man whose skill might have been laudable under any other circumstances. But he was driven by duty, not passion, and though he fended off one savage thrust of the Wolf’s blade after another, he was clearly outmatched. Fear took him back beneath the overhang of rock, and desperation saw him reach into his baldric and slash out with a shorter, sharper-edged dagger. The Wolf lunged, locking hilts with the guard’s sword and pinning it against the stone while his free hand grasped for the knife and twisted it inward, slicing it down across the man’s exposed throat and nearly separating the head from the shoulders.
He let the body slump to the ground and reached for the rusted iron bar that was slotted across the door to the cell. The door itself was crudely fit to the shape of the fissure opening, and so low he had to duck to clear the stone arch. Alaric was right behind him, thrusting a lit torch through the entryway.
At first, Lucien saw nothing past the searing flare of burning pitch. The rage boiled over in his blood and he was about to curse his brother’s further deceit when a movement in the corner—a pale splash of yellow against the blackened stone —sent his gaze to the deepest recess of the cell.
“Servanne?”
Round, frightened eyes, blinded as much by fear as by the sudden light, lifted to meet his. He pushed back the hood of the monk’s robe and saw the terror give way slowly to recognition.
“Lucien?” she gasped. “Is it … really you?”
“Name another man fool enough to chase after you on a night such as this,” he said, his grin belying the pounding pressure in his chest. Dear God, her face was bruised and swollen, her lip torn and caked with dried blood. Her arms were blue, scratched in too many places to see in one glance, and her gown was torn at the throat, the whiteness of her flesh violated by further bruising and scratches.
“I … thought you were dead,” she whispered. “When no one came … when I heard nothing … I thought you were dead.”
“Did you think you could be rid of me so easily?”
Her eyes flooded with tears, Servanne flung herself across the width of the cell and felt the long, powerful arms sweep her into a crushing embrace. The blood-slicked poniard dropped forgotten onto the ground and his hands raked into the tangled mass of her hair, holding her against him, turning her lips up to his for a kiss as passionate as life itself.
“Lucien!” Alaric hissed from the doorway. “Can you not celebrate later when we have the time and leisure to do so?”
An oath that was more a promise tore Lucien’s lips away from Servanne’s, but the taste of her, the feel of her drenched his senses, almost blinding them to the urgency in Alaric’s voice.
“My lady,” said Friar, his smile shaken as well by the extent of Servanne’s bruising. “Are you well enough? Can you walk?”
“I shall run as fast as the wind if need be,” she replied without hesitation, her own beautiful smile shining through her tears.
Lucien took her hand and led her out into the brisk night air. Was it only his imagination, or was the sky growing lighter overhead? To be sure, the wind was picking up speed and energy, gleefully plucking at the flimsy silk of Servanne’s tunic. Quickly he divested himself of the gray woolen robe and handed it to her.
“Here, put this on. We have a way to go yet, and—”
“Lucien! Come quickly!”
The Wolf ran to where Alaric stood on the lip of the upper path. A grim line of bobbing orange dots could be seen spilling out the postern gate at the base of the castle wall; a dozen guards carrying a dozen torches were making their way down the side of the cliff, lighting the way for a dozen more armed with swords and crossbows.
“Go,” Alaric shouted, ridding himself of the bulky robes. “I’ll loose a few arrows their way to discourage them long enough for you to get Lady Servanne below.”
“There are too many of them!”
Alaric fetched the crossbows and quivers of bolts from the dead guards. “You said yourself, a man with a ready supply of arrows could hold off an army until hell froze.”
Lucien hesitated, the desire for blood and revenge warring with his need to see Servanne to safety.
“In God’s name”—Alaric had to shout to be heard over the roaring of the waves and