A Lamentation of Swans Read online

  He made a grab for her abruptly. Fortunately, he was too drunk to move with any coordination. He tripped over his boots and sprawled on the floor. Gwyneth uttered a giggle, dancing out of his reach. Intended to sound flirtatious, hysteria threaded the sound instead, but she doubted he had enough wit about him to realize it or care if he did.

  “I see in ain’t food ye’ve got on yer mind,” she muttered in an attempt to sound seductive. “I’ll just git the stuff I left around the corner an’ once ye’ve had a bit of food if yer still interested ….”

  He almost caught her as she whirled to dash back down the corridor, but although he succeeded in grabbing her foot, his hold wasn’t firm enough to trip her up. Racing frantically back the way she’d come, she dropped to her knees and pitched the ring of keys through the food slot of Caelin’s cell. Whether he could reach them or not remained to be seen, but she didn’t want the guard grabbing her and discovering she had them and it seemed doubtful, now, that she could elude him long enough to free the elf.

  She’d done what she could. It was all that she could do.

  A heaviness still settled over her as it flickered through her mind that it might all be for nothing, that he might not be able to reach the keys she’d tossed to him at such risk to herself.

  The guard lurched around the corner and grabbed her before she could gather up the wineskin and the cloth wrapped food. Staggering, he pitched them both onto the rough stone floor, landing on top of Gwyneth hard enough to knock the breath from her, stunning her.

  “I’ll have a piece of you,” he growled, “and then mayhap another bit and then I’ll think about the wine.”

  He wreaked of ale, but his breath was worse. By the time Gwyneth had managed to drag air into her bruised chest again, though, she’d had time to realize it would be better all the way around not to fight him. He was still too drunk for his suspicions to have been aroused. If she didn’t give him any trouble, mayhap he’d finished quickly and pass out, and she could still escape with her hide intact.

  Hiking her skirts, he shoved a hand between her legs, fondled her roughly for a moment and began fumbling to get his nasty stick from his pants. Bile rose in Gwyneth’s throat. Between his stench, his foul breath, and the certainty that she had to endure another poking before she had any chance of escape, it was all Gwyneth could do to hold onto the contents of her stomach.

  She felt something about the thickness and length of a finger prodding her and relaxed fractionally when she realized his member wasn’t large enough to cause her a great deal of discomfort. The man, himself, was another matter. After stabbing at the tender skin along her cleft ineffectually for several moments while she lifted her hips up and down in an effort to help him ring the right hole, he finally managed to find her opening and plowed inside of her. Her eyes stung, watering at the burning pain. It was always the same, she thought despairingly, although Alyce had assured her she would grow accustomed and that it was far, far better to endure the discomfort of a few moments than to risk whelping the bastard’s brat. She wasn’t certain she completely agreed, not if it meant there was no pain in the other place, but her fear of childbirth weighed heavily against that, and worse yet was the threat of succeeding in producing offspring in the image of their fathers. She did not know if she could stomach allowing such a babe to suckle her without vomiting.

  Snuffling and grunting like a pig as he began pumping into her, he grabbed a handful of breast and squeezed it until Gwyneth had to grind her teeth to keep from crying out. He made several attempts to capture her mouth, but Gwyneth managed to elude that, jerking her head away each time so that, although she felt his slobber smear across first one cheek and then the other, she didn’t have to endure the taste of his putrid mouth on hers.

  He’d managed no more than a handful of seconds of humping and grunting when he abruptly jerked, uttered a grunt, and went limp on top of her. Gwyneth struggled to push him off, to catch her breath. Abruptly, he rolled off, sprawling limply on the floor beside her.

  “Swine!” Caelin growled furiously, bending over the unconscious guard with his fists balled.

  Gwyneth struggled upright, shoving her skirts down. “Is he dead?” she asked shakily when she realized the guard hadn’t merely passed out—at least not without help.

  Caelin slid a speculative glance at her. “Say the word and he will be,” he said grimly.

  Feeling her heart leap, her throat grow dry, Gwyneth gaped at him but finally shook her head. “You should go. They’ll send someone to spell him in a bit.”

  He nodded. Kneeling over the man, he relieved the man of his weapons,—a short sword and a dagger—tore a piece of cloth from the guard’s shirt, and used it to form a gag. Grasping the man beneath his arms, he dragged him into the cell. Gwyneth heard the clink of the manacles as she finally gathered her wits and looked around for the bread and cheese she’d stolen. The scuffle with the guard had crushed the bread a bit and the cheese, she saw, had been kicked several yards. Scrambling on her hands and knees, she gathered what was left, brushed the dirt and debris from the food, and carefully tied it in the cloth she’d used to carry it.

  Caelin emerged from the cell again just as she finally managed to get to her feet. He locked the cell behind him while she tucked the knotted cloth into the waist of her skirt and slipped the strap on the wine skin over her shoulder to leave her hands free. “I’ll show you the passage,” she said shakily.

  Nodding, he looked around and finally pulled the torch from the sconce on the wall. She stared at it, frowning as she struggled to find the words to reason with him. “There are cracks and peep holes all along the passage. If anyone’s about, they’re liable to see the light.”

  He divided a glance between her and the torch and finally returned it to the sconce, following her as she moved to the wall and felt around for the catch that would release the secret door. He caught her arm as they stepped inside and the door closed. “Show me the way to the king’s bedchamber.”

  She shook her head even though she doubted he could see it. “I don’t know the way.”

  He studied her, or perhaps considered whether or not she was lying. “You do.”

  Resentment swelled inside of her. “I freed you. Let me go. I am going whether you help me or not! I cannot endure this place longer!”

  “Show me the way first,” he growled, fury in his voice and in the tension of his stance.

  She tried to pull her arm free. “I risked enough to free you—endured that pig rutting me. Let me go, I say! I am leaving.”

  She sensed an internal struggle but finally his grip on her arm eased. “I will take you a short distance from the castle and give you directions to reach the first village beyond here. And then you will tell me the way to his apartments. If I can, I will join you again once I am done here.”

  Chapter Two

  Reluctance instantly clogged Gwyneth’s throat, but she merely nodded.

  It wasn’t that she cared if the king died. In fact, she thought she would cheer with everyone else. The reluctance was entirely from the dismay she felt that he would get himself killed in the attempt. There was no reasoning with men, though, she knew. Once they’d set their mind to do something they would certainly not listen to a woman—mayhap another man, but not a ‘silly female’.

  Turning to her right, she placed a hand along the wall. He followed closely, settling one hand near hers on the wall and the other at her waist. She could feel his warmth at her back, could feel his leg brush her skirts from time to time. His hand felt heavy on her waist and it only grew heavier as they progressed, his heat filtering through the threadbare fabric of her skirt and shift and the bustier she wore around her ribs.

  She did her best to block her keen awareness of him and focus on keeping her footing as the floor began to be more and more uneven, but she stumbled from time to time. Each time she did, his hand tightened on her waist briefly.

  After a time, the wall also grew rougher beneath her hand and she re
alized they were no longer beneath the castle itself but had reached the caverns that connected to the passage. Almost as if he’d read her mind, he spoke.

  “We aren’t beneath the castle any longer.”

  The timber of his deep voice sent a quiver through her to join the faint shaking she’d become increasingly aware of at her core. “No,” she responded, hearing the quaver in her voice.

  “You are cold?”

  Gwyneth swallowed with an effort. The air was cool and damp and the contrast between that and his warmth, she was sure, contributed to the tremors. But just as surely the chill air didn’t account for it entirely. “A little chilled,” she said finally. “Stay here a moment. It’s safe to light a torch now … and not at all safe to traverse the caverns without the aid of a light.”

  He released her almost reluctantly as she pulled away and felt around until she found the flint and torch she kept near the entrance to the cave. The oiled rags wrapped round the top of the torch were damp from the humidity and it took several minutes for a spark to catch. When it did, she tucked the flint into the bundle at her waist and lifted the torch, scanning their surroundings.

  “How do you know about the caverns?”

  Gwyneth sent him a sharp glance at his tone, wondering at the suspicion that threaded his voice. “I am not sure. I suppose I was shown, but I do not remember.”

  She felt his assessing gaze on her as she moved toward the passage she knew would lead them into the valley beyond the mountain range where Belmor Castle lay.

  “Does the king know of the passages?”

  Gwyneth flicked a glance at him over her shoulder. “I do not know.”

  He tilted his head at her speculatively, but she turned away. “If you thought they did you’d be more anxious.”

  “How do you know how anxious I am?” she asked tartly.

  “You tremble from fear then?”

  There was disbelief in his voice. It irritated her because she suspected he had a very good idea that it was him that had her trembling. “Should I not be fearful when it means my life if we are captured together?”

  “You should. This is why I think it is strange that you are not.”

  Gwyneth compressed her lips. “You do not know me, elf. Unless you read minds—and I have never heard it said that elfin folk possessed that ability—do not presume to guess what I feel.”

  They traveled in silence for a time. “Why did you risk so much to free me?” he asked after a while.

  She supposed it was to be expected that he would be curious, and yet she’d hoped he wouldn’t ask. “I did not want to watch your execution.”

  “You need not have.”

  “Not looking would not have kept it out of my mind,” she said in a strained voice.

  What did he expect her to say? What was he digging for? Everything she’d said was the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. She didn’t actually understand her reasoning herself. It wasn’t something she could explain.

  The decision was more a matter of many things coming to a head at once, she decided, than any one thing, many things that had begun to outweigh her fears.

  She wasn’t terribly afraid at the moment because she thought they were relatively safe. She was almost positive no one knew about the secret passages or the cavern besides her. She didn’t know why she thought that except that she’d never heard anyone mention them and certainly never come upon anyone.

  Not that she spent a great deal of time wandering through the secret passages, but she’d taken refuge in them many times in her memory. She’d explored them as a child and since that time until she’d memorized every twist and turn and new every secret door.

  She didn’t know how she knew about them when it seemed no one else did, but she supposed she’d learned before King Gerald’s time. She could remember when he’d taken the castle. She just couldn’t remember the old king, or his queen, and certainly no one had dared to speak of them since King Gerald the Impaler had seized the throne, so named because he was so fond of mounting his enemies, which was anyone who displeased him, on pikes along the roads throughout his kingdom.

  “If you are laboring under the belief that I am not guilty of the crime of which I was accused, you are wrong.”

  Gwyneth flicked a glance at him over her shoulder. “If you are laboring under the impression that I would hold that against you, you are wrong.”

  He pulled her to a stop, forcing her to turn and look at him. “Why would you risk so much for me?”

  The barely suppressed violence and suspicion in his tone confused and unnerved her. If was almost as if he sensed a trap of some sort, suspected her motives, but what could he possibly think she had to gain by releasing him and then leading him to his death? She supposed, after a moment, that it was understandable, given his treatment, that he trusted no one within Belmor and she still didn’t understand why it seemed that he felt animosity toward her.

  And mayhap she was only imagining it was directed toward her?

  Or he was still angry that she’d refused his request?

  She allowed her gaze to flicker over his handsome face for a handful of seconds, studying the appealing features she’d only guessed at when she’d watched him from a distance. He stirred her. She didn’t know why, but she wouldn’t have told him if she had understood herself why she had only to look at him to feel her pulse race and her breath grow short, to feel want for him to touch in the all the ways she’d thought she hated when other men touched her.

  It defied reason that she had looked at him, a battered prisoner, and felt hope, that she’d felt truly alive for the first time that she could recall.

  She looked away when she felt a blush rising to her cheeks. “I do not know,” she murmured. “I thought ….” She lifted her gaze to meet his again. “I felt hope when I saw you. I have not felt that in a very long time.”

  He studied her face assessingly and finally lifted his free hand and gently touched her swollen cheek. She winced, more because it brought to her mind how misshapen it was, how ugly, than because she felt any pain. Lifting her own hand when he allowed his to drop, she covered it self-consciously.

  “If ever a man needed killing it is Gerald the Impaler. Show me the way.”

  She felt her face twist with the anguish that descended upon her. “So that you can throw your life away?”

  “If necessary.”

  “For nothing?”

  His expression hardened. “If I slay Gerald, it would not be for nothing.”

  “You would never get near enough!” she said angrily. “He is surrounded by magic. You could not pierce the spell that protects him. If you could, you would not have been in that cell!”

  “I did get near enough!” he snarled furiously. “I was within an inch of piercing his black heart! If not for his guard, he would be dead now! It was not his magic that saved him. I was outnumbered. Damn it woman! Someone has to put an end to that monster, whatever the sacrifice! What hope have you felt if you have no confidence that I could end his reign of terror?”

  Gwyneth swallowed with an effort. “You could lead ….”

  “Whom? The dead? Those willing to fight him have lost heart. The monarchy is dead. It died when the true king and the princes and princess vanished from the ‘loving care’ of their uncle.”

  “Some say ….”

  He shook his head angrily, cutting her off. “That is nothing but wishful thinking … because their corpses have never been found. In their hearts, everyone knows that the boy king and his siblings were murdered long ago.”

  “Go then!” Gwyneth said angrily. “You do not need me to show you the way! The passage is behind you. Follow it! It will lead you to his chambers eventually. I do not know the way.”

  Jerking free of his hold, she turned on her heel and stalked away, trying to think what she would do when she left the caverns behind. She knew nothing about the countryside beyond. She’d never dared explore it, fearful every moment that she was gone that it
would be noticed and they would begin to search for her, perhaps find the passages themselves.

  He caught up to her, grasping her arm and halting her again. “I gave you my word that I would take you a safe distance from the castle,” he said tightly.

  “You did not give your word, and I would not hold you to it if you had,” Gwyneth said angrily. “I am far better off without you! They will search for you. They will not miss one maid.”

  “This is true,” he said, grim amusement threading his voice now, “but that did not seem to weigh with you before when you asked me to help you escape.”

  She sent him a resentful glance. “I had not thought, then, that you would be more of a liability than a help,” she said tartly.

  “You are saucy for a lowly maid,” he said, speculation mingling with the amusement that still laced his voice. “And oddly well spoken.”

  The comments unnerved her, chilled her. She wasn’t in the habit of unleashing her temper. If she had been she would’ve been dead long since, or feeble minded from having the ‘sauciness’ beat out of her. She couldn’t fathom why she’d given vent to it with him—except that she was frightened out of her mind and she had convinced herself that he wasn’t like the others.

  “I beg pardon,” she said shakily.

  “So I am the only one privileged to feel the sharp edge of your tongue?”

  She was overwrought. There was no other explanation for it. She’d allowed emotionalism to cloud her judgment. She was fortunate that he seemed to view it with amusement … at least at the moment. She was vastly disappointed that he seemed so reluctant to help her when she’d helped him. She was angry that she’d risked so much to set him free only to discover that he was determined to throw his life away needlessly anyway, but neither of those reasons were sound enough to explain her loss of control.

  “You need only follow the passage to the stairs and go up them four flights. There are peep holes spaced out along the walls. One will give you a view of the target you seek and there will be a secret panel along the wall in one direction or the other. It is usually in the corner of the room where it is least noticeable. There is a latch on the inside that must be turned. On the other side it requires pressure in the same area to release the latch.” She paused. “I pray you find a swift death Caelin—for your sake and mine—and not the death he planned for you, for that would haunt me forever.”