Maiden and the Monster Read online

“Lizbeth!” Vladamir yelled as he spied the woman peeking at him from the kitchen doorway. He fumed to think of the spell she wove about his man, Raulf. The reminder made him bark at her more harshly than usual. The slender maid jumped at the call and moved tentatively forward. Keeping her distance, she stopped several feet away from him.

  “Yea, m’lord?” Lizbeth’s lips parted and her breath came out in trembling pants. Her green eyes rounded in dread.

  With cutting gratification, the duke saw her hand shake. Most of the servants, save a few who arrived in Wessex with him, were deathly afraid of him though he’d done nothing to harm them. But the fear they carried was more from what Vladamir hadn’t done. He hadn’t shown any compassion. He hadn’t shown any kindness, save the fact that he hadn’t brought harm upon them—yet.

  “Ale,” he ordered. The duke glowered at her.

  The maid was comely and that was no doubt why Raulf was so foolish as to fall for her charms. Her eyes reflected the softest of pale greens and her long blonde hair looked almost translucent in the sunlight. Across the bridge of her nose were little dots of freckles. He imagined her pulse beat erratically against the flesh of her creamy white throat. His body stirred, growing heavy beneath his braes, much to his displeasure. Being lord of the manor, no one would stop him should he bend Lizbeth over right there in the hall, lift up her skirts and sample her feminine wares. His stomach tightened at the idea of warm, wet flesh wrapping around his shaft, accepting him as he plundered and took.

  The maid visibly swallowed as she stared at the muscles of his naked chest and her look quickly killed his desire for her. Vladamir didn’t want fear in his bed. When the maid didn’t move to obey immediately, he yelled, “Now!”

  Lizbeth’s eyes turned to his before finding their way to the floor. The duke growled again, loud and monstrous. The maidservant scurried away from him. He let out a deep breath before slowly climbing the platform stairs that led up to the head dining table. Placing his sweaty tunic and sword on the table, he sat at his chair. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes to think of anything that would take his mind from the needs of his body.

  His hall was small in comparison to some he’d seen in his travels, even though he’d been given the title of duke. The title and properties were gifts bestowed upon him for his part in the Treaty of Wedmore. King Guthrum named him duke, so that Alfred would have a high-ranking nobleman as a hostage. None of the other nobles under Guthrum protested the honor given him, glad that it wasn’t they who were to be banished. King Alfred granted him the small dukedom for his troubles.

  Lakeshire Castle was a small fortress, having been rebuilt by King Alfred as an outpost for his campaigns. Though Alfred thought the outpost put to better use as Vladamir’s property, for it was much more prestigious to have a duke with land holdings as a political prisoner than it was to have a mere nobleman. Vladamir was required to work the land and he was allowed to train his own men as part of the bargain.

  King Alfred’s reasoning wasn’t all that unsound. Vladamir knew the king hoped he would form an attachment to his new home and the power afforded him with his rank. He automatically had an honorary seat in the Witenagemot, though he didn’t assume the rest of the Witan would listen to his suggestions when it came to the true politics of Wessex. And, in fact, Vladamir didn’t bother to meet with the other nobles.

  Only a few of his servants traveled with him from his small property in the northern regions of Northumbria. Many had been too afraid to go to the foreign soil. Though he didn’t mind it, for they only served as a reminder of all that happened back home.

  Hearing a noise, Vladamir opened his eyes and watched as Lizbeth came forward with the ale. She set the goblet and pitcher gingerly in front of him. His gaze dipped unbidden to the soft globes of her breasts.

  So much for distracting himself from his physical needs.

  The servant girl came with the castle along with most of the other servants. King Alfred admitted quite confidentially that he’d chosen the comely maid to see to the more personal needs of the duke. Vladamir banished the most relieved woman from his chamber the first night. He couldn’t force himself to bed an unwilling woman. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he scowled. The mass between his thighs wanted to protest the fact.

  “M’lord?” the maidservant faltered when he didn’t dismiss her. Her delicate voice wavered like a trembling fall leaf about to jump from its branch. She didn’t make the mistake of staring again, but turned her eyes demurely downward. Vladamir watched her, sickened by her fear.

  “Go,” he bellowed, only to smile in grim satisfaction as the girl ran from the main hall in fright. He lifted his goblet to take a drink.

  The smile faded from his lips as his eyes gazed over the rim of his goblet. He once again looked toward the stairwell, wanting to see the mysterious woman who lay there. No doubt it was his thoughts’ preoccupation with her that made him so eager to attack Raulf, so eager he almost slew the young knight. With a thud, he slammed the goblet on the table and swallowed over the lump in his throat.

  ‘Tis decided then. Healed or no, the noblewoman must go.

  * * * * *

  Blackness surrounded her. Eden’s mind swam in it, dreamless. It consumed her, urging her to fall completely within it, but her will was too strong. She fought the darkness and the anguish it brought. By small degrees, a light invaded her inky prison until she was compelled to awaken and face the full force of the pain that had driven her into the blackness to begin with.

  Slowly she tried to open her eyes, but only one of her swollen lids allowed her to see. The bright light came through the narrow slit, blurring her vision so that everything danced around her in an unfamiliar slash of color. The heavy fall of her breath came in uneven pants and her chest felt as if a weight pressed upon her. Gradually, the pounding of her heart subsided and she tried to listen to the sounds of the ominous chamber. The room was quiet, too quiet by her measure—like a tomb.

  Have they found me? Am I caught away in his castle? Blessed saints, please no. Am I to be his bride? Am I his bride already?

  Eden shook her head against her pillow as she tried to focus her mind. A moan of confusion escaped her, sounding odd as it left her parched lips. She couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there. All she knew is that she hurt.

  “M’lady?” a strange voice cut through her wandering thoughts. She didn’t recognize the accent.

  Eden gasped and forced herself to sit up only to grab her head as it throbbed at the sudden motion. She didn’t move. Her body ached. It felt like she’d been in bed for years, only now to awaken in a different, strange land.

  What is wrong with me? My thoughts, they make no sense and yet they are mine.

  Eden didn’t know whether her vision was blurred from the beating dealt to her head, or from the fearful tears that crept into her eyes. Turning to the place where she thought to hear the woman’s voice, she tried to speak but couldn’t force any words.

  “I’ll tell him yer awake.” The woman’s cheerful tone seemed oddly out of place for a tomb.

  Eden made out the blurry vision of a maid’s apron as the servant opened the door to the chamber and left her alone. She lifted an unsteady hand to try and touch the phantom, but it was gone. Had she imagined the woman?

  Tell him? Who? By all the saints, where am I? Father, why did you do this? Luther?

  Eden’s head swam. Nausea rose to stick in her throat and she covered her lips to keep it from coming out. She was sure she didn’t know the chamber, even though she was unable to focus her sight long enough to see it. The bed smelled old and dusty. It wasn’t a smell she was familiar with. Her home carried the scent of fresh herbs this time of year.

  What time of year is it? Where am I?

  Through her blurred vision she detected fire burning in what had to be a small fireplace. She couldn’t make out details but she could see the orange light well enough. The flames were too low to adequately heat the chamber. Holes w
ere worn into the matted fur of the bed’s coverlet. A chill racked her and she touched her limbs to ensure they were attached. She winced, groaning in pain as she lifted her left arm. Her shoulder ached as if it had nearly been ripped from its socket.

  Then, to Eden’s horror, she realized she was naked under the coverlet. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. It pounded as if it wanted to escape her as she wanted to escape her pain. Propelled into action, she tried to find clothes on the bed, but there was only the holey coverlet.

  Pulling the fur over her breasts to cover her nudity from whomever the he was that the maidservant went to get, she didn’t move. She stared at the door, waiting. Finally, a quiet knock sounded.

  Luther? Please don’t be Luther.

  Her grip tightened on the fur and she trembled violently in fear, squeezing her thighs together in silent protest of what might come. The door cracked open and for a moment the light from the hallway torches was darkened by the movement of a figure.

  “M’lady?”

  Eden nodded, unable to answer the kind voice. An odd relief came over her as she didn’t hear Luther or her father speak. Although she didn’t recognize the gentle voice she did hear, she could tell it was an older man.

  “M’lady, can you speak?” the voice continued. His words held the same foreign accent that the maid’s had.

  “You…? Yea,” she answered at length. She forced a ragged breath of air and she tried her best to appear calm and forced her words to come more firmly. “Are you the lord here?”

  “Nay, m’lady.” He seemed confused by the question. “M’lady can you see me?”

  “Who are you?” she refused to answer as she jutted her chin into the air. She hoped that they believed her to be composed. Hoping to look haughty, she squinted to bring the man more into focus. The action didn’t help. “What have you done with me? Why do you keep me here? Where is my gown?”

  “My name is Ulric, m’lady. I’m seneschal here. Yer gown is being mended. Haldana thought it best to leave it off you so she could tend yer wounds. I’m sure she has gone to fetch it.”

  Eden nodded in understanding as she tucked the coverlet more firmly over her shoulders so that the fur fell over her back and covered her completely, except for her head. She pulled at the material behind her with her hand, holding it tight against her shoulders.

  “If m’lady wouldn’t mind,” Ulric continued. “I had a few questions of my own. Mayhap then I’d be better able to answer yers.”

  Eden again nodded, this time with more severity. What else could she do? She was trapped on the bed by her nakedness. Even if she was to brave an escape, she couldn’t see where to go.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “Why were you in the forest alone outside this castle? Fer ‘tis obvious you are a lady by yer dress. Did you separate from yer traveling party?”

  Eden’s eyes teared. She felt like a scared child, locked inside a dark room. “Yea.”

  “You were separated?” Ulric persisted.

  “Yea.”

  “You are a lady of gentry?” She felt him move closer as if inspecting her.

  “Yea.” Eden focused her eyes forward, intent on convincing him that she was a lady and above him.

  “Who are you? Where were you heading?”

  “I’m Lady Eden. I was on my way to a nunnery in East Anglia.” As she spoke her hands shook. She forced herself to swallow the lump that kept rising into her throat to crack her voice. “I’m to live there.”

  “Which nunnery?” Ulric asked smoothly.

  “The one to the south,” Eden weakly offered her lie. In truth she didn’t know the name of any nunneries in East Anglia. Surely, with the pagan king newly converted there would be something. She only hoped that whichever lord lived in the castle would see fit to send her there. “I don’t believe that they have named it, for ‘tis new.”

  “Hmm.” Ulric’s voice pondered her answers. “So you have already taken yer orders? You are a nun?”

  “Nay, I’m to take them there.” Eden turned her face away from him. She couldn’t lie about such a thing as already being ordained. It would be too blasphemous. The fact she said she was going to be was bad enough. “I’m sure they expect me. If you would see fit to send—”

  “I see,” Ulric broke in, thoughtful.

  Eden wondered at the delighted tone in his words. His blurry figure shifted away from her, only to come back. She leaned away the best she could on the uncomfortable bed.

  “Please, good sir.” Eden sighed and tried to relax, feeling no immediate threat from the old man. “Where am I?”

  “You don’t know?” Ulric laughed lightly in surprise. “You are at Lakeshire Castle. We found you near death in front of the castle gates. Methought you might be able to tell us how you came to be here and most importantly why.”

  “Lakeshire?” Eden gasped in horror, looking down as she mumbled in shock, “He left me here? How could he have left me here?”

  “Who left you?”

  Eden stiffened. The irritated voice wasn’t that of Ulric. It instead came from her left, near the fireplace. Her skin tingled and she noticed that the fire burned hotter than before. The man’s tone sounded wicked, spoken in a strange accent. The word “who” was murmured with a softened “v”.

  “Are you…?” she began, but had to take a calming breath. It didn’t help.

  She was frazzled. Her heart already beat in fear only to pound in time with her head, resounding in her ears like a battle drum. She shook with fear, her body so hot it was surely on fire. The way the flames spread through her, she wondered if she was in the company of the devil himself. Rubbing her chin on the fur to make sure it still covered her body, she asked weakly, “Are you the Monster of Lakeshire?”

  Vladamir eyed the trembling creature before him with unconcealed disdain. The way his nickname came from her lips irritated him to no end, and he was all too aware that she refused to answer his question. By her own admission it was obvious someone planted her in front of his castle, perhaps thinking she was already dead.

  It was clear from the first moment that she didn’t know he was in the chamber. The way she kept squinting at Ulric belied the fact that she couldn’t make out the figure before her. Was her impaired eyesight due to her natural vision or a result of her beating? He told himself he didn’t care and didn’t wish to be in her company long enough to find out. In fact, he didn’t want her in his home longer than necessary.

  The maiden’s hair was dirtily matted to her head, so much so that he was unable to make out its true color. From what he saw of her frame under the thin fur, she seemed slender in stature, probably more so due to her prolonged illness. Her skin pulled tautly against her cheekbones, bones that were high and proud. Beyond that simple observation he couldn’t make out her features.

  “Are you the monster?” Her breath continued to come out in audible pants and her one good eye searched for him. “Am I to be your sacrifice?”

  Vladamir watched her lips tremble at the question. Her mouth was in the best condition of her whole face with a fine arch of the upper lip and the full pout of the lower. If the rest of her face healed to displeasure, he would be contented to look only at her delicate mouth. His body hummed to life, reminding him how long it had been since he’d taken a woman to his bed. The painful mass between his thighs only annoyed him. He didn’t want to feel desire—not for her, not for any woman.

  Who could ever willingly accept a monster into their bed?

  The duke felt a glimmer of regret at the timid way she searched for him with her troubled, swollen gaze. The faint white of her eye was a bloody red as if she’d been strangled near death. He suddenly frowned as he realized that someone indeed had tried to kill her. Did they think to have succeeded? Who would want her dead? What exactly had she done?

  He saw the fear in her and didn’t believe for an instant that the woman planned on joining a nunnery. There was something in the proud way she lifted her chin and the aristocratic tilt of h
er head. He saw her breeding, even through her marred expression.

  “I have been called that,” he answered at last, afraid if he didn’t respond, she would continue to grow pale until she passed out once more on the bed. He needed too many answers from her to let her rest quite yet.

  Yea, m’lady, there are those who would think me a monster.

  Eden licked her beautiful lips, much to his carnal delight. He felt another twinge in his lower stomach as he eyed her unsightly face. It was a feeling that brought him no satisfaction. He longed to kiss her—his aroused blood stirring his body to new heights with a disarming suddenness. Narrowing his eyes, he frowned as his need for her became almost painful.

  Glancing over the fur coverlet, he forgot his resolve against women. The more terrified she became, the more she tugged at the bedding, causing the matted fur to pull across her generous breasts and cling to her tiny waist. There was a hole worn into the fur just below her navel, revealing her smooth, white flesh and what appeared to be a small bruise. The duke was sure that she didn’t know the hole was there, or she would’ve covered herself better.

  He looked lower, to the long line of her thin legs as they sprawled out on the bed underneath the flimsy barrier of fur. They’d be easy to part. He could order Ulric from the room and have his cock buried to the hilt with little effort.

  “What is your family name?” Vladamir asked, his voice a rough murmur. He momentarily forgot that Ulric was in the chamber with them, forgot that he planned on being quiet. Without thinking to stop, he took a step toward her, his breath deepening. It would be so easy to take her. His body wanted to act the part of the monster and tear the fur from her hands. Only by the strength of his resolve against women did he refrain.

  “I’m Lady Eden…” Eden paused and swallowed hard. Vladamir smiled as she mustered up her courage to continue. “…of Hawks’ Nest. My lord father is Clifton, Earl of Hawks’ Nest.”

  Vladamir heard Ulric’s breath catch in his throat. His rising passions drained instantly from his limbs to be replaced by a sudden rage as he ignored the older man. For a moment he wasn’t sure he’d understood her.