Chapter 10 #3
“Yes.” Was he terse because of pain or because he hadn’t earned more honorable wounds?
She suppressed a sigh. “We need to escape before they do whatever they have planned for us,” she reminded him. “Could you please apply your mind to that?”
“Lisette, you obviously have no idea how disconcerting it is for a man to go to sleep in his own bed and awake a prisoner with no blow struck!” When she said nothing, he added, “Oh, very well. Let’s explore.”
Elf continued to grope forward, having to suppress a giggle at his peevishness. “I suppose you wanted to be a knight in shining armor. Or perhaps a dragon slayer?”
“You’re too fanciful. I just wish I’d broken some bones.”
“Ugh. How horrid.”
She heard a clunk as he moved something on the other side of the room.
“Ugh, how realistic. What do you think happens when that romantic knight in shining armor slams his lance into his opponent’s body?”
Absorbed in this distracting conversation, Elf bumped into a barrier. Feeling side to side, she said, “There’s a cask here. Big. From the size and smell, it’s probably beer.”
“And I’ve found some smaller ones. Probably wine but”—she heard tapping—“empty, I think. So, Lisette, if we win free and face our enemy, do you want me to be a gentle, perfect knight? Or do you want me to break some bones?”
“I’ll doubtless join you in breaking bones.” She tapped the cask in front of her. “This is empty, too. Staved in, in fact. Do you think—”
“Ah.”
“What?” She turned toward his voice, though it served no purpose since she couldn’t see.
“I’ve found the door. It is, of course, locked in some way.” She heard some soft thumps. “Solid, plague take it. It’s hard to imagine breaking it open with our bare hands.”
Elf liked that “our.” For this moment they were not Ware and Malloren, lord and lady. They were just two people with a common cause. Almost like Adam and Eve, she thought, naked in the Garden of Eden.
“Are you still wearing your robe?” she asked.
“Yes. I may not be concerned by modesty, but it’s damned chilly. Are you sure you don’t want it?”
He was right. Despite the season, the cellar was chill and dank. Her stockinged feet and bare arms already shivered with cold, and the rest of her was not far behind. “No, thank you,” she said, absurdly touched by his gallantry.
And perhaps, she thought, leaning back against the barrel to rub her arms, she had things to smile about. They were alive when but a few minutes before, they’d expected death. For the moment, they had shed their pasts—their rank, their families, their feud—along with their normal clothes.
In a strange way, she felt closer to Fortitude Harleigh Ware here, prisoners in the dark, than even when making love.
“Anything else?” he asked, prompting her to continue her exploration.
Her foot touched a wooden bucket, empty. He reported some rags and rope. “Not enough to be of any use,” he said, “even if I could think of a use for it. This is a damnably efficient prison.”
Then Elf came to the ramp. “Of course,” she said. “They always roll beer casks down a ramp. That’s how they slid in our box.”
He came to join her, reaching out so his hand brushed hers before taking it. She couldn’t resist going into his arms.
He rubbed her shoulders. “You’re cold.”
“It can’t be helped.”
“It’s another reason to get out of here. How long before your complaisant relative becomes alarmed?”
So he was thinking of scandal, too. “Morning, I suppose.”
“And then what will happen?”
“I have no idea.” Wanting to be as honest as she could, she added, “She might hesitate to complain to the authorities, but not for long.”
He kissed her gently on her brow. “Then we’d best try to escape before morning. I’m going to climb the ramp.”
She heard scrabbling sounds and then a rattle. “Fastened on the outside, of course, and almost as sturdy as the door. We could try to pry it open, but we’d still need a tool of some kind to have any chance.”
He arrived back beside her, and they found one another again in the dark.
“Scared?” he asked.
Surprisingly, she had to think about it. “Yes, though not as much as I would be if I were alone. Are you? Scared.”
“Yes.” His hand rubbed comfortingly on her back, and she did the same to him. “Should I not admit it? Here in the dark, it seems ridiculous to posture. I don’t want to die just yet, and certainly not with such lack of dignity at the hands of ruffians.”
This approached interesting matters. “Do you think it’s your Scottish friends who have captured us?”
His hand paused for a moment. “Perhaps.”
“But why? And if they wanted to kill me, why sneak into an earl’s house at night to steal us both away?” She prayed for an honest answer.
“I have no idea, which is worrying enough—”
“Especially since they are your colleagues,” she snapped.
“Sheathe your claws, little cat. I honestly have no idea what is behind this. For the moment, we are on the same side, and our pressing need is to escape. I’m afraid that means crawling about the floor in search of some overlooked tool.”
He would have moved away, but she held on to the rough wool of his habit. “I want to know everything that is going on.”
“It wouldn’t help.”
“How can you know that?”
“You’re just being curious, in typical female fashion.”
“Curious! My life is in danger—”
“And you are delaying things by a pointless argument.” He freed himself and moved away.
“Female fashion, indeed.” Elf settled to her knees and started to work her way around the room.
Her shift ripped further, so, muttering a curse, she knotted it near her waist. If a light appeared now and exposed her like this, she’d die of shame.
“If you didn’t know what was going on,” she protested, “you’d be full of questions, too. ”
“I don’t know what’s going on. For example, I don’t even know who you are, though there’s something damnably familiar about your voice when you speak English. Why not start with your true name?”
Elf almost told him, longing to prick his bubble. She managed to resist.
“Who I am is not important.” She reached tentatively beneath the huge cask—heaven only knows what might be there. As it turned out her fingers found only chips of broken flagstone.
“Then what’s going on is equally unimportant,” he said. “I’ve found a short stick—a broken broom handle, I think—but I can’t see what good it will do us.”
They took refuge in grumpy silence broken only by the scrabble of their search.