The Knight's Seduction (12 page)

She held the hand he’d wrapped around her and kissed it.

Chapter Seven

With her husband’s permission, Daisy went out to check her traps the following week. She hadn’t thought he would allow her to go alone, but it seemed he trusted her not to leave and to be able to take care of herself, so long as the weather was not threatening.

Barrett had been touchingly sweet with her ever since the whipping. He had not pressed the issue of their consummation, seeming to accept what she had given him as enough for the moment. She still didn’t know what to think of it all. The way he’d taken her had been intense—both discomfort and pleasure all tied up together. She’d been caught up in giving herself to Barrett—pleasing him, and she’d never once been afraid or reminded of her first, terrible loss of innocence. Mayhap he was right; it could be different with him.

She’d been willing to try, but he hadn’t pressed the issue, and she had no intention of initiating it herself.

She found one rabbit in her traps and she carried it back. As she approached the gates, she saw three riders entering. They did not wear the Rothburg tabard and she did not recognize them. When she arrived, the three newcomers were walking from the stables. She stopped cold, her heart leaping to her throat and choking her.

Wolfhart. She would recognize that evil rat anywhere. As if she were still that ten-year-old child screaming beneath him, terror flooded every part of her being, leaving her frozen to the ground, staring.

He sauntered up. “Greetings, lady,” he said, looking amused at her gaping interest in them.

He didn’t remember her. Of course he didn’t. He’d probably raped hundreds of women and children.

She forced herself to curtsy, bowing her head as they passed. She stared at their backs, her eyes narrowed, fear morphing to pure hatred. She would make him pay for her sisters’ deaths. She would make him pay dearly.

She picked up her skirts and raced up to the solarium to think and make a plan. She considered telling Barrett. He might love her enough to avenge her sisters. But to ask someone else to murder in cold blood, to damn his soul along with hers, wouldn’t be right. No, if she wanted Wolfhart dead, she’d have to do it herself.

She searched Barrett’s things for a dagger or other suitable weapon, but found nothing. She’d have to take one from the armory, or else steal a kitchen knife. And she would need to get Wolfhart alone—she might be able to kill him, but she certainly couldn’t kill all three of the men. How would she lure him away?

The only thought that occurred to her made her sick.

But she had no other choice. Squaring her shoulders and steeling her nerves, she went back downstairs to search the armory for a dagger. She found a small one that would require quite a bit of sharpening, but it would do. She stuck it in her boot, then went to the chapel and knelt before the altar.

Dear God, forgive me for what I am going to do.

God would not forgive. She imagined her soul literally tearing away from her body as she contemplated her actions. The blackness inside her was as horrible as it had been the day her sisters died, as if the eight years in between had never happened.

She sniffed, realizing tears were streaming down her face.

“Bless you, my child. Do you wish to confess?”

She jumped, tweaking her neck as she whipped her head around to see Father Albert, the elderly priest, standing behind her.

She tried to say “No, thank you,” but instead she just began to sob.

The priest pulled up a chair beside her, handing her a handkerchief and looking kindly, but unruffled by her tears, as if he was accustomed to administering to such hysterics. He made the sign of the cross over her. “God hears your prayers, Lady Daisy.”

She tried to speak, but only hiccupping came out.

“Tell me your troubles, child,” the priest said gently.

“My two sisters were raped and killed by a man here at this castle,” she said, her words barely intelligible between sniffles and chokes. “He took my innocence. And I mean to exact revenge.”

The priest said nothing for a long time. Then, at last, he asked, “If your mind is made up, why do you cry?”

She drew in fluttering breaths, trying to regain control of her emotions. “Because my soul will be forever lost,” she said.

He nodded. “Yes, my child. Our lord has decreed,
thou shalt not kill,
and yet you intend to take justice into your own hands. Do you not trust God will mete out the justice this man deserves? Or could you not bring your case to Prince Erik, or to your husband and ask for justice to be served here on Earth?”

“Why is their justice different than mine?”

The priest considered. “It would be fair and impartial.”

She shook her head. “I will not ask anyone else to kill for me. I would not wish their souls to be damned along with mine, which still would bear the stains of blood.”

The priest bowed his head. “I beg you to reconsider, child. Do not act in hatred or haste. Love thy enemy, find forgiveness, and pray to God for the justice that is richly deserved.”

She knew he was right, but her mind was made up. She stood up on wobbly legs and curtsied. “I thank you for your counsel, father,” she said, her chest as hard as stone. “But I must do this. Please pray for my soul.”

She returned to her chamber with a whetstone to sharpen the dagger.

* * *

Barrett walked back to the castle after checking on the rebuilding of the wall. Daisy had acted strange at the midday meal. Her eyes had been red, as if she’d been crying, but she denied it, redirecting the conversation every time he pressed her. He’d get to the bottom of it later. He didn’t intend to let her keep secrets from him, especially if something was bothering her.

As he entered the castle, he caught sight of his wife in the armory and he froze. Something immediately struck him as odd. She was speaking with Wolfhart, the mercenary knight who had shown up earlier that day, and her tone seemed secretive, almost… seductive.

“I might be able to sneak away after supper,” she said, her voice pitched low. “I will meet you here, if I can.”

Ice cold washed through him. His feet froze to their spot as he gaped in disbelief. Daisy, unfaithful? Impossible. She did not like men. Or sex. Nausea nearly made him retch. Mayhap she did, just not with him.

He turned, just as she looked over and caught his gaze. He closed his eyes to block her out, stumbling forward, finding his way up the steps to the solarium. The soft patter of her feet running behind him barely registered above the rushing sound in his ears.

He drew in deep breaths to calm himself. What a fool he had been. He thought she just needed taming. Here he had been forcing himself on a woman who found him repulsive. A damn fool.

“Barrett.” She caught his arm when he reached the door.

He pushed forward, resisting the urge to fling her off. He tried to shut the door in her face, but she flung herself forward. He closed his eyes and turned away.

“Barrett—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said dully, keeping his back to her. He picked up her harp and her few items of clothing and strode to the door, placing them outside it. “I will not keep an unwilling woman. Our marriage is not consummated; you are free to go.”

“No,” she cried. “You’ve misunderstood. I am not unwilling.”

“I thought you did not like men. But now I see it is only me you do not care for.”

“That is not true!” Tears streamed down her lovely face. “I cannot explain now, but I hope that by tomorrow you will understand that I only ever cared for you.”

He looked away, disgusted. “Get out,” he said. “You are no wife of mine.”

Weeping, Daisy left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

He picked up the ewer and smashed it against the wall, shattering the crockery into dozens of pieces.

* * *

Daisy left her harp and things and ran down the steps, her vision blurred with tears. What had she done? If she lived past this night, her life would mean nothing. She had just ended her marriage, the only good thing that had happened in her life, in favor of revenge.

Would it be worth it? Would her sisters thank her for their justice?

She ran out of the castle and through the bailey, straight through the gates. She wore no cloak, and the wind whipped at her face with a satisfying bite. She ran into the forest, not stopping until her side contracted and she doubled over to catch her breath.

She should just keep walking. Walk until she froze to death. At least that way, she would die with a clean soul and spare Barrett the pain of ever seeing her again. But no, better to die avenging her sisters. Otherwise Barrett would never know why she’d betrayed him. The priest would tell him when it was all over.

She didn’t even dare think of the possibility of exacting revenge and living. How could she go on with a blackened soul? Nor did she dare think about what would become of her if Barrett never believed she loved him. She walked until her hands and feet were numb and her teeth chattered.

No. The priest had been right. Justice was best served by God, not her. And she refused to die without making sure Sir Barrett knew what he meant to her. She turned back. She needed to find the old priest again, to confess it all. He’d spoken wisely; he would know what she should do.

Darkness had fallen by the time she returned. She walked through the bailey, straight to the chapel, skipping supper. The old priest was not there, but the hearth was still warm and she sat beside it until the feeling returned to her hands and feet like shards of glass piercing her skin. Her stomach growled but she ignored it.

An odd sense of peace came over her after the emotional tumult of the day. She would not commit murder. Somehow she would get Sir Barrett to forgive her. It was not too late to put her world to rights again.

She heard the sound of the door open and her spirits lifted. The old priest would advise her.

“There you are, woman,” a deep voice said. The terrible deep voice that had haunted her nightmares.

She jumped to her feet in dismay. “Sir Wolfhart. Forgive me. I’ve had a change of heart,” she said, her blood racing through her veins. “I cannot keep my tryst with you.”

He walked forward, a terrifying leer on his face. “Of course you can. You are here, I am here.” He reached out and grabbed her head, bringing his mouth down on hers and forcing his tongue in her mouth as she screamed.

She fought him, but he knocked her down to the floor with the back of his hand across her face. Pain exploded in her cheek and her vision went black. When it cleared, Wolfhart had straddled her thrashing hips and was ripping her bodice open to expose her breasts.

“No,” she screamed, shoving uselessly at his chest. Remembering the knife, she bent her leg up to grasp the dagger from her boot, but her fingers did not quite reach.

He pulled his manhood out from his leggings and she screamed as loud as her voice would screech. Wolfhart struck her across the mouth, splitting her lip.

“What’s going on here?” The voice of the old priest reached her ears. “Get off her.”

“Get out of here, old man,” Wolfhart snarled. “Adam! Siman!”

Her relief at Father Albert’s arrival turned to dread when she realized Wolfhart had just called in his two henchmen, who would surely kill the old man if he interfered. She fought even harder as she heard the two men enter.

The clang of the church bell split the air. The resourceful priest must be pulling the cord to alert the castle. She prayed they would not kill him for it.

She contorted, twisted her hips to the side and stretching her fingers toward her boot. If only she could reach the dagger…

Wolfhart yanked her skirts up, tearing the fabric in his haste.

No. She would not allow him to rape her a second time. She would die first. She screamed again, the furious cry going on and on until his fingers closed around her throat, cutting off her air. The sound of men’s shouts and the clash of steel came from the doorway. Still strangled for breath, she caught the handle of her dagger as her vision began to grow dim.

She lifted the dagger, but before she could bring her hand down, Wolfhart flew off her as someone attacked him.

Sir Barrett.

Stars danced before her eyes as she struggled for breath. Blood filled her mouth and her head swam. She curled up on her side and saw Sir Barrett fighting with both Wolfhart and one of his men. The other lay dead in the doorway. She tried to stand up, but could not catch her breath or strength.

Prince Erik and other knights had arrived, but Sir Barrett did not seem to need any help. His sword flashed out, first to the right and then the left as he went after both men at once. He moved his huge frame with great speed, shifting and swinging, somehow herding his two foes together, backing them against the wall. He ducked as Wolfhart’s sword swung for his neck and lunged forward. His sword stabbed through Wolfhart’s chest, withdrew it and beheaded the other man in less than a breath’s time.

She opened her mouth to scream again, but only a croak came out. The bodies of Wolfhart and his man had hardly fallen when Barrett appeared at her side, scooping her into his arms and cradling her against his chest.

Tears stung her eyes at the evidence that he still cared.

“You see, Lady Daisy,” the priest proclaimed, loud enough for all to hear. “God delivered justice for your sisters’ deaths, without any blood upon your hands, or the hands of your husband, who acted in self-defense.”

Barrett turned his eyes on her in surprise, but said nothing, stepping over the bodies to carry her past the prince, Penrod, and all the others, straight upstairs to his chamber. Her things still sat outside the door, a reminder of their horrible quarrel. He pushed through the door and laid her gently on the bed as if she were made of glass and might break.

“Barrett—”

“Shh,” he hushed, soaking a piece of linen in the washbasin and coming to her side. He dabbed at her split and swollen lip, cleaning the blood from her face. She searched his expression, but he showed no indication of his feelings. Did he understand now that she had been seeking vengeance, not sex? Had he forgiven her?