Read Online In Defense of the Queen by Michelle Diener - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michelle Diener
Ads: Link
accorded free passage.”
Kilburne hesitated, the shadow of the door concealing his expression.
Parker waited. He forced his breathing slow and even. He was not used to being the supplicant. But Kilburne was taking too long, and he could not accept it.
He gathered himself, a snarl already twisting his lips, hands lifted to grab Kilburne by the throat, when Kilburne finally spoke, his words tumbling over themselves, breathy.
“She can have one servant, and he will be free to come and go.” Kilburne stepped a little further back, ready to slam the door. “I’ll make an arrangement at the gate for him.”
Parker gave a nod, his limbs shaking with the force of violence held back. Unable to speak.
Kilburne swung the door shut in his face.
It was probably the first of many.
* * *
They had refused to let her turn and say her goodbyes. Hands, not so gentle now their leader was otherwise engaged, gripped her in a relentless march deep into the house and up the stairs.
She twisted her head, craning back to catch one last glimpse of Parker, and heard him shout as Kilburne denied him entrance.
She wanted to cry out to him, but clamped her mouth shut, grinding her back teeth together. He was capable of plowing through Kilburne to reach her, if he thought her in danger, and she would not have him in more trouble than he was already.
The guards pressed against her so tightly on the carved wooden stairway panic rose up to choke her, as if she were drowning, caught helpless in a maelstrom.
She knew it could be worse.
She could be in the White Tower, going down the stairs to the dungeon, instead of up to rooms in the Lieutenant’s Lodgings, tucked neatly up against the Bell Tower. Rooms which had formerly housed a French duke.
She sensed the men around her had expected more rough play, they were reined in and chafing against the restraints Kilburne and the Queen had set on them.
As they reached the top of the stairs and began down a passageway, a hand from behind splayed against the small of her back, slipped around her waist, bold and disrespectful.
Fear clawed at her. She was hemmed in, crowded. Overwhelmed.
She scrabbled for purchase on the smooth wooden floor as another hand snaked out to palm her breast, squeeze it.
They were growing bolder, the further they got from Kilburne.
She took a breath, her fists clenched before her, and stopped moving. She leaned back, her legs locked at the knees, bracing herself for the slam of bodies from behind. She angled herself to make a smaller obstacle as men tripped over her and each other.
She’d caught them by surprise. She had been nothing but cooperative since they had encountered her.
The man behind her swore as he tripped and twisted away to save himself, knocking into another guard. They both fell to the floor, at her feet.
Other men jostled each other to stay upright, grunting and swearing.
“You bitch.” One of the men on the floor gave her a slit-eyed glare.
“You were manhandling me. Someone was running his hands over me.” She did not flinch from the words and they remained, hanging in the air, clear and accusing. “It is not well done of you.” Even she could hear how accented her English was, all of a sudden. Fear and panic had brought her mother tongue back into her head, trying to override her new English speech.
She had not known what to expect, but she saw at least some looked uncomfortable at her accusation. They looked away, or at each other, and she said no more.
The men on the floor scrambled to their feet, and she thought the one who’d called her a bitch was one of those who had been free with his hands earlier.
“What is your name?” She looked directly at him, and for the first time, fear or nerves flickered in his eyes.
He did not want to tell her. He shuffled.
Perhaps he was remembering, suddenly, to whom she was betrothed. Or who had defended her when they had come for her.
“What is this, Merden?” Kilburne’s voice made her
Kilburne hesitated, the shadow of the door concealing his expression.
Parker waited. He forced his breathing slow and even. He was not used to being the supplicant. But Kilburne was taking too long, and he could not accept it.
He gathered himself, a snarl already twisting his lips, hands lifted to grab Kilburne by the throat, when Kilburne finally spoke, his words tumbling over themselves, breathy.
“She can have one servant, and he will be free to come and go.” Kilburne stepped a little further back, ready to slam the door. “I’ll make an arrangement at the gate for him.”
Parker gave a nod, his limbs shaking with the force of violence held back. Unable to speak.
Kilburne swung the door shut in his face.
It was probably the first of many.
* * *
They had refused to let her turn and say her goodbyes. Hands, not so gentle now their leader was otherwise engaged, gripped her in a relentless march deep into the house and up the stairs.
She twisted her head, craning back to catch one last glimpse of Parker, and heard him shout as Kilburne denied him entrance.
She wanted to cry out to him, but clamped her mouth shut, grinding her back teeth together. He was capable of plowing through Kilburne to reach her, if he thought her in danger, and she would not have him in more trouble than he was already.
The guards pressed against her so tightly on the carved wooden stairway panic rose up to choke her, as if she were drowning, caught helpless in a maelstrom.
She knew it could be worse.
She could be in the White Tower, going down the stairs to the dungeon, instead of up to rooms in the Lieutenant’s Lodgings, tucked neatly up against the Bell Tower. Rooms which had formerly housed a French duke.
She sensed the men around her had expected more rough play, they were reined in and chafing against the restraints Kilburne and the Queen had set on them.
As they reached the top of the stairs and began down a passageway, a hand from behind splayed against the small of her back, slipped around her waist, bold and disrespectful.
Fear clawed at her. She was hemmed in, crowded. Overwhelmed.
She scrabbled for purchase on the smooth wooden floor as another hand snaked out to palm her breast, squeeze it.
They were growing bolder, the further they got from Kilburne.
She took a breath, her fists clenched before her, and stopped moving. She leaned back, her legs locked at the knees, bracing herself for the slam of bodies from behind. She angled herself to make a smaller obstacle as men tripped over her and each other.
She’d caught them by surprise. She had been nothing but cooperative since they had encountered her.
The man behind her swore as he tripped and twisted away to save himself, knocking into another guard. They both fell to the floor, at her feet.
Other men jostled each other to stay upright, grunting and swearing.
“You bitch.” One of the men on the floor gave her a slit-eyed glare.
“You were manhandling me. Someone was running his hands over me.” She did not flinch from the words and they remained, hanging in the air, clear and accusing. “It is not well done of you.” Even she could hear how accented her English was, all of a sudden. Fear and panic had brought her mother tongue back into her head, trying to override her new English speech.
She had not known what to expect, but she saw at least some looked uncomfortable at her accusation. They looked away, or at each other, and she said no more.
The men on the floor scrambled to their feet, and she thought the one who’d called her a bitch was one of those who had been free with his hands earlier.
“What is your name?” She looked directly at him, and for the first time, fear or nerves flickered in his eyes.
He did not want to tell her. He shuffled.
Perhaps he was remembering, suddenly, to whom she was betrothed. Or who had defended her when they had come for her.
“What is this, Merden?” Kilburne’s voice made her
Similar Books
