Chapter 10 #2
They clung together as the box swayed and bumped. Then it landed with a thump.
But surely not in a deep hole.
Elf remembered to breathe.
A Scottish voice said, “Brace the rope, Mack.”
They let coffins down into graves with ropes, didn’t they?
“No!” Elf moaned into Fort’s shoulder. He suddenly moved, thrusting up at the lid again and again.
“I think they’re awake in there, Kenny.”
“No matter. Get on with it.”
With Fort still heaving at the lid, the box tilted and slid a noisy distance to land at an angle. The jolt clashed Elf’s teeth together and made Fort grunt from the pain in his head.
They must be in the grave, though you’d think the coffin would go in straight.
Then the box shifted and went flat with another bump that made Fort curse and go still.
This was it, then. The end of the adventure.
A sudden calm settled on Elf. They were going to be buried alive. No one knew, so no one could help. Perhaps no one would ever know what had become of them. It seemed both silly and tragic, but beyond all help.
She began to pray that death come quickly, and that her brothers not suffer too much for her folly.
She heard a rattle and thump some way away, then another rattle on the coffin. The first stones hitting the lid?
Metal against metal, but in the distance. Shovels? She tried to imagine the scene outside the stale darkness that had become her world, but then decided to concentrate on dying well.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Fort, since she suspected this was all her fault.
“Why? I’m just sorry I don’t seem to be able to break a way out of here.”
Elf was wondering if she should tell him the truth when all sounds stopped. Only their own breathing, noisy in the cramped space, broke total silence.
After a moment, she asked, “What do you think?”
“Perhaps they had to leave to get tools . . .”
She waited, hearing each breath, feeling as if each breath found less air.
“They’re going to wait for us to suffocate!” At that thought, she thrust her arms up at the lid.
It moved.
Hardly able to believe it, she sat up, pushing. The lid opened. She would have just shoved it out of her way, but Fort surged up and grabbed it, lowering it gently back. “I don’t suppose it’s an accident,” he whispered. “But just in case, let’s not tell the world we’re free.”
Free was a relative term. They had more space and fresher air, but absolutely no light, not even a cloudy sky overhead. Clearly, they were still inside something.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“A crypt?”
She shivered at that thought, but then said, “Actually, I smell stale beer . . .”
“A cellar?”
They were both sitting up in the coffin now, and they arranged themselves facing each another, her legs over his as they assessed matters.
“I can’t see anything,” she said. “The walls could be close or far away. There could even be other people here, watching and listening.”
“I think we’d know.”
“At least there’s air. And we’re alive . . .”
Suddenly she threw herself on top of him, into his arms, and they were laughing and kissing in a mad ecstasy of survival.
“We’re alive!” she gasped. “Alive! Alive!”
“Very much so.” And he seized her hips and impaled her upon his rock-hard erection.
Elf gasped with shock and some pain, for she was still tender there, but he didn’t seem to hear, and she didn’t really care. She shared his instinct to celebrate life in this primal, savage way and met him thrust for thrust, finding her own explosive release even faster than he did.
They clung together afterward, quivering and sweating. “That,” he said unsteadily, “wasn’t part of the plan for the night.”
“Are you sure?” she teased. “You promised me memorable.”
“I promised you hell, too, but this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” He held her closer and kissed her cheek. “Are you all right? You must still be sore.”
“A little. I’m fine.” That tender kiss almost broke her. She almost said, I love you.
“Not even slightly tempted to throw a fit of the vapors?”
“What good would it do?”
“You’re a woman in a million, Lisette.”
“Are you saying women are less able to bear shocks and hardship than men?” She was teasing, but was also serious.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of these women who think there’s no differences between the sexes!”
“Oh, I acknowledge some differences.” She felt bold enough to touch his now-soft genitals. “Just not all.”
He seized her hand and pulled it up for a kiss. “Don’t play with hellfire, sweetheart, or you won’t be able to walk in the morning.” He rubbed their joined hands against her cheek, then stilled. “What happened to your mask?”
Oh, dear heaven. “They cut it off.”
“I’m glad.” He traced her face as if he could see with his fingers. She did hope not. “We’re both almost as naked as the day we were born. It’s honest. I could become quite fond of this place.”
Elf pushed away. “Don’t be silly. We have to escape.” That reminded her that she had to be home before morning to avoid complete disaster.
He helped her disentangle herself, and soon they stood in the coffin holding hands, each the other’s only reality.
“You speak excellent English,” he remarked.
Oh, Gemini!
Thinking back, Elf realized that from the moment of capture she had instinctively spoken in her native tongue. They’d been whispering most of the time and clearly he hadn’t recognized her voice yet.
In such danger, it shouldn’t matter, and yet they’d found something precious here, a fellowship brought on by shared peril. She couldn’t bear to damage it with their family problems.
“Merci,” she said, continuing in accented English. “I ’ave been well taught, I think.”
“You’ve been well taught, yes, but which language, sweetheart? I suspect that in extremis people speak their native tongue.” His fingers found her cheek, and then he kissed her lightly on the lips. “Keep your secrets for now, Lisette,” he said in French. “The first thing is to get out of here.”
Elf sent a prayer of thanks, though that “for now” held a warning.
Unfortunately, that meant that after tonight, Lisette would have to disappear. She’d only planned for this adventure to last one night, but now she could hardly bear for it to end.
What would happen if she confessed the truth? Could he understand? Could he put aside his malice and hate? This man, the man she’d come to know tonight, had no connection with such evil emotions.
He released her hand and she heard him move. “The floor is flagstones.”
Pushing aside wistful dreams, Elf scrambled out of her end of the coffin, extending every sense in a search for information. “I hate this darkness. Even a scrap of night sky through a window would be something.”
“Or noise. If this is an inn, it’s a strangely silent one.”
“It is the middle of the night.”
“Even so.”
Elf stood and one of her stockings fell down, reminding her that she was in a disgraceful state of undress. She groped in the box for the garter, and his body bumped into hers.
“Sorry.”
She reached for balance and touched something soft.
Soft? Round?
She snatched her hand back. It was his intimate parts! For some reason, touching them accidentally seemed scandalous, when touching them deliberately had not.
He chuckled, and a moment later his groping hand found hers and guided it back toward him.
To cloth.
He put something into her arms and she recognized the monk’s robe.
“Don’t you need it? I have my shift.”
“In the dark, I don’t need a stitch. Put it on.”
The thought of him wandering around stark naked did strange things to Elf’s equilibrium. She fought it by pulling the habit over her head.
It settled around her, warm and concealing. She moved back to try to find her garter and promptly tripped over the hem.
“It’s far too long.”
He found her in the dark and fumbled for the hem. “Pox, so it is. And there’s no knife here that I know of. If we had the cord we might be able to tie it up.”
She slipped out of it and passed it back. “I’ll make do.”
He moved away but she heard no sounds of cloth against skin. “Are you not wearing it?”
“Why bother?” She could hear the laughter in his voice.
“So I don’t contact your private parts again by accident?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Well, I would!”
“My apologies, Miss Delicacy and Decorum.” Now she heard sounds. “There. I’m decently covered.”
“Thank you.” Elf heard her ridiculously tight-lipped tone, but couldn’t help it. She really couldn’t cope with the image of him sauntering around naked.
“And you?” he asked.
“What?”
“Are you decently covered?”
Reminded, she hastily found the scrap of ribbon and lace and firmly rearranged her stocking. Then she tied the neck of her shift so it no longer sagged half down her chest. Again she winced at how she must have appeared to their captors.
“Insofar as possible,” she mumbled.
If only she’d been less wicked and worn a cotton shift and stockings for this adventure. But no. She had to wear the finest silk and ridiculous lacy stockings. Exploring herself, she discovered the shift had been torn at some point in her capture, and a triangular flap now exposed part of her side.
Oh for a pin!
She put such concerns aside and set to work, exploring their pitch-dark prison inch by inch.
“I wonder why they bothered with this robe at all?” he said, clearly farther away in the room.
“Perhaps they needed it to carry you. Someone carried me over his shoulder, but you’d be too heavy.”
“Probably. One puzzle solved. The rest, of course, is still dense mystery. What do they want? Damme. I’ve no memory of the event. What happened?”
“I have no recollection, either. I woke up as they seized me. There were some noises. Perhaps a fight.”
“I hope it was me.” After a moment, he said, “I doubt it, though. Apart from my head, I’ve no bruises that I can tell, and my hands haven’t hit anything recently.”
He sounded aggrieved. Elf rolled her eyes at the way the male mind worked. “I hardly think that matters,” she pointed out, “but I’m sorry about your head. Does it hurt a lot?”