Siren Song Read online

  Although he did not succeed in escaping, Raymond’s swift action did take his attackers by surprise. The man he had so narrowly avoided jerked aside instinctively and, a second later—a second too late—thrust at Raymond. This caused him to bump into another man, who was rushing toward where Raymond had been, and to strike the sword of a third man. In general, as they converged on the spot Raymond had so swiftly vacated, all the men became entangled to a degree.

  Their confusion did not last long. They were used to dealing with frantic efforts to escape, but the second or two necessary for reorganizing themselves gave Raymond time to draw his sword. This caused another brief hesitation. Most of the victims this scum of thieves and deserters dealt with were either paralyzed with fright at being trapped or unaccustomed to defending themselves. The second delay also worked to Raymond’s advantage. He was able to swing his cloak off his shoulders, where it had hampered his movements, and whirl it around his left arm to use as a shield.

  He was just in time. Two men sprang forward simultaneously. Raymond beat off one blow with his sword and tangled the tip of the other weapon in the trailing edge of his cloak. His counterstroke was aimed at the man whose sword was caught in the cloth, and he grinned wolfishly as a shriek followed his thrust. In general, Raymond did not use the point of his weapon much. In this situation, however, he was as eager to keep the attackers at a distance as he was to harm them, Thus he drew the sword back only enough to free it and then slashed sideways as he bent his knees to dodge a slash from the other man.

  This move too was successful. Raymond’s sword connected again, drawing another shriek, but neither attacker fell, and the strength with which their curses were uttered implied they were more surprised than hurt by Raymond’s defense. He did not have time to be discouraged by such thoughts. The other men were pressing forward, slashing and thrusting.

  It was immediately apparent to Raymond that none of the men was his equal in ability. It was also immediately apparent that his greatest danger was that he would soon be hemmed in so closely he would be overpowered by numbers and the inability to swing his own sword. The only counter he could make was to slash around him in a wide arc as hard as he could. He coupled this with snapping his cloak violently in the faces of the men to his left.

  The action was partially successful. Raymond’s blade made sharp contact with another, obviously of much poorer quality steel, which snapped. The cloak caused another man to jerk backward, catch his foot in an unevenness in the floor, and stagger sideways. The move was also dangerous. The spread of Raymond’s arms bared his breast and throat. Two men, both immediately in front of him, thrust eagerly at the targets offered. Raymond jerked aside. The sword aimed at his throat missed. The other, directed at the broader target of his chest, struck the inner side of his left arm.

  Because Raymond was moving in the same direction as the slash, its force was lessened. In the heat of the fighting, he hardly realized he had been wounded. He was more worried by his dodging, which moved him away from the door, than by the pain. Desperately he swung again and again, wildly, not aiming at any man or weapon, only striving to clear a space around himself. Made cautious by his violence, the four remaining attackers drew back a trifle. Raymond did not delude himself that he had cowed them. Obviously they were preparing to rush him all at once.

  Mauger had had a lively night. He had not removed Elizabeth from the bed when he came up, ostensibly to watch by her through the night. He had felt a violent excitement when he saw her lying there bound and had fingered her body experimentally. The effect, however, had been disappointing. Elizabeth did not try to scream behind her gag or fling herself from side to side. She only opened her eyes, stared at him for a moment with blank indifference, and closed her eyes again.

  Although he stopped handling her, Mauger was not entirely convinced by Elizabeth’s apparent lack of reaction. Three factors made him let her alone. The first and most important was that he did not trust her. He remembered the swift stroke that had sent the “physician” careening across the room. In order to couple with Elizabeth, he would need to untie her legs. That would be asking for trouble, for a man is never more vulnerable to hurt than when his shaft is engorged.

  The second factor reinforced the first. Mauger really did not find Elizabeth in the least attractive. He wished to soil her, to reject her. That made the third factor clear. His pleasure had come largely from displaying that he did not think her worth coupling—that he did not think her important enough, human enough, to need privacy from her when he performed the most private of all acts. Thus, he took Emma into Elizabeth’s bed and, with her beside him, made love to his mistress. He found it remarkably stimulating. There was an additional pleasure in sleeping between the two women, an equal warmth on both sides.

  Naturally, neither of Mauger’s bed partners felt the same satisfaction. Emma had obeyed him in terrified, sickened silence, her helpless hatred growing greater and more bitter. Elizabeth, despite Mauger’s belief that she was pretending, had truly been indifferent. She had reached the stage of despair in which nothing that happened to her had any meaning.

  It was quite late in the morning before Mauger woke. He had Emma dress him and stuck his head out of the door to order that bread and cheese and wine, and broth for the invalid, a quick afterthought, be sent up. He made Emma attend to Elizabeth’s physical needs and then eat the broth in front of her, but did not get the satisfaction he expected, even when he forced Emma to suck the liquid loudly from the spoon. Elizabeth never opened her eyes, and when he struck her and demanded that she do so, her gaze was blanker than any idiot’s, showing no interest or desire. It was annoying, but Mauger told himself that she would not be able to control herself much longer. She simply was not hungry or thirsty enough yet.

  That irritation sent Mauger down to inquire whether Egbert had left the keep. The information that he had done so soon after dawn was satisfactory but increased Mauger’s discomfort. A glance at the sky was no help. The heavy clouds prevented him from judging the time. He went up to Elizabeth’s chamber again and attempted to assuage his impatience to hear that Raymond had been killed by tormenting the women. This expedient was not particularly successful. Elizabeth remained limp. She did wince a trifle when he pinched her and pricked her with a knife, but he did not dare really mark her. Once she was dead, he would have to permit her women to wash her and lay her out. If there were marks of violence on her body, all his effort at making her death seem natural would be wasted.

  There was little amusement to be obtained from threatening Emma with mistreatment. She was so exhausted by terror and weeping that she simply fainted. Mauger did not bother to revive her but stamped out of Elizabeth’s room in disgust. He could not read and took no interest in the running of the estate, so he could not busy himself with those matters. Moment by moment his impatience grew to hear that the attack on Raymond had been successful. He willed Egbert to return from the town with the news he wanted to hear.

  However, his will did not bring Egbert or news, but the thought of Marlowe town put Marlowe keep into his mind. Suddenly the look of frustrated impatience on Mauger’s face was replaced by a smile. There was nothing to stop him from going to Marlowe keep. In fact, it would be an expected courtesy, since he knew William was not yet completely well, to go over and tell him what had happened after he left Wales.

  Mauger’s eyes lit with pleasure. A visit to Marlowe would be a delightful interlude. He could tell William that Elizabeth had fallen ill, implying that it was owing to her exhaustion from tending him. That would make William squirm. Also, the news about Raymond should come to Marlowe almost as soon as Egbert would bring it to Hurley. How delightful if it should come while he was there. He could watch that nasty little bitch Alys fall into a fit over her lost lover.

  He would ride, he decided, and take the ferry. He did not wish to seem to avoid the town on the day that Raymond would be killed there, hopefully, had already been killed. It would be a mark of innocence
in him that he rode through without pausing to speak to anyone.

  When Mauger’s horse was ready he mounted eagerly. In the back of his mind there was a faint feeling that he had forgotten something important. He sought for the thing, feeling that it concerned Elizabeth, but he knew she was bound and gagged and concealed behind the drawn bed curtains. There could be no immediate problem, and the need for movement, for action of some kind, was so strong that he dismissed the slight nagging unease and concentrated on the coming delight of his visit to Marlowe.

  A little while before Mauger left Hurley, Alys had told Martin that she was going there. “Do not tell Papa unless he asks for me,” she said with a worried frown. “Not only did Sir Mauger return yesterday, as you know, but I have heard that Lady Elizabeth is ill. I suppose she has taken to her bed to avoid her husband, but that maid of hers is a silly creature, and if Elizabeth is sick, I must look to her nursing.”

  “You may be sure I will say nothing,” Martin replied with a nervous glance toward William’s chamber.

  “Let us hope Papa will sleep until I return.” Alys looked out of the window at the lowering sky. “Tell the men and have the boat made ready while I get my cloak. I will go the quickest way.”

  Usually it was quicker to go by the little boat than ride to the ferry, but the Thames was swollen with much rain in the past weeks and the current was faster than usual. The boatmen pulled lustily under Alys’s urging. Still, it took them more than half an hour to drive the broad craft, designed for safety and comfort rather than swiftness, the two miles upriver. Thus, Mauger had already ridden ashore in Marlowe when Alys’s boat tied up at the small pier at Hurley.

  She did not stop to speak to anyone in the tiny village. They could not know the truth about what was going on inside the keep, and all she would get from them would be more disturbing rumors. It was best to hurry as fast as she could up the short road. The guards passed her without delay or hesitation. Alys thought one looked as if he wished to speak to her, but he, too, could know little if anything about what went on in the women’s quarters and she did not pause. She hurried on up the steps to the main hall.

  Here she did get news, the maidservants and menservants crowding around her to tell her how Elizabeth had fainted when Mauger arrived and how he had been so disturbed that he sent for a physician. By the time the story was told, Maud had heard of Alys’s arrival, and she came rushing down to confirm the tale and to add what she knew. Alys listened with growing horror, particularly to Maud’s romantic version of Mauger’s distress over his wife’s illness. Alys discounted the romance, but was much frightened by Mauger’s concern. He did value Elizabeth as a manager, Alys knew. His anxiety might mean Elizabeth was really dangerously ill.

  Alys began asking specific questions, drawing from Maud the fact that Elizabeth had been unconscious for a long time after she “fainted”. That sounded very bad. Even worse was Maud’s repetition of the conversation she had had with Elizabeth. If Elizabeth thought herself so ill that she was afraid the maid would take it and was apparently also afraid she would not be able to resume her duties in a few days, she was probably very sick indeed. She went upstairs immediately, telling Maud to obey her mistress and go back to her work. Her hand hesitated on the latch of Elizabeth’s door for just a moment. What if she took the disease herself? Nonsense, she thought, lifting the latch. She had not sickened after caring for Harold and Martin, and Elizabeth would warn her not to come near if the disorder was very violent.

  A low whimper greeted the opening of the door. Before she even looked for the cause of the sound, Alys hastily closed the door behind her. If Elizabeth was having fever dreams, Alys did not wish to alarm the maidservants with hearing her raving. The shriek that followed her action gave Alys good reason to fear the worst, but as she turned she realized the sound did not come from the bed.

  “Go away!” Emma wailed. “Go away. He will kill me. I forgot to bar the door. No one is allowed in here. Go away!”

  “Stop that!” Alys ordered sharply. “Sir Mauger has gone out. I have come to see Lady Elizabeth. I am sure Sir Mauger would not forbid me—”

  “She is asleep!” Emma screamed, wild with terror. “She can see no one. She is sick!”

  Alys looked toward the drawn curtains of the bed. Asleep? She swallowed nervously. Elizabeth must be unconscious or dead not to move or call out at Emma’s screaming. Even as the thought crossed her mind, the bed curtains bulged and Elizabeth fell out of the bed tangled in the blankets she had had to pull with her as she rolled. Alys gasped with terror, thinking for a moment that the cloth that gagged Elizabeth had been used to tie up her slack jaws after death, but Elizabeth con­tinued to roll toward her with desperate heavings. The blanket came undone, and Alys saw the bound hands and feet.

  “Elizabeth!” she cried, leaping toward the struggling woman.

  Emma screamed again, then rushed to the door and slid the bar into place. It was the only thing she could think of doing. Locking the door might delay her pun­ishment a little while. Alys paid her no heed at all, kneeling to pull the gag from Elizabeth’s mouth.

  “Water,” Elizabeth whispered.

  Fortunately the remains of the watered wine Mauger had brought up to slake his thirst in the night were still in a jug by the bedside. Alys did not even look for a cup but held the vessel itself to Elizabeth’s parched lips. After a few swallows she pulled it away.

  “Let me unbind you before you have the rest. God, oh God, how long have you been without food and drink? What happened? No, do not answer me. I will hear in good time.”

  Even as she spoke, Alys had drawn her eating knife and cut through the cloth with which Elizabeth was tied. Mauger had not tied her tight enough to stop the circulation and the cloths were too soft to bruise her badly, but her arms were numb from being in one position for so long and dropped limply.

  “I will get you more to drink and some food.”

  “No,” Elizabeth said. “Mauger—” She shuddered convulsively. “We must get away from here as quickly as possible. If Mauger returns—” She shuddered again. “Help me to dress, Alys. Emma is right. Mauger will kill—he will kill me too, not only her.”

  “No, no,” Alys soothed, thinking that Elizabeth’s reason had been disordered by terror. “He cannot harm you now that I am here. My men are below, waiting for me. Martin knows I have come to Hurley. Your husband would not dare harm me. Of course we must leave. You cannot stay any longer when he has treated you this way, but you must regain your strength.”

  While Alys was speaking, Elizabeth had been struggling to move her arms without much success. Her legs were a little better. Alys had helped her to sit up, and now she summoned Emma to help her lift Elizabeth into a chair.

  “You must take me,” Emma cried. “You must take me too. He will kill me.”

  “You treacherous slut—” Alys began, but Elizabeth stopped her.

  “Of course we will take you, Emma. Stop crying now and come help Alys get me ready.”

  “Elizabeth,” Alys protested, “she helped him!”

  “Not willingly,” Elizabeth said, biting her lips as fire and sharp pangs of cramp ran up her arms. “Believe me, Alys, Emma has already been very harshly pun­ished for her sins. Go and pick out clothing for me, Emma, quickly. The sooner I am ready, the sooner we can go.” She lowered her voice so that only Alys could hear. “She is very simple and very easily frightened.”

  “Simple!” Alys was outraged, but kept her voice low. “She left you bound like that, and did not even give you a drink of water!”

  In her reaction from despair, Elizabeth’s mind was working at top speed. She was well aware of Alys’s distaste for Emma, but she knew Emma did not think much better than a dog. She had been too afraid to dare go near Elizabeth, not realizing that if the door was locked Mauger could not get in and discover what she was doing. And, gagged as she was, Elizabeth had no way of explaining. She was sorry for the girl, but she had no time to enlist Alys’s sympathy for her.
Even if she could have done so by describing what Mauger had done, Elizabeth shrank from soiling Alys with such a tale. There was another easier way.

  “We will need Emma to help us escape,” Elizabeth pointed out. “You are wrong when you say Mauger cannot harm us. He can do what he likes with all three of us.”

  “Elizabeth, he has frightened you out of your senses. Do you think Papa would permit me to be held against my will? Or you?”

  “Do not be a fool!” Elizabeth said sharply. “How will your father know it is against your will? Everyone believes I am very sick. Cannot Mauger say you stayed to nurse me?”

  “Oh heaven!” Alys exclaimed. “I had not thought of that. I even said to Martin—but Papa will come at once. You know he will.”

  “I do, indeed, know it,” Elizabeth agreed, beginning to shake with pain and fear. “It is just what Mauger most desires. He told me—” She swallowed, unable to continue for a moment but then forced her voice on. “He told me he arranged the murder of my brothers and planned to have your father and Sir Raymond killed.”

  “Raymond!” Alys gasped. “I cannot believe it! Why Raymond? If he hates Papa—well, I understand that, but Raymond…”

  “He does not hate your father because of me. He did not hate my brothers. He had them killed because he wanted Hurley. Your father and Raymond must die because he wants Marlowe and Bix. To have them, he must have you.”

  “Did Aubery—” Alys began, but she stopped when Emma came to them, her arms laden with garments.

  “Aubery knew nothing about this,” Elizabeth said as the two girls began to dress her. “He told your papa that he did not wish to marry you. Love you as a sister, he does, but one does not wish to couple with a sister.” In the midst of her pain and fear, Elizabeth had to smile. William had described his conversation with Aubery in detail, fearing that she would think her son had been hurt. “He said he did not know what ailed him, since you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but he did not desire you for a wife.”