Wages of Sin (25 page)

‘Thank you,' she murmured. ‘I shall ride out first thing tomorrow, after I have broken my fast.'

Robin interrupted. ‘I would not eat beforehand, if I were you, my lady,' he advised, his face twisting in revulsion. ‘He is not the prettiest of sights to see on a full stomach.'

‘Then I shall ride out at first light,' she said. ‘I trust you will accompany me, Master Attwood?'

‘It would be an honour,' he replied, bowing. Sir Edmund scowled again, but neither of them noticed, and he had concealed his displeasure by the time Jane turned back to him.

‘If I may have your permission, sir, I would dine alone this evening, and pray for my unfortunate stepfather.' She lowered her eyes demurely. A triumphant smile touched her lips and she hid it quickly. It was no lie. She
would
pray for him. Pray that he lived long - and suffered as much as he had made her suffer!

Back in her chamber she found herself ravenously hungry. She waited impatiently for her food and fell upon it as soon as it was brought. It was only when she had half-devoured a chicken leg that she realised Martha was not her usual exuberant self. No scolding. No unasked-for advice. What was wrong? Was her friend ill? Guiltily, she put down her food and stared at the cook. Were those tearstains on her cheeks?

‘Martha!' she exclaimed. ‘What ails you? Has that archer of yours been dallying elsewhere? Shall I have him beaten?'

‘No, mistress,' Martha sniffed. ‘It's nothing to do with ‘im.'

‘Then what is it?' Jane demanded. ‘You look as if you'd lost a crown and found a farthing.'

‘It's ol' one-eye,' Martha burst out.

Jane stared at her in astonishment, wondering how Sir Edmund could have upset Martha so terribly. ‘What's he done?' she asked.

‘He's only bringing in a fancy new cook, thass what,' she wailed. ‘Seems I ain't good enough any more. He's got to have some Frog he's brung over from foreign parts. Calls himself a sheff, whatever that is. As if good English cooking ain't good enough for ‘is lordship. Snooty bastard!'

‘But aren't you glad?' asked Jane. ‘It means you won't have to work so hard any more.'

Martha stared at Jane as if she was mad. ‘But I'm the cook!' she exclaimed indignantly, in the same tones of injured pride a better-born woman would have used to declare that she was a lady. Jane supposed she was perfectly right. In her own way, Martha was queen of her domain - even if it was only the castle kitchen - and she was about to be deposed by some foreign upstart.

Martha's voice wavered and she sniffed back more tears. ‘What'll I be once he comes? Nothing but another one of the kitchen skivvies. It ain't fair!' She gave into her grief, plonked herself down and burst into noisy tears.

Jane patted the woman's heaving back, trying to console her. ‘There, there, it's not as bad as that. I'll think of something. Just you wait and see.'

Martha raised her head and smiled at her tearfully. ‘Thass a kind thought, girl, even if it comes to nought.' She got to her feet. ‘Well,' she muttered, ‘best get on. I wants that kitchen scoured from top to bottom. No fancy foreign sheff's going to say I keeps things mucky.'

Fuelled by new determination, Martha bustled out, leaving Jane to finish her meal and creep into bed.

 

She was up before cockcrow, dressed and ready by the time Robin came into the hall. Despite her brave words her stomach churned at the thought of seeing her stepfather again but, apart from the way her hands nervously twisted the folds of her riding skirts, she hid it well.

‘Good morrow, Robin,' she said. ‘I am ready. Are the horses saddled?'

‘Waiting in the courtyard,' he replied. He gazed at her, his eyes serious. ‘But are you sure you wish to do this? I warned you already that he is not a pretty sight.'

‘And not one that will improve with time,' she said tartly. ‘Now, do you accompany me, or shall I go alone?'

‘I will accompany you,' he replied in resignation.

 

Out of sight of the castle Robin slowed his horse and leaned towards Jane. ‘There is one other thing, my lady. I did not wish to speak of it in front of Sir Edmund, but your mother's estate is in a sorry state. When Sir Thomas first found out what ailed him he spent money like water on any charlatan who held promise of a cure. Wise-women. Amulets. Holy relics. Much good has it done him. He has Saint Stephen's knucklebone - and by the look of it, Saint Stephen must have been a pig! It will be a long hard winter for your mother, my lady. He has squandered everything.'

‘What a surprise!' exclaimed Jane cynically, as the convent came into view. ‘When did the bastard ever care for anyone but himself? Well, he is paying for it now.'

How high a price, she did not realise until she entered the darkened room where he lay. The stench met her first; a cloying smell of decay that caught in her throat and almost made her gag. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped in horror as she saw his face.

Her stepfather's nose was nothing but a festering cavity, leaking noxious fluids; one ear was missing and the other was only a gnarled knob of raw flesh. His lips were half-eaten away, revealing the brown teeth behind them in a perpetual skeletal grin. She shuddered. He no longer looked human. It was the face of a rotting corpse - yet the worst horror was that it still lived. And this
thing
had once touched her! Vomit rose in her throat.

The scabrous lips parted in a sardonic rictus. ‘Well,' he rasped. ‘Have you come to gloat?' He turned his head this way and that. ‘Take a good look, Jane. It's a handsome picture, is it not? One to bring a maiden sweet dreams.'

He began to laugh, but it ended in a choking fit and he lay back on his stained pillow, gasping. His bandaged hands plucked convulsively at the coverlet and, with fresh nausea, Jane realised that half his fingers had rotted away.

‘But I shall have the last laugh,' he spat viciously. ‘I may be dying in this cesspool, but I shall have the picture of your sainted mother sitting hungry beside an empty hearth to keep me company.' His mad, cracked laughter followed her as she fled.

Robin was waiting where she had left him, but she managed to ride only half a mile before the sickness overwhelmed her. Dragging her horse to a halt, she swung down and scrambled into the bushes, where she bent over and retched until her empty stomach ached. Finally she stood upright, wiping her mouth.

A warm hand touched her shoulder. ‘Are you all right?' asked Robin anxiously. Whirling round she flung herself into his arms, clinging to him like a child, feeling his strong body against hers.

Against all reason she could feel a warm stirring in her loins. Unconsciously, she ground her hips sensuously against him, rejoicing in his instant response. Perhaps this was no madness, but merely the reaffirmation of life in the face of death and horror.

He bent his head to kiss her, but she turned her face away. ‘My breath must be foul,' she protested.

‘Nothing about you could ever be foul to me,' he breathed, his mouth seeking hers, his warm tongue sliding between her lips. One hand stroked her breast while the other sought to lift her heavy skirts and he groaned as he felt her nipple grow hard against his palm. His fingers found the lacing at her bodice and he groaned again as the warm globes spilt out into his eager grasp.

It was her turn to groan as his lips left hers and his hot mouth traced a path down her throat and breast; then she gasped as he found her rigid nipples and took first one then the other between his lips, teasing the rosy tips with his tongue.

She was dizzy with lust, and had it not been for the tree behind her she would have fallen. Leaning back against it she hauled her skirts to her waist and parted her legs, allowing him free access to her cunny. His fingers stroked the soft flesh of her inner thighs, sending shivers of pleasure through her, then crept higher, sliding smoothly into her. She moaned again as they plunged in and out of her silken wetness.

Panting, he fell on his knees before her, lowered his head and parted the lips of her vulva. His tongue pierced her as he lapped at her sweet juices; then he found the hard bud of her womanhood and ran his tongue gently round it. She whimpered and ground her hips against his face, enveloping him in its musky scent.

Getting to his feet again he fumbled at his belt. His member jutted forth, thick and hard, then she closed her eyes as the swollen head butted against her. She whimpered as his cock slid inside, slowly and deliciously. Bracing herself against the tree trunk she met each thrust with one of her own until they shuddered out their mutual release.

Decent again, they cantered once more towards the castle, the picture of respectability. The only evidence that anything had happened was the feel of Robin's seed trickling between Jane's thighs as she rode. Despite what had happened, she felt strangely unsatisfied.

There was no denying that their little dalliance had been pleasurable, and yet, like food without salt, his respectful advances had lacked savour compared to Sir Edmund's animal rutting.

Her lips parted and her heart beat faster as she remembered the hot sting of the lash, followed by Sir Edmund cruelly, ruthlessly slaking his lust on her body.

She could not deny the dark passion he seemed able to rouse in her, until she debased herself at his feet, her debauchery matching his own.

She groaned inwardly as she felt herself stir again at the very thought. With one man's seed still inside her, she was already lusting after another. Had she finally run mad?

 

 

 

It was not she who ran mad, however - it was Sir Edmund.

‘Bitch! Slut!' he snarled, banging open the door of her chamber so hard it hit the wall. In two brief strides he was across the room and had seized her by the hair, dragging her face close to his. ‘How dare you? You could not wait two minutes before bedding him, could you?'

‘Wh-what do you mean?' she quavered.

He flung her from him in disgust. Staggering, she fell sprawling across the bed and gazed up at him with frightened eyes as he paced backwards and forwards like a caged lion. ‘You know exactly what I mean,' he retorted. ‘Did you think I would let you go riding alone with that pretty boy and not have you followed? My man saw everything. Everything!'

Shame burned her cheeks at the thought of what he must have seen, but she rallied defiantly. ‘And if he did, what business is it of yours? Your scruples come a trifle late in the day, my lord. You gave me to a beggar and watched while he swived me. It hardly becomes you to quibble should I choose to take my pleasure with Robin. And it was pleasure, believe me.'

The sound of a slap echoed through the chamber and she shrieked, a protective hand flying to her reddening cheek.

‘It matters because I say it matters,' he hissed. ‘And I did not give you permission to dally with that young upstart.' He gripped her chin, his cruel fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held her immobile. ‘You are mine, to do with as I will. Remember that!'

She stared after him in dismay as he stalked from the chamber without another word, and a dreadful thought struck her. What might he not do to Robin in his rage?

Relief washed over her when she finally steeled herself to venture down to the great hall that evening. Far from punishing Robin, Sir Edmund appeared to be on the best of terms with her mother's steward. Seated at Robin's right hand, he was laughing uproariously and slapping him on the back, insisting that he be offered the best cuts of meat and filling his goblet almost before it was emptied.

Her relief turned to confusion as he caught sight of her and smiled. He rose to his feet and greeted her with a bow. ‘Ah, Lady Jane. How kind of you to join us. Come, sit down, my dear, and grace our table with your presence.'

The little scene in her chamber might never have occurred. She stared at him suspiciously. What evil plan was hatching in that devious skull of his?

Despite her fears, he was gallantry itself, deferring to her every wish. Was she too hot? Too cold? Would she like more wine? Another helping of meat? By the end of the evening her suspicions had been utterly allayed. Back in her chamber she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Perhaps he was prepared to let bygones be bygones after all?

How wrong she was.

A scuffling in the passage outside made her whirl round as the door was pushed rudely open and Sir Edmund strode in. Behind him, struggling between two of his henchmen, was Robin. As she watched in horror he was thrust into the heavy chair beside the fire and his arms and legs tied to it. He strained helplessly against his bonds as a rough gag was forced into his mouth.

‘Turn him towards the bed,' ordered Sir Edmund. Obediently, his men manhandled the chair until it faced the four-poster. ‘Good, good...' He walked slowly round his victim. ‘We would not wish to fail in our duties to our visitor, now would we?' He waved dismissively. ‘You may go now.' Silently, the two men left the room.

Once they were gone Jane stared at him. ‘What are you going to do?' she asked fearfully.