Sunder (28 page)

“Is that all you have to say?” she hissed, glaring at him. “You’re not surprised?”

Garrick flicked his eyes around the crowded room quickly, then stepped forward so he was next to her and pulled her gently with him directly up to the window. Annis took a deep breath, trying to quiet her anger. There were people around after all.

“I have had many a thought of what should be done to that giant whore, M’Lady,” Garrick said just loudly enough for her to hear him. “But my preferred method of taming her would mean disobeying your husband, and that I will not do. So for the moment, I have nothing to say on the subject of her fucking the priest. That is for God and Lord Cædda to remedy.”

“Indeed. God has that filthy harlot well in his sights. She will be dealt with soon.” A chilly breeze came in through the window, cooling the heat in Annis’ cheeks.

Garrick stood still and silent next to her, staring straight ahead out of the window. But he was listening.

“I imagine our lord has been praying for her to remain safe, given the townspeople’s love for her.” Garrick spoke slowly, carefully.

Annis nodded.
Silly, loyal Garrick
. “These times are so uncertain, especially with that savage Dane being kept within our walls. I wonder every night what the morrow will bring.” She kept her tone light.

“As do I.” Garrick gently curled his hand around her arm. “Let’s get you into bed, Ma’am. I’m sure Lord Cædda will want you rested to see him off for tomorrow’s wolf hunt. Your presence will give him strength.”

For the first time in so long, Annis allowed herself a smile as she and Garrick trudged slowly toward her chamber. Yes, Cædda did need her. She had removed the Celt whore from the house—cutting out that festering wound in his soul, allowing him to return to a state of grace. And in a very short time now, the last bits of discord in their union would be gone forever. This was
her
city; she would reclaim what was rightfully hers.

19

There were fleas crawling into the bloody gouges in Isabella’s back. Even as she reached back to feel no insects beneath her fingers, she knew they were there. Sleep had come only fitfully after Sigbert had brought her back to the room, and the light shining through the window did nothing to bring quiet to her mind. Her wounds stung and itched intermittently, with the muscles beneath wracked in a constant, throbbing ache.

More pressing than the sharp spasms of pain was her thirst. Isabella’s full lips had cracked and atrophied, her rubbery tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. It had most certainly been more than twelve hours since her last drink, and Isabella felt not even the slightest hint that she needed to visit the smelly bucket in the corner of the room. This level of dehydration was dangerous, she knew. But with Saoirse tending to her new duties as a kitchen girl, there had been no one to get her water or even help her get dressed, and Isabella had been too tired, too sad, and too hurt to see to those needs herself. Alone in her tiny room and far out of yelling distance to any of the other women, Isabella would have to wrench herself from the bed, put a dress on, and walk on her own badly swollen feet to do something as simple as retrieve a drink of water.

Pushing herself up from her bed, she felt her arms shake under her own body weight. Her feet were frozen numb and she was just so tired. But the need for water trumped all other concerns. Still on her knees, Isabella grimaced as she shrugged into her dress, the coarse wool pulling at her tangled hair on the way down. She knew the easiest path to water would be to simply stop by the kitchen. But that put her at risk for running into Hilde, and Isabella could not bear the thought of that old bag gloating to Annis about how thoroughly the flogging had beaten her down.

She recognized the sinful pride in her decision. But try as she might, she could not stomach the idea of allowing Hilde to see her limp into the kitchen or hear her gasps of pain, perhaps even the sniffle of tears, and then report it to Annis. The longer trip to the well would be exhausting, but it was worth it.

“Sweet Lord,” Isabella gasped out as she emerged into the howling wind. It had snowed overnight, and she left smeared footprints in the shallow snow as she shuffled down the deserted back side of the hill. The unnatural silence unnerved her. On the other side of the hill, the city would be abuzz with noise—the slamming in the kitchen of the Great Hall and the chattering of the women, the dogs barking and the men laughing—and the more distant market with the livestock and bartering back and forth between merchants and buyers. The hub of the city would be filled with people and noise and warmth and safety. But down the back side of the hill there was no one but her, alone in the snow.

A twig snapped, causing her to jolt violently.

The certainty she was not alone stabbed through her as she froze, darting her eyes in search of who was there with her. The well in front of her vanished and the memory of Emilio’s stricken face played before her eyes. That memory morphed quickly into a vision of his disembodied head, eyeless, with his mouth gaping in an eternal scream. A freezing sweat broke out under her dress.

Go back to the kitchen right now!
The ferocious command screamed through her mind, forcefully swiveling her head around so she could flee.

It was then she saw the large dog making its way out of the woods. It stepped on another twig as it paused on its way up the hill to look at her disinterestedly. The knot in her stomach loosened.
You’re getting paranoid, Isa
, she chided herself.

She unclenched her hands and wiped them on her dress, letting out a nervous and embarrassed giggle as she took the final steps to the well’s edge and leaned over the chasm. Isabella grabbed hold of the hand crank and pulled it hard, knowing she would have a thin layer of ice to break through. After hearing the distant, satisfying sound of ice cracking open, Isabella continued cranking the full bucket to the top, every cycle of her arm sending fresh spasms of pain into her back.

When the bucket came into sight, along with its beautiful, cool contents, Isabella gave a sigh of relief and felt a spurt of saliva return to her mouth. Holding the crank with her right hand, she reached for the bucket with her left, as she had done a hundred times before—only this time, her sprained ankle gave way beneath her.

“Oh shit!” she wheezed out, her leg crumpling and pitching her forward into the stone wall of the well. She had managed to hold onto the bucket and her arms trembled as she struggled to heave the bucket up onto the side of the well, the cold stone biting into her chin as she got her legs back underneath her.

The warmth of a man’s hand folded itself around her own, pulling the bucket up with a gliding ease. “It seems you aren’t as strong as you look, ox-woman.”

Garrick’s voice in her ear jolted her back and, with a horrified gasp, Isabella whirled away from him, splashing the cold water from the bucket all over his front as she did so. Since her first encounter with Garrick, she had always been mindful to watch for him. But this morning he had been far from her thoughts, and she was wholly unprepared for the sight of him. Her breath came in gasps as she pressed herself against the well while Garrick did his best to shake the water from his tunic. She shivered from the cold air against her sweat, and even through his efforts to brush the water from his clothes, Garrick noticed her reaction to him.  It was sickening how pleased he looked with it.

“Garrick, how lovely to see you,” she said, trying to quell the tremor in her voice, “I’m sure your father will be
thrilled
you’ve come to distract me from my work.” Isabella did not bother trying to conceal the spite in her voice.

“You do no work for my father until Thor’s day, you bloody liar,” said Garrick, setting the now half-empty bucket down at his feet.

“What do you want?” Isabella snapped.

“To help you live,” Garrick said evenly.

Her mouth gaped open for a split second before she caught herself and squinted at him suspiciously.

“No you don’t. You want me to die. Just like Annis.”

“If I sought your death with enough ferocity to disobey my lord, I would have done it long ago. It’s Annis who wants you dead, and she plans to do it tomorrow.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Would you like to continue with your shrewish sniping, or do you want my help?”

Tomorrow?
Struck dumb by Garrick’s pronouncement, Isabella could only stare stupidly at him as her eyes unconsciously appraised her surroundings for possible routes through which to flee.

“Are you to be my executioner?” she asked quietly.

“I will be gone on the wolf hunt.” He smiled while giving her a shrug. “Along with all the other men who might have a care to look after you, including your lover priest. Our lady has made her own arrangements. Given how empty of men Shaftesbury will be tomorrow and her hysterical jealousy of your fornication with Sigbert, I can assume she plans that day to be your last.”

“We aren’t fornicating,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare spread such lies.”

Garrick shrugged to demonstrate his complete lack of interest in whether she was or was not sleeping with Sigbert and continued his silence.

“Anyway,” she continued. “Annis couldn’t possibly hope to kill me. Even if she had a weapon, I’m bigger and stronger. She couldn’t—”

“She won’t dirty her own hands, you silly cow; she plans to release the Dane from the stockade and let him have at you. You won’t be able to fight that lusty lad off, even if you do still have my dagger about your person.” He stepped closer to her and dropped his eyes meaningfully to her belt.

She gave a chuckle. “Lord Cædda has your dagger now, Garrick; it’s no help to me.” She glared at him. “God forbid I be allowed anything to protect myself from that crazy hag. Or from you.”

His piggish face lit up with a smug superiority and he looked her up and down with an appraising eye. “You belong to Lord Cædda, thus you will never be in danger from me unless my lord commands it. All his men obey him just as faithfully as I. His wife…” Garrick’s mouth pinched in distaste and he gave a heavy sigh. “Our lord did not marry well, and that disobedient woman has gone too far this time.”

“So why not tell Lord Cædda what she’s doing?” she asked. “He would put a stop to it.”

“Tell the Lord of Shaftesbury his poor injured wife is consorting with the enemy? With only my word as proof?” His eyebrows shot up in incredulous irritation. “Do you think I rose to my position by speaking out of turn?”

“So why tell me?” she shouted, flailing her arms in the air. “You know what she’s going to do and you won’t help me! So you get the best of both worlds, right? You get to see me dead
and
you get to tell yourself the lie that you obeyed Cædda—the
lie
that you did all you could by warning me. You self-deluding worthless piece of—”

His meaty hand crashed across her face, slapping her so quickly she hadn’t even seen his arm move. The sting of the slap drove tears into her eyes and cut of her indictment, but if memory served, he hadn’t hit her with his full strength.

She turned her face back towards him, expecting him to be staring at her with that same superior look. But the expression she saw instead stilled her, pinching off her planned stream of profanities. He didn’t slap her for her disrespect, or even out of his general dislike for her. He was insulted.

“I always knew you to be a haughty one, entirely too pleased with herself, but I never took you for stupid.” He leaned forward and jabbed a finger into her face. “Do you have so little understanding of a man’s oath to his lord? You think I follow his commands just for show? That I serve him for my own gain? If I had no care for the wishes of Lord Cædda, you would be tied up in my barn and carrying my bastard by now!” Flecks of spit flew out of his mouth and his face had turned that dangerous shade of red.

Shaking slightly, though not from the cold, Isabella took a step back from Garrick, but he grabbed her roughly by the arms so she could not retreat further. Garrick did indeed hate her and want her dead, she had always known that. But she had not previously seen it was only his love and loyalty to Cædda that restrained him from hurting her.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about the motivations and loyalties of men, Garrick. I meant no offense,” she said quietly, hoping her profession of ignorance would calm him, if only a little.

“I was born to be a tanner,” he spat. “I would have spent my life smelling of shit and scraping gore out of carcasses if not for Lord Cædda. He brought me, the tanner’s son, to battle and made me into a warrior, despite my father’s protests. And now he is a Thane and I am his captain. The lands I own, my wife and children, everything I am is because of my lord.” The flush in his face lessened, but his eyes were still hard as they fixed on her face. “There is no woman who holds such power over me that I would disobey him. He has said you will not be touched. So you shall not be.”

You needn’t sound so disappointed
, she thought angrily. Even as the burn in her face intensified, Isabella recalled what Sigbert said to her the day she came to work for Redwald: Our Lord has found some strange allies for you.
Indeed
.

“I didn’t know that,” she said.

“You never bothered yourself to inquire. Months you spent working with my father and I wonder if you ever asked him a single question about his family. Did you even know I was his child? That I have three sisters? That my elder brother died in infancy?” He released her with a revolted glare.

Against her will, Isabella felt a smile spread across her face. “You’re right, Garrick. I’m sure Redwald would have been
so
pleased to have me ask after his family.”

He narrowed his eyes, and for a moment Isabella thought he might hit her again. But then he started to chuckle, letting out a few bleats before throwing his head back into a full throated laugh. “I would have given all my gold to see the look on his face if you had.”

He laughed some more and turned to lean against the well, standing beside her instead of in front of her.

“Out of loyalty to my lord, I wish to help you,” he said, returning to his normal serious demeanor. “But I’ll not tarnish myself in Lord Cædda’s eyes to do so. You’ll need to fight your own battles, Woman. We both know you are capable.”

She rolled her eyes and exhaled loudly. “I have gouges in my back, a useless ankle, no weapon, and a
lusty
Viking coming after me. What good do you think you’re doing by telling me I’m to die tomorrow?”

Garrick returned her sigh and dropped his hands to his sides. “Knowing when and where your enemy will attack is half the battle. Once Annis lets that boy out, he will only know to look for you at the tanning shack with my father or in your room. You need only avoid those places. You’ll not be at work tomorrow anyway, and don’t sleep in your room. If you have a care for that Celt girl, make sure neither she nor her babe stay there either. Not until the men come back.”

“But if the Dane goes to Redwald’s—”

“I told him to take tomorrow as a day of rest.” Garrick shifted his eyes downward slightly. “It wouldn’t do for our only tanner to be set upon.”

Isabella allowed herself a brief smile at the warrior’s refusal to admit affection or concern for his father’s safety, then returned to the subject at hand. “I can evade him for one day easily. But what happens when Annis just tries again? ”