You are a captive of Roger Mortimer. More tears trickled down Toby’s temples. She was terrified. While most of her refused to let the man know who she was, a small part of her was adamant that she tell him. If he did not know who she really was, he might think she was just another peasant girl and kill her. Worse than that, they might take her to sport. If they knew she was de Lara’s wife, it might give her some amnesty. Frightened, injured, she had never even been in a battle until a few days ago and was naïve to the rules of engagement or captivity. She could only go with her instincts and her instincts, weakened by her pain, lessened her resolve to be a difficult prisoner. She was afraid of what would happen to her if she was less than cooperative.
“I was injured when one of your men threw me off my horse,” she whispered, opening her eyes to look at the tall, thin man standing over her. “If you tell me your name, I will tell you mine.”
The man’s brown eyes glimmered in the weak light of the vizier as he crouched beside her. “My name is of no consequence. I was told you were discovered at Harbottle Castle.”
“I was running from Harbottle Castle.”
“Why were you running?”
“Because there were a dozen armed men in the bailey and I was frightened. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Why were you there?”
She paused, eyeing him in the weak light. “What you really wish to know is who I am. I told you; tell me your name and I will tell you mine.”
The corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “You drive a hard bargain, lady.”
“I have been told that.”
“You are also exquisitely beautiful so I would suspect that you are not a servant.”
“Are all servant girls so ugly?”
“I have never seen a servant girl look like you. In fact, I have never seen any woman look like you.”
Toby was feeling uncertain and uncomfortable. She didn’t like the tone the man was using nor the way upon which he was looking at her. But she was in a very bad position to defend herself should he try to force himself upon her. Fear began to creep into her veins.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.
The man cocked an eyebrow. “I told you. You are the prisoner of Roger Mortimer.”
“Are you Mortimer, then?”
He nodded vaguely. “Now,” he sat down on his buttocks next to her. “Have I earned your trust enough so that you would tell me your name?”
Roger Mortimer. Toby stared at the man, wide-eyed, hardly believing it was true. He had dark hair with flecks of silver in it and was rather long-jawed. For a man with such a powerful reputation, he didn’t seem to fit the mold. The Roger Mortimershe had imagined was nine feet tall and breathed fire. Not this ordinary wisp of a man. He did not fit the ideal.
“Do you swear it?” she breathed.
“Upon my oath.”
She continued to stare up at him, debating on whether or not he was telling her the truth. He didn’t seem the lying type, but then again, the man could be prolific at it and she would never be wiser. Yet now was not the time to mistrust. She was a captive and she was injured and, as much as she loathed the idea, she would have to depend on others for assistance. She had no choice.
“What is it you want from me?” she finally asked. “I cannot tell you anything of value.”
“You may tell me who you really are and why you were at Harbottle.”
She shifted slightly, sending waves of pain through her body. With a sharp intake of breath, she waited for the pain to subside. Roger watched her intently.
“I have sent for my physic,” he said quietly. “He will attend you once you have told me your name.”
She opened her watery eyes, outraged. “So you withhold care until I have told you what you want to know? What kind of barbarian are you that you would treat a woman in this manner?”
“You were found leaving Harbottle Castle and, until I know otherwise, considered an enemy,” he leaned towards her, his brown eyes intense. “You struck a bargain with me; my name for yours. So far, I have proven to be the only one trustworthy between the two of us.”
She studied him a moment, realizing he was correct. Turning away from him, she closed her eyes as she spoke.
“I am the Lady Elizabetha Cartingdon de Lara,” she whispered. “I was at Harbottle because it is my husband’s holding.”
