Текст книги "Enemy of My Enemy"
Автор книги: Carm Nicosi
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Chapter 3
Brant awoke with the first light of day, streaming through the window, of his cell. After Richard, and Robert, had laid out their intentions the previous day, he had seen no one, except the serf who brought him food last evening, much to his irritation. This left him alone, with his mind allowed to wander where it might. For a man use to spending his days, dealing with matters pertaining to his lands, or in some battle camp, the forced solitude and inactivity, was already beginning to get to him.
The case Richard had presented weighed on his mind. Avery gaining control of a much larger force, could very well prove disastrous. From that angle, the child’s plan to prevent that, was actually very good. Marriage was common to achieve peace between families, and frequently resulted in major shifts in forces, without bloodshed. The main fly in the ointment, was that he did not want a wife, particularly, one who was determined, to force him to the alter.
Being a practical man, he could certainly see the benefit of wedding the child, and sticking her somewhere safe, until he could destroy her cousin. Then, he would just have to think of a proper way, to punish the devious, willful, brat. He could always set his ‘bride’ aside, once she helped him solve his problems. Still, the means with which they had pursued his compliance, rankled him. He was going to have to make them sweat a few days, if he could take being confined in here.
Brant’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of chains, clanging together. He rose to see that the barred door, between the two cells, had been closed, apparently from the outside. He tested the bars, and discovered that he was securely locked into the cell with the bed in it. He watched, as a guard opened the door into the other cell, so a serf could carry in a trunk, that bore Brant's family crest, proclaiming it his.
Seeing him watching, the serf asked, “Would ye like water for a bath, before they bring ye breakfast?”
“Aye,” Brant replied.
The serf nodded and left, only to return a short time later, with buckets of water to fill the tub. A stool, with soap and a sponge, was placed beside the tub. Once the serf was back outside the cell, the outer door was locked, and the bars between the cells were reopened.
“Leave yer clothes at the door ‘ere, and we will get ‘em washed for ye, Me Lord,” the serf instructed, before moving out of sight.
While Brant was preparing to avail himself of the hot bath, the center door was pulled closed, once again. He watched as the serf entered the other cell, to empty the chamber pot. Then, once again, the chains clanged together, grating on each other, and on Brant’s nerves, as the door was reopened.
Brant relaxed as best as he could, in the hot bath, while he thought about how well they had his prison arranged. His jailors could secure him in one cell, while serfs moved in and out of the other, without giving him any chance of escape. He thought about how the noise from the chains on the door, grated on his nerves. They seemed to scream that he was truly trapped, with no choice, but to comply with his captors.
Later, after Brant had bathed, dressed, and eaten some of the morning fare, a serf had brought him, Richard came, again. At his query as to whether Brant would consent, to the nuptials, Brant informed him, he had no desire to wed a “child”. Richard came, and went, again in the evening. For several more days this scenario repeated itself, with both men determinedly maintaining their opposing positions.
When Richard returned the next morning, Brant repeated, “I have no desire to wed some child.”
“You will not leave here, as anything other, than the Lady’s husband,” Richard stated with steely resolve, before storming out.
When Richard returned early in the evening, to plead the case, Brant had had enough of his own company. Although, he would like to have held out longer, the isolation of his prison, was giving him unpleasant thoughts, of being helpless. His captors’ control, over every aspect of his life, was playing havoc with his mind. It had been a mere six days, since Brant woke up here. Yet, it seemed like an eternity to the Lord, use to having his days filled with the various activities required to manage, and protect, his large land holdings.
To Richard's question, Brant conceded, "If that is what I have to do to get out of here, I will agree to wed the child."
"I will inform the Lady to prepare for the ceremony, and send for the friar. It will take several hours to arrange, but the wedding must happen quickly," Richard said.
Looking greatly relieved, he hurried out to make the arrangements. Brant was left to glare at the door, seething, at being forced to comply with this insanity.
Esme sat by the hearth across from her mother, Peggy, working on her sewing. She had caught her mother looking at her several times, since she arrived this afternoon, with an almost gleeful smile, that Peggy had quickly covered up. Her mother’s behavior was causing Esme some apprehension, for there seemed to be more to the smiles, than just being happy to see her daughter. The girl hoped she was just reading some ulterior motive into her mother’s actions, because she was slightly on edge about being here. Peggy’s request for her daughter had come a few days after Esme’s brother Brant, had ridden off with his good friend Robert, and not returned. That was a little unusual, as Brant normally told her where he was going, and when he would be back. However, he had on occasion, left with someone for a few days, before. When Brant did not return, Esme had begged Brant’s knights to let her come to visit her mother, without getting her brother’s permission. After a couple of days, they had caved, and escorted her here.
Esme, of course, loved her mother, but Peggy had betrayed her father, with another man. Twas common knowledge that Esme’s sister, Hannah, was sired by Peggy’s lover, who ever he may have been. Esme, and her half-brother Brant, whom she now lived with, both believed that Peggy may have had some involvement, in their father’s death. So the Lady’s covered up smiles, were making Esme worry that Peg, might be up to something devious, again. That thought greatly concerned the girl. Her mother could not expect to keep getting away with betrayals, forever.
When it was time for Hannah to go to bed, Esme asked to see the child to her room, and their mother nodded in approval. The five year old was a sweet, happy child, and Esme always enjoyed, what little time she got to spend with her.
After putting her sister into bed, Esme decided to go to her room, rather than returning to the hall. She had spent hours traveling here this morning, and was feeling tired, and dirty, from the trip. She sent her maid, Mary, to arrange to have water brought up for a bath. Esme had finished her bath, and donned her bed clothes, by the time Peggy came up from the hall. Mary was braiding Esme’s flaxen hair, the only feature the girl shared with her mother, when Peggy entered her room.
“I am so happy, you were finally allowed to come to visit,” Peggy said. “Would that I could see you more often.”
“Aye,” the daughter replied. “But I know there is no love lost, between you, and Brant. And he is my legal guardian.”
Peggy angrily declared, “I wish you could live here with Hannah, and I. Though, I know that will not happen, as long as your cursed brother is still alive.” Then, seeing her daughter’s shocked look, she softened her tone, saying, “I am sorry. I know he is your half brother, but he is no relation to me. Well, I am off to bed. Rest well, sweet daughter.”
Peggy blew the girl a kiss, before passing through the door, and closing it behind her.
Chapter 4
It was several hours later, when Richard returned. Robert and Justin, as well as two other very large men, were with him. Brant was released from the cell, and Richard led the way to the castle hall. The other men walked beside, and behind him, so he could not attempt to escape.
Inside the hall, Brant was asked if he wanted a tankard, or some wine. He tersely stated, he just wanted to get this done. So he was directed to a place near the hearth, in front of the friar, where he stood staring intently, at the holy man. Brant felt, more than saw, the small figure that was drawn up beside him, though he noted she stood no taller than his shoulder. The wedding ceremony was completed in minutes, without either the bride or groom, saying more than “aye”, to the friar’s query, “Do you take this man ...this woman”.
However, when the friar asked, “Will you seal the bargain with a kiss?” the groom turned away, and stated “no.”
Then, he stalked over to a nearby table, that held a large candelabra and several wine skins. Once there, Brant began imbibing heavily, in the liqueur.
The bride, who had been left standing alone, in front of the friar, moved to seat herself, in a chair in front of the hearth. Brant noted the pale green mantle, that covered her head, and wound around her shoulders, disguised her features and hair. However, the matching colored gown she wore, revealed a trim but shapely figure.
Brant watched, as Richard gave the friar coins for performing the ceremony, before walking the holy man, to the door. A serf waited there, to escort him back to the village.
Then Richard approached Brant, and asked, “What do you mean, you will not seal the bargain?”
“Just what I said,” Brant replied. “I have no intention of bedding the child, either.”
So saying, Brant returned his attention to the wine. He was quite angry, that he could be forced into such a situation. All his life prior to this, only his sire had ever had any power, to control Brant's activities. As Lord of his lands, Brant was used to being the ultimate authority, over others. He still had no idea, what would be an appropriate means to punish the shadowy figure, who was right now, sipping wine near the hearth, with her back to him.
Richard had intended to play this by ear, to ferret out the younger man’s intentions, in consenting to the marriage. Clearly, he could not rely on Brant honoring it, even so far as, to see to the Lady’s safety, until Avery had been dealt with. Right now, the groom was glowering at the Lady's back, as if he wished to run her through with his lance. If he were allowed his freedom now, all their efforts, could come to naught.
Hoping that the belligerent young man, might be a little easier to return to the dungeon, given some time to indulge in some spirits, Richard asked, “You do not find the Lady attractive?”
“I do not know, or care, what she looks like. I will see to her safety. Beyond that, all I care about, is seeing that Avery’s forces are not increased,” Brant stated, belligerently.
Brant watched as his bride rose from her chair, and moved into a doorway off the hall. Having seen the bride’s movements himself, Richard turned, and followed the Lady.
“Are you well, My Lady?” Richard asked, as he entered the small sitting room.
“I am fine,” she replied. “I certainly need not fear, that he may hurt me intentionally in his anger. However, if we are not full and truly wed, nothing prevents him from denying the marriage, as forced on him. It is not like I can tie him to the bed, and force him, like a man can with an unwilling maid.”
“If he were restrained, it might be possible, to get him to respond to you. There are ways to tease a man’s body that make it difficult to resist,” Richard said, slowly measuring her reaction. Perceiving her reluctance, he continued, “but those things are whores tricks, and not for a Lady.”
“I cannot attempt to rape the man. He is angry enough, already,” Isabel stated. "This is certainly, not the way I ever imagined my wedding. Left to choice, neither one of us would be here, right now."
Richard watched as she closed her eyes, and slowly massaged her brow, showing some measure of her distress.
“Well, there is no choice then. We will have to see what we can accomplish, with just the documents, and witnesses, to the wedding,” Richard said. “For the time being, your new husband, must continue to be a guest in the dungeon.”
As he finished speaking, their eyes meant in apprehension, over what it might take to return the large, arrogant man to the dungeon.
Richard returned to the hall. Isabel followed, to stand in the dark doorway, where she could watch her husband’s reaction, to their decision, without being seen. As he approached Brant, Richard inconspicuously gave the prearranged signal, to the four other men, to prepare for possible trouble with their prisoner.
“I have discussed your unwillingness for a true marriage, with Isabel. The Lady assures me, she is unwilling to attempt to rape you at this time,” Richard stated, pausing to gauge Brant’s stunned reaction. Then, he continued, “However, the Lady cannot take the chance, that you will deny the marriage, as forced on you. Therefore, we have no option, other than to insist that you remain here, for the time being. Unfortunately, to see that you do remain here, you will have to be returned to the dungeon.”
The realization that agreeing to a token marriage, would not gain his release from his captors, sunk in as the guards approached him. Dreading more time feeling helplessly trapped, with no control over his situation, Brant lunged at one of the guards, knocking him to the floor. He attempted to roll over the man, and rise, to run toward the door. However, the flattened guard managed to grasp his leg, slowing him enough, for the others to join in the melee. Isabel watched as they struggled violently, for several minutes, before her groom was subdued enough to bind his hands, and feet. Even once bound, he continued to struggle, and yell epithets, about that devious witch, until he was gagged.
The guards then lifted the still struggling, angry beast, and carried him out of the hall. From her vantage point, Isabel could see that Brant had acquired several bleeding wounds, during the fight. She said a prayer of thanks, to God, that Richard had the forethought, to see that no one had any weapons on them. Someone would surely have been killed, if her new husband had had access to one.
For a moment, Isabel's mind settled on a comparison of the strong arrogant man she had just wed, and his repulsive cousin, Niles. Both men possessed dark hair and blue eyes. There any similarity ended. Niles though tall, was a rather flabby specimen with a haughty dandified air, that conveyed a belief that others should pay him deference, because of his superior position in life. She smiled, recalling her sire had once referred to Niles as a pompous ass. Whereas Niles’ cousin Brant, though possessing an equally arrogant demeanor, was a strong muscular man. He would garner respect from his ability to end your life, with his large powerful physique. Isabel did not recall her father ever mentioning Brant, although he knew Lord Eric, Brant's sire. She wondered if her sire had ever met her new husband, and what he thought of him.
Isabel moved into the hall, instructing her maid, who had been present for the wedding, “Go tell them to leave him bound, until his wounds are seen to. It would not do, for him to get sick from an infection.”
“It would be nice, if he were not quiet so difficult,” Richard commented.
“He is a knight. A warrior. A Lord with vast land holdings. He does not take orders. He gives them. In his position, you would likely do the same,” Isabel said. “You need to work fast. We cannot hold him for long, before some one gets suspicious, and figures out he is missing.”
As Richard nodded in agreement, Isabel turned toward the stairs up to the bedchambers.
Esme was startled awake, by a hand being roughly placed over her mouth.
“Be quiet if you care for the health of your maid,” the man who’s hand covered her mouth said, as he tipped his head to the side.
Esme looked in the direction he indicated, to see her maid, Mary, standing in front of a second man, who had one hand over the terrified girl’s mouth. His other hand held a dagger, at Mary's throat. As her frightened gaze drifted further, Esme recognized her mother standing back in the shadows.
“Peggy, get that rope, and tie their hands,” the man holding Mary captive ordered, and Peggy moved to comply.
As she tied Esme’s hands, Peggy happily gushed, “Baby, you just need to cooperate with Avery. He will not hurt you. This is the only way, to get rid of that damned brother of yours. Then you will be the only heir, to all your father’s properties, and we can be together, all the time.”
The young girl’s mind raced over what had just been revealed to her. The man holding the dagger at Mary’s throat, was her brother’s enemy. Her mother was conspiring with Brant’s worst enemy, to kill him. While Esme had been suspicious of her mother, she had never wanted to believe, that her mother had helped some one take her beloved father from her. Now she knew Peggy had. When her father had been killed, Brant had been there to help her through the loss. Now, Peggy was helping these men, try to take her brother from her, too.
The man her mother had identified as Avery, said, “We need to get them out of here, before we are found out. Come along Peggy, you need to close the gate, behind us.”
Esme was lifted to her feet, and her mother wrapped a cloak around her, over her night clothes. The girl felt immobilized with terror, as the man who still held his hand over her mouth, pushed her toward the door of her bedchamber. Peggy led the way down the dimly lit passageway, to the back stairs, encountering no one. Once outside of the residential building, the group remained close to the curtain wall, as they moved across the bailey. Esme heard faint voices, that she credited to the lookouts, whom were on guard to see that the Keep was not invaded at night. The girl hoped they would see what was going on, but as she could not see the guards, they were not likely to see her, either. Then, they were at the postern gate. With a quick kiss on Esme’s cheek, Peggy let the kidnappers out of the castle walls. From there, the two captives were hustled across an open area, into the forest. When they reached horses tethered in the woods, Esme knew that she was now at the mercy of her brother’s enemy.
Brant lay on the bed, bound and gagged, just as the guards had left him. He half wondered, what they planned to do to him next. Right now he really did not care. The prospect of spending more time, trapped in this cell, left him thinking he would welcome death, right now. Then he heard the keys rattling, as the door to his prison was opened. He wondered if they were coming to finish him off.
Shifting his gaze to the open door between the two cells, he watched as a guard entered, carrying a torch to light the cell brighter. From behind the guard, a woman appeared, wearing a loose fitting gray woolen gunna, that proclaimed her a serf. Wool was plentiful, and easily woven into rough cloth. All the villains who owed service to the land holder, were provided with the rough garments. Whereas the finer fabrics, used to make the more colorful garments for the gentry, were mostly made on the continent. As she approached, she pushed back a gray mantle that was wrapped over her head, and around her shoulders, to reveal auburn hair. Her hair was fastened in two braids, that hung in loops, on either side of her head. As she came close, Brant could see she was quite young.
"I am here to tend to your wounds," the young woman said, as she placed a basket that she carried, on the small table beside the bed.
Brant noted that her voice was soft, yet steady and firm. He watched as she reached to take a steaming bucket, from the guard, placing it on the floor, and sitting on the edge of the bed, all in one graceful movement. She wrung the excess moisture from a cloth she had dipped in the bucket, as she met his gaze squarely for a few moments, before turning her attention to a gash, beside his eye.
"That is likely to leave a scar," she commented, as she wiped away the blood, he had felt trickling down his cheek.
Brant noticed that although the skin on her hands felt slightly course, her touch was gentle. However, when he winced in pain, from the course cloth irritating the fresh wound, she stopped.
Turning slightly, she placed some of the contents, from several jars in the basket, into a large ladle, and heated the mixture over the candle. Next, she dipped a scrap of cloth in the mixture, before tucking the cloth inside his split lip, from which he had tasted blood, earlier. That done, she returned her attention to his eye. The taste of blood in his mouth, was replaced by a bitter taste, likely from the liquid on the cloth, and Brant wondered if he would soon be unconscious, again.
After several minutes of slowly wiping dried blood off his face, and applying some ointment to cuts, and scratches, she leaned forward to untie the gag. As she did, the loose gown she wore, fell away from her body, revealing a glimpse of full ripe breasts. Obviously, while she was young, she was not that young. The small piece of cloth was removed from inside his lip, as she pulled the gag away.
With the gag removed, Brant asked, "Do you have a name?"
As he did so, he noticed he had some difficulty forming the words. The girl moved back, meeting his eyes squarely, once again.
She paused as if considering, before replying, "You may call me Alisa, My Lord."
Then she grasped his shoulders, moving them forward, and back, several times. Once more, she dipped the cloth in the mixture in the spoon. Then, Brant felt several drops of the warm liquid, fall on the inside of his lip. There was no doubt he was once again being drugged. Every muscle in his body seemed to be devoid of any strength. Yet, when she instructed him to move this way, or that, as she untied him, he somehow had the strength to passively comply. As the bindings were removed, she stripped his body of all his clothing, except the thin linen undergarment, that covered his loins.
When she finished tending all his wounds, the serf tucked several soft fur covers from the bed around him, to protect against the night chill. The guard remarked about how compliant he was now.
The young woman, Alisa responded, "I gave him a herb mixture, to relax him, and help his pain. He will likely sleep, a little later in the morn."
The guard retorted, as the two left Brant’s cell, "It is too bad they did not give him that earlier."
This comment, brought to Brant's mind Richard's words, 'the Lady is unwilling to have you tied down, and attempt to rape you.' When the girl had turned him against her body, to examine the gash on his shoulder, Brant had felt his body becoming aroused. He considered the possibility, that if they had drugged him earlier, he might be passively moving this way, or that, at his wife's behest. If his wife was half as attractive, as the serf Alisa, Brant realized it might be much easier to rape him, than his captors knew.
While that thought was disturbing, the serf's gentle care was also reassuring. His captors might have no intention of allowing him to leave, but neither did they seem to desire, that any harm come to him. Brant's mind drifted back to the listless feeling in his limbs, and that thought remained his focus, until sleep overtook him, much later.
