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He began to straighten his clothes. “An animal doesn’t use cream to ease his way. I spared you what pain I could. A virgin has a maidenhead. I had to force my way through it. The next time it will not hurt you.”
He had used the cream. She’d give him that. “You are still wearing your boots. You tear off my clothes yet you keep yourself clothed.”
He was done. He looked down at her and shrugged. “I just wanted to get it over with. Now, draw the cover over yourself. Your legs are sprawled apart like a trollop’s. Don’t bathe my seed from your body. The sooner you are with child the more secure will be my possessions.” With those words he leaned down, picked up the key, and opened the door. He turned in the doorway. “You will remain within the keep tomorrow. I will find Richard de Luci. If he is a reasonable man, I won’t kill him, though I fear he is just the first of many. Until you are with child, you are at risk.”
Aye, she thought. Severin was sorely tried. The poor man—marrying an heiress was the very devil.
He was gone, his boots sounding loud on the stone floor. He had still been garbed in his gray clothes.
She lay there, her legs still sprawled wide, feeling as though she’d been ripped inside, which, she thought, she had, since he’d torn through her maidenhead. She hurt. She lay her hand on her belly. She was no longer herself, no longer just Hastings.
No gentleness from him, no soft wooing, just the cream, which cost him no kind words. She had been married for six hours and she had no kind thoughts for the man who was her husband.
4
“SHE IS GONE.”
Severin blinked down at the old woman. “What did you say? Who is gone?”
“Hastings. My lady, your wife, is gone. What did you do to her? Hastings is never imprudent, yet I cannot find her. She is not within the keep.”
“What the devil is this?” Graelam demanded as he strode to Severin. “Hastings is gone?”
“Aye, my lord Graelam. There was blood on her bed and bloody water in the basin. The lord broke his word to her. Her father is to be buried today, surely he should have left her whole last night.”
Severin said, “It was not possible. Richard de Luci nears. He will try to take her. Now you say she is gone.” He cursed. “I should have locked her in her bedchamber. You say she is never imprudent. If she has tried to leave the castle, he will take her. That is stupidity beyond anything I can fathom.” He hit the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I expect wisdom from a woman? I am a fool. I believed she understood. I believed her cowed. Well, Graelam, all is changed now. I must find her before Richard de Luci does. Damnation. I will punish her for this. Never again will she go against me.”
Graelam turned to Dame Agnes. “It is only seven o’clock. Did you only go to her bedchamber?”
“I have looked everywhere. If anyone has seen her, then they are lying fluently.”
“Did you go to her herb garden?”
“Nay, I have looked just within the keep. I will go there now.”
“I will go,” Severin said. “I told her she was to remain within the keep. She must be taught obedience.”
He felt more relief than he was willing to admit when he saw her on her knees, garbed in an old woolen green gown, sweat between her shoulder blades, working the soil in her herb garden that stood fenced in beside a small pear orchard. All around the fence were blossoming flowers. He recognized the blood-red roses, tall, the blooms incredibly large. And the daisies, with their bright yellow centers and stark white ray flowers. And so many more he couldn’t begin to put a name to. As for her herb garden, it was neatly plotted, the different plants carefully set inside a rectangle, all of them looked healthy, many ready to harvest.
He shook his head. Who cared about her herb garden? The storm had blown itself out. The morning sun was brilliant, the sky clear. She hadn’t heard him. He supposed with all the noise surrounding her nearly every hour of the day, it wasn’t surprising. Ah, but she would learn to hear him. Soon, when he came to her, she would be on her feet, her eyes lowered, ready to curtsy when he drew near enough. Her hair was braided into a thick single rope that hung down her back. He stepped over the protective wooden fence and stood over her, his shadow cast long and dark. She looked to be working furiously.
Hastings loved the damp earth on her hands, the feel of it, knowing her precious herbs would thrive. She sat back on her heels for a moment, looking at her patch of thriving rosemary. The pleasure she felt working in her garden helped just a bit to ease her soul-deep anger at the blow he’d dealt her. It was absurd, this excuse of his that Richard de Luci could somehow sneak into Oxborough and take her.
She heard movement behind her and said without turning from what she was doing, “Is that you, Tuggle? Please bring me Marella. I would ride out in an hour or so.”
“I think not.”
She whipped about so quickly, she fell on her bottom. “You,” she said. And if that was too much, she quickly added, “Watch where you step. That is rosemary beside your foot. Don’t crush it.”
He moved away from the rosemary. “I care not about this rosemary. It is a silly name, a female’s name. Why is the rosemary so valuable?”
“It makes your marten’s pork very tasty. If you have a cramping belly, it will ease you. A man should drink it for nine days if he has debilitated himself with venery. Perhaps you would care for some right now?”
“Do not mock me again.” He came down on his haunches beside her. “The other women were days ago. I took you only once. I doubt I’m debilitated. I told you to remain within.”
“I am within. Look about you. There are scores of my people.”
“My people. I am lord here now.”
