“I have been married twice already. It is enough.”
“Twice? You are an experienced woman of the world then, and will be much in demand. Tell me, Lady de Chapelle, how old are you?”
“I am almost a score years, your grace.”
“And two weddings to your credit already. Your previous marriages must have been short-lived, my lady. What happened?”
I stiffen, defensive though I know not why I should be. “I was first married at fourteen. My husband was but fifteen. He died of a fever after just half a year. I was next wed at seventeen, but the count was much older than I. He was kind to me even so. He died of a heart seizure and I was very sorry to lose him.”
Again that wry smile. “Kind to you? I am glad to hear it, and more than a little surprised. The count must have mellowed in his old age, for he was without doubt a vicious bastard in his youth. And you were the death of himit would appear. An old man with a young and pretty wife—always a fatal combination. Let us hope your next husband is made of sterner stuff.” He makes a half turn, as though he does at last consider his business with me to be concluded and he has other weighty matters claiming his attention.
I am baffled by his remarks regarding my husband, but now is not the time to enquire into what past hurts this duke is still harbouring. In desperation I grab his leather-clad arm. “There will be no ‘next husband.’ I have told you, I will not marry again.”
His features harden at my outburst and he glares pointedly at my hand, still clutching his sleeve. “Matters are not yours to control. You will have no choice. Erik…?”
I realise my error immediately. The conqueror will not permit such resistance from the vanquished. But I will beg if I must. “Please, your grace. Please, you do not have to do this. You could let me go. Please.”
He regards me for a few moments, his lip quirking in a half-smile, his expression regretful. “I am sorry, Lady Natalia. Your fate is sealed.” I have no doubt now. Thatispity I discern in his features, but it will be of no aid to me.
I watch the duke’s retreating back as he strides away across the bailey, stopping once or twice to issue instructions. The imperial soldiers rush to carry out his bidding; clearly he is a man who demands respect, and he gets it. The guard, Erik, takes my elbow and directs me toward the centre of the courtyard where a cluster of our women are already gathered.
I avert my eyes as we pass the stocks where my assailants are shackled, their rough shirts ripped to expose their naked backs. They would have done far worse to me, but still I pity them now.
* * *
“My lady, you have been injured.” Berthe, the young servant who normally takes care of the ladies of the household hustles over to me, ready to dab at my bruised face with her apron. “They are animals. Nothing but pigs, all of them.”
“I am fine, Berthe, really. I was attacked, but one of the imperial commanders intervened, and I am here, am I not?”But for how long?
A crowd is gathering around us now, all men, all of the opposing army. The menfolk of Hohenzollern are nowhere to be seen, probably imprisoned to keep them out of the way until the castle is sacked and perhaps burned. We are bombarded by a continuous chorus of ‘turn around,’ ‘let’s see the goods then,’ and, from the more direct, ‘show us yer tits, wench.’ Some of the women are even complying, posing for the entertainment of our audience. Maybe they hope to secure a more lenient spouse by their cooperation now.
I pull my dark cloak around my shoulders and fix my gaze on the ground before me. I am not unattractive, but no beauty either. Maybe my plain but even features will not be to the taste of these men.
“That one. That one there, in the cloak. She is the high and mighty little bitch who got our Kurt flayed.” The voice is whiny and the dialect low German, the speech of the north.
His meaning is clear enough. I shudder and take a step backwards.
“I am in need of a wife. I will have her.” The nasal tone is similar to that of my assailant. My heart is thumping as I edge back still further, until I come up against the exterior wall of the keep. It is to no avail. My arm is once more seized in a rough grip and I am dragged forward, out of the dwindling group of unclaimed females. I look up into the features of my latest captor, and can at once see the family resemblance. I last saw the face of his brother, if that is the kinship, as he backhanded me at the foot of the battlements staircase.
“Our Kurt’ll get ‘is turn on you after all. Ye’ll serve all of us, whore.”
I shake my head, desperate now. I am beyond pleading, in utter despair. Why did I so fear death if this nightmare is to be the alternative?
“Choose again. This one is not for you.” The sweet and blessedly welcome voice of the duke of Richtenholst interrupts my frantic struggles. Will he be able to save me a second time?
“I am not wed, my lord. We was told we could choose any, no matter the rank, as long as we marry ‘em.” My prospective husband is as eager as was his brother to stake his claim, it seems. I am unable to contain the sob that escapes me.
“Choose another.” The duke’s tone is low and even, and dripping with authority.
“Nay, my lord. I want this one, no other will do.”
“Then you will take no bride this day. Walk away, man. Now, else you will answer to me as your liege lord.”
“But, I…”
The duke steps right up to my would-be husband and prises the man’s fingers from my arm, one by one. In truth, he meets with little resistance now. When I am free he shoves me behind him, a position I do not mind in the least at this moment. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards the waiting soldiers, as though daring any of them to defy him in this. I cannot see his face, but the duke seems calm, confident, though none of his personal guard are within easy reach of us. It seems that his grace’s personal authority will carry the day. Oh, God, I do so hope.
“Do I have to make it even plainer for you? You cannot have this lady. The widow is mine.”
