“If you speak to me in an untoward manneronce . . . more,” she warned, her finger under the nose that still bore the evidence of their first meeting, “you will soon find out whether I am as bloodthirsty and vicious as the rumors you seem so eager to perpetrate purport, do you understand me?” she demanded. “I’ve not survived thus far because I’m some spoiled, weak ninny who’s been waited on hand and foot, and you will show me the respect I’m due if only owing to the fact that, one, I’mnotdead, and, two, I haven’t exercised mycompletely justifiableurge to take a switch to youandyour ill-mannered, smelly beast!” She paused, and when there was no response, she leaned even closer to his face, looking at him sideways and bringing her finger up level with her own nose. “Do you understand or not?”
Jeremy’s own eyes narrowed. “Aye. I understand,milady.”
Dori stood aright from the man. “There is a way into the keep. I found it.” She paused. “And Lord Gerardhasbeen away for several hours. I do feel it would be best if we could perhaps determine his safety, but the only way into the keep is treacherous.” She glanced up at the birds swooping expertly through a window facing the ward. “Unless you can fly, that is.”
Jeremy looked thoughtfully at the remnant of the tower for a moment. “I can’t fly,” he said at last and then looked at her with his arms crossed over his chest. “But I know where there is a ladder in the village.”
“High enough to reach the window?”
He nodded. “From the outside, aye. But . . .”
Dori’s eyes narrowed again. “What?”
“My form is too . . . muscular to attempt to gain such a height.” He turned to face her. “You’llhave to climb it.” He said it as if it were a challenge.
She shrugged. “Bring a length of rope as well. A long length.” She paused. “Two of them.”
Jeremy hesitated. “I’m not your servant, lady.”
“No, but you are Lord Gerard’s, by your own passionate vow,” she reminded him and then gave a sigh.“Please.”
He turned on his heel and headed across the ward to the threshold in the wall. “Back in a thrice,” he said.
“Don’t let anyone see you!” she called out.
He raised an arm over his head but did not reply.
Dori stood on her tiptoes and cried, “You forgot your dog!”
Jeremy stepped over the threshold and was gone.
She looked down at the dog who, at her first glance, gained his feet and wagged his tail enthusiastically.
“What?” she demanded of him.
The tail slowed to a stop.
Dori sighed and looked back to the keep, wondering what she would find when she dared climb to the window and look inside. Constantine Gerard’s body broken or crushed in the rubble? Or perhaps clutching the charred bones of his family?
Dori shuddered, wondering if his predicament could very easily become hers did she not return to Thurston Hold soon and save her own son. But first she had to help Constantine Gerard, whether he thought he needed her or not.
Chapter 13
Thirst seemed to eat at Constantine’s throat from the inside out even while perspiration poured from his skin, but he did not slow in his labors. If anything, his irritation grew with every stone he moved, as it seemed the rubble refused him any downward progress.
He chose to focus on his memories of Patrice and the last time he’d seen her—here, in this very keep. Her beautiful face had been tear-streaked, although she had kept her composure while they’d said their farewells over their son’s head. Her bloodshot, shadowed eyes had spoken louder than any words she might have repeated, continuing to beg him, as she’d done late into the night, to stay. Stay. Please, stay.
Christian had just recently turned four years old. And so he hadn’t understood the idea of Papa going away for so long a time. Constantine could now see what a fool he had been—it was so clear to him here atop the destruction he had wrought. Regardless of Patrice’s betrayals outside of their marriage, Constantine had punished everyone he loved by going away. The brave general, so full of pride. So sure of himself. He’d acted little more than a child himself.
Yes, Glayer Felsteppe had given the command for his family to be killed, but that wouldn’t have been possible if Constantine had been where he belonged the entire time—at his home, protecting those he loved. For hehadloved Patrice, even though her infidelity had changed that love. He had remained faithful to her, after her betrayals and even in faraway Syria. It was a duty he had sworn to after all.
But God had determined that Constantine deserved neither his wife nor his son and had taken them both away.
He paused in his labors and let his palms—dirtied and bloodied— rest on his filth-caked chausses as he stared into the shallow depression before him.
“My lord,” a woman’s voice called, and a chill raced up his spine as his body stiffened. “Lord Gerard.”
It sounded as if the voice was coming from the sky.
