Bran’s response was so quiet, I barely heard. “I do, Sister.”
Spent, Hectare fell back on the pillows. Exhaustion pulled at her parchment lids, but the corners of her mouth lifted.
I turned to Bran, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “What’s she talking about?”
“Ah,” came Hectare’s creaky whisper, “the girl does not know.”
Bran closed his eyes. “No, Sister,” he said. “Not yet.”
Chapter 38
BEFORE I COULD ASK EXACTLY WHAT I DIDN’T KNOW, voices sounded outside the door. Collum stiffened, but Eleanor hustled to open it herself. William Lucie rushed in, cradling someone in his arms. She was hooded and cloaked, but I would’ve known her anywhere. Pain struck low and hard when I saw the coarse ropes knotted around her ankles. The severed ends swayed as she struggled weakly in the soldier’s arms.
“No,” my mother whimpered. “Take me back. He’ll punish me again. I said I’d be good. I swore it. Please . . .”
The queen stepped forward, her voice glacial. “What is the meaning of this, Captain?”
He laid my mother gently on a chair draped with soft animal skins and pulled back the hood and cloak. Her eyes were red rimmed and wild as she slumped there, dressed only in a long white shift.
William dropped to one knee to address the queen, his kind eyes pinched in pity. “I found Lady Babcock in her chambers, as you said, Your Grace. Her guard is dispatched. The lady had been most ill-used. Bound to her bed and . . .” A disgusted exhale through his nose. “She’s been scourged, Your Grace. Her back is naught but a shredded mess.”
Phoebe’s hands covered her mouth. I wanted to run to my mother, who cringed and huddled over her round belly. But my knees had turned to water and my lungs to empty paper sacks.
Eleanor stiffened in outrage. “What? And she with child? This will not stand! Not in my kingdom.”
My mother’s weak voice filtered to me. “Celia told Babcock the baby wasn’t his. That he’d been cuckolded. She watched while he did this to me. If the baby was a boy, he said he’d drown it in the river and lock me in my room until he got another on me. Take me back, please. Don’t you see? She’ll tell him I tried to run. She’ll come after Hope.”
Bran, suddenly at my side, gave a moan and dropped his head in his hands.
“Sarah. Sarah, listen to me.” Collum’s voice was so tender as he knelt down before her. “Hope’s here. She’s safe. And we’re taking you to Lucinda. We’re taking you home.”
She shook her head violently. “No! If I do as she says, she’ll leave Hope alone. She swore it.”
Mom rocked forward. The cloak puddled around her hips. And I sucked in all the air in the chamber. All the air in the world.
“No,” Bran whispered.
I closed my eyes, but the image was imprinted forever inside my lids. The back of my mother’s shift had been ripped to the waist. The pale, freckled skin beneath was scored with dozens of torn, bloody lash marks.
My mother cried out as the air hit her raw flesh. I stumbled across the room and dropped to my knees beside her as Phoebe moved to the other side.
“What do we do?” My gut rolled at the blood seeping from the rips in her skin. “We need Rachel. She’ll know—”
The chamber doors burst inward. Collum whirled and stumbled back as Thomas Becket sauntered in. Four members of the black-clad city watch formed a line behind him, dragging the limp body of Eleanor’s guard, his chain mail jangling. Hate, white hot and pure, surged inside me when I saw the pale blond head of Eustace Clarkson move up next to Becket and shove a bound Rachel to her knees. Shuffling in at the rear was Wilifred, the old serving woman who’d been so enamored of Becket back at Baynard’s Castle.
“It’s as I told you, Father Thomas,” she said, pointing at me. “The girl is here. And I saw this Jewess and Captain Lucie myself, embracing in the hallway less than an hour ago.” She sneered down at Rachel. “Blasphemer.”
William’s hand was at his sword. He’d had eyes for no one but Rachel since the second they’d entered.
Thomas Becket clapped his hands in delight, then gave the simpering servant a pat on the shoulder. “You may go now, madam. I also thank you for bringing this sacrilege to my attention. A Christian and a Jew in carnal relations. The laws against this are clear, and they will both pay the price.”
Eleanor glided across the room, her face flushed with outrage. “How dare you burst into my chambers, you trumped-up clerk! And you”—she loomed over the now-cowering Wilifred—“you will live to regret this.”
The serving woman paled under the queen’s furious scrutiny. She bunched her shoulders as if warding off a blow and hustled out of the chamber.
I stared at Rachel, tears prickling my eyes when I saw the fresh bruise that marred her delicate cheekbone. Her yellow veil was missing and blood trickled from a swollen lower lip. Yet she appeared so serene, so poised. When her gilt eyes met mine, I gave a sharp nod, letting her know we’d get through this. Somehow.
“The bloody rat bastard,” Phoebe muttered in Becket’s direction.