A Knight's Vow Part 38

She shuddered. "I fear you're mistaken, sir. I heard the blows he thrust upon the outer gate, even from

here."

" 'Tis not his way to slaughter the defenseless."

She gave a nervous, humorless little laugh. "Then pray tell what happened to his last three wives and their children."

Cold silence met her query. Then the dull thud of rock upon earth startled her as the man began to pound away at the wall.

"Besides," she added defensively, " 'tis an easy thing for you to say. You are not betrothed to the monster."

The banging stopped as suddenly as it had started, and the man's sharp intake of breath seemed to suck all the air from the tunnel.

Hilaire clapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to reveal herself to him. If, by G.o.d's blessing, they somehow managed to escape, she'd intended to continue her merry way along the tunnel to freedom, just as originally planned. He'd think no more of her, just bid her good fortune and toddle on back to defending her father's castle, none the wiser.

But now-now she'd made a mess of things.

three.

"You're... Hilaire?"

The musty air thickened, choking Ryance like smoke from a quickly doused fire.

She tried to deny it. "Nay, I..." Then her resigned sigh blew through his soul. "Aye, I am."

A dozen emotions roiled through his head-pain, relief, anger, joy, fear-like knights battling in a fierce melee.

Hilaire. His betrothed. This maiden with the sweet voice, the fragrant hair, the tender touch. This woman who feared the dark, clinging to him with the trust of a drowning kitten. Lord, what would it be like to wake up each morn to such a wife?

But it was only a fleeting fantasy. They were dying, he reminded himself. There would be no wedding. Besides, he thought bitterly, she did not want him. Forsooth, she'd risked her very life to escape The Black Gryphon.

It was another tragedy in a long line of tragedies. And it was stinging salt in his wounds that though he'd scarcely met the wench, he suspected he might grow to care for her in time.

Yet he was d.a.m.ned to destroy all he held dear. Curse the Fates! He'd probably killed her already. It was his fault they were trapped. It was because of him the tunnel had collapsed.

"You won't tell the others, will you?" she fretted, grabbing at his sleeve.

"The others?"

"My father's knights. Will you tell them I ran away?"

Ryance frowned. The little vixen had sneaked off, leaving her poor father and his knights to defend the castle while she made her escape. It was a childish thing to do, and yet, she seemed little more than a child.

Not a child perhaps, but barely a woman. She'd probably never had her heart broken, never stolen a kiss, never bedded a man. G.o.d's bones-she was too young to die like this.

"Please, I beg you." Her hand fluttered about and came to rest upon the middle of his chest, too near his heart for comfort. "Do not tell them. Let me go in peace."

He closed his eyes, almost feeling the warmth of her hand through his tabard and mail and hauberk, and groaned inwardly. "My lady, if I could let you go, I would, but there is no..."

"Please do not say it again! There has to be a way out."

She sounded even younger and more vulnerable, and he suddenly regretted his thoughtless words. The lady still hovered on the brink of panic. The last thing she needed was a push over the edge.

He sighed heavily. Even if by some miracle he happened to find an escape, even if they managed to get out alive, Lady Hilaire was doomed. The King had commanded this union. She couldn't avoid marriage to Sir Ryance Alexander. And once wed, she'd not long avoid the curse of The Black Gryphon.

"There's always a way out," he told her instead, though he'd be d.a.m.ned if he could think of one at the moment. The stone of the fallen castle wall was too dense and tightly wedged to allow escape through the hole he'd originally tunneled out, and the earthen wall of her secret pa.s.sage might as well be rock, so hardly compacted was it. Given the cramped quarters and the dearth of air, their sole hope was to pray for help.

"Mayhaps we can dig out," she ventured, "as we did before."

Ryance grimaced. They could not possibly dig their way out. He had naught to dig with, no spade, no adze, not even a sword, and their bare fingers would wear down to b.l.o.o.d.y stumps by the time they tunneled out even a yard of earth. It was impossible. But he hadn't the heart to let her know that.

"Aye, mayhaps," he agreed.

They might as well try. It would pa.s.s the time and prevent her from dwelling on the darkness. Certainly, it would keep his mind off his miserable past. And perhaps, after all, it was a stroke of G.o.d's mercy upon him that in his final hours he was closeted in shadow with a woman who knew him not and thus had no cause to fear him.

"Shall we try here?" she suggested. The optimism in her voice tugged at his heart.

"Where?"

Her hand wandered along the links of his mail until she grasped his wrist. Her fingers couldn't even close the distance around his forearm, but she tugged him along like an unruly child, finally placing his palm upon a section of damp earth.

He shook his head. If they dug there, they would wind up inside the keep-perhaps forty days hence.

"Do you not wish to escape the castle?" he asked. " 'Tis the opposite wall that leads to freedom.""But if The Black Gryphon..." Her fingers curled atop his hand in fear. "You wouldn't understand." Hertroubled whisper brushed his face, perfumed with the faint scent of mint. It was as intoxicating as mead."If he finds me... if he discovers I was fleeing..."

He scarcely heard her words. The fragrance coming off of her hair, her skin-what was it? Rose?

Lavender?

"I cannot wed him. I cannot. He is a brute. He is cruel and dangerous and evil. Have you not heard? He murdered his first three wives and..."

"I have heard!" The words tore from his throat with more force than he'd intended.

With a silent curse, he began jabbing at the soil, using his blunt fingers like daggers. She couldn't know what pain she dealt him with her careless remarks, how she tortured him.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, her voice a shade cooler, misunderstanding his outburst. "Mayhaps I should be

stronger. You doubtless believe I should honor my vows as you honor yours. But I'm not a knight. I'm

only a woman. I cannot bear the thought of throwing myself as sacrifice to a monster when...""He is not a mon-" To Ryance's mortification, his voice broke. d.a.m.n his weak spirit! He thought he'dbecome inured to such accusations, thought he'd grown scaly plate like an armored dragon and could nolonger be wounded by mere words.

He was wrong. His heart plunged in misery, and his eyes stung, weary of aspersions. G.o.d's blood-

would even his last moments on Earth be corrupted by his vile past?

"You know him," she whispered with a woman's insight. It was not a question, but an accusation. "You know The Black Gryphon."

"Nay." He clenched his jaw against foolish self-pity.

In a sense, he spoke the truth. Once he'd known him well. Once Ryance had been a n.o.ble young knight with a blade in his hand, the wind at his back, and adventure in his heart. Now The Black Gryphon was

only a nightmare he was forced to live. Nay, he no longer knew the man who lived in the sh.e.l.l of his body.

"But I've known men like him," he said.

She was quiet for a long while. Then he heard her retreat. He should have expected as much. Even here

in the dark, without the benefit of face or name or reputation, he was capable of inspiring fear in a woman.

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

"n.o.body." He returned to clawing at the mud.

"Are you one of my father's men?"

"I'm a knight. That is all. I go where I'm called. I fight when I must."

She was stung by his curt answer. Even blind, he could sense her hurt. But it was good. It would keepher away from him, keep her safe from his evil, keep him bastioned from her charms."What is your name?" she asked softly.He cursed under his breath. "Are you going to let me dig or ask questions all night?"A dissonant tw.a.n.g sounded suddenly beside her as she recoiled. The wench must have a gittern or a harp. As the jangling chord faded, he heard the unmistakable sniffle of feminine weeping.

He heaved a silent sigh. If one weapon could lay him low in a single blow, it was a woman's tears.

"Oh, do not weep, lady, I pray you." He turned toward her, chewing at his lip. "Forgive my coa.r.s.e

manner. I am... unaccustomed to the company of women."But ladies' tears were not easily stopped, and he silently cursed himself for getting them started."I am called... 'Rag' by some," he admitted at last. It was a name he'd not gone by since he was a boy, one his cousin had stuck him with for the initials of his t.i.tle, Ryance Alexander, The Gryphon. It was a silly name, and for an instant he regretted divulging such a thing to her. Then he remembered they'd likely die here. She'd never utter the name beyond these walls.

Hilaire sniffed back her tears. "Sir Rag?"

He grunted for answer.

" 'Tis a curious name." She couldn't recall him among her father's men. She wondered what he looked

like. Perhaps if she could see his face, it would ease her fears, for his quicksilver moods certainly did

naught to comfort her.

She approached him warily, crouching beside him to help scratch at the dirt. This close, she could detect the faint scent of his bath beneath the tang of iron and leather and sweat, the scent of bergamot and woodruff.

"Do you... have a family?" she asked.

"Nay." His voice was gruff, short, to the point.

A long silence ensued, broken only by the sound of fingers fruitlessly sc.r.a.ping against earth, a silence

Hilaire soon felt compelled to fill."Mayhaps I have seen you in my father's ranks. Tell me, what are your features like?""Plain. Dark. You'd not remember me."His abrupt tone bruised her, but she refused to give up. If he'd not speak to her, she would do the talking.

"You are not the knight who lamed de Lancey at the spring tournament?"

"Nay."

She struggled with a cobblestone lodged fast in the dirt. "The one who plied Lady Anne so diligently with roses last year?"