by Diana Cosby
“Look at this, will you,” Terrick said with disgust. “I am telling a bloody Sassenach nae to get killed.”
Nicholas met his gaze, the bond between them solid. “You are a sorry lot to be sure,” he said, finally able to find logic through the fury. “For a moment I went crazy.”
A grim smile carved the Scot’s lips. “My sister can make a man act that way.”
“And when I get hold of her—”
“You are going to love her.” The earl shook his head. “You will nae be telling me any different. I have threatened her too many times, and forgiven her the same.”
A degree of levity wove into the moment, enabling Nicholas to put the situation into its proper perspective, and finding a friend and more in the Scot. “My thanks.”
Terrick extended his hand. “A Sasanach you may be, but you are a good man all the same. And if I thought there was the slightest chance, I would ride alongside you this night to Hardwell Castle.”
Of that Nicholas had no doubt. He took Terrick’s hand, accepting the friendship and the loyalty offered. “ ’Tis time to be getting the men back.” He nodded toward where the guards lifted the wounded. “Once they are settled at the castle, we will make a plan to free Elizabet.”
“Aye,” Giric agreed.
As the night consumed the last remnants of the day, Nicholas worked beside the Scot, tending to the men who’d survived and helping to bury those less fortunate. Once makeshift gurneys were made, they rode toward Ravenmoor Castle, their pace hindered by darkness.
This night his purpose was his men, but on the morrow, Lord Dunsten would regret his attack.
No one touched what was his.
CHAPTER 19
With the first rays of sunlight filling the chamber, Elizabet glanced toward the door. The night had passed with a foreboding silence. Whatever his twisted reasons, Dunsten hadna returned, but his ominous presence tainted every breath. She shivered.
She must escape before Giric and Nicholas came for her. And they would, damn their hides. Her brother was a stubborn, pigheaded, loving fool, and Nicholas was nay better.
Childhood memories tumbled back in a vicious slide as Elizabet searched her prison. The times she, Giric, and Dunsten had played in this very room and had hidden throughout the many corridors of Dunsten’s ancestral home.
And the day she’d almost died within these same walls.
She shut out the horrific memory, struggling to recall the castle’s layout. Vague images flickered through her mind, naught more. Blast it, there was something she was forgetting! Closing her eyes, Elizabet fought to remember.
The door scuffed open.
She glanced up.
Dunsten entered.
Elizabet froze.
Clad in mail, his claymore secure in its sheath over his back, and a dagger fastened to his belt, he strode in with a confident swagger. “Good morning, Elizabet.” His eyes raked over her. “I trust you slept well.”
An involuntary shudder swept through her, but she stayed the urge to wrap her hands around herself. “As well as anyone held against their will.”
A smile crept to the edge of his mouth. “Your defiance endears me. An admirable trait.” He took a gauntlet in his hand and pulled it on. “Sadly, I do nae have the time to tarry. As we speak, your brother and Sir Nicholas approach.”
However much she longed to run to the window and see if she could make them out in the distance, she refused to give Dunsten that small twisted pleasure.
Seconds passed.
He quirked a brow. “Are you nae curious as to their fate?”
“Will it matter in the end?” A sense of victory stole over her as a red slashed across his cheeks. So caught up in the attack and her resultant imprisonment, she’d nae considered the possibility of him having a weakness—until now.
All through their childhood he had lived for praise, to always be the best. Stroke his ego. Exploit his weakness. This was her only hope.
“You are planning to murder them?” she asked, keeping her voice calm.
“They have interfered with my operation.” He pulled on the second gauntlet. “I canna risk exposure.” He shrugged. “You, I meant to have anyway. Your brother as well as the castellan are an unexpected boon.”
“But you have me.”
He tugged his coif on his head, eyeing her all the while. “Aye, I do.”
A ribbon of nerves wove through her at his hard stare. “Why do you need to kill them? You could offer them—”
“Elizabet, you as well as I know that neither your brother nor Sir Nicholas would consider joining me. Though,” he said with a weighty pause, “ ’tis an intriguing thought.”
Time, she needed more time.
“I will be away for a few hours. Upon my return, your brother and the castellan will be in my custody.” His eyes narrowed. “Until I decide on the best way to dispose of them, I will lock them in the dungeon. Pray they do nae decide to be difficult. If I havena returned by Terce, the guard has orders to slit your throat.” With a curt nod he turned and strode toward the door.
Panic rolled through her, and she ran to him. “Dunsten.”
His boots scraped as he halted by the door, his look hard. “ ’Tis too late. You had your chance to save them.” Without warning he approached, ripped a strip of the pale fabric from the shoulder of her dress.
Stumbling back, she pulled the torn garment to hid her exposed skin.
With a cold laugh, he exited, tugged the door shut.
Her mind churning with desperation, Elizabet tied the ragged ends of the remaining cloth into a makeshift knot over her shoulder.
Several moments later, the clatter of hooves echoed from outside.
She ran to the far window.
Below, Dunsten led a large contingent of men through the gates. Dust swirled in their wake, then was cast away by the ocean breeze.
Heart pounding, she searched beyond the castle walls to the rolling hills green with life. And she was locked within the chamber unable to warn Giric and Nicholas or to halt Dunsten’s madness.
Trembling with anger, she curled her hand on the stone sill. Again she’d failed those she loved.
Are you going to give in, girl?
At her father’s voice she whirled. Except for the fire crackling in the hearth and a small hay-filled pallet for her bed, the chamber stood empty.
She gulped a breath, then another, his gruff words echoing in her head. Shame filled her that she’d allowed herself to doubt. Lachllan’s words of reassurance as to her father’s love came to mind. ’Twas a time to forgive, to accept a man who dared to love with abandon. Caught in her own pain, she’d overlooked his own.
“Nay, Father,” she answered into the silence. “I will fight for those I love.” She swallowed, the emotions of the moment taking their toll. “I am sorry for all of the years we lost. I was angry, and if the truth be told, bitter.” The flames jumped, twisted before her. “I rebelled, but I guess you knew that as well, and caught in your own pain of loss, you didna know how to reach out.” She swallowed hard. “I am sorry.”
A gust of wind swept into the room, tugged at the hem of her skirt, then swirled to capture the plume of smoke rising up the flue. The flames of the fire jumped and sparks snapped in a magical swirl.
Elizabet knelt before the fire, sensing his presence, and an inexplicable warmth. “You loved me in the only way you knew how.”
Embers spit up into the flames as if he’d answered the same.
“Now I understand. Father, I love you.” Warmth invaded her soul, and a peace she’d longed for over the many empty years filled her heart. “I willna give up, and neither will I let you, Giric, or Nicholas down.”
Determination filled her as she rose. Though the years hazed her memories, there was a time when she knew every inch of this castle, including the dreaded secret passageways. Her pulse sped at the reminder of being lost within the darkened tunnels.
Elizabet focused on the need to escape, on the l
ives that depended on her. The matrix of passageways ran to all of the master chambers, but she couldna remember if they extend to this room. Fighting for calm, she scanned the wall looking for a camouflaged panel.
Naught.
Sunlight poured into the room, warming, illuminating the walls as she ran her hands carefully over the rough, abrasive stone. Time slipped by like a thief as she continued her painstaking search. As she smoothed her fingers over the next stone, they dipped into a small indent.
Excitement shooting through her, Elizabet tugged at several crevices around the tiny fracture, but only broke a nail and discovered naught. She sagged against the crafted stone. Mayhap as she’d feared, a secret passage leading to this chamber didna exist.
Boots clacked outside her chamber door.
Her heart slammed against her chest. Had Lord Dunsten returned?
A guard murmured to the other.
The other man gave a quick, low laugh, and then the guard left.
The slight shuffle of the new guard’s movements echoed outside.
Was he deciding to check on his prisoner? Had Giric and Nicholas rebelled and now he was to carry out his orders to end her life?
Every gust of the wind through the window, the muted outside voices in the courtyard, and daily sounds that made up castle life echoed around her with haunting clarity.
After the guard remained outside a length of time, she gave a relieved exhale. ’Twas only a changing of her guard.
With steely determination she resumed her search. Another wash of cool air drifted over her, thick with the scent of the ocean. She glanced out the window expecting to see clouds covering the sun.
The sky was clear.
Elizabet frowned. Where had the chill breeze come from? She glanced back. It must be coming from the tunnel! Pulse racing, she felt along the stone. Her finger slid between a needle-thin slit that ran up the wall between the carved stone, the breeze strong.
She’d found it!
The chilly air sifted through her fingers as she inched over the opening, searching for the indent that would gain her access to the passage. Midway up, her thumb edged into a slight irregularity. Thank Mary! She pulled against the cleverly hidden door.
The panel moved a degree.
“Come on!” she breathed.
She tugged again.
Stone scraped.
Elizabet glanced at the door.
Silence.
Adrenaline spiked as she moved to a better angle. She pulled.
The panel slid open a hand’s width.
Again she checked the door to ensure the guard didna investigate. A moment passed, then another. She tugged again.
The door moved another inch.
At this rate she would be here all day. Bracing her body against the door and her foot on the wall, she pulled hard. The entry opened wide enough for her to slip through. She peered into the tunnel.
A shaft of darkness beckoned her with morbid invitation, and her skin crawled at the thought of entering the narrow passage, trapped by sheer rock as impenetrable as unforgiving.
She fought to shake off the bout of nerves. This wasna the time to remember or to fear. After a deep breath, she slipped inside the shaft. Blackness consumed her. Moisture tinged the air, and the quiet rush of emptiness filled the dank void.
She gulped a deep breath, then another, allowing her eyes to adjust to the swath of light spilling into the murky gray before it, too faded in the dark.
Now to find the candle that was hidden on a shelf inside each entrance.
As she stepped forward, she skimmed her fingers along the uneven shelves of stone to follow the tunnel. Another step, and her fingers tangled in a silky mass. Visions of a spider crawling within the web skewered her mind. She jerked back.
Trembling, she fought for calm.
She couldna do this!
Stop! Focus!
Hand shaking, she moved her fingers over the surface, rough, slick, and damp. Her fingers slid into the indent and bumped against the tallow candle. Thank Mary! Snatching it from its hidden pocket, she hurried from the dark confines.
For a moment she stood in the chamber, absorbing the light, warmth, and the freedom around her. She peered toward the narrow opening, swallowed hard. She had to go back.
Elizabet focused on her mission, nae the blackened and restricted route she must take. Kneeling before the hearth, she lit the wick. Shielding the flame, she slipped into the tunnel.
At the distant clack of hoofbeats she turned toward where the shaft of light stroked the rough edges of darkness.
The candlelight wavered then flickered out.
Terror seized her. She bolted for the light, then ran to the window.
A large group of men cantered toward the castle. Surrounded by Dunsten’s men rode Giric and Nicholas.
The room spun around her, the sense of panic and loss staggering. The candle trembled in her hands. Numb, she stared at the blackened wick.
Sparks crackled in the hearth in a scolding snap.
With one last look at the approaching party, she hurried over and knelt before the hearth.
Dunsten was right. This was nae over. But she was determined that the ending would be far from what he had planned.
Elizabet moved to the entry, paused to let the sun warm her face one last time, then stepped inside the blackened tunnel, and closed the entry.
The figure in the upper window disappeared, but Nicholas knew Elizabet’s every detail. Blast it! Like a fool he’d believed when they confronted Lord Dunsten and his guard they would have time to react, to find some way to overpower the earl and gain entrance into his castle.
In the end, they’d met at the first break of dawn. With the wind rolling over the moors, Lord Dunsten had ridden forward without pause with a large force; a man in control, a warrior who held the upper hand.
Nicholas glanced at Terrick, riding at his side. Their eyes met, reflected the fury for one man, Dunsten. He looked toward the castle window where Elizabet’s face had appeared moments ago.
Empty.
His gut wrenched. Thank God Terrick was right that she was alive. What had she endured since her capture? With disgust, he glanced at his hands, bound, raw, and burning from his struggles to escape. However much he wished to flay Lord Dunsten inch by bloody inch, at the moment he could do naught.
As they continued to ride, the pounding of the surf grew. He glanced toward the shore. Foam-tipped waves stormed the beach, tumbling up the sand to slam against the arched wall of stone that pillared the fortress of Hardwell Castle.
They started up the steep incline. The narrow path wove erratically making it difficult to ascend, and all but impossible for an attacking force to penetrate. An excellent defense. ’Twould seem in all matters Dunsten left little to chance.
Shadows engulfed them as they rode beneath the gatehouse. Echoes of hooves, the smell of dust, sweat, and the ocean permeated each breath. When they drew to a halt inside the courtyard, Nicholas glanced up, praying to find Elizabet’s face.
The window stood empty.
A sated smile touched Dunsten’s mouth as he followed Nicholas’s gaze. “Take them to the dungeon.”
Guards caught their mounts while others hauled Nicholas and Giric to the ground.
“Wait.” As the guards held Nicholas and Giric tight, Dunsten walked over. Malicious delight glittered in his eyes as he withdrew a ribbon of pale linen tucked beneath his belt.
Nicholas stilled. A portion of the dress Elizabet had worn the day he’d left.
Lord Dunsten’s thumb slid over the fabric in a slow caress. “She screamed when I took her,” he drawled as if savoring the memory, the touch, and the taste of her flesh. He lifted the cloth to his nose and inhaled, his eyes never leaving Nicholas. “ ’Twas a pity I had to leave her tied naked in my bed, but with you and her brother taken care of, I will be free to return and sample her pleasures.”
He’d known anger in his life, but never this sharp, this biting. Nic
holas lunged toward Lord Dunsten. “I will kill you!”
The guards held him back.
“You will kill him only after I have wrung his bloody neck,” Terrick yelled as he fought his captors.
Nicholas kneed the guard closest to him.
The man doubled over.
Another knight moved in, drove his fist into Nicholas’s jaw. The metallic taste of his blood filled his senses. A sharp punch landed, this time on his gut, then another to the side of his head. Pain slid through him, and he sucked in a harsh gulp of air, then another.
With a cold laugh, Dunsten quirked his brow in delight. He dropped the pale linen, ground it into the dirt with the heel of his boot. He glanced at the guard. “Take them to the dungeon and beat them. When you are done, shackle them in a cell. I wouldna want anything to happen to them while I take care of an unfinished matter. After, I will be down to deal with them, personally.”
His laughter echoed in his wake as the men hauled Nicholas and Terrick away.
The ringing in his ears matched the pounding in his head, but Nicholas kept his feet, barely.
A guard’s fist plowed into his gut as they entered the dungeon.
Nicholas stumbled backward as another guard’s boot slammed in his face. Pain, raw, burning, raced through his body. Even breathing hurt.
A guard shouted to the other man near his side who pummeled Terrick. With a nod, the man hauled Giric past Nicholas into a cell.
A burly man shoved Nicholas inside the cramped confines, then pinned him against the wall. In quick, efficient movements, he shackled his arms and legs, tested them with a jerk. With a satisfied grunt, he posted himself outside the door.
His head pounding and pain wracking his body, Nicholas pulled against the metal bands. They rattled and cut into his flesh. “God’s teeth.”
“The bastard,” Terrick growled, testing his chains.
Footsteps echoed up the turret with a steady clip.
Nicholas looked over. Between the bars, Dunsten’s stocky frame came into view. As he walked toward them, his shadow raced ahead like black fingers raking across the bars of the empty cells.
