Elizabeth Elliott (34 page)

“That is not the excuse we agreed upon, Claudia. And ’tis not yet time for the mummers.” He leaned back to look at her. “On the other hand, why wait for the mummers?”

Claudia’s eyes widened when he lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. Nay, he all but ate her wrist, the kiss was so carnal. “Guy! What are you doing?”

He just smiled in response, a slow, lazy smile that sent a wave of alarm through her. When he dipped his head for another taste of her wrist, she jerked her hand away. His mouth turned downward, his expression crushed. “You are cruel to deny me, Claudia.”

She gave him a warning frown but said nothing. His lopsided grin made her wonder how much wine he had drunk, although she couldn’t recall seeing his goblet filled more than once. He had seemed fine just moments ago, but now his hand wavered as he reached for his wine. The goblet was halfway to his mouth when he frowned and set it aside, as if the thought occurred that he had already overindulged.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“Aye.” He smiled again, but his eyes looked glassy. “Never better, love.”

“You are certain?”

For some reason, he found her question extremely funny. His deep, unsteady laughter drew Kenric’s attention, then Evard’s. She glanced over her shoulder to find Fitz Alan and Thomas staring at them already. She reached for a thick,
hearty stew. “Here, my lord. This stew is delicious as well. Try a few bites.”

He shook his head, but the gesture looked clumsy, like a big, shaggy dog trying to shed water from its coat. “I am no longer hungry. At least, not for food.” He rubbed his forehead. “Nay, I am not hungry for anything.” His gaze moved to Claudia and he leaned forward, then back again as if he might see her more clearly from that distance. “You are not smiling, Claudia.”

He leaned back even farther and would have fallen over if Kenric had not caught him by the shoulders. Frantic now, Claudia pressed one hand to his forehead. His skin felt cool and dry, much too cool for the warm room. “What is wrong with you, Guy?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he mumbled. “I am just a little tired. Perhaps a bit soused as well.”

His eyes drifted shut while her own widened in horror. Kenric called out his name and gave him a gentle shake while Claudia felt the slow pulse at his neck, then she looked at his hands. His nailbeds were darker than they should be, almost a blue color.

“Oh, my God.” Her hands went to the front of his tunic and she gave him a firm shake. “Guy! Wake up!”

“He has been poisoned,” Fitz Alan said in an almost calm voice. He stood up and moved toward Guy. “Thomas, order the gates sealed. No one is to enter or leave the fortress until you receive further word.”

Thomas hurried away to carry out the order. An unnatural calm settled over the great hall as two hundred voices suddenly fell silent.

Kenric gave Guy a harder shake than Claudia could manage, and his eyes opened. Guy’s gaze went to Claudia and he tried to speak, but his mouth moved ineffectually. What she saw in his eyes terrified her. The pupils were no more than small pinpoints, his face a deathly shade of white. Then his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Guy,” she whispered. A fear closed over her so cold that she could barely speak. “Please, Guy. Do not sleep.”

“Get her away from him,” Kenric snapped. His arms went around his brother as he supported more of Guy’s weight on his shoulder. “Evard, check the food and wine. I want to know how he was poisoned, then I want to know what he was poisoned with so we will know how to treat him.”

“I can help you,” Claudia said, without taking her gaze from Guy’s face. She could not seem to let go of his tunic, either. “ ’Tis a form of opium, probably in the wine. It works faster that way.”

She knew the signs well from her mother’s teachings, but she had never thought to encounter an opium poison in England. Yet Guy’s ships traveled the world. Did one of his own people poison him?

Rather than worry about where the poison came from, she racked her brain for the cures. It did not occur to Claudia how damning her words sounded until she glanced up and met Kenric’s gaze. The icy malice she saw in his eyes made her shudder, even as she shook her head against the silent accusation.

Kenric ignored her denial. “Get her away from him!”

A pair of hands closed over her shoulders. She clung to the front of Guy’s tunic, but she was no match for Fitz Alan’s strength and he dragged her backward until her hands held nothing but air. “Nay! You must let me help him.”

“You have helped enough,” Kenric bit out. He motioned to a group of his men. “Help me move him.”

Claudia shook her head. None of this seemed real: not Guy’s collapse, nor the great hall with all its greenery, or even the smiles Kenric and Fitz Alan had sent her way such a short time ago. Surely she had conjured this all in a dream. A dream that had turned into a nightmare. Aye, this was nothing but a horrid nightmare and she would wake up any moment, just as she awoke from her dream about the rats to seek safety in Guy’s arms. Fitz Alan’s painful grip on her arms felt very real.
He started to pull her further away from Guy and she strained against his hold. “Please, Guy!”

She knew a moment of hope when Guy struggled to open his eyes. His hand clutched at the front of Kenric’s tunic. He even seemed to focus for a moment on his brother, but his words were no more than a harsh whisper. “Guard her. Lock her up if you must.”

His eyelids drifted closed again and Claudia felt a darkness settle over her heart, the numbness of disbelief. What she had heard was a mistake. Guy could not believe that she had poisoned him. She had mistaken his meaning, just as Kenric mistook it. Kenric’s dark gaze impaled her, what she saw in those merciless eyes almost as frightening as the sight of Guy laying unconscious in his arms. Kenric wanted to kill her. Of that, she had no doubt.

“Aye, brother,” Kenric replied, never looking away from Claudia. “I will guard her.”

Fitz Alan whispered in her ear what she knew already. “If he dies, lady, your death will be more painful.”

15

A
small sliver of light flickered beneath the door. Claudia knew better than to stare at it. The light was too tempting, a glimmer of hope that only made her cell that much blacker. The darkness was like a living thing all around her, a blanket chilled by massive stone blocks that formed the foundation of the castle, a place unwarmed by even the smallest shadow of the sun. She had counted the blocks in the walls already, using her fingertips to judge their size and shape, and knew the exact number of steps she could pace in each direction. Those calculations kept her mind occupied for a time. Far too short a time.

Anger over her unjust imprisonment came and went. Terror was a more constant companion. In the long hours since Fitz Alan had escorted her here, she had recalled all she could of opium poisons, which was precious little. If Guy lasted the night that would be a good sign, yet he might lie unconscious for days and still succumb to the poison’s effects. She hoped they made him vomit. He had to be purged of as much of the poison as possible before it reached his blood. And he needed to be roused from his stupor however they could manage it.

She had told Fitz Alan what they must do, but doubted he paid her any heed. Why would he listen to anything a murderess said about cures for her victim? She was guilty in everyone’s eyes. Perhaps even Guy’s.

The darkness gave light to all sorts of memories and imaginings. The stone blocks brought to mind the rough surface of Guy’s cheeks, and she recalled how he looked at her when she touched him. There could be no question about his
lust for her. It was a palpable thing between them. But lust was a flimsy emotion, one that would not stand the test of an attempted murder when it appeared her doing. Then there were the reasons Kenric gave for Guy’s interest in marriage, and Guy’s ready agreement that he intended to marry her to gain her dowry and mathematical talents. Guy had all but dismissed those reasons out of hand when she had questioned him. Why would he let Kenric believe them true unless those were the real reasons he meant to marry her?

Her nails scraped harder against the stones until one snapped backward and a knife of pain shot up her finger. With a small cry of distress, she stopped pacing and gave her hand a hard shake. When that brought no relief, she sucked on the injured fingertip and resumed her measured steps. The sting began to lessen and she remembered times when Guy kissed her fingertips for no other reason than to give her pleasure. He always seemed so determined to make her happy, to make her push aside her worries to enjoy each moment they spent together. Surely that was some indication of his affection for her. Her happiness did not affect what he would gain from her through marriage. Why would he go to such lengths to please her unless he truly cared for her?

Aye, his words to Kenric were a plea to keep her safe. Guy knew she would be unjustly accused of this crime, and he had tried to protect her. As soon as he recovered and learned of her whereabouts, he would come here himself to set her free. He would make his brothers kneel before her to beg forgiveness. He would hold her in his arms and murmur sweet endearments while she cried.

If he did not recover …

She pushed that thought aside and paced faster. Guy would recover. How could she live without him? How could she live if he thought her guilty of poisoning him?

Her lips curved into a grim smile in the darkness. Those worries would not be a problem. Either would prove her death. Only Guy’s trust would save her, and only love would create a trust strong enough to withstand the accusations
against her. Even she had to admit that the evidence looked damning. There were no candidates with more motives than herself within the walls of Montague, and none with greater opportunity to commit the crime. Guy’s brothers would be sure to point out those facts. He would be a fool to believe in her innocence. Guy was no fool.

She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her hands to her forehead. These thoughts would make her crazy. How could one night last so long? How could a prison cell seem smaller each time she paced around it?

At least her prison itself was nothing to add new fears. The dungeons at Montague were cleaner than most. Ironically, she was the one who had ordered them cleaned. She and Lenore had found their way to even this remote part of the castle when they laid out their rat bait. She had dreaded the place, but found that most of the cold, dark chambers held casks of wine and foodstuffs. One large wing contained the castle treasury, and two soldiers stood guard there at all times. They were her guards now as well.

If she listened closely, she could hear snatches of the guards’ conversations, and that gave her a sense of time. These two arrived several hours ago, so it must be the middle of the night. She should be exhausted. Instead she felt restless and wide awake as she paced in endless circles. The next few hours could well be her last.

“Jack!”

The muffled sound of the guard’s voice made her pause by the door to her cell. She leaned closer to the thick oak.

“ ’Tis your turn to roll the dice,” the same voice called out. “Be quick about your business and get back to the game.”

She had hoped to hear some word of Guy, yet dreaded hearing it at the same time. News this soon was not likely to be good. Every hour that passed was another hour he lived. She would have to take comfort from that knowledge. She trailed her fingers along the cold stone walls to count the
blocks again, then closed her eyes and counted the number of times Guy had kissed her.

A jingling noise made her turn again toward the cell door, the metallic rattle of keys. Someone was at her door. The guards had no reason to check on her. It could only be Kenric or Fitz Alan, come to tell her the worst.

Her heart sank to new depths as the door slowly swung open. The light from rush torches set outside the chamber flooded the entrance with blinding light, and she blinked several times as her eyes tried to recover from the hours of pitch black. The doorway remained empty, yet she sensed a presence in her cell that was not there before. Her gaze moved along the walls, but the sudden light in the doorway almost blinded her to the darkness. A movement from the corner of her eye made her jerk around toward the doorway again as the large, black silhouette of a man stepped in front of her.

The hairs on her arms prickled at the tangible aura of danger that surrounded him, and she backed away in slow, measured steps. The man was not as large as Kenric. Fitz Alan, perhaps? He wore a cloak, but his features were lost in the dark shadows of the cloak’s hood.

“Tutto questo solo per liberar Ti, Claudia.”

Her hand flew to her throat. The deep voice sounded so familiar. It was the sound of her father’s voice, yet different. Blood began to pound in her ears so hard that she could scarce hear herself speak. “Dante?”

The man threw back his hood and stepped closer until she could see the faint outline of his features, the strong jawline, high cheekbones, the noble line of his nose. He held out his hand. “Aye, ’tis me, Claudia.”

Dante
. She could scarce believe that he stood before her. Guy had told her he would come, but some part of her had not dared to hope. For five years she had hoped, waited each day in vain for his return. Dante’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, steadying her.