She squirmed in his lap, her face hot and her breathing unsteady. What was Sir Dirick doing? Then she saw Agnes hovering in the doorway. She pulled firmly from Bon’s hands. “There you are, you lazy fool!” she exclaimed. “Have you brought my tonic?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Dirick jolt in surprise.
“A aye, my lady,” Agnes was obviously so accustomed to being spoken to in that manner that it was not difficult for her to feign fear. “A tea of pennyroyal and chamomile, to help you sleep, my lady…and peppermint leaves to chase the ache from your head. ”
“And about time it is,” Maris snapped, taking the pitcher from Agnes more roughly than necessary. She turned, curtseying to Bon. “My lord, as we have been interrupted, I pray you will allow my maid to prepare me for bed. I have much to accomplish on the morrow to prepare for our wedding, as I wish to make you proud. ” She fairly held her breath, waiting to see if he would acquiesce, or if he would order Dirick and Agnes from the chamber and continue with his hands down her bliaut.
Bon swaggered to his feet and she gave a silent sigh of relief. “As you wish, my dearling,” he said, as if granting her the moon. “But know that the taste I have had will barely suffice until we are well and truly wedded. ”
With the last press of a kiss to her hand, he turned to make his way from the chamber. After two steps, he halted in his tracks, turning toward Dirick—who was still meddling with the fire. “Dirick, you belong on the outside of this chamber, and do you not forget that. Come now—the fire is blazing. ”
“Aye, you are dismissed. ” Maris turned regally away from him.
She felt Dirick still behind her, and then sensed it as he pulled himself to his feet with careful deliberation. For an instant, she felt him towering behind her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she fancied she felt the spear of his stare driving into her back. Keeping her head high and her face averted, she walked over to the bed, untying the curtains that would keep the drafts out during the night.
Maris didn’t turn until both men quit the chamber and the door shut behind them. At last she was able to breathe a sigh of relief.
“Oh, my lady, are you—are you untouched?” Agnes asked in a low voice, pouring the pennyroyal tea into a goblet. “I hurried as quickly as I could. Did my lord—did he hurt you?”
“Nay. ” Maris took a long drink of the lukewarm tea, then refilled the goblet and drank again. “Though ’twas a near thing. ”
“My lady, what is the purpose of the pennyroyal? Is it not for Lord Bon, that you planned to poison him in some way?”
Maris shook her head and forced herself to drink more of the bitter tea. “Nay, for were he to be poisoned, would I not be the first at which the fingers would point? ’Tis to bring on my monthly flux. Bon will not touch me while I am unclean, and I pray my Papa will arrive before ’tis through. Bring me as much as you are able, as I must drink a good portion to ensure that it begins on the morrow. I must needs find some other way to keep him from me tomorrow night, as ’twill surely not start ere then. ”
“Mayhap there is something to put his lordship to sleep early,” Agnes suggested.
“Mayhap, yet that is bound to be discovered. Is it not common for a bridegroom to spend the eve before his wedding fasting and doing penance??
?? Maris asked with a smile.
“I’ve not heard of such a thing, my lady,” Agnes shook her head.
“Methinks I’ll make such a suggestion to my lord Bon, and I’ll pray he swallows it. ” Maris took a final draught of pennyroyal tea, then, looking ruefully under the bed, added, “I’m certain to be up in the night to use this” —she pulled a chamber pot from under the high bed— “after drinking so much of this tea, but it cannot be helped. Here, Agnes, climb you into bed, and we shall keep the other warm. ”
Outside the chamber door, Dirick leaned against the rough stone wall, trying to erase the mental picture of the helpless Maris sprawled on Bon’s lap, her breasts spilling from her gown.
He snorted. Helpless? Maris of Langumont was anything but helpless. She already had her abductor wrapped neatly around her little finger, and the ease with which she’d done so was both admirable and frightening. Bon would probably set her free if she begged prettily enough.
Yet, he thought there’d been more than a trace of fear in her eyes when he burst unannounced into her chamber. Maris was definitely not out of danger yet.
Dirick did some quick calculations: he’d sent the messenger to Langumont just before the evening meal. The man would not reach his destination until late on the morrow…and then it would no doubt take Merle some time to gather his forces before they were on their way to Breakston. He estimated two days at best, more likely three, until Dirick would have help from that quarter. Unless by some miracle Merle had already discovered the identity of his daughter’s abductor.
But he didn’t have the luxury of three days, for Bon was determined to wed the day after the morrow.
Dirick leaned against the wall, considering his options. It wasn’t the marriage itself that would be so much the problem: a forced marriage could easily be annulled, and he was a clear witness to the forced aspect of it. Nay, what concerned him the most was the harm that could be done to Maris in the meanwhile. The loss of a maidenhead, so crucial to a profitable marriage, could not be rectified, but it was the manner it which it would be taken that troubled Dirick. His insides soured at the thought of the stocky, hirsute Bon poised over Maris’s delicate, white body.
He had to find a way to get her out of Breakston. But first, he had to get her to trust him, and in light of the dark, loathing looks she’d sent his way…it wasn’t going to be easy.
Maris awoke with a start to find her mouth muffled by a large hand, and a great weight pushing her into the bed. She panicked, thrashing frantically beneath the figure above her, ignoring his urgent whispers. Her eyes bulged wide open above the firm hand, trying to see her tormenter.
The chamber was still dim, although the fire, which had quieted during the night, gave off a low light, and a hint of dawn peered around the tapestries that covered the windows. She kicked and clawed viciously, forcing him to capture a wrist with his free hand.
“Maris, calm yourself,” the voice urged, coming altogether too close to her ear.
She was as startled as he when, with one lucky thud, she placed a heavy kick near his groin and in the ensuing confusion, tumbled him off the bed. Then she let loose a blood curdling scream.
“God’s blood, Maris!” Dirick scrambled to his feet, tangling in the rumpled bedclothes. “Do you want me killed that badly?” He stood, staring down at her, hands on his hips, breathing heavily, his dark hair wild and his face furious.