by Diana Bold
He wanted to say more, to describe how much her tender lovemaking had meant to him, but the words remained locked in his throat. Besides, he thought she understood.
An incredible sense of rightness settled over Rhoswen as Sebastian pulled the covers around them, holding her tight against his chest.
“Mmm, this feels nice.” She snuggled closer, throwing one of her thighs across his. “You’re so warm, and you smell so wonderful.”
He brushed a swift kiss to the top of her head.
She smiled against his chest. “This truly has been the best night of my life, Sebastian.”
“Mine, too,” he agreed, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Rhoswen cuddled closer, wishing she could crawl beneath his very skin. She had never imagined it was possible to feel so close to another human being. She had certainly never before experienced anything near to this level of intimacy.
Were all men on the Surface capable of such passion and tenderness? Somehow, she doubted it. Deep in her heart, she knew Sebastian was special. When she walked away from him, she would be losing something she’d never be able to recapture.
“How long until morning?” Her voice flooded with sadness at the thought of their time slipping away.
He glanced toward the narrow window, and she saw to her dismay that the sky was already lightening to the east. “Not long. An hour, perhaps.”
“Will you just hold me?” she whispered, her heart breaking for everything that could never be. “Hold me until dawn?”
“Of course.” He hugged her tightly, as though he never wanted to let her go. “Of course I will.”
Chapter Eleven
An hour later, Sebastian slid out of bed, leaving Rhoswen sound asleep beneath the furs. He dressed in the chilly air, shivering as he pulled his robe on over his linen shirt and hose. The heavy folds enveloped him, refortifying the shield he had allowed Rhoswen to breach during the night. Feeling a bit more himself, he gave Rhoswen a last, lingering glance, wondering if he had the strength to let her go.
With a sigh, he turned away and forced himself to exit the tower. He strode across the bailey to the kitchen, grabbed a warm scone from a sleepy cook and then reluctantly headed for the courtyard. The crash and clang of metal signaled that Simon and his men were already practicing swordplay in the dim, morning light.
Sebastian had instituted the ritual on his return from the Holy Land, hoping to instill some discipline into the rudderless group of savages. To his surprise, Simon had supported the idea completely, and now the surest way to infuriate him was to miss training.
“You are late,” Simon snapped, as Sebastian came up beside him.
“I overslept.” Sebastian fought for a level tone, unwilling to be drawn into yet another argument with his brother. He had hoped resuming his usual daily activities would allay some of Simon’s suspicions.
Simon gave Sebastian a long, assessing look. “I doubt you slept at all. You reek of sex.”
Simon’s very tone cheapened the beauty of the night Sebastian had spent in Rhoswen’s arms. He took a deep breath, struggling to control his anger. “You are my brother, so I will forgive you for speaking of Lady Rhoswen in such a way. Once.”
A commotion in the bailey interrupted their conversation. Exchanging grim looks they dashed around the corner, only to find the village miller standing by the main gate, wailing and wringing his hands.
“What is it?” Simon demanded as he crossed to the man’s side. “What has happened?”
“’Tis the pestilence,” the man cried. “Half a dozen have fallen ill over night. And me little Maggie — she passed away in her mum’s arms this morning.”
Sebastian froze half a dozen paces from the distraught man, his heart thundering in his chest. Holy Christ. The pestilence? His healing skills were no match for the dreaded Black Death.
He had been a mere child the last time the plague had swept across Britain, and Hawkesmere had been spared the worst of it, losing only a handful of souls. But his mother, the earl’s first countess, had been away at court, and she had been taken along with countless others.
With supreme effort, he managed to tamp down the cold tremor of fear the man’s words had sparked. “Are you certain?” he questioned the miller gently, aching for his loss. “Have they the black pustules?”
The man nodded, dissolving into wracking sobs.
Simon turned and pinned Sebastian with a wild look. “Tell me true, brother. Do you think it has come again?”
“God help us if it has.” The plague would sweep through Hawkesmere’s people unchecked. If one in ten survived it would be a miracle.
He thought of Rhoswen, sleeping so peacefully in his bed. He could not bear to see her pale, perfect skin blacken with sickness and death.
“I will go and do what I can for the villagers,” he told Simon grimly. “But first I must warn Lady Rhoswen and see that she and her brother leave before the infection spreads to the castle.”
Simon shook his head, obviously aghast. “You would put the fate of this foreign woman over your own people? For all we know, she brought the sickness with her. No one else has been out in the world.”
Half of Simon’s men had just returned from the scouting mission that had resulted in Rhoswen’s capture. Sebastian opened his mouth to argue the point, determined to defend Rhoswen, but decided against provoking his brother further.
Simon had his faults, but his concern for the people of Hawkesmere was real.
“It will not take long,” he said, in an effort to calm Simon’s wild accusations. “I will see her on her way with all haste.”
“You would sacrifice anything, even your honor, for this woman?” Simon continued, as though Sebastian had argued with him, his voice rising with fury.
Sebastian’s patience snapped. “Once before I let my honor guide me,” he cried. “Were it not for my honor, I would have taken Meredith away from here. She might still be alive!”
His words rang out across the bailey, causing the gathered knights to look curiously at the drama playing out between their lord and his younger brother.
Simon took a step back, obviously stunned by Sebastian’s passionate declaration. “I do not trust her,” he said, after a long silence, his voice and manner gentling. “I do not want to see your heart broken again.”
“My heart is already broken,” Sebastian admitted with a bitter laugh. He lowered his voice so only Simon could hear his words. “My tonics and potions are worthless when it comes to the plague. But I will go to the village. I will offer comfort and hold the hands of those who are dying in order to give hope to the rest. All I ask is this one thing — that you allow me a few moments with Lady Rhoswen so I can go to my death knowing she still lives.”
Simon stared at him for an endless moment as he contemplated the danger Sebastian faced. “Then go to her. Say goodbye.” He clasped Sebastian on the shoulder, then turned and strode away. His fur coat swung in the chill breeze as he returned to his men and began barking the orders that would seal the castle against those unfortunates below.
With a weary sigh, Sebastian hurried back to the tower, relieved to find Rhoswen still sleeping soundly. Her fist was curled beneath her rosy cheek, her breathing soft and even. He gazed at her for a long moment, wanting to commit this moment to memory, this perfect image of domestic harmony he knew he would never be lucky enough to find again.
Sinking down beside her on the edge of the bed, he pulled her into his arms. The soft press of her sleep-warmed body made him harden painfully against her hip.
“What’s wrong?” She blinked up at him, still half-asleep but obviously sensing his unease.
“You must leave as soon as possible,” he told her, his voice low and urgent. “I will arrange for some supplies and horses to carry you and Trevelan back to the coast, but you have to go now. Within the hour.”
“What?” She sat up suddenly, letting the furs drop from her shoulders to pool around her waist. “What’s happened?”
His gaze dropped to the full curves of her breasts, her nipples hard and prominent in the cold room, and he knew a moment of stark grief at the thought of never touching her again. “Some of the villagers have taken sick during the night. We fear it is the plague. I must get you away from here before you are exposed.”
Rhoswen’s tired brain cleared with the abruptness of a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. She scrambled away from him in dawning horror. “There is sickness in the village?”
He gave her a grim nod. “Half a dozen, at least. I must go and do what I can for them, but I wanted to see you safely gone first.”
Trevelan.
Fear sluiced through her. She’d never truly thought her old friend would go through with it, had thought the angry plan he’d mentioned before they’d Surfaced had been mere talk. But how could she ignore the evidence Sebastian had just presented her? Over a dozen years had passed since the last widespread outbreak. Impossible to believe the sickness in the village was a coincidence.
Trevelan must have released his virus before he’d been captured. If the disease was as virulent as he’d indicated, no one in Hawkesmere, perhaps no one in all of Britain, would survive. No wonder he had seemed so urgent when he’d told her they must leave quickly.
Her terrified gaze swept over Sebastian’s beloved face. It had been bad enough to think of leaving him here when she returned to Halcyon, but the thought of his slow, torturous death was incomprehensible.
“Do not fear.” He brushed her cheek tenderly with the back of his hand. “You will be fine. No one in the castle has been infected yet. As long as you leave now, you and your friend should be fine.”
His tender concern made her ache with longing. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him here to die with the rest, no matter what it cost her.
“You have to go with me,” she told him urgently. “These people are lost. There’s nothing you can do for them, and I can’t bear to think of you sharing their fate.”
“Miranda and I are the closest things these people have to physicians.” He gave a regretful shake of his head. “Perhaps it is not as bad as Simon fears. It could be any of a dozen things, not the plague at all.”
Not the plague that had come before, of that she was almost certain. Marcus’ version would be far worse. She only hoped the poor souls who’d already taken ill died soon and did not suffer overmuch. Surely, when Trevelan and Marcus hatched their plan, they’d at least had the humanity to make sure those who died would not have to go through the days of agony that characterized the plague.
She couldn’t allow their plan to succeed, but didn’t know what she could do to stop it. Perhaps there was a vaccine; otherwise, wouldn’t Trevelan have worried about contracting the disease himself?
If she could get back to Halcyon, she would go to the counsel, tell them what Trevelan and Marcus had done and let them decide how to deal with it.
She bit her lip, wondering how much she should tell Sebastian. Those days after her capture were a blur. She had no clear idea where she was. Without his help, she’d have a hard time making it back to her vessel.
“I fear Trevelan is behind this,” she admitted, all in a rush. “I need you to lead me back to the place where your brother’s men found me. I think we can stop the sickness from spreading, but only if I can get back to my people and tell them what he has done.”
“What has he done?” Sebastian grabbed her shoulders, shaking her a little in a desperate attempt to finally get the answers she had repeatedly withheld. “Are you telling me the man you begged me to save somehow caused those in the village to become ill? Why would he do such a thing?”
“He’s lost his mind, obviously.” She raked her hand through her hair, unsure how else to explain it. Even though she’d lived her entire life below the sea, the mass murder of thousands, if not millions of people, just to walk in the sun once again, made no sense.
Sebastian paled. “My brother suspected as much, but I defended you. I defended you both.”
“He told me he meant to do it, but I didn’t think he really would. I thought he was just angry and frustrated, speaking in jest. I would never have asked you to help him if I’d known this.”
He sat back on his heels and stared at her, his blue eyes flooding with disgust and disbelief. All the tenderness had vanished, and he was once again a brutal stranger who held her life in his hands. “How can I believe you? How can I believe you did not know, when you came here with him?”
The anguish in his voice destroyed her. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. And I swear I did not have anything to do with it.”
He pushed off the bed, his movements taut with anger. “I must tell Simon. We must find a way to stop the sickness before it spreads any further. You will come with me and tell him what you know.”
Once Simon knew she was involved, the mercy Sebastian had convinced him to show would vanish. He’d throw her back in the dungeon and try to beat the truth out of her. “There’s only one way to fix this. I have to get back to where your men found me. If I can get home, I might be able to find an antidote—a drug that will stop it.”
He shook his head. “It is a three day journey to the coast. By then everyone in Hawkesmere could be infected.”
“It will spread past Hawkesmere’s borders,” she told him softly, trying to make him understand the magnitude of what Trevelan had done. “If you don’t help me, millions will die.”
“I cannot leave my people now, Rhoswen. Not even for you.”
“Listen to me.” She held out an imploring hand, begging him to trust her. “Tell Simon to stay away from the village. Tell him to close the castle gates and not let anyone in. Perhaps the virus hasn’t spread here yet. That’s all we can do for them. But if you help me, we can save untold thousands more.”
He stumbled away, his indecision obvious. Turning his back on her, he strode to the narrow arrow slit, staring down at the village below.
She could only imagine how difficult it must be for him to contemplate walking away from everything he knew — especially in a time of need — for the sake of a woman he barely knew.
“Don’t stay here and die, Sebastian. It won’t help anything, and it would break my heart. I need you to come with me. I can’t do it without you.”
A visible shudder traveled through him, and he turned to face her. “Swear to me that if I do this thing, if I take you to the coast, you will tell me everything. I will have no more secrets between us, not if I am to trust you.”
She took a deep breath, and then nodded. His stipulation was more than fair, and she trusted him to keep her secrets. She trusted him with her very life. “I will tell you everything, but not until we are far away from here.”
He remained on the other side of the room for a long moment, then strode to a trunk at the foot of the bed and tossed her a heavy robe very similar to his own.
“Put this on,” he told her grimly. “We cannot leave any of your belongings behind. We will stop in the kitchen for some food, and then leave through the postern door.”
She scrambled off the bed and dressed in her warm sleep shirt and pants, then slipped the robe over her head, hiding her blonde hair beneath the heavy cowl. Apparently, he’d decided to help her, but she didn’t dare ask any questions, lest he change his mind.
Grabbing her pack and its contents from his desk, he took a few more things from his shelf, then opened the door and motioned her out into the drafty stairwell.
“Stay close,” he said, his voice tight with tension. “And keep your head down. People will be looking for someone to blame, and you are the most likely target. I would like to get out of here without talking to anybody.”
She’d planned to tell him of the tunnels beneath the castle and suggest they leave that way, but his words hinted at a lurking danger she hadn’t fathomed. Besides, she wasn’t even sure the tunnels existed. If she mentioned them now, he’d wonder what else she’d hidden from him.
&nbs
p; She planted her feet, forcing him to stop and look at her. “I won’t forget this, Sebastian. I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me.”
“Do not thank me yet,” he muttered, looking as though her gratitude made him uncomfortable. “We have a long, dangerous road ahead.”
As he stepped past her, she crowded in behind him, hoping they managed to get away from Hawkesmere with their lives.
Chapter Twelve
Sebastian turned his huge destrier away from Hawkesmere, guiding the warhorse into the heavily wooded hills beyond. Within moments, the dense trees hid them from view of the castle, and he released a pent-up sigh of relief.
They had made their escape without incident. Not that he had really expected immediate pursuit. It would take a few hours for Simon to discover what he had done. Hopefully, they would be far away before that happened.
His arms tightened reflexively around Rhoswen. She sat sideways across his lap, but her robe obscured her face. They had not said a word to each other since they had left the tower, and he was in no hurry to remedy that.
For the first time since he had left the Holy Land, he offered up a fervent prayer. He prayed he had done the right thing — that he had not betrayed his brother and the rest of his people for this girl without reason.
If she was not telling the truth, if she had lured him out of the castle for some ulterior motive, he hoped she and her accomplices killed him. He could not bear to live with that sort of guilt and betrayal.
She had promised to tell him everything once they left the castle behind, but he did not press her. He had a feeling that her story, whatever it might be, would turn his world upside down. Before that happened, he wanted to enjoy these last few moments of relative peace and quiet.
He had already decided she was one of the fey — or perhaps she came from some otherworldly place. How else to explain the amazing things in her pack or her companion’s ability to call forth a plague?