The Bride Tournament (30 page)

“Who hit you?”

Lightly she ran her fingers over her cheek. “Sir Hugh. ’Tis nothing. I copied Blanche’s idea and drugged their wine. He figured out what I’d done just before the drug took effect.” If only she knew how long they’d stay asleep. “I’ve got the keys. Can you walk?”

His injuries made her wince, but she was so relieved to see him her legs felt weak.

“I think so. How did you find me? Why did you come?”

“First let’s set you free. How are Blanche and Hugh’s mother?” The chill air made her shiver, numbed her fingers.

“Don’t know. Neither have moved for a while,” he answered. “I’ve lost track of time. Are you alone?”

“No. Yes. I couldn’t find Owen. Reginald is here, but Hugh’s men hit him on the head.”

She fumbled with the ring of keys. The first didn’t fit Richard’s heavy manacles. His skin was rubbed raw around the metal, so she tried to be gentle even in her haste. Any pain she caused was sure to be minor compared to what he’d already suffered.

“Reginald? Of course. I sent Owen away,” he said. “How many drank your wine?”

“Seven.”

“Damn. There must be more men in this castle.”

“I didn’t dare search for others.”

The next key didn’t work either.

His head dropped against the wall. He licked his dry, chapped lips.

Neither did the next key or the next. Panic swept through her. Her hands shook, making the keys rattle.

None fit.

“So hot,” he whispered.

Richard was hot and she was freezing? Eleanor felt his forehead and swallowed a scream. He burned with fever. Oh, no. She hadn’t counted on this. Her plan was falling apart.

What was she going to do? With two women unconscious, Richard very ill, no way to free them….

“There must be another set of keys,” she said. “Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.”

She needed a bit of humor to lighten the oppressive tension. He didn’t respond.

Eleanor ran, holding up her skirts. She retraced her path down the long corridor and up the stairs, panting hard.

Reginald hadn’t moved. Seven men remained slumped over the table.

Quickly she searched each, leaning back as best she could to avoid their various disgusting odors. She couldn’t identify some of the things she felt in their pockets, but there were no keys. She dropped to her hands and knees, ignoring the filthy floor. No luck there, either. Her heart pounded as she wiped her hands on a rag.

Richard must be right, there were more men in this castle. Awake men.

And one of them must have the keys.

Chapter 20

Richard opened his eyes. The cold, damp dungeon wall barely appeased his heated flesh. Fever devoured him. Whether brought on by festering cuts on his wrists and ankles from the chains or drinking putrid water, he didn’t know. How long had he been ill…days, weeks? How often was he lucid? He wouldn’t last much longer.

Because delirium had set in. He was seeing things.

But what he had seen! An angel in the form of a disheveled Eleanor, coming to rescue him. He laughed, a hacking sound more like a cough. The rational remnants of his mind knew no woman would try to save a man or could invade a castle without significant aid.

Yet he thought he remembered hearing her voice and the jangling of keys. Hadn’t he felt her soft, cool hand on his forehead and the soft caress of her hair on his neck? Hadn’t he smelled her lemony scent, so out of place in this chamber of despair? More likely he’d only imagined her. Desperation born from isolation, injury and misery brought the person he most wanted to see to life.

If he had to die, at least his final thoughts would be pleasant ones. Thoughts of Eleanor.

The woman he loved.

Another harsh laugh escaped him. He must be going mad. Not only to admit he loved at all, but to realize it when chained in a dungeon….

He’d never have the chance to tell her.

His eyes drifted shut again.

Keys, keys. Where were the keys?

Eleanor raced through Pengormel, searching room after room. Time and luck were running out. The slumberers could awaken at any moment. Or she could encounter men who hadn’t drunk her wine. Then she, Richard, Reginald, Blanche and Elizabeth would be doomed.

Eleanor moved on to the dilapidated structures outside. Fetid air and cloudy skies made everything dreary. Avoiding clucking, scrawny chickens and sheep, she rushed to the small gatehouse.

Her heart skipped a beat. There, on the wall opposite the door, dangled a ring of keys. But to get them, she’d have to reach over the burly man dozing beneath. She’d hadn’t seen him before, so he couldn’t have partaken of the wine, yet he slept tipped back on his stool with his scruffy, gray-streaked head inches beneath the keys. Her heart thundered as she sneaked closer.

Closer still. Her fingers itched to get those keys. Keeping an eye on him, she rose on her tiptoes and cautiously reached over his head. His ale-washed breath made her gag.

Her hand touched the key ring. Though she wanted to grab it and flee, hasty actions and jangling keys might startle him awake. Eleanor forced herself to move with care.

Ever so slowly her fingers closed around the metal circle. Ridges of rust scraped her fingertips. Bit by bit she lifted the ring off its nail and over the guard’s head. A rumbly snore froze her, stretched out over in his face. He slept on.

She had the keys.

Suddenly the stool fell from beneath the guard. He crashed to the floor. His eyes widened.

“Where do you think you’re doing, you pretty baggage?” he roared, grabbing her skirts in his meaty hands.

She ripped them free. And ran.

“Wait ’til I get my hands on you. I’ll show you what’s what,” the guard called. “To arms, to arms!”

Her feet flew over the dirt yard. Harsh breathing told her he was close behind. She swerved around a bleating sheep and almost tripped over a slow-moving goat. Sweat pooled between her breasts.

“I’ll get you, wench,” he shouted. “Don’t think I won’t.”

As she reached the castle door, she glanced over her shoulder. The guard was doubled over, wheezing. Faster, faster she dashed to the dungeon, past still slumbering men, down the stairs.

Richard’s chin rested on his chest. His eyes were closed.

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. She pressed her hand against a cramp in her side. “I’ve—got—more—keys.”

He didn’t move.

“Richard, wake up. Please, wake up.”

First key, no. Second key, no. Third key, yes!

She unlatched his manacles. No longer held up by chains, Richard collapsed to the stone floor.

She dropped to her knees beside him. “Oh, dear Lord. I’m so sorry.”

“What?” he mumbled, face down.

“You’re awake. We have to leave. There’s a guard after me. Who knows when the others will awaken.” There was so much more she wanted to say. No time.

“Too hot. Tired.”

“Please, Richard. You must stand. I need your help to get us out of here.”

Why hadn’t she considered that he might be incapacitated? She would have come for him no matter the odds she faced.

He braced his hands on the stones and pushed himself to his knees. “Dizzy.”

“You can be dizzy later.”

With all her might she tugged, helping him to his feet. He swayed, then balanced himself against the wall. She clutched him, offering her support.

“I can walk,” he said, his voice scratchy and low. “Let’s go.”

“What about Blanche? Elizabeth?”

“We’ll have to come back for them.”

They held hands as they made their way down the corridor, Richard gaining strength with each step. He used the wall for support as they climbed the stairs.

“My thanks, Eleanor,” he said. “I’ve never known a woman so brave. Or so foolish.”

She smiled. Richard must be feeling better.

“What awaits us upstairs?”

“Seven drugged men, an unconscious Reginald, one awake guard who’s furious and huge, but slow,” she answered.

“I want you to stay out of danger. Can you promise me that?”

“No.” Eleanor shot him a glare.

Richard stopped short. He caressed her good cheek and leaned in. “I can’t be worrying about you. I must focus on the enemy.”

She placed her hand over his. God willing, they’d survive this so she could tell him the truth. Even if he threw it back in her face, she had to share her love. “I promise to be careful.”

They hurried into the great hall as the guard entered the main door, sword in hand. Richard grabbed a sword from a sleeping man’s scabbard.

Eleanor froze. She didn’t want to watch the upcoming fight, yet felt compelled to.

Richard looked as though a breath might topple him. Despite his admonition, she had to help. She couldn’t wield a sword, but perhaps she could find a weapon in a poker or pan. Wary of the sleeping men, she backed toward the hearth.

“Get up, sluggards,” the guard yelled to the insensible men. He slapped one on the back as he stormed toward Richard.

Reginald struggled to his feet and clutched his head.

Richard’s sword clanged against the guard’s. He stood tall, as if energy flowed into him from a hidden source. He slashed and swung, muscles bulging. The guard was no match for Richard, even injured and ill. A powerful lunge sent Richard’s sword through the guard’s gut. He fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

She’d never seen this side of Richard, the fierce knight. His fortitude amazed her.

“Let’s get out of here. The three of us can’t carry two women. We’ll send for help.” Richard pulled the sword free, then wiped it clean on the dead man’s shirt.

Richard’s skin was pasty, but Eleanor kept her concerns to herself. Sweat, whether from exertion or fever, dripped from his brow.

Eleanor didn’t feel guilty taking one of FitzWalter’s horses. Slowly, with a grimace, Richard mounted.

Soon they’d be safe. Soon Richard would receive the care he sorely needed.

Relief rushed through Eleanor. And a hint of sinful pride. She’d done it. She had rescued the man she loved.

Richard sagged on his horse. Fighting had drained what little remained of his strength, but he had to lead them all to safety.

“I know this area,” he said, as much to keep himself awake as to reassure Reginald and Eleanor. The landscape had no defining features, just rolling hills and trees, but he had been here before. “The nearest castle is Wiggenfield, only a few miles. Lord Upton lives there, should help us.”

“What happened?” Eleanor asked.

“Blanche and Hugh kidnapped me. She drew me away from a meal to bid me farewell. Stupidly, I followed. I didn’t even have my eating knife. Not sure I believe her, but Blanche said she had no idea Hugh would take things so far. He’s desperate to learn about our fathers’ alchemy work. She tried to refuse her role in my abduction. But had nowhere else to live.”

He was too tired, too sore to say another word. Later, later he’d tell Eleanor that he loved her. His head hammered so he could barely think.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. If only he could rest for a minute.

He collapsed on his horse’s neck and knew no more.

Richard slept in his huge bed at Glasmere Castle, ashen and still as death. If not for the painfully shallow rise and fall of his chest, Eleanor wouldn’t know he lived.

Owen rushed into the room. “Is he….”

“Dead? No, thank God. But the physician and I fear he is closer to death than to recovery.” Eleanor spared Owen only a fleeting look. If she focused all of her energy on Richard, her strength of will, the power of her love, might help him live. That was why she hadn’t moved from his side since they reached his Northumberland home two days ago.

If he woke, she’d find the courage to tell him how she felt. To express her love.

Owen brought a stool and sat beside her. “I came as soon as I got your note,” he said. “He looks awful.”

“The swelling has gone down a bit, and the bruises will soon fade.”

“You don’t look well, either,” Owen commented.

Vanity had no place while Richard hovered near death. She wore the same gown she’d worn during the rescue. So what if the blue wool was smudged with dirt and blood? What did it matter if her hair tumbled in riotous tangles down her back, if one eye was black and blue?

“Have you gotten any rest? Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Richard’s housekeeper has kept me well supplied with foodstuffs.” She indicated a table laden with cheeses, bread and dried fruit.

“Which do you no good on the platter. Here.” He handed her a slice of bread with a hunk of cheese. “Eat. You have to keep your strength up. Who knows how long he’ll be like this?”

Tears of gratitude stung Eleanor’s eyes. She was exhausted, but wouldn’t have a good night’s sleep until she knew Richard was on the mend. She accepted the bread and cheese and took a bite. “Thank you, Owen. For understanding that I need to be here, even though I have no place in his life.”