A Message of Love (8 page)

The look of helplessness Sophie saw flash across the angular features of her father’s face unsettled her. He turned to face the Lady.

“Your Grace - perhaps I -”

The Lady flashed him a beaming smile, dazzling in it’s beauty, but her eyes were cold as the winter morning. “Clayton, forgive me. We haven’t spoken of compensation yet have we? I was so intent on finding my prize, it simply slipped my mind.”

The Lady laid a hand on his shoulder. The dazzling jeweled rings on her fingers looked to be worth more than the entire farm, and then some. “How much would assuage your misplaced guilt, ameliorate your loss? My men carry gold enough, surely. Name your price.”

She turned her smiling face on Sophie, and it was at that moment that she realized something was dreadfully wrong.

“Father, what’s going on here? What does she mean?”

“Why do you speak to him and not to me, girl? He has no more dominion over you. That has now become my duty.”

The glint of the Lady’s eyes, left no doubt in Sophie’s mind that she was in serious peril. Those eyes bespoke nothing but cruelty.

“Sophie,” her father said, stepping toward her. “Address your Lady properly, you know better than this.“ He lowered his head slightly, staring at her, the forlorn expression on his face rapidly eroding any confidence she’d had that this encounter would turn out well for her.

“I am sorry, milady. It’s just that I don’t understand. What are you here to procure?”

The Lady tilted her head to one side, her pink lips curved in a half smile. “I’m here to procure you, my dear.”

Sophie’s heart sank through the floor. This couldn’t be happening.

Owen stepped in front of Sophie, his arm reaching around her protectively. She clutched his arm, wanting to melt into him, to seek shelter in his strength. She knew the feeling was absurd, but she was truly frightened, and holding onto Owen gave her real, if hopeless, comfort.

“She’s not going anywhere, my Lady.”

Sophie’s father grit his teeth, ready to explode, but the Lady beat him to it. Her sword was out so fast, Sophie had no perception of it’s movement. Rather, it seemed to instantly materialize, the lethal point a mere breath from the pulsing carotid of Owen’s throat.

“Oh, I think she is, boy.” The Lady’s mouth was a thin line, her jaw clenched. “Stand down. Now.”

Owen stepped back a pace, pushing Sophie behind him. The Lady betrayed her first bit of pique, her cool confidence faltering for the briefest of moments, revealing an icy anger. She grit her teeth, nodding her head to the side.

Two of her men appeared instantly in the doorway, rushing to Owen and grasping him by the arms.

“Bastards!” Owen broke the grip of one of the men, crashing his forearm up under the soldier’s chin, sending him reeling. It was a short fight though; the pommel of the other soldier’s sword struck the boy a neat blow to the temple, staggering him. The other soldier quickly recovered, landing a gauntlet-clad fist in the tall boy’s midsection, doubling him over with a pained gasp of breath.

“Leave him alone!” Sophie attacked the nearest man, beating on his mailed back with her fists.

“Sophie!” Her father’s roar was enough to cause even the soldiers to pause a moment in their manhandling of Owen.

The Lady grabbed Sophie by the arm, spinning her around to face her. Sophie froze; the point of the Lady’s sword now rested its deadly coldness in the hollow at the base of her throat. “You stay there. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make it worse for yourself, girl.” The Lady’s eyes flashed as she spoke, color flushing the golden cheeks.

The Lady turned to the soldiers holding Owen, dipping her sword toward the ground. The men kicked the legs out from under him, dropping him to his knees, their hold on his shoulders preventing the struggling boy from rising. The Lady stepped toward him, as placid as a still lake. She pulled her leather riding gloves from her pocket. Then there were two whirs of brown color as the Lady slapped Owen across the cheeks with the gloves, one side, then the other. He stared up at her, the rage naked in his eyes. Sophie had no doubt that had Owen been given the chance he would have attacked the Lady, even though such an act would mean the forfeiture of his life.

“Now then
boy.
You’ll know not to question your betters next time, yes?”

With a defiant thrust of his chin, Owen turned his face away from her.

“Your Grace,” Sophie’s father said, stepping to the Lady’s side. “He is a daft lad. Let him be, I beg you.”

“As I said Clayton,” the Lady replied, returning her gloves to her pocket. “Charming though his chivalry toward your daughter may be, he needs a lesson in better manners. Perhaps my men might show him the error of his ways.”

One of the men holding Owen chuckled, ruffling the boy’s unruly hair.

“
No
, please your Grace. Not that,” Sophie’s father said. “I will have Rory see to him. He won’t sit comfortably for a week, I assure you. Let us leave it at that.”

Sophie wasn’t sure what was worse: the thought of Owen being lashed for protecting her, or the sick feeling in her stomach at the defeated tone of her father’s voice. She’d never in her life heard him like that, the fear just under the surface.

The Lady’s practiced façade fell over her like a curtain, the pleasant smile back on her face, as if nothing untoward had happened. “Clayton, perhaps if I have a look now, we can remand the boy to your able steward.”

Sophie didn’t miss the groans of disappointment from the Lady’s two bodyguards.

Her father glanced at Sophie, the haunted look in his eyes almost more than she could take.

She couldn’t mean...

“Your Grace, surely there must be something else I can offer. She is my only daughter.”

“Now Clayton,” the Lady said, patting his arm as if a child’s “I’m only borrowing her. She’ll not be truly harmed.”

“I cannot bear it.” He dropped to one knee, his head lowered. “Anything but that, Grace.”

The Lady looked down upon him, her fingers twirling in the hair at the back of his head. “What would you offer in recompense Clayton? Perhaps a reunion of -”

“The boy.”

Sophie gasped. “Father NO!” She rushed to Owen, kneeling by his side.

The Lady gazed upon Owen for a moment, considering. “I think not Clayton, tempting though it may be. Still, he does need that lesson.”

The Lady nodded at her men and they dragged the struggling, cursing Owen out of the barn.

“No, what are you doing!” Sophie cried out. “You said you wouldn’t take him!”

Sophie’s father rose, pulling himself to his full imposing height, dwarfing the Lady.

“Your Grace, there are others. . .”

“No, Clayton,” she said, eyes glittering. “You know this is my right. I’m being generous in even offering you a choice.”

Sophie saw her father’s shoulders slump, and she had to fight back the tears. What was happening here?

“I have… no choice.”

“None, Clayton.”

He gave a quick nod, then strode to his kneeling daughter. He helped her up, and stood close to her. He smelled good to her, had always done so. Safety and love.

“Sophie,” he whispered into the hair above her ear. “Much will be asked of you. Whatever your Lady commands, you will obey. You must do this.”

“Father,” she murmured. “I’m afraid. What must I do?”

“Listen to me. This is the only way, and you will endure it. I will see you again, sweet daughter.”

He caressed her cheek a moment, the sadness in his blue eyes like a bottomless well. Then he stepped away, leaving the barn before Sophie could say more.

The two hulking bodyguards appeared once more, flanking the Lady. Sophie longed to slap the leering looks from their faces.

“Now then my dear”, the Lady said, poking Sophie between the breasts with a finger. “Let’s have off with these rags.”