Joust of Hearts (20 page)

“If everything goes as expected,” he replied shortly, as if she had asked the question many times over the course of the trip.

It was more words than he had said all morning, yet it was a strange answer to her enquiry. She pondered it a moment longer then asked, “Are you hungry?”

“I ate while you were sleeping.” He retrieved a bundle from a basket on the floor and set it next to her. He sounded cordial enough—however, there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face.

“Why did you not awaken me?”

He shrugged. “I did not wish to disturb your slumber. You seemed quite at peace.”

Melisande decided to voice the slight frustration she had with him. “You seem out of sorts or…overly concerned about something, Corin. Is it the storm?”

“Aye, the storm.” He finally gave her a smile. However, there was no evidence of it in his eyes.

She dismissed the change in his personality and opened the bundle of bread and cheese. “Have no fear, Corin. I have yet to see lightning strike a conveyance in motion,” she teased just before she took a bite of the fare. When she’d finished, she retied the bundle and placed it on the seat opposite her and Corin. “I left some bread if you are hungry later.”

“Thank you,” he said flatly, not turning from gazing out of the small window on his side.

Melisande stretched and yawned loudly. Although an unladylike action, she felt comfortable in their nest of privacy.

“Are you still tired, dear one?” he asked, looking at her for the first time in what seemed hours.

“Pray forgive me, my maids were quite loud as they arranged and rearranged my trunks almost until we left this morn.”

“Come. Place your head on my legs and stretch out as much as possible on the rest of the bench,” he insisted.

As she did, Corin covered her with furs and drew the fabric across the portal to block out the light. Within no time her thoughts drifted into slumber again.

* * * *

A particularly large rut in the road caused Melisande to awaken and she hastily sat up on the bench. Moving the thick fabric aside, she peeked out of the window. Finally, the last stretch of road was upon them. It had rained inconsistently all day, yet slow was the going. The mud from the wet roads likely hindered the wheels, making it difficult for the horses to get through. She could see that they were just approaching the outskirts of Dupree property. “It will not be long now,” Melisande said confidently.

Corin’s tense impatience showed from his face and shoulders down his arms to his clenched fists. “Unless the road is completely washed away,” Corin spat through his teeth.

Melisande watched Corin as he looked out of the opposite window and ran the snarls out of her hair with her fingers. When she was satisfied with her self-appointed task, she turned toward her window. “It seems to get slower as we come closer.”

Corin whipped his head around to glare at her. “Aye, and you speaking of it is not helping the situation,” he snapped.

She turned to him and their gazes locked. Melisande could not decide if she should be angry with the way he was treating her or hurt by it when she noticed the tiny beads of sweat on his upper lip.

“Tell me, Corin, are you still vexed about the storm?”

He did not answer. He merely turned back to his window.

Melisande folded her arms across her chest, jerking her chin in the opposite direction.
He is as nervous as a field mouse
.

It wasn’t long after that they pulled through the castle gates. Melisande thought it odd that there were no sentries posted upon the parapets as there usually were. The sun had recently set and the storm clouds provided an eerie glow but that certainly wasn’t reason for the lack of guards.

The rain poured down torrentially now as the driver of Corin’s conveyance pulled to a stop very close to the stone steps.

“I cannot imagine what my servants are about,” she commented as she looked to every corner for someone.

Corin quickly helped Melisande on with her cloak. “I am sure they are engaged elsewhere.” He turned from her, shoved open the door, exited the conveyance and took the steps two at a time.

Melisande thought it was strange that he did not wait for her—after all it was
her
home. She figured it must have been the rain that drove him inside so quickly. Melisande entered the great hall not moments after Corin and shook out her skirts. Again, not a single soul from Dupree greeted them.

It was Corin himself who shut the door and slid the heavy, iron-bound wooden bolt home.

“Corin, my maids will be unloading my instruments through that door,” she stated as she slid her cloak from her shoulders and placed it upon a bench just inside the doorway.

“Nay, they will not,” he replied as if the conversation was over.

“Corin, what has gotten into—” Melisande stopped, having noticed the crowd of strange men looking at her and Corin. They sat scattered about the hall like so much litter. A bad feeling began in her belly and spread to her limbs. “Pray, who are you and where are my servants?”

The men blatantly laughed at her.

“Hail, Sinclair!” A jovial voice came from the crowd. One of the men stood up and started walking toward Melisande and Corin.

Melisande backed up against Corin for safety. “What is this?” she asked just above a whisper.

“We are your new staff,” the tall, broad, rough-looking man jested with a sweep of his hand. The room lit up with laughter.

Somewhere in the back of Melisande’s mind she detected a hint of a Highlander’s accent among the murmurings of the scoundrels who had somehow obtained entrance to her home.

Corin held out his hand and grasped the other man’s arm in friendship. “It has been a long time, Erik.”

“Too long, Corin. You are still as ugly as sin, though!” The men who were gathered around the tables and brazier, shared laughter between them, as if a private jest had been presented.

“Where is Jeremy?” Corin asked the man.

Erik raked Melisande from head to toe with an insolent gaze, then focused back on Corin and winked. “Jeremy is otherwise occupied.”

The assembled men in the room hooted and whistled.

Melisande stepped away from Corin and whirled around. “Explain this invasion of my home, Corin Sinclair,” she demanded, growing more furious by the moment. “Who do you think you are, inviting these—these
people
into my home?”

“Erik, would you please excuse Lady Dupree and me? I believe the time has come to let her in on our little secret.”

The man Erik leered at Melisande once again. He elbowed Corin in the ribs and spoke as if she were not even in the room. “I’ll wager she’s a tasty morsel of flesh.” He swaggered back to the men and said something to them that Melisande did not hear. They grunted, whistled and made lewd noises at Corin and Melisande.

Corin led Melisande to the top of the stairs and into the first chamber he could find. “Very nice, Melisande. It has a feminine touch and yet seems strong,” he remarked, mocking her, she was sure.

“Corin, if you wanted your own staff to move in, why did you not just ask? And how could you tolerate such impertinence from them?”

“Love, I am afraid you do not understand. The Sinclairs have
taken
Dupree Castle in the name of the house of York and Elizabeth Stuart.”

“No. I don’t believe it. Who is York?”

“That is right, you are still young and would not remember the War of the Roses.”

“I do. I remember that it is over. Corin, you had best be forthcoming, for my patience is already in shreds.”

Corin gave Melisande a smug grin. “Queen Elizabeth Stuart is of the House of York,” he explained.

“Nay, Queen Elizabeth is married to our king, Henry Tudor, and is now such.”

“Well, that is also correct, but there are those of us who think Elizabeth of York should have the throne for herself.
She
should be the rightful ruler over England.”

“She would never go against the King. ’Twould be treason!”

“Regardless, we intend to take the throne and give the crown to Queen Elizabeth Stuart.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but the Queen has no knowledge of this, does she?”

Corin grinned at Melisande, and she wondered how she had ever seen him as handsome.

“We were hoping it would be a surprise,” he drawled lazily.

“’Twill never happen!” she yelled. “You and your horde of bandits will be executed before Elizabeth ever hears of this scandal!”

“And just who will foil our plans,
you
?”

“Mayhaps.”

Corin grabbed Melisande roughly by the arms. “I will give you one chance to join this fight and stand by my side as my wife or be trampled with the rest of Henry’s loyal subjects. You may choose the easy path or the difficult one. Which will it be?”

“I will never join with you—in marriage
or
war.” She held fast to her courage and spat in Corin’s face.

Corin shoved her across the room and she fell, tripping on her long surcoat.

Wiping his face on his sleeve, he glared down at her.

She attempted to rise, but her boots were all tangled within the fabric of her gown.

He bounded after her and dropped to the floor, only to hold her down with his body. She could feel his hot breath on her face and it nearly made her retch.

“You have made your choice, but mark my words. I will have what is coming to me, you little tease. Erik!” he bellowed down to the men. “Have someone open the tower for the
former
mistress of Dupree.”

Two men appeared at the top of the stairs and Corin pushed himself up from atop Melisande. She kicked her skirts aside, gathered herself up off the floor and tried to run past the men. Without much effort on their parts, they caught her by the arms and took her down a corridor and up two more long stretches of stairs toward the tower.

Inside the tower room was as cold and dank as any pit in Christendom must have been. A third man appeared with a torch to light the others around the circular room. All three men departed and she heard a heavy piece of wood fall across the outside of the door, likely blocking any attempt at escape.

Melisande pounded on the door until her fists felt bruised. She paced around the room, too angry to cry and too infuriated to think clearly. After some time had passed, she collapsed in the center of the room and her tears came with the help of gut-wrenching sobs, strong enough to strip her throat of skin, making her sick to her stomach.

Dear God. Helena was right
.

Chapter Eighteen

The door flew open and Melisande rolled over on the cold stone floor, shivering, oblivious to whether it was day or night. The torches had long since burned out and her eyes stung from crying.

“There now, let me warm you.”

“Corin?” Melisande asked as she felt a pile of furs tossed across her feet. “Corin, why are you allowing this happen to me? To my home?”

“Shhh… Do not speak,” the husky male voice urged as Melisande was pulled to a seated position.

Two arms wrapped around Melisande. Her body said stay, but her heart and mind simultaneously screamed a warning. She started to weep and tried to shrug away from the human touch. The arms tightened around her roughly and she was pulled again to the ground. A demanding hand slid up her leg and came to rest atop her naked thigh, squeezing, kneading.

“Nay!” she screamed as she clenched her knees together, blocking the probing fingers from venturing further.

“Just a quick fuck… I have in my possession where you dwell and now I must also have you,” the voice whispered gruffly against her ear and a not so freshly shaven jaw scraped against her cheek. As he kissed her, he left cold wet spots where his lips touched her neck and face.

Melisande tried futilely to twist her body away from the vile assailant. She could only guess that the man she had almost taken to her bed at Willowbrook was now in her company. In one quick motion, her leg came up and connected with his groin, and he rolled away from her, moaning in pain. It was most unfortunate that he now blocked her only retreat.

With renewed vigor, Melisande leaped to her feet and backed up against the wall.

The shadowed figure staggered to an upright position. It only took him two strides to reach her. “You bloody bitch!” he shrieked and he slammed the back of his hand into her cheek.

She found herself on the ground again, this time holding the side of her face with her hand, attempting in vain to see through the evanescence of stars before her eyes.

“I will never, ever warm your bed, Corin Sinclair!” she yelled through her pain in his general direction.

He laughed. “I am sorry, Lady Dupree, we have not been properly introduced.” He paused and she heard him walk across the floor of her prison. “I am Jeremy Sinclair, Corin’s twin brother.” And with that, he took his exit and threw the door shut, and she heard the wooden barrier as it was slammed back into its holder.

Still in pain from the assault, Melisande crawled over to the furs, covered her body, and cried herself into exhaustion.

* * * *

The rain continued through the wee hours of the morning. Melisande awoke to the musty smell of her cell mixed with the ominous feeling of certain doom. She decided to sit against the oak door so that she could be alerted sooner if someone approached. She gathered the furs, her only saving grace from the night before, and laid her head against the old wood. She had lived in this castle for almost five years and only once walked past the stairs that led to the room, not paying any mind either to the stairs nor the room.

As she looked about, she noticed one shutter-covered window, which she had not noticed in the dark when she was brought in last eve. High upon the wall it was, yet just low enough to be accessible. If she rolled the furs into a tight ball and stood on them, and if she stretched up onto the tips of her toes, she could reach it. Then, if God would be merciful, she might be able to pull herself up and escape through it.

She went to the window and divested herself of her surcoat to add to the makeshift step. She stood on top of the pile and pulled at the shutter. It felt as if it were a part of the stone wall. She pried at the wood with all her might and it finally swung open with such force that it crashed inward, still attached to the wall by its crude rope hinges. At the sound of footsteps, Melisande ran back to the door, put her ear to it, and listened for a moment. It must have been her imagination, for not a sound could be heard in the corridor. She went back to the window, pulled herself up, and climbed through the portal. Once she was out of the tower, she lowered herself over the side of the wall walk. For a moment, she dangled by her hands, fearful of the long drop to the battlements below.