by Sandra Hill
Tears streamed down Elgiva’s face, but the king’s lips thinned angrily, and he raised his chin defensively, almost as if she were holding him personally responsible for the outrages.
“I will not release The Outlaw,” he vowed, “no matter how eloquently you plead his case. Now, begone.” He waved her dismissively toward the door. “I wish to speak to Elgiva in private.”
The next day Eirik left for Ravenshire, having heard reports of villains marauding on his property. Assigning a guard to accompany her and a maid to sleep on the pallet in her chamber, he promised Rain he would be back as soon as possible.
Rain saw Blanche occasionally with the castellan, Herbert, apparently having landed on her feet—or her back, to be more accurate. She ignored Rain disdainfully whenever she approached.
Elgiva warned Rain not to push her case with the king. He had heard her pleas, and being a fair man, would act accordingly.
So, Rain spent her days pleading with the castle guards to let her see Selik and talking for hours with Father Egbert about his medical manuscript. Father Egbert had, in turn, introduced her to King Athelstan’s personal healer, who was affronted and, at the same time, fascinated by her “outrageous” medical theories.
She was heading once again toward the outbuilding that housed the prison when a magnificently garbed man approached her. The man, well over six feet tall, wore a long cape of black wool of the softest, finest quality, lined with golden fox fur. His midnight-black hair lay in silky splendor down to his shoulders. His pale blue eyes gazed out at her in amusement, clearly aware of her appreciation of his beauty. In fact, the man looked a lot like her brother Eirik, except that his features were more finely honed, almost too perfect.
He bowed slightly and took her hand in his. “Are you the Lady Rain?
“Yes.”
“I have heard so much of you. Perchance I can be of some help in your endeavors.”
“Really?” Rain asked hopefully, not even caring that he held her hand too long, or that the softness of his fingers caressed her palm.
“Would you like to see the prisoner, Selik?”
“Yes—oh, yes. Can you get me in?”
“Mayhap. I wonder….” he said, eying her oddly. “I wonder if you will pay the price.”
“The pr…price? Oh, yes, of course. I have money with me. How much?”
The gorgeous man waved her concern aside. “We can discuss that later. This is the question—though: Are you willing to pay any price to gain The Outlaw’s release?”
“Yes,” she asserted vehemently. “Any price.”
He smiled then, but Rain shivered. It was not a nice smile.
“Come,” he said, folding her arm in his. “For now, we will visit your lover. He is your lover, is he not?”
Rain nodded, flushing at his intense perusal.
“Good. Yea, ’tis very good.”
The splendidly dressed man led her blithely past the ingratiatingly smiling Herbert and the guards who had previously refused her admittance. They didn’t even question the nobleman.
“What did you say your name was?”
He patted her hand. “Later. We will discuss all that later.”
They arrived at Selik’s cell door. As they stepped inside, she tried to pull her arm from out of the crook of the man’s arm, but he held her fast. Rain started to question his action, but stopped dead when she saw Selik. She was thankful then for the support of the man’s arm.
Selik’s nude body half-lay, half-sat upon the bench. He seemed immune to the cold air. New cuts and bruises marred his beautiful body. His short hair stood out in filthy spikes with the scalp showing through. Ropes bound his hands behind his back, tied to a hook in the wall. And a filthy rag across his mouth prevented any speech.
But his eyes screamed his fury.
He stood abruptly, shaking with rage, and tried to rush toward them, but the short length of rope connecting him to the wall held him back.
Rain was hardly aware that the man had put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her tightly to his chest until she tried to move closer to Selik. She wanted to hug Selik close and assure him that she was trying her best to gain his release.
Selik’s eyes flashed angrily as they darted back and forth between her and the man, and unintelligible grunting noises emanated from behind his gag. Of course, Selik was furious with her. He’d told her to leave Winchester, fearing for her safety.
She pulled against the man’s grasp now and realized suddenly that he prevented her from going to Selik. She raised questioning eyes to him, but before she could speak he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her open mouth passionately.
In a quicksilver movement, with his mouth still covering hers, he whisked her through the door and pinned her against the corridor wall out of Selik’s line of vision, clamping a hand over her mouth. Then, loud enough for Selik to hear through the open doorway, he said, “See, my love, The Outlaw is just a beast. I told you that you need not waste your concern over such filth. Come, let us go back to my chamber, and I will show you once again how a true man cares for his woman’s needs.”
Rain heard a loud, strangled growl of outrage inside the cell. And the man beside her laughed with devilish glee as he pulled her back out to the prison entrance with his hand still clamped over her mouth.
And Rain knew she was in the clutches of the demonic Steven of Gravely.
Chapter Twenty
In the corridor near the outside entry to the prison, Steven stopped abruptly and pinned Rain against the stone wall, still holding a palm over her mouth. Although he was about the same height as Selik, he carried none of the muscle and bulk that honed Selik’s wonderful body.
His leanness was deceptive, however. Steven’s narrow hips slammed against Rain’s stomach and held her against the wall like a battering ram. His wiry left forearm lay across her chest, near her neck, no less impenetrable than a steel bar.
“I am going to release my hand from your mouth, and when I do you will remain silent,” Steven said. “Do you understand?”
She glared up at him. Go ahead, you damn fool. They’ll hear my screams in America.
He laughed low in his throat, an evil sound, and Rain understood why people likened him to Satan. His fingers dug into her left shoulder, so painfully she thought the skin might break.
“Listen well, bitch, I care naught for you—whether you live or die, prosper or perish. But The Outlaw—ah, ’tis another matter. If you do not heed my words—exactly—he will not only die; he will suffer indignities and pains you could never imagine.”
Rain’s heart crashed against her chest wall, and her blood raced with anxiety. She didn’t wonder how he would be able to torture the king’s prisoner. He’d just gained easy access when she’d been unable to get past the guards for days. The sadistic gleam in his pale eyes bespoke his evil intent, and she knew he would take pleasure in enforcing his threats.
“Now, will you remain silent when I take my hand from your mouth?”
She nodded.
He removed his hand, and she breathed deeply, trying to get her galloping heartbeat under control.
“Rain—’tis your name, I believe,” he said with a sneer. “We are going to walk back to the castle together. You will act as if we are friendly acquaintances. Not by a look or a word will you betray your less than fond affections for me.”
She said nothing, and he punched her in the stomach.
Rain bent over, moaning, “Oh—oh, God!”
“Do I make myself clear?”
She tried to nod as she straightened, but apparently she hadn’t responded quickly enough. He slammed her shoulders back with two palms against her chest. Her head hit the stone wall with a dull thwack.
“Speak, bitch.”
“I understand,” she said dully, her ears ringing from the head blow.
He put his arm around her shoulders in what any passerby might consider gentleness and led her out through the bailey, into the great hall of the c
astle, up stairways, through corridor after twisted corridor, until they reached his bedchamber. Along the way, Steven nodded but did not stop to speak to those they passed. She saw no one she recognized, except for Blanche, who smirked, then laughed derisively, probably thinking she’d dumped Selik for this handsome nobleman.
When they got to his remote chamber, Steven opened the door and shoved her inside roughly. A young man and a young woman, both well-dressed and exceptionally attractive, looked up in a bored fashion from the far side of the room, where they were playing chess.
The man, about sixteen years old, raised one brow lazily and commented, “It did not take you long to nab The Outlaw’s wench.”
“Did you think it would, Efric?” Steven asked dryly, throwing his fur-lined cape over a chest, and dropped down to a low chair. He extended his long legs, and Efric came over and knelt before him, smiling in an oddly sweet manner, then proceeded to remove his soft leather boots.
“Did she come willingly?” the slim, blond-haired woman said, coming toward them in a pronounced mincing fashion, her hips swinging. The deepness of the woman’s voice confused Rain until she realized, with a gasp, that the woman was really a man. A cross-dresser, for heaven’s sake.
“Not quite willing, Caedmon. It took a little convincing.”
Caedmon’s pouty lips parted expectantly, and Rain suspected that the idea of her pain turned the loathsome man on.
“You can be sure that she will be more than willing afore long, though.” Steven grinned conspiratorially at his two cohorts.
Both Caedmon and Efric looked at Rain, licking their lips as if she were a tasty morsel being offered to them.
“I will never be willing where you are concerned, you filthy pervert,” Rain snapped, moving away from Steven and his slimy friends. “I will scream this castle down. King Athelstan will never allow you to keep me captive here.”
“Oh, you will not be captive,” Steven said. “You can walk out that door right now if you choose.” He poured a goblet of wine and sipped as if he could not care less what she did. “’Tis your choice, but…”
Rain began to edge toward the door.
“…but then Selik would be dead afore morn.”
Rain stopped, gulping. She turned on him, spitting out, “You are evil.”
“Thank you.” Steven shrugged, gazing at her with amusement. “Goodness is an overrated commodity, in my opinion. Whereas evil—’tis amazing how quickly so-called good people accept evil when ’tis to their benefit. You, for example.”
Rain was afraid to ask what he meant.
“Now, I wonder…I wonder just what evil you are willing to accept in order to gain your lover’s release.”
Rain shivered deep inside.
“Of course, I will have to kill Selik eventually. ’Tis a shame. He is a pleasure to torment. Honorable men always are.”
How ironic, Rain thought. Honor was the one thing Selik thought he had lost long ago. “Why do you hate Selik so?”
“He killed my father, that is why. And my brother Elwinus, too. I was only ten when my father died and Elwinus barely out of the swaddling cloths. We had no family to care for us, only the castellan, Gerard.” He said the man’s name with utter loathing, and closed his eyes as if in pain. When eyes opened again, he snarled, “I did not know what evil truly was until I knew Gerard.”
“But that wasn’t Selik’s fault. If he did actually kill your father, it would have been in battle and—”
“Not The Outlaw’s fault!” Steven shrieked in a rage, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her fiercely. “Because of him—just know this, you stupid bitch—Selik will die for the havoc he has caused in my life, but not afore he suffers mightily.”
“He has already suffered.”
“But not enough,” Steven said, shoving her away with distaste. “Not nearly enough.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I am not certain yet. You could start by removing your garments—all of them—so I can assess what you have to offer.”
Rain forced herself to remain calm, not to say anything that would provoke him into harming her or Selik. She darted a look at the two other men in the room.
Steven waved a hand in the air. “Pretend that Efric and Caedmon are not here. Leastways, they are not like me. They disdain the female form totally.”
Steven, a bisexual! “I can’t do this,” Rain protested.
“Efric, go to the guard at the prison—you know which one, the big brutish man with the lisp. Tell him to start by pulling out all The Outlaw’s fingernails and toenails. Stay and watch that it is done; then bring them back to me.”
“No!” Rain cried out.
“You object? Why? You have only to do as you are told to stay his tortures.”
Rain removed her clothing. Everything. And stood before the three men in shame while they made rude remarks.
“Her breasts are like udders,” Efric whined and pinched her repeatedly.
“And she is so tall, not womanly at all,” Caedmon twittered, prodding her with his pointed shoes, then kicking her hips, her buttocks, her thighs and calves. “I am more a woman than she is.”
But Rain didn’t care what the two jerks said about her; she was more alarmed by Steven, who was removing his clothing. She backed away, fearing she was about to be raped. When he stood before her, totally naked, his erection standing out before him like a weapon, he smiled at Efric and Caedmon, then turned to her with a sneer. “In truth, you are not to my taste, either. I like my women more delicate and much younger.”
But they made her watch while they performed their perversities. If she closed her eyes or turned her head, one of them would pinch her or kick her until she complied. Hours later, Rain began to understand their twisted minds. Sex with her would give them no pleasure—thank God she was spared that—but pain and degradation would. And all of it was directed in some odd way toward Selik.
Finally, Steven pushed her into a nearby windowless room—more like a large closet. Sinking to the floor, she heard the lock slip into place.
For days, Rain suffered indignities and violence she never imagined possible. When her body was not being assaulted with kicks or slaps or punches, they left her for long periods alone in her closet room. Rain had landed in hell, and she did not know how she would ever climb out.
Why didn’t Eirik return? The problems at Ravenshire must have been greater than he’d anticipated.
She hoped no one had told Selik she was missing. As if he would care after the scene Steven had orchestrated with her in his cell! But still, she couldn’t bear to have him hear of her degradation and blame himself for once again failing to protect someone he loved. And he would never be able to accept the fact that Steven punished her in his place.
Sometimes she wished she could just die. But not for long. She was a survivor. Mostly, she boiled inside with anger and knew she was no longer a pacifist. A pacifist could never contemplate the violence she intended to inflict on Steven if ever Selik were freed.
On the afternoon of the fifth day, a large tub was brought in, and she bathed and washed her body. When she emerged from the tub, Efric and Caedmon dressed her hair and posed her before a sheet of polished metal. It was amazing, after all she had endured, that her face exhibited none of the bruises and cuts that marred the rest of her body. Thank God, they had not raped her…yet. Other than her swollen lips and her red eyes, caused by so much crying, she looked the same as always.
Steven forced her to don a silk tunic with lacings from the neckline to the belted waist. He wouldn’t allow her to wear anything underneath; but he threw his fur-lined cloak over her shoulders, saying, “We are going for a walk. I think you need some fresh air.”
She gazed at him suspiciously. Steven did nothing without an ulterior motive.
He laughed, pleased at the contempt in her eyes. He had told her over and over that her resistance pleased him. She wished she could stop fighting.
“We are go
ing to visit your lover.”
Rain began to shake, afraid of what Steven would do next, unable to understand his devious mind.
“You will say naught whilst we are there. Do you understand me, Rain?” He took her chin in a pincerlike grip.
She nodded.
“If you do aught by look or word to show you are with me unwillingly, Selik will be dead by nightfall. Do you believe me?”
She nodded again, and he released her chin. Before they left the room, he pinched the nipples of both breasts so they stood out painfully against the thin silk of her tunic.
Selik paced back and forth along the short distance the rope would allow. His hands were still tied behind his back. For days he had heard nothing and seen no one.
He tried to forget the image of Rain with Steven when they had visited his cell five days ago—five agonizing days, during which he had imagined the implications of the two of them together.
Trust in her.
One part of him wanted to believe Rain had been with Steven against her wishes, to listen to the voice in his head, but she had appeared willing. Women had always found Steven godly handsome when he plied his insidious charms, and he remembered clearly that Rain had permitted Steven to put his arm around her shoulders. Even worse, he recalled in perfect detail Steven’s words to her outside the cell, referring to him as a filthy beast, encouraging Rain to go with him back to his bedchamber. As hard as he had strained to listen, he had heard no struggle, no pleading words from Rain on his behalf.
Trust in her.
Selik tried to block out the inner voice. He wished he could die. None of the torments visited on him by Athelstan’s vicious soldiers could compare with the pain of Rain’s betrayal.
But then, at other times, he hoped he would live to enact his revenge. On them both.
He heard a rattle near his cell door, followed by the squeak of rusty hinges. He gasped when he saw Steven enter, followed hand-in-hand by Rain.