The last thought in her mind as she fell asleep was of the marten, lightly snoring, his face cupped in Severin’s hand. A large hand, callused and strong, the nails clean. She shivered.
The dream wasn’t sweet and vague as her dreams usually were during a storm. She felt someone pull down the blanket. She heard someone breathing close to her face. She was cold. She shivered. Hands were touching her, untying the ribbons of her shift.
Her eyes flew open. There was a single candle burning next to her narrow bed. She looked up into the eyes of her husband.
“You’re awake. Good. Hold still so I can take off your shift.”
He was no dream. He was here in her bedchamber. “What are you doing? You said you would leave me alone tonight.” He said nothing and shcjpegan to struggle, hard, and soon she was panting. “What are you doing here? Damn you, you lied.” She jerked away from him, but only for an instant. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
She yelled again, “You lied! You aren’t to be here. You swore you wouldn’t bother me this night.”
He was pulling on the ties of her shift. But he was clumsy. With a growl, he grabbed the soft cotton in his hands and yanked it apart, the ripping sound obscene in the small bedchamber.
He grunted as he stared down at her breasts.
He whipped away the blanket and looked down the length of her. He leaned down to pull off her Tom shift. “Nay,” she shouted, and jerked up
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her legs. She struck him squarely in the chest. It knocked him off balance and he careened backward, flailing the air with his arms until he regained his balance.
She saw his anger, indeed, she felt it, and knew she wouldn’t like what he would do. He would rape her, she knew that now, but he would also probably hurt her. She knew she should lie upon her back and just let him have his way. But she couldn’t. She struggled up onto her knees. She flung out her hands to ward him off. “Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie. I meant what I said to you, but now everything is different. I now have no choice. Hold still. Stop fighting me.” He was on her, pulling her onto her back, lying by her side, holding her still with an arm over her chest and one of his legs covering hers.
He jerked up the shift, baring her to her waist. He stilled, but just a moment.
Then his hand was prying open her legs. She felt his fingers touching her, pushing into her, and she cried out.
He cursed, low and long. He probed more with his fingers. She flinched and struggled. Suddenly he left her. He walked to the small table with its narrow mirror. He was looking at the jars on top of the table. He opened one, smelled it, then nodded. She watched him smear a goodly amount of the cream on his fingers. Then he turned back to her. God, what was he going to do with that cream? Stuff it down her throat? He would poison her now that he had what he wanted? Since she was fighting him, he no longer cared if she lived or died?
She leapt from the bed and ran to the door. She heard him curse her, but she was fast. She got the door open and was into the corridor, the hard stone cold and sharp beneath her bare feet. In the next instant she ran into someone. Strong hands went around her upper arms.
“Hastings, stop it.”
It was Lord Graelam. He shook her, then pulled her against him. She realized dimly that she was wearing only a shift that was nearly ripped from neck to hem. She jerked back to see him in the dim light. She was
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shaking violently, all rational thought fled from her brain. “Graelam, please listen to me. He lied. He is here to rape me. You must not let him, Graelam. He promised to wait. Please.”
“Hold still,” Graelam said. He looked to see Severin standing in the open doorway. “You plan to hurt her?”