Knight of Westmoorland: The Queen and the warrior (7 page)

The door opened behind him and in a dark corner of his mind, the warrior wondered if it was the Queen, coming to check on Marcus’ progress.

It was Nathan, his arms laden with firewood. He dumped it beside the fireplace and looked at Marcus. “You sure you wanna do this?”

The table moved again as Marcus stood up. “Why? You gonna chicken out on me, now?”

Nathan crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the warrior, his eyes black as night. “Hell, no. Just checking…”

Marcus barreled past the other man. Going to the fireplace, he stoked the fire.

The heat from the fire soon drove the two men to the other side of the dungeon. They cracked the door open and stood there, talking and laughing.

But for the warrior, there was no escape. Less than a yard from the fireplace, the heat was oppressive. His body temperature was rising, driven up by the blazing fire. His eyes burned and his head pounded. The heated air seared his nostrils. The smell of singed hair, from his chest, thighs and groin, filled his nose.

He heard the sound of shuffling feet and Marcus and Nathan stopped beside him.

“See what I mean?” Nathan asked the guard. “The hot air will damage his lungs and he’ll die soon. We need to avoid that, if you really want him to suffer.”

Marcus spat on the floor. “What can we do about it?”

Nathan frowned thoughtfully. “Hmm. We need…we need a sack.” His eyes searched the room. “Like a gunnysack. A wet one. We’ll put it over his head. It’ll cool the air he breathes, keep him alive longer.”

The guard nodded. “Okay. I know what we can use. I’ll be right back.” He rushed from the chamber.

The warrior looked at Nathan. Nathan leaned against the wall, meeting the warrior’s gaze steadily. The man was only slightly inebriated, but his eyes gleamed from an inner fire.

The warrior licked his lips, tasting blood again from his split bottom lip. “Why are you doing this?” He could grasp the guard’s motivations, but this man had no reason to hate him so.

Nathan shrugged. “Why not?” He yawned. “Got nothing better to do, tonight.”

“The Queen—”

“The Queen doesn’t give a damn. You heard Marcus. We can do what we want, so…why not?” His lips curled up in something that might pass for a smile, in a distorted world.

Marcus ran back into the chamber, a grungy bag clasped in his fist. “My laundry sack,” he said with a sneer.

Nathan pushed himself away from the wall. “Let me see it.” He took the bag from Marcus and scowled. “I said
wet
, you idiot. Wet!”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you said. We’ll get it wet.” He dropped the bag on the floor, undid the front of his pants, and began pissing on it.

Nathan slapped the guard on the back with a short laugh. “Remind me to stay on your good side.” He joined Marcus in dousing the sack with urine. When they were done, Marcus picked it up and turned around.

The warrior tensed. “I vow, Marcus, I will stick a dagger in your gut and watch you bleed out like a pig.” His eyes blazed with fury, but his voice was deathly calm.

Marcus met his gaze and he saw a trace of fear register in the guard’s bloodshot eyes. But he quickly covered it with laughter. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try.” Marcus shoved the sack over the warrior’s head.

The stench of urine and sweat and soiled clothes surrounded the warrior, taking his breath away. He involuntarily gasped, instantly wishing he hadn’t. The taste of the odors filled his mouth, gagging him. He coughed, which only made matters worse.

But at least, the air that entered his lungs was now damp and cooler.

Sweat covered his body. It stung in his wounds: the cuts on his nipples from the metal clamps, the stripes on his thighs, groin and abdomen from the single-tail whip.

All wounds inflicted by the Queen’s hand.

Sweat ran down his legs, into the scratches and cuts on his knees. Sometimes he moved, unable to stand the pottery shards grinding into his flesh. Each time, more shards found fresh skin to torture.

Sweat trickled down his back, stinging in the cuts from the whip Marcus had wielded earlier.

The Queen didn’t inflict these pains upon him, but were they done with her knowledge and consent?

As he stared into the darkness of the sack, this question gnawed at him. He dropped his head and let his body sag. His weight hung from the strap, chaffing his underarms, but he was almost past the point of caring.

The fire consumed the added logs and began to settle down. And then, he heard the men add more wood to the fire and he knew…

This was the way he would die. Not in battle, by dagger or sword. Not on the Rack, or by the Queen’s hand. Not even by fire itself; that would be merciful compared to
this
.

No, he would slowly roast to death, surrounded by the steam of piss and sweat and dirty laundry.

He closed his eyes.

As if in a dream, he heard the Queen’s voice, raised in outrage. The sack was pulled from his head and Gaius was in front of him, the old man’s hands on his face and neck. Shadowy figures dumped buckets of water on the fire and the chamber filled with smoke.

Sighing, he let himself go.

Chapter Six

T
HE WARRIOR DRIFTED IN AND on of consciousness. At first, his wakeful times lasted mere seconds, long enough to realize three things.

He was lying on a bed in a strange chamber. Shackles bound his hands and feet, the chains running under the bed with his hands at his sides. He had slack to move around, but didn’t have the strength.

Bandages covered his chest and thighs and the slightest movement brought pain.

And he wasn’t alone. Every time he opened his eyes, Queen Gracelyn was there. Curled up in a chair beside the bed, reading or napping, or standing by the window, gazing outside.

But always, she was there.

A cool, damp rag touched his lips. Droplets of water landed on his tongue, causing him to swallow reflexively. He opened his mouth, craving more, and water dripped onto his tongue.

He opened his eyes. Gaius sat on the edge of the bed. He met the warrior’s gaze and smiled.

“Water…” The word came out a hoarse whisper, scraping across the warrior’s tender throat.

Gaius used one hand to support the warrior’s head and held a mug to his lips, letting the water trickle into his mouth.

Swallowing was painful.

After taking all he could handle, he pressed his lips together. Gaius returned his head to the pillow, withdrawing the mug. Unconsciousness tugged on the fringes of his mind but he struggled against it, unwilling to surrender to sleep so soon.

“How long…have…I been…here?”

Gaius patted his arm. “You’ve been here, in my chamber, three days.”

“…Dungeon?”

“You were in the dungeon for four days.”

His eyes wandered around the room. The sky outside the window was dark, the room lit by a few candles.

On the other side of the bed, Queen Gracelyn slept in the chair.

“The Queen…?”

Gaius followed his gaze to the sleeping woman and expelled his breath. “She hasn’t left your side. I’ve tried to get her to go to her own bed at night, but…she refuses. Maybe now that you’re awake, she’ll go. She doesn’t rest well, here.”

He struggled to keep his eyes open. Questions burned inside of him, answers he
needed
to know. The most important one…had she allowed it?

But his abused body could fight the tide of unconsciousness no longer. He closed his eyes and drifted away.

Pain awakened him. Pain from his ribs, his throat, the skin covering his chest and thighs…

He felt something cool on his stomach and forced his eyes open.

The bandages were gone. His skin was a fiery red, dry and cracked, blisters scattered across his upper chest.

Gaius was applying ointment to his abdomen. He winced, drawing his breath through clenched teeth.

A movement from the window caught his attention and he raised his eyes. Queen Gracelyn stood in a beam of sunshine, the light creating a halo all around her. She was facing him and she smiled softly, but her eyes were sad and her face was pale.

She crossed the room and picked up a mug off the bedside table. With one hand behind his head, she held the mug to his lips.

He swallowed the water, winced, and swallowed again.

She returned the mug to the table and picked up a bowl. “Gaius, should I wait until you’re done?” she asked softly.

“No, go ahead. We don’t know how long he’ll be awake.”

The warrior couldn’t tell what was in the bowl but he opened his mouth when the spoon approached.

He made a face. It was a thin gruel, milk-based and bland, but salty.

Gaius chuckled, smearing the ointment gently on his chest. “I know it doesn’t taste very good but it is good for you. Your body needs nourishment.”

The warrior nodded, accepting another spoonful from the Queen. He watched her face, thinking how different this was from the last time she’d fed him, and the question tormented him again.

Had she known? Had she given the guard permission to do…whatever he wanted?

After several spoons of the gruel, the Queen held the mug to his lips and he drank the water. When she offered him the spoon again, he shook his head.

“Marcus said…you…”

She silenced him with the spoon and he swallowed the gruel, watching her. When she met his gaze, anger flashed in her eyes.

“It appears Marcus coerced his friends by saying he had my permission to be there, in the dungeon…to do…” She shuddered. “He lied. You must know that…you
must!
I would never allow anyone—especially
him
—to touch you. I had a standing order. No one else was supposed to touch you. You are
mine
and they all know that!”

She fed him more gruel and he noticed her hand was trembling. She lowered her eyes to the bowl, refilling the spoon. When she met his gaze again, her cheeks were wet with tears.

“I’m sorry. I should have had a guard posted, but I…I never
dreamed…
” She shook her head. “My orders have never been disobeyed. Not…like this, with such…insolence.”

Sighing, he closed his eyes. The weight lifted from his heart. She
hadn’t
known, hadn’t allowed it.

But…was she angry enough to punish the guard? Did it mean—did
he
mean—that much to her? He opened his eyes and looked at her.

“What…will you do?”

She growled softly. “I’d like to string him up by his thumbs, roast him slowly, as he tried to do to you. But…I can’t. What’s done is done.”

He frowned.

She searched his face and saw his frown. “You don’t know, of course. Marcus is dead.”

His breath caught in his throat. Seeing the surprise on his face, the Queen nodded.

“When we found you…in the chaos of dowsing the fire and bringing you up here, Marcus and Nathan escaped. It seems they argued. They were found, the next morning. Nathan’s neck was broken. Marcus…” she paused to clear her throat. “He was stabbed. Repeatedly. In the stomach. Nathan used the dagger Marcus had on him…
your
dagger. Marcus bled to death.”

The warrior closed his eyes with a sigh. Stabbed in the gut, Marcus had bled out like a pig. Even though it had not been by his hand, it had been by his dagger. And Nathan was dead, as well. He was avenged.

Gaius began dressing his wounds and the warrior winced. Queen Gracelyn’s hand slipped into his, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“I know it hurts. I’m
so
sorry,” she murmured.

Gazing into her eyes, he returned the squeeze and tried to smile.

Gaius finished and walked to a table on the other side of the sunlit room. The warrior could see books stacked on the table, along with beakers and other equipment. Gaius retrieved a bottle from a cabinet and poured liquid into it from a beaker. Returning to the bedside, he slid his hand under the warrior’s head.

“Drink this,” Gaius said softly.

“What is it?”

“Just a potion. It will ease the pain and help you to rest.”

The warrior wasn’t much for taking medicine but he
was
in pain. Gaius poured some of the liquid into his mouth and he swallowed.

It was bitter and burned his throat going down, but he soon felt the effects of the medicine. The pain faded and he drifted to sleep, his fingers still curled around the Queen’s hand.

“Shhh, My warrior. Shh. You are safe.”

Gasping, he opened his eyes and looked around. The chamber was dark, save for one candle, burning on one of the bedside tables.

He’d been dreaming he was back in the dungeon, in front of the fire.

Blinking, he recognized his surroundings but the nightmare was still fresh in his mind. His heart still raced, the rage and pain still twisted inside him. He turned his head, squeezing his eyes closed.

He didn’t want the Queen to see the tears gathered there.

“Have some water…”

His eyes still closed, he felt her hand support his head and felt the mug against his lips.

He drank.

Lying back on the pillow, he tried to relax, tried to let his body sink into the bed. “There was a third man…”

“Ah, yes. Donny.”

A strange tone was in her voice. The warrior opened his eyes and looked at her.

“He is downstairs. In a cell. I haven’t yet decided what to do with him.”

“What do you mean?” The warrior frowned.

“When he left you with Marcus and Nathan, he thought about telling someone, but didn’t. He said…” She stood up and began pacing. “Marcus threatened him and he was afraid. But as the night wore on, his conscience got the better of him and he went to the castle guard on duty, who woke Philippe. Philippe woke Gaius, and Gaius woke me.” She stopped pacing and returned to the chair, laying her hand on his arm. “If he’d gone to the guard sooner, it would have saved you…so much pain.” Tears filled her eyes and she let them fall unchecked. “But if he
hadn’t
gone when he did…” Queen Gracelyn slid her hand down the warrior’s arm, slipping her hand into his. “You would be dead, my warrior,” she finished in a whisper.

He nodded. “I know.” His voice was as soft as hers was.

She brushed her free hand across her cheeks, strength returning to her voice. “So I am torn between anger and gratitude. I haven’t been able to think clearly, to decide how to punish him.”

Unsure how else to respond, the warrior squeezed the Queen’s hand.

She smiled softly. “But I am forgetting…” She picked up the medicine bottle from the bedside table. “Gaius left this for you, in case you woke up.”

The warrior made a face, but swallowed the potion without complaint. “Where is Gaius?”

“He is resting in a guest chamber.”

“You should be in
your
chamber, Queen Gracelyn. You need to rest, as well.”

She stared at the bottle, still in her hands. “I can’t,” she said, so softly the warrior barely heard her. “I’ve tried, but…I can’t.” Setting the bottle down, she pressed her hand against his forehead and then his cheek. “You feel hot. It isn’t high, but I believe you do have a fever.”

Fetching a rag from the table, she immersed it in a bowl of water and wrung it out. Returning to his side, she laid it across his head.

The cool dampness felt good to him. He struggled against the effects of the medicine, trying to stay awake. As much as her presence meant to him, he didn’t want to be the cause of her falling ill. “Your Highness, you need to rest…”

“Shhh, My warrior. Shh. You are safe. Right now, that is all that matters.”

Slowly, day by day, the warrior’s body healed. Gaius faithfully treated his burns. They thickened his gruel and began adding small portions of meat to his diet.

He slept much of the time, aided by the medicine Gaius prepared. Always, when he opened his eyes, Queen Gracelyn was there.

Her concern for him was obvious, by her continued presence, by the way she held his hand whenever Gaius treated his wounds, and by the look in her eyes when she gazed at him.

But,
why
? Did she just feel guilty for what had happened to him?

This question haunted him now. He was afraid to read more into her actions than was really there. It was too easy to let himself hope.

His eyes flew open, a scream caught in his throat. He rounded his shoulders, supporting himself on his elbows and looked around in panic.

Gaius mopped the warrior’s face with a damp rag. “Another bad dream?”

He sank back down upon the bed and closed his eyes.

“I fear you have them often. You mumble a lot and sometimes cry out. Water?”