She drew herself up to her full height. “I believe you called this man Dienwald de Fortenberry. I remember my lord telling you that he was no threat to Wolffeton. Why have you brought him here, Sir Walter?”
He could denounce her in front of everyone, Sir Walter thought. But no, he quickly decided. The proud little bitch was too popular among the men and the servants, and he couldn’t be certain of their backing. Oh no, he would wait for Graelam to return. Graelam would be enraged; he would kill the miserable de Fortenberry for him, and, Sir Walter thought, he would be thankful to him for bringing the whoreson to him. Land, he thought, his chest expanding in anticipation; Graelam would doubtless award him land and his own keep.
“I have brought him here, my lady,” he said, quite calmly now, “to be held for Lord Graelam’s return.”
Kassia felt a surge of relief. Dienwald de Fortenberry would tell Graelam that it was Blanche who had hired him. At last he would know the truth. At last he would believe her.
She turned to Dienwald de Fortenberry, who was struggling to regain his breath. She wanted to go to him, to help him, but she knew she would be a fool to do so.
Dienwald knew that several of his ribs were broken. He met Kassia’s worried gaze for a moment before a surging pain ripped through him and he crumpled to the cobblestones.
Kassia listened numbly, her fingernails digging into palms, as Sir Walter ordered the men to carry de Fortenberry to the dungeon.
“Sir Walter,” she said in a loud, calm voice, “I trust that Dienwald de Fortenberry will be alive when my lord returns.”
“Slut,” Sir Walter hissed between his teeth. Did she believe she had that much power over Graelam? Tales of Graelam de Moreton’s prowess were legendary. He could not imagine such a warrior allowing his wife to escape unscathed when he was confronted not only with her lover but also with the man she had hired to help her escape him.
Kassia went directly to her bedchamber, closed the door, and sat in her chair to think.
At the evening meal, she appeared serene and concerned only with the taste of the roast pork and the fresh green peas. She chatted easily with Blount and Father Tobias, aware that many eyes were observing her, watching her very closely. She could feel the dislike emanating from Sir Walter, but she could also sense his uncertainty at her calm behavior. You will pay for this, she vowed silently. It was odd, she thought as she replied to a question from one of the serving wenches, but she should be thanking him. Were it not for his hatred and his bitterness, she would never have known that Edmund was Dienwald de Fortenberry.
She returned to her bedchamber to wait. It was near to midnight when Etta slipped into the chamber, nodding silently.
“There was but one guard?”
“Aye, my baby, and soon he will be fast asleep. There is no need for any guards down there,” she continued, shivering. “The saints could not escape from that place.”
“Sir Walter is taking no chances,” Kassia said. “How very surprised that knave will be when Dienwald tells my lord the truth of the matter!”
Etta gripped Kassia’s arm. “Must you go to him, my baby? Can you not wait for Lord Graelam’s return?”
“Dienwald de Fortenberry is many things, Etta, I know that, but he was kind to me. Had Blanche paid another man to take me, I would likely have been raped and killed. If he dies from his wounds, I will gain nothing. And I must speak to him. I must be certain that he will speak the truth to Graelam.”
Etta knew she could not sway her mistress. “All the men are asleep. I heard no one.”
“Excellent,” Kassia said stoutly, though she felt gooseflesh rising on her arms in her fear. “I do not wish you to wait for me, Etta. Go to bed now.”
She waited until her old nurse had left, then drew on her cloak. Saying a silent prayer, she slipped from her bedchamber and made her way out of the great hall. The dungeon was in the base of the southern tower.
Soundlessly she moved beyond the thick oak door, sucking in her breath when she saw the guard. But he was fast asleep, his head cradled on his arms. Carefully she eased the huge iron keys from his tunic and dropped them into the pocket of her cloak. Then, clutching the lone candle, she walked down the deeply worn stone steps to the lower level. The air became more fetid and foul, and she could hear the rats scurrying from her path. It smelled of human misery, she thought, though she knew that no prisoner had been held here for many years. Her hand shook as she fitted one of the keys into the rusting lock. It grated so loudly that she whipped about, expecting to see all of Sir Walter’s men bursting in upon her.
But only rats were about.
The door swung open and she stepped into the cell, holding the candle high. She felt nausea rise in her throat at the stench. The stone walls were green and slimy with dampness, the earth floor was strewn with ancient straw reeking of human excrement. She raised the candle higher, gasping when she saw Dienwald de Fortenberry. His arms were pulled away from his body, his wrists manacled to the walls.
“Dienwald,” she said softly.
Slowly he raised his head. For a long moment he stared at her blankly. Then a slow smile twisted his mouth into a painful grimace.
“Little chick,” he whispered. “Why did you send me a message begging that I help you?”
25
Kassia stared at him. “I do not know about any message,” she said finally.
A spasm of pain wiped his mind of words and it was some moments before he said, “No, I do not suppose that you do. I was a fool, and now I will pay for it.”
“No, you won’t!” She rushed to his side and quickly unlocked the heavy rusted manacles from his wrists. He managed to steady himself and sank down onto the straw.