“My lord, I can’t-I need my maid. Please, this can wait until nightfall-”
“It cannot wait until nightfall.” His eyes narrowed and she could see the vein beginning to throb in his neck. He drew the ornately decorated dagger from his girdle and tested the blade gently against his thumb. “If the fastenings of your gown defeat you, I shall cut them for you.”
She swallowed. She had only to call for a servant, to scream, to turn and run. He could not force her, not here. Not now. Yet something held her. She could not tear her eyes from his. Obediently she felt herself unfasten her jeweled girdle and let it fall to the floor. Her scarlet surcoat followed it. She paused nervously. “My lord, not here, I beg you-”
“Here, Matilda.” She felt his hands on her head, slipping off the gauze headdress, allowing her hair to fall loose over her shoulders, then he was unlacing her gown, pushing it down so that it too fell to the floor. She was left clad only in her shift. She shivered violently in spite of the warmth of the early-autumn afternoon.
Behind her the flute player shifted his position slightly as the trembling notes of his tune died away. There was a long silence, then, unbidden, he began to play again.
“Take it off.” William stood back and folded his arms.
Matilda crossed her hands on her breast, clutching the embroidered neck of her shift. “Would you have me stand naked before the servants and before your men?” Her eyes blazed suddenly, her fear eclipsed by a wave of scorn and fury. She dodged away from him but he was too quick for her. He caught her wrist. “I’ll have you stand naked at the whipping post, my lady, before the whole world, if you defy me,” he said evenly. He tore the flimsy shift from her body, tossing it to the rush-strewn floor. Panic-stricken, she raised her hands toward his face, clawing at him frantically, and beneath her nails a bloody welt opened down his cheek. With a curse he caught her by the hair, jerking her head back as greedily he seized her mouth with his own, his hands catching hers and holding them still as she struggled frantically to escape him. Behind them the flute player played on.
William was breathing heavily, sweat pouring from his face, and with a shudder she stood still, sensing suddenly that part of his excitement came from the knowledge that she was afraid. Raising her chin slightly, she stared at him disdainfully. He released her wrists immediately and she took a step back, proud in her nakedness, feeling his eyes on her body that only weeks before had been swollen and misshapen, but now had slimmed back, with the resilience of youth, to a lithe tautness. Only the fullness of her breasts betrayed the recent childbirth, and as she moved her head the heavy curtain of her hair swung forward to hide them from him. He licked his lips and slowly he began to remove his mantle.
Once again she could hear steps on the spiral stairs at the corner of the chamber. They were coming closer. She could hear knocking-a loud insistent banging at a door. Near them someone was shouting. She ignored the sound, her eyes on her husband’s face, a flicker of mocking amusement showing in her expression as she saw him glance over his shoulder toward the rounded arch covered with a curtain that led toward the stairs. Abruptly he threw his mantle around her shoulders.
“So,” he breathed. “We are interrupted after all, but only for a while. You will forget this little incident until we have another opportunity to be alone, do you hear me?” He drew her to him, his hands locked in the embroidered border of his mantle, her body pressed against his, his eyes fixed on hers. “You will remember nothing about it, nothing at all, but when I order you to come to me again, you will come, Jo, do you hear me? You will come.”
“Jo!” Nick was banging on the door again. He tried the key a second time and cursed. “Jo? I know you’re in there. Open the door!”
Outside the apartment upstairs a face appeared, peering over the winding bannisters. “She’s in there all right. I saw her earlier.” Sheila Chandler came down a few steps. “It’s Mr. Franklyn, isn’t it?”
Nick gave her a brief smile. “She doesn’t seem to be hearing me.”
“Perhaps she’s asleep. What with the baby keeping her awake and everything.”
“Baby?” Nick stared up at her. He frowned with a sudden shiver of apprehension, mechanically taking in the immaculate wave of the woman’s hair and her elegantly cut silk shirt, then he turned back to the door and thumped on it with his fist. “Jo, if you don’t open this door I’m going to break it down!” His voice echoed up and down the silent stairwell and above him Sheila Chandler’s eyes rounded. Silently her husband came to stand beside her, staring down.
When the door was unbolted at last they both craned forward. Only Sheila saw that it was opened by a man.
“Sam?” Nick stared at his brother. “What the hell is going on? Where’s Jo?”
Sam stood back to let him in. He closed the door, and as he did so Nick caught sight of a long raw scratch on his brother’s face. Sam was in shirt sleeves-two buttons from the front of the shirt were missing.
“What the hell has been going on here?” Nick repeated as he thrust Sam out of his way and strode into the living room. It was empty. From the stereo the lonely, monotonous sound of a flute wove a pattern into the silence.
“She went into some kind of spontaneous regression.” Sam was leaning against the wall, watching his brother closely. “She asked me to come over after she’d been having a series of nightmares about the baby-”
“The woman upstairs talked about a baby.” Nick frowned.
“That is the strange part.” Sam threw himself down on the sofa. “Apparently they’ve heard it wailing. Assuming the noises do come from this apartment, I can only put forward the hypothesis that the sounds come from Jo herself.”
“You mean
“Either that or the sounds are being created by the strength of her emotions. You’ve heard of poltergeists! Noises created by energy charges within an individual.” Sam wiped his face with a handkerchief. Noticing the blood on it, he frowned. “She…she flew at me when I tried to restrain her,” he said quietly, dabbing at the scratch. “No, don’t worry. She’s all right now. She’s asleep.”
Nick gave him a long, hard look. Then he strode down the hall toward the bedroom. Jo lay on the bed wearing her bathrobe, her hair loose around her shoulders.
“Jo-” Nick sat down beside her and took her hands gently in his. “Jo?”
“Don’t touch her.” Sam had followed him. His voice was sharp. “I was about to awaken her when you started trying to break the door down. May I suggest you go and pour us all a drink while I sort things out in here?”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “I’d rather stay.”
“I am sure Jo would prefer it if you did not. She would be extremely embarrassed to think you had seen her like this.” Sam walked to the bedroom door and held it open for him. “Wait next door, please. This won’t take long.”
Nick hesitated, then with a shrug he walked through to the living room. He reached for the bottle of Scotch. It was empty, and he began to rummage in the cabinet, unconsciously straining his ears for the sound of voices. In the distance he could hear Sam’s gently monotonous tones, and on impulse he tiptoed back toward the bedroom door and listened.
“Can you hear me, Jo?” Sam was standing over her now, looking down. “When you wake up you will remember nothing of what happened while you were hypnotized today, do you understand? You will remember that you asked me to help you, that is all. You will awaken calm and happy, but you will remember that next time I wish to hypnotize you, for whatever reason, you will agree. You will hear my voice and you will obey me. Do you understand me, Jo?”
Nick pushed open the door. “What the hell are you saying to her, Sam?”
Sam did not look around. “Do you understand me, Jo?” he repeated. “Now, when I count three you will wake. One. Two. Three.”
On the bed Jo lay quite still, then slowly she opened her eyes. She looked around her, completely dazed, her gaze going past Sam to Nick.
“You haven’t answered my question, Sam,” Nick said furiously.
Sam smiled coldly. “Nor do I intend to. My methods of professional practice are none of your business.” He sat down on the bed next to Jo. “How are you feeling now? You had another little fainting spell,” he said.
“Fainting?” Jo hoisted herself up on her elbow. “I don’t understand. What time is it?” She tried to sit up but Sam pushed her gently back against the pillows.
