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“You’re my captives. When Lord Bannaster awakens in the morning, I’ll bring you both forth as my prize. Tell me who the real heiress is, and I’ll see that you live.”

As if a common soldier had control over that. John said, “I know not what you’re talking about. I was referring to my fears for the heiress in the tower, should Lord Bannaster decide to harm her.”

“Nay, that’s not what was said,” the soldier replied.

There was enough frustration in his voice that John hoped he’d open the door. But it didn’t even rattle.

“You implied that Lord Bannaster is being duped,” the soldier continued. “And if you know that, you’re not who you seem, either. It will be a pleasure to get the truth from you both.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Philip said. “Come in here and test my skills yourself.”

“Nay, I am no fool. Your confession can wait until morning. Sleep well.”

“Who are you?” John yelled. “Your cleverness impresses me.”

But the light faded away.

Philip said, “His prize tomorrow is obviously worth the wait.”

“If it’s just the two of us against him, we can overpower him,” John said. “Let’s try to sleep.”

But John’s thoughts moved crazily through his head. He was used to this feeling of expectation, of his muscles preparing for battle. God’s Blood, hadn’t he been desperate for action, to rid himself of his crutch and fight as he was able? But much as he told himself that he and Philip could triumph in the morning, he felt uneasy, worried.

And it was all because of Elizabeth.

For the first time in his life, someone else truly depended on him. As the youngest son, he’d had no responsibilities except to himself. Each day had been an adventure—but had he used that to replace his family? Now the weight of a title, two vast estates, many smaller properties—and one lone, vulnerable, but strong woman—rested on him.

What would happen to Elizabeth should he not survive? Bannaster would probably have her. Or perhaps she’d fight so hard for her own choices, that the king would give her a stronger man to control her.

He was helpless, and now understood how Elizabeth had been feeling for a long time with so little say in her life. Though he had thought her mistrust of him was about his family’s neglect or the false rumors about himself, he was making everything too personal. She just had to learn to trust someone again. Maybe by not accepting her offer to share his bed, he’d taken a step toward proving he could be the one she should trust.

Twenty

Elizabeth came wide-awake in the middle of the night, and she didn’t know why. Finding herself in bed alone, she was disappointed. Had she expected John to crawl into bed beside her, when he’d already refused the offer of her body?

But ah, she could not fault him for that. And he had given her a gift of pleasure she had never expected. She came up on her elbow. The fire had burned down, and she could see little in the shadows.

But the pallet was empty, and looked as if it had not been slept in.

She threw the coverlet to the side, and then lowered herself to the cold floor. How many hours had passed? She cautiously opened the door and peered into the corridor, but she saw nothing. She whispered his name, but heard no response.

John had said he’d be nearby. She could not imagine he would leave her unguarded.

She dressed in a hurry, then cautiously followed the torchlit corridors to the great hall, but remained out of sight behind the arch of the entrance. She peered in to see several dozen people sleeping on the floor, wrapped in blankets. But none of them looked like John—or Philip.

She could not search every chamber, so she headed back to John’s. He would not abandon her. Even if she ascribed the worst motives to him, he would not abandon Alderley, and its power and wealth.

But nay, he was not like that. He might have come to fulfill a bargain between their families, but he had feelings for her now. He was a good, honorable man.

Whom she’d proven over and over again she didn’t trust. Had she driven him away?

She had to stop thinking such things. When dawn arrived, she would not rest until she discovered what had happened to John.

But before she reached John’s bedchamber, she spotted what she had not noticed earlier—his crutch lying against the corridor wall. She picked it up and stared all around her, as if suddenly there was menace in the darkness. She ran into his room, slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, her every sense alert to the possibility of someone out there trying to get in.

Minutes passed, and nothing happened. She clutched the crutch to her as if it were the last remnant she had of John. For a moment, her future stretched out endlessly, and without him it seemed bleak and lonely and frightening.

Where was he?