Page 8 of Beguiled
Chapter
4
Pearl
“Chain them tothe walls,” I commanded, as I hopped down from the bottom rung of the ladder into the cave. Toad and Humphrey and several others pushed the prisoners deeper into the dank cavern we called our dungeon.
Guilt needled me. I’d almost cost these men their lives. I should have known Irontooth wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than the truth from Mikkel. But perhaps his secrets were too deep to unburden, especially so publicly. Mine were.
When I’d asked for two weeks, I’d known Irontooth would only give me one, and now I prayed that would be sufficient for discovering the real reason Mikkel was on the island.
I held my torch up, giving light to the dark cave with its low ceilings, smooth walls, and the dry pine boughs spread across the floor. It wasn’t the cleanest spot in camp, but it wasn’t as foul as the dungeons under the palace in Kensington.
Humphrey forced Mikkel to the floor and wrapped a manacle around his ankle.
“Bind Mikkel’s hands and his feet.”
Humphrey paused. I knew what he was thinking, that the prisoner would be helpless without his hands. But that was precisely what I wished for—for Mikkel to rely upon me for everything.
I stood back and watched as the men finished chaining the prisoners. Fowler complained the entire time, and Gregor didn’t make a sound. Although Mikkel didn’t speak either, his eyes communicated much more than words, mainly that he was in pain from the injuries he’d received during his run through the gauntlet.
From what I could tell, he’d sustained a gash near his jaw, along with burns and knife cuts on his arms. In taking the lead, he’d suffered the brunt of the brutality. He’d surprised me by refusing to allow his servant to protect him. Even more, he’d surprised me by taking the least effective weapon while giving Gregor and Fowler the means to defend themselves more sufficiently.
My astonishment had changed to admiration as Mikkel had advanced through the gauntlet so fearlessly, paving the way for Gregor and Fowler. He was clearly a good man who cared about his servant more than he did himself, perhaps proving my earlier statement wrong that Gregor was insignificant to him.
I was as curious as Irontooth to know who Mikkel really was and why he was here. Could I elicit the truth from him, or would he come up with a plausible excuse?
Humphrey stepped away from Mikkel, leaving both arms and legs manacled. In so vulnerable a position, the nobleman was without the ability to stop me from doing anything I wished to him.
At the prospect, something strange fluttered in my stomach. He was handsome, one of the handsomest men I’d met. If only I didn’t have to hide my face. Then I could use my beauty to win him over. I’d grown up watching my mother use her beauty to beguile people into doing her bidding, particularly my father. All she’d needed to do was peer at him with her mesmerizing eyes, curve her pretty lips, and whisper in his ear, and he became clay in her hands.
Over recent years, I’d realized my beauty was beguiling too, that it held some kind of power over men, almost as though it could cast a spell over them. When I’d first realized I wielded such influence, I was amused. But as time had passed, I grew frustrated that men saw only my outward appearance and paid little heed to anything else.
Dare I use my beguiling beauty to weave a spell over Mikkel and make him like clay in my hands? As appealing as the idea was, I cast it aside. I’d come to like the respect I earned from the outcasts for my actions and not for what I looked like. And I didn’t want that to change.
I would have to win Mikkel’s trust with other methods. I’d start by doctoring his wounds. Certainly the tender care would soften him. And I would befriend him so he’d think of me as an ally rather than an enemy.
After making sure the prisoners were well contained and guarded, I climbed out of the cavern into the rain that fell steadily and cast a chill over our camp. The low clouds and fog had returned, settling in amongst the rocky outcroppings and obscuring the half dozen cave entrances that made up the bulk of our dwellings. At the center of the camp, a large covering made of hides had been secured to four tall posts and provided a shelter during both rain and snow. A center hole in the hides allowed smoke from the fire pit to escape.
Felicity stood at the fire in front of a pot hanging from a tripod. The waft of fish told me she was cooking fish chowder, one of our usual fares. Next to her, Irontooth sipped from his large pewter stein covered in intricate raised engravings of knights doing battle. The lid was in the shape of a knight’s helmet with fancy plumage rising and serving as the thumb lift. Irontooth didn’t say so, but others speculated the stein had been a gift for his service and bravery from Norland’s old king.
“Veil,” he called as I attempted to sneak past. “I need to speak with you.”
His tone was severe, and the others who’d been loitering under the shelter dispersed. I didn’t blame them. Irontooth wasn’t an easy master to please and even more difficult when he was irritated.
I wanted to call out that I’d meet with him later, but I suppressed my natural inclination to order people around as I always had in the days when I’d been a princess and forced myself to approach him.
Felicity remained at the pot, her expression serene. At my approach, her pale lips curved into a warm smile and her colorless eyes met mine, assuring me I had nothing to worry about.
I nodded in return, thankful for this friend. At least a decade my senior, she’d taken me under her charge from the day I arrived and taught me how to survive in this rough wilderness. After I’d revealed to her my true identity as Princess Pearl of Warwick, Queen Margery’s oldest child, she’d hadn’t treated me differently. My royalty hadn’t impressed her the way it did most people. At first I hadn’t been sure I liked that. But now, after the many passing months, I realized her acceptance of all people regardless of station or stature was something I’d do well to emulate.
“What else did you learn of the prisoners?” Irontooth wiped foam from his mustache.
I relayed to him a summary of the few details I’d gleaned from Mikkel during our walk from the boat to camp. But it was a paltry amount, and I wasn’t surprised when Irontooth guffawed. “You’d better get him to reveal more than that, or I will kill him.”
“Have no fear. I shall succeed.” I’d perfected the appearance of confidence over the years. “If you had watched him run the gauntlet, you would like him.”
“Perhaps he should run it again, since all I’m hearing is how good he was.”
