by C. C. Wiley
“Lady Elizabeth, you are right,” she said. “I’m the one you knew on the island. Last I saw your son he was doing quite well with Lady Camilla.” She cast a withering look over her shoulder at her brother. “I do speak the truth when I tell you that I am Taron’s sister.”
“You are naught but dried flesh and wrinkles,” he said. “My sister died in the fires at Clearmorrow.”
“Look closely at me. Look past the old woman’s flesh. Do I share an old woman’s voice or eyes?”
Taron knelt to stare into her face. His eyes widened, reflecting his amazement. “Sabine. What are you doing here? ’Tis a dangerous thing to be in this nest of vipers.”
“Think you I am such a fool that I do not know this? ’Tis assumed that both you and Father perished. For almost a year, I too, have been in hiding. I have been in peril, ever since your messenger directed me to find sanctuary in this miserable place.”
He shook his head. “I sent no word to you.” He followed the trail where Sabine rubbed her throat. “I almost killed you.” He hung his head, burying his face in his hands.
“Taron.” Elizabeth wrapped him in her arms, cradling his head to her breast. Their lips slid over each other, clinging to life as they had done to survive for the last year.
Elizabeth pulled away and turned to Sabine. “For over a fortnight have we feared Hugh’s jealousy had been directed towards our son. Yet, even more terrifying was our fear that our child was in DePierce’s deranged clutches.”
Taron patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Hugh and his uncle had not counted on our survival. Instead of breaking us, it has forged a bond between our hearts that shall never be broken. We promised that if we must die, it shall be in each other’s arms.”
Sabine cleared her throat. “There’ll be no need of promises of death.” Feeling their time slipping away, she added, “I search for a friend of your brother’s. Have you heard of another prisoner recently brought to the dungeon?”
Elizabeth turned her attentions to Sabine. “Darrick? He’s home from the war with France?”
“He came with his men in search of you and at this moment is also one of Castle Balforth’s unlucky guests.”
“Does…Darrick…is my brother well?”
“I pray ’tis so. I’ve been gone for what feels like an eternity.” Growing impatient to return to Darrick’s side, she pressed for an answer to her question. “I am searching for his long-time friend. Perhaps you know of him?”
“Not Sir Nathan!” Elizabeth cried. “I could not bear it if he was the poor soul that bought us time away from Hugh’s torment.”
Sabine pressed her bone-thin shoulder. “They captured Sir Nathan less than a fortnight ago. What can you tell me?”
“Naught but that he is being punished for harming Hugh,” Taron said. “A fight broke out and Sir Nathan proceeded to break Hugh’s neck. Since then, DePierce’s greed had turned to madness. So much so, that the men-at-arms guarding our cell left without a trace. For the last week, there has been very little food or water. The beating and torment ceased but we were left here to starve to death.”
Sabine took out a small amount of food from the pack she carried. “Luckily, while searching for you, I found some abandoned bread and a bladder of wine lying on a table.” Flicking the mold with her thumb, she handled the leather bladder to her brother. “’Tis a bit moldy, and the wine watered down.”
Elizabeth cradled the chunk of bread in her hands. “’Tis manna from heaven.”
“It appears the castle is almost deserted,” Sabine said. “You’ll be safer where you are until Darrick and I return.”
“No. I shall go with you,” Taron argued.
“’Tis unwise to leave Elizabeth. Gather your strength. We’ll need to move quickly once I have found Nathan.”
“Taron, we must listen to your sister.”
* * * *
Sabine followed the landmarks that Taron said would lead her down the corridor. She had yet to see DePierce but she knew that the monster still resided somewhere in the castle. She prayed Darrick’s strength was rapidly returning. She would have need of his brawn to get the couple safely out. In their weakened condition, they would be unable to climb down the shaft of the latrine as she had first hoped. How was she going to free them from Balforth?
The narrow hallway grew darker as she walked farther away from Elizabeth and Taron. The light dimming, she wished she could have been able to carry a lamp but they had feared it would draw too much attention to her movements. Not wishing to be seen by DePierce or any of his remaining staff, Sabine heartily agreed.
The hallway led to a small empty chamber. She retraced her steps until her slipper caught on a heavy brass ring in the floor. A trapdoor, large enough for a human, was cut into the stone. She tilted her head. There had to be a way to open it.
A thick rope dangled from the ceiling. She looped the rope through the lead ring and pulled down. The stone began to rise. Her stomach lurched as the fetid air reached her nostrils.
“I beg you,” she prayed. “For Darrick’s sake. Let Nathan be alive.”
Frightened she would have to leave him where he was, should he be dead, she searched the darkened chamber for a way to light the black hole.
Stretching out on the cold stone, she leaned over the edge and peered inside. ’Twas the chamber that her maid had warned her about. The oubliette.
Shaped as a long and very slender cylinder, it did not allow the prisoner room to lie down or rest. Usually, the tortured were lowered down into the hole and held in suspension. The tube, so narrow the poor unfortunate soul would be unable to move their arms, the broader the shoulders, the more horrendous the discomfort. Another rope would lower any food or water he may have received. Or they would leave him to starve.
Sabine hoped DePierce used a hole that did not allow water to seep in from an underground spring. If it did, Nathan may be beyond any cures she or Darrick, might know.
“Darrick, my love, what should I do? If only you were here with me,” she whispered.
A pair of pleading eyes blinked against the bright light. White orbs flashed in the dark. They peered up at her from the bottom of the pit, widening once they were able to focus.
She could barely make out the face covered in dirt. His massive shoulders squeezed against the wall.
“Sir Nathan, if you can bear with me, I think we can get you out of here.”
The eyes flashed in understanding and blinked back. The weary knight opened his mouth to speak. His jaw worked, but no sound came.
She examined the rope. It was hooked to a pulley system overhead with a metal loop to help it run smoothly through the rings. Encouraged with what she saw, Sabine tried to recall everything her father had explained about pulleys and wenches.
“Listen very carefully,” she said. “We don’t have much time. I can see they have your arms bound by your side so I’ll not ask you to pull yourself up. Can you help get your body up out of there by walking your toes along the wall?”
Speaking softly, she explained, “All I need is for you to brace yourself so you do not fall back down. Can you do this? Are you strong enough to do this?”
Nodding, his face grim, his eyes gleamed with determination.
“If you are ready then, here we go. You should be able to feel the rope grow taught with just a few pulls.”
Wrapping the rope around the stone pillar that she found in the corner, she worked the slack rope through the rings. It came easily with the first few tugs, and then Nathan’s weight dragged against the rope. Sweat beaded over her forehead. Impeded by the folds of the wimple, she tore it off and tossed it out of the way.
The rope dug into her palms as, hand-over-hand, she worked it around the pillar. Every once in a while, she checked the coil growing at her feet, gauging how far he had traveled the oubliette. Inch-by-inch, Nathan groaned, and he slowly
came out of the hellhole.
She could hear his boots scraping every time he got a new toehold. Her shoulders burning, legs quivering, her breath came in short gasps for air. She feared she was about to lose her grip and he would fall back down. She had secured the rope around the pillar and tied it off just as her feet flew out from under her. Air whooshed out of her lungs. She spun around and braced her feet against the column.
“Sir Nathan,” she gasped. “You have to brace yourself hard against the wall. I’m not sure how much farther we have to go. I have fallen down. But you have to trust me. If you fall back down, I will not let you stay there. Sir Nathan, can you answer me?”
Unable to hear his response, she secured the knot as best she could and crawled over to the opening.
His auburn hair clung to his head in matted clumps. His dirty face smudged with blood and filth, shined with sweat. Overgrown whiskers dotted his square jaw. Bruised rings circled emerald eyes that glittered against his gray skin. He opened his mouth to speak again but only a rasping sound was released.
Sabine’s heart broke for the proud man. “’Tis good to see you. Your voice will be fine in a day or two. Then you will be chewing my ears off and questioning my loyalty to your friend again.”
Nathan lowered his gaze in shame.
“Come now,” she encouraged him. “Let’s get you out of here.”
It took a few more tugs until he lay on the floor at her feet. Dragging his prone body to the corner, she dropped the trap door back down. After coiling the rope, she looped it over her shoulder and helped Sir Nathan stand. His weight leaning heavily against her, they walked slowly to the cell where Taron and Elizabeth were waiting.
They stumbled through the cell doorway. Sabine helped Sir Nathan lower to the floor. He groaned as he rested his back against the cool wall. His broad shoulders quivered with exhaustion, making it evident to the three that he had been severely mistreated.
Sabine dropped the rope, then turned to find her brother and Elizabeth staring at the top of her head. “Is something amiss?”
“’Tis your wimple,” Taron said. “Where is your wimple?”
Lifting a shaking hand to her hair, she felt for the head covering. “Saints,” she groaned. “I must have left it on the floor by the oubliette.”
“We shall pray that whatever draws DePierce’s attention will keep him busy for a while longer,” Taron said.
She cast a glance at her brother. “Are you strong enough to escape this place?”
Determination gleamed from Taron’s gaze. He stood, legs braced, hands at his hips. “Try to stop me.”
“Give Sir Nathan a bite of food and let him drink slowly of the wine,” she urged them. “I must return to Darrick before DePierce or one of his men discovers our escape.”
Panic settled in Elizabeth’s eyes. Sabine rushed to reassure her. “Darrick and I will return for you. I promise!”
Sabine paused to untie the ribbon that hung around her neck and slipped off the ring with the engraved swan’s head. She placed it in Taron’s palm. “I believe this belongs to you.” Wrapping his fingers around the ring, she kissed the back of his hand.
He covered her hand with his. “So that is how you knew we were being held here.”
“Darrick and I discovered your message.” Grinning up at his shocked look, she added, “It made it to one of the swans.”
Noting that his shoulders stiffened when she mentioned the Knights of the Swan, she smiled up at his frowning visage, and pointed to the two lying in the straw. “Watch over them.”
He pressed his fingers against the scaling skin of her wrinkled hand and grimaced at her need to admonish him. “I shall do my best.”
Sabine held out her jeweled blade. “Use it if they come after I leave.”
“What of your own safety?”
“Do not worry about me. They have yet to discover I am here.”
“I don’t like it.”
Sabine gave his cheek a quick peck and shut the door behind her. She slipped across the bailey yard and raced up the staircase that led to the tower chamber that held her love.
Chapter 26
The weary knight gave a start when Sabine flew to his side. Although exhausted from the ordeal, he much preferred the physical torment to the mental anguish of worry. Relieved that she returned to him unscathed, he allowed her to rain kisses down the cords of his neck.
“We found them, my love.” Her soothing hands fluttered over his skin. “All of them. They are waiting upon our return.”
Relief came crashing down, nearly undoing his control. He freed his wrist from the leather thongs, wrapping her glorious hair around his hands, the silk bands teasing his fingers. She groaned against his mouth. The movement of her body pressing against his chest wrung a moan of desire from his lips. Her breasts teased his aroused senses. His fingers tangled in her long mane, playing with the curls that waved down to her waist. Smoothing the golden amber strands from her cheek, he cradled her face in his hands. He was enchanted by the simple fact that her disguise was at odds with her shining hair.
Sanity returned, thrusting its way between them. A wave of apprehension swept through him. “Sabine, think carefully. Where did you leave your head covering?”
“Oh…well…there is a bit of a concern regarding that matter. I forgot it in the tower where I found Sir Nathan.”
Her teeth caught at tender lips. The movement of her tongue almost tore his concentration away from the problem at hand.
Mentally shaking himself, he spoke with renewed discipline. “Damn it woman, make haste, and cut through the bindings at my feet. We do not have a moment to spare. He’ll be in a fury when he discovers Nathan is no longer there.”
Sabine stiffened in his arms. “I…I…was only caught up in the relief that you were still amongst the living.”
“Not for long,” DePierce said from the doorway.
She sawed at the leather straps still imprisoning Darrick to the bed. “Hurry, my love.”
DePierce glided over to the cot and closed in. “Ah, young love.” His mouth flattened. “How I despise it.”
Darrick wrestled against the binding at his feet. Had Sabine loosened them enough to free his legs?
DePierce reached Sabine and wrapped his hands around her throat. He drew her up, forcing her to stand on her tiptoes. Her eyes wide, she clawed at the fingers that held her trapped in their vise-like grip. The lunatic’s feral lips parted, baring his teeth. The sparse pale beard that came to a point on his chin glistened with spittle. His mincing steps betrayed the strength that he carried in his body. The madness nearly jumped from his eyes.
“Release her,” Darrick yelled. “Come for me. Fight me, instead.”
DePierce threw her into the high-backed chair that stood behind Darrick. It hit the wall with a sickening thud. Bile soured Darrick’s stomach. For hours, DePierce had sat endlessly in that very same chair, asking where the wench was hiding. All the while, his henchmen plied their hate-filled skills to Darrick’s body. But nothing they did then inflicted the pain now ripping through his heart.
“’Tis your fault,” DePierce yelled. “You could not just do what you were told, could you? All I asked was for you to be a submissive mistress. Give me a child. Was that too much to ask?”
She flinched at the low menacing tone of his voice. He stepped closer. So close, his legs bumped into her knees. He leaned over the chair. “If your father would have agreed to our marriage as I advised him, we would not have to do this at all.”
He dragged his finger down her temple. “Had you married me, we could have united our families. Think of the riches we would have had. How strong our lands could have been.”
“Leave her alone,” Darrick growled. He kept working the leather, stretching it.
“Your wretched father could not even do what he was told,” DePierce continued.
“I could have made him a rich man. You and your family would have wanted for naught. But your family destroyed all that I worked for; all that I have sacrificed. I had to make them pay a price.”
“No!” she cried.
“Aye, and now ’tis time for you to forfeit your price,” he growled. “I took you into my home and you repay my kindness by stealing. That missive was very important to me. Where is it? What have you done with it?”
He pinched her chin. “Men stronger than you have died for it. I know where your father’s bones are buried. What price would you relinquish for that knowledge?”
Sabine shook her head in denial. Darrick willed her to look his way. The straps were giving. Stay strong, my love.
“Once again your cursed family got in the way. Hugh’s lack-wit wife comes to my home and displays her swollen belly for the entire world to see. She made a cuckold of Hugh. Embarrassing my household by carrying another man’s bastard. Your brother’s bastard. ’Tis a pity, the whore lost the child when she went over the cliff, do you not agree?”
“You are the bastard!” Sabina said through gritted teeth.
“Do not forget, my dear, either way—there is a price I demand you pay. I wonder if your helpless knight can tell me if you taste so sweet.” He purred menacingly, running a cold finger over her breasts. “Does your flesh taste like warm honey?”
“No!” Darrick’s blood roared through his veins. “Get your hands off her.” The bonds loosened. Still not enough.
He strained against the bindings until they broke apart. Darrick threw his body on top of their tormentor. Unwinding a leather strip from one of his wrists, he wrapped it around the murderer’s neck and tightened his grasp until DePierce’s long fingers fell away from Sabine. Escorting the lunatic to the hell that he deserved, Darrick watched the older man’s body grow limp.
With great pleasure, Darrick whispered into his enemy’s ear. “I have news for you, DePierce. Elizabeth’s son lives.”