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Authors: Johanna Lindsey
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himself for the first time in many years. “I would suggest you do not move.”
A half moan, half chuckle. “I do not think I care to try. What ails me, that my back is afire?”
He had no memory of the lashing? That was good, yet shame stirred in Turgeis that made him distinctly uncomfortable. He could have prevented it. Erika should not have ordered it, and wouldn’t have if she hadn’t lost her temper. He decided not to answer that question.
“Give me the name of someone who will aid you.”
It seemed to Selig that he had waited forever to hear those words. It was what he had been seeking. Aid. Word sent to his sister so she would come for him. And he had found a fellow Norseman, someone he could trust.
“My sister, Kristen, wed to Royce of Wyndhurst, near Winchester. He will—”
He had moved slightly, unaware that it would send the nerves screaming across his back. That he instinctively tensed against the pain only made it worse. Air hissed out of him. Coherent thought fled.
“Be easy,” Turgeis said. “The healer will attend you shortly.”
Selig didn’t hear, for it had come to him why he was in so much agony. “She…beat…me. She actually…”
He could not retain the thought. It floated away with all the others, leaving nothing to explain what plagued him—until much later, when the laughter came, and with it, she.
Honey-gold hair topped with flame, lush lips that sneered at him, promising sweetness, butnever for him. Just out of reach she stayed, while the tortures were inflicted, the fire and ice, the hammers and whips, the white-hot brand that sealed his wounds before more were opened, the poison they forced down his throat, which made him vomit again and again so that he would never get his strength back.
He knew he screamed repeatedly, he must have, though he heard not the sound of it, just her laughter, louder and louder, until it echoed through his mind and became the worst agony of all, for he felt shamed by it, humiliated beyond reason. Her laughter, her amusement at his expense, her contempt for his weakness. He could not escape them, or the pain. She was always there, watching, laughing, sometimes wielding the whip herself, which was a puny effort, but the worst blow to his lacerated pride.
Such treatment from a woman, a young one, no more than a score of years, too young to be so cruel. He had wanted her comfort so badly, it was yet another ache he had to deal with, but all she wanted was to torment him. And the laughter continued. He was going to die hearing it.
Turgeis stayed with Selig the Blessed until Elfwina arrived to tend him. He left him with the healer while he went to check on Erika. But she was still with Thurston, and was not likely to leave him that night.
Turgeis had already sent a man to Wessex, so he caught a few hours’ sleep while he had the chance. It was near dawn when he returnedto the pit. Hearing the healer’s laughter as he entered led him to believe Selig’s condition must have improved, and he voiced his assumption.
“He is better?”
Elfwina didn’t even try to hide her humor, still chuckling to herself. “Nay, his fever is worse. ’Tis so high he is like to die from it.”
Turgeis stiffened. “Then why do you laugh?”
She was not intimidated by the scowl he was giving her. “Because it pleases me to see a Celt suffering so. ’Twas one like him killed my husband, you know.”
He didn’t know and didn’t care. “If you have not aided him due to malice—”
“Nay, be easy, Viking. I am bound to give him what aid I can, despite my dislike of him. Healing is my life, which gives me no choice. But I am pleased to say that all I have done for him is not like to help, and there is naught else to do.” She dared to laugh again, an unpleasant sound that grated. “Even the purging has not worked. His fever still rises, taking him deep into nightmares. I have been as gentle as I can with him, but he thinks he is being tortured.
A half moan, half chuckle. “I do not think I care to try. What ails me, that my back is afire?”
He had no memory of the lashing? That was good, yet shame stirred in Turgeis that made him distinctly uncomfortable. He could have prevented it. Erika should not have ordered it, and wouldn’t have if she hadn’t lost her temper. He decided not to answer that question.
“Give me the name of someone who will aid you.”
It seemed to Selig that he had waited forever to hear those words. It was what he had been seeking. Aid. Word sent to his sister so she would come for him. And he had found a fellow Norseman, someone he could trust.
“My sister, Kristen, wed to Royce of Wyndhurst, near Winchester. He will—”
He had moved slightly, unaware that it would send the nerves screaming across his back. That he instinctively tensed against the pain only made it worse. Air hissed out of him. Coherent thought fled.
“Be easy,” Turgeis said. “The healer will attend you shortly.”
Selig didn’t hear, for it had come to him why he was in so much agony. “She…beat…me. She actually…”
He could not retain the thought. It floated away with all the others, leaving nothing to explain what plagued him—until much later, when the laughter came, and with it, she.
Honey-gold hair topped with flame, lush lips that sneered at him, promising sweetness, butnever for him. Just out of reach she stayed, while the tortures were inflicted, the fire and ice, the hammers and whips, the white-hot brand that sealed his wounds before more were opened, the poison they forced down his throat, which made him vomit again and again so that he would never get his strength back.
He knew he screamed repeatedly, he must have, though he heard not the sound of it, just her laughter, louder and louder, until it echoed through his mind and became the worst agony of all, for he felt shamed by it, humiliated beyond reason. Her laughter, her amusement at his expense, her contempt for his weakness. He could not escape them, or the pain. She was always there, watching, laughing, sometimes wielding the whip herself, which was a puny effort, but the worst blow to his lacerated pride.
Such treatment from a woman, a young one, no more than a score of years, too young to be so cruel. He had wanted her comfort so badly, it was yet another ache he had to deal with, but all she wanted was to torment him. And the laughter continued. He was going to die hearing it.
Turgeis stayed with Selig the Blessed until Elfwina arrived to tend him. He left him with the healer while he went to check on Erika. But she was still with Thurston, and was not likely to leave him that night.
Turgeis had already sent a man to Wessex, so he caught a few hours’ sleep while he had the chance. It was near dawn when he returnedto the pit. Hearing the healer’s laughter as he entered led him to believe Selig’s condition must have improved, and he voiced his assumption.
“He is better?”
Elfwina didn’t even try to hide her humor, still chuckling to herself. “Nay, his fever is worse. ’Tis so high he is like to die from it.”
Turgeis stiffened. “Then why do you laugh?”
She was not intimidated by the scowl he was giving her. “Because it pleases me to see a Celt suffering so. ’Twas one like him killed my husband, you know.”
He didn’t know and didn’t care. “If you have not aided him due to malice—”
“Nay, be easy, Viking. I am bound to give him what aid I can, despite my dislike of him. Healing is my life, which gives me no choice. But I am pleased to say that all I have done for him is not like to help, and there is naught else to do.” She dared to laugh again, an unpleasant sound that grated. “Even the purging has not worked. His fever still rises, taking him deep into nightmares. I have been as gentle as I can with him, but he thinks he is being tortured.
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