Rowena paused, holding her breath and listening. She could hear the faint drip of water from an underground spring and a low rustling noise that could have been a rat. But even in the stillness, she heard no sound at all from the barred room.
She crept closer, the candle thrust ahead of her. Now she could see the bars clearly. She could see into the cell beyond them, all the way to the far wall.
No one was there.
Forgetting caution, she hurried forward. Had the savage escaped? Had he died on the way to his dark prison? Or had her father simply decided to put him somewhere else?
Rowena reached the bars and pressed against them, raising the candle to see into the far corners of the small room. Only then did she notice the straw piled in the shadows—a long, bumpy mound of it, the size and shape of a man’s body.
Relief swept over her as she lowered the light. Cold and weary, the savage had taken the only sensible course of action. He had burrowed into the straw like a wild animal and gone to sleep.
Rowena’s breath hissed out in a jerky release. Her errand of mercy would be easier now. She had only to push the bread and the quilt between the bars and go. When he awakened the savage would discover her gift, and if he was as intelligent as he appeared to be, he would understand that even among the English there was compassion.
Dropping to a crouch, she set the candlestick on the stone floor to free her hands. She was about to push the bread between the bars when a rustle in the shadows reminded her of the rats. An unguarded loaf would only serve as bait for the horrid creatures, drawing them by the score into the cell. The bread would be gone before the captive could wake up and drive them off.
Rowena hesitated, torn. She could call out and rouse him. But that in itself would be a heartless act. Sleep was the only blessing left to the wretched man. If, perchance, he was dreaming of his homeland and loved ones, why awaken him to misery?
She would push the quilt and the bread through the bars, she resolved. Then she would reach through with both hands and wrap them into a single bundle. Nothing would hold the rats off forever, but at least the quilt might delay them.
The quilt was so thickly padded with wool that it had to be unfolded and stuffed inch by inch between the bars. As she worked, Rowena kept a wary eye on the mound of straw, ready to draw back at the slightest stir. But there was no movement or sound from the sleeping captive. Clearly he was too exhausted to be of any danger.
All the same, her fingers trembled as she guided the crusty loaf through the narrow space. Nothing remained now except to wrap the bread securely in the quilt.
It would only take a moment, Rowena assured herself as she leaned forward and slid her arms into the darkness beyond the bars. Just a moment of fumbling, and then—
Her thoughts exploded in a paroxysm of fear as a rough, brown hand shot out of the shadows, seized her wrists and yanked her hard against the bars.
Chapter Three
Rowena fought for balance as the savage wrenched her forward. Her head struck one of the bars, setting off an explosion of pain. She sagged for an instant, the candle flame spinning in her vision. Then, as her senses cleared, she began to twist and claw in earnest.
“Let me go!” She spat out the words, forgetting that he would not likely understand her. “I’m not your enemy, you fool! I’m here to help you!”
His grip tightened around her wrists. She felt the crushing of bones and tendons. Rowena whimpered as he wrenched her flat against the bars. She might have screamed, but she knew no one else in the house would be able to hear her. Not from this deep, dark place.
She could see the savage’s face now by the light of the guttering candle. His cheekbones were gaunt bronze slabs. His jet eyes were as cold as a panther’s. She could smell him, too. His scent was a trapped animal’s, thick with the musk of rage and terror.
“Let me go,” she gasped, weak with pain. “They’ll come for me…they’ll punish you—”
He growled something under his breath—a guttural, menacing phrase whose meaning Rowena could only guess. The grip of his manacled hands shifted, and for the space of a heartbeat she thought she might have reached him. But no—he was only crossing her wrists so that he could wrap a length of his chain around them, leaving his right hand free. By the time Rowena realized his intent, it was too late to jerk away.
She was on her knees now, her body molded to the bars. The savage’s face was a handbreadth from her own. Rowena shuddered as his black eyes impaled her. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered, choking back panic. “If it is within my power—”
Her words ended in a gasp as his huge hand knifed through the bars and caught her at the waist. She would have wrenched herself away, but the iron grip on her wrists kept her pinned against the bars. She froze, her heart pounding, as his fingers groped the span of her waist, fumbling awkwardly with the knotted sash of her robe.
Rowena’s eyes closed as the knot came loose and the robe fell open. The bars were strong, she reminded herself. Aside from hurting her hands, the savage could not truly harm her. All the same, her heart seemed to stop as his fingers seared through the thin fabric of her shift, moving urgently along the curve of her waist, then lower, skimming her hipbones. His dangerous touch triggered subtle tuggings and tightenings in the moist core of Rowena’s body. A tiny moan quivered in her throat.
She thought of the candlestick, the candle still flickering on the floor where she had left it. One well-placed kick could tip it into the straw that lined the cell. The straw would begin to smolder, then burst into leaping flames…
She could not move.
His touch became more demanding, more frantic. Rowena could feel the anger in him, the rising tide of frustration that grew until it exploded out of him in a single word.
“Key!”
She stiffened against him in sudden awareness. The savage had evidently learned on the ship that a key was needed for opening locks. He had even managed to learn the word. And last evening in the courtyard, the ring of keys hanging at her waist had caught his sharp gaze. He was looking for those keys now.
Finding nothing, he drew back from the bars. His eyes seethed with anger. “Key!” he demanded again, jerking her arms so hard that she whimpered. “Key! Give me!”
“No!” Rowena began speaking volubly, with no idea of how much he could understand. “I don’t have any keys with me. And even if I did, even if I were to let you out of this place, it would do you no good. You’d be lost in this land. You wouldn’t know where to go, where to hide, how to find food and clothing. You wouldn’t have the first idea how to get on a ship and return to your own country. You must stay here for now. Stay here!” She emphasized the words, praying he would understand their meaning. But he only glowered at her, his eyes so hot with pain and hatred that their gaze all but withered her spirit.
“I don’t have the key,” Rowena said again, resisting the painful pull on her hands. “No key.”
The savage stared at her, then snorted with disgust and let her go so abruptly that Rowena tumbled backward into a pile of moldering firkins. The small barrels came bumping and rolling down around her, making such a commotion that she feared someone in the house would hear. She sat up, rubbing her bruised temple, as the racket subsided.
The candle had burned down to a glowing stub. By its faint light she could see the savage, standing now, behind the bars of his prison. The fierce majesty of his presence filled the wretched space. Who had he been in that other faraway world? Rowena found herself wondering. What would he tell her if she could understand his alien tongue?
But this was no time for idle questions. She would need to get the candle at once, before it sputtered out and left her in darkness. She felt the savage’s eyes on her as she crept forward and snatched the candlestick