Microsoft Word - Jenny dreamed (42 page)

Rodrigo gave a gruff order, and the ring of bobbing candles that surrounded her bed retreated. He was standing on the dais that supported the bed, his hands gripping the canopy as he stared down at her with eyes that glittered maliciously at her discomfort.

"Cuchillo dares, on my orders, of course." There was nothing in his voice to indicate he was drunk, and somehow that made it all the more horrible to Jenny. At least drunkenness would have been an excuse for this outrage in the middle of the night.

She was still nervous, surrounded as she was by the leering faces of his fellow revelers, but indignant anger was quickly overcoming her fear. "To what do lowe the 'honor' of this visit, m'lord?" Jenny inquired impatiently.

"I have missed your company lately, querida," Rodrigo answered softly, his gaze travelling over her body, appreciating the contrast of her tousled, ebony curls against the alabaster of her shoulders. "You have been too distant lately, withdrawn from the pleasures of life. You did not seek to join our entertainment this evening, so we have brought the party to you."

He smiled, a flash of white teeth below the dark lines of his mustache; and though she showed no outward sign of fright, Jenny felt her heart race and her skin crawl.

"Send your companions away, then," she said, stalling for time against the banked fires of passion she'd seen in her husband's eyes. Earlier in the evening she had responded to Dev with a rebirth of desire, but even if it were he standing here, telling her with his eyes that he wanted her, she could not have acceded. It had been only four weeks since she'd given birth, and her body was just beginning to lose the aching soreness of healing. Her mouth was as dry as cotton as she waited tensely for him to answer.

Suddenly, in one of those crystal moments of perception that generally occur too late, Jenny realized that Rodrigo had come to sate more than his physical desires. In addition to Cuchillo, there were two women and another man in the group ringing her bed, all in varied states of undress and drunkenness. During the long evening he'd spent carousing in his room, Rodrigo would have had ample time to bed both slatterns. In fact, Jenny . was sure that all three men had taken advantage of the coarse-looking serving girls' loose .morals.

Rodrigo's only other passion in life was his indulgence in cruelty. "Please ..." Jenny entreated, hating herself for the fear that made her voice sound so timid. She could not reach out to him with her free hand or expose herself to the lecherous eyes of Cuchillo and his fellow mercenary.

"Rodrigo, you cannot ..."

"Cannot what, my dear wife? Come near the cold, virtuous body of a woman who belongs to me?" He laughed and sat on the bed beside her, and the others seemed to relax, one of the women begging a drink from the wine bottle Cuchillo held, the other turning her attentions to the second mercenary, running her hands over his nude body and searching brazenly for what she wanted. He stood there a moment, then groaned as the woman's fondling aroused him and hastily set the candlestick on the table, dragging her off into the shadows. Jenny closed her eyes against the grunting and panting sounds of their coupling, but on her other side, Cuchillo was being treated to the same enticement, and as his pleasure mounted, his huge fingers gripped her wrist tighter, whitening the flesh that was already bruised a dull rose color.

Rodrigo wore a linen nightshirt that hung to mid-thigh. Jenny stared at him as he unfastened the last button holding it together. "And I suppose I should not be allowed to gaze upon the gentle contours of your body?" He was taunting her, drawing out the mental torture that he found as satisfying as the fulfillment of his body's demands. Rodrigo reached out slowly, and with that same, evil smile, jerked the sheet away from her hands, enjoying the fact that she flinched almost as though he'd struck her.

Jenny bit her lip, a hot flush of shame coloring her cheeks as Cuchillo's attention was drawn from the woman who knelt between his thighs to the sight of Jenny's naked loveliness, a sight that made him lick his dry lips in a sudden, drawing thirst to possess what his employer had promised he might share. He continued to watch as Rodrigo reached out to caress Jenny's breasts, his breath coming harder now as she cringed and tried to inch away.

Rodrigo's fingers were cold against the warmth of the soft flesh, no longer gentle as he cupped one full, rounded globe in his hand and roughly rolled its nipple between his fingers.

Jenny was openly sobbing now, a prisoner of the two men. As though from a great distance, she heard herself begging him to stop. The only answer was his amused laughter as he continued to display her helplessness befor the leering eyes of Cuchillo, pushing her onto her back and pinning her there with his body as his left hand slid snake-like across her belly and slithered between her thighs.

The scream that tore from her throat as his fingers invaded her aching flesh was as much from humiliation as from the pain that radiated from between her thighs. Cuchillo cried out an obscenity in a low, hoarse voice, releasing her hand as he dug his fingers into the hair of the woman who was servicing him, pulling at the snarled, dirty locks as he strained his loins against her greedy, encompassing mouth.

Tears streamed down Jenny's cheeks, and something within her snapped, denying the idea that this brutal degradation was happening to her, even as she hit at Rodrigo's back and struggled to escape the restraint of his body. Without thinking of the consequences, for she was beyond logical thought and driven only by instinct, she scraped her nails along his face, carving deep furrows in the smooth, pale skin of his cheeks, marking the features of which he was so proud. Blood welled from the scratches, and Jenny knew a moment's triumph in the howl of pain that escaped him before he withdrew his hand from her thighs, raised his body, and viciously struck her with a closed fist.

She screamed at the explosion of pain near her right eye threw up her hands in defense, but Rodrigo straddled her waist and continued to hit her-a succession of open-palmed slaps that left her head ringing and her dazed, retreating mind a confusion of numbing pain and horror.

She could no longer scream a protest, only whimper as he slid back, shoved her legs apart, and entered her, slamming against her bruised, tender flesh so savagely that the agony sent her mind tumbling into unconsciousness.

When she came to a short while later, Rodrigo was gone from her and in his stead, the malodorous, sweating oaf who had earlier attempted to violate young Shiona lay with the full weight of his body crushing hers. The two who had retreated to the room's darkest shadows for their lusty sport had returned and stood by the bedside, calling out lewd encouragement in ugly voices that were slurred from drink. Jenny turned her head to escape the foul wash of Cuchillo's breath as he tried to kiss her and found Rodrigo sitting on the other side of her, his face a mask of evil pleasure as he fondled the heavy, pendulant breasts of the slovenly blonde bawd who had earlier seen to Cuchillo's needs, and watched.

Cuchillo began to thrust against her, and again Jenny fainted, again slipping into a dark void that pain could not penetrate. She woke an hour later to a hushed buzz of concerned whispers and the salty taste of blood that seeped from her cut and swollen mouth. For a short while, try as she might, she could not think who she was of why her entire body ached.

With a tentative effort, she moved her hand and drew it upward but, with one eye bruised purple and swollen shut, she could barely discern her own fingers.

"Oh, thank God in heaven!" Shiona sobbed, throwing herself down on her knees at the bedside, weeping tears of frustration and gratitude that her mistress had roused from her unnatural sleep. The midwife bustled over to the bed, touched a hand gently to her patient's forehead, and nodded, satisfied that there was no fever. The Laird's lady had taken a brutal beating from the foul rapist who had broken into her room. Thank God, she thought, that Rodrigo had been wakened from his heavy slumber to check on his wife's safety. He had found her bruised and bleeding and cornered the man responsible, one of his own ruffians, no less. With a deftly delivered blow he knocked him unconscious and sent him to the dungeons. Then he had called the midwife and the maid Shiona to the room in a panic over his inability to wake his lady from the unconscious state into which she'd slipped.

When Janet had arrived, the girl was lying in a pool of blood, her skin pallid and breathing shallow. Cursing the devil who could do such a thing, the midwife had quickly packed toweling between Lady Jennifer's blood-strained thighs. She succeeding in stemming the flow and had turned her attention to the facial bruises. Somewhere in that puffed, purple-smudged face her beauty lay hidden and Janet was sure it would return without any lasting scars to remind her of the ordeal. Looking down at her now, though, she wondered how soon, if ever, the mental anguish would fade.

The door to Rodrigo's room opened quietly and he stood there, watching the two women hovering by his wife's body. He could hear her speaking, and stepped closer now to see if she was alert enough to accuse him, but she could barely whisper and then only a few words. It was essential to him that she remain silent about his involvement, not that he cared what he'd done to her. Cuchillo was dead, shot by one of the guards in an "escape"

attempt and the others who'd been with him were so scared they would never again speak of the incident.

Rodrigo's hand rose and touched the four deep scratches that were crusted with blood. He couldn't blame her for trying to strike back, but there would be scars and he could not forgive that. The cover-up of his part in the assault was perfect in almost every detail. When Shiona had calmed after her first hysterical outburst at the sight of Jenny, she had turned to face him and, with a courage he hadn't expected from her, had demanded to know how his face was scratched if he'd only stumbled in on Cuchillo and not actually participated.

The question threw him for a moment; he'd forgotten the tell-tale marks but he'd claimed that in her terror, Jenny had taken him for Cuchillo and struck out at him. "How is my wife?"

he asked in a low, concerned voice, then, before there was time for a reply he'd cursed loudly, stating, "The man is dead, tell her that and she will rest easier knowing that he's paid for his deed!"

Shiona, still not believing that Rodrigo was innocent, barred his approach as he came toward the bed. Rodrigo's jaws clenched tightly at the insolence and audacity of that protective movement, but he restrained his desire to sweep her slender body aside. He must keep a check on his temper if this incident were to be kept quiet; once already tonight his lack of self-control had brought the attention of others to himself.

He stepped around the girl, daring her with a stern, forbiding glance to interfere. The midwife looked up at him, hesitant in his presence. "I do not want word of this to spread,"

he insisted, looking from one woman to the other with a threatening scowl. "Is that clear? I will not have Jena subjected to gossip nor have the court smirking behind our backs. The culprit has been dealt with; it is finished."

Jenny was awake, though her eyes were closed. The culprit had not been dealt with, she thought; he was standing not three feet away from her, claiming innocence and righteous indignation and all she had to do was denounce him for a liar. But what good would that do?

Would it take back the pain she'd suffered, or the haunting mental image of a double rape before the lascivious eyes of his companions? She sensed that her silence would give her means to deal with Rodrigo in the future, for if he had concocted such a fable to cover his part, then he did not want it to become common knowledge. The secret would be her safeguard against a recurrence of his cruelty.

Rodrigo stood by the bed, looking down at his wife .He did not feel compassion for her suffering but frowned, worried that the beating had ruined the perfect conours of her face.

"She will not look like that permanently, will she?" he bluntly questioned the midwife. The woman held back her annoyance at his insensitivity in asking within range of his wife's hearing.

"No, wi' proper rest and care, the Lady Jennifer will recover her physical beauty," Janet replied. then crossed her arms over her ample breasts and added a stern warning. "If ye care to see the rest of her mend, ye must keep a rein on ye'r own desires, m'lord. She must be allowed to heal unmolested for a good eight weeks, or 'twill be upon ye'r head that ye'll end up wi' an invalid instead of a fine, healthy girl. Quiet and rest, tha's the remedy she needs now ... tha' and time to forget, if she canl"

Jenny opened her eyes, staring at Rodrigo, and within her accusing gaze he saw her knowledge of his lies and a kind of triumphant gleam that transmitted her intent to hold it over his head. There was nothing he could do about it. She crooked her finger.ia-td with the two women watching. Rodrigo bend enough to hear the one word she whispered in his native Spanish, "Batardo!" and then Jenny smiled, or managed what she could with her lips swollen and sore. Rodrigo straightened, a pale smile pasted onto his mouth as he patted her hand in a show of husbandly concern, told the midwife to keep a close watch on his wife, and then stalked off toward his own rooms.

Bastard, she had called him, said it to his face and gotten away with it! Rodrigo's fingers itched. with an urge to strangle what was left of her life out of her bruised, broken body.

Somehow he would repay her for that insult, there were ways to break a spirit as well as a body.

Jenny slept again, but for short periods of time. The midwife had insisted she drink some strong wine to ease the pain; but, even with that, her aching body felt the agony, and she caught only a few minutes of rest in the three hours that followed. Once when she awoke, the midwife was back in her chair, snoring loudly, and Jenny had called Shiona over to her side.

"Swear ... to me," she whispered hoarsely, "that you .. won't tell anyone at the ... manor."

It had taken most of Jenny's strength to get out those few desperate words and Shiona had not the heart to do other than as she'd requested. Still, she thought, it was a shame that the devil Rodrigo should get away with such a crime. He hadn't fooled her with his made-up tale; Cuchillo would not have dared to do such a thing on his own initiative. He, at least, had paid for his sins or was paying for them in some fiery pit where immoral creatures such as he were sent to suffer through eternity! Rodrigo's time would come. Would that it only had before this had happened! "I swear it, m'lady," she answered, crossing herself piously, "on the name of sweet Jesus, I'll nae breathe a word to a soul! But ye'll De abed for weeks, what will they think when ye do na' come to see the, bairn? 'Tis nae fair for them to think ye're heartless enough na' to want to see him!"