Chapter Twenty-Five

E lysande peered into the darkness of an unknown room. When she had awoken from her drugged state, she had found herself gagged, with her limbs tied onto the arms and legs of a wooden chair. Frantic to free herself, she fidgeted in her attempts to loosen the ropes but that only caused the chair to tip over. She would have screamed in outrage if she had been able. Her hands were cramped, and her side ached from her current position.

How many hours she laid tied to the chair upon the wooden floor, unable to right herself, she could not say. When the door to her prison at last opened, the sounds of voices in the distance confirmed she was in a room at an inn. Which one and where, she could not say. But that mattered little at the moment whilst she silently glared at the man who entered. His laughter only grated on her already frayed nerves.

"My, my," he cooed coming to squat before her. He took one fingertip and tapped her nose playfully. "You seem to be in a bit of a predicament, are you not, my lady?"

He took hold of the frame of the chair and easily lifted her back up so she was finally sitting up straight. She swore all the blood ran from her face once she was finally upright. He went back to the door, and someone handed him a tray. He held the platter with one hand, closing the door with the other and putting the bolt in place. He set a platter of food before her on the table, and her mouth watered at the heavenly fragrance of a meal. How long had it been since she had eaten?

He went to the hearth and built up the fire. She heard more than saw him fidgeting with something whilst out of her vision. He came back to the table with a candle. The room, now well lit, did little to give her any sense of comfort. "Run down" came to mind as her eyes glanced at the worn coverings on the bed.

Morcant demanded her attention when he waved a knife in front of her face. Obviously, he wanted her for something, so she did not think he meant to kill her. If that had been his objective, she would already be dead on the side of the road.

"If you promise me you will not call out, I will loosen your hands and remove your gag. If not, you can starve for all I care. Do we have an agreement?"

Her stomach rumbled in protest, causing him to chuckle again. Elysande could only nod her head for an answer. When her hands were freed, she rubbed at her raw wrists. The gag came next, and she greedily reached for the tankard that had been set on the table. The ale was warm but she did not care. Her only thought was that the brew quenched her parched mouth. Once she had drunken her fill, her glare returned to her captor with all the hatred she could muster inside her whilst her legs continued to be restrained at her ankles.

"What is the meaning of this, Morcant?" she finally asked when she found her voice.

"'Tis not obvious to you?" he returned with a sly grin.

"Nay, 'tis not obvious, you fool," she answered before she began to partake of the meal before her. He may be her enemy, but she would at the very least eat her fill before he decided to be less than civil and take it away.

Morcant shrugged, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his massive chest. He was a mountain of a man with brown hair and eyes so dark they were almost black. In her mind, she likened him to the devil.

He continued to watch her eat as though he was trying to determine how much he would tell her. His deep voice filled every corner of the room as he made his confession. "I was going to lose. I saw no reason why I should not take advantage of the situation and steal you away so you would have no choice but to become my bride."

"I will never be your wife," she warned whilst she quickly reached across the table for the knife he had set down. But he was quicker and snatched the blade away, putting it in his belt.

"Tsk, tsk, my dear. I thought we had come to an agreement."

"Aye… I agreed not to call out so I could partake of this food. I have not done so. I gave no promise that I would not try to kill you if the opportunity presented itself," she said, eyeing him warily.

"Is that any way to behave toward your future husband?" he said in such a mockingly sweet tone it made Elysande want to retch.

"I will never willingly agree to become your wife, Morcant," she snapped whilst she held back angry tears threatening to run down her cheeks. She took another bite of food.

A frown marred his brow before he rose from his chair. He pushed the plate away from her and then quickly replaced the linen in her mouth to prevent her from replying or making any attempt to call out for help. He then quickly retied her hands to the chair. She was once again immobile and could do nothing more than wish him dead.

He hovered over her. There was no place she could move to distance herself from him. "Whether you willingly say your vows is of little concern to me. We will wed once we reach my home near Stevenage. My priest will be more than happy to wed us once he learns you have been compromised. He will think he is doing us a favor by saving our souls."

His smug expression gave the impression that he had thought of everything but Elysande knew one thing he had not most likely not thought of. Reynard would move heaven and earth to find her.

Morcant took up the tray, gave her a wink, and left. She would have cried out in frustration but what good would that do her? She needed some sort of a plan but there was little hope of escape considering she was tied to a chair. She would need to wait and try to be patient. Morcant's guard would slip at some point, or so she prayed.

His return mayhap an hour later caused her own guard to go up. He weaved his way into the room unsteadily, clearly having drunk his fill down below in the tavern. He untied her hands and feet and for one fleeting moment, she thought this might be her chance. He pulled her against him whilst arms of steel wrapped around her waist.

"Take care of your… needs, and do not let me regret loosening your bonds," he said quietly nodding to a corner of the room where a chamber pot was at the ready. 'Twas a grim reminder that she had not used a necessary since before the time of her capture.

Of course, 'twould be located furthest from the door, but her need was great, and she was well aware she must take advantage of what he offered in case he changed his mind. But how was she to see to her private matters when he watched her so intently?

As if he had come to some decision to trust her, Morcant went to the window and opened it before he began to lower his hose and braies enough to relieve himself. She gasped that he would be so brazen and another chuckle left him.

"You best hurry before I finish," he ordered. She knew if she were to take care of her own needs with any kind of privacy, then she best hurry before she had an audience.

Since he was preoccupied with his own business and his back was turned away from her, Elysande rushed across the room. She looked over her shoulder to see if he would watch her but his attention still appeared as though he was engrossed in the view out the window. She quickly took care of her own issues that had gone unattended. When she finished, she stood and took a step toward the door. The window slammed shut and he crossed the room so fast she barely had time to whirl away from the brute who took hold of her wounded wrist. She hissed when his fingers dug into her raw flesh.

He frowned before he lifted her hand to inspect the injury. He pulled her over to a wash basin and nodded toward the pitcher of water and the drying cloth. He turned away from her once more and sat on the edge of the bed. He removed his boots and the heavy sound of them hitting the floor caused Elysande to jump.

She continued to clean her wrists and wash her face before she took the cloth to dry herself. She heard the sound of a buckle being released and she took a short glance to see that he had placed his scabbard holding his sword at the head of the bed. If only she had the strength to lift such a blade—but she knew there was no way she was capable of such a deed. She was all but finished when Morcant pulled his tunic over his head.

Once again, she turned her back to the man but not before she caught a glimpse of him. There was no doubt he was a handsome man but therein lay the problem. He knew he was good-looking.

"Do you like what you see, Elysande?" he whispered when he came to her, pulling her back into his chest.

"Go to hell, Morcant," she swore only to feel herself pressed firmly into his body. Good heavens! He was aroused, and he made no effort to hide his desire.

"A pity you are unwilling this eve, but we will have a lifetime to become intimate," he said in a husky whisper. He reached around her to gather the cloth she had used, and he began tearing the linen into strips. He went to the bed and patted the mattress. "Come here."

Her eyes went wide. "I think not!"

"Did you think that was a request?"

"I am not sleeping in that bed with you," she complained, hugging her arms around her.

"And I will not wake come the morn to find you are gone. Now, come here!"

She refused to budge and Morcant took matters into his own hand, stood, and dragged her over to the bed. She opened her mouth to scream but found her mouth was the first to be bound. Her wrists came next but at least it was linen instead of the coarse rope that had already caused her wrists to bleed. But any thoughts of not having to deal with the rope quickly fled when Morcant tied the two of them together. He lifted her so she was on the side closest to the wall. If she'd had any hopes of escaping, they were gone. She would have to climb over him even if she were able to get free of the ties that held them far closer together than she would have wished.

"Sleep well, bride-to-be," he said before he placed a quick kiss upon her lips.

She could only glare at him and in her mind curse him to hell and back. When soft snores came to the man lying next to her, she began to relax knowing he would not take her maidenhead. She was safe… at least for this eve. And as she closed her eyes to find her own slumber, she began to pray that Reynard would be close come the morn. She needed him more than ever. Surely God would answer her prayers.