The room was sparsely furnished and devoid of frivolous trinkets and decorations. No valuables or correspondence occupied his small desk. Nothing to tell her anything about the man who held her life in his hands.
She needed to escape and escape soon. But Lord Merrick wasn’t stupid. He would have someone posted outside her door and outside the window as well, rose bushes or not. Her mind raced to come up with a plan. She opened her eyes and glanced around the room, her eyes adjusting rapidly to the smothering darkness. As she blinked, the room lightened before her, dim light straining through the window from the street lamps.
With a sigh, she gave up on the idea of gaining any rest. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. The foot of the bed faced the window and she walked around the end. Though the floor was cold, she settled in a cross-legged position and drew in several deep breaths.
She closed her eyes and conjured images of her homeland, the face of Father Ling, hoping he could offer her comfort and encouragement from afar.
You must be strong, Your Highness. Much depends on your return to Leaudor.
She latched onto the older man’s spirit, wanting desperately to maintain the tenuous bond she had managed to achieve in her meditation. But she was fatigued. Weak. The intense concentration necessary to maintain the link quickly sapped what remaining strength she had.
Her brow eased as, instead, she conjured the rolling landscape of her homeland. Her mouth curved into a smile as she felt the wind in her hair as she thundered across the landscape astride her favorite horse. Her smile disappeared when she realized the images were from the last time she had ridden with her father.
Shaking her head slightly, she refocused on the majestic mountain chain that formed the northern border. Where they met the granite cliffs that housed theSacre Foimonastery. Traced the well-traveled path from the monastery to the village that sat at the base of Soleil Mountain, her home. Her sanctuary.
Hot tears trailed down her cheeks and she opened her eyes, dispelling the troubling images. Far from drawing comfort from the beloved memories, she was merely reminded of the horrible events of the last year.
She breathed deeply, trying to regain her composure. Eventually all fell silent once more, and she sat still, unwilling to disturb the tranquility.
The hall clock startled the eerie quiet that had fallen over the house. Three chimes. Her time was running out.
As the melodic notes died, she froze. A shuffling in the hall. As quietly as possible, she uncurled her crossed legs and stood. Her heart pounded with such ferocity that she feared her chest would burst. Bile rose in her throat and panic seized her stomach.
A muffled thump followed close behind the disturbance she felt in the air. Then soft footsteps, almost indiscernible, sounded closer to her door.
They had found her.
The bastardhadbetrayed her. She felt ten kinds a fool for allowing her defenses down around the earl. She should have killed him when she had the chance. Now she would be lucky if she didn’t pay for that mistake with her life.
Suddenly the room felt too warm. Sweat beaded her forehead and her mouth went dry. She swallowed convulsively and fought to regain control over the tide of fear that swamped her.
She tiptoed over to the window, using the light to investigate the street below. They wouldn’t take her without a fight. She had been wise not to trust the English. How else had they known where she was if the prince or the earl hadn’t betrayed her?
Her gaze darted over the ground then to the street beyond. She stood to the side of the panes, careful not to be seen by anyone lurking below. The slight movement of a shadowy form confirmed her fears that someone was watching the front. The only way out would be through the intruders.
Firming up her resolve, she muttered a prayer and slipped over to her door. At least surprise would be on her side.
She held her breath and listened. The soft footsteps paused outside her door then the doorknob rattled ever so softly. She watched it turn, her dread growing by the minute.
She reached behind her for the vase she had seen resting on the dressing table. Her fingers curled around the neck, and she brought it silently to her side.
The door eased open, no sound betraying the intrusion into her domain. A stealthy form stole inside. She tensed from behind the door and inched over so she would have a clear path to the assassin.
With no hesitation, she swung the vase at the man’s head as soon as he came into view. The shattered glass was the only sound that rent the air.
The intruder reeled but quickly regained his composure. Isabella was ready for him. Before he could charge at her she executed a powerful kick to his midsection.
She yelped in surprise when he caught her ankle and yanked her from her stance. She landed with a thud on the floor, pain snaking through her back. Not willing for him to gain any momentum over her, she countered with a kick from her free leg, connecting with his head.
He fell back and she was on her feet in a split second. Strong arms wrapped around her chest and yanked her back against a second attacker. Her heart sank as the first assailant charged at her.
Feigning surrender, she slumped against her captor. As the first man drew close enough, she lashed out with a vicious kick to his jaw. Pain cracked through her bare foot as it connected with bone. As she flailed back against the man holding her, she twisted her body and brought her knee up into his groin.
She gave him no time before she launched herself into the hall, nearly tripping over the prostrate form of Merrick’s servant. A lot of good it had done to post a guard. She fled toward the stairs knowing she likely had more than one attacker to contend with at the bottom.
As she rounded the corner, another set of arms reached out and plucked her from the air. She reacted like a wildcat, kicking and flailing.
“It’s me.” Lord Merrick hissed in her ear.
