Chapter IV
TESS WAS led down the familiar corridors to a room that used to be her father and mother’s.
She was composed, her eyes were dry; a strange calm had come over her. She appeared to be in the grip of a deep sorrow. The stillbirth of her son had killed her will to live. Reveal nothing, she thought. Or Broderick would use her until there was no life left in her. Tess had heard the prisoners say that since Mistress Kylie died, hope and kindness had left Castlemuir.
Tess watched her keeper, a sour-faced woman of advanced years, move silently about the room filling the washbasin, setting out lotions and a heavily embroidered robe.
The bath was prepared behind a tapestry screen. Tess was instructed to be quick about it as the wee bairn was not long for this world. Then the woman paused as if wanting to say something else, and then catching Tess’s warning look, she nodded and left the room.
Tess quickly removed her muddy peasant garb and slipped on the robe. She gathered up a warm fur against the winter chill. A great fire roared on the hearth. The chamber was comfortable though no memento of her father or her mother remained. All had been cleared away to make room for the new lord and his lady.
She darted to a panel hidden in the shadows to the left of the great raised bed, and pressed gently on an oak carving of the Harald family crest.
The panel slid back into a recess and Tess stepped into a narrow stone room.
Her baby son was sleeping soundly in his rush basket. Alive, perfect, and beautiful.
She almost wept with gladness at finding him exactly where the midwife had promised to hide him. The moment of handing the infant off to the two old women, trusting his precious life to their care, had been the worst Tess had experienced since she first discovered she was pregnant. In the months that followed her tryst with the soldier in the forest, Tess had been on the run and in hiding and consequently did not realize it had been many months since her last bleed.
And then one day in August, she felt the babe move in her womb.
That had been a terrifying day. But not as terrifying as the night he was born and she had to give him to a stranger for safekeeping.
Hiding her belly while on the run from raiders and men who would do her mischief had been harrowing. But as long as the baby was safe, Tess could be brave. When the midwife insisted that hiding the child in Castlemuir was the safest place of all, Tess was frantic. She no longer had to feign being mute—Tess lost the ability to speak from sheer terror.
The midwife got a message to her sister who was employed at Castlemuir and the woman agreed to conceal the babe. She relayed the sad news of Lady Broderick’s death the day before, a tragedy that could work in Tess’s favour if they were careful.
That night, she was captured in the raid (as they anticipated she would be) and brought before Lord Broderick. Once inside Castlemuir, her only objective was to reach her baby.
All had gone according to plan.
Tess tucked the fur around her son to protect him from the sharp chill in the hidden room. She remembered this room from her childhood and had instructed the midwife’s sister to hide the boy here. Tess prayed Broderick had not discovered it as she stepped back into the bedchamber and slid the panel closed.
She knew Castlemuir as Lord Broderick could not hope to if he lived here for a dozen years. Tess knew every stone and hidey hole. Her father had a secret alcove behind one of the hanging tapestries where he hid weapons in the event of attack. She found the small stone and dislodged it easily. Glinting in the depths of the dark cubby was a dagger.
Tess withdrew it, her heart pounding, and examined its blade. It was as sharp as the day her father had hidden it.
She held it as she removed the robe from her narrow shoulders and lowered herself into the tub. Streaks of blood crusted her inner thigh highs. Blood from childbirth. The raid on the village prevented her from washing after her baby was taken. The dagger rested out of sight under the steaming water, ready for use.
Pain and blood, she thought dully. Just as it was the night her child was conceived. There was pain and blood when he seeded her, and pain and blood when she delivered the fruit of their act. Tess remembered the midwife’s sharp instructions to bear down, hold your noise, they’ll hear you! And then her baby boy slid from her body. Perfect. Perfect.
But so still. So silent.
And then there came a mewling cry from his tiny body. His little face puckered and his pink hands coiled to fists. Tess wept with relief when the old woman put him in her arms.
He was not dead.
She had fought for nine months against the worst and won.
The water scalded. Tess stared into the fire. She envied Broderick’s wife for dying. Her baby was still alive and likely to remain so, safe from the evil beyond the walls of Castlemuir. Lady Broderick was free of this life where the war of men took the lives of women and children.
Tess’s stomach knotted thinking of what would happen to her son if her secret was ever discovered.
How long would Lord Broderick’s head remain on his neck if his men found out he had fathered the child of the traitor, Lady Tess?
The door behind her opened. She tensed but did not look around.
It was he.
Her hand reached for the dagger.
♠
THOUGH SHE could not see him on the other side of the tapestry, Tess knew his lordship had entered the chamber. She knew his presence by the rush of blood to her head and the tingling in her flesh.
And then he was before her. Broderick stepped boldly around the screen.
“Who are you? What is your name?”
She did not answer him. The mercenary did not require her name to get what he wanted. His eyes of copper brown were the same as she remembered. As was his flaxen hair, broad shoulders, and the lines around his mouth. He put Tess in mind of the Norsemen she had read about in books. Ruthless and without conscience, like Broderick they took what they wanted. He looked older than he did last spring. Recent sorrow had aged him.
“Do you know me,” he asked as he unbuckled his brigandine.
Tess nodded. He had worn metal armor the night he took her virginity, lit by the moon, gleaming dully in the dark wood. His hair had dragged with sweat despite the chilly spring air and his lips were hard and cold—until they met hers. Tess refused to remember the pleasure she had taken from that night. The cost had been too high.
His lordship moved to the edge of the tub and Tess tried to cover herself.
“Don’t,” he commanded. “I want to see them. They are mine now.”
She gazed at him steadily, her eyes never leaving his face. Her silver stare unnerved him. Broderick felt he had stumbled into something that was beyond his control. He shrugged out of the vestment and pulled his shirt off over his head. The girl looked away though she seemed to know what his intentions were.
“The way I am with you, I was not like this with Kylie. Ours was a match forged in love not lust. When she became pregnant, our joy was complete.”
She stared unseeing at the space ahead. He had hurt her quite deliberately.
“But I cannot forget—I will not allow myself to forget that my seed robbed my beloved Kylie of her life. My wife was the best of me. For nine months, I loved her with all my heart and remained true to her.”
She turned and fixed her silver eyes on his copper gaze. They were opposites in looks. She was the colour of cool night and moonlit silver. He was the sun and warm earth, copper and blazing fire.
“I was true to Kylie with my body but not my soul. My soul had become ensnared by a girl in a forest, a silent nubile waif with silver eyes. And then Kylie died.” Broderick’s stomach tensed and the bitter tang of resentment was in his mouth. “I will never allow a woman to coax me to softness again. I can confess this to you, for you are a mute—I have no feeling in me anymore. Save the desire to kill and fuck. My soul is submerged in black hate for everyone and everything. I am not the man you met last spring
. I am not a man at all. I am a corpse.”
Bare-chested, Broderick stood over her, clenching his fists with mingled frustration, resentment, and desire. She could hear well enough. Why did she not acknowledge him? There was no alteration in her countenance. The girl pressed a hot towel over her breasts to relieve them and closed her eyes.
Her tits were filling with milk again. Broderick’s cock hardened.
Winter’s night had come to the fields and the snow began to fall. It was the eve before Christmas, a time of peace and hope, he mused sadly. The burden of his son’s survival had been lifted but Broderick did not feel unburdened of his demons.
The soldier knelt at the girl’s side and removed the towel from her breasts. One glance in her face revealed the suffering he was feeling was reflected in her eyes. Her baby had died. His wife was dead. One act of lust had brought them to this pass. He could not call it love anymore. They were already condemned in the next life—he would take his pleasure in what remained of the life he had now.
Broderick pressed his mouth to her nipple. She stiffened. He drew the petal-soft teat between his lips and with gentle, yet firm pressure, the soldier suckled at the girl’s breast until he was rewarded with an expression of milk.
She tilted her head back against the edge of tub. Steam rose from the hot water, dampening their faces and curling her chopped hair. His large hand gripped her breast and kneaded it to extract the milk as the physician ordered.
Tess closed her eyes. Her hand was on the blade.
Pleasure—sexual pleasure flowered between her legs. He was so big everywhere—his hands, his thighs, his shoulders—he dwarfed her. His blonde handsome head, his sensuous lips fastened to her nipple suckling her delivered relief and awakened a sharp insistent desire.
“No,” she said weakly. Her voice cracked from disuse. “No, no, no!”
She lifted the blade out of the water, swinging it in a high arc over his bare muscular back. The dagger glinted in the fire light. Broderick lifted his head. His expression was frozen in pure astonishment as though he had been given a great gift at the moment of his death.
In that instant, they both heard an infant cry.
Tess rose up in alarm. Broderick’s eyes comprehended the danger too late. She lunged up to drive the blade into his neck just as Broderick pulled back. The blade pierced his shoulder below the collarbone. Shouting in pain, he caught her wrist and bent it back until she was forced to release the dagger.
“Who are you?” he demanded, twisting her wrist. “Speak!”
The infant cried a second time, muffled but clearer and rising.
Broderick flung her back and leapt to his feet. “My son is with his nurse. Where...?” He gazed over the room.
Tess made one last heroic effort to reach her baby. She flung herself out of the tub and scooped up the dagger. Before Broderick could react, she pressed the blade to his throat.
“I will slit you from ear-to-ear if you do not do as I say,” she hissed. Naked and dripping, she forced the soldier across the cold stone floor to the panel. “Press down on the crest.”
Broderick did as she instructed and the panel of carved oak slid open. Tess pushed Broderick aside and darted in the room to gather up the sobbing child. The fur had slipped from the basket. With his mother only a few feet away, her baby would have frozen to death if he had not cried out.
Terrorized by what could have happened—of opening the panel to find him dead—Tess fainted from the strain and collapsed against Broderick. The dagger clattered to the floor.
Broderick swooped mother and child up in his arms and carried to the bed where he covered them with the fur wrap. He rubbed her feet and hands to bring the girl around. The baby squalled and his tiny body stiffened.
The girl opened her eyes, blinked twice and then realizing where she was, she sat up in alarm. “Oh God, please God, do not take him from me! Oh sweet little baby, I am here, I am here. Shush now, shhh....”
“Whose child is this?” Broderick demanded. “Speak, now that I know you can.”
Her reserves of strength gave out. Her hands were shaking horribly. Nearly losing the baby was too much. A rock of tension in her chest let go and Tess broke down in tears.
“I cannot endure ... I cannot endure this. He is mine,” she sobbed. “Do not hurt him. He has done nothing wrong.”
“Stop that noise. I’m not going to hurt him for pity’s sake. You’ll wake the whole household. Here, give him to me. You’re frightening the lad with that racket.”
She held the baby tighter but her arms were shaking and his little body stiffened feeling her distress. His face almost purpled with choking screams. Broderick took the child from Tess and held his small body against his bare chest.
“There now, little man,” he crooned. “What is all this fuss about? You’ve had a scare, eh? No harm done, all is well. I’ve got you. You are safe now.” The baby quieted in Broderick’s arms. He turned to Tess. “I’ve always run hot. Kylie complained about it often for I was always kicking the blankets off in the night. See, he’s warming up now.” He stroked the baby’s head as he settled down to soft supping cries held against Broderick’s broad chest and warm skin.
“You are bleeding.” She had nicked a vessel and a trickle of blood coursed down his chest.
“Tis only a flesh wound. I’ve had worse. Where is the boy’s father?”
“He is ... he is ....” Tess forced the words to her lips. She would have to trust him; it was clear she could not protect her son alone. “He is holding him right now. You are his father, Broderick.”