“Rosaleen,” another voice came, a deep, masculine, much hated voice, “either rouse yourself right quick or I’ll do it for you.”
The words brought Rosaleen to life as nothing else could. She opened her eyes a crack to see Sir Anselm’s dark face close to her own. She was lying on her stomach in deference to the bruises and welts he had placed on her back only a few hours earlier, and when he reached out to take a fistful of her hair and lift her face off the feather mattress, Rosaleen cried out from the pain.
“Good,” Sir Anselm said with a chuckle, shaking her head a bit before releasing her. “She’s awake and looks to be in a more obedient mood than she was this morn.” With his fingertips, he pushed her head to one side, so that she was facing him, and met her weary gaze with his own amused one. “Are you not, Rosaleen? You will be a very obedient lady from now on. As meek and mild as a lamb.”
Rosaleen stared at her uncle with as much hatred as she thought any being could ever feel. The memories of him stripping her clothes from her back, of the shocking feeling of that first strike on her bare flesh, all came back to her. “I’ll not mar your face, Rosaleen,” he’d murmured when she had finally given way and stumbled to her knees. “You shall be as lovely on your wedding day as you have ever been.” It hadn’t been too much longer before his blows had felled her completely, sending her into a blissful oblivion.
Until now.
She didn’t answer him quickly enough, and his fingers bit into her hair again.
“Yes!” She gasped against the pain. “Yes!”
“Good girl.” He released her once more.
Rosaleen didn’t dare to move. “I hate you!” she whispered fiercely. “If my father were alive…”
“I know, Rosaleen, I know,” he said wearily. “You needn’t tell me again what your life would be like were either of your parents still alive. Truly, dearling, it is most ungrateful of you to persist with such talk.” He crossed his massive arms over his chest. “I’ve spoiled you these past many years, ‘tis clear, else you’d be more ready to show me your gratitude. This morn was regrettable, I grant, but you’ve no one to blame but yourself. You must learn to command that fierce temper of yours, my dear, for Simon of Denning will not find such as that acceptable in a wife, and you would like his taming much less than mine, I vow.”
Rosaleen’s hands curled into fists.
“Simon of Denning is an animal! I’ll not wed with him.”
“You will.”
“Never!” she vowed. “You put me up for sale like a prize mare and he was naught but the highest bidder!”
“‘Struth, dearling,” Sir Anselm admitted, reaching down to squeeze the fine bones of Rosaleen’s chin between two large fingers. “But as you were mine to sell, there was no wrong done. The king himself wouldn’t dispute it.” His eyes glowed with amusement. “And ‘tis not my fault that God made you so very lovely and so very, very—” he laughed “—sellable. Sir Simon wants you, my beautiful girl, so much that he has willingly parted with all that was most valuable in your dowry in order to possess you. He shall have you, and I shall have Siere and all that goes with it. The title, the lands. Everything.”
“Siere is mine!” she said furiously. “Sir Simon has no right…you have no right to take it from me!”
“I have every right, Rosaleen. Never, ever think otherwise again.” He squeezed her chin harder, until tears welled in her eyes. “Now, you will do as I say, else I’ll treat you to more of what I gave you this morn. Sir Simon will be here to claim his bride before the day is out, and you must needs eat and bathe and prepare yourself to receive him. When the priest arrives I’ll fetch you. Until then you will behave yourself and think on how to best please your future husband and your loving uncle. Will you not, Rosaleen?”
Rosaleen closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“Good.” He rose. “I’ll leave you with Jeanne so that you may prepare.” He went to the door and opened it, pausing only long enough to look at the maid, who stood trembling in a corner. “Make certain she is in her best looks, Jeanne, else you will know your master’s displeasure.”
“Y-yes, my lord.”
He closed the door, leaving them alone, and Rosaleen let out the long breath she had been holding. She tried to move, to push herself into a sitting position.
“Jeanne…please…”
Her maid was beside her in a moment, the girl’s face pale as she put her hands beneath Rosaleen’s shoulders to help her rise.
“Oh, my lady!” she cried, and burst into noisy tears just as Rosaleen finally sat up.
“Yes,” Rosaleen replied absently. She felt dizzy, weak, and put one hand up to her damp forehead in an effort to still its spinning while using the other to hold up the remnants of her dress. The open places on her back burned like fire, and she could feel the skin there stiffening with dried blood. “Jeanne,” she whispered, wishing that her sensitive maid would cease the wailing that only made her head pound all that much more, “I will need some salve, and some cloth to bind the wounds. I must put on clean clothing…something very plain and simple. And after that I will need you to help me. Jeanne—” she met the girl’s frightened gaze “—I am going to escape before my uncle can come to get me.” Reaching out, she gripped the maid’s arm. “I must escape. Do you understand? Will you help me? I promise that you shall not be suspected or punished.”
Wide-eyed, Jeanne shook her head. “Escape? But, my lady, how can you do so? Your uncle has placed guards at every door. You could not even step out of your own chamber without being caught. And…your back, my lady…you could not get very far with it so.”
Rosaleen could hardly disagree with that, her body ached so badly, but nothing could make her stay at Siere and play a part in her own ruin. “That,” she stated firmly, “is my worry. All I need from you is a little help, and I shall do the rest. I swear that my uncle will never be able to suspect that you aided me, and even more so do I swear that he shall never have Siere. I would rather die than give it over to him, and I would rather kill myself with my own hands than marry Simon of Denning. Will you help me, Jeanne?”
“But where will you go, my lady? And how will you keep from being caught? You know full well that your uncle and Sir Simon will be after you before you can get very far. Oh, please, my lady,” Jeanne pleaded, wringing her small hands, “do not do this! I could not bear to see you beaten again at the hands of Sir Anselm! The next time he might kill you!”
Determination steeled Rosaleen in spite of the fear that threatened to overtake her. “I have said that I would rather die than wed Simon of Denning,” she replied sharply, “and so do I mean it! Somehow I will manage to keep from being caught.” She struggled to her feet, holding together the bits of what was once one of her most beautiful surcots. Jeanne helped her, but still Rosaleen could not hold back a groan of pain. Her breath came quickly and seemed to catch in her side. “And as to where I shall go,” she went on, forcing the few steps toward her mirrored table, “why, I shall go to King Henry. He must help me, for my father was a great favorite of his father’s as well as being the Earl of Siere, and for that alone he must lend me aid.” She collapsed into the chair set before the mirror. “I shall tell him what my uncle has done, that he has sought to wed me against my will and to steal my rightful inheritance, even my title, from me.” She met her maid’s doubtful gaze in the dim reflection of the polished steel mirror. “He’ll help me, Jeanne,” she insisted. “He will.”
Jeanne didn’t believe that this was so, for the world was a man’s world, and King Henry was only a man.
Rosaleen understood the expression on Jeanne’s