It had not been difficult to get work at the castle. There seemed to be a steady exodus of servants from Lord Somerfield’s care and keeping, and Christian had already witnessed enough to understand why.
Lord Somerfield was not quite the age of Christian’s father, but he was close. His coarse hair was still full, but the midnight was shot through with bitter grey, as if his brain’s poisonous thoughts were slowly leaking out. His face was broad, with a sharp nose and full lips. He’d been handsome once, but now indulgence and cruelty had twisted his features; they were bloated and coarse. His legs were thick and muscled but a heavy stomach hung above them. Twice in the five days Christian had been here, he’d witnessed Lord Somerfield strike a servant at table. Once because the servant put a pitcher down badly, interrupting Lord Somerfield’s conversation with a bang and sloshing the contents. The other time, it seemed the blow had come for no reason at all except that the servant had gotten too close to the lord at table and had been smacked down for it.
Lady Elaine sat next to Somerfield at every evening meal. She was pretty but wan and egregiously thin. She kept her eyes downcast and her face studiously blank. Christian never saw her during the day. Her rooms, along with the children’s, a girl a year old and a girl aged three, were in the southwest tower. Its entrance was well guarded at all times. Christian might have been able to slip Elaine a message in the dining hall, but it would endanger them both, and to what end? To entreat her to escape would be like asking a fish to get off the fisherman’s hook, and even giving her news that help was at hand might make her act in a way that would be risky.
Christian placed the platter of turkey on the lord’s table. He dared a glance at Lady Elaine and she looked up just then and met his eyes. It was only a brief moment, but she did smile ever so slightly before casting her eyes back downward.
As Christian backed away from the table, he glanced at Somerfield.
Somerfield was staring at Christian with a heavy, hooded look that Christian recognized all too well. His heart slammed against his ribs in a rush of excitement and fear. His eyes dropped and he backed away completely.
In the five days Christian had been in the castle, he’d been surprised that his identity had never once been questioned. He was accepted at face value. And why not? Who would dream of a man choosing to dress as a woman? It was unthinkable. There had been some glances at his hands, times when he’d had to take a pitcher or scrub the floor, unable to shield them. But they were only glances of curiosity, probably thinking they were unfortunately large for a woman. He’d managed to speak little, and his voice was not questioned either. For that matter, the cook herself sounded like a grizzled old man, perhaps from so many hours spent bent over the smoke.
Indeed, the most dangerous aspect of Christian’s role thus far had been avoiding the interest he had from various male admirers. Apparently he was attractive as a woman after all. He’d said he was married, pulled strongly away from grasping hands, and stayed in the kitchen as much as possible. There were few chances of getting caught alone there.
He’d been assigned to serve the dining hall almost at once, being relatively cultured-looking for a serving wench. That had been his first real stroke of luck.
Christian went back down to the kitchen for more platters. Cook handed him a large wooden bowl of what looked like stuffed intestines covered with mushrooms. It smelled pungently sour.
“The lord’s table,” Cook ordered. “His is the only one that gets that dish.”
As Christian made his way to the stairs, he was tempted. In his bodice was a pouch and in the pouch was deadly nightshade. Sir Andrew, who’d taught him archery, had taught Christian to recognize the plant. It was sometimes used on arrow tips, but you had to be very careful to avoid getting it in cuts or letting it linger on your hands. Christian had never used it thus. But he’d seen the plant as he and William crossed the mountains, and he’d picked a good quantity. The leaves could be crushed into a paste and the paste….
He’d hoped to be able to slip it into Lord Somerfield’s food or drink, and now he considered the bowl in his hands. But there was no way to know who would eat from the bowl, perhaps even Lady Elaine. He dared not risk it.
If he were to use the nightshade, he would have to put it in Somerfield’s cup. But Somerfield was a cautious man with many enemies. He had an older male servant who stood behind his chair and who poured Somerfield’s wine and filled his plate. No other was allowed near him whilst he was dining.
Lord Somerfield’s private rooms were in the northwest tower, but they were also guarded. Christian had not dared to go there. But his options on accomplishing his goal were dwindling, and his week was nearly up. The longer Christian stayed in the castle, the more likely it was that his secret would be discovered, or that William would decide to take matters into his own hands and appear to request an audience.
Christian entered the dining hall with the bowl of sausages and mushrooms. He sat it on the lord’s table, placing it close to Lord Somerfield. Christian raised his eyes coyly. Somerfield was watching at him, his mouth greasy as he chewed. Christian allowed his eyes to heat and linger for a moment. Then he lowered them and started to back away.
“You, wench,” Somerfield ordered. “Come ’ere.”
****
It had been five days, and William had gone from being beside himself to resigned calm more times than he could count. Christian had sent him a message two days ago, through a young tanner’s apprentice he’d hired to seek William out in the foothills. Christian had merely written that all was well. He’d gotten a serving position in the castle and was pleased to have the work.
It was a harmless missive that, if caught, would mean little to anyone else, even if it was rare that the serving class could read and write. But Christian’s message was clear— he was proceeding as planned. He would not have used the word “pleased” if things were awry. But then again, Christian could merely be trying to keep William from doing anything rash. Which was exactly what William wanted to do.
Christian endangered himself every minute he was in that castle. What William didn’t know was how careful Christian was being. He could only hope and pray. Still, he’d agreed to give Christian a week and he forced himself to be true to that. A week and no more. If Christian was not back in two days’ time, there would be hell to pay.
Twice, William had ridden Tristan to within sight of the castle, watching for any signs of alarm. There were none. The market traffic rode in and out of the bailey’s walls as usual. There were no signs of smoke or increased activity.
By the Virgin, it was the longest, most torturous week of his life. William would much rather roar into battle and take on an army than to wait, helpless. He ached to feel blood on his claws. He was thirsty for it.
It was nearly dark on the fifth day when he saw the tanner’s boy approaching the foothills on an ancient donkey. William hastened from his camp to meet him.
“Here, Sir. From the lady.” The boy held out a folded letter. William gave the boy a pence and took it.
From the lady? Was it from Elaine? William hastened to read it.
Beloved,
I wish I could see you. I can picture you waiting to sweep me away, at midnight on your horse, at the mill that lies outside the bailey perhaps. Tonight I will dream on it.
C
William closed his eyes, the missive clenched in his fist. Tonight. Christian had written coyly, but the message was clear. For whatever reason, Christian wanted to leave the castle tonight, and he wanted William to come for him. William did not pray oft, but now he sent forth a most urgent prayer.
Let Christian do nothing too dangerous between now and then. Let him be safe. William would give anything; only let Christian and Elaine be safe.
****
CHAPTER 15
Christian approached the two heavily-armored guards at the door to Lord Somerfield’s tower. His pulse thumped ominously in his chest. Sweat trickled down his back inside the gown. He was not afraid of Lord Somerfield, but he was afraid of the importance of this moment— that he’d finally gotten his chance— and he was anxious to do the job quickly and well and to be away before he was caught.
He
was
starkly afraid of being caught.
But, as Sir Allendale taught him, valor comes not from being unafraid. It comes from the determination to proceed anyway. And Christian was very determined. He’d been granted a rare opportunity to get close to Lord Somerfield. The next hour could decide everything. He would not fail.
The guards looked Christian up and down lewdly, despite the fact that he’d borrowed a cloak from one of the other servants, and it revealed precious little of his shape. One guard made a bawdy allusion to bearded oysters. The other told the first to shut up but grinned lustfully anyway. They didn’t search Christian, and when they let him through it was obvious that danger and deceit were the last things on their minds.
Christian’s dagger was bound against his inner thigh. He’d been quite anxious about being searched. But he was alone on the stairs leading up to Lord Somerfield’s rooms, so he took the risk of reaching up under his gown and removing it, placing the dagger inside of one long sleeve. There. Far better.
His pulse sounded like battle drums in his own ears. Christian continued upwards. He tapped on the door at the top of the stairs and Somerfield bid him enter.
The door opened onto Lord Somerfield’s bed chamber and Somerfield was alone. The fire was lit, and he had already mostly disrobed. He wore only a heavy linen shirt and hose. He lounged in a chair by the fire, his legs outspread and parted, like a debauched satyr.
Christian’s mouth went dry. The dagger seemed to burn at his wrist. He slipped off his cloak and let it fall by the door.
“Evening, pretty,” Somerfield purred. He looked Christian up and down but didn’t bother to rise. “You look nervous, wench. A virgin’s coyness doesn’t suit you.”
Christian forced a seductive smile. “’Tis shyness. I only hope I can please you, my lord.”
Somerfield grunted. “Come here and take my cock in your mouth. That will please me.” He spread his legs a little further and pushed the linen shirt to one side. The outline of his stiffening member was evident in his hose, even though it was nearly overshadowed by his belly.
The lazy swine.
Christian lowered his eyes modestly and bit at his lower lip. “I will, my lord, but may I not first have a kiss?”
He kept his eyes downcast, glad for once, for the easy heating of his cheeks. They were flushed now from the pounding of his blood in fear and, increasingly, anger. But Lord Somerfield didn’t know that. After a moment he heaved himself to his feet.
“Want a little courting, ’ey?” Somerfield sounded a little more interested and a little more dangerous.
Christian looked up into Somerfield’s eyes, managed not to wince at the reek of him, and then Somerfield grasped him with both hands, pulling him in hard and mashing down his mouth on Christian’s.
Christian moaned, an involuntary noise of disgust and surprise, but Somerfield took it as encouragement. His tongue thrust into Christian’s mouth. He tasted sour, like the intestines dish smelled, but worse, bitter and stale. His tongue was pointed and poking, like an eel. Christian wrapped his arms around Somerfield’s neck and set to work with nimble fingers, untying the sleeve of his gown and slipping out the dagger. Somerfield’s hands began to wander upward on Christian’s bodice. His “
keeping them off his body.
breasts” would in no way pass inspection.
Christian broke the kiss. “Touch my cunt,” he said baldly. He tried to look lovestruck and dazed with passion.
Somerfield grunted in approval and attacked Christian’s mouth again. His hands changed course— thank God— and he began to gather the material at Christian’s thighs, pulling up the gown. Christian had to fight not to gag on the man’s tongue.
Wait. Wait.
And then one of Somerfield’s hands was under the gown, groping Christian’s thigh.
“You wear much clothing,” Somerfield complained at finding hose there. Christian barely heard him, his blood was roaring so loudly in his ears.
Wait.
And now both hands were under the gown, under the gown where they would be trapped by the fabric, if only for a moment. One hand slid to Christian’s arse while the other pushed between his legs.
Now.
Christian sensed the moment that Somerfield felt his cock and balls, bound in the bandaging. His eyes flew open, and in that instant Christian did three things. With his left hand he pulled hard against Somerfield’s neck, keeping them locked in the kiss, he turned the right side of his body out slightly and, with his right hand, he thrust the dagger with all his might into Somerfield’s chest, his blade easily finding a path between two ribs.
Somerfield jerked and screamed, his eyes staring with shocked, horrified understanding into Christian’s. But the scream was muffled in Christian’s mouth. Somerfield tried to pull away, but Christian held him firm, both with the hand on his neck and with the dagger impaling his body. The man struggled for what felt like an eternity, but was probably less than a minute. As the life in his eyes began to fade, Christian broke the kiss.