Chapter 5
A candle sputtered and hissed in the silent room, its flame flaring brightly for a brief moment, then died into a curling whiff of smoke, the wick a glowing ember.
Awakened by the sound, Kassandra sighed contentedly, snuggling ever closer to the radiating warmth beside her.
“Hmmm…” she murmured, her cheek brushing against crisp curls that tickled her nose. She smiled faintly, the steady rhythm of a strong heartbeat pulsing gently in her ear. It seems so real, she thought drowsily, so real…
Suddenly Kassandra’s eyelids flickered open, burning memory flooding back into her dazed consciousness. She tried to sit up, but she was held fast.
“Oh—!” she gasped, biting her lip hard, her stifled cry echoing around the room. She froze, scarcely breathing, fearful that any further sound, any movement, any breath, however shallow, would surely waken the man who held her prisoner.
How long had she been lying there? Kassandra wondered frantically, glancing at the window. The opaque shade was drawn, completely covering the glass. She could not tell if it was day or night.
Rising panic gripped her throat, but she fought against it, willing herself to think clearly. She lifted her head, her gaze darting about the room. It was dark and filled with shadows except for a solitary candle still burning in a wall sconce near the door.
The door! Kassandra thought wildly. Her only means of escape, if she could only reach it. But her heart sank. First she had to free herself from the man who held her captive within his embrace, without waking him.
Forcing herself to stay calm, Kassandra took a deep breath and looked up at him, fearful that she might find him staring boldly back at her, his eyes laughing wickedly at her plight.
But he was sound asleep, the even rise and fall of his chest a hopeful sign that he would not wake easily.
His face was cloaked in shadow, yet even in the dark she was struck by the rugged masculinity of his features: black brows set against a wide forehead, commanding profile, chiseled lips, strong jawline, cleft chin…
“You’re a wanton fool,” Kassandra whispered, dismayed at herself for giving him so brazenly what she should have saved for a husband and her wedding night. The only saving grace at that moment was that he slept so soundly, no doubt from all the wine he’d consumed.
That thought flooded Kassandra with relief, giving her the courage she needed.
Fueled by her growing outrage, at herself, and at this man who had mistaken her for a tavern wench—sweet Lord, though she had acted like one!
—she pushed gingerly against him, trying to free herself.
She nearly choked, her heart banging against her chest, when he suddenly rolled over onto his back, sighing heavily, his arms falling to his sides.
She hesitated for the barest moment, motionless, her breath caught in her throat. God help her if he awoke! Yet he slept on, his breathing deep and steady.
Kassandra could hardly believe she was free of him. Waiting no longer, she crept to the other end of the wide bed.
She winced as the wooden bed frame creaked from her furtive movements, but still she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and stepped onto the floor.
At least the carpet would mask her footsteps. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Where were her clothes?
As she took a few steps from the bed, her foot fell on a linen garment lying crumpled on the floor. She picked it up, fury welling inside her as she surveyed what was left of her chemise.
Bastard! Tears began to roll down her flushed cheeks as the enormity of what had transpired within these four walls hit her with full force. She was ruined! She dropped the mangled garment, and wiped the wet stains from her face with the palm of her hand.
Suddenly a glint of light near the bed caught her eye and she turned, inhaling sharply. Her gaze fell upon his sword, still propped up against the chair where he had left it, the polished blade brightly reflecting the candlelight.
Kassandra walked trancelike to the chair and lifted the weapon, testing it in her hand.
It was fairly light, surely no heavier than the swords she had wielded in her fencing classes at Wyndham Court.
She moved to the bed and stared at the man sleeping there, his bronzed body in dark contrast with the white linen sheets.
It would be so easy to kill him now, to run him through with his own sword.
Surely it would be a rightful revenge for what he had done to her—no matter that she had succumbed to her own desire.
Yet the outcome would have been no different if she had fought him, so surely he deserved to die.
She pointed the sword at his chest, the blade steady even though she was trembling, the deadly tip aimed directly at his heart.
She stood for a long moment, the raw emotion overwhelming her like a bitter bile upon her tongue. Yes, he deserved to die…
Suddenly he groaned and rolled onto his side, his back to her, startling Kassandra from her deadly reverie.
She dropped the sword upon the bed as if stung and backed away, fearful that at any moment he might wake and discover she was no longer beside him.
All thoughts of revenge fled from her mind.
Sweet Lord, she had to get out of there at once!
She fell to her knees, desperately groping on the floor and beneath the bed for her clothing. She dressed hurriedly, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she fumbled with the laces of her bodice. At last, after several agonizing moments, she was ready.
Money, she would need money to hire a carriage if Zoltan was no longer at the cathedral, she reminded herself.
Spying the coat of his uniform tossed over the back of the chair, she quickly rummaged through the deep side pockets, her eyes lighting when she pulled out a small velvet bag filled with coins.
She slipped the bag into her bodice; then, with a last glance over her shoulder, she stole silently to the door.
She turned the polished knob, her heart pounding in her ears, but the door held fast. The bolt!
Open the bolt! Her fingers grasped the heavy iron lock and slid it back.
Once again her hand tested the knob, twisting it slowly.
She could have cried with relief as the door swung open, squeaking on its hinges.
Kassandra held her breath, cautiously peering into the short hallway that led to the main corridor.
She could hear the low rumble of voices and outbursts of raucous laughter filtering up the stairs from the tavern below, but there was no sound coming from any of the adjacent rooms. Confident that she would not be seen, she opened the door just wide enough to squeeze through it, then closed it quietly behind her.
She edged along the wall, stopping when she came to the darkened corridor.
“‘Ere we go, love, just up these steps,” a woman’s shrill voice called from the bottom of the stairway. “Now, mind ye, I take on only one at a time. Tell yer friend there to go have another draft of wine. He’ll have to wait his turn just like the rest of ‘em.”
Kassandra’s throat constricted as heavy footsteps sounded from the stairs. The wooden steps creaked loudly under the weight of the woman and her companion, their drunken laughter echoing down the long corridor.
The noise will surely wake him! Kassandra thought wildly. Her worst fears were confirmed when a sharply uttered curse came from within the corner room, then what sounded like a chair crashing to the floor.
She waited no longer. She bolted into the corridor, determined to dash down the stairs and through the tavern to the street. Yet the stairway was blocked by the weaving, belching couple, a heavy-set blond woman and a rough-looking sailor.
“Heh, there, dearie, what’s yer rush?” the woman yelled amiably.
A bleary grin twisted her rouged face until her companion lunged at Kassandra, tripping over the doxy and knocking both onto the stairs.
“Ye stinkin’ swine, not enough woman for ye, eh?
” she blurted angrily, cuffing him on the side of the head.
Kassandra whirled and fled the other way, trying the doorknobs to several rooms. A few were locked, while one opened into a small bedroom that was occupied, the scantily clad woman shouting out crude obscenities, much to the delight of her prone companion, until Kassandra quickly slammed the door shut.
There must be another way out of this tavern!
her mind screamed, as she tried yet another doorknob.
This one turned easily in her hand, and she almost fell down a narrow flight of stairs in her haste to escape.
Stumbling and groping in the dark, she lifted the latch on the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed with all her strength.
The door swung open so suddenly that she fell to her knees on the ground, the late afternoon sun blinding her.
Momentarily stunned, Kassandra pushed her hair from her face and struggled to her feet.
At least it was still daylight, she thought gratefully, noting her surroundings.
She was now at the back of the tavern, the Danube Canal only thirty odd feet away.
Several sailors loitering at a nearby wharf spied her and called out, gesturing for her to join them, their leering grins arousing sheer terror in her.
You must find your way back to St. Stephen’s, Kassandra reasoned, fighting again to stay calm. Without another glance at the sailors, she turned and fled down the alley beside the tavern, their crude taunts ringing in her ears. Each breath tore at her throat, her chest heaving from exertion.
Will this nightmare ever end? she wondered wildly, reaching the cobbled road that wound in front of the tavern, the same street on which she had almost been trampled earlier that day.