“I do not care what you wish,” he said. “Come with me now, it is time.”
Slowly, she shook her head. “Nay. You took me last night. There is no more need, surely. I have no wish to be raped again.”
He cursed and plowed his fingers through his hair. It sent a sharp pain through his shoulder. He ignored it. He would not back down now. “Damn you, I did not rape you! I used the cream. I eased you. I did not hurt you.”
“Your yelling has disturbed Trist.” The marten had twisted onto his back and was now looking up at his master’s face. He looked ready to fall out of Severin’s tunic. “If you do not wish to have wine, I bid you good night, my lord. I have some drying chamomile to see to.”
So that was the scent he smelled so strongly. “What do you use chamomile for?”
“For many things, but most desire it when their head aches after they’ve drunk too much ale.” She started to take a step toward him, then stopped. “Also, you should be in your bed. Are you not weak? You must give your shoulder time to heal. It is not too late for a fever to come upon you.”
She turned away from him, back to the open window. Very gently,
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while her back was turned to him, he lifted Trist from his tunic and laid him on her bed. Ah, it freed him.
He strode to her and grabbed her shoulders. He jerked her around to face him, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He was pleased to see her pallor. She was afraid of him, at least part of the time. It was a good beginning. It probably meant also that her father had punished her when she had deserved it. He was twice the size of her father. She should tread warily around him.
Her courage came from seeing Trist hanging off his neck, and he knew his marten had charmed her, and because of his charm had bestowed upon his master an easiness that didn’t fit him at all, at least with regard to her, his damned wife. But this misapprehension on her part would pass, he would see to it.
He shook her for good measure. “Listen to me, wife. You will come with me now. I will take you again and again until you are with child. It must be done. Understand, it gives me no pleasure, save a man’s quick release for his lust, thus you will not accuse me of rape. I must do it. It is my duty to my line.”
He raised his hand to the neck of her gown.
“Don’t rip my clothes.”
“Then do as I tell you now.”
Her pallor changed to a dull red. That dull red seemed to climb to her hairline. What was going on here? “You are no longer a maiden. Why are you flushing? I have already seen you naked, Hastings. I’ve seen you with your legs sprawled wide apart, my seed and your blood on your white flesh. It makes no matter to me. All women are the same. All have breasts and a belly and a passage for a man’s sex. You are nothing out of the ordinary. You have no reason to be embarrassed, if that is what you
are.
Her eyes fell. She hated him, hated him desperately. She said very quietly, “Let me go. Stop shaking me. Stop yelling at me.”
He drew a deep breath and said in a low voice, “Then obey me or I’ll
tear your gown off you and take you here against this tapestry.”
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“You cannot,” she said, her eyes on his boots. “You cannot,” she repeated when his hands tightened on her upper arms.
“I can do anything to you that I wish to. That you are an heiress makes no difference. You are nothing more than what I choose to make you. Very well, I won’t rip your gown. I have no wish to listen to your woman’s complaints.” He reached down and gripped the hem of her gown and pulled it up.
She shrieked.