Barbour, Carolina - Watch Me, Desire Me (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 9

  One small offense and he enjoyed sending his blade through the heart of his man. Even he knew his men fought by his side out of fear and not loyalty, and the thought pleased him.

  The days Lord Drackett traveled, spending days away from the dwelling, his people considered it a holiday. They walked easy, smiled readily, and prayed to Oslei their lord would not return.

  The girl’s eyes rounded as Lord Drackett licked his lips like a salivating hound. She tried to shrink back from his touch. He pursued her, cupped her breast, and roughly tugged. When he reached to touch her cheek the girl looked as she might collapse. She stared at his open palm, waiting, anticipating the slap. Lord Drackett chortled instead. Clearly, enjoying taunting the girl, he finally released and shoved her away.

  “You will come to my chambers later,” he commanded.

  The girl rushed off without a backward glance.

  Lord Drackett turned his attention to Priest Manner. “I’m not sure I can trust you,” he said, eyeing the priest suspiciously.

  Priest Manner hurried and kneeled beside him. “You can trust me, milord.” He vowed his allegiance, words dripped like syrup, slithering out.

  “You wear the cloth of Oslei yet have horns.” The thought seemed to amuse Lord Drackett. He raised the cup to his lips, sipped, watching the priest over the rim of his drink. He kept his gaze locked, attentive on the priest, as if he expected him to steal the jeweled ornament on the sword sheath, at his waist.

  The slug contemplates lying. He could tell. He considered warning the priest against it, and then thought better of it. He wanted to hear what the man would say. What he would confess, the lies he would spew, as curiosity settled on him like a heavy load. Careful not to reveal too much by his expression, he remained inert, appeared bored, waiting to hear what the priest said.

  Oh, how he wanted to challenge the lies he saw form on the man’s lips. Coolness was required, he had to throttle the desire to lash out at the pathetic excuse for a man who deemed himself superior in mind that he would believe he could treat him like a fool.

  To control the rage frothing, Lord Drackett gripped the cup between his fingers. He wrapped his hand around the entire dish as he ached to do the priest’s scrawny neck. He draws control to be patient. He concentrates on his fingertips that are pale as the blood drains his hold is so tight. Priest Manner sidles closer, pressed his frame against his side, his hand ran over his thigh with familiarity. The move is expected, common with the priest, and for a second he considers toying with the priest’s deviant nature. He did it before out of curiosity.

  The boney fingers kneaded his thigh, moved higher toward his waist, and settled close to his groin. Priest Manner is smiling, coy, offering what he refused to give him. To make him understand his position he intentionally alters his expression, wipes the feigned tolerance from his face. There is not a hint of interest showing.

  Priest Manner looked wounded. “My patience with you grows increasingly short. You failed with Carline, and you expect me to rectify your blunder. Actually, now I have considered matters, you may have done me a favor. However, I will not tolerate your incompetence in other more important matters. There is Lord DeCapri to deal with, and you promised me he would expire soon. Yet, he continues to hold on to his miserable life.” He looked at the priest, boring into him with a cold countenance. “I…need…him…dead,” he said, speaking slowly as if he addressed a dimwit.

  “He survived the poison. Juden saved him.” The thought seemed to irritate Priest Manner.

  “Then you admit failing again.”

  “The variant is an unexpected inconvenience,” Priest Manner said, apologetic.

  Lord Drackett unsheathed his favorite weapon, a long bladed, razor sharp knife, capable of flaying the outer flesh from bone. He poked it at the priest’s eyeball, moving it slowly back and forth, to convince the priest he is serious. Fury begins to darken his eyes. “Your ineptness makes me weary…intolerable. You do the tasks you promised me, or I will gut you like a fish and toss your remains to the wolves.”

  “Go…go and get matters settled or else. I want Dandelion under my control and I don’t give a damn how you manage it.”

  The pawn scrambled like a rat. He watched him go and then turned his attention away to ponder his thoughts. The totality of it all made his head ache, a deep throbbing that felt like someone hit him with a mallet. Bright lights flashed before his eyes, leaving floating dots of white swimming in front of his eyes.

  The headaches were getting worse.

  He rubbed his temples repeatedly, massaging his head, as he considered what he had to put in motion quickly. Normally, he preferred to keep his hands pristine and allow the blood to coat others, and in this instance, he knew to take matters into his own hands.

  Chapter 14

  The hour grew later and later, darkness long since descended, the possibility Carline might not come seemed plausible. Priest Manner contemplated this and considered it a minor nuisance. If she did renege, he would go through with his other plan to see he won. Though ghastly, he schemed to make the sacrifice and consider the repercussions later.

  The desire of the flesh and greed created a web of deceit within him that entangled him in a chokehold until he felt suffocated.

  He had to be careful how he managed the labyrinth. When matters were done, he must ensure his rule over land, people, and warriors as he dreamt for years. If he became the ruler of Dandelion or Lord Drackett’s wasteland did not matter.

  He slaved under the restrictions of the church long enough. The pretense of enjoying the meager lifestyle became a burden. Being a man of Oslei had not been his choice more so a necessity. When his heartless father tossed him out on his butt penniless, his choices for survival were limited. He could perish in the vast harshness of the Northern Territory, fighting off all its perils; scavengers, wild animals, and the unsavory or join the protection of the church. Reluctantly, he chose the latter.

  The monks accepted him without question. Raised in the word of Oslei, yet, the lowly, boring, constricted life living amongst the priest had never been his calling.

  He was destined to make his own way. Do as he pleased. The price of freedom came at a high price, though, and made him have to succumb to the likes of Lord Drackett. The man falsely promised him hope, a reason to live, and now he realized empty promises.

  Priest Manner balled his hands into fist. The thought of what it would feel like to have the conniving, lying, worm squirm in his clutches made him elated.

  Often, when he lay on the hard cot and looked at his harsh surroundings, he fantasized about what it would be like if he trusted the backstabbing prick. Lord Drackett would renege on his word. This he knew, and luckily, he owned the foresight to know not to trust the lecher as far as he could toss his pompous ass.

  Because he was a pauper by standards, nothing to call his own, the hope of marriage to even the most beastly woman of elite society was improbable. His kind did not wed to elevate their status. He would never be good enough. There would be no servants at his disposal, men to lead in battle, or a title attached to his name. The best he could hope for was an appointment to oversee lands. At first, he thought only the scoundrel Drackett could provide this to him, but now he knew better. During his entire life, he knew to depend on no one except himself. Priest Manner’s attention shifted to the door when he heard a sound. A slight grin surfaced on his face. He appeared anxious, like a hunter seeing the prey enter his trap, knowing it was only a matter of time before he could throw the lock in place and secure his future.

  He rose slowly, walked to the door, and opened it to see Carline standing there. He licked his dry lips in anticipation, as if he tasted triumph.

  It was all he could do not to rub his palms together in victory.

  Carline hurried into the room, whirled around, and looked at Priest Manner with owlish eyes. “Now with Juden and his men are here I have to be overly caution.”

  “I wondered if you would return after last
evening,” he said, closing the door and putting the bolt in place.

  “I had to at least seek your counsel though I will not destroy my child.”

  He advanced, stepping into Carline’s personal space and intentionally crowded her. She didn’t retreat. He moved closer. He stared down at her, reached to pat her shoulder in a fatherly, concerned gesture. His voice smooth, silky, raining with false concern, he said, “I will take care of you, Carline. Never fear.”

  He sensed her heightened alert. Although she wanted to flee, she remained which increased his boldness. He squeezed her arm affectionately, whispered in her ear. “I have spoken to Lord Drackett on your behalf. He always had a fondness for you, you know. He is willing to come to your aide.”

  Carline seemed surprised by his words.

  The lies formed easily on his lips, and honey-coated words escaped. “Aye, he is an honorable man. And given the cause, he is willing to help you with this unfortunate predicament you have gotten yourself into.” Priest Manner paused for the effect, before continuing his train of falsehoods. “It would be in your best interest to go to your knees and gives thanks Lord Drackett will come and save you from Oslei’s fires.”

  Carline fidgeted with her gown, twisted the material, entwining it around her fingers. “I’m not sure he is the answer.”

  Priest Manner nostrils flared. That the ninny would dare question anything he told her. With what she gotten herself into—as if he had no part he silently seethed at what he considered an ungrateful twit. He held himself in check, though. Refusing to allow his anger to show, he smiled, and stretched his lips across his face. He ensured his voice cajoled. “Must I remind you your choices are limited? The lordship or the Witches of Loust…”

  “Either choice is disastrous.”

  “Perhaps, however, your choices are limited. Must I remind you? Make a decision.” Unclear why he even asked, Carline had no choice in the matter, perhaps to toy with her emotions and give her some semblance of hope he actually gave a damn about her wants. As far he was concerned, the only choice was Lord Drackett. A slug he knew he could handle and conveniently make vanish when the time came. In his mind, it was a small inconvenience, and not worth a second thought. The other’s demise took more careful planning.

  “I wish there was something else I could do.”

  He wanted nothing more than to shake some sense into the naïve head, but feared revealing his true persona. Not yet, it wasn’t wise, as there was a thing or two to handle before he could show the gullible fool the man beneath the disguise.

  Carline pulled from his grasp, stepped back, and shook her head “no.” “I chose neither. I would rather toss myself into the ravine before I visited the witches or succumb to Lord Drackett. I could not look my uncle in the eye. After all he has done, I would not think to betray Uncle Milo?”

  “It may come to such, you fool. You sinned, and now ‘tis time to pay for your whorish tendencies.” Priest Manner’s tone firmed, snaked out like a rattler. He coiled his words around Carline, applying pressure, going straight for the jugular. He said, “You will decide, or I will do it for you. I don’t mind telling you Lord Drackett is your best bet or my little, silly one, what the witches will do in comparison to him or I if you refuse the lord will seem like child play.”

  “I don’t understand,” Carline, whispered, her pupils contracted in panic.

  She figured it out. The ninny finally caught a clue.

  Oh, he felt she understood. She knows. Something sparked in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. Was there fire? It intrigued him, even amused, as he believed Megatha whipped any defiance out of the girl long ago.

  She was fast and reached the door before he grabbed her.

  Priest Manner moved swiftly. He caught Carline’s shoulder and spun her around. He bore down on her, breathing harshly, hot breaths slashing her face. “You fool! You think I will allow you to ruin everything for me!”

  Carline cringed. “Wha—what are you talking about?”

  He heard himself laugh, a harsh, crude, and telling sound. His grip tightened. He dug his fingertips into her arm until Carline cried out. He shook her then. Roughly, jerking, causing her head to whip back and forth. She tried to fight him. The thought the mouse even dared made Priest Manner chuckle, and then he seethed. His voice sounded cold even to his own ears. He snarled, “You will marry Lord Drackett, or else I will conveniently toss you into the gorge myself, little fool.” He would not do such a foolish thing. After all, she was his exit of out of hellish nightmare he lived. Threats helped to keep Carline compliant.

  “No!” Carline struck out, her wild thrashing caught him on the cheek. He felt the sting of her fingertips scratch his skin. Moisture gathered, his blood, wetted his hand when he touched the corner of his mouth.

  “You harlot!” Priest Manner raised his fist in a threatening gesture.

  Anticipating the strike, Carline ducked and buried her face in her arms. She whimpered pitifully, knowing what was about to happen.

  He enjoyed witnessing her fear.

  He widened his arch, meaning to make his blow forceful as possible. He intended to beat her brutally so she would never think to fight him again. Had she not learned her lesson? She denied him once before, yet he got his way. So, he drugged the wine did not matter. Carline believed she sinned willingly.

  He loved seeing her cower. He swung his arm downward.

  A distressed groan filled the air, and then Priest Manner suddenly flew backwards as if an invisible force with Herculean strength grabbed him by the collar and pitched him across the room.

  A thud sounded, a thick, grotesque noise flesh made when hitting something solid.

  Carline peaked through her arms to see Faison standing there.

  Faison marched over to Priest Manner, wrapped his hand around his neck, and then lifted him off his feet. He dangled precariously, swaying, as Faison held him in the air before he slammed him to the ground, put his boot on his back, and applied pressure.

  A gust of air escaped when he hit the ground. A searing pain shot up his spine made him groan. He rolled over and stared up at Faison. Fear present, his eyes widened two sizes, as the guard stood over him with his sword drawn.

  “By Oslei…” Priest Manner murmured, raising his arms to shield his face.

  “No!” Carline screamed. She grabbed Faison’s arm. “No…no…he is a man of Oslei.”

  Faison looked incredulous at Carline’s statement. “Why do you defend the wretched slime?”

  “Lest not judge those unless you are judged,” Carline countered.

  “I do not fear judgment,” Faison said, raising his sword. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t put him out of his misery? Why do you care to save his black soul?”

  Carline’s hand closed over Faison’s arm and tightened. “Please…I do not save his soul, but my own,” she said ultralow.

  The priest tried to move, break free, Faison pressed harder, and threatened to cave in his windpipe with the heel of the boot. “You believe you are destined for the fires of Oslei?”

  “Perhaps I deserve such.”

  Faison lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “That is my business.”

  “That answer is not acceptable.”

  “‘Tis all you will get. Now, excuse me.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Carline’s eyelashes fluttered, and then tears pooled in her eyes. “Let this matter go. Please.”

  “No,” Faison said empathetically. He reached to capture Carline’s elbow, as if he meant to fold her in a protective embrace.

  Carline gave him a kick in the shin for his chivalrous act.

  Faison uttered beneath his breathe. “You are a feisty, after all,” he said. He seemed pleased.

  “Aye. Perhaps.”

  The left corner of Faison’s lip lifted slightly. Amusement evident, he said, “‘Tis good to know my assumptions about you are correct.” He leaned closer to Carline. “But, I will still hear your explanation of why you
believe you go to the eternal flames.”

  “Maybe I deserve to!” Carline shouted, and then before Faison could catch her, she snatched away and ran from the room.

  Faison muttered expletives. Priest Manner prayed he would pursue the stupid bitch. He felt hopeful when Faison moved, and he struggled to escape. Wanting nothing more than to disappear, slink into the night, and never show his face again at Dandelion now Carline forced him to reveal himself. By morning, the entire dwelling would know. He had to vanish quickly.

  Just give me an inch.

  Oslei failed him once again. As soon as he moved, the guard raised his fist, slammed it into his jaw, and knocked him out cold.

  When Faison caught up to Carline she stood as standing on the edge of a precipice, tittering on the brink, ready to toss her body into the gulley below.

  Chapter 15

  From the balcony where Saxby stood, the serenity of the landscape spread out like palettes of color specifically chosen to create a colorful and vibrant masterpiece. The rolling hillsides, a lush cover of jade and green, many dots of wildflowers, an array of colors, entwined among the greenery that created the pattern. The mountains, towering and poised behind the compound, rose into the clear blue sky, and stood like guardians overlooking their charges.

  A breeze was present, lightly sending a fragrance into the air. A sweetly, pleasant scent added to the pungent odor of the great pines clustered to the north, leading into the mouth of the forest and beyond.

  Saxby stood fixated and inhaled the majestic sight of her home. Purposely, she ignored the inner dwelling, and focused on the perimeter. Juden made sure repairs were made with haste, yet there was still a presence of bleakness inside the courtyard, cottages, and structures, the remaining eyesores that reinforced Milo neglected his duties.

  The time to think of such had passed. She preferred to focus on the positive side of things. Since Juden came, Milo appeared better, and perhaps all would be well. It was a prayer she often whispered to Oslei at night. For the first time in a long while, she believed Oslei heard her prayers and answered her. Never mind sometimes when she thought about how Juden’s arrival changed much, even herself, she refused to dwell. Sometimes the calm she sensed in his presence seemed unreal. The instantaneous protection she felt with Juden’s coming made her feel cozy, as if he wrapped his existence around Dandelion in protective armor with his presence.