Page 69 of The Rebellious Countess
He glared at her, grabbing hold of her arm to both silence her and keep her where she was.
She started to argue and he pulled her back into the shadows, pushed her against the wall and trapped her there with his body, his forearms resting on the stone wall on each side of her head. He felt her breath hitch, saw her teeth pull at her bottom lip, and sensed her awareness of him as a man, just as his own body recognized the soft feminine curves being hidden by men’sattire.Mon Dieu, but she did things to him. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as she shivered from his effect.
“There are more prisoners here, any of which might do anything to be freed. They will give us away in a heartbeat if given the chance to save themselves.”
She froze as she understood the danger. Even the most desperate, desolate prisoner being held in this building could pose a threat to their survival, and they couldn’t risk one of them tipping off a guard to a stranger’s presence for the mere reward of a meal. He’d heard the stories of prisoners-of-war too desperate to care about anything but survival.
“You will act as my prisoner, going forward. Do as I say. Understand?”
She nodded in agreement. He indulged in the briefest of kisses, uncertain of their future in the midst of this danger.
He pulled away, then placed one more upon her lips before stepping back and taking her hand as he headed toward the opening to the cloister. There he pushed her in front of him, grabbed her by the scruff of her collar and proceeded forward.
The first three cells were full of inmates sleeping on the floor, huddled away from their cellmates as if they were claiming a small place in the depressing cell as their own. The fourth held a man who was sitting up against the wall, staring out at them, a cough rattling his lungs as they passed. Despite the living, breathing person sitting before them, it was obvious from the flat sheen of his eyes, the man had given up on life, as his blank gaze barely tracked their progress before closing—possibly for good.
Elias gave Máira a shake, just to remind her not to get caught up in the stories of these men. The abbey may have been known as theCity of Books, housing the scribes before printing presses were invented, but currently it looked as if it were theCity of Sorrow.
“This is not a place of worship.” The English words slipped from Máira’s mouth as if the conditions had shocked her so much, they could not be contained.
“Not for English dogs caught spying,” Elias responded in angry French, and gave her a small push for show. If he had not been holding onto her shirt collar, he had no doubt his shove would have sent her sprawling onto the filthy floor in front of him as she stumbled and turned to glare.
A young boy of seven or eight came scurrying down the hall out of nowhere. Elias stopped, pulling Máira back with him, away from the torch, away from being seen in any recognizable manner. The boy stood in full view in front of them, the light glistening off his dirty brown hair.
“Que désirez-vous, Monsieur?” He asked.
Blast it. Another hiccup in his plan. The child could be an asset or he could be their downfall, depending on how well he hid Máira’s identity as a woman, and how believably she portrayed a British spy.
“You canbring the two of us food. We’ve been traveling for two days without so much as a spoonful of millet or turnips,” Máira responded, the deepening of her voice in the French language too sultry to be that of a man’s.
The boy frowned, either surprised a prisoner would answer for a guard, or he was trying to figure out just exactlywhatshe was. Her comment left Elias no choice but to shake her even harder by the scruff of her collar.
“You can help by taking me to the cell of the British earl. This one’s to be held with him and ensure he is in good health until the ransom is received.” He gave an uncaring laugh that made even Máira shrink back from him. “Apparently this lad was supposed to meet the earl to transfer information to the British army. One way or another, I’ll get that information out of theearl.” Elias nodded down the hall as if directing the boy to lead the way.
The boy hesitated. Uncertainty flitting across his face.
“Do as he says, lad, or it will only get worse for all of us.” Máira’s French was stilted this time as she stumbled over words she’d previously used flawlessly.
The boy turned on his heel and was on his way, glancing back over his shoulder to see if they followed. Elias released her collar and pushed Máira as gently as he dared. She stumbled, but righted herself quickly, glared at him over her shoulder once more, and followed the boy as if she were doing as she pleased. If they had been children, he would have pulled her hair; as it was, he simply growled and prayed the boy didn’t notice her lack of concern for him as her captor. As they headed for another hallway leading toward the refectory, he dearly hoped the boy was taking them to Astley and not a guard or guard station.
Only a moment later loud noises ahead of them signaled that something was wrong. There was too much commotion inside the dining hall the boy was leading them toward at a hurried pace. If the room had been divided into cells as Father Charles had described, there would not be this much noise or movement.
“Máira,” he whispered. He reached for her, but missed as she hurried in a manner no man ever would, to keep up with the boy. At a time when everything was not what it should be, he and Máira should be sticking to the shadows and avoiding the busy areas—not heading directly into the middle of the very full dining hall—the busiest place they’d encountered thus far. Whether the boy was double-crossing them or the priest had, Elias wasn’t certain, but the boy was leading them into what could only be a trap.
“Máira!” he hissed, but she deafly passed through the large arched doorway and into the refectory where she stopped dead in her tracks. With one hand on his pistol and the other on thesheath of his knife, he entered the large hall with the authority of a guard and found the place was indeed the exact opposite of where the priest had said prisoners were being held.
The hall had been turned into a makeshift hospital filled with soldiers and guards, men so ill they could barely move. They were feebly lying on the tables and the floor.
It was a scene of horror and sorrow. Grown men reduced to helpless animals, unable to care for themselves or each other. A few women moved from man to man, but they, too, looked as if they were the walking sick, haunted by what they did and failed to do. If he weren’t mistaken, there were several dead bodies lying around, already passed on to the heavens with or without the salvation offered by the priest, who was bent over one guard in the middle of the room.
With most of the guards ill, his job just got much easier. But whatever illness plagued these men, it was surely in the fetid air. He pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose. Then reached for hers.
“Cover your mouth and nose,” he ordered, so that she might focus on him. Her gaze traveled up one end of the great room and down the other, taking in the desperate and the dying and the dead. He put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her shirt up over her nose. “We must go.”
Her eyes had grown large, her argument there on the tip of her lips as she shook her head back and forth in dismay. She would not leave the sick and dying, not without him pushing her to do so.
“You cannot help them.”
Her silence said everything. She wanted to help. She couldn’t.
