Misleading a Duke

by A. S. Fenichel

  Unable to see Jean-Claude, Nick knew who would wield the whip. “Where is the English army now?”

  The first lash against Nick’s flesh likely broke the skin. Searing pain stabbed through him from his right shoulder down to his left hip. That pain stopped when the second strike took its place.

  “When will they arrive in Spain?”

  The questions and whipping continued. Nick fought to keep his mouth closed, fearful he might accidentally say something important.

  Just when Nick hoped one last lash would end his life, the beating stopped. They left him on the floor and exited the office.

  Tugging on his bindings gave Nick no release. His pain had morphed into a beast that took over his entire body and there was no escape. He may have lost consciousness. Voices alerted him to their return.

  His scalp burned with someone’s fingers lifting his head by his hair.

  Jean-Claude’s pointed nose nearly touched Nick’s. “Would you care to speak about the movements of the English army now, old friend?”

  “My position is unchanged.” Nick hardly recognized his own voice, it was so rough.

  Jean-Claude dropped Nick’s head and his bruised cheek hit the stone, making him grunt. “Your flesh is already quite raw and bleeding. You might not survive another whipping.”

  “Perhaps we shall let him rest as he is and come back to this conversation tomorrow.” Joseph’s voice was a perfect mix of kindness and malice. He really was the ideal spy.

  Charles’s boot stomped forward until they were inches from Nick’s head. “It looks bad. I shall get a tea-soaked cloth to cover him. You would not wish him to die from infection before he tells us everything.”

  All three left and only Charles returned. “You’ll not survive another beating, Nicholas. Tell them what they want to know.”

  The cool cloth soothed with just a hint of agony. “You know I can’t do that, Charles.”

  “Then you will suffer another long day tomorrow and the next. They won’t stop until you are either dead or a traitor to your country. If the latter, then they will kill you. No one can hold on to their secrets forever, Nicholas.” Charles tamped the cloth over Nick’s skin with the lightest touch.

  “Thank you, Charles.”

  A low huff and Charles stood. “I have instructed the maid to come and add tea to the cloth one time before removing it.”

  Once again, Nick was alone in the office. Unable to move more than an inch in any direction, his body ached, the cold stone left him shivering, and he prayed for oblivion.

  Jane came and did as she was told. “If I free you, they will kill my lady. I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

  “It’s okay, Jane. You must help Lady Faith. I will stay alive as long as I can, but it might not be long enough for help to arrive.”

  Jane removed the cloth and cleaned him up as best she could. “I wish I could do more for you. This is no way to die.”

  “We reap what we sow.” Nick chuckled. “Tell her, I’m sorry. Will you do that for me, Jane?”

  “What shall I tell her you’re sorry for, Your Grace?” Jane gave him bread, which probably had not been part of her instructions.

  Nick chewed but it was difficult swallowing. When the bread melted to a fine mush, he was able to get it down. “Tell her, I should have paid better attention and never lost my temper. I should have told her everything and kept her safe. I’m sorry I failed her.”

  Heavy footsteps down the hall, had Jane scurrying to hide whatever food she’d smuggled into the office. “I will tell her.”

  Alone as the sun left the world, not even total darkness gave Nick peace. Nightmares of a wild-eyed Léonie chasing him with a dagger haunted his night. At dawn her dark eyes metamorphosed into Faith’s golden ones, cursing him for his past.

  Pain, sharp and sudden, licked up his side. “Wake,” Jean-Claude said.

  The click of leather against his hand was enough to force Nick to full alertness.

  Joseph wore blue slippers more in fashion for a ballroom than a torture chamber. “After a night on the cold stone and your back flayed open to the elements, are you inclined to tell me where the English army is right now?”

  Exhaustion, pain, and the fear that any answer could cause Faith harm, kept Nick’s mouth closed. Time. He needed more time.

  “Commence,” Joseph said in French.

  The lash of the whip cut through both flesh and scabs from the day before. Nick had not realized pain could be worse than what he’d already suffered. He’d been wrong. Only Faith’s clear eyes and kind smile, kept him from madness.

  The sun was full bright when he finally called out, begging for them to stop. A deep self-loathing welled up in his gut for his weakness. Agony had won the day.

  “Where are the English troops now?” Charles sounded nearly as desperate as Nick felt.

  “They gather in Plymouth.” Nick closed his mouth. It was a lie, but to say too much might end his current pain and get him killed as well. Despite his state of body, his mind remained fixated on getting Faith home safely. Lie and faint, she had said. He let his body go limp and made no move or grunt when Joseph kicked his ribs.

  “Lord, have you killed him?” Charles whined.

  Jean-Claude’s foul breath could wake the dead, but Nick remained still and relaxed. “He lives. Just out.”

  “Plymouth,” Joseph said. “That means our information about an invasion was correct. We must get word to France to take Spain now or postpone for a better time.”

  “It might not mean that at all,” Charles protested. “They might be planning to go directly to France. You’ll need to gain more from Nicholas, but you won’t do so tonight. He needs rest and care.”

  “He betrayed us!” Jean-Claude bellowed like a child in a tantrum.

  “If he dies, you will learn nothing.” Charles called down the hall for servants. He said something in low tones.

  Nick remained flaccid on the stone, and despite the agony of his back and pain of lying on the stone so many hours—it might have been days—he didn’t move.

  “Charles is right. He must be kept alive and we need more information.” Joseph paced the floor behind Nick. “Jean-Claude and I will ride out in the morning and send a messenger to France. There is a man waiting at Ellesmere Port. It’s a day’s ride if the weather holds. You may care for Nicholas as you see fit, Charles. When we return, he will either tell us all, or we shall finish this business.”

  “If he told us about Plymouth, he will tell more. He merely needs enough encouragement.” Jean-Claude loved inflicting pain. Evil lurked inside his calm façade.

  “Indeed,” Charles said. “Go meet the messenger. Find out what the emperor wishes from us and warn him about Plymouth. When you return, Nicholas will be well enough to begin questioning again.”

  The door opened and closed.

  The rope around Nick’s left arm loosened and released. One by one, Charles removed the bindings.

  Nick might have been faking his state of unconsciousness, but there was nothing false about his inability to defend himself.

  The agony of being lifted from the ground was exquisite, rocketing from his flayed back to every muscle and joint, and Nick expected his head might explode in a thousand bits. His mouth opened on a cry.

  “I’m sorry,” Charles said. “You’re a mess, Nicholas, but this is your own doing.”

  Chapter 10

  Faith had counted nine candles since they’d taken Nick away. It had been more than two days. He might be dead, but in her heart, she felt him still alive. Her body ached and her mouth was so dry she had trouble opening it to eat the last time Jane came with food.

  The key turned in the lock and as she did each time, Faith held her breath for whatever was to come. She braced for news that Nick had died at the hands of those three monsters.

  Jane stood
in the doorway.

  There was no sign of Charles or Jean-Claude. Was she to be freed? Her heart sank.

  Tears welled in Faith’s eyes, but she swallowed her sorrow. It was an effort to form words, and the light from the three candles Jane carried hurt Faith’s eyes. “Is he dead?”

  “No, my lady. His Grace lives, as far as I know.” Jane stepped toward her and reached out her hands to help Faith stand. “I’m to take you to your bedroom.”

  After so long in the cellar, Faith had trouble understanding. “I’m released from here?”

  “From this dungeon, yes. Jamie and Thea will have food and wash water waiting. I’ve been told you may have a normal meal.”

  Faith took Jane’s hand and followed her out of the cellar. Halfway up the stairs, Faith had to stop and catch her breath. Her legs wobbled on the stairs in protest after so long with little use. “Where is the duke?”

  “I don’t know. I only know he was alive when the round-faced one sent me to bring you to your room.” Jane came to Faith’s side, wrapped an arm around her waist, and helped her up the steps.

  At the top Faith wanted to sit, but Jane nervously pulled her along until they made it up another flight of stairs to the bedrooms.

  True to her word, Jane led Faith to the bedroom she’d slept in before Parvus was invaded by French spies. The sun shining in the window hurt her eyes, and she shaded them with her hand.

  The white bedding and bed curtains were a stark, almost obscene difference from the dark filth of the wine cellar. The dressing table had a basin and pitcher for washing, and the round table was spread with white linen and silver.

  Jane went to the wardrobe. “I can help you wash and dress, my lady. I was not given a time limit to stay with you.”

  “Thank you, Jane, but can you draw the curtains? I cannot bear the light as yet.” Faith sat in the chair. She longed to lie on the bed and feel the soft down beneath her, but she was so filthy, she couldn’t ruin the crisp white sheets.

  Once the curtains were drawn and allowed in only indirect sunlight, Jane helped Faith out of her dirty dress. It was the light blue day dress she had picked for the picnic in the hothouse because it had been her favorite and most flattering. She’d wanted Nick to like her and more. Now she never wanted to see the grimy thing again. Though her feelings toward Nick had not changed.

  Her hair needed more than a basin and washcloth could offer, so Jane twisted it into a knot atop Faith’s head. They scrubbed the grime from her skin and put her into a sensible cream-colored dress that was easy for Faith to get into and out of on her own.

  Jane helped her with the last button just as the door swung open. Charles Schulmeister’s breath came heavy with the load of carrying Nick into the bedroom.

  Nick’s arms hung like broken branches from his shoulders and his eyes were closed.

  “Put him on the bed,” Faith ordered.

  Nick’s blouse hung on him in tatters. His skin was beaded with sweat.

  As if the spy suddenly cared what happened to Nick, Charles lowered him onto his stomach inch by inch.

  Faith gasped and her stomach turned at Nick’s ravaged back. From his neck to the top of his breeches, he was slashed and bleeding. Some spots had scabbed over and some were fresh and raw.

  Nick made no moves as he was placed on the mattress.

  “He will need care, my lady. The others have gone on an errand for the day. You may send your maid for supplies. However, should she tell anyone what is happening here, I will kill you both. I may not approve of my colleagues’ practices, but I am loyal to their cause. Do not make me regret my decision to offer mercy for Nicholas’s sake.” Charles bowed.

  Faith ran to the bed and sat next to Nick. “Oh, Lord, what have they done to you.”

  The scratch of his voice was nothing like the strong man she’d come to admire. “I did as you instructed, sweetheart.”

  “I?” Faith took the washcloth from Jane and lightly patted a square of raw flesh behind his shoulder.

  “Come closer,” he whispered.

  Faith leaned down so that her ear was against his mouth. “You said, lie and faint.”

  Heart in her throat, Faith let one tear roll down her cheek before she swallowed down her horror. “I did say that and you’re still with me, Nick. That is all that matters.”

  His nod was followed by a cringe.

  “Jane, go and fetch clean water, cloths, and bandages. Then go and see if we have some honey to keep these from festering. We must clean him up and keep his blood from being tainted.” Faith continued to wash him an inch at a time.

  “My lady, you should not be the one to care for a man in such a way.” Jane stood close, her eyes filled with terror.

  Faith cut her a scolding look. “Go and do what I’ve said.”

  The door closed and Faith let her tears go, though not her emotions. She got up, opened the window and dumped the dirty water out. There was some water left in the pitcher and she poured it in the basin before returning to the bed and moving on to the next patch of wounded skin.

  “Jane is right, Faith. You are too good for this kind of work. Let a servant care for me now that we are not trapped in the cellar,” Nick croaked.

  She brushed his hair off his forehead and kissed the unmarred inch of skin below his hairline. “I spent many days caring for Aurora in just this way. Though you would do better with a doctor, I will have to do for now.”

  “You are more stubborn than I would have thought.” He chuckled but the movement made him gasp.

  “Be still.” She knew that each touch must be agony for him. “I wish I didn’t have to hurt you, Nick. I’m sorry.”

  “Your gentle touch is like heaven, Faith.” He hesitated. “Do you think you might help me to rise, so I might clean myself up to some extent before you continue?”

  “I will not faint at the sight of you naked.” She swallowed down her trepidation, determined to be of help to him.

  Even a long sigh hurt him. “It is not a matter of your embarrassment, sweetheart, but my own.”

  Faith understood and rose from the bed. “Of course.”

  A knock at the door and Jamie pushed through with a large bucket of water. “I have wash water, my lady. Thea will come with food as soon as she can finish the soup. I said meat pies, but she said you both need something light to start.”

  “Thank you, Jamie. Just put the bucket there.” She pointed to the place near the stand where she’d left the pitcher.

  Once the boy had done as he was told, Nick said, “Jamie, would you help me get cleaned up so my lady doesn’t have to?”

  Eyes like saucers, Jamie ran over and helped ease Nick from the bed. The two stumbled to the chair and Nick sat.

  Seeing Nick’s mortification, Faith turned her back and walked to the window. She let her eyes become accustomed to the light and wished she could go out into the snow and lose herself in the winter scene below.

  It was twenty minutes or more before Jamie said, “I’ll fetch a clean bucket of water for the wounds and some clothes, Your Grace.”

  The door opened and closed.

  “You can turn around now, Faith.” His voice was somewhat stronger.

  He remained on the chair, wrapped from the waist down in the bedsheet.

  Aching on the inside for what he had suffered, Faith held back her tears and emotion.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  Kneeling before him, she took his hand and kissed it. “I am not bloody and broken.”

  “Thank God.” His groan filled the room as he ran his other hand along her hairline, near her cheek.

  Jane shuffled in with a stack of fresh sheets and clothes for Nick. She put the clothes on top of the trunk in the corner before making the bed. If she spared a glance for Faith kneeling with her head in Nick’s lap, she said nothing.

&nbs
p; More water and a tureen of soup arrived while they remained in the intimate pose. When the servants were gone and the door closed, Nick sighed. “As much as I adore having you near, I wouldn’t mind a taste of that soup before I lie back in bed.”

  Careful not to jostle him, she jumped up and opened the tureen. The warm scent of herbs and chicken filled the room, making Faith’s stomach rumble with need.

  “Did they bring you food?” Nick’s neck turned red.

  Faith helped him closer to the table. “They brought me bread with some meat and cheese, every two candles.”

  “That’s twelve hours between meals. God, Faith, I’m sorry. You must eat.”

  She ignored his command and his apology, and continued to ladle two small bowls of soup. She set one in front of him before covering the white porcelain tureen and sat opposite him. Watching him, she waited.

  Eyes narrowed, he spooned a taste of soup over his dry lips.

  Faith ate her own soup, but was soon full and put it aside.

  It was a shame that neither of them could eat much of the delicious soup, but Nick listed to one side and put down his spoon. “I think that’s quite enough for now.”

  His attempt at rising failed and Faith rounded the table to put her shoulders under his arm and steadied him on the short walk to the bed. She wasn’t up to her full strength either, but she was far better off than Nick. Between the two of them they made it to the mattress without incident.

  “Lie on your stomach and I will finish cleaning those wounds.” Faith dragged the bucket and two cloths over and settled next to him. She started below his shoulders, where she’d left off before. He was clean now, but the wounds would take time to heal.

  “You are very gentle,” he said on a long breath.

  “Those men should be ashamed of what they’ve done to you.” Anger flared in her gut.

  He laughed, but then groaned as the jerking must have caused him pain. “They will not feel any shame, I’m afraid. From their perspective, I deserve what I’m getting. After all, I did pose as their friend and fellow French spy, and then turned my back on them to report my findings to my country. It is a dirty business, espionage.”