by Maya Banks
He continued on, not pausing while he explained. “If we darken the room, all they will see are the two lit passages. Hopefully they will overlook the one we take long enough for us to get a head start.”
She helped him douse the remaining torches then they rushed for the entrance to the tunnel. An eternity later, they burst into the moon room and ran straight for the tunnel leading to the bridges.
His mind raced even faster than they moved. Formulating, discarding, hashing out the possibilities. He didn’t even know if there were any. All that was certain was that they could not leave the same way they came.
When they stumbled out onto the ledge in front of the bridges, he caught her arm and halted her. “Is there another way out of the final chamber? Did your father ever mention anything?”
Her eyes glowed in the torchlight, a mixture of fear and concentration in their depths. “I don’t know,” she said in a tortured voice.
“Then be thinking of a way we can fight off an unknown number of assailants,” he muttered, taking her arm and pulling her toward the bridge.
He took out across the bridge, praying they could make it a third time after Isabella’s brush with disaster. Though he moved with as much speed as he could, it seemed it took him forever to get across the swaying bridge. When he stepped off the last plank, he held up the torch and motioned her across.
She moved rapidly, but he could see the stark terror on her face. “Just a little farther,” he whispered, though he doubted she could hear him.
When finally she leaped from the bridge to land beside him, she reached down and retrieved her dagger from her boot. In a swift motion, she sliced through the ropes sending the end of the bridge crashing to the other side. She replaced her dagger and stared him in the eye. “Now you better pray we find another way out.”
Sweat slid down his back, and for the first time in years, fear rolled through him, nearly paralyzing him in the process. What if they were unable to discover an alternate way out? Not only would he fail miserably in his duty, but his and Isabella’s lives would be forfeit. It seemed he was forever failing those closest to him. Would he let Isabella down as well?
Not wanting to dwell on that possibility, he focused on remembering the order of the passageways in front of him. Left, right then right again.
Finally they burst into the final chamber, and he immediately began searching. Each crevice, every nook, hoping against hope there was another passageway. Isabella worked at the opposite end, running her hands over the rock, moving stones aside.
He glanced up at the torches that ringed the stone slab the glass cases had set on. For how long he stared he didn’t know, but suddenly it struck him. The flames flickered and swayed. They didn’t merely dance with the motion of an undisturbed fire.
“Isabella, come here,” he said excitedly.
She ran over to where he stood. “Have you found something?”
He pointed at the torches. “A current of air is blowing from somewhere, and that means there is an opening somewhere in here.”
She followed the direction of his hand, her eyes widening as she saw what he pointed to. The flames blew in the opposite direction, and they both turned at the same time to view the area behind them.
“It must be coming from over there,” she said, starting forward.
They raced to the pile of rocks and scoured for any openings. He tested the sturdiness of the pile then secured a foothold and boosted himself up. Running his hands over each crack, he felt for air. As he neared the top, he wondered if they had imagined it all for he could find no source for the current.
Then at the very top, he felt it. Cool, steady, it blew over his face ruffling his hair. “I’ve found it!” he whispered loudly.
Isabella stood at the bottom staring up at him, her face bright with excitement. “Is it large enough for us to go through?”
“I don’t know yet. Give me a moment.”
He dug at the rocks where he felt the air and soon had a hole the size of his fist. A tiny beacon of light shone in, and he felt a surge of triumph.
“Isabella, listen to me,” he said urgently. “Go to the tunnel entrance and listen for any sounds while I make the hole big enough for us to exit.”
“Shouldn’t I help you?” she asked.
“We can’t both be up here or whoever is in the cave could enter without us ever knowing. Listen and if you hear anything warn me. Hopefully we will be long gone by the time they make it here.”
She nodded and ran over to the tunnel. He turned back to the rocks and began digging furiously. Periodically, he inserted his head and shoulders into the opening to see if it was large enough, but each time he grew more frustrated. Rocks rained down the slope below him, piling up at the bottom as he pulled more away from the hole.
He couldn’t fail now. Not when so many depended on him. Not like he had failed his father. Never again, he had sworn when his father died. Never would he let anyone down as he had then.
His country depended on him. Leaudor depended on him. But most of all, Isabella depended on him.
As more rocks pelted down to the floor below, he finally opened a large enough hole that he and Isabella could fit through. He called out to her and she ran over, quickly climbing up to where he stood.
And then he heard distant voices echoing down the tunnel Isabella had just come from. How had they managed to move so rapidly through the caves? Of course, they would have brought supplies and a large number of men. They had likely split up and taken all possible routes in order to cut down the time it took to reach the end. But the question uppermost in his mind was how they had found the entrance.
An uneasy feeling rolled in his stomach, and he hoped that Father Ling and the monks were unharmed.
Isabella looked at him, her eyes flooded with worry, fear and anger. Then she reached out and touched his face before moving toward the opening.
He put out a hand and pushed her behind him. Without further hesitation, he plunged into the opening, calling for her to follow him. Anger fueled his movements, and he crawled rapidly, ignoring the pain in his knees and palms. They were only minutes ahead of their pursuers, and he would not give up. Would not fail Isabella.
The light grew brighter ahead, signaling their rapid approach to an outside source. But where would the tunnel take them? And then he heard a dull roar. It grew louder as they continued closer to the light, and his brow crinkled with his frown as he tried to decipher what it could be.
A cold rush of air hit him full force in the face, and he felt the spray of water. He blinked in surprise then realization dawned. They had come out behind a waterfall.
He scrambled out then turned to assist Isabella. The tunnel opened up into a small concealed area behind the spray of water.
They hurried over to where the water cascaded downward, forming a solid wall over the opening. “Stay here,” he directed and slid along the wall behind the waterfall.
He inched onto a ledge that barely had room for the two of them to stand. He stood high above a valley, and about midway up a cliff. He craned his neck and looked upward for the source of the waterfall.
A long way up the cliff, the water poured over the side and downward into the rushing river. And their only way out was down. He leaned back behind the fall and motioned Isabella out.
She gingerly slid along the wall, her back plastered to the slick granite. Her head swiveled, looking in all directions, and when she looked back at him, he knew she had reached the same conclusion he had. They would have to jump. And they might not survive.
“Isabella,” he began in a strained voice. “There is something I must say.”
He couldn’t—wouldn’t—go to his death without telling her the depth of his feelings.
He had vowed long ago never to give anyone the power to hurt him ever again. By closing himself off, by not allowing himself to feel, he’d managed to skirt through life without the raw pain that accompanied
disappointment. But by uttering these words, such tiny, innocuous words, he was giving up complete power to another.
Here he stood, poised to lay bare his soul to a woman he had no future with, and yet, if he didn’t, he knew he would live with the regret for the rest of his life. And he had lived with such regret for far too long already.
“What is it, Merrick?”
Her soft voice intruded on his tumultuous thoughts, and he refocused his attention on her beautiful face.
“We may not survive this jump—” He broke off, unable to yet voice what was uppermost on his mind.
She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, determination burned brightly in their depths.
“We’ll survive,” she said firmly. “You wouldn’t allow me to come to harm.”
His chest expanded, swelling with all the things he wanted to say to this woman who had has such unshakable faith in him.
She looked away, her gaze lowering to the water below.
“Look at me,” he whispered. “There is something I must tell you.”
She glanced back at him, and he lowered his head to catch her lips in a lingering kiss. Her mouth parted beneath his, and he tasted her sweetness, sure that he would never forget it so ingrained it was in his soul.
“I love you,” he murmured, his words nearly lost in her mouth.
She froze. Taking advantage of her evident shock, he took her hand and leaped off the edge, spiraling them downward into the raging water.
Cold water exploded around Isabella, sucking her under. As she struggled to make sense of her surroundings and get her head above water, his words echoed in her head. I love you.
Had he really said it, or had she imagined it? And did he really mean it, or were they words uttered by a man who thought they might be his last? Perhaps an effort to say something, anything, to alleviate the awful truth of the situation.
The current tossed her body around like a rag doll, and in her mind, her worst fears were realized. She was going to die.
Almost as soon as the realization hit her, anger surged over her body. She would not die. As her foot dragged the bottom of the river, she pushed herself upwards, shooting rapidly up.
She broke the surface of the water, gasping and sputtering, fighting desperately to stay afloat. Ahead of her she saw Merrick bobbing down the rapids and nearly melted with relief that he was alive. For the time being at least.
Positioning her body so she wasn’t resisting the current, she sped down the river after him. She had nearly caught up to him when the current slowed, and the relentless beating she endured let up.
Merrick swam against the current to meet her and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “We made it,” he said triumphantly.
She threw her arms around him and captured his mouth in a long, heated kiss that outlined every ounce of her relief. “Careful,” he murmured. “You’ll drown us.”
She laughed a deliriously happy, thankful laugh.
They swam to the bank of the river and pulled themselves tiredly from the water and onto the ground. She collapsed on her stomach and laid her cheek against the soft soil, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, a pair of boots filled her vision. Boots she knew didn’t belong to Merrick.
A sick feeling of doom curled over Isabella’s cold, wet body. Her eyes traveled over the boots and up the legs until finally she looked into the eyes of the man standing over her.
She squinted against the setting sun to better see the potential adversary.
“Would you like a hand up, Your Highness?”
She melted in relief. Kirk.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kirk? What the devil was going on? Simon scrambled up as Isabella extended her hand and allowed Kirk to pull her to stand beside him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as she wrung the water from her hair.
“Yes, what are you doing here?” Simon prompted.
“I thought you might need rescuing, but I see, as usual, Merrick has taken care of that.” He smiled engagingly at her and winked. “Would you be interested in an escort? I even brought horses.”
“What are you doing here, Kirk?” Simon asked again in a quiet voice, his unease growing by leaps and bounds. Dread, such as he had never experienced gripped him.
Kirk looked at him in surprise. “I would think it obvious. I’m here to help you.”
“But what about Bonaparte? Have you warned the regent? Sent word to Vienna?”
Kirk shook his head. “It wasn’t necessary. I was able to determine that your theory wasn’t correct. Not only is his escape impossible, he would be a fool to attempt it.”
“But did you warn the regent?” Simon persisted.
Kirk looked him dead in the eye. “No.”
Simon tightened his lips. Something about this whole scene didn’t sit well with him. His instincts screamed at him from every direction, but he was unable to give a reason for his uneasiness. Except that Kirk shouldn’t be here.
“Were you successful in your quest, Your Highness?” Kirk asked, turning to Isabella. “Did you recover the relics?”
She cocked her head and glanced sideways at Kirk, a puzzled expression on her face. And then the ugly truth hit Simon square in the stomach.
Before she could respond, Simon pulled her back, easing in front of her. “What do you know of the relics?” he asked lightly.
Kirk arched an eyebrow. “Full of questions aren’t we, Merrick? Do I even get thanks for assisting you?”
“Answer me,” he ordered. “How did you know about the relics? Neither the princess nor I have ever mentioned them to you.”
The gregarious light completely died in Kirk’s eyes. “I don’t like your tone, Merrick,” he said tightly.
“Why are you here?” Simon asked softly.
“I’ve already answered that question.”
“Not to my satisfaction.”
“What do you want from me?” Kirk snapped.
“How deeply are you in this, Kirk?”
Simon watched as anger flashed in Kirk’s eyes. His face tightened, and Simon knew he was right in his suspicions. Anguish such that he hadn’t felt even when his brother and father died assailed him, nearly robbing him of breath.
“I see your mind is made up,” Kirk said coldly. “There is no need to deny it.”
Simon closed his eyes. “Why, Kirk. Why?”
“What is going on?” Isabella demanded.
Kirk pulled a gun from the pocket of his coat and pointed it at them. “What is going on, Your Highness, is that you will hand over the relics to me, or I will not hesitate to shoot you.”
Simon struggled with his inability to comprehend that Kirk was a traitor. Had he been involved all along? Had he anything to do with Isabella’s family’s death? Bile rose in his throat. He had trusted this man. Counted him as a brother. He had been a blind fool.
“I don’t know what you have to gain in all of this,” Isabella hissed. “But if you think I am going to let some English traitor dictate the course of my country, you are mistaken.”
“You think you can stop me?” he sneered. He inched closer, waving the gun threateningly. “Now hand over the relics.”
“She doesn’t have them,” Simon interjected.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I failed,” she said. “I was unable to retrieve the relics.”
Kirk looked at her suspiciously.
“Does it appear that I have something such as an impossibly large emerald and a jeweled scepter?” she asked in disgust.
He glanced at both her and Simon as if trying to decide if she spoke the truth. “It matters not. The new king will soon be crowned with or without the relics.”
He waved the gun at them. “Start walking. I know someone who will be very glad to see the princess.”
Simon wrapped an arm around Isabella and urged her forward. His mind reeled from Kirk’
s betrayal. It didn’t seem possible, and yet the signs had been there. He’d refused to see the truth.
She looked up at him with troubled eyes and he squeezed her shoulder. They would get out of this. He just had to formulate a plan. But not before he found out the extent of Kirk’s treachery.
“How far does this go up, Kirk? Are you acting on orders from the crown?” A sick feeling crawled into his belly. “His Grace? Does the duke have anything to do with this?”
Kirk snorted. “Rest easy, Merrick. Your beloved country had nothing to do with this. The regent never even knew Isabella was in England. Neither did His Grace. I made sure of that.”
Thank God. If everything he knew to be true was naught but a lie, his last shred of hope would be destroyed.
“So you were responsible for all the attempts on Isabella’s life?” he demanded, anger flooding him all over again.
“I merely provided information as to her whereabouts,” Kirk replied. “The rest was out of my hands.”
“Why are you doing this, Kirk? What did they offer you?”
“Shut up and keep walking,” he snarled. “I have a meeting to make.”
As they walked, Simon’s mind whirled to make sense of everything he had been handed. Kirk evidently worked for Montagne. Or did he? A horrific thought blasted over him. What if Isabella had been right about Bonaparte escaping?
Kirk didn’t work for Montagne. He worked for the French. But how did it tie in with Leaudor? Now more than ever it was obvious there was a connection between Bonaparte and Leaudor, but he still couldn’t put the pieces together.
And how would he get them out of their current situation? He glanced over at Isabella who stared ahead, her eyes clouded with fury. Kirk didn’t know of her exceptional fighting skills and that could work in their favor. If he could get Isabella to understand what he wanted, they only needed an opening to disarm Kirk.
“Stop,” Kirk ordered, and they both halted.
He walked in front of them and motioned downward with the gun. “Sit against that tree. We wait here.”
Simon cautiously surveyed the area with a slow sweep as he squatted down beside the tree. Isabella sank down beside him, and their gazes connected for the briefest of seconds. He dipped his head over to Kirk in a quick sideward motion then looked back at her, willing her to get his message.
