Winterbourne (27 page)

"Oh, Enid," she sobbed. "He turned against me, just as Father Andrew warned me he would. In the end, he pitied me the same as all the others. I thought he was different. I thought perhaps he—he cared a little bit. B-but when he said… I knew he didn't… that he never would. But I c-couldn't stop loving him, and I—c-couldn't bear to stay and see the ch-change in him, especially when…"

"When you worry that you might be carrying his child?" Enid asked softly.

Melyssan might have known Enid with her uncanny perception would guess the truth. But it made her situation no easier to hear her fear voiced aloud. Her body shook with fresh spasms of grief.

Enid rocked her to and fro. "Oh, hush, sweetheart. Then, when you are calm, you can tell me everything."

But even after Melyssan's tears had abated somewhat, the tale of her days at Winterbourne was so disjointed, Enid was still greatly confused. She had seen Jaufre de Macy at court often while Lord Harcourt yet lived, had noted the cold, dark eyes, the handsomeness of the man carved from granite. She knew well the earl's reputation as a harsh, ruthless man with the heart of a rock.

Yet Lyssa's wistful remembrances conjured up images that did not fit with what Enid knew of the earl. Who would ever have believed Lord Jaufre would allow such an outrageous imposture to go unpunished, or that he would risk his life to protect a woman from rape? That he would share his bed with Lyssa and treat her with all the dignity he would have accorded his countess? Or more unheard-of still, that he would allow anyone to persuade him to show mercy to one he deemed a criminal?

As Enid continued to pat Melyssan's quivering shoulders, she wondered if her young sister realized how much out of character Lord Jaufre's behavior was. She wondered if Lyssa understood exactly what she had run away from.

"Now tell me again," she demanded. "What were his exact words?"

"He told me 'twas time for him to take a wife."

"And that—that was all?"

" 'Twas enough." Slowly Melyssan disengaged herself and sat up, mopping the wetness from her cheeks. "I knew what he meant. And then after he was shot, he said… well, I knew then any hopes I cherished were folly and 'twas time I should be gone."

She stole a shy glance at Enid. Her sister was the most generous of women, but surely even she must condemn what could only be construed as wanton behavior. But although Enid's brow puckered, she appeared more abstracted than angry, as if she wrestled with some insoluble problem.

" Tis the strangest tale I ever heard, Lyssa." She sighed. "And I still do not quite understand why you went to Winterbourne in the first place and began this mad pretense."

"I thought you knew. 'Twas to escape King John. He desired me and made threats if I did not comply. All I could think of was…"

Melyssan got no further, for Enid caught her roughly by the shoulders. Her sister's face blanched as white as the bed linens. "What! You were in peril from the king?"

"Yes, and I should warn you, Enid. I might still be. Since the old comte died, Jaufre does not think—'"

"Sweet God in heaven.'' Enid bit her lip, which had suddenly begun to tremble. The usually serene blue eyes dilated with fear. "Of all the places in England for you to come seeking refuge. Lyssa, I've got to hide you. Don't you know—"

Her words were lost in a thunderous pounding at the door. Enid scrambled off the bed, but before she took another step the door had crashed open, kicked in by a stalwart soldier.

"What means this outrage?" Enid cried. But the soldier was already stepping aside for another to enter.

Melyssan's heart thudded painfully. She dug her nails into the pillow as she watched the small man enter into the room. Wide-set eyes glittered above a black, Mephistophelian beard. The dark gaze swept past Enid's frozen form to pin Melyssan on the bed.

"Ah, so what the red-haired wench said 'tis true," purred John Plantagenet. "What, my lady Countess? Will you make no obeisance to your king?"

The phantom figure of her nightmares glided closer, becoming more solid, more terrifyingly real, with every step he took. Yet even to save her own life, Melyssan could not move a single muscle.

Enid sank into a deep curtsy. "Pray, excuse my sister, Your Highness. She—she is not well. She has had a most fatiguing journey."

John stroked the sable fur trimming the neckline of his goldcloth surcoat. "So we would imagine—traveling with such stealth and secrecy." His mesmerizing snakelike eyes snapped to Enid. "And you, my lady, have been most remiss in your duties as hostess by not informing us of the countess's arrival."

"I—I thought it would be of little import to Your Majesty. You gave me to understand your chief reason for visiting Kingsbury is to attend the tournament."

"This woman's movements must always be important to us." Melyssan shrank back as he leveled one jewel-bedecked finger in her direction as though it were a lethal weapon, 'is not she wife to Jaufre de Macy, one of the greatest traitors this realm has ever known?"

Jaufre… traitor. The coupling of that beloved name with one of the most foul words in the language sent a surge of strength through Melyssan's limbs. Quickly she eased herself off the bed, taking care that Enid's robe draped modestly around her. She was doubly glad the garment was overlarge when the king subjected her to a lascivious appraisal, wetting his lips, attempting to bore holes in the robe with his eyes.

Despite the nausea that churned inside her stomach, Melyssan made a stiff curtsy and said in level tones, "Your Majesty is much mistaken. The earl of Winterbourne is ever loyal to England."

"Aye, but what of his king?" John growled. "So you do still possess a tongue, my lady. Tis well, for it will take many soft and fair words to convince us of—" His gaze flicked hungrily up and down the length of her body. "Of your devotion to the crown, and why your husband should be spared the fate of all traitors."

The king waved a languid hand in Enid's direction. "You may retire now, my lady. We have much to discuss with my lady Melyssan in private."

Although she was very pale, Enid stepped between Melyssan and the king. "Nay, Your Grace. 'Tis not proper that I should leave my sister unattended in your presence."

"Proper?" The king's lip curled upward into a snarl. "You presume to lecture us on what is proper? Get you hence, woman. We deem it proper you should look after your own husband." His voice softened as his lips tightened into a cruel smile. He fingered the jewel-encrusted dagger sheath affixed to his belt. "Who knows what fate holds in store? Men seem to be so much more shorter-lived than women."

Enid swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak again, but Melyssan placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder. Although her fingers shook, she maintained the regal posture of a princess as she said, "Do as the king commands, Enid. I—I am more than ready to stay here and defend my husband against any calumny."

Melyssan's terror was great as the king's soldier accompanied her reluctant sister from the bedchamber, leaving her alone with the king. But unlike the terror that had nigh suffocated her when His Majesty had threatened first her virtue and then her brother, this time her fear sent the blood racing through her veins in a savage way she had never experienced before. For now her fear was for Jaufre. She vowed to draw the king's vengeance down upon her own head rather than see him make one move to harm the man she loved.

She met John's leering eyes boldly, standing her ground without flinching as he came nearer. "How comes Your Majesty to say such vile things about my husband when you must know they are lies?"

"We know nothing of the kind," John said. Chills swept over her as his cold, silky fingers brushed aside the robe so that he could caress the base of her neck. "What we do know is that he would not help us in our war against the Welsh a fortnight ago. He came to Nottingham carried on a litter. Claimed he was too ill to fight."

" Tis true," she said. "He was wounded with an arrow."

The king's grip tightened. "The infamous wound. Aye, I saw it. I made him undo the bandages. I swear 'twas self-inflicted by the coward so that he could defy his king. He is not the man his grandfather was."

"Jaufre is no coward!" she cried, seizing hold of John's wrist. The way his fingers encircled her throat made it hard for her to breathe.

"They're all cowards. All my barons." John's dark eyes glazed over. "I had to forgo my expedition into Wales. Can't trust any of them. All after my crown. Would have waited until the heat of battle, then thrust a knife in my back."

The king's voice rose with every word, and his fingers gouged harder and harder into her throat. Melyssan fought for air. Dear God, he
was
mad.

But the next instant John blinked and refocused on Melyssan. His hand relaxed and resumed those featherlike caresses, which gave Melyssan the sensation of brushing against cobwebs. She rubbed her throat and took a deep, painful breath to steady herself.

"What were we speaking of?" he murmured. "Ah, now I recollect. We were deciding what proof you would offer to convince us of your husband's loyalty, what reasons to spare Lord Jaufre his head."

He pushed the gown down past her shoulders." 'Tis an ugly thing for a man to be hanged for treason, my dear. The throat knots with pain as the victim writhes in the dance of death. But he is cut down before the thick hemp can quite squeeze the life out of him. Then come the horses pulling on the ropes tied to his legs and arms. Sometimes it takes as long as half an hour before the limbs are ripped off. A strong man like Lord Jaufre might still be alive. Then the executioner, his hands already slick with blood, would have to take a double-edged sword and—"

"Stop it!" Melyssan's hands clenched into fists as she fought the urge to strike out at those black, mocking eyes, rake her nails across the thin, sneering lips. "I—I will offer you whatever proof you desire," she cried, knowing she was lost. She had only one weapon to use in Jaufre's defense.

"We recognized at the first you were a young woman of much good sense." The king chuckled and shoved her back toward the bed.

"Wait." She placed both hands against his chest, the heavy chains and emerald necklets he wore cutting into her palms. "I—I would have your oath that you will not harm my lord if I—if I…"

The king smiled. "Certainly, my dear. We have no sword, but trust this will do as well." He fingered the holy relics he wore around his neck. "I, John, King of England, do solemnly swear I will not command the death of the earl of Winterbourne. By the blood of Christ."

Then, with a throaty growl, he fell upon her, dragging her beneath him onto the bed. Melyssan thought she would suffocate from the cloying smell of his perfumed garments and the shame of what she was about to do. How could she lie here and permit this man to touch her, know her intimately as only Jaufre had?

She could not even scream or fight back as she had done against
Le Gros
, but instead must remain quiet, submissive, as the king bared one breast and began pinching the nipple as if to test her.

"I see you have ripened well under Lord Jaufre's touch," he whispered roughly against her ear. "My sweet Melyssan. I have thought much about you since I .sent you to Winterbourne, bided my time, knowing this day would come."

His lips fastened greedily upon hers, sucking at her mouth until she thought she would be ill. Clenching her eyes tightly closed, she prayed that the king would soon be done.

He nipped sharply along her neck as he began easing the robe up her thigh, his stocky body quivering with laughter. "The sweetest moment of all will come when I tell your husband what you did to save him. There is more than one way of humbling an over-proud subject."

Tears pricked the back of Melyssan's eyelids. That was a satisfaction the king would never have. Jaufre would not care.

She steeled herself for the final humiliation as John's hands began moving over her legs. "Let me see what treasures you keep concealed beneath this coarse gown, lady," he gloated. But the fingers that would have yanked away the robe suddenly stilled. With a muffled shriek, he flung himself away from her.

"What—what deviltry is this?"

Bewildered, Melyssan slowly sat up and discovered that his shaking hand gestured toward her bent foot. She regarded her own limbs with a strange detachment, as if seeing them through John's eyes. Scratched and swollen purple from her long days on the road, she had to admit ever, her good foot appeared as grotesque as the other one.

John backed away from the bed, his sleeve pressed to his lips. Malevolent eyes glared at her over the length of a satin-covered arm. "I thought you but lame. Not—not deformed."

He clutched at his holy relics and shrieked, "De Macy has tricked me. Tricked me! He shall pay for this."

As he whirled to leave, panic surged through Melyssan. She lunged after the king, grabbing hold of his arm. "Nay, Your Grace. I beg you. Remember your promise."

"Let go of me, you bitch." With a vicious backhand, the king sent her sprawling to the floor. "The mark of the devil is upon you."

The salt taste of blood rilled Melyssan's mouth, but she struggled to a sitting position. "Please," she said desperately. " 'Twas not Jaufre's trickery, but mine. He is not my husband. You cannot blame him."

John paused by the door, his breath coming in short, rapid gasps, the eyes beginning to cloud.

"I lied to you," she sobbed. "Pretended to be his wife because I couldn't bear for you to touch me. 'Tis I that should be punished."

"Oh, aye, madam, and so you will be. I promise you that." He yanked the door open and screamed, "Guard! Guard! Arrest this woman at once."

Chapter 12

The pounding hooves of the sleek black stallion tore up clods of dirt as it thundered along the road toward Wydevale Manor. The horse's dark-bearded rider leaned forward in the saddle, black cape billowing behind him, his reddened eyes glowing like embers from lack of sleep.

Peasants sowing the fields with winter com paused in their task long enough to cross themselves. One stout lad ripped across the fields screaming for Father Andrew and all the saints to come to the rescue: the devil himself was raging amongst them.