Page 68 of The Forsaken
Hugh and Guy had returned the day before—tired, hungry, and desperate for a wash after camping out on the field outside Bamburgh Castle for over a month and not bothering to shave or partake in anything more than a compulsory wash. Even Walter had sported a sparse beard, of which he’d been exceedingly proud. Joan had spent hours heating water, while Alf and Walter carried up steaming buckets to Hugh’s and Guy’s rooms, along with their newly sharpened daggers so they could shave. They’d emerged by suppertime, looking like they’d shaved a decade off their appearance. Aileen had put an arm over her nose when she collected their clothes and hose. No words had been needed to express how foul they smelled. Walter had had to wait his turn for a bath, but he’d been pleased as punch when he finally got his turn and washed away the sweat and grime of the past weeks. He’d considered keeping the beard, but Aileen had shaken her head when he asked if he should let it grow, and handed him his dagger and a small looking glass, making a shaving gesture with her hand. Walter had taken her advice. They’d all had a pleasant supper together, and Hugh and Guy had regaled everyone with stories ofthe siege. Even Adam had been allowed to join the adults so he could enjoy the evening until being sent off to bed.
Now, the morning after the Earl of Stanwyck’s supper, Kate carefully inched away from Hugh so as not to wake him.
His arm shot out and grabbed her about the waist. “Don’t go,” he said sleepily. “I’ve missed you.”
Kate froze. Hugh’s words could mean only one thing, and every fiber of her being screamed in protest. He’d had a go at her as soon as he was done with his bath after returning from the siege, then again after supper, and last night when they’d returned from the feast in the early hours. Kate’s tender flesh was sore and her thighs were sticky with Hugh’s seed.
“Hugh, please,” she whispered in desperation.
He rolled on top of her, pinned her wrists to the bed, and gave her an unfocused stare. “Please what?” he growled.
Kate was surprised that after the amount of wine and mead he’d consumed last night he was even awake, much less coherent. “Please, not again,” she said, her voice barely audible. This was the first time since they’d married that she’d shown a reluctance to perform her wifely duty.
Hugh’s eyes opened wide, no longer clouded with drink and sleep, and his mouth twisted into a grimace of fury. The slap that followed left Kate reeling, more with shock than pain. Her teeth rattled with the force of Hugh’s anger and tears sprang to her eyes. He had never struck her before.
“Not again?” Hugh hissed as he pushed up her nightdress and drove his knee between her legs. “Not again? You ungrateful bitch. You should be thankful that I still want to fuck you, seeing as you’ve given me no children in nearly two years of marriage.” He rammed into her with the full force of his body and Kate cried out in pain. Thrusting hard, he muttered under his breath, “And now your sire’s gone and gotten married, and begot himself anotherbrat. You know what this means, sweetness, don’t you? You’re useless to me. You’ll inherit nothing.”
Kate whimpered as Hugh drove into her again and again, his desire fueled by anger.
“I’ll ride you as often as I want when I’m at home, and if you ever try to deny me again, you’ll suffer a lot worse than a slap. Is that clear?” he demanded when he finally finished and rolled off her.
“Yes,” Kate whispered.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes,” she said louder.
“Yes, what?” Hugh taunted her.
“Yes, my lord.”
“That’s better. Now get out of my sight.”
Kate grabbed her clothes and ran from the room, tears streaming down her face. Hugh had never shown such cruelty toward her before, not even when he’d been disappointed or upset. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened in anger when she displeased him, but he’d always kept a rein on his feelings and managed to maintain a veneer of civility. The weeks away had done something to him. Kate wasn’t sure if it was the frustration of the siege or the news of her father’s marriage and new child, but Hugh was smoldering with resentment, and she was the easiest target for his fury.
She stepped into the still-dark Lady Chamber and pulled on her gown with shaking hands. It took her several minutes to do up the laces of the bodice since she couldn’t seem to coordinate her movements, and her legs were wobbly. Her hair tumbled down her back, making it more difficult to tie the bows. Once the garment was finally fastened, Kate sat down heavily on the settle, still shaken, and squeezed her legs in an effort to stem the pain. Herwomb throbbed from Hugh’s onslaught, and she thought she might be bleeding. She considered going into the kitchen get some water to wash, but Joan would already be up, stoking up the fire in the great hearth and putting on broth to warm for their breakfast.
Thinking of her father, Kate wished she could have a cup of mead to numb the pain in her heart. He hadn’t replied to any of her letters, not even the one she’d written after her mother died. Gerard Dancy had cut her out of his heart, and now he’d cut her out of his family. His newborn son stood to inherit everything and Kate was dispossessed. Hugh wouldn’t see another pfennig of Lord Dancy’s great wealth unless her baby brother didn’t survive, which was something she could never wish for, not even to avoid Hugh’s wrath. Her father was forty-four. He could still have several children—siblings Kate would never meet. She longed to visit the Grange and meet her stepmother and hold her baby brother, but that was not to be. Ever. She was completely and utterly dependent on her husband, who at this moment loathed her and blamed her for his disappointed hopes.
Kate shivered. Her feet were numb and her arms broke out in gooseflesh. The keep was as cold as a tomb. It was cold even on the warmest days of summer, but in the beginning of January, when the wind howled outside and snow drifts came to the knee, it was practically uninhabitable. She abandoned the Lady Chamber and walked down the corridor toward the chapel. It was no warmer there, but it was a place where she felt secure and more at peace. She was a few feet from the door when Guy’s face loomed out of the dark, the whites of his eyes illuminated by the tiny flame from his candle.
“Kate, are you all right? I thought I heard you crying.” Guy held the candle up to Kate’s face. His hand went to her cheek, gently touching the reddened spot Hugh had slapped. “Why did he hit you?” he asked softly.
“It was my fault,” Kate replied. “It’s nothing. Go back to bed, Guy.”
“I’ll be right back,” Guy said as he disappeared down the corridor.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the dark chapel, but didn’t kneel on a prie-dieu. Instead, she wrapped her arms about her and stood still, listening to the moaning of the wind outside.
Guy slipped into the chapel a few moments later. He wrapped a fur from his bed around Kate’s shoulders and touched the flame of his candle to the tall candles beside the altar. Then, he turned to study Kate’s face as she huddled into the warmth of the fur.
“Why did he hit you?” he asked again.
“I tried to deny him,” she confessed.
“I see.” Guy looked murderous.
“It was my fault, Guy. Please, let it be,” Kate pleaded, suddenly terrified that he would confront Hugh. His interference, although no doubt well meant, would only make things worse for her.
