But tronger than her compassion was her fear, for the mental wall that she had used to keep panic at bay had shattered. Today the earl had come within a hair's breadth of losing control. It was just a matter of time until his will broke, and then he would break her. Perhaps, if she was fortunate, she would die of the assault, but more likely she would survive to be assaulted again and again.
The earl had said he would never let her go, and finally she believed him. For whatever mad reason, he would keep her captive, like a songbird in a cage, and soon she would be too defeated to care what he did to her. She would be a prisoner until she died of her imprisonment, and the prospect was a horror that made death pale by comparison.
Kestrel jumped on the bed and meowed curiously, then came over and nudged her mistress's nose. Meriel wrapped her arm around the cat and pulled the little animal's warm body close. Almost immediately Kestrel fell asleep, snoring softly, but Meriel could not rest. Her mind still churned, replaying the terror of what had happened, and fearing what was to come.
She wondered what would be the worst aspect of her fate. Would it be the loss of dignity? The physical pain? Perhaps being forced to bear the child of a madman? No, the worst part would be her captivity itself. Never again would she know the freedom of the open sky, the liberty to walk and talk as she chose, the simple exercise of her will.
Meriel opened her eyes and stared at the stone walls with hatred. Then she shuddered, experiencing the same illusion she had known at Lambourn: that the walls were moving in to crush the life and breath from her. But this time, no decision of hers would free her—she was at the mercy of another's will, and that was the worst horror of all.
Her heart pounded and her breath came in ragged gasps as Meriel fought the spiraling descent into madness. It would be better to be dead. If she still had her knife, she would have turned the blade on herself, but that had been taken away when she was captured.
She recoiled, appalled by her thoughts. To kill oneself was a mortal sin. Suicide would condemn her to endless damnation, an eternity of flame and anguish. Unthinkable!
Yet the blessed Ursula had stabbed herself in the heart to escape from being ravished, and she had been made a saint. Perhaps suicide was permitted in the defense of one's virginity? Wearily Meriel tried to puzzle it out, but she could remember no priest addressing the question.
Hours passed as she wavered between fearing what suicide would cost her soul, and possible means to achieve that end. Perhaps she could hang herself with the girdle he had given her? But there was nothing to tie it around.
Periodically she tried to convince herself that her situation must improve, that Lord Adrian would tire of his uninteresting captive and release her to freedom. But she did not believe that. In the very marrow of her bones, she knew that in some mysterious way they were bound together.
Freedom... it was as close as the sky outside her window, as distant as the length of her life.
As dry sobs shook her body, Meriel wondered despairingly if she would ever be free again.
* * *
When Margery arrived with Meriel's supper, she looked at the prisoner with shock and asked some question, but Meriel ignored her and soon the maid went away.
Eventually Meriel rose and placed the food on the floor for Kestrel to eat. With numb fingers she removed her torn finery and donned her old shift and bliaut. Then she lay down again, dully wishing she could sleep.
It was still light when the key turned in the door again, and the sound roused Meriel from her stupor enough to fear that it was the earl returning. Instead, it was a man-at-arms that she did not recognize. "Please come with me, mistress."
Slowly she stood. There was no sensation in her hands as she reflexively smoothed her gown, then followed him down the hall to Lord Adrian's chamber. The sun was low in the sky and a flood of golden light poured in the great window, but it did not warm her.
The earl himself awaited, standing behind his desk a safe distance away. He spoke and she made an effort to follow his words. He was stiffly apologizing for his behavior. Of course. He was always sorry for what he had done.
Lord Adrian came around his desk and she forced herself to stand still, not retreat. Strange how a man so comely could be so dangerous. He was still talking, but his words streamed by like the wind.
Then Meriel noticed the sheathed dagger on his belt and she felt a spark of interest. If he came close enough, might she be able to snatch it from him? She would have to move swiftly.
According to legend, Saint Ursula had pierced herself in the breast, but Meriel was dubious—too many ribs in the way. And if she didn't strike true, she might not have time for a second attempt. Better to cut her throat. Perhaps she would feel pain, but no matter. Soon she would feel nothing at all. Except, God willing, free.
Adrian raised his voice a little. "Meriel, have you heard anything I have said?"
He had thought that her blank stare was a way of ignoring him, but as he drew closer he saw that her deep blue eyes were as empty as the sky and guessed that she had withdrawn to some corner of her mind where nothing could harm her.
His guilt twisted deep inside him. He wanted to touch her but dared not for fear of distressing her further. Set her free. If she refused his offer of marriage, he would have no choice but to obey that internal command and let her go, even if she took his soul with her.
He stopped an arm's length away. Meriel did not move or flinch, simply looked straight ahead, her eyes at the level of his chest. She was dressed like a beggar in her old clothing, but to Adrian she was still the essence of womanly grace.
It was hard to speak in the complete absence of response, but doggedly he began again. "Meriel, I've wronged you from the moment I met you. I did not have good cause to take you prisoner at the beginning, and there was even less cause to keep you here, except that I was... greatly attracted to you." Impossible to say the word "love" when she stood as still as stone. "I tried to convince myself that..."
Before he could finish the sentence, Meriel moved with a speed he would not have believed possible, her hand darting out to seize his dagger and wrest it from the sheath. She stepped back and raised the weapon. For a critical moment Adrian fell into a defensive posture, sure that she intended to stab him and determined to reclaim the dagger without harming her.
Instead, under his appalled gaze, she plunged the dagger toward her own throat. Adrian leapt forward and grabbed her wrist before she could complete the slash. She had the strength of desperation but he was able to divert her arm so that the tip of the blade only snagged her gown.
"If you will not let me go, then for pity's sake, let me die!" Meriel begged. Her eyes were alive now, wild with despair as she struggled to escape his grip.
"Meriel, you must not hurt yourself!" Adrian said desperately. "I swear I will not keep you captive any longer," Hating the necessity, he twisted her slender wrist until her fingers loosened and the dagger dropped behind her and skidded away.
To prove his good intentions, he released her, then promptly blurted out what he had intended to work toward gradually. "I want you for my wife."
Her great expressive eyes widened, stunned. "You want to marry me?"
"Yes, both because I care for you, and to make amends for what I have done." He felt a moment of relief as he saw her expression change. Olwen had been right; offering marriage made a difference. "You would be the Countess of Shropshire, with all the honor and respect due my wife."
She took a step back, then another, and he abruptly realized that her expression was not pleasure but rising hysteria. "Sweet Mother of God, you want to marry me!" she burst out. "Then I would never be free of you, would I? Jesu, I should have let you rape me! Then I would have had the hope that you would tire of me. If you turned me over to your guardroom to amuse your men, someday I might have been able to escape.
"Don't come near me!" she screamed as Adrian made an involuntary movement toward her.
Adrian froze, not wanting to
alarm her any further. "Meriel, please, calm yourself," he said softly. "I swear before God that I will never hurt you or coerce you again."
"You have been sorry for your actions before, then come back and done worse the next time," she scoffed, retreating farther.
The fallen dagger was now within her reach. Afraid to risk her seizing it again, Adrian threw himself forward in a shallow dive and swept the weapon from her reach.
Thinking that he was attacking, Meriel darted away. As Adrian hit the floor rolling, he looked up and saw her frantic eyes as she glanced about the room, desperate to find escape.
"I will never be caged again. Never!" Meriel's flight had taken her into the glare of light that poured through the window. Like a flower she turned to look into the setting sun, her face illuminated with unbearable poignancy. Then she smiled, her expression transcendent, as if she had just been offered the keys of heaven.
Opening her arms as if to a lover, Meriel raced across the room toward the giant leaded-glass window. Time seemed to slow, every moment stretching languidly as Adrian watched her spring onto the window seat. She was graceful as a doe, her movements so lovely to behold that she seemed to be performing some exotic dance.
Without slowing for an instant, Meriel raised her right arm before her face and hurled herself headfirst into the window.
Chapter 9
The scene in front of Adrian was an image from hell. Outside the sky blazed with the orange and gold fire of sunset. Silhouetted in the center of the window was Meriel, her slim figure suspended in time and space. It seemed as if he could reach out his hand and pluck her from the sky with one leisurely gesture.
"Meriel, don't!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet and racing forward to stop her, but he was too slow, a lifetime too slow.
Her body arced and tilted forward at the same time that the sound of shattering glass struck his ears. Then she was gone. Shards of splintered glass and twisted lead strips edged the gaping hole, and a gentle breeze blew through the broken window.
For an endless instant Adrian felt paralyzed, unable to accept what had happened before his very eyes. Then, with a wordless cry of anguish, he reached the window and looked down, thrusting his head through the gaping hole Meriel had made.
The water below the castle was very deep, and from its churning he saw that she had struck several feet out from the cliff face. Meriel had not yet resurfaced, and in her heavy woolen garments, perhaps she would not. If she was still alive, she was surely unconscious from her plunge through the glass and the impact with the water. If she was not dead yet, she would be within minutes.
It would take a long time, too long, to go down through the castle to the river and find a boat. By the time he did that, she would be beyond help or hope.
But Adrian was a powerful swimmer, and if he went after her there might be a chance. Without making a conscious decision, he stripped his clothing off, his fingers fumbling with haste, then wrapped his tunic around his arm and enlarged the open area of window so he would not be shredded by broken glass.
He paused before he jumped, marking where Meriel had gone down. The height was great, but if he dived cleanly he should be able to retain consciousness when he hit the water. And if he did not and drowned also, it would be better than living with the knowledge of what he had done.
Adrian spent one instant on prayer, a short, violently intense invocation to the Blessed Mother, that she might spare Meriel. Then he launched himself headfirst into the air. The evening wind chilled his naked body as he arrowed down in an endless fall. He heard a shocked shout from the castle walls as a guard saw him.
Then Adrian struck, cleaving the water with an impact that knocked the air from his lungs and took him far below the surface, almost to the bottom of the river. As he turned and swam upward, he opened his eyes, searching for Meriel.
When he reached the surface he dived again as soon as his lungs filled with air, exploring the area between where he had dived and the cliff, allowing for the current, which would be taking her downriver. Thank God that at this season the water was fairly clear.
Lungs burning, he dived twice more before he found her. The weight of her heavy clothing kept Meriel from rising, and she floated half a dozen feet below the surface like an enchanted doll. Her eyes were open and sightless and her twining hair and garments drifted around her. Her face bore an expression of dreamy peace.
Adrian looped his arm around her chest and kicked for the surface. When they broke into the air, he held Meriel's head above the water while scanning the shore to see how far the current had carried them. They were well below the castle, but he saw men shouting from the shore, and farther up the river someone was launching a boat.
Wearily he began swimming toward the river's edge. The water was shallower here, and as he neared the shore two men plunged into the river and waded out to assist him. Adrian recognized them as Warfield fishermen. "Don't mind me, do what you can for her," he gasped.
One of the fishermen laid Meriel facedown on the grass and pressed rhythmically on her back until water gushed from her mouth. He continued pressing until no more water came, then held his palm in front of her mouth. "Don't think she's breathing, my lord," he said grimly.
Concerned with the earl's dignity, the other fisherman took off his own tunic and pulled it over Adrian's head. The man was burly and the garment hung in copious folds, but the warmth was welcome in the chilly dusk. Adrian knelt beside Meriel, feeling helpless, then thought to put his hand on her throat. Her pulse still beat, though it was weak and thready.
What happened next was pure instinct. Since Meriel needed breath, he should share his with her. Adrian took a deep breath, then leaned over and forced air into her mouth. Her lips were cold as death. When he raised his head, he pressed on her chest and another thin trickle of water came from her mouth. Once more he forced air into her mouth, and this time she coughed convulsively, then began to breathe on her own.
Weak with relief, Adrian closed his eyes and bent his head, uttering his prayerful thanks that Meriel still lived. Blood stained her hair and saturated clothing, so there were injuries, perhaps serious ones.
But for the moment, God be thanked, she lived.
* * *
After a long hard ride, Richard FitzHugh arrived at Warfield in early evening and found the castle lying under hushed, expectant silence. He sent his men off to find themselves food and sleeping space, but he immediately sought out Sir Walter of Evesham, whose urgent message had brought Richard to Warfield.
As Richard entered the solar, Sir Walter's tired face lightened. "Thank God you've come!"
"What has happened?" Richard said sharply as he peeled off his gloves. "You said Adrian was in dire straits. Is he ill?"
"Not exactly." Sir Walter signaled to a serving man to pour wine, then sent the man off for food. "Do you remember that girl we found in the royal forest? The one with the falcon?"
Richard nodded. "Of course. Pretty little thing. Named Meriel, wasn't she?" He drank deeply of his wine. "At the time I was surprised that Adrian took her into custody for so little cause, but I presumed he had his reasons."
"Aye, his loins were on fire for her," the old knight said with disgust. "He's held her captive ever since, trying to persuade her to become his mistress. God knows why, but she turned him down. Then four days ago, he asked her to marry him—Jesu, he wanted to marry the wench!—and she responded by jumping through that damnable window of his." He regarded his wine sourly. "I always knew it was unnatural. Glassed windows are meant only for churches."
"Saints preserve us," Richard said blankly, having trouble imagining his cool contained brother in the throes of uncontrollable passion. "So the girl is dead?"
"No, but so near it's just a matter of time. Adrian risked his own life by diving into the water after her, the bloody fool. Managed to pull her ashore before she drowned, but she hurt her head and has never recovered consciousness."
The serving man returned with a tray of foo
d, and Richard paused to carve off a substantial piece of beef. He chewed a bite, then asked, "A strange tale, but why did you send for me?"
"Because Adrian seems to have gone mad," Sir Walter said bluntly. "He spends all of his time either by her bed or praying in his chapel. I don't think he's slept since the accident. He threw one physician out for trying to bleed her. Claimed that the girl had no ill humors and had lost enough blood. Then he sent to Fontevaile for Abbot William's infirmarer. He's fit for nothing, Richard, and all because of a lowborn female. Holy Mother, he could find a dozen prettier wenches down in the village!"
The old knight brooded over his wine. "What if Burgoigne attacks? I wish to God the girl would die and be done with it!"
"If Burgoigne attacks, you and I will defeat him without Adrian if we must," Richard said tersely. He was more concerned with his brother's state of mind than with the military situation, which he could manage capably.
But Adrian, complicated, high-strung Adrian, who burned with inner fires and never relaxed—what would happen to him if the girl died? Richard would rather not find out. "Where can I find him?"
"Try his chapel first. If he's not there, he'll be in the guest chamber next door, the one you usually use. That's where the girl is." His tone made it clear that he did not approve of that either.
Richard drained the last of his wine, then set the goblet down and went in search of his brother. Adrian's chamber was lit with a branch of candles, and he saw that parchment had been stretched over a gaping hole in the window. He winced at the sight, trying to imagine what state of mind could send someone through it to plunge into the river so far below.
He crossed the room to the door of the chapel and looked in to see Adrian kneeling before the rail, his head bowed. His brother's back was toward the door, and there were traces of blood on his tunic. Richard's mouth tightened with the knowledge that Adrian must have flagellated himself.