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“You son of a bitch! You will burn in hell for this, mark my words!” His throat burned from the effort he expended. He screamed and the anguish escaped, sliding off the stone and filling his soul with grief. How could he have allowed this to happen?
He should never have taken Ruby out of the castle. He endangered them all with his careless actions, and they now suffered the consequences of his poor decision. Ruby was alive, for the moment. That alone gave him comfort, and yet he knew that comfort would be short-lived. Whoever captured them had much larger plans than he first assumed.
Their captor intended to use the queen to force the king’s hand. They would take the throne by force. Blood would fill the streets if he successfully turned the people against the monarchy. Those who were loyal to Crispin would suffer.
He could not focus on something out of his control. First and foremost, he needed a way to escape and steal Ruby away from this madman.
Henry rested his head against the wall. Who could possibly want to tear the kingdom apart? There were many who disliked Crispin and wished to remove him from the throne. But none he knew of were brazen enough to invoke his wrath by taking the queen.
Ignoring the pain and his thirst, Henry took what tools were given to him and replayed the events leading to their capture. If all he had was time, he would use it to the best advantage. There was always hope, even if it felt helpless. If only he could force himself to believe it long enough to survive.
Chapter Two
Bile bit the back ofher throat. Ruby blinked against the darkness. Small pinpoints of light filtered through the fabric like the sky on a clear, cold night. Her head ached, and she struggled to breathe with the sack covering her face.
Ignoring the pounding in her head and the numbness in her bound limbs, she struggled against the bonds around her hands. Her feet twisted to no avail. The soft fabric beneath her belied the comforts of a bed and fine linens, but the scent was unfamiliar. It could be the fabric covering her head, but there was nothing comfortable about her situation in truth. She was a captive.
Flashes of images appeared in her mind as she recalled the altercation in the forest. The men who chased her. A long trek through the dark woods. The outline of the castle on the sunlit horizon. Hope and relief had filled her. She saw salvation.
Ruby remembered nothing after the blinding pain save the darkness. She fought against the bonds harder, grunting from the effort and willing the knots to loosen. Her breath came faster, making it more difficult to fill her lungs with air. The fabric of the sack stuck to her sweat-slickened cheek and tangled hair.
Inhaling deeply, she loosed a scream to bring down the walls of Jericho. If there be any hope, it would come. Or her captor would. Either way, Ruby could assess the situation more clearly if she knew where she was. And whom she had to thank for their generous hospitality.
Silence met her outburst. She opened her mouth to scream again, but the sound of a lock being turned made her pause and listen. The soft shuffle of footsteps entered the room. Ruby stilled as they came closer.
Whoever entered the room placed something on a hard surface. A tray perhaps. Or a weapon. It was difficult to tell. She strained to hear anything that might give her an idea of where she was.
“Who are you?” Ruby’s voice cracked on the final word, but she held firm awaiting the intruder’s response.
The faint scent of roasted meat and apples teased her hunger to life. Her stomach growled, and her mouth watered. She swallowed and pushed aside the temptation.
“What do you want?” Ruby demanded with a stronger determination.
A soft brush of fingertips against the back of her hand made Ruby recoil. “Show yourself. Coward.” She struggled again, knowing it was hopeless but the thought of someone placing their hands upon her without consent incensed her. “Release me!”
The room filled with the sound of soft feminine laughter followed by the retreat of footsteps and the slamming of the door. Ruby swore and writhed on the bed. Her frustration boiled over into pure panic. She screamed again louder than before. Whoever dared to accost her would pay dearly.
After fighting her unbreakable binding, she lay still with her heart pounding and breath heaving. How she longed for the cool air against her skin. Her nose itched, making her eyes water. Curse this bastard.
Her stomach growled again seduced by the meal brought by some faceless woman. Instead of focusing on the food, she directed her thoughts to assess her situation.
How much time had passed? Hours. Days. It was impossible to tell. Crispin would surely know of her disappearance by now. But how would he know where she was taken or by whom? The bandits set upon them with the intent to take her, but they would show no mercy to her escorts. Henry and Connor were surely dead. A third scream wrenched itself from her throat filled with agony and pain.
Unrelenting guilt consumed her. She caused their deaths as surely as she had drawn a blade from her own sheath and drove it into their hearts. Tears filled her eyes. Nay. She blinked them away. There had to be hope. Perhaps they escaped as she did. Even if one of them returned to the castle and raised the alarm, it would be better than imagining them both dead along the king’s road.
