My Lady Mage: A Warriors of the Mist Novel (11 page)

Please, gods, let him pass her by. Let him have business elsewhere. Let him—

Her silent prayer was cut off by the sound of his bellowed command. “Wife! Attend me now.”

She shuddered at the thought of what that might mean, but delaying only increased the chance of setting off his always precarious temper. After setting her needlework aside, she followed Fagan into his room.

“Did you order my bath?”

“Yes, my husband. The servants should be arriving shortly. Shall I also have a tray brought up from the kitchen?”

He was already pouring himself a drink. “Yes. Order enough for two.”

Her breath caught in her chest. “Are you expecting company?”

His answering smile was both cruel and cold. “Only yours, my lady wife. The gods know you do little enough to earn your keep around here. It has been too long since you last graced my bed.”

Not long enough for the last set of bruises to have faded completely. The very thought of him touching her body had Alina’s stomach roiling, but she was careful to hide her reaction. Past experience had taught her that he loved inflicting both pain and fear far more than he’d ever loved her.

She was saved for the moment by the arrival of a line of servants. Fagan left it to her to ensure the bathwater was the proper temperature while he stripped off his clothes, carelessly tossing them on the floor.

All too soon, the bath was ready, and the servants filed out of the room. More than one glanced in her direction with sympathy or, worse yet, pity. Alina hated knowing that although everyone in the keep knew what
went on in the privacy of her husband’s room, none would lift a hand to help her.

He was a bully in his dealings with anyone he perceived as weak or his inferior. Merewen was the only one who dared stand up to him, and she had paid terribly for it. Alina wished the younger woman would learn to hold her tongue and her temper, but at the same time she admired Merewen’s courage.

She sighed, disgusted and ashamed that she lived in such a continuous state of fear. There had been a time in her life when she’d been happy. She was sure of it.

“Come here, Alina.” Fagan’s voice was soft when he added, “Please.”

She turned to face him, wishing she had the courage to run, but things only went harder for her if she resisted. She reluctantly took the hand he held out, knowing that, whenever he made the effort to coax her, she would hate whatever he had in mind for her. There was nothing gentle in Fagan, especially when he was rutting away on top of her and spilling his seed deep in her body.

That she’d failed to conceive was just one more excuse he used for abusing her. Each month when her courses came, she felt a profound mix of both relief and regret. As much as she’d love a babe to call her own, she despaired of how a child would fare at the hands of her husband.

He pulled her in close to his nude body, his anticipation for the afternoon’s activities obvious. “I’ve decided to share my bath with you, my dear. I will watch you disrobe.”

After pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, he whispered, “Now, Alina. If the water grows cold, I will not be pleased.”

His expression avid, he stepped back to sprawl back in a chair, watching for the least sign of disobedience. In fact, he was hoping for it and relishing the idea of punishing
her. How could a man so fair to look upon have such a black soul? It was a question she’d been asking since her wedding night. Before that, he’d been as charming and attentive as any maiden could hope for.

But now, knowing she was trapped, Alina resigned herself to an afternoon spent in hell. One way or another, Fagan would have his pleasure of her. She began the arduous process of trying to please her husband, knowing full well she was doomed to fail.

Merewen hurried into the kitchen, relieved to see that all was in good order. She trusted Ellie, the cook, to do her job and manage everyone else around her, but accidents happened. On the rare occasion Fagan’s meal was delayed, everyone suffered.

For some reason, the first person to cross her mind was his wife. Alina had yet to appear, and here it was nearly nightfall. Two nights ago, when Merewen returned from taking Captain Gideon and his men to the crofter’s hut, Olaf had met her at the door.

He’d smirked as he’d informed that her uncle had chosen to dine in his room with his lady wife. At that moment, Merewen had sorely wished she had the strength of the captain or one of his men so she could beat that expression off Olaf’s face. Only a monster would find the way Lady Alina suffered at her husband’s hands amusing.

Merewen would not be the only one relieved if Fagan were to disappear from her life. As much as she hated the thought of losing her last blood relative, the world would certainly be a better place without him in it.

But back to Alina. Early that morning, Merewen had made a quick trip out to the cottage with supplies for the warriors. She’d returned to spend most of the day helping Jarod out in the stables and studying the plans they’d been making for the next year’s crop of foals.

She’d also been counting down the hours until Averel and Murdoch would approach the keep, the first to seek employment with her uncle. As preoccupied as she’d been, it was possible she’d simply missed seeing her aunt over the past two days, but she doubted it.

The cook came bustling over, her face red and sweaty from standing over the fire. “Is he out there? Shall we serve?”

Ellie made a point of never uttering Fagan’s name if she could help it. She’d been the previous cook’s assistant when Merewen’s father and Fagan were small boys. He’d been a much different person back then, and she refused to acknowledge that the man who’d returned to the manor was even the same man.

“I will check.”

When she stepped out into the great hall, Fagan was just then coming down the steps. Alina was right behind him, once again moving slowly. Obviously the bastard had hurt her again.

“If your uncle sees you looking at him like that, he will not be pleased. Perhaps I should go tell him and offer to teach you to show some respect.”

The threat in Olaf’s deep voice was all too real, but Merewen did not bother to ask him to hold his tongue. He was just as likely to agree and then tell Fagan anyway. Olaf had learned from a master all the ways to torment those around him.

Rather than respond, she returned to the kitchen to order the food brought out. By the time Fagan had reached his seat, she already had the first course served and his drink poured.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly, when Alina lost her balance and stumbled into her husband.

When Fagan’s soup spilled down the front of his tunic, he immediately lurched to his feet and dragged his wife back up off the floor. “I’ll teach you to be so clumsy.”

He backhanded her across her face. Before he could strike her again, Merewen had circled the table to latch onto his arm. She wouldn’t stand by and watch Alina further abused even if it brought her uncle’s wrath down on her own head.

He froze midmotion, staring at her white-knuckled grip on his wrist. “Merewen, I warned you what would happen the next time you interfered.”

But before he could carry out his promise, one of the guards entered the hall at a run. He skidded to a halt in front of the high table and executed a rough bow. “Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord, but two riders are at the gate, seeking work as men-at-arms. You asked to be notified if any likely prospects came seeking jobs.”

Merewen didn’t blame the poor man for reminding her uncle that he had issued the orders, because Fagan was never happy to have his meal interrupted. He immediately released his wife, not caring at all that she slumped to the floor in a boneless heap. As soon as he did, Merewen let go of his wrist and stepped back. She would see to her aunt as soon as her uncle left.

Unfortunately, he had other plans. “Have them brought before me immediately.”

Then he gave Merewen a look that froze her to the bone. “Get her up off the floor, and then stand right there. I have had enough of your insolence and will deal with you myself after I talk to these two.”

Alina had managed to push herself upright, but it took most of Merewen’s strength to keep her aunt standing. Merewen motioned for one of the servants to bring a damp cloth so she could wipe the trickle of blood off her aunt’s cut lip. She was still tending to Alina’s injuries when the guards escorted Murdoch and Averel into the hall.

She delayed looking in their direction until they were standing before the high table. Her great worry was that
if they realized what was going on, one or both would feel obligated to intercede on her behalf. While she had no doubt that each in his own right was a fearsome warrior, they were greatly outnumbered in the hall.

It was unlikely that they would be able to rescue both her and Alina and still defend themselves long enough to escape. Sure enough, when she finally glanced toward Murdoch, she could feel his fury. A quick peek in Averel’s direction confirmed that he, too, was fighting the need to draw his sword.

She hoped her uncle would assume their edginess was due to being brought before the lord of the manor and being surrounded by heavily armed men.

“I have been given to believe that you are both seeking employment.”

As the elder of the two, Murdoch answered. “Yes, my lord. My name is Sir Murdoch, and my companion is Sir Averel.”

“Let me see your weapons.” When both men hesitated, he gave them a disgusted look. “I hope you are normally better at taking orders. I find you can tell a lot about a man by the quality of his weapons.”

Both men drew their swords and held them out for Fagan’s inspection. He gave them a cursory study. “Those are exceptionally fine weapons for two such as you. Are you any good with them?”

Murdoch’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I have some talent with swords, sir. I’ve done my share of teaching others how to fight, including my young friend here.”

“Very well, you may put your weapons away for now. I’m a fair hand with a blade myself. I’ll see how you do in the morning during weapons practice before I make my final decision.

Fagan next turned his attention toward the younger man. “And what do you have to offer me besides your ability to fight?”

Rather than answer directly, Averel let loose with a loud whistle.

“What are you about?” Fagan demanded, but the warrior simply cocked his head to one side as if listening. A noise near the door signaled the arrival of a pair of immense dogs that headed straight for Averel.

Merewen could scarce believe her eyes, but she wasn’t the only one in the hall staring in wide-eyed wonder at the dogs making their way to their owner. One was black and the other white, but otherwise they were almost identical in height and build. She’d never seen such beasts in all of her life.

Fagan studied the dogs with a greedy light in his eyes. He prided himself in breeding some of the best hunting dogs in the duke’s realm. Was he already trying to decide which of his bitches to mate with this pair? What would Averel have to say about that?

The dogs calmly flanked their owner. Averel patted each one on the head as Fagan moved in closer to study them.

“I’ve never seen their kind before. What are they good for?”

“Running. Hunting.” The young warrior’s eyes took on a definite chill. “Fighting, too, if I ask it of them.”

As if to illustrate that point, both dogs yawned loudly, flashing two impressive sets of teeth. Her uncle had been about to reach toward the white dog, but quickly pulled his hand back.

Meanwhile, Murdoch was still studying Alina, his pale eyes clearly taking note of the fresh handprint on her cheek. Luckily, Fagan was too entranced with the dogs to notice the warrior’s attention was focused elsewhere.

Fagan retreated out of reach of the dogs. “I will talk with you both about your duties in the morning. Until then, you may join us for the evening meal. Olaf here will show you where to sleep.”

“Thank you, my lord. That is most generous of you.”

Murdoch backed away but had to tug on Averel’s sleeve to get him to do the same. Clearly he understood the danger they’d all be in if they were to attack her uncle at the moment. She could only hope that he’d manage to hold back should her uncle decide to punish her in front of everyone.

Fagan had done it before.

But, to her surprise, he seemed to have forgotten about it. “Merewen, where are your manners? Please let the cook know that we have guests.”

Alina had recovered enough to stand on her own. After she had quietly taken her seat, this time without mishap, Merewen left to do her uncle’s bidding.

Regardless of what the night brought, the battle to free her people had started even if her uncle had no idea that he was under attack. She took great comfort from that notion.

G
ideon’s patience was at an end. When he’d sent Scim to follow after Murdoch and Averel, all he learned was that they had made it safely to Merewen’s family keep. Nothing more. That Murdoch and Averel would be able to defend themselves went without question, even if it became necessary to fight their way clear of Fagan and his men.

No, it was their ability to protect Merewen that had Gideon all tied up in knots. Feeling this way was ridiculous. His men had never failed him in all the long years of their service together.

Early this morning he’d sent Scim winging toward Merewen’s home a second time, hoping he would spot his friends so they could send back news with his avatar. Ever since the previous evening, he’d had this powerful compulsion to reassure himself that Merewen was safe.

He’d been resting when the strangest sensation that Merewen was in danger had washed over him. The feeling had passed as quickly as it had come but left him unsettled. He’d always felt a connection with the person the gods had sent him to serve, but this time was different. Stronger. More personal.

So far, all he’d been able to see through Scim’s eyes was a distant view of Fagan’s men at weapons practice in the bailey. Frustrated, he’d finally broken off the link, leaving Scim free to hunt if he so desired.