Darelles Trinity

Chapter Two - part two

Darelle awoke to find herself sprawled across Lascaux’s large bed. The heavy posters loomed like tree trunks. The canopy cast shadows over the silken sheets. Without moving, she lay quietly, listening for the sound of his breathing or the weight of his presence near her. She sighed in relief when silence met her ears.

Quickly she sat up, unnerved at the grumbling of deep hunger in her belly. Her eye fell on a goblet that sat on the bedside table. Remembering the water Lascaux had given her earlier, she picked it up and took a large swallow, coughing at the thick, sweet liquid that poured down her throat. Some of the liquid dribbled down her chin. She wiped it with her fingertips and looked. Scarlet.

She gasped. Blood. Again. In one swift movement, she thumped the cup back down on the dark wood table and sat, hugging her arms to her still naked body. The little bit of blood she’d swallowed had satisfied a bit of the burning hunger and she found herself staring needfully at the goblet. A tear rolled from her eye and ran down her cheek. The plague had wiped out much of the food stores and this bit of blood would probably be the only nourishment she’d have until she could find someplace safe. Reaching out, she retrieved the cup and gulped down the rest of the blood, horrified at how delicious it was to her.

She wiped a hand across her mouth and sat, panting, fighting down the horror of her new appetite. Suddenly desperate for a breath of fresh air, she rose from the huge bed, wrapping the sheet around her for warmth. She opened the heavy wooden shutters to one of the windows and peered through the tall narrow rectangular opening. The stars had begun to fade and the stillness of predawn had settled over the land. The crenellated battlements of the castle were barely visible in the pale moonlight. Gasping in the cool night air, scented with earthy grass and pines, she let the freshness of it fill her lungs. Slowly, her horror lessened.

The door to the bedroom creaked open behind her. Darelle closed the shutters guiltily and turned, tightening the sheet around her protectively, her heart crashing. She didn’t think she could suffer Lascaux’s cloistering presence at this moment.

To her relief, a woman entered followed by two men carrying a brass tub. Curls of steam rose from the vessel, which they set down in front of the large roaring fireplace. Darelle shrank against the stone wall, watching them.

The men, dressed in rough wool, linen clothes and heavy boots, filed out of the room without a mere glance. The woman remained. She appeared to be a bit older than Darelle and wore a gown of light blue damask with a matching wimple and veil. Her dark hair framed an unnaturally pale face and cherry red lips. Darelle thought she would have been pretty had her pallor not been so chalky. The woman, apparently a servant, approached the bed, a linen towel draped neatly over one bell-shaped sleeve. Her somber appearance deepened Darelle’s dread of remaining in this castle and she prayed silently that she was not truly a prisoner.

“Seigneur Lascaux has ordered a bath for you,” the servant told her. She set the towel on a nearby chair and looked expectantly at Darelle.

Darelle looked at her. She wanted so terribly to dress and make her escape, but she certainly could not do so at this moment. To refuse Lascaux’s hospitality would immediately put her under suspicion.

“That was kind of him,” she murmured. Wrapping the sheet around her, she stood up and took a few steps, feeling her strength seep into her body once again.

As she approached the tub, the servant held out her hands. Wordlessly, Darelle allowed the girl to undrape the sheet from her body so she could step into the tub. She lowered herself into the steaming rose-scented water. Never before had she experienced such luxury and felt her body relax a bit as the hot water soaked her limbs. She picked up a tiny cloth folded over the edge of the tub, soaked it in the water and began to wash herself.

The servant, who had been laying clean clothing out on the bed, now approached her and gathered up the curly abundance of Darelle’s hair, which she began to comb.

The woman’s silence unnerved her and she shored up her courage to speak. “What is your name?” she asked finally.

“Viola.” The woman’s hands were thankfully gentle with the comb.

“How long have you been in service to the seigneur?”

“A very long time.”

Viola’s curt, monotone answers were slightly more unnerving than silence, so she asked only the most important question whose answer would help her know when to make her escape. “Where is the seigneur at present?”

“He has retired for the day. He requests that you join him for supper after sunset.”

A prickly heat passed over Darelle’s skin. The sun was beginning to rise and he had retired? He was either truly mad or he’d told her the truth. She was a… She left the question unasked and concerned herself only with escape. “Merci, Viola,” she said in as calm a voice as she could muster. “I will join him.”

“Oui, mademoiselle,” Viola answered, releasing Darelle’s hair. She retrieved the towel and held it open.

Darelle climbed from the tub and let Viola wrap the towel around her. From the window, she caught a glimpse of the growing light.

Viola went to a large armoire and silently removed clothing from it, bringing the items over to her.

Darelle recognized a linen chainse, in creamy white silk like the bedsheets, the undergarment worn by noblewomen, and a bliaut in damask with bell sleeves, like the one Viola wore. Reaching out, she brushed a fingertip across the plush material, the color, a rich shade of green like the hills where she brought her sheep to graze. Velvet. lifted the dress and held it out. The neckline and sleeves were hemmed with pearled embroidery, clearly a garment for a noblewoman.

Darelle wanted to demand her old clothing back, but paused. She could not refuse an item of clothing. God alone knew where her old dress and bodice were now and she certainly could not make her escape while naked.

Viola slipped the chainse over Darelle and tied the bow at the neck. She reached down to the bed, picked up the bliaut, held it for Darelle to step into and then tied the laces at the back for her. The delicate materials of her new clothing whispered against her skin. Lascaux’s spirit seemed woven into the very material and she could almost feel his eyes on her, watching her dress. She wondered at his method of seduction, at why he hadn’t just taken her body. He could easily do so when she was so enthralled, yet he chose to tempt her and try to make her want him.

The thought made her shiver.

At last, Viola lifted the gold-braided maunches and tied them around her waist. A pair of embroidered slippers with slightly pointed toes sat side by side on the floor by the chair. Darelle pushed her feet into them. Of course, they fit perfectly.

Once Darelle was fully dressed, Viola admitted the men who’d brought the tub. They lifted and carried it out. When they were gone, Viola curtsied and left the room without another word.

Relieved to be alone finally, Darelle went back to the narrow window and pulled open the heavy shutters. The stars had nearly faded completely and the hint of gray touched the blackness. Daylight was mounting and she wanted to be away before the sun rose completely, making her clearly visible.

A heavy carved wooden chair stood against the wall near the window. Darelle grabbed one thick arm and dragged it underneath the window, surprised at how easily she moved the burdensome object. Lifting the skirts of her gown, she stepped onto the chair and leaned through the opening. The narrow window had obviously been carved out to impede an armored man from coming through, but she judged that her own slender frame might be able to slip through.

Peering through the opening, she was dismayed to see there was no balcony to step out on, just a straight drop into the bailey below. The nearest foothold was the walkway along the battlements and only someone who could fly would be able to leap the chasm of space to the keep’s wall.

Sighing deeply, she turned from the window and sank down into the chair. She hadn’t even begun to escape and already felt defeated. She didn’t dare venture from the bedchamber, terrified as she was that Lascaux might be lurking in wait for her. The mere fact that he didn’t retire to his own bedchamber immediately aroused her suspicions.

“Fly, my lady.”

Darelle gasped. The voice carried into the bedchamber, through the open window. She scrambled back up to a standing position on the chair and pushed her upper body through the opening, searching for the owner of the voice. “Who are you?” she called softly into the waning night.

“One of your guardians, my lady,” the male voice answered. The sound was soothing and calmed the torrid pounding in her heart.

Don’t listen to him, ma belle.

Darelle clutched at her heart with one hand, recognizing Lascaux’s silky whisper. She swiveled around, searching for him in the shadowy firelight of the bedchamber. It was empty.

“Quickly, my lady. You’ll fit through the window. I’m here, on the battlement.”

Darelle pushed her upper body through the window, painfully aware now of the vast open space between the window and the battlement. This time, she saw a dark, cloaked figure standing on the walkway. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, stood facing her. She couldn’t distinguish his features in the half-light, but his very presence relieved her and infused her with a sense of strength. He held out one hand to her.

Don’t leave me, Darelle! Lascaux’s voice shuddered through her.

Holy God, he had control of her mind! He was inside her very being. Softly, she cried out as the familiar erotic tingle sprung up between her thighs, pulsing waves of desire through her womb into her breasts. She crouched in the narrow opening of the window. Whoever the man was on the battlement, she sensed he brought her safety from Lascaux’s clutches.

“How can I fly?” she whispered desperately.

“It’s within your power to glide short distances, Lady Darelle. Come quickly.”

A spasm of s****l heat ripped through her slit, weakening her. If she waited another moment, she would be in the t****l, unable to move. Dragging in a deep breath she clenched her jaw and sprang from the window, crying softly as an invisible current lifted her. The power of flight infused her body and she directed herself toward the man on the battlement, landing softly just in front of him. Uncertain of her footing, she teetered slightly and a pair of strong hands closed around her arms, steadying her.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

Darelle craned her neck and looked into his face. In the gray light, she could make out high cheekbones and a firm jaw. The waning moonlight gleamed in his eyes, which studied her with unmistakable tenderness. “Who are you?” she whispered. Her heart still pounded from the shock of flight, yet the man’s touch soothed her and already Lascaux’s s****l t****l had lessened.

“Gareth, my lady. Kane and I have come to fetch you. He’s waiting below.”

“She’s going nowhere.” Lascaux’s voice cut into her from behind. “Darelle is mine.”

She turned and saw her captor standing close behind her, his eyes glowing golden yellow, his fangs bared.

Gareth pulled her against him, turning so that his large strong frame came in between her and Lascaux.

“She doesn’t belong to you, or to anyone, Minhotep,” Gareth said.

Darelle could not see Lascaux’s expression but she heard a growl issue from deep in his throat. His t****l gripped her body, sending waves of heated lust through her breasts.

“Put your hands on me, Darelle,” Gareth ordered. Obediently, she reached out, resting her palms flat on Gareth’s back. Warm strength infused her through the coarse material of his cloak, holding the t****l at bay.

“How dare you and your Coeurs Éternels. Darelle! Don’t listen to this creature. He would steal all your pleasure from you. I brought you across. I saved you from la peste!”

Lascaux’s words tore at her heart, as if he were deep inside her. She felt guilty for wanting to escape him, for not succumbing to the lush erotic pleasure he’d given her. But he frightened her, the way he wanted to force her to love him.

She pressed her hands more deeply into Gareth’s cloak, inching her body closer until her breasts pushed lightly into his back muscles. The moment her body made full contact with his, Lascaux’s spell was severed, clearing her mind.

Gareth’s arm moved, emerging from underneath his cloak. Rose-colored streaks now stained the gray sky, reflecting the glint of a gold cross in Gareth’s hand.

Lascaux cringed, but with a guttural cry, reached out and swiped it out of his hand. The crucifix soared downward, lost in the depths of the castle bailey.

Darelle gasped.

“Squeeze your arms around me, Darelle,” Gareth ordered her, not taking his eyes off Lascaux.

“If you leave, Darelle, you will be lost forever,” Lascaux said. “You need me.”

Darelle clutched at Gareth’s cloak. Each time Lascaux spoke, her mind filled with confusion.

“Hold tight!” Gareth shouted.

Darelle squeezed her arms tightly around his torso of rock-hard muscle. He was so broad, her hands barely met around his waist. She rested her cheek against his back, her eyes shut tight.

He jumped, and once again Darelle experienced that sensation of weightlessness. She felt them dropping downward and screamed out when a familiar pair of hands, Lascaux’s, clutched her suddenly from behind.

“Hold on, Darelle!” Gareth landed on his feet on the soft grass, standing like a pillar of rock against Lascaux’s tugging grip on Darelle’s shoulders.

In her struggle, she caught a glimpse of another cloaked figure, identical to that of Gareth. This man wedged one powerful arm between her and Lascaux who released her as if that man’s arm were burning him.

As Lascaux backed away, the man stood in his place and he and Gareth enclosed Darelle between them. To her surprise, she grew completely calm, the tension draining from her body in spite of Lascaux, a mere few feet away, prepared to snatch her back to the castle. She closed her eyes, her cheek resting against Gareth’s chest. The other man stood behind her, a strong, protective force against Lascaux’s t****l.

Neither Gareth nor his companion budged. Like statues, they stood, holding her between them. Behind them, Darelle heard Lascaux hiss, his frustration and anger filling the air around them. The sky lightened from gray to pink. Fuchsia streaks of light splashed out above the horizon beyond the rolling hills.

Lascaux hissed again, retreating as if from fire. She witnessed the daylight repel him as the cross had. He began to retreat, his gaze boring into hers.

She drew a long deep breath, her body sagging against Gareth.

“I’ll find you, petite,” Lascaux said, his voice like molten iron. “I’m in your very soul. You’ll never be able to let me go.”

Darelle squeezed her eyes shut tight against his words and the guilt he churned up in her.

He turned and ran, disappearing through an opening in the château wall.

Another minute passed before Gareth stirred. He and his companion moved slightly apart, keeping her safely between them.

Gareth put his large hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right, my lady?”

Darelle felt her cheeks redden under his gaze. In her entire life, she could never have imagined being addressed with such respect, especially by a man so handsome. In the waxing daylight, she could see his face much more clearly, the chiseled angles, the rich brown of his eyes. Though his cheeks and jaw were clean-shaven, the masculine roughness of his whiskers showed through, framing his graceful, strong bow-shaped lips. His skin was a smooth olive tone, his dark hair shorn close to the scalp. Wordlessly, she nodded.

Gareth studied her face with a stern expression darkening his eyes. “Good. You are a brave young woman. Minhotep is very powerful.” He looked at his companion. “Meet your other guardian, Kane.” He turned her gently to face Kane. Darelle found herself gazing at Gareth’s mirror image. She blinked several times. “Vous êtes jumeaux?” she asked softly.

Kane chuckled. “Yes, my lady, we’re twins.” He stepped back and bowed to her, smiling gently. A large dimple formed in his right cheek. “I’m Kane Princelli and this is my brother, Gareth. At your service.”

Gareth cleared his throat. “We’re your guardians.”