Secret Heart

by Speer, Flora

  “But he has no more hope of controlling those last three estates,” Roarke noted, “so they no longer matter.”

  “Yes, they do matter,” Jenia insisted. “Walderon has no way of knowing anyone has discerned his overall plan. I feel quite certain he’s sitting in his cell right now, plotting a way to seize all three estates for his own. I doubt if he believes he’ll be imprisoned for long. He’ll most likely pay advocates in Calean to plead his case before King Henryk in hope of convincing the king to free him.

  “He’ll have to kill Aunt Sanal before he can marry the girl who is heiress to the estate not far from Catherstone,” Jenia went on, “but he’s already had Chantal murdered and he tried to have me killed, too, so what difference can Sanal’s death make to him? Walderon will consider his ultimate goal to be well worth the risk.”

  “His ultimate goal.” Roarke stared at her and Jenia saw horrified comprehension flood his expression. “Together, all of those lands you’ve described create a strip of territory bordering the Nalo Mountains from north of Lake Nalo almost to the Sea of Alboran in the south..”

  “I’m sure if anyone asked him about it,” Jenia said, “Walderon would declare that, as a loyal nobleman to King Henryk, he is keeping those borderlands safe from invasion.”

  “While at the same time increasing his own importance,” Roarke added, “which in itself is no crime. Other nobles have done as much. Still, Walderon has, by his own admission, commanded murder, and he has contemplated having his wife killed. I think we can disregard any statement he makes about loyalty to King Henryk Such a man is incapable of loyalty.”

  “You said you’d reveal your conclusions,” Jenia reminded him.

  “I must admit, I didn’t put together the clever scheme of controlling an important strip of borderland. That is your brilliant insight,” Roarke said. “Otherwise, my conclusions are much the same as yours, though I’ll go further in my distrust of Walderon’s intentions. I keep thinking about the report Sir Durand made at Calean City, about Dominion armies massing on the border. I’m glad we have Walderon in custody, because I begin to fear he has been communicating with Domini Gundiac.”

  “We are talking about treason.” Jenia’s voice sank to a whisper. “Would Uncle Walderon go so far? Would he be content to be guardian of the borderlands? Such a position would make him the greatest nobleman in the realm, second only to King Henryk, himself.”

  “I consider it far more likely he’d expect to become king,” Roarke said.

  They stared at each other, each working out the ramifications of an ambition that could reach so high. After a long moment Jenia spoke again.

  “We have another serious matter to consider, which is Walderon’s corrupt Power. I’m not sure exactly how strong he is. He can’t be a full mage, or he’d have destroyed Chantal and me outright and hidden any trace of what he’d done. Whatever he is, for his own secret reasons, Walderon conceals his Power well. He always has.”

  “The Power is inherited,” Roarke said and paused, his gaze intent on her.

  “I have only a slight degree of Power,” Jenia confessed. “my grandfather possessed more, and he taught me how to control and conceal my abilities.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Roarke said. “Will you agree that we ought to inform Lord Giles and Garit about this, and of our conclusions about Walderon’s intentions?

  “We’ll do it first thing in the morning,” she decided.

  “Fine. Now, to a more important subject,” he said. “I should tell you that I really came here to ask you to marry me.” He caught her hips, forcing her against his large, very hard arousal.

  “Marry?” Between burning kisses and flaring passion she tried to make sense of his words. “You can’t ask me. Roarke, you know perfectly well you have to ask my nearest male relative – make the arrangements – a dowry – the marriage contract – oh!” She gasped when his mouth fastened on the hollow between her throat and her shoulder. Suddenly she was drowning in liquid heat.

  “I wouldn’t ask your nearest male relative for a dry crust,” Roarke growled, raising his head. “I’ll ask King Henryk, instead. But only if you want it, Jenia. I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Will you marry me?”

  He hadn’t said he loved her and she could never accept him without the assurance of his love. Sanal’s unhappy example prevented her. But she did want him with every aching, yearning fiber of her being.

  “Please, Roarke,” she whispered, pressing against him, “we’ve talked enough for now. Take me to bed. We can talk more later.”

  With a shout of laughter he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Along the way her shawl dropped onto the floor, but she no longer needed it. Roarke and his passion provided warmth enough.

  He laid her gently on the bed. A moment or two later he had removed his clothing and hers, and he came down beside her, gathering her into his arms for a long, intimate kiss that claimed her as his own.

  Then he was inside her, kissing her again as he moved in her, and Jenia knew her heart’s secret truth. She’d never want anyone but Roarke. Not ever, whether he loved her, or not.

  Chapter 21

  Drenched in a cold sweat, Jenia wakened from the nightmare she’d had too many times, a dream of Chantal lying on the dungeon cell floor with the life seeping from the wounds in her side as Jenia tried frantically to reach her and could not.

  As her heartbeat slowed she realized she wasn’t in the cell. She drew a long breath of relief to know she was in a comfortable bed with Roarke slumbering peacefully beside her. Her sudden start and the trembling she couldn’t control had not wakened him.

  Though the bedchamber shutters were closed and latched, she could tell it was the middle of the night by the absence of light around the edges of the wooden panels. From her previous experiences with the same dream, she knew she wasn’t going to fall asleep again for some time, if at all.

  She turned over carefully, so she wouldn’t wake Roarke, then cautiously slid one foot to the cold floor. When Roarke didn’t move, she put her other foot out and rose from the bed in a smooth motion. If his eyes had opened and he’d pulled her back into his arms she would have ventured no farther. But Roarke slept on while Jenia groped for and found her woolen gown and her shoes. She dressed quickly and silently, then let herself out of the room.

  The great hall was quiet. Only one or two of the squires and servants who slept near the fireplace stirred when she crept past them. No one spoke to her, so she continued on to the entry hall. A sentry standing there turned to stare at her as she went by. He wore the blue and red tunic of Garit’s men-at-arms and she knew she ought to recognize him, but the poor illumination prevented her from seeing him clearly.

  “My lady?” the sentry asked in a harsh whisper. “Do you need something?”

  “No, thank you,” Jenia said. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m just going to the chapel for a short time.”

  The sentry didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his back to her, pulled the door to the bailey open, and stepped out onto the landing.

  Jenia shrugged and entered the chapel. She realized that in her haste she had neglected to bring along a candle or an oil lamp to light her way. Shadows filled the chapel, only a single vigil lamp on the altar providing any light. Jenia remembered where to find the basket of burned-down stubs the chaplain kept available for those who wished to light a candle and say a prayer. The making of good wax candles was an arduous task, so they were always burned as low as possible before the last bits of wax were returned to the chandler’s cauldron to be melted down and reused in the next batch.

  Jenia took the longest remnant she could find in the basket and lit it from the vigil lamp. She paused for a moment to whisper a plea for the peaceful repose of Chantal’s soul before she left the chapel and headed to her true destination.

  The sentry was no longer in the entry hall. The door to the bailey stood ajar, so perhaps he was still out on the landing. Which, Jenia reflected
with a frown, was where he should have been standing in the first place. Perhaps he had come inside for a short time to warm himself. Relieved that she wouldn’t have to think of a further explanation for her midnight presence in the entry, or for her excursion to the lower levels, she cautiously opened the door that led to the dungeon.

  She paused, listening. Reassured by the silence and by the knowledge that Walderon could not harm her so long as he was bound by Lord Giles’ magic, she began to descend the stairs. She tried to be as quiet as possible so as not to alert the sentry who stood watch above. As she proceeded, it seemed to her she could hear Chantal calling to her. By the time she passed the cell where Walderon was confined Jenia realized that what she heard was weeping, coming from the cell where she and Chantal had been held. The door of the cell stood open and a faint light shone from within.

  “Garit?” she whispered and took the last few steps even more quietly so as not to disturb his grief. She’d go away at once, but first she wanted to be certain it really was Garit in the cell.

  What she beheld was not Garit, but Sanal, kneeling on the floor. An oil lamp beside her revealed her bent shoulders and the tears that trickled through her fingers. Around the weeping woman the cold shadows flowed as if to enfold her.

  “Aunt Sanal, what are you doing here?” Jenia began to advance into the cell.

  “Go back!” Sanal cried, awkwardly jerking around to face her. “Flee while you can!”

  Only then did Jenia see her aunt’s hands were tightly bound in front of her so that when she raised them to her face to wipe away her tears, she appeared to be praying.

  “Why she came here scarcely matters,” said a familiar voice from the doorway.

  “Walderon!” Jenia whirled to face him. “Who released you?”

  “Did you think all of my faithful retainers had fled the castle?” Walderon asked. He gestured toward the man Jenia had seen in the entrance and had taken for a sentry. “Not so, niece. I believe you and Mott have met before.”

  “Dear heaven!” Jenia gaped as the burly man’s face and his cold eyes were clearly revealed by the candle she still held. The last time she’d seen him, he had been ramming his eating knife into Chantal’s side. Jenia fought against a sudden lightheadedness as the terrible recognition dawned.

  “Ah, Mott,” Walderon drawled, his mouth twisting with deadly humor, “I do believe the lady recalls you from your earlier encounter. You do understand, niece, that if you misbehave Mott will kill you as he killed your cousin? Good. Now hold out your hands.”

  “Why should I?” Jenia wondered if she dared attempt to match her smaller magic against Walderon. She realized he’d kill her with a single blast of his greater Power and she’d have no chance at all to warn her friends. Before she could finish the thought or make a move, Walderon snatched away the candle she was holding. By its flickering light she could see the perspiration on his pale face and the tight line of his mouth and knew he was in pain from fighting against the magical binding Lord Giles had placed upon him. Seeing him thus, able to fight it, she began to understand how mighty Walderon’s evil power must be.

  “Hold out your hands,” he repeated, his voice grating harshly on her ears.

  “No.” Her own voice cracked in fear, but she refused to make this easy for him. Scarcely was the word out of her mouth before Walderon, wincing in pain, struck her across the face. She tasted her own blood as she stumbled against Sanal.

  While she was still off balance Mott seized her wrists and wrapped a leather thong around them, binding them so tightly that her hands at once began to ache.

  “What are you going to do with us?” Jenia demanded, glaring at Walderon, hoping his silent, inner battle against Lord Giles’s spell would prevent him from seeing how frightened she was.

  “I’ve been granted two hostages, instead of just one,” Walderon told her.

  “It was only evil chance,” Jenia declared. She knew what Walderon’s reaction to such defiance was likely to be, yet she could not keep quiet. Disgust with herself for being so careless, for assuming that Thury was completely under the control of her friends and that Walderon was helpless, made her reckless. She knew Walderon didn’t need to use his corrupt Power to work harm. With Mott to do his bidding, he could conserve his strength, using it to fight against the spell that held him. Still, Walderon raised his own hand to strike her again. When Sanal shrieked he hit her, instead.

  “Stop it!” Jenia screamed as loudly as she could, praying her voice would reach someone up in the entry hall. A thought struck her. “How did you get out of your cell? Where is Garit’s man-at-arms who was guarding your door?”

  “Poor fellow,” Walderon said. “He met an unfortunate end at the hands of your old friend, Mott. He lies even now in my cell, wearing only the blanket that I was given, while Mott, here, wears his clothing. The cell is safely relocked. I dare to hope anyone looking through the grate in the door will assume I am still asleep.”

  “The guard will be missed,” Jenia said, trying her best not to think about another person dispatched by Mott’s deadly blade. “You will be missed, too.”

  “I know it,” Walderon told her. “However, that won’t happen until the hour for the changing of guards. A few moments of inevitable confusion during the search for the guard and for the missing key will gain me valuable time. It appears I am going to need some extra time, since I must drag two females along with me.

  “Still, I will allow you to live, for now, because it’s possible you will prove to be of some value as hostages. Now, move, Matilda Jenia. You, too, Sanal. Stop that blasted weeping, woman!”

  He grabbed Sanal by one arm and shoved her toward the door. Mott followed, pushing Jenia ahead of him.

  “Where are you taking us?” Jenia demanded in her loudest voice. She was almost shouting, but she hoped Walderon would believe it was because she was terrified.

  “Keep your voice down, unless you want Mott to gag you,” Walderon told her. “If you should alert anyone, you will immediately loose your value to me and I’ll have no choice but to kill you.”

  “You mean, you’ll have Mott do it for you,” Jenia said, refusing to lower her voice. Mott jerked her along after Walderon, pulling her into the lowermost tunnel, the one Roarke and the men-at-arms had explored the previous day.

  At the last instant before she entered that damp, odorous blackness, Jenia looked back. She thought – hoped – prayed – what she believed she saw in that moment was not an illusion, that it really was a gleam of torchlight shining on smooth, pale hair and a youthful face. If so, if she was right, then whoever was at the top of the steps possessed sense enough to duck back behind the dungeon door before either Walderon or Mott could see him.

  “Where are you taking us?” she asked, hoping to distract Walderon and perhaps delay him as he tried to hurry them through the tunnel. “How can you use Aunt Sanal and me as hostages if no one can see you’re holding us captive?”

  “They will see soon enough,” Walderon told her. He sounded strained. Sanal kept slipping in the muck on the tunnel floor, thus forcing Walderon to assist her in staying upright.

  “I cannot think how we can be of any value to you,” Sanal cried. “Why don’t you just let us go?”

  Jenia longed to warn her aunt to keep quiet on that subject. Walderon could not afford to release them. If Sanal were to convince Walderon that his captives were useless, he’d tell Mott to kill both of them. Jenia knew their only chance of staying alive was to pray that Roarke and the others would mount a prompt pursuit, and to be prepared to help their rescuers when they arrived. Meanwhile, thinking of ways to pry information out of both men would help to alleviate her fear. Perhaps having to listen to and answer her while controlling Sanal would help to wear down Walderon’s strength.

  “Mott,” she said, “were you in this tunnel yesterday? Did you make the sound Roarke and I heard?”

  “Aye, it was me.” Mott gave her a shove between her shoulder blades that sent her stumb
ling for several steps until she regained her balance. “Noise carries in these tunnels, so keep quiet.”

  “Turn to the left here,” Walderon ordered.

  They had reached another tunnel. Jenia realized it must be the juncture Roarke had mentioned finding, so she assumed the passageway into which they now turned was the same tunnel they had used to enter the castle in secret.

  “I didn’t know anyone but the older servants was aware of these tunnels,” Jenia remarked.

  “Mott recently learned of them,” Walderon said, “but the servant who told him won’t repeat the mistake by confiding in anyone else, will he, Mott?”

  A grunt at her left shoulder informed Jenia of the fate of the poor soul who had revealed the castle secret.

  “Stop here.” Walderon paused at a shadowy alcove in the tunnel wall. Jenia heard him wince in pain when he reached down into deeper shadows to pick up a dirty sack and hand it to Sanal. “Hold it in your arms, woman, as if it were a baby. You cannot drop it, not with your wrists tied. Matilda Jenia, here’s another sack for you to carry. Take it, curse you!” With a groan he thrust a heavy leather bag into Jenia’s reluctant arms. The contents were surprisingly lumpy.

  “What’s in it?” she asked, curiosity overcoming her fears for a moment.

  “Gold coins in Sanal’s bag, jewelry in yours,” Walderon replied. “I collected as much as I could carry and stored it down here, in case I ever needed to leave Thury in haste. This will see us safely into the Dominion.”

  “I’m afraid Sanal won’t be able to carry such a weight for more than a short distance,” Jenia said. “And why the Dominion?” She thought she knew why, but recalling Lord Giles’s remarks about villains always wanting to explain themselves to people whom they considered to be less intelligent souls, she decided she wanted to encourage Walderon to say what his plan was, to hear him convict himself of treason out of his own mouth. She no longer harbored any doubt that what he was plotting would prove to be treasonous.