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 inthe 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 doubtof 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.
