“A dead man can spend no coin,” the captain reasoned, unperturbed. “You are lucky I agreed to this insanity, any matter—it is past the time to be making the journey across the Channel. Dangerous. Be content that we should even attempt it. But not this night,” he added.
“Aarrgghhh!” Armand bellowed, snatching at his hair. He mumbled under his breath for a moment, and then his gaze swung toward Simone, and her heart stopped.
“I’ll g-give you the girl,” he said to the captain. “Do we leave as soon as the weather clears, high seas or nay, you may keep her and do with her what you wish. I’ve no need of her any longer.”
The captain chuckled. “I reckoned I’d take her any matter,” he challenged Armand. He shot Simone a lecherous grin full of nasty promise. “But we’ll depart only atmyword—I’ll not lose good men to cater to your reckless haste.” Then he left Armand sputtering, tossing Simone a wink as he passed out of the hall and into the storm beyond the keep.
Simone let out her breath. One of the guards—or deckhands, Simone did not know who was who—a filthy, fattened man with matted hair holding a wineskin in cloth, leaned over Genevieve with a grotesque smile, and Simone’s stomach turned at the nearness of him.
“More wine, milady?” he gurgled, holding forth the vessel.
Genevieve nodded jerkily and held up her small bowl with unsteady hands.
The guard reached out a scab-covered paw and swiped at Genevieve’s breast. “Oh, beg pardon,” he minced.
Simone shrieked and threw her bowl at the man’s head. “Get away from her, you monster!” she screamed.
The guard dropped the wineskin and batted Simone’s bowl away, his eyes narrowed. “I’ll have your backside for that, little whore,” he growled, and advanced on Simone, his hands outstretched into filthy claws.
But, to Simone’s surprise, Armand intervened. “What is this? What is this?” he demanded, grabbing the guard’s shoulder and spinning him about.
“The bitch threw her cup at me,” the man said. “I was just tryin’ to give ’em summore wine, an’—”
“That is a lie!” Simone said. “He touched Lady Genevieve!”
Armand looked at Genevieve, crying soundlessly. “Is this true, my treasure?”
Genevieve nodded, not bothering to look up.
Armand’s face erupted in a spattering of twitches, and he shoved the guard backward, causing him to stumble. “How dare you, you, you—unworthy maggot!” He pushed the guard again and advanced on him. “You touched my wife? My bride? My t-treasure?” He shoved the man once more, and Simone noticed that the guard’s feet were coming perilously close to one of the largest, yawning holes in the floor.
“I did not!” the guard denied, shaking his head frantically. “I did not! You didn’t see it! I didn’t touch her!”
“Liar!” Armand shouted, and gave a final mighty shove at the man’s chest, sending him tumbling backward into the hole.
The guard’s scream was cut short by a wet, ripping sound. Armand seized a torch from the nearest wall and held it aloft over the void. A group of men gathered around the hole, some grimacing and turning away.
“You’ll not touch her again, now, will you?” Armand laughed into the hole. “Not with your guts all spilled about willy-nilly!”
Genevieve gave a soft moan and leaned into Simone, and Simone wrapped her arms about the lady.
“I’m going to die, Simone,” Genevieve said in a crackling whisper. “Either here or at sea, and in truth, I would rather it be here.”
“Shh,” Simone whispered into the woman’s wet hair, slick and cold like icy seaweed. “You’ll not die. Just rest, my lady. I’ll watch over you. Just rest.”
But Simone did not know how either of them would survive. Genevieve was in no condition to travel in haste should they devise a way to escape the keep. And where would they run? Armand had navigated thick forest for most of the journey to the coast. As far as Simone knew, there was not a village or a hut for miles and miles. They could never escape on foot.
A day, mayhap two, the captain had said. Would that be enough time for someone to track them? Simone closed her eyes against the despair she felt. She was only fooling herself—they’d left no trail to follow. It was too far, the coastline of England too vast, and Simone knew it.
Against her breast, Genevieve slept fitfully, and for that, Simone was glad. She let her tears fall, thinking of the boy she’d left behind at Hartmoore. She hoped that, if the old witch could not help Didier find peace, she would let the boy keep his company with her. At least he would have someone who could see him, talk with him. Keep him from being lonely.
“Oh, Didier,” Simone whispered, her tears leaving hot trails down her cheeks as she let her eyelids block out her horrifying surroundings. “I am sorry I failed you.”
“There’s no need to cry, Sister,” the voice said matter-of-factly in her ear, and Simone froze. “Or is that rain dripping on you? Itisrather damp in here.”
Simone opened her eyes and turned her head and there he was, sitting cross-legged beside her.
“Didier?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”
