ages she stood rigid by the fire as it blazed up again, then at last, weary beyond endurance, she sank to her knees and, wrapping herself in her cloak, rested her head on her arms on one of the upturned boxes.

She slept fitfully, half listening for John's returning footsteps, but they did not come. Toward dawn she fell more deeply asleep for a while and then awoke abruptly when somewhere just outside the window of the keep a cock crowed. She was painfully stiff and very cold. The fire had died to white ashes and through the badly improvised shutters in the windows the cold morning light stretched across the floor. A pool of dull