"Briarwood by J A Hitchcock" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hitchcock J A)

Briarwood
by J.A. Hitchcock

The castle ruins had always fascinated her. With her eyes closed, she could almost hear the clanging of swords, the cheers for the king and queen, the laughter of women being wooed by knights in shining armor. As always, she would open her eyes and wish that the castle and people in it were real.

"Amberly!"

She heard the anger in her husband's voice and looked at the ruins one last time with a heavy sigh. She began to turn away from the window, but a movement caught her eye. She stopped. It looked like a man on horseback. A man dressed in medieval clothing.

"Amberly, where the hell are you?!"

What she'd seen fled her mind as she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her head. She adjusted the belt on her robe and waited. The bedroom door flew open an instant later. A tall, blond man walked in, his gaunt face red. His blue eyes flashed as he looked at her.

"What's wrong? I was in the shower." Amberly smiled sweetly.

The redness slowly left Richard's face. He walked to her and roughly kissed her forehead.

"I just got back from the studio and thought you'd gone."

"But you ordered me to never leave the house without your permission . . . your highness." Amberly mock-curtsied.

"Damn it!" Richard slapped her face and Amberly fell backwards to the floor. "Why do you always do that? You've got everything you could ever want."

Amberly gingerly touched her cheek. He knew how to slap her face without leaving any marks, but it was still painful She slowly stood and readjusted the towel around her head, then looked him straight in the eyes.


"Yes, I have everything," her voice was soft. "Except a husband I can love and respect."

Richard grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him, her nose almost touching his.

"I told you, Amberly, you are my wife." He spoke quietly through clenched teeth. "You will do as I say, when I say it. And you will not disobey me."

"Oh really?" Amberly pulled away from him. "You kidnapped your own wife and brought her to England just so that you, the famous Richard Morris, wouldn't suffer any repercussions from the press." Her voice rose slightly. "Why? Because Richard Morris didn't want the public to know he slapped his wife around. Or that he was an alcoholic and a cocaine addict. No. Richard Morris is the epitome of music. The musician's musician. Isn't that right, darling?"

Richard stared at her. This was the first time she'd stood up to him. She knew he wanted to hit her, to hurt her. It obviously took all he could to hold back. He stalked to the bedroom door and looked back.

"Amberly." He whispered her name, yet it carried to her ears with stunning clarity. "The only way you'll ever leave this house is when one of us is dead."

Richard walked out of the bedroom and closed the door. A key turned in the lock, then he spoke again.

"I'll be back for dinner. We're having guests over. Make sure you're dressed and charming, as usual." There was a long pause. "Or else."

Amberly threw the towel off her head. Her black hair cascaded to her waist. She picked up a hairbrush as she looked into the mirror and saw a woman she didn't recognize anymore.

Pale green eyes stared from a sad, thin face. Her full lips were white at the edges with fear. She noticed a small bruise on her arm where Richard had hit her the other day. The other bruises lay under her robe, where no one could see them. No one except Richard and her. What had happened to her? She felt she was slowly going out of her mind.

Her eyes wandered to the room behind her, the room that had been her prison for months now. Furnished with antiques and light colors, the room was definitely cheery enough and big enough. The four-poster bed was something she'd always dreamed of having, but now she'd grown to hate it, especially when Richard slept in it. But, no matter how big and cheerful the room was, it was still her prison, her cell. Her only escape was the balcony, where she spent most of her time, even in the rain.

The castle ruins were her salvation. For some reason, the simple act of looking at them soothed her. She would sit for hours and watch the birds and animals and daydream about the castle on the hill overlooking the English Channel. She would pretend she was a princess, an adoring prince by her side. Then reality set in when Richard came home; Amberly would wait for the night to end and the next day to begin so she could dream again.