The door opened with a shuddered groan. The thud of boots against the stone floor announced he had a visitor. Several, in fact.
“Look at me,” a guard ordered as he shoved his boot into Colyne’s side.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he complied. Instead of the grizzled face of a dungeon guard, a well-dressed man stared down at him. Framed by golden hair the color of sunlight were eyes so filled with hatred, if he’d claimed to be the devil, Colyne would have believed him. Stunned, he recognized the man dressed in a surcoat and a mantle of vermeil—King Philip.
As the monarch studied Colyne, his expression grew more ominous. “Lift him to his feet.” Venom raked his words.
The guards hauled Colyne up.
At the agony raging through his body, he smothered a scream.
Another man with straight, shoulder-length brown hair strode to the king’s side. Caustic hazel eyes bored through him.
Colyne didna recognize the man, but the gold fleurs-de-lis sewed on his surcoat, along with his arrogant stance, ended any doubt.Marie’s betrothed.His heart slammed in his chest. The man she would wed.
Colyne wanted to scream that Marie belonged to him. That he loved her. “Sire,” he forced out, trying to make his tongue create the words, aware this was his only chance to explain the misunderstanding.
The king nodded to his guard.
The man’s fist lashed out; Colyne’s head snapped back.
“How dare you abduct my daughter?” King Philip boomed.
The coppery taste of blood filled Colyne’s mouth. By the grace of God! King Philip didna know the truth; Marie must still have a fever, as he’d suspected. Or . . .
God, nay!
His knees buckled and blackness threatened. Colyne struggled for consciousness. She couldna be dead. “I—”
The king again nodded to the guard.
The man’s fist rammed into Colyne’s gut.
On a groan, he doubled over. Before he could catch his breath, Marie’s betrothed grabbed Colyne’s hair and jerked his head up.
“But that was not enough for you, was it?” The duke nodded to a guard.
The man drove his fist into Colyne’s jaw.
Bones crunched. A ringing reverberated in Colyne’s ears and the room began to spin. Needing to explain, he pulled himself back to consciousness.
Barely.
“My physician has informed me that my daughter has lost her innocence,” King Philip charged with lethal menace. He shoved Colyne’s jaw against the stone wall. “She had bruises around her neck, her wrists, and others on her body. You will regret having tied her up and raped her!”
Visions of making love with Marie slid through Colyne’s mind, of her beauty, of her sensual awakening. Nae the brutality her father painted or her betrothed believed. “Nay, we . . .” Colyne fought to explain that she’d acquired the bruises when the Englishmen had seized her on the dock in Glasgow as well as their escape from the ship, but pain crushed his words.We made love, he silently finished.
“Admit the truth,” Marie’s betrothed demanded.
Colyne stared at King Philip, forced his mouth to form words he wished to tell Marie instead. “I love her.”
“You love her?” The king’s indignation boomed through the cell. His nostrils flared. “How dare you twist your depraved actions into self-serving righteousness.”
“Nay.” Colyne’s mind blurred. Somehow, he had to make her father understand. “Marie—”
“Silence! How dare you speak my daughter’s name? You are unworthy to breathe. Now,” he said with deadly authority, “you shall pay for your transgressions!”
Colyne tried to speak, but his tongue, swollen and parched, hindered his labored attempts. “I did nae abduct her,” he managed to force out. “The Duke of . . .” His throat worked as he fought to speak. “The Duke of Renard—”
