Dark Champion by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

nodded. “It will not be easy, but if you insist it can be done. We should be in no great need of speed.”
    “Then,” said Imogen, “I will tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.”
    “What I need to know?” he echoed. He turned that heavy ring again, then rose smoothly and moved toward the bed. “Did you not say we are allies, Lady Imogen?”
    She pressed back into the pillows and nodded, dry mouthed.
    “Allies are honor-bound to help one another.” He raised one foot and rested it on the bed frame, leaning forward on his knee, looming over her. “In all ways.”
    Imogen remembered thinking that he did not loom. Foolish error.
    “Can you read and write at all?” he asked.
    She was startled back into her voice. “Yes.”
    “Then I will have some parchment sent up with pens and ink. Draw a plan of the castle and put on it all the information you know. Everything.” It was as if she had never spoken. “Tomorrow we’re going to Carrisford, Ginger. If you withhold any useful information, I’ll take it out of your skin. If you deceive me, I’ll strangle you myself.”
    She believed him. She would have disappeared under the bed if she’d been able, but she kept her chin up and her eyes on him. “Then you do believe I am who I claim to be?” It came out a little thin, but she was proud of having got it out at all.
    “I said I’d treat you as such until proved wrong, didn’t I?”
    He leaned forward and picked up a strand of her long hair, twisting it around his finger. “If you are playing a part, sweet Ginger,” he said softly, “I recommend that tomorrow you take any opportunity that presents to run—swelling feet or no.”
    Imogen was frozen.
    Then he released her hair and straightened. “I’ll have a supper sent up along with the writing materials. Good night.”
    He was gone and she could breathe again, try to calm her hammering heart. Her instincts had been right all along. She had snared a dragon, not a hunting hound, and was as likely to be its dinner as its mistress.
    She closed her eyes on tears. She wanted her father back to guide her Aunt Constance to fuss, Janine to comb her hair and lay out her beautiful clothes and jewels. She wanted her home. She didn’t want to be in a strange place, alone, and having to be brave.
    She had no choice. She remembered her father’s words and knew that the taste of gall was on her lips.
    After she had eaten the plain but adequate supper, Imogen drew a careful plan of Carrisford for Bastard FitzRoger. She told herself she did it because he was her champion and was going to win back her home for her. She knew she also drew it to pacify him.
    She even included the section of the passageways which ran behind the walls of the great hall, for they would be easy to find by anyone who suspected their presence, and the link between them and the lower ones was hidden.
    Despite her fear, however, she did not include the lower passages or the entrance they provided to the castle.
    After all, it was possible that Warbrick had abandoned Carrisford when he found her missing. It would be utter foolishness to give away the family secrets unless absolutely necessary.
    All the same, she chewed the quill nervously, wondering what FitzRoger would do when he realized most of the secret passageways weren’t shown.
    Of course he wouldn’t whip her.
    But neither was he a man to make idle threats…
    Fear and confusion about the nature of her paladin—not to mention the bulk of the unaccustomed paunch and her sore feet—should have kept Imogen from sleep, but exhaustion was stronger. She slept deep and dreamless and was only reluctantly roused at dawn by a serving woman.
    Imogen discovered she was in a worse state than the day before. She ached all over and the sores on her feet protested at the lightest touch. She briefly thought of changing her mind and staying there in comfort until her home was secure again, but she could not. She was Imogen of