Teresa Medeiros (8 page)

She dolefully looked at the fallen morsel. “Do you think it might be poisoned?”

“Worse,” he said, signing a cross on his breast. “Enchanted.”

Tabitha managed to smile weakly. “Enchanted?”

“Aye.” The husky timbre of his voice sent a strange shiver through her. “I’ve heard many a tale of bold and true knights who partook of enchanted food only to fall under the spell of the enchanter for all eternity.”

She wasn’t hypocrite enough to chide him for being superstitious. “Well, since we’re probably going to be spending eternity right here in this dungeon …” She snatched a Big Mac and bounded off the opposite side of the bed, cramming a bite into her mouth before he could stop her. A moan of sheer delight escaped her. Processed cheese had never tasted so delicious.

Colin watched her devour the steaming hunk of beef, hunger obvious in his eyes. She held out the remainder of the burger. “Go on. I think it’s safe. I don’t feel the least bit beguiled.”

After a moment of hesitation, he reached across the bed to accept her offer. He peeked under the sesame
seed bun and scowled at the pickles, then tore into the burger. Tabitha admired the flash of his delighted grin, thinking he didn’t have bad teeth himself for a man with no access to a Long Island orthodontist or twice a year cleanings.

While she settled cross-legged on the bed to feast on fried chicken, Hungarian tortes, and a stack of crisp, succulent blinis, Colin polished off that Big Mac and two more. His wound no longer seemed to be troubling him and she was beginning to think his collapse the day before was due to dehydration and lack of food rather than blood loss.

She hadn’t considered the consequences of introducing a medieval knight to American junk food. Suppose Colin gave up slaying dragons to open the world’s first fast-food restaurant chain? What if she had changed the course of history by hardening the arteries of her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather?

“You’re no relation to the McDonalds, are you?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

“I should say not,” he replied through a mouthful of burger. “My great-grandfather fought against Clan MacDonald when they tried to steal Malcolm’s crown.”

“Good.” She celebrated by downing an egg cream from Rumpelmayer’s ice cream parlor.

Still chewing, Colin resumed his suspicious examination of the cell. “No man could have done such mischief as this while I was sleeping. An Egyptian in Mansourah tried to slit my throat once when I was napping in the sun and I had his heart in my hand before it had even ceased beating.”

Tabitha licked away her egg cream mustache, her appetite deserting her. “I’m sure whoever’s responsible didn’t mean you any harm,”

“Harm or no, that doesn’t explain how they lifted me from the floor to the bed without arousing me.”

She averted her eyes, trying not to remember precisely how
aroused
he’d been when she’d awakened. “I know how they could have done it,” she said with what she hoped was conviction. “They probably drugged us. We did both drink the ale, you know.”

Her attempt to divert Colin’s suspicions failed miserably. He turned his narrowed gaze on her. “Aye, but you refused the pottage, didn’t you? You insisted I eat your portion as well as my own.”

“I wasn’t very hungry,” Tabitha lied, realizing too late that he’d just watched her polish off half a chicken.

He took a step toward the bed, pointing an accusing finger at her. “ ’Tis past time you told me what you were doing in that meadow. Did Brisbane use you to bait his trap?” To her relief, he swung away from her to pace around the bed, dragging a hand through his unruly hair. “He’d rather toy with me than kill me, wouldn’t he? Perhaps he even allowed me to escape from the dungeon the first time. That would explain the ease with which I retrieved my armor and sword. He knew I’d never break under torture, so he set a woman in my path, thinking to prey on my weakness.”

Tabitha might have laughed at being cast in the role of temptress, but her amusement fled when he knelt on the bed next to her.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, gazing deep into her eyes. “Is that what Brisbane believed? That I wouldn’t have the strength to resist your big gray eyes? That I’d be swayed by the freshness of your scent?” He ran his thumb across her lips, its callused tip parting them to evoke a primal shiver. “The softness of your lips?”

Tabitha’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t manage even a squeak of protest.

Colin’s hand slid around to her nape, tightening even as his voice softened. “If I find out you’re one of Brisbane’s whores …”

At that moment the door crashed open, and Colin jumped to his feet.

A squat guard stood well back from the cell, as if fearing an ambush from the man within. His disembodied voice grated like iron on stone. “Follow me, Ravenshaw. My lord demands your presence in the bailey. And bring the whore,” he added as if in afterthought.

“I am not a whore,” Tabitha snapped for both of their benefits as she scrambled out of the bed and followed Colin from the cell. “I’m a Ph.D.”

A second guard was gripping a haggard old man by the elbow. While his companion clapped a pair of iron manacles on Colin’s wrists, he thrust the toothless fellow into their abandoned cell and slammed the door.

As the crossbar fell, Tabitha heard the old man exclaim, “Praise be to God! I’ve died and gone to paradise!”

The guard shook his grizzled head. “Batty old fool. He’ll be dead soon enough with nothin’ but gruel and rats to eat.”

Tabitha smiled a small, secret smile, hoping the old man liked fried chicken and crème brûlée. But her smile faded when she realized Colin was still eyeing her with suspicion.

“Maybe this Brisbane fellow is going to free us,” Tabitha hissed as she and Colin marched through the dank maze of tunnels beneath the castle.

“Or execute us.”

Tabitha nervously touched her throat as they trotted
up a steep incline at the prodding of the guards. “I’ve always considered myself something of a cynic, Mr. Ravenshaw, but you really should examine your own attitude. A positive outlook on life has been known to ward off illness and extend the life span by a number of years.”

“Death!” boomed a jovial male voice. “Death to the Scot and his strumpet!”

As they emerged from the gloom into blinding sunshine to the catcalls and hisses of an enthusiastic mob, Tabitha feared it might take more than just a positive attitude to extend their life span. She shaded her eyes against the sun, feeling exposed with her rumpled pajamas and tousled hair. Even her chipmunk slippers seemed to be losing their irrepressible joie de vivre.

“Ravenshaw’s a boor! Defended by a whore!”

Tabitha cringed, expecting Colin to shoot her a reproachful look, but he stood tall and straight, wearing his manacles as if they were twin Rolexes. A thrill of pride caught her off guard.

As the sun’s glare abated, Tabitha realized they were standing at the foot of a broad ribbon of straw-sprinkled sand. The ribbon unfurled between a wooden platform and a colorful flock of tents topped with scarlet, green, and buttercup-yellow flags that rippled and snapped in the warm summer breeze. It was as if they’d stumbled into a remake of
Prince Valiant

She might have been charmed by the pageantry if the invisible director hadn’t borrowed his cast from
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
. A mob of peasants dressed in the grunge equivalent of medieval garb swelled against the fence surrounding the sandy belt, their grimy faces distorted by toothless sneers and feral snarls. As the guards shoved Tabitha toward the platform, Colin
nudged her sideways to keep her from being spit on. A rotten onion sailed past his own ear.

The occupants of the platform looked somewhat neater, if not much cleaner. While the peasants had been dressed in dull shades of brown and rust, their noble counterparts wore rich reds, dazzling purples, and apple-greens and yellows.

Tabitha blinked, overwhelmed by their brilliance. She’d somehow expected the past to be etched in grainy black and white or washed in sepia. The vibrancy of the scene made their predicament feel even more immediate.

The mocking chants subsided as a man lounging on a massive throne used the advantage of the platform’s height to sneer down his nose at them. Sunlight glinted off his golden hair, but Tabitha saw only the tarnish of corruption.

Brisbane had traded his hose and tunic for a brocade bathrobe similar to the one she’d bought for Arian last Mother’s Day. Its forest-green hue had probably been carefully chosen to match the shade of his eyes. Tabitha felt a flare of rage when she realized his milk-white hands were stroking Lucy’s smoky fur. He had fastened a ruby-encrusted collar around the kitten’s tiny throat, making her look more like a prisoner than a pampered pet.

Tabitha didn’t realize she had bared her teeth at him until he drawled, “If it’s not the lady with the comely teeth and her bold champion.”

Several of the veiled and wimpled women seated on benches behind him giggled. From the plainest to the prettiest, their smiles revealed startling gaps where teeth should have been.

“I’ll have you know these teeth cost my father a pretty penny,” Tabitha retorted. “If you’d like, I can
give you my orthodontist’s number. Maybe he could whittle down your fangs.”

Brisbane didn’t have to understand all of her words to know he was being mocked. “Comely teeth and a sharp tongue. Perhaps I should pull the one and cut out the other.”

Tabitha didn’t remember inching closer to Colin, but suddenly he was there, his presence at her shoulder a palpable comfort. “Your quarrel is with me, Roger. Not with her.”

Brisbane handed Lucy off to one of his ladies and glided down the platform stairs. When he reached the ground, Tabitha realized that she towered over him by almost two inches. He hastily retreated to the last step, but not before an amused smirk had touched Colin’s lips.

“Where did you find such a treasure, Colin?” Sarcasm dripped from Brisbane’s beautifully modulated voice. “In the brothels of Egypt?”

“Look at her shoes!” shouted a bell-capped fool. “Mayhaps she was traveling with a band of mummers!” He topped off his joke with a jingling somersault.

When the laughter had died down, Brisbane snorted. “A band of camp followers more likely.”

“Perhaps ’tis your tongue that needs the trimming,” Colin said, his eyes hinting at the fury smoldering just beneath his implacable facade.

“Do forgive me,” Brisbane murmured without a trace of remorse. “Have I offended you by impugning the honor of your lady?”

Tabitha waited for Colin to say, “She’s not my lady,” or some other, more insulting variation of “She’s no lady! She’s my wife.”

But he simply stared Brisbane down until the man’s thin lips curled in a petulant sneer. Brisbane gestured
toward the platform, his gem-encrusted fingers glinting in the sunlight. “My guests and I are in dire need of amusement so I’ve decided to give you one last chance to defend your lady’s honor and your own.”

“I thought your taste in amusement ran to defiling children and baiting bears,” Colin said.

“Ah, but baiting you, my friend, is so much more gratifying.”

The peculiar mixture of contempt and familiarity simmering beneath their banter caught Tabitha off guard. She had assumed they were simply rival barons battling over land.

His cold grin undaunted, Brisbane borrowed a leather glove from a nearby knight and whipped it across Colin’s face, leaving an angry welt. Tabitha flinched. Colin did not. “Do you accept my challenge, sir?”

“With pleasure,” Colin replied.

“Very well. If you win the joust, you and your lady may go free. If you lose …” Brisbane paced up the steps, then down again, tapping his pursed lips as if deep in thought. “I suppose I could ransom you to your family, but oh, I forgot … they’re all dead.”

Tabitha knew her outrage could only be a shadow of the hatred Colin must be feeling.

Brisbane shrugged with mock regret. “If you lose, I suppose I’ll just have to take both your heads.”

CHAPTER
8

T
he world shimmered before Tabitha’s eyes as the crowd erupted with bloodthirsty cries of approval. She expected a smug “I told you so” from Colin, but as her knees threatened to buckle, he braced himself against her to keep her from falling. Thank God she had eaten. She didn’t think she could tolerate being beheaded on an empty stomach.

Colin seemed to agree. “That repast in the dungeon must have been Roger’s twisted idea of a last meal.”

Terror spoiled Tabitha’s relief at being excused from his suspicions. “Don’t accept his challenge,” she whispered fiercely. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

He cast her an incredulous look. “And forever lose the chance to redeem my honor?”

“Would you rather lose your honor or your head?”

Before he could give her an answer she didn’t want to hear, he was torn from her side by half a dozen guards. She might have fallen had a mob of Brisbane’s women not swooped down from the platform to seize her by the arms and drag her up the narrow stairs. Tabitha struggled, but it was like battling a fleshy dragon with an infinite number of limbs and a dozen tittering heads. She had to hold her breath to keep from choking. Not even
several layers of spicy perfumes could disguise the sour taint of body odor. No wonder Colin had noticed her fresh-from-the-shower scent.