Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (5 page)

Joselyn was not a skittish girl;
she was practical and sensible. She knew very well that she was now a married
woman but beyond that, she knew little else. Having spent eleven years in the
cloister had only prepared her for life in the cloister. She knew virtually
nothing of married life, of what was expected between a husband and wife.  But
she knew enough to know that her husband would expect his husbandly rights this
night.   Her experience with such a thing had been violent and painful.  She
expected that encounter to be no different from the disposition her new husband
was displaying.

But truth be told, she was still
in shock; shock from the surrender, shock from an unanticipated marriage, and
shock over her mother’s horrific end.  It was enough to deaden anyone but
Joselyn was not an average young woman. She was a fighter. As Stephen removed
the last of his plate armor and turned to her, she knew she could not surrender
to the situation, as much as she wanted to. It would be easier to submit. But
she never did things the easy way.

“I need your help to remove my
mail,” he pulled off his hauberk, or mail hood, and tossed it to the ground. 
Then he moved to the bed and held out his arms to her. “Will you pull, please?”

She gazed at him with a baleful
expression. “Are you truly so hardened to everything?”

He looked at her, his arms still
extended. “My mail, please.”

“Does nothing in this world
affect you in the least?”

“My mail,
please
.”

“Answer me. As your wife, I would
ask to be given that courtesy.”

The arms remained hanging in the
air between them. “I have no answer to give. I am what you see.”

He was the most difficult person
she had ever met. Frustrated, she reached out and grabbed the mail, grunting
with great release as she pulled.  Stephen bent over, allowing the mail to
slide over his enormous body.

“My name…,” Joselyn grunted as
one arm came free and almost sent her over backwards,” is the Lady Joselyn
Julia de Velt Seton,” the other arm came free and she fell back onto the
mattress with the weight of it, “and I am the eldest child of Sir Alexander and
the Lady Julia de Velt Seton. My mother is a Northumberland de Velt and my
father a Scot although he has Saxon forbears. I have been living at Jedburgh
Abbey for eleven years where I was taught the arts of sewing, cooking,
gardening, flower cultivation, shearing sheep and wool dying. I was also taught
to read and write Latin and French, and I can play the mandolin.  I am not a
mindless, cowering female so you should know the manner of woman you have
married.”

By this time, Stephen was
standing over her with his hands on his hips, listening to her speech.  She
spit it out rather angrily and he realized he very much wanted to smile at her
spunk.  But he kept his smile hidden, his manner strictly professional.  He
didn’t want to let his guard down, not even for a moment. He’d known too many
women in his lifetime that would use that sort of thing against him.  Until he
knew Joselyn better, it was best to keep up appearances.

“Thank you for the education,” he
said, bordering on sarcasm. “Since you are not a mindless, cowering female, I
am assuming you realize that I am not undressing for my own comfort.”

“What do you mean?”

“We must consummate this
marriage.”

She blanched but admirably kept
her composure. “And if I refuse?”

“I would advise against it.”

The pale blue eyes flashed. “Why?
Will you rape me, too, if I do not submit to your husbandly attention?”

“I will do what is necessary to
accomplish the task.”

The man was as cold as stone and
she believed him completely.  Joselyn felt the sting of tears as she gazed up
at him, quickly averting her eyes so he would not see. But it was too much; the
strain of recent events took their toll and tears came as she started to
unfasten the leather girdle around her slender waist.  She stood up from the
mattress and let the girdle fall to the ground; by this time, the tears were
rolling and she sobbed as she began to unfasten her surcoat.  The surcoat hit
the floor and she went to work on her heavy hose, reaching underneath her shift
to unfasten the ties and unrolling each one from her shapely legs.  She was
weeping deeply by the time she yanked the linen shift over her head, exposing
her naked torso to the cold room.  With a final yank of frustration and
futility, she pulled her undergarments free and tossed them on to the floor.

“There,” she wept, covering her
naked chest with her arms and wiping her face at the same time. “Do what you
must. I have made it simple for you to take what you want.”

Stephen had stood still as stone
throughout the entire exchange; even now, as she stood before him in all of her
naked glory, his cornflower blue eyes were fixed on her face.  There had been a
brief moment when he had visually inspected his new bride and what he saw did
not displease him; she was magnificent.  He also knew that it took an abundance
of courage to do what she had just done and he was impressed. A small seed of
respect sprouted for the woman as she stood a few feet away, sobbing pitifully
yet prepared to do as she must. He knew it hadn’t been easy for her and in that
instant, the compassion he kept so carefully guarded began to find release.

Stephen was not a cruel man by
nature; he was, in fact, inordinately kindhearted, which is why he kept himself
so closely guarded. He stood there for a moment, listening to her weep.  Then,
very slowly, he reached down and picked up the tartan that he had flung on the
ground.  Moving to her, he gently wrapped it around her naked body.

“Come,” his voice was a raspy
whisper. “Lay down on the bed.”

She was weeping so heavily that
she couldn’t speak. “But… but….”

He shushed her softly, picking
her up bodily and laying her upon the old, scratchy mattress when she seemed
unable to do it herself.  Pulling off his soiled tunic, he turned her towards
the wall and laid down beside her.  Gathering her up in his arms, he wedged her
soft body into a comfortable position against him.

“Sleep now,” he murmured into the
top of her head.

“But… but…,” she tried to twist
around to look him in the face. “You said… you said we must con… consumm….”

“Consummate the marriage,” he finished
for her when she couldn’t seem to spit the word out. “We will. But not right
now.”

She broke out in fresh tears. “I
do not know anything about the marriage bed,” she lamented. “The only thing I
know is from that warm summer day those years ago when that soldier… he did
unspeakable things ….”

She couldn’t finish and Stephen
lay there in the darkness, thinking that perhaps he had been wrong in not
believing her tale. There truly hadn’t been any reason for her to lie to him
unless she had been else compromised and did not want him to know it. Perhaps
she was promiscuous and that was why her father sent her to Jedburgh. He simply
didn’t know her well enough to believe what she told him.  He was reluctant to
admit that he was afraid to believe.

“Hush, my lady,” he repeated,
tightening his grip around her. “Go to sleep. Things will seem better in the
morning.”

Her sobs remained strong, as they
do when all defenses are down and exhaustion causes a lack of self-control.
Stephen’s surprising show of kindness undid her.  She was not used to anyone
being particularly kind to her.  Joselyn was running amuck at the mouth and
there was no way to stop it.

“But that was not the worst
part,” she wept. “There was the baby….”

Stephen felt as if he had been
hit in the chest; her words that effect on him and he lifted his head to look
at her.

“What baby?” he demanded.

Her hands were on her face as he
rolled her onto her back.  She was weeping incoherently and he pulled her hands
away from her face. “What baby?” he demanded again, less harshly.

Joselyn gazed up at him with her
pale blue eyes and wet, dark lashes. Her face was sopping with tears but her
sobs died somewhat as she stared at him. She didn’t know why she was telling
him all of this, only that she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“My… my baby,” she hiccupped. “I
delivered a son three days after my twelfth birthday.  I know you said that you
did not believe me, but if you wanted proof of what the English soldier did to
me, the physic told me that the birth tore me asunder. There are scars
everywhere.”

Stephen just stared at her,
trying not to feel horrified on behalf of the woman. Still, it was an appalling
tale.  She told it with honesty; he could see it in her eyes as she spoke
frankly of something no young maiden should have to speak of.  The compassion
seeping into his veins began to flow more strongly.

“Where is the child?” he asked,
his voice exceptionally gentle.

She wiped at her eyes. “My father
took both the child and me to Jedburgh,” she said softly. “I named him Cade
Alexander, after my father and his father. The nuns cared for him and I was
only allowed limited contact.  He is eleven years old now, a strapping lad with
dark hair the last I saw.”

Stephen sat back, staring at her
with mounting disbelief. “He has been with you at Jedburgh all these years?”

“Until he was seven years of
age.  Then the nuns sent him to foster at Ettrick Castle.”

“Does he know you are his
mother?”

She shook her head. “He does not.
He was told that he was orphaned.” She sat up slowly, sitting next to the man
who was staring so openly at her.  He didn’t seem disgusted, or judgmental, and
that gave her courage. “From time to time, the nuns bring me news that he is
well.  When he has completed his training, my father has agreed to return him
home.  Perhaps… perhaps then I will tell him that I am his mother.”

Stephen’s cornflower blue eyes
were dull with the tragedy of her tale. “And what if he asks of his father?
What will you tell him?”

She looked as if she was going to
start crying again but she fought it. “It was not his fault that he was the
result of a violent, ugly act,” she murmured. “I am not sure what I will tell
him, but it will not be the truth.”

“Do you know where his father is
now?”

She shook her head. “After it
happened, my father told me never to speak of it again. I have no knowledge of
what became of the soldier or who he was.”

Stephen regarded her carefully,
thoughtfully. “Surely you caught a glimpse of something that might give a clue
as to where he came from. Did he say anything?”

“Nothing that I choose to repeat
in your presence,” she told him, but realizing by the expression on his face
that he was only attempting to help her. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to
bring forth thoughts that she had tried very hard to forget. “I... I remember
that he bore the colors of gray and red. I heard someone say that those were
the standards of the Earl of Carlisle.”

Stephen gazed steadily at her.
Then, he snorted, an ironic gesture that Joselyn misread as a haughty one. 
Ashamed, she backed away from Stephen and pulled the tartan more tightly about
her.  She was in the process of pressing herself into the wall again when he
stopped her.

“Nay, lady, you’ll not move away
from me,” he had her by the arm. “I was not laughing at you. I was simply
thinking that after all these years, you may be in luck.  Justice may yet
come.”

She was not sure what he meant.
“What do you mean?”

Stephen tugged on her until she
moved away from the wall and back in his direction. “Because Tate de Lara
happens to be the current Earl of Carlisle,” he told her. “Perhaps this man is
still in his ranks; when he assumed the title, Carlisle Castle was already
staffed.  It had been since Harclay was executed. Perhaps this soldier is still
within the earl’s ranks.”

“Who is Tate de Lara?”

“The other man who escorted you
to your marriage. He has been in the hall all night.”

She looked dubious and hopeful at
the same time. “Is it possible? The soldier is probably long dead.”

Stephen shrugged. “It is indeed
possible, but if he is alive, more than likely he is still at Carlisle.  Men at
arms, unlike knights, tend to settle in one place and stay if the conditions
are good. Are you sure he was a soldier and not a knight?”

She blinked in thought, trying to
recall that which she had blocked out for so many years. “I am not sure, to be
truthful,” she said timidly. “He wore mail and a tunic, and his helm came off
at one point. I know he had red hair.”

“Unlike the boy.”

She shook her head. “His hair is
dark, like mine,” she replied, trying to read the expression on his face. He
seemed to have warmed up from the cold and harsh man she had been introduced
to. “Will you find him?”

Stephen lifted a dark eyebrow. “I
will do better than that,” he replied decisively. “I will find him and when I
do, I will kill him.”

Her eyes widened. “Why would you
do this?”

The cornflower blue eyes grew
intense. “Because you are my wife.  This man stole your innocence which
belonged to me and for that, he will pay the price.”