Eithne’s head was spinning as she allowed her captor – nay, her new master – to lead her away from the site of the tragedy. She wasn’t sure what to believe or not believe other than that Xander was a blackguard and certainly not to be trusted. As to the part her mother and brother had played in her father’s downfall, not to mention her own, she could only speculate.
She could believe such a thing of Clara but not Ephron, mean though he had sometimes been towards her.
The day was melding into dusk, but Eithne kept her head down and refused to look at the devastation all around. In her opinion the halter around her neck was unnecessary, but she supposed Xander was making a point. Whether she’d earned such punishment was a matter of opinion – and disagreement – between them.
All she’d said was he was an opportunist and a liar. Had she really disrespected him? Someone with his dubious moral code should have taken it as a compliment.
Xander picked up the pace seemingly at random, but it was only to pass the place where a small pocket of resistance was being quelled. Instead of heartening her, she felt only dismay as one by one those loyal to Ormond fell to arrow or sword. If only she had remembered to bring the dagger she sometimes wore strapped to her thigh. Not that she could have been of any great help to her countrymen, though it would have been good to try.
Recalling she had a tongue in her head, Eithne was not too proud to plead for mercy on their behalf. But her request came too late. It would probably have fallen on deaf ears in any case. Certainly her captor did not show any signs of stopping, either to intercede or congratulate. He seemed to be single-minded in his purpose and she didn’t have to think too hard to understand the reason why.
Would she be allowed to visit her bedchamber? If so, dare she retrieve the dagger so thoughtfully gifted her by her father when she turned sixteen?
Both things seemed unlikely. She could but ask.
There was a different feel about the castle. Gone was the red and white banner which denoted the sovereignty of her clan. A half dozen horn-helmed marauders were in the process of unfurling what she assumed to be the colours of Beeveland. No, that couldn’t be right. Hadn’t he said he’d been deposed? It was all such a muddle in her head.
The protocol of war was definitely beyond her.
Thinking about it, they were her mother’s colours. How could she have forgotten the Frankish ancestry? It was one reason she herself spoke two very different languages and perhaps explained why Xander’s accent hadn’t been off-putting, quite the contrary. Under any other circumstances she might have swooned.
Was he aware she knew more than a little of the Frankia tongue? That all depended on how much her mother had confided in him. Maybe it wouldn’t do to reveal that particular talent, even though most people struggled to master Ormond speak. It hadn’t seemed to faze Xander; presumably the amount of time he’d spent with Ephron had a bearing on that.
Something was off about the timescale and also the reason her elder brother was behind bars.
A couple of mounted Franks saluted Xander and he swept on with her, his boots ringing out loudly on the planks of the drawbridge. Eithne was aware of the difference in levels but missed her footing and fell awkwardly, landing crosswise so that her face was looking out over the moat. The paired swans were nowhere to be seen and she took that as an omen, though she could hear a frog’s distinctive ‘ribbit’ close by.
Xander yanked on the rope and she managed to scramble to her knees in an undignified manner just as a shout from above heralded the unfurling of yet another flag. Beside the orange and mauve pennant of the Sylvain clan, complete with pomegranate, now hung a yellow banner with a bull’s head at the centre and a diagonal green stripe going from top right to bottom left.
Her captor acknowledged the salutes of his men with a raised arm.
“For Fleur!” he shouted, to wild cheers.
Eithne decided it wouldn’t be prudent to ask. She hadn’t missed the significance of the bend sinister. Just as she’d suspected: he really was a bastard.
But why flaunt it so openly?
The answer came to her as he led her into the familiar courtyard with its fountain and covered walkway dotted with decorative pillars.
Because he wasn’t ashamed of who and what he was.
The notion frightened her so much she sucked in too much air and began to choke, uncontrollably, clawing at what now felt like a noose around her neck.
Xander’s reaction was lightning fast. Soon she was halter free, flat on her back and being encouraged to calm down by soothing words in his mother tongue.
“Not yet, my beauty,” was all she could make out before the roaring in her ears blotted out everything and she passed out.
Eithne came round in a chair in the solar just as the sun was starting to rise. After a few seconds of disorientation she recalled the distressing events which had taken place on the day of her birth and allowed herself to mourn.
“La, child, I have been so worried.” That tinkling voice could belong to only one woman.
“Mama?” she queried, even though she knew very well it was.
“Yes, dearling. And I have made for you a cadeau – a little gift.”
“Where are my clothes?” she asked, looking down at what appeared to be a cherry red shift which left her legs bare below the knee.
Clara Sylvain Lovell wrinkled her dainty nose. “I disposed of them, ma petite.” She held out a small box in her many-ringed hands. “Here. For you.”
The Cleopatra style necklace was beautiful; she’d never owned such a thing. Comprised of gold in three tiers it complemented her skin tone as she saw when she draped it over her bare arm.
“Thank you, Mama. You spoil me,” she said, feeling as if she had just woken up from a bad dream and wronged this bountiful vision in front of her.
The Queen Dowager was elegant and lovely in a silver gown which contrasted with the coils of dark hair piled on top of her head. A silk choker concealed the mole on her neck while her pale blue eyes were as hostile as Eithne remembered.
“Where’s Xander?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Who?” Clara asked, startling her.
Had she imagined it all? Maybe she’d hit her head on that low beam beside her bed.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Can you help me with the clasp? I’m all fingers and thumbs.”
“I’ll summon your maid.” Clara rang a small bell, but long moments passed and there was no sign of Sarah. “Oh, silly me. She’s probably helping in the kitchen. All these extra mouths to feed. Men have such large appetites, don’t you agree?”
Eithne heard shrill screams coming from the passage followed by the sound of ripping material. She covered her ears, allowing the necklace to slip to the cold flagstones beneath her bare feet. That was when she realised her ankles were tied to the legs of the chair.
The persistent and prolonged sounds of terror came to an abrupt end as the unfortunate female was allowed to escape. Her attacker roared out a battle cry of a different kind as he gave chase.
Somehow she knew how it would end well before she heard the body bumping off the walls. There was a sickening crunch as it landed on the drawbridge and then all was quiet.
“Mama, what’s happening?” she cried.
Her mother held up a finger as if waiting for something. There was a loud splash and she realised the poor girl had most likely been dumped into the moat.
Clara came closer, a strange smile on her face as she stooped to pat Eithne’s cheek.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “I’ll get you another maid.”
Xander came into the room a short time later, looking refreshed and impossibly handsome. She felt like a traitor even thinking like that. He was clean-shaven and she could not help noticing the sharp jawline and mobile mouth below a hawk nose fit for a nobleman. His green eyes were alert, despite his casual demeanour; she judged him anything but relaxed. Presumably the beard and unkempt appearance had been a result of weeks on the road. How active he had been in the assault on the kingdom was anybody’s guess and yet, hadn’t she cleaned the blood off his blade only yesterday? “Sleep well?” he asked, with studied nonchalance. “My daughter is sulking. See if you can bring her round, Xander. I am going for a nap.” He pulled up a stool and perched his large frame upon it with no sign of being hunched. This was a man comfortable in his own skin. “So, you’re refusing to speak, eh? I can assure you that won’t last long. When I’m done with you, Princess, you will be begging me for more.” “
Somewhat naively, Eithne had assumed intimacy only took place at night. Although she had once come across two of the servants lying together in the meadow when she was searching for a suitable spot to sit and read her book. “Are you going to watch me, my lord?” she asked, hoping the answer would be in the negative. “I think I’ve earned the right, don’t you?” he replied, leaning back against the wall as if he had no intention of leaving. “How?” she demanded, arms akimbo. “By treating you gently thus far,” he answered. Those ominous words made her quiver. She could not deny the thought of immersing herself in hot water was tempting but no male had seen her naked since she reached puberty. In fact, she had been given to understand that sometimes husbands on their wedding night saw less of their bride than she was about to reveal to this stranger. At least there wasn’t much to remove. She stepped out of her shoes first, placing them neatly side by side and out of the way before turn
There must have been at least twenty Frankish men waiting in two parallel lines. Eithne bowed her head, unwilling to make eye contact with any of them. Gradually the last vestiges of conversation died away, including the conclusion of what she knew to have been a bawdy joke.Schooling her features to ignorance, she willed herself not to redden if insults of any kind came her way.Xander sauntered along the line, his hand gripping her upper arm.“I asked you to assemble here, men, because I wanted to express my thanks for all your endeavours in what has seemed an interminable campaign. Yes, Beauregard?”“It has been a pleasure, Sire.”Sire?“No need to stand on ceremony. Xander will do. Many a campaign we’ve spent wrapped in our cloaks. Which reminds me.” He glanced at her. “I need to acquire a new one.”“Permission to speak, Xander?”“Go ahead, Drago.”“Will we be staying on here for a while?”“Missing your family? I sympathise, even though I don’t know what that’s like.”There were g
The man presumably named for his home province was of medium height but he had cruel eyes.Eithne folded her arms across her chest and waited.“Are the rotas arranged, Simpkin?”She blinked. That sounded like a local name. Was this man a traitor?“Checked and double checked, Commander.”“And no-one’s giving the mercenaries any lip?”“Nothing they can’t handle. I’m keeping a watching brief myself.” The newcomer passed a hand across his brow. “It was thirsty work in that smithy,” he said.“I can imagine. Take a break, my captain. You’ve earned it.”As the man from Ormond turned to leave, she had to say something. Because she recognised him now as one of her father’s most trusted bodyguards. His treachery she took personally.“Judas!” she spat.Simpkin paid her no more attention than if she were a gnat buzzing beside his ear, though he made the same warding off gesture with a hand which was missing a couple of fingers.Alone with the conqueror once more, she became aware that her heart h
That evening, having eaten very little else herself, Eithne was instructed by her master to serve ale in the Hall. He had hinted at such a thing though she hadn’t believed he was serious. All this after washing several floors until her fingers were raw and numb, her back ached and her knees were sore.Did she believe Xander that he’d purchased the cloak on a whim? There was no telling with him when he was serious and when he wasn’t. Except she did not doubt that he would indeed test her innocence or otherwise that very night.The men were noisy, boisterous and well on their way to becoming drunk. It heartened her to see Beauregard for some reason she could not quite explain. Though she hadn’t particularly looked at most of the others, except for Drago and Guisset, she could tell the mercenaries by their leather jerkins and short cloaks. It was a kind of uniform which set them apart and she was heartened to see them dispersed throughout the long room. In case of trouble?Surely not bec
So much for Xander not being all he seemed. His action was certainly giving the lie to that. Eithne assumed the situation would only become worse when they reached what was now his bedchamber.As he hauled her up the stairs, she became aware she was still carrying the flagon of ale. Maybe she could drink herself into a stupor, and maybe not.“Haven’t I been through enough?” she cried, unable to stay silent any longer.“You have no idea, do you, Princess? Paupers can’t be choosers.”Was that a hint as to his real origins? Eithne wasn’t about to ask him at that point.“You’re hurting me,” she complained.It was true; her scalp felt like it was on fire. Her mind led her to wonder if his head wound had healed. Then she chastised herself for neglecting her own needs. She had angered him without thought and now was about to suffer the consequences.“Get used to it.”His voice was low and tight, his fury about to be unleashed.Eithne wasn’t too proud to beg if it meant avoiding a brutal rape
The lesson didn’t happen. It must have been the horrified look on her face. Who was this man, this usurper who had neglected to install himself in the former King’s chambers?Instead, he lifted her bodily and took her across to the bed.“You’re freezing, little one,” he said. “Let me warm you.” He began to rub her arms and shoulders briskly.“I forgot to look for the necklace,” she murmured. Only when she’d been gazing at the rough flagstones had she recalled its loss.“What is it with you women? Always hankering after a bauble.”“She gave it to me, Clara. Only yesterday. For my birthday. The first gift I’d received from her in years.”Eithne became aware he was shaking her, though not hard. “Is it true? The raid happened on your birthday?”“My eighteenth,” she whispered, sadly. “It should be a time of joy and celebration.”Xander rolled onto his back.“Go,” he said. “Get out, before I change my mind.”“Do you really mean that?”Eithne looked with longing at the supper tray. Was prese
The solar was no different from when she’d seen it last. Her mother was seated at the harp while Edgar looked her up and down with a wolfish grin. The strings twanged discordantly. Clara’s face resembled someone who had been chewing on lemons. “I heard you last night, little slut, moaning and screaming. Disgusting!” Eithne frowned. Did she mean … ? “It’s a rare vixen that enjoys being ravaged,” the Queen Dowager’s lover said, passing his tongue over his thin lips. “I had hopes for you, my daughter. Now I fear you will be relegated to service the lesser warriors.” “Rest assured, while ever I live, that will not happen.” “Service you well, did she, m’lord?” The leer was hateful and made her feel shame for something she had not done. “For your information, the Princess spent last night in her own chamber. Alone.” “You discarded her. Before or after?” Clara asked, as if she were discussing the weather or the price of fish. “Before. And I don’t answer to you, remember that.” So h