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“Count Marcus! Eh, what’s this? You never said he was the one you wanted me to let go.

” Galdain frowned and took another deep swig of his ale, then wiped his sleeve across his dripping lips.

“I don’t know about that. I’d be risking my neck.

The archduke might well hang me in the count’s stead if that one gets away. ”

“Five coins,” Arianne said, producing the additional coins like a magician and waving them under his nose. “Three now and two later—“

“Ten.”

Tension ripped through Arianne’s stomach. She didn’t have ten. If she gave this man five pieces of gold, it would leave her with only one—one that she might need to smuggle herself and Marcus across the border.

“I don’t have ten. You had agreed to three.”

“That was before you wanted Count Marcus. What’s he to you, eh?” he asked suddenly, suspicion darkening his beefy features. “Why are you trying to help that foreigner anyway?”

“That’s not your concern.” She heard the royal haughtiness in her voice and hastened to amend her tone.

She opened her eyes very wide and reached out to touch his arm.

“Galdain, please. Five coins is all I have. They’re yours if you will only keep your end of the bargain.

Open the cell door and look the other way.

Count Marcus will make his own way out of the castle. ”

“The duke will have my head if I’m caught,” he growled.

Sharp eyes studied the fine bones of her face, the beautiful violet eyes that shone from beneath slim auburn brows, the soft, full mouth, parted now as she stared at him.

“You’ll have to make it worth my while,” he said slowly.

“Five coins won’t free a rat, much less Count Marcus. ”

Arianne drew in her breath. She wanted to strike this scoundrel, to draw her dagger and hold it to his throat and force him to agree, but that wouldn’t serve.

Once he went back to the castle, there was no guarantee that he would comply with the plan.

What could she do? She had precious little money, for she’d had to flee Castle Galeron quickly when Julian’s men had sprung their attack.

There’d been no time to gather gold or jewels or even a parcel of her belongings.

All she had was the amethyst necklace and ring that had once belonged to her mother, both of which she’d been wearing the night of the attack. They were hidden now, deep in the pocket of her cloak. Should she give them over to this greedy, disgusting oaf?

Tears stung her eyes. “I have this ring. Here.” She produced it, her hands shaking. “You may have it when Count Marcus is freed.”

“How’d the likes of you get a beauty like this?” Galdain studied the warm, dark flash of the amethyst in the dim stable. His eyes glinted.

“Never you mind. It was lost, and I found it. That’s all you need to know.” She shoved the ring back inside her pocket. “Now, will you go back to the castle and keep your end of the bargain or not?”

“By the saints, I will. And I’ll take the coins with me.

All of ‘em. And the ring. I don’t believe for a minute it’s real, but it’s a pretty bauble and could fetch a fair price in the village.

I’ll also take you, sweet lady,” he sneered, licking his lips.

“Come and persuade me, wench. Show me why I should let the damned count go free, and just maybe I’ll risk my neck to oblige you. ”

He lunged toward her, but Arianne jumped nimbly out of reach. “Don’t you touch me!” she cried.

“You’re too pretty not to touch. Come, the hay is warm.” He sprang toward her again, and this time he was too quick for her. Arianne felt heavy arms imprison her, smelled the liquor and garlic on his breath, the stench of sweat permeating his thick body.

She kicked his shin, and her hand slid toward her dagger. “Let me go or pay with your life,” she warned breathlessly, her fingers closing over the hilt.

Then the dagger was free, and as Galdain groped for her breast beneath the cloak, she stabbed at him with all her might.

But the guard was lucky. He wrenched aside just in time, and the blade missed his heart. It slashed through his shoulder, and he drew back with a grunt of pain, glaring at her.

“I’ll teach you to try to murder me!” he bellowed, and with brute strength struck her full across the face. Arianne went spinning onto the stable floor, and while she lay there, dizzy, he kicked the dagger out of her hand.

“Now you’ll see how unwise it is to cross Galdain,” he muttered and fell upon her.

Arianne, still dizzy, tried to roll aside, but he was upon her before she could move. Heavy and foul-breathed, he pinned her to the floor. She fought and kicked, clawing furiously at his face, but could not get free.

“No! Damn your soul, no! Let me go!”

Fear and rage gave her strength, but not enough to throw him off her. She bucked futilely, and her nails grazed his cheek. “Damn you, get off me!”

“I’ll have you—and the gold—and the ring.” The guard’s voice grunted in her ear as he tore open her cloak. “Rich pickings, wench. Neither of us will soon forget this night.”

Suddenly a deeper shadow moved through the gloom of the stable, and Galdain, perhaps with a sixth sense of impending disaster, glanced up.

Arianne saw a shadow, nothing more. Then a huge hand appeared, seized the guard’s tunic, and hurled him across the stable.

“The lady said to let her up. It appears that a lesson in manners is in order.”

“Arggggghhhh!” With a wordless roar, the enraged dungeon guard hurled himself at his attacker.

Arianne struggled to her knees and watched the fight through wide eyes.

The man who had come to her aid was tall, wide-shouldered, and far more heavily muscled than the burly guard.

His short-cropped hair and plain cloak, tunic, and breeches were dark, unadorned in any way that marked him as a noble or a knight, yet he fought with the smooth, fierce skill of one trained in battle.

When he deftly struck a series of powerful blows, Galdain staggered back. But as the stranger started toward him again, the guard clanged out his sword.

The breath whistled out of Arianne. “No!” she cried.

In the next instant she saw the answering gleam of metal. Quick as lightning, the stranger had drawn his rapier. She heard his mocking, confident laugh as he faced the other man.

“Come, ruffian. Let us see how you meet an opponent of equal strength and skill.”

Arianne scrambled in the darkness for her own fallen dagger and held it tightly in trembling fingers, watching the thrust and parry.

The tall stranger fought magnificently, with a quickness, strength, and ruthless skill that won admiration even through her fear.

It was clear at once that the dungeon guard was no match for him.

Just as she was beginning to think that Galdain would cry for mercy at any moment and her protector would send him running, from outside the stable came the thunder of hooves, shouting and the sound of boots thumping on the frozen earth.

The stranger heard the commotion too. For just an instant his keen gaze flicked toward the door.

It was all the opening Galdain needed. He lunged with his sword straight at the stranger’s heart, but the tall man swung his blade just in time and turned aside the fatal thrust. An instant later, he ran Galdain through, and the guard’s blood spilled in a crimson gush as he cursed, trembled, and fell dead.

Horror filling her throat, Arianne shrank from the sight. The din outside roared in her ears. She darted to the door and peered out.

Soldiers. At least a dozen of them, Julian’s own handpicked men in black masks and hauberks, with drawn swords. No doubt they were searching for the phantom Lord Nicholas or for Lady Arianne of Galeron, whichever they could get their hands on first.

They were fanning out—to search the inn, she realized, the stables, the grounds. They were everywhere.

She was trapped.