Alissende’s breath caught, and a sickening sensation twisted in her belly. “I did not realize…” She shook her head, anguish filling her. “I—I had thought talk of the inquisitors’ brutality to be naught but rumor, spread by those unfaithful to the Church.”
“I only wish it were so. But I have seen the results of their interrogations with my own eyes,” Michael continued, his words raking at her without mercy, “and the difficult truth is that Damien is suffering, Alissende. More than many a man could bear and still live; he has been tortured ruthlessly by his captors. Even if we are successful in freeing him, he may not survive his rescue.”
A bubble of shock seemed to fill Alissende’s chest, blocking out all but the gasp that escaped her as she pressed her trembling fingers to her lips.
“But if he dies, then where will that leave Alissende?” Lady Blanche asked, her eyes filled with concern.
Michael frowned. “No worse than she fares right now. At the very least, creating this proxy marriage will gain us valuable time in finding another suitable protector who will be willing to stand up to Hugh and his aggressions.”
He must have realized how calculating his statement sounded, for he glanced to Alissende and added more gently, “But pray heaven it will not come to that, and we can liberate Damien in time to restore him to his former strength and vitality.”
Alissende’s eyes closed again, this time of their own accord, against the hot swell of liquid that came forth unbidden at the mere thought of the kind of torment Michael had described being applied to Damien.Oh, God.
She possessed means of stopping his pain; it was irrefutable. That Damien himself would surely despise the very thought of her mattered little in the face of that awful reality. Aye, it had to be done. When the time came, she would bear up under his scorn the best she could.If he survived….
With a jerking nod of her chin and a sharp intake of breath, Alissende opened her eyes once more and murmured her agreement in a voice almost inaudible for the tightness constricting her throat. “So be it, Michael. I give my consent to your proposition. Undertake what must be done.”
The sensation of coolness swept over Damien’s face, accompanied by the curling embrace of blessed fresh air around his body. He struggled to open his eyes even as he felt strong hands gripping him, bearing him up. Dimly, his mind locked onto the knowledge that he was being carried somewhere. Somewhere away from the stench and darkness and pain of his cell.But where? And why?
That his captors saw fit to move him now after all this time spent in fetid misery could mean nothing good. Any brief respite he’d been granted before had always been followed by infliction of even greater pain.
Aye, at the other end of this little journey waited naught but more wicked cruelty, worse than what had come before. That thought twisted through him, stealing his breath. He could not imagine any agony more intense than that he had already known. He wouldn’t, lest he go mad from thinking on it.
But he need not go quietly to it, either.
And so with whatever strength he still possessed, he fought back against his oppressors’ progress. He heard a grunt of reaction and knew the satisfaction of having imposed some discomfort on one of them. Then he braced himself for the retribution that was sure to come, hoping that this time it would be strong enough to release him from this everlasting hell.
But nothing happened other than the same gently rocking movement as before.
Damn them.
Determined to force them to action, Damien sucked in a heady breath of air and coiled the last of his energy into one final act of defiance, lashing out with his arms and legs—demanding reprisal. When his power was spent, he went still. But instead of gut-wrenching punishment, he was shocked to feel the brush of warm breath against his cheek.
“Peace, man,” a low male voice murmured, close to his ear. “Cease your struggles. There will be no further harm to you with us.”
No further harm?
The phrase echoed through Damien’s brain, mocking, surely false.
He wanted to ask why…to question those who carried him away from the torment he’d lived in for so long. But he could not find means to utter the words—had not even the ability to open his eyes to look at those who bore him on through the unending night.
Perhaps he was near death, then. The thought lanced through him, bittersweet. Aye, perhaps it was time, and they knew it, having witnessed it so oft in the plying of their wicked trade. He wished he had the ability still to mock the sickening pride they took in such matters. But at least he could go to his end knowing that he had never cowered to them. Death could do naught but force him to finally lay down the burden of this once powerful body, now little more than a vessel of agony.
Someone stumbled, the movement jarring Damien painfully and reminding him that he should try to rest during this temporary reprieve he’d been granted. Taking another breath of air into his lungs, he savored its sweetness before gradually exhaling, his heart slowing and his head feeling heavier.
The rocking motion of his travel continued as they carried him onward, always onward. Making himself remain still, Damien concentrated on conserving his ebbing strength. For no matter what awaited him at the end of this journey, he knew he would not surrender to them. He would resist their unholy torments no matter how they tried to break him….
Aye, he vowed, he would fight them unto his final breath.
Chapter 1
A cottage along the coast of England
Three weeks later
Heat pressed down, the sun glinting through the branches of trees to caress Damien’s skin. He was hot. Exhausted, too, but in a pleasing way. He rested on his back, replete, one muscled forearm shielding his eyes from the brightness…though not from the sight of her, just visible through that slit of space between his brow and arm.
Alissende…
