The Prisoner of Silverwood Castle

by Marie Treanor

  I leapt to my feet. “Let us all go back inside,” I said, already whirling around to leave them.

  But Heribert moved quickly, especially for a drunk. He’d seized my wrist, dragging me to a halt even before he was properly on his feet. His grip was hard, almost bruising, too forceful for me to easily tug myself free. Worse, the sudden movement had attracted the attention of one or two other people on the terrace. At least it should have been enough to deter the prince from making any more of a scene, I thought—before the glances all slid away again.

  Even Gerritzen, who’d taken a hasty step forward as if to intervene, stilled, clearly undecided, looking for a way out. I could think of one, though Augusta wouldn’t like it. I lifted my foot off the ground.

  “Unhand the lady,” a peremptory voice commanded behind me.

  Surprise loosened Heribert’s grip enough, and I yanked myself free, staggering back against a solid body. An arm closed momentarily about my waist, gentle but inexorable as it moved me aside, and my rescuer stepped in front of me. Tall and big enough to face down most men who weren’t princes, he wore a long, dark cloak with the hood up.

  “I don’t think so,” Heribert said aggressively. “You’ve forgotten your place.”

  Von Gerritzen was already making use of the intervention to walk away, making a swift beckoning gesture to me. Although only a moment ago, I’d wanted nothing more than to escape the whole scene, now, perversely, I hesitated, peering around my rescuer to see what Heribert would do.

  The prince was staring at the newcomer, drunken rage standing out in his glittering eyes, contorting his slack lips. I still thought there would be a fight, and my stomach roiled in protest. I didn’t really want to see anyone knocked down, even Heribert. I should run after von Gerritzen, call the guard or something. A worse scene seemed inevitable now. All that was left was to prevent the spilling of blood. And yet I couldn’t look away from those locked eyes.

  The prince muttered several obscenities, understandable in any language, and lurched away.

  “Goodness,” I said admiringly. “That was impressive. Did you point a pistol at him?”

  My rescuer’s cloak swung as he jerked towards me. Since we were out of the main light spilling from the terrace and the ballroom, I couldn’t tell the cloak’s colour, just that it was dark, like his mask.

  “Why are you still here?” he demanded, in a quite different voice, one that tugged at my memory. Someone else I knew. The trouble was, I’d met a lot of people over the last couple of days, and none of them for very long. It was surprising how much a half-mask could interfere with one’s memory.

  “I wanted to say thank you,” I said. “And make sure you didn’t get into a fight.”

  His teeth gleamed in the darkness. “How did you plan to do that?”

  “Well, I thought I might hang on to his arm.”

  “And let me hit him? Do you think I’d have needed the help?”

  “No, he’s vilely drunk and would probably have toppled over when he took his first swing at you. But I gather he’s vindictive and would have borne a grudge.”

  “Well, thank you for saving me,” my new friend said gravely.

  “You’re laughing at me,” I accused.

  “I wouldn’t dare. Won’t you sit down again?”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. The bench was still in sight of both the ballroom and the people strolling around the terrace. No one but this man had intervened on my behalf.

  I sat, and he arranged himself beside me, still enveloped in the long cloak, which, now he’d moved into the light, seemed to be a rich shade of burgundy.

  “What authority do you have over the prince?” I asked curiously.

  “None.” He sounded surprised.

  I frowned behind my mask. “You do know that was the prince? The duke’s brother.”

  “I know.”

  “So…why did he obey you?”

  The man shrugged. “Probably because he didn’t know who I was. Why are we talking in French?”

  “It’s part of my disguise.”

  The intense, oddly familiar eyes behind the mask lightened. “Is it working?”

  “Mostly, I think.” I frowned. “Do you know who I am?”

  He nodded.

  “Who?” I challenged.

  “The reason I came.”

  “Oh, poor answer! You’re just covering ignorance!”

  “Not guilty…” He leaned nearer me, one ungloved hand gripping the back of the bench, and lowered his voice. “…Lady Guin.”

  “Who?” I said at once.

  A smile played around his lips. It looked oddly attractive and mysterious beneath the line of his mask. And something about it was definitely familiar. Out of context, perhaps, like others, but I’d definitely met him before. His voice, his eyes, his mouth… I did know him.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Are you glad you came?”

  “Oh yes. Masquerade balls are such fun.”

  “Because you can be a different person, play a different role?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. I lifted my chin. “I’m using my wit and beauty to seek revenge.”

  “For what?”

  “It doesn’t seem to matter,” I said humorously.

  His lips quirked, though his eyes remained steady on mine. “Are you happy here in Silberwald?”

  Something about the situation, or my questioner, stopped the easy answer in my throat. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “I’m interested in Silberwald. Intrigued, even.”

  His arm lifted from the back of the bench in a quick gesture encompassing the ballroom and the guest. “And this, court entertainment, the social whirl of balls and soirees suits you?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. “Normally, I find them pointless and a bit dull—probably because I’m socially inept… Oh dear, I’ve fallen out of character. I blame you, sir.”

  “I think both characters are you.”

  “A masquerade is a bit like reading—or writing—stories,” I confessed. “Fantasy, escape, if you like.”

  “You hide from the things you don’t like?”

  I didn’t quite like that interpretation, so I paused to think about it. My privileged life as an earl’s daughter, my uncomfortable observations of the rest of the world as I sped through it.

  “I suppose I do,” I said ruefully. “A little social awkwardness is nothing compared to the hardships of most of the world, but I can’t change either. Writing…gives me the illusion of control I don’t have in real life.”

  “Control of your own destiny?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “And the injustices of the world. What is the point of privilege like mine if you can’t change anything?”

  “Injustice, poverty, cruelty,” he recited.

  I scowled. “You’re laughing at me,” I said again. This time I didn’t feel so cordial.

  “Not at you,” he said. “What if you were in a position to change those things? Like, say, the duchess your sister?”

  I blinked, suddenly disappointed. My saviour wasn’t interested in my views, in me, he was just what Augusta had warned me about. I said flatly, “I don’t believe my sister would influence the duke. I certainly couldn’t influence her.”

  His hand lifted from the bench, actually brushing against the hood of my cloak. “I was talking about you, not them. Would you like to make a difference to more than the success of an extravagant ball?”

  I searched the mysterious eyes behind the mask. My mind almost grasped the right memory, but it flew away again, leaving me with his question.

  “I would,” I admitted. “But I never will, because I’ll never be in a position to do so, except, perhaps, through writing. Although even there, gathering dissent can often only make matters worse, as the late revolutions have made clear—here and all ove
r Europe.” A new idea widened my eyes before I could prevent it. “Are you trying to recruit me to some radical, dissenting organisation?”

  Again, his lips stretched into a quick smile. I realized belatedly that it was rather an attractive smile, and that butterflies around my heart and stomach were acknowledging the fact. Perhaps it was the fault of the mask separating his eyes from his mouth, adding mystery to a face that could easily be handsome. I thought it would be.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Sort of. It’s not why I came, but my mind tends to go off at tangents.”

  At this, I grasped again at the elusive memory, and this time caught a vision of the strange prisoner. My breath caught.

  But no, the prisoner was in chains in the tower.

  Still, there could be some connection. Hadn’t I suspected the prisoner of revolutionary crimes? Questions crowded and jostled to be asked. The one that came out was, “Why did you come?”

  “To talk to you,” he replied, with an odd simplicity that actually sounded genuine. “And watch you dance, maybe.”

  “Watch me dance?” I repeated.

  From inside the ballroom, the strains of another Viennese waltz began, drifting over me, insidious, compelling. I, who had sat out many a dance in my miserable season, defied anyone not to at least want to dance to this music. As if he caught my sudden urge, a smile touched his intense eyes.

  “I’ll dance with you if you like,” he offered. “But I warn you, I’m rusty and will probably stand all over your toes.”

  “Well, I may stand all over yours too.”

  “In that case…” He sprang to his feet and held down his hand to me. I caught a glimpse of white beneath the cloak, perhaps his shirt cuff showing beneath his coat. “Mademoiselle, will you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

  I stood and placed my hand in his. He wore no gloves. Perhaps that was why his fingers seemed so warm as they curled over mine. He placed my gloved hand on his arm and as we walked decorously inside, I was aware of the glances cast at us from the other masked figures on the terrace.

  They’d recognized the prince, but they too were baffled by the identity of the man who’d stood up to him and won. So far at least. It struck me I hadn’t paid enough attention to Prince Heribert.

  As we stepped inside the ballroom, I was suddenly spun into motion. My partner’s arm was like steel at my back, his other hand firm and warm as it grasped mine. After the first startled moment when I was sure I would stumble from surprise if nothing else, I relaxed and followed him.

  It seemed he wasn’t rusty after all. He not only could dance, he did so with an infectious enthusiasm that was exhilarating.

  “Rusty, indeed?” I accused.

  He spun me backwards. “My feet seem to remember. And it’s a joy to hold you in my arms.”

  The words I might have laughed at from someone else—should have laughed at—brought a flush to my already dizzy body.

  “You can’t flirt while dancing like this,” I objected.

  A breath of laughter stirred my hair, and I realized my hood had fallen back almost completely. “It’s my only chance,” he said.

  “Why? Aren’t you staying for the unmasking?” Frustrated, I recognised the tactic.

  His shoulder shook under my fingers, as if he were laughing harder, though no sound came out. “Tempting as it is, no,” he said at last. “I have somewhere else I need to be.”

  That wasn’t so flattering. On the other hand, he was holding me too close for propriety. I could feel every movement of his body against mine, every muscle, and it was strangely thrilling. I realized his cloak no longer lay between us, that beneath it, his clothes must have been somewhat thin. So unlikely in this place of wealth and luxury.

  I searched his masked face, his eyes, which held on to mine as if they would consume me. Deep blue, dazzling eyes.

  No. My breath caught. I wriggled my hand in his, flicking back the cloak edge from his wrist. He jerked both our hands downwards, spinning us as if it was all part of the dance, but it was too late. I’d seen. I’d seen the raw, chafed sores on his wrist.

  Chapter Six

  “Don’t,” he said, almost in my ear. His arm had tightened even more. We danced as if we were one, joined from thigh to breast. “Don’t say anything.”

  “I can’t,” I said helplessly. “I don’t understand.”

  “That I came to thank you?”

  “For what?” I gasped.

  “You soothed my wrists with ointment.”

  “And now somehow you’re no longer a prisoner? Was it all some kind of elaborate act? A joke?” I couldn’t bear the thought, for any number of reasons. At least his wrist still appeared to be injured, though God knew I didn’t want him to suffer either.

  “Guin,” he murmured. He was holding me so close, I couldn’t see his face. “No acts, though I don’t mind joking. It’s complicated to—” He broke off, changing directions, and as we spun away, I glimpsed the duke staring in our direction. Maybe that was what drew my partner to the realisation of his impropriety. Or perhaps he just noticed I was making no effort to break away.

  Why wasn’t I?

  At any rate, he loosened his grip just a little and spun me out of the open door onto the terrace once more. There, he dropped his arm from my back and walked quickly, mingling with the other couples cooling off from their exertions in the dance. Only he walked farther, into the darker part of the terrace, and drew me down steps I could barely see into shadow and darkness. The castle loomed huge at our backs, stretching far up into the dark velvet sky with its myriad stars like winking jewels. The music came to a close amidst polite applause.

  He stood very close to me, holding both my hands between us, speaking with almost baffling speed.

  “You came from kindness to help me. I felt your soothing touch in my dream, and when I woke up, you’d gone. But I could still smell the salve on my skin, lessening the pain. That was sweet. Sweeter than the hairpin. I don’t know if you meant to leave that, but I found it.”

  In a flash, I remembered hurrying through the passage back to my own room, my hair falling around my face. It had come loose. I hadn’t even wondered why, because I’d so much else on my mind.

  “You escaped?” I said, awed in spite of myself.

  Laughter, or at least some kind of emotion, seemed to catch his breath. “For a moment. I even roamed the castle and stole my disguise, together with a pair of boots that pinch abominably. But I need to go back. I can’t take the easy path. You’ve cleared my way. Do you trust me, Guin?”

  “I think so,” I whispered. It was probably madness. I didn’t trust anyone very much, but his turbulent blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, serious and not quite commanding, not quite pleading, more…curious. “How can I help you?”

  He hesitated. Then: “Find Dr. Alcuin, if you can. Tell him… But Guin? Don’t trust anyone in the castle with this.”

  “No one?”

  “Captain Friedrich,” he said, frowning.

  “Colonel Friedrich?”

  He didn’t respond to the question, saying only, “He’s a good man. But… More than anything, don’t change.”

  “Where are you going?” I demanded, clinging to his hands as he seemed about to withdraw them.

  “Back,” he said in apparent surprise, drawing my hands to his lips and kissing both of them before he released them. Then he shrugged off his cloak and tugged up the mask, dropping it on the ground and leaned against the castle wall to tug off his boots.

  “Kasimir, wait,” I said urgently. “I dreamed about you.” Oh damn my unruly mouth! Why in God’s name had I said that? My whole body flushed with shame, but though Kasimir paused, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he grinned.

  “I know,” he said unexpectedly. And suddenly his hands were in my hair, sweeping the hood the rest of the way back from my hai
r. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “Unspoiled…” His thumb, rough and tender, grazed my upper lip, and then his head swooped and his mouth took mine.

  My lips parted in shock, for this was nothing like the dream kiss. The subtle sensuality, the tingling sensation of not quite touching was totally lost in the overwhelmingly physical. His mouth was strong and warm, moving across mine with deep intent. I grasped at his shoulders for balance, or perhaps to push him away. But I liked the feel of his warm, muscled flesh below the shirt. I liked it very much. My whole body heated as one arm pressed me close into him. His tongue swept over my teeth and inside my mouth. I felt devoured, taken. And I wanted more.

  “Remember me,” he whispered against my lips. “As I’ll remember you.”

  His mouth pressed harder for a moment, and then, without warning, I was freed. He strode away from me, through the shadows, swift and sure. A man who knew his way around. And yet who’d been a prisoner, who seemed to be heading voluntarily back to his prison.

  I swallowed, wondering if I should follow him, for his own safety or my own curiosity. I’d get him caught. The duke had been looking at me. My absence with a lover would get me sent home in disgrace. The disgrace I could live with, but I really didn’t want to be sent home now. The intriguing mystery of my prisoner had become something more.

  So I turned and hurried back up the steps to the terrace, drawing my hood back up as I went. I wondered who’d find his mask and domino in the woods. I wondered where he’d got them in the first place, for beneath them he’d clearly been wearing no more clothes than the torn, worn garments I’d seen him in before.

  Returning to the ballroom, I made up for my neglect by seeking out Augusta. But she, surrounded by masked, mostly male devotees, didn’t appear to notice either my absence or my presence. Which meant she was enjoying herself. She wouldn’t want me around much longer. I thought she’d probably take me with her to the city, but after that…