Page 91 of Her Dark Seduction
I had no time to wonder at his meaning. Elspeth pulled at my arm again.
“Lady, please!” she cried.
I looked up and screamed. Another giant stone flew toward me. I leapt back as it struck the battlements, disintegrating the wall where I had been standing just moments before. Elspeth helped me to my feet.
“Shoreton is lost,” I said. “We are dead.”
“What can we do, lady?”
I led her to Maman’s room, where I’d sent her only that morning. I had another phial of the poison and intended to use it. De Tourrard’s death had been an unpleasant sight, but it would be a better fate than whatever the king had in store for me.
We reached Maman’s room and footsteps followed us—too heavy and too many to be servants. We didn’t have much time. I pulled the door open, ignoring the searing pain in my arm and lifted the lid of the chest where I’d hidden the phial.
“Elspeth, this will give me the release of a quick death. I cannot say what they will do to you but they will show me no mercy. I’ll leave some for you to give you a choice.”
A deep male voice spoke behind me, “Neither of you has a choice. You are now the property of the king. Take them!”
A pair of strong arms took hold of me, and I dropped the phial. A second man took hold of Elspeth.
“No!” I cried, but my captor held me firm. My body still ached from de Tourrard’s beating, and each time I struggled the man tightened his hold.
Their leader picked up the phial.
“Woman, what is this?”
“A tonic,” I replied quickly before Elspeth could speak.
“I think not,” he replied. “Garret!”
The man holding Elspeth twisted her arm behind her back, and she howled in pain.
“Please, stop! It has nothing to do with her,” I pleaded, but he continued and Elspeth’s screams only grew louder.
“All right!” I cried. “It’s poison.”
“I thought so.” He dropped the phial on the floor and smashed it with his foot, grinding it into the stones.
“Garret, Edric—take them away. The rest of you, search the building. I want every traitor found.”
“Where are you taking us?” I asked.
“To London,” he said, his voice grim, “where you will be tried and executed.”
****
After a long, slow journey from Shoreton I found myself alone in a cell in the Tower of London on the eve of my execution. At Shoreton they’d separated me from Elspeth, and I had not seen her since. I had been bound and secured to a small cart along with a handful of Papa’s and de Tourrard’s men, including Guy. Most of the men had been killed either during de Tourrard’s campaign in France or in the siege at Shoreton. Those too injured to be moved were left to rot.
The reality of war was such that no matter which side came out on top, the outcome was always the same. Those unfortunate to be on the losing side were tortured and subjected to agonizing deaths. There was neither good nor evil—only pain and suffering. There would always be someone eager to seize the king’s position from him; the balance of power would continue to shift back and forth. Today’s victor would be tomorrow’s defeated and the cycle would continue. I did not wish to live in such a world.
Save a few hateful remarks from Guy, silenced by a cuff from Garret, I had largely been ignored until we arrived at London. As we passed through the streets, the jeers of the gathering crowds grew louder. We were traitors headed for a public trial and execution. With Papa and de Tourrard dead, I was the only family member alive for them to direct their hatred toward. A stone had flown past me, narrowly missing my head; catcalls and insults hurled in my direction.
It was a relief to find peace in the cell. The trial had been a mere formality. It had come as no surprise that as Baron Shoreton’s daughter, Mortlock’s widow, and de Tourrard’s whore, I was declared a traitor by association. Standing between two liveried men-at-arms as the sentence was passed, I had only been vaguely aware of the king. He sat in silence, seemingly bored by the whole charade. I’d offered no defense. Traitors were treated harshly and a woman’s word counted for nothing. The less I said, the sooner it would all be over.
My only companions were the vermin who visited the cells at night. The squeals of the rats fighting kept me awake. They fought over scraps of food; the mold-ridden bread my jailer threw into the cell each day, which I was too sick to eat. Other, unseen visitors came in the dark. At night, my whole body itched. Scratching my skin brought temporary respite, but each morning huge welts covered my body, pulsing an angry red, their perpetrators having disappeared by dawn, waiting in the cracks in the walls to crawl over my body when night fell once more.
My cell had a small window but it was too high for me to look out. Sounds drifted in from outside, voices of the executioners readying themselves. That morning I heard Guy crying, pleading for mercy. The man who’d bullied and terrorized me had been reduced to a sniveling wreck, his pleas cut short with a thud, followed by cheering. The next time I saw daylight it would be my turn to entertain the crowd. I was the only one left.
The door rattled open. Had my execution been brought forward? A man entered, wearing a hooded cloak and holding a candle. He nodded to someone at the door who closed it again. He placed the candle on the floor and removed his cloak to reveal a cleric’s robes.
