“Ah, fine tactics.” She grinned at him. “But ’tis unnecessary to tell me lies. If I had the key to release you from these chains, I would not use it, not until my lady has what she needs of you.”
She did not add that Rowena had already bidden her to find the key. But she had had no luck thus far, and she would not give him false hope any more than Rowena would.
The feeding had taken longer this time, because he would not be quiet. The extra time had given the red gag marks across his cheeks a chance to fade. She noticed this when she bent to tie a new gag in place, and the sight of him without those distracting marks gave her a distinct chill.
“God’s mercy, you have a cruel look about you,” she said more to herself than to him. “I did not see it ere now.”
Warrick did not need to be told that. It was why his first wives had feared him. It was why his enemies feared him. It was why that cursed wench should have stayed away from him. It was mostly in his eyes, so expressive of his black thoughts, but also in the hard, bitter slant of his mouth, which rarely smiled. And his expression was particularly bitter now that he knew she would not aid him.
“You would do well to remember that—”
She stuffed the gag in his mouth to cut him off, saying indignantly, “It does you no good to threaten me, sirrah. I do my lady’s bidding, not yours. ’Tis no wonder she is naught but aggrieved when she leaves you each night. ’Twould have done you no harm to have treated her gently when she had no choice in coming to you. But nay, you are as cruel inside as you are without.”
He had sunk back into pure fury at those parting words. Was he supposed to feel pity for a woman who repeatedly raped him? Was he supposed to feel sympathy when the purpose was to steal a child from him? When she was glad,gladthat ’twas he at her mercy instead of another? And why was that? Why would she be glad, when women feared him? It had been thus since his sixteenth year, when he had learned of all that was lost to him, his family, his home, naught left but his life and a betrothal contract that could not be broken. He had changed then, changed utterly, not just in character, but in appearance, for the darkness that had entered his soul had also been etched on his face.
Since then, he had never taken a woman to his bed who did not at first fear that he would hurt her in some manner. Even after a second or third time, they still did not trust him not to visit some cruelty upon them. His wives…such timid, meek creatures, they never did get over their fear of him, even though he had never given them cause to think he would be brutal with them. But they had both died many years ago. And they had lived with him during the years when he had lived and breathed for revenge, when his every thought was of destruction and killing—as it was now.
How could she be glad? Because he was bound fast and could not touch her? Because she knew he would be dead before the chains were removed from him, so she had naught to fear of him? That was a very real possibility, that he would be butchered right here in this bed, without a chance of defending himself, without a chance of obtaining the least retribution.
He did not fear death. There was a time when he had even courted it, when his life had been so empty and miserable he simply had not cared if he lived or died, and not much had improved since then. But he would regret the loss of this chance he now had to better his existence with Lady Isabella. Even more than that, however, he would regret being unable to avenge himself on these people for the ills that had been done to him here, much less for his death.
So it was to Warrick’s utter amazement that Mildred came not with food the next day, but with a pile of clothes and the key to his shackles And she came at her lady’s behest, if her first words could be credited.
“’Tis well I found the key, sirrah, for my lady wants you gone, and it must be now, whilst her brother is in the town hiring his mercenaries.” She told him this while she removed his gag. “I will convince him your seed took root, but that does not mean he will not hunt you down.”
“Brother?” Warrick remembered the man, and his jealousy. “I warrant not by blood.”
“Nay, no blood betwixt them, thank the Holy Mother,” she said, not looking at him, wasting no time in unlocking his shackles.
“And if my seed did not take? Will another take my place here in this cursed bed?”
“That need not concern you, sirrah.”
“Then tell me why a child is needed. Andmychild? I deserve to know that at least.”
Mildred was surprised, having assumed Rowena would have told him that, but she shrugged. “Why else? To secure this place. She wed Kirkburough’s old lord, but he died the same day, the day you were taken. The child will be claimed as his.”
Greed, aye, he should have known. And Kirkburough was a large fief, with the town included. He had seen the keep from the town. He had avoided it because he had not wanted to meet the lord and have to explain his presence in the area. His escort of thirty men would have been cause for alarm, even in the town, which was why he had sent them on ahead. All he had wanted was a bed and a bath, which any inn could supply. He had not counted on a greedy bride determined to keep what she had married for at any cost.
Mildred stepped out of his reach when the last chain dropped loudly to the floor. Warrick carefully lowered his arms, his muscles screaming after three days at that unnatural angle. He gritted his teeth against the pain. That, too, felt strange without the gag to bite on. But he did not wait for the pain in his shoulders to lessen before he reached for the clothes she had brought.
The tunic was made of the most inferior homespun he had ever seen, fit only for the meanest villein, and stunk to high heaven. But at least it fit him across the shoulders and arms, though it was lacking in length. So, too, were the coarse russet leggings, moth-eaten and frayed, and stopping well short of his ankles. The shoes were made of cloth, so at least they stretched to his size. The belt was a thin strip of leather.
He said naught about the deplorable clothes. Once dressed, he had only one thing on his mind.
“Where is she?”
“Nay.” Mildred backed away to the door. “You try to hurt her, I will sound the alarm.”
“I wouldst just speak with her.”
“You lie, sirrah. ’Tis in your eyes. She bade me help you escape because she does not want your death on her conscience, but she never wants to see you again. Do you come back here, Lord Gilbert will kill you. ’Tis that simple. So take your life and go.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his desire to get his hands on the wench who might or might not already carry his child warring with his desire for freedom. And he did not know how many he would have to fight if Mildred did cry for help. That settled it.
“Very well, but I will need a sword, my horse—”
“Are you mad?” she hissed. “You will go as you are, to draw no notice. The men who took you got rid of all that was yours, doubt it not. Now come. I will lead you to the postern gate. There is little time left.”
