Defiant (31 page)

She wanted to belong to him forever.

When she was assured that he slept, she lifted up slightly. She did not wish to leave the comfort of Jared’s arms, but she was determined to see about Irma. She had made friends with Aeliana so she would be able to leave without arousing the bird. After what had happened between them, if Jared awoke and she was gone, he would not suspect.

Assured by this thought, she quietly swung her legs over the side of the bed.

A damp, cold cloak woven of fog and midnight bore down on Gwyneth’s shoulders as she made her way toward The Bald Cock.

Sneaking away from the keep had been easier than she’d expected but her heart still pounded. Aeliana hadn’t even ruffled her feathers when she left and true to form, Jared slept like the dead.

In her hand, she clutched a short knife she’d taken from the kitchen.

Swirls of white mist floated in the inky darkness as if ghoulish forms from the spirit world guided her way down the path into the city. She scurried from tree to bush to shrub, guided by the sparse rays coming from the quarter moon.

Her thoughts went to how Jared’s hands had felt on her skin just hours ago, how his manhood had felt buried inside her, how his legs had been entangled, bare buttocks on display, in the linens as she had stolen from the solar and set about on this mission. What would he do if he awoke and found her missing from the keep?

The newfound peace betwixt them would be shattered.

Mentally, she shook herself; she would concern herself with Jared later. She twisted the bracelet on her wrist.
Her price is far above rubies.

Every few steps, she looked back over her shoulder and gazed this way and that. Naught but huts, shop buildings, empty wagons, and a few sleeping chickens. And the creepy feeling that someone, something was out there. Watching her.

The houses grew closer and closer together, some of them made of wood and stone, others constructed of mere sticks or even hay. Two chemises hung on a line, blowing like eerie ghosts. The road changed from dirt to cobble.

She breathed a hearty sigh of relief as she pushed open the back door of the brothel and stepped inside a short while later. The usual smells of sweat, grease, and copulation hung heavy in the air. Putting her hand to her nose, she took a few steps into the sloppy kitchen.

The door leading to the main hall of the whorehouse swung open with a loud bang and Irma rushed through. Her hair, always frizzy, looked even more frazzled than usual. Her chest heaved and her eyes looked wild. Red stains marred her cheeks.

“Irma! “ Gwyneth ran to her friend and embraced her. Clammy sweat poured through her dress. “What is wrong? ”

“M-m-my daughter! They have taken her.” Irma quivered as if an icy wind blew through her.

“Kiera?” Coldness seeped into Gwyneth’s bones.

“A-a-aye. ”

Gwyneth hugged Irma tightly, her alarm growing. Ne’er had she seen Irma so shaken.

“Taken her where?”

“The magistrate came. There was something about stolen buttons and then they took ‘er to the prison.” Tears leaked off Irma’s chin.

Buttons? The ones Kiera had given her when Jared and she were together?

Gwyneth willed her hands to not tremble.

“T-the boat leaves tonight!” Irma was panting hard, panicked. “They will not let me ‘ave ‘er. I do not know what to do. I thought you ‘ad abandoned me.”

“Oh, Irma!” Guilt rose like bile in her throat. “I could never abandon you. Jared would not allow me to leave his side.”

Kohl blended with tears. Black smears streamed down Irma’s cheeks.

Gwyneth steered her to the tankards and poured watery ale into one. She did not have time to worry over her own emotions. “Drink. Then talk. We will get Kiera free.” Somehow.

“Oh, Gwyneth,” Irma wailed, “what am I to do? I do not ‘ave the coin to see ‘er released. They are demanding a ‘igh ransom. I know not why.”

Worry furrowed Gwyneth’s brow. She had no coins and she could not return to the keep. “We need only to focus on a plan,” she said more calmly than she felt.

Irma dug into her bosom and pulled out a small, ragged pouch. “Take this, Gwyneth. I’ve been working as ‘ard on me back as I can.”

Sickness washed up inside Gwyneth’s throat. “Kiera said you had a fever.”

“I gots no time for fevers. I gots to get me daughter from the prison.”

“Heavens.” Gwyneth took the pouch with trembling fingers. The two pearl buttons on her sleeves twinkled. “Get me a knife and help me cut these off. Mayhap it will be enough to bribe the guard if I fancy myself up and distract him.” She yanked her mother’s sapphire ring from her hand. “I’ll offer this as well. I need to borrow one of your gowns.”

She fidgeted with the wooden bracelet, glad that it was made of wood and common rocks. She did not think she could bear to part with it.

They rushed to Irma’s bedchamber. Gwyneth changed garments and Irma quickly painted Gwyneth’s face with lead powder and kohl. She added a patch under her eye.

A knock sounded and one of the wenches opened the door a crack. “That man who comes for a bath is asking for you, Irma. ”

Irma’s rouged lips rounded into a silent “oh.”

Through the crack in the door, Gwyneth saw Jared standing in the midst of the brothel, staff in hand. Shock filtered through her body and for a moment she was frozen and unable to move. “Heavens, Irma! Jared’s here.”

Panic lurched into her throat as she frantically cast her gaze around the room, taking in the narrow bed, a chair, a table, a chest, and a small window. “I think he might have seen me. What should I do?”

Irma raced to the door and threw the bolt. “You must go. Quickly! ”

“How?” Gwyneth rushed to the window, scrambled onto the chair, and gazed down into the mud-and garbage-splattered alleyway.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. There was a small ledge outside and then from there it was a long ways to the ground. “I can’t jump. ‘Tis too far.”

“The bedsheets! Grab the bedsheets!”

Gwyneth jumped off the chair and hurried to the bed, pulling away the sheets. Yellowish stains dotted the linen, some still fresh. Bile rose in her throat. Somehow she had to straighten the matter with Kiera and then come back for Irma. Her friend could not remain a harlot for life.

Pounding sounded on the door. Mercy!

“Gwyneth!” Jared bellowed. His voice sounded like thunder—something that came from an angry pagan god rather than a mere man. “I know you are in there!”

She tied the sheet clumsily around the table’s leg and threw it out the window.

The pounding on the door increased. The shutters on the window rattled.

“Gwyneth!”

Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the opening and shimmied her way down. She cringed when her hand touched something wet and sticky on the sheet.

A rip and the linen tore loose. She landed with a hard
thunk.
“Ooof.”

Ignoring the pain in her right leg, she scrambled to her feet and took off running, her slippers slapping against the cobblestones.

She cut through an alleyway.

“Wife!” She heard Jared’s voice behind her. “Face your comeuppance!” He must have kicked through Irma’s door and was yelling for her out the window. She pumped her legs harder. If he caught her, no doubt he’d haul her straight to the authorities. Have her tried as a witch. He would never forgive her for tricking him as she had done.

When she reached the dock near the prison, she paused and leaned against a dirty wall, clutching her chest. The realization that she was fully and completely alone pulled at her as she tried to fathom what to do next.

Get Kiera.

Find some way to explain things to Jared.

A man wearing a filthy cloak lurched down the alleyway. He carried a tankard of ale.

Straightening, she trotted in the other direction.

“Hey, woman! Hey, woman!” The man stumbled toward her. “'ow much for a quick tup in the bum?”

Gwyneth shuddered and silently vowed to go to Mass every day for a year if God would see her through this night.

The prison was an ugly, squat building with no decoration to lighten its dreary walls. It was made of crumbling brick. Its tiny windows were like the eyes of a giant squatting spider dredged up from hell itself. The eerie feeling of evil and death always threatened to choke her as she looked up at it.

Tamping down her unease, she made her way to the front and tugged at her tresses to better arrange them.

Was the kohl that Irma had applied running down her face?

She gave herself a good shake. She was here. She had done this many times afore. She could do it again. She did not have time to waste.

Holy Mother,
she muttered as she always did when she rounded this corner of the building,
I ask for
your blessing.

Taking a breath, she composed herself and stuck out her bosom. The harlot’s garment revealed more than any of her kirtles or even her houppelandes. One more breath upward and her nipples might pop free. The book Jared had given her was tucked into her bodice. Its spine could be seen when she glanced downward. He might hate her, but the small book gave her comfort. It seemed normal. An anchor. As if nothing had changed and this exchange tonight would be routine.

She pulled out the pouch that contained her ring, the few gold coins Irma had given her, and the buttons they had cut from her sleeves.

The guard with the bull neck and one earlobe longer than the other stood in the darkened doorway. She said a silent prayer of thanks. He had been friendly with her the last time.

His eyes widened as she approached. “Lady Gwyneth.”

She smiled and ran her hand over her hair.

His gaze went to her revealing clothing. Nay, to her cleavage.

She set her jaw so that she wouldn’t grimace. Blinking, she tossed her hair over one eye in a gesture she knew most men responded to.

He licked his lips.

‘Twas always thus. Men who leered. Men who stumbled over their feet. Men who wanted to tup her. Of a truth, over the past days when she had been so linked at Jared’s side, the reprieve from such attention had been a relief. His presence kept them all at bay.

“You have a girl here. Brown eyes. Curly hair. Her name is Kiera.”

His gaze snapped back to her face, taking in her long locks and overdone eyes. She itched to wad her hair into a simple bun, but she forced her hands to remain at her sides.

Do not show fear. Do not show fear.

She twisted her fingers around one strand of hair, playing with it coyly, then proffered her bribe.

He palmed the jewels and coins in an easy stroke.

Victory! Thank God.

“This way. ”

The scent of dirty hay and rat piss lingered acidly in the air as she followed him down the hallway. The keys hanging from a heavy ring on his belt jangled as he swaggered down the narrow aisle. He was a slope-foreheaded brute with keen eyes and a thick stomach. ‘Twas doubtful that he had proper authority to release the girl. But no matter. A woman called out to her, but she did not turn.

Get Kiera and get out.
The stench worsened as they moved into the bowels of the prison. She longed for her handkerchief and she took short, quick breaths to keep from vomiting. The guard’s torch made eerie shadows on the slime dripping from the walls.

Her stomach churned.

Prisoners on either side of the narrow, dim walkway held grime-crusted fingers out to her, wafting even more of the stench her direction. If only she had thought to bring a sprig of lavender!

“Hey, lady! Hey, lady!” one called in a harsh voice. Their voices blended as a roar, and she caught only bits and snippets of what they were saying: “Help us, lady—We don’t belong here—I’m not supposed to be in here—It was a mistake—I can pay you well—If you’ll just help me—Get a note to my brother—to my father—Help me—please—please, lady, please …”

She clutched her chest.

Kiera was too young, too innocent to be in a hellhole such as this.

Forcing herself to ignore the pleas of the women, to ignore the smell and filth, Gwyneth gazed forward and trudged behind the guard.

“This one, lady.” The guard stopped, pointed to a pitch-black cell to the left, and unlatched the door. It swung outward with a creak.

The stench was even worse inside the cell, that of decay and death. Gwyneth held her nose, willing her stomach not to lurch. Fleas hopped up her slippers, nibbling her ankles as she slipped inside. She squinted into the darkness.

The guard lifted his torch.

Kiera huddled in the corner, covered with a shabby, rat-bitten blanket. Muck covered her from head to toe and the lower half of her skirt had been ripped away in one section as if perhaps she’d tried to fend off an attacker. Purple bruises laced her arms and the section of her exposed calf.

Elizabeth, the mute dark-haired child, lay on the ground next to her, sprawled beside the wall. Her straight black hair fanned across the dirty floor, its ends in Kiera’s lap as if the two children had hugged each other to sleep.

Gwyneth’s stomach fell. “Oh, mercy.”

The two girls did not move.

Her vision blurred as she knelt. “Kiera? Elizabeth?”

Kiera’s eyes fluttered open, sending a ray of hope shooting through Gwyneth.

The guard cleared his throat. “Time is short. ”

Desperation overtook Gwyneth, and she shook her harder. “You must awaken. Arise. Come with me.” She struggled to lift the girl into her arms.

Kiera moaned and her eyes rolled back into her head.

“We have to get you out of here.” She shooed away a rat that ventured out of the mildewed hay. Using all her strength, Gwyneth straightened, holding the child.

Elizabeth shuttered awake. She touched the hem of Gwyneth’s skirt and looked up at her with pleading green eyes.

“You comin’ or not, lady?” The guard shifted back and forth on his stubby legs, squishing the rotting hay that was strewn around on the floor.

“You could help me,” Gwyneth snapped. The muck under her slippers made her footing precarious.

He shrugged and turned on his heel. “Best you hurry, ‘ere the door slam shut on both of ye.”