A Marq's Woman Ch. 07

"Come here, Kistle. I want to talk to you."

"C-can I have your word that you w-will not hurt me?"

Rade raised an eyebrow and nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat on the edge of the bed. Kistle warily ambled to the edge and sat, eyeing him from the corner of her eyes. Where could he have kept the key to the door?

"Kistle, the ship has already been set in motion. There is no way you can get off of it," Rade said, reaching for a decanter of wine. He splashed a generous amount of it into a goblet and sipped.

He watched as her despair was reflected on her face, making her look younger than her twenty years of age. Her lips quivered invitingly, and Rade felt the gradual rise of his shaft at the invitation.

He cleared his throat. "My father has taken ill. I am returning to serve at his bedside until his time."

"Why did you want me to come with you? I could have stayed at the Manor and attended the wedding..."

"And who would be keeping me company on this voyage? I couldn't possibly be speaking to Xane the horseman all the while, can I? Besides, he does not have the body I want."

Kistle gasped.

"You are conceited if you think that I would allow you to touch me again!" she declared with hatred in her eyes.

"Is that so? We shall see. Now, take off your clothes."

"What?"

Kistle immediately rose from her perch on the bed and started moving backwards, out of his reach.

"I said, take off your clothes."

She swallowed thickly, feeling panic clawing up her spine. A few days ago, she would have done as he'd requested without reluctance. But now...

She shrieked when Rade rose from the chair and strode towards her. His fingers caught in the lace of her bodice and ripped the feminine frippery off her body. One large palm went around her waist, anchoring him to her body, and another worked her free of her clothing.

Panicked, she struggled against him, fists pounding at his chest, trying to dislodge him. She was afraid of him, afraid of what he would do to her.

"Please, don't," she whimpered as she was trussed onto the mattress, her beloved dress in shreds, her chemise ruched around her hips. She bucked and squealed, until his weight on her back drove the air out of her lungs.

His teeth scraped along her shoulder, then sank into the flesh there. He heard her cries and pleas, but an animalistic need to mark his possession had taken over him. He wanted Kistle to know who she belonged to.

"Mine," he growled as he thrust into her, feeling her gasp. Ecstasy washed over him as her flesh enfolded his, encasing him like a glove. He drew back and thrust into her again, repeatedly, until with a feral growl, he spurted inside her, thick and hot.

He collapsed onto her, his breathing ragged, his composure shattered. It wasn't until he heard the first sob that he rolled off her.

Oh Gods, what had he done?

"Kistle, I-," he started, reaching out to her, but she fought him off with a cry, her eyes condemning him to hell. She gathered the remains of her clothes and slid off the bed, shying away from him.

"Damn it," Rade cussed as he laced his breeches again and unlatched the door. He strode from the room, leaving Kistle behind, but the sounds of her sobs haunted him for the rest of the night.

*

"We will be landing in an hour, sire," Xane told Rade four days later. Rade nodded, dismissing the man as he set about dressing.

He had kept away from her for four days. Every time he walked past the bedchamber, he would hear her sobs or sniffles. He couldn't come to accept the reality of what he'd done, for he'd never done it before.

He'd raped her.

The thought filled him with self-loathing like none other. Why had he done so when he could've just as easily seduced her into compliance? Perhaps it was the anger that had been building inside him ever since he'd seen her with Quinn. Or the old pain and hurts that had resurfaced. He did not know which, but he was not proud of his actions. In fact, he felt remorse whenever he thought about the way he had rutted on her.

And her eyes – Gods, her eyes – they appeared in his dreams like a silent accusation. Rade ran a hand over his face as he groaned, trying to block out his guilt, but it was no use. It had him chained to the deepest pits of hell.

Unable to avoid his fears any longer, he rapped on the door to her bedchamber, feeling like a damn fool. He heard the rustling of clothing behind the door, but didn't hear her call to enter.

"Kistle?" he called through the door. There was no reply.

"Kistle?" he repeated as he opened the door. He had just stepped into the room when something cold and hard came down upon his head.

Rade let out a blasphemy and leaned heavily on the doorframe. He raised a hand to his head, probing the wound and feeling the bump that was already forming.

Kistle jumped off the chair, holding the candleholder in front of her like a weapon. If that man thought he was going to get anywhere near her, he was wrong. She was never going to allow him to touch her again.

He had used her the other night, had taken pleasure in her body and left her feeling like a...whore. She had cried over the sorry fact of her captivity for days, then decided that she would take no more of his brutal assaults. She was leaving him as soon as the opportunity arose.

"What the devil are you doing?" Rade exclaimed, incredulous.

"I am defending myself!" Kistle cried, throwing the candleholder onto his chest. He grunted, coming forward to hold her hands captive when she reached for another weapon.

"Don't come any closer!" She shouted the words and Rade paused in mid-step, remorse and indecision flowing through his veins. The memory of his brutality came back to him when he saw the fading bruises on her neck. He moved away from her, feeling something in him clench at the wild look on her face. He should never have taken her in anger.

"Kistle, I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. "I never should have taken you the other day."

His eyes pleaded with her for forgiveness for the guilt that was wracking his heart.

"What's done is done," was what she said, still eyeing him warily.

Rade nodded, unsure of what her statement meant. Did she forgive him? And why was her forgiveness suddenly so important to him?

"The ship will be landing soon. You'd best get dressed," he said.

Kistle nodded, watching him intently until he closed the door and walked down the hallway. She breathed a sigh of relief.

It had been only a few days and so much had changed between them. Kistle didn't know what had triggered the change in his attitude towards her – from a gentle lover to a boar – but she was loathe to believe that it had been because of her words with Sir Quinn. Surely, anyone who would've seen the two talking would know that they were discussing tomes and not 'dallying' as Rade had put it. She wouldn't believe that his treatment towards her had changed just because he'd seen her talk to a man that wasn't him. Impossible!

A tear slipped down her dark cheek when she thought about the days when she'd been happy. Rade had made her laugh, teased her and made love to her with such gentleness. It was so much in contrast to his behavior of the past few days. What had happened? She wanted so desperately to know the truth, but was afraid to bring it up with him.

But will the truth change anything? She knew now that he wouldn't hesitate to strangle the life out of her, nor would he be hesitant about forcing himself upon her. What would it matter if he was sorry for what he had done? There was nothing he could change, and there was nothing she could forgive.

A slash of pain tore through her heart when she remembered his invasion of her body. She had been so scared, so frightened that he would hurt her that she had just lain under him, sobbing to herself and praying to the Goddess for help.

But the sinfulness of it all was the fact that her wicked heart had soared with joy when he had spurted his seed deep within her womb, when he had taken pleasure from her body. She hated herself for feeling that tiny speck of elation and knew that her emotions were not aiding her in her cause for hating him.

For she found that no matter what he did, she could not rid herself of the memories of his kindness, gentle caresses and loving words.