State of Grace (Resurrection) (18 page)

‘We have work to do,’ Roman said, heading for the short flight of stairs.

I was surprised, when
we crested them, to find myself in an open courtyard with a wood covered walkway, leading to a large stone building. Figures, mostly carrying plates and bowls, streamed in both directions, like columns of ants carrying leaves. The platters and bowls heading towards us were mostly empty, and were getting emptier by the second as those carrying them helped themselves. The plates going in the same direction as us contained pastries, nuts, wizened apples, bread, meats and assorted other food stuff.

Roman grabbed an apple and a pastry and pas
sed them to me, pushing them into my hands. Still hungry, in spite of, or because of, my fear, I took a small nibble of the pastry and to my surprise my mouth filled with the taste of almonds and raisins, and the sweetness of honey. I finished licking the last stickiness from my fingers as we reached the end of the walkway and entered a door which opened straight into the great hall. I recognised the room as the same one as last night, although I was seeing it from a different perspective. The fireplace was now on my left and the huge main doors were to my right. I sought out the staircase which lead up to the bedrooms before I was distracted by the hall itself. It was thronging with people, the majority of them seated at the two rows of tables that ran almost the length of the hall. Another table rested on a dais at the far end of the hall, and at it, on one of the throne-like chairs, sat a stocky, barrel-chested man, with chestnut, wiry hair and beard, both flecked with grey. His clothing was rich, his white linen shirt overlaid with a deep blue tunic, thick and warm, embroidered in red and gold, and belted at the waist. I could see the gleam of a heavy silver chain around his neck. All he needed was a crown.

Roman followed the direction of my gaze. ‘Bernard de Neufmarche – Lord Brychan,’ he said in a low voice. I nodded, understanding. The whole scene was reminiscent of a wedding supper, with the main players on the top table and the guests relegated to the r
est of the floor. I guessed the further away one sat from the dais the less important one was, and the standard of clothing appeared to bear this out. The main difference between a wedding and this scene was the bride: she was missing. The chair next to Sir Bernard was empty. And most of the guests, although not all, were male. A few women were scattered along the benches and there were two seated at the high table. Sir Bernard’s daughters I surmised by their ages.

The meal was coming to an end, as more dishes were
being taken out than brought in, although alcohol seemed to be flowing freely. I could smell the wine and the more pungent frothy beer, as servants hurried to refill cups and mugs.

‘About time. He is asking for you.’

The speaker was a swarthy man, with short thick hair, neatly trimmed beard and an aristocratically hooked nose, which he succeeded in looking down, despite the fact he was several inches shorter than Roman.

‘Godfrey.’ Roman inclined his head briefly. His earlier animation had leaked away, leaving only a memory of it behind. He was wearing his blank face again, looking cool and powerful. And dangerous. Godfrey must have sensed it.

‘He wants a song, bard,’ he sneered, wiping grease covered fingers on the hem of his tunic. ‘You’d better oblige him, but be careful what you choose. If you pick wrong your head will decorate the curtain wall.’ He laughed nastily. ‘His mood is not the best.’

Roman stared at the man impassively, saying nothing. Godfrey returned the look, his expression belligerent, before he was forced to look away. ‘You forget your station, bard,’ he uttered angrily as he tried
to push past Viktor. Viktor didn’t move and the man bounced back off him, glaring at him savagely, the promise of revenge written in his eyes. Then he noticed me. Wonderful. What a time to lose my invisibility cloak.

Godfrey smiled, an ugly lecherous smil
e, his eyes raking my face, before crawling down my body, slow and insulting. If I had met him in a nightclub I would probably have slapped his face. Hard. My fingers twitched at the thought and Viktor put a warning hand on my arm. I stilled, obediently.

‘Found yourself a bitch, cur?’ Godfrey smirked at Viktor, the corner of one thin lip curled. I twitched again. Godfrey noticed.

‘Not yours then,’ he surmised, and turned his attention back to Roman. ‘I thought you preferred richer meat.’ He glanced deliberately at the two women on the dais. ‘This one looks as poor as church mouse, and just as drab.’

I did more than twitch this time, and Viktor’s grip on my arm tightened. I glared at Godfrey with dislike.

‘Got some spirit, though,’ he observed. ‘I can see her attraction for you, but she is not to my taste. I like my women more…’ he paused, ‘womanly. And wealthier.’ This time his look at the high table was quick and furtive. Ah, he had the hots for one of those two, did he? Roman noticed, too.

‘She’ll not have you, Godfrey,’ he said tauntingly. ‘She needs a man who can rein her in and keep her satisfied in bed.’

Godfrey turned purple. ‘And you think you are that man?’ he blustered, his voice becoming louder. ‘A penny bard with not even a chicken to his name! Pah!’ He drew himself up to his full height of five foot eight. ‘If you are caught sniffing around her, dog,’ he warned, ‘your manhood will be sliced from you and fed to your whore!’

Roman’s eyes glittered, anger brewing in their depths, and he seemed to grow taller. Violenc
e gathered round him like lightning in a thunder cloud, yet when he spoke his voice was quiet and calm. I felt a familiar chill.

‘I have no aspirations in that direction,’ he said. ‘She is not for the likes of me.’

‘I have seen the way she is with you,’ Godfrey protested hotly. ‘If you even look at her I will –’

‘Godfrey.’ Roman’s voice sent shivers of fear down my spine. Godfrey was either a very brave man or a very stupid one if it didn’t affect him
, too. ‘She is but a maid and too long unwed. My stories and songs call to her. Nothing more. She will do her father’s bidding when he finds her a husband that pleases him.’

Godfrey bridled and I could see that he thought himself suitable husband material for the lord’s daughter.

‘And I? I will move on at winter’s end,’ Roman added.

‘Good. See that you do. And stay away from Lady Sibyl.’ Godfrey just had to get in the last word.

Roman inclined his head again as Godfrey stalked past me, his face as red as the embroidery on Bernard’s tunic.

‘What was all that about?’ I whispered.

‘Later,’ Roman promised. ‘I have to earn the crust you have eaten. Stay with Viktor.’

He walked towards the
dais, threading his way between the servants, and I watched him move with feline grace, loose limbed and fluid, and remembered the feel of his chest and the strength of his arms as he held me when I cried. Heat flared through me when I thought of his hand on my thigh and his lips on my neck.

Viktor stirred restlessly against me and for a second I h
ad the disconcerting feeling he could read my mind. I shot him a quick look and was glad that his attention appeared to be elsewhere.

‘Roman!’ The booming voice carried down the length of the hall, even over all the noise. I saw Roman reach the stage and bow before Lord Brychan. Viktor led me past the staircase and the main doors and eased me into a corner. He found me a three-legged stool and plonked me down on it. I craned my neck, my fingers working at the ties of my cloak then sliding the garment from my shoulders. I gathered it up, folding it neatly before placing it on the floor. It was warm in the hall with so many bodies and the roaring fire. A tiny draft scooted in around the oak doors leading to the porch
, a forerunner of the approaching bad weather, but at the moment it was a welcome relief from the closeness of the hall.

The noise level dropped as the
great hall quieted in anticipation. Roman picked up an oddly shaped stringed instrument and held it with familiarity. As the first chord was struck a dog barked and this was followed by a swift yelp as the animal was silenced. I could just see Roman’s head, leaning over the strings of the guitar-like instrument with its strange bent neck, which I later learnt was a lute. Music, soft at first, swelled to fill the air. Bernard, leaning back in his solid chair, arms folded across his stomach, had his eyes closed as the notes washed around the room, but the women on his right were concentrating on Roman. One of the women, the younger one, a girl really, no older than fifteen, lifted her head to scan the room until she found what she was searching for. A bright smile, swiftly stifled, lit her face, before her attention dutifully returned to Roman. Her long chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders, the same colour as her father’s, and her complexion, though not as ruddy as Bernard’s was pinker than her sister’s. The other woman on the dais was possibly about twenty and had her mother’s stamp: straight fair hair, drawn over one shoulder and woven into a plait, slim but with curves in all the right places, creamy skin. A younger version of Lady Nest. She didn’t take her eyes from Roman, and even though I was at the other end of the hall, I could read the longing in her face. If it wasn’t love she felt for Roman then she had a definite dose of infatuation. No wonder Godfrey was unhappy if he had aspirations to marry her. If this was Lady Sibyl then she had eyes for none but Roman.

Viktor leaned close when he noticed the focus of my attention and confirmed my suspicions.

‘Lady Sibyl is the woman with hair like corn, and the other is Lady Agnes; Lord Brychan’s daughters,’ he whispered, so low I had to strain to hear his words. ‘It is yet to be determined how their mother’s actions will affect them. Mahel, their brother, is conspicuous by his absence,’ he added, indicating another empty seat at the high table.

Curiosity piqued
, I opened my mouth to ask a question but closed my lips as Roman lifted his head from the strings and began to sing. He had the most beautiful voice I had ever heard, rich and compelling, with a hint of silver bells and running water, blending perfectly with the music, telling a tale of lost love, betrayal and death.

He held his audience spellbound as a story, older than time, unfolded in his song.

As the last echoes of the haunting music died away I noticed tears on my lashes at the beauty of the words and I bowed my head in borrowed grief, the emotion of the song swelling my heart.

And throughout it all Roman’s eyes never left my face.

Chapter 8

After the fourth cup of wine I was decidedly tipsy. The hall was airless and stifling in spite of the draft which only seemed to reach as high as my ankles coming from the main doors. The atmosphere was thick with emotion and Roman, sensing it, sang another song, lighter and bawdy.  People seemed to shake themselves out of their melancholy as they joined in with the lyrics, banging cups and tankards on the tables in a jaunty beat. Who needs drums, I thought drunkenly?

Viktor was no
where to be seen. I was on my own. I got awkwardly to my feet, wobbling slightly from the effects of the strong alcohol, and lurched to the smaller door set within one of the massively thick main ones. I needed the bathroom.

The noise from the hall dropped as I closed the door behind me and stood shivering a little in the porch, although porch was too insignificant a word to use to describe the vestibule I was in.
The vaulted ceiling and column-carved stone either side of two enormous portals was more fitting for the entrance to a cathedral than to the wellies, coats and umbrella stand I usually associated with a porch. It’s a porch, Jim, but not as we know it, I thought, and giggled. Oh dear: guess who had drunk too much wine. The tip of my nose was going numb and that was always a sure sign I was heading towards a state of inebriation.

One of the massive
outer doors was ajar and the wind whistled around it bringing icy droplets to splatter the stone floor. The threatened storm had arrived. I gasped with cold as I sidled outside and the wind hit me with full force, snow swirling in dizzying patterns and I realised it was November. The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees since earlier in the evening.

I
hesitated, wondering which way I should go. I could see the two crenelated towers we had passed between earlier this evening and the impressive wall running from either side of them in to the darkness. Buildings nestled against the base and there were shadows of others in the gloom, dull lights glowing vaguely through the dancing snow. An occasional figure emerged from the night, darting between the dancing swirl of white crystals. A man, servant by the look of his clothes, appeared out of the wind-crazed flakes and I dashed to intercept him.

‘Excuse me,’ I called, teeth beginning to chatter. ‘Where are the
toilets?’

He frowned
and shook his head, stepping around me in his haste to get out of the weather. I touched his arm, jerking my hand back when he flinched.  I tried a smile but thought it must have come out wrong because all the man did was bare his teeth at me, and nasty teeth they were too, yellow and crooked with gaps where several were missing.

‘Pri
vy?’ I tried, recalling the word from yesterday. He slunk away a few steps, but not before he had pointed to my right. When I craned my neck to look, he took the opportunity to slip past me and in through the small door. A gust of heat and noise billowed out, along with a smell of food and rarely-washed bodies. I turned away and breathed in the fresh air the storm gusted at me, gratefully. I hadn’t noticed the stench so much when I had been sitting  in it, but now I was outside I realised how deeply unpleasant it was. Has no one heard of deodorant? Of course not: it hadn’t been invented yet. My giggle became a hiccup.

Buffeted by the wind I set off to the right, hugging the wall
and peering into the white, whirling darkness, trying to decipher the lights glowing from small windows. The lights blinked out one by one and over the noise of the wind I heard the bang of wood on wood as shutters were closed.

Su
ddenly I stumbled and nearly fell as the wall I was holding on to disappeared. I’d had enough: the cold was sobering me up nicely, I was wet, and though I needed the bathroom, I could wait a while. I decided to retrace my steps and return to the hall before I got lost. I could always ask someone there where the toilet was. I had no idea why I simply hadn’t done that in the first place, rather than wander around outside on a night like this.

My outstretched hand reached for the wall again but before I could find i
t I fell headlong into another one of those blasted stone corridors. When is a wall not a wall, I thought, muzzily – when it’s a door! Ok, so that didn’t make sense, but I knew there was a joke hiding in there somewhere, I just couldn’t seem to find it.

The passageway was dimly lit, and warmer than outside, so I stood for a while, enjoying the relief from the wind. I peered down its length, wondering where it led, but decided that the better option would be to return the way I had come. It might be bitterly cold but at least I knew where I was going.

‘All alone?’

My heart sank. I knew a rhetorical question when I heard one, so I didn’t bother to answer. Godfrey was blocking the entrance.

‘Are you searching for a real man, or are you looking for something to steal while your master keeps everyone occupied? Hmm?’ he taunted.

I sighed. I hated men who think they’re all that, especially when they so obviously weren’t. Godfrey might be attractive to some women, but I wasn’t one of them. He merely gave me the creeps.

‘He’s more man than you’ll ever be,’ I replied.

‘So
you
are
his whore,’ Godfrey said in satisfaction. ‘Methinks I’ll have a taste of you and see if I can discover the attraction you hold for him.’ His eyes slid slimily over my breasts, and I thought longingly of the cloak I’d left in the hall. ‘You must be good in bed because I can find little other reason for his attentions.’

I narrowed my eyes at him, bridling at the insult. So maybe I didn’t hav
e the luscious curves of Lady Sibyl, I thought, recalling the way I hadn’t filled her borrowed dress in the bosom department, but I wasn’t ugly enough to scare crows either.

‘Yeah, well, that’s something you’ll never find out,’ I retorted hotly, then wished I hadn’t. I could see the intent on his face in spite of the darkness. Oh crap. He was going to try to have his wicked way with me and I didn’t think he was going to wine and dine me first. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

He lunged at me and I tried to dodge round him, my boots skittering on the paved floor. Not fast enough. He grabbed at my arms and pushed. My back thudded into the wall, hard enough to knock the breath out of me. My head hit the stone and for a second I saw stars. I had thought that ‘seeing stars’ was only an expression, but the lights exploding behind my eyes like camera flashes gave lie to that myth. I drew in a breath to scream but it was cut off as his hand slapped over my mouth. I was going to have to fight dirty, so I bit him. Hard. It must have hurt, but to his credit he only grunted and didn’t let go. With the weight of his body pushed against me holding me in place against the wall, he used his free hand to cuff me around the head. Stars again and now I was dizzy as well. Deliberately I let my body go limp, forcing him to take his hand from my mouth to hold me up. I tried to scream again, but this time my breath was stopped by his mouth as his lips crushed mine, his beard scratching my chin, I could taste the grease from his dinner and smell stale wine on his breath. I gagged, struggling wildly, my hands thumping his back, realising belatedly just how strong he was. Godfrey might be wiry but he was packed full of sinew and lean muscle. I knew if I didn’t get away from him soon I was going to get badly hurt.

He ignored my blows, concentrating on squeezing my breast,
his grip painful through the coarse fabric of the dress. My squeal of pain and protest was muffled by his mouth, and the sound seemed to spur him on. Lips still fastened on mine, he worked his tongue between my lips. I gagged again, revolted, and he paused in his fumbling to cuff me for a second time.

‘Manner
s,’ he said, pulling his lips away from mine, his breathing harsh and rapid. ‘I need to teach you some.’

I could tell
my unwillingness was turning him on. He was one of those men who liked it rough. I gulped air, sickened at the taste and smell of him.

‘Please,’ I pleaded, hating the fear in my voice but desperate for a little more time. If I could delay him long enough surely someone would come down the corridor.

He smiled nastily, his face inches from mine. He liked my fear.

‘No need to beg, whore,’ he said, deliberately mistaking me. ‘I have every intention of giving it to you. You won’t want your bard to touch you again after you have had me.’

I suspected he might be right: I probably wouldn’t be able to face the touch of another man for a long time after Godfrey had raped me, possibly never.

His mouth latched onto mine
once more, his teeth bruising my lips, and his hands roamed over my body with renewed vigour. I had to stop this now. So I sank my teeth into his lip and bit.

‘Whore
!’ Pain exploded in my stomach as he punched me and I slid to the floor, my legs losing all feeling as I fought to breathe. My vision was fading and I knew I was going to pass out. I tried to hit out at him, my arm leaden, and I heard him laugh, an ugly sound, as he grabbed one shoulder and dragged me away from the wall so I was lying flat on my back. I instinctively tried to curl into a ball but the weight of the man above me prevented me from turning over onto my side. The world faded for an instant as I fought for oxygen then gradually my solar plexus relaxed enough for me to hitch in one breath, and another, and I became aware of Godfrey again. He was on his knees between my spread legs, fiddling with the ties of his breeches. Getting them undone, he swiped one hand across his mouth and I felt a grim satisfaction when I saw the dark smear on his face. I had bitten him hard enough to draw blood.

‘Pox-ridden bitch,’ he muttered, putting one arm across my shoulders to hold me down, and he rucked my skirt up to my waist. Each breath brought renewed strength and I began to struggle wildly, his weight pinning me to the floor, my legs thrashing and kicking.

My actions only aroused him further. His breath came in short gasps as his excitement grew with every move I made. His hands delved between my legs and he jerked in surprise. I remembered I had no underwear on and recalled the state of my nether regions. Hairless.

‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured, his voice thick with lust. ‘What have we here?’

He forced my legs wider apart as I fought to close them, his heavy body preventing me. I knew exactly what was going to happen next.

‘No!’ I screamed, thrashing my hips, trying to dislodge him and desperately trying to prevent him from entering me. His weight came down on me even more and his arm moved to my throat cutting off my air again
, I began to black out once again. I wondered – hoped – I would survive this.

Suddenly he was gone
and I could move. Using my heels and elbows I scooted backwards, my skirt riding back down over my hips as I went, covering my nakedness.  I sucked in huge lungfuls of air, coughing and spluttering. My throat was on fire, but at least I could breathe.

As everything came back into focus I looked frantically for Godfrey, willing my limbs to work properly, trying to get enough strength in them to run o
r fight. I wasn’t going to suffer another attack without doing something.

Then
I cried out in shock at what I saw. Godfrey was being held by the scruff of his neck by a horrifyingly angry Roman. He glanced at me once, his eyes glowing black, glittering and deep, terrible in their fury, then he turned his attention back to the hapless Godfrey. Roman, incredibly, held him at arm’s length with one hand, as Godfrey jerked and twisted in his grip, his arms flailing and legs kicking. His breeches hung open around his hips, his now shrivelled manhood bobbing as he struggled.

‘Let me go,’ he demanded, the command losing its authority due to the shrillness of his tone. He was scared. And so he should be. I had never seen a sight so terrifying in all my life as Roman. There was absolutely nothing human about him, apart from his form.

‘Lord Brychan will hear of this. How dare you lay hands on me!’ Godfrey squawked.