Page 86 of Her Dark Seduction
Chapter 25
The next day de Tourrard took me by force. At first light, he led me to the chapel where a priest conducted the betrothal ceremony. He silenced my protests with a blow to the face while Papa looked on, his face impassive.
Afterward he took me to the solar. Though I struggled and pleaded for mercy, I found none. Resistance only increased his relish. I saw Maman, telling me to be strong, but when I reached out to her she disappeared, and blackness overcame me.
When I regained consciousness I was still in the solar. My throat burned as if I had consumed liquid fire. I crawled toward the door, my body aching, and fumbled for the handle, but it was locked.
De Tourrard found me curled on the floor.
“’Tis not a seemly place for my lady wife to be, groveling in the dirt like a common peasant.”
He carried me to the bed and pulled at the front of my dress, torn from his earlier exertions. Frustration flashed in his eyes as I stared back, not reacting to his touch.
“Lie with me again; I have much to teach you.”
I lay still, closed my eyes, and began to count slowly, detaching myself from the weight of his body.
At length I heard him sigh in frustration, but I did not open my eyes until he left the solar. A woman screamed from outside the door, followed by de Tourrard’s voice, raised at first in anger, before turning to lust.
His entire family was perverted and depraved. Mortlock had taken his pleasure at his own hand while leering at my naked body; his cousin de Tourrard took pleasure in inflicting pain on a struggling, unwilling woman.
****
I lost count of the days. They were all the same. De Tourrard kept me confined in the solar, spending the night beside me in the bed, after binding my wrists to prevent my attacking him in his sleep.
I now understood what my life would have been like at Mortlock Fort had Sawford handed me to others rather than take me for himself. My unwilling body had responded to Sawford’s ministrations but with de Tourrard I felt nothing but revulsion. However, other than the violation itself he did not physically hurt me. My passivity was my salvation. But the echoes of women crying in the passageway reminded me my salvation came at a price.
What made me different from a whore? A whore sold her body for her own purpose, usually a coin to feed hungry mouths. I had sold my body to de Tourrard for relief from the pain he inflicted on other women. It was not my own hand striking them, but it may as well have been. Due to my own cowardice, I had turned his perversions on others.
I was worse than a whore.
I was followed everywhere, more closely than at Mortlock. Every door, every archway was guarded by either one of Papa’s men or de Tourrard’s. But even if I could escape, where would I go? I would be hunted down like the stags in the forests at Mortlock and with as much relish. But another means of release existed—to join Maman in death. At Shoreton I felt close to her again, could almost hear her calling to me. She was the only person who had truly loved me, and I would gladly suffer pain if it would reunite us.
****
About a month after we arrived at Shoreton, de Tourrard announced he was leaving. Guy intercepted me in the garden to take me to Papa’s study. De Tourrard had begun to trust me enough to let me walk freely within the bailey walls, provided I was within earshot of his men.
In the gardens I had found a plant I recalled from my childhood—a plant Maman had warned me never to touch, identifiable by small purple flowers and dark berries from which an infusion would produce a deadly poison. I had begun to collect them and conceal them within Maman’s room, careful to only touch them through a piece of muslin rather than with my fingers.
Guy knocked on the study door and announced my presence. De Tourrard sat at Papa’s desk. Papa stood behind his left shoulder.
“Sit down, Lisetta.”
A maidservant approached with a flagon of wine and I waved her away. She flinched at the movement, and I pressed my lips together, trying to ignore her bruised face. One eye was so swollen it was almost closed. De Tourrard may have dealt the blows but the burden of responsibility lay on my shoulders.
I turned to de Tourrard, my voice toneless. “What does my lord wish of me?”
He smiled, and addressed my father. “You see, Shoreton, with the right care and attention your daughter has greatly improved.”
Papa nodded. The deference he accorded de Tourrard confirmed who the real leader was behind the plots to overthrow the king.
“I leave at sundown, my dear, and will be away for several days. I trust you’ll continue to show good behavior for your father’s sake.
“Of course,” I replied. “Might I enquire as to where my lord is going?”
He could not resist the temptation to impress.
“To France, to overthrow that whoreson Henry and replace him with Stephen’s rightful heir.”
