The Knight's Prisoner (11 page)

At that moment, the door swung noiselessly open, and she stifled a gasp, her eyes widening in shock. Sir Ferrum was standing there—a giant warrior looking like he could tear apart a man with his bare hands. She pointed down and mouthed the word “cellar”, but Sir Ferrum was advancing stealthily toward her, his sword drawn.

In a single swipe, he lobbed off the head of the soldier she was riding, spraying her with his blood. She covered her mouth tightly with both hands to contain the scream in her throat, scrambling off and backing away from the dead man.

Chapter Six

There are times when a man's heart and head split in two—when the head knows something and understands it, yet the heart has plunged in another direction. This was one of those moments. Knowing Dani was working for Phillip—working on rescuing their soldiers rather than the escape he'd feared—should have pleased him. But the sight of her with another man made his blood boil with rage. He was going to rip every last one of the soldiers from limb to limb.

He left her there and headed farther back into the building.

“Be careful! There are several of them—”

He didn't wait to listen to Dani's urgent whisper, but entered the chamber with his sword swinging, gutting three men and slitting the throat of a fourth. He parried a blow from a fifth man and then threw his entire weight at him, tackling him to the floor before he caught his throat in his meaty fist and squeezed until the man stopped squirming.

He reemerged from the chamber. “Where?” he demanded.

Dani pointed a shaking finger toward a trap door, keeping the other hand still clapped firmly over her mouth. He opened the trap door and quickly descended. All four of their missing men were there, tied up. They had obviously been subjected to torture. Dani followed him down, and they both worked to cut their bonds. The men were not in good shape, but all were conscious.

“How many men have you seen total?” he demanded.

“Five,” Godfrey answered immediately. He seemed to be the most alert of the men, jumping to his feet and assisting with freeing the others.

“Can you all walk?” he asked.

“Aye,” Godfrey said.

Henley only grunted. Ferrum offered his hand and hauled him to his feet, watching as the squire swayed. He put his shoulder to the young man's waist and lifted him up over his shoulder. Dani helped Douglas to his feet and put an arm around his waist to help him.

“Don't leave me here,” John croaked, the panic in voice belying the terror the men had endured.

“No one's leaving you,” he soothed. “Godfrey, take my sword. You'll be our steel.” He bent and hauled John up over his other shoulder, staggering under the weight of the two men. Godfrey led the way up the stairs and he followed slowly, doing his best to keep the two men balanced.

When they reached the top, Henley grunted, “Put me down. I'll walk.” Ferrum set him down and readjusted John, and they headed out of the building. He led them to the closest dark alley he could find and then stopped in a shadowy corner. “Dani, go get the men and horses.”

She nodded rapidly, still looking as though she were in shock, and released Douglas to take off at a run. He had no doubt of her return this time. She had proven her steadfastness. Steadfastness to the prince—not to him. The burning in his chest told him he'd liked it far better when he'd believed the opposite of her.

To think he had feared she would try to escape. It seems he needn't have worried—she'd accepted her place with Phillip. But,
God's teeth
. He couldn't believe how much it hurt. She had never been his, had she? She was a whore, nothing more. She fucked whichever man she was near to serve her purpose. He had meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

They rode back through the night and arrived at camp by noon, all of them dead tired. He couldn't speak or even look at Dani. When they arrived, he helped the injured men get settled before briefing Phillip on the rescue, including Dani's part in it.

Phillip's understanding was complete. There was no sympathy there; Phillip wouldn't offer something he didn't want. Just understanding.

“I need you to take her. I can't—” his voice cracked.

Phillip nodded. “I'll handle it.”

* * *

Sir Ferrum had neither spoken nor looked at her since they left London. The way he'd killed the soldier while she was still astride him had shocked her to the core. Another hands' length and his blade would have slit her throat too, though she imagined he was the sort of man who always knew exactly where his weapon ended. There was a coldness coming from him now that she'd been trying to understand.

Aye, she'd sneaked out, but since he'd followed, he certainly realized it had been in the interest of rescuing the men. Feeling lost, she busiest herself by helping make the wounded men comfortable. She fetched them food and drink and served them before she sat down to eat. Ferrum disappeared for the rest of the afternoon and stayed apart from her for the evening meal. When she started to head toward their tent at nightfall, the Prince caught her arm.

“You're sleeping in my tent tonight.”

She looked at him in shock. “What?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Had you not noticed Ferrum's angry with you?”

A feeling of hot and cold washed through her. Tears pricked her eyes. The prince was studying her curiously. “You did not know, did you?”

She shook her head dumbly. “I—well, I—wasn't sure,” she finished lamely.

“Go in my tent. We can talk about it.” His voice was firm, but his eyes were kind.

She entered his tent and watched as the Prince's page Edwin moved the newly replaced table to the side and produced a bedroll for her. He spread it between what appeared to be his and the Prince's. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, and she felt profoundly lost.

“Find me a bit of rope to bind her, Edwin,” the Prince commanded, and the page left.

He sat on a stool and indicated she take the other one. She sat facing him, her anxiety growing as he regarded her in silence.

“Thank you for what you did to save our men. It took courage to do what you did, not to mention cleverness. But you broke rules to do it. You never act without permission from your superior—in your case, from me or Ferrum.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said her face flushing.

“But surely you knew that. Why did you sneak out alone?”

Her throat felt dry. If he had not told her Ferrum was angry with her, she might have been indignant at the questioning, considering her success at rescuing the men. But as it was, she simply felt adrift. She blinked and cleared her throat. “I Saw the King's soldiers were there—the ones who were keeping your men. I feared Ferrum would not permit me to go—it was my old tavern, you see. I just meant to gather information to bring back to him. I did not know he would follow and take on five men himself.”

The prince's lips twitched a bit. “Five to one is not so worrisome when Ferrum's involved,” he said mildly. “But you're right, your actions put both your and his safety at risk.

“Is that why Ferrum's angry?”

“You really don't know.” The prince studied her curiously. “Nay, if you did, you would be on your knees begging me for mercy right now.”

She blanched.

“It was your whoring.”

She stared at him. She had guessed that much, yet she was still confounded by the whole situation. “But I—”

The prince held up his hand to silence her. “It's between you and Ferrum. He will cool down eventually.”

Edwin returned with the rope, and the Prince grasped her wrists and pinned them together.

“Ferrum always wrapped them with linen first,” she protested, then flushed when the Prince raised an eyebrow at her.

But he did not bark at her. Instead he sighed. “Fetch me a piece of linen,” he commanded Edwin, who trotted off to obey him. When he returned, the prince wrapped the linen and then the ropes. He tied them much tighter than Ferrum ever did—tight enough to make her suck in her breath with the pain. The Prince peered at her. “Too tight?”

She nodded in relief. He untied them and tried again, still tying them tighter than Ferrum ever had, but not so tight they actually pained her. Then he simply pointed at the bedroll Edwin had laid out for her. Heavy-hearted, she sank down on it. Edwin extinguished the lamp, and she laid in the dark, listening to the Prince and his page getting settled.

She couldn't have been more shocked when she felt a hand squeeze her breast. It was not aggressive, more exploratory. She froze, feeling instantly sick. It was the prince. He slid closer, running his hand down her hip and pulling her skirts up. She rolled away but he followed, and she couldn't travel far because Edwin was lying on the other side of her. He slid his hand between her knees, and she clamped her thighs down hard to prevent him from traveling up any higher. “Don't,” she hissed.

He started working his hand more aggressively between her legs, trying to move it up, and fear made her bolder. She struck out with her bound hands. They were neatly caught and pulled over her head and the hand returned to her breast, dipping inside her outer dress and shift to pinch her nipple. She kicked at him. “
No
,” she snarled between clenched teeth. She tried to roll away but with her arms pinned, couldn't manage it. She caught sight of Edwin's frightened expression on the other side of her, which told her the raping of women was not a normal occurrence in the prince's tent. Little comfort that gave her, though.

She started thrashing about madly, wondering if she should scream. Her mind flitted to Ferrum—would he save her? The thought of him gave her renewed fight, and she craned her neck around, trying to bite the arm holding her.

The prince straddled her, pinned her wrists down to her chest and held her, staring down with a shrewd look. There was nothing amorous about his expression—no passion or even aggression. To her utter confusion, he smiled slowly. “I was just making sure,” his perfectly calm voice informed her. She kept wriggling to get out from under him. “Shh. You're all right—it's over. You're safe. I just had to find out for myself.”

“Find out what?” she gritted, as he climbed off her and used her wrists to roll her to her side, his other hand catching her knees and drawing them up to her chest, so she lay curled in a fetal position. He put one hand on the side of her head and pressed it down against the bedroll, pinning her there. She struggled to lift her head, and he didn't allow it, yet she felt he was comforting her.

“That you gave to Ferrum honestly. I thought as much, but I wanted to be absolutely certain.”

“You bastard! Go to hell!” She snarled, kicking at him.

“
No kicking,
” he said, grabbing her ankle to stop it. As usual, the absolute authority in his tone overrode any rebellion she'd been attempting. He continued to hold her down in the fetal position, one hand on her head, waiting as the fight drained out of her. “I'm sorry I frightened you,” he said.

Considering he was a prince and she was a nobody, she was more than a little surprised he had actually apologized. Her anger dwindled, leaving her empty and tired.

“I think it will be all right,” he said.

She tried to lift her head again, and this time he let her. She stared at him in the darkness, trying to discern his face. He was leaning on his elbow, considering her with the same dark glittering gaze with which he always regarded her. Did he mean things would be all right with Ferrum?

“Hearts mend,” he said simply.

* * *

Ferrum woke with a splitting headache the following day. He went out of his tent, snarling at everyone and everything in his sight. When Dani tried to sit beside him at breakfast, he stood immediately and walked away without a word. It was cowardly, he supposed, but he simply couldn't be near her. There was a tightness in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. The thought of her spending the night in Phillip's tent made it even worse, so he simply closed his mind to it all.

Phillip came over to him after breakfast, and Ferrum glowered at him, wanting to be left alone. “She loves you,” Phillip said matter-of-factly.

The tightness in his chest grew worse. He coughed, literally unable to breathe for a moment. He couldn't speak but merely shook his head at his foster brother.

“I know people, Ferrum. I know this.”

He blinked, still struggling to simply move his breath in and out. Something in the center core of him was screaming, was longing, to believe Phillip. But he just couldn't. He shook his head again and walked away without answering.

He spent the morning chopping a felled tree into smaller pieces for their fire. It was his preferred activity when he was in a foul mood—a constructive way to relieve his aggression. With each swing of the ax he imagined he was cutting down each man Dani had ever given herself to.

After several hours, she approached. He was swinging the ax harder than necessary, causing the wood to fly up in splinters. He knew she was standing there, but he neither looked at her nor acknowledged her in any way. He felt her anxiety at being ignored growing.

“Ferrum? Will you speak to me, please?” she demanded after a stretch.

He didn't stop chopping, but he did look at her, giving her a raised eyebrow.

She stalked over and stood right in front of him, so he had to swing wide to avoid spraying her with wood chips. He left the ax in the log and squared off to her.

“Look, I've always been a whore. You just didn't want to believe it of me,” she said, her voice strained.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her once. “No. That's not it,” he gritted out. “That's not it at all.” He picked her up by squeezing her upper arms into her torso until she was eye to eye with him. “I don't care about what you've
been
.”

Her chin was thrust forward, but her lips trembled. “You're jealous, then? Surely you know he meant nothing to me! I did it for the men—for
your
men!”

He shook her again, and her dangling legs danced with the movement. “Aye. I saw how it meant nothing to you. I imagine I meant nothing to you, either.”