Defiant (32 page)

Elizabeth tugged Gwyneth’s skirt again.

Mercy. Reaching down, Gwyneth grasped Elizabeth by the hand and lifted her to her feet. “I’m taking this one too,” she said with a glare at the guard.

“Ye did
not
pay for that one.”

Gwyneth’s feet slid this way and that on the grimy floor, scattering hay, fleas, and vermin as she sought to rise. Rats squeaked and scurried into the next cell.

With a heave, Gwyneth got Kiera’s arm up over her shoulder and kept hold of Elizabeth’s hand. She nearly gagged at the stench coming off of the girl’s body. Oozing red sores covered her face. Her fingers looked pale and her body, almost skeleton-like. But her grip was surprisingly strong, giving Gwyneth the edge of hope she needed to keep pushing, to keep striving, to keep walking.

Heart pounding, Gwyneth trudged forward carrying Kiera and holding Elizabeth’s hand.

“Ye didn’t pay for that one, lady,” the guard said again.

“Step aside.” She panted with exertion, knees buckling, but she latched on tightly to both children. She would get them out of this hellhole if it were the last thing on earth that she did.

The guard wiggled the iron door back and forth as if considering. It let out a menacing creak.

Kiera moaned and Elizabeth clutched Gwyneth’s hand in a death grip.

“I will bring more coin next time. Step aside.”

He gave her a nonrepentant grin but let them pass. The louse. The useless imbecile. Once profitability was restored on her lands and she had more power and influence, she’d somehow have position taken. She could speak with those in charge, write demands. For now she needed to get the girls to safety and think of some way to explain it all to Jared.

Her legs ached as she half carried, half dragged the two girls out of the cell.

A few moments later, the guard showed them out through a back door of the prison and they found themselves in dawning sunlight. Pink and orange tinged the sky and the scent of murky water stung Gwyneth’s nostrils. They were near the river—where, no doubt, ships hauled many of the prison’s inhabitants to their new lives.

They made their way out into the city’s cobbled streets. Her heart sank with every step. Kiera kept slipping, her eyes and head rolling back in pain. Elizabeth’s bare feet sloshed in puddles of garbage.

The long walk to the prison had been taxing and Gwyneth’s legs, shoulders, and back already shook from trying to hold Kiera. With every step the girl seemed to become more and more limp.

They needed a physician.
A priest,
whispered a dark voice. Nay. Somehow they would make it. They had to.

“Child, I’m so sorry. I should have been here sooner.” A curse on Jared for being so hardheaded.

Dawn bounced off the cobblestones and spread dull light over the nearly deserted town. Their breath made little puffs of white clouds that misted around them as they walked. Dampness hung in the air and the fog, thinner than before, swirled around their legs.

Here and there a few of the townsfolk stirred. Candles flickered. Shuffling could be heard inside the huts and buildings.

At that moment a man barreled out of the mist from an alleyway. His hand shot out and latched onto her arm in a tight, painful grip. She screamed, losing her hold on Kiera.

The fingers squeezed Gwyneth’s arm and pulled her away from Kiera, who went sliding downward, unable to support herself. She grasped for her in a desperate bid as their attacker came fully out into the street. Elizabeth scrambled backward.

The jailor! He stared at them with a scowl, his piggish eyes overly bright. “Not one word, woman. You have something I want.”

Gwyneth whirled on him, and stood up to her full height. “You have your payment,” she said, “begone with you. ”

“Ye did not pay for the other child.” He pulled her tight against himself, his stench—that of unchecked lust and evil—eclipsed Kiera’s unwashed one.

In a sudden burst of strength, Kiera pulled at the arm latched onto Gwyneth’s. “Let Lady Gwyn go! ”

He backhanded her and she crashed to the cobblestones. The wound on her cheek opened and blood squirted onto her filthy dress.

Gwyneth screamed. She tried to knee him in the groin and break free.

The man latched his hand even tighter around Gwyneth and moved his hips from side to side, protecting his crotch from her blows. “Peace, lady. ‘Twill only take a minute.”

Elizabeth ran at the man and bit him on the thigh. “Ouch!”

Picking her up, he threw her across the alleyway. Garbage scattered as she hit the ground.

“Elizabeth!”

He grinned.

Dear God.

“You animal!”

Elizabeth scrambled over to Kiera and hugged her.

Hands fisted, Gwyneth glared at their attacker. “Leave them alone.”

“Gold. Give me gold.”

Mercy. If she had had a trunk full, she would have gladly handed it over. “I gave you what I had.”

“Lying bitch! I’ve seen you. I know who you are.” He leaned in closer to her. She nearly gagged.

“Take it out in flesh,” a voice came from a mangy-looking rat lying in a cesspool in the alley. “I ain’ had no entertainment like this in nigh a decade.”

Bile rose in her throat.

Kiera squirmed. Blood streaked from her nose and dripped off her chin.

Gwyneth reached for her, to yank them all to safety, but the man grabbed her by the arms. She screamed and kicked.

He began scrunching up her skirt.

At that moment, a dark figure rounded the corner of the alleyway—another torturer set on watching her humiliation. He looked like a specter or perhaps even a demon conjured from hell. She shuddered. Had her prayers begun to work in the reverse these days?

“Let. Her. Go.”

Jared! Her heart leapt at the sound of Jared’s deep voice. He carried his staff so it glinted in the moonlight. His eyes shone with intensity, but for once, she was grateful for the vengeful gleam she saw in them. He looked like a savior and for a moment she wanted to run to him, crying, grateful that he had come to save them.

Seeing him gave her the strength to yank free from the beast holding her arm. Quickly, she scooted away, rushed to the two girls, and knelt beside them.

The blood from Kiera’s nose smudged across Gwyneth’s bodice as she tried to lift her. The girl’s grip was weaker and lacked the fortitude that it had when they were back at the jail. Elizabeth grunted and tried to help.

The guard eyed Jared’s staff and laughed. He pulled a saw-bladed knife from inside his tunic.

“Nay!” gasped Gwyneth.

With a lunge, Jared leapt forward, heedless, reckless, racing straight for the bull-like jailor.

The fleeting image of a striking cobra passed through her mind as if Jared was purely animal, primal—not something born of man or civilization.

He let out a primal sound as his staff connected with the jailor’s bull-like neck. The man fell with a squelchy thunk.

The jailor’s eyes widened. He had not even had a chance to fully grip the hilt of his own knife. The man jumped to his feet and tossed a dark look at Gwyneth. “You will pay for this, woman.” He whirled on his heels and ran. His footsteps rang on the cobblestones and faded.

Clutching her chest, Gwyneth turned to Jared.

Not a trace of sweat beaded his brow. His chest rose and fell in even, unlabored breaths. As if he was not affected at all.

“Are you well?”

She shivered.

“We have to go before the night watchmen or the authorities find us,” Jared said, his voice low and undisturbed. As if ‘twas common for him to fight with a man afore breaking his fast.

When she didn’t move or speak, he bent and touched her arm. “Can you rise?”

Her body felt as though someone had filled it from toe to neck with granite. Elizabeth wound her skinny body in Gwyneth’s skirt.

Kiera made a strangled noise. Her mouth moved up and down and she gasped for breath. A deep gurgling sound issued from her throat.

“Kiera?”

The child’s eyes rolled back.

Terror slipped through Gywneth’s soul. “Kiera? Kiera!”

The girl gurgled again and her hand slipped into the cesspool floor of the alleyway.

Dead.

“Nay! “ Gwyneth gasped, gathering her young friend into her arms. “Nay!”

A shallow breath came from Kiera’s lips. Not dead then.

Gwyneth shook Kiera’s body, trying to rouse her. “Wake up, Kiera! Wake up!”

Jared knelt beside her.

Clutching the girl, Gwyneth rocked back and forth.

Jared ripped a strip from the hem of his tunic. He swabbed blood from Kiera’s face and arms and inspected her carefully.

“She needs to be stitched,” he said, gently taking the girl into his arms. “Come, Gwyneth. We must leave.” He glanced back at the opening of the alleyway. “If the townsfolk catch us here, we’ll be charged with illegal jailbreak.”

At that moment, a window creaked open above them. Two maids chattered, complaining about the morning’s work.

Jared yanked Gwyneth and Elizabeth to his side, pressing them against the wall so that they would be out of sight of whoever was above.

With a heave, the contents of a chamber pot were launched into the alley. The filth landed in the already disgusting puddles and splashed over them.

Gwyneth’s stomach lurched, this onslaught being the final straw in the morning’s events. With a gag, her stomach launched into a series of dry heaves.

“Who be there?” The maid in the upper window stuck farther out the window, looking downward, her head swiveling back and forth.

Jared pushed them into the shadows. His fresh, musky scent almost eclipsed the filth and stench. She quivered in his arms, too weak to resist hanging onto the strength that he offered. She covered her mouth to hold herself back from making gagging noises, but her stomach wouldn’t stop heaving.

“Come on,” Jared whispered into her hair. With a tug, he half led, half carried her down the dank alleyway away from the voices above.

Elizabeth followed. He smoothed Kiera’s hair down and cradled her against his chest. “Let’s get home.”

Gwyneth stumbled forward, ignoring the aching, throbbing agony in her legs. Her knees and thighs shook with effort, but she willed them to hold up her body. Quietly, she fell into step with him and headed back toward the keep as if following him was the most natural thing in the world to do.

They had saved Kiera and Elizabeth! Despite it all, they had made it home safely. With patient gentleness, Jared washed the child’s limbs and held her still as Gwyneth sewed up the worst of the girl’s wounds. Elizabeth watched from a chair in the corner. She had bathed and was wearing a fresh dress. She chewed on the damp ends of her straight, dark hair and gazed around the chamber with her intelligent moss green eyes.

Gwyneth soothed the sleeping girl’s curls off her face and kissed her forehead, vowing to go straight to the chapel and offer prayers of gratitude.

In the past, she had had nowhere to take children except to the brothel, but now she had her lands. The two girls would grow up with tutors, with gowns. They would not be raised as whores or street orphans.

She rose, wanting to hug Jared, wanting to give him thanks for saving them, for carrying the child here. She slid her hand into his. “Oh, Jared, how can I ever—”

Controlled fury glowed in his eyes, stopping her sentence in midstream.

His fingers squeezed hers. “We go to the bedchamber.” His tight jaw and the set of his shoulders told her that he fully expected her to dislike what he was about to do. He whirled, dragging her with him.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.

They wended the steep spiral stairs that led to the master’s solar, startling a guard on the way who leapt to his feet and stood at attention.

She stumbled on the stones as she tried to keep up with her husband’s quick pace.

“Slow down!” she hissed, but he walked faster. He moved with crisp determination rather than his usual fluid grace.

“Shush, wife.”

Her legs still ached from the long walk to the prison and the sprint away from it. “I cannot keep up with you,” she panted.

His hand squeezed hers in a firm, almost painful grip. “Keep silent. I am barely holding on to my control without you provoking me.”

The feel of the brank bit her memory, making the taste of metal well up in her mouth.

He marched her the rest of the way to their chamber. Trepidation churned in her stomach. Did he plan to tup her as he had before? To beat her? To pack her belongings and send her to a nunnery?

They passed another guard. She gave him a pleading look but he made no move to interfere. Had Jared established himself here so quickly?

She pulled against him to yank her hand free and try to run. She might be able to make it to the back entrance of the keep.

The door to their chamber slammed shut with a loud crash. The room spun as he whirled her around. She crashed against his chest and took a step back.

“Sit,” he commanded, indicating the stool by her lady’s dressing table.

She sat.

“I can expla—” she started, but closed her mouth when he raised a brow and stalked toward the scold’s bridle that sat on a small table near the bed.

Coldness trickled over her.

He picked up the metal mask, and turned it over and over in his palms. She remembered the crowd staring at her, taunting her as she had been forced to wear it. A shudder quaked through her. She could think of naught much worse than him plopping it upon her head and parading her through the streets. Gwyneth of Windrose, the beauty of the land, the rebellious uppity wife led about in disgrace. Some would cheer the thought of seeing her so humbled. The Ashworth sisters would likely carry the tale all the way to London.

Jared sat the brank on the table with a clunk that made her jump in her chair. He crossed the room, dug through his supplies, and pulled out a knife and a leather strop.

Merciful heavens. Did he plan to cut her throat? She glanced at the door, willing it to open so that she could run. She tensed her thighs and slid herself forward on the dressing stool.