Chapter 3
Reyes paused at the door to his bedchamber, his hand on the latch. Why had he sent the girl to his room? He had no intention of treating his captive as a guest or using her as a whore. She was only a pawn in a dangerous game of cat and mouse.
He closed his eyes, picturing Shanara Montiori in his mind: defiant green eyes set beneath soft brown brows, a fall of reddish-brown hair as thick as his own, skin smooth and unblemished.
Reyes swore a vile oath, annoyed by the turn of his thoughts. She was the daughter of his enemy and he would do what he had vowed to do. He would keep her imprisoned while he waited to hear from Montiori, and when her father refused to take her place, as Reyes knew he surely would, Reyes would send her back to her father a piece at a time, until the coward agreed to surrender or to face him, one on one, in a battle to the death. No armies. No spectators. Just the two of them, alone.
He had ordered that she be bathed and attired in clean clothes because he could not, in good conscience, do otherwise. Now it was time to remember that she was his prisoner and treat her as such. He would personally escort her to the dungeon. He would demand that she write a letter to her father, telling Montiori of his terms, and then it was up to Montiori.
Filled with new resolve, Reyes opened the door and stepped inside, felt his breath catch in his throat as she turned away from the hearth to look at him, her eyes wide and startled, like a doe sensing danger. The velvet gown hugged a figure any man would kill to possess. The light from the fire danced in her hair and caressed her cheek.
Clearing his throat, he closed the door behind him.
She took a step backward and then, as though thinking better of it, she drew herself up to her full height. And waited.
And he did what he had been wanting to do from the moment he first saw her. Walking purposefully across the room, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He had expected her lips to be sweet, but he hadn't expected the sudden heat that flowed through him. It wasn't just the heat of desire, or the normal longing of a man for a woman. No, it was more than that, a feeling he didn't understand, one he had never known before.
Forcing himself to let her go, she stared up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. He had to get her out of here, now, he thought, before he drew her down on the bed, removed her gown, and explored the lush curves that lay beneath.
"Follow me," he said curtly, and before he could change his mind, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
After a moment's hesitation, she followed him.
Wordlessly, he led her through the keep and down the winding stone steps that led to the dungeon.
It was a cold and dismal place, lit by torches. He heard the scurrying of rats as he opened the door to the first cell and motioned the girl inside.
Without looking at him, she entered the cell, her head high.
He locked the door and pocketed the key. "My steward will bring you paper and quill in the morning. You are to write to your father and tell him of your circumstances. Tell him if he wishes to see you again, he will take your place here. If not…" He almost choked on the words. "Your life will be forfeit."
"He will never agree," she said.
"You had best hope he does," Reyes replied. And then, unable to face her any longer, he turned and left the dungeon.
Shoulders slumping in defeat, Shanara looked at her surroundings. The floor and the walls were of damp gray stone. There was a straw tick and a ragged blanket on the floor in the corner, both of which were no doubt crawling with vermin. A vile odor rose from the slop jar in the corner.
Despite her determination not to cry, hot tears burned her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. Her father would never sacrifice himself for her. He had five strong sons and three other daughters. His youngest daughter was of little value. She doubted he even remembered her name or was aware of her absence from the keep.
If only her mother were still alive, but Elene had died last year, struggling to give her husband yet another child.
Shanara whirled around as she heard a scrabbling noise behind her, a cry of alarm rising in her throat as a large black rat crawled out from under the straw tick. Picking up her skirts, Shanara retreated to the far corner of the small cell, her back pressed against the damp wall.
Despair settled on her shoulders like a shroud. She was going to die here, in this horrid little cell. The rats would eat her flesh, and no one would care…
She pressed her fingertips to her lips. Why had Reyes kissed her, then thrust her aside? She would not have been surprised if he had forced himself upon her, but the fact that he had pushed her away surprised her a great deal.
But it didn't matter now. Nothing mattered now.
Reyes sat in front of the hearth, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. Six days had passed since he had locked Montiori's daughter in the dungeon. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined her sitting in that damned dismal cell with nothing to do but stare at the bars that imprisoned her. He imagined her horror at sleeping on a stained tick on the cold floor. He shied away at the thought of rats sharing her cell. His only concession had been to see that she received nourishing meals. Meals she had, thus far, refused to eat. Perhaps he was being too cruel. Perhaps he would tell Rolf to put a bed in her cell…
"No!" She was the enemy. No matter that she was young and more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. He could not think of her as a woman. She was a means to an end, no more, no less.
He looked up as his steward entered the room. "Did she write the letter?"
"Yes, sire." Rolf handed him a piece of rolled parchment.
Reyes read it quickly. As he had instructed, she told her father that she had been taken captive by Lord Reyes and that her life would be forfeit if Montiori did not comply with his wishes before the next full moon."Shall I send the missive?"
"Yes. Have Mergrid take it. Tell him to wait for an answer."
"Yes, my lord."
"Is there something else?" Reyes asked.
"She still refuses to eat."
Reyes nodded, then dismissed Rolf with a wave of his hand.
Rolf bowed from the waist, then left the hall.
Reyes swore. He had ordered his cooks to prepare dishes to tempt a lady's taste, but to no avail. For the last six days, every tray had been returned, untouched. He took small comfort in the fact that she drank the water if not the wine.
Gaining his feet, Reyes paced the floor. She was the enemy. It should make no difference whether she supped or not. He swore under his breath. She was only a woman. When she got hungry enough, she would eat.
It was the same thought that crossed his mind later that night when he sat at the table, his plate piled high with fresh venison and an assortment of side dishes.
Muttering an oath, he grabbed a plate, filled it with meat and vegetables, and then made his way to the dungeon. She would be of no use in a trade if she starved herself to death. A harsh laugh escaped his lips. No doubt that was her intent.
He opened the door that led to the dungeon, grimaced at the stink of waste and decay that fouled his nostrils. Who could eat in a place like this? He thrust the thought from his mind as he descended the stairs and walked down the corridor that led to her cell.
She was standing in the corner farthest away from the straw tick.
His heart clenched when she turned to look at him. There were dark shadows under her eyes, her cheeks looked sunken, her skin pale. Her eyes were dull and filled with resignation.
"I've brought your supper," he said, his voice gruff.
She gestured at the straw tick. A large gray rat with beady black eyes looked up at him, a bit of potato in its jaws.
A vile oath erupted from Reyes's throat. Tossing the tray in his hands aside, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the cell door. The girl let out a wordless cry as he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the dungeon and up the stairs to the second floor. He opened the door to one of the vacant bedchambers, pushed her inside, and locked the door.
Striding to the head of the stairs, he looked over the railing at the servants milling below.
"Alyce! Beatrice! Attend me immediately."
In moments, the two maids were there, awaiting his orders.
"There is a woman in the room next to mine," he said, thrusting the key into Beatrice's hand. "Clean her up and bring her something to eat."
Beatrice curtsied. "Yes, my lord," she said, and hurried away.
"As you wish, my lord," the younger one replied with a saucy smile.
She was a pretty thing, was Alyce, with her curly brown hair and guileless blue eyes. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, then returned to the hall and his own dinner, but food no longer held any appeal.
Late that night, he prowled the castle until, too restless to remain inside its walls, he left the keep by way of a secret passageway that emerged in the side yard. Under cover of darkness he shed his clothing, then surrendered to the beast within him, his body shifting, his bones popping and cracking as they took on a new shape.
Shanara stood at the window, her heart pounding. Surely she could not be seeing what she was seeing. But even as she watched, the man in the yard below cast off his clothing, and his body began changing, stretching, until, impossible as it was to believe, a large black wolf stood in his place.
She jerked away from the window when the wolf lifted its head. Had he seen her? She shivered as a howl rose on the midnight wind.
When she looked out the window again, the wolf was gone.
So, she had not been dreaming the last time. All the stories were true. Everything she had heard about Reyes was true. She had been afraid of him before, but not like this. It was one thing to be held prisoner by one's enemy, something else entirely when your enemy wasn't human.
She couldn't stay here any longer, clinging to the slim hope that her father would rescue her. Montiori would never agree to take her place. Still, he might consider the killing of his brother and the abduction of one of his daughters reason enough to attack Reyes.
But whether her father came for her or not, her life would be lost one way or another. If her father refused to take her place, she would be killed. If war came, her fate would be the same. Her father would not barter for her life. Alive or dead, she would be nothing but an excuse for another battle, another war.