By Design (39 page)

Something sad passed in her expression. She weighed and balanced, too. Her own love's desire to protect him faced down her need to see Mortimer broken.

They made their choices in the same instant, but Joan spoke first.

“I am being foolish. You are right.” She released his hand and stepped aside. “Let us leave this town. Let us flee the realm if necessary.”

“We will leave the town, but not the realm, or even the county. I will find someplace away from here to hide you, and return on my own. It is your safety that matters, not mine. I will see to it, and come back to finish this.”

An adorable, troubled pout played over her mouth. “I should have kept silent, if your solution is to separate us.”

“Your silence would not have blinded me. Once we were a mile outside the gate, I would have seen it. With your safety secured, my fear for you would have dimmed enough for me to think straight.”

Rhys circled her shoulders with his arm, and led the horse toward the alley. She leaned against him as they walked, and he let himself savor the supple length of her body pressed to his side.

A few steps of unity. A brief stroll of intimacy. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to the silk of her hair and let his heart feel all that it had ever felt.

The light behind his eyelids subtly dimmed. A darkness intruded on the glow that they shared.

Her body went rigid under his arm. Her steps halted with a jerk.

He opened his eyes and faced the alley. The entry to the stable was blocked.

Guy Leighton stood there, with four of his men.

C
HAPTER
26

J
OAN TORE A SWATH
of fabric from the sleeve of her gown and gently wiped some blood from Rhys's face. He flinched, and then grimaced when the reaction aggravated other injuries.

There had been no defense against those blows in the stable. With two men holding him to the wall, he had been left with only his anger and strength to shield him.

“You are sorely wounded.”

“I am sore, but not so wounded. I will live.”

Aye, he would live, for a day or two. Guy wanted him alive, so that he could take his time while he made the mason pay for the insult of stealing what he considered his property.

Only the dimmest light leaked through some airholes bored high in one wall of the stone cell. They were not in the keep. Guy had thrown them into a cavity buried in the foundations of the castle's inner wall.

Rhys carefully shifted his position against the damp stones where they sat. She felt his hurt as if it racked her own body.

“He does not know why we are here,” he said. “Mortimer might see a pattern to it, but Guy does not, and he has hidden us here so that his lord does not learn about you.”

“He may not know why we are here, but he has you all the same.”

“In less than a day it will be over. Edward should arrive in Nottingham tonight. He will move soon after dawn. Guy will fall with his lord. One day only, Joan. Do not be distraught.”

How could she not be distraught when the man she loved sat battered beside her? Those blows had been methodical and punishing.

And there would be more.

“In his own way, I think that he cares for you. Enough to risk Mortimer's displeasure, which is no small thing for such as Guy.”

“Whatever he feels for me, it is not a normal emotion.”

“Nay, not normal. Not simple lust. He senses your strength, so making you submit has a special pleasure. I had not guessed that before. He did not punish me with the beating so much as you. He knew that blows to your own body would not defeat you.”

She had been forced to watch. She recoiled from the memory of it. She would have gladly changed places with Rhys. Physical pain would be easy to bear compared with the torture of seeing him brutalized.

He lifted her hand to his mouth. He gently pressed his swollen lips to it. “You do not bargain for me, Joan. You do not go to him.”

It broke her heart that he knew what this was about. “I had thought you too far gone to have heard Guy's demand. He spoke for my ears alone.”

“I heard nothing, but I see the man's mind. If he merely sought revenge for your knife, we would both be dead
now. If he wanted to rape you first, he could have taken you there in the stable, or forced you back to his bed in the keep. A simpler man would have, but he is not simple, is he? It was not like that before, and it will not be now, even though you almost killed him. He still wants the illusion that you are willing. He likes to pretend there is more between you than there is.”

Her stomach turned as old memories loomed that proved the truth of that. Guy, solicitous and generous. Guy, wooing her as if they were lovers. His insistent caresses had been more degrading than rape. In defense her body had learned to feel nothing at all.

She had forgotten about that with Rhys, and had finally broken down the wall that had preserved her from humiliation.

“You do not go to him. No matter what happens with me, you do not.”

“The last man who commanded me thus perished under Guy's sword. For nought. He merely made my brother the next prize.”

“Your brother is safe now. Do what you must to save yourself, but do not let him use me to break your will. Do not forbid me the honor that you allowed that last man.”

The vague light disappeared as night fell. They did not speak, and she hoped that he slept. She could not embrace him because of his wounds, but her love tried to surround him and her hand stayed in his the whole time.

She prayed that Guy would forget them. She begged the saints to have Mortimer require his best man's attendance as a guard. As the time passed and Rhys's breathing became more regular and deep, she dared to hope that there would be no more torture.

It was not to be. In the hours before dawn the stones subtly quaked with soundless echoes. The ghosts of approaching movements disturbed the crude peace that they
shared. She gritted her teeth, and gazed through the blackness to the door.

A key grated harshly in the lock. She barely swallowed the plea for mercy that wanted to cry out of her.

The hand holding hers squeezed. “You do not go to him.”

Cramps pulled Rhys out of the comforting oblivion. Bolts of red streaked through the blackness.

Pain. It made him come alert too fast, and his body doubled instinctively to protect itself. That only made it worse, and his eyes jerked open to a dark void that might have been the bottom of an abyss.

In the misery of renewed consciousness, he noticed nothing but the pain. He forced himself to check all his parts, testing for the damage. Relieved that he was whole, he eased onto his back and slowly pushed himself up.

It was then, as the shrieks dulled and his mind found some accommodation to his condition, that he realized that he was alone.

He did not need a light to know it. He did not bother saying her name. He was as sure of it as he had been the morning after they had first made love.

A new pain cut through him, making the others insignificant. It scored his heart with repeated gashes. It would not stop. It just kept slicing.

He gripped the wall, and forced himself to stand. The new blows were not enough to keep him down. That only increased the anguish. He should be half dead at least.

Joan must have struck her bargain soon after Guy arrived.

He should have been stronger. If he had stayed conscious, she never would have done it.

He cursed loudly, at her and himself and at the man
who toyed with them. His voice thundered off the stones. He imagined her with Guy, and a primitive roar tore out of him.

He forced himself to move. He beat back the pain, and tested his strength. He discovered that the hurt was not enough to stop him. His muscles had been battered, but not torn. Carrying stone and swinging a hammer had given him a shield of sorts.

The vaguest shadows emerged from the blackness. Tiny streams of grey light filtered through the air holes. The first glow of dawn began offering subtle illumination to his prison.

How long had he been out? How long since she left? How long had Guy had her in his power?

He tried not to contemplate that, but his mind filled with Guy's taunts. Each swing of a fist had been followed by descriptions of what had happened during those weeks before she escaped. Guy had sowed images that now tortured worse than all the bodily wounds.

The images filled him with a rage that obscured his condition. It dulled the sores and blocked the suffering. He grabbed the madness and held onto it. When that door opened again, he would kill the man, no matter how many swords came at him.

He rested against a wall and waited. Every fiber of his body prepared. He would grab that devil by the neck and haul him back to hell with his own two hands and all of the weapons on earth would not defeat him before he finished it.

He centered his will. He garnered all of his strength to attack. He waited for the sound of the key in the lock.

It came sooner than he expected. A new burst of fury crashed through him as metal clanked against metal. The noise heralded more than his own fate. It meant that Guy had finished with Joan for now. Her memories had been given life again. The fears had been realized.

She might even be dead.

He slid to where he could attack quickly, choosing a corner that an entering torch would not illuminate.

The door pushed open. A dark shadow entered. He was halfway to grabbing it before it penetrated his outrage that it was small and slim and alone, and that no boot steps rang off the stones.

Joan.

She bent low, peering along the walls for him.

“Rhys? Where are you?”

“Here, behind you.”

She turned, but he could not see her face in the dark. He was not sure that he wanted to.

“Can you walk? There is not much time. We must go quickly.”

“I can walk.” He could fly if he had to.

She slipped out the door and he followed. They stole down the low passageway lined with other cells.

“Did he give you the key?”

“I did not count on such generosity. I stole the key. I smashed a warming brick against his head and took it. He is not dead, though, and may awaken, so we must leave at once.”

A warming brick. From a bed. “I told you not to bargain for me.”

“If I had not, you would not have lived to the dawn. He wore a dagger when he came, and unsheathed it when you fell. The choice was mine to make, not yours.”

The images invaded again, and the rage burned.

They reached the small portal that gave out to the yard. He cracked it open. Two knights were strolling by.

He touched her arm to tell her to wait.

Her hand covered his and pressed firmly. “It was not what you think. I pretended compliance so that he would drop his guard, but nothing happened. I may have been
smiling when I felt for the brick, but he had not touched me yet.”

She spoke earnestly. Maybe she told the truth. Maybe not. She would never let him know if she had bought his life with more than a smile.

“All the same, you should not have gone to him. Not because of me.”

“Scold me once we are away from here. Right now, getting outside these walls is more important. Do you think that we might just walk through the gate? He told only a few of his retainers about us, and the guard should not stop us.”

“You will walk through. Go to the town and find your brother and the knights who came with Addis. Dawn breaks, and I must do something before I join you.”

“Nay. You are no use to them in your state.”

“My state is not so bad. I find that I have the strength of a horse despite my injuries. No pain enters my mind, Joan. There is no room in there for it, because of the fury that owns me.”

“Put your anger aside and find some sense. Guy may be looking for you. I did not hurt him badly, I fear, and even now he might be on his way here. You must come with me, and we must go now.”

“I hope that he is looking. If he is not, I will find him instead.”

“God have mercy, Rhys. I beg you, flee with me while we can. I want no revenge against him. That part of the past died for me. Our love killed it. I will not risk you to its horrible power. It does not matter to me anymore. I do not care.”

“I care. It matters to
me
.”

He opened the door a body's width. Light streamed between them, and he could see her distress and fear. He
caressed her face, and savored her soft, smooth skin beneath his fingers. He bent to kiss her lips.

He lingered an instant, then pushed her into the light. “To the gate, darling. I command it of you, as the wife of my heart. Do not run. Let it appear that you are just a servant strolling to the town. Become Joan Tiler again. Become invisible.”

There was no danger of her running. She could barely move. Her feet might have been made of lead.

The yard was waking to the morning, and Joan saw every detail with eerie precision. A brown hound trotted along the keep's wall. Knights stretched at the door atop the stairs. A slow line of servants entered through the gate, ready to begin their labor.