|
|
||||
(The following is the property of the author and Avon Books, and cannot be copied or reprinted without permission.)
England
August, 1485
He stood with his back against the crumbling brick wall,
fists clenched, his cowl falling against his perspiring cheeks. Once again,
he heard the sound, a woman's low moan, quickly muffled. He took a deep breath
and slowly leaned towards the corner of the wall, allowing himself to peer
once and then pull back. In that moment, he saw the scene quite clearly under
the eerie light of a full moon. A man, not one of the brethren, gripped a
struggling woman.
For a moment, Brother Reynold Welles hesitated in disbelief.
When he looked again, a second man had joined them, wearing the black mantle
of the Benedictine brotherhood and carrying a flickering candle. This man
gestured, and they moved off towards the cloister court, the heart of the
monastery.
What brother would need to have a woman brought to him?
In the past, Reynold had known a monk or two who'd left one night, and come
back with more satisfaction than they felt the peace of the Church could
give them. Though Reynold well understood the lure of women, he could not
so easily break his vows. But bringing an unwilling woman to St. Anthony's
Priory was sheer folly--or desperation.
The promises he had sworn to God and his family warred
within him until his head ached. His sins still burned him, playing out over
and over in endless nightmares. He should only care about his own redemption,
not a stranger's. But he could picture the woman, bound and alone, forced
here against her will. How would he live with himself if she died, adding
another death to his conscience?
Lady Katherine Berkeley yanked free her good arm and
tugged at the filthy gag covering her mouth. For her trouble she received
a quick blow to the head, a tap truly, but one that set her ears ringing
and almost knocked the blindfold askew.
A hot mouth pressed itself against her ear. "I don't
want ta hurt ye, liedy. They tol' me not to, but I will if ye make me."
The offending mouth remained a moment too long, and Katherine
cringed with fear. He had not hurt her so far, this brutal man who'd taken
her as she rode near her father's hunting lodge just two days before. But
two days seemed like a lifetime of humiliation and terror. She had ridden
blind-folded on a horse with more bones than flesh, perched on the thighs
of a man twice her size. Gagged into silence, she had to repeatedly clutch
the man's arm for a moment's privacy behind a bush. And even then, she could
not know if he watched.
She shivered in revulsion at the memory, as her silent
captor dragged her forward. She was beyond exhaustion, beyond caring where
she was. She only knew it was earth beneath her, not a galloping horse. They
suddenly stopped, and her head bounced forward until her chin hit her chest.
She heard a door open in front of her. A damp, sour smell assaulted her nose,
and her eyes stung inside the wet blindfold.
"Here," an unfamiliar voice whispered.
"Ye're sure 'tis safe?"
"This place is falling into ruins. No one uses the undercroft
for storage anymore. She'll keep safe enough long as she's gagged."
As Katherine was prodded forward, she felt the ground
squish beneath her leather slippers. A whimper escaped the gag. The room
seemed to stifle all noise except the skittering of tiny feet. When she was
released, Katherine panicked, not caring that this was the same man who had
so brutally abducted her. She sobbed in a hoarse, muffled voice, clutching
at his sleeves.
"Bind her!" the new voice said.
Katherine frantically shook her head, falling to her
knees to silently plead with them. Everything was dark and cold and foreign,
except the man who had tried not to harm her. Yet now they yanked her arms
behind her back, and though she feebly struggled for a moment, her will seemed
spent. It was all too much for her. She wished she didn't know their secrets.
She would have been safe at home, awaiting her betrothed. She had been so
naive. Would they now kill her for her knowledge?
Katherine realized she was alone when the door latched
shut. Lurching to her feet, she waited a moment, listening. The air was still
and oppressive with silence. She shuffled forward, then stopped, hearing
the echoes far above her head. Where was she?
She edged sideways, trying to feel the door with her
arm instead of her face. She banged her elbow and barely noticed the pain
as she turned her back to run her bound hands over the door. Solid old wood,
set firmly into a stone wall. She kicked once with her foot but made little
sound. She did it again, harder. Did they intend to leave her here
indefinitely--bound and gagged until she died?
Katherine tugged hard at the ropes biting into her wrists,
hating her weak arm. Sobbing, she pulled and pulled until the pain became
unbearable and the blood trickled down her fingers. She staggered and fell,
crying, until the world retreated for awhile and she drifted into an exhausted
sleep.
Katherine came awake with a jerk, then winced at the shooting
pain in her shoulders. Her hands seemed numb and unresponsive. Frantically
she sat up and began to wiggle her fingers, then sighed as sharp little prickles
tormented her skin from inside.
With her head bowed, Katherine forced herself to think
through the last few weeks. She tried to tell herself she would have done
something differently, but it wasn't true. Her life meant nothing when King
Richard's life was at stake. She had learned of a plot against the king from
a woman too terrified to publicly come forward. If Katherine did not escape
soon, it would be too late. The king's enemies, whom he thought of as loyal
friends, would turn on him. If only her chambermaid hadn't overheard her
plans and told the kidnapper, betraying Katherine for a few coins.
But she couldn't give up as they all expected her to
do. For the first time in her life she faced a real challenge, with no one
to help her. Whoever was behind the plot to kidnap her obviously wanted her
kept alive. Why? Was it because he had something more sinister in mind for
her--or maybe because he didn't want her seriously hurt. She couldn't possibly
know the person--could she? Dread quivered through her stomach. She had to
escape.
As quickly as her bound hands allowed, Katherine explored
her prison, tripping over toppled barrels and ripped sacks of grain. By the
time she returned to the first and only door, she knew she was in some sort
of storage room, unused and containing no windows. She had tried to cut her
ropes on a broken crate, and instead set her wrists to bleeding again. When
the hours began to stretch out behind her, she felt the seedlings of true
panic. Had her captor been decent enough on the journey, only to allow her
to die forgotten? When the door finally opened, she allowed herself a moment
of relief that they remembered her.
When hands touched her she began to kick wildly. She
prayed that the door was still open and she could escape. Arms gripped her,
lifting her easily into an unfamiliar embrace as she struggled. This was
a different man than her captor, harder, taller. In sheer terror Katherine
fought him, until she felt fingers at her head, loosening her blind-fold.
She stilled immediately and waited to see what he had planned. A candle blinded
her for a moment, then the man turned her to face him. She gasped in shock
and revulsion.
A monk held her in a painful grip, a monk garbed in black
with a cowl hiding his face. She shrank away in terror as he lifted one hand,
but he only motioned for quiet and reached for her gag. He peeled it off
and her cracked lips stung unmercifully.
"My hands," she croaked.
He turned her around by the shoulders and she staggered
at his strength. Katherine suffered his rough touch until her hands were
free, then whirled away from him. She rubbed her raw wrists and watched him
suspiciously, waiting for his next move. After all, men who chose this life
usually had some dark, hidden reason. But this one merely watched her, his
head cocked to one side, a black hole for a face. Why didn't he remove the
hood?
Katherine lifted her chin with what she hoped was a show
of strength. "Are you releasing me?"
As he nodded, the cowl dropped forward and swayed.
She shivered with deep-rooted unease. "Then move aside
and I will leave."
He pointed to himself, and then the door.
Katherine walked along the wall, never turning her back
on the monk. "Nay, I will go alone. Is he gone yet?"
As his head dropped to one side, she almost leaned over
to see his face, then thought better of it.
"The man who brought me here," she said.
He shrugged broad shoulders in answer.
"Do you not speak? Is your tongue damaged?"
He shook his head, then pointed to the door with more
urgency, taking a step towards her.
Katherine shrank away from his menacing height and breadth,
then crept around him, hoping he would leave her alone to escape. But she
felt his breath on the back of her neck and shuddered as a chill swept up
her spine.
The open door revealed a shadowy world of sagging stone
walls, and covered walkways, all lit by a cloudy moon. Across the courtyard
stood an ancient church. The sound of deep voices chanting their prayers
drifted on the breeze. A monastery. Who would think of looking for a noblewoman
here?
Katherine took a step forward and almost fell when a
strong hand yanked her back behind the building. She fought the monk, terrorized
by the thought of what those big hands might do to her. He merely shook her
once like a child, then put a finger to his lips. He did have lips; she could
see the faintest shadow of them. He pointed to himself, then her, then behind
him, opposite the way she had meant to go. As Katherine began to walk, she
silently debated her childhood fears. She would follow this monk as long
as he proved himself trustworthy. But only until she was free of the
monastery.
From what Katherine could see by moonlight, everything
around her was in a state of neglect. Walkways were pitted with holes where
cobblestones used to be. Off to her right, dead branches hung from trees
in the orchard.
She was so intent on not tripping, she only vaguely noticed
that the chanting had stopped. But the monk in front of her went rigid, then
put out a hand behind him to stop her. When his fingers almost grazed her
chest, Katherine swallowed back the sour taste of nausea. Surely it had been
an accident. He hadn't even looked back at her. But her hands started shaking.
She held her weak arm with the other one, a habit she wished she could conquer.
With her attention diverted from the ground, she began to stumble, falling
farther behind him. The dark cowl swung back towards her and she almost ran
in blind fear.
Katherine gasped when the monk veered towards the orchard
at a sudden run. The practical side of her wanted to warn him that she didn't
run well. She tended to twist ankles and bruise knees--not always her own.
When he motioned towards her frantically, she took off
at a fast run, hoping nothing lay in her path. Her skirts had a life of their
own as they threatened to trip her or snag on overgrown plants. She pushed
through the last weeds on the far side of the orchard, only to skitter to
a sudden halt on the banks of a creek. She naturally lost her balance and
swayed forward, flapping her arms to stay upright. The monk caught her against
him, his arm beneath her breasts, his head bent well above hers. Before Katherine
could collect her fragmented thoughts, he pushed her forward along the bank.
She walked as fast as she could, if only to escape the warmth of his breath
from behind. She tried not to think of her parched throat. The cool water
continued to lure her gaze but she would not get down on her knees before
him to drink.
One of her slippers was captured by the mud. Katherine
bent over to reach it, and the monk bumped into her backside. She almost
shrieked, but instead gasped in outrage and straightened so suddenly that
the top of her head slammed into his cowled face. He grunted.
"Be quiet--they'll hear you!" she hissed. "I lost my
slipper!"
The monk raised his wool-covered head to the sky for
a moment, then bent to search the mud. She grimaced when he handed the dripping
shoe to her and motioned to her feet. Hopping on one foot, she put her useless
slipper back on and continued alongside the creek. A wall loomed up out of
the darkness. Her rescuer waded knee-deep into the water, and reached out
to her.
"Is there a gate on the other side?" Katherine
whispered.
He gestured for her hand once more.
"I can cross unassisted," she said, setting one foot into the
water. She slid down a moss-covered rock and landed hard against the monk's
side, her face striking his shoulder. Before she arched her head away, she
smelled the clean scent of the wool and for a wild moment wondered what kind
of monk he was. She came to her senses and pushed at the muscled wall of
his chest, his obvious strength bringing back her fright. He turned her about
like a doll until her backside was pressed into his hip and his arm encircled
her chest. As her breasts were flattened in his embrace, and the water tugged
at her skirts, Katherine began to feel faint. Her tongue was swollen and
dry, and the water dripped its sweet temptation.
The monk's other arm snaked out before her, pointing downstream.
She peered ahead, squinting.
"Does not the water go below ground?" she whispered.
She felt the slither of wool across her tangled hair as he
shook his head. With his large hands at her waist he urged her forward, holding
her up against the lure of slippery rocks and deep mud, until the monastery
wall loomed above them in the shadows. Katherine braced both palms against
the gritty stone.
"I can go no farther," she said softly. "Where is the
gate?"
The monk dropped to his knees at her side, and pointed
to where the water rushed beneath the lip of the wall.
Katherine swayed with disbelief but the monk held her
up. "Under there?" she squeaked, watching in a daze as the water current
caught his black robe at the waist.
He pulled and the flaccid muscles of her arm gave way
beneath his strength until she fell to her knees on the bed of the creek.
As the cold water chilled her, she gave in to temptation and scooped some
into her mouth. He watched in silence, a darkly robed man in the shadowy
moonlight of an ancient monastery. She ceased drinking and gaped at the black
hole that was his face, repelled yet fascinated by what must lie beyond.
He suddenly sank beneath the surface. Katherine stared at the circular waves
made by his departure until she felt a tug on her skirts.
"Oh no." She gasped a lungful of air and was pulled below.
Website Copyright © 2008 by Gayle Callen
