Connie Mason (29 page)

“Like hell we do!” Mariah cried. “Take the food away, I don’t want it.”

Walter ambled over to the table. Mariah felt a shimmer of fear when Osgood left and closed the door behind him. Walter appeared not to notice her skittishness as he pulled chairs up to the table and piled food on two plates. Then he sat down and invited Mariah to join him.

“I’m not hungry,” Mariah said.

Walter picked up a haunch of venison and bit off an enormous chunk. Mariah grimaced in disgust at the rivulet of grease that ran down his chin. He wiped it on his sleeve.

“The venison is excellent, Mariah. Your cook has a way with wild game.” He poured ale in her mug and offered it to her.

Thirst almost made Mariah grab it, but her willpower won out. “If I accept the food, you will expect me to fall in with your plans for me and Robbie.”

He shrugged. “We will have our way in the end, and well you know it. You can save yourself a lot of pain if you tell me where to find Robbie. Once he’s home where he belongs, you and I can be wed immediately.”

“Father Francis won’t marry us if I’m unwilling,” Mariah replied, “and there is no other priest within miles.”

Walter tossed a bone on the floor, wiped his hands on his shirt and leaned back in his chair, a smug smile curling his lips. “I intend to bed you tonight. Once the priest learns I have known you, he will have no choice but to perform the rites. You wouldn’t want to bear another bastard, would you?”

Mariah leapt to her feet, grabbed a meat knife from the table and slowly edged toward the door. “Touch me and you’ll regret it.”

Walter laughed. “That puny knife can’t hurt me.” He grabbed for her. She ducked away.

Her gaze slid over him, searching for a vulnerable spot, one where the knife would do the most harm. She decided to aim for his face, for it was the one place the small blade would inflict serious damage. If the guards had left as they had been ordered, she could escape her chamber and hide until help arrived from either Falcon or her own guardsmen.

Walter stalked toward her. “You don’t understand, Mariah. If I don’t succeed with you, Father will punish me. He wants Mildenhall, and you and Robbie hold the key to everything he desires. Don’t you see? I have to marry you.”

“And what of Robbie?”

Walter refused to meet her gaze. “You’ll have my children to love, many children, for I intend to be a diligent husband.”

A chill slid down Mariah’s spine. It was just as she suspected: Osgood intended to do away with Robbie once she bore Walter a son.

“Stand aside. I’m leaving.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Mariah, so you may as
well accept the fact that I’m going to plant my seed in you tonight. If it doesn’t happen tonight, it will tomorrow night, or the next, or however many nights it takes.”

Mariah moved a shaky step backward. As if aware of her intention, Walter grasped her arm and swung her toward the bed. She twisted from his grip and raised the knife in a threatening manner. “I swear I’ll use this if you touch me again.”

Walter’s gaze narrowed on the blade. “That toothpick isn’t even capable of puncturing my skin. Give it to me.”

“Nay!”

He lunged for her. Grasping the handle firmly in her fist, she brought the knife downward, aiming for Walter’s face but willing to accept anywhere it chose to land. Her aim was true. The blade dug a jagged gash down his left cheek. Caught off balance from his forward lunge, Walter staggered and fell, slamming his head into the bedpost. Mariah stepped aside just in time to avoid him. His eyes widened and then rolled back in his head.

Mariah couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Had she killed Walter? That hadn’t been her intention. But she’d been willing to do anything to keep from being raped by him. Gingerly she bent over Walter’s prone form and looked for signs of life. Relief washed over her when she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. His left cheek was a bloody mess of ripped skin. Though the wound wasn’t fatal, his face was going to be permanently scarred.

Mariah backed away. Had she just written her own death sentence? She needed to leave, now, before Walter awoke and wreaked vengeance on her. Despite her precarious situation, her legs refused to move. It was as if they were frozen in place.

A knock on the door roused Mariah from her state of shock.

“My lady, Sir Osgood asked me to bring wine from Mildenhall’s private stock to your chamber.”

Sir Martin! Mariah nearly collapsed with relief. “Are you alone?”

His voice sounded puzzled. “Aye.”

“Come in, then, and quickly.”

Sir Martin opened the door and stepped inside. The wine decanter rattled on the tray when he spied Walter lying on the floor. He set the tray on a chest and hurried over to examine Walter. “What happened?”

“He tried to force me,” Mariah whispered. “I couldn’t let him do that to me and struck him with the meat knife. He’s not dead, nor is he badly wounded. He hit his head on the bedpost when he fell.” She wrung her hands. “Whatever am I going to do?”

“You cannot stay here. Follow me.”

“Where are you taking me? Osgood will leave no stone unturned to find me.”

“To the nursery,” Sir Martin replied as he opened the door and peered into the corridor. “Good, the guards haven’t returned. We cannot delay, for I must return before Walter awakens and gives the alarm.”

Mariah didn’t argue as she followed him into the corridor and up the stairs to the nursery. Her heart was beating an erratic tattoo when she entered the suite of rooms and closed the door firmly behind her. Once she caught her breath, Mariah said, “Osgood’s men are sure to find me here.”

“Fear not, my lady. Follow me,” Martin said.

The nursery consisted of three small chambers—Robbie’s
bedchamber, Becca’s bedchamber, and a schoolroom. Mariah followed Martin into Becca’s bedchamber. She frowned when Martin went to the wardrobe and opened the door. “This won’t do, Sir Martin. ’Tis too obvious.”

Martin didn’t bother with explanations as he pressed a panel at the back of the wardrobe. Mariah was startled when it slid open. “Step inside, my lady, quickly!”

“What is this room?” Mariah asked warily. “Why didn’t I know about it?”

“There was never a reason for you to know,” Martin explained. “The room was built before Sir Edmond’s time. He showed it to me because he thought the steward of the keep should know.”

Mariah had to stoop to get through the panel. Sir Martin followed her. “I’ll bring clean linen for the cot and smuggle food for you whenever possible. And look, the room even has a window. ’Tis not easily discernible from the outside, for the window can only be seen from the rear of the keep. Anyone looking up would think it a part of the nursery.”

“Why was this room built?” Mariah wondered.

Sir Martin shrugged. “The reason was lost over the years. The keep is very old; perhaps the room was used to hide an enemy of the Crown. The room was used by neither Lord Edmond nor his father before him. From time to time I make sure the panel still opens and clean the cobwebs from the room.”

Mariah shuddered. There were indeed a few cobwebs decorating the corners. “Let’s pray I won’t have to stay here long,” Mariah said.

“I will show you how to open the panel from the inside,
and then I must leave. I see no reason why you cannot leave the room during the night to stretch your legs, as long as you confine yourself to the nursery. After Osgood’s men search here, ’tis unlikely they will return.”

Mariah watched closely as Sir Martin showed her how to open the panel. He left with a promise of clean sheets and food.

Walter was staggering to his feet when Martin let himself back into Mariah’s bedchamber in the solar.

“Walter, are you ill?” Martin asked solicitously. “What happened? Where is Lady Mariah?”

“What are you doing here?” Walter asked shakily.

“Your father asked me to deliver wine to you and Lady Mariah.” He grabbed a napkin from the tray he had brought earlier and dabbed it in the pitcher of water. “You’re bleeding. Let me help you.”

Walter pushed him away. “Where is Mariah? That bitch stabbed me. She’s going to pay dearly for this.”

“You were alone when I arrived a few moments ago,” Sir Martin ventured.

“Mariah!” Walter shouted. “You’re not going to get away with this!”

“Damnation! What is going on in here? Your bellowing could be heard below stairs.”

Walter’s gaze swung to the doorway, his expression a mixture of relief and fear when he saw his father.

“Look what that bitch did to me!” Walter roared.

Osgood glanced around the chamber before returning his furious gaze to his son. “Where is she?”

“I know not. Look at my face! She ruined me. I’m going to kill her when I find her.”

“Wipe the blood from your face,” Osgood ordered.

Walter plucked the wet cloth from Martin’s hands and dabbed at his cheek.

Osgood walked over to inspect the wound. “ ’Tis no more than you deserve,” he sneered. His beady gaze settled on Sir Martin. “What do you know about this?”

“Naught, sir. I arrived with the wine as you instructed and found Walter on the floor. He was just coming around.”

“You passed out from a paltry wound like that?” Osgood said disparagingly.

“Nay, Father.” He rubbed the lump rising on his forehead. “The suddenness of Mariah’s attack surprised me. I staggered, fell, and hit my head on the bedpost. I was still groggy when Sir Martin arrived with the wine.”

Osgood’s eyes were as cold as death as he stared at his son. Walter must have felt the rejection, for he immediately said, “I’ll find her, Father. There’s no way she can leave the keep without our knowing. And when I do find her, I will take her roughly, on the floor, against the wall, it matters not. Trust me, I will not spare her; she will suffer. I
will
plant my seed in her.”

Sir Martin flinched at Osgood’s answer. “If you don’t get a son on her, I will. And if you fail to find her, your punishment will be severe. You may be my son, but I do not accept failure.” He turned to leave.

“Fetch the healer,” Walter ordered Sir Martin. “My wound needs stitching.”

Osgood spun around. “That witch is gone, and well you know it. You’re going to have to live with the scar. Ask the cook to clean the wound and apply salve. I’m sure she can find something in her cupboard to suffice. I
expect you to initiate a thorough search of the keep for Mariah. Don’t fail me in this, Walter.” He strode from the chamber.

Cursing roundly, Walter stalked after him. Left alone, Sir Martin gathered up the salvageable food from the uneaten meal and placed it and a pitcher of ale on a tray. The corridor was still deserted as he crept up the stairs to the nursery. It took but a moment to gain entrance to Mariah’s hidey-hole. She rose from the cot when he entered, a hopeful look on her face.

“I didn’t have time to find sheets, but I will bring them the first chance I get,” he said. “This is all I could salvage of the feast you were supposed to share with Walter.”

Mariah eyed the food hungrily. “Thank you. It will help enormously. What happened when you returned to Walter?”

“He was just coming around when I arrived. No one suspects me of aiding you. The search for you will begin soon, so I came up here straightaway.”

“Does Osgood know what I did to Walter?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Oh, aye, he knows. I wouldn’t want to be Walter when he fails to find you.”

“How does Walter’s face look?”

Martin grinned. “Like he’s been mauled by a wild boar. He wanted Edwina to stitch him up, but Osgood reminded him that she was gone. I have to go, my lady. If I’m discovered here, it would be disastrous for both of us. I hope you can make do with what I’ve brought until ’tis safe for me to return.”

“Thank you, Martin, you may have just saved my life. Go now, I will be fine.”

Will I be fine?
Mariah wondered after Martin left. What if he wasn’t able to return? She might die of thirst, or hunger. What if her guardsmen failed to recruit help from Edmond’s neighbors?

What if Falcon was dead?

Impatience plagued Falcon, even though he knew he was still too weak to lead a siege against Mildenhall. As much as he wanted to be up and about, his body refused to cooperate. He was more than grateful, however, that Edwina had kept his fever to a minimum with potions and herbal teas, and prevented any infection with salves and sheer force of will. Though Falcon appreciated Edwina’s excellent care, his concern for Mariah was the catalyst that hastened his recovery.

Three days after his near-fatal injury, Falcon rose from his pallet before dawn and began practicing with his sword, testing his strength by hacking at an imaginary enemy. Twinges of pain shot up from his injured left side, but he stoically ignored them.

Sir Dennis joined him. “Are you sure you’re well enough for this? I can lead the men without you.”

Despite the cool air, Falcon was sweating. His strength was nowhere near capacity, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

“I know you are capable, Dennis, but I need to be a part of the assault. Though we have enough men to win the battle, I am concerned about Mariah’s well-being. I know not what Osgood will do to her when we attack. Will he use her against us?”

“Osgood doesn’t dare harm Mariah,” Edwina said as she joined them. “He needs her to bear Walter a son. Once that’s accomplished, they can get rid of Robbie and claim Mildenhall and the title.”

“He’ll never get Robbie,” Falcon vowed fiercely.

“You should be resting,” Edwina maintained. “Look at you. You’re weak as a babe.”

“I’ll never regain my strength by resting,” Falcon replied. “I owe you a great deal, Edwina. This is the second time you’ve saved my life. I vow your skill won’t go unrewarded.”

“The only reward I will accept is Mariah and Robbie’s safety. Give me that, sir, and I will be happy.”

“You have my word. Restoring Mariah and Robbie to their rightful place at Mildenhall is the reason I am here. Has Father Francis returned to the village? He asked permission to leave, and I gave it.”

“Aye, his flock has need of him. He will be safe; Osgood doesn’t dare harm a man of God.”