Bride of The Beast. Adrienne Basso

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      “Is that it, lass? Is he planning to kill us?”

      “Aye. You and nearly a hundred others.”

      The cell became very quiet. A few of the men seemed angry, others concerned, while one gave her a skeptical look. Yet to a man, they turned to the lad for guidance.

      “What is your name, demoiselle?”

      “I am Bethan of Lampeter.”

      “And I am Haydn of Gwynedd.” He inclined his head in a gesture of courtly gallantry. “How can you aid us?”

      Bethan’s fingers curled around the heavy iron key she had hidden in her pocket. Slowly she withdrew it, holding it out so the light spilling from her torch would illuminate it. “I have the key that will unlock your cell.”

      There was a hiss of an indrawn breath, along with a whistle of excitement. The men began to press forward against the iron bars. Choking back the cry that lodged in her throat, Bethan dug her heels into the hard-packed dirt floor and stood her ground.

      “How many guards are there aboveground?”

      “There is but one soldier standing guard at the entrance to this passage.”

      “One!” a man exclaimed. “We can easily overtake him.”

      Bethan shook her head. “No. Once outside that door, you must pass through the great hall in order to exit the castle. ’Twas difficult enough for me to manage the task. With your numbers, you will never slip through undetected.”

      “Then we will have to fight our way out. Can you get us some weapons, lass?” the largest man asked.

      Bethan’s eyes widened in alarm, but before she could answer another of the men spoke. “Don’t be daft, man. Eight men against a garrison of de Bellemare’s soldiers? We’d be cut down before we reach the castle walls.”

      A murmur of agreement went through the men. Bethan waited a moment, then spoke. “I know of another way out.”

      Once again, her words produced an instant silence.

      “Another way?” Haydn asked.

      “There is another passage, one that leads to a trapdoor in the stables.”

      “Then that is our route of escape,” Haydn declared. “Will you lead the way, Lady Bethan?”

      She nodded. Bethan fumbled with the key, her hand shaking noticeably as she tried to fit it into the lock. Behind the bars, the men were pacing in the cell like beasts on a leash. With freedom so near, their agitation was palpable.

      But palpable also was Bethan’s fear. Faced with the reality of the reckless act she was about to commit, she trembled with doubt. The men could easily attack or kill her once they were free.

      As if sensing the warring thoughts within her mind, the leader reached through the bars, closing his hand over hers. She gasped and looked up. His eyes gleamed in the frail light.

      “You have nothing to fear from us,” he assured her. “I give you my word that you will be safe.”

      A sad smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “My fate is in God’s hands now.”

      Once unlocked, the cell door swung open easily. The men pushed forward, eager to be free. Bethan felt a hand at her elbow and was relieved to see it was Haydn. He had placed himself protectively between her and the other men. Slowly, she exhaled.

      “Which way?” he asked.

      She lifted her chin to indicate the direction. “The passage is very low and narrow. We must form a single line and be very, very quiet.”

      With a confidence she was far from feeling, Bethan led them along the shadowy corridor. Mice and rats scurried over their feet, cobwebs caught on their hair and faces, but no one uttered a sound.

      Finally they reached the base of a narrow, wooden staircase. Regretfully, Bethan extinguished her torch, plunging them into total darkness. Biting her lip, she started the slow climb up the stairs, but was quickly pulled back.

      “Let me go first,” Haydn commanded. “You do not know what you will find above us.”

      It took two tries to dislodge the trapdoor. Once it was pushed aside, Haydn easily pulled himself through. After he had successfully cleared the opening, Bethan followed, poking her head out. The smells of straw, horses, and manure let her know they had reached the stables. Blinking hard, she reached up and allowed Haydn to help her out. The rest followed quickly behind her.

      “We would be harder to catch on horseback,” one of the men suggested as he stroked the back of a sleek mare who stood contentedly in her stall.

      “No!” Haydn ordered. “If we try to ride out we will alert the guards and be pursued. Our best chance is to escape on foot.”

      “He is right,” Bethan agreed. “You can slip over the wall on the south end. From there it is but a short run to the forest, and freedom.”

      They left the stable under Bethan’s guidance, avoiding the watchtower, keeping to the darkest shadows of the buildings. The ground, wet from the recent rain, was soft beneath their feet. They came to the south section of the wall and Bethan halted. The moon, low in the sky, cast a few weak rays through the primeval forest that loomed just beyond, the tops of the dark, thick trees lashing in the wind.

      Silently, the men hoisted themselves over the wall, until only young Haydn was left. He turned to face her and Bethan felt her breath catch.

      “I owe you a debt I fear I can never repay. But have a care, Bethan of Lampeter. If de Bellemare ever learns of your part in all this…” His voice trailed off.

      Bethan swallowed hard as she acknowledged his warning. She saw the sincerity in his eyes, heard the genuine note of concern, and felt vindicated in her actions. This young man did not deserve the cruel death her stepfather had decreed and she was pleased she had been able to save him.

      “I will be careful,” she replied. The rain began, a steady drizzle that quickly soaked her gown. “Godspeed, Haydn of Gwynedd. I shall pray for your safe deliverance from this place of evil and I shall pray even harder for the rain to cease and bright sunshine to greet the day.”

      “Sunshine?”

      “Aye, sunshine. I do not know why, but ’tis the one thing that always keeps de Bellemare indoors. If he learns of your escape, he will give chase, leading his men until you are found. He is vengeful, ruthless, and possessing of powers beyond mortal men. He will not return without you. Or your mutilated bodies.” She swallowed hard. “But if there is sunshine tomorrow, he will send his soldiers out alone and if you have run far and covered your tracks, you might yet succeed in eluding them.”

      He nodded, though she worried that he did not fully understand the danger her stepfather presented.

      “Farewell,” he whispered.

      Then to her utter astonishment, he executed an elegant bow, vaulted over the wall, and headed toward the open fields. Bethan scrambled on top of an abandoned oxcart and watched, her heart thumping СКАЧАТЬ