One of the squires eventually brought her a crust of bread and a chunk of moldy cheese, with a bag of water. She had no appetite for the food, would likely be sick if she tried to eat it. But she was grateful for the water. She did not bother to say so, however. If they would not talk to her, why should she talk to them?
She wished she had not been brought to such a keen awareness of her predicament with Sir Robert’s arrival. It had been much easier to deal with when her mind had refused to grasp all the implications.
She now knew his name, the man who was sending her to his dungeon. She had heard the name Warrick de Chaville earlier, but had not known the speaker had been talking about the Lord of Fulkhurst. His dungeon—God’s mercy, adungeon! It no longer lacked reality. A dungeon. And she would be there on the morrow at the rate they were traveling.
He must have known her, and that she was the rightful owner of three of the properties that had recently surrendered to him. Why else?—but how could he know? She had never met him, never even seen him before. But he could have simply heard that she was to wed Godwine Lyons, and she had given him her new name. Aye, why else would he want to put her away in a dungeon? People died in dungeons, from neglect, fouled food, or any number of other reasons. If she died, she could not make claim on her properties—and neither could Gilbert.
Ah, God, then it was not to be even temporary, her imprisonment. Fulkhurst wanted her to die, he just did not want to murder her with his own hands. She could see no difference, but he would.
She wished she were not an heiress. She wished she were a lowly serf with naught to her name that men would covet. Tures and all it entailed had brought her naught but grief since the d’Ambrays had decided to kill her father so they could have it.
Little did she sleep that night, but Rowena was not tired the next day. Her anxiety would not give her mind peace. And the day passed much too swiftly, as did the miles.
They arrived at Fulkhurst just as the sun was setting. The red glow on the castle walls so reminded Rowena of her first sight of Kirkburough that she was close to trembling. Had it only been four days ago that she thought she was entering hell? This, she knew, would be much worse—the home of the fire-breathing dragon of the north.
It was an impregnable fortress, a stronghold similar to Tures Castle. But whereas Tures just stretched toward the sky with a keep five stories high, Fulkhurst stretched and spread out over the land. An outer bailey had been added only in the past ten years, which was why the inner bailey was larger than normal. The walls of both baileys were massive in thickness and fronted by deep moats.
The larger outer bailey was almost like a town, it contained so many buildings, including a new hall under construction that would be only two floors in height. Arms practice was still done in the inner bailey, however, since it had so much yard space.
The stone keep was merely four stories high, though larger than the norm. But Rowena soon found that there was one other floor dug out beneath it. Reached through a trapdoor in the storage basement, the dungeon was another addition Lord Warrick had added to his castle.
The stairs led down to a small guardroom with stone walls and wooden floor that was presently empty. The only door was made of iron with an iron bar set across it. It led to a corridor no more than six feet long, with another iron door at the end, and two on either side. The cell at the end was the largest, though Rowena would not have guessed this, for it was only an eight-by-eight square. The floor was beaten earth, the walls well-set stone, the ceiling an iron grid similar to a portcullis, with the wooden floor of the basement seen above it.
This cell was entirely empty, without even an old rag to lie on. It was not exactly cold, for it was summer, but a draft seeped in through the floorboards above. Rowena stared at this small, barren cell in the torchlight and willed herself not to cry.
Sir Robert himself had brought her to it. He said not a word as he removed the cords from her wrists, but he was frowning. When his eyes caught hers as he finished, she was sure he wanted to speak to her. But his lord’s order held his tongue, for he was a man who followed orders down to the smallest detail.
But as he turned to leave, he growled at the man who held the torch. “Leave that and fetch the jailer so he can bring her a pallet and what other necessities are needful.”
She had not realized until the door closed her in that awful cell that she might have been left in darkness. She was left in silence, however. Her ears strained to hear the parting footsteps, but the sound did not last long. Then there was the sound of rats scurrying across the floor above her.
Chapter 14
Rowena knew she was in trouble when the jailer showed up with only two thin blankets for her to sleep on and a rusty tin of water. He was a heavyset man in his middle years, with scraggly brown hair and watery eyes and a stink about his person that nearly gagged her. He had been surprised at first sight of her, amazed actually, but that did not last more than a moment, and then he did not even try to hide his delight that she was there. He was so pleased, he was close to laughing as he explained the routine he followed and that she would have to abide.
He would feed her only once a day, and she had already missed this day’s meal, so she would have to wait until the next one. And if she wanted better than moldy bread and water, she would have to think of some way to pay him for it. Her fine bliaut might get her some butter and cheese for a fortnight, but after that…She was to relieve herself in the corner of the cell, and he might or might not get one of the stable lads to shovel it out once a week. There would be no water for bathing. He was not a lackey and he refused to haul buckets of water from the well, even though the wellhead was close by. She was to give him no complaints, or he might forget to feed her. If she wanted aught better, including another torch, she would have to pay for it.
Rowena managed to keep the horror from her expression during this recital. She knew what manner of payment he was anticipating. ’Twas there in his eyes, which returned repeatedly to her breasts and hips. She could say now that she would never, ever touch that stinking swine, but how would she feel a month from now? Even a sennight? She had not eaten last eventide, nor this day. Already she felt some weakness along with her hunger pangs. And no torch? Was she to be entombed in darkness permanently, looking eagerly toward this foul man’s visits simply because he would carry a torch with him?
She could not have spoken if she tried, but he was not displeased by her silence. He even gave in to a chuckle, finally, when he left. As soon as the door closed, however, Rowena sat down on the blankets and cried. Her torch would last but a few more hours, and then…She did not mind the dark, truly, but she had never had to endure it without having the means to make light close to hand, and she had never had to endure it in a place like this, with rats nearby.
She was so sunk in misery she did not at first hear the loud argument coming from the guardroom. But it was a short argument, and the last of it, “Be gone!” she did hear clearly. Moments later, she cringed inwardly as her door was opened again. But ’twas not the jailer who came in with a brace of candles and set them down in the center of the cell. This man was a little older, and his surprise at his first sight of her lasted much longer. But then he looked around at what she had been given, and he swore foully.
“That whoreson, and I will wager he did not feed you either, did he?” Rowena blinked, then shook her head slowly. “Aye, ’tis as I thought, and him bewailing he wants the job.Wantsit! He hates it, and well he should, but I can see now why he changed his mind about that. Such a tiny thing you are, and so pretty. It must be some heinous crime Lord Warrick thinks you guilty of, to put you here, but I am sure ’twill be straightened out once he comes.”
Rowena just stared. She knew not what to make of this man and his tirade. He was certainly indignant about something, but she was not sure what.
He did not frighten her, however, as the other man had. Verily, there was such kindness in his light blue eyes, she almost started crying again.
He must have noticed, for he said gruffly, “Here now, none of that. ’Twill not be so bad, your stay with us. ’Tis a deplorable place to put a lady, but private for all that, and I will see what I can do about cheering it up for you.”
Cheering up a dungeon? She could not help but smile at such an incongruous thought.
“Who are you?” she thought to ask.
“John Giffard I am called.”
“Are you a jailer also, then?”
