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.
The guard glanced up as she approached. His feet hit the floor at the same time the two legs of the chair did. He tossed
the dagger onto the table and stood. “What do you want?”
Ryen saw his large hands resting on the table before him, the dagger between them. Her eyes shifted from the weapon to his eyes. She stepped forward, forcing a smile to her trembling lips. “I – I think you have something I want,” Ryen answered.
His eyes raked over her. The large guard’s dark, burly brows slumped over his narrowing eyes. “Who are you?”
She took another step forward. Close enough. She drew the weapon with lightning-fast reflexes, placing it near the guard’s throat. “Step around the table,” she commanded.
The guard’s dark eyes turned from amused disbelief to anger. “I do not take commands from a woman.” His hand moved for the dagger.
Before his palm closed over the hilt, Ryen shoved the point of the sword against the man’s Adam’s apple, halting his movement. “Move out from behind the table, or I will slit your throat.”
The guard did not hesitate this time. He emerged from the cover of his table.
“You will release Lucien De Bouriez,” Ryen told him.
He hesitated for a moment as if debating between death and Bryce’s wrath.
Ryen hit his arm with the flat side of the sword. “Move,” she urged, “or I will make your death a most painful one.”
The guard’s shoulders slumped and he turned, retrieving a torch from the wall before he headed into the dark hallway. Ryen kept the sword point to his back as he paused before Lucien’s cell door. The guard opened the lock and turned to give her a scathing look before throwing the door wide.
Ryen called “Lucien!” as her brother emerged from the darkened pit of his imprisonment.
Lucien glanced at her, his eyes glittering in the feeble light, and then his gaze pierced the guard. His lip curled and he snatched the sword from Ryen’s hand. Lucien backhanded the guard and the torch fell to the floor.
“Put him in the cell,” Ryen ordered, but Lucien went after him with a vengeance, pounding him in his face with clenched fists and in his stomach with booted feet. With each blow, his lip curled tighter, his sneer growing into a feral snarl. He reared back his head and spat his hatred into the guard’s face, continuing to rain blow after blow on the helpless man.
Appalled at her brother’s mindless savagery, Ryen grabbed Lucien’s arm. “Leave him alone,” she called.
Lucien elbowed her away before turning on her. “You defend him?” he demanded.
Ryen stared at him, aghast at how quickly he had turned on her. “We don’t have time to delay!” She turned and headed for the entrance to the dungeon.
After a moment, she heard Lucien’s footsteps behind her. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him in the flickering torchlight.
Lucien stepped into the small circle of brightness and Ryen felt relief in her heart. Yet even as joy filled her to see him free again and out of the dampness of the dungeon, uneasiness gripped her, for there was a wildness about him that was new. His dark blue orbs darted anxiously back forth. His fingers were curved like claws, ready to curl into a fist at the slightest provocation. He cast quick, furtive glances over his shoulders as he moved, as if he were prey fearing a hunter’s strike. He is only being cautious, she told herself.
“You know this castle well,” Lucien remarked.
Ryen moved forward, up the stairs, but Lucien grabbed her arm, halting her. He moved past her, climbing the stairs and paused. Ryen joined him, whispering, “The only way out is through the inner ward.”
“Which way?” Lucien asked.
“Down the hall and out the main doors,” Ryen murmured.
“No back entrance?”
“Not that I know of,” she replied.
“Stay here,” Lucien commanded.
Ryen opened her mouth to object, but he was already making his way down the hall. Anger rose inside her as she watched his back. He still treated her as a child! Even though it was she who had gotten him out of the dungeon. He disappeared around a corner and Ryen sagged back against the wall.
“You shouldn’t do this,” a voice whispered in the darkness.
Ryen whirled, searching the shadowed stairway behind her. She felt panic rise in her throat, closing off her cry of alarm.
“You shouldn’t betray his trust,” the voice continued.
Then Ryen recognized the tone. Grey. He stepped out of the darkness of the hallway and into the flickering light thrown by the torches. He was still following her! Where there should have been anger, Ryen felt only fear. He would try to stop her from freeing Lucien.
Grey stood before her, accusal darkening his eyes.
“Stay out of this,” Ryen ordered. She didn’t want to see him hurt.
Grey’s lips twitched into a humorless grin.
Ryen stepped backward, down the hallway, following Lucien’s path. Before she could blink, his hand shot out to seize her wrist.
“I’m asking you again not to betray his trust,” Grey said.
Ryen yanked her arm free. “He lied to me!” she whispered savagely. Her agonized, indecisive gaze met his and Ryen was surprised to see her emotions mirrored in Grey’s eyes.
Suddenly, Ryen caught a flash of a blade above his head. “No!” Ryen screamed as she watched Lucien bring the weapon down upon Grey’s head.
Grey’s eyes rolled and he collapsed to the ground.
Ryen bent to help, but Lucien grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hallway. “I circled back,” he said, “and I saw you struggling with him.”
Ryen tried to pull free, but Lucien’s hold on her wrist was strong. She glanced back at Grey lying sprawled on the floor, but had only a glimpse of him before Lucien turned the corner and made his way to the great door.
Ryen stopped struggling. She had to get Lucien free, and then she would see to Grey. Lucien released her when she stopped fighting. There they paused only long enough to glance out into the courtyard.
The sun was setting in the distance, bathing the sky in a deep red. Ryen’s heart was hammering in her chest. She wanted desperately to return to Grey and make sure he was all right. But Lucien had to be free. She would not allow her brother to rot in the dungeon. She quickly scanned the darkening yard. There was no one in sight and she gave a silent prayer of thanks. Through the open inner ward gate, she could see that the outer ward’s gates were also open.
A prickling of warning shot up Ryen’s spine. If all the peasants were gone, as the empty courtyard was proof, the gates should have been closed.
Lucien grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the inner ward. Two horses stood before them as if awaiting their arrival.
Ryen stopped, pulling Lucien to a halt. She glanced around at the vacant walls of the castle. No guards walked the battlements. Her eyes swiveled to the gatehouse, which seemed strangely empty. “It’s a trap,” she announced.
Lucien followed her looks with his own. “The hell with their traps! We’re getting out of here now,” he hissed urgently. He pulled her to the horses and he quickly mounted one.
Ryen moved forward, prepared to bid him farewell. When he glanced down at her, she saw rage in his deep blue eyes.
“What are you waiting for? Mount,” Lucien whispered urgently.
Ryen drew herself up proudly. “I can’t leave.”
“What?” Lucien cried.
“I gave my word.”
“Your word? To whom?”
Ryen tried to swallow in a suddenly dry throat. “I gave my word to the Prince of Darkness that I would not leave.”
“What?!” he roared. “Your word means nothing beneath his deceit.”
“My word is my honor. I cannot break it.”
Lucien’s horse pranced, sensing his anger. His deep blue eyes burned with a fury that Ryen had never seen before. He jerked the horse around to face her. “I will not leave without you.”
Ryen gasped. She had assumed he would go without an argument. “You must!” Ryen begged. “This is your only chance, Lucien.”
“I will not lea
ve you here, with him.”
“He will throw you in the dungeon again! Please, Lucien.”
Lucien’s bearded jaw tightened. “He told me you were dead!”
Ryen looked away. “He told me you were dead, also.”
Lucien moved to dismount. “Then I will cut him down.”
“No!” Ryen shouted, and moved immediately to the other horse. She pulled her dress up over her knees so she could mount.
Lucien straightened on the animal. His lip curled before he yanked savagely on the reins and rode for the gates.
Ryen spared a last look at Dark Castle. She hoped someone would find Grey quickly, that he would be all right. Then she thought on her promise. She had given Bryce her word. But more important than her word was that no harm befell…Lucien, yes, of course. Who else could she have been worried about? He was in no condition to face the Prince of Darkness in his weakened state. She had a loyalty to her brother as kin, a loyalty to France and to King Charles. She had no loyalty to Bryce…only her heart ached when she thought of him. I trusted you, Bryce, she thought. But you lied to me. I cannot forgive you for that.
Ryen spurred her horse, riding toward the gates into the setting sun.
Standing in the outer gatehouse, watching the two riders through a vertical slitted window as they fled from the castle, Polly stood shaking her head. She caressed one of the bridles she held tightly in her hands.
“Don’t feel so bad,” a voice from behind her snickered. “Now, you have only one thing to do and you will not have to spend any time in the dungeon.” Lotte moved past Polly to glance out the window. “Everything is going perfectly.”
Polly turned to leave the small room.
“Oh,” Lotte called. When Polly paused, Lotte continued, “If I catch you warming yourself by the kitchen fire again, you will have a month of chores added to your tasks.”
Chapter Forty Two
Bryce could not get Ryen out of his mind. Every tree’s bark hid her smile; the blue of the sky was but a twinkle in her eye; the moon’s brightness paled in the light of her glow. He wanted to see her so badly that he had ridden back two days early, leaving his exhausted men to make camp somewhere far behind him. Only Talbot had ridden with him.
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