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T his wasn’t bad…for a dungeon. At least that was what Martin tried to tell himself, sitting in near-total darkness with his back against the stone wall, gingerly touching his fingers to the bruises on his neck.

A meager shaft of light came through the bars from a tiny window in the hall—just enough to make out the shadows of things but not enough to truly see.

At least the dirt floor was dry, and Martin hadn’t heard any scurrying. Yet. It was like sitting in a harmless cave in the forest. With excruciating, throbbing pain in his left foot. And a very sore throat. And with his wife in danger.

Isabella wouldn’t really go through with the annulment, would she?

What if he didn’t consent? He had sworn to let her be free if she didn’t want to be with him, but he had never said he would let her go under duress.

And wouldn’t the Church require him to consent to dissolve the marriage?

There was nothing that Lord James could threaten him with that would convince him to cooperate as long as Isabella still cared for him.

Martin tried shifting to a more comfortable position but hissed as pain from his foot spiked through him.

The guard had been none too gentle when he had yanked the dagger out.

Would they send him a healer? If the wound wasn’t cleaned and dressed, there was a high risk of infection.

Maybe that was what Lord James was hoping for, that cheating bastard.

The earl had lost that fight. Martin’s sword had been at the man’s throat.

Maybe he should have taken the earl’s head off and not given him a chance to yield.

It certainly would have been satisfying.

But instead, he’d been honorable and chivalrous about it, and the blackguard had taken full advantage.

It wouldn’t do any good to rehash what had gone wrong. He had to figure out a way out of this. Somehow, he had to escape this dungeon, rescue Isabella and Adelaide, and get them all on a ship to Winchelsea, whether The Wind Song was ready or not.

But to do any of that, he had to stand and walk.

Using his hands to brace himself, he tried to pull himself up.

His ruined foot dragged along the floor, and he yelped.

It was too much! But he forced himself to breathe.

He had to walk, or he’d be completely helpless.

Digging deep, he kept going, every movement excruciating.

After what felt like an eternity, he was standing.

Sweat poured down his neck, despite the chill of the dungeon as he attempted to catch his breath.

That wasn’t so bad, was it? He grimaced and ground his teeth, trying to ignore the shooting pain that seemed to engulf his entire leg.

Now all he had to do was walk. Easy, right?

Just one foot in front of another. He’d been doing it his whole life.

Ever so slowly, he lifted his left leg and lowered it until his injured foot rested on the floor ahead of him, and he shifted his weight with torturous care onto the heel. Lightning struck out from his wound at the slight pressure, and next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the floor.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond, and Martin struggled to sit, failing miserably.

A loathsome chuckle set his teeth on edge as torchlight flickered into the cell.

Lord James stood before him in clean clothes, no doubt bandaged up neatly beneath his garb.

It was satisfying to see that the man limped as he walked.

That jab in the posterior couldn’t have been comfortable, Martin thought with grim satisfaction.

He hoped it got infected no matter how skilled Lord Christopher’s healer was, and that Lord James would never sit comfortably on his unsufferable ass again.

“How sad, you miserable little rat,” Lord James said, eyes glinting with malice while a guard unlocked the cell. “How does it feel to lie there helpless while I steal your wife?”

Forcing himself into a sitting position at last, Martin answered, “Go to hell.” His voice rasped from the damage Lord James had done to his windpipe. It wasn’t the wittiest retort, but it was all he could manage at the moment.

A tall thin man draped in black stepped into the cell beside the earl, a heavy cross hanging from a chain around his neck. “This is the husband you spoke of?” the priest said, looking Martin over warily.

“It is,” Lord James said, narrowing his eyes at Martin. “He wishes for an annulment. Don’t you, Lord Martin?”

“I said, ‘go to hell,’ and I meant it.” Lord James could threaten all he wanted, but he would not give in.

The earl smiled. “ Tsk tsk , my lord. So uninspired. Your wit must be failing you.”

The priest stepped forward and looked down at Martin, furrowing his brow. “Is it true that you have not consummated the marriage?”

Martin’s shoulders sagged. How could he deny it when he had already said so in so many words to Lord James? “It’s true.”

“And do you wish to dissolve the marriage?”

“I do not.” He held Lord James’s gaze defiantly.

Lord James’s gaze sharpened. “Wrong answer, my lord. Give me what I want, and I’ll send in a healer to see to your foot, put you on a ship, and send you home. Refuse, and I’ll let you rot down here until infection takes you.”

A shiver ran down Martin’s spine. It would be all too easy for Lord James to let nature take its course. And where would Isabella be then?

“My lord,” the priest said tentatively, “the Church tribunal will never grant an annulment where the husband is unwilling. Perhaps you should—”

“Perhaps you should consider whose largesse you live on,” the earl interrupted.

“But, my lord, it isn’t up to me,” the priest pleaded, wringing his hands. “You’ll have to convince—”

“Lord Martin will change his mind. He just needs some time to himself to think things through.” Lord James towered over Martin and gave him a mean little kick in the foot. “Don’t you, my lord?”

Martin grunted in pain. Could he steal the earl’s sword? He was almost close enough. A fat lot of good it would do him, though, if he couldn’t get off the floor.

Lord James stepped out of Martin’s reach, as if he could see his thoughts.

“The only way I will ever agree to an annulment is if Isabella tells me of her own free will that she wants to leave this marriage. As long as you are threatening her, or threatening me to get to her, I will never yield.”

A slow smile spread across Lord James’s face. “ Hmm. Perhaps that can be arranged.”

“What?” This couldn’t be good.

“Let us go.” The earl turned toward the door, beckoning for the priest to follow. As soon as they were out, a lock clicked into place, and the torchlight disappeared.

Martin sagged against the wall, his thoughts frantically turning, trying to find a way out of this predicament.

There was no way the earl could change Isabella’s mind now, could he?

After all that had transpired earlier, there was no doubt of Isabella’s feelings, and she had let them be known publicly during the fight by cheering him on.

Some twenty men must have seen her take his side over the earl.

What would that cave troll do to her to get her to agree?

Whatever it was, Martin needed to get out of here to foil the plan.

If only he could get a message to his men…

But how would they be able to get him out of the castle without Lord James and his men noticing?

They were far too few to fight their way in, let alone out again.

And stealth was too risky for them. No, he would have to think his way out of this rather than relying on the strength of his men.

He couldn’t wait too long to see a healer, though.

He could hardly save Isabella from Lord James if he was dead.

Should he pretend to go along with the earl’s plan for the sake of having his wound tended to and then renege before the Church tribunal?

The idea of pretending to accept filled his stomach with bile.

What would Isabella think? But did he have any other choice?

There had to be another way. Perhaps he could prevail on Lord Christopher, if he could get the man alone.

They’d always had friendly relations. It wasn’t the man’s fault his liege lord was a monster.

Given the opportunity, Lord Christopher might very well do the decent thing and give him the aid he needed—at the very least, have his wounds tended to, though that would be in opposition to Lord James’s wishes.

But how could Martin get him alone, and how would he convince him to go against his liege?

Hours passed, and the pain in his foot grew as he stewed in the cell, watching the meager light wane in the window in the hall.

Every idea he had came up short, and worse, his mind was growing hazy from pain and exhaustion.

As the light of day winked out completely, he was left in total darkness, with no options left to him but to wait for someone to return.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he jerked awake to the sound of footsteps. He didn’t remember dozing off, but Lord only knew what hour of the night it might be.

Torchlight flickered, casting ominous shadows, as Lord James opened the door, and the priest walked in behind him, followed by Isabella.

His heart leapt at the sight of her but then quailed at the look in her eyes—cold, resolute. No, the earl couldn’t have convinced her. It wasn’t possible.

“Go ahead. Say what you have to say, my lady,” Lord James prompted, his voice oozing with triumph.

Squaring her shoulders, Isabella turned her impassive gaze on Martin. “I don’t care for you. I’ve never cared for you. I do not wish to remain married to you. Please agree to an annulment so that I can marry Lord James. Our arrangement is finished.”

Each word pierced his heart like a dirk, and he could hardly breathe by the time she was finished. This couldn’t be. Lord James must have done or said something terrible to convince her. The Isabella whom he’d held in his arms this very afternoon would never allow this man to win.

“What have you said to her to make her agree?” Martin’s voice was still rough and ragged from being strangled, but he did his best to infuse every word with ice.

“Not a thing,” said Lord James with a smug smile. “I have neither threatened her nor have I threatened you to get her to agree. Have I, my dear?” he said, turning to her, pinning her with a steely gaze.

Isabella gave the earl a resigned look then turned back to Martin, her gaze cold and distant. “He has not threatened you or me.” For a moment, her expression shifted, as if there was something specific she wanted him to know. But what?

“I merely wish to be free of you,” she continued in a chilly monotone. “All this time I’ve been toying with you to goad Lord James into making a better offer. There is nothing between us and there never was. I was always meant to be an earl’s wife, and now I shall be.”

Martin stared at his bride in horrified silence. He could read no lie in her eyes, no secret message that this was all a ruse. Still…he couldn’t believe her words. There had to be more to this.

“Whatever he’s done to you, I swear I’ll make him pay.” As soon as he was able, he would tear the earl limb from limb.

“He’s done nothing to me. This is my choice. I wish to marry him, and you promised you would release me if I asked. So, I am asking. Will you release me, or are you going back on your promise?”

For a moment, a spark of fire glimmered in her eye, and then it was gone, masked behind layers and layers of cold will.

Oh, Isabella, what did he say to you?

But she did not relent as she stood there in stony silence, staring him down.

Whatever Lord James had done, it was bad enough that she needed him to at least appear to give in.

“I am a man of my word, my lady. If you wish to be free of me, I won’t stand in the way,” he said at last, each word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Lord James grinned and clapped. “Now, was that so hard? Father Michael, you heard the man. Are you satisfied now?”

The priest nodded slowly. “Yes, I believe that gives us enough to work with, as long as he doesn’t change his mind before the tribunal.”

“The only reason I would change my mind is if Isabella changes hers,” Martin said. Whatever game was afoot here, Isabella needed him to make this look convincing. “Since she wishes to be rid of me, I will do as she asks.”

Lord James nodded and turned to the door. “Eadric, take Lord Martin to the room we’ve prepared for him, and have the healer tend to his wounds. We need him well enough to stand before the tribunal.”

Martin narrowed his eyes. “Why bother healing me and going through with the annulment? You could just kill me.”

“Isabella has convinced me that it would be unwise to anger Lady Eleanor by killing an ally when I’m trying to ingratiate myself to her husband.”

Selfish bastard . At least it meant Martin would live to see another day, and as long as he drew breath, he could fight this. Isabella would never wed Lord James. Martin would see to that.

Lord James turned to go, taking Isabella and the priest with him.

“Yes, my lord.”

Two guards entered and pulled him up, none too gently. He put an arm over each of their shoulders and did his best to hop along as they manhandled him out of the dungeon.

This was not the end, Martin swore to himself as he winced and grunted. He would save Isabella from that beast, whatever it took.