Alec took a visible breath, then darted across the courtyard. The men followed him. As they passed under the archway with its Latin message, Hic laborant fratres crucis, Christian felt a blade of fear bisect his spine. The monk had said Clarise was chained. He couldn’t stand to think of her enduring any mistreatment, especially when he was responsible. He should have governed his jealousy!
They strode along the abandoned passageway. The stink of illness seemed to permeate the cool shadows. Christian ignored the stench and stared at the baldpate on Alec’s tonsured head. The youth was as handsome as an angel. In his eyes he read not only fear, but determination and honesty. No wonder the lady loved him. Walking in the monk’s wake, he felt like an animal, rawboned and scarred.
Could she bring herself to love the Slayer?
He focused his attention on the route they were taking. At one point Alec froze in his tracks. As the murmur of voices drew closer, he motioned the men to retrace their footsteps. They took an alternate route and managed to avoid detection.
At last they stopped wandering through the maze of corridors. “They’re down here,” said the young man, pointing down a flight of stairs. “Horatio is guarding them. You will have to fight him.”
Christian knew a moment’s surprise. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked.
Alec glanced down the stairwell. “I set aside my sword when I joined the brotherhood.” A self-conscious blush made his ears turn pink.
The warlord felt suddenly better about himself. “Does that mean you will remain here?” he asked. “Have you no desire to rule your people?” Marry your betrothed?
Alec lifted an earnest gaze at him. “Clarise told me of your offer. I never expected such magnanimity of spirit. If you show equal kindness to my father’s serfs, then Glenmyre is better in your care than in mine. In truth, I would be too often in my prayers to rule wisely.”
So much was said in so few words. There wasn’t time now to beg the handsome monk for his forgiveness. Christian looked into his trusting countenance and his heart gave a pang. He thrust his hand out and prayed the man would take it.
Alec put his own hand forward. The squeeze of his fingers was a balm to Christian’s soul.
“Hurry,” Alec encouraged as he glanced down the stairwell. “You may find Horatio sleeping. He sometimes naps through prayers at prime.”
Christian pulled his broadsword, Vengeance, from its leather scabbard. “Stay here,” he told his men. “Don’t come unless I call for you.” He wanted to rescue Clarise single-handedly. Holding the sword before him, he ducked his head and charged down the shadowy stairway.
The light of a torch steered his passage. He rounded a turn and came face to face with a robed figure. It was the monk who normally answered the gate.
Horatio’s flat face registered surprise. His mouth popped open and he backed up, giving Christian a view of the space behind him. A row of doors lined one side of the wall. The silence behind the barred windows was alarming.
“I’ve come for the abbot and the lady,” he growled, sizing up his enemy. Horatio was a hulking man and not to be taken lightly.
“Humph,” the monk snorted. “Ye cannot have ’em. They’re ill,” he added, showing his rotten teeth in a snarl.
“Stand aside, monk, or I’ll shave your head with my sword.”
“Not exactly a fair fight with that sword o’ yours is it?” Horatio taunted. “But then I don’t expect fair play from the likes o’ you.”
“You know nothing about me.” Christian slammed Vengeance back in its resting place. “I don’t kill clergy.”
The monk gave a grin that betrayed his relief. He put his fists up, ready to fight.
The man’s hands were the size of hams. Christian gave an inward groan. It was a tiresome thing to have scruples, he thought, putting his fists up slowly. Then, without warning, he sent a jab at Horatio’s nose that brought a fountain of blood gushing out of it.
The monk howled and gingerly touched his wound. When he looked at Christian again, there was fury in his eyes.
“My lord, is that you?” called a woman’s voice from one of the closed cells.
The sound of her voice was so welcoming that he forgot about Horatio. Wham! A full set of knuckles slammed into his right eye and had him staggering against the wall. Christian regained his balance just in time to see another fist flying toward his face. He twisted out of the way. His gaze snagged on a heavy iron cross hanging on the wall beside him. Without a second’s hesitation, he wrenched it off the peg and, taking advantage of Horatio’s forward momentum, landed a stunning blow to the monk’s head.
Horatio stared at him in amazement. Even with a crimson stain spreading on the side of his skull, he remained on his feet for what seemed an eternity. Then he keeled over, face first, onto the stone floor. A cloud of dust rose up around him. Christian glanced gratefully at the cross and hung it back on the wall.
“Clarise,” he called into the sudden stillness. “Where are you?”
A soft cry guided him toward one of the closed doors. The torches wagged eerily, making him fearful of what he would see. He peered through the bars into the darkened cell and made out a figure in the corner. “Lady? Is that you?”
The figure moved. “Oh, you are a blessed sight!” she cried. “Horatio has the keys on his belt.”
He hurried to the unconscious Horatio, then returned to the door and unlocked it. Wrenching it open, he peered in as the torchlight illuminated the cell. Clarise flinched from the glare, and he faltered at the vision of her, shackled like a thief to the wall. Her hair hung in a disheveled curtain about her pale face. A great surge of emotion rose up in him. He didn’t know whether to unlock her first or clasp her to his pounding chest.
He fell to his knees on the hard floor. “You’ll be free in a moment,” he rasped. His fingers shook as he guided another key into the manacles’ locks. Her wrists were chafed and swollen. He released them as gently as possible.
“Ethelred is next door,” she whispered. “I fear he is fairing poorly. Either he has drunk the poisoned wine that is making the monks ill, or he is dying of thirst.”
The words were pouring out of her, almost faster than he could absorb them. As the last chain fell away, he scooped her into his arms and carried her from the cell. Stepping over the stricken monk, he rushed her up the stairs. He meant to pass her to one of his men-at-arms, but he found he couldn’t let her go. She had looped an arm about his neck and was holding him fast.
Instead, he gave the keys to his men and ordered all four of them to fetch the abbot from the other cell.
Waiting, Christian leaned against the wall and savored the feel of Clarise in his arms. The urge to shelter her shuddered through him. He had wondered if he would ever hold her again. There were so many dangers on the open road! A lone woman could disappear without a trace. What would have happened to him if he could never look into her glowing countenance again? He would have been lost to the darkness, forever.
At last she lifted her head from his shoulder and pushed the bright strands of hair from her face. He saw at once the shadows of exhaustion under her eyes and a vivid bruise on her cheek. He swallowed a curse.
“I prayed that you would come,” she admitted. Her soft mouth curved in a fleeting smile. “I suppose Nell admitted everything almost at once?”
“I had to find her first,” he drawled. He was startled to feel the heat of anger pulsing through him and growing stronger with each beat of his heart. It was a by-product of fear, he knew. He gripped her tighter, hoping to rein himself in.
“I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you,” she whispered, as though sensing his volatility. Her gaze fell to the swelling under Christian’s eye. “Oh, look what you’ve done!” she cried, lifting a hand to caress the angry flesh.