A Man Betrayed (43 page)

Such weakness, it
made him sway where he stood. Crope waited in the shadows, arms ready if
needed. The potion took sorcery's spark and became greater than the sum of its
parts. Baralis leaned over and smeared it onto the skin of the girl's back.
Immediately he felt a corresponding bum upon his chest. The pain reached new
heights of torment. The girl upon the bed began to move. The blade drew itself
to her skin, Baralis merely its keeper.

Around her back it
traced a course, across the neck, along the arms and above the buttocks. The girl
arched her spine to meet it. Baralis began to lose himself; he felt every cut
of the knife. Head pounding, hands soaked in blood, Baralis wavered as the
darkness beckoned. He knew a single, terrifying pain and then the girl,
beautiful in her abandon, was his.

Backward he fell.
Past and present no longer held meaning. His chest blazed like an inferno and
his flesh was consumed by the flames.

From somewhere he
heard a voice: "Pretty necklace has owls. Can I keep it, master?"

Baralis never knew
if he nodded or shook his head.

Maybor was
pleasantly pickled. Life was good, but the ale was better. A drink in his hand,
two girls in his bed: who could want for anything more? One young lady lay eyes
closed, bottom up, worn out by the breadth of his passion. The other girl, a
saucy vixen if ever there was one, was eyeing him up for another go around the
maypole.

He wasn't quite up
to it yet.

In fact, now that
he'd had a brothel keeper's fill, his urges had receded along with his
codpiece. His mind was still active, though, even if his fishing rod wasn't.

He stood up,
modestly covering his vitals with a huge cushion. Shakindra was the name of the
boar-hound the duke had given him. Maybor had shortened it to Shark.
"Shark,"
he called, moving toward the bedside chest. "Here, boy." Maybor chose
to ignore the fact that Shark was actually a girl.

"I'm telling
you now, matey," piped up the vixen from the bed, "I ain't gonna do
no kinky stuff, not for any amount of money."

Maybor ignored the
girl and beamed at the dog. "Good boy. Good boy." At first he'd been
a little wary of the scarylooking creature, but now, seeing it come toward him,
tail wagging, eyes bright with intelligence, Maybor began to feel rather fond
of it. The dog came up and licked his face. "Who's a big bastard, then,
eh?" said Maybor fondly. He reached into the chest. "Got something
for my big boy. Something to get his teethy-weethy into." Pulling out
Baralis' linen undershirt, Maybor stuffed it against Shark's muzzle.
"Kill, boy. Kill. "

Shark growled like
a hound from hell and tore the shirt into shreds. The dog's jaws frothed in
frenzy; its chest shook with intent. After the creature had destroyed the
shirt, it continued to worry away at the remains as if they were a threat to
its life. Maybor smiled, well pleased. Shark was aptly named.

After a few
moments he turned his attention back to the vixen on the bed. What was it she
said about kinky stuff?

Melli hitched up
her dress and rubbed fragrant oils into her thighs. The ladies at Castle
Harvell had told her many times that such preparations were essential for
lovemaking.

Apparently men
like nothing better than to follow their hands and their noses up to the flower
with the honey. Melli hated such silly talk: flowers with honey, indeed! The
ladies at Castle Harvell should call a spade a spade!

Melli breathed a
sigh of relief as the oil worked its fancy upon her flesh, soothing, cooling,
easing the pain. Lovemaking might not be on her mind, but rider's chafe was on
her thighs. Six hours in the saddle! It was enough to make even the most
hardened rider walk bowlegged for a week. Oh, the scenery was breathtaking: all
purple mountains heavily topped with snow, and lush green meadows in the first
flush of spring, but it wasn't quite enough to offset the strain of the ride.
She was sorely out of practice. At one time riding had been like second nature;
however, once a girl's blood flowed it was considered unseemly to ride astride
in the company of men. Another silly court custom! And one she was pleased to
say hadn't been adopted for the journey to the lodge. In fact, the duke himself
had helped her onto the horse, cupping his hand in readiness for a foot meant
to mount, not sit.

Unfortunately that
was the only gallant thing His Grace had done all day. For the entire six hours
he had ignored her; she rode at the back along with servants and supplies.
No-one had spoken to her, they just stared and whispered amongst themselves. It
was a fair-sized party, nearly twenty in all: the duke and four other noblemen,
several grooms, two dog handlers, an array of men servants and kitchen staff,
and a lady's maid, who Melli presumed was meant to attend upon her. She didn't
count the armed guards in the numbers.

Bailor did not
accompany them. Melli had hoped he would, for he was the nearest thing that she
had to a friend in Bren. They had arrived at the lodge by midafternoon, and the
first thing the duke did was change his horse and ride out on a hunt-so she'd
had no one to talk to all day.

The lady's maid
came in the room. Besides Melli, she was the only other female in the party.
Obviously such trips were usually for men alone.

The girl bobbed a
reluctant curtsy. "I'm supposed to see to you, lady," she said. The
word lady carried all the effect of a verbal sneer.

"Well, you
could have come sooner," snapped Melli, upset by the girl's manner.
"I've been on my own for hours."

"Didn't think
you'd want anything until now." The girl picked up the jar of fragrant oil
and sniffed the contents. "The duke said you are to join him in his
private apartments for supper. So I suppose you'll need seeing to."

For some reason
Melli felt close to tears. No one, not even Mistress Greal, had treated her
with the contempt that this serving girl did. The worst thing was that she had
no defense: she was little more than a slave and much less than a prostitute.
Anger was her only recourse. "Leave me now. I do not require anything from
you. If you should happen to see His Grace, then kindly tell him I have
dismissed you because of your insolence."

That certainly
seemed to do the trick. The girl instantly recognized and then reacted to the
nobility in her voice. She actually re-curtsied. "I'm sorry, miss. I
didn't mean to offend you."

"That was
exactly what you meant to
do, thought Melli. Very well, I will let the
matter pass this time. Please fetch me a measure of red wine and some bread and
cheese. I haven't eaten anything since this morning, and I've no intention of
waiting upon the duke's call before I line my belly." Ever since arriving
at the hunting lodge, Melli had been alone in her room, unregarded and unfed.
So much for hunting and feasting! "And when you come back, you can help me
change. I've little desire to please His Grace, but I've even less desire to
sit here any longer in a dress that reeks of horse sweat. Now run along and be
quick about it." It was so easy to fall into the old ways of court.
Servants had to be treated harshly in order to gain their respect.

"Yes,
miss." The girl performed a hasty curtsy and was off, now eager to do her
bidding.

An hour later
Melli was nibbling on the last of the cheese while being laced into her gown.

"Oh,
miss," cried the girl, "if you eat another morsel, the seams will
surely rip."

"Well, don't
tie the laces so tight then, Nessa, for I intend to eat some more when I see
the duke."

"Yes,
Nessa," came an amused, sardonic voice. "I will be feeding your lady
with the game I caught earlier. 'Twas a large beast and will need plenty of
belly."

It was the duke.
Both women looked around, startled. Nessa immediately dropped to the floor in a
low curtsy. Melli barely inclined her head.

"Really, sir!
Are all the men in Bren as bad mannered as you? For I pity the women if they
are." Melli turned to Nessa. "Get off the floor, girl, and finish my
laces. His Grace won't mind waiting, as he surely came hoping for a show."

Nessa reluctantly
left the floor and finished her work on the dress. Melli could feel her hands
shaking.

The duke seemed
not in the least offended by her words, and this rankled Melli further, as they
were intended to do just that. He walked about the room with an air of
proprietorship, pausing to stoke the fire and then pour himself a quarter glass
of wine. Out of the corner of her eye, Melli noticed that whilst the glass
reached his lips, the level of liquid never fell.

"Nessa and I
had an interesting little conversation about half an hour back," he said.
"She tells me you are quite the high lady with your orders and
chastisements."

Nessa shot Melli a
"forgive me" glance. Melli was not about to forgive anyone. First she
turned to the duke. "Next time, instead of a lady's maid, perhaps you
could send a scribe to help me dress. He might not be able to improve my looks,
but at least he can record what I have to say word for word."

And then to Nessa:
"As for you, my girl, I'd be careful with that tongue of yours. Things
that loose have a nasty habit of falling off." Melli was seething.

The duke's face
showed no emotion. "Leave us," he said to Nessa. The girl almost
raced from the room. When she had gone he held out his arm. "Come, I will
accompany you to my chambers. The meat is growing cold."

"And if I
refuse?"

"Then I will
be forced to carry you there."

Melli did not
doubt that he could. He was a strong man; his arms bore the muscles of a
soldier, not a duke. She was just about to issue a scathing reply when she
caught herself: she'd been such a fool! Acting like a great lady with no
thought of where it might lead. She was supposed to be the illegitimate
daughter of a minor lord, yet here she was not only taking servants to task,
but reprimanding the duke himself as well. He was already suspicious; a man of
his standing never stooped to questioning maid servants without good cause.
Melli cursed her stupidity! He had all but accused her of being a high-born
lady, and instead of denying the charge, she had, by both words and attitude,
practically admitted to it.

She blamed her
father. Maybor's blood had long been thick with arrogance, it was no wonder
that hers was, too. Determined to make no more mistakes, Melli quietly took the
duke's arm. He was surprised by her submission-a slight raising of his eyebrows
gave him away-but he walked her out of the room without a word.

The lodge was
modestly named. It was huge. Built from pine and cedar timbers, it gave more of
an impression of warmth than the palace. They walked along a high-ceilinged
corridor that was painted with hunting murals, down a short flight of stairs,
and then along a lengthy corridor that ended in a beautifully carved doorway.
The duke opened the door and bid her enter his chambers.

He did not stand
on ceremony. He sat down at one end of a solid pine table and motioned that
Melli should sit at the other. The duke had been right when he said the meat
was getting cold, for a huge haunch of something lay steaming on a platter. One
servant waited upon them. To calm her nerves, Melli took a deep draught of
wine. It was a mistake, for the drink was fortified and stronger than she was
used to. The duke noted her surprise. "Bring the lady some water," he
commanded the servant.

Melli didn't know
why this annoyed her, but it did nonetheless. "Tell your man not to waste
his time, I will take my wine as it comes." She knew it was a
mistake--coming so soon after her just-sworn resolution to be meek-but the
duke's arrogant demeanor brought out the devil in her.

"So be
it," he said, and waved his arm in dismissal. The servant left the room.
He turned back to Melli. "Try the meat." It was as good as an order.

Melli hacked off a
fair-sized portion of the crackled and roasted flesh. It was delicious: juicy,
bloody, marbled with fat. She couldn't remember the last time she'd tasted
anything so wonderful.

"Good?"
prompted the duke. He sat back in his chair, regarding her as if she were a
moth in a jar. A full cup of wine rested in his hand. The servant had not
refilled it once.

"It's a
little tough. What did you say it was?"

"I didn't. It
was a young and fleet-footed buck,"

"Tastes more
like an old and slow-stepping stag."

The duke threw his
head back and laughed. He slammed his cup on the table. "By Borc! You are
an annoying wench!" He didn't sound in the least bit annoyed; in fact, he
sounded rather pleased. "Tell me, did you get that tongue of yours from
your father or your mother?"

A tiny warning
sounded in Melli's head. An innocent question? Or was he trying to catch her
out? Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? "From my father, I think."

"Hmm, that
was Lord Luff, wasn't it?" Melli was growing nervous. "Yes."

"Strange. I
met the man once. He didn't strike me as being particularly quick wilted."

He could be
bluffing, but it was best not to put it to the test. "Aah, well my mother
was no shrinking violet, either. I could have got it from her."

The duke's
demeanor visibly changed. He looked at her coldly. "You are lying,"
he said.

Try as she might,
Melli could not stop the heat from rushing to her face. There was nothing for
her to do but stand up and turn her reddening face to the fire. A second later
she felt the duke's hands upon her shoulders.

"Look at
me," he ordered. He gripped her flesh so hard that Melli had no choice but
to obey.

Melli turned
toward him. Her own guilt was clearly reflected in his flint gray eyes. He
reached up and, for one moment, she thought he would hit her. Instead he took
her chin in his hand. He smelled like the game he had hunted. Squeezing his
fingers into her cheek, he said: "Tell me who your father is." His
voice was low and menacing, it allowed no space for falsehood or evasion.