His Enemy's Daughter. Terri Brisbin
realisation and he felt lighter than he had in all the months since that September day. Standing over her now, Soren noticed the creaminess of her skin and wanted to caress those graceful lines of her neck, the fullness of her lips and the fragile daintiness of her slender figure. It would, he realised, take little effort to tug the linens out of his way and see the rest of her feminine curves and skin laid bare. With just this small hint of her comeliness, his body warmed and readied for the task ahead. Soren reached over to lift the sheet away when she startled so suddenly that he jumped back.
‘Sybilla,’ he said, realising he should offer her some words of explanation. He did not doubt she came to this ill-gotten marriage a virgin.
The sound of her name on his tongue for the first time felt rough and ill-fitting. He swallowed and cleared his throat. Before he could move closer or do anything, she tossed the covers back and pushed herself off the bed, sliding away from him. He reached over to grab her, but slipped and landed across the bed, with an empty hand. Leaning up, he watched as she tried, like a trapped, wild animal, to run with nowhere to go.
Her bare feet skidded on the wooden planks of the floor and her momentum carried her as she stumbled across the chamber. Soren climbed over the bed and reached for her just as she got to her feet and dashed away. Like a madwoman, one too caught up in escaping to remember she could not see. Confused and probably still dazed from her injury, he watched as she pressed herself up against the wall, whispering and shaking her head.
Soren spoke her name several times, but clearly she was incapable of hearing him. He approached her as he would a high-strung mare, trying to gentle her with a calm voice.
‘Sybilla,’ he said, sliding off the bed and trying to get to her before she caused more damage to herself. ‘You must stop.’
She stood motionless, but only for a deceiving second, and then she bolted as soon as he moved towards her. He almost got hold of her when she knocked over a small table that held a jug and cups. Soren managed to take hold of her shoulders and stop her from further injury, but she began to wail as soon as his hands touched her skin. It was a pitiful sound that he hated hearing, both for what it made him want to do and what it made him feel. Sybilla would have backed away from him but for his hold on her and she surprised him again when she collapsed to the floor.
Soren told himself that she simply sought to avoid the inevitable and that he had every right to claim her body this night, but something deep within him refused to let him take that step. Instead, he whispered her name and tried to calm the devastated woman he had forced into marriage. Somehow he guided her over to the bed and settled her under the bedcovers.
He ran his hands through his hair as he gazed around the chamber and wondered how he had so mismanaged this situation that had seemed completely under his control just minutes before. His plan to bed her regardless of her feelings on the matter fell apart in the face of her pitiful condition. Some remnant of his old self ate at him as he witnessed the fall he’d planned for so long. But only for a scant moment as he realised he could not, would not, bed her this night.
Acknowledging it, acknowledging that he could not take her against her will, no matter his will or his desire on the matter, seemed to let loose all the anger he’d held inside for so long.
She’d won again.
Her father had defeated him yet again.
Soren felt the rage seething and turned away from the bed and her. He struck out in blind anger, at the only thing he could, grabbing a nearby wooden loom and throwing it frame first against the wall, then crashing it to the floor. He heard Sybilla scream out, but ignored it this time. He’d given up much this night and could give no more.
Unfortunately, the loom had landed partially against the door, blocking the path of his retreat, his exit, so he had to call out for the guards. When they opened the door immediately, Soren knew they’d been right outside and not down the hall.
‘Get this damned thing out of here!’
Only as they began to collect the wooden beams did she react, sobbing and sliding from the bed where he’d placed her. He blocked the guards’ view of her and wrapped a blanket around her as she scrambled towards the remnants of the loom. He shook his head in confusion and disbelief.
Was she mad as well as blind?
As he watched, Sybilla tried to gather and touch the pieces of the frame in her arms, all the time rocking to and fro and sobbing. Stephen arrived at the doorway and frowned as he watched the strange scene before him.
‘What happened, Soren?’
Soren shrugged. At first he thought fear had taken hold of her. Fear of consummating their vows would be something he could understand since she was a maid and was his bitterest enemy. But then, she seemed to have lost her wits and her way. Now, the heart-wrenching sobs that seem to come from her soul confused him. Damn it! Why did Stephen have to be right in his warning?
‘The loom fell,’ he explained, leaving out the part about his unleashed anger causing it. Incomplete. Inaccurate. It was as much as he was willing to explain.
‘She does not seem well, Soren,’ Stephen said as the wench continued grasping and crying. ‘Should I summon her maid?’
What else could he do at this point? There would be no consummation this night and he wondered if he’d made a mistake by taking her as his wife. He looked around the chamber at the damage caused and shrugged. Mayhap the women could calm her and even explain this to him.
‘Aye, get them and seek the healer.’
Stephen left and Soren observed her from where he stood. She had not moved from her place on the floor and did not appear to even feel or hear anything as she rocked and cried. When he heard the sounds of the women’s approach, he stepped slowly out the door, continuing to face and watch her. With a motion of his hand, he stopped them several paces from the door.
‘Stop,’ he ordered in a whisper. ‘You, you come here quietly,’ he directed to the older woman. When she walked to where he stood, he nodded. ‘Tell me of your lady’s behaviour.’
The older one leaned over and peeked in the chamber, gasping at the scene before her. When she moved to enter, he held her back with his arm.
‘Tell me why she acts as a madwoman.’
‘What did you do to her?’ the maid demanded.
Soren reached over and grabbed the woman by her garb, hauling her up close to him. ‘I do not explain my actions to a servant,’ he growled through clenched jaws. Pushing her away, he nodded at the lady in question. ‘Has she lost her wits?’
Her answer was interrupted by the healer, a man brought with them who understood how to treat injuries and heal with herbs. Brice’s wife had spoken highly of his treatments and Soren was pleased to find him still alive after the slaughter and brought him here to Alston for the time being.
‘My lord?’
‘Teyen, have you treated the lady for her injuries?’
‘Nay, my lord. Her maids saw to her while I saw to those more in need,’ he explained. ‘Should I now?’
Soren rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the shattering pain growing there in the face of this absurd situation. ‘What happened to her?’ Soren asked. ‘You, there.’ he nodded at the younger servant ‘. what are you called?’
‘Gytha,’ she stammered out.
‘Gytha,’ he said, ‘tell me how was your lady blinded?’
‘When you … the attack began, she was running to collect the children into the keep as Gareth directed. The wall shattered in front of her and struck her down.’
‘So she lost consciousness?’ he asked. Gytha nodded. ‘For how long?’
‘Until you … you broke into the keep. She’d just awakened then.’
He’d seen many men who became dazed and confused after head injuries in