The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch (33 page)

Was Royce staying in one of the outbuildings
she could see from here? Or somewhere within the keep itself? Was
he being treated well?

She prayed that Daemon would keep his word
and ensure Royce’s safety. She had promised God that if only Royce
were kept safe and allowed to return home to Châlons, she would
accept whatever cruelties her marriage might bring.

A knock sounded at the door. Ciara froze,
paralyzed by a sudden jolt of fear.

It was almost midnight. Who would be so bold
as to intrude on her privacy at this hour … except her
betrothed?

She had thought Daemon would wait until the
morn to see her alone for the first time. Mayhap she had guessed
wrong.

Steeling herself, she closed the shutters,
clinging to the bar she dropped in place. “Come in.” Her voice
echoed loudly across the dark, empty chamber.

She heard the door open, then close.

Heard the bolt being thrown into place.

A trickle of fear seized her. He did not
bother to announce himself. She turned, slowly.

Only to find herself facing the last person
she had expected to see.

“
Miriam!”

P
ain wrenched him to
awareness. Pain and an urgent voice that seemed to come from a
great distance, echoing strangely.

“Milord?”

Royce fought his way toward consciousness,
only to be battered down by the savage, pounding ache between his
temples. Cold water splashed his face. He groaned in protest, tried
to raise his hands to defend himself—but his wrists were bound
together behind his back.

Anger pushed him upward through the last
layers of black fog. A second splash of water made him open his
eyes.

A dark cave shimmered into his vision—uneven
walls of rock, dank and damp, glistening in the light of torches.
Shadowy figures crowded around him. Voices.

“I apologize for the ambush, milord, but we
needed to speak with you and did not think you would accept a
polite invitation,” an unfamiliar voice said. “And our need for
secrecy is of great importance.”

Royce blinked to clear his eyes. Water and
blood dripped down his face, dampening his tunic. He was sitting on
the clammy floor of the cave, his back against a wall of rock.

A dark-haired man crouched before him, a
metal ewer dangling from his fingers. “Welcome back, Baron
Ferrano.” He handed the empty water pitcher to one of the others.
“For a moment, I was afraid we might have lost you. Sometimes young
Hadwyn does not know his own strength.” He smiled, a crooked grin
that revealed white teeth in a tanned, angular face shadowed by a
week’s growth of beard. “How do you feel?”

Royce furrowed his brow, not sure he was
seeing or hearing right with this ferocious pain in his head.
Glancing left and right, he could make out five figures surrounding
him. Two he recognized as his Thuringian guards, but the other
three were—

The warriors he had fought in Gavena.

His eyes widened as he glanced from lanky,
well-dressed Karl … to the strapping, sandy-haired bowman called
Landers … to the dark-haired knave crouched before him, the one
who had shot him in the arm.

He had been captured by the rebels.

But why now, after Ciara had been safely
delivered to Daemon?

And why had they not killed him?

Royce wet his dry lips. “If you think to
torture me for information, you are a little late.”

The crooked grin widened. “Nay, milord.
Tying you up merely seemed the safest way to make you sit still
long enough to listen to what we have to say. It has become clear
to us that you are a dangerous man, regardless of the odds against
you.”

Royce regarded him through narrowed eyes.
The man had the look of a seasoned warrior and an air of confidence
and command that marked him as the leader. “Where in the name of
Hell am I?” He tested his bonds and found them more than
secure—tight, but not painfully so.

“A cave several hundred feet beneath the
palace. There is a vast labyrinth of caverns and passageways inside
this mountain. The Thuringian branch of our forces has been using
this particular one as their base for more than six months
now.”

“The Thuringian … what?” Royce echoed.

The skinny young guardsman who had struck
him over the head—Hadwyn, the man had called him—knelt beside him.
“The Thuringian arm of the rebel forces,” he explained, setting
aside an apple he had been eating. “We have been working together
since before the war ended.” He folded a damp cloth and pressed it
against Royce’s injury. “I am sorry, milord, for the blow to your
head, but it was necessary for the benefit of the sentries. In case
they are asked to verify that we did our duty.”

Royce winced as the lad gingerly dabbed the
blood from his forehead. “And what exactly
was
your duty?”
He could not believe he was seeing Thuringian guards in their royal
colors standing shoulder to shoulder with Châlons rebels.

Mayhap he was dead after all, and God had a
sense of humor, and this was some particularly bizarre corner of
Purgatory.

“Our orders came from Prince Daemon
himself,” the older Thuringian guard explained in that bullfrog
voice as he came to stand behind Hadwyn. “He said that you were not
to live to see sunrise.”

“Some of the guards were less than eager to
face your blade after the incident in the forest today, so no one
objected when Jarek and I volunteered.” Hadwyn set the cloth aside.
“We were ordered to spirit you out of the palace and leave you at
the bottom of a cliff, where your body would be found a few days
from now. It would look as if you had been drinking, gone for a
walk—”

“And met with a tragic accident,” Royce
concluded grimly. “Good to know that Daemon’s word of honor is
worth as much as it ever was.”

“Landers and Karl arrived three days ago,
and told us to keep watch for your arrival,” Jarek said, jowls
quivering as he nodded toward his comrades. “Thayne felt you could
be valuable to us—though none of us knew your true identity until
today, Baron Ferrano.”

“So when did I become valuable?” Royce
turned an assessing stare on the dark-haired warrior crouched
before him. “I assume it was
after
you shot me in
Gavena?”

The man exhaled a soft sound of amusement
and ran his thumb along an old scar on his bearded jaw. “Sir Royce,
I believe a formal introduction is long overdue. My name is Thayne.
I am a huntsman by trade, but for the last few months, I have been
the leader of more than fifty of King Aldric’s loyal subjects, who
have unfortunately been branded rebels. For now we are outlaws, but
as Karl tried to explain to you in Gavena, our intentions are
peaceful.”

“For a peaceful man, you are rather quick
with a crossbow,” Royce replied dryly.

Thayne’s lips tightened. “My intent was to
disarm you, milord. I merely wished to prevent you from cutting my
brother’s throat.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Royce glanced from him
to Karl, seeing the resemblance between the two. Though their
coloring was different, the features were similar.

As was the crooked grin, he discovered, when
Karl spoke. “Thayne never misses, Sir Royce. He could have killed
you had he aimed higher. And I
did
try to convince you that
we meant no harm.”

“Aye,” Royce said slowly, still dubious.

“And you were not the only one who lost a
bit of blood in Gavena’s marketplace,” Landers reminded him.

Royce turned to regard the sandy-haired
rebel whose broad shoulders almost matched the length of the
longbow he favored. “It was my duty to keep all of you away from
the princess.”

“Indeed, and you are damned fast with a
blade,” Landers complained with a glower, rubbing his right thigh,
which was still bandaged. After a moment, his mouth curved in a
grudging smile. “Had I been the one charged with protecting Her
Highness’s life, I only hope I would have been as fierce. It seems
King Aldric chose well.”

Before Royce could respond, footsteps echoed
from a narrow passage at the end of the cave.

“That will be the ladies,” Thayne said,
rising.

“Finally,” Landers muttered, his tone one of
relief.

Royce looked toward the cave entrance as a
tall, blond woman stepped inside.

Just ahead of Ciara.

“Your Highness,” a chorus of voices said
with hushed reverence. Every man in the cave dropped to one knee
and bowed—except for Royce, who could not move despite the shock
racing through his veins.

Ciara looked quite calm as she walked right
into the rebels’ lair. At least until she saw him. Gasping, her
gaze on his bruised and bleeding forehead, she rushed past the
others to kneel at his side. “Oh, Royce, are you all right?”

He could only choke out a small sound of
confusion as she gingerly probed his sore head.

The rebels got to their feet, yet still made
no move to harm her. Landers slipped one burly arm around the blond
woman’s waist. “Did you have any trouble?”

“None, my love.” She stood on tiptoe to
brush a quick kiss over his lips, but her smile faded as she saw
Royce’s injury and bound arms. “Thayne, was that necessary?” She
turned a frown on the group’s leader.

“Miriam, I told you we might have to—”

“You promised me that this time no blood
would be shed. Instead, it would seem you have all been brawling
again.”

Royce finally recovered from his
astonishment enough to speak. “By nails and blood, what is—”

He never got to finish because Ciara had
remained still only long enough to make sure his injury was not
serious before she threw her arms around him, without regard for
their audience. “Royce, I was so worried, but everything is going
to be all right. Miriam explained that the rebels never
were
trying to kill me—”

“And you simply believed her and left the
palace?” Royce choked out. “Ciara …” He would have unwrapped her
hands from around his neck if his were not tied behind him. Would
have stepped away from her if he were standing.

Since he had no choice but to submit to her
embrace, he closed his eyes and leaned into her, inhaling her
scent, reveling in her closeness and the caress of her hair against
his cheek.

He heard the sudden, astonished silence fall
among the men gathered around them, realized that everyone in the
cave had just guessed that his and Ciara’s feelings for each other
went deeper than what a princess and her protector were supposed to
feel.

But he did not care at the moment. He was
too grateful to have her here with him, beyond Daemon’s reach.
“Thank God you are all right.” He finally managed to pull back from
her. “But how did you get out of the palace? You could not have
simply walked out without anyone seeing you—”

“A secret passage, Baron Ferrano.” The blond
woman crossed to stand before him and curtsied. “I am sorry we must
meet under these trying circumstances, milord. I am Miriam, lady’s
maid to Princess Ciara.”

“The decoy,” he rumbled. “The one who told
these others where to look for us?”

“Of that I am guilty, milord, but I never
meant for
any
harm to befall milady. Or you.”

Ciara sat back on her heels, heedless of her
velvet gown being dampened by the cave floor. “I believe she is
telling the truth, Royce. The incident in my father’s solar was not
an assassination attempt at all. It was an abduction gone
awry.”

“I am sorry you were injured, Your
Highness,” Landers said. “I would rather have plunged the blade
into my own heart.”

Ciara turned to look at him. “You were the
one who …” Her eyes widened in recognition. “It
was
you!”

He knelt before her, his head bowed, his
voice strained. “I offer my deepest apologies, Princess Ciara, and
swear to you it was an accident. I only drew the knife hoping to
frighten you so you would stay quiet while I tied you up. I beg
your forgiveness.”

“And I grant it, sir. I understand now that
you had your country’s best interests at heart. And you took a
great risk to your own life.”

“Everyone here has taken a great risk for
their country, Princess Ciara. Yourself included,” Thayne said, his
eyes filled with respect and admiration for her.

“Wait a moment. Will someone please explain
all of this to me?” Royce interrupted. “
After
you untie
me.”

Thayne motioned to young Hadwyn, who quickly
slit the ropes with a knife. Set free, Royce flexed his fingers and
allowed Ciara to help him to his feet, his head still pounding.
Touching his temple, he found he was no longer bleeding. He fixed
Thayne with a hard stare. “What do you mean it was a failed
abduction attempt?”

“We never intended to kill her, milord.”

“As I explained to Her Highness,” Miriam put
in, “if that had been our purpose, I could have poisoned her food
at any time and spared us all a great deal of danger.”

“Our intent was simply to keep her from
Prince Daemon,” Landers said. “To prevent the wedding.”

Royce glanced from one to the other as they
spoke, still finding it hard to believe that the rebels were not
the traitors and assassins he had believed them to be. “But what
about the avalanche? How was
that
intended to prevent the
wedding—except by killing us both?”

“We had naught to do with the avalanche,”
Karl said.

“It must have been caused by the weather,”
Landers added, “by a spring thaw.”

Royce looked at Ciara, who nodded, as if to
remind him that he himself had told her that was a possibility.
Frowning, he lifted his gaze to Thayne’s. “So it was purely a
coincidence that your men were there when it happened?”

“Only one was there when it started,” the
rebel leader corrected. “I had scouts searching for you in all the
southern passes. One of them spotted you and left at once to inform
his companions that you had been located at last. But by the time
the four of them returned to the pass, it was obvious a catastrophe
had taken place.”