A Promise of Tomorrow

by Aston, Alexa

  “I do think it will work.” Madeleine hugged her tightly. “You are brilliant, Marielle Matesse.”

  “Then we should give it another half-hour. Only then can we make our move.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Marielle cautiously opened the door and looked outside. She saw no one in the corridor. It was a perfect time of day for them to try to sneak back down to the dungeons. The castle servants would have tidied all of the upper chambers by now. Some might be involved in baking tarts. Others would be working on mending. A few might even have tasks outside to complete. Donatien would be in the fields supervising the workers. Etienne would be buried in the accounts.

  She sent a plea to the Christ Himself and motioned for Madeleine to follow her. The two women walked single file down the corridor. Marielle had explained their route beforehand and Madeleine simply followed in her steps.

  They reached the door that would take them to the stone staircase, where they would descend into the vaults below. Marielle took a waiting torch from the wall to light their way as they moved down the hundreds of steps to their destination. She heard no voices, only the scurrying rats and dripping water as they moved farther into the bowels of the earth.

  When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Marielle turned to Madeleine, who gave her a reassuring nod. She stepped out into the narrow passageway that led to the dungeon’s cells. Her lips moved in a feverish prayer, begging God to have let the herbs work.

  They had.

  Contented smiles played upon most of the eight men’s lips as they slumbered peacefully, their bellies full of a hot meal dosed with what she prayed would keep them asleep for several hours. Most slumped against the wall. One even rested his head on another’s shoulder. Another one had pillowed his hands beneath his head.

  Marielle and Madeleine tiptoed past the sleeping guards and the cells containing her parents and siblings. They came to the last cell on the right. Ashby and Garrett awaited them, determination on both their faces.

  “The one with the red beard has the keys,” Ashby said quietly. “He is left-handed, so look in that pocket first.”

  Marielle moved to the sleeping soldier and bent beside him.

  “What are you doing?” Her father’s voice thundered through the enclosed space.

  Marielle held a finger to her lips. When she saw he would speak more, she rushed to his cell.

  “Please, Papa,” she said softly. “I am trying to free you. You must be quiet.”

  Gautier mumbled something, his fingers locking around the bars that held him.

  Her mother began that strange keening again.

  “Hush!” she commanded to Blanche in a loud whisper. “Hush—or I will leave you here.” She regretted such harsh words but hoped that they would quiet her mother.

  Marielle turned to see Madeleine removing the keys from the guard’s pocket. She quickly went to Garrett and Ashby’s cell and released them. The four gathered in a tight circle, the men looking expectantly at her.

  Marielle calmed her frayed nerves and spoke. “There are a series of passages below Monteville. They haven’t been used in years. They buried the dead in these catacombs for many years. It’s been a good two hundred years since they were used.

  “Jean-Paul told me about them. I have never been in them but I know where they start. Jean-Paul said that no one knew they existed, only the Comte of Monteville. Not even Marc knows about them. The knowledge is passed from one comte to the next—and to his comtesse—in case he is killed in battle. They are to be used for safe passage in only the direst of circumstances.”

  “Where do they lead?”

  Marielle looked at Ashby, her throat tight, knowing what a predicament she’d gotten him into. Wanting to make things up to him.

  “They run for almost two miles. They end at Blessed Heart, where the comte and his family would find sanctuary from their enemies.”

  Ashby took her hand in his and entwined his fingers with hers. “How long will they sleep?”

  “I cannot be sure. It could be for a few hours. Maybe longer. It’s hard to judge. I have only given the sleeping draught to one person in a single cup. I know not how long it will remain in effect, having dumped the herbs into their stew.”

  Ashby looked to Garrett. “Think we should risk moving them into the cells? If they awaken sooner than later, they would be trapped with no way out. Even their screams would not be heard from above.”

  Garrett pondered the question. “It’s a risk to move them. If even one awakens, he could sound the alarm.”

  Ashby nodded. “Then let them sleep peacefully. Even if the potion wears off, they may sleep naturally until their relief shows up. I don’t think it worth the time it would buy us in the long run.”

  “You are right,” Garrett agreed. “They may also be able to trace us if the passageway is as undisturbed as Marielle suggests. Our tracks will undoubtedly stir the dust. Eventually, they will realize we found our way out from below. We must move quickly.” He grasped the torch Marielle held and she passed it willingly to him.

  Ashby took the keys Madeleine held and used them to open the cell door to free Marielle’s parents. Gautier took three strides out and slapped Marielle hard, causing her head to snap back.

  “The Devil is in you,” he uttered. “You killed your sister and now almost your family. You have been nothing but trouble since the day you were born. Everything is all your fault.”

  Marielle fought the stars that blazed brilliantly for a moment, though her father’s words wounded her far more. She blinked hard, fighting off the woozy feeling his blow had caused. When she could once again focus, she saw her father up against the wall, Ashby only inches from his face.

  “She is risking her life for you, old man,” he growled low. “She came back to make a marriage with a monster, all to see to your freedom. How dare you treat her so shabbily.”

  Marielle heard the controlled anger in his voice. Her heart sang as he championed her to her unforgiving father. She took a step to him and placed a hand upon his arm.

  “Cease, Ashby. Show him leniency.”

  “When he has shown you none?” Ashby countered.

  Marielle shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks of me.” She turned to Gautier. “Come now, Father, if you want to shake the dust from this place. Do whatever they say. Soon, you will be back to your money-counting and hard-hearted ways. I promise I will never set foot in your sight again.”

  She turned away, only to face her brother and two sisters. Both Minette and Marie’s eyes blazed with hatred, while Gustave did nothing to hide his disgust. All her life, her father’s loathing had shone in every glance he tossed her way. To see the same enmity in the eyes of her siblings wrenched her heart.

  Marielle took a calming breath. “The same goes for you, as well. I am sorry Marc dragged you into this shameful mess. You need never see me nor hear from me again once you are free.”

  She motioned to her brother. “See to Maman, Gustave.” She turned and lifted a nearby torch from the wall. “Let us take the two remaining torches and go.”

  Ashby and Marielle reached for the torches and set out. The group of prisoners huddled together and followed them. She looked back to see the pitch darkness they left behind. She hoped it would help the guards to slumber even longer.

  They walked about three minutes and came to a fork. Marielle thought a moment. She remembered there would be three decisions to be made. Left, right, then left. After that would be a long, straight path until they reached the church.

  “Follow me,” she urged.

  Marielle tried not to think about her surroundings. The decaying smell. The occasional flash of bones that gleamed in the torchlight. The feel of the rats sweeping across her feet. She put it all from her mind. What mattered was freedom. For her family and for her friends. She couldn’t bear it if Madeleine and Garrett never saw their children again. Even her parents didn’t deserve what Marc had put them through these last few we
eks. Once they reached the safety of the church, though, they would gain sanctuary.

  With their arrival at Blessed Heart, even she would be free. Marc wouldn’t dare breach the walls of a sanctified place. Not that he could, for even now he rode to the king to answer his summons.

  No, this would give her time to do what she should have done from the beginning—make her way back to Libourne and enter the convent of Sisters of Merciful Heart. She should never have followed her heart and reached out to Ashby for help. She was cursed. Anyone she cared for only suffered pain. Arielle died because of her thoughtlessness and now her friends and family and the man she loved were in danger that could easily lead to death.

  She would stand strong and travel to the nuns and find the refuge that Sisters of Merciful Heart would offer. She would not risk Ashby’s safety nor her friends’ lives again. She would insist they return to England at once. Marielle knew how driven Marc was. He would come after her when he returned to Monteville. She planned to be far from his grasp when he did. Sisters of Merciful Heart offered the only safe haven. She would learn to be content within its walls. She would have solitude.

  And her memories of one glorious night.

  The torch grew heavy in her hand. Despite the chill in the hidden passageway, beads of sweat broke out across her forehead. It seemed they had walked forever. All sense of time and place were lost journeying underground.

  Suddenly, they came to an abrupt end. Ashby stopped and waved a hand to halt the party of bedraggled travelers.

  “The pathway has stopped. A ladder leads upward. I will ascend it and see where we are coming out.”

  He shifted the torch in his hand and began up the ladder. He reached the top and lifted up a trap door, disappearing almost from view. Only a faint glow of the torch showed him still to be far above them.

  Moments later, he came quickly down. “I think it best if Marielle comes with me. She will be known here. We need to find the authority in charge and plead our case for sanctuary.”

  He looked to Garrett. “You will remain here?”

  Garrett nodded. “We shall be safe for some time. Even if the guards awoke now, they would have quite a while before they caught up with us. Go.”

  Ashby handed his torch to her father and said, “The way up opened into a confessional. Best we not catch such a narrow place on fire. I don’t think any priest would be too forgiving in that circumstance.”

  Gautier’s thin lips held not a trace of a smile, despite the fact that he and his family had escaped their grim prison. He took the light from Ashby and remained mute.

  Ashby turned to her. “Follow me closely, Marielle. There’s nothing to be frightened of.” He gave her a smile and walked to the ladder.

  She let him climb several rungs before starting up after him. She was thankful she had no fear of heights as she ascended up the ladder.

  A faint light came from above. Ashby blocked it for a moment and then reached out a hand to her. She took it and he helped her the last few feet.

  The confessional booth was very small. He guided her to its edge and closed the trap door.

  “We would not want a priest to walk in and fall through.”

  Even in the dimness, she caught the humor in his eyes. A nervous giggle squeaked from her lips.

  “Hush, Marielle,” Ashby commanded.

  She tried but all she’d been through that day seemed to catch up with her. The laughter threatened to bubble out from her. She knew it for hysterics but had no control over it.

  Ashby grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. His mouth came down over hers hard and he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him.

  Suddenly, a very different feeling flooded her. A hot, liquid warmth ran the length of her spine, flooding out to her limbs. She felt herself go weak, collapsing against him. He pulled her even closer to him, his mouth now running along her jaw and down her throat.

  “Oh, Ashby,” she murmured.

  Her words seemed to set him in motion. His hands pushed into her hair, kneading her scalp, running down to her shoulders, along her back. His lips scalded her everywhere they touched, causing shivers both hot and cold to run through her. She gave up into his kiss, surrendering as never before.

  “My Marielle,” Ashby whispered against her lips, her cheeks, into her hair, over and over, her name pouring forth. “Oh, God. When I thought I had lost you . . .”

  His held her next to him, tenderly, his heart beating fast against her breasts.

  “This will soon be over, love. Then we can be together.” His mouth seized hers again, the kiss full of promise and passion.

  Through her haze, she fought the feelings he stirred within her. It was cruel misfortune that he now seemed to be willing to give up his foolish notion of not being good enough to woo her, just as she decided she must put aside her desire for him. No, she loved him far too much to endanger him further. She must see to his safety and her friends and family, as well. She would see Ashby returned safely to England, far from Marc’s madness, while she cloistered herself away from the world.

  Before she could answer him and tell him what must be, a loud cry rang through the church. Marielle stiffened in Ashby’s arms.

  It was Marc’s voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Where the Devil is someone? I need help. Now! A horse . . . a weapon . . . anything!”

  An icy wave rushed through Marielle. The words she heard were in the distance but they definitely came from inside the church. Had she become that confused by Ashby’s kiss? Why would she imagine Marc here, of all places? They were free of him. He’d left Monteville at the king’s summons. It would be days, maybe weeks, before he returned. She would be safe by then. Ashby and their friends would be far away in England. No, it couldn’t be Marc.

  Ashby’s mouth lifted from hers. He replaced it with a finger, urging her silence. Marielle found herself trembling in fear and frustration.

  “Do not move.” Ashby’s whisper was so faint, she hoped she’d heard him correctly. His warmth faded as he stepped a foot away from her. She longed to call out to him to bring it back.

  He cracked the confessional door open a few inches. It was Marc de la Tresse, all right, looking as if he’d been in a fight—and lost. His clothes were ripped. His hair was askew, full of leaves and twigs. One eye was swollen completely shut. He wiped at his forehead with a dirty sleeve. Ashby saw the ragged cut jutting above his eyebrow. Blood dripped down his face from it.

  What in Christ’s name had happened to him?

  Marc limped up the aisle of the church, his face contorted with rage. He passed beyond the confessional and continued toward the altar. Ashby knew of only one way to discover the truth.

  Cracking the door ajar, Ashby called out in a deep voice, “Come here, my brother. Confess your sins. God will surely give you the help you seek.”

  He waited until Marc began to turn around and then slowly closed the door, hoping the comte would take the bait. If he’d played his cards right, Marc would have seen at what door assistance awaited. Ashby offered a prayer of forgiveness for what he was about to do and lowered himself to the seat in the booth.

  He heard staccato steps approach the confessional. For some unknown reason, Ashby slid the lock into place at the last minute. Seconds later the handle turned but Marc was unable to open the door.

  “Damn you!” he roared. “Unlock this door, you sniveling coward.” He rattled the door as he spoke.

  Ashby thanked the Church for building such sturdy booths as a muffled gasp came out of Marielle. He willed her to be quiet as he pushed her to the floor. If he could convince Marc to enter the next compartment, he did not want her silhouette to give the game away. Ashby reached for her hand and found it, cold and trembling. He drew it into his own and gave it a squeeze.

  “I’m no coward, good sir, but a simple man of God. Come. Enter the confessional and unburden your sins.”

  “I’ve no time for confession, Father. Men hunt m
e even as we speak, men who will cut me down without a second thought. I need help, not advice on how many Hail Marys I should complete.”

  “You have come to a house of refuge. God will not turn away from you in your time of need, my son. Come. Speak with me of your sins. What is a few minutes when you have sanctuary from any enemy within these stone walls?”

  He could sense Marc’s hesitation even through the locked door. Then before he offered any further words of encouragement, he heard the adjacent stall open. Ashby turned his attention to the panel beside him and opened it in one swift motion. Through the latticework, he saw the dim image of another man seated on the other side.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” De la Tresse’s words came out in a weary sigh as the nobleman fell into the familiar ritual.

  Ashby took a deep breath and replied, “God is all-forgiving, my son. Pray tell me what troubles you so today.”

  Silence echoed loudly. He had almost given up hope when Marc began to speak. Instead of remorse, Ashby heard the bitterness in his words.

  “None of this was meant to happen, Father. I have lost everything. Everything.”

  Marc suddenly struck at the partition separating them, his anger radiating through it. It shook a moment but held. Ashby said his own swift prayer of thanks before slipping back into his role of priest.

  “Have you injured these men? The ones who wish you harm?”

  A cruel laugh sounded from the other booth. “Greed and pride have been my favored companions, Father. Of course, I have wounded them. I went after what I wanted—and now it will bring about my death.”

  Ashby gently encouraged him. “If you fear death is imminent, my child, you must cleanse your conscience and soul before you go to meet your maker.”

  Marc snorted. “I fear nothing. Not even your God. Would a just and willing God have taken my parents from me at so tender an age and set a pompous ass as my brother over me all those years? Jean-Paul claimed he loved me but I never saw any sign of that love.