“You mistake,” she hastened to assure him. “He has a betrothed.”
“What has that to do with the wench he beds?”
Kristen flinched at the insult. What, indeed? “Why do you hate him so?”
“He is blessed. He can do no wrong—or so Alfred thinks, has always thought.”
“Envy?” Her eyes moved over him with contempt. “For petty envy you do this?”
“What do you know of it?” he snapped. “You do not know what ’tis like to compete, to always be found lacking.”
“Nay, I do not. But I do know you cannot get away with this. Too many people saw that you brought us here.”
He laughed. “My people would not dare say aught against me. Unlike you, wench, they know their place.”
“They are your father’s people,” she taunted him. “He will find out.”
He leaped at her, slapping her hard. Her face turned; her body did not budge. This gave Eldred a momentary surprise. He was used to women falling down from his powerful blows, and then cowering in fear. But this woman was of a size with him. And she did not cower. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, but her eyes flashed with fury as she looked back at him.
Eldred stepped back, somewhat unnerved. And this made him angry, that he should be leery of a woman. He pulled loose the whip from his belt. She would cower before he was done with her, by God—cower and beg.
He drew back the whip and put all his strength into the first blow. She tried to step aside, but it caught her on her bare arm and half her back. Satisfaction surged through him, hearing her gasp. He drew the whip back again. That was when she threw herself at him, knocking him to the floor.
He lost his breath, taking her full weight upon him. But he kept a firm grip on the whip, thinking she would try to wrest it from him. That was his mistake. She went for and came away with his sword, and he was thrown half into shock, feeling the tip of it press into his throat.
“Move even a little, milord, and I will skewer you to the floor.” Her warning was all the more frightening for the quiet way she said it. “I might anyway, for what you have done.”
It was the last Eldred heard, for she slammed the hilt of his sword against his temple.
Kristen quickly cut her bonds, careful to do so near the knot so she could use the rope on Eldred. This she did just as quickly, turning him over and tying his hands behind him. That had been his mistake: tying her hands in front of her, which still gave her some use of them. But his main mistake had been in thinking she would stand there and let him whip her.
He wasn’t dead.More’s the pity, she thought.I should have killed him. She still gave it some thought as she sliced strips from the bedding to bind his feet too and gag his mouth. But in the end she couldn’t bring herself to kill a helpless man.
Now she waited for no more sounds to be heard out in the hall. Eldred regained consciousness, and she clobbered him again. She could have taken pleasure in doing that all night, but did not have all night. She left the tiny chamber as soon as all was quiet without.
A single torch burned on the other side of the hall. The servants were all sleeping, their pallets lining the walls. Kristen walked straight to the entrance door without pause, her breath held, her heart pounding. No alarm was sounded. But there was a guard outside the door, one of those men who had captured them.
The man was as surprised to see her as she was to see him. She was too accustomed to a lack of sentries at Wyndhurst. Eldred must have more to fear, or he expected trouble after what he had done.
The man was even more surprised when he saw the sword she carried. He made to draw his own, but she had the advantage of having hers in hand already. She pierced him before he could defend himself.
There was no time to waste now. She ran toward the storeroom and threw the door open. There was another guard inside, who woke and started to rise. She gave him a taste of the sword hilt, too, and he slumped back down.
Royce was indeed chained to the wall, both hands stretched out a little above his head, supporting his full weight. His wound had bled more. The red stain ran in a path clear down one leg. His head was bent over on his shoulder. She could not even be sure he still lived.
She found out, running to him, taking his head in her hands. She patted his cheek, harder, harder still until his eyes opened. Relief paralyzed her.
“How?”
It was his only question. It brought her back to her senses. She ran back to the guard, searching for the key to his shackles.
Over her shoulder she said, “I wounded a man, mayhap even killed him. Will your Saxon law punish me for it?”
Her fingers finally closed over the key and she hurried back to Royce. He was shaking his head at her.
“Is that all you are worried about?”
“I do not know how your law works,” she replied tersely. “I only know that by your law I was wrong the last time I defended myself. Am I wrong this time, to try to leave this place any way I can?”
