Elaine Barbieri (22 page)

“Oh.”

Quick to assess her response, Edythe said, “It’s too late if you hoped to seduce that fellow. You missed out on him because of your obsession with the baron.”

“Martin and I were just friends.”

“A woman like you never has male friends.”

“A woman like me…” Hyacinthe laughed harshly and turned toward the door. She walked out into the yard, disregarding the rain that pounded against her skin as a deep sadness enveloped her. Edythe was correct: She had hoped to warn Rosamund that she must remain alert because an attempt would be made to rescue the man she loved from the dungeon, but even that selfless act had been thwarted. She supposed
a woman like her
had no right to expect more. And a woman like her had no right to expect a man like Martin Venoir to…really care.

A
t this moment my efficient jailor is bringing your beloved his nightly fare. Make no mistake, the food is not of the same quality that you see on the tray before you. Nor does it match the quantity, but it will suffice to keep him alive if he decides to eat it before the other occupants of his cell become aware that it is there.”

Staring at de Silva in the silence of her room—a silence broken only by his low snicker of laughter— Rosamund did not immediately respond. The day following her confinement had passed slowly. It had marked two days that had passed since Dagan’s confinement in the dungeon below her luxurious accommodations.

Aware of the effect of his visits, the baron had made sure to allow no one to enter the room. He had delivered all sustenance himself, and had instructed that all other necessities be left at the door when he was not present to deliver them to her. He had engineered a seclusion where she depended solely on him.

Unexpected torrents of rain continued to deluge the area, turning the outdoors into a swamp of mud that prohibited further work on the cathedral. Rosamund cursed at the unexpected complication. She had wanted to see Hadley, to speak to him and ascertain what and
how much he knew of the situation as it presently stood. Aware that he would be her only contact with the outside world, she had hoped desperately that she could convince him to help Dagan in some way, if only to forestall the plans of her marriage.

The one exception to the baron’s rule of seclusion was the dressmakers who had arrived that morning despite the weather and brought all manner of luxurious cloth to stitch a new wardrobe for her. Obviously instructed not to converse with her, the seamstresses had done their work quickly while asking questions related only to the attire being constructed. She had almost gasped at the beauty of the fabric to be used for an extravagant lace wedding gown, which would be adorned with countless pearls and sparkling stones. She had barely restrained her tears, knowing that the beauteous garment would mark her wedding to a man she abhorred.

Rosamund knew that she was helpless under the baron’s watchful eye, that he waited for her to become desperate enough to agree to anything he offered. She maintained her determination with sheer strength of will. Still, she wondered and hoped—

“You could improve your beloved’s fare and make it become more palatable. You have only to say the word.”

“What word would that be, my lord?” Rosamund replied tightly.

The baron came closer to the spot where she stood beside the tray he had delivered moments earlier. Aware that despite her hunger she would refuse to touch the food until he left, he smiled. “Words have power. I promised that we would not become intimate until the
day we wed, but I admit that I find you even more appealing in your female attire…so much so that I might be convinced to improve the aspects of Dagan’s imprisonment…”

“Words have power…yea, I agree.” Unwilling to allow him to continue, Rosamund said solemnly, “For that reason, I tell you now that I will hold you to your word to keep Dagan alive and well if I marry you. However, I will never consent to anything more.”

“You are a fool, Rosamund!” the baron replied. “You cannot hope to win out over me! You will surrender in the end. You will become my wife and produce my heirs, and you will refuse to acknowledge any of my paramours simply because in doing so, you will keep your lover alive. With that in mind, I ask again for you to say the word.”

Rosamund briefly closed her eyes in an effort to control the rage surging through her. The man was vile. It was his design to strip her of all self-respect so that he might grind her people and the last of their resistance under his heels when he did. She would never let that happen.

Opening her eyes again, she said in a voice that trembled with restrained fury, “So you may never ask again, I repeat that I will hold you to your word, that I will keep mine, but that I will never consent to more.” She asked coldly, “Was
consent
the word you were hoping for, my lord? Because I know that you can just as easily take what you ask me to give. If that is true, I hope you will keep my response in mind before making a similarly useless request again.”

The baron’s face froze. Rosamund saw his fist
clench…saw the absolute control he practiced in holding his arm against his side when he desired to strike her refusal of him from her lips. Yet she knew that any sign of disfigurement when they were wed would be an indication of coercion to William.

Yet she waited.

The baron turned abruptly on his heel, words obviously beyond him as he stalked out of her room without responding.

Surprisingly shaken, Rosamund felt the heat of unexpected tears when the door closed behind him. Brushing them from her cheeks, she trailed her fingertips against her lips. She closed her eyes, feeling Dagan’s lips touching hers. His kiss was so real…as if he were suddenly there to hold her close. Yet his situation was so abominable. She wondered whether he thought of her now, just as she thought of him. She wondered if he had shared that moment…that kiss.

Dagan’s struggles to free himself stopped short at the unexpectedly vivid memory of Rosamund’s lips against his. He experienced her warmth…tasted her mouth…felt her love sweep over him.

Spurred on by those thoughts, Dagan struggled even harder at the manacles that bound him. He halted when blood dripped from his chafed wrists, aware that the scent would attract the silent, skulking rodents inhabiting his cell.

He stared at the tray left within his reach by the arrogant jailor a few minutes earlier. He raised the chipped bowl to his lips and choked on the watery, tasteless gruel as he swallowed determinedly. He then bit off a
piece of the moldy bread that lay beside it, resolved to maintain his strength for the battle to come.

The battle to come…Dagan frowned at the thought. Two days had passed and he had heard nothing from Hadley. His jailor had spoken to him for the first time that morning, tormenting him with the news that dressmakers had arrived to fashion Rosamund’s gown for a wedding that would take place as soon as the gown was completed. The thought had nearly driven him mad. Tormenting him further was the fact that time was a mitigating factor in the plan he had forged with Hadley, yet he had had no communication from him. What was Hadley doing? Was the plan they had discussed underway, or had he been somehow thwarted?

Dagan felt his frustration soar. He was manacled hand and foot by chains that limited his movement; he was confined in a lightless, airless cell that defied description; he was helpless, with powerful friends unaware of his situation. Yet Rosamund, his love, was depending on him as he had once depended on her.

“I tried, but the attempt failed. I could not warn her.”

Soaked to the skin, Hyacinthe spoke from the doorway of Hadley’s hut. When another day passed and renewed efforts to speak to Rosamund were in vain, she had waited until her work in the kitchen was done for the day and had used the heavy rain as her shield as she raced to his hut to speak to him. She had hoped desperately that Hadley had fared better than she in his plans to aid Dagan, yet one look at the old man’s haggard face was more revealing than words.

“What happened? Did you speak to those who might help you?”

“I did. I defied the rain with the help of my good friend, Horace, and visited the huts of the workers here. With the exception of a few, all refused me. Dagan is a Norman. There are few who are willing to risk their lives on his word.”

“The ring…the crest that proves Rosamund’s true identity…”

“The Saxons recognized the crest on the ring I took from Rosamund’s hiding place. They believed what I had to say. Only they were willing to help, but they are few and it will take too long to raise an army of other believers from the surrounding countryside. Their help would come too late to halt the baron’s marriage plans.”

“How many workers at the construction site agreed to help?”

“Five, excluding myself and Horace.”

“Five…”

“Five against a vicious crew of jailors who live in the dungeon quarters…five against an army of knights trained to fight on the baron’s behalf.”

Momentarily speechless, Hyacinthe raised her chin. “Five will be enough.”

“Wha…what are you saying? Five brave men and two old men against a well-trained army?”

“Five brave men, two old men…and one woman.” Hyacinthe raised her chin with determination. “I will disable the jailor and his crew. It will not be difficult; I have his trust.”

“But how?”

“I make no explanations, but I will do it, I promise
you that. I will immobilize those men, but it will be up to your brave followers to help.”

“Help…how? We have no weapons…no training.”

“I can provide weapons. All your men need do is provide Dagan with the time he needs.”

“Dagan needs more than time.”

“Time that is not on his side, old man! Believe me when I say that the baron will dispense with him as soon as the vows between Rosamund and he are sanctioned. Dagan will die in that dungeon. He may yet die if he is freed, but at least this way he has a chance.”

Hyacinthe felt Hadley’s scrutiny. She held her breath awaiting his response.

“Tomorrow morning…I will arrange to raise the willing five to the task when it is once again light and we will have no trouble seeing our way. If it is still storming, surprise will be on our side, but even if it is not, work on the cathedral will not progress until the mud hardens underfoot.”

Hyacinthe nodded. “Come to the staircase to the dungeon at dawn. I will tell you and your men when it is safe to enter.”

“I tell you now that safe or not, the five are committed.”

Committed
. Hyacinthe smiled at that word. She had been
committed
to a relationship that had never existed. She had been
committed
to a man unworthy of her fealty. She had been
committed
to a life that had been promised in moments of passion but would never come to fruition.

She was now wiser, more determined…and she was still
committed
.

The word pleased her.

Dagan awoke slowly in the dank cell. Still manacled, he moved stiffly and stood up to flex shoulder muscles cramped by inactivity and stretch his legs as far as his chains allowed. He pushed back the heavy hair that had fallen forward on his forehead, noting that the chaffed skin beneath his manacles was still raw. No good could come of open wounds, and months spent in the dank cell would work as effectively on him as an opponent’s sword.

Suddenly alert, Dagan heard a female voice in the corridor beyond his door. He stilled upon recognizing the woman’s accent. It was Hyacinthe, de Silva’s former lover. He strained to hear, only to be shocked when the cell door opened and the jailor entered bearing a heavily loaded tray. Hyacinthe was at his heels.

The jailor said with a hint of ridicule, “See the beautiful tray that Hyacinthe has prepared for me and the men here.” The jailor waved the tray just out of his reach as he continued, “I know you are hungry. I volunteered to eat it all in front of you so that you might enjoy the repast with me, but Hyacinthe has other plans. She would rather that I shared what she brought with the other men in my crew so they might esteem her as much as I do.” He paused, his smile falling as he glanced at her and said, “I have told Hyacinthe that I will share the food, but I will not share her.”

Slipping her arm through his, Hyacinthe tossed her hair as she responded playfully, “I do not want you to
share me, either. Come, I have had enough of this prisoner. There is another man I fancy instead.”

Dagan watched as his two visitors left and then sat abruptly. His stomach was growling and he was holding his aching head in his hands some time later when he heard the key turn in the lock. He rose when Hyacinthe entered and approached him with the jailor’s keys in her hand.

“The jailor and most of his crew ate the food I brought to break their fast, and they will bother us no longer. Five of Hadley’s men will restrain the others.” Hyacinthe handed him a sword and said, “The rest is up to you.”

“Where did you get this weapon?”

“It is best that you do not know where I obtained this one or the others that Hadley’s men bear.”

Hyacinthe unlocked the manacles on his wrists and ankles. When he was free at last, Dagan said, “You may rest assured that I will not forget your bravery.”

Hyacinthe retorted unexpectedly, “I am not brave. Bravery is a noble emotion felt by noble people…not by people like me. I have simply faced a difficult truth for the first time, and hope to make amends.”

“However you wish to see it.” Dagan frowned when he said, “I need to know where Rosamund is being held.”

“She is in a special room the baron has had prepared for her in the keep. It will not be difficult to find. Merely climb the stairs and look for the door where knights stand guard.”

“She will not be a prisoner much longer.”

With those resolute words, Dagan walked through
the door of his cell. Close behind him, Hyacinthe directed him to the outside entrance to the dungeon through which he might emerge unseen, and Dagan climbed the stairs warily.

Hadley’s loyal men still struggled with the jailors. Unwilling to wait for any help that might be forthcoming, Dagan stepped out alone into the pouring rain and stood there briefly. Ripping off his filthy shirt, he exposed the full breadth of his muscular chest to the elements and allowed the pounding raindrops to wash away all trace of his incarceration. Revived and restored at last, Dagan straightened up to his full height. He pushed back his hair, blinked away the water that clung to his dark lashes, and gripping his weapon, started forward.

Edythe gasped at the flurry of motion that ensued when the dungeon prisoner called Dagan appeared unexpectedly in the kitchen doorway. Stripped to the waist and brandishing his sword in the manner of a man accustomed to its weight, he halted the knights emerging from their room with a glance. He warned, “Think carefully before attempting to best a swordsman who has stood at William’s back through many battles. Know that in attacking me, you attack him. Know that I do not delight in ending the life of any man who has fought for William because in our loyalty to him, we are brothers. Yet I am sworn to the use of my sword in his name, and I will use it in my own name as well. I will not hesitate to smite any man who becomes my enemy.”