She could make no response, for she had no functioning of her brain with which to think of anything to say, nor of her mouth with which to form the words.
Taking no notice of her incapacitation, he offered her a small bow of courtesy before following his men out.
It was difficult to keep the pleased smile from spreading across her lips. Dreamily she played with the gold cup before her, musing on his kind words, his uncharacteristic charm.
What was happening to her? she wondered. Just last night, she would have welcomed him to her bed and given him all he asked, and more. Now, this morn, he seemed so much less fierce. She was actually sorry when she heard the sound of horses riding away.
Sighing, she rose, still lost in thought when she almost collided with a servant who had come to clear the table. Mumbling a distracted apology, she glanced up. Recognizing the servant who had spoken to her so malevolently on her wedding day, Alayna gasped.
“My lord seeks to make amends.” The girl was sneering at her, a bitter smile twisting her mouth into an ugly line.
“What?” Alayna demanded, trying, for once, to be imperious, but only succeeding in sounding frightened.
“Do not think he seeks nothing but to soothe you to get what he wants. He needs you, for Gastonbury. He is a man who gets what he needs—always. But he does not want you. There lies no more warmth in his heart for you than for his old Viking master.”
Alayna’s eyes snapped wide. “How is it you know of my husband’s past?”
“Oh, my fine lady, there is much that I know about your husband. Men have other choices when their uppity ladies do not suit.”
Her implication was clear. “You lie!”
“Are you sure, my lady? Methinks he does not visit you until late. I guess that he does not find your bed to his liking, and he is a lusty man, I can tell you. Ask him sometime about young Glenna, and see what he tells you.”
“How dare you speak to me this way, you wretched girl!” Alayna was shocked to hear her own voice nearly a shriek. “Now, get away from me else I will have you punished for your impudence.”
Glenna’s eyes looked a little wild. “Nay. He will not allow it.”
With that, the girl scampered off, as silent and swift as a wild mouse.
Numb, Alayna’s mind raced over a myriad of thoughts, all confusing and raw. Lucien had denied that he had taken another while apart from her, but it could be a lie, although he had little enough cause to do so. If he chose to be with another, there was nothing she could do about it. She had denied him the invitation he had sought to her bed. It was possible he had found another, one more willing, as Glenna had said. And the pretty servant seemed very willing to ease the discomfort of her lord.
What an idiot she had been! She had let herself be drawn to him, even when every instinct had rebelled against it. How easily she had fallen into his arms every time, shamefully responding to his ardent seductions like some common serf in awe of the great warrior. He played the gentle lord, it was true, but it was only for gain.
All his tender kisses, those rare gentle words, the careful revelations, all of these things meant to catch her off guard and bring her to his bed. Then there would be no annulment and he would keep his barony. Gastonbury was the only thing he cared about. He wished to use her, nothing more.
Did he even now share the jest with his men—? “Did you see how pliant she was this morn? A bit of a trick, no less. I but throw out a crumb and she snaps it up like a hungry dog.” Oh, he was getting to know her weakness well. And it was true that she had a growing weakness for him.
With a strangled cry, she stumbled up to her chamber.
She hated him. Oh, God, how she hated him. His cunning seduction cut deeper than any insult.
She could not see him again. She could not bear it!
Quickly doffing her slippers, Alayna slid on her heavy boots and grabbed her cloak. She had no plan, no idea of what she was about to do. She only knew she needed to escape. Escape Gastonbury, and escape Lucien de Montregnier.
It was a miracle she managed to slip out of the castle undetected. Lucien was so sure of her, no one said a word as she walked purposefully out of the postern gate and took the north road.
Chapter Sixteen
The dungeons lay in the bowels of Gastonbury castle. They were merely a smattering of tiny cells carved out of the earth, each containing only a thin pile of straw and a shallow ditch that served inadequately as a garderobe. The stench was horrible, rising up to meet Lucien as he descended the steep stairs that plunged downward into the unrelenting dark.
There was a familiar tightening in his chest, a feeling that came upon him when he was forced to confront a particularly lucid memory of his past. He had almost been paralyzed after having to flog the prisoner yesterday. It had been necessary; indeed, it was the least of what the assassin deserved. Now, after a persuasive night alone with his pain, the prisoner might be more willing to talk.
He entered a small chamber where Agravar stood beside the bound captive. He composed his face into his fiercest expression.
“My lord baron,” Agravar said, bowing respectfully. Lucien almost laughed at his friend’s exaggerated reverence. The Viking was playing his part to the hilt. Lucien played his, nodding distractedly.
“Has the prisoner decided to tell us who hired him?”
“He is still being most foolish, sire.”
“Then there is no cure for it. The purse paid must have been fat, indeed, for him to retain such loyalty to his employer. A pity.”
The prisoner, bent and weary, his face too dirt smudged to be recognizable, made no reaction. Lucien watched the eyes.
“Aye, my lord. Though I know that you did expressly forbid it, I must confess that I tried to bribe the man, offering him a huge purse for the information. He declined.”
Actually, they had discussed the attempted bribe, but had thought it wise if it seemed it was against Lucien’s wishes. Lucien didn’t want to appear eager to bargain.
“Really?” he commented dryly. “I will see to you, Agravar, when we are done here.”
The Viking bowed his head in mock shame.
Lucien walked away, saying casually, “No purse would buy that kind of loyalty from a brigand, for they would sell their own mother for a sou.” Nay, money could not buy that kind of loyalty, but fear could. “We could kill him, but then, we would know no more than we do now.”
“True,” Agravar agreed, “it would do us no good.”
Lucien paused thoughtfully. “I do not wish this man’s death.”
Lucien watched the prisoner react. Curiosity, he saw with satisfaction. Just a brief flash. The cur had thought himself dead, now there was hope. Very good.
“Release him,” he commanded. Agravar acted stunned at that announcement. The prisoner’s head came up and for the first time he looked at his jailers.
He was experienced, Lucien thought, he holds himself well. But there could be no more experience on this earth than his own.
“Release him?” Agravar challenged.
“Aye, we will let him return to his life. Yet we will enhance it for him, give him a new challenge, as it were. We will send out a rumor that he spoke of his illicit master to you and I. In return for this information, this man won his freedom, so we let him go.” He grinned evilly. “Now, why else would we do such a thing unless he cooperated?”
“Nay!” the man shouted, jumping up.
Lucien let out his breath.
“‘E—’e’ll slay me, me lord. Please, don’t make me go out there and face ‘im. ‘E does terrible punishments, ‘e does—much worse’n ye. ‘E’ll kill me girl, and I ’ave a son.”
Lucien turned a chilling look on him, unmoved by his pleas. “You know the terms.”
The prisoner hung his head. “But my fam’ly.”
“We can shield them, take them to another place where they will be safe.”
The man thought about it for a moment, looking inconsolable as he weighed
his options. “I’ll give ye ‘is name if ye promise to get my kin away from ‘ere.”
“Who sent you to kill me?”
The answer came as expected. “Garrick of Thalsbury.”
Lucien had suspected as much. It would give him great pleasure to plan his retaliation against Garrick.
“Let it be done as we agreed,” Lucien said to Agravar, then he turned to leave. He forced himself not to run up the treacherous stairs. Up to the sunlight. With this wretched business behind him, he was thinking of Alayna.
He headed straight to his chamber, thinking to find her there, sewing, as was her habit at this hour. He was disappointed to find the room empty.
Weary, he sat by the hearth. How empty the place seemed without her. The sickness of this morn had made him weak and he was still reeling from his dealings with the assassin. When would the past stop haunting him? He would rest for a bit, he decided, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes against the world.
When had he ceased to thrive on the struggle? Where once it had been his life’s blood, now it left him restless and dissatisfied and yearning for something…
Alayna. If only those arms would welcome him, if only that quick tongue would speak gently instead of flinging sharp-witted barbs to whet his temper.
As he slipped into slumber, he wondered where she was.
He was awakened by the feel of a soft, warm mouth on his, pressing shyly, lightly. Alayna! His arms came up to catch her to him, hands tangling in her hair as he pressed his mouth up against hers, opening it to taste fully of the sweetness there. He came instantly awake, aware all at once of his pulse slamming through him in violent courses, the arousal in his loins, and the ache of a sudden, unbearable urgency. He was still afraid it was a dream, some terrible, wonderful dream of his own making.
He opened his eyes, expecting to see sultry green. He found himself instead staring into the brown eyes of the servant girl, Glenna.
Springing to his feet, he almost knocked her on her backside. It was as if she had suddenly become fire, scalding him with her unwelcome closeness.
“I do not mind if you think of her,” she pleaded in a wheedling voice. “Take me and pretend that I am she.”
“I told you before never to come to this chamber,” he snapped. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He sensed there was something very wrong with this girl.
Her arms snaked toward him. He knocked them away. “She hates you, you know. Why do you pant after her?”
“Listen to me, girl,” he commanded firmly. “Take yourself away and do not return. And never speak to me unless I ask you a direct question, do you understand?”
She stared at him a moment, her eyes round. “I am to be your leman, honored throughout the castle. It is because of her. She is so vile to you, how do you not see it? I hate her!”
Despite his many threats to Alayna, Lucien had never struck a woman no matter what the provocation. But he did so now, quickly slapping his flattened palm across Glenna’s cheek. It was a light blow, meant to snap her out of her hysteria.
Slowly her hand came up to her reddened face and her eyes narrowed. With a sob, she ran out of the room.
Lucien’s rage receded, replaced by an unsettling feeling. Where the devil was Alayna? He knew she spent most of her time in this chamber, away from the gossiping tongues that dogged her in the hall. Suddenly his instincts flared to life and he was alarmed.
Storming out of the chamber, he stopped a young servant boy who was laboring under a load of firewood, “Have you seen your mistress today, boy?” he demanded.
The lad shook his head. Lucien broke into a run, skidding to a stop when he saw another servant, a woman. “Where is the Lady Alayna?” he asked.
“I know not, my lord,” she answered.
“Drop what you are doing and find her. I want everyone in the castle to search. Do not stop until she is found.”
“Aye, my lord.” Lucien almost collided with her, then paused impatiently to let her pass, grabbing another man who happened by.
“Have you seen the mistress?” he urged.
“Nay, lord, not since the morn.”
“Where did you see her?”
“She was in the hall, just after the meal. I saw you speaking to her and then you left and she stayed while I was sweeping.”
“Did you see her speak to anyone?”
“Only a servant girl.”
Suspicious, Lucien inquired, “The girl, who was she?”
“I believe ’twas Glenna, my lord.”
Wild with anxiety, Lucien bellowed for some pages to find Will and Agravar and Pelly. He bounded back up the steps to the chamber again where he tore through Alayna’s trunks. In disgust, he threw the garments down in a heap. He was not familiar with her wardrobe; he would not know if anything was missing.
Footsteps made him whirl around. A young woman stood uncertainly at the door. It was Alayna’s maid. “Are any of your lady’s things missing?” he yelled.
The poor woman fairly tripped over her own feet as she hurried to examine the clothing jumbled together on the rushes. “Only her cloak and the dress I saw her wearing today, my lord. And her boots are gone.”
Wordlessly Lucien swept out of the room, almost colliding with Will. Agravar was fast upon his heels.
“Alayna has run away,” he stated grimly.
“Run away? To what purpose?” the Norseman snapped.
“The little fool has finally made good on her threat to escape me. Her boots and cloak are gone.”
“We must find her,” Will exclaimed. “She could be in danger.”
Lucien’s eyes darkened. It was something he had not considered. If any harm came to Alayna, he would not forgive himself, for it was his fault for not seeing that Glenna was deranged from the beginning.
They decided to split into small riding parties to cover the most area. Agravar and Pelly took a band of men down to the village to explore the huts there and the forest beyond. Lucien and Will went through the postern gate, combing the trails of the woods above and beyond the castle, traveling along the river.
“Let us split up,” Lucien said. “You head south, follow the trails until you come to Deaston Manor. She may have sought shelter there. If she did not, come back and join me.”
“You head north?” Will asked.
“Aye,” answered Lucien, his jaw set. “Garrick may have a hand in this. I ride to Thalsbury.”
The road Alayna traveled was nothing more than a thin strip at the base of a sheer cliff face, winding along the bank of the river. The water level, high from the recent rains and the spring thaw, was ready to spill onto the bank and into the already narrow ribbon of road. When the rain began again, Alayna cursed her luck. She thought briefly of returning to the castle, then rejected the idea. She had no desire to face de Montregnier just yet. She would find an opening in the cliff and take shelter in the woods beyond until she could think of what to do next.
The downpour was heavy and in no time she was soaked through. The sturdy gray wool of her cloak weighed her down. She slipped and stumbled in the mud. Fearful of the rising level of the river, she began searching for some means of escape in the sheer wall of rock. Water started to wash up onto the road, swirling about her ankles.
Exhausted from struggling for each step, she wondered how far she had come. It was dark, though if from dusk or the heavy storm clouds, she could not tell. She had no sense of how long she had been out here. Her strength was giving out, and she could barely maneuver in the sucking mud and rising tide. She was aware of the giddy rise of panic inside her, making her lurch desperately, frantic to return to the castle, but her efforts won her little progress. With a sick feeling of despair, she knew she could not make it.
She thought of Lucien, all of her previous anger now dissolved by the potent wash of fear. She would gladly humble herself if only he would come.
As if summoned by her prayer, a shape appeared amidst the gray sheets of rain. It was a lo
ne rider coming from the direction of Gastonbury on a dark steed. There was no doubt in Alayna’s mind as to who he was—Lucien!
He was here, and she knew no matter what his wrath would bring, she at least would be safe. She began to sob with relief.
He swung down from the saddle and gestured to a tumble of rocks that led through a small pass in the cliff face. Alayna scurried to obey, clambering up the slick rock with the last of her strength. Lucien was behind her, following after a brief struggle with his horse. The path was too treacherous for the skittish animal, so after a few attempts, he abandoned it by the road.
They fled into the forest, slipping under the shelter of the thick canopy of trees. It came to her that it was not like Lucien to remain quiet for this long. She expected a tongue-lashing such as he had never given her before, and yet he continued to walk in silence. He must be furious, she thought, then an eerie feeling crept over her. She glanced sideways at him. He did not look at her, his hood still in place though hardly any rain fell on them now.
Alayna realized suddenly that she had never seen Lucien wear a hooded cloak.
A terrible suspicion took hold and she stopped. “Lucien?”
He stopped also, watching her from the anonymity of the cowl. Slowly he raised his hand and uncovered his head. A stranger with slitted eyes and a cruel slash for a mouth stood before her. She shrank away with a cry of alarm.
“Continue to cooperate so nicely as you were doing. You cannot overpower me and you cannot outrun me. I know these woods too well.”
Alayna thought perhaps she would try to run all the same, then saw it for the useless gesture it was. He was right—she could not outrun him, and if she could, where would she go? She did not even know where she was.
“There is a hunter’s cottage up yonder. We’ll shelter there until the storm abates, then we’ll continue on.”
“Where?”
He only smirked back, an unattractive twisting of that overlong mouth. It made him look ghoulish. Carefully avoiding his outstretched hand, she pulled herself upright and walked calmly. There was no hope of escaping just yet, but she would look for the first opening, when his guard was down, and take it.
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