by Maya Banks
She turned away from him and stared out the window like one longing for freedom from behind the bars of prison. She hadn’t much time. The people who had killed her family would seek to install a new ruler unless she could return in time to stop them. They would steal her people’s legacy.
Her fingers itched to fold around the parchment secured between her breasts. She curled them at her side to staunch the urge. Without the map, no one could find the ancient caves. She held tight to that thought and prayed she could return in time.
His breath blew hot on her neck and she tensed. Once again, she felt herself twisted around to face him. “Tell me word for word what happened when you went to meet this envoy.”
She searched his blazing eyes for sinister intent, but all she saw was determination. She glanced pointedly down at his hands, and he slowly uncurled his fingers from her forearms.
“I went to an inn off the north posting road. I collected a message from the innkeeper that directed me to a room upstairs. I did not feel very comfortable walking into a room unaware.”
Lord Merrick nodded approvingly.
“So, I knocked then slipped down the hall a ways to see who answered. But someone grabbed me from behind and propelled me into the room. There were three men, and one held a knife to my neck. I knew they were going to kill me so I fought them. I was stabbed before I jumped from the window.”
He gaped incredulously at her. “You expect me to believe you fought off three men and jumped from a window? Well, the window part I believe,” he muttered.
Anger surged through her veins. She grasped his upper arm and in one smooth movement rocked her hip into his groin and threw him over her shoulder.
He landed with a thud, his face a mask of shock.
She folded her arms over her chest and stared down at him triumphantly. “Believe it now, my lord?”
Chapter Four
Simon stared up at the ceiling, stunned by what had just transpired. One minute he had been standing in front of the princess, and the next he was lying on the floor.
The princess’s face came into view as she peered down at him, her arms crossed over her chest. She was grinning. It was the first time she had smiled in his presence and it completely transformed her face. Twin dimples dotted her cheeks and her eyes twinkled with merriment. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was stunning. He didn’t know if he was more breathless from the fall or the way she was looking at him. But both made him deuced uncomfortable.
She extended a hand to him, and he grasped her palm, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin. Slowly he got up and looked guardedly at her. She returned his scrutiny, chewing on her bottom lip in what looked like an attempt to stifle a chuckle. He wondered if her laughter would sound as beautiful as she looked.
“Where did you learn to do that?” He wanted to rub his back but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
“I learned at a very young age how to defend myself. Father Ling, the senior monk at the Sacre Foi monastery, mentored me from the time I was old enough to start learning the ancient ways.”
The idea of a royal princess learning to defend herself was ludicrous. And she’d learned from a monk? If he didn’t think she would throw him again, he’d laugh out loud.
“Don’t you have personal guards charged with your protection?”
She gazed at him as if he was a complete imbecile. “And these guards kept my family from harm?”
The question was apt and cut directly to the point. The men charged with the royal family’s safety had failed miserably in their duty. In the face of such disaster, the princess’s training may well have saved her life. Perhaps “ludicrous” wasn’t the appropriate term for it.
A thought struck him as he weighed the oddity of her talents. Had her father suspected treachery in the royal ranks? Had this been the reason for Isabella’s devotion to self-protection? Or had it merely been a lark an indulgent father granted his only daughter? He would only know if the princess related the events of that terrible day.
“How did it happen?” he asked quietly. He had a hundred questions, but tempered his eagerness to get to the heart of the matter.
“I don’t have any wish to recount the experience,” she said with a slight shiver.
The statement was firm and accentuated by the upward tilt of her chin. A gesture he was already fast associating with her stubbornness. But pain flashed in her eyes, and he knew, indeed, the memories were burning a trail of agony through her mind.
He understood her reluctance to give life to those horrible scenes, but if he was going to help her, he had to know everything she knew and more.
“How did you and your brother manage to escape death?”
Bright tears glittered unshed in her eyes. “We were lucky.”
He waited expectantly for more, but she set her lips and averted her gaze. Shaking his head, he quashed the frustration he felt mounting once more. He ached to comfort her but would not allow himself to show such weakness in front of her. “You should get some rest, Princess. In the morning we have a meeting with the regent.”
“That’s what you think,” she muttered.
He swung back around. “Pardon?”
She cleared her throat. “Leave me so I may rest.”
He raised an eyebrow at her imperious tone, but turned and exited the room. The battle would come in the morning. No need to end the night with confrontation.
* * *
Isabella tossed restlessly in her bed. She had dressed once more after Mrs. Turnbull had attended her. She couldn’t afford to be lax, not when she needed to find a way to escape. But now she was without boots. The earl obviously underestimated her desire to be free of him and England if he thought being without shoes would deter her from her objective.
She wasn’t even sure why she had chosen to lie down. Escape was of the utmost importance. But the warmth offered by the heavy covers had lured her away from the cold window.
She had allowed the fire to die down, preferring the silence over the popping and snapping of the flames. The quiet settled over the room, and her ears were attuned to any changes in the atmosphere.
It felt strange to lie in his bed. He seemed to surround her. His scent was entrenched in the pillows. Earlier, as soon as he had left the room, she had searched the chambers for any information on the enigmatic earl, but there was little to find.
The room was sparsely furnished and devoid of frivolous trinkets and decorations. No valuables or correspondence occupied his small desk. Nothing to tell her anything about the man who held her life in his hands.
She needed to escape and escape soon. But Lord Merrick wasn’t stupid. He would have someone posted outside her door and outside the window as well, rose bushes or not. Her mind raced to come up with a plan. She opened her eyes and glanced around the room, her eyes adjusting rapidly to the smothering darkness. As she blinked, the room lightened before her, dim light straining through the window from the street lamps.
With a sigh, she gave up on the idea of gaining any rest. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. The foot of the bed faced the window and she walked around the end. Though the floor was cold, she settled in a cross-legged position and drew in several deep breaths.
She closed her eyes and conjured images of her homeland, the face of Father Ling, hoping he could offer her comfort and encouragement from afar.
You must be strong, Your Highness. Much depends on your return to Leaudor.
She latched onto the older man’s spirit, wanting desperately to maintain the tenuous bond she had managed to achieve in her meditation. But she was fatigued. Weak. The intense concentration necessary to maintain the link quickly sapped what remaining strength she had.
Her brow eased as, instead, she conjured the rolling landscape of her homeland. Her mouth curved into a smile as she felt the wind in her hair as she thundered across the landscape astride her favorite horse. Her smile disappeared when she reali
zed the images were from the last time she had ridden with her father.
Shaking her head slightly, she refocused on the majestic mountain chain that formed the northern border. Where they met the granite cliffs that housed the Sacre Foi monastery. Traced the well-traveled path from the monastery to the village that sat at the base of Soleil Mountain, her home. Her sanctuary.
Hot tears trailed down her cheeks and she opened her eyes, dispelling the troubling images. Far from drawing comfort from the beloved memories, she was merely reminded of the horrible events of the last year.
She breathed deeply, trying to regain her composure. Eventually all fell silent once more, and she sat still, unwilling to disturb the tranquility.
The hall clock startled the eerie quiet that had fallen over the house. Three chimes. Her time was running out.
As the melodic notes died, she froze. A shuffling in the hall. As quietly as possible, she uncurled her crossed legs and stood. Her heart pounded with such ferocity that she feared her chest would burst. Bile rose in her throat and panic seized her stomach.
A muffled thump followed close behind the disturbance she felt in the air. Then soft footsteps, almost indiscernible, sounded closer to her door.
They had found her.
The bastard had betrayed her. She felt ten kinds a fool for allowing her defenses down around the earl. She should have killed him when she had the chance. Now she would be lucky if she didn’t pay for that mistake with her life.
Suddenly the room felt too warm. Sweat beaded her forehead and her mouth went dry. She swallowed convulsively and fought to regain control over the tide of fear that swamped her.
She tiptoed over to the window, using the light to investigate the street below. They wouldn’t take her without a fight. She had been wise not to trust the English. How else had they known where she was if the prince or the earl hadn’t betrayed her?
Her gaze darted over the ground then to the street beyond. She stood to the side of the panes, careful not to be seen by anyone lurking below. The slight movement of a shadowy form confirmed her fears that someone was watching the front. The only way out would be through the intruders.
Firming up her resolve, she muttered a prayer and slipped over to her door. At least surprise would be on her side.
She held her breath and listened. The soft footsteps paused outside her door then the doorknob rattled ever so softly. She watched it turn, her dread growing by the minute.
She reached behind her for the vase she had seen resting on the dressing table. Her fingers curled around the neck, and she brought it silently to her side.
The door eased open, no sound betraying the intrusion into her domain. A stealthy form stole inside. She tensed from behind the door and inched over so she would have a clear path to the assassin.
With no hesitation, she swung the vase at the man’s head as soon as he came into view. The shattered glass was the only sound that rent the air.
The intruder reeled but quickly regained his composure. Isabella was ready for him. Before he could charge at her she executed a powerful kick to his midsection.
She yelped in surprise when he caught her ankle and yanked her from her stance. She landed with a thud on the floor, pain snaking through her back. Not willing for him to gain any momentum over her, she countered with a kick from her free leg, connecting with his head.
He fell back and she was on her feet in a split second. Strong arms wrapped around her chest and yanked her back against a second attacker. Her heart sank as the first assailant charged at her.
Feigning surrender, she slumped against her captor. As the first man drew close enough, she lashed out with a vicious kick to his jaw. Pain cracked through her bare foot as it connected with bone. As she flailed back against the man holding her, she twisted her body and brought her knee up into his groin.
She gave him no time before she launched herself into the hall, nearly tripping over the prostrate form of Merrick’s servant. A lot of good it had done to post a guard. She fled toward the stairs knowing she likely had more than one attacker to contend with at the bottom.
As she rounded the corner, another set of arms reached out and plucked her from the air. She reacted like a wildcat, kicking and flailing.
“It’s me.” Lord Merrick hissed in her ear.
But his words failed to reassure her. Bastard. She rammed her elbow back, catching him in the ribs. To her satisfaction, he grunted in pain and his hold loosened. Just enough so she could free herself. She threw herself back down the hall. There was a window at the end.
Her first two attackers rushed into the hall from her bedroom, barring her path to the window and freedom beyond. She stopped and backed up, looking frantically between Merrick and the two men advancing menacingly on her.
“Trust me, Princess.” His quiet voice reached her ears. “It’s either them or me. Who will it be?”
A flash of uncertainty gripped her. The two men would be prepared for her now. They would not be so easy to get away from a second time. But Merrick barred the stairs.
“If you aren’t with them, move out of the way so I can escape,” she ground out as she backed closer to him. “They mean to kill me.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he said calmly. “I don’t intend for them to succeed.”
The quiet confidence in his voice gave her the first flicker of hope. Could she trust him? Clearly she had no choice. She knew the two men advancing on her would kill her. Even if Merrick intended to do her harm, she could buy enough time to escape him if it became necessary.
Making a quick decision, she whispered softly back to him. “Can you take the man on the right?”
“Move, Princess. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
If the situation wasn’t so dire, she would have laughed. “Stop the heroics, Merrick. I’ll take the man on the left. Rush them, they won’t be expecting it. They think they have the upper hand.”
Silver glinted in the soft light pouring from Merrick’s room. At least one of the men held a knife. She hoped the earl was as competent as he came across.
“I’ll only say this one more time,” he growled. “Move!”
Understanding dawned and she pitched sideways just as the men lurched forward. A shot cracked the night air. Then a second shot. She rolled over to see the two men slumped on the floor. Glancing back up, she saw two smoking pistols in the earl’s hands.
“Well, that’s one way to do it,” she muttered.
“Quickly,” he barked. “There are others.”
She scrambled up as he tossed the guns aside. “Let’s go out the window.”
“You and those damned windows,” he grumbled. “Don’t you ever use the door?”
“After you then,” she said, sweeping an arm toward the stairs.
She hurried close behind him as they rushed toward the foyer. He stopped suddenly and she bumped into his back. His arm came around to steady her. “Shhh.”
She held her breath, her face buried in his shirt. His scent surrounded her, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt safe. Shaking her head to dispel the absurd notion, she forced her concentration to her surroundings.
“There are at least two waiting outside the door,” he murmured. “Probably more.”
“How do you know?” she whispered, peering around him.
He gave her a silencing look. “Can we hold the questions for later?”
She nodded, clamping her lips shut.
He glanced back toward his study. “Come on.” He took her hand and dragged her toward the rear of the house.
She kept close on his heels as they entered the study. Curiously he didn’t shut or bar the door. She opened her mouth to suggest doing just that when he put a hand over her lips.
“Trust me.” He gestured toward the fireplace across the room. “Get your boots and be quick about it. You’ll have need of them.”
While she rushed to retrieve her boots, he hurried over to t
he large bookcase that encompassed the entire back wall.
“This is hardly the time to read,” she bit out as she hopped on one foot to him while pulling her other boot on.
Ignoring her, he took out a heavy volume and reached beyond. To her surprise the bookcase opened in the middle exposing a passageway. He quickly replaced the volume and gestured for her to follow him within.
As they stepped down a flight of steps into the darkened corridor, he shoved a lever and the bookcase closed. She heard him fumble around for a moment then soft light bathed the interior as he held up a lit candle.
“Follow me.”
Mutely, she hurried after him. Who was this man? They had been set upon by murderous thugs and yet he remained perfectly calm. He could certainly handle himself in a fight, and he had secret passageways in his house.
Her anxiety dimmed just a bit. Perhaps she could trust him. He had the opportunity to kill her, and yet he had saved her from certain death.
In truth it made her nauseous to trust anyone, but it was becoming increasingly clearer that she would not get out of England alone.
They followed the passage for what seemed an interminable distance. Musty, damp odors assaulted her nose. Her nostrils quivered, her eyes watering with the need to sneeze. A cold draft skittered over her just before they stopped.
“Let’s hope this will open,” he said grimly, looking up at a trap door.
“If this is your attempt at humor, you are failing miserably,” she growled. “Where are we?”
“Assuming I didn’t take a wrong turn, we should be two blocks from my home.”
“Wrong turn? What kind of labyrinth exists under your house?”
He shoved at the wooden plank, and a cloud of dust consumed them. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face then gave into the urge to sneeze. She ran her arm over her face, wiping the dust off.
“I’ve always believed in having the most possible ways out of my house and the least possible ways in.”
Despite the direness of their situation, she grinned. “Good policy.”
“Want to help me?” he asked, looking pointedly at her.
