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

cheeks. "So, you are a royal whore. And where did John take you? On a bed trimmed with cloth of gold? No matter. For me you lie on the floor where you belong. "

He stooped and picked up the broad leather belt he had dropped with the rest of his clothes. "Lie down, Matilda, or I will give you the thrashing you deserve. "

Behind them the music began again suddenly, thin and breathy, unrelated to the darkness of the chamber, the flaring smoky torches in the sconces, or the bittersweet smoke of the fire. Outside the wind had begun to moan gently across the hills, an eerie, dismal sound, as lonely as the cry of the hungry wheeling buzzard, riding the currents below the streaming clouds.

Matilda did not move. Her eyes narrowed scornfully. "You resort so easily to violence. You are like an animal, my lord. What you cannot take by force you wish to destroy. " She saw his hand tighten on the leather thong and she felt a quick pang of fear, but she did not move. "I have often wondered why you have never beaten me, " she said half thoughtfully. "You have often wanted to. " She smiled at him. "Perhaps you have never dared. "

He stared down into the mocking amber eyes. The sorceress. The witch. Did she know then that he was afraid of her? He clenched his fist tighter on the belt, resisting the urge to cross himself with his free hand. He must take her now, while his desire was hot, while his anger sustained him. Whip her and mount her and by God's bones he was not too old to get her with child again. A trueborn child to replace the bastard girl he had given to the Welsh.

He stepped forward, his arm raised, and brought down the leather thong across her shoulders with every inch of strength he possessed.

He heard the air whistle out of her lungs as the blow fell, but apart from that she did not make a sound. For an instant he saw fear in her eyes, then hatred—then, as he raised his arm for the second blow, she threw back her head and laughed. The sound rang out, wild and mocking, and he felt his desire shrivel and die as he heard it. Goose pimples raised on the flesh across his shoulders. With an oath he dropped the belt and groped at his feet for his tunic.

"So be it, " he breathed. "You may laugh now, my lady. You may call up whatever demons protect you and scorn me now, but mine shall be the last laugh. Stay here! Stay in your castle, my lady! Stay in the past and lick your wounds. Stay there!"

He swung his mantle over his shoulder and walked out of the chamber.

Dry-eyed, Matilda climbed to her feet. She picked up her cloak and wrapped it around her tightly, trying to stem the sudden, agonized shuddering that racked her body, then wearily she climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers over her.

Only then did she realise the music was still playing softly in a dark corner near the window.

Chapter 29

There was a persistent knocking somewhere in the distance. Judy dragged herself up out of the fog of sleep and groped for her bedside clock. It was three-fifteen.

With a groan she sat up and reached for her bathrobe. Staggering slightly, she switched on the bedside lamp and pushed open the door into the studio. It was quite dark in there, the smell of turpentine and oil paint pleasingly overlaid with beeswax. She sniffed appreciatively; smells were always so much stronger and better defined in the darkness.

After snapping on a single spotlight in the corner, she made her way to the door. Behind her the new canvas, nearly finished, stood alone in the center of the floor, and she glanced at it possessively as she passed. Totally absorbed, she had been working on it, in spite of the lack of light, until nearly two.

"Who is it?" she called. She slipped the chain into place. "Stop making such a noise and tell me what you want. "

"It's me, Sam Franklyn. " The knocking stopped abruptly.

"Do you know what time it is?" Cautiously she opened the door and peered through the crack.

Sam was leaning against the wall. His shirt was unbuttoned and he carried his jacket over his shoulder, his finger hooked through the loop. Slightly bleary-eyed, obviously tired, he was, she realized for the first time with a sudden sense of shock, as handsome in his own way as his brother. With an obvious effort he stepped forward and pushed at the door, swearing violently as the chain caught it and held it fast, bruising his knuckles. "Open up, Judy, for God's sake. I need to talk to someone. "

"Someone? Anyone?" She stared at him indignantly. "Are you drunk, Sam?" She reached for the light switch by the door and flooded the studio behind her with light as the fluorescent strips clicked on. After pushing the door almost shut, she slipped off the chain.

"No, I'm not drunk. " Sam walked in past her. "But I would tike to be. Do you have anything here to create the desired effect?"

Judy raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "If it were up to the Franklyns I wouldn't have much left for anyone to get drunk on! Anyway, I thought you were a coffee addict. "

He grinned at her, but there was no humor in his eyes. "Coffee up till two perhaps, but then Scotch. "

She shrugged. "One. Then you can go home. I'm sick of you and Nick using this place as a railway station bar! What's the matter anyway?"

"The matter? Why should anything be the matter?"

Judy found the bottle of Scotch in the kitchen cabinet and brought it back into the studio. "People don't usually arrive here at three in the morning wanting a drink without something being the matter, " she said curtly. "Is