Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [38]
One big gauntleted hand covered her mouth, while the other held her helpless against a lean male torso that was as strong as an oak. Arianne had never been held in any fashion by a man before. She’d had suitors, but none she cared for, and she’d kept them all at arm’s length. A rush of heat spiraled through her at this stranger’s intimate nearness, the pressure of his large, strong body against hers.
But there was little time to ponder her reaction, for the next moment a trio of guards stomped by, holding blazing torches aloft.
“Since yesterday sunset we’ve searched from the seacoast to the forest, and all the main roads, and there’s been not one sign of Lord Nicholas,” one man grumbled, his boots crunching less than five paces from where she and the stranger crouched.
“The duke’s own astrologer claims he’s dead.” The soldier beside him spat in the dirt.
“Well, I saw the gypsy woman’s eyes when she prophesied,” the third soldier muttered, glancing left and right, his eyes shining warily in the wildly flickering torchlight. “She knows more than you or I…something strange is afoot.”
They hurried on.
It was several seconds more before the stranger eased his hand away from Arianne’s lips.
“Don’t you dare touch me again,” she whispered furiously in the darkness. “How dare you…”
“Quiet. Do you want them to find us?” There was steel in his voice and in his sudden grip on her arm. Arianne was certain that later there would be a bruise. He yanked her up as abruptly as he had tugged her down, then pulled her after him through the woods, ducking beneath the low-hanging branches.
She kept up with him as best she could. There was nothing else to do at this point but continue fleeing through the darkness. Despite the stranger’s rough, even arrogant, conduct, she felt safer with him than she would if she were surrounded by Duke Julian’s soldiers.
For such a large man he moved with uncommon stealth, and they made little noise as they tore through the night, leaping past rocks and twigs and fallen logs, scrambling down ravines, plunging along twisting paths beneath overhanging boughs. The frigid wind bit through Arianne’s cloak like the teeth of a wild beast, and her hair came loose from its snood, streaming freely behind her, bright as copper coins.
Still they ran. On and on through the Great Forest.
At last, when they were deep within the black heart of the forest, the stranger slowed his pace. Glancing down, he noted Arianne’s flushed face and tortured breathing, loud in the hushed quiet of the wood.
“This way,” he told her curtly, drawing her past a trickling stream. “There’s a place I used to go as a boy. If it’s still deserted, we’ll be safe for now. We can spend the night there. I wish to talk with you.”
Arianne was almost too weary to hear his quietly spoken words. Her chest hurt, and the muscles in her legs throbbed as if they were on fire. Her one thought now was of the dead guard, Galdain.
Her plan was ruined.
Her despair showed in her drooping shoulders. How would she ever free Marcus from Castle Doom before Julian had him hanged?
She did notice, though, when the cottage came into view. It huddled, nearly hidden, at the bottom of a shallow valley, not far from the stream. Sheltered by great oaks and a thick stand of silver birches, it was a crude but sturdy little box, built of stone and mud, with a chimney and a door, but no window.
It was dark as a cave inside.
The stranger at last let go of her arm as they entered. In silence, he set about striking tinder. When a weak yellow glow beamed out across the shadows, revealing no occupants, human or otherwise, he kicked the door shut.
“What we need is a fire,” he remarked almost cheerfully and went to the hearth.
While he busied himself stacking and lighting the remains of several split and scarred logs and then lit a tallow candle set in a holder on a small table in the center of the room, Arianne shivered in her cloak and watched him,