Lost Love (4 page)

She blinked rapidly taking in his words. "Chores? I do no chores! Thou hast serfs for that."

His grip on her elbow tightened, and he turned her to face him. "'Tis irrelevant whether I hath serfs enough or not. I hath ordered thee to aid Marec, and so thee shall!"

She tried to shrug his grip off, but he held fast. "Thou cannot order me about like a common serf. I am thy wife and will be treated with the respect I deserve!"

"Respect? Didst thou respect me when those lies slipped so easily from thy tongue to thy father?" His eyes pierced hers, his jaw tightening.

She stamped her foot. "Oh, fie on thee! Thou knowest not the truth, and yet thee will not hear my explanation. Thou art addle-brained."

"I shall let that comment pass, but say so again, and I shall not be so lenient." He spoke low, his words menacing. "I am lord of this castle, and thou wouldst do well to remember that." He pointed towards the stables again. "At matins, thee will rise early and report to Marec for duties."

Her temper began to boil. Mayhap all vestiges of Ulric were well and truly gone, because Ulric would never have expected such a thing. "Thou wouldst expect me to clean out dung?"

"Aye."

She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Nay! I shall not do it! 'Tis not the duty of a wife!"

"I will not tolerate disobedience, milady."

Her eyes sparked fire at him. "Tolerate what thee will—I refuse to lower myself to thy demands." She spun on her heel and began to storm off, only to come to an abrupt standstill, as his big hands fell upon her shoulders.

She felt his hot breath on her neck when, with a voice laced with steel, he said, "Thee will obey my every command. Should I find at matins that thee hath failed to attend Marec, thee will take the consequences. Now go lady and think upon my words!"

She shivered as much from his speech as his touch. Without a backward glance, she made haste towards her bed chamber. She had no intention of doing his bidding. But how she would escape the odious chore she had no idea. It was time to plot.

The next morning, John arose bright and early. Fully dressed and his ablutions done, he strode into his wife's bedchamber fully expecting to find her abed, but was pleasantly surprised to find the room empty. Mayhap she had taken heed of his warning. He immediately frowned. What was he thinking? Arabella had said not a word to him, but her body language had spoken volumes. She had no intention of helping Marec, but why was she gone from her chamber? Had she run away? Nay, the guards would have notified him. With a suspicious mind, he made his way down to the stables.

From a distance, he could hear the clanging of metal coming from the blacksmiths where Marec would be found to be working. An affable fellow, he was a steadfast and dedicated serf. Cautiously, John approached the stables remaining out of sight of the main entrance. He could hear someone wielding a broom, and the sunlit rays were filled with dust and tiny pieces of flying straw—indication that someone was definitely cleaning the stalls, but the burning question was—was it his wife?

He moved nearer to the door and peered through the hinged aperture. When his eyes had adjusted to the darkened interior he could make out a red cape. His wife's cape. He smiled with satisfaction. So she had decided to obey him after all.

Stepping inside, he made a sudden entrance. "Good morrow, Arabella. Wherefore dost thou wear thy best cape to clean in?"

A shriek of fright filled the air and in that instant, John knew he'd been fooled. This was not his wife. In a heartbeat he had hold of the miscreant, and thrusting down the hood, exposed them for their true self.

"Esme!" His jaw dropped.

She dropped the broom and cried. "Milord! Oh, prithee forgive me!"

"Forgive thee?" He spat angrily. "Upon my soul I would sooner give thee a good hiding. What is afoot?"

"Milady asked me to take her place," she whimpered.

"For what return?"

Esme licked her lips and lowered her eyes to the floor. "A pair of lace gloves, milord. 'Tis for my daughter on her wedding day."

John let out a heavy sigh. Arabella knew just how to manipulate someone to her bidding. A trait he recognized in her since childhood. His jaw tightened. "Where is my wife?"

"I know not, milord. She ne'er told me."

"Dost thy speak the truth?"

Esme's eyes grew wide. "Aye, milord. On my daughter's life I speak no falsehood."

"Very well. I know thee to be of an honest nature, and in this instance, I feel thou hath been coerced into this trickery. Attend Marec until midday, whereupon thee will clean my wife's cape and return it in good fashion. Dost thou understand?"

"Aye, milord."

He released her arm and left her to work. His hand curled into a fist. Oh, how his wife's backside was going to pay for her disobedience.

* * *

Arabella shifted position and flicked over another page of her book, sighing softly. She had secreted herself away behind the wardrobe in her bedchamber. There was just enough room to place a few cushions on the floor and lay down with comfort. Being of slight stature, she had fit in perfectly.

She had heard John enter her chamber and exit just as quickly this morning when he surmised the room to be empty. She smiled wickedly. Oh, what satisfaction she had felt. Fie on him for thinking she would muck out stables! Her intention was to stay hidden, until later in the day, and then creep out to get some food. If John remained ignorant of her actions, then all would be well and good, but if he had found out, then mayhap remaining hidden until his temper cooled was her best option. For there was no doubt he would be riled. She worried her bottom lip. What would he do to her? Visions of lying across his strong thighs entered her mind, and she found herself a little breathless. The thought didn't scare her as much as excite her.

She shook herself and tried to resume reading, but found she was unable to concentrate properly. Shutting the book, she placed it next to her and pondered on how long she'd been hidden. Two hours must have passed—maybe three. That meant there was still another couple of hours until midday. She stretched, realizing that she was still tired from rising early to get Esme ready, so she snuggled into the cushions, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

* * *

It hadn't taken John long to find his wife. A quick search of her bedchamber had soon located her slumbering form behind the wardrobe. Her face was soft with sleep, and he found himself studying her. She was truly beautiful, possessing a perfect heart-shaped face with plump lips for kissing. He stopped himself. Such dangerous thoughts would take him away from his goal. Lest he forget how Arabella's lies ruined his life.

Laying one of his large hands on her slender shoulders, he shook her awake. She blinked slowly, and then, when her eyes registered who it was that had awoken her, she quickly sat up. "Ulric…I mean John!"

"Aye, milady,'tis I." His eyes locked with hers and he noticed her visibly gulp.

"I can explain!"

"Prithee do. I am most intrigued to hear another falsehood spill from thy wicked tongue for, in my opinion, there is only one explanation."

He held his hand out, and she reluctantly gave him hers, so he could help her out of the small recess. Drawing her over to the bed, he refused to let her hand go, even when she tried to pull away. He sat down and stood her in front of him, close.

"So, explain!"

Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing heavy. He raised his eyebrows waiting. Her lips pursed and finally she blurted. "Oh fie on thee! I cannot speak false on this matter. I hath no intention of working in the stables. I am lady of this castle and will be treated with respect." Her slippered foot stomped on the floor to emphasize her discord.

"Aye, 'tis true thou art lady of this castle, but thou art also my wife, and as my chattel thee will obey me in all things. Thou hath chosen to thwart me, and in doing so, thee will be punished."

Without warning, he dragged her down over his lap and threw her skirts over her back. Her bare bottom was exposed, and he quickly began to smack the rounded orbs before she could comprehend what was happening.

Her legs began to kick in protest. "Aow! Desist!"

His hand continued to rain down on her bottom, each cheek alternately getting a thorough pounding. She protested loudly, but he took no heed.

"Cease thy tongue. Thou hast done wrong by Esme and by me. I will see thee punished for thy disobedience."

He punctuated each word with a smack, leaving her in no doubt as to his anger. The sound of his hand connecting with her buttocks, mixed with her shrieks, reverberated around the bedchamber.

Several spanks later, John paused. Arabella tried to rise off his lap, but his hand restrained her. "Let this be a lesson to thee, fair wife. Thou willst obey me, else thee find thyself over my knee. With no exception! Dost thou understand?"

He heard her sniffle, and then she grudgingly replied, "Aye, I understand."

"Very well." He finally let her up, whereupon she rubbed furiously at her backside whilst wearing a pained expression on her face.

"Thou hast hard hands, milord!"

"A fact thee should keep in mind." He stood up and placed a hand in the small of her back, then pushed her forward gently. "Come, we shall dine in the great hall, and thou shallst sit upon a hard chair, so thou can reflect on thy behaviour!"

He watched her face grow sullen, but she refrained from any retort. She needed discipline in her life, and by the rood, she would get it!

For the next few days Arabella did as she was bid, but all the while she plotted and schemed to get away. She wanted to contact her father to rescue her from this hellish existence, and for that she would need coin, but the only way she could think of to obtain money–was by theft.

She was no thief, ordinarily, and the idea near scared her to death, but her need was great. She had scoured the castle from turret to bailey but had found no coin within. The dungeons were guarded, and even though she'd tried persuading and even ordering the guards for access–it had been denied.

So she had decided to try her luck in the local village. She hadn't told anyone where she was going. John would never allow her to exit the confines of the castle without an escort, and for the task she intended today, she needed no hindrance.

She had mingled at the portcullis with some maids who had errands to run in the market. Disguised in Esme's long hooded cloak, the guards hadn't said a word when she walked by with the other girls.

She had taken the cloak from Esme without her knowledge, which in itself was a crime, but she was certain Esme wouldn't mind. After all, it would be returned in the same state she found it.

When the group reached the edge of the village, Arabella separated from them and walked over to the crowded marketplace. She had planned this over the last week, but now she was here; her courage was beginning to desert her.

She licked her lips nervously. She'd never stolen anything in her life, well, not on this scale. Mayhap the odd little bun or pie when the cook wasn't watching, when she was a little girl, but never money. Her parents had driven it into her from a very young age that thieving was abhorrent. She swallowed hard. Sometimes though, circumstances made it the only choice!

She eyed the customers in the market, looking for the cut of expensive cloth that meant the owner would have a fair coin or two tucked away. Before long, she spotted a rotund man, dressed in green velvet, his hands bedecked with gold rings. Her eyes sparkled. This was the one. Warily, she looked round to see if anyone was with him, but he seemed to be on his own. Slowly, she began to wend her way towards him, pretending to look at the stalls as she passed them by, all the while keeping one eye fixed on his position. Soon he would pay coin for something, and she would be able to see where he stored his pouch of money.

Finally, she moved beside him and pretended interest in the brooches on the stall. He had just purchased two bracelets, and she watched furtively, as he reached inside the left side of his jacket to pull out a hefty looking purse of money.

Taking out a coin, he paid for his goods before concealing the purse back where it came from. When he was a few steps away from the stall, Arabella made her move.

Stumbling forward, she pretended to fall into him, clutching onto his jacket as he, too, became unbalanced and nearly fell. His carefully wrapped purchase flew from his hands as he steadied her.

"God's bones! Art thou blind?" He exclaimed, his jowls wobbling with indignation.

"My most humble apologies, milord. I didst not see thee. Me thinks thou hast dropped something."

"My gift!" He looked round to see where it had gone and in those few precious moments, Arabella leant forward and slipping her hand into his jacket, pulled out the purse. Within seconds, she had it hidden under her cloak. The man, with his parcel back in his hands, righted himself and was none the wiser.

"Take heed, young woman, and in future, watch where thou goest!"

"Aye, milord." With a small nod of her head, she began to walk briskly away. She couldn't believe it. She'd done it! Her heart was thumping in her chest from the adrenalin rush, and she could feel her hands trembling. Under her cloak she weighed the purse. It was heavy. Now John had no hold over her. She had enough coin to get Esme's brother to take her father a letter. In fact, she had enough coin to escape Terryn completely and hire her own cart! With a broad smile on her face, she headed towards the castle, but just as she thought her actions triumphant so she was brought down to earth with a bump by a firm grip on her elbow.

"Stop right there, milady!" Her heart leapt into her mouth, and she turned a terrified face, fully expecting the man she'd robbed to be behind her, but instead she found John's chief guardsman, Fendrel, at her side. She tried to shrug him off, but his grip tightened.

"I saw what thou did, milady. Give the purse to me–I would hand it back to the rightful owner."

"I didst naught! I know not of what thee speak!" Oh lord. How the devil had he seen what she'd done?

Fendrel raised his eyes to the heavens. "We can do this two ways, milady. The easy way is for thee to hand over the purse thou stole, so I can hand it back to the poor man you stole it from, or the hard way is for me to march thee back to thy victim, whereupon I will tell him of thy actions, and thee will bring shame upon the castle and thy husband. Which wouldst thou prefer?"

"Thou cannot do such a thing! I am lady of the castle and should be treated with respect!" Despite her initial fear, she found herself angry at her plans being thwarted.

"Didst thou treat thy victim with respect, milady? Me thinks not!" Fendrel's face was full of anger and accusation.

Arabella tried one last stance. "I shall inform Lord Terryn of thy insolence! He will see thee punished!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Rest assured, milady, that Lord Terryn will be informed of this occurrence, but thee and I knowest who will be punished!"

She paled at his words, knowing he spoke the truth. She slumped her shoulders. It was so unfair. Just when she thought she was so close to escape only to have it taken away. Mutinously, she withdrew the purse and thrust it into Fendrel's waiting hand.

He led her over to a grassy slope and sat her down on the ground. "Remain here until I return. I shall do thee the honour of failing to tell the victim thee stole it, I shall simply say I saw him drop it."

She regarded him with heavy lids. How big of him! Knave. She placed her head in her hands and huffed indignantly. Oh, why had he seen her? Slowly, she lowered her hands. Come to think of it, what had he been doing in the market place–was he following her? Had John taken it upon himself to have her watched at every turn? She snorted. Should she be surprised? He had made it clear how he felt about her, his distrust obvious. She had thought her disguise a good one, but it was clear it hadn't worked. Oh, fie on him!

She sighed heavily, picking absently at the grass with her slender fingers. She could, of course, just run off, but without coin to buy food and passage, it would be a fool's errand. She knew not how to survive off the land. No, she would have to accompany Fendrel back to the castle and for now, endure her husband's wrath until she could come up with a better, more foolproof plan.

* * *

Back at the castle, standing in the great hall, Arabella stood sullenly by Fendrel's side as he explained the events to her husband who was sitting at the dais looking more than a little displeased. She shifted uncomfortably when John fixed his dark gaze on her.

"I thank thee, Fendrel, for thy vigilance. Take thy leave; I would speak with my wife."

In his absence, the hall fell silent apart from the occasional crackle emanating from the hearth. Arabella's breathing grew shallow whilst she waited for John's wrath to be unleashed. Her bottom quivered with anticipation.

"I did not take thee for a thief, milady."

"Thou gave me no choice. Thou took all that was mine! If I am a thief, milord then we art equal, for didst thee not take my coins?" she spat.

He stood up, easing his large frame from the chair and stepped down from the dais to approach her. Placing a finger and thumb on her chin, he raised her face to his. "All that thee possess is mine, by law. If thou had wanted coin, all thee had to do was ask, and within reason, I will give them to thee. I will not hath my wife steal like a common vagabond!"

He released her chin and began to pace back and forth. "Added to which, thou didst leave these castle walls without my permission."

"Wherefore dost I hath to ask thee every time I wish to leave?" She paused, remembering her earlier thoughts on Fendrel. "Didst thou ask Fendrel to follow me?"

"Aye, milady. He hath been thy shadow since thee arrived. 'Tis for thy own protection."

"I need no such protection."

He gave her a hard stare. "I seek no argument in this, milady. Fendrel is under orders to follow thee and follow thee he shall."

She stared at him, futilely realizing he would not be persuaded otherwise, and then stomped her foot. "Well then—a pox upon thee, milord!" She lifted up her skirts and made for the door. She knew her words were foolish under the circumstances, but her temper had overtaken reasonable thought.

She heard his deep voice command the guards to block the exit. Furious, she spun on her heel and glared at him. "I demand thou release me! I will not be treated so!"

"Thou demand, milady? Me thinks not. Thee and I hath unfinished business." He grabbed her hand and began leading her towards a small room off the great hall. She dug her heels in, but his strength was far greater than hers. He drew her inside the room and closed the door.

She wrenched free of his grip and ran towards the hearth. "Thee cannot treat me like this! Wherefore if my father knew…"

He interrupted her. "I care not. Thou art my wife, and I can and will treat thee how I see fit. Now come hither."

She shook her head mutinously and protectively placed her hands on her bottom. "I will not!"

"So be it."

Oh, lord, nothing she said seemed to make any difference. He was intent on punishing her, and nothing she could say would sway him. A sudden thought entered her mind. Mayhap she could divert his attention with a kiss. She'd often heard her maids talking about how men could be wrapped around their little fingers at even the hope of a kiss.

She placed a hand on his chest just as he reached her. "Milord." She gulped, hardly believing she was daring to utter the words. "Thou declare us to be man and wife, yet thee hath only kissed me once." She licked her lips and looked deep into his eyes. "Wouldst thou not prefer to kiss me now rather than chastise me?"

His gaze dropped to her lips. She could smell his scent, he was so close: leather and wood smoke. A sudden rush of desire swept though her when his arms slipped around her slender waist. Her hands fell upon his strong forearms, revelling in the rippling muscles she could feel beneath her fingertips.

"Oh, Arabella, how innocent thou art yet how conniving as ever." He breathed, his lips close to hers. "Thou dost think that I will be swayed with a kiss."

Her heart skipped a beat when his hand moved to the nape of her neck. She felt his fingers entwine in her hair. "Milord, I do not think…"

She found her words halted by the firm touch of his lips on hers, demanding yet gentle. She responded fervently. This was the Ulric she wanted, not the fictitious Lord John of Terryn. Her mouth opened, and his tongue entwined with hers, sending shivers of desire straight to her nether regions. Breathless, she ran her hands up his arms to lay them against his broad shoulders and pull him even nearer. She knew not what lovemaking entailed, but she did know that she wanted him—more than anything in the world.

His lips broke away from hers and moved lower to kiss her neck. She arched her back welcoming his touch. "Ulric!"

His name uttered from her lips seemed to break the spell, for suddenly he froze. "I am not Ulric! Speak not his name!"

"But…" she began to protest.

"Nay, Arabella." His hands moved to her hips, tightening their grip as he pushed her backwards. His eyes were as dark as night, his lips thinned with anger. "I told thee never to mention that name again."

She tried to step away, but with one swift move he had her positioned over his raised knee, her skirts thrown over her back.

"Prithee, hath mercy," she begged, knowing full well what was coming. Her kiss hadn't dissuaded him enough it would seem.

She felt his hand settle against her bottom as he scolded her. "I hath no mercy for a scheming thief, milady. Thou art lucky Fendrel discovered thy actions afore the victim!" She closed her eyes and waited for the first stinging swat to land.

His hand left her backside for a moment before coming crashing down on her tender flesh. She yelped and tried to wiggle off his knee, but he held her fast, his hand swinging down lustily on both cheeks.

"I will not hath a disobedient wife, dost thou understand, Arabella?"

"Then release me! I hath no desire to remain here…Aow!" She shrieked as another smack brought tears to her eyes. "I want to go home!"

"Home? Wherefore this is thy home now, sweet Arabella, and obeying me is compulsory."

He spanked her sit spots, drawing a shriek from her parted lips. His hand was heavy, and the smacks fell hard against her soft bottom. She kicked her legs, but his rhythm didn't falter.

"Aie! Aow! It hurts!"

"This could all be avoided if thou wouldst learn to obey my command." His palm landed squarely on both cheeks again and again. Arabella's backside was burning hot by the time he had finished. He let her up, and she stood miserably before him, running her hands over her tender buttocks. She wondered how much more she could take from him and his brutish behavior.