Mayhap they were, he thought bitterly. He had shed his share while he rode. With single mindedness he rode. He had to reach the keep. He had to save her. ~~~~~~~ They’d thrown me in a chamber up stairs, though quite honestly, I didn’t know why. Tilda was dead. I closed my eyes, and could see them again. What they did to her. Bile rushed up my throat and I heaved up into the rushes. I heaved until my sides were sore and my body exhausted. I leaned back, pulling my legs up to my chest and cried. Why had he done that to her? I wanted to scream. Why had he killed his own cousin, and them let them befoul her in such a way. Exhausted, I lay back on the straw pallet and replayed the scene in my mind. When I hadn’t given them enough pleasure, kicking and stomping me, they turned to her. She lay motionless, dead, behind the horse, who was anxiously prancing about. One of the soldiers, the dirtiest one with the scraggly beard, untied her hands and I thought briefly that they were going to. I knew that what happened that night broke barriers that never should have been broken, through those barriers I ruined a relationship he was involved in—even if it was somewhat sick—and our own relationship. ‘I never—’ ‘No, wait.’ David whispered. His eyes started to water. ‘I really enjoyed what we did, and…’ The words died in his throat, I picked up my hand and set it down on his leg as a gesture of trust. I wanted to know what he thought about, what the real truth was, just to get something of a relationship between mother and son back. I just wanted things to be back to a semblance of normality, and talking about this—his and our problems–seemed the way to start healing the broken bond, the only way. ‘And?’ I whispered, but he froze up and went silent. He turned away from me as if sickened, stared out of the front window as if waiting for someone, and maybe there was someone out there, maybe there was not. ‘Please…I never wanted to hurt you. If I had known…’ He turned from the.
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