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go without the entire time.  He had provided a servant or two along the way, even the virgin daughter of one of the Lords.  That one did not end well and she had killed herself, fearing she carried Cyrille’s child afterward.  The ignorant bitch, he thought now with disdain.  His brother had been sent ahead before the drama had played itself out and he did not know of the young woman’s death.  It would be a death that would lay heavy on him so Damien chose to keep it from his brother and ordered those there that day to do the same. 
    Damien tugged on the chains he held wrapped around his hand and a small hiss came from behind him.   He ignored it.   He didn’t need the accusation in her eyes to make him feel bad for the hangings.  She followed closely, the chains clanking between them as he mounted the steps into the hall.  Women scurried about, preparing the hall for the usurpers with the fear of death hanging over them.  
    He stopped and watched them.  They cast weary eyes toward the woman in chains.  She couldn’t possibly look any more bedraggled but their stares made her straighten and return their gazes with open disdain as if she was the regal lady in her own keep.  He noticed some of the women’s glances were hostile and he stared them down challenging them to continue with their malice.  The Lady who looked nothing like a lady at this point was obviously his prisoner and the lack of clothes made it appear as if she was his whore as well.  But she held her head high and stared those women down glare for glare.  He didn’t know why but he found pride in his lady prisoner. 
    He searched the women for one that would be to Cyrille’s liking.  He tried to give him all that he could, reward him for his courage, reward him for carrying the scars that had been meant for him.  He found the tall redhead in the kitchen.  Her dress bespoke of a peasant but her height was impressive and he could only imagine how long her legs were underneath her clothes. 
    “Bring clean linens and medicines to the master chamber now,” Damien told her.  The blue eyes boldly raked over him and a sensuous smile creased her becoming face before she turned away to do his bidding. 
    He turned and yanked the Lady behind him, her feet rushing along the corridor to keep the pressure off her hands.  Edwin stood outside the doorway of the master chamber and servants hurried out carrying empty buckets.   “Your bath is ready,” he said stepping away from the door for Damien to enter.  “Send for Cyrille,” he ordered then led the Lady into the chamber and around it, ensuring she could not escape out a window or another door.  He moved back to the center, the steaming water of the large tub looked inviting.  He released the Lady’s chains.  “Post a guard at the door,” he told Edwin to ensure if the Lady attacked him she would still not be free.  If she had the strength to summon he thought angrily at himself for the way he was now treating women.  Were his sins ever going to end?
    The door closed behind Edwin as he left the chamber.  Damien turned, pulling the key from his pocket and motioned for the Lady to come to him.  Despite he held freedom in his hands it appeared as if she hesitated.  “Come here!” he commanded her sharply.
    She walked to him but he saw defiance in her eyes as she met his gaze.  “Give me your hands,” he told her meeting her glare with a sneer.  She raised her hands and he looked down at them as they shook.  Was she frightened of him?  He looked at her face but her attention was directed to the iron cuffs he held in his hand, to the big hand holding her tiny one.  She was witness to what he was capable of.  He had just slain her husband yesterday, along with her lover he strongly suspected.  His eyes started travelling back to her hands from her face but became ensnared midway.  With her hands before her she had nothing to hold the cloak together.  It had fallen