The Winter Love (26 page)

Eleanor had been given food
and had grown hungry again before Stephen returned, but she had no idea how much time had passed. Stephen was smiling when he came into the room. It seemed he would enjoy her pain. This was unexpected; she had not known that people could be like this. Edward had enjoyed hurting her, but she thought it had been as much a surprise to him as it had been to her. Stephen had been right to give her time to think about her torture. Earlier she had been sure that she would say nothing, now she was afraid that she would tell everything to avoid the pain.

“Now,” said
Stephen standing in front of her, “tell me where it is.”

Beside him stood a man holding a torch. In its light she could see the
eagerness on Stephen’s face. He had planned her torture well. Such was his anticipation that she sensed he would rather that she didn’t tell him at first, just so that he could hurt her.

Eleanor
slowly shook her head, resolute that she would say nothing now. She might scream, but she knew that to engage in conversation with him would be disastrous.

“Good, I’m always happy to have the opportunity to improve my technique. Sadly, women don’t last long before they want to tell me every secret
they’ve ever kept. But I only want one thing from you. The rest of your secrets you may keep.” He smiled, but there was no humour in it.

Eleanor tried to swallow
, but her mouth was too dry. Even as she started to distract herself with the memory of Henry as he had been on the day he had given her his book, Stephen hit her in the face. Eleanor was surprised, not so much by the force of the blow, although it had been enough to knock her head against the wall behind her, but because she had expected something much worse. It seemed that she had more imagination with regard to torture than her cousin. If he was just going to hit her, she would be able to keep silent.

“Tell me!” he shouted as she slowly turned back to face him.

Eleanor didn’t bother to shake her head; she knew it would hurt.

Her silence seemed to enrage
Stephen and he put his hands to her throat and started to shake her.  It was only when she stopped breathing that he let go and she took in great gulps of air. Overwhelmed by dizziness, Eleanor felt as if she were falling, but knew she could not be, as she was still sitting on the floor. She closed her eyes, but regretted it as flashes of light filled her head. Her balance was lost and she opened her eyes again to reassure herself again that she wasn’t moving. Stephen caught her chin and forced her to look at him.

“
How long do you think you will last when I put the stones onto your body or cut your skin?”

Eleanor shuddered; Stephen did have some imagination after all. Still she would not
trust herself to speak and now she pictured Henry’s body lying stretched out in a passageway in his own house. She could not betray him; she must remember that talking would not save her life or his.

“Then we will start with the stones.
” He turned to the other man, “Robert, loosen the chains, then stretch her out and put the first stone on her.”

Stephen left, but the other man busied himself with the chains, then pulled
on her legs to drag her away from the wall so that she was lying on her back with her arms stretched out away from her head. He left her then, going to a corner of the room. Turning her head with difficulty, she watched him lift something and bring it from the corner of the room to her. It was a small slab, but she knew from the way he was carrying it that it was heavy. He placed it on her chest and immediately it was more difficult for her to breathe.

“There’s a pile over
in the corner,” said the man, “but you’ll be dead before we use many more.  Two, three at most.”

Eleanor gasped for breath, trying to stay calm. She wondered how long it would take to die in this way, having her breath slowly squeezed from her body. Days? Hours?
How long would it be before they put the next stone on her? It did not matter; she would not speak. This she could bear. Then she remembered that Henry was dead.

The man sat down on the floor next to the door and they waited together.

After another
stone had been added to the first, Eleanor knew that she could not last long. For some time she had not been able to concentrate on anything except breathing. She had forgotten where she was and why she was here. The only thing that mattered was sucking in as much air as possible, but each breath was shallower than the one before and each hurt more than the previous one. Once she had caught herself thinking it would be better to give up and stop breathing. The pain would end and she would sleep. Dimly aware that this would be a sin, she had taken another breath and then another. Now she was so tired that the thought of giving up seemed very attractive, but she was certain that she would not give up of her own accord. Perhaps she would sleep soon and eventually grow too tired to breathe.

Then she
was aware of a breath that was less painful and took less effort. She took another that was easier and then another. Almost weeping, she remembered why she was here, why she was being tortured. Then came pain and she almost passed out. Whatever they were going to do to her next she would not tell them what they wanted to know. It took a moment for her to remember what her secret was, then her eyes filled with tears as she thought again of Henry. She would not speak; she had survived this torture and she would not give in.

As she breathed she became aware of how much her body hurt. Breathing was easier, but only if she continued to take
very small breaths. Gradually she realised that the stones were gone and someone was doing something to the chains around her wrists. She stiffened, afraid that her torturer had found another, more terrible way of abusing her body. If there was a way of making her feel even more pain, would she talk? Would she be able to stop herself? Someone was chafing her hands and wrists. As feeling returned to them, so did pain.

Two large hands engulfed her own and slowly moved her arms so that they were no longer stretched out.
She groaned.

“Shh.”

Her torturers no longer wanted her to speak? Shouldn’t they be glad that the pain had finally moved her tongue?

She took a deep breath and regretted it as sparks flashed in her head and her ribs felt as if they were going to burst from her chest.

She groaned again, this time there was silence from her captor, but a calloused hand stroked her cheek with the tenderness of a mother touching her baby. Opening her eyes she looked into Henry’s face.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Her voice was cracked and her throat dry.
 

Henry bent down and whispered in her ear.
“Close to it, but not quite at the doors of heaven. I’ll help you to sit, then you can drink, but you must make no noise.”

Henry raised her up so that she was leaning against his chest. The pain brought fresh tears
to her eyes, but she made no noise.

“You’re dead,” she whispered after she had tak
en a few sips of beer from his water skin. It took her a great deal of effort, but she reached out to stroke his bearded cheek. Surely dead men did not grow beards. He was warm; he was alive. He was alive and she had not betrayed him. Her tears of relief flowed freely.

“
I, too, was close to it, but Maud saved me. We must leave here quickly, Eleanor, before they find the men I killed.”

Eleanor looked towards the door where a body lay sprawled on the floor.
More people had died for her today.

“Philip’s murderer,” said
Henry, guessing her thoughts as he always had. “I vowed he would die the next time we met. Can you stand?”

“No. I have been chained to this wall as long as I have been here.”
Talking was a little easier now, but she was afraid that she had little control over how loud her voice was. How far away was the next man that Henry would have to kill to save her? Had he already heard her voice? Would Henry hear him coming?

“Then I shall carry you. We do not have time to look after your injuries now, so I will cause you more pain.
I’m sorry.” With her hand still on his cheek Eleanor could feel, if not see, the sorrow in his face.

“I did not think I would leave this room alive. Even if it means dying on the other side of that door. I am content.”

“That’s not part of my plan.” Henry’s voice was grim. “Put your arms around my neck and we will stand.” Eleanor slid her hand away from his cheek easily enough, but Henry had to help her with the other arm, which had little feeling in it. She held on as tightly as she could, but knew she would not be able to be quiet if the pain was too great.

Henry stood as slowly as he could, but Eleanor cried out, burying her face in his tunic to muffle the sound. Then Henry lifted her onto his shoulder and she passed out.

They
were halfway across the courtyard when Stephen caught them. Eleanor was still unconscious when Stephen shouted, “Well, sir, do you abduct my cousin a second time?”

Henry lowered Eleanor
carefully to the ground; his sword was already in his hand. The cold brought Eleanor to herself and she listened to them as she struggled to move herself so that she could see them.

“Abduct?” repeated Henry. “No, I do not take her against her will.”

“But I am her closest relative and I am her guardian. I say she may not leave.”

Eleanor had managed to move herself so
that she could see the two men. She also saw the three men who came out of the house. To her surprise one of them was Edwin, Philip’s steward.

“Then you will die,” said Henry.

“I am unarmed,” Stephen held up his hands to show that this was the case. Stephen had gauged his enemy well. Eleanor understood then that her cousin must have known a lot about Henry. His men must have watched Henry’s house for some time waiting for her to turn up. Henry had been right that his house was not as well-protected as his father’s. They could have had no hope of taking her from Abbot’s Ridge, or from Edward’s house where the watch patrolled the streets and neighbours would come to one another’s aid. Even attacking her on the road would have been an uncertain venture, but Henry’s house with no gate or wall offered them no hindrance.

Eleanor had given a lot of thought to how Stephen had found her and
thought it most likely that he had followed Solomon. His men must have seen the horse when they went into the convent, or they had learned in the town that a nun had been on his back when he left. Either way, Solomon was conspicuous enough for them to follow him, although fast enough that she and Henry had managed to get a good start.

Stephen had had plenty of time to get to know his enemy and Henry had had none.
Stephen might not be the coward that Philip thought him, but Eleanor suspected that once he was in a fight he would fight like a cornered animal and there would be no quarter given.

Henry
hesitated at the challenge, as Eleanor had known he must, but Edwin ran forward and put a sword into Stephen’s hand.

“Here, my lord.” He went back to the other men, but not before he had passed by Eleanor and dropped a dagger by her hand. Eleanor hid it with her night shift, then took it
into her hand. She hated the feel of it, knowing that she must only use it if Henry died here.

Stephen looked at
his men as if he expected them to help him and Eleanor wondered how many Henry had left alive. The three men stood impassively and watched as Henry slowly approached Stephen.

Henry had been inured badly during the attack on his house. Maud had cared for him well, but the long, fast journey to Devon had undone most of her work. He had managed to surprise his opponents on his way into the house, but now he was fighting a man who was fresh and looked as if he knew what to do with a sword. Henry was tired and did not know how much longer he could last.

Henry had always known that he would have to come here, to
Philip’s house, to make Eleanor safe. Eleanor could not return to the convent whilst her cousin lived. Philip had told him about his cousin and Henry was angry with himself for not coming to Devon earlier; he should have understood that the threat to Eleanor’s safety came from here. His servants had paid the price for his tardiness and, unless he could kill Stephen, so would he and Eleanor.  At least if he died, Stephen would not find the token. Henry wore it on his left hand where it had been since Eleanor had returned it to him for safekeeping in his father’s house. The man who had attacked him in his own house had seen it, but had not known what it was. Stephen did not know the token’s form and had not understood what he sent his men to seek.

Henry was determined not to
die here. If he did, Eleanor would die, too. She had already suffered too much because of the gold; she should not have to sacrifice her life.

Henry forced himself to walk slowly towards Stephen, although he had probably already noticed that he had been limping carrying even Eleanor’s light weight.

Stephen was not to be underestimated as an opponent. He did not seem to want to carry out his own dirty work, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to. The other three men were frightened enough of him and Stephen had shown himself clever enough to track Eleanor to Hampshire. He must be able to fight.