Arms bound once more behind her back, she was escorted again by half a dozen or so men, who now led her down a sort of mud-splattered boulevard that ran through the center of the camp. Word of her presence must have gotten around, for the path was lined with jeering, torch-bearing men come to get a look at her as she passed.
One of them actually threw something at her – she dodged quickly enough not to have to find out what it was – and another shouted a comment so graphically crude that it made her blush to the roots of her hair, and caused everyone else within earshot to burst into lewdly appreciative laughter.
Oh, yes, she thought with bitter, impotent anger, yes, this is a fine example of ambassadorial treatment. And it is certain to only get better from here. Thank you ever so much, Cuthbert, for awarding me this HONOR.
Then the boulevard widened into a sodden, muddy gathering area in front of a larger and rather more ornate tent than any other she had yet seen. This is it, she thought with resigned horror; this is where Edgar will be. I wonder where he stole the tent from? Likely the same place he came by his formal attire.
And sure enough, as the procession halted in front of the command tent, the man himself stepped out through the flap.
He appeared infinitely more comfortable in his plain fighting gear than he had in the ill-fitting formal attire of the night before, but that wasn't to say that he was any more attractive. In addition to the rather close-set and faded blue eyes that Jane had made note of previously, he had lank, receding hair of an indeterminate sandy color, and the physique of a muscular man gone slightly to seed.
He seemed to possess some sort of charisma that endeared him to his men, for they burst into boisterous cheers at the sight of him; but whatever that quality might have been, it was lost on Jane. She saw nothing even remotely redeeming in his appearance, expression or stance. He was as wholly loathsome to her now as he'd been on every other occasion she had laid eyes on him.
With a final, decisive shove to the small of her back, she found herself standing before him.
As she glared daggers at him, he raised both hands, gesturing his men for silence.
"So," he called out when he had achieved the effect he wanted – or as close to it as possible when in the midst of hundreds of worked-up men – "the charming lady knight has come to negotiate after all!"
The crowd hooted and jeered.
"Well then, Lady Jane," he continued, swaggering up to her, "what would you like to discuss, eh?"
So his first order of business was to make public mockery of her. Jane set her jaw and said nothing.
Edgar shook his head and tutted. "Come now, milady, do you not think it would benefit you to be a bit politer, under the circumstances?"
"Good manners are lost on one such as you," Jane ground out between her teeth.
"Oh, come now; you could at least give it a try."
"I did give it a try!" Jane spat. "I was as civil as I could stand, for as long as I could stand, at the banquet last night… and where did that get me? Here!"
"You came of your own free will," Edgar pointed out serenely.
"But I cannot leave of my own free will. Can I?"
"Well, that depends. I am sure we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement… if you would care to step into the privacy of my tent for some… vigorous negotiations." For the benefit of his men, he dropped a widely exaggerated wink, which was answered by a chorus of appreciative hoots and whistles.
Jane's fists clenched. "I would rather die."
Edgar cocked an eyebrow mockingly. "Rather die than negotiate? Some emissary of peace you are. Hmmm… I shall have to think this over."
He made a show of pondering for the benefit of his men, then – "So King Cuthbert sends us an negotiator who will not negotiate… this being the case, I find no alternative but to declare King Cuthbert in breach of the contract he made with me last night. Therefore –" he paused dramatically – "we shall attack the castle in two days' time!"
A mighty roar went up from the assemblage. Jane paled.
Edgar waved a dismissive hand in her direction. "Return her to her tent. Keep her under heavy guard. She will accompany us to Kippernia Castle so as to witness our victory firsthand." As the men cheered on he continued in a quieter voice to Jane alone, "Come to think of it, that kitchen girl was rather comelier than you are, anyway. A far softer, riper example of womanly beauty. And she has a husband and child, does she not? With their well-being at stake, I think she might just prove to be far more open to negotiation than you, milady."
Oh, God. Pepper.
Jane's stomach turned over so violently that for a second she actually thought she was going to be physically ill. She managed to clamp down on the urge to throw up just as someone seized her none too gently by the arm and started to haul her away.
She dug in her feet, never breaking her eye contact with Edgar. He had her and he knew it. The triumph on his face as he waited patiently for her to confirm it made her head swim with hate.
"Wait," she choked out, her voice clogged with misery, and helpless rage.
Edgar cocked his head, raising a hand to cup his ear in a theatrically exaggerated fashion. "What was that, Lady Jane?"
"I said, wait."
He motioned to her guards, who released her and stepped back. "Was there something else you wanted to say?" he asked, in a voice flooded with false courtesy.
"Leave them alone."
"And…?"
"Leave them alone and we... we can negotiate."
"Hmm. Tempting, but –"
"Leave them alone and I will do whatever you ask of me."
Edgar grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "Anything I ask?"
"Yes," Jane gritted out.
Edgar's grinned widened. "A little louder, if it please you, Lady Jane."
Unshed tears burned and stung the backs of her eyes as she raised her chin and practically shouted, "I will do anything you ask, just leave them BE!"
"Well, milady," Edgar rejoined to the raucous delight of his men, "if you absolutely insist."
Jane just glared silent defiance at him as he stepped closer.
"You know," he said, almost conversationally, "I believe this will be most enjoyable. Perhaps we should seal our bargain before we go inside to… talk further. Ordinarily a handshake would do, but seeing as you are restrained, I think perhaps the circumstances call for a kiss."
"Or you could unbind me," Jane pointed out. She was trying – trying hard – for a flat affect; an uncaring demeanor. But her poise was deserting her now, at last. The tears were pushing hard, almost demanding to flow. I will not cry, not here and not inside, I do not care what he makes me do, I will not cry…
"True," Edgar allowed; he was so close to her now that he was nearly whispering, "I could unbind you, but where would be the fun in that? Not only do I prefer the kiss, but it will make a better show for my men. And besides… a handshake indicates equality. A kiss, on the other hand, indicates ownership."
He took another step forward, and now they were face-to-face, so close their noses were nearly touching.
"And I will own you tonight, milady –" He raised his left hand; fisted it hard in her hair. Smiled at her gasp of pain.
"Every –" he raised his right hand; ran his thumb roughly over her lips – "last –" he lowered his head so that his own lips were now moving against her skin, making her shudder with disgust – "inch of you."
And then he kissed her, hard. It was the first kiss of Jane's life.
And two things happened, in extraordinarily fast succession.
OOOOO
The first was a thought that blazed across Jane's consciousness with the suddenness and clarity of sunlight bursting through the haze of an overcast day. The thought was shocking not only in its force, but also because it was something she had never articulated before; not even to herself. But it was here now, burning as fiercely as dragonfire in her mind, and she understood in that instant that whether she'd admitted it to herself or not, she had felt this way for a very long time.
This belonged to Gunther, how dare you take what was rightfully HIS!
That was the first thing – and oh, the anger that accompanied that thought. It was enough to drive all logic and rational thought from her mind. The fact that there were reasons (and they were reasons which had, just an instant ago, seemed incredibly compelling) for her submission to his advances – that fact evaporated to nothing under the blast of emotion that accompanied her realization. Edgar had just helped himself to something she'd been saving for Gunther, whether consciously or not, since she'd been twelve years old.
The second thing, less than a heartbeat later, was a physical, knee-jerk reaction to that anger – literally.
Her leg pistoned upward with all the strength she could put behind it, driving her knee squarely into Edgar's groin.
Edgar collapsed to the ground in silent, deflated agony. For a second, shocked silence reigned. Then Jane's nearest guard jerked her backward, hard, against his body; and a heartbeat later had his dagger pressed to her throat hard enough to draw a trickle of blood, immobilizing her as others rushed to Edgar's aid.
For Jane, the next few minutes seemed to stretch on forever; she was swimming in an ocean of time as the point of the dagger dug painfully into her flesh, her breath coming now in short, sharp gasps.
She swallowed convulsively and the blade bit deeper.
Then Edgar was back on his feet facing her, his expression a study in blackest, boiling rage. He motioned curtly to the man holding Jane, and the dagger was lowered. The respite, however, was very short-lived.
"You stupid… little… wench!" Edgar snarled, face contorted with fury – and then he backhanded her with spectacular force.
Lights bloomed before her eyes; she tasted blood and would have fallen were she not still being held upright by the man with the dagger.
And an instant later, before she'd even remotely begun to recover from the first blow, Edgar struck her again; this time driving his fist into her stomach and savagely knocking the air from her lungs. Her legs buckled as she struggled for breath, pulling frantically for air and finding none.
She couldn't breathe.
When next Edgar spoke, it seemed to Jane that his voice was coming from across a vast, echoing distance – even though she knew that in reality he was mere inches away from her.
"I think a public flogging is in order here," he said with flat hate. "Secure our guest to the whipping post."