Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03]

by Something Wicked

  Elf was wondering if she should tell him the truth when all sounds stopped. Only their own breathing, noisy in the cramped space, broke total silence.

  After a moment, she asked, “What do you think?”

  “Perhaps they had to leave to get tools . . .”

  She waited, hearing each breath, feeling as if each breath found less air.

  “They’re going to wait for us to suffocate!” At that thought, she thrust her arms up at the lid.

  It moved.

  Hardly able to believe it, she sat up, pushing. The lid opened. She would have just shoved it out of her way, but Fort surged up and grabbed it, lowering it gently back. “I don’t suppose it’s an accident,” he whispered. “But just in case, let’s not tell the world we’re free.”

  Free was a relative term. They had more space and fresher air, but absolutely no light, not even a cloudy sky overhead. Clearly, they were still inside something.

  “Where are we?” she whispered.

  “A crypt?”

  She shivered at that thought, but then said, “Actually, I smell stale beer . . .”

  “A cellar?”

  They were both sitting up in the coffin now, and they arranged themselves facing each another, her legs over his as they assessed matters.

  “I can’t see anything,” she said. “The walls could be close or far away. There could even be other people here, watching and listening.”

  “I think we’d know.”

  “At least there’s air. And we’re alive . . .”

  Suddenly she threw herself on top of him, into his arms, and they were laughing and kissing in a mad ecstasy of survival.

  “We’re alive!” she gasped. “Alive! Alive!”

  “Very much so.” And he seized her hips and impaled her upon his rock-hard erection.

  Elf gasped with shock and some pain, for she was still tender there, but he didn’t seem to hear, and she didn’t really care. She shared his instinct to celebrate life in this primal, savage way and met him thrust for thrust, finding her own explosive release even faster than he did.

  They clung together afterward, quivering and sweating. “That,” he said unsteadily, “wasn’t part of the plan for the night.”

  “Are you sure?” she teased. “You promised me memorable.”

  “I promised you hell, too, but this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” He held her closer and kissed her cheek. “Are you all right? You must still be sore.”

  “A little. I’m fine.” That tender kiss almost broke her. She almost said, I love you.

  “Not even slightly tempted to throw a fit of the vapors?”

  “What good would it do?”

  “You’re a woman in a million, Lisette.”

  “Are you saying women are less able to bear shocks and hardship than men?” She was teasing, but was also serious.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of these women who think there’s no differences between the sexes!”

  “Oh, I acknowledge some differences.” She felt bold enough to touch his now-soft genitals. “Just not all.”

  He seized her hand and pulled it up for a kiss. “Don’t play with hellfire, sweetheart, or you won’t be able to walk in the morning.” He rubbed their joined hands against her cheek, then stilled. “What happened to your mask?”

  Oh, dear heaven. “They cut it off.”

  “I’m glad.” He traced her face as if he could see with his fingers. She did hope not. “We’re both almost as naked as the day we were born. It’s honest. I could become quite fond of this place.”

  Elf pushed away. “Don’t be silly. We have to escape.” That reminded her that she had to be home before morning to avoid complete disaster.

  He helped her disentangle herself, and soon they stood in the coffin holding hands, each the other’s only reality.

  “You speak excellent English,” he remarked.

  Oh, Gemini!

  Thinking back, Elf realized that from the moment of capture she had instinctively spoken in her native tongue. They’d been whispering most of the time and clearly he hadn’t recognized her voice yet.

  In such danger, it shouldn’t matter, and yet they’d found something precious here, a fellowship brought on by shared peril. She couldn’t bear to damage it with their family problems.

  “Merci,” she said, continuing in accented English. “I ’ave been well taught, I think.”

  “You’ve been well taught, yes, but which language, sweetheart? I suspect that in extremis people speak their native tongue.” His fingers found her cheek, and then he kissed her lightly on the lips. “Keep your secrets for now, Lisette,” he said in French. “The first thing is to get out of here.”

  Elf sent a prayer of thanks, though that “for now” held a warning.

  Unfortunately, that meant that after tonight, Lisette would have to disappear. She’d only planned for this adventure to last one night, but now she could hardly bear for it to end.

  What would happen if she confessed the truth? Could he understand? Could he put aside his malice and hate? This man, the man she’d come to know tonight, had no connection with such evil emotions.

  He released her hand and she heard him move. “The floor is flagstones.”

  Pushing aside wistful dreams, Elf scrambled out of her end of the coffin, extending every sense in a search for information. “I hate this darkness. Even a scrap of night sky through a window would be something.”

  “Or noise. If this is an inn, it’s a strangely silent one.”

  “It is the middle of the night.”

  “Even so.”

  Elf stood and one of her stockings fell down, reminding her that she was in a disgraceful state of undress. She groped in the box for the garter, and his body bumped into hers.

  “Sorry.”

  She reached for balance and touched something soft.

  Soft? Round?

  She snatched her hand back. It was his intimate parts! For some reason, touching them accidentally seemed scandalous, when touching them deliberately had not.

  He chuckled, and a moment later his groping hand found hers and guided it back toward him.

  To cloth.

  He put something into her arms and she recognized the monk’s robe.

  “Don’t you need it? I have my shift.”

  “In the dark, I don’t need a stitch. Put it on.”

  The thought of him wandering around stark naked did strange things to Elf’s equilibrium. She fought it by pulling the habit over her head.

  It settled around her, warm and concealing. She moved back to try to find her garter and promptly tripped over the hem.

  “It’s far too long.”

  He found her in the dark and fumbled for the hem. “Pox, so it is. And there’s no knife here that I know of. If we had the cord we might be able to tie it up.”

  She slipped out of it and passed it back. “I’ll make do.”

  He moved away but she heard no sounds of cloth against skin. “Are you not wearing it?”

  “Why bother?” She could hear the laughter in his voice.

  “So I don’t contact your private parts again by accident?”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Well, I would!”

  “My apologies, Miss Delicacy and Decorum.” Now she heard sounds. “There. I’m decently covered.”

  “Thank you.” Elf heard her ridiculously tight-lipped tone, but couldn’t help it. She really couldn’t cope with the image of him sauntering around naked.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Are you decently covered?”

  Reminded, she hastily found the scrap of ribbon and lace and firmly rearranged her stocking. Then she tied the neck of her shift so it no longer sagged half down her chest. Again she winced at how she must have appeared to their captors.

  “Insofar as possible,” she mumbled.

  If only she’d been less wicked and worn a cotton shift and stockings for this adventure. Bu
t no. She had to wear the finest silk and ridiculous lacy stockings. Exploring herself, she discovered the shift had been torn at some point in her capture, and a triangular flap now exposed part of her side.

  Oh for a pin!

  She put such concerns aside and set to work, exploring their pitch-dark prison inch by inch.

  “I wonder why they bothered with this robe at all?” he said, clearly farther away in the room.

  “Perhaps they needed it to carry you. Someone carried me over his shoulder, but you’d be too heavy.”

  “Probably. One puzzle solved. The rest, of course, is still dense mystery. What do they want? Damme. I’ve no memory of the event. What happened?”

  “I have no recollection, either. I woke up as they seized me. There were some noises. Perhaps a fight.”

  “I hope it was me.” After a moment, he said, “I doubt it, though. Apart from my head, I’ve no bruises that I can tell, and my hands haven’t hit anything recently.”

  He sounded aggrieved. Elf rolled her eyes at the way the male mind worked. “I hardly think that matters,” she pointed out, “but I’m sorry about your head. Does it hurt a lot?”

  “Yes.” Was he terse because of pain or because he hadn’t earned more honorable wounds?

  She suppressed a sigh. “We need to escape before they do whatever they have planned for us,” she reminded him. “Could you please apply your mind to that?”

  “Lisette, you obviously have no idea how disconcerting it is for a man to go to sleep in his own bed and awake a prisoner with no blow struck!” When she said nothing, he added, “Oh, very well. Let’s explore.”

  Elf continued to grope forward, having to suppress a giggle at his peevishness. “I suppose you wanted to be a knight in shining armor. Or perhaps a dragon slayer?”

  “You’re too fanciful. I just wish I’d broken some bones.”

  “Ugh. How horrid.”

  She heard a clunk as he moved something on the other side of the room.

  “Ugh, how realistic. What do you think happens when that romantic knight in shining armor slams his lance into his opponent’s body?”

  Absorbed in this distracting conversation, Elf bumped into a barrier. Feeling side to side, she said, “There’s a cask here. Big. From the size and smell, it’s probably beer.”

  “And I’ve found some smaller ones. Probably wine but”—she heard tapping—“empty, I think. So, Lisette, if we win free and face our enemy, do you want me to be a gentle, perfect knight? Or do you want me to break some bones?”

  “I’ll doubtless join you in breaking bones.” She tapped the cask in front of her. “This is empty, too. Staved in, in fact. Do you think—”

  “Ah.”

  “What?” She turned toward his voice, though it served no purpose since she couldn’t see.

  “I’ve found the door. It is, of course, locked in some way.” She heard some soft thumps. “Solid, plague take it. It’s hard to imagine breaking it open with our bare hands.”

  Elf liked that “our.” For this moment they were not Ware and Malloren, lord and lady. They were just two people with a common cause. Almost like Adam and Eve, she thought, naked in the Garden of Eden.

  “Are you still wearing your robe?” she asked.

  “Yes. I may not be concerned by modesty, but it’s damned chilly. Are you sure you don’t want it?”

  He was right. Despite the season, the cellar was chill and dank. Her stockinged feet and bare arms already shivered with cold, and the rest of her was not far behind. “No, thank you,” she said, absurdly touched by his gallantry.

  And perhaps, she thought, leaning back against the barrel to rub her arms, she had things to smile about. They were alive when but a few minutes before, they’d expected death. For the moment, they had shed their pasts—their rank, their families, their feud—along with their normal clothes.

  In a strange way, she felt closer to Fortitude Harleigh Ware here, prisoners in the dark, than even when making love.

  “Anything else?” he asked, prompting her to continue her exploration.

  Her foot touched a wooden bucket, empty. He reported some rags and rope. “Not enough to be of any use,” he said, “even if I could think of a use for it. This is a damnably efficient prison.”

  Then Elf came to the ramp. “Of course,” she said. “They always roll beer casks down a ramp. That’s how they slid in our box.”

  He came to join her, reaching out so his hand brushed hers before taking it. She couldn’t resist going into his arms.

  He rubbed her shoulders. “You’re cold.”

  “It can’t be helped.”

  “It’s another reason to get out of here. How long before your complaisant relative becomes alarmed?”

  So he was thinking of scandal, too. “Morning, I suppose.”

  “And then what will happen?”

  “I have no idea.” Wanting to be as honest as she could, she added, “She might hesitate to complain to the authorities, but not for long.”

  He kissed her gently on her brow. “Then we’d best try to escape before morning. I’m going to climb the ramp.”

  She heard scrabbling sounds and then a rattle. “Fastened on the outside, of course, and almost as sturdy as the door. We could try to pry it open, but we’d still need a tool of some kind to have any chance.”

  He arrived back beside her, and they found one another again in the dark.

  “Scared?” he asked.

  Surprisingly, she had to think about it. “Yes, though not as much as I would be if I were alone. Are you? Scared.”

  “Yes.” His hand rubbed comfortingly on her back, and she did the same to him. “Should I not admit it? Here in the dark, it seems ridiculous to posture. I don’t want to die just yet, and certainly not with such lack of dignity at the hands of ruffians.”

  This approached interesting matters. “Do you think it’s your Scottish friends who have captured us?”

  His hand paused for a moment. “Perhaps.”

  “But why? And if they wanted to kill me, why sneak into an earl’s house at night to steal us both away?” She prayed for an honest answer.

  “I have no idea, which is worrying enough—”

  “Especially since they are your colleagues,” she snapped.

  “Sheathe your claws, little cat. I honestly have no idea what is behind this. For the moment, we are on the same side, and our pressing need is to escape. I’m afraid that means crawling about the floor in search of some overlooked tool.”

  He would have moved away, but she held on to the rough wool of his habit. “I want to know everything that is going on.”

  “It wouldn’t help.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “You’re just being curious, in typical female fashion.”

  “Curious! My life is in danger—”

  “And you are delaying things by a pointless argument.” He freed himself and moved away.

  “Female fashion, indeed.” Elf settled to her knees and started to work her way around the room. Her shift ripped further, so, muttering a curse, she knotted it near her waist. If a light appeared now and exposed her like this, she’d die of shame. “If you didn’t know what was going on,” she protested, “you’d be full of questions, too.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on. For example, I don’t even know who you are, though there’s something damnably familiar about your voice when you speak English. Why not start with your true name?”

  Elf almost told him, longing to prick his bubble. She managed to resist.

  “Who I am is not important.” She reached tentatively beneath the huge cask—heaven only knows what might be there. As it turned out her fingers found only chips of broken flagstone.

  “Then what’s going on is equally unimportant,” he said. “I’ve found a short stick—a broken broom handle, I think—but I can’t see what good it will do us.”

  They took refuge in grumpy silence broken only by the scrabble of their search.


  Chapter 11

  Gradually Elf realized how absurd their behavior was and offered an olive branch. “It would be annoying,” she said, having found nothing remotely like a tool, “to discover that axes and scythes are hanging from the ceiling.”

  She stood up, rearranged her shift, and headed back toward the box. And stubbed her toe against a rock, falling forward to bang her knees on it.

  At her cry, he said, “What? What’s the matter?”

  “I just stubbed my toe.” She sat to rub at various painful spots, then explored the obstacle. She’d thought it a raised flagstone, but it was many inches thick with metal handles attached. It was clearly no use to them, though.

  “I hate this darkness,” she said as she scrambled to her feet. “Do you keep rubbing your eyes, hoping to clear your vision?”

  “Yes. Do you have moments of fear that you really are blind?”

  “I would if I were alone. Have you found anything?”

  “No. Come and sit on our coffin.”

  She felt her way forward carefully, already beginning to grow more skillful with her other senses. A dull thump told her he’d replaced the lid and when she got there and sat on it, his robe came around her shoulders.

  Which meant that when he put his arm around her and pulled her close, she settled against his naked body. She didn’t complain. The warm cloth was comforting, and he’d wrapped it lengthwise around both of them.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We have to decide whether to attack that door at the top of the ramp. I think it opens outward and the lock might be weak. It’s possible I can batter it down, though I’m not sure. I can’t run at it. Since there’s about three feet of headroom up there, I can hardly even swing at it.”

  “Anyway, you’d hurt yourself.”

  “For you, fair lady, anything.”

  She laughed, snuggling closer. “It really does offend you, doesn’t it, not to be able to make a grand gesture?”

  “Assuredly. It offends me even more, though, to just sit here waiting for something to happen.”

  During the search, Elf had been thinking about her people. Perhaps they were searching for her now. Perhaps they’d seen the capture but been unable to act immediately. But in that case, surely they would have planned a rescue.