An Uncertain Choice

I glanced over to the side door. Though it stood wide open, there was no sign of Bartholomew or Derrick.

“Whatever are you doing up at this hour?” I asked, hoping to divert the men from the room before Bartholomew showed up. “Did you bring me any news regarding the investigation?”

James came several steps closer but eyed the shadows of the room as though he would like to disappear into them. “I’m sorry, my lady.” His large forehead was crinkled in distress. It was then that I noticed another man creeping up on Trudy with an empty grain sack opened wide.

I glanced to the man who stood behind James. He too carried a grain sack. And when he stepped around James and came nearer, something inside me froze. He was one of the hired laborers from the convent, the same one who’d delivered the news about the sheriff’s death.

“James, why are these men here?” I tried to keep my voice from quavering with a sudden burst of fear.

But James had stepped several paces back and dropped his gaze to the rushes strewn about the floor. His broad shoulders shrank inward. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to let them in. But I had no choice.”

My mind struggled to make sense of what was happening. I could only watch with horror as the laborer slipped his bag over Trudy’s sleeping head and cupped his hand over her mouth to cut off any sound she might make when she awoke.

A scream welled up in my chest, but it caught in the tightness of my throat. I pushed back from my chair. But before I could move or force a sound out, the other laborer had closed in on me.

My gaze flew to James, to his hulking body. He was there to protect me, so why wasn’t he doing his job? Instead of answering the question that was surely glaring in my eyes, he slunk back farther.

The laborer grabbed my arm, yanked the bag over my head, and plunged me into frightening darkness. The grain dust lingering in the sack bathed my face and suffocated me. I jerked against him and fought to pull away, but he clamped his hand over the bag, pressing the coarse material against my mouth and nose, forcing me to breathe in the pungent fumes that saturated the sack.

Screams burned in my chest. I twisted and tried to pull free of my captor. But I could feel my body begin to weaken and reality start to fade away.

One last thought sent a rush of panic through me before black oblivion claimed me: I loved Derrick. I knew with certainty I loved him — ?because suddenly I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever live the rest of my life without him.





Chapter

21




I PACED BACK AND FORTH ACROSS MY CELL. TEN STEPS TO the wall. Ten steps to the bars.

I’d worn a path through the straw to the point my boots now slapped the stone floor. The darkness was so black I was unable to see my outstretched hand. My skin was damp with the dankness of the cell. And my stomach rumbled.

My morning meal should have come by now. It was past time.

But the door to the dungeon hadn’t been opened all night or morning — ?except for the one time the jailor had shoved a drunk prisoner into the cell across from mine. The man had passed out, and from the heavy sound of his breathing I could tell he was still asleep.

I stopped at the bars and listened hard again, as I had many times during the long night. I strained to hear footsteps, jingling keys, anything to signal that Rosemarie’s old guard was coming.

But there was nothing. Only silence and the choppy breath of the prisoner in the opposite cell.

Why hadn’t Rosemarie sent Bartholomew for me as she’d done the other nights? The question pounded through me with such force my chest ached.

When I’d left the last time, she’d jested with me as she had previously that we would have to finish our chess game the next night. Of course, I’d purposefully neglected the chess game so that I would have some excuse — ?any excuse — ?to return to her for our midnight meetings.

Perhaps she’d decided it was too risky to send for me again? And I agreed. It had been risky. I dreaded to think what the abbot would do to her if he found out she’d been spending time with me . . .

I blew out a shaky breath against the cold bars, then spun and resumed my pacing.

Or what if she’d grown tired of me? But she’d seemed to enjoy our times together as much as I had. She’d laughed with me, spoken animatedly, and had been genuinely interested in my opinions. Her eyes had been alight, her expression open and eager, and her smile . . .

My heartbeat pounded with the strength of my warhorse in a battle. Her smile was beautiful enough to knock me senseless and make me do whatever she wished.

I almost groaned at the vision of her sitting across the table from me, the strand of her spun gold hair waving about her face, the delicate curve of her chin, and the lovely arch of her eyebrows above her wide eyes.

I hadn’t been mistaken at seeing something in those eyes whenever she looked at me, had I? Some growing affection?