Candle in the Window (35 page)

She didn’t know what to say; she didn’t
understand, she just smoothed his hair on the back of his head.

“’Tis dark,” he said again.
“I can’t see.”

Then she knew. Only a man who had lost his sight
for months and regained it again could feel the terror that trapped
William. He shook with a palsy, he crept close into her lap. A stab
of panic jolted her and she asked, “Could you see after they
threw you in?”

“Aye.” He nodded against her.

“What could you see?”

“The light of the trap door shining from
above.”

“What else?”

“Nicholas and his wicked face peering down at
us.”

“Was he alone?”

“Surrounded by servants and
mercenaries.” He gulped.

“And is that bastard going to win?”

“Saura,” he said desperately, ignoring
her plea for strength. “I can’t see.”

She rubbed her hands in a long, slow circle around
his back and wondered what to tell him. She understood; she felt an
empathy no one else could feel. She’d been trapped by
Theobold’sx power and then released, by Lord Peter’s
plea for help. Now her freedom was threatened by the lunatic
designs of one man. She’d almost been choked to death for her
objections, and in her heart and soul she understood the agony
William was experiencing.

Also, she knew the dark. She knew how it felt to
have no concept of the spaces around her, of the monsters who lay
hidden in the night. She knew just how much William had indulged in
the pleasure of sight, using it for his duties as knight and
seigneur. She could only guess how many candles he had lit when his
vision had returned, how many alms he had distributed.

Now he lay like a child in her lap, cold and still.
“William, be logical,” she said, using his magic word.
“You know you’re not blind.”

“I know that. I know it with my mind. But I
open my eyes and there’s nothing there, no matter how I
squint and strain.” He raised his head, turning it from side
to side, and buried it back at her waist. “My heart pounds,
my hands sweat, inside my heart I fear.”

Holding him, bending over him, she made soothing
noises.

“Nicholas knew how to torment me,
didn’t he?” he asked. “That whoreson knew what
would torture me.”

“Nay,” she denied instantly.
“Nicholas had no idea how this would affect you. He’d
have done more with it if he had. Even I had no idea how this would
affect you. I never thought. I’m sorry.”

He laughed, a half-hysterical whistle in his
throat. “A grown man afraid of the dark. God, what a fool I
am.”

“Nay, never that. You’re a grown man
who faces the challenges that would destroy a lesser man and treats
them as mountains to be climbed. You take misfortune and make good
fortune. You take the rocks in your road and use them to smooth the
road for others.”

Uncomforted, he snuggled closer. His face pressed
against her and he shuddered in a terror too deep for tears.

The prison buried them in silence. Only the whistle
of the wind through the cracks made a noise. They were alone as
they’d hadn’t been since their wedding, and Saura
wondered if she had the courage to say what would ease him. She
drew a breath and said, “Do you know what my life was like
before I came to Burke Castle?”

She paused, but he said nothing. She didn’t
even know if he listened to her. For a moment, she wondered if she
could raise him from his dread. Determination came swiftly on the
heels of her doubt; she had to try, one sentence at a time. She
wanted to comfort him, but first she had to talk about that time
before she came to him. “I never told you about living with
my stepfather, did I?” She didn’t wait for an answer,
but continued in a flat tone, “When I look back on my time at
Pertrade, my predominant memory is of cold. It seemed ’twas
always cold there. I lived with the danger of becoming stale and
old, someone’s boring aunt who skulked in the
shadows.”

“Your brothers didn’t agree.”

The words whispered out of her lap and she relaxed.
He was listening. “How could my brothers know? They never had
to live with hate and distrust every moment of their lives. It
warped me. The contempt was pounding me into a new shape—a
different Saura. Theobald was winning.”

He shook his head in denial, his face rubbing
against her belly.

She sighed with quivering sadness. “I promise
you, William—where a burst of violence couldn’t
succeed, the slow wearing of malice would conquer. Then your father
came along and offered me a chance to escape. And I took it, for I
only existed there.” Her hand moved in a slow, firm circle on
his back, rubbing him between the shoulder blades, easing the
tension in his shoulders. In the mellow voice of a mother crooning
to a babe, she said, “I arrived at your house, and right away
I was warmed. The fires burned with a pure heat, the servants were
kinder, the work was interesting. And you, you were like sunshine
on a summer day.”

“Sunshine?” He turned his head and
spoke up toward her face. “That’s not what you said at
the time. You said I smelled and was lazy and overflowing with pity
for myself.”

Her hand tugged at his hair. “So you were.
But you had that fascinating voice, all smooth and rich
and—”

“Messy?” A note of amusement slipped
into his tone, and his grip loosened a bit. One of his hands
imitated her, rubbing her back.

“You were that. And obstinate and bullheaded.
I liked the challenge of you, I liked the way you made me feel, the
way you welcomed me. I could hardly believe you would treat an old
woman as if she were a young, vital girl, but you did. I
wondered…I wondered how you would handle me, if you knew, and
I found out. Remember, in the bath?”

He grunted, but she thought he smiled. She stroked
his cheek, checking for dimples, and the cheek crept out from her
protective embrace. “From that moment on, I had a direction.
I had a goal. I wanted you.”

“Why would you want me? I’m
childish.”

“Less than most men.” His hand skidded
down her back and pinched her backside. She jumped and laughed, and
wished she didn’t have to say it, but she did. In a low
voice, she told him, “You’ve forced me to face myself,
and I haven’t liked that. You’ve made me see what a
coward I am. I was afraid to love you, really love you,
because….”

“Because the ones you love keep growing up
and leaving you to fend for yourself.” He pulled himself away
and sat up, facing her in the dark. His knee pushed against hers;
his chest loomed close and warm. He smoothed his tender fingers
over her face.

Straightening her spine, she answered stiffly,
“I was going to say it was Theobald and his
cruelties.”

“I thought so for a long time, too. After
all, living with a man who despises you and wishes you harm must
cause scars. But you’re so resilient, so sure of your worth,
that Theobald did little actual damage. Once you came into my
household, those scratches he made in your confidence were quickly
healed.” In a low, coaxing voice, he asked, “Are you so
sure you can be loved?”

“What do you mean?” She heard the
hostility in her voice and cursed it, but couldn’t call it
back.

“I don’t think you ever cared about
Theobald or what he thought.” She digested that, and he said
thoughtfully, “You know, I blame Maud for our current
difficulties.”

Indignant, she said, “What do you mean? She
couldn’t wait for us to marry. She was so happy.”

“Aye, happy to have her chick well settled so
she could pursue her romance with my father.”

“’Tis good for her! For the first time
in years she hasn’t had to hover over me and worry about me
and watch for plots against me and clear my way!”

He said nothing, and she blurted, “I’m
not jealous of—” The words caught in her throat. Just
yesterday she’d admitted she was jealous. She dropped her
head and muttered, “I’m a petty little
bitch.”

“Nay, nay, not you.” He put his arms
around her. “You’re finding your way. I just wish I
could convince you to trust me. I trust you. Blubbering in your
lap.”

“You’re over it now, aren’t
you?” she asked.

Startled, he searched his mind and found no remnant
of panic. In wonder, he said, “Aye, it seems I am.”

“That’s good.” She stood up and
away. “Because I found a way to escape, but I need you to
clear it out.”

Her matter-of-fact pronouncement amazed him.
“Wait a minute!” He reached out and knocked his wife
into his lap, cradling her carefully. “You’re a witch.
A beautiful, raven-haired witch. I come to you in fear and
trembling and by the time you’re done with me I’m
curing your ills.”

“Are you angry?”

He laughed and hugged her close.
“Nay.”

“William, why did you come alone?” She
didn’t mean to, but her voice quavered pathetically.

“Why didn’t I come with an
army?”

“Aye.” She dropped her head onto his
chest, listening to his reply with her ear pressed to his
breastbone.

“You must learn to trust me, dearling. If
I’d come with an army, Nicholas would have dragged you up on
the battlements and threatened to throw you over. ’Twas
better to
come alone, unarmed, with only my
eating knife at my belt, and let them take me with no
struggle.”

“With no struggle at all?”

He shrugged. “Only a bit. Nicholas would be
suspicious if he captured me too easily. He believes I’m so
desperate for you, I have no plan.”

“Foolish man,” she murmured.

“Not so foolish,” he corrected.
“I am desperate for you. I always knew I must remove you from
his grasp before I could start smashing skulls.”

She started at his grim resolve, and he dropped a
kiss on the top of her head.

“I’ll teach you to trust me one day.
One day, we will have to finish this conversation we’ve
started.”

Her voice was so tiny he bent to hear it. “I
know. William, they killed Bula.”

“What?”

He stiffened, and she wished she didn’t have
to tell him. “They captured me in the woods, where I’d
foolishly gone.”

“To cry, Nicholas said.”

“’Tis true. I couldn’t bear to
worry and wonder about you, about us, any longer. So I went where I
knew I should not, and Bula paid with his life for me.” Her
voice shook with guilt.

“Bula gave his life for you because of your
never-ending patience with him, because of your gentle devotion to
him, because of your kindness. You mourn Bula, but think how much
more he would mourn you.”

Her pain was too deep for tears. “You comfort
me, William, where no one else could.”

“Sweet thing.” He kissed her hair, came
to his feet and set her on hers. “Now where is this escape
route?”

Taking his hand, she led him through the darkness.
“I explored this room, and found quite a few things. The
builders of the castle took advantage of a natural cave, I’d
guess, and used it for their dungeon. It isn’t large, and
while it isn’t muddy, it feels humid.”

“’Tis close to the sea,” he
agreed. “I can taste the salt tang, even in here.”

“Aye, can you not?” She grinned.
“This place has been shut up for a long time. The walls
should be mossy. The atmosphere should reek, but it’s only
stale. In fact, if you stand still and listen, you can hear the
wind blowing off the ocean.”

He tugged her to a stop and stood stock still.
“By our Lady of the Fountain! You’re right.”
Finishing her thought, he said, “A natural cave must have an
outlet to the sea.”

“Aye.”

Chuckling, he swung her hand back and forth.
“So how do we get out?”

“The ceiling gets low here,” she
warned. “Duck down. There’s a tunnel.”

He reached out and touched the wall. It was, as she
said, clear of moss. It felt slightly moist and the rock left his
fingers feeling itchy. Pulling them back, he rubbed them together
and said, “Aye, that’s the feel of chalk.”

“It makes me shudder,” she declared,
her voice suddenly far below him.

He jerked back, but not quickly enough. His
forehead hit the wall with a resounding smack, and he found her
sympathy ended in a snap. “I told you to duck!” she
said in exasperation, and he found himself remembering Madame Saura
and her strictures.

“My skills have atrophied,” he
apologized, dropping to his
knees and easing
into the tunnel. Almost at once he felt a fresh breeze; thin, but
present. “God’s teeth.” He felt a surge of
excitement. “We’re going to get out of here.”

“The cave’s very tiny and there’s
a kink here.” She sounded muffled, strained. “I can get
through on my knees, but I don’t know about you.”

He grunted, already finding the space too
confining, but the smell of the ocean lured him on. He ended on his
stomach, crawling through the powdery dirt and hoping the rocks
above him were stable. As if he were a babe at his own birthing, he
pulled one shoulder through the bottleneck, and then the other
shoulder, and wiggled up and out. Almost immediately he had room to
sit up, and he could see. “Light!” he shouted. The
sound bounced off the walls and bits of dust cascaded off the
ceiling.

Saura shushed him, chuckling. “Aye, I knew
there had to be light. I cleaned out all the cracks that I could,
poking the pebbles out, and felt the wind on my face.”

He stared at that wonderful illumination shining
through in a smiling curve. They’d get out; he knew it
now.

“William?” She touched his shoulder,
her voice hushed and serious. “When we get out, what will we
do?”

Twisting in the cramped quarters, he peered along
the path of the tiny beam to his wife’s face. Her features
were barely discernible, but serious, thoughtful, and he squeezed
around to hug her. “The first thing a warrior learns is to
deal with one insurmountable problem at a time.”

She chuckled.

“Charles went to fetch my father,” he
assured her. “Probably they’re close to the coast right
now.”