Latymer (10 page)
Authors: Tracey Devlyn
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #Thrillers
“Why do you force me to be so cruel?” a plaintive voice from inside the chamber asked. The Frenchman spoke slowly, as if talking to a child, which allowed Guy to quickly translate the man’s unctuous words. The gaoler continued, “All you have to do is provide my master with the information he seeks.”
A chain rattled. “Go to the devil, Boucher,” a guttural voice whispered.
Guy’s jaw hardened. The prisoner’s words were so low and distorted that it was impossible to distinguish the speaker’s gender. Every second they spent trying to solve the prisoner’s identity was a second closer to discovery.
The interrogator let out a deep, exaggerated sigh. “The branding iron seems to have lost its effect on you. Let me see if I have something more persuasive.”
An animal-like growl preceded the prisoner’s broken whisper. “Your black soul will burn for this.”
Boucher chuckled low, controlled. “But not tonight, little spy. As you have come to discover, I do not have the same aversion to seeing you suffer as my master does.”
Something eerily familiar about the prisoner’s voice caught Guy’s attention. His gaze sliced back to Danforth to find puzzlement etched deeply between his friend’s brows.
Guy turned back, the ferocity of his heartbeat pumping in his ears. His stomach churned with the certain knowledge that what he found in this room of despair would change his life forever. He steadied his hand against the rough surface of the dungeon wall, leaned forward to peer into the cell, and was struck by a sudden wave of fetid air. The smell was so foul that it sucked the breath from his lungs, and he nearly coughed to expel the sickening taste from his mouth and throat.
The cell was twice the size of the others they had searched. Heaps of filthy straw littered the floor caked with human waste and God knew what else. Several strategically placed candles illuminated a small, circular area, leaving the room’s corners steeped in darkness. In the center stood a long wooden table with a young man strapped to its surface by thick iron manacles.
A young man.
Disappointment spiraled through him. He glanced at Danforth, shook his head, and then evaluated their situation. The corridor beyond the candlelit chamber loomed like a great, impenetrable abyss.
The intelligence Danforth had seduced from Valère’s maid suggested the chateau’s dungeon held twelve cells. If the maid’s information was correct, that left four more chambers to search. Would they, like all the others, be strangely empty?
Guy narrowed his gaze, fighting to see something—anything—down the darkened passage. It yawned eerily silent. Too damned silent. The lack of movement, guards, and other prisoners scraped his nerves raw. That and the realization they would not be able to slide past the nearby cell without drawing attention from its occupants.
Dammit.
He ignored Danforth’s warning tap on his shoulder and peered into the young man’s cell again. The prisoner’s filthy legs and arms splayed in a perfect
X
across the table’s bloodstained surface. A few feet away, with his back to the prisoner, stood a slender man dressed in the clothes of a gentleman, his unusual white-capped head bent in concentration over an assortment of spine-chilling instruments.
Boucher.
Guy watched the man assess each device with the careful attention of an enraptured lover, masterfully prolonging the young man’s terror. Give a victim long enough, and he’ll create plenty of painful scenes in his own mind that the interrogator need only touch his weapon to the prisoner’s skin to elicit a full, babbling confession.
He couldn’t walk away from the poor soul struggling on the table, nor could he cold-bloodedly put an end to his misery. The young man was a countryman, not his enemy, and he would never leave one of his own in Valère’s hands.
With great care, he withdrew a six-inch hunting knife from his boot. He heard Danforth curse softly, violently, behind him, and then a rustle of movement. His hand shot out to stay his friend, and a short struggle ensued. Their roles now reversed, Guy whispered in Danforth’s ear, “There’s no way around, and I’m not leaving him here.”
“We don’t have time—”
“I’m. Not. Leaving. Him.”
After a moment, Danforth gave a sharp nod and settled into the rear support position once more, anger dripping off him in waves.
He couldn’t blame his friend for wanting to press on. Evil penetrated every crack and hollow of this place. Even with his vast experience with the darker side of human nature, Guy felt trapped and edgy and unusually desperate.
Guy shifted his attention to the prisoner just as the young man’s head swiveled toward the open doorway. Bleakness and terror etched his swollen, blood-encrusted face, but something more blazed behind the young man’s steady gaze—strength, fortitude, and a hint of hope.
He was a fighter, a warrior entombed in a rapidly weakening young man’s body. A rush of fury mixed with a healthy dose of respect surged through Guy. How did one so young get involved with the likes of Valère?
The prisoner’s chest rose high with each deep, agonized breath. As his torturer intended, the young man knew Boucher’s next attempt at pulling information from him would be far worse than the last.
Candlelight flickered over his youthful features. When the prisoner focused in on Guy’s position, his terrified blue-green eyes—or eye, as one was little more than a bloated slit—opened wide.
Guy’s heart jolted, fearing the young man would call out. With an index finger to his lips, he motioned for the prisoner to remain quiet.
Familiarity washed over Guy again. His gaze cleaved to the prisoner’s; his focus sharpened.
Blue-green eyes.
An unusual color Guy had seen only once before. His muscles contracted. A wave of frigid heat swept across every inch of his skin, and nausea twisted in his gut.
He knew those eyes.
The young man wasn’t a man at all. But a goddamned woman.
Cora.
A Lady’s Revenge, available now on Kindle!
Links to My Other Books
:
Nexus Series
Latymer
(e-novella)
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to all the readers who have embraced my Nexus series and this e-novella,
Latymer
. Writing these unconventional Regency stories was a lot of fun.
Thanks to Valerie Gray, my editor on
Latymer
, who helped me see his potential. Crafting his journey was an incredible experience I won’t soon forget. Thanks for showing me the way.
Big hugs to Kim Killion for designing the perfect cover. I am in constant awe of your talent.
Huge thanks to the ever-awesome Danielle Gorman for keeping me organized and on track.
Tons of love to the Dangerous Darlings Street Team—you rock!
No book is ever complete without acknowledging the tremendous support I receive from my wonderful husband, Tim, and my critique partners—Tara, Kelsey, Theresa, and Adrienne. I couldn’t do any of this without you.
Make every day the best adventure you can!
About the Author
Photo by: Lisa Kaman Kenning, Mezzaluna Photography
Tracey Devlyn
is an award-winning author of historical romantic thrillers (translation: a slightly more grievous journey toward the heroine’s happy ending). She’s cofounder of Romance University, a group blog dedicated to readers and writers of romance, and Lady Jane’s Salon-Naperville, Chicagoland’s exciting new reading salon devoted to romantic fiction.
An Illinois native, Tracey spends her evenings harassing her once-in-a-lifetime husband and her weekends torturing her characters. For more information on Tracey, including her Internet haunts, contest updates, and details on her upcoming novels, please visit her website at
TraceyDevlyn.com
.
Table of Contents
Latymer
Mac
Giles
Latymer
Giles
Mac