Page 25 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

E lysande had never been out of the castle walls in the darkness, and she’d certainly never traveled all night before, so the journey to Hell’s Forge had taken time. Perhaps too much time, because she traveled cautiously.

But she was determined to get there.

She knew where Hell’s Forge was because her father had explained it to her, once, after a visit by Samson and his subsequent tantrum when he found out Elysande was betrothed to a de Lohr. It was actually quite simple to find. Literally, all she had to do was take the northern fork in a road that was about a mile west of Massington and follow it until she ran into an imposing fortress that was perched on the edge of a gorge. That gorge bordered the entire west and north side of the castle, which was part of the reason it was so difficult to breach. But Elysande didn’t see any of this until sunrise.

Then she felt as if she had arrived in another world.

The landscape surrounding Hell’s Forge looked as if it had been picked clean. The trees were dead or broken and the land itself looked cluttered and dreary. As she drew near, coming in from the southeast, he couldn’t help but think how forbidding the place looked. Tall walls surrounded by a ditch with steeply pitched sides so anyone falling in couldn’t escape. She could see the top of a circular keep peeking over the wall, but the gatehouse itself was about the size of the keep.

It was positively enormous.

The land was wet from the dew the previous night. It had been a clear night, with a half-moon, but damp. It had been enough for Elysande to see by, but she’d traveled so slowly that it had taken her all night to reach a destination that, under normal circumstances, would have only taken her several hours at most. But she didn’t really know the land and didn’t want to fail before she even reached the castle, so her arrival at dawn was the best she could manage.

Now, she was here.

Fearful she would be seen by the guards on the walls, she plunged into the overgrown, broken bramble. The horse she’d chosen was a small mare and very fast. She was gray in color and blended in with the foliage. Heart beating in her throat, Elysande moved parallel to the road, approaching Hell’s Forge as best she could until the road veered off to the north and ended in the gatehouse. But even from her position in the bush, she could see the triple portcullis entry through the gatehouse—a fearsome thing, indeed.

As the moments passed, the more fear she began to feel. Truthfully, she had been feeling no apprehension as she rode north. She could only think of Westley and saving him and nothing more. Now, as she faced that enormous castle that seemed to bleed something ominous into the very air around it, that courage was wavering.

She was feeling real fear.

But to think of Westley in that terrible place balanced out her courage again. She could feel it rising, overcoming the anxiety that was trying to take hold of her. The trade-off with exchanging herself for Westley, of course, was the fact that she would have to endure that awful place. But she was willing to endure it if her sacrifice would save him. Her life had never stood for much.

Now, it did.

It stood for a man’s freedom.

The very man she adored.

Feeling fortified, Elysande had to make plans. If she was going to present her offer to Fitz Walter, she had to make sure not to end up trapped inside with Westley still a captive. It wouldn’t bode well for both of them to be prisoners, so she tethered her little horse and began to do some intelligence gathering of her own. There was a field directly behind her, behind the undergrowth, and it stretched off to the south until it came into line with a small forest. The road she’d traveled on was down there, somewhere, because of the way it had wound through the landscape. Since the horse she’d come on was so swift, she was certain she could make it to those trees in little time if Fitz Walter decided to chase her. If there was no place to hide, then she’d simply get on the road and head home.

She was confident she could outrun anyone.

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would do. It was straightforward. Also, it was all she had. The trick would be to capture the attention of Fitz Walter and stay far enough away from the portcullises and the walls that she couldn’t be hit with an arrow or grabbed by someone at the gatehouse until her deal was accepted and Westley was released. From her position in the foliage, she could see men on the walls and inside the gatehouse, moving around.

Taking a deep breath, she decided she would make her move.

There was no time to waste.

Elysande was clad in the garments she wore when Harker trained her—heavy linen breeches, two tunics, including a padded one, boots, arm braces, and her hair tied back in a tight braid. She had a sword hanging on at her side, the one Harker had given her, one used to train pages and squires. It wasn’t a big broadsword like most knights used, but much smaller.

Yet it was still sharp.

And she could still kill.

Coming out of the bush, Elysande headed toward the road, her eyes fixed on the gatehouse. Step by step, foot by foot, she moved. She came up out of the grass and onto the rocky road. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her mouth was dry, and she realized it was because she was very nearly panting. She’d never been so frightened in her entire life.

Courage!

She had to do this.

About twenty feet from the gatehouse, she came to a halt.

“You!” she shouted. “You there! Are you deaf? Aye, I’m speaking to you!”

There were at least two or three soldiers inside the portcullis and several more on the wall walk overhead. The guards in the gatehouse paused to look at her strangely, and she unsheathed her sword, pointing it at them.

“You will send for your lord immediately,” she said. “Do you understand me? I have business with Samson Fitz Walter!”

There was some conversation going on but no one seemed to be taking her seriously or even listening to her. She was a curiosity more than anything. Elysande did at that moment what she should not have done—she moved closer to the portcullis, well within range of any archers that could launch at her from the wall overhead. But she was being ignored and that didn’t sit well with her.

“Listen to me and listen well,” she shouted at them. “If you do not send for Samson Fitz Walter immediately, you will be in a good deal of trouble when he discovers who I am.”

One of the men poked his head through the slats on the portcullis, which was wooden with great iron rivets, and peered at her lewdly.

“And just who are ye, love?” he asked.

Elysande wasn’t planning on giving her name so soon, but the buffoons at the gatehouse were ignoring her. She needed them to do as she wished, so she had little choice as she saw it. Those years of Harker and Olan not training her as they should had given her a false sense of control in what was a very dangerous circumstance. Westley had been right—they’d lied to her, and even though she was showing bravery in this situation, one she thought she could control, the reality was that she’d placed herself in a potential fatal position.

And she didn’t even realize it.

“Samson and his army came to Massington Castle a few days ago,” she said. “If you are part of his army, then you know it is true. You also know that Samson took a beating by a knight you currently have inside your fortress. Olan de Bisby brought Westley de Lohr to Fitz Walter. Do you understand me so far?”

The lazy smile vanished from the soldier’s face. In fact, men were starting to gather at the portcullis, including an older man with a scar across his mouth who stuck his face through the portcullis and scowled at her.

“Who are ye, wench?” he demanded. “How do ye know this?”

Now Elysande could see that she had their attention, and she experienced a surge of panic. She wanted their focus, but now that she had it, it was terrifying.

Courage, girl, courage!

“I am Lord Ledbury’s daughter,” she said for all to hear. “I am also Westley de Lohr’s wife. Tell Samson I’ve come to bargain with him. Do it now!”

The soldiers at the portcullis whispered furiously amongst themselves. They were pointing at Elysande and to the keep, hissing like the steam from a fire. Finally, someone went running off, presumably to notify Samson.

When Elysande realized that, it was all she could do to keep from running herself. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. Perhaps she was going to get herself and Westley killed. Worse still, she might end up Fitz Walter’s captive and all would be lost. Was she doing the right thing?

Was she?

She was about to find out just how much courage she really had.

*

“De Lohr?”

Westley heard his name, but he was having a hell of a time opening his eyes. It was pitch black in the chamber and he was sleeping on the floor because there was no bed. He was in the same chamber he’d been in since his arrival at Hell’s Forge and now, someone was hissing at him. He caught a glimpse of a taper, a feeble point of light against the darkness.

“De Lohr, can you hear me?”

Westley took a deep breath, coughing as he tried to sit up. “I hear you,” he grunted.

“Good.” It was Alend and he was putting something into Westley’s hand. “Take this and eat it. You will need your strength.”

Westley’s head was killing him, throbbing as he managed to push himself into a sitting position. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the light a little, and he could see Alend as the man looked at him with an anxious expression. He also noted that the man had pushed bread into his palm. Without hesitation, he shoved it in his mouth and took a huge bite.

“What is amiss?” he asked, chewing. “Why do I need my strength?”

Alend motioned for him to stand. “Because Samson is still sleeping and it is time for us to go,” he said. “There is a postern gate near the kitchens, where the cook conducts business, and we must depart before Samson awakens. The sentries are changing guards right now, so no one will be watching the postern gate. We must hurry.”

Westley didn’t need to be prompted any more than that. He stood up, swaying dizzily because he’d either been on his back or seated for the past few days, so he had to reclaim his equilibrium before he was able to start walking. Alend had him by the arm as he led him out of the chamber and silently shut the door behind him.

Since Westley had been unconscious when he was brought in, he didn’t recognize anything. It was a darkened entry, low-ceilinged, and the only light was from the flame Alend was holding, which turned out to be an oil lamp. Westley was trying to walk and eat the bread at the same time, which proved tricky. He didn’t seem to have much coordination. As they neared the entry door, Alend had Westley stand back against the wall as he opened the door to see if their way to the postern gate was clear.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The sun was just starting to rise, casting pink and purple streaks in the sky, and Alend caught sight of a soldier running toward the keep. He motioned to Westley to slink back into the shadows as the soldier bolted up the steps. Alend stood in the doorway to prevent the man from entering.

“What do you want?” he asked the soldier.

The soldier was breathing heavily from his run. He pointed in the direction he’d come from. “At the gatehouse,” he said. “There’s someone demanding to see Lord Fitz Walter. He must come.”

Alend’s brow furrowed. “Why?” he said. “Who is it?”

The soldier shook his head. “She didn’t give a name,” he said. “But she knows about the fight at Massington. She said that she’s Lord Ledbury’s daughter.”

A bolt of shock ran through Alend. “L-Lord Ledbury’s—?” he stammered. “But—that’s purely madness. She must be lying!”

The soldier shrugged. “That’s what she said,” he told him. “The sergeant on duty told me to fetch Fitz Walter.”

Alend didn’t know what to do other than nod that he acknowledged the request. As the soldier headed back the way he’d come, Alend went to shut the door, but Westley was on him. The man was trying to throw the door open, trying to get out of the keep, and Alend had to push him back out of sight.

“ Stop, ” he hissed. “What are you doing?”

Westley looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “My wife is here,” he said, his voice trembling for the first time since Alend had known him. “I must get to her!”

He pushed, and Alend shoved yet again, keeping him away from the door. “Are you mad?” he said severely. “What do you think is going to happen to you if you run to the gatehouse? Do you actually think fifty Fitz Walter soldiers are going to stand by while you have a touching reunion with your wife? Nay, they will not. You’ll end up dead!”

The last word was like a slap to Westley’s face. Dead. Just what he’d been trying to avoid. For a few brief moments, he simply hadn’t been thinking. He was exhausted and injured and not in the right frame of mind, but the thought that Elysande was actually here had driven him to momentary madness.

And he was scared to death.

“Do you know her on sight?” he asked, sounding desperate. “You must go to the gatehouse and see if it is her. She has long hair, dark red in color and beautiful, and the most magnificent hazel eyes. She is a beautiful woman in all ways. You must find out why she is here!”

Alend nodded, hands still on Westley’s chest to try to keep him from charging out of the door. “Listen to me,” he said, thumping Westley on the chest when the man seemed unable to focus. “Westley, listen. I will go to the gatehouse, but you must go to the postern gate.”

“But—!”

“Go to the postern gate or you will die,” Alend said, giving him a shake. “Westley, I cannot save you if you are going to be stupid. Do you understand me? Do not be stupid! Go to the postern gate and flee into the nearby trees. There is an entire line of trees that runs the length of the castle and along the road, so you cannot miss it. I will find you there, and if your wife truly is at the gatehouse, I will get to the bottom of it. Do you truly think she came alone? I would be willing to wager she has knights with her, men who have come to save you.”

That gave Westley something to think about. He blinked, digesting what Alend was suggesting, before nodding his head. “You are correct,” he said. “My family would not let me languish here. She must be a decoy.”

“I will find that out,” Alend said. “Meanwhile, go down the stairs and then turn to your right. Run along the length of the wall until you enter the kitchen yard. Inside the yard is the postern gate. Unlock it and follow the path out, but stay low so the men on the walls will not see you. If this is truly a diversion, then we must not waste it while their attention is on the gatehouse.”

Even Westley understood the logic of that plan. They had an opportunity with the guards diverted. He couldn’t help Elysande if he was dead, and unless he did as Alend said, he could very well end up that way. With an unsteady nod, he agreed, and Alend returned to the entry door to make sure no one was around before waving frantically to Westley.

It was time for his escape.

Alend watched Westley dash down the stairs and race over to the wall, staying flush against the stone as he began to run the length of the wall as Alend had told him. When the man entered the kitchen yard and disappeared from sight, Alend stepped from the door and was preparing to go down the steps when he heard his name. Startled, he turned around to see Samson emerging from the stairwell.

“Alend?” Samson said irritably. “Did you not hear me calling to you?”

Alend’s heart was pounding in his chest at the close call he’d just had with Westley on the loose. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “I was just speaking to a gatehouse sentry. It… it seems there is someone here to see you.”

Samson tugged on the tunic he was wearing, scratching at the vermin that lived in it. “Who is here?” he said, frowning.

Alend hesitated. If he told him, no doubt the man would run to the gatehouse himself to see if it was true. But if he didn’t tell him… Truthfully, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to tell him because Samson would find out from someone else, and then Alend would be punished. He’d told Westley to run, and hopefully the man was already outside of the wall in the trees somewhere, waiting. Alend could only surmise that Lady de Lohr was here as a decoy while three thousand de Lohr soldiers were waiting to pounce. The gatehouse was the only point of weakness at Hell’s Forge. If they could get the triple portcullises open, then they had a chance of taking the castle.

And Alend had a chance of escaping after all.

“I’m told Lord Ledbury’s daughter is here,” he said after a moment. “I was just about to see to her myself.”

Samson stopped scratching and looked at him in surprise. “Ledbury’s daughter?” he repeated. “Lady Elysande?”

“So I am told, my lord. Should we proceed to the gatehouse together?”

Samson was off and running without another word.

*

The longer she waited, the more apprehensive she became.

No one was saying anything. They were all simply watching her, either through the portcullis or from the wall overhead. Elysande didn’t like the idea of being scrutinized, but she tried to shake it off, focusing on the bigger picture.

Westley’s freedom.

Truthfully, the more she thought on Westley and his freedom, the more confident she became. Certainly there was lingering fear and doubt, but it no longer made her feel as if she was doing the wrong thing. She knew she was doing the right thing. She was securing her husband’s release from a man who would be quite happy to kill him, and that was something she couldn’t live with.

It all came down to that.

She couldn’t live without Westley.

In the short time she’d known him, she felt as if she’d lived a lifetime. More than that, she felt as if her life was only getting started. Before Westley came, she didn’t really know what, or who, she was. She was simply a daughter of a lesser lord, struggling to fill the hole left by her brother’s death. It never occurred to her that trying to fill that hole was futile. She always thought she could, and she always thought that her father would come around at some point and appreciate her efforts.

It never occurred to her that he wouldn’t.

Life at Massington had been more of an existence than an actual life. They existed. They didn’t really live . They went from day to day doing mundane things, thinking mundane thoughts, and laboring through a reality that was unpleasant at best. Elysande had tried to fill that existence with a purpose, and that purpose had been to learn how to fight, to step into her brother’s shoes to the best of her abilities. Her father’s existence had revolved around a bottle and her mother’s existence had been trying to fill the void where her heart and soul used to be. It had started even before Emory’s death, and Elysande had known for years about her mother and Harker. That affair had been born out of a lack of affection in her parents’ marriage. Emory’s death only made it worse. Therefore, her family simply existed. Rather than come together and draw strength from one another after her brother died, they had fractured.

A family in pieces.

Strange how she only realized that after Westley had arrived and she had seen how parents interacted with a child that was loved. When Westley had been abducted, his brothers and an army had shown up to help, and that further opened her eyes to the purpose of a family. It was to support one another and love one another, not ignore each other and become lost in one’s own world. Westley’s arrival had opened her eyes to many things, and that was how she knew that what she was doing at this very moment was right.

This was what a family did.

It defended each other.

Lost in thought, Elysande didn’t see Samson or Alend until they were standing at the portcullis, studying her. When Samson let out what sounded like a gasp of glee, she was jolted from her reflections and spun around, finding herself gazing at the man who had wanted her so badly that he’d abducted her husband in retaliation. She knew there was more to it, but her perspective up until her marriage to Westley had always been that Samson had wanted her very much.

Perhaps he still did.

She was counting on it.

“Lady Elysande,” he said, purposely addressing her as a maiden woman rather than a married one. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

Elysande hadn’t seen Samson since the day he was told her betrothal with Westley de Lohr was unbreakable. The day he’d pitched an epic tantrum. Already, she remembered why she didn’t like the man.

“I think you know,” she said. “You have something I want returned to me.”

Samson’s eyes were glittering at her. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Then I shall be plain, since you are playing stupid,” Elysande snapped. “I want my husband’s freedom. I know Olan brought him here. Give him back to me.”

Samson’s manner cooled. “Why should I do that?”

“Because I am here to offer you something you want more in exchange.”

“What might that be?”

“Me.”

All of the lasciviousness or excitement present on Samson’s face drained away, leaving shock and suspicion in its wake.

“You?” he said. Then his brow furrowed and his manner turned rough. “ You? What do you mean by that?”

Elysande was trying to gauge his reaction but honestly couldn’t tell which way he was going to go. Was he pleased? Angry? Offended?

“Just what I have told you,” she said. “You took my husband. I want his freedom. What is more valuable to you than my husband? That would be me. You are willing to go to war over me. Release my husband and I shall turn myself over to you.”

That didn’t seem to clear things up for Samson, who couldn’t decide how he felt about the whole thing. He frowned and grunted, looking to others around him to see what their reactions were, but they were looking at him instead. No one seemed willing to give him a response.

Except the man next to him.

He spoke up.

“It is not a simple situation, my lady,” he said loudly. “We cannot simply open the portcullis and let you in. We are not fools.”

Elysande recognized the man because he’d come to Massington when Samson had. He was, in fact, Olan’s cousin, but it took her a moment to remember that.

“You are Alend de Bisby,” she said. “Olan’s cousin.”

“I am.”

“You convinced him to betray me and my husband.”

Alend shook his head. “I did nothing of the kind,” he said. “Olan made his own decisions. Now, you will leave. Go back into the bushes where you belong. Go, now. Into the foliage. Get out of Lord Fitz Walter’s sight.”

She had no idea that he was trying to get her into the greenery where Westley was supposed to be. The line of trees behind her stretched the length of the wall and beyond. It was about thirty or forty feet from the castle, giving the area good clearance, but if Westley had made it to those trees, he could easily be somewhere near the gatehouse by now. But there was no way Elysande could have known that Alend was trying to drive her straight to her husband and away from danger. In fact, his dismissive attitude only served to anger her.

“My proposal is for Lord Fitz Walter, not you ,” she snapped before returning her attention to Samson. “Well? Do we have a bargain?”

Alend opened his mouth to snap at her again, but Samson stopped him. “Why do you not come inside and let us discuss it, my lady?”

“Come out onto the road and we will discuss it here.”

“Do you not want to see your husband?”

That brought Elysande pause. She may not have been experienced, but she was smart enough to see that he was trying to manipulate her. Also, she didn’t want to visit her husband inside the castle.

She wanted to see him outside.

“Release him now and I will see him,” she said.

“Do you not wish to speak with him first?”

“Nay,” she said flatly. “I want to see him as he walks away from Hell’s Forge. You have no right to keep him here, Fitz Walter. Until you came to Massington and threatened everyone, he never did anything to offend you.”

“He thrashed me.”

“He was defending us!”

Samson was becoming annoyed because he couldn’t seem to force her to do what he wanted her to do, so he tried another tactic.

“You said you came here to exchange yourself for your husband,” he said. “Did you consider that I may not want to let him go?”

Elysande sighed sharply. “Why not?” she said. “He means nothing to you. Your quarrel is with his father.”

Samson snorted rudely. “How little you know about the ways of men,” he said. “It is a good thing you are lovely to look at, because you are as stupid as a shovel.”

“So are you.”

“I would not push me if I were you,” Samson said. “I can bring you inside, and you and your husband will both be my prisoners if I wish it.”

Elysande was becoming increasingly frustrated with him. “You would have to catch me first, and I can run faster than you can,” she said. Then she shook her head at the man and his arrogance. “You spent two years lying to my father, coming to visit and pretending to be an ally, only because you wanted to marry me. Now that I am standing before you, you have no interest in me?”

Samson shook his head. “So stupid yet so beautiful,” he muttered. “Must I truly explain this to you?”

“Evidently.”

“Very well,” Samson said. “It was not you I wanted, but your father’s lands. His titles. You were simply a means to an end, lady. Did you truly think I wanted to marry you because I was madly in love with you? I do not even know you. The only thing of value you have is your inheritance.”

“You knew my brother would inherit, so your words are false.”

“And your memory is lacking,” he said. “I made the offer to your father after he died. ’Tis a good thing he did, because he saved me the trouble of killing him, but nevertheless, you were never my goal. Massington was.”

In days past, that might have upset her. The mention of killing Emory definitely upset her, but she didn’t show it. She didn’t want to give Samson the satisfaction of knowing he had unsettled her. As it was, she saw his words as the opinion of a fool that held no weight with her, and she almost said so, but she had to remind herself that she was here to negotiate Westley’s release and insulting Samson would not work well in her favor. Therefore, she had to bite her tongue.

Sort of.

“That is reasonable,” she said steadily. “Any woman is only worth her inheritance, as any man is only as good as his property and title. Other than this beast of a castle, you do not have anything to offer, but still, I offer myself in exchange for my husband. If it is only the money and the lands you want, then an annulment can be achieved. If you marry me, everything will be yours.”

Samson looked at her dubiously. “An annulment on what grounds?”

Unfortunately, Elysande hadn’t thought that far ahead. In fact, the annulment comment was purely off the cuff. She didn’t mean any of it but wanted Samson to think she did. Anything to gain his trust and his agreement. Therefore, she said the first thing that came to mind.

“Surely Westley will have the marriage annulled once I take up with you,” she said. “If a man can prove his wife is an adulteress, the church will grant him an annulment. It is not difficult.”

That was true. If a man could prove his wife betrayed him, the church would allow an annulment. Samson just stood there, watching her, hopefully mulling over what she’d said. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. The wait began to grow longer and longer, and she began to feel more uncomfortable as he stared at her. Perhaps he was waiting for her to crack or give some sign that her presence here was some kind of trick.

Finally, he chuckled.

“If you are so willing to allow the marriage to be annulled, why have you come to seek your husband’s release?” he said. “Your very presence would imply he means something to you.”

It was Elysande’s turn to chuckle. “I tried to kill him when he first arrived,” she said, wondering just how much Westley had told the man about their relationship. “The moment he came through the gatehouse, I attacked him. I do not think that speaks of love and affection.”

Samson seemed to agree with that. “He told me you fought when you first met,” he said. “Do you know what else he did?”

“I am certain you are going to tell me.”

Samson leaned against the portcullis, grinning the most hideous grin. “He suggested that I let him run off to France or somewhere east,” he said. “With him gone, you would assume he was dead and I could marry you. He wanted to leave you, my lady.”

Elysande tried not to visibly react to that. She was certain that Samson was lying simply to hurt her. “And will you let him?” she asked.

Samson’s smile faded. “Probably not,” he said. “But if you do not care if he runs off, why are you here to secure his release?”

“Because I admire his family,” she said. “Even if Westley and I have no interest in one another, his parents have been kind to me. And my father has no use for me. So… I am expendable. Mayhap I can do one good thing with my life by returning a son to parents who are worried.”

She probably shouldn’t have hinted that Christopher was upset over Westley’s disappearance, but she couldn’t take it back. Moreover, surely Samson would have known that. A missing son was a grave thing. But Samson’s smile was completely gone by the time she finished and it was very clear that he was trying to determine if she was lying.

He couldn’t quite seem to work it out.

“Are there a thousand men in those trees behind you, waiting for me to open the portcullis?” he finally said. “If they are using you as bait, they are clever. But not clever enough.”

He seemed quite suspicious, perhaps too suspicious. That wasn’t the direction she wanted him to go.

“No one is using me as bait,” she said. “I have come of my own accord. You are holding my husband hostage and I want him released, so badly that I am willing to sacrifice my entire life so Westley can walk free. Mayhap our marriage is not a happy one, but I will tell you this—he does not deserve what you have done to him. Release him and I promise I will stay with you. I will not go back on my word. But if you do not release him, there are four thousand de Lohr men at Massington at this moment and they are preparing to attack you. They want Westley back and they will take him by force. I suspect you will not let them take him alive. Therefore, I beg you to take me instead. Let me do one good thing in my life, Fitz Walter. Let me be a sacrifice.”

It was a rather passionate speech, one that had Samson’s attention. Standing next to him, Alend simply hung his head. He could see how emotional Elysande was, and it was heartbreaking to watch. She was young and relatively na?ve and really had no idea what she was asking, but still, she was asking.

But she was playing with fire.

If Westley had done what he was told, then he was already in the trees in the stretch of forest to the south. But something told Alend that Westley was watching what was happening at the gatehouse, seeing his wife standing there and more than likely planning to charge out of the trees and grab her at any moment. That was what Alend was hoping for. He was hoping that someone would save this girl from herself.

But then Samson did something unexpected.

“Raise the portcullis!” he shouted.

Men began to turn the enormous wheel that lifted the portcullis. It lifted slowly, the massive chains groaning under the weight, until it was about six feet off the ground. Not all the way up, but easy for a man to get through and easy to drop if the trees suddenly came alive with soldiers ready to attack.

“My lord,” Alend said, trying to fend off whatever Samson was planning, “we must be cautious with a woman. All women are known liars.”

Samson’s gaze was on Elysande. “You worry too much,” he said quietly. “Look at her—she is starting to cower. She knows I have control. Where is Westley?”

Alend had been prepared for that question. He’d decided that if Samson asked for Westley, he would dutifully look for him only to come up empty-handed and then swear to find him and go on the hunt outside of the walls. But when he found Westley, instead of going back to Hell’s Forge, they would run all the way to Massington. It was simple, really. No reason to panic.

But knowing what Samson was capable of, the question made him feel sick.

“The last I saw him, he was in the solar where we left him,” he said. “I took him a compress for his head this morning. Why? Should I fetch him?”

He was proud of himself for sounding so terribly normal, as if he weren’t harboring a dangerous secret, but Samson shook his head.

“Nay,” he said quietly. “But I do want to bring the lady closer.”

“Why?”

“So you can snatch her.”

Oh, God, Alend thought. But he nodded, posturing as if absolutely preparing to capture the woman, and Samson took a few steps under the portcullis.

Elysande backed up.

Seeing this, Samson came to a halt and crooked a finger at her. “Come here,” he said. “No one is going to hurt you.”

Elysande shook her head firmly. “I will not.”

Samson cocked an eyebrow. “Yet you want me to trust you?” he said. “How am I to trust you if you will not trust me?”

Elysande had seen Samson whispering to Alend. She might have been na?ve, but she wasn’t stupid in spite of what Samson had called her. The two of them were planning something and she wasn’t going to walk into it. Oddly enough, her fear and doubt in the situation had fled completely. She was going to force this situation to be what she wanted it to be no matter what Samson said. No matter what names he called her.

No matter if he was trying to trick her.

“Trust goes both ways,” she said. “If you want me to come closer, then you must do something for me.”

“And what is that?”

“Release my husband,” she said. “Release him and let me see that he is free. Then I will do whatever you wish.”

Samson didn’t seem pleased with that. He assumed a stance that suggested how annoyed he was and crooked his finger at her again.

“Just a little closer,” he said. “I do not want to shout at you for all to hear. Come close enough so I do not have to shout, please.”

Elysande still had her sword in her hand. It gave her a false sense of protection, as if she could fend the man off if he tried anything. Unless he charged her like Westley had when they first met, but she didn’t think Samson was going to do that. She hoped not, anyway. With a sharp sigh, she took about six or seven steps closer to the open portcullis.

“There,” she said. “Now, you will release my husband. If you want things to go your way without the violence of a battle, then release Westley and I am yours.”

But Samson shook his head. “Closer,” he said. “My throat and neck are still sore from the beating your husband gave me, so you’ll have to come closer so I do not have to shout.”

Elysande lifted the sword. “I will, but I will cut you if you try anything,” she said. “You have been warned.”

She took two more steps and came to a halt, but before Samson could say anything, a shout rose up from the trees back at the bend in the road, where Elysande had tethered her horse.

“Ella, stop ! Get away from him!”

All eyes turned to the source of the shouting only to see Westley standing at the edge of the trees, his arms extended imploringly. Elysande, seeing him emerging from the bramble, gasped in shock.

“Westley?” she said, incredulous. Then she shouted frantically. “Westley, go home! Go! ”

Samson and Alend were watching the exchange with a good deal of astonishment. In Alend’s case, it was horror. Pure horror. But before he could make any move at all, Samson was running for Elysande. Westley’s appearance had distracted her enough that she’d turned her back on her mortal enemy, and, like a good hunter, he had pounced. The next thing Alend realized, Samson had Elysande in his arms and was dragging her, kicking and screaming, back underneath the portcullis. More men were jumping to help him as Alend watched helplessly, but he knew he had to act. He had to think quickly or all would be lost.

God help me!

“I will go after de Lohr,” he told Samson. “I do not know how he escaped, but I will bring him back!”

Without waiting for a response, he ducked underneath the portcullis as Samson ordered it lowered. That left Alend running down the road, alone, as the men at the gatehouse scrambled and prepared for an attack. They had no way of knowing if the lady really was, or wasn’t, a decoy, so the sergeants in command were ordering their men to prepare for battle. It was chaotic at best.

And Alend kept running down the road.

By the time he entered the trees, he could see that Westley was mounted on a small mare. The man was turning the horse in the direction of Hell’s Forge, clearly to save his wife, but Alend waved his arms in front of the animal and startled it as Westley struggled not to be thrown.

“Get out of my way,” Westley said, clearly ill and gray in pallor. “What in the hell was she doing? Why did you not stop her?”

Alend could see that Westley was in a bad way. The head wound was wreaking havoc with him and he looked as if he were going to collapse at any moment. Alend grabbed the reins of the horse, steadying it, as Westley tried to pull away.

“Westley, listen to me,” Alend begged. “You must go back to Massington. If you go to the gatehouse, there are a hundred men who will gladly kill you. You cannot fight them all. Do you understand me? You cannot fight them all! ”

Westley heard him. God help him, he heard. And he was barely able to stay on horseback because the world was rocking and he was feeling horribly weak. “I went to the trees as you instructed,” he said, his voice sounding as if it was about to crack. “But I had to see for myself if Ella was truly at the gatehouse. I could not hear what she said, but I saw her. I saw her move closer. Mayhap I should not have shouted to her, but he was going to take her!”

“And now he has her, thanks to you,” Alend said angrily. “You should not have called to her. You should have left it alone.”

“I know,” Westley said, struggling with what he’d done. “But I often speak or act before thinking.”

Alend wasn’t going to scold him now. There wasn’t time. “What is done is done,” he said. “What you saw is Lady Elysande offering herself in exchange for your freedom, and Samson accepted her offer, so you must leave. You must not let her sacrifice be in vain.”

Westley had a horrible feeling that might have been the case. Something told him that Elysande wasn’t simply standing at the gatehouse for conversation’s sake. She’d come to bargain, only he didn’t think she would bargain with herself.

“My God,” he said, horrified. “She… she offered to become his captive if he released me? I cannot believe it.”

“You must,” Alend said. “Because it is true and there is nothing you can do about it now.”

Westley didn’t like his answer. Of course there was something he could do about it. “To the devil with you,” he snarled. “I will return and offer myself in exchange for her freedom. She should have never done this!”

“Yet she did,” Alend snapped softly. “You cannot offer yourself in exchange for her. Samson will not release her, but he would gladly capture you again, and God only knows what he would do to you. In fact, Samson thinks I am trying to recapture you as we speak, so you must hit me on the jaw.”

In the midst of his turmoil, Westley frowned at the very strange request. “You want me to what ?”

“Hit me on the jaw,” Alend said, moving to the saddle and pulling Westley off the horse. “If I am trying to capture you, it will not look real if there is no evidence. I will return without you, clearly having fought with you, and that way, I can keep an eye on your lady.”

“But I want to—”

“Nay, you do not ,” Alend said sharply. “This is the only way. If you want to help your lady, hit me in the jaw and ride for Massington as fast as you can. I will do what I can to help her, but you must go. Do you understand me?”

Westley did, and every bone in his body was screaming against Alend’s advice. He wanted to save Elysande. God only knew what was happening to her at the moment. But he could not save her if he was dead.

It was a devastating realization.

“Please,” he finally murmured. “Just let me—”

“Nay,” Alend said, cutting him off. “You ruined it the first time. If you want the lady, and you, to remain alive, you will do what I’ve told you to do. Hit me!”

The last two words were emphasized by Alend grabbing Westley by the hair. In response, Westley struck Alend in the chin and sent the man to the ground. But even in his distress, he knew that Alend was right. He knew what the man was trying to do. He didn’t want to leave Elysande, but if he was going to fight another day, he would have to.

God help him, he had to.

“Help her,” he whispered tightly, tears stinging his eyes. “Please… please, just help her.”

Alend, on the ground, could hear the pain in the man’s voice. “I will do what I can.”

There was nothing more either of them could say. Swinging himself back onto the saddle, Westley charged south, across the field, heading toward the road that led to Massington. Alend picked himself off the ground, watching the man go before making his way out of the trees. He could feel something at the corner of his mouth and wiped at it, pleased to see that it was blood. That would be most convincing to Samson. But first, he had to make it back to the castle and hope the lady wasn’t injured in the scuffle.

With blood on his mouth, he ran all the way back to the gatehouse.

Straight into hell.