Part 5

After the success of her ruse Lynet was wise enough not to continue flaunting herself. The green silk tunic was hung on its hook again and she went back to wearing her own dull woollen gowns. When she was near Lady Maud she kept her head bowed and her lustrous blonde hair pulled back into a thick plait in a feeble attempt to conceal the resemblance to her mistress.

In her turn Lady Maud ignored Lynet as much as possible. There were no more tantrums. Instead she spoke only to issue an order or a reprimand, preferably through one of her ladies.

On the surface a truce prevailed, yet still Lynet felt uneasy. As she went about her duties she could feel the other woman’s hostile gaze upon her and once, when she turned round unexpectedly, she caught such a look of murderous venom that it sent a bolt of fear to her heart.

Despite this nothing untoward happened and Lynet began to relax again. From what she had heard through castle rumour, Lady Maud had more to worry about than punishing some upstart peasant girl.

Although it was barely weeks old, her marriage to Lord Ranulf was not a happy one. They were both arrogant, headstrong and used to getting their own way. It was common knowledge that Lady Maud wished to sweep the dirt of ‘the stinking backwater’ from her feet and go to court, but Lord Ranulf did not, so the arguments that ensued were long, loud and acrimonious.

And as Lynet unobtrusively cleared the table she could hear another one beginning.

‘Sweet Christ, woman, will you never cease your endless prating?’ Lord Ranulf groaned, clutching his head. ‘We are not going, and there’s an end to it.’

‘No eet is not!’ Lady Maud hissed, stamping her foot and glaring at him. ‘Do you expect me to stay shut up in zis isolated God-forsaken hole forever? I will die of ennui. I am bored, do you hear me?’ she screeched, her voice rising higher with every word. ‘Bored! Bored! Bored!’

‘Perhaps if you concerned yourself more with your duties and less with your demands you might not be,’ he replied coldly.

Listening to Lady Maud’s shrill voice as she continued to berate her new husband, Lynet smiled wryly. The word ‘obey’ in the marriage ceremony had obviously not made much of an impression on her mistress. The woman was a shrew.

She winced at the sound of something smashing as the woman’s temper got the better of her, and for a moment Lynet almost felt it in her heart to pity Lord Ranulf. Almost, but not quite. He deserved everything he got.

Her lips curved in a wicked smile; according to the whispers there was one thing he was not getting. Not only did Lady Maud refuse to obey her lawfully wedded lord, she was refusing to perform her other wifely duties too. Every time he came to his marriage bed it was to find Lady Maud already ensconced there, with one or more of her ladies for company.

Lynet giggled. Short of tipping them out, kicking them out of the bedchamber and forcing himself on his bride, he was unable to do anything but beat a hasty retreat with as much dignity as he could muster. But her smile vanished and bitterness welled up inside her. If she had been born a fine Norman lady, whose father had the ear of the king, he would not have been able to force himself on her either. Edric would still be alive today, instead of mouldering in his grave.

Another screech from Lady Maud brought her back to the present. They were still arguing, their faces inches apart and as red as a cockerel’s wattle with temper. She watched from the corner of her eye as Lady Maud lifted her hand and slapped her new husband with all the strength she could muster, before stalking away from him.

She paused when she reached Lynet and glared furiously at her. ‘What do you think you are staring at?’ she snarled. ‘Have you no work to get on with that you have time to stand and gawp at your betters?’

‘Yes, my lady,’ muttered Lynet, avoiding her gaze and continuing to clear the table, but whether her answer was not humble enough or whether the woman simply wished to vent her spleen on her, the result was the same. With one sweep of her arm she sent everything flying to the floor in a mess of broken bread, greasy lumps of gristle and spilt beer. She stamped her foot, grinding the mess even deeper into the rushes.

‘Now you ’ave enough to do,’ she snarled. ‘Get on your knees and clean zis up before zis place stinks even more zan it does already.’ Smirking, she stuck her nose in the air and marched towards the stairs that led to her solar. But unfortunately her petty act of spite led to her own downfall. A gobbet of greasy meat had stuck to the sole of one of her dainty leather shoes and her grand exit was somewhat spoilt when her feet slid from beneath her and she went flying onto her aristocratic backside.

Lynet’s hand shot to her mouth and for one brief moment she was stunned into silence, but the sight of Lady Maud red-faced and furious, wallowing helplessly in the dirty rushes was too much for her, and she burst into delighted laughter.

She was still wiping the tears from her eyes when Alfred rushed past her hurrying to the lady’s aid. Bowing and scraping he helped her to her feet, vainly trying to wipe the dirt from her gown, but all he did was make things worse by smearing the grease even further over her skirts. She gave a screech of outrage and batted his hands away.

The sound of their mistress’s voice had brought her ladies running. Exclaiming in sympathy they petted and soothed as they helped her, limping, up the stairs. Even Lord Ranulf had forgotten their argument and come to his wife’s aid.

Lynet stifled another giggle. Watching them cluster round her and listening to their cheeps of dismay she was reminded of a barnyard full of chicks fussing round a mother hen, with Lord Ranulf as the cockerel keeping a beady eye on the proceedings. But the giggle died in her throat when Lady Maud reached the top of the stairs and turned to look down on her. Her eyes were like chips of ice in her white face as she then turned silently away.

Alfred had seen it too. ‘Burned your boats there, my girl,’ he muttered from the corner of his mouth.

‘I didn’t have any left to burn,’ said Lynet, with a lightness she didn’t feel. ‘Besides, it was her own stupid fault. If she hadn’t lost her temper and swept everything to the floor she would not have fallen.’

Alfred rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. ‘Will you never learn? Nothing’s ever their fault. She’s not going to blame herself she’s going to blame you, and she’s going to make you pay for it as well. You mark my words.’

‘That’s what you said the last time,’ said Lynet, ‘and nothing happened. Now let me get on with my work,’ she continued, looking at the splattered mess with disgust. ‘I must clear this up before it gives her something else to berate me about.’

‘Too late now,’ said Alfred, shaking his head mournfully. ‘The damage is already done. Thass just shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.’

‘Oh, get on with you,’ scoffed Lynet, bending down and beginning to gather up bits of slimy meat and bread along with the stained and trodden rushes. ‘Don’t be such a worrywart. It’ll all blow over.’

She stood up, her arms full. ‘You mark my words for a change,’ she said lightly. ‘She’s too busy keeping Lord Ranulf out of her bed and he’s too busy trying to get into it for either of them to bother their heads about me.’

She went off to dump the rubbish on the midden, happily unaware that Lord Ranulf was watching her from the foot of the stairs, a speculative expression on his face.

It seemed that she’d been proved right as day followed day without anything untoward happening. She continued to avoid both her master and mistress as much as she could, carrying out her tasks as quickly as possible, then escaping to her tiny room when the weather was bad or strolling down to the stables to see young Tom and Jenna when it was good.

Not that there was much good weather now. Autumn had given way to winter and Christmas was only three weeks away. It was too cold even to walk down to the bailey. Wrapped warmly in her cloak, Lynet huddled in the lee of the castle, looked out over the bleak, frosty countryside and wished she could beg, borrow or steal Jenna and ride out to leave the place behind her forever.

She heaved a mournful sigh. This time last year she had been sitting with her mother, helping to weave the blanket for her marriage bed, and resenting every minute of it. Now Edric was almost four months dead and she’d never even had the chance to share that marriage bed with him.

She swallowed, trying to shift the lump that rose in her throat. She would give anything to turn back time and regain her lost innocence. Safe with her family again she would resent nothing.

A few stray snowflakes drifted lazily down from the darkening sky, settling on her cheeks and eyelashes. The coldness startled her from her wishful thinking and she shook herself and brightened a little as a pleasant thought struck her. If she could not share Christmas with her estranged family, she could at least make things easier for them, so she hurried back into the castle to find Alfred.

‘Provisions for your family?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t see why not. God knows there’s enough meat and drink here to feed an army.’ He tapped the side of his nose and winked at her. ‘Nobody’s going to miss a few odds and ends. Just you leave it to me.’

Under his skilful management ‘a few odds and ends’ turned into a haunch of venison, a flitch of bacon, two enormous wheels of cheese, a sack of flour, a small barrel of beer and several bottles of Lord Ranulf’s best wine.

‘There you go, my lovely,’ grinned Alfred. ‘That should keep the wolf from the door for a while, and young Tom here will deliver it for you.’

Lynet looked at the laden pony cart with delight. There was enough to keep her family fed through the harsh months till spring returned. She flung her arms round Alfred and hugged him. ‘Thank you,’ she beamed. ‘I never expected half as much.’

‘It was nothing,’ said Alfred, touched.

Tom sat holding the reins and looking hopeful, so Lynet stood on tiptoe and hugged him as well for good measure. ‘And thank you too, Tom.’

‘My pleasure, my lady,’ he mumbled, blushing scarlet and grinning lopsidedly.

‘I wish I were a lady,’ said Lynet. ‘Then you would be my trusty squire.’

Tom’s blush deepened. ‘You’m more of a lady than that ’un will ever be,’ he said indignantly. ‘You should see how she treats her horse. Why, last time she rode out she nearly ripped the poor bugger’s mouth to bits. She’s a—’

‘That’s enough, lad,’ Alfred said sternly. ‘You watch that loose tongue of yours. Walls have ears. You get off about your business and see this lot’s delivered, and let’s hear no more prittle-prattle. Not if you want to keep the hide on your back.’

‘Yes, Alfred,’ he muttered, suitably chastened. He clicked his tongue and the pony moved off slowly, and Lynet watched until he vanished through the gates and over the hill towards the village.

It was three hours before he returned and Lynet didn’t realise how anxious she’d been until she saw the cart was empty. Relief washed through her and she suddenly realised that she’d been terrified her gift would be spurned.

‘What did they say?’ she demanded, rushing up to Tom. ‘Were they pleased?’

Tom bit his lip, torn between telling Lynet the truth and saving her feelings. It had not been pleasant. Far from being grateful, her father had flown into a fury, ranting about living off his daughter’s whoring and smashing two of the bottles of wine on the ground before anyone could stop him.

It was only her mother’s intervention that stopped him going further, and it had taken a deal of pleading and a good many tears before she finally persuaded him to accept the tainted gift. Even then he had sworn that his wife and son could do as they pleased, but not a drop of drink or a crumb of food would pass his lips.

The sight of Lynet’s anxious face decided him. ‘Fair delighted they was,’ he said, lying through his teeth. ‘And they was all asking how you was doing and was you well and…’ his imagination deserted him, leaving him racking his brains to come up with some other comforting falsehood.

Then his face cleared as he suddenly remembered something. ‘Oh, and your ma sent you this,’ he said, back on safe ground with the truth as fishing in his pocket he produced a small object wrapped in a rag, and handed it over.

Lynet took the present, but she did not unwrap it. Instead she closed her eyes and held the rag to her face, inhaling the familiar scent of home: a pungent mixture of wood-smoke and tallow candles and the faint tang of sweat. For one brief magical moment she was safe in the bosom of her family again, then she opened her eyes and gave Tom such a brilliant smile he thought his heart would burst. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t know what this means to me.’ Then she whirled round and was gone, still clutching the gift as if she would never let it go.

He stared after her, wishing she were the mistress and not that sour-faced sow from Normandy.

The sour-faced sow was slightly less sour-faced than usual. ‘Iz from my father,’ she announced happily, waving a letter under Lord Ranulf’s nose. ‘He says he iz sending me gifts and a troupe of entertainers from ’ome,’ she gave him a meaningful glance, ‘so zat I will not be too bored spending Christmas ’ere instead of at court.’

‘Good,’ grunted Lord Ranulf. Thank God for small mercies. Anything that stopped her constant whining on that particular subject would be a blessing. If he heard one more word about going to court he might do something to regret.

Lady Maud’s good mood lasted for the rest of the day and at dinner she was all smiles and charm. Lord Ranulf watched her as she chatted brightly with her ladies. Perhaps he should strike while the iron was hot and make another attempt on her self-imposed chastity. Clicking his fingers at the servitor, he indicated that the man should fill the lady’s cup with wine, and keep doing so.

By the end of the meal his wife was thoroughly tipsy – so much so that when she made her goodnight curtsey to him she almost collapsed in a giggling heap and had to be helped up by her ladies.

He watched them leave the hall. A little wine was guaranteed to weaken a lady’s resolve. He would give her time to make her way between the sheets, then he would join her, and this time she would part her legs most willingly.

And he was right – but for the wrong reasons.

When he reached the door of her chamber he heard more giggling. She must have one of her damned women in bed beside her again. Well, this time he would brook no opposition. The lady in question would be sent packing to join the others in their dormer while he and his wife shared the pleasures of the matrimonial bed. He pushed the door open quietly – and froze in shock.

One of her ladies was in her bed all right, and both of them were as naked as the day they were born. They lay together in a tangle of white limbs, Lady Maud’s head flung back in ecstasy as her waiting woman suckled her pale breasts with a greedy mouth and their fingers worked frantically between each other’s thighs.

Fascinated he watched, his cock stirring in his hose as the woman continued to lick her way down her mistress’s writhing body until she reached her sex. Lady Maud whimpered in pleasure as the woman parted the moist lips, bent her head and began to lap noisily at her hot cunny.

He closed the door silently, his mind racing. No wonder she had not wanted him to consummate their marriage; the lady’s tastes lay in quite another direction.

As he returned to his own chamber there was a sardonic smile on his lips. The sight of his haughty wife casting restraint to the four winds as she pleasured herself with one of her ladies had been extremely titillating. He’d seen whores perform the same antics, but in exchange for hard cash, not from personal inclination. The evening’s little episode had been most enlightening, and it gave him an idea.

Unaware of what her master had planned, Lynet went cheerfully about her tasks next day. Fearful of offending his wife’s powerful relations, Lord Ranulf had left her in peace since his marriage and even Lady Maud was in a pleasant mood that morning, and – wonders would never cease – actually smiled absentmindedly at her. It seemed as if life was improving and her troubles were finally over.

As she carried a tray of meat and bread to the high table so that Lord Ranulf could break his fast, she caught him gazing at her speculatively, and her feeling of wellbeing vanished to be replaced by wariness. It did not do to become too complacent.

She lowered her eyes and avoided looking at him as she placed the food before him, curtsied briefly, then turned and hurried away. As she did so she touched the front of her gown surreptitiously to ward off evil. She had unwrapped her mother’s gift in the privacy of her tiny room and the embroidered kerchief it contained was safely tucked between her breasts as a constant reminder of home and a tiny talisman against ill fate.

To make sure it worked she stayed well clear of Lord Ranulf for the rest of the day, finding duties that kept her out of sight. When it came time to help serve dinner she pleaded an aching belly and fled to the safety of her room again, pulling the covers over her head to shut out the sounds of revelry from the hall.

Lord Ranulf had laid his plans well. He had spoken to the servitor before the meal and this time when he filled Lady Maud’s cup it was with undiluted wine, and constantly refilled as soon as it became empty.

After she had drunk four she hiccupped and looked at him owlishly. ‘Good ’eavens, my lord, I feel quite giddy,’ she complained. ‘Perhaps I ’ave ’ad enough.’

‘Nonsense, my dear,’ he cajoled, calling the servitor to refill her cup yet again. ‘Wine is good for you. What is it the scriptures say? “Take a little wine for thy stomach’s sake”.’

‘Do they?’ she giggled. ‘Why then, if the bible says so it must be true.’ He watched in satisfaction as she lifted her goblet, spilling half the wine on her bodice as she took another deep draught.

By the end of the meal she was well and truly befuddled. Her eyelids were half-closed and any attempt to eat had been long forgotten. Instead she held her cup out for more wine, even before the servitor had a chance to fulfil his orders, though her arm was swaying so much he had a hard job filling it. Then she managed to drink only half of it before the cup fell from her limp hand and she toppled forward and collapsed, snoring gently, into a puddle of spilt wine.

Lord Ranulf beckoned to her waiting women. ‘My lady is a trifle unwell,’ he said diplomatically, though it was obvious to all that she was as drunk as a farmer on market day. ‘Take her to her chamber and put her to bed… alone,’ he added hastily, before one of her upstart women took it into her head to stay by her mistress’s bedside.

‘But, my lord, what if her illness worsens?’ protested one.

‘It will not,’ he said. ‘The best remedy is sleep.’ His voice hardened. ‘Now do as I say, or must she lie here while you argue?’

‘Yes, my lord… er, I mean no, my lord,’ babbled the frightened woman. She nodded to the others and between them they managed to hoist their mistress to a standing position. She stood swaying for a moment, and then began to fall forward, Ranulf leaping to his feet and catching her just in time, then he carried her up the stairs himself with her ladies following after like a bunch of anxious hens.

He deposited her on the bed. ‘See that she is undressed and made comfortable,’ he ordered, ‘then leave her alone to sleep.’ The woman who had protested earlier opened her mouth to do so again, but Lord Ranulf glared at her and she closed it and looked down at the floor. ‘Have I made myself clear?’ he asked icily. There was a mutter of confirmation and he stalked out, leaving them to get on with it.

Back at his table he poured himself more wine, smiled at his cousins and raised his cup in a toast. ‘To stubborn virgins, and their downfall,’ he said. The other two exchanged puzzled glances then shrugged, raised their own drinks and echoed him.

It was an hour or more before dinner ended and Lord Ranulf was able to put the second part of his plan into action. Waiting until the last servant had gone wearily to bed, he took a torch and made his way through the warren of new passages to Lynet’s room. Unlatching the door he stood for a long moment, looking down on the sleeping girl.

Lynet stirred uneasily then her eyes fluttered open, and dazzled by the flaring torch she saw only a dark figure looming over her. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she cringed back on her pallet. ‘Wh-who are you?’ she stammered.

‘Who do you think?’ growled Lord Ranulf. ‘It is your master.’ His lips curled in disdain. ‘Or are you in the habit of entertaining strangers who come in the night?’

Lynet ignored the cheap jibe. ‘What do you want?’ she whispered, pulling the thin blanket tighter to her chest, but in answer he leaned down and wrenched it away.

‘On your feet, wench, I have a little task for you.’

The thought of what might be in store gave Lynet unexpected strength, so she scurried to her feet, grabbed the ewer from beside the pallet and waved it threateningly. ‘Keep away from me,’ she warned, raising the heavy jug above her head, ‘or I shall use this.’

Unfortunately her threat did not have the effect she wanted, and instead of backing away he simply burst out laughing. ‘First a chamber pot and now a ewer. Whatever next? Shall you attack me with the cook’s ladle?’

He stopped laughing abruptly as the ewer whizzed past his head and shattered against the door. One of the flying shards cut deeply into his cheek and he swore as he wiped away the blood. ‘You’ll regret that,’ he promised, sticking the torch in the earthen floor and advancing on her. She tried to back away but the room was small; she had barely taken two steps before her back pressed against the wooden wall.

As he reached for her she ducked beneath his arm and darted for the door, but he was too quick for her. He grabbed her shift and dragged her back. There was a ripping sound and the threadbare linen tore, leaving him holding only a handful of flimsy material.

This time she almost made it. She was halfway out when he lunged after her, caught her round the waist and pulled her back into the room. She stamped on his foot, trying to make him release her, but he was shod and she was barefoot so all she did was hurt herself.

Undeterred she sank her teeth into his upper arm. He swore again but did not let her go. Instead he whirled her round and slapped her harshly. ‘Be still!’ he ordered, but obedient was the last thing she intended to be, and he found himself trying to control a demon in the shape of a naked female. As he dodged her clawing fingers all traces of good humour left him. He grabbed her arms and shook her violently, her breasts quivering enticingly.

‘Enough!’ he bellowed, and in response she kicked him in the knee. He stepped back, stubbed his foot and fell back onto the pallet, taking her with him.

Lynet struggled to break out of his grasp but he hung on, panting and swearing. She wriggled and writhed on top of him, her naked body, slick with perspiration, rubbing against him. Even through his tunic he could feel the tips of her breasts and his breath came faster, now from arousal.

But his mounting excitement came to an abrupt halt as her knee found his groin and sickening agony emptied his lungs. He doubled over, gasping for breath as Lynet scrambled to her feet and made one last desperate attempt to escape, but a hand snatching her ankle brought her tumbling down again, and as she fell he caught and twisted her across his lap, determined to inflict as much pain on her as she had on him, his hand swatting down on her squirming bottom.

Lynet’s mouth opened in shock as the pain reverberated through her body. Ranulf’s hands were hardened from riding and warring, so it was like being hit with a plank of wood. His palm swept down on her clenched buttocks again, and even in the dying torchlight he could see its imprint emblazoned in scarlet against the creamy flesh of her cheeks. He bared his teeth in a ferocious grin and lifted his hand again.

This time he savoured it more slowly, deliberately lingering over her pain. When his hand dropped again the fleshy white skin turned even whiter as the force of his blow drove out the blood, then it surged back and the mark of his fingers and palm blossomed again.

Lynet flinched as he delicately traced the shape with a fingertip. Somehow that merely served to exacerbate the discomfort, his touch inducing little aftershocks of pain. She bit her lip to silence the whimper that threatened to escape and counted her blessings. At least he’d stopped and she’d got off lightly this time.

But he hadn’t. With the exquisite cruelty of a cat playing with a mouse he had merely lulled her into a false sense of security. Just as she began to relax he spanked her again, harder than ever. Her bottom quivered beneath the blow and her bruised buttocks throbbed in dismay. Thereafter the little room echoed with the sound of flesh meeting flesh mingled with her pleas and sobs, and by the time the spanking was over she was weeping pitifully.

Punishing her had aroused him again, stirring a dark excitement somewhere deep inside him, and the feel of her naked warmth writhing against him had done the rest. His cock was stiff and hard, digging into her belly, and for a few moments he contemplated forgetting his plan to seduce his wife and instead taking the wench there and then.

Practicality won out, though. Pleasure was fleeting and he could have the slut any time he fancied. What he needed desperately was a son and heir to leave his lands and castle to – a son to carry on the name of le Ferrier.

Heaving Lynet off his lap, he got stiffly to his feet and looked down at the weeping girl with a mixture of lust and disdain. He nudged her with the toe of his boot. ‘Stop that caterwauling, girl, and get up. We are going to pay a little visit.’

Lynet looked up at him with tearstained eyes and a last spark of defiance flared. ‘Do your worst, you bastard,’ she spat. ‘I am going nowhere.’

‘Oh no? We’ll see about that, my pretty.’

Before she knew what he was about he had picked up her torn shift and ripped off several pieces. Bending down he hauled her to her feet, tugged her arms out and bound her wrists with the shreds of material. She tried to complain, but he contemptuously stuffed another wad of crumpled cloth into her mouth, heaved her over his shoulder and kicked the door open.

The makeshift gag muffled her cries and her attempts to kick free served her nothing. Beating her bound arms against his back was equally futile. He ignored it all and carried her through the great hall and up the oak staircase with as much ease as a man carrying a trussed fowl to market.

At the door of Lady Maud’s chamber he paused for a moment to get a better grip on Lynet’s legs, then carefully turned the handle, pushed it open and slipped silently inside. He looked round to check that Lady Maud’s women had obeyed him and left her to sleep alone, and they had. He smiled with satisfaction, and dumped Lynet unceremoniously on her feet.

She staggered for a moment, dizzy after her jolting ride, then as she regained her senses she realised where she was. She looked round for her mistress, then stopped short, staring at the scene before her.

Lady Maud was flat on her back, snoring like a pig. At some point she had tossed the coverlet off and she was sprawled out on the bed, with her nightgown almost to her waist. Her legs were akimbo and Lynet could see a tuft of golden hair between her parted thighs. Her nightgown had slipped from her shoulder as well and one rosy breast peeped out from the snowy linen.

Before Lord Ranulf could stop her, Lynet lifted her tied wrists and awkwardly pulled the makeshift gag from her mouth. He shrugged indifferently; for what he had in mind she would need her lips and tongue anyway.

Lynet stared from him to the sleeping woman in bewilderment. ‘Why have you brought me here?’ she whispered, anxious not to wake her mistress and incur her wrath.

‘Why, to wait upon my lady,’ said Lord Ranulf, with a wolfish smile.

‘But she is asleep,’ protested Lynet. ‘She has no need of service.’ She shook her head. ‘And even if she had she would not want me anywhere near her. She has her own ladies. I am merely the serf who cleans her room and empties her chamber pot,’ she added bitterly.

‘Oh, I think she will appreciate the services you are about to provide her now,’ he smirked.

Lynet’s confusion deepened. The man was talking in riddles. ‘What services, my lord?’ she asked. ‘She needs naught that I can see.’

‘Look a little closer,’ he suggested.

As Lynet watched, Lady Maud tossed and turned in her drunken stupor. Her nightgown rode up even further, its twisted folds biting into the soft flesh of her belly, and then still without waking she wriggled out of it and pushed the tangle of cloth to the floor. Naked, she lay back with a soft moan of pleasure, one hand straying to her parted thighs and the nipples on her exposed breasts rising and hardening.

‘I am sure you can see what service my lady requires of you now,’ said Lord Ranulf in an insinuating whisper.

Lynet looked at him blankly, then the meaning of his words slowly began to sink in. She felt her gorge rise. He could not mean…

‘Get to it, girl,’ he ordered. ‘Your mistress craves your attentions. Do not keep her waiting.’

She would have turned and run, but he was between her and the door. Her fists clenched and she stared at him in defiance, then yelped as he gripped her arm, twisted her round and administered a few more slaps to her bruised bottom, then scooped her up and flung her down beside his wife.

To Lynet’s horror Lady Maud stirred and turned towards her. ‘Sweet Eleanor,’ she mumbled drunkenly. ‘Come, my love…’ Her voice trailed off to a sigh as she turned her face to be kissed and her hand found Lynet’s left breast, teasing the nipple into hardness.

Lynet recoiled in horror. So this was why Lady Maud found her new husband so repugnant and the marriage had not been consummated. Lady Maud and her chief lady-in-waiting were lovers!

With a little whimper of impatience the tipsy woman pressed her body against Lynet. A sickly heat radiated from her and Lynet could feel the woman’s breasts pressed against her own. Her lips found Lynet’s, as hot and demanding as any man’s, and she wormed her tongue into Lynet’s dumbstruck mouth. The hand caressing Lynet’s breast strayed lower, insinuating its way between her clamped thighs, seeking the soft wetness of her sex.

Lynet sighed with a mixture of revulsion and arousal as the woman’s fingers found instinctively the bud of her clitoris, flicking it gently until she forgot the pain and the leering onlooker and gave herself up to the pleasurable sensations overtaking her. Her thighs relaxed and the teasing fingers ventured inside her.

Lady Maud groaned in her drunken, lecherous dreams, withdrew her hand and rolled onto her back again. ‘My turn, sweet Eleanor,’ she murmured, thrusting her breasts upward and spreading her legs. ‘Come pleasure me, my love.’

Lynet blinked, abruptly brought back to her senses and the harsh reality of where she was. Shame washed over her and she edged away from the naked woman in the bed beside her, but a blow from behind made her jerk upright. Lord Ranulf glared at her, his arm raised, his face red with anger and barely controlled lust.

‘You heard her, slut,’ he growled. ‘Pleasure her, or by God you’ll feel the weight of my hand again.’

Lynet whimpered and turned back to the woman. Pleasure her, how? She lowered her head and gingerly took one of the raised nipples in her mouth, running her tongue gently back and forth while she teased the other with her fingers.

Lady Maud groaned and arched her back further, and gripping Lynet by the hair with one hand, she pushed the girl’s head down towards her thighs, parting her swollen sex lips with the other. They peeled open like a ripe fig, pink and glistening, and Lynet struggled to break free but Lady Maud’s arousal gave her strength.

Lynet clamped her mouth shut as her face was pulled to the humid wetness, then another blow changed her mind and she chose the lesser of the two evils and forced herself to lick the woman’s cunny, running her tongue against her slit then lapping at her stiff clitoris. She gagged at the taste and scent of the woman, like fish left too long in the sun.

Lord Ranulf watched the two females avidly. The sight of his frigid bride being unwittingly pleasured by her rival; the tangle of smooth limbs and blonde hair; the sweet curve of the whore’s arse as she bent to lick and suck sent him into a frenzy of lust, and his cock felt as if it would explode.

He was tempted to take the slut first, but there were other things at stake. So hauling Lynet aside he took her place, plunging his face between his wife’s slick thighs, the smells and tastes that had repelled Lynet merely fuelling his desires. Lady Maud moaned with pleasure.

Hastily he stood up and fumbled to undo his breeches, and Lynet watched in fascinated apprehension as his large penis sprang free, thick and swollen, its bulbous tip weeping. Kneeling between Lady Maud’s legs he parted the lips of her sex and stabbed his cock inside her, her maidenhead parting like butter beneath a hot knife, as with a shriek of pain and outrage she woke from her drunken stupor to find her detested husband fucking her. She bucked and clawed at his eyes but he held her down, his teeth bared in a grimace of savage lust, and with one final thrust he spent his seed and collapsed on top of her.

Spitting like a furious cat she pushed him off in disgust and clambered to her feet. ‘You bastard!’ she hissed. ‘My father shall hear of this!’

Lord Ranulf rolled over onto his back and grinned lazily up at her. ‘Hear of what, my love? That your husband had the temerity to demand his matrimonial rights?’ His visage hardened. ‘Or that his daughter prefers to slake her lusts with her lady of the bedchamber, “sweet Eleanor”?’ On the last two words his tone rose in a mocking imitation of her own and she blushed and looked away, and as she did so her gaze fell on Lynet, cringing naked on the bed, trying to make herself as small as possible. Lady Maud’s eyes narrowed in hatred.

‘You!’ she screeched. ‘I might have known! You’ll pay for this, you little whore!’ As Lady Maud advanced on her, fingers curled into talons, Lynet leapt to her feet, grabbed the nearest piece of clothing, Lord Ranulf’s tunic, and fled, the woman’s shrieking and his bellowing laughter following her along the corridor.

The following morning Lynet was still sick with trepidation. She had barely slept after reaching the safety of her room, but even when she did slip into a troubled doze she started awake at the slightest sound, convinced it was either Ranulf returning to abuse her again, or even worse, Lady Maud bearing a knife and intent on avenging the plucking of her virginity.

She tried to get up, but the slightest movement brought on a wave of sickness and she was forced to spend the day lying on her pallet. The sounds of the castle seemed oddly muffled, as if everything were padded with thick cloth. No one came near her and she spent the day drifting in and out of an uncomfortable doze, so by the time evening came she was consumed by thirst and hunger.

There was nothing else for it but to force herself off her pallet and go and find something to eat and drink. She staggered a little with light-headedness, but once on her feet she felt steadier. Shards of the broken ewer lay about her feet, but there was still a mouthful of stale water in the cracked basin and she tipped it greedily into her mouth.

It tasted brackish, but it quelled the worst of her thirst and the nausea seemed to have passed. She flung on her warmest gown, wrapped her old cloak round her shoulders and ventured out towards the kitchens, scuttling into the shadows at the sound of anyone approaching.

When she got there she was astonished by the hustle and bustle. The kitchens were always busy, but there was an unexpected buzz of excitement and the fires seemed to burn even more hotly than usual; so much so that someone had thrown open the back doors to let in a little air.

She grabbed a tankard of small beer and a hunk of cheese and went to stand beside them, then stopped on the threshold and stared, her food forgotten. The air was full of snowflakes that danced and drifted for a brief moment in the light from the doorway, before settling on the white ground. No wonder everything had sounded so muffled. It must have been snowing all day. It was ankle deep already and showed no signs of stopping.

She was about to step out into the cold white drift when a hand grabbed her shoulder, whirled her round and she found herself staring into the red, sweating face of one of the under-cooks. ‘This is no time to stand around dreaming,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t care who you’re supposed to wait upon, with such a houseful as this we need every pair of hands we can get.’ He walloped her on the backside and pushed her back into the kitchen. ‘Now get your lazy arse moving and deliver some of that food.’

Lynet hastily stuffed the cheese in her mouth and drained her beer, then taking off her cloak she picked up a platter of sliced meats and joined the stream of laden servants traipsing towards the great hall.

As she entered she stopped so abruptly that the man behind her nearly dropped the great basin of fish stew he was carrying, and cursing her foully he elbowed her out of the way and hurried past, followed by half a dozen others.

The brief respite gave Lynet a chance to take in the scene before her. A great Yule log blazed in the middle of the fire and swags of greenery decorated every wall. The high table and those just below were crowded with nobles in brightly coloured silks, tunics and gowns edged with fur, the light from countless candles glittering off their gold and jewels. Many of the lower tables were also full of people she did not recognise, laughing and chattering as they stuffed themselves with food.

But it was none of this that caught and kept her attention; it was what was going on in front of the high table. A girl, dressed in a gown that seemed to consist entirely of bright patches was juggling three daggers, while a scrawny hunchback in pied hose darted in and out, trying his best to make her drop them.

The cook’s words about ‘such a houseful as this’ suddenly made sense to Lynet. This must be the troupe of entertainers Lady Maud’s father had sent to cheer her first Christmas in a strange country, and going by the crowded tables half his household had decided to accompany it. They must have come while she lay abed and the snow had muffled the sounds of their arrival.

A nudge in her back interrupted her thoughts and almost sent her flying. ‘Stop gawping like a halfwit and get on with it,’ hissed an angry voice, and she did, though she avoided the upper tables lest Lady Maud see her, and took her platter of meat to one of the lower ones instead.

She was greeted with a chorus of approval as she dumped it down. ‘Cheers, my lovely,’ beamed the man closest to her. ‘Good grub and a pretty wench to serve it; what more can a man ask?’ He winked at her. ‘Well, mebbe one thing. Won’t you come and join us, sweetheart?’ He made a drunken attempt to pull her down on his knee, but she avoided his grasping hands and dashed back to the kitchens for more food.

The rest of the evening blurred into one long frenzy of fetching and carrying. No sooner had she brought one tray of bread or meat or cheese than it vanished into the ravenous gullets and it was time to bring another. And the drink disappeared even faster.

Lynet wiped the sweat from her brow and smiled ruefully. The nobles at the high table might eat and drink delicately and proffer the daintiest morsels to their ladies, but everyone else seemed to be determined to shovel as much food and drink down their throats in as short a time as possible, and devil take the consequences. She had already come across two staggering men spewing the contents of their bellies into the rushes, and no doubt there would be more before the evening was out.

At the thought she felt queasy again herself. At this rate she would be joining them, and holding her hand to her mouth she hurried through the kitchen to stand at the open backdoor. The under-cook bellowed at her again, but this time she ignored him and stood taking deep gulps of the icy air until her stomach settled and she felt able to face the fray again.

Thankfully everyone seemed to have stuffed themselves at last. More drink was fetched, the remains of the food was cleared from the tables and the scullions set to washing the greasy platters as the entertainment began in earnest.

The juggler girl cartwheeled in from the side, the hunchbacked fool following and trying to peek up her flying skirts, much to the amusement of the drunken revellers.

When she stopped and took a bow he darted away and tore three torches from their sconces, and the audience gasped in shock as he flung them straight at the unfortunate girl’s head, but she caught them deftly and whirled them into the air, juggling them into a circle of fire.

Lynet watched in fascination. The villagers made their own amusements with music and dancing, but the only time she’d seen anything else was when a man with a performing bear had lost his way and ended up in the village by mistake. He put the animal through its tricks in exchange for food and a night’s shelter, but the beast had been toothless and moth-eaten, its hide threadbare from the application of hot coals to make it dance. All she’d felt for it was pity.

The girl was almost finished. In quick succession she tossed the torches back at the hunchback, took another bow and ran off. Lynet felt a pang of envy; the girl was free to go wherever she chose, earning her living by her skills.

But she did not have long to brood as the girl’s place was taken immediately by a troupe of tumblers who rolled and bounced and twisted with supernatural agility, ending by leaping onto each other’s shoulders to form a swaying human column before jumping down again and running off.

The hunchback returned on his own, following behind a servant carrying more wine. He mimicked the man perfectly, much to the amusement of all. Lord Ranulf threw his head back in laughter and tossed him a coin. The hunchback plucked it from the air, winked at the audience and bit it ostentatiously before pocketing it.

Then he caught sight of a serving maid bent over a table. He tiptoed across to the oblivious girl, surreptitiously lifted her skirts to reveal her bare bottom and made loud farting noises with his lips. The sudden gale of laughter made the girl whirl round and she promptly turned scarlet, burst into tears at being made a fool of and fled.

Lynet shivered. There was something about the man that made her uncomfortable. There was malice in his mockery, particularly of those who could not respond. So leaving the rest to their amusement she slipped out of the hall and back to the kitchens.

To her surprise the other entertainers were there, greedily stuffing themselves with the remnants of the feast. Lynet eyed them in disbelief as they hungrily devoured the cheese rinds, broken bread and bits of gristle that had been destined for the pigs.

They looked far less glamorous than she’d imagined from seeing them at a distance. Their faces were lined and weather-beaten and some of them were thin to the point of emaciation. One of them coughed constantly, his scrawny frame juddering with every paroxysm. The juggler ‘girl’ was in fact a scrawny middle-aged woman, the effect of youth cunningly achieved by a thick layer of white make-up and red lip grease, and close up Lynet could see that her bright patchwork gown was actually a collection of old rags, roughly cobbled together and gaping open in several places. Worse still, they stank. Lynet wrinkled her nose as she was assaulted by the rank stench of ingrained dirt and the sharp smell of new sweat over old.

‘Any chance of a mug of ale, dearie?’ one of the tumblers asked hopefully.

Lynet jumped at being addressed so unexpectedly. ‘I thought you were Norman, like my lord and lady,’ she said in surprise.

‘This lot are,’ said the tumbler, indicating the rest with his thumb, ‘but I’m as good a Saxon as you are.’ He made her a mock bow. ‘Jack Straw at your service, my lady.’

‘So why are you part of this troupe?’ asked Lynet.

Jack shrugged. ‘Simple,’ he said. ‘One of the poor buggers died on the way here, so they picked me up to replace ’im.’

‘Died?’ gasped Lynet.

‘Died,’ Jack repeated cheerfully. He took another bite of cheese rind and winked at her. ‘It ain’t all beer and skittles this life, you know.’ He gave a fatalistic shrug. ‘Still, that’s the way the world turns; bad luck for ’im, good luck for me. At least I got a roof over me head and a few square meals in me belly over the worst of the winter. I ain’t complaining.’ He grinned at her, revealing a mouthful of chipped, yellow teeth. ‘Now how’s about that ale, lovey?’ he wheedled.

Lynet went to broach a new cask. It seemed that her envy had been misplaced. ‘Freedom’ was not quite so desirable when it simply meant that you were free to die of cold or starvation. And these were players who had a place and a patron. How much harder was life for those who had not?

She was halfway back with a tray of tankards when a foot was thrust into her path. She tripped and the whole lot went flying, as did she, bruising her knees and twisting her wrist in the process. A high-pitched giggle greeted her downfall.

‘Gobelin!’ snarled Jack, moving to Lynet’s aid. He helped her to her feet and began to gather up the scattered tankards, then turned to face her tormentor. ‘The lass was being decent enough to fetch us some ale. Why did you go and do that?’

‘Because eet amused me,’ smirked the newcomer. ‘I like to be amused.’

‘I’ll amuse you one of these fine days, you twisted little shit,’ muttered Jack. He turned back to Lynet. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart? Come and sit down. I’ll clear this lot up for you and fetch some more.’ He glared at the other man. ‘And if you try and trip me I’ll stick the toe of my boot up your arse.’

‘Oh, I am so frightened,’ sneered Gobelin. ‘’Elp! ’Elp! I am shaking in my shoes.’

Lynet sat with her head lowered, rubbing her wrist and peering surreptitiously at the little man from under her eyelashes. ‘Twisted’ was the right word for him. Short to begin with, his hunched back and stooped gait made him shorter still, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in malevolence. His eyes glinted with a bitter, wicked intelligence and Lynet suspected that his mind was as warped as his body.

And there was something else that set him apart from the other players, and for a few minutes Lynet could not quite put her finger on it. Then it dawned on her. Their clothing looked good at a distance but shabby at close quarters, but Gobelin’s was quite the opposite. His motley garb appeared to be a collection of mismatched cast-offs, but close to she could see that his pied hose were silk and his ‘cast-offs’ were actually made of fine velvet and linen cunningly sewn together to give the effect of rags and tatters.

There was another difference too; his face was as pinched and drawn as the others, but that was the way he’d been born, not because of hunger. It was obvious that he was the one who got the biggest share of any money the troupe earned.

And as if to confirm her thoughts he ignored the leftover scraps from the feast. Instead he helped himself to a wooden trencher, sauntered across the kitchen and proceeded to pull out a short dagger and carve himself a helping of prime venison from one of the roasted haunches set aside for the next day. The rest watched enviously as he bit into the juicy meat, closing his eyes and savouring it with almost indecent pleasure.

‘The cook will have your hide for that,’ Lynet said, still smarting from his spiteful trick, the words out of her mouth before she even knew it, ‘and I shall enjoy seeing it too.’

Gobelin stopped with the next morsel halfway to his lips, laid down his trencher and walked across to look down on her. ‘I would not ’old your breath, pretty one,’ he said, favouring her with an unpleasant smile. ‘No one touches Gobelin.’ He leered at her and clutched his crotch suggestively. ‘Though in your case I might make an exception.’

Lynet recoiled, grimacing with disgust, and his expression darkened with suppressed anger at the implied insult – then he smiled again, the smile somehow even more frightening than any rage.

‘You ’ave a lot to learn, my sweet,’ he said lightly. ‘Shall I tell you why your cook will not beat me for taking ’is precious meat? Why I fear no one? Why I may do as I please?’

Lynet ignored him, but he went on anyway. ‘Eet is because I ’ave a weapon.’ He opened his mouth wide and waggled his tongue lasciviously at her. ‘Zis!’ He smirked. ‘A man may bear up under sword blows, but prick him with laughter and ’e will pop like a burst pig bladder.’

Lynet shuddered at the truth in his words. Her body had recovered from the physical abuse it had taken, but the shame and humiliation that accompanied it still ate at her soul like a canker.

‘So you see, leetle one, I, Gobelin,’ he tapped his sunken chest to emphasise his own importance, ‘am untouchable.’

Lynet gazed back at him coolly, her eyes lingering on his twisted form. ‘Or perhaps that’s because no one would want to,’ she said, smiling sweetly as she turned his own weapon against him. There was a burst of muffled laughter from the other players and Gobelin’s face turned scarlet. Lost for words for once he walked back, picked up his meat and stalked out.

‘Arrogant little fucker,’ muttered Jack, glaring after him. ‘One of these days he’s going to go too far and I hope I’m there to see it.’ He smiled at Lynet and slapped her approvingly on the shoulder. ‘But that was a good one, sweetheart. It makes a fine change to see the little bugger on the receiving end instead of dishing it out.’

He began to laugh. ‘Did you see the look on his face when you said that? He’ll not forget you in a hurry.’

Lynet forced herself to smile back, but her sudden bravado had deserted her. That was exactly what she was afraid of.

The revels leading up to Christmas continued apace. After the storm had ceased a cold sun appeared, partially melting the fallen snow and each morning Lord Ranulf and his guests rode out into the wintry landscape to hawk and hunt. Few days passed without their returning with at least one deer, a few brace of birds and hares, a useful addition to the pot when there were so many extra mouths to feed.

Lynet watched them leave from the shelter of a buttress. They made a fine sight, streaming out in their blues and golds and scarlets, horns blowing and the harnesses of their horses jingling in the icy air, but she could not help but feel pity for their hapless prey, meeting cold death beneath the winter sun. With a sigh she turned and went back inside. Between trying to avoid Lord Ranulf, Lady Maud, and now Gobelin, she felt like a harried animal herself.

There was feasting every night, but Lynet did not take part. She continued to wait upon the tables, but she did so with her head bent, hurrying in and out as fast as possible. The merriment became wilder with each passing evening. No one was safe from Gobelin’s mockery as he became coarser and coarser, each vulgar trick being greeted with howls of approving laughter. Lady Maud was so delighted with his cruel humour that she even rewarded him with a titbit from her own plate.

Lynet stood in the shadows, sickened as she watched the sweating, red-faced audience, commons and nobles alike, cackling gleefully as they stuffed food and drink down their throats as if there was no tomorrow.

The final straw was the sight of two drunken men-at-arms trying to molest a giggling servant girl. Lynet turned away. This was supposed to be the celebration of the birth of Christ, yet it was nothing but a festival of lust and debauchery.

She wrinkled her nose. The whole place stank like a filthy barn. There was piss and shit and vomit in the rushes along with bones and scraps of rotting food, and the hot, smoky air reeked with the press of sweating bodies. A sudden wave of dizziness swept over her and she swayed, a pair of wiry arms grabbing her just before she fell. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’ asked someone through the grey mist that had descended on her. ‘You’ve gone as white as milk.’

‘Just fatigue,’ she said, freeing herself and wiping the beads of cold sweat from her brow. She smiled weakly at Alfred’s anxious face. ‘That and the heat in here. Nothing more.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ he said fervently. ‘I thought you were sick.’

‘I am,’ confirmed Lynet, shaking off the last of her giddiness, ‘sick of this lot. Look at them stuffing their guts. You’d think none of them had seen meat or drink for a month.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Still, at least there’s one good thing; her ladyship is so spoilt for ladies to wait upon her that my services in the bedchamber are no longer required.’

She closed her eyes and shivered as she suddenly remembered the ‘services’ Lord Ranulf had forced her to perform. Alfred looked at her in alarm. ‘Are you sure you are well?’ he said, putting his hand to her forehead, but she pushed it away and stared at him in astonishment. He was acting like a fearful old maid.

‘I told you I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Why are you suddenly so concerned about my health?’

Alfred looked round furtively and lowered his voice. ‘One of the tumblers is sick of a fever,’ he told her. ‘They do not think he will live to see the morning.’

For a moment Lynet felt a wave of apprehension, then she remembered the scrawny one and his constant bone-juddering hack. ‘It’s not the young fellow with the cough, is it?’ she asked. Alfred nodded and Lynet felt a wave of guilty relief. Lung-sickness like that was not contagious and the lad had a pale translucent look to his skin. It had been clear, even at first glance, that he was not destined to make old bones.

‘I am not surprised,’ she sighed. ‘He had the look of death on him already.’ A thought struck her. ‘Are his fellows looking after him?’

‘As best they can,’ said Alfred. ‘He’s in one of the out-houses.’ He shook his head. ‘None of the servants will go near him for fear of contagion and the rest of the troupe must perform as they are bid.’

Lynet made up her mind. ‘I will go to him now,’ she said. ‘We cannot leave him to die like a beast of the fields.’

Ignoring Alfred’s protests she hurried from the hall to fetch her cloak. On her way back she stopped at the kitchens and spoke to the under-cook. ‘One of the tumblers is sick,’ she informed him. ‘I need some saps.’

‘Get out of it,’ he scoffed. ‘You don’t want to go pampering the likes of them. Sick, my arse. Bone idle, more like.’

‘The boy is dying,’ said Lynet, looking at him steadily. ‘Would you begrudge him one last scrap of comfort?’

The cook opened his mouth to say something else, saw the steely expression in her eyes, and closed it again. Grumbling, he fetched a small bowl, crumbled some soft bread into it, poured on milk and sweetened the mixture with a spoonful of honey. ‘That do you?’ he muttered, thrusting it into her hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, favouring him with a smile, and then grabbing a torch and tucking a bottle of wine under her arm, she ventured out into the darkness.

The walk to the outhouse chilled her to the bone, and even inside it was not much warmer. At first she could not see the boy in the dim light, then she heard a faint moan, followed by a bout of coughing.

Tracing the sound to its source she found him lying in the far corner. She stuck the torch in the earth floor and regarded him with pity. Despite the cold his face was flushed with fever, two hectic patches of red on his cheekbones. He had been thin before, but the sickness had burnt the last of the flesh from his bones and he was skeletal now, his body barely raising a bump in the pile of rags that covered him.

His sunken eyes glittered as he struggled to sit up. ‘My lady!’ he wheezed. ‘I am honoured.’ For a moment Lynet was startled by his reaction, then she smiled sadly. Lady Maud did not even know he existed, and if she did would not have cared, but if he wanted to believe that his lady had taken the trouble to attend him, then who was she to destroy a dying man’s last illusion?

Besides, there were more pressing matters to attend to. The effort of speaking had cost him dearly and he collapsed into another paroxysm of coughing. When he wiped his mouth afterwards there was a splatter of blood on the thin white fingers.

‘Shhh,’ she comforted, lowering to her knees beside him, ‘save your strength. I have brought you something to eat. Try and take a little. It will raise your strength.’ Supporting him with one arm, she tried to feed him with a little of the soft milk-soaked bread. But it was useless. His attempts to swallow brought on another fit of coughing, and then he sagged back exhausted, his head heavy against her breast.

‘I am sorry, my lady,’ he panted.

‘No need,’ she said, hiding her anxiety. ‘Come, try a little wine instead; it will hearten you.’

She was more successful with this. He managed to swallow a few mouthfuls and smiled gratefully as it warmed and soothed his weary body. ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he sighed.

‘No need for thanks,’ said Lynet, smoothing his sweaty hair back from his fevered brow. ‘Now try and sleep a little and in the morning you’ll feel better.’

He closed his eyes and began to relax, then he suddenly stiffened and his eyes flew open again. ‘You will not leave me, will you?’ he pleaded. ‘Please, my lady, I beg you.’ He swallowed. ‘I do not wish to be alone when… when…’ His voice trailed off into silence.

‘No, I will not leave you,’ promised Lynet. ‘Now hush.’ Cradling him in her arms she began to rock him gently, humming the lullaby her mother had sung to her when she was small and frightened in the night.

She was still humming it when the torch burnt low, the laboured breathing ceased and the soul finally fled the tortured body. In the silence that followed she looked down on the boy’s dead face. It was smooth now, the lines of pain and weariness gone, a faint smile of contentment on the lips. His short, hard life was over and he was at peace now.

‘Go with God,’ she said as she laid him gently down and folded his dead hands on his chest, then crossing herself she bent her head and murmured a brief prayer.

The sound of muffled footsteps on the straw brought her back to reality. No doubt one of the other tumblers come to check on his comrade. She finished her prayer, crossed herself again and turned towards the sound. ‘It is too late,’ she said sadly. ‘He is gone.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘But at least I was with him at the end.’

‘I know,’ came a sneering voice. ‘And a very touching scene eet was too.’

‘You!’ gasped Lynet, leaping to her feet.

‘Moi,’ agreed Gobelin, and the flaring light from the dying torch cast his misshapen shadow on the floor behind him, twisting it into even more grotesque shapes. Lynet shuddered with superstitious dread. It was as if he was being followed by the demon that dwelt within him.

Obscenely, he nudged the boy’s dead body with his foot. ‘Useless bag of bones,’ he muttered, spitting on the floor beside it. ‘Always whining and keeping us awake wiz his cough, cough, coughing. We are well rid of ’im.’

‘In the name of Christ,’ said Lynet in outrage, ‘have a little respect for the dead.’

Gobelin shrugged. ‘Respect? Why should I show respect? One piece of carrion is much like another.’

‘If you did not come to comfort your friend, then why are you here?’ demanded Lynet.

His leer widened, showing pointed white teeth. ‘Ze cook let slip zat you had come ’ere to perform your good deed,’ he said. ‘So I decided to pay you a leetle visit.’ He smirked. ‘I ’ave amused zose babbling buffoons all night. Now eet eez time to amuse myself.’

Lynet’s mouth went dry with fright. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’ she stammered.

‘Why, what do you think I mean?’ he taunted. ‘I mean to ’ave you.’ His face darkened. ‘No one mocks ze great Gobelin. By ze time I ’ave finished fucking you, you will be begging for mercy.’

As he talked he had been stealthily closing in on her. Lynet suddenly realised her danger and began to back away, but it was too late. With one lunge he seized her, his clawing fingers ripping away her bodice to reveal her quivering breasts. Her gasp of shock was muffled as his twisted mouth clamped to hers, his loathsome tongue squirming its way like a slug between her lips. She almost gagged at the foul taste of garlic and stale wine, and then squealed as he pulled her tightly against him with one hand while the other mauled her breasts, pinching her nipples viciously. She flailed at him helplessly, but to her horror he grabbed one of her hands, pushed it down between their tightly pressed bodies, and began rubbing it lewdly against his swelling cock. Sick with disgust she felt it grow even more beneath her reluctant touch.

‘You enjoy zat, no?’ he panted. ‘I wager you ’ave never feel one zo big.’

He was wrong about the answer to his first question – all she felt was revulsion – but he was right about the second. By a cruel twist of irony nature had made him repulsive to women yet given him a penis so large he would be the envy of any man.

Lynet’s eyes widened in shock as it continued to rise. It must be the length and girth of her forearm! If he forced that monstrosity inside her she would indeed be begging for mercy.

The thought filled her with terror and gave her fresh strength. As he slackened his grip to lift her skirts she dragged her hand free and pushed his sunken chest with all her might. He staggered and fell, but he was still gripping her other wrist and she tumbled with him.

Grunting and struggling they rolled about the floor, bumping into the corpse. Lynet screamed in panic as the boy’s dead hand touched her face and lifted her hands to brush it away; enough to give Gobelin his chance. With a triumphant wheeze he rolled on top and straddled her, pinning her arms down with his knees.

‘Now I ’ave you!’ he crowed, and as she jerked her hips to try and dislodge him he merely leered the more. ‘Save that for when I fuck you, slut,’ he smirked. ‘But first…’

He fumbled with his hose, pulling them down until his cock sprang free. Lynet gasped. It was even bigger than she’d thought. Purple and distended, it jutted from his scrawny body like an enormous blood sausage. Even his balls were huge.

He mistook her wide-eyed horror for admiration. ‘You like, yes?’ he smirked, winking at her lewdly. ‘And it taste even better than it look, see?’ He hitched himself up her body and jerked his hips towards her horrified face, thrusting it at her mouth. Fighting down the urge to spew she tightened her lips and turned her head away.

But her act of defiance infuriated him, so grabbing her hair he pulled her head back round and slapped her viciously. ‘Suck it, bitch,’ he ordered, ‘and when you ’ave done that I am going to stick it so far up you, you will think you ’ave been fucked by a horse.’

She sagged in defeat and he bent towards her, holding his cock in his fist – which was a mistake. The shift in pressure allowed her to move her arms again, and keeping her eyes closed and her body still she groped around frantically for some kind of weapon. She was on the verge of despair when her clawing fingers found the bottle of wine she had brought for the sick boy. Her hand closed round it and she swung it up as hard and fast as she could.

There was a dull ‘clunk’ as it connected with the side of Gobelin’s skull. For a heart-stopping instant nothing happened at all – then with a comical expression of surprise he keeled over and lay on his side, motionless.

Lynet got slowly to her feet and looked down on him. His cock had shrivelled to nothing and he looked more pathetic than frightening. She heaved a sigh of relief, and then froze as a horrible thought struck her. His mouth was open, but he did not appear to be breathing.

She dithered, wanting to check he was all right but too scared to do so in case he was merely shamming. What if she bent to tend him and he attacked her again? If he did she did not think she had the strength left to fight back.

The decision was made for her. The torch finally flickered its last and plunged the outhouse into darkness. She stood holding her breath in the pitch black, then thought she heard the sound of furtive movement. Her nerve broke, and one last coherent thought pounded in her brain before panic wiped out everything but the need for flight:

If she had indeed killed him she would hang!

Lynet spent the whole of the next morning in a state of unease, waiting for the body to be discovered. She jumped at every unexpected sound, and fear and lack of sleep brought back the nausea that had plagued her with a vengeance. Even the sight of the wild boar roasting on the spit made her want to vomit, let alone the pungent, greasy smell.

By noon she could not stand the tension any longer. She was beginning to think that even hanging would be better than this constantly fretting her bowels to fiddle-strings. In fact she had just steeled herself to go and confess, when her ‘victim’ limped into the kitchens.

The bowl she was holding fell to the floor and shattered, but she barely heard the scolding that followed. She did not know whether to laugh or cry as relief that she had not killed him warred with the desire to see him dead. But going by the murderous glance he threw her he had no such reservations. If looks could kill she would have dropped dead on the spot.

It was hardly surprising. Her blow might not have killed him, but it had certainly left its mark. There was a huge lump on his head and the left side of his face was one enormous bruise. One eye was swollen shut and even his lips were bloody where he must have bitten them as he fell.

‘What’s up with your face?’ chuckled Jack the tumbler, looking up from his ale. ‘Had an argument with a door, did you?’ Gobelin spat something incomprehensible, turned and stalked out.

‘Hasn’t improved his temper any,’ grinned Jack. ‘Still, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow.’ He glanced at Lynet’s pale face. ‘Not worrying over that jumped-up jackanapes are you, sweetheart? If he gives you any trouble just you come to me. I’ll sort the bugger out for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Lynet, smiling at him with a confidence she did not feel, ‘but I think I can deal with him.’

‘I do not doubt it, sweetheart,’ he said, smiling back as he got to his feet, ‘but the offer’s there if you need it.’ As he strolled off she stared after him, and her stomach fluttered. He was neither as young nor as handsome as Edric, but there was something about him… something that made her feel warm and safe.

The feeling lasted until the feast that evening. Despite his injuries Gobelin was performing as usual, but there was one little incident that made Lynet uneasy. Lady Maud had gone to void herself, but on her return, instead of going straight back to the high table Lynet saw her beckon imperiously to the jester. Heads bent conspiratorially they spoke for several minutes, glancing in her direction as they did so, and when they parted they were both smiling.

A cold hand gripped Lynet’s stomach. Why should a lady speak so intimately with a common entertainer? She shook herself. She was jumping at shadows. This was the season for pranks and mischief. No doubt Lady Maud was simply planning some elaborate joke for her guests’ amusement – that was all. Firmly suppressing her fears she pushed them from her mind and went about her serving.

The torches and candles were guttering by the time the feast was over and the last guest was wending their unsteady way to bed. Lynet wiped the sweat from her weary brow. She was exhausted, her feet hurt and the only thing she wanted was to fall onto her pallet and pull the blanket over her head.

‘What is it now?’ she snapped as Alfred approached her, looking grim.

He shrugged. ‘Sorry, if it were up to me you’d be sleeping by now, but my lady wishes you to attend her in her chamber.’

Lynet stared at him in disbelief, then laughed without humour. ‘You jest,’ she said. ‘Lady Maud hates my guts. She would rather have hot needles thrust under her fingernails than have me anywhere near her.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ he said, ‘but it doesn’t change her orders. You are to go immediately.’

‘And if I do not?’ said Lynet. Alfred looked uncomfortable. They both knew that refusal was not an option – not unless they wished for a beating. It was Lynet’s turn to shrug. ‘No doubt she has used her chamber-pot, and God forbid she should wait till morning to have it emptied.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Oh well, no rest for the wicked, as they say. The sooner I obey the sooner it’ll be over and done with.’

As she plodded up the stairs she stifled a yawn. Tomorrow she would plead sickness and lie late abed. Two of the servants had done so already, claiming fever and body pain, so why not do likewise? Devil take the lot of them. They could starve for all she cared.

Reaching Lady Maud’s chamber she knocked gently on the door before pushing it open. All was silent. She took a step into the room. ‘You sent for me my lady—’

Hands grabbed her from behind and a thick cloth was thrown over her head, cutting out the light and muffling her frightened cries. Fear lent her strength and she kicked out wildly, but it was difficult to breath and her struggles soon weakened. She felt herself being bundled into the room, and heard the sound of the door shutting and the bolt being shunted into place. She was trapped!

Her hands were pulled in front of her and she felt the harsh bite of rope on her wrists, then a sudden jerk as her arms were dragged upwards and she was pulled off the floor. The muscles in her shoulders screamed in protest and her feet scrabbled to regain purchase. The cloth loosened and she found she could draw breath again, and if she balanced on tiptoe she could take a little of her weight off her aching shoulders. The panic receded a little, and then returned with a vengeance. She was strung up like a pig awaiting slaughter. What did Lady Maud intend to do to her?

The answer was not long in coming. ‘Take off zee hood,’ she ordered. ‘I wish to watch ’er face as she eez punished.’

The cloth was yanked away and Lynet blinked in the sudden light. The chamber had been dark when she entered, now it was lit with candles. She swallowed hard as the full horror of her situation dawned on her.

Lady Maud was seated in a high chair, with Sir Giles and Father Anslem on either side of her, all of them watching her avidly. Behind them stood Lord Ranulf, eyes hooded as he watched dispassionately.

‘P-punish me for what?’ Lynet stammered weakly.

Lady Maud leaned forward and smiled. ‘For taking advantage of my person,’ she said. ‘You made a fool of me, now it is time to pay.’

Lynet cast a pleading glance at Lord Ranulf. He had forced her into Lady Maud’s bed; surely he would defend her now?

But he clearly would not, and her temper rose at the unfairness of it. He had used her for his own ends and now he was going to stand by and watch as she was punished for his actions. Bastard! She loathed them all, but she despised him most of all. Fury made her tug on her bonds – to no avail.

‘See how she dances like a puppet on a string,’ crowed Lady Maud, then her face hardened. ‘And she will soon sing, too. See to it, Gobelin.’

At Lady Maud’s words the jester appeared from behind Lynet, grinning like an ape. She froze as something icy touched her throat – the tip of his dagger. She closed her eyes, waiting for it to pierce her skin.

But instead she heard a thin hissing noise and felt the cold air touch her body as he cut her clothes away. They fell in tatters to the floor, leaving her hanging naked, the candlelight gleaming on her alabaster body. She winced as Gobelin’s greedy hands mauled her.

‘Leave ’er,’ came Lady Maud’s icy voice. ‘You will not touch her till I say so.’

Lynet opened her eyes, to see Lady Maud standing in front of her. In her hand she held a thin willow switch. Smiling, she trailed the tip up between Lynet’s trembling thighs, over the flat of her belly to her breasts, flicking each tender nipple in turn until they rose and hardened. Lynet gasped in fear and anticipation.

Still smiling, Lady Maud walked behind her. There was a long cruel moment of silence – then Lynet flinched as she heard the switch hissing through the air, agony exploding as it bit into her buttocks, painting a thin red line across the delicate white flesh. Her mouth opened, but the pain was so great that nothing came out.

Lady Maud admired her handiwork with pleasure, and then raised her arm again. The switch whistled down and a second red line appeared, parallel to the first, followed swiftly by a third.

This time Lynet found her voice. The sound excited Lady Maud and she redoubled her efforts, laying on until the chamber echoed with her panting and the sound of Lynet’s sobs as she jerked on the end of the rope.

When Lady Maud’s arm finally fell to her side Lynet’s bottom was a scarlet mass of crisscrossed weals. Nothing existed but the pain that pounded with every beat of her blood, scalding its way through her. Lynet groaned in dismay at the perversity of her body as treacherous tendrils of pleasure coiled through her tummy and another kind of heat pervaded her loins. She felt herself moisten in response. Oh no, not again!

Her despair turned to horror and her eyes opened at Lady Maud’s next words. ‘I ’ave done with ’er. You may ’ave ’er now, Gobelin.’

He approached Lynet, his lips drawn back in a sneer of lust. She shuddered with revulsion as he ran his hands over her full breasts, kneading and fondling, then she gasped as he twisted her nipples until she squealed. But despite the pain, or because of it, they rose and hardened beneath his touch.

He continued to finger one nipple as he took the other in his mouth, licking and slobbering. His teeth grazed the tender bud and she shuddered again, this time with horrified pleasure.

His hand slid between her thighs, toying with the lips of her sex. He parted them, still slobbering and gnawing on the soft breast in his mouth as he found the slippery wetness within. Pushing two fingers inside her he began to move them in and out until she whimpered with despair and lust.

The sound egged him on. He was panting now and his swollen cock jutted within his hose. He rolled them down and his grotesque cock sprang free. Lynet groaned. She had avoided violation once, but this time there was no escape.

Gripping his cock with one hand he ran the tip up and down her slit until it glistened with her juices, then parted the lips of her vulva with the bulbous helmet and attempted to penetrate her. She groaned again, this time with fresh pain as she felt herself distended. Flexing his buttocks and twisted thighs he thrust upward, and her groan became a gasp as she felt him forge up into her. He thrust again and the full length of his mighty shaft sank home, forcing the breath from her lungs.

There was a moment of blessed respite, and then she stiffened in horror as she felt more arms slide round her waist from behind. Sir Giles had come to join the fray!

Holding her steady he parted her buttocks and she felt another erection seeking entry, and she grimaced as he pushed his cock slowly and painfully up her rear passage.

Moving in unison the two men grunted and panted as they pounded rhythmically against her, while her helpless body hung at the end of the rope. She could feel both of them thrusting inside her, filling her to bursting.

Faintly in the background she could hear Lady Maud clapping and urging them on, but it meant nothing. Nothing mattered but the wild sensations coursing through her. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to them, no longer caring whose mouth, or whose hands, or whose cock provided them.

Gobelin spent first, and Lynet shrieked as she felt his hot seed splatter inside her, triggering her own release in a throbbing crescendo of pleasure. It was too much for Sir Giles, and he too groaned and shuddered in fulfilment.

As the two men withdrew Lynet’s legs gave way and she sagged in her bonds, only partly aware of where she was. Dazed, she lifted her eyes, to find Lady Maud approaching her with a knife!

She cowered, anticipating the worst, but instead of attacking her, Lady Maud lifted it and began to hack through the rope. As it gave way Lynet fell to the floor, a groan of relief escaping her lips. Her ordeal was over.

Or was it? As she lay sobbing Lady Maud nudged her with her foot. ‘Father Anslem is waiting for you,’ she sneered. ‘It is time to confess your sins.’

At first Lynet did not understand, then she raised her head and the meaning of Lady Maud’s words sank in. Father Anslem was indeed waiting, with the skirts of his habit raised and his cock at the ready. She tried to wriggle away, but another vicious kick forced her forward, so naked and weeping, her wrists still bound, she crawled towards him. He reached down, hauled her to her knees and pulled her to him. Seizing her by the hair he pushed her face into his groin, his straining cock nudging against her lips. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but another vicious tug on her hair made her gasp and as her mouth opened he fed his cock between her lips, stretching them wide.

The swollen head filled her mouth, making her gag. ‘Suck it, bitch,’ he ordered, his voice harsh with lust, and reluctantly she did as she was told, running her tongue around the thick rim and over the taut skin. He groaned in pleasure, and Lynet felt heat stir in her belly again.

A hand fumbling at her thighs made her stiffen, and she strained, trying to see over her shoulder. Lord Ranulf was kneeling behind her, and she gasped again as she felt him part her sex lips and force his rigid cock into her and begin to move, impaling her like a roast on a spit. Her breasts swayed as he withdrew then shunted himself home again, his heavy balls slapping against her with every stroke.

Each thrust from Lord Ranulf pushed Father Anslem’s cock deeper into her mouth and she swooned, this time in renewed pleasure. She sucked on it in earnest, flicking the tip with her tongue until he could stand it no longer. She felt him swell in her mouth then spasm, his seed splattering against the back of her throat. She swallowed greedily, relishing the hot, salty taste.

If Father Anslem had finished, Lord Ranulf had not. He continued to fuck her until she could bear no more, until she threw her head back and climaxed again, her clenching muscles milking his seed from him in one final explosion – then everything spiralled into darkness.

When she came to she was lying on her pallet. At first she thought it had all been a bad dream, but her aching body and the sticky seed drying between her thighs gave the lie to this comforting delusion. Tears of shame and humiliation began to trickle down her cheeks.

There was no escape. She was nothing but a slave to be used and abused as her masters and mistress pleased, until she was too old and raddled for anyone to want.

Even death was preferable to a life like this. At least she would be with Edric. At that a comforting thought suffused her mind as she drifted towards an exhausted sleep; tomorrow, when she could walk again, she would take herself to the highest battlement and fling herself off.

That thought was still in her mind when she woke late next day, but her belly had other ideas. She was ravenous, and she smiled bitterly at the irony. Even in the face of death the body still struggled to survive. Still, even a condemned person was allowed a final meal and she could jump just as well on a full stomach as an empty one.

Getting stiffly to her feet she pulled on her oldest gown and limped towards the great hall – then stopped short on the threshold. At this time of day it should have been crowded and bustling with activity, but it echoed with emptiness. There was no one there. No one at all.

Her aching body forgotten, she hurried to the kitchens. They were equally deserted: the ovens cold; half-empty platters laying everywhere and a spitted pig motionless over a dead fire. A cold finger ran down her spine. Where was everyone? Had they been spirited away by demons?

A shadow in the corner caught her eye. It moved towards her and she began to back away, then realised who it was and sighed with relief. ‘Jack?’ she quavered. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Gone,’ he said. ‘Taken to their heels, bag and baggage at first light.’

Lynet gawped at him. ‘But… but why?’ she stammered.

‘Smallpox,’ said Jack. ‘Five of the servants and three of the guests are dead already and more sickening. Everyone who could still walk has fled.’

‘Everyone?’ gasped Lynet. ‘Even Lady Maud, Lord Ranulf and his cousins?’

‘Father Anselm has gone, but it’s too late for the others,’ said Jack. ‘They are already smitten.’ He snorted. ‘A fine priest who deserts his flock to save his own cowardly skin.’ He shrugged. ‘Fat lot it’ll do him, though. The rash was already showing round his mouth.’

‘So why haven’t you gone too?’ asked Lynet.

Jack shrugged. ‘What’s the point? “What’s for you won’t go past you” as my old gran used to say.’ He smiled. ‘Besides I had the cowpox as a little lad. They say once you’ve had that you’re safe.’

Guilty relief washed over Lynet. She’d had it too. She opened her mouth to say so, but Alfred hurried in carrying a bowlful of vomit. ‘Another one sick,’ he said.

‘Take a horse and fetch Annis, the wise woman,’ Lynet said grimly. ‘We’ll need all the help we can get.’

It was the start of a nightmare. By the end of the week Sir Giles and six more servants were dead. The ground was too hard to bury them, even if there had been anyone to do it, so their bodies were stacked in one of the barns, like piles of frozen kindling.

The great hall was lined with pallets, filled with groaning bodies, and Lynet and Annis spent their days fetching water, wiping away piss and shit and vomit and sponging suppurating sores.

‘Best we can do for the poor buggers,’ said Annis, looking at them and shaking her head. ‘It’s out of our hands now.’ She patted Lynet’s hand. ‘I’ll stay here while you go tend them other two.’

In Lady Maud’s chamber Lynet looked down on her mistress, fighting down the urge to gag. So many sores covered her face and limbs that even if she survived she would be disfigured for life. She tried to feel sympathy, but failed.

Lord Ranulf was least affected. The constitution that had served him well through war and want served him again. He was still weak and bedridden, but he was eating again.

‘The devil looks after his own,’ said Lynet bitterly, as she and Annis sat wearily in the deserted kitchens. ‘He has destroyed my life and yet he lives. What will become of me, when he survives?’

‘If he survives,’ said Annis. Lynet looked at her, but the wise woman’s face was shuttered. She opened her mouth to ask what she meant when there was a weak rapping at the kitchen door.

‘What madman comes knocking at this place of death?’ she gasped, but getting to her feet she opened the door a crack – then gasped again. ‘You?’

Gobelin stood there swaying, his hands held out towards her, yellow pus weeping from his sore-ridden face. ‘For the love of God, take me in,’ he begged. ‘I am dying.’ Lynet stared at him for a long, long moment – then quietly shut the door.

‘Who was it?’ asked Annis.

‘No one,’ said Lynet. ‘No one at all.’

In the morning his twisted corpse lay in the snow, his face a frozen mask of agony. Lynet’s lips tightened as she spurned the body with her foot. As he had said himself: ‘one piece of carrion was much like another.’

When she did her rounds she found one more corpse. She crossed herself, closed the staring eyes, then her brow furrowed in thought and she began to smile.

Lord Ranulf was sitting up eating a bowl of pottage when the chamber door opened and a veiled figure entered. ‘Good morrow, m’lord,’ said Lady Maud’s voice. ‘I trust I find you well?’

‘I am on the mend, my lady, and glad to see you likewise,’ he said, then frowned. ‘But why the veil? Has the sickness marked you?’

‘It has not,’ said Lynet, pulling it back.

He stared at her coldly. ‘What mummery is this?’ he demanded. ‘If my lady finds you wearing her garments she will have you beaten.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Lynet. ‘Dear Maud is burning in hell, along with her paramour, the fair Eleanor.’ She smoothed her silken skirts. ‘And I have taken her place.’

He stiffened, spilling the last of the broth. ‘Are you mad?’ he demanded.

‘Not at all,’ smiled Lynet. ‘If even you cannot tell the difference, why should anyone else? I am no longer your slave. I am lady of this manor now, and my son shall inherit it after me.’

His eyes widened. ‘Your son?’

‘My son,’ said Lynet, laying her hand on her tummy. ‘I am with child and Annis swears it will be a boy.’

He lay back, smiling. ‘A boy,’ he marvelled. ‘My son.’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘All is not lost then. A bastard will serve until I sire a legitimate heir.’

‘No,’ corrected Lynet. ‘I am more than four months gone. My son, not yours. Mine and Edric’s.’ It was her turn to smile. ‘And everything you own will be his. Your title, your lands, your wealth…’

‘Over my dead body!’ snarled Lord Ranulf.

‘Exactly,’ she agreed.

His jaw dropped. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’ he stammered, his face paling.

She smiled again. ‘That nourishing pottage you have been eating? Annis flavoured it with Death Cap, the deadliest fungus in the woods. This past week you have consumed enough to kill a horse.’ She leaned forward. ‘Even as we speak you are rotting from within. A week from now you will be lying in your grave.’

‘You little slut!’ he panted. ‘You will not get away with this!’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I do not see why not,’ she said. ‘All who knew Lady Maud are dead or gone, and I shall have Jack, Alfred, Tom, and soon the entire village, behind me.’ Her face hardened. ‘We look after our own here, and we know how to keep our mouths shut.’ She smiled again. ‘And if you left me with a taste for pain, why, if she is discreet, a lady may take her pleasures where she will. I think I shall do very well.’

He tried to get out of bed, his fingers grasping for her throat, but his strength deserted him and he fell back weakly.

She dropped him a mocking curtsy. ‘Goodbye, m’lord,’ she said in Lady Maud’s voice. ‘We shall not meet again.’

Leaving the dead man staring impotently after her, Lynet turned and went out to claim the world.