Page 6 of Stay with Me

When she’d first appeared in his cell, he’d been surprised—believed Simon had his guards deliver her while Nicholas had been sleeping, that perhaps he’d been overcome by his pain so much that he hadn’t noticed their coming and going.

The angel had been exquisite, her womanly form on exhibition, nothing concealed by the strange-looking undergarments. At first, he’d assumed Simon had instructed her to seduce him into revealing more information regarding the English strongholds against the French, especially since he hadn’t been able to flog the classified details out of him.

But it had only taken the woman flipping him to the floor for Nicholas to realize she was no ordinary maiden. She not only had unusual strength and fighting capabilities, but her beautywas unearthly, her body perfect, her skin smooth, and her hair the color of new dark leather.

She hadn’t given him much of an opportunity to explain all that had happened between Simon and him, yet she’d rapidly seen to the heart of the matter and believed him. She’d confirmed her angelic status when she’d disappeared before his very eyes, not once but twice.

The last time had been only seconds, but it let him know he hadn’t only imagined the first visit. Maybe she’d known he would need a second revelation. He was, after all, too oft a skeptic.

The dungeon door banged against the stone wall, causing a cascade of dust and small stones in the walls that had yet to be repaired. Simon strode through, two guards on his heels, their bootsteps clanking, their torches casting ominous light.

Had his brother come to usher him outside to the whipping post for another public punishment? Simon relished such displays of his power, liked causing people to cower in fear, thrived on making them grovel before him.

Nicholas sat up straighter, having no intention of showing weakness any more now than he had during the whipping. The slight movement sent tremors along the gashes, but he held back the twitches of pain.

Simon approached the door but stood out of reach. His brother was smart, well aware of Nicholas’s reputation as a fierce warrior and his ability to fight proficiently under almost any circumstance. Indeed, the moment Simon or one of his guards drew close enough, Nicholas could snake a hand through the bars and disable him before he had the chance to react.

“What say you for yourself, Brother?” Simon’s brows angled sharply above his eyes. Though they shared the same dark hair and eyes they’d inherited from their father, Simon was twodecades older than Nicholas’s twenty-nine years, and they had scant else in common.

“I have no more to say this time than the last, my lord.”

“I know you have information.” Simon was a big man, although more from his overindulgence in drink than from his strength. His long black tunic strained at the waist against his leather belt, and his leggings were too tight, emphasizing each of his fleshly rolls.

He stared through the darkness of the dungeon at Nicholas, contempt in every aged line of his face, and his mouth pinched behind his forked beard.

“I have already told you the king sent me to spread the word of the plague throughout Kent and the Weald. That is my mission. Naught more.”

It was much, much more. But Nicholas remained steadfast in the tale he’d told everyone from the start, especially because he suspected Simon was the spy they’d been looking for, the person funneling vital information to the French regarding their fortifications along England’s southern coast. That’s why Nicholas had come back to Reider Castle a fortnight ago, to discover more.

During his initial searching, he’d only come across a couple of receipts of deliveries from Paris. It wasn’t enough to convict Simon. That’s why he’d used the excuse several days ago to sneak back into Reider Castle with Ellen when she’d been intent on freeing her father from Simon’s clutches. Nicholas had managed to liberate Ellen’s father, but she’d become trapped down in the dungeon after an earthquake.

With Ellen’s status unknown behind the rubble, Nicholas had offered to go in again and attempt another rescue. He’d used the opportunity to memorize a set of numbers—likely a code—within a French missive he’d located on Simon’s writing table before heading down to the dungeon.

In the middle of his digging to find Ellen, Simon had shown up with a dozen guards, arrested Nicholas, and had him severely whipped. Along with accusing Nicholas of being a spy, Simon had also accused him of setting witches free and spreading the plague.

Of course, Simon needed to deflect any suspicions away from himself, wanted Nicholas to take the blame for spying even as Simon gleaned information he could pass along to the French. For what? What were the French giving Simon in return for betraying England? Gold? Land? The promise of power?

Nicholas was tempted to ask his brother why he’d done it. But at this point, Simon still didn’t realize Nicholas had discovered he was a spy. Once Simon knew his espionage wasn’t clandestine anymore, he’d have one of his guards slice Nicholas’s throat to silence him sooner rather than later.

Now he had an angel on his side. He just had to make sure he survived until the angel returned to help him.

“If you are not colluding with the French,” Simon said after a moment, “then tell me what you are really doing as you ride throughout the countryside and forest. Perhaps then you can convince me of your innocence.”

“The plague is truly a threat, Simon. The people need to know about it so they can take precautions.”

Simon’s lip curled up into a smirk. “What a convenient way to gather the information you need from other spies.”

“You know me better than that.” Nicholas spoke calmly, unwilling to let Simon goad him to anger. “There is no one more loyal to the king than I.”

“Perhaps the beautiful witch turned your loyalty away from the king. Perhaps she was also a spy, sent to England by our enemy.”

Simon was referring to Ellen. Although at one point Nicholas had considered the possibility she was a spy, he’d then gottento know her sufficiently and realized that while her stories were fanciful and far-fetched at times, she wasn’t working for the French.

As with every other time he’d thought about her death, the guilt slipped around his neck like a noose and choked him. If only he’d gone in for her father alone and hadn’t given in to her pressure to accompany him. If only he’d taken more care to make sure she hastened out at the first signs of the earthquake. If only he’d stayed and dug through the rubble right away. Maybe he would have been able to save her.

As it was, Simon claimed that when his men cleared out the dungeon after the earthquake, they’d found her lifeless body amongst the rubble. He’d had enough decency to allow her kin to come claim her and give her a proper burial.

Nicholas shifted, his back still on fire. “Lady Ellen was not a spy, my lord, and you and I both know it.”

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