Page 6 of Mardon

“Come on, ye’re blockin’ the door,” complained a big man from behind her.

“Mayhap I’ve met ye overseas,” said the bouncer. “I used to sail on a trade ship that went back and forth to France.”

“Nay! You’re mistaken. I’ve never been to France,” said Emmaline, barely able to breathe since she was so nervous. Her hand went to her leg as she reassured herself that the dagger was still hidden beneath the robe. All it would take was one man to recognize her and they’d be all over her like flies on dung. She needed to be careful.

“Aw, hell, I don’t know. Mayhap ye’re right.” The burly man waved his hand through the air. “I suppose after a while every woman starts lookin’ like a whore to me. Go on in, but stay in the shadows unless ye want trouble, lady.”

Emmaline didn’t wait another moment. She hurried into the room and chose a seat at a small table in the corner that sat only two. All the other tables in the establishment were long trestle tables with benches, shared by many drinking men. Some of the men had whores on their laps as they fondled the girls or nibbled at their necks. It was disgusting and appalling and she didn’t even want to look. Sitting down, she wrapped her arms around her, feeling gooseflesh under her clothes now. Being exhausted, her eyes drifted closed. The sounds of the room grew louder and louder, echoing in her head, bringing memories rising to the surface that made her want to scream and run.

“Do ye want a drink or what?”

Emmaline jumped in surprise and her eyes popped open. A serving wench stood there, holding out a tankard of ale. The woman clutched the handles of four more tankards in her other hand.

Emmaline devoured the ale with her eyes, wanting it more than anything. Damn, she wished she had managed to convince some of the sailors to give her coins on the way over here. Or mayhap she should have stolen money from them as well. But they were so kind to her that she felt bad just lifting one of their daggers for her own self-protection. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any coin,” she told the girl.

“Then why the hell did ye come in here?” spat the woman. “Move on, and save the table for payin’ customers. Go on. Go, now!”

“Do you perhaps . . . give nuns free food and drink?” she asked, hoping for a miracle.

“Like hell we do. Ye either pay up or get out. Now make up yer mind before I fetch the proprietor to throw ye out.”

“I’m . . . I’m waiting for someone,” she blurted out, stalling, trying to think up something to say. “I’m sure they will pay for my food and drink once they get here.”

“Oh.” The girl gave her a satisfied nod. “Well, why didn’t ye say that in the first place?” She thunked the tankard down on the table, foam from the ale sloshing over the rim and splashing onto Emmaline’s gown. “Sorry about that, Sister. But if ye come into a place like this, it’s to be expected that ye’re going to leave with somethin’ spilled on ye.” She giggled and took off for the next table, leaving Emmaline alone.

Emmaline slowly reached out and picked up the heavy tankard, taking a big drink of ale. Her eyes closed and she let out a sigh. She’d been so thirsty that she could barely swallow. After chugging half the brew, she placed the mug back down on the table. The sounds of the men laughing and talking weren’t so threatening now. Instead, with the ale relaxing her, the noises lulled her into a half-slumber. Leaning her head back against the wall, she felt so tired from not sleeping for the past few days that she immediately drifted off to sleep.

Emmaline was transported back to France, back to a time and place that she wanted to forget more than anything in the world.

“Take it off, Emmaline. All of it,” commanded her new husband, Lord Jean Philippe.

Emmaline clutched her clothes tightly to her neck, afraid of what was to come next. This wasn’t her wedding night. That, thank God, was over. The consummation of their vows had been bad enough and she never wanted to couple with the wretched man again. He’d told her it was custom, and had invited all of his friends to watch. Then, when he drifted off to sleep, the men tried to bed her as well. That night was horrible, but this was the day that really changed her from a lady of stature to being a lady of shame.

“Nay, I won’t,” she told him, eyeing the other man in the room sitting behind a pallet with a paintbrush in his hand.

“Ma chérie, do not be shy.” Her husband chuckled and walked over, placing his hands over hers. “All you need to do is get naked and lie back on the bed.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you making me do this?”

“It’s something I wish to have to always remind me of you, ma chérie. I’ll be the only one of my friends who has a naked painting of his wife.”

“Nay! I can’t do this. It’s wrong and horrible and will ruin my reputation of being a lady.”

“I’ll tell you a little secret.” He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “I actually do it with all of my mistresses, so I want you to do it as well.”

“Your – mistresses? You do what?” This was the first she’d heard of this.

“Oui, I have many that are to my liking.” He clapped his hands and the door opened. In walked five women, all curtseying to him and bowing their heads. “Girls, undress my wife and show her what to do.”

“Leave me alone!” cried Emmaline, but it did no good to fight. Before she knew it, she was naked and the girls were pushing her down on the bed into a prone position.

“Now, try to look sultry,” commanded her husband. “I want every man who sees this to desire you and every one of them to long to be me.”

“You’ve already managed to do that by inviting half the castle into our wedding chamber. I had to fight off men all night long.”

“Hush! I want this painting of you to be most desirable.”

The painter eyed her naked body, putting his brush to the paint. “Qui, my lord, this one has a body that every man will lust for.”