Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [52]
Thank God Katerine didn’t care for him. She risked a small smile.
“Thank you, my lord.”
If you dare to touch me, I’ll kill you, my lord.
To her relief, he turned then, his robes sweeping behind him. “Let us delay no longer. The miserable scum in the dungeons await our inspection.”
Julian led the way down a dim stair. The dungeon master bowed low as the duke approached him at the head of the dank corridor of cells. You must be brave, Arianne told herself, feeling sweat on her palms. You mustn’t cry out or give any sign when you see Marcus, no matter how awful he looks.
They passed gaunt, miserable men and women, chained and bruised, some whose eyes were filled with hate, others with pleading, or dull hopelessness. When they reached Marcus’s cell, the duke paused to consider him.
“My fine traitor of a cousin has little time left to ponder his betrayal of Dinadan,” he taunted. “Only think what your treachery has cost you, Marcus of Galeron. All of your lands are under my control—or will be soon. Your riffraff soldiers cannot escape my men for long. And there is no leader in your land. Even your sister has deserted her people. When I find her, she will take your place in this cell for daring to defy me.”
“There is only one treacherous soul here, Julian, and that is yours. And it is your days that are numbered.” The brown-haired man spoke with calm dignity through bruised lips. “Nicholas will never allow you to steal the throne or to continue to tyrannize Dinadan. He’ll be back and he’ll have your black heart on a stick for his supper.”
“Nicholas is dead,” the astrologer crowed. “He walks no more on this earth.”
“And the last of your line will soon join him,” Julian mocked. “When you’re dead, and then your sister after you, I will become the rightful heir to Galeron as well, and then none of your nobles will dare to oppose me, even in secret.”
Beneath the bruises on his square, handsome face, Marcus paled and his deepset eyes glistened with anger at his enemy, but he held his tongue.
Arianne’s heart went out to him, yet she sensed that even Julian’s entourage was struck by his dignity and courage. Pride swelled within her.
“He is to have no food or drink—not a morsel or a sip—until he hangs!” Julian barked at the dungeon keeper, whose keys rattled on a ring at his belt. The man bowed low.
As Julian and the entourage moved past, Arianne saw Katerine linger at the rear of the crowd. She brushed past the cell, and only Arianne saw her thrust a parcel through the bars into the prisoner’s hands. Only Arianne saw the longing glances the two exchanged.
Then the group moved past, Katerine hurrying after them. Arianne followed slowly, her gaze fixed upon the man in the cell. At last, after tearing his eyes away from Katerine’s slight form, Marcus turned and saw her.
She saw his gaze widen. His deep, weary eyes glittered. For a moment their gazes locked as they reached out to each other in silent love, in fear, in desperate, blind hope. Marcus’s hand trembled as he reached toward her instinctively.
Without breaking stride, Arianne stuffed a linen-wrapped parcel through the bars. “Nicholas is in the castle,” she whispered with almost no sound.
The instant Marcus grasped the parcel, she hurried on. Julian had turned back to survey the group, and she reached the others just as his glance fell on her.
“Behold the gypsy who spoke treason in the streets.” He gestured contemptuously toward the stoop-shouldered woman in the cell. “She will be hanged alongside Count Marcus of Galeron to pay for her perfidy.”
Arianne’s stomach clenched as the entourage swept on. She was in so much turmoil over what had transpired with Marcus, she didn’t even spare a glance for the scrawny, haggard creature in the cell—until a bony hand grabbed her sleeve as she passed by.
“The tower room,” the gypsy whispered.
Arianne froze, staring at her. Through black wisps of strawlike hair, glowing midnight eyes pierced hers. She saw the flash of large white teeth in a saggy, sallow face shining with perspiration.
“Yes