It was sometime after her third morning meal that she heard the passage door open. The great oak and iron panel groaned as someone pulled it free with a couple of good jolts; the door tended to stick. Since she had already been fed, she was curious and fearful of whom it might be. She could hear boot falls on the slippery stones, drawing close. It was so dark that she could hardly see, but whoever it was had a torch in hand.
As she watched, massive boots came to rest at the bottom of the stairs and moved in her direction. As the light drew closer and the cell was illuminated, she could see that de Velt himself had come. Though he was without the plate armor about his chest, she recognized the gore-covered chain mail, now dulled from days of wear. Moreover, there was no man as large as de Velt. It could be no one else.
Panic bloomed but just as quickly faded; if he had come to kill her, there was nothing she could do about it. She had no weapon, no way to defend herself. Moreover, he was almost three times her size. The thought of her impending doom was enough to bring tears again but she took comfort in the fact that soon she would be with her father and mother in Heaven. She focused on the thought to calm herself, but it was a difficult struggle.
He had the old iron key in his hand and wrenched open the cell door. He was too tall to pass through the stone archway without folding himself over. Kellington wiped at her tears, not looking at him as he made his way into her cell. In fact, she closed her eyes and lowered her head. She didn’t want to see the blade as it came down on her.
He just stood there; she could hear him. She waited for the sword to come down on her head, but so far, nothing happened. After a small eternity, she dared to look up. He was staring down at her and she started anew at the vision of the man; he was without his helm and it was her first clear glimpse of him. He had a granite jaw and long nose, and was relatively young and unmarred for one with such a ghastly reputation. His dual-colored eyes were still unnerving and dark brows arched intelligently over them. His hair, unrestrained by the helm, felt to his shoulders in a slick, dark sheet that reflected the light like a raven’s wing. He was not unhandsome in the least and that surprised her. For a man of such reputation, she had expected a beast.
All that aside, he was still colossal and cold. He looked every inch the untamed barbarian and they gazed at each other for a long, silent moment. Anxiety rose in her chest as she waited for whatever he was going to do to her until she could stand it no longer.
“Did you at least provide him with a proper burial?” Kellington finally blurted.
An arched eyebrow lifted. “You will not make demands.”
She realized she had spoken boldly, though it had been mostly from apprehension. “I did not,” she said, with more respect. “I was merely asking a question.”
The other eyebrow lifted. “I see that two days in the vault has done nothing to temper your disposition.”
She was cold, hungry and growing ill with the damp. Her physical condition and apprehension made her snappish. “If you are going to kill me, then be done with it.”
He stroked his chin, his massive hands finally coming to rest on his narrow hips. “I have no plans to kill you yet,” he said. “In fact, I believe I have use for you.”
His words did not give her hope. “As what? A whore for your men? Target practice? Pray, what use could you possibly find for me that is not painful, degrading or humiliating?”
She heard his joints pop as he crouched in front of her. It was a startling move and she instinctively moved away from him. But she dared to lift her gaze, studying him in spite of herself. His two-colored orbs were still disconcerting and she had a great deal of trouble looking him in the eye.
“You have a tongue, girl,” his voice was so low that it was a growl. “’Tis best that you curb it around me. I’ve no patience for disobedient wenches.”
Her golden-brown eyes flashed. “I am not a girl nor am I a wench. I am the Lady Kellington Eleanor Coleby and my father is a garrison commander for William de Vesci, Baron of Northumberland. And I am not disobedient; I am simply asking questions that you have yet to answer.”
Jax watched her, the way her eyes sparked when she was irritated, and he was surprised to admit that it intrigued him somewhat. He was so hardened to life in general that there was generally no room for emotion of any kind. But this tiny woman before him was certainly spirited, as he’d seen the day they had overrun Pelinom. In fact, in the very brief time that he had been introduced to the emotional, talkative Kellington Coleby, he’d seen nothing about her that was disenchanting. But looks, and moods, could be broken. He was far too seasoned to be taken in.
“You said that you would take the punishment for your father and vassals,” he said. “Are you still so willing?”
Her lovely face blanched but, to her credit, she nodded. “I…I am. What are you going to do?”
He didn’t reply; he simply stared at her. But Kellington sensed something in his question and her manner perked.
“Do you mean to tell me that my father and the others live still?” she asked, almost eagerly.
He paused a moment. “Some.”
He could see the tears well up in her eyes and how hard she struggled against them. “My father is alive?” she whispered.
“He lives still.”
She blinked and fat tears splattered on her dirty surcoat. Jax watched her, feeling an odd twitch in his chest and having no idea what it was. He’d seen many tears over time and not one had ever given him cause to react. In fact, most hysterics fed his bloodlust. He gleaned strength from the fear of others. But most oddly, not with this one.
“Where is he?” she begged, wiping at her face.
“Suffice it to say that he is whole and sound,” he replied, watching emotion ripple across her face. “He has informed me that you have been dispensing business since the majordomo’s death and that you know more of Pelinom’s coffers than he does.”
She paused in wiping the tears from her face, her golden-brown eyes focusing on him with surprise. “Is that why you keep me alive? To tell you how rich we are?”
He shook his head. “I know how rich you are. What I want to know is what more there is to this place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sheep, cattle, other functions. Pelinom is a wealthy castle and I would know what riches I have acquired and what more to expect.”
Her tears were drying as she thought on his words. “And once I educate you, what will you do with me? I will have served my purpose.”
He stared at her for a moment before standing up. He was so enormous that he took up all of the air in the cell and Kellington found it difficult to breathe. The man stifled her.
“I’ve not decided yet,” he said. “But for now, you may be of use.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I would not if I were you.”
It was almost a plea. The statement sent bolts of terror through her more than any clear threat could have. She backed down, knowing it would be foolish to challenge him. She shouldn’t have even said what she had, but she had always possessed an unruly tongue. It was nothing new.
“My punishment,” she said softly. “What are you going to do so that I may prepare myself?”
He stared at her a moment. Then, he crouched again and his massive body was suddenly very close. Before Kellington could react, he had her face in one hand, tipping her chin up to gain a better look. His hand was so massive that it swallowed up half her head. The more he inspected, the more interested he was in what he saw.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
The two-colored eyes had her shaken, mesmerized. But she did as he asked, standing on stiff legs that had been folded against the icy stone. She stared at the floor as his gaze raked her; she could feel the twisted heat from the evil orbs. It was like being analyzed by the Devil.
“Remove your surcoat.”
Her eyes flew to him in a panic but he met her gaze impassively. Somehow she knew what punishment he had in st
ore for her. Tears threatened again but she fought them; after all, she said she was brave enough to face any punishment. But she wasn’t sure that she really was.
With shaking hands, she tried to unfasten the stays at her back but they would not come easily. Her fingers were freezing and refused to work properly. She fumbled around until Jax spun her around and deftly undid the stays himself. Before she could remove her garment, he took hold and pulled it over her head.
The surcoat landed off to the side. Clad only in her woolen shift and pantalets, Kellington stood and shivered as Jax continued to inspect her. She could feel the scrutiny from his gaze as if a thousand pins were pricking at her. She closed her eyes so that she would not have to see his two-colored orbs devouring her.
“The shift,” he commanded again. “Remove it.”
The tears returned and found their way onto her cheeks, but she did as she was told. In fact, she was angry; if it was his intention to humiliate her, she wasn’t going to beg him not to. If he wanted the satisfaction of her pleas, then he was sadly mistaken. She would plead for others, but not for herself. She swore she would take the punishment for the others and she meant it. She only hoped her courage held out.
The shift came off and landed near the surcoat. Naked from the waist up, she didn’t try to hide herself. She stood as proudly as she could manage, her eyes on the floor, firm in her resolve to take her punishment with dignity.
But for Jax, it was an interesting moment. He had only asked her to remove her clothes to see what she was made of. He wanted to see how long her courage would hold, stripping down in front of the enemy. He expected tears, begging, and spells of all forms. But she did nothing more than obey him, although the tears had made a weak return. Now he was somewhat surprised by her pluck and more than surprised by his reaction. Interest turned to lust. He could feel his veins warming.
“The pantalets,” his voice was husky.
She sniffled but ripped off the undergarment, tossing it angrily to the floor. Now she was completely nude, standing before him in all her sensuous glory, and he was oddly speechless. Her slender neck and shoulders gave way to breasts that were firm, plump and pert. The nipples were like little pebbles in the chill of the vault. He’d never seen such perfection. Her waist was tiny, flaring into womanly hips and delicious thighs. There wasn’t one portion of her body that wasn’t tempting beyond reason. In fact, he’d never seen such perfection.
His heart began to race and he could actually feel his palms sweat. What had started as a test for her had now turned tables on him. But he would never let her know. He had a point to make.
Before she realized it, he shoved her onto her back on the damp pile of straw that had constituted her bed for the past two days. Kellington yelped with fright as his enormous body came down on her, burying her in the pile. The gore-caked mail was against her tender skin, scratching her, and his weight was smashing her fragile body. But as trapped as she was, and as vulnerable, he made no move to touch or grab anything personal. He stayed clear of anything tender.
A trencher-size hand was on her waist, completely encircling more than half her torso, and his face loomed above her. His dark hair, long and unwashed, licked at her cheek. Kellington gazed fearfully into the dual-colored eyes, struggling with the last threads of her courage.
“Do… do what you must, my lord,” she choked. “I am not afraid.”
His gaze was steady, his face not an inch from hers. He was massive against her petite size, a fact not lost on him. But for as small as she was, her bravery was holding up admirably. She should be shrieking for her life. But instead, she was demanding he do his worst and be done with it. A small seed of respect sprouted.
“Then you have done this before,” he threw insults in to the mix to see how she would react. “A true maiden would be terrified.”
“I have not done this before,” she said, her lovely face mottled pink. “And I told you I would take whatever punishment you dealt.”
The hand on her waist grabbed hold, flipping her onto her stomach. Jax’s body came down on top of her again, his enormous right leg over her buttocks and thighs while his right hand gripped her right shoulder. She was as naked as the day she was born and as perfect as rain. Jax kept his gaze on the back of her golden head, making sure to keep his hands away from anything that would feed his lust. At least for now. He was afraid of what would happen should he let his gaze wander over her; truth be told, he could already feel himself growing firm.
“Are you still not afraid?” his voice was like thunder.
She was terrified. Her face was pressed into the straw, her body held firm by Jax’s massive form. She struggled against her tears; she didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of seeing her weep with fright.
“Nay,” she breathed. “If you are going to punish me, then get on with it.”
He paused a moment, gazing at the back of her head and realizing, above his mounting desire, that he was about to smile. He couldn’t help it; God knew there was little to smile about in his life, but in this dank dungeon with a naked woman beneath him, he found some humor in the situation. Not in the situation in general; simply in her. She was a feisty little thing and for as much as he hated bold women, something about her sass amused him.
The hand on her shoulder began to move. He was going to teach her a lesson that she would not forget and why on earth he should bother with her, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was. The hand moved down her back, a dirty appendage against her silky white skin. He was fascinated with the texture of her skin but ignored his curiosity, moving to the small of her back and feeling her twitch. His gaze moved from the back of her head finally, looking to see what his hand was doing. It was lingering on her lower spine, at the rise where her buttocks began. Jax was aware that his limbs were beginning to burn with arousal, but he fought it. He had a plan.
The hand danced over the swell of her buttocks before coming to rest on them. They were sweet, heart-shaped and perfect. He moved his leg aside to gain better access to her buttocks and for the first time, Kellington let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a yelp. He froze, his hand on her buttocks, waiting for her to beg for mercy. But she made no such plea. The hand caressed her buttocks, one time, just to see how she would react. She closed her eyes tightly and pressed her face into the straw. So he lifted his hand up and spanked her soundly.
Kellington’s head came up from the straw and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. By this time, Jax had pushed himself all the way off of her save his left arm across her back.
“That,” he said, “is for your unruly tongue. I told you to curb it. I meant it.”
Another whack stung her buttocks and she bit off another yelp.
“That is for your father.”
Another sharp spank.
“And that is for resisting my army.”
By the time he finished with the third and final slap, her buttocks were vibrant red. He had a big hand and a hard strike. Tears sprang to Kellington’s eyes and she squeezed them shut, even as he flipped her onto her back once again and grabbed her by the arms. Suddenly, she was gazing into his hypnotic dual-colored orbs, terrified and furious all at the same time. His expression was hard as he glared back at her.
“Now get your clothes back on,” he growled. “You will accompany me back to the keep where we will speak on the riches that are now mine.”
With that, he let her go and she fell back into the straw. He turned his back on her, going to stand by the cell door to wait for her to redress. Stunned, in tears, she struggled to reclaim both her senses and her clothing. She went about redressing, laboring not to make a sound even as tears poured down her cheeks. She would never again let the man see how badly he hurt or frightened her, although what he did was not nearly as bad as what he could have done. Even she knew that. But anger was growing to hatred.
When she finally reclaimed her last leather slipper and put it on, she simply went to stand next to him. She ne
ver uttered a sound. The glare gone from his expression, Jax opened the door and allowed her to pass through before following. The vault was below ground level in the main keep, accessed only by a door from the outside, and he proceeded to follow her up the steps and into the bailey beyond.
That was when all of Kellington’s courage fled. One look at the horrors of the bailey and the scream she had been trying so hard to suppress flew from her lips with surprising ease.
There were dead men everywhere.
CHAPTER THREE
They weren’t simply dead; they were pitched on poles like a macabre army of scarecrows all throughout the bailey. It was a scene from Hell, although not even Hell could have been so horrid. Nothing could have prepared Kellington for the atrocities she would face and she instinctively turned away from the sight. Jax happened to be right behind her and she ended up with her face pressed into his chest.
In a few seconds she was in full-blow hysterics. Jax felt no emotion whatsoever as he gripped her by the shoulders and turned her back around. He pushed her forward but she was having difficulty walking. Her hands were over her face and her breathing was coming in harsh, weeping gasps.
“Into the keep, lady,” he rumbled behind her.
Kellington was trying to move but she couldn’t seem to make her legs work. Her hands were still over her eyes as she took a few timid steps forward, hearing Jax march around her and his foot falls as they faded away. Then she was standing in the midst of the horror alone, weeping heavily and refusing to uncover her eyes. Her forward momentum came to a halt and she stood there, sobbing among the bodies of her father’s men.
Jax was already at the steps that led into the big keep. He paused at the base, waiting for Kellington and noticing that she had come to a panic-stricken halt. She just stood there and wept. As he watched her, it began to occur to him that she had no intention of moving forward so he retraced his steps until he was standing in front of her.