At the Door

They stood before the door that divided him from his bed. During the day he'd been able to see how someone had carved the image of a dragon into it, thin and grinning. He was glad it was too dark to make out the details now. "Alright, we're here," he said, pulling his arm free of hers. "Why don't you go on back to your tower, out there? Or Cador's room, wherever you spend your nights." He curled his lip.

When he saw her wounded expression, he felt remorse. "I was... hoping to speak to you, about Cador. But I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. You have other problems." She sounded like glass trembling before a storm. Turning to go, her chemise swirling around her, Graeme grabbed her hand.

"I was rude," he said.

She froze, looking down at his hand. Fearing the barbarity of men, he realized. She'd seen enough of it in this awful gaol. Maybe it was true she wasn't Cador's prisoner, but it didn't change the fact that the man was a brute and a knave. If all the stories of unholy dealings were untrue, there were enough corpses piled up to his name to know that much. Graeme released her hand and pulled it back from her to show he wouldn't hurt her. "It's understandable," she said pitifully. "I know why my father sent you here. He thinks I've been... that..." She couldn't say it aloud, but both of them knew what she was thinking. "It isn't true," she breathed.

He put up his chin like a proper knight, proud and bold. "I believe you," he said. His father had taught him to be a gentleman. Rachel was a silly girl, but despite her seductive looks, she seemed to him like an honest one, now that he'd had the chance to be alone with her.

"Thank you," she said, truly grateful. She took his hand in hers and kissed it. His breath caught when her lips lingered there. "He might not have... touched me... but Cador is awful, it's true. I came here because he said his squire was sick and needed aid. My nanny taught me herbs and the body, so he begged my help. But when Art was well again he never said anything about letting me leave. The gate is locked. I know I should simply tell him that I want to go home, but I'm afraid of what he might do. If only the things he'd say about me. They're not true!"

"I believe you," Graeme repeated.

She bit her lip. "Will you help me? I can't do it alone," she said.

"You don't even need to ask," he said.

"Thank the gods!" she said, suddenly glowing. She leaned forward and, by impulse, kissed him on the mouth; he faltered, feeling the warmth against his body. When she was back on the balls of her feet again they stared at each other. Her face and her body were an island of light in the shadowy mists of Ughelor, and they were a beautiful one. It was only a kiss. A lady's courtly gift to her champion, meaning no more than a handkerchief tied around his arm. But it didn't feel true. And he couldn't stop himself from leaning forward, his arm coming up around behind her, and pulling her into a deeper kiss. She pressed her hands against his face to feel more of him, and he allowed her. There was nothing wrong with enjoying a beautiful woman's lapse of conscience, even if she was an idiot. Sir John had done it enough times, and gloated about it.