Колин Глисон - Sanctuary of Roses

The great hall was nearly empty when Clem entered. At the high dais, a man slumped back in his chair, snoring comfortably…and ’twas the shock of white-blond hair that identified him to Clem. Fantin. He’d half a mind to put an end to this right then, and send the man to a burning grave with the help of the dagger that weighted his thigh…but that would be Gavin’s honor and Clem knew that the time was not yet right.

He looked around and saw nothing of Tricky. Unease prickled his spine…where else could the woman be, unless she’d slipped from the hall before he came in? He’d make his way back to the stable where they were to meet.

With a frown and gusty sigh, Clem turned and came face to face with Rohan.

Tricky, whose hand was imprisoned within Tavis’s grasp, hurried down a narrow, winding stair in his wake. She thought she saw a small shadow scuttle from a corner and dart beneath her feet, and she stifled a shriek.

Where was Tavis taking her…and what would he do with her once they arrived?

She prayed that at least her risk would come to fruition, and that she would see Madelyne wherever it was they were bound.

At last, they reached a small oaken door, heavily barred. Tavis released her hand, and, giving her an eager, sweet smile, said, “One moment, my dear, and you shall see what it is we have worked for.”

It took him several moments to force the bar out of its metal slot, and with a grunt, he pushed the door open. Immediately, a putrid smell burst from the room and Tricky nearly gagged at the fumes.

“Come, my dear,” he told her, drawing her into a cave-like chamber lit with an overwhelming number of sconces burning on the walls.

Tricky’s eyes darted about and fastened on a long table near one end of the room. A figure lay on it, but was so shadowed she couldn’t tell even if it was a man or a woman. When Tavis tugged her arm—the man was like a small child faced with a room of sweets—she was forced to follow him to the opposite side of the chamber.

The smell seemed to have lessened, so Tricky could breathe more freely…but when she was faced with the snake heads and skeletons of small rodents, and jars and bottles of foul-looking liquid and slimy solids, she felt her head grow light and she swayed against Tavis.

“What is it, my little chick?” he asked, leering down at her, one hand on either side of her hips, trapping her against the table. Suddenly, she felt very frightened and it was all Tricky could do to keep her face blank of fear.

“Naught’n, my lord,” she told him. “I betripped m’self and nearly fell on your work here… ” Swallowing hard, she reached up to trail a single finger down the side of his face. “I cannot believe you know all of this! Tell me about what you do with these…things.”

It was the right response. Tavis nearly clapped his hands with glee and, towing her about the laboratory, pointed out everything from instruments of extraction—she did not ask what they extracted—and devices designed to boil and purge and grind and beat the ingredients to whatever potion they might be creating.

When they made their way over to the side where the figure lay, unmoving, upon the table, Tavis paused to look into Tricky’s eyes. “This,” he told her, a slim hand with one long fingernail pointing at the body, whose face was turned away, “will be our salvation. She will hear the Word of God, she will praise Him and serve Him and will be our salvation!”

He stared down at her, his breath rising and falling, and as if in a trance, reached out a hand to touch the figure that lay supine. Tricky stepped forward to get a look at her face.

It was Madelyne… and she appeared to be alive!

“What—who—is that?” she asked boldly, slipping her hand into the crook of Tavis’s arm.

He appeared to shake from his trance and turned to look at her, the dreaminess gone from his eyes. “’Tis the daughter of my master. She is recently returned to us from days serving God in an abbey. My master has decreed that she shall serve God here, for the good of my master.”

Tavis chuckled again, twirling against her in his glee. “She has been wed, and my master fears that she has been tainted by the touch of an impure man.” Tavis continued, his face shriveling into a dark mask, “Despite her imperfections, now, my master will not allow me to touch her…though I burn to do so.” He turned to look at Tricky again, lust glazing his face. “I shall have to settle for the likes of you…but I vow, ’twill be to your enjoyment as well.”

Tricky swallowed, her tight throat dry and tasting of bile. Tavis, who appeared to have no concerns that she would carry tales, explained, “We wait only until she has been cleansed—exorcised—from the repugnance of coupling. My master has many ways of removing the evil from within her.” He fingered a long, slender whip and looked at her. “She will not see the light of day again, for she must serve in silence and piety and for my master only.”

Tricky blanched and terror clawed up her spine.

“He plans to wait for another moon to be certain she does not carry her husband’s child…and if she does, aye, he must relieve her of that burden so that she might carry a more important one.”

Tricky slipped from his grasp as he flung his arms wide to encompass the chamber, the realm, the earth…and she stepped backward. If there was any chance that she could sneak away…

“Where are you going?” Tavis turned, his voice booming in command.

He lunged for her and she side-stepped, crashing into a table and knocking a mortar and pestle to the floor. “I—I must find my brother…he will worry about me,” Tricky said. “I would find him, then return to watch you at your work,” she added, resting a hip suggestively against the table. Purposely breathing heavily, she forced her breasts to rise and fall just beneath his nose and watched as his attention floundered between her chest and the work in the laboratory.

“Nay…I will have a message sent to him. You may not leave yet.” He reached and closed a hand around her breast, then his other hand pulled her toward him so that her hips slammed into his. She felt an unmistakable bulge thrusting between them and her heart began to race.

Before she knew it, she was pushed back against a table and Tavis had yanked her skirts up to her thighs. Panicked, Tricky began to kick and pound at him, but his weight, though slender, was strong, and bore her to the table. His groping hands pinched at her, causing great stabs of pain to shoot through her breasts. She began to sob, kicking, fighting, rolling her head from side to side as her legs were forced apart.

Suddenly, the door swung open and a voice boomed into the room. “Master Tavis! You are needed urgently up in the hall!”

Tavis paused only for a moment, then returned to Tricky. “Nay, I am occupied, de Masin… I’ll be there in a bit.”

“’Tis one of Mal Verne’s men—he is here!”

That news caused Tavis to straighten and whip his head about to look over his shoulder. Tricky’s heart pounded in her throat as she struggled anew. Clem! Did he mean Clem?

“Help me with this and I’ll be up.” He stepped away from her, and Tricky slammed her knees together and tried to roll away, but he held her firm. Leering close to her face, he said, “I will return to you, my little coquette… and you will not only watch us make history, but you will enjoy it as well!”

Tricky gulped under the hand that had closed around her neck and looked away from his eyes that had turned from soft and velvety to pure, hard lust. The other man came over and they tied her wrists and arms together, forcing her to slump onto a stool against the wall near Madelyne’s still body.