Dark Warrior (20 page)

Decimus opened a chest near the window and took out a black shirt and gray tunic. He slipped them on and walked toward her.

“I had hoped to consummate our vows tonight but that is not possible. I have important matters to attend to.”

Mary's legs trembled when she asked, “You go to torture people?”

He grabbed her chin. “Listen well, wife. You will ask me no questions. I have been tolerant of you thus far, but today it changes. Today you are my wife and will now obey me in all matters. Know your place is not to question me; your place is to serve me.”

He stepped away from her. “Sleep. Tomorrow we seal our vows.”

Mary watched the door close and she dropped to the floor, her trembling legs not able to hold her up a minute longer.

She had wed to the devil and had descended into hell.

M
ary woke feeling unwell the next morning. She could blame it on all the food she had eaten the night before, but her unsettled stomach had plagued her for the last three mornings, dissipating by midday. She had tried to ignore the signs but they had continued, and she now feared she was with child.

It was barely a month and yet signs warned of an impending pregnancy. She rose from bed and was grateful for the dry bread and honey, though ignored the fresh milk. It seemed to upset her stomach even more.

She did not know what to do. If she did not consummate her marriage soon he would never believe the child his. Then she would place Michael's child at risk. As much as it abhorred her, she would have no choice but to be intimate with Decimus as soon as possible.

She slipped her husband's dark green velvet robe over her linen nightshift and sat alone at the table near the window, enjoying the bread and honey. It was a dismal day, rain fell heavily, and she was grateful for the blazing fire that combated the chill.

The door suddenly opened and she looked to see her husband striding into the room, wearing the same clothes he had worn the night before. Loud voices, shouts and cries echoed in the hall and down the stairwell behind him, though the sounds turned to muffles as soon as he shut the door.

Decimus walked over to her, his hand reaching out to stroke her face. Mary had to stop herself from recoiling.

“Are you all right? You look pale.”

His concern startled her and the truth worried her. “A fitful night, that is all.”

He nodded, accepting her simple explanation. “Rest today, I have much to see to.”

“May I be of help, my lord?” she asked, hoping to gain valuable information whether for her or Michael.

“There is nothing you can do. You will remain in our bedchamber today.”

She looked concerned.

“Prisoners have escaped and I must see to their capture.”

She prayed with all her heart that those who had escaped remained free, and she prayed harder that the Dark One, if involved, remained safe from harm.

“Will you be long, my lord?” She suddenly wanted to seal their vows and have done with it.

“I cannot say. The servants have been instructed to see to your care. If they do not serve you well, let me know. You are to want for nothing.” He walked to his chest and retrieved a black cloak.

“I am satisfied to rest and wait on your return.”

He walked over to her and grasped her chin. “You learn your place quickly. That pleases me.”

She looked up at him and he shocked her when he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers.

“Until later, wife.” He then marched out of the room swinging his cloak around his shoulders.

She shivered and pulled the robe tightly to her chest. No one but Michael had ever kissed her, and she felt as if she had just betrayed him. Her stomach suddenly rumbled in protest and without warning she lost what food she had eaten.

Servants arrived to take her tray and see to her needs. They appeared upset when they realized she had been ill.

She assured them all was well, the food fine, that she was only a bit sick from her wedding celebration. They sighed in relief and asked if there was anything she needed. She explained that she wished to rest and not be disturbed until well after noon. They left assuring her no one would bother her.

Mary knew she was taking a chance, but with Decimus gone it would be her one opportunity to investigate the fortress. She did not know what she would find, but her search might prove useful to Michael. And she could not sit all day and do nothing.

She quickly dressed in a plain brown skirt and pale yellow linen blouse. She plaited her hair so as not to draw attention and to make herself appear a mere servant. Having not been introduced to most of the staff, and with the size of the fortress, she was certain no one would question her as long as she appeared busy.

With a pile of linens in hand she left the bedchambers and made her way through the halls and down the stairwell. What she hoped to find she could not say. But then Reena had taught her well about being aware and recording her findings, and being she did not possess Reena's talents for drawing, she would need to record her findings in words once she returned to her room.

She spent a good portion of the morning searching the ground level of the fortress. It held a great hall, a large cooking area, and a substantial pantry. The cook's helpers were busy salting meats and paid her no heed, though two young servant girls eyed her suspiciously as they strung mushrooms and onions on strings to dry.

Her search alerted her to possible escape routes and to the endless number of servants constantly at work. A stench drew her to heavy wooden doors that opened onto a stairwell. It descended down into what Mary was certain was the depths of hell, the torture chambers. She could not bring herself to investigate, not today. Her stomach already protested at the stench that drifted up. She was sure to be ill if she made her way down where the odor grew more offensive.

Tired and disheartened she hurried to her bedchamber. Only minutes after slipping out of her clothes and into her husband's robe, servants knocked on her door with the noon fare.

She bid them enter and had them leave the food on the table. Soft cheese, roasted pork, and cider filled the tray, but she ignored the delicious scent and sat looking out the window at the heavy rain.

She thought to be brave and help Michael, but she found she could not investigate the dungeons, the horrible smell forcing her to keep her distance. How would she ever live a life filled with such horror?

After sitting for a spell she picked at the food, and finding herself not hungry she went to the bed to rest. It was well into the afternoon when she woke with a start. She heard shouts and loud voices and instantly assumed Decimus had returned.

She hurriedly dressed in the dark green tunic and shift, her hair still plaited and her eyes still droopy with sleep when she descended the stairs to the hall. She heard the bravado in the warriors' voices. They obviously were pleased about something, and she hoped it was not because they had found the escaped prisoners.

Mary entered the hall and came to an abrupt halt. There on his knees before a circle of warriors was Roarke, beaten and badly bruised and bleeding. She almost rushed forward and demanded that they release him, but she held her tongue knowing her actions would prove more disastrous than beneficial.

Roarke appeared to think the same for he caught sight of her out of the corner of his bruised eye, almost swollen shut, and shook his head.

“My husband?” she questioned the warriors, though no one in particular. They all seemed too concerned and pleased with their capture of Roarke.

“Delayed,” one man answered as if she were unimportant.

“How long?” she queried.

“As long as it takes,” another barked. “He hunts the Dark One and will soon have him.”

Mary looked to Roarke with eyes that begged him to tell her Michael was safe.

He mouthed a word that none noticed but her.
Never
.

They would
never
capture the Dark One and the thought relieved her, though Roarke's capture worried her. She could not let him be tortured and made to suffer unspeakable cruelty. She had to find a way to set him free.

“My husband ordered you to wait upon him.” Mary spoke with a firmness that startled the warriors. “Remember well his orders; he does not condone disobedience.” She hoped his orders were consistent with what had transpired last night. It seemed that nothing was to be done to prisoners until his arrival.

She hoped her reminder would cause them to leave Roarke alone in a cell, maybe then she could find a way to free him and keep him from suffering before Decimus returned.

One warrior spoke up. “We know well our duties.”

“Then see that they are done,” she said sharply.

The men were uncertain how to react to her authoritative manner. They did, however, know what Decimus expected of them, and the dire consequences of any action that did not meet with his approval.

They hauled Roarke off to the dungeon with mutterings and murmurs that they did not wish her to hear.

She returned to her room to think, and every step of the way wished she could contact Michael. Once in the chair by the window she shook her head. It would not be wise for Michael to enter the fortress, though no doubt he had on other occasions. The man simply could enter and exit any building at will. She often wondered how he did it.

Decimus was bound to return soon, once he realized that the Dark One had escaped him yet again. He would probably be in a rage and who better to take his anger out on than a man associated with the Dark One.

She had to set Roarke free.

That would mean descending into the dungeon, but Decimus's wife would not be granted permission to enter.

But a servant lad baring food for the guards would.

She could don a cap to cover her blond hair, wear a loose shirt and jacket to hide her breasts, and smudge dirt on her face. But where to get the clothes?

When she had been down in the cook area she had wandered out a door and noticed horses stabled close by. There were bound to be stable boys who made their home with the animals. She could find the garments she needed there.

But first she would need to make certain the servants would not look in on her. If they discovered her gone, the fortress would be in an uproar.

A servant girl returned for Mary's food tray just as she finalized the plans in her head. Would her idea work? She could not dwell on her plan failing. She had to take the chance or Roarke would suffer, or perhaps die.

“I am feeling rather poorly,” Mary said with a heavy sigh.

The young girl looked nervous. “Should I send the healer?”

Mary had not thought the fortress to have a healer. People suffered here, they did not heal.

“It is not necessary,” Mary assured her. “Little sleep is the cause and I can see to taking care of that. I intend to sleep. Please make sure no one disturbs me. When I wake I will send for you.”

The servant obliged with a nod. “I will let no one disturb your rest.”

“I appreciate your help,” Mary said, relieved part of her plan was going smoothly.

Mary waited, giving the servant girl time to return downstairs, then she opened the door and seeing no one there, she slipped out. She had to walk through the kitchen and she did not know if the servant girl would be there. She could not take a chance and be recognized.

In the great hall, she picked up a jug and carried it high so that it partially hid her face. She then took a deep breath, told herself to be confident, and entered the kitchen. She made her way around servants, all of them busy preparing food. With the size of the fortress there were many mouths to feed and that meant all day preparing food.

She was grateful for the frantic activity. She slipped by without notice and once outside, she placed the jug in the corner. She would return for it. It contained mead and the guards would certainly enjoy a swig.

The stable was busy, several young lads attending to the returned warriors' horses. She kept to the dark corners of the stable, much like the Dark One did when he was in a room. She did not want to be noticed; this was not a good place for her to be.

She made her way carefully to a small room to her right just beyond the entrance. Once inside she was grateful to see that it contained clothes, boots, caps, and cloaks for the lads use.

She wasted not a minute in gathering what she needed and made her way out of the stable. With all the activity no one noticed her, and she scooped up the jug of mead as she hurried to a large door around the side and to the back of the stable.

She had discovered the location of the door that morning and saw that it exited into the inner courtyard of the fortress. Where she would go from there, once she freed Roarke, she was not certain. But together they would figure something out.

She changed in the shadows, rolling her own clothes into a bundle to leave by the door. She would change again on her return. After tucking her braid firmly beneath the knit cap and smudging her face and hands with dirt, she grabbed the jug of mead and headed for the dungeon.

No one paid her mind and she was pleased. Her disguise worked well, giving her more confidence in her plan. Doubts itched at her, though, when she descended into the dungeon; and the stench turned her stomach and it refused to settle.

I will not be sick. I will not
.

She chanted the words over and over in her head.

It was a dark and dismal place, torchlight being her only guiding step. She heard the rattle of chains and the clang of a hammer on metal. She swallowed back her fear and proceeded down the dank hall until it suddenly widened considerably and cells appeared on both sides of her.

Small openings with metal bars that sat high in the doors were the only way of seeing the prisoner within.

“What business have you here, lad?”

She turned, startled by the strong voice and even more startled to see Edmond, the man her husband had spoken to upon their arrival. He was more wide than tall. He looked as if he did nothing but eat, so large was his size. His nose was flat, his head bald and his face dripping with sweat. He held a metal bar in one hand, the pointed tip glowing red with fire.

“Mead,” she said in a low gruff voice, holding the jug out to him.

He eyed her suspiciously.

She had expected reluctance. Decimus had trained his men well. They were not to trust under any circumstances.

She stood tall, her big jacket concealing her breasts. “I will be a warrior for Decimus one day, and I came to see where I will bring the sinners I will capture.”

Edmond braced the metal rod against the wall and reached out to take the jug from the lad. “You sound a strong one.”

“I am, nothing will prevent me from succeeding with my plans.”