Page 10 of Stay with Me

Her mission on this second visit was to ascertain how to release the man from the prison cell. On the third visit, she’d orchestrate the overlap so she could free him. She’d ask him to help her in return by finding a way to deposit a bottle of holy water in the crypt of the cathedral since once he was free, he wouldn’t be able to return to the castle.

Surely he would do this little thing for her, for Dawson.

After her visit to Dawson’s, she’d gone to her CrossFit class. The intense workout had helped her burn off some of her frustration, but it hadn’t taken away the growing sense of panicthat she had to do something for her brother before he gave up on life altogether. She’d already lost too many people and couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

Freshly showered, she was wearing a clean outfit—her staple of black jeans, tight shirt, and jacket—and had left her hair down to dry. She considered braiding it or wrapping it up into a knot. But she usually left it loose when she slept.

The overhead fluorescent lights were off, and the lab was lit only by one of the desk lamps. As tired as she was, a strange anticipation coursed through her.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she lifted her damp finger. The liquid was odorless and tasteless. If not for the wet spot, she wouldn’t know where it was.

“1382,” she whispered. “And the man in the prison.”

With the time and destination secured in her mind, she stuck her finger in her mouth and clamped down around it. Air poured into her body, rushing to each limb. In the next instant, the earthy mildew scent was back along with the chill of the unheated cell.

But this time, there was no light. As she stood and stretched out her hand, she couldn’t see even an outline. Maybe he was already gone.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“My angel,” came a weak reply from a short distance away.

Angel? No one had ever called her an angel before. A fierce terror. A hard woman. A tough fighter. But never anything feminine.

She could hear him shift just slightly, followed by a hiss.

“You’ve been beaten again?”

He didn’t reply.

“How bad?”

“I shall not survive another.”

She fumbled for her mobile and attempted to turn on the torchlight. But it didn’t blink on no matter how many rapid pushes she made.

“I’ve come to plan out your escape.” She crawled in his direction, an arm outstretched, not wanting to bump into him and cause him even more pain.

“I cannot move.”

Her hand skimmed flesh. His arm.

His fingers clamped around her wrist, and he pressed two small items into her palm. “Fire-steel. For lighting the candle.”

The smaller rectangular piece she recognized as flint. But the oddly shaped piece of metal wasn’t familiar. Even so, she struck the flint against it, awkwardly at first, until she realized the loop was there to provide her a better grip.

She’d learned to start fire from flint in one of the survival classes she’d taken. She’d gotten quite proficient at it but had never done it in the dark or without flammable tinder.

While working, she had to put the escape plan into place. “Listen...?”

“Nicholas.”

Nicholas was the nobleman who had helped Ellen and her father. Was he now being punished for the assistance? If so, all the more reason to help him.

“Listen, Nicholas. I don’t have much time during my visits. So next time I come, you’ll need to be ready to act.” Sparks lit up the darkness. She lowered the flint, drawing the straw together into a pile. As she struck the flint and fire-steel again, the sparks landed in the straw. She bent and blew gently on them and was rewarded a moment later with a flame.

Nicholas thrust a stubby candle at her, and she dipped the wick into the flickering fire, igniting it just as the flame in the straw fizzled out to smoke.

Holding the candle by its wide pewter base, she took in Nicholas lying on his side, eyes closed. His face was pale and his breathing shallow. She leaned across him and peeked at his back. It had been bloody and bruised the last time, but this was worse. The flesh was mangled to shreds, some places deeply.

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