No. The priest had been right. Justice was best served by God, not her. And she refused to die without making sure Sir Barrett knew what he meant to her. She turned back. She needed to find the old priest again, to confess it all. He’d spoken wisely; he would know what she should do.
Darkness had fallen by the time she returned. She walked through the bailey, straight to the chapel, skipping supper. The old priest was not there, but the hearth was still warm and she sat beside it until the feeling returned to her hands and feet like shards of glass piercing her skin. Her stomach growled but she ignored it.
An odd sense of peace came over her after the emotional tumult of theday. She would not commit murder. Somehow she would get Sir Barrett to forgive her. It was not too late to put her world to rights again.
She heard the sound of the door open and her spirits lifted. The old priest would advise her.
“There you are, woman,” a deep voice said. The terrible deep voice that had haunted her nightmares.
She jumped to her feet in dismay. “Sir Wolfhart. Forgive me. I’ve had a change of heart,” she said, her blood racing through her veins. “I cannot keep my tryst with you.”
He walked forward, a terrifying leer on his face. “Of course you can. You are here, I am here.” He reached out and grabbed her head, bringing his mouth down on hers and forcing his tongue in her mouth as she screamed.
She fought him, but he knocked her down to the floor with the back of his hand across her face. Pain exploded in her cheek and her vision went black. When it cleared, Wolfhart had straddled her thrashing hips and was ripping her bodice open to expose her breasts.
“No,” she screamed, shoving uselessly at his chest. Remembering the knife, she bent her leg up to grasp the dagger from her boot, but her fingers did not quite reach.
He pulled his manhood out from his leggings and she screamed as loud as her voice would screech. Wolfhart struck her across the mouth, splitting her lip.
“What’s going on here?” The voice of the old priest reached her ears. “Get off her.”
“Get out of here, old man,” Wolfhart snarled. “Adam! Siman!”
Her relief at Father Albert’s arrival turned to dread when she realized Wolfhart had just called in his two henchmen, who would surely kill the old man if he interfered. She fought even harder as she heard the two men enter.
The clang of the church bell split the air. The resourceful priest must be pulling the cord to alert the castle. She prayed they would not kill him for it.
She contorted, twisted her hips to the side and stretching her fingers toward her boot. If only she could reach the dagger…
Wolfhart yanked her skirts up, tearing the fabric in his haste.
No. She would not allow him to rape her a second time. She would die first. She screamed again, the furious cry going on and on until his fingers closed around her throat, cutting off her air. The sound of men’s shouts and the clash of steel came from the doorway. Still strangled for breath, she caught the handle of her dagger as her vision began to grow dim.
She lifted the dagger, but before she could bring her hand down, Wolfhart flew off her as someone attacked him.
Sir Barrett.
Stars danced before her eyes as she struggled for breath. Blood filled her mouth and her head swam. She curled up on her side and saw Sir Barrettfighting with both Wolfhart and one of his men. The other lay dead in the doorway. She tried to stand up, but could not catch her breath or strength.
Prince Erik and other knights had arrived, but Sir Barrett did not seem to need any help. His sword flashed out, first to the right and then the left as he went after both men at once. He moved his huge frame with great speed, shifting and swinging, somehow herding his two foes together, backing them against the wall. He ducked as Wolfhart’s sword swung for his neck and lunged forward. His sword stabbed through Wolfhart’s chest, withdrew it and beheaded the other man in less than a breath’s time.
She opened her mouth to scream again, but only a croak came out. The bodies of Wolfhart and his man had hardly fallen when Barrett appeared at her side, scooping her into his arms and cradling her against his chest.
Tears stung her eyes at the evidence that he still cared.
“You see, Lady Daisy,” the priest proclaimed, loud enough for all to hear. “God delivered justice for your sisters’ deaths, without any blood upon your hands, or the hands of your husband, who acted in self-defense.”
Barrett turned his eyes on her in surprise, but said nothing, stepping over the bodies to carry her past the prince, Penrod, and all the others, straight upstairs to his chamber. Her things still sat outside the door, a reminder of their horrible quarrel. He pushed through the door and laid her gently on the bed as if she were made of glass and might break.
“Barrett—”
“Shh,” he hushed, soaking a piece of linen in the washbasin and coming to her side. He dabbed at her split and swollen lip, cleaning the blood from her face. She searched his expression, but he showed no indication of his feelings. Did he understand now that she had been seeking vengeance, not sex? Had he forgiven her?
She caught his hand and pulled it to her lips. “Make me yours,” she croaked. “Please. I need you. Please take me.”
Still, his face showed nothing. He blinked down at her for a long time, unmoving. Then he slowly began to remove his clothing.
She pushed up on her elbows, tugging her torn dress down. Sir Barrett helped her when she reached her waist, pulling as she lifted her hips, his dark eyes locked on hers. She shivered and he froze.
