A key rattled in the lock and the door was opened swiftly by a burly man. “Come in, come in! I was wondering if I’d been forgotten.” Getting a look at her, he said suspiciously, “I don’t know you.”
“Everyone else is ill with the influenza so I’m helping out,” Cassie explained. “Shall I put the tray on your table?”
The guard nodded and stepped back, relaxing when he saw that his visitor seemed to be a fragile old lady. “Gaspard will be back soon, but we’re under orders to never leave the prisoners unguarded, so I couldn’t come up to the kitchen.”
It said much for Durand’s temper that he was obeyed even when he was a hundred miles away and his guard was hungry. As she set the tray on the end of the table, she surreptitiously studied the guardroom. There were several chairs and cards on the other end of the desk, where the guard had been playing some form of solitaire. This job must be insanely boring.
As soon as Cassie set a steaming bowl down, the guard sat and dug into the stew. She poured wine from the decanter she’d brought. “I have meals for the prisoners as well. Are they through that door?”
The guard nodded and slurped some wine. “The cells are there, but don’t worry. Leave the tray and I’ll take their food in after I’ve eaten.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If there’s any left after I eat! I’m that hungry, I am.”
So if he was feeling greedy, the prisoners would starve? Concealing her anger, she said amiably, “If you need more food for them, I’ll bring it down when I come back for the bowls. And maybe a little more wine for you, eh?”
The guard gave her a gap-toothed smile. “You understand what a man needs, grandmère.” He ripped off a piece of the bread and dipped it into the stew.
A ring of keys hung from a nail by the door that led to the cells. Though Kirkland had sent Cassie only to verify his information, there would never be a better chance to free Wyndham if he was here. Even if he wasn’t, Cassie would release any other poor devil languishing in this hellhole.
The guard was paying no attention to her, so Cassie stepped behind him and applied hard pressure to two carefully chosen spots in his thick neck.
“Merde!” As the blood flow was cut off, the guard jerked and started a protest, then slumped forward into his dinner. Cassie maintained the pressure long enough to ensure that he was thoroughly unconscious.
After releasing the hold, she efficiently bound his wrists and ankles and gagged him. Another moment to stow him behind the desk so he wouldn’t be immediately visible if anyone entered, and then she snatched up the key ring. If Gaspard was going to be back soon, she needed to move fast.
It took a few moments to find the right key. The door swung open, and she was almost flattened by the stench in the passage on the other side. Dear God, what was it like to go ten years without a bath?
Trying to ignore the rank scent of unwashed bodies, she headed down the ill-lit passage. The right wall was plain stone; the left had four doors. Her nose confirmed that the occupied cells were at the far end. Which one held the man she sought?
As she paused, she heard the sound of a male voice behind the last door. She blinked. He was singing! He had a fine baritone.
She listened to the words, and smiled involuntarily when she realized that he was singing a French song so scurrilous that even she didn’t know all the obscenities. Probably not the priest, then.
Now to find out if it was Wyndham. Hoping to God he hadn’t been driven mad, she found a likely key and attempted to open the cell on the far end. It took three attempts to find the right key. She opened the door and found herself face-to-face with a monster from a nightmare with filthy hair and beard falling over ragged garments.
They both froze in shock, staring at each other. Was this Kirkland’s golden boy? The prisoner was broad shouldered and gaunt as a starving wolf. Hard to tell what color his hair was under the filth. Not really dark, but certainly not blond. His only distinctive feature was startlingly intense dark-ringed gray eyes.
The moment of surprise ended—and he launched himself at her with murder in his crazed gray eyes.
Chapter 10
In a world of endless monotony, even small changes were instantly noticeable. Grey was running in place when a key in the lock brought him instantly alert. The door hadn’t been opened since the time he’d come close to killing Durand. Ever since, Durand had spoken through the little window when he came to taunt Grey with stories of great French victories and predictions of the imminent defeat of the British.
But if Durand or Gaspard were visiting, they would know what key to use. A guard? No one else was allowed down here. Grey approached the door, every muscle in his body taut. Beside the door were ten years’ worth of neat scratches to mark the days. Thousands of marks measuring endless days. If there was even the remotest chance he could escape, he’d attack.
The door swung open to reveal a woman. The shock temporarily paralyzed him. Dear God, a woman, the first he’d seen in ten years! She was old and drab and forgettable, but unquestionably female. The sheer wonder of that held him immobile.
He recovered from his surprise when he realized this was his chance to escape this damnable cell. She’d never be able to stop him, especially since she didn’t even hold a weapon. He charged toward her.
He was grabbing for the keys when she tripped him, caught his outstretched arm, and used his own speed to sling him to the floor with his arm twisted agonizingly high behind his back. He lay on his belly gasping. Years of constant exercise and an old woman could flatten him?
“Are you Lord Wyndham?” she asked in a swift, low voice. “I come from Kirkland to help you.”
She spoke in English. It was so long since he’d heard the language that it took him a long moment to interpret the words. Wyndham. Kirkland. Help?
She said in French, “So you’re not Wyndham. No matter, if you want to escape, I’ll help you if you promise not to attack me again.”
He replied in the same language, “I am Wyndham. Haven’t spoken English in years. Wasn’t attacking you, just trying to escape. Let me up?”
She released his arm. He scrambled to his feet, feasting his eyes on the sight of another human being. Better yet, a clean, normal woman. He impulsively wrapped his arms around her and crushed her warm body into an embrace, his heart pounding.
She swore and shoved at him.
“Please,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’ve been so … so hungry for touch. Only a moment. Please!”
She relaxed and let him hold her. Dear God, she felt good! A warm, breathing woman with a sweet old-lady scent of lavender that made him think of his grandmother. He never wanted to let her go.
After too short a time, she pushed away. “Enough,” she said, her voice compassionate. “We must leave. Almost everyone in the castle is ill with influenza, so I think we can walk right out if we’re careful. I have a pony cart where you can hide till we’re away. Do you have anything to take with you?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Not a single damned thing except for Père Laurent in the next cell.” He took the keys from her and began fumbling through them.
“Try this.” She touched a key. “It’s similar to the one that opened your cell. Can the priest move quickly?”
“He’s been ill. I don’t know how much longer he’ll last in this beastly place.”
The woman frowned. “That could jeopardize our escape.”
“I’m not leaving without him,” Grey said flatly as he slid the key into the lock.
“Very well, then.” The woman might be old and drab, but she knew when not to waste time arguing.
Grey’s hands were shaking as he tried to unlock the door. Such a simple action, yet deeply unreal after ten years when he had done nothing so simple and normal. But the cold iron key was solid in his hand, and that throw to the floor had been very real.
“Who are you?” he asked as he jiggled the key in the stiff lock.
She shrugged. “I have had many names. Call me Cassie or Renard.”
Cassie the Fox. Given that she’d managed to enter the castle and release him, it was a good name for her.
The door swung open and Grey finally met the man who knew him better than anyone else in the world. Laurent was lying on his pallet. On the stone wall above his head an irregular brown cross had been drawn in blood. The priest’s personal shrine.
Père Laurent levered himself up on one arm as the door opened. He was thin, white haired, and ragged, but Grey would have known him anywhere by the calm wisdom in his face.
“Grey.” The priest smiled luminously as he stretched out a hand. “At last we meet in person.”
“Meet and escape, courtesy of this lady here.” Grey took his friend’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “We must move quickly. Can you manage?”
The priest swayed and would have fallen without Grey’s support. He exhaled roughly. “I fear not. You must go without me. Better you escape than all of us be captured.”
“No!” Grey slid his arm around Laurent’s waist. The older man was just skin and bones, seeming so fragile that he might break, but once again, human touch was a pleasure deeper than words could describe. “I leave with you or not at all.”
Cassie frowned. “Père Laurent is right. We must escape from the castle, avoid pursuit across France, and travel back to England. The good father doesn’t look as if he can climb the stairs.”
“I’ll carry him!” Grey spat out.
“He is very stubborn,” the priest said mildly to Cassie. “But if we can get away from the castle, I can be left safely with a niece while you two run for your lives.”
“Very well.” Her eyes were worried. “But we must move quickly. Sergeant Gaspard could return at any moment.”
As Père Laurent reached out and touched the blood cross in a gesture of farewell, Grey hissed under his breath, “I hope the devil does return.”
Luckily Cassie the Fox didn’t hear him.
Chapter 11
Cassie’s instincts were screaming that they must move faster as she led the way down the passage, and those instincts had saved her life several times over. But with Wyndham half carrying the priest, they moved slowly. She wondered if he’d be strong enough to carry Père Laurent up the stairs after years of abuse and inadequate food.
Her unease spiked when she heard irregular footsteps ahead. At a guess, a man descending to the guardroom. “Someone’s coming,” she said in a low voice.
She was reaching for her concealed knife when Wyndham said with icy menace, “Gaspard. That’s the sound of his peg leg. Here, take Père Laurent.”
Wyndham caught up with Cassie and transferred the priest’s weight. She automatically took Père Laurent’s other arm so he wouldn’t fall. Which meant her knife hand wasn’t free.
Before she could protest, Wyndham swept past her with an expression so savage she was stunned to silence. He moved like a wild beast that had been released from a cage, his loping stride taking him to the guardroom in seconds.
The peg-legged man appeared in the door at the bottom of the stairs. His jaw dropped as he saw a prisoner racing toward him. “Merde!”
Snarling curses, Gaspard pulled a pistol from his greatcoat. Before he could cock and aim the weapon, Wyndham was on him with a growl that was barely human.
There was an audible snap as Wyndham broke Gaspard’s neck. The sergeant dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The end had come so quickly it couldn’t even be called a fight.
Cassie must have made some sound because Père Laurent said quietly, “I am not a violent man. But I will say that Gaspard got less than he deserved.”
Reminding herself that Wyndham would have learned Hindu fighting skills at the Westerfield Academy, Cassie swallowed her shock. But as she supported the priest along the last stretch of the passage, she wondered if she’d released a mad wolf to run wild.
By the time they reached the guardroom, Wyndham had pulled the dead man out of the stairwell and was rapidly stripping off his clothing. “Père Laurent, these garments will keep you warmer,” he said tersely.
A practical man, Wyndham. Cassie said, “I put the guard behind the desk. He should still be unconscious. He’s taller so his clothing would be a better fit for you. Just don’t kill him, please.”
Wyndham piled Gaspard’s garments on the chair, then pulled out the still-limp guard. “You do good work,” he said with approval. “First I’ll help Père Laurent dress.”
Cassie could understand that an aging priest might not want a woman’s aid. She bent over the guard and released his bonds so she could undress him.
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