The Velvet Promise (Montgomery/Taggert 2)

No answer came.

“Give me the candle.”

Joan handed her mistress the taper and looked away. She didn’t wish to look in the pit again.

Judith searched the black hole with the light. She had steeled herself for the worst, and she wasn’t disappointed. Yet Joan had been wrong about the floor. It was not totally devoid of dry area—or at least comparatively dry. The dirt floor sloped away from the stone walls so that one corner was mere mud rather than the slime-infested water. In this corner Judith saw a hunched figure. Only the eyes that glared at her told her the heap was alive.

“Give me the ladder, Joan. When I’m on the bottom, send the bench down, then the food and wine. You understand?”

“I don’t like this place.”

“Neither do I.” It wasn’t easy for Judith to descend that ladder into hell. She dared not look down. There was no need to see what was on the floor; she could smell and hear the slithering movements. She set the candle on a jutting stone of the wall but didn’t look at Gavin. She knew he worked to push himself upward.

“The bench now,” Judith called up. It wasn’t easy to maneuver the heavy piece down the ladder, and she knew Joan’s arms were nearly pulled from their sockets. It was easier to lift it and set it against the wall next to Gavin. The box of food came next, followed by a large skin of wine.

“There,” she said as she set the items on the edge of the bench then took a step toward her husband. She knew why Joan said he was near death. He was emaciated, his high cheekbones razor-sharp.

“Gavin,” she said quietly and held her hand out to him, palm up.

He moved his thin and filthy hand slowly to touch her, as if he expected her to disappear. When he felt her warm flesh against his, he looked back at her in surprise. “Judith.” The word was harsh, his voice hoarse from long disuse and a parched throat.

She took his hand firmly to hers than pulled him to sit on the bench. She held the skin of wine to his lips. It was a while before he understood he was to drink. “Slowly,” Judith said as he began to gulp the heavy, sweet liquid. She put the wineskin down, then took a stoppered jar from the box and began to feed him rich, filling stew. The meat and vegetables had been cooked to a pulp easy for him to chew.

He ate little before he leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed in weariness. “It has been a long time since I have had food. A man doesn’t appreciate what he has until it is taken from him.” He rested a moment, then sat up again and stared at his wife. “Why are you here?”

“To bring you food.”

“No, I don’t mean that. Why are you in Demari’s holdings?”

“Gavin, you should eat and not talk. I’ll tell you everything if you will only eat more.” She gave him a chunk of dark bread dipped in the stew.

Once again he turned his attention to eating. “Are my men above?” he asked, his mouth full. “I think I may have forgotten how to walk, but when I have eaten more, I will be stronger. They shouldn’t have sent you down here.”

Judith hadn’t realized that her presence would make Gavin believe he was free. “No,” she said as she blinked back tears. “I can’t take you from here…yet.”

“Yet?” He looked up at her. “What are you saying?”

“I am alone, Gavin. There are no men above. You are still a captive of Walter Demari, as is my mother, and now John Bassett.”

He stopped eating, his hand paused above the jar. Abruptly, as if she had said nothing, he resumed. “Tell me all,” he said flatly.

“John Bassett told me Demari had captured you and my mother. John saw no way to win you back except through siege.” She stopped, as if finished with the story.

“So you came here and thought to save me?” He looked at her, his sunken eyes hot.

“Gavin, I—”

“And, pray, what good did you hope to do? To draw a sword and run them through and order my release?”

She clamped her jaw shut.

“I will have John’s head for this.”

“That is what he said,” she muttered.

“What?”

“I said John knew you would be angry.”