Page 63 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Ropes bit into his wrists as the guards bound him. Over the men-at-arms conversing and the rattle of armor, he heard Blythe talking. While Pitt didn’t doubt she cared for him, she could come to realize she wanted more: more than he could offer her; more than committing herself to an outlaw whose past would always haunt him. He could not fault her for such decisions. While he didn’t want to lose her—God help him, he loved her—he would also not hold her back if she chose to part ways again and give her love to another.

Guards shoved him backward against the wall; his knuckles scraped rough stone. Glancing to his left, he saw Sherborne, glowering, bound a short distance away. Galven, watched over by several men-at-arms, was rousing.

“…how did you know to find us?” Blythe asked.

“Clarine,” Harlow said.

“Clarine?” she echoed.

“She had a bad dream. She went to your chamber and discovered the open door to the tunnels. The maidservant who found her alerted the guards.”

Pitt smiled. Clever Blythe. Leaving that door open had saved her life.

“I am sorry, Harlow, for…what I did to you earlier,” she said.

She’d chosen not to say “for rendering you unconscious with a book” in the presence of Harlow’s colleagues. He would surely appreciate her show of respect.

The widower cleared his throat. “We will discuss that matter later. Right now—”

“Please. The castle is in danger,” Blythe said.

“What?”

“Pitt will tell you.”

Harlow’s disbelieving gaze shifted to him.

“’Tis true,” Pitt said. “A siege. At dawn on the morrow.”

Beside him, Sherborne hissed a breath.

“’Tis what I wanted to tell you and your men in the dungeon. His lordship can tell you more than I since he arranged the attack.”

“A falsehood.” Sherborne sneered. “You, the known traitor’s son, organized—”

“You coerced Pitt,” Blythe shouted. “You threatened Pitt’s son.”

How striking she looked, her eyes blazing with fury…because she believed in him. Ah, Blythe.

“Is that true?” Harlow demanded of Pitt.

Worry for Fenton burgeoned inside him, but he refused to be controlled by fear any longer. “’Tis true. I swear, upon my knight’s honor. As Blythe said before, I am willing to tell you all that I know. Galven, who is loyal to Sherborne, may know more than I.”

Harlow’s dismayed gaze shifted to his colleague. “’Tis only right that we continue this discussion in the dungeon. You will come as well, milady.”

Pitt’s heart hurt, for she was in trouble because she’d aided him. Yet, in the flickering torchlight, he saw no regret in her expression, only determination.

“Of course, I will come. I shall help however I can.” As the men-at-arms grabbed Pitt’s arms and drew him away from the wall, she picked up the tome and faced the widower again. “I would also like to send a missive to Lord Montgomery.”

Standing outside the dungeon cell, Blythe set her hand over Pitt’s fingers, curled around the bars. He’d been locked in the iron cage a short while ago after divulging what he knew of the plans for the siege. He hadn’t mentioned seeing the glint of light in the wall, and she’d decided to keep that to herself as well, until they could both tell Lord Montgomery in private.

Sherborne, who had refused to answer any questions, had been locked in the isolation cell; the guards intended to interrogate him again later. Galven had also been locked up. Harlow had contacted the local sheriff, and had also sent an urgent missive, that included a letter from Blythe, to Lord Montgomery.

“I wish you did not have to spend the night in the dungeon,” she murmured to Pitt. After so much danger and excitement, she yearned to be alone with him in her chamber, to reaffirm with kisses, touches, gasps, and sighs, how much he meant to her, now and always.

“I have seen much fouler places than this prison.”

“Prisons are for criminals. You are a hero.”