Ryen nodded, trying desperately not to look as disappointed as she felt.
“It will only take four days, and I promise you when I return I will make up every minute that I am away.”
“Four days?” Ryen whispered in anguish.
Bryce nodded, pulling her against him.
She could hear the beat of his heart as she pressed her head against his chest. When she looked up into his eyes, she saw her anguish mirrored there. He lowered his lips to hers and the kiss was hungry and desperate.
Then Bryce stepped away from her, not releasing her hands. Finally, with a wistful grin, he let her hands go and departed.
Ryen stared out over the forests and plowed land, thinking about their night together. She remembered his hot touch, his eyes as they clouded over with desire, the feel of his soft hair as the wet curls clung to her fingers. She sighed, missing him already, and pushed herself from the window ledge. Four days, she thought wistfully. How long these four days will be without him.
Her feet hit the stone floor and she began to move down the quiet hall. Her hair hung over her shoulders as she stared at the floor. She watched her feet move beneath her blue dress, back and forth, peeking from under the satin material and then disappearing with each step she took. Her mind dwelled for a long time on Bryce; his power over her was unequaled. She looked for him around every corner, in every room. A small smile tugged at her lips.
That’s when she heard it. At first, she thought it was her imagination. The way her steps seemed to echo twice in the hallway was odd. It was almost as if…
…she was being followed. Ryen stopped, every nerve alert for footfalls or the rustle of clothing. A second after she halted, one more footstep fell. Ryen froze, wanting to turn and glance over her shoulder, but knowing that if she did, she would give away her advantage. So she continued on, turning corners and strolling casually through the castle. Listening with heightened awareness, she heard the sound again. As she paused to study a tapestry, the footfalls halted. As she moved, she developed a certain respect for her pursuer. Whoever it was had done this before. He, or she, was matching her steps exactly, only a fragment of a second behind each of hers. And he was quiet. She could not even hear the rustle of clothing. Whoever it was did not wear armor.
Ryen stopped again, feigning interest in a suit of armor that stood at the side of the hallway. She wondered briefly if it was Vignon, waiting for the right opportunity to approach her. But she could not discount that it might be one of Bryce’s men wanting to kill her. For a moment, her mind flashed back to Andre’s tent and the soldier who had tried to slit her throat. She glanced instinctively down to her arm, where the scar from the attack was hidden beneath her long sleeves. She vowed she would never let that happen again.
Growing irritated at the game, Ryen stepped around a corner and quickly opened and closed a door, then pressed herself flat against the wall, waiting for the person to show himself.
If he wants to kill me, let him try, Ryen thought. She heard the light fall of footsteps as they neared her hiding spot. Then they stopped. Startled, she braced herself for discovery. The seconds stretched on…and on. No one rounded the corner.
Had she been imagining things? She took a deep breath and pushed herself from the wall, turning the corner.
Grey! Ryen gasped at finding him leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Ryen reared back and slowly, as they stared at each other, her anger rose. “Why are you following me?” she demanded.
After a moment, a slow grin spread over his lips.
His smile only infuriated Ryen and her brows scowled lower. “I asked you a question.”
“I heard you,” he replied nonchalantly.
Her eyes raked over him, looking for some kind of weapon. His breeches were black and stained with mud; his torn tunic was in worse condition, the edges ragged. The collar was lined with fur. She could see no weapon and this only baffled her. She raised her eyes to his. For a long moment they stared at each other, her cold, angry eyes meeting his amused ones.
“I’m doing someone a favor,” he finally answered.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
His lips opened, showing stained teeth as he smiled full out, but his words held none of the humor in his grin. “If I were, you would be dead.”
Somehow, she believed him. Grey did not have the power that coursed through every vein in Bryce’s body, yet he had an air of wisdom about him.
Ryen observed him through slitted eyes. “Who is this someone?”
“I don’t think he would appreciate your knowledge of this.”
“No? Well, I don’t appreciate being spied on,” She retorted. “And I don’t think Bryce will find it amusing, either.”
“You’re right. He wouldn’t find it amusing at all,” Grey commented with a glimmer in his eye.
Ryen scowled at him. She was sure there was a hidden meaning to his words, but she couldn’t decipher it. “Stop following me,” she ordered and stormed down the hall.
A fierce wind slammed open the shutters on the window and Ryen ran to them, pushing the wooden shutters closed. The cold wind whipped in relentlessly, its chill whistling through cracks in the moldings.
Ryen sighed and leaned against the wood. She had returned to her room to choose fabric for some dresses Polly insisted on making for her, and now the material was strewn all over the bed. Ryen gazed at them again. They were beautiful, but hardly her style. Where there was silk for a beautiful dress, there should be leather for a pair of boots. Ryen sighed. The only reward would be Bryce’s face when he saw her and the feel of his hands on her skin when he removed them.
Ryen sat down on the bed, her legs crossed, and picked up the quill and parchment that Polly had left on the table at her request. As she placed the parchment on the bed, carefully smoothing out the edges, she began to compose in her mind the letter to Count Dumas explaining that she was staying at Dark Castle of her own accord.
The quill flew elegantly over the parchment. She began with a simple introduction and wasted no time in getting to the heart of the matter. She paused in her writing and stroked her chin with the large feather.
Her eyes were drawn by Bryce’s image upon the tapestry. She placed the quill and paper on the bed and walked to the woven picture, staring at the precise accuracy of the embroidered eyes. The tapestry seemed to capture his look, his mood.
The door swung open and Ryen turned. The smile that had begun to form when she’d thought it was Bryce vanished. A protective wall slammed down, cutting off her heart from the rest of her senses. Lotte could only be here to hurt her. “Get out,” Ryen commanded, an icy jealousy racing across her shoulders and tensing her body.
Lotte grinned. “Such a pleasant way to greet a stranger.”
“You are not a stranger,” Ryen retorted.
Lotte surveyed the room, her brown eyes growing dreamy. “The things I could have done with this room. I would have sewn a brighter blanket for the bed, hung more tapestries to keep this room warmer…and mirrors. Definitely mirrors.” Lotte’s eyes swept the room until they came to the tapestry. “I would have gotten rid of that.” She pointed to it.
“What do you want?” Ryen demanded, outrage flashing through her heart. She loved the tapestry, woven with such careful detail that the images were brought to life.
“Why, I thought we could be friends.”
Ryen’s eyes narrowed. Never, her mind screamed. There was something about the woman that made Ryen’s skin crawl.
Lotte’s eyes moved to the bed, and slowly she approached it. “Such fine, fine cloth. Silk, isn’t it?”
Ryen did not answer, but watched as Lotte picked up the material and rubbed it against her cheek. Ryen snapped, “Put it down.” The thought of touching the once precious silk now made Ryen’s stomach churn.
Lotte carelessly dropped the material. “I suppose you think you’re special?” Lotte asked. “Well, you’re not. He’s taken me in every room of t
his castle. Including here.” Lotte nodded at the bed.
Ryen’s cheeks flushed.
“All these fabrics and jewels he bestows on you mean nothing.” She turned to Ryen, eyes slitted with loathing. “You will never have his heart, for it is wild. As wild as a wolf’s.” Her gaze swept over Ryen’s form. “And you are not woman enough to tame a wolf.”
“Get out,” Ryen commanded. “Get out before I strangle you.”
“Don’t you have any loyalty?” Lotte demanded. “How can you enjoy your enemy’s kisses so much, knowing your brother is locked in the dungeon?”
“My brothers are dead!” Ryen shouted.
“Dead?” Lotte stared at Ryen, her brow creased with confusion. Then she burst out laughing. “Who told you that?” she cackled. “Prince?”
Ryen’s jaw clenched with her fierce anger. “Do not laugh at me.”
Immediately Lotte ceased her snickering and shot a hateful glance at Ryen. “You simple fool. One of your brothers survived the battle.”
Stunned, Ryen could only stare for a long moment. Finally, she announced, “I don’t believe you,” but the tremble in her voice belied the words.
“See for yourself.”
“And what should I do?” Ryen asked sarcastically. “Ask the jailer?”
“I’ll distract him. The keys are on the wall before the hallway,” Lotte said. When Ryen’s eyes narrowed dubiously, she continued, “I know. I’ve been down there before. How do you think I know your brother lives?”
Doubt festered in Ryen’s mind. She should turn her back on the vindictive woman. All Lotte wanted was to destroy what she and Bryce had. Still, if Lucien or Andre were alive…
A grin slid across Lotte’s lips like a snake. “Can you live without knowing for sure?”
Indecision plagued her. It was a trap, she was sure. Why else would Lotte concoct such a story? But…there was the nagging doubt. What if…what if…
Ryen marched past her. “Let’s go.” Ryen was out the door through the hallway, and down the stairs. Her heart beat in her ears, blocking out all noises. Why would Bryce lie to her? It was ridiculous. He had no reason. Andre and Lucien couldn’t be in the dungeon. Why was she even doing this? Then she stopped cold. Where was the dungeon?
Lotte brushed past her with a knowing snicker. “Your brother is in the eighth cell.”
Ryen followed Lotte down stone steps into the darkness that was the dungeon. She hid in the shadows of the corridor, her cupped hand protecting her only light – a single candle. Her eyes tried to see into the blackness of the hallway opposite her where the cells were, but it was so dark she could see nothing. She heard Lotte’s soft voice cooing to the guard, his snort, and a low curse. Then all was quiet.
Ryen snuck forward to peek around the corner. The guard was standing, his back to her, his head bent. Ryen saw Lotte’s skirt between the man’s spread legs.
Ryen hurried by, the shimmering circle of light she walked in cutting the black of the dungeon like an ax. She paused and reached around the corner to feel for the keys. Her hand brushed them and they jangled slightly. She pulled back, waiting for the guard to reply. But there was no call of alarm, no shout of “Who goes there?”. Her heart pounded in her chest as she again reached around to the keys. Quickly she grabbed them and pulled them to her bosom, stilling any jangling.
Ryen waited for a noise, but the only sounds she could hear were the murmurs of love talk. Then those voices faded away as Lotte led the guard away.
Ryen moved away from the wall and walked into the dungeon. The stench of urine and decay assaulted her and she stumbled back, putting a hand to her nose. After a moment she reached out with her hand and it disappeared in the blackness beyond the candle’s flickering light. Her fingers brushed damp, cold stone. She pulled back quickly at the slimy feel of the wet wall.
Taking a deep breath and squeezing the iron keys in her palm, she moved forward.
Ryen passed seven doors and slowed when she approached the eighth. Her heart pounded as she saw the outline of the door. She stood before it, unable to see within. How was she to know if…if one of her brothers was behind this door? Or whether it was a trap?
Then there was movement from within. She saw the shadow cross near the door through the small barred window. Ryen tensed. Who was it? She had to know.
“Prince? Is that you, you bastard?”
Lucien. Oh, God, it was Lucien! she thought, as she fumbled to fit the keys into the lock. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, but finally she slipped the key into the hole.
Lucien, her mind repeated. He was alive!
“Who’s there?”
Ryen flung open the door and quickly stepped into the room. “It’s Ryen,” she gasped, searching the darkness of the cell for any sign of her brother.
A mass hit her hard in the side and she was knocked onto her back, the weight pinning her to the cold floor.
“So,” Lucien sneered, so close to her ear that Ryen almost wept for joy. “You are no ghost.” His hand closed over her wrist and slid up to her shoulder. “Soft flesh? Who are you?”
The candle had fallen to the floor. Still burning, it cast his blue eyes in an orange glow. Before she could reply, Lucien continued. “Are you one of his sluts?”
“No,” Ryen gasped.
“It’s been a long time,” Lucien whispered.
Ryen felt his legs move between her thighs, pushing her knees apart. Horror and outrage crashed over her and she shifted her weight, pressing her thighs together, trying to push him from her. “No. I am Ryen!”
He smashed an arm into her throat. “My sister is dead, wench. Be still. This will not take long.”
He doesn’t know me, she thought, as she lashed out wildly. Under the barrage, Lucien ducked his head in her shoulder, steeling himself against her attack.
“God’s blood, but you fight like Ryen,” Lucien murmured to himself, but he reached down to pull up her skirt.
Tears came to Ryen’s eyes and she stopped her fight. “Please, Lucien,” she whispered.
Lucien froze for a long moment. Ryen’s harsh gasps echoed in the small cell. “I remember the last time I saw my sister cry. She was six. Our mother had died that morning.”
“I cried all day,” Ryen murmured. “I remember the snow. It was the first time that year.”
Ryen watched his features change. The wildness disappeared from his sunken eyes. The anger melted from his face.
“Ryen,” he whispered. He quickly sat up, horrified at what he was about to do. “Oh, God.” He buried his face in his hands.
“No, Lucien. Please. You would not have harmed me,” Ryen soothed, and knelt beside her brother.
“Do you have any idea what I was going to do to you?”
“But you didn’t,” Ryen insisted.
Lucien rammed his fist into the dirt wall. “Curse him. He told me you were dead.”
Ryen sat back on her heels. She steeled herself against the pain that was rising in her throat.
“Ryen?”
She looked up to find Lucien studying her face.
“Did he touch you?”
Ryen averted her gaze to the flickering candle. “We have to get out of here.”
“I’ll kill the bastard!” Lucien roared.
“Lucien, hush.” Ryen glanced at the door, then back at her brother. She knew the guard would be returning any moment. “I will find some way to help you escape.”
“Escape?” Lucien demanded. “I’m leaving with you now!”
“You can’t. I have to see you safely through the castle and –”
“Just give me a weapon!”
“Lucien, please,” Ryen begged, casting a worried look at the door. “I don’t have a weapon. But I will get one and I will be back.”
“I will smash that guard’s head and take his sword,” Lucien said.
“You’re too weak. You could never overpower him.” Ryen rose. She recovered the candle and moved quickly to the door. She checked the hallway,
then paused to glance back at Lucien.
He was kneeling in the dirt, his face flickering in and out of shadow, his once glorious hair knotted and dirty. “Let me go with you,” he begged.
Her heart twisted. No matter how much she wanted to free him, she knew the wisest decision was to find a sword and come back to the dungeon. “Know that I will return as soon as possible.”
Ryen departed the cell, shutting the door behind her.
Chapter Forty One
In the hallway outside her room, Ryen paused. Her senses were numb; her mind kept repeating, he’s alive – Lucien’s alive. Then a sharp stab of pain would slice across her heart. Bryce had lied! Just as she had begun to hope, to trust him again.
“You’re beautiful.” His voice, dreamlike and caring, filled her mind.
Why did he lie to her? Why? Ryen covered her mouth with her fingertips and leaned her head against the wooden door.
When he reached for the handle of the door, she found that her hands were trembling. What was she going to do? She knew she had to free Lucien. She could not bear to see him locked up in the dungeon. You gave Bryce your word, an inner voice said. You told him you would not leave him. But he lied to me! What am I going to do?
Ryen straightened. She could not break her word to Bryce. But she would free Lucien. She had to see him away from Dark Castle and Bryce. Then she would deal with Bryce’s anger. With the decision made, she needed only one thing – a sword for Lucien.
She raised her eyes from the cold stone floor to the wooden door before her. Ryen was moving to open it when a glint caught her eye. She turned her head to see the two suits of plate mail down the hall…
Ryen peered around the dark corner of the dungeon at the guard who was cleaning his nails with the sharp tip of a dagger. He was balancing precariously on two legs of the wooden chair he sat in, his feet resting comfortably on top of a table. Ryen glanced across the hall and into the darkness beyond. Lucien awaited her. He was depending on her. She took a deep breath and, hiding the sword she had removed from the suit of armor in the folds of her blue dress, stepped out into the dim torchlight.
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