Page 92 of The Forsaken
“Of course I will. And, Seth, if you want to come visit, after the baby is born, I’d be very glad to see you.”
“Can I bring Kathy?”
“Of course. I’d love to see her again. She was so kind to me, to all of us.”
“Quinn, thank you for calling. You have no idea how happy you’ve made me. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I…”
“You don’t need to say it, not if you don’t feel it. The fact that you want to give me another chance is enough. I’ll speak to you soon, yeah?”
“Yes, I promise. I’ll ring you next week.”
“Deal. Good night, my girl. And give my regards to Gabe and Emma. I look forward to seeing them as well.”
“Good night.”
Quinn disconnected the call and set her mobile aside. Why had she been so reluctant to call Seth? It seemed silly now. She felt good after speaking to him, and loved, something she never felt from Sylvia. Seth was right; perhaps not all was lost. Sylvia wasn’t the mother Quinn had dreamed of, but she had an amazing brother in Logan and a father who genuinely cared for her. Perhaps, in time, her family would grow. She still held out hope for Jude, and her heart filled with longing at the thought of meeting Quentin. No, not all was lost.
FIFTY-FIVE
DECEMBER 1464
Berwick-Upon-Tweed, Northumberland
The bleak light of a winter dawn was just creeping in through the arrow-shaft window when Kate woke with a start. The fire had burned down during the night and the temperature in the room had plummeted. Her breath escaped from her mouth in gossamer clouds and she burrowed deeper beneath the covers and furs that were piled on the bed to keep her and Hugh warm during the night. Something had woken her, but for a moment, she wasn’t sure what it was since all was quiet and still.
Kate turned onto her side and was about to go back to sleep when she felt sticky wetness between her legs. She lifted the covers to discover she’d gotten her courses during the night and her nightdress as well as her side of the bed were soaked with blood.
“Oh, no,” she gasped, before she had a chance to stop herself.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Hugh demanded drowsily. Being a soldier, he was attuned to any sign of danger, and even a gasp from his wife was enough to bring him to wakefulness.
“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Hugh reached out to her beneath the blankets. When his hand came away covered with blood, he looked concerned for a second until the truth dawned on him and he cringed with disgust.
“I’ll clean it up,” Kate hastened to assure him.
“Useless bitch,” Hugh hissed as he glared at her, his gaze burning with hatred. “It doesn’t matter how many times I fuck you, you still won’t breed.”
“I’m s-sorry, Hugh,” Kate stammered. Her courses were about a week and a half late and she’d harbored some hope that she might be with child. She hadn’t said anything to Hugh, but he kept his own mental calendar, always acutely aware of when she was due to bleed. She’d been late several times over the past few years, but despite fervent praying and hoping, her courses always came in the end.
“You’re sorry?” Hugh spat out, his features contorted with rage and disappointment. “And what’s that worth?”
Kate knew he was upset, but she hadn’t anticipated the depth of his anger. Hugh’s eyes flashed with malice as he shoved her viciously, sending her flying out of bed and onto the stone floor. She tried to break her fall with her hand but landed painfully on her left hip, crying out as the jolt of the impact reverberated through her wrist and up into her arm. The icy stone beneath her burned her skin, and she wept softly as she curled into a ball on the hard floor.
“Oh, for the love of Christ,” Hugh growled and swung his legs out of bed.
He stood over her for a moment, glaring down at her with undisguised hatred. Kate tried to edge away from him, fearful that he might kick her, but instead, he bent down and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her face closer to his own. “I’ve just about had it with you, you know that? From now on, I’ll fuck you from the back, like a dog, because that’s what you are—a useless, barren bitch. God put you on this earth for one reason and one reason only, to bear children, and you couldn’t even do that, could you? Oh, go ahead and cry, and then run to the chapel to pray. Much good it will do you.”
Hugh let go of her hair, grabbed his clothes, and stormed from the bedchamber, still cursing her under his breath.
Kate began to tremble violently, her teeth chattering both from shock and the cold. She finally managed to scramble to her feet and hobble over to the ewer and basin on a low stand in the corner. The water was ice-cold, but Kate cleaned herself as best she could and affixed the rags she used during her courses between her legs before getting dressed. She then stripped the sheet off the bed and assessed the damage. The blood had soaked into the mattress and would need to dry out before the mattress could be turned over to hide the ugly stain. That was the only way to salvage it and get a few more years of use from it.
Kate submerged the sheet in the basin and watched in despair as the water turned bright red. It’d need to soak for at least an hour before it could be washed out. She wiped her streaming eyes with the back of her hand and sat down by the hearth, clutching her shawl about her shoulders. The acrid smell of ashes stung her nose and she was numb with cold, but she didn’t budge. She couldn’t go to the chapel and pray, not today. Hugh had hit a nerve when he ridiculed her piety. She was tired of praying. She’d prayed for her brothers, and they’d died. She’d prayed for her mother, and she’d never recovered. She’d prayed to be reconciled with her father, but he’d cut her from his life and replaced her with new children. And she’d prayed to get pregnant so her husband would at least see some worth in her, but she’d never conceived. Her womb remained empty and hollow as her years of fertility slipped away. What was the sense of praying?
Christmas was a week away, a time of celebration and hope, but she only felt an all-encompassing dread. She’d never felt as alone as she had this past year, and the prospect of living out her life in this keep with her resentful husband and her distant sister-in-law left her desolate and depressed. She thought about Guy every day, and wondered where he was. They hadn’t had word from him in months, and Kate worried for his safety. Guy had sworn that he’d fully recovered the use of his right arm, but she knew the truth. His arm tired quickly and began to tremble with the strain of wielding a heavy sword. In a prolonged battle, he’d be at a disadvantage, especially if confronted with a skilled and tireless opponent.
