Page 62 of Her Dark Seduction
“We were making dough,” Jack explained. Vane cast his eyes over the kitchen, the mess, the flour on the floor, and over our clothes.
“So I see.”
“Come, brother, no harm done,” Jack said, smiling.
Vane said nothing. The silence in the room thickened, the atmosphere full of tension which Jack tried to break.
“You’re a fortunate man, Valentine; you have a lovely wife.” Vane’s eyes narrowed and Jack continued hastily, “almost as lovely as my Lily.”
I rubbed my hands together, dispersing the flour, anticipating an angry outburst, but my husband merely turned his back and left the room.
Supper was a strained event, Lily the only one inclined to speak as she related gossip from the village. She declined my offer of help when she cleared the table, and I followed Vane to our room. Though he’d hardly spoken, the tension in him at dinner was obvious. Spooning stew into his mouth, he appeared relaxed but his body was taut. As I sat beside him, I could barely swallow a mouthful. Following him up the stairs, I rubbed my aching back.
He threw off his clothes and sat on the bed, watching me while I finished undressing. Picking up my nightshift with shaking hands, I started in fright at the harshness in his voice.
“Leave that. Come here.”
He pulled me onto his lap, his thick manhood bulging against my thigh. He took my head in his hands and turned my face toward him. I tipped my head up until our lips met but he pushed me away.
“No kissing, get up.”
He pushed me onto my hands and knees on the bed. The tears that had threatened to form during supper spilled onto the blanket in front of me. An image invaded my mind; Vane plowing into Celia soullessly, using her body as a vessel for his lust.
“No,” I pleaded.
“You forget you are my wife to do with as I please.” He circled his hands around my waist.
“Not like this, please; not likeher,” I whispered so quietly I was unsure he would hear. The tears spilled down my cheeks, and I let out a sob.
“Vane!”
He stiffened at my cry before he huffed with exasperation and pulled away. I remained on all fours, too afraid to move. My nightshift landed against my thigh as he threw it at me.
“Put it on before I change my mind.”
I obeyed him and slipped under the blankets but sat up when he pulled his chausses back on.
“Where are you going?”
“’Tis not for a wife to ask that of her husband,” he said, “but since you ask; what you deny me I shall find elsewhere.”
“No, you cannot!”
“I can, and I will.” His eyes blazed with fury. “You dare question me when you seek to cuckold me with my own brother?”
I lunged at him, livid with anger that he could accuse me of such a deed. I loved him against all reason yet he cared nothing for me and accused me of the very sin he was about to commit. I swung my hand to strike him, but he caught my wrist.
“Do not provoke me, woman. A husband has every right to control an errant wife in any manner he sees fit.” He increased the pressure on my wrist until I feared the bones would snap, before letting go as I cowered before him, cradling my hand.
“Go, then!” I cried, “for I care not. I hate you.”
“Then I shall find love elsewhere tonight,” he said. “There will always be plenty of willing women to console me for having shackled myself to a haughty shrew with a heart of ice. I should have left you at Mortlock, to the mercy of the king’s men. Mayhap they would have warmed you up if the fire had not claimed you first.”
His words tore into my heart as if he had plunged his sword into my chest. I bit my tongue to stop the scream building up in my throat, focusing on the sharp pain. Closing my eyes, I counted my breaths—one, two, three—until the door closed, and he was gone. There was nothing left to do other than pray sleep would come before he returned smelling of whores and ale.
Once again smoke and heat engulfed my dreams. Several figures stood before me, taunting, laughing, and holding torches aloft. The shrill cackles of whores mingled with deep laughter, the sound of my husband’s mirth. His naked body entwined with Celia’s as the whores moaned in ecstasy, squirming, wraithlike, in front of him, flickering in unison with the dancing flames.
“There are plenty of women willing,” Vane laughed. “Why would I want you when I haveher?” He lunged forward, thrusting his torch, and speared me in the middle. A burst of agony ripped through me, and I screamed.
I sat up, my throat hoarse. I was alone. Vane had not returned. Another nightmare, yet the pain had been so vivid. I massaged my stomach muscles which were rock hard with cramp. When the pain eased I lay back, whimpering softly to myself. But sleep eluded me for the rest of the night. Only when the first slivers of sunlight heralded the dawn did I close my eyes and drift once more into blessed oblivion.
