Roman by Heather Grothaus Read Free Book Online

“I don’t know how he will take the news that she still lives on the morn. He is a man of his word.”
    â€œI will sit with her,” Roman said. “I will not let him harm her, not only for her safety but for Stan’s own good. Perhaps there might come a day when he would bitterly regret such an action.”
    â€œThank you.” Adrian nodded toward Roman, and he was again made aware of the change in the formerly snide and bitter man as the four of them made their way to the gatehouse passage.
    Valentine struck Roman on his uninjured arm. “Yes, that is a good idea, my friend. He will have a most difficult time climbing over your large body when you faint. But you? You will no even feel it. Brilliant.”
    Roman gave his friend a shove that nearly sent Valentine from his feet. “Then you’d best bring me something to eat, you sneaking Spaniard.”
    â€œI’m certain Brother Wynn has sufficient provisions to sustain you. Plenty of hay and leaves; perhaps some delicious grubs, yes?”
    â€œWon’t you precede me down the stairs?”
    Valentine grinned over his shoulder while he stepped into the black corridor. “So you can push me down them?”
    â€œDon’t worry; you won’t even feel it.”
    * * *
    Isra could feel the redhead’s eyes on her as if they were tethers holding her to the pallet. She couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to, her body was so sore, but even had she been well, she doubted she was brave enough to test the woman’s unspoken threat.
    She was a prisoner here.
    No matter, that. She’d been a prisoner the whole of her life, really. A prisoner dressed in the finest silks and jewels, provided the best food and drink, her health and grooming looked after in the most meticulous ways. But she had never been free.
    Isra shifted her gaze and confirmed that the woman was indeed watching her closely, a frown of concentration across her pale face. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds, and Isra thought she would rather enjoy looking at the woman had she not felt so threatened by her.
    â€œAre you going to kill me?” she rasped.
    The woman’s eyes widened a bit. “I didna know you were awake. ’Tis difficult to tell with your eyes as swollen as they are.” She crossed her arms over her slight chest and leaned back in her chair. “ I’m nae going to kill you, nay. What their plans are, I doona yet know. You’re a danger to them; surely you ken that?”
    Isra swallowed, and yet the words still broke in her raw throat. “I know.”
    â€œYou’ve much death around you already.”
    The statement brought to Isra’s mind her mother, and Huda, and the man she’d killed on her last night in Damascus. Her eyes strained with the desire to produce tears, but none would come. She said nothing.
    The redhead sat up and scooted to the edge of the seat, reaching out her hand. Isra tensed and heard her own gasp.
    â€œI’m nae going to hurt you,” the woman said. “I just want to—”
    â€œMaisie.” The word caused the woman to withdraw her hand and look crossly at whomever had entered. It was a man’s voice, but not one Isra recognized from earlier.
    â€œWhat?” the woman demanded. “I only thought I’d see—”
    â€œThe less you know of her, the better for you,” the man replied, coming at last into Isra’s line of sight. He had brown hair laying over his shoulders, a slender, pale face. When he reached out his own hand toward the woman and she took it, Isra saw swirling black designs on his forearm. “Come. You’re being relieved.”
    â€œBy who? Him? Doona be ridiculous,” Maisie scoffed. “He’s in nae condition to sit up with her all the night.”
    â€œHe’s not keeping her company,” the long-haired man said, and then pulled the woman away, giving Isra a curious look before both