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Incredulity and shock mingled on the young duchess’s heart-shaped face. Then bone-thin fingers clenched Arianne’s with surprising strength.

“You’re here for Marcus,” she whispered. “I’m so glad!”

She cares for him still, Adrianne thought on a breath of hope. Despite the richness of her sky-blue gown and the jewels at her throat and upon her fingers, the Duchess of Dinadan looked poorly indeed—pale, thin, and drawn, with obvious shadows beneath her soft brown eyes.

“Yes,” Arianne replied, squeezing her hands. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Tell me, have you seen Marcus? Is he all right? Have they hurt him?”

“He’s weak, and Julian had him beaten by that dreadful Baylor only a few days ago—but he has been brave, so brave. Oh, Arianne, it is terrible. Julian is a monster!”

Beaten! Arianne choked back her rage. “It’s clear you’re not happy in your marriage, Katerine—“

“I hate it—and Julian!” Katerine shuddered. “Arianne, being married to Julian is a nightmare.”

“Will you help me rescue Marcus?”

The girl’s eyes shone. She spoke simply. “I’ll do anything to help him.”

“It’s dangerous,” Arianne warned. “If you were to be caught, Julian would be furious.”

“He would not hesitate to have me put to death. I am sure of it,” the duchess whispered. “As for the treaty with my father, he would forgo it and invade Ruanwald in a twinkling.” She took a deep breath, her shoulders trembling. “But I have to risk it—I can’t let him murder Marcus.”

“Don’t worry. If we’re careful, you won’t be caught and neither will I,” Arianne said, turning on her heel and beginning to pace around the pretty chamber with its tapestries and rush-strewn floor. “It is Julian who’s going to suffer, Katerine, not you, not Marcus. Not any longer.”

“I have been smuggling food to him when I go for my daily visits,” Katerine said brokenly. “Some bread and cheese. One of the guards looks the other way—I think he believes it cannot do any harm.”

“Daily visits?”

“Yes. Julian comes to my chamber each afternoon and insists that I accompany him and whatever visitors are in the castle on a tour of the dungeon. He is no doubt on his way here at this very moment, Arianne. By all that is holy, you must hide…”

“No—take me with you.”

“But none of my ladies has ever come. They hate going there. They have begged me not to force them. Julian will notice if one of them changes her custom.”

“We’ll have to risk it,” Arianne decided, biting her lip. “I must see Marcus so he will know that rescue is at hand.”

She had only just finished speaking when they heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall.

A knot tightened in her stomach. She had not seen Julian since she was a child.

On his last visits to Castle Dinadan, her father had not brought Arianne along, and when Julian had accompanied Duke Armand on a royal visit to Galeron a few years ago, Arianne had been away, visiting at the court of Count Paxton.

So Julian ought not to recognize her. Especially if…

Her gaze fell on a wimple atop a wooden chest in the corner.

No doubt it belonged to Katerine or one of her ladies-in-waiting.

She dashed toward it and slipped it over her braided hair, in one smooth movement fastening the linen band beneath her chin and adjusting the stiff white cap so that it completely hid her hair.

Katerine let out a small gasp as the door swung open without warning. Arianne turned calmly toward it.

“My lord,” the duchess murmured, a slight quaver in her voice.

Julian surveyed her from the doorway. Behind him stood an entourage of noblemen, soldiers, and courtiers, among them, Arianne noted in a swift glance, one who wore the starred black-and-white robes and pointed black-velvet hat of a Dinadaian astrologer.

But Arianne paid scant attention to any of them—she was interested only in the tall, slim man whose sea-blue eyes chilled her even from across the room.

Julian was handsome in the same way a beautiful marble statue is handsome.

There was a cold perfection in the way his wavy golden hair fell to his shoulders, in the arrogance of his chin and of his long, thin nose.

His hands flashed with the fire of numerous rings, and his richly embroidered robes and velvet shoes bespoke royalty as much as did the golden emerald-studded crown upon his head.

But there was no spark of warmth, no trace of humanity in that finely chiseled face.

His narrow mouth revealed cruelty, and his movements were sweeping and precise as he stepped forward into the chamber and offered his arm to his wife.

“Come, my dear, it is time for our tour.”

Katerine hurried toward him. As Arianne, head bowed, went to follow, she heard his voice bark out, “What’s this? You never take your ladies into the dungeon. They are too weak and sniveling to face the enemies of this land.”

“I am feeling ill today, my lord,” Katerine answered at once. “Lady…Lucinda offered to accompany me should I have need of her.”

“Lady Lucinda.” Heedless of the group waiting in the hall, Julian turned his head to inspect Arianne, studying her with curiosity. “You are braver than the rest of my wife’s serving women,” he sneered. “Your devotion is touching.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Look at me when I speak to you, insolent woman!”

She snapped her head up. Her heart was hammering. Julian was staring at her, scrutinizing her every feature with heart-stopping shrewdness. “Have I seen you before?”

“Of course, my lord.” Arianne was thankful that her voice did not quaver. But beneath her gown her knees were shaking.

“It seems I would remember such a pretty face.” There was a different tone to his voice now, a considering, almost admiring tone. Right in front of his wife, Arianne thought, her contempt mounting.

Thank God Katerine didn’t care for him. She risked a small smile.

“Thank you, my lord.”

If you dare to touch me, I’ll kill you, my lord.

To her relief, he turned then, his robes sweeping behind him. “Let us delay no longer. The miserable scum in the dungeons await our inspection.”

Julian led the way down a dim stair. The dungeon master bowed low as the duke approached him at the head of the dank corridor of cells. You must be brave, Arianne told herself, feeling sweat on her palms. You mustn’t cry out or give any sign when you see Marcus, no matter how awful he looks .

They passed gaunt, miserable men and women, chained and bruised, some whose eyes were filled with hate, others with pleading, or dull hopelessness. When they reached Marcus’s cell, the duke paused to consider him.

“My fine traitor of a cousin has little time left to ponder his betrayal of Dinadan,” he taunted.

“Only think what your treachery has cost you, Marcus of Galeron. All of your lands are under my control—or will be soon. Your riffraff soldiers cannot escape my men for long. And there is no leader in your land. Even your sister has deserted her people. When I find her, she will take your place in this cell for daring to defy me.”

“There is only one treacherous soul here, Julian, and that is yours. And it is your days that are numbered.” The brown-haired man spoke with calm dignity through bruised lips.

“Nicholas will never allow you to steal the throne or to continue to tyrannize Dinadan. He’ll be back and he’ll have your black heart on a stick for his supper. ”

“Nicholas is dead,” the astrologer crowed. “He walks no more on this earth.”

“And the last of your line will soon join him,” Julian mocked. “When you’re dead, and then your sister after you, I will become the rightful heir to Galeron as well, and then none of your nobles will dare to oppose me, even in secret.”

Beneath the bruises on his square, handsome face, Marcus paled and his deepset eyes glistened with anger at his enemy, but he held his tongue.

Arianne’s heart went out to him, yet she sensed that even Julian’s entourage was struck by his dignity and courage. Pride swelled within her.

“He is to have no food or drink—not a morsel or a sip—until he hangs!” Julian barked at the dungeon keeper, whose keys rattled on a ring at his belt. The man bowed low.

As Julian and the entourage moved past, Arianne saw Katerine linger at the rear of the crowd. She brushed past the cell, and only Arianne saw her thrust a parcel through the bars into the prisoner’s hands. Only Arianne saw the longing glances the two exchanged.

Then the group moved past, Katerine hurrying after them. Arianne followed slowly, her gaze fixed upon the man in the cell. At last, after tearing his eyes away from Katerine’s slight form, Marcus turned and saw her.

She saw his gaze widen. His deep, weary eyes glittered. For a moment their gazes locked as they reached out to each other in silent love, in fear, in desperate, blind hope. Marcus’s hand trembled as he reached toward her instinctively.

Without breaking stride, Arianne stuffed a linen-wrapped parcel through the bars. “Nicholas is in the castle,” she whispered with almost no sound.

The instant Marcus grasped the parcel, she hurried on. Julian had turned back to survey the group, and she reached the others just as his glance fell on her.

“Behold the gypsy who spoke treason in the streets.” He gestured contemptuously toward the stoop-shouldered woman in the cell. “She will be hanged alongside Count Marcus of Galeron to pay for her perfidy.”

Arianne’s stomach clenched as the entourage swept on. She was in so much turmoil over what had transpired with Marcus, she didn’t even spare a glance for the scrawny, haggard creature in the cell—until a bony hand grabbed her sleeve as she passed by.

“The tower room,” the gypsy whispered.

Arianne froze, staring at her. Through black wisps of strawlike hair, glowing midnight eyes pierced hers. She saw the flash of large white teeth in a saggy, sallow face shining with perspiration.

“Yes—the blue panel . That’s the one.” The gypsy nodded wildly. “You must find the tower room.”