Halcyon Rising (3 page)

“She is terrified. I doubt she will have much to say.” The monk’s deep, resonant voice held a touch of censure, and she wondered who he was, to speak to the lord of the castle in such a manner.

She allowed herself a spark of hope. Perhaps he would help her.

“Try,” Lord Simon snapped. “I tire of this place.”

The man in the robes gave a deep sigh then strode toward her. She wished she could see his face. Even in his simple robes, without the bulky armor the other men wore, he seemed immense, towering over her like a gargoyle.

As though he sensed her fear, he knelt before her and swept back his cowl, revealing a surprisingly young and handsome visage. Startling green eyes, the color of new leaves, peered at her from behind long, thick lashes, while his hair, lush and black as night, brushed his shoulders. An aquiline nose and strong, square jaw gave him a rare, masculine beauty.

He held her gaze for a long moment, then his mouth curved in an unexpected smile. Her breath caught at the transformation the expression wrought. He suddenly appeared far more approachable, almost friendly.

“You understand every word we are saying, do you not?”

Yes.
She’d devoted her life to studying these people’s language and customs. Biting her lip against the urge to answer, she wondered if he was even more dangerous than the brutes who’d come before. Would he take by gentleness what the others hadn’t been able to take with threats and force?

“Do not worry, my lady,” he murmured. “You will not be harmed.”

“She is no lady.” Lord Simon tapped his foot with obvious irritation. “You have grown soft, Sebastian.”

Sebastian.
She memorized his name, wishing she dared delve his mind. Did he truly want to help her or was his gentle concern a farce? A sadistic way of breaking her without blood.

“I have seen enough pain and suffering to last a lifetime,” Sebastian replied, his voice low and intense. “I will not stand by and allow you to harm an innocent maiden.”

“What would you be willing to do to stop me?” Lord Simon challenged. “You haven’t cared about anything other than your tower of trinkets since you returned from that cursed war.”

Cursed war? Rhoswen stared at Sebastian, revising her first opinion. Despite his monkish manner of dress, this man had been a warrior.

For a moment Sebastian’s eyes shone with anger, giving a glimpse of the soldier he’d been, but then he banked the emotion. “The dungeon is no place for a lady, Simon. Let me take her to the tower. You can post a guard at the door, if you like. Perhaps, when she is warm and fed, I will be able to convince her to confide in me.”

Her pulse accelerated. She didn’t know if she wanted to be locked in a tower with this disturbing man any more than she wanted to remain in her cell.

The two men stared at each other, locked in a furious battle of wills, but at last the leader nodded. “Fine, little brother. Do it your way. But if anything goes wrong, you will answer for it.”

Brothers? She would never have guessed, but now she understood why Sebastian had dared to stand up to Lord Simon.

“Agreed.” Sebastian turned back to Rhoswen and worked at the knots that held her with brisk efficiency. Within moments, her bonds disappeared and blood returned to her extremities in a painful rush.

Simon lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, then made a sound of frustration. “Do not make me regret this,” he threatened in a dire tone as he whirled and strode away.

Ignoring his brother’s warning, Sebastian waited for her to gain her shaky footing. Her muscles screamed in protest, tears springing to her eyes as she put weight on her raw, blistered feet.

“Can you walk, my lady?” He slung her pack over his shoulder with effortless ease and gave her a concerned glance. “My tower lies on the other side of the bailey.”

She wasn’t certain she could make it across the small cell, let alone to the other side of the huge fortress, but she stepped forward, determined not to show her weakness. Drawing on reserves of strength she’d never known she possessed, she forced herself to place one foot in front of the other, following him out of the dungeon and up the narrow stone stairs.

At the top, he came to an abrupt halt, then turned to give her a considering look. “You cannot cross the bailey in this strange garb. Father Alaric’s followers will stone you before we clear the vegetable garden.”

With quick, efficient movements, he drew off his robe and settled the heavy garment over her shoulders. A clean, woodsy scent filled her senses, and the thick, woolen folds settled over her chilled limbs, giving her the first hint of warmth she’d experienced since she’d dove off
The Dolphin
’s prow.

She gave him a surprised glance, only to discover that the monk had disappeared. The man who stood before her now, dressed in a faded green tunic and brown chausses, seemed every inch the warrior. Shoulders twice the width of her own stretched the worn fabric, and his arms and thighs bulged with lean muscle.

“This way, my lady.” It was the third time he’d granted her this title of respect, and his kindness brought a new rush of tears to her eyes. She shouldn’t feel gratitude of any sort for one of her captors, but she found it impossible to resist his unexpected gentleness. If she fell into an exhausted lump at his feet, she had a feeling he’d carry her to their destination, and she was sorely tempted to do exactly that.

Instead, she trudged wearily behind him, taking no notice of her surroundings until he paused before another set of steps. Glancing up, she blinked, then blinked again, certain she must be hallucinating.

The stone fortress had been built to hide the entrance to Old Halcyon’s caverns over a thousand years ago. Hysterical laughter bubbled within her when she realized she’d ended up exactly where she’d meant to go.

“Are you well?” Sebastian frowned as she doubled over in an effort to contain her inappropriate mirth.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, banishing her temporary hysteria. She must remain strong; she must stay in control, because it became more obvious by the moment that no one was coming to her rescue.

Squaring her shoulders, she gave her captor a disdainful glance and preceded him into the tower.

* * *

“You will be safe here, madam,” Sebastian promised as he ushered the girl up the spiral stairs built into the thickness of the tower’s walls. After the strange burst of laughter she had given in to a moment ago, she had somehow managed to pull herself together, but she had to be near the end of her endurance.

He should simply sweep her up in his arms and save her the painful journey, but that wouldn’t be properly deferential and he doubted the prideful little thing would let him even if he tried.

When they reached the top floor, he carefully set her pack on the scarred oak table that held his small collection of books and journals. Though he longed to examine the satchel’s contents, first he must try to speak to her. If he could convince her to trust him with the secrets of her strange instruments, it would save him hours of fruitless hypothesis.

She stood in the center of the large, circular room, gazing around in obvious dismay. The raised dais on the far side, with its immense, fur-covered bed, had undoubtedly alerted her that this was also his bedchamber, and she looked ready to bolt. Despite his assurances, she had no reason to trust him.

Why should she? Thus far his people had shown her nothing except uncouth violence.

He strode to the fireplace and threw a few pieces of kindling into the hot ashes, stoking the flame. “I will prepare a tisane for you. For certain, you are cold and thirsty.”

She didn’t answer — not that he had expected her to. Her gaze burned into his back as he poured the mixture of chamomile oil, water and honey into two cups. The brew might help calm her nerves, and perhaps if she saw he did not intend to attack her, she would allow herself to relax.

“My name is Sebastian. Will you honor me with yours?” He risked a glance over his shoulder and found her staring at the open door. The one at the bottom of the steps locked automatically and would not open unless she depressed one of the strategically placed levers hidden throughout the tower, but she had no way of knowing that.

“If you try to escape, my brother will hunt you like an animal, and there will be nothing I can do to save you from your fate.”

As though his words of warning had severed her last bit of resistance, her legs buckled beneath her. She sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m so afraid,” she whispered, her voice muffled and low.

He had not been certain she understood him earlier, but her words were clear, though tinged with an unfamiliar accent.

He abandoned the tisane and went to her side, kneeling beside her and staring at her downcast, blonde head in mingled interest and pity. “I know. But you are safe now.”

A small shudder wracked her slim frame, but she kept her face hidden, curling in on herself as though she wished to disappear. Sudden empathy filled him. He knew exactly how she felt.

Her feet were in even worse shape than he had thought, covered with bloody scrapes and blisters. The walk from the dungeon must have been excruciating, but she had not made one whimper of complaint.

“Did the men hurt you?” He dreaded her answer. The strange, skin-tight garb she wore beneath his robe did nothing to hide the curves of her body, and he could well imagine the temptation she had posed. “Did they force themselves upon you?”

“They were too afraid of me,” she answered, her voice hoarse and tremulous. “But they made me walk for days. Whenever I fell, they struck and kicked me until I managed to get up again.”

He gave a soft, sympathetic sigh, but her words filled him with relief. At least she had not been ravaged. A small miracle, considering the men who had captured her. They were superstitious fools to think one frightened girl, no matter how odd, could harm a half-dozen armed men.

She looked miserable; battered, bruised and scraped from head to toe. A hot bath would lift her spirits considerably, but he hesitated to offer for several reasons. The hot spring beneath the castle was his secret place — the entrance hidden beneath the tower — and no one else knew of it. Moreover, she had reached the end of her strength and could not possibly make it down the steep, twisting stairs by herself. That meant he would have to carry her, and he had not willingly touched anyone in over six years.

Perhaps later, after she had grown to trust him. At the moment she was so frightened she would never consent to bathe in his presence. Besides, he was eager to get a look inside her pack.

“If you would like to rest, you are welcome to the bed.”

She shook her head, a new rush of panic flooding her eyes.

Frowning, he rose and strode to the dais. He grabbed several of the furs and quilts, then piled them on the floor beside her. “At least warm yourself.”

As he returned to check on the tisane, he heard her scuttle away. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that she had taken the blankets to the far side of the room, where she huddled beneath them with her back against the wall.

“I only want the chance to examine the items in your satchel. My brother showed me the magnifying tube. I have never seen its kind before.”

“Go ahead,” she snapped. “You’ve given me no choice but to allow you to do whatever you want.” She brought the tisane to her lips with a shaking hand and took a deep drink.

Knowing how it must gall her to think of him pawing through her personal belongings, he turned away. He tried to justify his actions with the fact that he had rescued her from the dungeon. Though she had refused his bed, the little pallet of furs on the floor would be far more comfortable than the stiff-backed chair Simon had tied her to.

Her gaze bored into him as he sank into his chair and spread her things in front of him. First he removed a pile of delicately made clothing. He shook out a gown of sapphire silk, frowning as the fabric snagged on his calloused fingers. He had never seen such a finely crafted garment and could not imagine why she wore her current garb when she owned something much more suitable. He set aside other items of clothing, in appearance like to a man’s but clearly sized to the lady, and several minuscule undergarments, trying hard not to imagine how the rosy, soft wisps of fabric would look like against her pale skin.

Next came small containers of sweet-smelling liquids—for bathing, perhaps.

He reached deep into the pack to pull out the mechanical instruments Simon had told him about, his hands trembling with suppressed excitement. The half-dozen strange, metallic items were so foreign he could not even think what to compare them to.

All his life he had searched for solutions to the questions that plagued him. Now, at last, he sensed he was on the verge of some answers. But the metals and materials were so different from those he knew, he could not fathom their purpose. His frustration grew as he examined the odd symbols and writing that marked them.

Even as a child, he had been able to outthink and outtalk the adults around him. He had studied with voracious hunger and hardly ever come across any problem he could not solve, any riddle he could not answer.

But as he handled these instruments he acknowledged the limits of his intelligence for the first time. Whoever had designed these tools had knowledge he could not even imagine.