Microsoft Word - Jenny dreamed (43 page)

"Tell them ... oh, God, tell .. them anything but the truth!" Jenny rolled her head away, beginning to cry again. "Gilliam will ... think of ... something." Shiona started to speak to her again, but Jenny had slipped away into that quiet, dark retreat where her body did not ache and her mind blotted out the memories. It was a way of dealing with a burden too heavy to bear; it was the first step toward healing.

Twenty-Five

Rodrigo stared down at the maid he'd just beaten, gloating over the raw, bleeding stripes the whip had left on his back. It was remarkable to him that this common peasant would have caught Jenny's fancy, but the man he'd captured, along with Lady Fiona, was undoubtedly her former lover and the sire of the child she'd lost. Devlan Cantrell ... he reminded Rodrigo of Jenny's father, a man he had never liked.

Dev looked around at the cell in which he sat, trying to ignore the pain burning across his shoulders, determined not to give Rodrigo the satisfaction of seeing his suffering. His breath still came in ragged gasps, but other than that, he'd not said a word or uttered one syllable.

Dev had been captured without a weapon, without a chance to fight against the surprise raid Rodrigo's men had made on the island. His hands were tied behind his back; if Rodrigo chose to continue beating him, there was no way to defend himself. From the time they were seized, Fiona had insisted it was Jenny who'd betrayed them, and that one thought was more torturous to Dev than anything this Spanish bastard smiling down at him could have devised.

He didn't recognize his own voice when he asked hoarsely, "How'd you know I was on the island? Who-"

Rodrigo started to laugh, his arms crossed at his chest as he shook his head over the prisoner's attitude. Dev's head came up slowly, and the torch flickering in the wall sconce reflected a yellow-gold gleam of menace in his narrowed gaze. "A thousand pardons, mi amigo," Rodrigo said, still chuckling in amusement, "but it occurs to me that you have our positions reversed. It is I who ask the questions, not a young whelp who is trussed like a helpless chicken! You may consider yourself fortunate that I have plans for this evening; even now I waste breath on you while my husbandly duties to Jena await me."

Devcontinued to glare up but his face remained immobile, showing no indication of the turmoil Rodrigo's taunts had created. The idea of this cold, crude son-of-a-bitch touching Jenny was somehow worse than the sting of the whip. His mind was racing, looking for some way to get back at Rodrigo. "Knowing Jen, I'm sure she wouldn't mind a delay. She doesn't hold a high opinion of anything you do." It was Dev's turn to laugh, and the sound echoed in the small cell, mocking Rodrigo far better than anything Dev could have thought of.

Rodrigo was no longer amused. His lean, aristocratic features were transformed by fury, his hands clenching and opening in anger at the insolence the prisoner had shown him. "So she knew you were alive," he said, more to himself than to Dev. "I will have to see to a fitting punishment for her disloyalty. The child she bore was not mine. Adultery is a crime in any society." He paused for a moment, enjoying the sudden tenseness in Cantrell's body.

After a leisurely stroll across the length of the cell, Rodrigo turned, once again in control of his emotions. His tone was reflective as he commented, "Perhaps, after Jena witnesses your execution at tomorrow's tourney, she would benefit from a stay here. A week or two of solitude will make her a more dutiful and less rebellious spouse. But I will spare her the lash.

Her body is too beautiful and useful to me to mar that exquisite, white flesh. Having seen her unclothed, you would agree to that, eh?"

Rodrigo had misjudged Dev's ability to strike out at him as he came close to study the reaction to the threat he'd posed to Jenny. "Bastard!" Dev yelled, throwing back his shoulders as he aimed a hard, driving kick at Rodrigo's belly. The Spaniard doubled over, clutching at his gut while he croaked for a guard, gasping out an order to give the prisoner another fifteen lashes before he stumbled from the cell.

By the time he reached Jenny's rooms, Rodrigo had recovered his breath, but he still felt bruised. More than just the ache in his gut troubled him. Jenny had lied to him, lied about seeing her lover, lied about what she'd seen in the crystal. Now she would consult the Anacalypses and tell the truth or suffer the same fate as Cantrell. If he could not believe her readings of the crystal, what use was she to him?

He didn't bother to knock and entered the bedroom to find Jenny seated in a chair, while Shiona brushed out her hair. The maid looked startled, but then she always had that look about her. She was loyal enough, though, to stand her ground when he ordered her to get out, looking instead to Jenny to ascertain whether she should obey.

Jenny patted the girl's hand and said, "I've been expecting him anyway, dear. You may go now. I know my husband well ..." She looked at Rodrigo with open contempt and finished,

"He has always seen to the care of his possessions. He can do me no further harm."

Shiona still hesitated, obviously fearing for Jenny's safety, and Jenny said more firmly,

"Please, go now ... I'll be fine, truly I will," then gave her a reassuring smile before the girl hurried past Rodrigo and out the door.

"You seem so confident of my good will, Jena. Why is that? Perhaps you have seen it in the crystal; perhaps it is just another of the things you know, but haven't revealed to me?" He approached her, keeping his eyes on hers, and when he stopped near the chair, staring down at her with a cold sneer on his lips, she still had shown no sign of fear. "I suppose you also know that I have just come from the dungeons, that your lover lies bleeding and trussed in one of the cells? I find it odd that he's been alive all this time, living on the island, plotting with the Lady Fiona," he smiled, raising one brow in a questioning manner, "and sharing her bed as well."

Jenny sighed. She knew all this. Of course, Rodrigo must draw it out in an attempt to hurt her. She looked down, unable to bear the sight of his cruel, shadowed face a moment longer. And he continued, relentlessly digging at her with his questions. "You show no surprise, just a weary acceptance of what has passed? I can not believe your attitude, Jena.

The father of your child, the strong, young lover you took, will be dead after tomorrow's tournament, and you show no signs of weeping, no pleas for mercy? No, you are not that cold or uncaring; you know more than you have told me, you must have foreseen some salvation for yourself and that young fool who dared to try and cross me!" She still refused to react or glance up, and Rodrigo seized her shoulders, jerking her to her feet.

"We will have a look into the crystal now, Jena," he commanded in a steel-edged voice. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her shoulders, and as Jenny winced, his lips twitched with the pleasure it gave him. "I have him in my hands, and you will tell me what you see or watch him die tonight, a very slow and painful death that gives excruciating torture to the limbs, that-"

"No!" Jenny screamed, casting up her head with a defiant glare. Her eyes were damp with unshed tears, but she had resolved not to touch the crystal again. Within it she had seen death, reflected in a blood-red haze, death surrounding her as she sat in the pavilion in a white gown with crimson stains spreading across the material. "I will not do it again, you can't make me!" Rodrigo took one hand away from her shoulders and slapped her hard across the face, then again with the back of his hand.

Jenny slumped into the chair, Rodrigo letting go of her as she raised a trembling hand to wipe the trickle of blood away from the corner of her mouth. She had started to cry and was still weeping when he returned from his rooms with the box containing the Anacalypses. She did not glance up when he laid it in her lap and opened the lid. The huge jewel winked in the light, twinkling with its rainbow colors as Jenny stared at it and, against her will, saw the same scarlet film like an ominous veil over the scene at the tourney pavilion.

There was blood on her temple, blood splattered on her gown, as Rodrigo's body was rocked by gunshot and he fell against her. Jenny robbed at her head now; it ached, more from a pounding at her temples than from the blows Rodrigo had given her cheeks. Nothing had changed ... but would it, if she revealed the truth to him, Would he try to kill Fiona and Dev if he thought it might avert his own death?

Jenny looked up. "I see only that the tournament will be a great success," she lied, "I ... see you announcing Dev's execution and Fiona's pardon and," Jenny paused as she sought the right words, "there is ... death. Beyond that, nothing. Do not ask me again, Rodrigo." She looked up at him with a weary, determined glance. "It's the same way each time I look, I can not change it any more than you can."

Rodrigo stared at her for seconds longer, and finally nodded, satisfied that she was telling the truth. So she had accepted her lover's death, that was the reason for her resignation, the reason she hadn't been shocked that he held Cantrell's life in his hands. Rodrigo smiled, carefully closed the lid, and took the box from her lap. "I choose to believe you, my love. You will rest now-I want you looking your most beautiful for tomorrow's events." Jenny did not look up, she didn't trust herself to ... she might have given herself away with a look or a gesture. Even with all he'd put her through, the physical and mental pain, it was difficult to detach herself from the fact that he was close to his own death when he bade her good night.

From the first moments the crowd started to gather for the day's events, Rodrigo's mood was one of regal benevolence. He'd been looking forward to this day for some time, and the prisoner who was bound in a nearby tent had only added to the pleasure he anticipated.

Jena was beside him, looking like a queen in her gown of purest white. Today was his day-nothing would spoil the moment when he announced, after pardoning the popular Fiona, that from this date forward he would be the king of Beann Gowd'en, King Rodrigo the First.

He had given the idea of his sovereignty a great deal of consideration and concluded that he was qualified by the right of his noble descent, as well as the fact that the tiny country needed a man's firm rule. He had shown his strength in seizing power and holding it for over a year. Who was there to deny him the honor, such as it was in so small and obscure a land?

Jenny had been unusually quiet and subdued. He studied her face now as the members of his court began to fill the seats of the pavilion. Dressed in the virginal white gown, she looked not a day older than the innocent young girl who'd caught his fancy in London. Her hair lay loosely across her shoulders, the glistening, blue-black waves covered only by a short, sheer veil held in place by a garland of fragrant red jasmine. That had been his idea, to add color to her appearance; and though she had blanched as she accepted the wreath from his hand, Jenny had meekly followed his suggestion.

Her hands were clenched together in her lap; she had, in fact, a look of the patient martyr about her that Rodrigo found irritating. Her demeanor was probably due to her distress over Cantrell's imminent execution, but Rodrigo did not care to have her brooding ruin his own fine temper, and leaning close, he told her so.

"It is not a day for rejoicing, Rodrigo," Jenny answered softly, then looked up at him with her wide, dark-fringed gray eyes gentle in appeal. "No man's death should please another. Do not ask me to enjoy what I cannot. I am here, not to cry out for justice, for that will be done, but merely to witness it."

Rodrigo couldn't find an argument against her sentimentality, but he cautioned, "I ask only that you do not embarrass me by shedding tears, Jena. You know my dislike for displays of uncontrolled emotion."

Jenny looked down again, bowing her head, and replied, just above a whisper, "No, Rodrigo, I will not cry; you have my promise."

Satisfied with that, Rodrigo turned his attention to the preparations for the toumament.Across from the pavilion, with its bright red awning embroidered with the Vargas coat of arms, the populace was gathering, crowding against the ropes that held them back from the field of action. Venders were already moving through the throngs of peasants and commoners, hawking their trays of sweet-meats and pasties.

The weather was excellent for this type of activity, and a tournament always drew spectators from all the strata of Beann Gowd'en's citizenry. The blue of the sky was dotted with airy puffs of white cloud, and a gentle breeze brushed them into ever-changing shapes that amused the children who made a game of finding images in them.

At opposite ends of the field, tents had been set up to serve the knights as temporary quarters, and pennants flew from their standards proclaiming the colors of each knight.

Pages and squires helped their masters into the heavy layers of armor and padding, and the smith, at his temporary forge, attended to last-minute repairs to mail, chain link, and horseshoes.

The armor here had been adapted to fit the climate; it was light to allow for its wearer comfort and mobility, yet still to give protection from the coronels, the blunt crowns affixed to the points of lances. As it had in the Old World, the tournament in Beann Gowd'en had evolved to a carnival form of contest, lacking the violent bloodshed that had been the hallmark of the early medieval tourney. There were games of sport employing the quintains.

These were cut-out figures of wood, padded and attired in the colors of the old enemy, England-each figure "armed" with a shield in one hand, a sword in the other. The quintains were attached to vertical poles at one end of the field, fixed to pivot, and a mounted knight charged the figures, with the aim of breaking his lance against his immobile opponent. It was not entirely a one-sided combat, for if a knight miscalculated his stroke, the quintain would rotate and deal him a blow in passing.

The champions could be seen now, standing outside their tents as they gave a last-minute inspection to their mounts' harness and trapping-the light, quilted covering that gave protection from the chanfron covering the horse's nose and the chafing metal links of the flanchard, the armor that shielded the flanks. The crowd was beginning to buzz with excited whispers, and their enthusiasm carried to the occupants of the pavilion, where the knights who were not competing in today's lists were wagering over the outcome of the various matches. Seated below her mistress, Shiona offered a goblet of cool, sugared lemon water to Jenny. The gentle young girl had traces of tears in her eyes in sympathy for the distress she knew her lady felt but had been ordered to restrain.