CHAPTER 6

Adrienne awoke again to a score of maids bearing under-garments, stockings, and a wedding dress

The women bathed her in scented water before a massive stone fireplace. While she huddled submerged in the deep wooden tub, Adrienne examined every inch of the room. How could a dream be so vivid, so rich with scent and touch and sound? The bathwater smelled of fresh heather and lilac. The maids chatted lightly as they bathed her. The

stone fireplace was easily as tall as three men-it rose up to kiss the ceiling and sprawled along half the width of the cast wali. It was bedecked with an array of artistic silver-work, delicately filigreed baskets, cunningly handcrafted roses that gleamed like molten silver, yet each petal distinct and looking somehow velvety. Above the great mantel. rough-hewn of honey oak, hung a hunt scene depicting a bloody victory

Her study was cut short by the screech of the door. Shocked gasps and immediately hushed voices compelled her gaze over one bare shoulder, and she, too, gasped aloud. The villain with the matted rug upon his face! Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and she sunk deeper into the tub.

"Milord, 'tis no place for you" a maid began.

The slap ricocheted through the room, silencing the maid's protest and halting anyone else's before they even considered beginning. The great greasy beast from earlier in her nightmare sunk down on his haunches before the steaming tub, a leer on his face. Slitted blue eyes met steely gray as Adrienne held his rude stare levelly.

His eyes dropped from hers, searched the water line and probed below it. He grinned at the sight of her rosy nipples before she crossed her arms and hugged herself tightly

"Methinks he doesn't do so badly for himself." the man murmured. Then, dragging his eyes from the water to her flushed face, he commanded, "From this moment forth, your name is Janet Comyn."

Adrienne shot him a haughty look. "My name," she snapped, "is Adrienne de Simone."

Crack!

She used a hand to her chock in disbelief A maid cried out a muffled warning.

"Try it again," he counseled softly, and as soft as has words were, his blue eyes were dangerously hard

Adrienne rubbed her stinging cheek in silence And his hand rose and fell again.

"Milady! We implore you" A petite maid dropped to her knees beside the tub, placing a hand upon Adrienne's bare shoulder.

"That's right, give her counsel, Bess. You know what be-comes of a lass foolish enough to deny me. Say it," he re-peated to Adrienne. "Tell me your name is Janet Comyn."

When his beefy hand rose and fell again, it came down on Bess's face with fury. Adrienne screamed as he struck the maid repeatedly

"Stop" she cried.

"Say it!" he commanded as his hand rose and fell again. Bess sobbed as she crumpled to the floor, but the man went down after her, his hand now a fist.

"My name is Janet Comyn!" Adrienne cried, half rising from the tub

The Comyn's fist halted in midair, and he sank back on his haunches, the light of victory gleaming in his eyes. Victory and that disgusting slow perusal of her flesh.

Adrienne flushed under the sheer lechery of his pale eyes, and plunged her upper body back into the water

"Nay, he doesn't get a bad bargain at all. You are much more comely than mine own Janet" His mouth twisted into a smile "Would that I had leisure to taste such plump pil-lows myself, but you came just in the nick of time."

"Came where?"

"Came from where is my question," he countered. Adn-enne realized in that instant that to underestimate this brutish man would be a grave mistake For behind the slovenly manners and the unkempt appearance was steely

mettle and rapier sharp wit. The flabby arm that had felled the blows couched muscle. The pale slitted eyes that wan-dered restlessly didn't miss a beat. He hadn't punished Bess in rage. He'd beat her in a cold, calculated act to get what he wanted from Adrienne.

She shook her head, her eyes wide with confusion. "Really, I haven't the faintest idea how I got here"

"You don't know where you came from?"

Bess was sobbing softly, and Adrienne's eyes darkened as she watched the maid curl into a ball and surreptitiously try to inch away from the Comyn. His hand shot out and fas-tened on the maid's ankle. Bess whimpered hopelessly.

"Oh nay, my pretty. I may need you yet." His eyes swept her shuddering form with a possessive leer. Adrienne gasped when he ripped Bess's gown and proceeded to shred it from her body. Adrienne's stomach churned in agony when she saw the great welts rising from the maid's pale flanks and thighs. Cruel, biting welts from a belt or a whip.

The other maids fled the room, leaving her alone with the weeping Bess and the madman.

"This is my world, Adrienne de Simone," he intoned, and Adrienne had a premonition that the words he was about to utter would be carved deeply into her mind for a long time to come. He stroked Bess's quivering thigh lightly "My rules. My people. My will to command life or death. Yours and hers. 'Tis a simple thing I want of you. If you don't co-operate, she dies. Then another and still another. I will find the very core of that foolish compassion you wear like a shroud. It makes you so casy to use. But women are that way Weak."

Adrienne sat hunched in silence, her labored breathing an accompaniment to Bess's weary sobs.

"Quiet, lass!" He slapped the maid's face, and she curled into a tighter ball, weeping into her hands to smother the sound.

One day I will kill him with my bare hands, Adrienne vowed silently.

"I don't know how you came to be here or who you are, and frankly, I don't care. I have a problem, and you're going to fix it. If you ever forget what I am about to tell you, if you ever slip, if you ever betray me, I will kill you after I've de-stroyed everything you care about."

"Where am I?" she asked tonelessly, reluctantly voicmg one of the questions that had been bothering her. She was afraid that once she started asking questions, she might dis-cover this really wasn't a dream after all.

"I don't care if you're mad," he chuckled appreciatively.

"Fact is, I rather relish the thought that you might have bats flapping in your belfry. God knows, my Janet did. "Tis no more or less than he deserves."