Page 64 of The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past #4)

FIFTY-FIVE

Berwick-Upon-Tweed, Northumberland

The bleak light of a winter dawn was just creeping in through the arrow-shaft window when Kate woke with a start.

The fire had burned down during the night and the temperature in the room had plummeted.

Her breath escaped from her mouth in gossamer clouds and she burrowed deeper beneath the covers and furs that were piled on the bed to keep her and Hugh warm during the night.

Something had woken her, but for a moment, she wasn’t sure what it was since all was quiet and still.

Kate turned onto her side and was about to go back to sleep when she felt sticky wetness between her legs. She lifted the covers to discover she’d gotten her courses during the night and her nightdress as well as her side of the bed were soaked with blood.

“Oh, no,” she gasped, before she had a chance to stop herself.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Hugh demanded drowsily. Being a soldier, he was attuned to any sign of danger, and even a gasp from his wife was enough to bring him to wakefulness.

“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Hugh reached out to her beneath the blankets. When his hand came away covered with blood, he looked concerned for a second until the truth dawned on him and he cringed with disgust.

“I’ll clean it up,” Kate hastened to assure him .

“Useless bitch,” Hugh hissed as he glared at her, his gaze burning with hatred. “It doesn’t matter how many times I fuck you, you still won’t breed.”

“I’m s-sorry, Hugh,” Kate stammered. Her courses were about a week and a half late and she’d harbored some hope that she might be with child.

She hadn’t said anything to Hugh, but he kept his own mental calendar, always acutely aware of when she was due to bleed.

She’d been late several times over the past few years, but despite fervent praying and hoping, her courses always came in the end.

“You’re sorry?” Hugh spat out, his features contorted with rage and disappointment. “And what’s that worth?”

Kate knew he was upset, but she hadn’t anticipated the depth of his anger.

Hugh’s eyes flashed with malice as he shoved her viciously, sending her flying out of bed and onto the stone floor.

She tried to break her fall with her hand but landed painfully on her left hip, crying out as the jolt of the impact reverberated through her wrist and up into her arm.

The icy stone beneath her burned her skin, and she wept softly as she curled into a ball on the hard floor.

“Oh, for the love of Christ,” Hugh growled and swung his legs out of bed.

He stood over her for a moment, glaring down at her with undisguised hatred.

Kate tried to edge away from him, fearful that he might kick her, but instead, he bent down and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her face closer to his own.

“I’ve just about had it with you, you know that?

From now on, I’ll fuck you from the back, like a dog, because that’s what you are—a useless, barren bitch.

God put you on this earth for one reason and one reason only, to bear children, and you couldn’t even do that, could you?

Oh, go ahead and cry, and then run to the chapel to pray. Much good it will do you.”

Hugh let go of her hair, grabbed his clothes, and stormed from the bedchamber, still cursing her under his breath .

Kate began to tremble violently, her teeth chattering both from shock and the cold.

She finally managed to scramble to her feet and hobble over to the ewer and basin on a low stand in the corner.

The water was ice-cold, but Kate cleaned herself as best she could and affixed the rags she used during her courses between her legs before getting dressed.

She then stripped the sheet off the bed and assessed the damage.

The blood had soaked into the mattress and would need to dry out before the mattress could be turned over to hide the ugly stain.

That was the only way to salvage it and get a few more years of use from it.

Kate submerged the sheet in the basin and watched in despair as the water turned bright red.

It’d need to soak for at least an hour before it could be washed out.

She wiped her streaming eyes with the back of her hand and sat down by the hearth, clutching her shawl about her shoulders.

The acrid smell of ashes stung her nose and she was numb with cold, but she didn’t budge.

She couldn’t go to the chapel and pray, not today.

Hugh had hit a nerve when he ridiculed her piety.

She was tired of praying. She’d prayed for her brothers, and they’d died.

She’d prayed for her mother, and she’d never recovered.

She’d prayed to be reconciled with her father, but he’d cut her from his life and replaced her with new children.

And she’d prayed to get pregnant so her husband would at least see some worth in her, but she’d never conceived.

Her womb remained empty and hollow as her years of fertility slipped away. What was the sense of praying?

Christmas was a week away, a time of celebration and hope, but she only felt an all-encompassing dread.

She’d never felt as alone as she had this past year, and the prospect of living out her life in this keep with her resentful husband and her distant sister-in-law left her desolate and depressed.

She thought about Guy every day, and wondered where he was.

They hadn’t had word from him in months, and Kate worried for his safety.

Guy had sworn that he’d fully recovered the use of his right arm, but she knew the truth.

His arm tired quickly and began to tremble with the strain of wielding a heavy sword.

In a prolonged battle, he’d be at a disadvantage, especially if confronted with a skilled and tireless opponent .

In his last letter, Guy had mentioned that he was quartered at Westminster Palace as part of Warwick’s personal guard.

Kate supposed it was kind of the Earl of Stanwyck to provide Guy with an opportunity to serve Warwick, but she wished he’d ordered him back home instead.

Hugh missed Guy dreadfully, and took out his frustration and guilt at driving his brother away on Kate.

He barely spoke to her these days and chose to spend the long evenings in conversation with Eleanor or playing chess with Adam, who took gleeful pride in beating Hugh nearly half the time.

Hugh smiled indulgently and told Adam that he’d allowed him to win, but they both knew the truth and enjoyed the battle of wits.

Sadly, Adam would be leaving them in a few months, going to Stanwyck Hall to begin his term as page to the earl, and their family would shrink once more, leaving just the three of them in residence, a prospect Kate didn’t relish.

Eleanor had become openly coy and affectionate with Hugh.

She touched him lightly on the arm, or sat closer than necessary, claiming she was cold and needed to be closer to the fire.

Her obvious loneliness was her excuse for blatant flirting.

Hugh, in turn, was chivalrous and solicitous, treating Eleanor with the kind of respect he no longer bestowed on his wife.

The two of them made Kate feel humiliated and ostracized, and whether their conduct was intentional or simply the result of their forced closeness, Kate often wished she could just disappear and leave them to it.

There had been a time when death seemed like a terrifying and cruel punishment, if it came too early, but lately, in Kate’s mind, it had taken on the qualities of a kind stranger who might take her away to a place where she’d no longer be unhappy or unwanted.

She’d slip out of her skin and escape the hollow shell she had become—an abused wife, an unloved daughter, and an unfulfilled woman who had never become a mother, and be reborn in a place that promised eternal salvation and the everlasting love of God.

Perhaps God would take her soon, if she were lucky.

Kate finally forced herself to stir. It was fully light outside and high time she started on the day’s chores.

With Aileen gone and Joan getting on in years, there was more for her to do, and Eleanor never bothered to lend a hand with cooking, baking, or laundry.

Kate’s wrist hurt and had begun to swell and her hip throbbed where she’d landed on it, but she ignored the pain.

She washed out the sheet, then limped down the stairs and toward the kitchen where she could hang it by the fire to dry.

Joan stopped kneading the dough when Kate walked in, her eyebrows lifting in surprise and her lips pursing.

Kate realized she must have red-rimmed eyes and a pink nose from crying.

She pretended not to notice Joan’s questioning stare and smiled politely in greeting.

She didn’t need Joan’s pity. She just wanted to get on with her day as if nothing had happened.

“Sit yerself down and have some breakfast,” Joan said as she brushed flour off her hands.

“Hugh’s already eaten. He’s outside chopping wood, the poor lad.

’Tis cold out there, and it snowed during the night.

It takes some doing to get Hugh out of bed this early in the morning.

Might he be angry about something?” she mused as she studied Kate’s impassive face, her eyes straying to the wet sheet steaming by the hearth.

Kate accepted a cup of hot broth and a slice of bread and applied herself to her breakfast. She wasn’t about to take the bait.

“Adam’s excited about Christmas,” Joan went on. “Hugh promised him a dagger this year, and a sword by the time he turns fourteen.”

“What does an eight-year-old need with a dagger?” Kate asked.

“’Tis not about need, but about rite of passage. Adam will be going to Stanwyck Hall come spring, and it’ll look good in front of the other lads if he has something of value, especially if it’s a weapon.”