Page 35 of Her Dark Seduction
Chapter 11
Neither my husband nor Sawford said anything in particular to me during the evening meal, but I was nervous, nonetheless. Though confident I gave nothing away, I dared not look in Sawford’s direction.
After the stew had been cleared away my husband waved a servant over who placed a dish in front of me, laden with honeyed figs—my favorite food. Fighting a wave of nausea I picked one up.
“Do you like them?”
My husband watched as I bit into the fig and licked my sticky fingers.
“Aye, husband. Thank you.”
“I find them repulsive myself, but Sawford was very particular about serving them tonight.”
My eyes met Sawford’s and he dipped his thumb into the dish of figs in front of him and lifted it to his mouth, curling his tongue to lick the honey off, an echo of my wedding night when I had taken his thumb into my mouth. I dropped my gaze and took a second fig, the sweet taste lessening the churning in my stomach. My husband gave a low laugh.
“It seems my wife has regained her appetite. You must be careful, my dear, not to overeat and lose your looks. I do enjoy your visits to the solar.”
I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach. After Sawford had left my room earlier, Harwyn had lifted my gown to inspect my thickening waist. She deduced I must be at least five months’ gone. I had cursed myself for having assumed the changes to my body had resulted from poisoning. My monthly flow had not come since I’d arrived at Mortlock. Sawford’s seed must have taken root almost as soon as he had taken me.
When I visited my husband in the solar that night he said nothing about my changing shape, but when Sawford returned me to my room I shook with fear. He must have heard my conversation with Harwyn but he showed no sign of it. Later, that night, after he’d gone, I curled into a ball and wept with fear for the child growing within me and with shame at my reaction to Sawford’s skillful touch. I had cried out and writhed underneath him as he touched every part of me with his hands and mouth, and I had pulled him to me as greedily as I’d plundered the bowl of figs, relishing the honey on his lips. His touch had been gentle when he finally claimed me, easing into my body while he covered my mouth with his own. His tenderness elicited a more passionate response than his brutality, and I groaned with the shame of revealing myself to him. Had he been colder, rougher, I could have withstood it better.
Celia had spoken the truth. Kissing was too personal. Not for Sawford, but for me. I had to get away before it was too late. Not only did I fear we would be discovered, but I knew if I stayed here much longer I would lose the strength of will to leave.
The next day I woke aching for the taste of the figs. After sending Harwyn to the kitchens she returned with a small dish of honey and a piece of bread which I ate greedily, the rush of sweetness filling my mouth. We spent the morning in the herb garden, replenishing our supplies before tying them up to dry in the treatment room. Another note was slipped under the door and though Harwyn rushed to the door and flung it open she neither saw nor heard anyone. It was as if a ghost delivered them.
Another wave of nausea struck me, and I bent over, groaning. Harwyn admonished me for working too hard and insisted I go outside for some fresh air. I needed little persuasion and within moments I was on the path to the wild garden. I felt a flutter in my stomach and placed my hand over it.
My child. The need to escape was more acute now I had another to think of; an innocent life I was responsible for. Sitting by my tree I opened Tarvin’s note. He told me to be brave, but what would he think when he discovered I carried another man’s child—the child of a servant? Would he call me whore as Papa did—as Sawford did?
Unobserved I could let out my feelings and a sob escaped my lips.
“My poor child. How I wish your father was another. Oh Tarvin! Where are you?”
I heard a noise and looked up. My stomach clenched in fear, as I saw a dark mass moving among the trees. I was being watched.
“Who’s there?” My voice sounded feeble. The shape moved and I forced myself to step toward it, fumbling in my skirts for my knife.
“Show yourself!” I cried, more boldly than I felt. I drew the knife and moved toward the trees and the shape became more defined. A man.
“Tarvin? Tarvin!”
He broke into a run. By the time I reached the edge of the trees he was gone.
Dejected, I returned to my room, caring neither for subterfuge nor discretion. I scribbled a note pleading with Tarvin to take Harwyn and me as far away from Mortlock as possible. Harwyn begged me to be cautious but I was desperate. I wrote that I had fallen in love with him and if he refused to help I would leave of my own accord and seek sanctuary in a convent. With hindsight it was reckless but the need for freedom was too strong. By revealing my loyalties I placed my life in his hands, hoping he would be spurred into action by my declaration of love.
Eager to keep me from danger and discovery, Harwyn bade me wait in my chamber while she hid my letter in the stables.
I felt another stirring in my belly and placed my hands over it, wanting nothing more than to protect the precious life within. I lay on my bed, drawing my knees up, whispering softly to the babe I carried. In my naïveté I imagined a time when I was far from here, settled in safe obscurity, away from intrigue and treachery, my child in my arms and Tarvin by my side. Closing my eyes I could picture it—a small dwelling in the middle of a lush green countryside. I could almost smell the fresh air; see the ears of wheat in the fields surrounding our home, moving gently in the breeze while we walked among them, hand in hand.
The pounding on my chamber door brought me to my senses. Before I could call out, the door burst open, and Wyatt rushed in.
“What are you thinking of; disturbing me like this? Where is my maid?”
He took me roughly by the arm. “You are to come with me immediately.”
“For what purpose?”
“Your husband demands it.”
