wall and came over to crouch in front of the cage. The figure was slumped in a sitting position, his side pressed up against the bars.
“Sirrah,” she whispered.
Nothing.
“Sir,” she whispered again, more loudly.
Nothing. She reached in and poked at his shoulder.
A hand whipped out and grabbed her wrist. She stifled a scream. Her slender bones were trapped in the firm grip of the prisoner in the cell. All breathing stopped.
The prisoner slowly turned his head.
“Thank God ’tis you,” she exhaled, icy relief dripping into her blood.
His eyebrows shot up. “And who am I?”
“You are you. How am I to know?” she said in an aggravated tone. She tugged at her wrist.
The Irishman grinned into the darkness. “I’ve here in my grasp a female who comes floating out of the darkness of a prison, smelling of sweetness and light, for all the world as if ’tis a garden stroll she’s on. She pokes at me, and praises God that ’tis myself, although she doesn’t know who that would be, and growls when I ask. Being a witless man, at least when it comes to fragrant ladies, I’d say I’ve died and gone to heaven, and am staring at an angel. Although why she’d be here in hell with me, I’ve no notion. Can it be ye’re to answer my prayers, sweet angel?”
She was surprised by the tumble of feelings evoked by his little speech, spoken in a rough but pleasing voice. There was a smile and gentleness in his tone, but rock-hewn power lay repressed in the hand that still wrapped itself around her wrist.
She tugged a little, and he released her.
“I need your help.” Leaning closer to peer into the cell, she could discern his outline. There was only the glitter of bright eyes and the gleam of white teeth as he grinned at her.
He smiled more grimly. “’Tis as if ye read my very mind. But sweetly as your request is spoken, ’tis little succor I can give, as I hope ye can see.”
“If I free you, will you help me?”
The gleam from his smile disappeared and his gaze grew sharp and intent. “Aye,” he said slowly, regarding her. “And why would ye be doing that?”
“I need a guide when I leave.”
“Is that so?”
“’Tis,” she replied in a firm whisper.
“I thought ye only just arrived to be made a baroness.”
She leaned a tiny bit closer. “I do not fancy his wine.”
“Aye, I noticed that.”
“I do not mean to shock you, but Rardove tells lies. I am not his betrothed.”
He gave a slow grin. “Ye are surely not.”
“And I need a guide to the Dublin quay when I leave.”
“Couldn’t ye find another Irishman, or better yet a Saxon, who would be pleased to do such a task, and better able, too?”
“Mayhap. I have not looked.”
“Really?” He sat upright to regard her. A small smile lifted the edges of his lips and a tremor of unnamed excitement traveled through her body.
“Really,” she breathed, lowering her voice. She was entranced by the way his body curved over itself, his muscles tightly corded and tensed beneath what looked to be silky skin. Even in this decrepit prison he was filled with sunshine and fresh air.
“Now why would ye be doing such a thing as that, angel?” he inquired in a low tone.
“In the hall…you made me hold my head up. I think you would be best.” There was nothing more to say.
A genuine, pleased smile brightened his features before a grimace of pain took over. “Aye, then, lady, I’ll be awaiting yer coming, but ye’d best work quickly, as my head is being fitted for the stakes out front.”
Senna glanced over her shoulder. The guards would grow suspicious soon. “Tonight, after dark.”
“How?” he asked swiftly, his gaze suddenly hard and appraising.
Senna picked up a handful of rocks and ran her thumb over the jagged edges. “Rardove is thrashing on his sheets at this moment, clutching his belly. I expect it to last the night. Some mysterious infection of the gut.”
His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Och, they’re terrible mysterious out here. Hit without warning.”
She gave a miniature smile. “This one did. I didn’t give him any warning a’tall.”
“I’ll owe ye my life.”
“You will be helping get back mine.”
He smiled and when she smiled in return, he sat back on his heels. “Ye’re a fair measure of beauty, ye are,” he whispered.
“What, with my bruised cheekbone?” This time she did laugh, very softly. “You must fell a great many ladies with such lies.”