mounting.
He folded his arms. ‘I’ve done it for your sake, wife. We don’t want you staring into the future too often, do we? Particularly if what you see frightens you.’
He began to unfasten his cloak. ‘Now, you may remove my shoes, if you please.’
She moved away from him. ‘No, I am not your servant.’
‘Oh, but you are, if I say so.’ He let his cloak fall to the floor. ‘Think of the Lady Rhonwen, my dear, with the rope around her neck.’ He moved so swiftly she did not have time to dodge. ‘I think you have to learn a little about obedience. I think your grand titles have gone to your head! Now, undress me.’
She side-stepped. ‘No. You are a knight, sir. You should be undressed by a man, by your squire. Surely it demeans you to be undressed by a woman.’ She could not keep the scorn out of her voice.
‘Not if that woman is a princess,’ he sneered. ‘Are you going to do as I say?’
‘No.’ Even the danger to Rhonwen was forgotten. ‘I shall go to my uncle the king. I shall show him what you have done to me.’ She fingered her cheek. ‘He will protect me.’
Just for a moment he hesitated, then he shook his head. ‘You will have to reach him first, my dear. Oh, I want you to see the king; I want you to see that I am given office at court, but first we are going to have to ensure that you have learned to be a good wife.’ His voice dropped menacingly. ‘Perhaps in future we should see that your bruises are not quite so obvious.’ As he lunged, she ducked away, dodging him, hearing his breath rasping in his throat as he spun around to follow her. She threw herself at the heavy door, her fingers scrabbling for the latch. She found it and pulled it half open but he was right behind her and, slamming it shut with his fist, he shot the bolt across. As he gripped her arm and swung her to face him, she caught the full blast of his wine-sodden breath and realised just how drunk he was.
She kicked at him but he ignored her, cursing as he dragged her across the room towards the bed. She fought him but he was too strong for her. He had no difficulty holding her with one hand as he ripped down the ornate woven cord which held back the bed hangings, letting the heavy curtains fall around the end of the bed. He pulled the cord tightly around her flailing wrists and pushed her face down on to the bed, binding the rope again and again around the oak bedpost, pinioning her securely.
He was panting as he stood back to survey his handiwork. Her veil had been torn off in the struggle, and her hair had fallen loose around her shoulders. Looking at her as she lay helpless before him, he smiled again then carefully he drew his dagger. His smile deepened as he heard her frightened intake of breath at the sight of the gleaming blade. He tested it with his thumb, enjoying her fear, then methodically, with exaggerated care, he began to cut off her clothes, reducing gown and mantle and shift to a tangle of brilliant rags.
Satisfied that she was naked, he left her and went to the coffer by the wall. He had obviously put the slender birch whip there during the day in anticipation of this moment. He took it out and flexed it, the smile still frozen on his face. ‘Your bruises will be where even the king will not see them, princess mine,’ he said softly.
She was helpless. All she could do was bite her lips, so as not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out as he hit her again and again. When at last he stopped, she lay slumped across the mattress only half conscious that he was untying her.
‘Are you still going to tell the king?’ His mouth was close to her ear; she felt his hot stinking breath on her face. ‘If you do, I shall give you Rhonwen’s head to take to him as a present.’
Pushing himself away from the bed, he began to remove his own clothes. She raised her face, her hair in her eyes, her face burning in spite of the bitter cold of the room. Her whole body ached, the welts across her thighs and buttocks stung, and she felt the stickiness of the blood from the worst of the wounds, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he had defeated her. She dragged herself to her feet as he removed the last of his garments.
‘Where do you think you are going?’ He was smiling again, naked now as she was, his hands on his hips, his member massively erect. ‘Get back on that bed.’
She found the courage to shake her head. ‘No.’ Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak. ‘No, I will not sleep with you. Get out.’ It was not a plea; it was a command.
His face darkened and he stepped forward, meaning to catch her wrist, but she was too quick for him. Her fingers clawed, she dragged them down his face, seeing with satisfaction three ribs of black oozing blood open down his cheek. He let out an explosive curse and grabbed her, throwing her to the floor, then he reached with both hands for her hair. She screamed with pain as he pulled her on to her knees and held her for a moment, her head forced back, before he made her take his red, engorged penis in her mouth. Retching, she clawed at him, blind with fury and disgust, but she could not free herself until, satisfied at last, he pushed her away.
As he threw himself on to the bed, laughing, she crawled to the garderobe and vomited again and again down the latrine hole into the darkness, her naked body ice-cold and sheened with sweat. She knelt there for a long time, her forehead resting on the rim of the cold wooden seat before she found the strength to stand. Her hands still numb from the ropes, she pulled off the wedding ring her husband had given her the day before. She cupped it in her palm, feeling the weight of it for a moment, then let it fall four storeys into the fetid ditch below.
She was shaking uncontrollably as she walked back into the bedchamber. Robert was snoring. She pulled the torn curtain from its hook and wrapped it around her shoulders, then she turned away, fighting back a new wave of nausea. She had time to take only a few steps towards the bolted door before she collapsed on to the stone floor.
II
When she awoke, she was so bruised and stiff she could hardly move. The bed was empty; the fire had been made up, and Luned was bending over her.
‘Where is he?’ As Eleyne sat up a wave of dizziness swept over her.
Luned was tight-lipped. ‘I’ve sent for hot water and salves.’
The smears of blood on the curtain were evidence enough of what had happened. Silently Luned helped Eleyne to wash and anoint her bruises and cuts, then she dressed her in a shift of softest silk before putting on her gown.
‘I put the whip on the fire,’ she said as she brushed Eleyne’s hair.
‘Good.’ Their eyes met. ‘Did you see him this morning?’
For the first time Luned smiled. ‘Everyone saw him. He will carry those scars on his face for a very long time.’
III
‘You have to go, don’t you see?’ Eleyne shook Rhonwen’s arm. ‘As long as you are here he has a hold over me. He can make me do anything he wants. I can’t fight him while you are here.’
‘The man is an animal!’ Rhonwen spat at her. ‘He can’t be allowed to live! I can get rid of him for you. I can see to it that he dies – ’
Eleyne turned away. ‘No, that is not the answer.’ She pushed away the thought of John dying in her arms; of the empty goblet of dark green, earth-smelling infusion which he had drunk. She could never again allow that suspicion to rise to the surface of her mind.
‘Then what shall I do? I have to help you…’ Rhonwen’s eyes were narrow with hate.
‘You have to go while I work out how to deal with the situation.’ It was too painful to sit down. She leaned against the table, conscious that her sleeves, long as they were, failed to hide the rope marks on one of her hands.
Rhonwen frowned. ‘How can you deal with him? He can always resort to violence. That is the only language men understand, and before it we are powerless.’
‘I will think of something,’ Eleyne said grimly. ‘But you must go, don’t you see?’
Rhonwen sighed. ‘Where?’
