“No, I truly hate you.”
He pulled something from his side, and it glinted in the dim light of the room. He brandished a knife at me, long and sharp. My heartbeat quickened. I’m sure he heard it, but I still wasn’t going to show him that I was affected. I stood as tall as I could with a wounded ankle and looked him straight in the eye.
“I could kill you now,” he said.
“Then do it.”
He seemed to genuinely consider it a moment, turning the knife over in his hands, cocking his head to examine me.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“Come on, you coward. Do it.”
He turned his back to me, crossing back to the other side of the room. “That would defeat the plan,” he sighed. “Trust me, my darling, I would love to kill you. But I need to stick to the plan.”
“The plan?”
He laughed a short, sharp laugh. “Ha! I’m not going to give it up that easily.” He turned to the two men holding onto my arms. “Take her upstairs.”
Seth turned back to me. “I was hoping this place would have a dungeon I could throw you into, but no such luck. Apparently, this wasn’t that sort of castle.”
He sighed. “Oh, well. I’ve added new locks. Not quite the fashion I would have wanted to keep you in, but it will have to do.”
The two men began yanking me toward the stairs. I went limp in their grip, trying to make myself as heavy and difficult to lift as possible. As they tugged me, my sprained ankle hit one of the stone steps and I cried out in pain. It had been completely unintentional; I didn’t want Seth to know how much agony I was in or how much I was suffering, but the shock of the pain had been so unexpected and great that I had cried out without meaning to.
I saw the blond shoot me a look of concern from the floor down below. He rushed over to Seth and spoke a few words. Through their murmurs, I only caught snippets of their conversation before Seth finally said, “Fine! I suppose it’s why you’re here anyway.”
Seth stormed off down one of the many hallways and the blond man raced up the stairs.
“Careful!” he scolded my captors. They rolled their eyes but lifted me higher off the stairs so my feet were no longer dragging.
We reached the landing, and hallways spread out both to the right and the left. My eyes strained to adjust. Without the windows to provide any sort of light, it was so much darker up here than it had been on the main level. I strained so hard that my head hurt, and eventually I gave up, closing my eyes. I wished I could rub at my temples.
“Put her in here,” the blond said, opening a doorway to our right. The men carried me in and set me down, or rather, tossed me, onto a large, four–poster bed. A poof of dust came up as I landed, and I sneezed. It had probably been decades, perhaps a century since these linens had been cleaned. I felt dirty sitting here. The two men stood, their arms crossed, by the side of my bed. I clenched my fists at my sides, waiting for someone to move. It occurred to me that with these men unsupervised, I was in more danger here than I had been in the entry of the castle. If they were to attack me, there was nothing I could do about it. I had almost no strength left.
“Lie back,” the blond commanded, as if reading my thoughts. I stared him straight in the eye, unmoving.
“Here,” the blond said, moving behind me and propping up a few of the pillows. He took two in his hands and set them next to my leg. He gently took my shoulders and leaned me back against the propped pillows, then pushed my skirts up to my knees. I should have continued to be afraid, but the gentle manner with which he touched me had put me slightly at ease.
“Which ankle is it?” he asked.
“Pardon?” The questions surprised me.
“One of them is injured, yes?” he asked, and for the first time, I realized he had a slight, mainland European accent. Possibly Scandinavian, although it was difficult to tell.
“The right one,” I said, nodding at the offending foot. He slid off my shoe, battling with the frozen laces for a moment, before peeling off the water and blood–soaked stocking. I struggled to sit up a little straighter so I could see what sort of predicament I was in. The ankle was swollen up to about twice its normal size and was a horrible shade of eggplant. In fact, the whole ankle looked like a big, fat eggplant. I lay back against the pillows.
“All right,” the blond said, examining my foot. He turned to one of the men. “Start a fire. It’s freezing in here.”
“Seth didn’t say—”
“I don’t care. The point is to keep her alive, isn’t it? You aren’t going to be able to do that if she’s frozen to death. Start the fire. Get me a lantern as well. It’s impossible to see in here.”
The man left the room, returning moments later with kindling and a lantern. While the man coaxed a fire out of the decrepit fireplace, the blond set the lantern close to my leg so he could take a closer look. The warmth felt wonderful, but it also brought increased blood circulation, which in turn brought increased pain.
“You’re lucky your boot was on,” the blond said. “It acted as a bandage to keep the swelling down.”
“You consider that swelling to be down?” I asked him.
“You’ve sprained it quite badly,” he told me. He turned to the second man who had been standing there, still with his arms crossed, watching me. Probably ensuring that I didn’t run off again, although I was in an even worse position to do so up here than I had been outside.
“Go get my medical kit,” the blond instructed. “It’s in the entry by the door. Hurry, now.”
“You’re a doctor?” I asked him.
“I am.” He nodded. “I work in the village nearby. Now, does this hurt?” He moved my foot. His hands were gentle, but pain ricocheted through my leg. I winced and cried out.
“All right. I’m sorry about that,” he said.
The man returned with a black bag, while his partner had finally finished with the fire. The warmth slowly reached me where I sat on the bed, but it was almost useless through the layers of wet clothes I wore. I still shivered.
“We’ll get you some dry clothes,” the doctor promised as he pulled out a roll of bandages from his bag. He carefully wrapped my ankle, being sure to ask if he was pulling it too tightly.
“I’d tell you to stay off of it,” he sighed, “but I don’t think that will be much of a problem.”
I didn’t meet his eyes.
He finished taping my ankle. “I noticed your wrist was swollen as well. Might I take a look?”
I struggled to sit up, using my good hand to help myself. I stretched out my left wrist to him.
“I see,” he murmured.
“Is it sprained as well?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, you’re very lucky. I am going to wrap it though, as it is swollen.”
The wrist was a pale shade of purple, much lighter than my ankle had been, and the skin didn’t have the shiny, stretched look either. The doctor wrapped it up, warning me again not to make too much use of it.
“And you’re pregnant,” he sighed. “How far along?”
“The baby was supposed to be here in the next week and a half or so,” I told him. I tried to choke back tears. “I suppose I’ll never meet him now.”
The doctor turned to the two men. “I need to do an examination. Please step out of the room.”
“Our orders were to watch over her.”
“Where is she going to go?” the doctor asked. “You can wait outside. I’ll holler if I need help.”
“We’ll be right outside the doors,” one of the men said, glaring at me. Both men left the room, the door thundering shut behind them.
“I’m not actually going to do a full exam,” the doctor said, but he pulled a stethoscope out of his bag and rested the piece against my belly.
“Baby’s heartbeat is strong,” he said.
I tilted my head at him. “You’re not—”
“One of them? I am not.”
I looked at him in amazement. “How on earth did
you end up here, then?”
He shook his head. “Let’s just say you aren’t the only one with a vendetta against Seth Wolfric.”
Chapter Twenty–Four
The moment the doctor left my side and I was alone in the room, I struggled to get up. I needed a crutch or cane to get around properly, but I didn’t care. I needed to find a way out of here. The window was out; it was positioned high above me in the stone wall. Not only was it out of reach, but even if I hadn’t been pregnant, I wouldn’t have been able to fit through. Even a child wouldn’t have been able to fit through. Tall and narrow, the window scarcely stretched the width of my hand. There would be no freedom that way.
The door was locked, unsurprisingly. I tried to turn the handle but it held firm and tight. As I tried to rattle the knob, there was a pounding on the door that made me jump.
“Stop that,” barked one of the unfamiliar men.
So, despite the lock, I was still being guarded. I knelt down and tried to peer through the keyhole, but it was all dark. I sighed and stood back up carefully, trying not to put too much weight on either my wrist or my ankle. I pulled myself up with my right hand, clutching the handle, scrambling to my feet.
I crossed the room and plopped down on one of the chairs beside the window. Like with the bedding, a poof of dust erupted as I landed. I rested my arm on the dust–coated mahogany table, drumming my fingers along the tabletop as I surveyed my dingy prison. The room was lit only by the thin slit of a window and the crackling fire. The room was decorated sparsely. There were no rugs covering the cold stone floors. All the fabric that was in the room was tattered and moth–eaten, including the upholstery on the chairs and linens on the bed. On either side of the four–poster bed was a small side table, the same one nestled between the chair I sat in and its twin. The only other furniture was a tall, faded wardrobe that was positioned by the fireplace.
The only other thing in the room was a door standing slightly ajar. From my seat, I was at the right angle to see slightly through the door. It was a small room, hardly the size of my closet at home. Inside was simply a toilet and washbasin.
Despite my barren surroundings, this room was larger than the house I had shared with my father. That house had been a single room as well, but so much more was cluttered into that space. That room had been the bedroom and kitchen and living space all in one. This room seemed cavernous by comparison.
If I had had enough strength to pace the length of the room, that’s exactly what I would have been doing. My ankle was too damaged to handle my weight, though, so instead I drummed my fingernails against the table as I considered my situation.
I was locked in here with no hope of escape. The window was too small, the door was locked and guarded. I would have to take advantage of a mistake or a lull in judgment. The doctor had been the only kind one so far, and perhaps I could use that. Perhaps he’d forget to lock the door, or perhaps I would be able to convince him to have mercy. He seemed to have some compassion for me, and I considered that somehow, I could use his sympathy to my benefit.
I didn’t see him again, didn’t see anyone again for several hours. I had curled up in front of the fire, hoping the heat would dry and warm my clothes. At some point, I had fallen asleep near the hearth and woken up with a start to the sound of a metal key in the metal lock.
The doctor slipped in the door, carrying a large sack over his shoulder.
“You look like Father Christmas,” I told him. Perhaps if I stayed cordial with him, he would be more likely to facilitate my escape.
“Not nearly as exciting, I’m afraid,” he said, setting the sack down on the table. “But I did bring you a few things.”
I struggled to my feet, using the stone of the fireplace for leverage. I hobbled over to the bed and rested my weight against one of the posts. I watched with interest as the doctor unpacked his bag.
“I thought you might want some clothes,” he said. “I brought you a few things that my wife used to wear. I’m afraid they’re not quite the finery you’re used to.”
He pulled out a couple of dresses and laid them out on the bed.
“They’re lovely,” I said.
“Really?”
“You say that with such surprise.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t expect the compliment. I wouldn’t have thought they were up to your standards.”
I bristled. “You clearly don’t know me very well, doctor.”
“I apologize if I’ve offended you.”
I was quiet for several beats. “I still appreciate the gesture,” I finally said.
He seemed to relax a little bit after his faux pas. “I brought you clean blankets as well. If you sleep on these, you could inhale something that could hurt the baby.”
I was touched. “Thank you so much,” I said.
The doctor hung the dresses in the wardrobe, then crossed back to the bed and pulled off the dirty blankets, replacing them with the clean ones.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
I shook my head. I had been too miserable, too consumed by fear to be hungry, and no one had offered me anything anyway. I hadn’t eaten since early, early that morning. It had to have been at least twelve hours since I last ate.
The doctor picked up a container from my bedside table; I hadn’t seen him bring it in. He handed it over to me, along with a piece of bread wrapped in a napkin. I took the items from him and sat down at the table by the window.
I opened the container. It held a rich soup broth, with bits of noodles and chicken and vegetables floating in it. I dipped the bread in the soup and brought it to my mouth. After the long day I’d had, it was refreshing.
The doctor sat down in the opposite chair. He didn’t look at me while I ate. The silence expanded, filling the room. He was doing his best to be kind to me, but he was still my captor, and I’m not sure he knew what to do with that. It seemed to contradict his personality.
“You never told me your name,” I said, breaking the silence.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t know it.”
I paused. “Seth will kill me in a few days. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t done it already. What can it hurt?”
There was a sea of quiet between us again. “Christoph.”
“Christine. Although you already know that.”
He looked down at his hands. “I’m aware.”
I considered using that knowledge against him. Why, then, was he aiding with the kidnapping of a duchess, if he knew what sort of penalty that carried? But he wasn’t dumb. He was a doctor, so I suspected that he was, in fact, very smart. He knew what the repercussions for this could be, which indicated that he didn’t care.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, finally.
He looked up at me, startled.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re helping Seth hold me here. So why bother being nice to me?”
“I’m not helping Seth because I want to.”
That was an angle that I hadn’t considered. “Then why are you here?”
He bit his lip. “I suppose you might as well know. I’m a doctor in the village. Seth found me and asked me to assist him. He offered me power. I didn’t want it.”
I paused eating so I could watch him while he talked. He still wouldn’t look at my eyes. Instead, he concentrated on his hands as he twisted them in his lap.
“I have a wife and daughter. He threatened them. Seth said that if I didn’t help him, he would hurt my family.”
I nodded. I thought about what I would do if someone threatened Jasper and my son. “I can understand.”
He looked up at me. “You’ll understand even better when the baby is here.”
“If I even make it that long.”
We fell quiet again. “Can you forgive me?” he asked.
It took me an equally long time to answer. “I don’t know,” I said and he nodded, seeming to accept that.
I finished the food Christoph had brought me.
/> “Where are you from?” I asked him. “I noticed you have an accent.”
“Is it that obvious?” he asked.
“I didn’t notice it at first.”
“I’m from Vienna,” he admitted. “Came here when I was very little. Can’t seem to shake the accent, though.”
The door to the room burst open. Seth stood there, filling the doorway, his shoulders square. I shrank back in my chair, pulling myself closer to the window. Anger darkened Seth’s face, transforming it to fury.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded as he stomped toward us.
“You put me here,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Not you!” he said, thrusting his hand out to indicate that I wasn’t part of this conversation. “You!” He pointed at Christoph.
“You instructed me to tend to her,” Christoph said. Although Seth was in his face, he kept his voice even.
“You’re feeding her?”
“She needs to eat.”
Seth’s face was turning red. “She eats when I say she eats!”
“If you want her to stay alive long enough for her husband to get here, she needs to have food,” Christoph said.
Seth glanced back and forth between Christoph and me before taking Christoph’s arm and yanking him from the chair. He dragged Christoph out of the room and slammed the door, making a point to turn the key extra loudly.
“You are under my authority!” Seth hissed. Unlike the sound of the door locking, I suspected I wasn’t supposed to hear this. I pulled myself up from the chair and hobbled over to the wardrobe. I twisted my hands around to my back to attempt to undo the buttons so I could slip into a dry dress, all the while listening to the conversation outside.
“That was never my intention,” Christoph said in the sort of soothing voice used to calm an irrationally temperamental child.
“The other men told me! You’ve been helping her!”
“That’s what you hired me to do!”
“I brought you here to be a doctor!”
“Doctors help people!”
“You are solely here to keep her alive and help her deliver that baby, should it come to that.”
“You weren’t explicit.”
The Wolf's Bait (The Wolf's Peak Saga Book 2) Page 18