by Shea,Lisa
There was a long, low creak from above her, and she knew that the basement’s main door had been breached. She held her breath, her heart pounding. There was no answering clang, no sound of resistance. She had been left unguarded, and now her fate was entirely in her own hands. Taking in a deep breath, she slowly stood, rotating her weapon in her hand. She dropped down slightly into a fighting stance. If they thought they were going to take her without a struggle, they would be sorely mistaken. Better to die here, fighting, than to become the whore for a nest of thieves.
Footsteps came quickly down the stone stairs, and it seemed only seconds before they stopped at her cell. The light of a torch moved around beneath the crack of the door. She stared with focused intent at the edge of the door jam, waiting … She felt as if a sharp tingling were humming along her skin, making her aware of every movement.
There was a noise, and a creak, and the door slowly swung inward, pressed forward by a sword. In a moment a large shape filled the doorway, a black figure against an ebony background.
Constance had had enough. Her voice came out rough and full of fury. “Be warned,” she grated out, her voice cold as steel. “If you lay one hand on me, I vow I will cause you as much damage as I am capable of before I die. I swear it on my life.” She did not move an inch, keeping her back pressed against the corner of the cell.
The figure before her froze, and after a long moment he uttered a shocked oath. He took one cautious step into the room, then two.
Constance raked her eyes across his body. The man could be from a rival bandit group, or even a retreating member of the guards who fought above. Which side was he aligned with?
He was dressed in dark, well-worn leather from head to toe, its matte color blending in with the deep shadows of the night. He wore a full helmet with face shield, a tracery of cloud-like etchings glimmering on each cheek. He held his sword at the ready in one hand.
There was a symbol on the leather at his chest, barely visible in the gloom. Her eyes strained to make it out. It was a sword … a flaming sword. Her eyes flew up to meet his, the shine of them glowing sharply in the torchlight. He was one of the Angelus. Why would the Angelus be brought in to rescue her? Had Barnard or her brother not trusted their own troops for the task?
She did not care. The Angelus were definitely not associated with the bandits. Exhaustion and fear threatened to overcome her, and she fought to stay on her feet.
A clanging sounded from far above and he tensed immediately. His voice came in a low rumble, urgent and short. “Can you walk?”
“I will hobble on stumps to get out of this hell hole,” vowed Constance with heat. She pushed herself off the wall and made her way across the cell. She had dreamt for so long of crossing that threshold … she paused for a moment when she reached it, then stepped deliberately across. She would be free. She repeated the vow to herself with fierce passion. Whatever it took, she would be free.
The mercenary was behind her in a second, then pressed himself past her to take the lead. He escorted her carefully down the grimy hallway, up the stairs, and through the winding corridors of the complex, his head always turning, watching for danger.
Constance stayed pressed as closely behind the Angelus as she dared, unwilling to risk the slightest chance of losing her savior. As they went, men fell in with them, forming a protective shield around them, a moving wall of metal and leather. Not a word was spoken as the troops gathered up and headed out toward the main gate. Constance did not see any remnants of the bandit force alive. Had they all been slain? Had they fled when the attack went poorly for them? She neither knew, nor cared. All that mattered is that she might at long last be free.
Then they were through the main gates of the curtain wall, the ink-black sky stretched out above them, the forests extended into dense dark. A herd of horses stood waiting, a few guards alertly watching over them. Constance drew to a stop, overwhelmed by the enormity of it. This was when the dream would end. This is when she would wake up to the cold stone floor, to the paltry gruel, to the gleeful laughter of her captors. She waited for the dissolve, for the loss of her freedom …
The mercenary turned as he felt her stop moving, and met her eyes. His face went pale for a moment, then hardened again. Without a word he swept her up in his arms, carried her effortlessly along to a large, black steed, and then put her up on it. In a moment he was astride behind her, and the group was moving at a fast gallop through the moonlit wood.
Constance struggled to stay conscious, to spend every last second with her savior, no matter if he was a phantasm of the night. Even a brief dream was better than her reality. Despite her best efforts, her body became overcome with exhaustion, and at last she collapsed against him, lost in an endless night.
Chapter 4
Constance heard the quiet creak of a door opening, and instantly her body was alert. She kept her eyes closed as she slowly moved her hand beneath her pillow, searching for her weapon. A second passed … two … it was gone! Her eyes flew open in panic, and she threw herself back against the wall, drawing herself into as small a ball as she could.
The door stopped moving, and a shadow passed before it. Then, in another moment, a young girl pressed her way into the room, smiling gently at Constance. The girl carried in her arms a well-crafted wooden tray holding a half loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a mug of mead. Constance barely saw her glossy, long black hair, or her neatly tailored green-blue dress. Her eyes were focused on the food, and her body became consumed with ravenous hunger.
The girl had barely placed the tray across her lap before Constance’s fingers were flying, moving, bringing the food to her mouth as quickly as she could. It was several long minutes before she could even savor the flavors, enjoy the long drinks of mead in between gulps of food.
“Slowly,” offered the girl gently, standing patiently besides the bed, her eyes sparkling. “You will give yourself a stomachache if you eat too quickly. We have plenty more.”
Constance knew the girl was right, and tried to slow down. After so many days … she finally began to feel her stomach fill, to feel satiated. She had never thought to enjoy this sensation again. When the meal was gone, she licked her fingers, taking in a long, deep, shuddering breath. She almost felt like crying in relief that her long captivity was finally over.
The girl retrieved the tray, then nodded down at her. “You rest now,” she advised. “Nobody will bother you in here. If you need me, my name is Audrey.” Before Constance could say anything further, she turned and went out the door, closing it firmly behind her. Constance listened with a tense ear, but there was no final click of a lock, no soft thud of a sealing bolt. She gave herself a gentle shake. Of course she was not locked in. She was free now … she was free.
She allowed herself to draw her eyes from the door and finally look around the room. She was in some sort of a keep, apparently. The room was large, with regular grey stones making up the walls, while rich, polished wood lined the ceiling and floor. A low fire crackled in the fireplace across from her bed. A simple but well-made chest stood alongside. A tapestry of rich blues and greens hung to her right, and a chair was pulled close to her bed, a small table next to it showing wear from recent use.
She looked to the other side. A pair of large windows were shielded by blue tapestry curtains, a few steps from the bed. With an effort she pushed off the thick comforter. She was dressed in a clean, fresh white chemise, and she ran her hand in pleasure down the fabric for a moment, luxuriating in its feel. Then, gathering her strength, she swung herself around to sit on the edge of the bed. Exhaustion cascaded over her, the strong desire to simply curl up in the soft bed and sleep … sleep. She resisted the lure with fierce determination. First she had to get a sense of where she was.
She stood slowly and moved the few steps to the curtains. She paused for a long moment before drawing one back to look beyond.
Her mouth fell open. The keep was perched on a cliff high above the ocean; the crashing
waves, the long sweep of blue and glistening gold stretched as far as the eye could see. She flung both curtains wide open, drinking in the view. The beauty of the scene poured into her, refreshing her, renewing her.
Above, seabirds soared easily along the winds, coasting in luxurious abandon across the swells of the air. Below, the sun sparkled with glittering merriment off the rolling crests of the waves. In the distance, a fishing boat bobbed its way toward shore.
Constance stood motionless for what seemed like hours, leaning against the window sill, soaking up the joy of the scene. Tears streamed down her face; she paid them no heed. It was like awakening after a long sleep, welcoming the spring after a brutal winter.
Finally, her strength spent, she reluctantly turned and climbed back into bed. She arranged herself so that she could see a portion of the ocean from where she lay, and easily drifted off to sleep.
* * *
A loud noise awoke Constance, and she blinked in surprise, sitting up quickly and looking around her. It was early morning; the soft light of dawn was just spreading across her room. The curtains were still open, as she had left them, but scanning the room it appeared the chair at her side had been pushed back, as if someone had moved from it quickly.
The noise came again, and Constance realized it was sounding from below her. A heavy thud of some sort, and there was the sharp, angry murmur of men’s voices muffled through the stonework. A bolt of fear shot through her. Had the bandits come back for revenge? Was even this keep not safe?
Constance tumbled out of bed and moved quickly to the trunk. She opened it –
Her heart leapt.
It was more than she could have hoped for. Her beloved sword lay at the bottom. Whoever had brought her here must have found the sword somewhere in the keep. She ran a hand fondly along the green leather wrap of the hilt. She could remember every detail of that autumn trip with Gabriel. How warm and inviting Lucia and Stephen had been. How much Constance had wished that her own life could bring even a drop of the joy that couple had found.
And instead …
Constance took up the sword and settled it into her grasp. She had sacrificed her happiness for the people who depended on her. She would have to find solace in that.
Her resolve firming, she moved to the door and stood there a moment, listening.
There was no sound nearby, only the growling murmur of voices from further away. She pried the door open slowly, carefully, and peered through the opening as she did. A long corridor stretched to either side of her, but there was nobody present in the dawn dimness. Perfect. She slipped through the door, pulling it gently shut after her. Then she crept her way down the hall toward the noise.
The corridor opened into a balcony over a great room littered with wooden tables and benches. Blue, green, and gold tapestries decorated many of the walls. A massive fireplace occupied one wall, the marble lintel carved with dragon designs. Several openings and archways gave entrance to other rooms.
Two men were arguing in low tones at the far end of the room, and two sets of men-at-arms milled about behind them, seeming alert but not anxious. One contingent wore tunics of blue and green, while the other wore …
Constance knew their livery at a glance. It was the yellow and white of her family, of her brother Charles. She scanned the group, picking out a familiar face here and there. They stood near a large, wooden object, a frame of sorts. Looking at it more closely, she realized it was a bed, mounted on poles for carrying. She moved forward toward the balcony rail to get a better look.
Her movement caught the men’s eyes, and both turned to look up at her. Her brother stepped forward instantly, his face sharp with displeasure. His voice rang through the hall, high and piercing.
“Constance, what are you doing? Surely you should not be out of your bed!”
Constance’s temper flared. She was barely out of a prison cell, and this was the greeting from her brother?
She strode angrily across the top of the balcony, holding his gaze as she descended down the long sweep of stairs. He looked heavier than she remembered; the muscles he had earned during his years of soldiering were now sagging to fat. He wore a gaudy tunic of bright white with gold embroidery highlights, and a jeweled sword hung at his hip. His hair was short and expertly trimmed, his beard elegant and neat.
She stopped before him, aware of the stares of the guards around her, not caring, overwhelmed by anger for the man before her. Her voice came out low and guttural.
“You left me in that … hell hole … for weeks,” she snarled, her chest heaving with emotion. “How could you?”
Charles flushed crimson, his mouth pursing. “Things were far more complicated than you can imagine, sister. There will be plenty of time to discuss this all later, when you are more yourself.” He waved a hand at the bed standing to one side. “For now, please get into the carrier, so we can take you to our home in North Sunderland.”
Constance’s world was turning upside down. Would nothing make sense? “Why would I not return to Swinhoe, to Barnard?” she ground out, confused.
Charles made a dismissive motion with one hand. “It makes no sense to trouble Barnard at the moment. Besides, it is too far for you to travel in your state. I will take you home with me. My dear wife Alison can nurse you back to health for a month or two, and then we will see how things go.”
Constance did not know if she should argue or give in. Going back to Barnard would be no treat – her “husband” had apparently not bothered to rescue her, had not shown an interest in her welfare for years. Still, her brother was not much of an improvement. What had caused him to finally call in the mercenaries, rather than send his own troops to the rescue?
There was no help for it. Better to go with her brother for now, at least until she healed. Then she could make more certain determinations about her future. She nodded wearily in agreement.
Charles turned to instruct his soldiers to take their positions at the bed’s rails, and suddenly Constance could see the man he had been talking with. Her heart froze in shock. His body was more muscular than it had been, perhaps toned by years of service? He wore a deep blue tunic that was well made while simple in design. She knew the calm, blue eyes. In them was … indifference? Pity?
Constance was suddenly aware of how she must look. She wore only the rumpled chemise, and her body bore the cuts and bruises of her rough capture. Her hair was matted and snarled. This was not how she imagined her first meeting with Gabriel. This was wrong … all wrong …
Charles glanced around and saw the direction of her gaze. “Oh, Constance, let me introduce you to Gabriel, the owner of this keep. You might remember him, I imagine; I believe he worked at our home for a few years right after I left.”
“Yes, of course,” responded Constance faintly, her strength fading.
For him to see her like this …
“My Lady,” replied Gabriel with a nod, his voice low. She heard every syllable as a resonant chord through her heart. It had been so long since she had heard him speak, and there he was, before her, only a few steps away … but so far out of reach.
Arms came to support her, and she did not resist; she docilely let the guards lead her to the bed. When she was settled in it, she felt the bed shift, and then rise. In a moment, they were moving out into the bright sunshine of day, and then she was being placed, bed and all, into the back of a wagon.
She turned her head sideways to look back at the keep. It was stunning. Small and well kept, she could see the sturdy walls which lined the courtyard area, could hear the roar of the glorious sea beyond. Tears welled in her eyes as she was swept away by the rich sound. She brought her view back to the main building, to the large pair of wooden doors which stood open at the keep’s center.
Gabriel stood in the center of the archway, his eyes fixed on hers. She watched him for a long moment, then he turned and strode back into his home, swallowed up by the darkness. She closed her eyes, utterly lost.
Chapter
5
Constance faded in and out of consciousness during the hours of the ride, and it seemed like no time at all before the guards were hoisting her bed up to enter the gates of her childhood home. Despite her worries, a sense of relief washed over her as the familiar walls closed in around her.
The bed stopped in the main hall, and she immediately pushed herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs around. A crowd of servants and keep folk murmured with interest from the periphery of the room, but none moved toward her.
“Whoa, lass,” called out a familiar voice at her side. Her eyes flew up in surprise.
“Ralph!” she cried, her tone rich with pleasure. “How did you get here?”
The graying soldier moved closer to her, leaning down to put an arm under her shoulder. He helped her to her feet, then began walking her along to the stairs toward the upper chambers. “In a moment,” he responded softly as they moved.
She got a glimpse of bright red tapestries as she was helped up the stairs, and then she was being brought into what had been one of the guest rooms while she was growing up. It was a nice size, with a double bed, a pair of windows overlooking the back gardens, a fireplace, and several trunks.
Ralph eased her down into the bed, and gently pulled the covers up over her shoulders. He glanced back at the curious servants who stood in the doorway, dismissing them with a look. “We will call you if we need you,” he let them know with a frown. The group pulled back, and the door was closed with a soft thud.
“Oh, Ralph,” sighed Constance, finally beginning to feel safe for the first time in weeks. She leant back against the pillow, all strength draining out of her. “What is going on?”
Ralph picked up a mug of mead sitting on the small table by her bed, handing it over to her. “First, tell me how you are. You look …” he shook his head in confusion as he glanced down the length of her form. “You look both thinner than I have ever seen you, and stronger as well. What did they do to you?”
