The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  The knight took a moment to rest, letting his abs calm their shrieking protest to what he had just made them do with very little oxygen. When he could breathe more easily he began to work on the locks, hoping he didn't drop the key.

  Apparently, luck was with him.

  A few minutes later, one shackle and then the other, snapped open. He dropped his dead arms and bit is tongue to keep from screaming. Ever nerve in his arms shrieked in defiance of their treatment. He wanted to wait a moment to let the blood recirculate, but he didn't have that moment to waste.

  Cal leaned down and placed his hand in front of Bran's nose. He felt wet, warm air flow over his tingling fingers and took that as a good sign. At least he hadn't killed him. Cal groped around in the dim light, finally coming across the man's hips. He undid Bran's belt and removed it and the guard's sword. It wasn't anything like his own sword, but it was better than his fist alone. Once the old thing was hanging from his hip, he went back to searching the unconscious guard, eventually finding the man's dagger. This he tucked into the boot he had returned to his foot.

  Without stopping to think about what he had just done, he ran toward the main entrance of the long dungeon. Most of the other occupants were too far gone to cry out in protest at his freedom, those that were able to couldn't see him clearly enough to know it was he and not the guard who’d returned.

  Cal knew the habits of the castle. There were two guards on duty at the dungeon at night, but they often took turns watching while the other slept or found some other entertainment. Cal reached the large doors that led out of the dungeon, into an ante-chamber that connected to the upper levels as well as the guards’ quarters. Bran had left it open a crack.

  The knight stopped to listen, but it was difficult to hear anything beyond his own heart pounding and the pins-and-needles pain attacking his arms. Eventually, after more patience than he thought he possessed, Cal heard the faint snoring of the other guard. He pushed the door open slowly, cringing at every unnecessary sound it made. Sure enough, the second guard was fast asleep. Using the skills of a childhood spent hunting, he silently crossed the room and slipped up the stairs.

  Cal felt a surge of guilt as he thought about the guards' fate when his disappearance was discovered, but they had fallen victim to him due to their own stupidity and laziness.

  A few minutes later, Cal emerged into the night air of the empty bailey.

  The castle slept.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  “I will have my wedding night,” Bethany heard Féderic say from somewhere over her head. She felt her stomach give a little flip of nervousness, but nothing was making sense in her present state except for the agonizing pain coursing through her arms. She groaned softly to herself.

  Before she could figure out what was going on, the floor disappeared out from under her. In one swift movement, she was pulled up off the floor and draped over Féderic's shoulder, which dug painfully into her stomach. Through sheer force of will, Bethany kept from vomiting down the prince's back. In retrospect, she wondered if it might have been wiser to just let her last meal return.

  The prince started moving, taking the dim torch with him. His steps hurt her stomach, but the pain in her arms was far more intense. She had to work hard to keep from making a noise, which she felt would give away the fact she was conscious again. Bethany didn't know what was about to happen to her, but she felt certain it wasn't going to be pleasant.

  They passed out of the dungeon into a brighter room, where Bethany heard the prince say: “Don't breathe a word to anyone about this. I'll have her back in an hour or so.”

  She heard a man begin to chuckle darkly in response, causing her stomach to give another little flip of revulsion. A glimmer of an idea began to take shape in her mind and Bethany had to squeeze her eyes tighter to keep the tears from leaking out of her eyes.

  A few minutes later, Bethany heard a door creak open and softly bang shut. Before she could prepare herself, Féderic flipped her off his shoulder and onto a soft surface. It was such a surprise that her eyes flew open despite her resolution to play dead.

  “I thought you were awake,” smirked Féderic from his crouched position over her on the bed.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “You're likely to be put to death tomorrow.” For once, Féderic seemed to appreciate the weight of his words. “I thought... I thought I could give you one last night of pleasure... before...”

  “You mean, give yourself pleasure.”

  “Can't it be both?”

  “No.” Bethany wasn't sure if she had an option, but on the off chance she chose to refuse.

  “You're dying tomorrow. What difference does it make if you hold to your ridiculous rules?”

  “It makes all the difference. If my life is to end tomorrow, then how I choose to spend my last hours is all I have left. I want to die with the ability to respect myself. Do you think having sex with the man who kills me would bring me any peace of mind?”

  “I'm not the one killing you!” Féderic thundered in shock and defiance.

  “You might as well be,” Bethany responded as calmly as she could considering the circumstances. “Are you doing anything to save me?”

  Féderic didn't respond.

  “If you truly care for me like you claim, why are you spending my last hours trying to seduce me, rather than trying to save me?”

  They stared at each other in silence for a long while.

  “Just as I thought,” continued Bethany, “you've only ever wanted my body, not my company.”

  Bethany felt more tears leak from her eyes. Some small part of her had grown accustomed to the idea that Féderic might actually care for her. Now, in the face of her own death, she began to realize that she had foolishly given in to so many lies. Féderic didn't care for her. Wolfric only allowed their marriage in the hopes of using her to destroy her family; and the one person she had started to place her trust in hated her with every fiber of his being. Bethany ignored the free flowing tears, which leaked down and mixed with her hair as she lay on Féderic's bed.

  When she grew tired of the prince's penetrating glare, she tried to sit up and push him aside, but in a moment of sudden rage, the prince shoved her back onto the bed. Bethany tried to fight him off, but her arms were still hurting and even if they weren't, she would never have been able to match his strength or speed.

  The prince grappled with her arms for a few moments before he grew tired of her attempts to defend herself. He hit her in the head with the back of his hand, his large signet ring cutting her eyebrow. While she lay there, too dazed to respond, Féderic undid his trousers and tore her skirt up to the bodice.

  She was just starting to shift away when he flopped down on top of her, effectively pinning her to the soft mattress with his weight. For a short second he lifted himself, only to adjust his position. It was far too short a time for her to respond. Before she could say or do anything more, she felt a pressure between her legs.

  The rest was a blur of pain, tears, and cursing. She fought back throughout the experience, but after a few minutes that felt like pieces of eternity, his weight was suddenly lifted from her, and the excruciating pain stopped.

  Furiously, she blinked the tears away, just in time to see Sir Caldry drop Féderic's body to the floor. From where she lay, exposed to the world, she saw a puddle of blood form around the prince's body from a long gash across his back. Without immediate aid, it would be fatal.

  Bethany tore her gaze from the prince to look at the knight. He was grinding his teeth, which she knew to be a nervous habit. His jaw muscles were working hard, either to control some deep emotion or to keep from vomiting, she couldn't tell which.

  “C’mon,” he ordered in a soft, but commanding, whisper.

  Bethany felt her lips begin to quiver as the tears continued to drain down her temples and into her matted hair. What was he saying? Where could they possibly go? Now that he had attacked t
he prince, there was nothing she could do to save him from her fate. Why couldn't he have just stayed in the dungeon?

  A new weight landed on her shoulders, sinking her further into the mattress, now wet with sweat and blood. It was the knowledge that once again she had cost this man his life. He would die for saving her, and not because he cared for her, but simply because he couldn't leave her to this fate. Slowly, her tears stopped as a strange numbness seeped through her limbs and into her mind. Bethany sighed deeply as she relaxed into the mattress.

  He must have seen the change that took no more than a second. “What are you doing?” he snapped as he grabbed her shoulder and jerked her angrily from the bed.

  The movement and the derision in his voice brought the tears back, though her mind still felt too numb to respond.

  “We have to run.”

  Bethany followed automatically, allowing him to pull her this way and that. She felt a strange draft in the skirt of her dress, the coolness of the air in the castle uncomfortable against a wet patch on her thigh. When they stopped at a corner, she reached down and tried to wipe the moisture from the inside of her thigh; her hand came back wet with blood.

  Bethany froze, staring at the blood. She couldn't be certain if it was from her body or Féderic's, but a sinking nausea that threatened to overwhelm her began to break through her comforting dullness.

  It was her blood! She was bleeding! And it wasn’t her time.

  Bethany felt panic well up in her chest. She was just opening her mouth to scream when Sir Caldry turned to look at her. Before she could muster up any noise, he clamped a hand over her mouth and pressed her against the stone wall, a sword still clutched in his other hand.

  “Listen to me, Ann,” he said, reverting back to her slave name out of habit.

  Its unusual sound broke through her terror and made her look away from her bloody hand.

  “You are alive. The bleeding has stopped. Hold it together and we BOTH live.”

  Bethany swallowed convulsively before nodding. Tears were streaming down her face again, but she ignored them, instead focusing on Sir Caldry's back. He was still wearing his chainmail and a fresh cloak. The sword he held she realized wasn't his. His was longer, with a beautiful, but simple, pummel. This looked like it was one of many identical swords.

  Where had he gotten it? she wondered absently. These little details kept her from thinking of the dying prince, the blood on her hand, or what had just happened.

  They weaved their way through the sleeping castle, using back corridors where they were less likely to run into anyone else wandering around the castle. She quickly lost track of where they were, relying on his superior knowledge to lead them to safety.

  It seemed like an eternity later when they emerged through a small door and out into the dark bailey. In the castle, they had stumbled upon the occasional torch held by an elegant sconce, but outside there was no light, except what the sliver of the moon provided. This was both good and bad.

  Sir Caldry didn't waste any time dithering around the bailey. They crossed the yard at a run. Bethany forced herself to ignore how the tear in her skirting allowed the frigid night air to seep into her legs; now wasn't the time to have another breakdown. They stopped at the stables. Sir Caldry turned to her, took her by the shoulders, and directed her into a small nook between the enormous stables and a smaller building.

  “Stay here. If someone finds you, scream. As loud as you can.”

  A new panic began to choke her.

  Where was he going? He can’t leave me here. She tried to form a protest, her mouth working automatically, but her throat was too dry to create a sound. Before she could work moisture back into throat, he turned and slipped into the stables.

  Bethany glanced around, but in the darkness she couldn't see beyond her own hand. She nestled down into the little recess, which had been protected from the recent snow fall by the surrounding buildings. She pulled the tear in her skirt closed and squatted down, trying to ignore the persistent pain in her groin. Terror kept her from feeling the bitter cold of the night, but her body shook on its own accord.

  With every noise she had to refrain from screaming. The wait felt like hours, but when Sir Caldry returned with his horse she saw that he was breathing heavily; he had hurried.

  Bethany didn't wait for his order. She emerged from her hole and joined him beside the enormous horse. The knight draped something that smelled like horses and hay over her shoulders before hoisting her up onto the saddle. Absently she noticed that he had placed her in the saddle like a lady, which allowed her to keep her legs together and covered with what remained of her dress. With practiced ease, he mounted the horse, settling in the saddle behind her. As he tapped the animal's side he adjusted her legs until they draped over one of his legs and pulled her closer. With one arm he held her while the other hand held the reins.

  For once, Bethany forgot about all the horrible things this man had done to her. Right now he was the lesser of two evils. Whatever his reasons were, he was saving her from death, and worse.

  She felt the horse stop briefly, and heard the jingle of a full coin purse. Bethany tensed, assuming someone had caught them. Instead she heard a door creak open and felt them enter a small, narrow tunnel. It was even darker here. The tunnel was just tall enough to admit them and the horse. It felt like it went on for miles, but in reality it was only about six meters, the width of the base of the enormous walls surrounding the castle. A moment later they emerged.

  Sir Caldry kicked his horse into a canter as they crossed the swath of empty land between the castle and the city.

  They were free. In unison, they breathed a sigh of relief as the horse quickly got them lost in the labyrinth of the city. Wolfric would have to search for weeks to find them in Tolad, and by then they would be far, far away.

  Or at least, Bethany hoped that was the knight's plan.

  Lost

  Chapter One

  Cal cringed as the manacles clinked against the stone wall of his cell, pausing a second to make sure no one had noticed. Most likely the other prisoners were too far gone with fatigue and malnutrition to notice a little extra noise, and the guard lying on the floor of his cell was truly unconscious. Cal bent down and checked to make sure the man was still breathing.

  He was but, though this was good, it wouldn’t save him from the punishment coming his way. When the authorities discovered that the unlucky guard had let the prisoners escape, he would likely be beheaded, or at least put in the stocks.

  Cal stooped to search the guard’s pockets. He didn’t find much, but he did take the man’s sword and dagger. His own superior weapons had been confiscated, of course, when King Wolfric had found him dragging the captive, Princess Bethany Kavadh, from the burning wreckage of the weapons depot.

  Princess Bethany was the daughter of Wolfric’s enemy, the last king to stand against him on the enormous peninsula. She had come to Wolfric’s household as a slave after being captured during an ambush by slavers on her caravan. After many months of slavery her true identity had been discovered and, up until a few hours ago, she had been engaged to the heir apparent, Prince Féderic, in a scheme to bring down the Kavadh family from within.

  But the rebellious woman, who couldn’t appreciate what fate had brought her, had ruined it all, and taken Cal down with her. She had set the weapons depot on fire and was stupid enough to stay and watch her work. Wolfric and Féderic had arrived at the scene of the crime just as Cal had pulled her out of the burning building, and they had jumped to the conclusion that Cal had been involved in the offense.

  Hence the prison cell.

  Cal strapped the sword to his side, double checking the binding of the belt to be sure it wouldn’t fall from his hip as he made his escape. He slipped out of the cell and silently crept down the long row of cells toward the half-opened door leading into the small quarters where the guards slept and ate.

  He paused at the door, listening to the soft snores of the other g
uard. Wolfric kept two guards on duty at any given time, but the guards often took turns sleeping, especially during the night shift. As Cal had expected, the second guard was fast asleep and unaware of the silent mayhem occurring in his prison. Like the man lying in Cal’s cell, this guard would likely receive a severe punishment for letting the prisoners get away.

  Cal slipped into the dimly lit room and tiptoed toward the other door, which opened up to a tiny landing at the bottom of a narrow stairwell. Cal climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time, and emerged into the dark bailey. There wasn’t a sound from any of the darkened corners. All the castle’s residents were fast asleep.

  The knight set out in the direction of the stables, determined to get out of the castle as soon as possible. By now every member of the castle would know that Sir Erin Caldry had been sent to the dungeon and sentenced to death, along with the princess. Wolfric seemed to think that they were lovers. In reality, Cal hated Bethany just like he hated all nobility. They were all the same—out to steal the lands and wealth of those beneath them, to take the purity of any woman they fancied.

  Cal knew. He had experienced it himself as a young lad when Wolfric’s army rolled through his Domhain home, killing his parents, and enslaving both him and his sister. If it hadn’t been for the accident that put it in Cal’s power to save the king, he would still be a slave. Instead, the king freed him and gave him to a knight as a squire. Cal wasn’t grateful to the king for freeing him. It didn’t make up for enslaving him in the first place, and it definitely didn’t make up for turning his sister into a whore.

  He had finally tracked his sister down and earned enough money to buy her freedom, only to discover that she was now the mistress of a local lord and perfectly content to remain as she was.

  Cal ground his teeth together as he crossed the bailey when his feet stopped on their own accord.